#time jump arc

[drdelicatetouchreturns]

I see you have changed none since I've visited you last, Michelangelo. Still pathetic and cowardly, hm?

♠️

@suiteofspades

You know what

I am DONE with you messing with my head

My family loves me, and they've made it VERY clear that I'm not in the way

And they would never lie to me

...right?

[afdinonug]

What If Joel Left Ellie On The Operating Table?

What If Things Were Different - Chapter 2 - Airfried_DinoNug - The Last of Us (Video Games) [Archive of Our Own]

What If Things Were Different - What If Joel Left Ellie On The Operating Table? - Wattpad

April 28, 2034

Joel opened his eyes in a hurry. The scent of iodoform, a fragrance found in soaps and cleaners, filled his nose. The last thing Joel remembered was preforming CPR on Ellie after she drowned. 

"Ellie!" Joel yelled panicked. He stood up, ignoring the throbbing pain in his head.

"She's safe. They are prepping her for surgery now." Marlenes voice echoed in what appeared to be an old hospital room.  Joel violently turned his head to look at Marlene. "How did the two of you manage to find us here? The guys we had stationed at the capitol building that you were supposed to meet up with went MIA. I'm going to assume since Tess isn't with you and that my guys are missing, things went south." Marlene looked down at the ground. Sorrow encapsulated her. 

"Well, aren't you so smart." Joel regretted accepting this run just for some guns. He regretted not protecting Tess even more. He regretted not leaving Boston when he had a chance. "Ellie, she...she fought like hell to get here, to help you with your hope of a cure. Don't let her down." Joel now standing up, brushed the debris off his pants. His gear and coat were lying on the raggedy hospital bed. He swiftly grabs his coat and pulls it over his arms. It's the end of April, spring was here, flowers were blooming but it was raining almost every day. He pulls his backpack over his right shoulder and starts to head for the door.

"Don't you at least want your payment?" Marlene was talking about the guns. The guns only Tess had saw. How was Joel supposed to know if they were all there.

"Fuck it. You keep em. This was a waste of my time." Joel reached for the doorknob only for it to be opened from the outside. A younger male figure stood in his way. He was armed and looked to be muscular. "Watch out Hulk, you might tear your shirt." Joel noticed how the man looked to be wearing a shirt two sizes too small for him.

"Ethan, please escort him so he can see the payment in the upper floors." Marlene nodded at the man standing in Joels way.

"Of course, ma'am'" At least Hulk Hogin had manners Joel thought. Joel unwilling obliged. Falling in Ethans footsteps they walked to the 7th floor of the rundown hospital. This part of the hospital looked like it was routinely cleaned every day since the start of the outbreak. Joel could see people in scrubs walking around in front of Ethan and him. As both men walked further down the corridor, Joel could hear a series of beeps growing louder. He saw a woman walking out of an old operation room. 

As he walked behind Ethan, Joel stopped dead in his tracks. He looked into the operation room full of surgeons and nurses. Ellie was hooked up to a series of random machines. Joels eyes flicked over to the Holter Monitor Ellie was hooked up, her heartbeat was so strong. He questioned whether he should actually leave Ellie here. Marlene wouldn't have had joel bring Ellie here is she wasn't safe, right? Joel fulfilled his promise to Tess, he brought Ellie here, but by doing that it got Tess killed.

"She's doing humanity a great service. She'll be remembered by everyone for years." Ethan was now standing behind Joel looking into the operating room as well.

"Remembered? What do you mean remembered?" Joel turned to face Ethan. By the look on Ethans face, Joel knew what he meant.

"The Cordyceps mutated in her brain. The only way to extract it is for her to die." Ethan looked worried, afraid Joel would retaliate. Fucking Marlene, knowing an innocent child would have to die. "It's the only way to save humanity. We can't go around infecting everyone just to see if there's an off chance someone else is immune." Ethan was hoping to convince Joel not to do anything hasty, but Joel didn't need to be convinced. He wanted this girl and all of the fireflies involved in this operation out of his life.

"I'm leaving." Joel muttered as he turned around and went back the way they came. Ethan stood frozen in place, baffled that Joel didn't care about Ellie in the slightest. Joel walked down all 7 flights of stairs and past Marlene, whose hands were on her resting on her hips. Marlene watched as Joel left through the hospital's double doors, never to look back.

August 2045

Harmonic sounds of windchimes seep through the rooms of a homestead. The house is empty, no people are rustling around inside of it. A shadow moves past a window in the kitchen. Outside the back door of the house lies an enclosed space, hording a flock of sheep. A man appears to be walking out of a storage hut inside the cage. He walks out of the cage and walks towards the homestead. As he walks closer, he stops and grips the bucket he was holding, tighter.

"What the hell could you possibly want, Marlene?" The man sneered at the woman on the porch. He walks forward towards the porch.

"It's a beautiful place you have here Joel." Marlene is sitting on the porch's glider. Joel sets the bucket on the steps and leans against the railing facing Marlene.

"You got your damn cure, and the world is perfect. Cut to the chase, what warrants you coming to my house? I'm done with the fireflies." He was furious that Marlene would think it was okay to bother him after all he did for her.

"It didn't work Joel." No, she has to be lying. It's been 11 fucking years. 11 years since Ellie died...11 years since Tess died.

