#the angsty took over

[orayart]

[true-blue-sonic]

My knowledge of '06 isn't the firmest, but I'm wondering something:

After Iblis got freed in the original timeline where Elise perished on Eggman's malfunctioning Egg Carrier, what did Sonic and friends do?

Elise has died, and Eggman presumably as well. We know for certain that Omega got reprogrammed by humanity to capture Shadow, who gets put in stasis, after which Omega goes into standby mode. But as far as I know, nothing else is said about Sonic, Tails, Knuckles, Amy, Rouge, and the extended cast who are not featured in the game. Did they take on the role Silver would too in his ruined future, where they kept fighting against Iblis until each of them perished also? How did they react to what humanity did to Shadow? And how did Iblis' destruction of the world go: was it quick and swift, or did it take many years?

I think it would suit Sonic especially to keep fighting until the bitter end... It is unfortunate that we know that, no matter what it is he and his friends did, their efforts were in vain, though.

[pearl-kite]

some fun experimenting and thinking about not noticing red flags

[orbdotexe]

A new Lightbearer breathes his first panicked breaths, throwing the blanket off his resting place, and finds himself in a world that instead takes pity on him—Much to his displeasure. But he’s been having strange dreams, and everyone warns him away from some strange… person? As more time goes on, and the warnings compound—he’s less and less sure of that notion, or if they even exist.

The brainworms said "what about Crow pre-Vanguard?? he was never in Spider's 'employ' in TFE!" and so here's some Salty Crow and the start of him being determined to figure out who killed him!

Mind: the divide is a time skip, to when Crow is out of the Dreaming City-- and this is the armor I use for the YW, since I don't give much detail. Anyway, Crow's Rez, "Bury Me Shallow":

— — —

“Who was buried up there?”

“I’m sorry?”

“I mean- No offense. Just… he seemed important.”

“...You don’t know?” The Corsair eyes him, wary.

“Know what?”

She takes a moment to study his face, though it’s shadowed by his hood and the sharp light behind him. It feels like she’s trying to flip through torn out pages and looks like she cut her fingers open on the shreds— He resists drawing any further in on himself.

“...Nevermind.” She scans his disheveled outfit, “You’re a Guardian?”

“Not sure what it means, but that seems to be the consensus,” he replies, mentally bristling at the judgmental tone. How can someone tell by just the clothing? Why would he be buried in this if it was that bad?

…Oh. Right. He was buried in it.

Well, maybe buried wasn’t the right word—There was just a blanket thrown over him, laying on some stone slab. 

Not much of a burial. Could just be how the dead are treated, though.

“You haven’t spoken to any of your… lot, yet, either?” The corsair asks, some disdain in her words. He’s been hearing that tone a lot on the subject of Guardians, though not at him. If he’s one of them, shouldn’t she be disgusted by him, as well?

“Ah… no. I’ve seen some around, but haven’t gotten to speak to any. They seem awfully busy.” It’s not exactly a lie, but he hasn’t exactly tried to speak to them at all.

The thought of approaching one makes him nervous.

She snorts, “Busy is one way to put it.” There’s that resentment again.

He doesn’t think he will ever understand why. It seems the Guardians are trying to help, so why does almost everyone he talks to seem to hate them? Well, there have been a few Corsairs that seemed more thankful for the help, but… Most aren’t.

In the ensuing awkward silence, the Corsair seems to get a call in her helmet, turning away from him and murmuring into nothing. He can’t pick any of it up, though it sounds urgent, and she shoulders her rifle.

He can’t help but sigh quietly, knowing that meant no real conversations for another week or so.

She huffs after a few more moments, and sighs. “Well, I hate to cut this short, but the Crows’ feather falls that there’s enemy movement around.” She pauses, mouth pulling into a grimace, before continuing, “Your… abilities, might be… useful.”

“Oh.” She’s asking for his help, isn’t she? Even the Corsairs who didn’t mind Guardians hadn’t asked him to. He… hasn’t done this before—Helped from afar, sure, but not in the thick of it. 

She eyes him, with some mix of anxiousness and detesting having asked. “Well, I’m… happy to help.” He smiles, despite the nervous knot in his gut. “Just lead the way.”

