Formal Apology To My Ultrakill Followers For The Splatoon Crash Out .
holy fuck fraud teaser and deltarune and splatoon spinoff and splatoon 3 third kits and new map and new reasons to krill myslelf in the same week . what the actual fuck i need to blow up and DIE . DO THEY WANT ME TO DIE .
pride month 2025 is going fucking crazy for gaymers worldwide whatt the actual Fuck is HAPPENING . IM SO PISSED OFF I DIDNT EVEN KNOW THERE WAS GOING TO BE A SPLATOON ANNOUNCEMENT AT ALL . IM SO FUCKING PISSED FUCK MY LIFE WHAT THE AVTUAL HELL IS GOING ONNNNNN
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Batman Fandom, 2k words, Tw: bombs, panic attacks, temporary hearing loss
Ao3 Summary:
"R-red Hood to bats."
It was strange and frightening, to know he was speaking, know what words he said, and yet not hear his own voice. The piercing ring drowned out anything the others might have said in answer.
"Please, I, I need an assist. Bo-... B-bomb. Warehouse District. I'm... I'm stuck."
Jason crept silently through the warehouse, its emptiness setting him on edge. The arms dealers he'd been tracking had hastily abandoned the place two nights ago, and though Jason was investigating to find out why, he didn't want the answer to spring out at him or erupt in his face.
They'd cleaned up remarkably well for such a quick exit, Jason had to admit. No weapons or papers or miscellaneous had been left behind, even in the office. If Jason hadn't been staking the place out for a week preparing his attack, he would have thought it had been abandoned for years. Most areas were even still dusty, despite recent activity.
Thr first floor held no sign of why the dealers would have left. No toxins or structural damage, no indication of a turf fight, but Jason knew they hadn't delivered the shipment yet. He headed upstairs, not expecting to find any information, but hoping to nonetheless.
The first door he opened was to a supply closet with a mouse nest in the corner. The mouse skittered out and ran between his boots, squeaking, and Jason narrowly avoided crushing it as he jumped.
His heart was beating much too fast for a confrontation with a goddamn rodent. He assured himself it was only surprise, and he'd just been jarred to see something alive where everything else was dead and creepy.
He moved on, opening the next door to reveal a nicer office than the one downstairs, clearly meant for a senior manager or someone else more powerful than the floor supervisor. At last, this room held evidence of people's presence: several crates stacked behind the desk in neat piles.
Jason rounded the desk to inspect the crates closer. There were no markings on them, not that anyone was dumb enough to Sharpie illegal weapons on their merchandise. He grabbed one of the knives at his waist and used it to pry up the lid of the nearest crate.
Bright red numbers flashed from 1:00 to 0:59, 0:58, 0:57... and Jason stumbled back, catching his foot on the desk and falling.
Jason, the bomb! Diffuse it!
Tell the big man I said 'hello.'
It's locked!
Hahahahahahahahaha--
He scrambled back to his feet and ran, banging off the doorway in his haste.
0:50, 0:49...
Wait right here, Jason, I'm coming back.
It's ok, dear, he's gone.
Well, lookie here! Seems we've caught a lost little bird, haven't we?
He took the stairs two at a time, eyes on the door, promising himself it wasn't locked. He could make it. He'd be fine.
Then there was only air under his foot and he pitched forward, crying out. He managed to snatch the railing, but felt his ankle snap.
Which hurts more?
0:35, 0:34, 0:33...
A?
0:32...
Or B?
0:31...
"Dad! Dad, help, please, I'm sorry, I can't..."
"Jason?"
He clung to the railing and tried to brace his weight on it, gasping and yelping each time he set down his right foot. Tears spilled down his cheeks, from panic or pain he didn't know.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please, I need you--"
0:24...
"Jason--"
"Hood, where are you?"
He reached the bottom of the stairs. The door was only fifty feet away, but he couldn't run.
0:21, 0:20...
Jason hobbled two steps away from the railing before his ankle gave out. He toppled over, crying out. Voices clamored in his ears and his brain, but he couldn't tell who any of them belonged to, let alone what they said.
0:18...
He wasn't getting out. Couldn't run, couldn't walk, and couldn't crawl fast enough to get out of range. All he could do was drag himself to the space under the stairs and pray they would protect him long enough to be dug out, and not just prolong his death.