"Bullshit Marlene. I have seen one damn infected in 4 fucking years." Joel hoped she was lying because if she wasn't that meant Ellie's death would have been for nothing.

"I'm sorry Joel. I believed it was going to work, we all did but it just didn't." Marlene was looking down at her feet. She stood up and pulled her shirt up to her ribs. On her stomach was a bite mark. judging on how far the spreading went across her stomach she only has a few hours left.

"Jesus Marlene." Joel never really cared for Marlene but felt compassion that she was suffering.

"It mutated. It didn't cure the Cordyceps, it fucking mutated it." Marlene let her shirt hem drop back down. She looked up at Joel who had aged since the last time they spoke. "Before, there were runners, clickers and bloaters but now...now there's ones that can see your heart beating in your chest, ones that eat clickers Joel."

[nbundarin]

Acceptance (Fanfic)

Clark Kent strummed his fingers on his knee. He could count on a few of them the amount of time he had ever had a butterfly and now he could add a pinky. For Gotham, Leslie Thompkins’s apartment was a stark contrast to the gothic, brutalist and Tim Burton fever dream outside. It was a two bed, two bath, accented in Alice blue and Roux white. The decor had a modern sensibility but the paintings lining the walls and photographs spotting here and there made it homie. On Zillow it would make a great steal, if Zillow dared to list anything in Gotham. Clark had particularly smiled at a picture of Leslie, standing between a beautiful red-headed bride, in a decked-out wheelchair, lilac, laced around her spokes, and a sharp-looking groom, his Biscayne blue’s elevating his boy next door smile.

            “You made a very handsome usher,” Leslie stood between the linoleum of the kitchen and the hard wood of the living room. She was a petite woman, with silver hair, sloppily bundled on her head, and chocolate brown eyes framed in cat rimmed glasses. She could be the aunt who tells you a bawdy joke at the family Christmas party or your mom’s best friend whose advice you take even when your parents said the exact same thing

            “That was a fun night,” Clark started. 

“For the world’s greatest introvert, Bruce knows how to throw a party.” The kettle whistled for attention and Leslie called over her shoulder.

“You and Lois certainly know how to cut a rug.”

“You and Alfred were no slouches either, Doctor Thompkins.”

“Clark.”

“Sorry. Leslie.” She returned with twin mugs of tea.

“You Midwestern boys and your politeness. It’s a warm welcome from, GET OUT OF THE WAY OR ALL BLOW YOUR HEAD OFF!”

“Rush hour in Metropolis has its fair share of angry drivers too.”

“It was the Supermarket.” Leslie placed her mug on a coaster and as she handed the other to the former journalist,

“Careful it’s ho—” She remembered,

“Sorry, forgot who I was talking too.” Clark thanked her as he laced the tea in his hands. Leslie situated herself, the coffee table dividing them.

“You don’t take notes?” Clark asked.

“No. I find it too distracting.”

“I wouldn’t X-Ray them if you did.”

“Saves me from buying led lined note pads.” She winked at the farm boy.

“Just a reminder; Nothing is off the table. No emotion is unwarranted. I do have insurance, so if you want to start zapping things, please direct it at the ugly string art my cousin Dorothy got me from Tucson.” Clark spotted it, across the room.

“It must be really, interesting, being the Superheroes’ therapist.”

 Leslie laughed.

“Thinking about maybe getting my own costume. But seriously, behind the capes and the superpowers your people too.” 

“Even if you come from another planet,” she added.

“Having teenagers, I feel the same way, Usually I would go to my mom or Bruce for advice, but he said you would be a better fit.”

“You and Him became very close,” Leslie observed.

“Almost twenty years. I always hate it when people call us frenemies. Bruce is one of my best friends, he would technically be Jordan’s Godfather, if Me and Lois were the religious type. I wasn’t always thrilled with his choices, especially when he brought Dick into the fight, but the kid turned out great, as did the others.”

“I think it would be fair to say you helped keep the rosy in that boy’s cheeks. You came up with Nightwing didn’t you?” Clark chuckled at the Question.

“Yes, like you said though I just helped. But I have two boys full time and I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.” Clark caught the H word. Rarely would he use a damn but it felt honest.

“Once again Clark, you are no different than any parent today. Bruce has definitely not been perfect. But we’re not here to compare the Dark Knight and the Man of Steel, we’re here to talk about you.” Clark took a long sip of hot green, choosing his next words.

“I wasn’t around as much as I should have, with the boys I mean. Between the Planet, Metropolis and the literal planet. I remember missing their seventh birthday. I had to lie and tell them I had to work on a scoop out of town.”

“What were you actually doing?” Leslie asked.

“Stopping a forest fire in California. But let me tell you, the disappointment in their faces was a lot more scorching. Especially Jordan.”

“Jordon is where you’re finding the most contention?”

“Yes and No. I don’t want to minimalize Jonathan. I took him from the only home he knows, he and his girlfriend broke up and theirs a huge possibility he may never have powers. He called Smallville his Kryptonite.”

“And what did you do?”

“I pulled the typical parental platitudes. You tell yourself you’re going to be different from your folks and then you open your mouth…” Leslie nodded.

“And Jordan?”

 The former journalist sat back.

