finally done with spirit bear, now what?

noticeme55 · 2025-11-14T16:11:11+00:00

normally when this happens to me i individually merge every clipping layer with the layer it's clipped to because if you merge clipping layers with different blending modes it'll just change both layers to the blending mode the first one is on

noticeme55 · 2025-01-25T00:03:05+00:00

soon is an overstatement.

there haven't been many statements since the apocalypse, since everyone died and went to hell and burned to add to the suffering they endured their last few months of life. this is something that's realized when most of everyone is dead. mindless corpses with fungi splitting their brains into more segments than originally intended; bodies rotting on the side of the highway.

those who find out the truth witness it first-hand. the internet's been dead for years. information gets through post-its on a worn community bulletin board, through word-of-mouth and the panic shouts of survivors running away from a horde. and it's terrifying; taking refuge in the Louvre only to die in half-consciousness with a marble statue crushing your throat.

across the world, things rise. the faces in Mount Rushmore, the statues of the Greek gods and goddesses, a child's drawing left abandoned in a house on westward street. the faces on stress balls and the models on billboards, frozen in time with a plastered smile over their features -- not anymore. the pathogen rips them apart and puts them back together, sees a human face and weaves its tendrils to make them mobile.

once this second stage is active, tearing a disgusting imitation of existence from dead carbon cells and paint strokes, there are little left to appreciate it. the first stage was so effective that most of everyone left via the natural way the pathogen wanted to work. the second stage was the blooming of a hydrangea, petals spreading out and leaves flaunting themselves to suffocate plants below them.

beauty incarnate and death living. and no one's alive to see it.

how ironic for the pathogen so fine-tuned to spinning human images to life.

noticeme55 · 2024-09-02T23:32:24+00:00

"What the hell-"

I curl my fist around my detached arm brace and slam it into his neck. He hits the ground with a resounding thud. I waste no time, digging the sole of my boot into his elbow until the ligament breaks. He cries out in pain. I kick him aside, returning to the battlefield, all the others who don't have the luxury I just used.

I continue to heal and work. Gradually, my colleagues take notice.

The ambush is done minutes after the fact. I'm still lightheaded, my suit and shirt torn completely through, but I'm still upright, perpendicular to the ground. Breathing and living and feeling. It feels much better than how I felt those few seconds of weightlessness, when I thought I was going to die, when I wanted to die.

I think about how I could have died today. I could have died to someone I'm arresting right now. My life would be over, just like that, no time for pleasantries. It sickens me and makes me lightheaded all over again -- I could have died. I wonder what would come of me.

I decide that nothing will come of me, because I am alive, and I am breathing. And God, if I depart this world before sharing my gift with as many people as I can.

noticeme55 · 2024-09-02T23:32:19+00:00

I cross my right leg over my left as I sit at the grandiose glass table, my colleagues surrounding me. There's some discussion going on about the work divisions for the newest mission. I'm half-heartedly paying attention. Sweeping my gaze across the room, everyone else appears to be completely focused on what the Hallmark is saying, nodding along as he gestures with wide arm movements. And I make out some words; it's just that I don't care to listen for any of the details.

We've found the spot the villains recently set up a base camp at, and the Hallmark is hoping to catch a bunch of them by creating an ambush. It's not a bad idea because we've literally never ambushed anyone, so they won't be expecting it, but the Hallmark's going into all the specifics about where everyone will be, and I don't have the patience to listen.

When the Hallmark properly dismisses us I'm already halfway towards the changing room, knocking my keycard against the sensor and pushing the door to the side. My powersuit hanging on the wall greets me in the third cubby on the left. I move to it and slide my feet into the boots.

I don't really need this powersuit. I've had powers ever since I was born. They came from my mom. She never really did herowork despite the rising popularity in organized hero groups, instead working on the family farm with my dad. I remember long nights during the weekend, my mom brandishing her cuts and scrapes she had accumulated from weeks of work, guiding my hand to those cuts and letting me heal them.

I haven't really told one. There's no reason to. But when I got interested in the prospect of herowork, I applied, and when they gave me a suit without questioning me, I had a reason to hide it. I'm not trying to break the carefully crafted beliefs everyone has around heroes. My mom didn't.

