#alien addiction

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

going through my old journals as part of therapy homework and i'm reading a section written in the emotional wreckage of a full-on breakdown when i get hit with this line:

There is never a satisfying answer to ‘Why didn’t they love me?’

like wow babe. good fucking point

[sillykiu]

how much aura do i gain (or lose) for being in these fandoms

[iveneverbeenmorestressedinmylife]

theres a parallel universe out there where house is british and that information scares me. x

[guacanator]

more doodles from today lmao ft actual Harry for some reason there at the end

[vikvampir3]

Tfw when I realize I’ve known this whole time my dazai and general bsd hyperfixation was self destructive and I kinda don’t care

[probsdontrememberme]

some non-traditional pattens

[oliversrarebooks]

Augusnippets Day 30: Addiction

Augusnippets Masterlist

Human Resistance Masterlist

tw: drug withdrawal, brainwashing, restraints

"It's been almost five days."

"And I've told you before, his recovery could take months," said the medic, firmly standing her ground. "While he's recovering as well as we could expect, the withdrawal symptoms from the aliens' drugs have been very severe. He's also still very much under the influence of the enemy's conditioning. He's not in any shape to receive visitors."

"I'm not just a visitor," Jesse insisted, equally stubborn. "I've been with Zach through everything. He's seen me at my lowest god knows how many times. I need to be there for him. He'd agree, if he could."

The medic stared him down, still standing in front of the door to Zach's room, but Jesse had no intention of leaving. When Zach had been taken, Jesse had almost given up hope of seeing him again. Now, it had been five days since his rescue and two days since the surgery to remove his mind control collar. Jesse couldn't take it any longer. He had to see Zach in person, to know he was all right.

He was stronger than any alien brainwashing. Jesse knew that with his whole heart.

"I just don't think it's a good idea," said the medic.

"It's been months since I've seen him last. I have to know. He needs to know that I'm here for him. I won't be long."

The medic sighed, relenting. "Fine, but you may regret it."

As though Jesse didn't see people in awful shape each and every day. He could handle surgery aftermath and drug withdrawals.

As Jesse stepped into the room, the first thing he saw was that Zach was thoroughly restrained with arm, leg, and chest straps. There were soft mitts on his hands and a device holding his head down. Tubes and wires were attached to him everywhere. He didn't move as Jesse entered.

"Why is he restrained like that?" Jesse said softly to the medic.

"For his own safety."

"Yeah, but…"

"I did tell you that he's still under the enemy's conditioning. If we didn't restrain him, he'd try to return to them. He'll be like this for some time."

It was rare to rescue people once they were in alien clutches, and Jesse realized that he hadn't ever seen one so soon after the surgery to remove their collars. He slowly approached the bed, and Zach was staring at him with bloodshot eyes that seemed to see right through him. His head was shaved, and he had dark circles under his eyes.

"Zach?" said Jesse.

Zach quivered, seeming to cower into the bed as though he were a child in trouble. "Get away from me," he muttered. "Leave me alone."

Jesse could feel his heart sinking into his stomach. "Zach," he tried again. "It's me, Jesse."

"Jesse." Those wild eyes focused on his face. "Jesse."

"Yeah," he said encouragingly. "It's me. I'm here for you."

Zach's face twitched as he looked up at Jesse, and for just a moment, he looked like himself. But it only lasted a moment. "They took my collar!" he wailed, thrashing against the restraints. "I need to report to my superior! I need to comply!"

"Zach! Zach, it's okay." Jesse pressed his shoulders back down onto the bed. "It's okay. We rescued you. You're home."

This only caused a further cry of anguish. "Home! I need to go home. I need to go home."

"You are home, Zach, you've been rescued. You're back with us. You're safe."

"He means the alien ship," said the medic curtly.

Oh. Perhaps he should have known. "Is that what you're talking about? The alien ship? You want to go back there?"

"I need to go back!" he said miserably. "My collar… my collar is missing… I need it. I need to report to my superior. That was the last message they sent me, and now they're gone and everything hurts…"

Even though he'd been warned, Jesse hadn't remotely been prepared for this. He'd expected Zach to be half out of it, delirious and sick. He hadn't truly expected to see the former commander of the human resistance, the man who'd saved his ass so many times, crying over no longer being an alien's mindless pet.