“The kid is dealing with social-anxiety, he’s developing powers and there’s no telling what he’s capable of. I feel like I’m making it worse and Jordan confirmed it, loudly.” Leslie pressed on and Clark explained to her about everything, including taking Jordan to the Fortress, how his father made the kid feel inadequate, how he was struggling with the heat vision, the strength, Jonathan’s passive aggressive resentment, not to mention puberty was in the periphery.

“Elsa’s Ice castle?” They both shared a smile.

“I sent him to his room. Standard procedure in our house.”

            “No, it’s a good way to diffuse tension. It allows you to compartmentalize and figure your next move. I assume you talked after?”

            “Yes. And it was great. I got a smile out of him, until he got mad for something else and it feels like the entire board gets erased.”

            “He’s a teenager Clark. Not excusing any rudeness, but I think it’s great you give both your boys a little grace when expressing themselves. Some parents are too quick to jump at the smalless inflection in the voice or movement in the face.”

            “My parents were good about those things to. I can lift a submarine, break the sound barrier and kick Kalibak’s backside across Metropolis but Jordan…” He trailed off.

            “Jordan doesn’t need to be saved, Clark,” Leslie finished.

            “I didn’t say that.”

            “But that was where the bus was stopping. When you speak of Jonathan it’s more typical teenager. Having to move, new school, new football team—”

            “Jordan’s powers—”

            “You keep saying that too. I have a question for you.” Clark nodded.

            “Would you have preferred that Jonathan had the powers instead of Jordan?” she caught his hesitation, but waited.

            “I don’t have a favorite Leslie.” It came out more forced then intended but the therapists resolve did not waver.

            “That’s not what I asked Clark. I’ll rephrase, would it have been better If Jonathan had the powers.” Leslie hit a nerve, no small feat. He wouldn’t look into her eyes, just staring down at the tea bag at the bottom of his mug.

            “Jonathan, he has his flaws and like I said I have my short comings with him but, I get him. That sounds horrible. “

            “No, it doesn’t Clark. It sounds honest. Keep going.”

            “I suck at articulating myself.”

            “You’re doing fine. We’ll get every piece in the puzzle in its place.”

            “When I told them my secret, Jordon accused me of wanting John to have the powers instead of him. I take responsibility for not considering, it was just the hurt in his eyes, the hurt in both their eyes. Honestly, I was hoping neither of them would have them. These abilities come with a price. I’ve lost a lot along the way. You have enough on your plate in life without putting on a costume.”

            “Clark, I can tell you for a fact you don’t have a favorite. You just have a different relationship, no more no less, just different,” Leslie sipped.

“It’s not like Jordan and I have nothing in common. We have the same sense of humor, we share the same favorite flavor of ice cream, both love Stephen King novels, I can go on but the older he got the more separated we got and now we share this huge thing.” Clark paused for a moment. Lesley waited with a saint’s patience. 

            “I’m not worried Jordan is going to level a town or become a supervillain. Lois has always been his anker when it came to his mental health. She was able to quell every tantrum and talk him through every anxiety attack, I was lucky if I could make it to one of his therapy sessions. His brother even has a better grasp of what’s going on.”

            “I’m sure your, well maybe training is not the best word, but coaching him with these abilities?”

            “Yes of course, and it’s helped us get closer actually, it’s just…”

            “The unpredictability. I’ll repeat Clark, he’s a teenager. They are figuring things as they go along, they aren’t in the eye of the storm, they are the storm, social anxiety, super powers or not. You are capable of such great feats Clark. You can stop a building from burning with your freeze breath and weld the beams of broken bridges with your fire eyes…” Clark nodded while cracking a smile.

            “But Jordan is not a burning building, or a broken bridge, not even a cat in a tree. He’s a young man like you once were figuring out his place in the world and good fortune to him has a more developed support system.” Clarks’ brow lifted.

            “Don’t get me wrong, your parents were the gold standard. They took a baby and not just any baby, one that fell from the sky and raised him with unconditional love and helped him develop his gifts when they didn’t know what the heck they were doing and when you became a man, they supported you becoming a hero. Your mother made you your first costume. You won a lottery anyone would dream to cash in.” the farm boy shelved his brow, taking in this information as easy as his cup of tea.

            “From what you’ve told me, the boys are acclimating to small town life. Jonathan has made new friends and met a new girl and Jordon is coming out of his shell and through his abilities as well. You teaching him it’s actually bringing you two closer together, not further apart. You told me your powers are driven by emotion, that’s something you can relate to with Jordan, that’s your way in and you both can bounce off each other.”  Clark was about to respond—

            “But what if—”

            “Nope. What if Jordan zapped someone on the field? What if Jonathan blew up in that trailer? What ifs are bread and butter to intrusive thoughts and I sympathize with you having them, we all do. My understanding Clark is that a lot of these insecurities you have stem from Kara and not to be to blunt, Loise’s miscarriage.” That caught the Man of Steel off guard but remembered that Lois did talk to Leslie years ago.

            “I feel like I abandoned her.”

            “You were a young man in his early twenties, finding his place in the world. Not to mention introducing yourself to that world as Superman. No one could expect you to take care of a ten-year-old girl. You gave her to a family that helped her thrive and she has become a remarkable young woman and hero in her own right, regardless of sharing the same crest as her cousin and it wasn’t as if you flew away from her life, you still visited and kept in touch.”

