#okay so i left the timing of this vague

[mugglebrn]

YOU'D THINK BY NOW THAT SHE'D BE USED TO IT. That after years of flying broomsticks and lakes filled grindylows, of enchanted ceilings and potions that could turn you green - Hermione might just be used to everything magic offered. That would be incorrect.

The charmed pumpkin bellows as they come upon it; it's carved face warping in expressions that were intended to frighten the living daylights out of unsuspecting patrons that dared near the storefront. And it succeeded. Hermione about jumps a mile with a screech, hand grasping for @waslikemagic's arm, all the Gryffindor bravery startled right out of her.

The pumpkin bellows and taunts her, apparently magicked with enough awareness to know when it had achieved it's purpose. Indignation crosses her features and her bushy eyebrows pull into a frown, about ready to have a go at the sentient winter vegetable. However, her eye catches Harry's, at the equally surprised look on his face and instead, she breaks out into a laugh, still clutching his arm, only this time in support as she doubles over with the force of her giggles.

[averlym]

litany of the martyrs (click for better resolution!)

[indestructiblelittlefuckers]

plotted starter from stede for @tatteredxsails

It still seemed as if it was all a dream. One minute he was drunkenly fighting Zhang, the next they were burying Izzy. Was anyone fully present at the funeral? Everyone seemed too lost, as if they didn't believe Izzy was gone either. Should they have buried him at the sea? Is this what Izzy would have wanted? Would he even care? So much Stede doesn't know about the former first mate... and it stings that now he can never know, not from Izzy. Not even from Ed.

And Ed... So different now from how he was before... It's different to be with someone when everything is okay, when the worst that has happened is a difference of opinion. They could fix that. They could talk. How are they supposed to fill the hole Izzy had left? Oh, Izzy. Does he even know the impact he had on Ed? It didn't seem so, not when he was dying. How I wish you were here.

❝ We should talk about... what happened. ❞ Stede finds himself asking, no longer waiting for the right time. When would be the right time? ❝ It's not good for either of us, to keep it all in. ❞ he tries to smile, and slowly reaches for Ed's hand ❝Don't you think so?❞

[lunaetis]

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬.

                can't breathe.

                can't breathe.

                can't breathe.

                it felt like drowning, but instead of water, it was nothingness. endless emptiness wrapped around the throat, its pressure enclosing around the form that laid unmoving. can't breathe. in the vast nothingness, there was, as the word suggested, nothing. no sign of light, no sign of hope, not a ounce of air. endless, endless, endless. it was darkness, it was void.

                NO LIFE. NULL.

                does it hurt ? was that a question ? who asked it ? there was no one there, nothing there, then where did the question came from ? why was it that she couldn't make out the sound of the person who posed the inquiry.

                person ? was it a person ? no, it didn't hurt. in fact, she couldn't feel anything. in the middle of OBLIVION, of nihility, there was a consciousness floating. name. name. name. what was ... ? what ... she had a name. she ? was it a she, now ? another choke, but there was no words coming out. not a sound. nothing. she struggled to move, yet her fingers wouldn't obey. it was as though her whole body wasn't hers to control anymore. it was then that fear started to creep in.

                fear ? are you capable of experiencing emotion ? again. questions. who asked that ? who was that ? it didn't hurt, but why was she feeling the BURN prickling at the bottom of her eyes. was she closing her eyes ? she couldn't see anything. nothing. no one. it wouldn't have mattered if her eyes were opened or not. she couldn't move, after all. she couldn't —

                fear.

                are you scared ? i am. i am. i am. but of what ? she didn't know. the cold pang running down her spine, the knifing pain in her chest, the throbbing of her head as though it was going to split into two. it hurts now. it hurts. but why was it that she felt relieved ? mouth opened, and no sounds were made. even when she was trying to call out A NAME, nothing came out. not a single syllable. she tried again, this time, louder, more desperate. the bottom of her eyes were beginning to sear even deeper. it hurts. it burns. were these tears ? how could it be —

                — how could you feel anything if you were simply created for one purpose and one purpose only.

                as a vessel to house the stellaron. that's it. that's all you were, all you are, all you could ever be. nothing more, nothing less. that's wrong. that's not true. i'm ...

                my name ... what is it ... ?

                can't breathe. you don't need air.                 i do. no you don't.                 you only need air if you're alive.                 you're not even alive.                 so why would you need it ?