"Zach, listen to me," Jesse said firmly, hoping to snap him out of it. "You're here at the base where you belong. We're not going to let you be taken by the aliens ever again --"

Zach's bloodcurdling shriek was enough send Jesse recoiling away.

"You're agitating the patient. I think you should leave," said the medic, grabbing Jesse's elbow. He didn't resist as she pulled her away from his friend's bedside. "He really isn't prepared to see visitors."

"What happened to him?" said Jesse in a daze.

"He was captured and brainwashed by the enemy. You know that."

"I know, but…" Jesse struggled to articulate his distress. "I know he was brainwashed, and that the recovery after taking the collar off is rough, but it's Zach. He's always been the best of us, so I thought he'd…"

…be stronger than that, he thought, and hated himself for thinking it.

"It's not a matter of being the best or the worst," said the medic. "It's neuroscience and chemistry. Zach may be tough and determined, but his brain is a lump of meat, the same as any of us. He can fight a lot of things, but not a steady dose of potent neurotoxins in his system, coupled with constant brainwashing. No one can."

"No one can," said Jesse numbly. "I suppose you're right."

"I'm sorry. I did try to warn you that it might not be a good idea."

"No… I'm glad I saw this. I needed to see him. It's just… it's a lot to think about." Jessie headed for the medbay door. "Have a good night."

"You too."

As Jesse closed the door, he found himself face to face with one of the old propaganda posters for the resistance, the one where Zach was smiling and stomping on an alien tentacle. The proud, brash man on the poster couldn't look more different from the crying, begging man in the medbay.

But no one can fight a flood of neurotoxin. Not forever.

Some part of him, he supposed, really thought that Zach could do it. If anyone could hold out and resist the aliens' brainwashing, it was Zach. But now, seeing him like this, it was apparent that he'd fallen as hard as anyone.

And if that were true… what hope was there for anyone else?

Augusnippets Masterlist

Human Resistance Masterlist

@augusnippets

And that's the end of Augusnippets! Thank you very much for reading, and thank you @\sowhumpshaped for organizing!

There may be a few more Human Resistance snippets...

[yungcoochiee]

the luv of ma life actually 🎀💕

[mumblesplash]

do you ever end up accidentally getting super attached to a trope so specific and rare you don't even know how to look for it? 'space aliens failing to understand that a human showing teeth usually isn't a threat display' isn't even an ao3 tag. finding that shit in published fiction or tv shows is next to impossible

[shrub-jay]

The New Arrival (Danny Kent)

CW: Body horror, teeth

TL;DR: The Kents take in another alien.

-------

The American Southwest has some of the highest found-meteorite density regions. New Mexico has a found meteorite rate of 1.9 per 1,000 square miles. Kansas trails with 1.8. A single farm in Smallville, Kansas, at just under 800 acres, has reported 23. One Dr. Kent reported iron meteorities landing in June, following northwesterly winds and a low chance of precipitation, over the course of several decades. It was an idle curiosity among Kansas meteorologists. A bizarre coincidence.  

“How big you think this one’s gonna be?” Jonathan Kent mused as he eyed the streak of green in the sky, leaning on a pitchfork. The still-young corn crop rustled in the breeze. 

“Not too big, or Clark would already be here,” his wife, Martha, mused from the porch. She looked up from Bubble Wubble Blast 2 on her phone. “Sweetie, you’ve gotta stop holding the pitchfork like that. I’m not ready for people to start comparing us to American Gothic.” Jonathan grumbled before leaning it against the porch railing, whistling sharply. 

“Shelby! Come here, girl!” A rambunctious golden retriever mix trotted around the corner, tail wagging. The streak in the sky had faded, disappearing behind the barn.  “Shelbs and I are going to go check it out on the four wheeler.” Martha perked up.

“And don’t forget to–”

“Log the coordinates, you’ve taught me well,” Jonathan finished, waving his hand dismissively and sending her a smile. The ATV engine roared to life, and he was off. It rumbled to a stop in front of a smoking crater. A head popped up, and two large eyes blinked back. Jonathan’s phone flash went off as he snapped a picture.