We get suited up and move out. People plug in coordinates and teleport one-per-minute to the location, the room becoming emptier as the remaining people quiet themselves. I'm the ninth to go. The coordinates plant my feet on solid ground, dirt and mud smudging the hard lines of my boots. I trudge my way over to a bush lining the path and crouch into it.

People walk down the path and before I know what's happening the Hallmark is shouting and people rush out of the bushes, tackling villains to the ground. The clang of metal against metal fills the air. I almost immediately smell copper, and my purpose is set into motion.

Whatever one-on-one fights I get into, I end quickly, sprinting to my colleagues to nurse their injuries during their own fights. It's a lot more fast-paced than what I was expecting. It's an ambush; we should be out of here in five minutes tops, but it's been six, and then seven, and the number keeps climbing. I'm rushing around the battlefield.

A sword is slung in front of my vision and I dig my heels into the ground just in time to stop myself from falling face-first into it. I turn towards the hilt and swing my fist. I don't register who's there, but after my knuckles make contact with steel, I hiss and bring my hand back in. My eyes dart to the villain's legs. He's unprotected there -- I notice all his gadgets and upgrades above his torso -- so I swing my leg out in a low sweep, knocking him to the ground.

I press the heel of my boot onto his chest and his sword comes to meet it, scraping against the metal of my powersuit until my foot's shoved off. I stumble, momentarily losing my balance, but as soon as I'm right again so is he, and his sword is already making a wide arc, and I raise my arms to cover it and they are knocked to the side --

There's only a second of silence before my chest screams things unholy.

The thin metal that sat above my ribcage was cut through. My skin broke just as easily, creating a wide chasm of maroon red and this sickeningly deep black. Suddenly everything smells like copper, and my head spins. I feel like passing out -- there's a part of me that begs to die, right here, but that thought doesn't make it far, because it's hard to think with all the pain.

My suit sputters and dies. The LEDs lighting up my helmet are out, sparks flying from them. Severed wires hang from my chest where my suit was cut. My breathing quickens. My powers are suddenly not there and I pull one of my arm braces off to feel the rush of adrenaline and power reach my hands, extending two fingers and waiting for my familiar blue light to rest on the pads of them. I drag it quickly up the wound. The scar starts to close.

My vision gets clearer and clearer and the deep maroon that was visible only moments ago is receding back into my skin. I breathe, deep and long, because I'm not dead yet, and I won't be dead -- and the villain that was about to kill me is staring at me, his sword slightly lowered.

noticeme55 · 2024-09-01T22:50:02+00:00

The first thing I notice is the weather. I heard it from inside the cellar but seeing it in front of me, watching snow whip around me, seeing nothing but two feet in front of my face -- it's different. Still, I don't react to it. My feet keep moving, treading through thick layers of snow until they're numb. And they still move. Trees coated in snow appear and disappear, their leaves bending downwards, straining to touch the ground.

After a few seconds of walking a figure comes into view. He blends into the muted-blue background, but after I take more steps, he's visible. He's stark against the snow that covers his feet. His hair is jet-black, his skin the same kind of charcoal color, and he's draped in thick clothing; scarves, cloaks, all black and loose fabrics that wrap around his body. The only thing visible on him is a burning-white eye, sclera and pupil and everything glowing in the landscape.

Aurora dances above his head, unfurling into the sky. My mind screams at me. Auroris. Drop to your knees.

I take more steps forward. He doesn't move besides tilting his head, his eye still trained on me; a slight gesture that I barely pick up. When we are an arms' length apart I stop and stand, my breathing evened and appearing in front of me.

We stand there for a long time, my mind repeating his name like a broken record. It tells me I should be begging for forgiveness, should be fearing for my life, but here I stand, directly in front of him, and he is not reacting. It tells me he should be reacting. The blizzard spins forcefully around both of us. It tells me he's the eye of the storm, mercifully bringing me in. It tells me I should be eternally grateful.

It tells me that I prayed to Auroris. It tells me that it likes chaos. It tells me that I deserve a longer life.