                THAT'S NOT TRUE ! I'M — I'M ALIVE. I'M RIGHT HERE. THIS IS ME. I'M —

                " eden. "

                golden hues snapped open, and searing droplets streamed down her face. instinctively, she clung to the other person, grabbling at the sleeve so hard that it could almost bruise. she stared, wide-eyed, through the curtain of tears as though trying to make sense of reality, as though the other was her LIFELINE.

                she stared and held tight, like the other was the only one that could confirm her existence.

                like the other was the only one who knew that she was alive.

                i'm alive. i'm alive. i'm alive. right ? please tell me i am. please —

                " call my name ... " she asked, pleaded, begged. " ... please, call my name. "

                remind me who i am. remind me that i'm alive. that i'm here. that i'm real.

                " eden. " the voice made her fingers shake uncontrollably, and she placed that hand against her cheek, closed her eyes, as the tears stained the skin. the trailblazer inhaled sharply, lips trembling. " my eden. " her heart thumped. it pulsed, it answered.

                that's right.

                she curled towards the other, like a lost puppy having found her home.

                " i'm your eden. "

[penddraig]

days like these,   when the wind is up and the town has decided to raise its voice in exhilaration,   have always had howl's nerves on edge.   even moreso now that he knows @altarcup is wandering out here somewhere,   stupidly so,   because of another one of their famous arguments over something he doesn't quite care about now.   so it's only expected that he spots her on the edges of the crowd,   looking distressed.   and he's fairly certain there are a few people apprehending her at the moment.   that simply won't do.

before he can think to do anything different,   howl is moving toward her in long strides,   clearing the small barricade stretched across the narrow cobblestone street.   in another moment,   he's at her side,   just behind her,   wearing a companionable smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.   he places a hand between her shoulder blades,   the other moving across to take her wrist between his fingers.   as he suspected,   her heart rate has spiked considerably and probably painfully.   without announcement,   he bleeds his magic through his skin and into her own,   matching the pace of her heart with calcifer,   who he can feel in the back of his mind pulses steady and easy.

❝    right    i think it's time for us to be off now,    ❞    he says,   gently tugging her from her spot and toward one of the lesser-walked alleys,   where he might be able to risk being chewed out by her without any prying ears about.    ❝    come on.   this way.   and don't make me ask twice.    ❞

.゜––   starter call.  /  𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚎��𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐. ✨ heartbeat.

[fingertipsmp3]

So the x-ray went fucking terribly

[pigeonclaw]

Big ramble ahead but, okay. It kind of bothers me when people say Cinderpelt was forced to become a medicine cat. That language would seem to imply that she was forbidden from becoming a warrior, when that just... wasn't the situation.

After breaking her leg, she couldn’t walk properly. Travel became slow and exhausting for her, and as a result, everyone was worried that she couldn’t be a warrior. Up until this point in her life, becoming a warrior was the path basically everyone took, and if she couldn’t physically handle warrior duties, she feared that she was useless. But Yellowfang appreciated her company in the medicine den. She started giving her tasks to help her feel useful, and Cinderpelt began to regain some of her self esteem. After she had been helping out in the medicine den — not as an apprentice, but as a friend — for some time, Yellowfang made it clear how valuable she was as an assistant. When she eventually offered to take her on as an apprentice, Cinderpelt was overjoyed. She loved the crabby old cat and the work she did for her, and she was very dedicated to both.