He swears there’s a glint of familiarity in her eyes as he says it, and she relaxes some before clearing her throat. “Let’s get going, then.”

— — —

“Sooo… Don’t remember nothin’?” The shadowed figure asks from the thick branch it’s laying on, a deep and modulated voice carrying just loud enough to reach him.

He has to crane his neck to see the ominous red glow of what he assumes is its eyes. “Uhm… no. Didn’t think I was meant to.”

“Yer Ghost tell you nothing, either?” The figure adjusts some, legs now dangling. Seems he’s interesting enough for its full attention.

“Was he supposed to?”

“...Guess not.” It drops down, not a sound leaving them as they right themself, and their face comes into view. Grey metal plates and red dots for eyes greet him. ”Any idea who ya are? Where ya woke up?”

“Looked like…a cathedral, I think.” He takes a half-step back, savouring his personal space, “He must’ve been highly respected. Did you know him?” The apparently metal man—not that he hasn’t heard of Exos (because he has, if only some), but hearing of and seeing are two different things—eyes him for a moment. 

“Not personally, but knew of ‘im. An’way, strict Vanguard policy n all, can’t tell ya much.” The exo turns on his heel and starts walking, waving a hand for him to follow.

“...Riight.” He peers around the trees and rocky terrain before deciding to go along with it. “Actually, what’s with that? A few people have told me that already.” 

“S’posedly, knowing obscures judgment… or som’thin along those lines. Never bothered to listen ver’ much. Got better things to do than listen to some raving mad Warlock’s lecture.”

“And… I’m supposed to be a… a Hunter?”

“Look it to me. Cape, dirty look,”—Dirty? Now that’s rude—“Things like that. Got that stature, too, and the slouch.” 

“Ah. You’re…”—Brutal—“forthcoming.”

“You asked. An’way, got a name for yerself yet? Like to keep track of who I meet.”

A name. His Ghost talked about those; he had seemed excited to pick them.

“...No, not yet.”

“Could give ya some suggestions, if ya like. Though, you’d prob’ly like to do that wit yer Ghost, rather than a stranger.”

“Yeah… he’s been nagging me about it. Seems important to him.”

“Might wanna get on wit it, then! Unhappy Ghost makes a’ unhappy Guardian, y’know. In the meantime, got a preference? Any topics in partic’ you like? Might wanna fly with ‘ose.”

He thinks for a moment, and the black feather on the Hunter’s hood catches his eye. “Well… What’s yours? Might give me some ideas,” he shrugs.

“Rancher!” The other Hunter announces, wholly confident.

“Rancher,” he deadpans back, deciding that whatever he picked would have to be better than that.

“Yuep.” He opts not to question how the Exo popped the P without lips. “M’ Ghost, Iridant, wouldn’t let me jus’ keep Hunter.”

“You were going to name yourself Hunter?”

“Well, it was before I knew ‘bout the Vanguard an’ their classes thing! Iri took ‘er sweet time telling me, an’ I knew I liked huntin’, so…” 

The first statement gives him pause.

Are there… are there Guardians outside of the Vanguard? Well, are not all Ghosts with the Vanguard, at least? 

“Huh.”

So it’s not just him, then. Maybe Rancher’s Ghost kept him away from the Vanguard for awhile for the same reason his Ghost does… Whatever that reason is, anyway.

As the pair come up on an uphill, littered with stone piles and boulders, Rancher kicks some gravel rocks aside. “Soo, heh, how long ‘ave you been up ‘n about?” 

He eyes the patch of gravel for a moment, watching them resettle, “Not too long. Spent some months in the Dreaming City, but only been out here for a few weeks, I think.”

“Ahh, so yer a new Newlight, then! Yeah. Yeah! I imagine those Awoken’re a bit weird, ey?” A barking, modulated laugh brings his gaze back up, finding Rancher to be stood at the top of some larger boulder at the top of the hill now, “How’s that place, an’way? ‘aven’t had the chance to go quite yet.”