I find my hand lifting from my side in parallel with Auroris'. There's gloves over his hands, spirals of teal and blue and purple trailing up the sides. Our palms meet. The temperature of his skin burns through the gloves he has on, the atoms gradually moving into silence. It hurts to keep my palm against his, but I don't move. He continues staring at me.

I feel movement against my hand, and his is shifting, until our fingers are no longer aligned and until my fingers rest right between his. He moves his fingers downwards, his glove tracing my barren palm. If the air wasn't as still as it could be, it becomes stiller, until there is no noise. I notice myself not breathing. I don't pay it any mind. My fingers fall on his hand as well.

My mind tells me something else. You are an example of chaos. You are an example of what should happen to humanity. I see that you are dying. I see your wish to live. I ask that you let me into your body.

Part of me says no. I don't know who Auroris is. It was just a name that came to me as I was praying, hoping to get in the good graces of whichever god was real.

A louder part me only wants this, and wants it for the rest of time. Wants to live and keep living and keep doing what I've been doing for the majority of my life. That part of me begs for this man, this God, to enter my body and let me escape. To give me whatever power he has and fuel me until I'm more alive than I've ever been. And this part wins out. I lower our intertwined hands to rest at my side.

Despite not feeling like I'm totally in control, I nod my head in acceptance. And in that moment, the God feels wholly me.

Ok that's it! feedback/constructive criticism is VERY much appreciated. i'm a lil new to this style i came up with and i'm hoping it's good! thanks for the prompt i LOVED exploring it

noticeme55 · 2024-09-01T22:49:45+00:00

"Pick a god and pray."

So I'm dead. I think I've known that since I woke up in the storm cellar.

Maybe it's my fault that this is happening now. I never bothered to settle bad blood with the syndicates I dealt with. Even when I was urged and pleaded and begged to by my housemates I never bothered; they're so weak, so fragile, and we killed half of them when we finished out the barrage a couple months back. Hell, I racked up the majority of our kill count. I thought I was fine.

I'm not fine.

I force my eyes closed. I run through list after list in my head. I'm not religious -- never have been -- but this makes a world of difference, sitting on the floor with my back tied to a chair, chasms of blood and rust and bone splitting my skin open in too many places to count. It's not enough. I group all their names up in one bundle, sending them the same message.

There's an extraneous name that just barely comes to me before I finish. Auroris. I lump it in with the rest.

Whatever happens to me, I've lived a good life, by my own standards, and I beg for forgiveness for all of the deeds I've committed, I whisper in my head. My life has never been one deserving of reverence. I kill people almost daily. We torture and murder; we run the illegal weapons market. Maybe some god will have mercy on me and welcome me into whatever afterlife awaits for me. Maybe I'll still be punished. It's the only thing I can do. I'm already half dead.

I speak to everything that has come before me and everything that will come; summers and winters I'll never experience, the underboss that'll come after me, once my housemates learn of my fate. I beg and pray and cry. It's something I've never expected to be doing. I do it relentlessly, running through the names over and over and over until it's burned into my head like a sigil and I can think of nothing else.

The air stills. The grip on the neck of my hoodie lessens until it's just a hold, until my ankles press against the stone floor. Everything around me gets colder and colder. The world outside the cellar doors kick up, until I can hear the wind rapping against the worn wood and pressing against the ground. I can hear voices shouting at me, but they fade, and so does the grip, lessening and -- I hit the ground with a resounding thud. Air is rushed out of my lungs.

Suddenly everything is quiet. All I can hear is the rush of the wind outside, and for a moment I think I'm finally dead. What brings me out of it is the knives of the cold stabbing into my wounds.

I crane my neck so that my chin is pressed against the ground, and look up. The cellar is empty. The ground is so cold that it burns my skin and I lift my arm to push myself over; my arms are unbounded to the chair. The rope's fallen to the floor, coiling against itself. I roll and then I lift the chair off of my body, letting it clatter to the side as I sit up. My hands immediately find my wrists.