I think the idea that her life was a tragedy because she switched to medicine cat training comes not from the first arc where her story actually takes place, but from Power of Three. When you’re years removed from a narrative, it’s very easy to think back on it and recontextualize it to fit into your own mindset. And that’s exactly what Power of Three did to her. In that arc, we do have a disabled protagonist forced to become a medicine cat (which is an even more complex topic), and Cinderpelt’s reincarnation of sorts as Cinderheart for the purpose of living the life she was supposedly meant to have. It’s... a bit of a tricky issue, because the notion that her life was a waste because of her disability is... troubling, to say the least. And the interpretation that her life was a waste because she didn’t cling stubbornly to the warrior path isn’t much better.

The reason this bothers me is because I feel, based on the books she's actually alive in, that she lived a full life (or would have, had she not died young). Cinderpelt wanted to be a warrior, yes. Her entire culture glorifies being a warrior more than anything. After her injury, she had to give up on that dream and pick up another. And she was a fantastic medicine cat! Before she was even officially made Yellowfang’s apprentice, she was praised for her enthusiasm, good memory, efficiency, and trustworthiness. It’s pointed out that she’s a quick learner and good with patients, and we see this regularly too. She was very determined, always going out of her way to do the right thing, even when she wasn’t allowed to. And this, combined with her medicinal skills, allowed her to touch so many lives. Cinderpelt didn’t accomplish the things she planned for when she was little, but her potential was not lost.

I’m not claiming that Warriors isn’t ableist at times. But I notice a tendency for folks to reframe every disabled character’s life as a sad tale of someone being forced to give up their dreams and live a worse life because no one believed in them — even when that isn’t really the case. Disability is a very complicated and sensitive subject that needs to be written with more care than it often is. But for a character to face limitations due to their disability, that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s bad writing and/or the abled characters around them are terrible. For a character to lose something as big as their dream, their goals, their ability to keep up with their peers... I don’t believe that alone is unrealistic or cruel. What matters far more for me in a story is how the disabled character handles their limitations and where they go from there. Please understand, also, that sometimes handling limitations is not the same as overcoming them. Not everything can be overcome. What’s important is what you do with what you have.

I may not have a twisted leg, but I do have a neurological disorder that has impacted every area of my life at one point or another. My spasms have been severe enough to injure me many times, and for years I couldn’t learn to drive because I was too afraid (and often rightly so) that it would be unsafe with my condition. I eventually had to give up on my education and dream job because of my failing health in general. For a long while, I was afraid I could never amount to anything because I couldn’t do any of the things I’d been aiming for since childhood. But with time, my situation has changed. I aimed for more realistic goals, bearing in mind that my disorder is made far worse by stress and exhaustion. My symptoms are less severe these days because I’m no longer stressing myself out trying to force my way through a career that my disability is simply not compatible with. Things aren’t perfect. But I’m figuring out a better way to proceed.

I think you get the picture. What I’m trying to say, and what Cinderpelt’s story means to me... is that having to give up on something doesn’t mean you’ve wasted your life, it doesn’t mean that you’re worth any less, and it certainly doesn’t mean you’ve been defeated. When bad things happen, you may not be able to return to how life was before. And maybe that’s okay.

[strayslost]

When Verlaine had heard about Yumeno, he had been curious. And curiosity is a luxury that he doesn't often have the chance to feel, nowadays... so is it any wonder he'd decided to seek the child out?

Perhaps they remind him of himself. A tool to be used, be it by the mafia or the government - or perhaps Verlaine feels some sort of alien sympathy for someone so young being forced into such a cruel world... yet it's not like the plight of humans has particularly moved him before, has it? In the end, he... isn't sure why he's here. It's a curiosity rooted entirely in a feeling he can't identify at all.

Now, he stands before them, wearing an expression that shows none of his thoughts at all. What a peculiar meeting, he thinks. What he wants, most of all, is to figure out what drove him to come here.

"Forgive me, but... I don't know what I should call you. Which name do you prefer? Q? Or do you go by something else?"

@theircurse ( starter! )

[orcelito]

Looking at stuff for my flight tomorrow & facing the fact that I won't be able to bring any knives with me... which is a Vibe Killer man it's killing my BRAND

I carry some 3 ish knives on me at all times and I'm gonna have to spend Six Days without any knives.... sad.