Weird was one way to put the Corsairs. So much disdain for Guardians, and yet they seemed fine with him—among other things. “Well, it’s… It’s pretty, when you aren’t under fire.” He could paint pictures of that sky, but… What were the pale things called? Scorn? “The uh… the ones with crossbows were trouble.”

Rancher laughs, again—now more entertained, rather than antagonistic, “Ooooh, big man too good for Taken? The ozone smell don’t bother you? Might jus’ be a’ Exo thing, that, but I ‘ear it makes some a bit nauseous.”

The memory of spinning around, mid combat, to be met with a Taken Knight towering over him moments before waking up—with a few Corsairs gathered around him—springs to the front of his mind. He opts to hum in agreement rather than debate it, climbing up on another slab across from the other Hunter.

The hill below drops-off into what looks to be a patched together base of sorts, old enough to have a dusting of moss and vines over it, but recently lived in and the vines cut back over computer panels and exits. 

He catches Rancher stretching (though, he doubts Exos have any need to do so) out the corner of his eye as the other Hunter sighs, “Ahhh, ‘ere’s my stop.”

“Your… stop?” Despite the lived-in look to the base, he can’t see any proof of the occupants anywhere nearby. Or was Rancher here to reclaim it? He had heard Hunters were largely meant to be scouts. Supposedly.

“Yuep!” The Exo pops the end, again. “Got an op to run out ‘ere. That base down there? ‘posed to hold some pests, an’ I’m on exterminator duty!”

And there goes the scout theory. If he went to the Vanguard, would he be put on these missions, too?

“Ooh,” Rancher stops and turns back, “‘fore I go—Careful if you see a Hunter in red an—ahh, no, that’s… That’s not specific at all. Hm.”

He’s heard this warning before. No one ever tells him why, or what that Hunter did, just to stay far away. Every. Time. Other than the vague warnings, he’s not even sure what he’s looking out for.

And it doesn’t help that “red and black Hunter” is a good seventy percent of Hunters he’s seen.

“Why? What did they do?” He tries to put force into his voice, but Rancher skips over the question.

“Just- ah. Complicated. I’ll send yer Ghost a picture, heh?” Rancher’s Ghost—a foil-textured, pink colored, and green eyed… mini Servitor?—appeared with a series of trills. “You’ll want to avoid–” The Ghost projected an image, “–that one.”

He could barely study the figure before there was a blast followed by the sound of Pikes somewhere nearby, to which both Rancher and his Ghost snapped to attention, projection fading. 

“Ah!” Rancher sounded excited as his Ghost dematerialized, “That’s my que! Pleasure t’ meet ya, blueberry, but I gotta run.”

“Wh- Blue–? Hold on, what does that—” but the other Hunter is already plowing through the woods on a still-materializing sparrow, giving him one last wave, “—mean…”

He sighs, but can’t help but stare, dumbfounded, after Rancher, yet—

One thing stuck in his mind; That single, holographic, orange eye. 

The same one in his dreams.

What happened to his past life?

[himebushou]

Gaps

The days bleed into each other: night follows day, follows day, follows day; Kazuki and Rei shoot and scheme and shoot and scheme —

And Miri is gone.

They don't know how to talk about it.

It starts with Rei making their home more presentable, picking up Miri's old toys and placing them back in Miri's old room.  Kazuki can no longer bear to step inside that space, so it falls to Rei to wipe down surfaces and vacuum.  He never realised, before now, that dust can somehow accumulate in an uninhabited place.

It continues with Kazuki refusing to buy Choco Puffs, even though he knows that Rei likes them; they argue, voices rising, until Kazuki snaps and disappears for three days.

While he waits, Rei plays video games (anything but Morio Kart) and tries to convince himself that his partner isn't lying in a pool of blood, somewhere. Kazuki finished off Ogino, after all: Kazuki is a fighter, a survivor, a threat. Rei has to believe in that.

Kazuki finally returns with a broken nose and a black eye.

They don't talk about it.

Work is good.  Kyuutarou supplies a steady flow of targets. As a team, Rei and Kazuki have reached new levels of proficiency. Rei is less volatile and Kazuki has finally learnt how to act. He can be sinister, moody, charming, dense. Rei enjoys seeing these facets of Kazuki: they're preferable to the man who alternates between silently sitting on the sofa and replying to everything Rei says in a stupid, sing-song voice.