0:11...
He curled around himself as tight as his limbs would let him, panting and hiccuping and trying not to completely break down in sobs.
0:06...
"I love you," he whispered, because he couldn't say it last time. Hadn't said it even when he'd gotten the chance back. Knew he might never be able to say it again.
0:02, 0:01...
"Jason!"
All Jason could hear was a shrill shriek, seeming to come more from his head than his surroundings. He thought he might've moaned, but the sound was deafened.
BOOM.
Every part of him was throbbing, but his ankle was the worst of it. It burned so bad he thought his foot might just fall off.
He wondered if that would make it hurt less.
Something wet was all over his face and running down his neck. He thought it might be tears.
But he wasn't dead.
Jason wasn't dead, and he could deal with anything so long as he knew that was true.
He could feel his breath shuddering and stuttering, but couldn't hear it. Couldn't hear anything above that shriek, like the world's highest-pitched bells playing a concert right next to his head. He pressed a hand to his comm, praying it was the source of the noise.
Even if it was, nothing changed.
Jason finally dared to open his eyes. The world was completely black until the nightvision in his helmet came online. All it illuminated was mangled steel and concrete half a foot from his face.
The view was the same in every direction, a tomb of wreckage enclosing him, barely prevented from crushing him by the stairs. He could see no openings for escape, and there wasn't enough room to sit up to try to shift things, either.
Not that he could have anyway.
Jason swallowed tightly, forcibly slowing his breaths at the sight of twisted metal pinning his broken foot to the ground. It looked to be part of the catwalk, but that didn't really matter. His nerves screamed at him just for twitching. There was no way he'd be able to pull himself free.
His hand shook as he pressed his comm again, praying the rubble wasn't deep enough to block the signal.
"R-red Hood to bats."
It was strange and frightening, to know he was speaking, know what words he said, and yet not hear his own voice. The piercing ring drowned out anything the others might have said in answer.
"Please, I, I need an assist. Bo-... B-bomb. Warehouse District. I'm... I'm stuck."
He wanted to believe they heard him. That Bruce had fucked codenames and was calling him Jaylad and promising to come. That Dick was panting over the line as he ran, and Barbara was calling out directions and ETAs. That Tim was demanding a status report and Damian was swearing to murder him if he died.
But with nothing but the shrieking in his ears, it was easier to believe that they didn't know. That he'd die again, slow and alone, and by the time they found him, he'd be nothing more than a body to bury.
"Hood to bats, can anyone hear me? My... I can't... My hearing is compromised, please, can you signal in any other way if you're there?"
Again.
"It was a trap, it was a goddamn trap, and I keep fucking falling for them-- I'm sorry, Dad. God, I'm such an idiot, I'm so... sorry."
"I'm... I'm just... I'm gonna keep, keep talking, if, if that's ok. I just... If I pretend you can hear me, I... it's better. It's... it's just really dark down here, and cramped, and I can't move, and it feels like I'm back in my coffin but I can't dig out this time and..."
A sob.
"I'm scared."
He didn't want to admit it, but he couldn't deny it. There was no sign of rescue. If they'd even acknowledged him, Jason had no way of knowing. And the darkest parts of his mind whispered that they simply may not care. The murderous family black sheep, little better than a traitor, fading away in a grave he'd dug for himself? Mm, such a tragedy. Better worth the time to go save someone without all that blood on their hands.
"I'm scared, Dad." To his throat it felt like a whisper, but for all Jason could hear, he'd screamed. "I don't wanna die again. Not like this. Not before... not before I can, I can fix things. I want to fix things."
He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling tears leaking down his cheeks.
"I wanna go home."
Jason felt his voice break on the word, and he couldn't speak anymore for the sobs wracking his body. He knew it was using up too much air, knew it was useless, knew that if the bats didn't already pity him, it wouldn't change their minds.
But he couldn't stop. He could only wrap his own arms around himself and try to imagine they were Dick's, and close his eyes against the concrete and metal and pretend it was a blanket fort, and cry and cry like he was still a child and his family would come and make everything alright.
Soon enough the world began to spin around him, swirls drilling a hole in his head and making it pound. Something was crushing his ribs, and he couldn't get air. The awful bells were still ringing.