            “And Lois?”

            “You both went through something that many have gone through. It is horrible and immeasurable painful and though you both may never heal completely from such a loss, you and Lois have been fantastic parents to those boys despite the fact you are not going to always get it right.” This was a lot for Clark to process and he could see the session would soon be up on the clock.

            “I know I’ve given you the cliff notes version and this has been a lot for a preliminary consultation, but I promise you if you come see me Clark, with an absolute understanding that you have two lives to juggle, I will help you navigate both sides to the best of my ability.”

            “I would really like that Leslie, I’ve never been this open with someone, except for Lois and I keep having these feelings of inadequacy.”

            “Clark honey. What you need to learn is acceptance. You see, you’re trying to solve everything with Superman, instead of Clark Kent, the husband and father. You have a secret identity for a reason. Jordon is going to be working with his anxiety for the rest of his life, it isn’t going to go away. You can’t protect him from it, like you protect a civilian from criminals. Same goes for Jonathan.” He nods.

            “You think you’re so alone Clark, another thing you and Jordon have in common. The truth is you are going through what so many men, parents, all together human beings have gone through. Trust me, I worked in Arkham. I have had sessions with nuisances like Condiment King all the way down the abyss with that evil fucking clown. I have seen hell in human and it wears a tacky purple suit. You have seen the embodiment of greed and xenophobia and you’ve come out on the other side a better person, but you have to accept that you can’t be invincible all the time and put away the cape when you need to.” Clark wiped his eyes as the clock chimed.

            “Now that I’ve talked your ear off. We will schedule are next session during the week and we will continue discussing all of this as much as we need to.” They both stood.

            “Thank you, Leslie.” Clark hugged the tiny woman and she hugged just as tight.

                                                                        The End

[little-pondhead]

Your Ancient History, Written In Wax

-

Danny knew he should have put better security around the Sarcophagus of Eternal Sleep. It wasn’t even Vlad who opened it this time! The fruitloop was too busy doing his actual mayor duties because for some godforsaken reason, the man got re-elected.

No, it wasn’t Vlad. And it wasn’t Fright Knight, either. Nor the Observants. Who opened the Sarcophagus, then? Danny didn’t have time to find out as Pariah Dark promptly tore open a hole in reality and started hunting Danny down.

The battle was longer this time. He didn’t have the Ecto-Skeleton, as that was the first thing Pariah had destroyed. The halfa had grown a lot over the past few years, and learned some new tricks, but apparently sleeping in a magic ghost box meant that Pariah had absorbed a lot of power. The bigger ghost acted like a one-man army!

Amity Park was caught in the middle of the battle, but the residents made sure it went no further than that. Vlad and the Fentons made a barrier around the town to keep the destruction from leaking. Sam, Tucker, and Dani did crowd control while Danny faced the king head-on.

Their battle shook the Zone and pulled them wildly between the mortal plane and the afterlife. Sometimes, residents noticed a blow from Pariah transported them to the age of the dinosaurs, and Phantom’s Wail brought them to an unknown future. Then they were in a desert. Then a blazing forest. Then underwater. It went on like that, but no one dared step foot outside of Amity. They couldn’t risk being left behind.

It took ages to beat him, but eventually, Danny stood above the old ghost king, encasing his symbols of power in ice so they couldn’t be used again. He refused to claim the title for himself. Tired as he was, Danny handed the objects off to Clockwork for safe keeping and started repairing the damage Pariah had done to the town. The tear he’d made was too big to fix, for now, so no one bothered. They just welcomed their new ghostly neighbors with open arms and worked together to restore Amity Park.

Finally, the day came to bring down the barrier. People were gathered around the giant device the Fentons had built to sustain it. Danny had brought Clockwork to Amity, to double check that they had returned to the right time and dimension.

Clockwork assured everyone that they were in the right spot, and only a small amount of time had passed, so the Fentons gave the signal to drop the shield.

Very quickly did they discover that something was wrong. The air smelled different. The noise of the nearby city, Elmerton, was louder and more chaotic. Something was there that wasn’t before, and it put everyone on edge.

Clockwork smiled, made a remark about the town fitting in better than before, and disappearing before Danny could catch him.

Frantic, Danny had a few of his ghost buds stay behind to protect the town while he investigated.

He flew far and wide, steadily growing horrified at the changes the world had undergone. Heroes, villains, rampant crime and alien invasions. The Earth was unrecognizable. There were people moving around the stars like it was second nature and others raising dead gods like the apocalypse was coming. Magic and ectoplasm was everywhere, rather than following the ley lines like they were supposed to.

Danny returned to Amity.

The fight with Pariah had taken them through space and time. Somewhere along the way, they had changed the course of history so badly that this now felt like an alien world.

How was he supposed to fix this?

-

In the Watchtower, The Flash was wrapping up monitor duty while Impulse buzzed around him, a little more jittery than usual. The boy was talking a mile a minute, when alarms started blaring an alarming green. Flash had never seen this alarm before, and its crackling whine was grating on his ears.

Flash returned to the monitor, frantically clicking around to find the issue, but nothing was popping up. No major disasters, no invasions, no declarations of war. Nothing! What was causing the alarm?