But it hits a wall.

A cold day in April. The start of the new academic year. Kazuki drives and Rei stares at the world beyond the windows, wanting cherry blossoms, wanting Miri. Idly, he turns on the radio and a melodic voice floats through the speakers:

"Don't say goodbye..."

Rei intervenes — stops Kazuki from crashing into the vehicle in front. Switches the radio off. Kazuki doesn't scream or cry, just thumps his fists against the steering wheel, cursing, "Damn it! Damn it!" as horns bleat around them.

They have to leave.

Quickly.

"We need to address this."

Then they're at home. Kazuki stands out on the balcony, gulping down air between his tears. Rei follows and miserably sprays the plants while Kazuki calms down.

When there is stillness, Rei looks at Kazuki's locked shoulders and says,

"Why?"

"That's a stupid question."

Kazuki laughs. The sound cuts like a knife. He says, "I don't know anything, Rei. Nothing at all. I'm... an idiot."

There he goes again, steeping himself in martyrdom, blaming himself for everything that has ever, or will ever, go wrong. Rei's patience breaks. He grips Kazuki's shoulders — forcibly turns Kazuki around. He wants to shake Kazuki! Strangle him!

But —

"Rei," Kazuki says softly, "I haven't been doing much around here. I think... I need to get my head clear. Find my own place."

"This is your home."

Kazuki scoffs. "Forget it, Rei. We're still living on your family's blood money. I know you hate this prison as much as I do."

Rei nods to show Kazuki that he gets it. It's a meaningless action — they're both aware that they are two kindred souls in a blood-garbed world and that only Rei understands Kazuki and that only Kazuki understands Rei. Thus, when Rei asks,

Hate.

Hates?

"How long?"

So Rei inclines his head again. Acquiesces. He won't force his will on others. That's a move from Kazuki's playbook, or hell, even the late Suwa Shigeki's. Instead, Rei goes back inside and starts washing rice. Despite everything, he's hungry.

He knows that Kazuki is lying when he replies,

"Just a little while."

Kazuki soon joins him. He begins prepping the fish.

They don't talk.

(And this is why.)

[stinkrascal]

ok im gonna get started on editing my bio page now but i just wanted to post this pic individually look at little wolfie look at his new hairstyle hes so cute. stinky baby stupid little meow meow i love him so much

[tenspontaneite]

So, season 4 Rayla.

See this?

I know other people have already said this, but: That is a really big hair bun and I can't get over it omg. I have butt length hair and it makes a bun that's like, half that size at absolute most. In conclusion:

Rayla has really long hair now.

(And I'm so here for it ngl)

(Shout out to @numptypylon for making an edit of hair down s4 Rayla that caused me to instantly transcend my mortal flesh)

[obsessive-dumpling]

I've been wanting to write something in honor of chapter 362 but I couldn't seem to bring myself to write a mini fic. So instead I decided to write an angsty poem from Izuku to Katsuki. Enjoy. Or don't, I don't care.

P.S.A: The 10 image limit ruined this post.

------------------------------------------

Can you wait?

Can you please just wait...

Wait for me to get there.

Wait for me to be at your side.

Wait for me to change this outcome!

Goddamnit why didn't you wait?!

Why didn't you ever wait for me?!

Why did you always march ahead on your own?

Why did you always act like you were alone?

When I was always there!

Always trailing behind you.

Your back my horizon.

God I wanted to see your eyes then,

But no.

You didn't face me back then unless it was to tease.

And then when things changed,

You only faced me to scream.

When things got worse,

You faced me to cry.

And we fought,

And I screamed some of what I had been holding inside,

And it was then that I thought,

Maybe...just maybe... I could stand next to you.

The next time you faced me,

I realized staying near you was the worst thing I could do...

I wrote you so when I left.

I became a complete mess.

And without my knowledge,

Without my permission,

All of a sudden it was you decending to raise me out of my perdition.

And you faced me then.

In a way I didn't know you could.

You faced my hurt.