The shrill shrieking was still there, but it had dulled just a little. There was another low hum with it now, but it felt more like a lullaby than an alarm, so Jason was glad to hear it.
And finally, everything went silent.
He could tell he was surrounded by softness and warmth, even the throbbing in his ankle a mere distant annoyance. The most immediate sensation was one he quite liked: a hand stroking carefully over his hair.
Light shone on his eyelids, making them glow a faint red. They felt like they weighed a ton each as he blinked them open to look around.
The room was one he knew well. Creamy walls with earthy green curtains drawn not fully over the window. Oakwood trim all around it, a warm and homey color. A forest landscape painting on one side of the fireplace and a pencil sketch of a Gotham skyline on the other, with a row of framed photographs on the mantle.
And a kind face with weary eyes leaning over him.
"B," he murmured. "You came."
Jason saw the man's lips move, but heard no more than a gentle rumble, like summer thunder.
"I can't hear you," he tried to say.
Bruce's face pinched. He held up his hands where Jason could see them and signed, still speaking, Of course I came, Jason. You're my son.
Jason blinked very rapidly, but it didn't stop the tears. He didn't need sign language to know that Bruce said, Oh, my Jaylad, as bent down to kiss his forehead. He cupped Jason's face in one hand and brushed the tears away with his thumb. Finger spelling with one hand, he swore, I will always come for you, Jason.
"I didn't know if you heard me."
Bruce nodded. It was all he did, but Jason understood it to mean they had heard him. Heard him crying and frightened and falling apart, and he felt his cheeks heating up, because he hadn't meant for anyone to really hear all that he'd said.
But they had heard. And Bruce had come. And Jason was alive and safe and warm and home now.
"Where is everyone?"
Sleeping. It took us several hours to get you out.
"I'm sorry."
"I'd have been dead."
Bruce shook his head, squeezing both Jason's hands before letting go to say, We would have dug for days if we needed to.
Bruce only shook his head again, tears in his eyes. It was startling. Jason couldn't remember ever seeing Bruce cry.
"Shitty. High. I don't know."
How are you feeling? he asked.
Can you hear anything?
Bruce shook his head emphatically. His sign language got a little sloppy in his haste for reassurance, but Jason understood that Leslie had seen him, and his hearing wasn't totally damaged. Thanks to his helmet, he guessed.
"I know that you're talking." Jason swallowed tightly. "Why? Am I..." Going deaf? "Is it gonna be like this forever?"
The room’s gone quiet but your heartbeat’s so loud. You let go of Diana and get off your chair.
You don’t regret grabbing her. You don’t even regret doing it in front of your coworkers. But you did it in front of your coworkers.
The ones you were trying very hard to seem well-behaved and responsible for (you're both those things, but this isn't a good look for you). The ones that are looking at you with that sad understanding that you didn’t want.
Because they don’t understand. They don’t know you at all. They’re never going to see you for the whole you’re a part of ever again. You’ve botched this majorly.
You should leave.
You don't need the Wisdom to know that your patrons wouldn't fucking hesitate to sling the lightning bolt through the watchtower's windows. Big form is an option but it really isn't. Why did you let them take you to a secondary location?
Hello! I decided to attempt Whumptober this year and I have no self control, so some of them are getting pretty long. Instead of posting the full things on tumblr, I'm going to post WIP snippets - proofread, but not beta'd - and then post them a few at a time over on Ao3 throughout the next two months.
So without further ado, here's day 1! CW: minor injuries, aftermath of explosions
The smoke was already clearing by the time he reached the champion. Warriors dropped to his knees next to where Wild lay on the ground, unmoving. He was covered in ash, but Warriors couldn’t see any burns. There was, however, a trickle of blood running down his temple.
Warriors swore under his breath. They shouldn’t move Wild, but it wasn’t safe to leave him here either. Before he could make up his mind, Hyrule ran towards him.
“Twilight and Time are mostly fine, just disoriented. The rancher can’t walk in a straight line.”
Hyrule knelt beside Wild and started assessing his condition. Warriors recognized the process from his own first aid training, though he hadn’t realized Hyrule used the same methods.
From further into the clearing, closer to where the bombs had exploded, Warriors heard the sounds of weapons clanking and heavy footsteps. He stood, drawing his sword. “I’ll hold them off and send Sky to help you as soon as I find him. You’ll be okay?”