[istherewifiinhell]

Sorry I love it when character who are not and literally would not ever be romantically interested in each other have a weird deep instrisic connection that seems romantically flavoured. As is it’s my fault

[liesonthefloordramatically]

I've got demons running round in my head And they feed on insecurities I have Won't you lay your healing hands on my chest? Let your ritual clean

[universalfanfic]

Mary/Owen Rodeo AU

I went to the fair's rodeo with my friend and this has been in my head ever since. As a note: I don't actually know anything about rodeos or how they function.

Also this is all more of a sort of intro than anything with a plot. I was just having fun.

Mary belongs to @inkoutsidethelines

By all accounts Owen was too tall to be a good bull rider. Usually it was better to be as close to the bull as possible; the guys under 5’ 10'' had an easier time keeping their center of gravity balanced and not getting as much whiplash from being tossed around. Teetering close to 6’ 4”, Owen was an anomaly; but he was good. 

He wasn’t one to brag, but he wasn’t embarrassed by his status of “one of the biggest up and coming riders”. His dad had blazed a trail before him, and the rodeo announcers loved a good legacy rider. 

Though, this rodeo circuit had just started and there were plenty of new up and comers to keep him on his toes. 

Owen hiked his boot up onto the rails of the fencing and watched the other competitors as they had their turns. He was in the second set, so he had a little time before he was up. The bulls were putting on a good show today, and many of the guys he respected were getting thrown off before their eight seconds. It gave him a bit more wriggle room in the scoring to have less competition, but it also was a warning that he better make sure he had a good grip. 

The last rider for the first set managed to hold on the entire time and was rewarded with a score of 80; it was on the higher end of the scores so far and Owen leaned on his propped up knee as he contemplated. 

If he wanted to be in the top few, he might need to risk a little style over just holding on. 

The announcer stole his attention with the announcement of the first set of barrel racers, and Owen perked up. It was always fun to watch the ladies with their precision handling of their horses; and he had two reasons to pay attention. 

Maddie would be competing again after her forced hiatus from being bucked rather badly on her personal time. He knew she’d been itching to get back in the ring, so to speak, and if he knew her at all (and he did) she’d be twice as determined to prove she was still one of the best. 

But she had some competition. 

Mary “Daredevil” Murdock was quickly settling in as a top racer, and he was excited to see her in action. The announcers were fans of her daring corners and he’d heard she’d only knocked over a barrel twice so far in her career. At least competitively. 

Maddie was third to go with an 18.35 second time to beat. Some girls preferred to canter up to the starting line and run from there, but Maddie always burst into the arena as if her time started from the gates. 

She went left first and cut around the barrel close enough that he saw it wobble, but by the time it settled she was already cutting around the second, with slightly more distance. She managed the third without any other complications and then she snapped the reins against the horse to urge it faster in the straight stretch back to finish. 

17.45

Owen let out a whistle and whooped as she passed the gates and headed back for the pens; she smiled widely and held her hands up in victory as her horse trotted along. It was a good time. Anything lower than 18 and it really came down to the milliseconds. She had a decent chance of staying in the lead with time like that. 

And then they announced Daredevil was up. 

“Your bull‘s going in the pen in a second. You should gear up.” Connor momentarily distracted him and Owen waved in acknowledgement as he kept his eyes on the gate. 

“Got it.”

Her chaps are red. Was his first, flickering thought. She was obviously playing into her moniker; which he couldn’t blame her for. Not too many rodeo professionals actually acquired a nickname. 

She’s fast, was his second thought. 

Mary blazed through the gates with the same sort of determined gleam as Maddie; her eyes were set on the far left barrel and she leaned forward with her horse, crouched down so as to not create so much drag. She was shorter than Maddie; that’d help her. 

Mary pulled into a turn at the last second, her horse’s hooves skidding in the dirt as it nearly drifted around the barrel, and Owen was shocked the barrel didn’t move. She snapped the reins and tore across to the second. Then the third. 