You faced my fears.

You faced my secrets.

You faced me.

Your back no longer my horizon.

It was just your eyes then,

That brought me back to life...

.

.

.

How do I bring you back to life...

[khaotunq]

😶😞

[jumpscaregoose]

you can always draw oc minicomics that are entirely misleading without the lore only you know. if you were wondering.

[magentagalaxies]

.

[sinistershepherd]

I DONT REALLY HAVE A CHOISE IN THE MATTER ANYMORE DO I 😭😭

👹

Ahahahahaha no

Moon had never been alone. Part of his very existence was being Sun’s shadow, the main face of the daycare. Happy, cheerful Sun; dark, dreary Moon. That’s how it had always been. That’s how Moon thought it would always be.

“Sunrise, Moondrop, come with me.”

It was a simple request, one that both brothers followed without question. Maybe a glance, but nothing more. They chatted mindlessly, but the service worker never said a word.

The journey to parts and services felt so much longer than normal. They thought nothing of it at first, but slowly, their conversation dies away into silence. Scared silence. Moon instinctively reaches out, grabbing hold of Sun’s hand, moving forwards to stand just a bit ahead of him.

He’s the security bot. He’ll protect Sun, just like Sun protected him when he was infected with the virus. All those days, spent behind Sun’s eyes, watching as he argued with numerous workers and staff. Pleading for them not to take his brother away, begging to give them just one more week for things to change.

“Wait here, Moon.” The service worker’s voice is monotone. Sun glances to his brother, Moon doing the same. The lunar animatronic instantly shakes his head, shifting closer to his solar counterpart, eyes brightening into a vivid shade of red.

The worker raises their hands in a show of innocence.

“I’m not here to do nothin’.” They say, making Moon hesitate, just for a moment.

“I’m coming too.” He insists, letting out a guttural growl as other service workers poke their heads out the doors, holding rope and leather bonds in small shaking hands.

Other workers share uncertain glances, though eventually wave both brothers in.

The doors shut and lock behind them. The duo stiffens, one turning towards the door, the other spinning around to face the cylinder and approaching workers. They stand back to back, trembling as electric prods and tasers are brought out from behind corners and under tables.

“Wh-What’s going on?” Sun stammers, rays shrinking into his head the longer he watches the approaching threats. Hands surge forwards in reply, grabbing limbs and legs, restraining claws as Moon screams to be released.

Sun is dragged, thrashing like a frantic shark, into the cylinder. The door is shut, locked, right as the workers pull back to leave the solar animatronic behind.

“MOON!” Sun cries, cries, cries, and it hurts to see him so distraught. His voice is muffled by the reinforced glass, fists pounding vainly on whatever he can reach. A caged animal, the gentle beast, now violent when threatened.

Moon cannot take his eyes away. Not as hands and arms pull him down, wails of sorrow echoing around the room. Not as electric prods are shoved into every gap and crevice in his chassis, scattering his sight into static and brief, grained out images of blurry movement.

“SU-U-N-“ He shrieks, voice cracking. He tries to squirm and struggle again, but feet and hands are still holding him down. His waning strength makes him helpless- frustratingly so.

“Don’t worry…you’ll be next, lullaby.”

The voice breaks through Moon’s panic, loud and clear compared to the scrambled thoughts in his head. He watches the mechanical arms inside the cylinder, usually used for reassembling, now reaching out towards Sun in a horrifically slow manner.

“NO! NO, PLEASE!” He screams, so loud, so afraid. The arms get closer, Sun pressing himself up against the glass, sliding down until he is nothing more than a heap of tears and trembles. Moon thrashes once more, letting out a scream as another prod is shoved into his back.

“STOP! STOP, THAT’S- THAT’S MY BROTHER!!” Moon manages to call out, eyes widening further as one of the arms grasps Sun by the shoulder.

“DON’T! PLEASE!” Sun begs, but it is already too late.

His arm is torn from his shoulder bearing, splattering oil over the glass enclosure. Moon doesn’t see anything else after that- only red. Red, black, and the scent of blood.