Impulse swore and zipped to a window, pressing his face against it and staring down at Earth. “Fuck! It’s today isn’t it? I forgot!”

“What’s today?” Flash asked. He shot off a text to Batman, asking if it was an error. The big Bat said it wasn’t, and that he would be there soon.

“The arrival of Amity Park. I learned about this in school; the alarm always gives me headaches.”

Flash turned to his grandson, getting his attention. “Bart,” he stressed. “What are you talking about?”

Impulse barely glanced over his shoulder. Now that Flash was facing him, he could see a strong glow coming from Earth. “The first villain, first anti-villain, and the first hero,” he said anxiously. “They all protect the town of the original metas. They’re all here.”

“Here? Now??”

“Yeah? They weren’t before, but they are now. The first hero said there was time stuff involved, which was what inspired me to start practicing time travel in the first place.”

“I’m not following.”

“It’s okay. We should probably go welcome them before they tear apart Illinois, though. The history I remember says that some of them freaked and destroyed a chunk of the Midwest during a fight with each other.”

“WHAT?”

[shigayokagayama]

sorry maybe one day ill stop being mad about how the anime adapted the confession arc but today is not the day because im stuck thinking about how much of a blunder it was not to include this page

because like. to me this was the thing that defined my reading of this arc. this was the moment that made me go "oh, this isn't mob unconsciously doing this, this is someone else"

so then when you read through the rest of it you share mob's frustration. why are all these people treating this thing like it's mob? this isn't mob. this is some dangerous entity puppeting his body and hurting people! mob would never do this!

and then

oh.

oh.

this is mob.

this is mob as much as the teru who nearly killed someone who refused to fight back just because they didnt share his worldview is teru. this is mob as much as the ritsu who hurt dozens of people weaker than him just because he could is ritsu. this is mob the way the reigen who lied to him for years is reigen.

the part of you that lashes out and hurts people when you're scared or hurt or frustrated isnt some other scary thing that you have to control.

it's just you.

but people still love you.

[bastard-loki]

took me by surprise

[royalarchivist]

Pac: I'm- I'm worried about it! Oh, I don't want to be locked up again! I don't want to be kidnapped again, you know? I don't want to be in prison! [He starts hyperventilating] I just want to do what they told me to do!

Tubbo: [Overlapping] No one will know you did that! No one will know.

Fit: Yeah, that's not gonna happen! It's not gonna happen, it's ok.

Pac: It might happen! It might happen! It happened with my friend! It happened with my son! Why wouldn't it happen with me? [Sighs]

Tubbo: There's gotta be someone left to hold down the fort!

Fit: That's right, you gotta stay strong!

Pac: I'm the weakest of all, you know? I'm the weakest of all the Favela.

Fit: You're not the weakest Pac, don't say that.

Pac: –I am! I am. I am.

[Full Transcript ↓ ]

—

Tubbo: C'mon, just point me in the general direction, and it'll be fine! And–

Pac: I'm scared, I'm scared to say! I'm scared to say–

Tubbo: No, no! Just say it, just say it! Like–

Pac: I'm- I'm worried about it! Oh, I don't want to be locked up again!

Fit: Pac– it's ok!

Pac: I don't want to be kidnapped again, you know? I don't want to be in prison! [He starts hyperventilating] I just want to do what they told me to do!

Tubbo: [Overlapping] No one will know you did that! No one will know.

Fit: Yeah, that's not gonna happen! It's not gonna happen, it's ok. Wait, Pac– when–

Pac: It might happen! It might happen! It happened with my friend! It happened with my son! Why wouldn't it happen with me? [Sighs]

Tubbo: There's gotta be someone left to hold down the fort!

Fit: That's right, you gotta stay strong!

Pac: I'm the weakest of all, you know? I'm the weakest of all the Favela.

Fit: You're not the weakest Pac, don't say that.

Tubbo: Yeah, so why would they take you?

Pac: –I am! I am. I am.

Fit: No no no no– you're strong Pac, you're strong.

Tubbo: [Overlapping] You're not the weakest Pac, you're not the weakest!

Pac: [Overlapping] I don't want to be that guy, I don't want to be the weakest and like, the saddest of all. I wanna be happy! [Sighs] That's why I took the pills also...

Tubbo: You seemed– when–

Pac: I wasn't happy.

Tubbo: I mean, you were happy when we were chatting before about about the railway? Maybe- maybe there's other- other places to find joy, other than a briefcase full of very... unlabeled pills?

[batsandcranes]

@batsandcranes

[drdelicatetouchreturns]

I LOWKEY WANNA GET ADOPTED BY SPADE????

...what-

[thatdustybunny]

spy x family chapter discourse as of late...

[allonepiece]

from issue n.13

[theposhperyton]

All evidence suggests yes

[raayllum]

anyway Rayla's body language throughout the whole "there's a burden I'm carrying" talk as she - for the first time - outright asks for emotional support, especially after everything that's happened, fucking kills me, because look at her!!

she's so unsure and nervous and awkward and stumbling and trying so hard, because she wants this. she wants their relationship to be better and knows, even if it goes against her every instinct, that this is a part of it, and she's going to Try!!