Each time she rounded a barrel Owen held his breath as she came within a hair’s distance of them. Her precision was incredible. 

And then she was in the straight stretch and pushing her horse fast and faster. 

17.24 

Maddie would be irate this evening. 

Owen’s eyebrows rose and he let out another congratulatory whistle. It was loud enough to catch her attention as she headed for the pens, and she looked back to see who made the noise. Owen took off his Stetson and tipped his head to her. A smile flickered across her face and she winked. 

“Alright, Casablanca.” Connor interrupted. “You’re second up; let’s go.” 

“Next up is one of the top riders in this circuit, Owen Rogers.” The announcer declared. “He’ll be riding a bull named Fisky Business.” 

“Fisky Business,” the rodeo clown parroted in a mock surprise. “Now that’s more cheeky than my jokes!” 

“Indeed.” Agreed the announcer in amusement. “Seems like not everyone has forgotten that scandal a few decades ago. Let’s hope the bull isn’t the one making headlines after this ride.” 

Owen adjusted his grip on the rope, making sure it was tight but not tangled so he wouldn’t get caught in it when he needed to dismount. Fisky Business was one of the more agitated bulls today, and he was already ramming his body against the pen doors which made getting settled all the more difficult.

“Remember,” Conner instructed as he helped Owen get situated. “You just hold on the entire time and you get to the next round. You can save any pizazz for the finals.”

Owen snorted. 

“Pizazz? What ‘re you, a jazz instructor? And trust me; I know.”

“Call me that again and I’ll pay the clowns to let the bull at you. Now, if you don’t wanna embarrass yourself in front of lil Miss Devil, hold on tight.” 

“I don’t-” 

The pen opened and Owen’s argument was swallowed up as the bull charged into the arena.

Much of bull riding came down to instinct as anything else. There were tactics and skills to practice, sure, but when you were on an unpredictable animal and you only had eight seconds, you didn’t have too much time for thinking.

Owen kept his arm flexed as tightly as he could and kept the other above his head. The bull was going for spinning as well as bucking, and he angled his body back slightly to keep his balance. Fisky bucked into a spin and Owen felt his body tip slightly but tightened his legs and managed to stay upright. 

Somehow eight seconds always felt fleeting and eternal when a large animal would probably like to commit violence against you. 

The buzzer rang and he was still on the bull. The arena cheered and a thrill of accomplishment rushed through him. But then was the tricky part. 

Getting off the bull. 

Owen unwound his hand and waited for the bull to stop spinning a moment before he let go and threw his body to the side. His breath came out in a puff as he landed in the dirt and saw a flash of movement. He rolled away on instinct and just missed hooves coming down in the dirt where he once was. The clowns rushed forward to distract the bull as he ran for cover and the announcer let out an exclamation.

“Oh, that was a close one, folks! That wouldn’t have felt too good. And after a ride like that, I’m sure Owen Rogers wouldn’t want to end it on that note.” 

Owen did prefer his ribs unbroken. 

“His old man would be proud!” Declared the rodeo clown. 

“His father is proud; he’s still alive and probably waiting in the back.” 

“I didn’t say he was dead, I just said he would be. Like when he sees him.” 

The announcer sighed. 

Owen made his way out of the arena as they announced his score: 86. 

It was one of the highest scores he’d gotten so far and he couldn’t help his grin as he joined the others who’d already had their turn. 

“Yes!” Exclaimed Connor as he punched him in the shoulder. He passed Owen’s hat back to him and gave him a shake. “If today’s trend keeps up, you just may have a shot to win this whole thing, you giant freak.” 

“I still don’t know why I keep you on my team.” 

“You need the sponsorship. Plus your sister’s sweet on me.” 

“Has she figured that out yet?” Owen countered, tone humored. 

“Irrelevant.” 

Heat burned at his neck and Owen twisted around to catch the eyes of Mary Murdock. She grinned at him and Owen adjusted his hat and flippantly brushed Connor away. 

“I’ll be back,” he said.

“You hound.” Connor scoffed behind him. 