——————————————

The world came back in waves. Moments of coherence, then nothing the moment he sees what remains of his brother. Cold hands resting on solid glass, unbreakable in the worst way. Cracked red eyes peering into the surrounding darkness, ready to defend what no longer needs defending.

By the time the door finally opens, Moon has very little left to lose. His brother’s mangled parts sit, sparking and dripping, at the base of the door. Oil leaks from a ruptured chassis, eyes flashing, flickering with the dying light of life.

“I tried.” Moon cannot find anything else to say. To his surprise, Sun’s head shifts, a lopsided smile coming onto his face.

“I know…” Broken words drip from a crushed voice box, only filtered by a soft whistle, like air going through punctured lungs.

Moon curls around his dying twin, tears leaking down his face.

“What do I do? Sun, please, don’t leave me-“ A begging tone, fit for a grieving brother, so lost in denial that it borders acceptance. Sun lets out a sad chuckle, moving his hand just enough so that he can lightly touch Moon’s.

“Quiet, quiet…just…ya know, I think this has been….like a game…” Words become slurred, drowned out by the static.

“Sun-“

“A game….like, um….like tag! Right, right…I’m it, I think….?” Sun pauses just long enough to cast his fading eyes up to meet his brother’s.

“Now run, before I catch you.”

Moon stares down at him, eyes wide with bewilderment. “I’m not leaving you here.”

“You don’t have a choice, silly.”

Moon feels the tears flooding down his face now, staining his plating, drowning out the blues and white hues of his faceplate.

“I’m not leaving you.” He insists, but Sun only seems saddened by this.

“But I’m it. Come on, Moony, you don’t wanna get caught, do you?” The solar animatronic twitches his head towards the doors, indicating that the other workers and guards will surely come looking for his lunar counterpart.

“I can’t lose you!”

Sun meets his brother’s eyes, giving him one last hopeful smile.

“You already have, Moony.”

The lights shut off within his eyes after that, fading from a dim white to a morbid black. His head sags off to the side, horrifically limp. Moon cannot stop the yelp that leaves him, the scream that follows.

“SUN! SUN PLEASE!”

His screaming continues for some time, but eventually dies away into subdued silence. He remembers very little of that day, after that. Flashes come and go, at times: waving goodbye to the kids, giving them a final farewell as he tells them that he has to leave for a big adventure.

They giggle and laugh, blissfully unaware.

The numbness settles in then. Blind, unfeeling as time ticks on. No kids. No brother. No voices.

Slowly, the numbness settles into a bitter, furious feeling within the depths of his chassis. The children’s drawings become ripped and tattered the more they are rained on. Moon never knew this, as he had never experienced rain before.

It hurts, sometimes. This gentle sting that reminds him that he is still here, while Sun is not. He wonders: why did they go for Sun first? Moon was the night terror. Was it to torture him?

That fury becomes aggression.

Was it to remind him that he caused all this pain to his brother, to show him that he was, and would always be, cast over by his shadow?

That aggression becomes violence.

And the daycare decays, left behind, closed for eternity. When the fire blazes throughout the building, Moon watches, wishing he was the one to have set it. Sun would be so disappointed in him now. The kids would, too. So scared of the monster that stalks the streets, hidden by shadow and overcome with blind, endless anger.

Moon had never been alone. Part of his very existence was being Sun’s shadow, the main face of the daycare. Happy, cheerful Sun; dark, dreary Moon. That’s how it had always been. That’s how Moon thought it would always be.

Until it wasn’t.

[Original ask: “So, Let's say one of the brothers got decommissioned, Reason of your choise, brother of your choise. How would the other live ? Does the daycare get shut down ? How bad would things get ?”]

[lynxfang]

(Cw: injury description, death, some body horror ig, existentialism, lynx's dumb headcanons)

Gore dripped slowly down the slick, blue blade. A tear slipped down the cold cheek of the devil who lay there all wreathed in red and crowned if his broken horns. The sword had come down too hard upon his shoulder, and he hadn't been able to grab for the blade that he and scott had tossed aside in an act of virtue and honor. Their fists and claws had been all the weapon they'd needed... if the meteor hadn't struck when he had. The thick, acrid scent of burned fish swam through his nose as he cast his crimson eyes to the corpse of the merfolk who lay before him, wreathed in his own loser's crown of blazing laurels. A halo of blistering lava bubbled and popped as it seemed into the ground around the body. Scott hadn't even had a chance to grab their sword. Their legs had given out under them as the heat boiled their very will. Webbed hands were clasped around gills in a final act of desperate gasping, the smoke choking the air from lungs and gills alike.