[angeart]

hhau mimic arc rambles part III bonus: the eclipse

(~2,8 k words) // other parts & au masterpost here

Every couple of years, there’s a total eclipse in this world. The moon is big, obscuring the sun in a horrible totality, entrapping it for what feels like too long. This is a big event, but not because people are eager to spectate the sky and bask in its weirdness. No, it has much worse connotations.

Because the eclipsed moon affects many of the hybrids. Especially the animal ones.

Hunters look forward to the eclipse because it promises a lot of loud, distressed, instinct-driven hybrids scattering about without many defences. They prepare traps specifically for this occasion and organise big hunting parties, eager for the upcoming bloodbath and bounty.

The eclipse happens mid-winter while Scar and Grian are on the server.

And it’s awful.

[cws violence, murder (no known characters), panic, mind-altering states and a loss of self control, haywire instincts, non-consensual manhandling, horrory vibes]

They don’t really know what is happening at first. Hermitcraft is a safe server which has many things coded differently, and because eclipses hurt many hybrids, they never happen there. So Scar and Grian have never experienced anything like this, and the yank it has on Grian’s state in particular is startingly sharp and terrifyingly confusing.

Scar himself is alright, because—and the two of them don’t know this at the time—vexes are immune to the eclipse. 

Actually, that’s not quite accurate. The eclipse helps heighten their magic.

They thrive.

Grian does anything but thrive.

His instincts go absolutely batshit haywire. He starts getting disoriented and incredibly uneasy, anxiety holding him in a choke hold, and all rationality and caution leave him, replaced by pure fear. 

He starts making inadvertent chirping sounds, panicked, and no matter what Scar says or does, Grian can’t seem to stop.

It’s so dark outside. And Grian’s chirping isn’t the only one that sounds through the forest.

In a world where they thought avians might be all nearly hunted to extinction, there are now suddenly, in this darkness, piercing faraway chirps. Just as panicked and lost-sounding as Grian’s own.

But those are not the only sounds the looming forest has to offer.

There’s also hollering and cheers. Whistles and barks. Twigs snapping under careless boots. Hunter parties following every single hybrid noise right to its source only to slice it shut. Shrill, chilling screams before some hybrid inevitably plunges into absolute, horrifying silence.

Scar’s desperately trying to get Grian to shush. He pleads him to stop, to be quiet. Tries to calm him down.

But it’s all futile. Grian has no control over himself. He can’t make it stop; it’s a wholly new kind of fear, overpowering and unfamiliar, yanking at his instincts. (It feels, a little bit, like a huge moon crashing down while the ground underneath him shakes and disintegrates.) (It feels like locking eyes with someone and not being sure if he’ll ever get to see them again.) (It feels like apocalypse. Like the end.) (His mind screams at him and he can’t help but scream along with it.)

Scar wonders if he should put a hand over Grian’s mouth. He doesn’t know what to do, but the hunters are out there, in large numbers, tireless and eager, and Grian’s voice is now the beacon luring them over, pinging with their exact location.

Grian is slowly backing away, hunched, feathers puffed. His wings are semi-curled around him, no longer tucked under the cloak, even though they’re out in the open. 

He doesn’t seem like he’d do well with being touched.

But Scar needs him to be quiet. For Grian’s sake too.

Before Scar can do anything, though, Grian’s earwings flit wildly and he whips his head to the side, honing in on some noise.

It’s a distressed chirp, one that sounds closer than any of the other ones. 

It’s an avian in distress calling for help.

Grian thought there aren’t any avians but him, and now there is one, still alive, so very close, desperate for aid, and— Grian’s mind blanks. There’s only one single thing to do here. He isn’t thinking. His heart beats wildly in overdrive. His body moves.

Blindly, Grian bolts in the direction of the sound. 

And it’s up to Scar to scramble and run after him. 

It’s more than that. More than just following Grian. Because there is so much at stake, and he needs to stop him and quiet him and— And he might have to exert force, and—

Oh. He is basically hunting Grian down here.

He is the hunter following in the steps of a terrified avian.

And Grian, in his dazed and fragmented perception of the world, feels just like prey. There is so much happening for him right now: it’s dark and all he can see is Scar’s piercing vex eyes when he glances over his shoulder; he’s lost in panicky instincts, trying to reach another avian in distress, hurtling blindly towards potential danger; and he does feel hunted.

On top of that, he can’t stop the stream of bird noises. He can’t pull his wings under his cloak either. He’s stumbling and tripping and scaping himself all over, but he feels like he needs to keep running.

He no longer knows if he’s even heading the right way. The chirping he was following fell dead silent. His head is just screaming at him. Hot white panic and a cacophony of unstoppable, overpowering instincts.

Scar has to stop him before he gets himself killed.

As awful as it is, Scar doesn’t care about that other potential avian (it could be a trap) nearly as much as he cares about Grian. His priorities here are clear, desperation thick and loud in his lungs, pressing at his ribs. There’s no time for bargaining or for steeling himself. 

He needs to act.

Scar grabs Grian and tackles him to the ground.

He’s pinning him down, sort of straddling him, hands on Grian’s mouth, hopelessly trying to muffle the noises. He feels absolutely vile, but he doesn’t know what else to do. His breaths come in little sharp huffs of blue magic, shiny through the darkness as he expels a ton of emotional energy just to keep himself from panicking and crying.