Mary kicked back against a pen railing as Owen approached. She looked amused by him and Owen stopped a few feet away and leaned his elbow against the rail as he faced her. 

This was their first official meeting since Mary had joined the show, but something about

her presence felt familiar. She had those warm brown eyes that reflected sun rays and made boys weak. 

“That was a mighty fine ride.” She said with a teasing, exaggerated drawl. “Though I’d wondered who’d end up hurting more. You or the bull’s back.” 

“Well,” said Owen, playing into her jibe, “I may have the reach on ‘m, but he certainly outweighs me. I figure it’s fair.” 

Her grin flashed wider. 

“You should think of adding the vest. He almost got you.” 

“Probably ‘bout near as you came to tipping those barrels.” 

Mary’s face lit up in pride and she straightened a little as she puffed up. 

“It’s all in the trust-” 

“Between horse and rider?” Owen finished for her with a grin. “Yeah. That’s what my sister says. Though I still don’t have a clue why a horse would trust her with anything.”

“Your sister’s good.” 

“Just not as good as you?” Mary grinned again. 

“I didn’t say so.” 

“If you’d be so kind, Miss Murdock,” said Owen, “I trust you won’t tell her I said anything of the sort either.”

Mary’s face warmed slightly and she attempted to recover with another smirk. 

“Stay in my good graces, Mr. Rogers, and I won’t have reason to.” 

It was too easy to get wrapped up in conversation with her. Owen could forget they weren’t long acquaintances and it was nearly startling. Generally he wasn’t so bold with the rodeo ladies, but he felt a pull towards Mary that he couldn’t explain. Had since Maddie ‘d first brought her up as the only competition she cared about this circuit. 

But then, Mary didn’t seem to find him too much of a stranger either. 

A girl ran up behind Mary. She shared a familial looking face and dark hair, but she had a more whimsical air to her nature. It was helped by her bedazzled jeans and pink leather jacket, the fringe hanging down farther than Owen thought practical. 

“Mary! Rutabaga keeps puffing up so I can’t tighten his saddle and I need your help. Ah, hello!” 

Owen tipped his hat to her and Mary patted her hand. 

“Alright, give me a second, Grace.” 

“I’m carrying a sponsor flag and we’re up soon.” 

“Alright!” 

She cast a look at Owen and he graciously took a step back as a sign she could feel free to leave. 

“Need any help?” 

“No, I think my sister and I can handle Rutabaga.” Mary winked again as Grace tugged on her arm. “But I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other around.” 

“Glad to officially meet you, Miss Murdock. I look forward to seein’ more of your races.” 

He shook his head and watched the Murdock sisters rush over to a large black horse that snorted as they approached. Creature looked like it had the attitude of a cat. 

A hand clapped on his shoulder and Connor came up beside him. 

“Please, don’t tell me you’re whipped after your first conversation.” 

Mary held the reins of Rutabaga’s harness and seemed to be giving him a stern talking to as Grace attempted to hurry and cinch the saddle strap. With Grace focused on the strap, Mary slipped something from her pocket and fed it to Rutabaga. A bribe. Owen grinned.  

“I wouldn’t say whipped.” He said. “But I bet she’s pretty decent with a lasso.” 

[ukulclc-archived]

7. hospitals at midnight [ 049! ]

everybody is screaming. they keep doing that, louder and louder, pointing at what isn't there, raving at how this is too strong for them, how they're all going to die. alto clef agent ukulele covers his ears, closes his eyes, tries to breathe. he feels that same confusion in his head, the constant rushing of his thought chasing each other as they try to catch one another, look at themselves, trying to remember what were they about. the only difference with his comrades it's that he knows what this is. it's reality altering, something that sneaked inside their minds and is now changing them as they like, like fear, like a virus. maybe it IS a virus. are you making me think this? he needs quiet. he needs a pause. why are they screaming? away. away. i need to go away.

he starts to walk, his hands still pressed on the ears. no one notices him going. he doesn't notice it.