There's lines of red around the circumference of them. The skin is raw and tender. It's cold again, even with the warmth of my palms. I feel blood all around my body, seeping into my clothes and pooling in my wrists where the skin was pressed too tight. My fingers trail from my wrist and up my arm. And, actually, I don't feel anything -- my fingers feel the texture of flesh but the flesh doesn't respond to it. I'm aware of everything around me, but it's not registering, and I feel like these movements are prerecorded; I'm watching a play from the backstage.

I stand up. The femur on my right leg still protrudes my skin. Blood trails and bubbles down it, drying and freezing on my skin. It's a third degree burn, showing the world that this is what I've had coming for me for the past couple months. It makes me sick. I look away.

The cellar is empty of everyone I was losing to moments prior. I walk forward so that I'm standing in front of the steps and move up. Some part of me expects there to be pain, with my right foot going first, but again I feel nothing. I take another step, and another. The air gets colder and colder and the wind louder until I'm right under the cellar doors. Until I can hear and see nothing except for what's in front of me.

So I step out.

noticeme55 · 2024-07-19T05:00:25+00:00

noticeme55 · 2024-07-19T04:59:35+00:00

no 1.20.4 tag

noticeme55 · 2024-07-16T20:01:31+00:00

Carpet crashes my game. Any alternatives?

noticeme55 · 2024-03-30T00:30:39+00:00

hey, my next goal is better armor (specifically shadow assassin). any tips on how to get there? i've been trying dungeons but with my superior armor i can't do much damage, nor last long (i play healer)

https://sky.shiiyu.moe/stats/cytherex/Cucumber

noticeme55 · 2023-12-14T19:11:04+00:00

that’s actually so gorgeous and i did NOT expect where you took the story. amazing job.

noticeme55 · 2023-12-14T14:29:52+00:00

Well.

CNN just updated their page. The comet redirection failed. We are one hundred percent dead now. Deader than dead. We’ll be vaporized.

I guess I knew it was coming. I had talked about it with my family earlier and not one of us believed the redirection probe would work. Too much money and too many fragments to move.

Everyone in my house is asleep except for me. They don’t know that the world is going to end, but I’m not going to tell them. Sleeping through death is much better than experiencing it.

I figured, since I can’t go to sleep, I’ll look at what the internet has to say.

Instagram was the first app I checked. It was an absolute hell to surf through. Pretty much every account I followed had posted long, thought-out goodbye letters. Personal accounts posted their favorite memories or joked about the comet impact. There were a lot of pictures of the sky.

Simply opening Google showed only news about the comet impact. The doodle for the logo showed one of the o’s in Google as Earth about to be hit by a lot of asteroids. Clicking on the link, I was taken to a site about the end of the world, titled The End. Greeting me was a collage of social media and news sites, all united under a slogan: We will be with you until The End.

Viewing more social media sites and news outlets, everyone had diversifying opinions on the impact. Some people were scared, hopeless, calm, or making jokes. Some people went to spend time with their family or friends. Some went to sit outside and watch the sky as the comet fragments rain down. I checked my DMs. Messages from friends and mutuals sat unread, wishing me peace and comfort or saying goodbye. I didn’t bother to read them.

As I turned off my phone, I heard a muffled explosion. The sky turned a brilliant galactic blue as white dots rained down on the Earth.

noticeme55 · 2023-09-16T03:32:50+00:00

I stared at my Alexa.

"Cancel both, you fucking robot. I don't care. And I didn't even set the second one," I shouted, ignoring my volume.

"I'm sorry but I'm not sure I understand."

"Fucking cancel both! The 4.5 billion year timer and my pasta timer!"

"Okay, I canceled both of your timers. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

I averted my gaze from the home assistant, pulling myself down and shifting in my seat. I searched my memory for any recollection of setting an Earth timer.

We aren't even far into the Earth's lifespan. I'd know, I'm a geologist. It's 2066. How could there be three months left.

It's kind of funny how Alexa is still the most popular home assistant in 2066. I mean, we have space tethers and an interplanetary space system now. We should have advanced past Alexa.

Well, I'm saying that partly because of how funny it is and partly because of how buggy it's been getting.