He finds that it’s not as easy to hold Grian down when he doesn’t want to be pinned down. But also it is. It is easy, far too easy—harrowingly so. Grian’s so light. (It frightens Scar to even touch the thought of how simple this would be for the hunters too.) 

He’s terrified of hurting Grian accidentally. He’s very capable of it; Grian’s made of brittle hollow bones after all, and Scar’s grip is a bit too strong, but he doesn’t have a choice here. Grian won’t stop thrashing, fighting to be freed. (But Scar knows that letting go would almost surely result in Grian’s death.)

And where Grian’s attention is kind of selective, not processing things at all, Scar’s attention is sharp—sharpened by panic—keenly attuned to their surroundings. He hears all the various noises come and go. Not necessarily chirps; other hybrids, too. Them falling silent. The hunters yelling. And the screams. God. The awful screams.

They’re all too far away for now, thankfully, but if Grian won’t stop, they’re bound to come this way. After all, if Scar can hear them, surely they can hear Grian too—?

Scar feels nauseous and horribly helpless. The hunters cheer and laugh as the hybrid noises go dead silent, one by one— only the hounds left barking and howling in their wake.

Scar knows that, even though it’s awful, they can’t help any of those hybrids. But he’s going to do everything in his power so that at least the two of them can survive this.

Despite all his (pointless) efforts, the hunters catch up to them anyway.

As they approach, Scar is struggling to quiet Grian down, and Grian isn’t thinking straight enough to properly fight. It’s the worst possible situation. 

There’s no point in quieting Grian down anymore when the hunters are right here though, and so Scar moves on the defensive, ready to give it all to keep Grian alive. The fight is ugly, drenched in frightening desperation; Scar is numb to the pain even when something tears. Grian’s chirps get worse. Warmth drips down Scar’s face.

But then a different sort of howling breaks through Scar’s mounting panic, and—

A group of wild vexes rushes in. Not to save Scar and Grian in particular; it’s just a lucky timing.

Because as it turns out, just the way hunters set off to hunt down hybrids during the eclipse, the vexes—who are more powerful at this time, magic thrumming strongly in their veins—set off to hunt down the hunters. So nicely accumulated for them. So loud. So easy to find. 

The vexes and the humans clash, and in the swell of the chaos, Scar manages to drag Grian away. 

He wants to keep going, increase the distance between them and everyone else as much as possible, but all too soon the forest opens up into fields, and no way he’s pulling a dazed Grian out there where they can’t hide. So instead he swerves, anchoring them against a rock formation—an array of boulders and a jagged cliff wall. 

He presses Grian into a small dent there, covering him with his own body (imprisoning him there, in a way). Hiding Grian’s wings, muffling his chirps, whispering frantic things that are meant to be soothing. The sky is still dark, and Grian’s still chirping, although it’s quieter now; it’s clear he’s exhausting himself, but he’s still making noises. Still unable to stop, despite the terror and the fatigue.

They get found again.

But it’s not the human hunters that find them this time. It’s the vex group, sneaking up on them, all their sharp edges drenched in blood, glowing with magic.

Scar turns his back to Grian, still pressing against him, tucking him against the rocks, hiding him as much as possible. He’s ready to lash out. He’s ready to fight with these vexes, even if he’s outnumbered. (He’s got no species loyalty here, after all.) 

In a curious tone, one of the vexes says: “That avian is going to get you killed.”

The words register to Grian through the haze. He’s still absolutely lost amidst this all, barely understanding the world around him, struggling to process anything. But there’s something about the words avian and get you killed, and the thought of Scar, that makes it through the fog.

It only serves to make him more distressed. He breathes in sharp, shallow breaths, and his chirping grows louder again, high pitched. But it’s not just the chirps this time. Some of the sounds he makes are choked, merging into something more like himself—the sound of helpless sobs.

Scar is shielding Grian with his back, but that means he’s turning his back on Grian’s cries and all of his misery. He cannot comfort him. He has no words that would make Grian not afraid right now.

The vex suggest leaving Grian or—worse—using him as a bait.

Scar’s staring them down, growling lowly, one eye squinted as blood runs down his face. “How about you leave.”

The vex don’t budge. They think they’re after a good thing here, after all. Surely, Scar also wants these hunters dead?

What they’re suggesting isn’t to sacrifice Grian as a bait—they don’t actually want to outright hurt or endanger him, even if it maybe doesn’t translate well through their stance and words. They’re not malicious in that way. What they’re suggesting is simply pragmatic in their minds. (I mean, they wouldn’t grieve if the avian happened to die there, but it wasn’t their goal to let it happen.) 

“We’re hunting the humans,” they note, as if that should’ve been enough to sway Scar. “We could use the avian—”

“No.”

One of the vex, white hair braided and smile sharp, peeks past Scar, trying to glimpse the feathers. The violet shade reflected in the glow of their magic tells him everything he needs to know, sating his curiosity, and he whistles, impressed. Amazed that an avian like this has lasted so long.

Scar lunges at him for getting too close.

He gets laughed at in return. What’s he gonna do, all alone? Not even channelling his magic to heal his own wound. It’s just funny to them. Cute. “What’re you going to do?” they tease, a bit too cheerily for the situation at hand. It rings threatening. “You’re outnumbered, pal.”