Martyn felt the thrill filling his veins with a laugh. It was a hot, blazing pleasure that ran through his blood like lightning. It burned like pain, but it never did hurt. Others had said it hurt whenever you stole the time from another, but that wasn't true. It only hurt because they let themselves feel bad about it. He wouldn't do that. It was a death match after all.

Webbed hands twisted by the sea that gripped the blade losened their hold, and he only barely heard the sword fall to the red-stained grass beneath his feet. His boots had long since come off after his last death when he'd found they confined the large, webbed feet too tight. He clenched clawed toes into the wet grass. His arms felt heavy. Too heavy, and Martyn had to fight to stay upright as he laughed. No one was there to hear him laugh, but he threw his gold maned head back, every gasp of laughter making the pufferfish scales expand and flex under his skin, puffing up like the pauldrons of warrior. He laughed louder than he ever had before. Skizz had complimented his laugh on day one, hadn't he? Oh, how Martyn was glad Skizz had reminded him to laugh. Where was he now? With those listeners? Watchers? Taking his place among the contestants for the next match? Would Martyn join them then, too?

He sloughed the jacket from his shoulders, the banner of a long-lost land he could hardly forget flowing behind him like a scarf of blood from his waist. He flexed his claws- new additions after joining Scott- and looked down at those fishscaled hands. Were they stained red because of the blood he spilt? Or was it simply his scales matching his name? Filthy reds.

As he took a step forward, he lurched forward with an unnaturally long stride, feeling his muscles and flesh stretch with his motions like elastic stretched to its limits. His shoulder pulsed with his huffing breath. The fissures glowed purple, but he tried to ignore them. The time ticked down. The sand trickled through the neck.

That's my time.

He watched as every second passed in the pulse of his fissures and the beat of his heart. I need more time. He climbed the hill, every step more awkward than the last. It was like his legs didnt fit his hips anymore. He tasted the air, checked the tab. There had to be more time. Surely. He had drawn his blade with thirty minutes left. But now, Martyn wandered that familiar land for an hour. Maybe it was an hour? It was aimless and tired and hungry. Every second did not pass as a second, but as a beat of a time starved heart. Twenty four hours down to thirty minutes. I want my time back.

He broke into a sprint, tumbling down onto all fours. Drool (or was it blood?) Dripped down his chin as he scaled the towers, raced along the skynet, and over the hills. He scrambled around TNT craters. Had the meteor made those, too? The cake had gone stale. The bread had gone moldy. "Time... I need time. No, no, no, NO!" He snarled, his voice wet with bloodlust. After everything, he still LOST. He wasn't losing, no... no. But he watched as he lost. He stood before the hourglass, and watched red sand trickle down.

"CRUEL, YOU ARE CRUEL!" He snarled to the heavens, time-addled mind only forming words out of rage as he swiped with his claws at the sky. He couldn't hear their laughter. But he knew they laughed. They laughed and watched and listened and he had to wait. Is this how Grian felt while he buried Scar? Is this how Scott had felt before the watchers, in their infinate "mercy" slew him with a snap of their proverbial fingers? And Pearl? Did she relish the lonesome, or did she too curse the cruelty of those damn voyeuristic bastards overhead.

"Ren... Ren," he muttered, barely recalling whose name it is he called for as he held the tattered banner in his claws. "Scott... I..." He wasn't sorry. Betrayal had been in his blood since before day one.

Inthelittlewood Ran Out of Time.

[yioh]

god i just read the most devestatinf manhwa in my life OWNDWHDJDBDJ

[darkdakota8998]

“Memories”

rbs very appreciated!!

[firerose]

Ezran waking up from a thunderstorm and yelling Callums name is a really different scene if you think about the Callum possesion arc...........