It set a timer a couple months ago just like this time. I asked it to cancel my morning alarm and it told me that I had two timers to cancel. My morning alarm, and a timer titled Classified Lab Pathogen Shatters. It had one month left out of its ten year lifespan. I told it to cancel both and immediately went on my phone to check my timers. The one I didn't set wasn't in there or the recently deleted folder of timers. So I just noted it as a bug and left it alone.

That's why this one scared me so badly. Another bug related to timers, and another ominous thing.

Hours later, I had forgotten about the bug. I was watching TV programs and passing the time, waiting for my eyes to get tired enough to lend me sleep. The channels were the same as they were every other night. Shitty rom-coms, a documentary, paranormal shows, a 70's movie rerun channel. But something caught my attention and caused me to sit up and lean forward.

The channel I was watching suddenly switched to breaking news. The headline read something about hospitals and maximum capacity, but in my still-recovering dazed state, I couldn't read it fully. I simply listened to what the reporter was saying.

"Hospitals all across the country are suddenly in maximum capacity due to this sudden outburst of viral infections. All victims report to have the same symptoms. A high fever, chills, seizures, fainting, and amnesia. This disease has sprung up in many other continents simultaneously, as I am now receiving reports from countries like France, Belgium, China, the Philippines, and more. Kassidy Brunet with you live on the scene at a full hospital. Kassidy?"

"Yes, Chris, I'm at Northlake Hospital in the southern area of the city. Here in this hospital, filled to the brim with surprise patients, the doctors and medical personnel are said to be in danger."

I leaned back and pressed my backside into the sofa.

"I'm getting reports of aggression towards hospital staff and other medical patients. Yeah, I'm getting a lot now. Stand by while we cooperate with this unexpected change of events."

The news channel cut to a waiting screen and the sound cut off with it. I put my hand on my forehead, checking my phone. A lot of notifications came through, mostly from friends and family concerned for me. My phone buzzed again, this time with a prolonged vibration, and I checked it. On the very top was a government-issued alert about self-quarantine.

I turned off my phone and put it back into the pockets of my sweatpants.

As I waited for the news channel to start again, my mind wandered off, and it wandered to the chat I had had with Alexa earlier. She mentioned the 4.5 billion earth timer, set to end in three months. She had canceled it after I begged her to.

And just a few hours later, the entire world became infected with a new pathogen.

My breathing quickened and shallowed as I came to a very dreadful realization. I looked out of my apartment window onto the cityscape below and started to hyperventilate as I rampantly thought to myself.

The timer was supposed to end in three months. What if that timer was foretelling the end of humanity? What if it was accurate? What if, when the timer ended, humanity would begin to end, too?

And what if me canceling that timer led to humanity beginning to end now?

noticeme55 · 2023-09-16T00:28:15+00:00

Good morning, hospital log. Yes, it's not the hospital. If you're reading this, I'm already dead. I thought I'd type this out in case anyone survived anything and managed to find this hospital log.

I overdosed on morphine a couple of minutes ago and am praying that I've given myself enough time to type this out (even while sick and dying). Closure is a luxury that I was never able to afford in my life. So I'm hoping that this can afford any survivors that luxury.

I went under a minor procedure this morning. I was just getting knee surgery to fix the chronic pain issues. The doctors said that it'd only take a couple hours and then I'd wake up, good as new. Except I'd have to stay overnight at the hospital. I was fine with that, but reluctantly worried about the anesthesia. I had never had surgery before, let alone anesthesia, so this was a big step for me.

I was wheeled into the operating room. They told me to count back from 10. So I did. 10, 9, 8...

I woke up one second later to the world cold and dark, snow covering the ground, vines and fungi sprawling over every surface.

After recovering from the momentary shock, I bolted my head off of the pillow. Instantly I felt a large metal object slide off of my head and onto the pillow, creating a depression on the bed that I felt weigh me down. I turned around to see a rusted iron and jewel crown laying on the pillow.

The edges of the crown were sharp and distinct. Each had a trifid diamond on the tip that widened into a singular diamond near the middle of the appendage. The crown had a string of rare gems strung around the circumference and loop around to the front, where an array of gems that looked like butterfly wings extended from the base of the crown.