Scar doesn’t back down. “I’d take at least one of you down with me.” It’s a big statement. Covering up all of his nauseating fear and unending tension. Because he’ll do it. He’ll fight if he has to, and it will be ugly, and he might fail—he might die—but he’ll for sure give it everything he has.

And he can tell there’s camaraderie between this group of vexes. That they don’t really want any of them seriously hurt. 

They, as vexes, know the best how dangerous a feral, cornered vex with something to protect can be.

There’s a sliver of respect this earns Scar, unbeknownst to him. The will to stand up to them even when he’s outnumbered like this. To not give in to the pressure and instead fight for his values. For what he cares for.

The white haired vex—seemingly a leader of the group of sorts—reiterates, tone a bit lower, that the avian is going to get Scar killed. That he’d be better off without him. (Essentially voicing the deep rooted fear Grian already has.)

He also extends an invitation, almost in the same breath, impressed by Scar standing up to them. But it’s only Scar who is invited, and it’s blatant—the condition laid down is drop the avian or let’s use him as a bait and hunt together. 

With sharp ire and a swell of protectiveness, Scar counters that he’d be better off without them, actually.

There’s a snort and a mocking, “Aight, let’s see how long you can last.”

The relief Scar feels when they relent and leave is immense, leaving him weak in his knees.

He thinks they’re foolish, risking themselves like that. In his mind, they’re the definition of the violent vex, that dark reputation that seems to now stick to Scar and follow him too by the virtue of being the same kind of hybrid. He doesn’t want anything to do with that. 

And of course, he’d never leave Grian.

Grian is his last connection to home. He loves him, even if it never feels like it’s enough.

Excruciatingly slowly, sun eventually peeks back out. But even then, it takes Grian a very long time to untangle himself from these dazed, nonsensical instincts. It’s such a heavy, sticky veil and he’s left disoriented and confused for the longest time. Through his exhaustion, he feels weak and dizzy and out of it.

Scar is also exhausted, but they’re nowhere near safe yet. Still pressed against the rocks. Every nerve ending is flared up, Scar’s senses alert to the point of flinching at the subtlest sound, hypervigilant. But as Grian slumps and quiets down, Scar’s firm grip on him follows. 

Slowly, so slowly, Scar’s hold on Grian becomes comforting instead of restricting and terrifying.

He can tell that it left bruises.

Scar hates everything about it, but— They’re alive.

The sun is back, Grian is quiet, and they’re alive.

But they still need to find safety. And Grian’s so frazzled, still processing what even happened. The blurred memories of chirps and howls and screams swirl through his mind. He feels lightheaded, and like his skull is stuffed full, unable to think clearly. He doesn’t quite understand any of it, and his body feels locked in place. 

Grian wants to stay sitting here until everything starts making sense, but they don’t have that kind of time. They can’t stay. They need to move. They need to properly hide. 

Scar feels awful, but he needs to push through. He needs to force Grian to move.

The snow is splattered with blood. The forest is dead silent, scattered bodies left behind all across it. The area is riddled with traps, some activated and others still hidden, waiting to be triggered. 

The sun is shining.

The silence is eerie.

The scent of blood is thick and fresh and nothing feels safe.

--

Later, when Grian’s more coherent, he says, “They were right.” In an incredibly quiet, fragile, unsteady voice—but laced with determination—he tells Scar: “You should’ve taken their deal.”

Scar immediately tries to dismiss it. Preferably to not engage with this conversation at all. “Not interested.”

Grian registers the shut down of the discussion, but that doesn’t make it any less loud inside of his mind (and heart). He simply goes quiet and withdraws. Lips pursed, lightly frowning, staring somewhere away.

They don’t talk about it again.

Late at night, when Grian can’t sleep because he’s too high strung, he thinks of how it’d feel like, to be used by those vexes as a bait.

He dreams about it.

He dreams of faraway chirps and laughter and hounds finding him.

He has so many nightmares after this.

-------

BONUS screenshot for shits n giggles:

[obstinaterixatrix]

Molly Bauer's first year of college is not the picture-perfect piece of art she'd always envisioned. On day one at PICA, Molly discovers that--through some horrible twist of fate--her full-ride scholarship has vanished! But the ancient texts (PICA's dusty financial aid documents) reveal a loophole. If Molly and 9 other art students win a single game of softball, they'll receive a massive athletic scholarship. Can Molly's crew of ragtag artists succeed in softball without dropping the ball?

The author of the New York Times best-selling Check, Please series, Ngozi Ukazu, returns with debut artist Madeline Rupert to bring an energetic young adult story about authenticity, old vs. new, and college failure. It also poses the question: "Is art school worth it?"

I’ve been a huge fan of sakana since forever, and I like self-contained sports stories (the heated drama is peak, but I can’t stick with something super long) so I knew I’d love this graphic novel. and I was right.

I like the ensemble! The focus is primarily on the main character, but you get the sense they’re doing their own stuff in the periphery. wrangling a bunch of art students is a really funny concept and allows for a lot of personality contrasts.

it’s not a romance, but it does have romantic elements, and the love interest-type character is SO funny. there were several scenes with her that legit got a laugh out of me

super worth it, 100% recommended for a fun time. might give ex-art school students psychic damage

[randompiggy]

One touch?! ONE touch??!!!