he walks fast, further in the facility, but this damn corridors keep making the screams resound, making them even louder. his eyes are teary. it's like they're screaming directly in his ears. i always liked guns, i should be used to loud noises. but they scream and scream, and the corridors only make this worse, these damn corridors are awful, he needs to go further, he needs something between him and the screams, he needs, he needs a...

a door. he sees one just a few steps in front of him. he doesn't even think. he wants the screams to end. he opens the door, walks past the threshold. i stop.

for a moment, he just stares at what he has in front of. it doesn't look like the facility —— this is not that place at all. dark, dirty walls are now white, clean, smelling of disinfectant, the only sign of disarray a single metal table with medical tools left on the side of the corridor. on both sides, set of rooms with open doors; at the end, a wooden cross hanging on the wall, with a clock slowly ticking its precious seconds beside it. tic. tac. tic. tac. midnight. tic. tac. tic. tac.

his hands let the ears go. it's silent, here. and he doesn't even think of looking back at the door he just went through. maybe i should. no, he shouldn't. why? there's no reason. it's silent, here. he starts walking.

quick, respectful glances are given inside of the rooms. patients are sleeping ( are they? ), tranquil, the electrocardiograms beeping gently at the rhythm of their hearts ( yes, they must be sleeping then ), making so little sound to be almost non-existent ( are they really beeping, though...? ). room after room after room, the same sight, the same poses, until... a sudden stop, as he stares at the first, entirely empty room, a single bed at the centre of it. it looked more like an operating table than a bed. he feels himself tense. why am i thinking that this one is for me...?

a sudden feeling. his glance snaps towards the end of the corridor again, and suddenly, there is someone there. suddenly? or have they been there for some time? why... why is it so hard to focus? he reacts with delay, almost as if forgetting the most basic of training: his hands both clench the rifle, and push it up, aiming at the new arrival. focused, despite the sudden realization that he's been considering this sudden walk in a hospital completely normal. this isn't normal. the clock keeps ticking. tic. tac. five past midnight.

« w-who... ». what's that trembling voice, agent ukulele? you've been trained better than this. you certainly aren't starting to doubt your reality, are you? « ... who are... you... i c-can't... see... you... »

𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐞. / @umtplex

[exopelagic]

once again facing unstoppable force (anxiety-driven need to finish my work) vs immovable object (brain doesn’t wanna do anything but think abt little gay people)

[miraiconnection]

❝ i'm too confused to even sort it out. i've lost all sense of perspective. ❞ (we have not interacted yet so this needs to be rectified! I'm game with any of your muses, though I will say i'm not familiar with Horizons yet, i haven't watched much more than the first episode due to time)

"Sorry, maybe it's better not to worry about it for now." Easier said than done for most people, but time travel was becoming an almost normal part of her everyday life at this point. The girl gives a sheepish smile, extending her hand.

"My name's Akari, by the way!"

[theminecraftbee]

i think that the funniest thing about the swedishbeans saga so far is picturing it from joel's point of view because. okay. imagine. you are joel smallishbeans. you are new to this whole hermitcraft thing. you've met iskall like, twice, and he's been kind of weird every time, but you're kind of weird back so you guess it's fine or whatever. you leave for vacation. you come back. someone has sent you dozens of unsolicited love letters and as much as you joke about etho it's probably not him. you find out it's iskall. you go to confront him to figure out hey, what the hell is this about? he gives a dramatic speech about you being in love and having left a sign on a prank you didn't do (and didn't actually leave) with a kiss on it, and how that means you're in love. you're just like. nah, man, i don't... know you? i have a wife. the man wails about how you're an awful person who has been leading him on, a terrible trickster. you aren't entirely certain what you had to do with any of this. you get home. he's mailed you bad breakup poetry now and declared that he's moved on but you haven't. you're still vaguely confused as to what has happened. then he invites you back to his house to build a statue of yourself so that he quote "doesn't need you anymore". i cannot emphasize enough you have talked to this man like twice. gem accuses you of being in a love spider's web and you honestly can't say she's wrong you're just confused about why everyone thinks this is in any way your fault,