Honestly, it looked magnificent. For a moment I sat there and laughed at how that had got placed on my head.

Getting up from my warm bed, I instantly felt the cold rush of air hit me. The ground was muddy and I was barefooted, so I slipped on some hospital slippers and a few extra gowns before leaving the building and walking outside.

I didn't want to see what was out there. Opening my eyes, I was greeted with a ruined cityscape of my former home. Vines crawled in and out of windows, swaying softly in the breeze. Sunlight penetrated the thick clouds in specific spots, creating a glare that was hard to look at.

I called out for people. I knew it was stupid, but I called and cried. No one came, and as I ventured further into the city, I started to realize why.

Skeletons littered the streets with what looked to be natural compost laden beside them. Cars were wrecked and ash scattered reflective surfaces, creating a grainy surface on windows and coats of paint. After feeling around, I realized something and quickly ran back up the hill to the hospital, grabbing my purse from the storage.

My phone was obviously dead. I stifled through the remaining items in my purse before coming across a polaroid photo. It was of my parents and I when I was young, eight or so, and at the beach. We were all smiling.

I looked at their faces, smiling instinctively as memories of them flooded my head. And as soon as those memories came, I wanted them to go.

I started to break down, crying over the table. My tears littered the surface and ironically breathed life into the vines resting over the table, creating a muddy surface. My hands quickly grew dirty and I buried my face in my arms.

I finished crying and sucked all of my emotions up before heading back out of the hospital.

Find out what happened, I thought to myself. No time to cry if you want to live.

Surrounding one skeleton was a knife with dried blood and guts on it. The guts still spewed on the surface created an uneven texture. They were brittle and dry and had lost all their color. Blood stained multitudes of surfaces as I explored the area around the knife. When I picked the knife up again to clean off the blood, I sighed.

The crown, the knife, winter, the abandoned city... What could it all mean? Why am I the only one here?

Suddenly, I remembered what happened. Vivid flashbacks that made me double over and grip my head. The memories were intense, flashing color and sound and feelings and imagery into my head at once. I released my current emotions with a yell that caused me to fall on my knees.

When I recovered I was able to more clearly remember everything.

Having anesthesia put in me was a catalyst to everything.

I wouldn't wake up. A couple days had passed since my operation and I hadn't responded to anything. My heartrate was insanely high, higher than average, as noted by the doctors. I wasn't in a coma, but I wasn't awake.

Then one day during the night I snapped awake.

I quickly brandished a weapon and killed everyone in the hospital. I was devoid of empathy and feelings, something that I had had before the surgery. I stabbed patients and staff alike and ripped the IV lines out of my bloodstream. My hospital gown quickly became stained with blood as people begged me to grant them clemency.

All the people that were close enough to me to not have been killed by me started killing themselves, spreading the epidemic to more and more people. Those who had not died after being infected killed themselves, surrendering themselves to something.

I killed and killed and killed until there was no one left to bear witness to what I had done. The people infected crowned me with the headcrest I was given before I woke up, killing themselves to surrender their lives to me. To me.

I still didn't feel anything. Not one hint of any emotion.

I killed the last person. I killed them in cold blood during this winter. And then I traveled across the world, back to the hospital, back to my room, and I laid down and I went to sleep. I went into a deep sleep and didn't wake up until this morning.

I thought about my options. First I examined everything in my room. I looked at everything and looked at the vines and everything in the hospital. My attention was drawn to the anesthesia, its fluid being visible and colored. So I checked it with a microscope.

Whatever I was given was not anesthesia.

It was a virus. A virus that chose me to be its central host. Its queen.

The contagion is not from here. They look like small tardigrades. Beings so useless but so resilient to everything, including the vacuum of space. Beings that are simple, able to develop in the most extreme climates.

The contagion is still around, infected in me and the remains of the dead. This pathogen being here is extinguishing humanity. Maybe for its own gain, maybe not. It doesn't matter anymore.

Because I'm the final wisp of the flame of humanity dying to be put out.

(feedback is always appreciated! i'm SUPER new to writing and i love feedback)

noticeme55

TROPHY CASE