The figure recoiled, hissing. Ghostly white hair flickered around their face like fire, and a green sheen swirled across the wet surface of their eyes like rainbows on the surface of a bubble. Green tinged skin stretched across their features, and huge, wrinkled ears angled themselves back cautiously. Their dark nose twitched as Shelby approached the edge of the crater. A series of clicking noises rang out before their long, slender limbs collapsed beneath them like scaffolding.

Shelby darted forward.

“Woah girl, you don’t want to scare ‘em,” Jonathan whisper-shouted, hastily dismounting. It was too late. Shelby was already weaving joyfully between the new arrival’s arms, tail going a mile a minute. They obliged the dog with gentle scratches, and Jonathan smiled. “Looks like Clark might be getting a new sibling.”

It wasn’t hard to get them to follow. It was disconcertingly easy, in fact. Jonathan texted Martha to scrounge up some of the leftovers from their early dinner. He wasn’t sure if their new charge ate, given that he hadn’t seen a mouth. Perhaps they could photosynthesize like Clark, if the green hued skin was a clue. 

“How do you think they eat? If they eat at all?” Martha murmured, leaning forward on an elbow. Their guest prodded inquisitively at a gently warmed plate of food. The skin beneath their nose was taut and seamless. “I can never believe how lucky we got with Clark.” 

“Hell if I know,” Jonathan responded, tucking into his own plate of food. The smell of shepherd’s pie always whet his appetite. Their company watched him carefully. Jonathan gestured with his fork with ‘cheers’ motion before relishing the forkful of luscious potato, mouth already watering from the well browned beef. 

Jonathan Kent was a man who sometimes wondered if the point of life was to hear food sizzle while cooking. Cracking fresh eggs and wiping freshly minced garlic from the slightly tacky blade of a knife were simple tasks and simple joys. He wondered if Clark was eating well. 

He was pulled from his thoughts by a sharp crack and a soft gasp. The figure’s pointed chin had lowered, the muscles of a jaw straining into visibility. Where their mouth would be, the skin stretched tighter still, before caving in like the hollow of a cheek. They emitted a high pitched, painful whine, eerie as a theremin, limbs tangling around their head like a self imposed cage. Martha lurched forward in concern.

The skin began to split. Fibrous layers burst forth, as if they had only been held together by tension. Their face bloomed like a roll of tissue shredded by a cat's claws. Pieces began to flake and fall off, and the whine intensified as something began to protrude. 

A tooth. A startlingly human looking incisor. Jonathan’s fork clattered onto his plate, and he winced in commiseration. They began to claw at the flaking skin, slowly excavating a set of pearly whites. When they finished, piles of white flakes littered the room. They sneezed, shaking their head, rubbery ears slapping against their face.

They gnashed their newly grown pair of human teeth with apparent glee. 

“It seems like they might be able to fit in just fine.”

[taruchikas]

hm.

[dannyk09]

Just a little depressed frog

[doctor-mccoys-sanity]

Rewatching Children of Earth bc it’s the most depressing piece of media i have ever watched

[trappolia]

🌟 COMMISSIONS ARE OFFICIALLY OPEN! if you’re interested, please refer to my terms & conditions! i’m an 18 year-old student who is unable to work a job yet due to scheduling conflicts with my school curriculum, so this is the only way i can earn money for now. commissioning me, tipping me on my ko-fi or even just reblogging my posts will be super helpful! i currently have five slots open for commissions at the moment.

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[krystal-blossom]

Kinda serious post

Is it me, or has making friends online become noticeably harder?

It seems to me that most social media, by design, doesn't want you to socialize with other people; it wants you to socialize with content.

In essence, interacting with other people's posts, as opposed to building meaningful relationships.

And I do not want to use a "friend-making app". Part of what I like about the internet is anonymity; friend-making apps pretty much want you to dox yourself.

It's no wonder that "social media addiction" is such a prevalent issue. It exploits our need for geniune social interaction for mass-media indulgence.

Mid-century philosophers have warned us about this, and people didn't listen.

[articwolfclawartist]

I don’t consume the franchise’s media because it’s “good”, I consume it because I got emotionally attached to the characters as a child and now I can’t let go