“Aye, captain.” Hyrule glanced up just long enough to shoot him a smirk
Warriors smiled in response, grateful for the traveler’s attempt to lighten the mood, in spite of the dire situation.
He turned to face the monsters. He had plenty of experience with fighting while outnumbered, and besides, the rest of the heroes would join him soon.
DAY 2 - Ringing Ears (SW: Luke Skywalker & Darth Vader)
Finding a new lightsaber was proving to be quite hard - not that Luke would admit it aloud.
His last Force-provided errand resulted in nothing. The woman from the vision didn’t have a lightsaber for him, nor training, nor encouragement to offer. Luke guesses he’s just glad to walk away with his life and with the knowledge that drowning is indeed a very unpleasant thing.
So maybe this planet will have what he’s looking for. It better have, because Luke is reaching the middle of his list and… he really doesn’t want to go back to the Rebellion empty-handed. He can’t .
“Let’s see if we can find something in here, R2,” Luke says absentmindedly as his X-wing enters atmosphere, breaking through a veil of dark, ominous clouds. It’s not raining yet, and the closer Luke gets to the surface, the more grateful he is for that: this planet seems to be a vast, endless prairie of undulating grass. There are no settlements, abandoned temples, shelters in sight… which is very disheartening. In theory, there should be at least ruins of a Jedi temple, that’s why this planet is on the list.
So Luke keeps flying, not too high as to not miss anything, but even with R2’s aid in scanning their surroundings, a whole planet is too vast to be combed through like this by a lone X-wing.
To make things brighter, it starts raining.
“Great…” Luke grumbles, lifting his eyes to the sky to scowl at the clouds.
Seemingly taking offence for being scowled at, the clouds roar and unleash thunder and lightning. Quickly diverting his gaze from the searing flash of light, Luke shrinks a little into his flight suit and decides that flying lower is safer.
I think we should leave… says his navicomputer, translating R2’s worried beeps.
“I want to see what else there is on this planet, R2… If it’s on the list, it’s because-” The last of his words are lost in a curse as lightning strikes the X-wing. Communication between him and R2 is immediately dead, and so is the navicomputer. Momentarily blind from the flash of light, Luke panics and forgets to use the Force to guide himself, instead piloting manually in what he frantically hopes is still a straight horizontal course parallel to the ground.
He blinks once, he blinks twice, and just as the white burned into his retinas begins to fade, he has the impression that the vast green prairie below his ship is approaching him. The Force wails in warning, but in his distress, Luke fumbles with it like it’s foreign to him. Even so, he manages a crash landing instead of a complete nose-dive, and even though he hits his head so hard his helmet cracks and his vision goes black for a couple of seconds, Luke thinks he did a pretty good job.
Though, he could do without the headache. And without the insistent, loud ringing in his ears. It’s like pressure is building inside his skull, just under his brain, and threatening to explode. It simmers and throbs and stings, forcing Luke to screw his eyes shut for a moment longer. Groaning, he pulls out his helmet with shaky hands and presses his hands to each side of his head, cradling it as he slumps forward miserably.
“Kark…” he grunts, rubbing his hands in circles, but the pressure keeps building, keeps throbbing, and the ringing in his ears makes him sluggish, clumsy, disoriented. “Kark… R2?!”
If there’s an answer, the ringing in Luke’s ears mutes it. It even seems to muffle the rain. With another groan, Luke forces his eyes open and raises his head slowly, to look through the front shield - cracked at the bottom - and find that the socket where R2 should be nestled is empty. The sudden panic pumps enough adrenaline into his system to make him fumble to unstrap himself, but when he tries to open the cockpit canopy he finds out he can’t - not manually, at least. In a surge of annoyance, Luke raises a hand abruptly and the canopy skyrockets like it was never stuck in the first place. Shaking, Luke then hoists himself out of the cockpit and tumbles gracelessly onto the ground, falling face-first on the wet, long grass.
The fall only jostles his head some more, increasing his headache and the ringing to such a point that, for a few moments, Luke is too stunned to do as much as pushing himself up. The cold rain pelts his body with sharp stings, and it won’t take long for his flight suit to get soaked.
I could really use a hand right now… Luke thinks miserably, the thought going in circles in his mind. He needs to find R2 and then shelter, because with the canopy gone to kark knows where, the X-wing is no longer a proper shelter. Oh kriff, the cockpit is going to be ruined under all the rain, how will Luke even manage to fix it and-
Luke?
The booming, too familiar voice echoes in Luke’s mind, momentarily muting the ringing in Luke’s ears. It startles him so much that Luke finds himself on his feet, shaking and looking around with wide eyes.
I can feel your distress. I felt your call for help.
“Get off my head…” Luke mutters weakly, slapping the side of his head like it will solve his problem. It just increases his headache, it just makes him stagger and lean on his charred X-wing for support.
I will find you, my son.
No no no, this is bad, very bad. Luke shakes his head, trying to dismiss the voice of his fath- of Vader , but it only makes him feel dizzy and he can’t push himself away from his X-wing. The ringing in his ears seems to get worse too, and without even realising, Luke is on his knees, having the faint impression the planet he’s on is a bit… unsteady right now.
Kark, he has to find R2 and they need to get out of this place!! Forcing himself to breathe, Luke scrambles to his feet and trudges away from the crashed X-wing, looking around. The torrential rain seems to form a wall that conceals his surroundings wherever he looks, and all around him, the prairie stretches on endlessly. The ringing in his ears keeps pestering him, muffling the sound of the rain and even his own voice as he calls for R2. Figuring his astromech must’ve fallen when the ship first hit the ground, Luke stumbles in the opposite direction, following the shallow trench dug by his ship after it hit the ground and continued to slide through the grass. It’s a few metres, and when Luke reaches the first place of impact, the pounding and throbbing inside his skull is so much that he needs to crouch down to steady himself.
“R2!” he calls out, looking around. But the rain keeps hammering him down, the elastic grass continues to undulate peacefully… except… there, to the right, there’s R2’s bottom sticking out of the grass! He must have fallen dome-first on the ground. With a fond chuckle, Luke reaches out with a hand and, closing his eyes to focus, he plucks R2 out of the ground and makes him float towards him.
Of course, R2 isn’t too happy about floating through the air, neither about the mud covering his dome and photoreceptor. Gently, Luke sets him down, grabs a handful of wet grass, and tries to wipe R2 as best as he can.
“We need to get out of here, R2. Vader said he was coming-” A very worried beep. “-I’ll tell you about it later! We need to fix my ship… and I need to find the cockpit canopy, it can’t be that far…”
But maybe, he should wait until it stops raining. And resting will certainly fix the ringing in his ears, that’s slowly yet steadily driving him mad. Hopefully, the headache will disappear as well… The way his X-wing crashed, Luke can get a little cover from the rain - it won’t keep him dry, even because he’s soaked already, but at least he won’t be constantly pelted down by the rain…
~~~
The rain doesn’t stop.
Luke is soaked to the marrow and shivering and the ringing in his ears has become a steady, infuriating buzzing that Luke has failed to ignore by focusing on the sound of rain and by meditating. His headache has dulled a little, but Luke is still sluggish and moving too much makes him sick, so he’s been sitting on the wet grass under the humble protection of his ship for hours now. He’s starving and freezing, the rations he salvaged from a closed compartment in the cockpit are now as soaked as he is, and R2, working alone, hasn’t finished repairs.
Not that a repaired ship can leave atmo without the cockpit canopy… which Luke would gladly go look for, if only he got a break from the rain and the headache and the buzzing in his ears.
“I should’ve listened to you…” Luke laments when R2 trudges by, having trouble with moving about in the rain and tall grass. The astromech makes a reproachful beep that makes Luke sigh tiredly. “I’ll listen next time… As soon as it stops raining, I’ll go look for the canopy and-” The rest of the sentence is lost in a gasp.
The buzzing in Luke’s ears is suddenly, brutally muffled by the Force thrumming in expectation. It reverberates through Luke’s skull, soothing his headache momentarily and dissolving in his bloodstream.
The Force only acts like this when…
“R2, we need to go!!” Hurriedly, Luke scrambles to his feet and stumbles out of shelter. The sudden commotion intensifies his headache and his vision swims for a second.
Still, too close to comfort, Luke sees the black void in the shape of his father walking towards him.
And the buzzing in his ears vanishes, replaced by the haunting kish-kosh of Vader’s breathing.
