#anabella silvette

[apocalypsewriters]

Happy Blorbo Blursday, Noah! For any OC you don’t have brainrot much or from a story on hold: Does your oc celebrate Pride? How? Sending grand creative energy and ☆☆ vibes ☆☆ your way! - ✨ Enc

hey enc!!

talking about the superhero au may invigorate my passion for it which i don't have time for but alas, that's the one i was inspired to bring out for this

as the crimson programmer, anabella has lights built into all the devices she sells to villains. this is more a product of the gadgets, not for this purpose, but for all of june she uses her override and puts rainbows and various pride flags on the villain's equipment

[apocalypsewriters]

All my characters struggle with this.

Bella deals with it the best, but is scarred by toxic friends as she started to emerge from her shell, but constant support from her family and immediate friends negated the damage somewhat.

Freddie is too stubborn to be truly mistreated. If you dislike him, it's because you're jealous of his intelligence, or too stupid to comprehend his superiority. He is however, painfully independent. His parents distancing themselves made unconditional love and constant support a foreign concept to him, which causes him to somewhat verbally abuse his foster parents. The Perfect Family (in AUs where pre-canon is relevant) Vi and Aster work to undo the harm his parents did, which leads him to be a more compassionate and open person. He's still cynical and a bit of a jerk at times though.

Zach struggles a lot. He lost his mother at a young age, so he's been ridiculed at school for only having his father as a parent (and he did a very good job raising him) especially since his dad's a cop. He has a few endearing but childish habits, and is more cautious than boys his age, which led to him being teased to such an extent of distress on his end, he moved schools. True compassion, friendship and genuine care directed towards him from strangers or acquaintances is alien and fragile - he keeps a mask up, staying estranged from almost everyone, though it may not be apparent, to receive a fake version of kindness.

Bella's compassion toward him later on is going to throw him for a loop. She'll do her best to help Freddie, but she doesn't have the expertise, experience or resources to undo years of external and self social isolation.

A favorite character dynamic / story arc

[apocalypsewriters]

A Pile of Sticks and Leaves

A/N: I was inspired by someone’s snippet of writing, but it’s been a while so I don’t remember who it was. Thank you for sparking this bundle of awkwardness that is my three babis trying to show affection

Summary: Zach decides Bella and Freddie are starved of affection and it’s his responsibility to correct that

Muscles screaming, Bella sank to the floor, leaning against the beaten-up sofa that still smelled funky even after hosing it into oblivion. She sighed heavily, head tipping back to rest on the seat of the couch, and tried to make herself comfortable but was thwarted by the low angle she sat at. The top of the sofa seemed too far away to move to.

Her eyes drifted shut momentarily, but they snapped open when Zach set his head on her thigh. Stiffening, Bella leveled a scalding glare at him but was exhausted beyond the point of caring to make him move. He met her gaze unflinchingly, cheek pillowed on her leg. A beat, then another. Breaking eye contact, having finished his assessment of her, Zach shifted, rolled, stood. Bella’s eyes followed where his feet pointed; Freddie sat peacefully on the fraying armchair in the corner of the room, which was in line with the kitchen, reading his recently liberated comic. A few weeks ago, after claiming the chair as solely his own, he had dragged it over to its current position to pick at half-prepared food and watch Bella cook. He claimed his new view was to make sure she wouldn’t kill him with terrible cooking. He was lying.

Zach stalked over to where Freddie was curled up. He leaned down. Freddie startled. Murmuring in Freddie’s ear, he waited for a nod, grabbed a slip of paper from the closest part of the dinged-up kitchen bench, slotted it into Freddie’s page in the comic, and slid the comic onto the bench. Perched in the same position, Freddie side-eyed Zach, making no move even as his hand was taken and tugged at. Intrigued, Bella watched on. Zach, his face blank and eyes bright, pulled more insistently. Still, Freddie didn’t budge. Having lost his patience, Zach huffed, stooped down, and effortlessly scooped Freddie up, who squawked indignantly. Tiredness made it easy for Bella to feign indifference as a smirk played at the edges of her mouth.

“Put me down!”

“Just give me a second.” Zach’s expression grew strained as he tried not to drop Freddie who writhed desperately in his grip. Reaching Bella, he tucked Freddie into her side. At the contact, the pair went immediately rigid. They would have made a good foundation for a campfire. “There, see?” Zach said, somewhat triumphant.

As Freddie overcame his shock he made to stand up. His escape attempt was foiled by Zach who had resumed his position on Bella’s lap and thrown an arm across Freddie’s chest. Groaning, Freddie settled stiffly back into his spot.

The fridge sputtered in its whirring across the room. Across the room, a hung-up shirt whispered to the floor as it succumbed to gravity. Silence stretched through the room. Chewing the inside of his cheek, Freddie mulled over the four conflicting angles disrupting the contact between his left side and Bella’s right. Zach’s arm went limp over his middle, pale fingers brushing his forearm. Not daring to move, Freddie flicked his eyes over to where Zach lay. He was twisted awkwardly over Bella’s legs, one hand over hers, laying on his back with his right shoulder draped over her knees to reach his frustratingly long arm around Freddie. Heart clenching strangely, Freddie dropped his head onto Bella’s shoulder and attempted to slump down to match her posture. It made his back hurt but, regardless, he continued.

Feeling Freddie relax, if oddly, Zach smiled and readjusted. He gave Bella’s hand an apologetic squeeze and began repositioning himself. Now he lay almost parallel to her, his upper back over her legs, curving one arm up towards Freddie. In silent acknowledgment of Zach’s gesture, Freddie laced a few fingers through his, eyes squeezed shut and eyebrows pinched but otherwise wearing a serene expression. Bella’s hand drifted to lay on his shoulder and Zach smiled lazily.

He hadn’t done this since Ethan. Just sitting together in semi-comfortable silence, as your breathing was a little too loud, but so was everyone else’s, which made it okay. Your joints would get stiff after a while, but it was worth it to just exist close to each other. You could stop running, stop hiding, and just be. Just lie with people you cared about, all in a pile, seated on the cold concrete floor of a stranger’s basement, surrounded by things you made, things you found, things you treasured.

[apocalypsewriters]

A/N: After about a month and a half wait, I have finally plucked up the courage to post part 2!! After this there are only 3 more sections and if i feel like breaking some hearts, an alternate ending

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Part II: Catch

Bella tugged at her hood. Despite knowing it concealed her face well with the deep shadow created in the dim light, she needed something to do with her hands and hoped it would be succinct and subtle enough to not be noteworthy.

She jumped as Manic Alchemist spoke, ripping her hands away and tucking them together in her lap. He sat halfway across the room from her, legs crossed and leaning against an ebony high backed chair that screamed try-hard villain. “This is a surprisingly impromptu meeting for you,” he said, smooth and undaunted. Anyone who heard about him before actually hearing him was always surprised by the disconnect between his diction and his voice - a teenager with the everyday language of a college lecture. 

“Well,” Bella, the Crimson Programmer, said, fumbling. She was always terrible at lying with short notice. Twisting the finger of her new glove with her bare hand, she continued, “Sometimes I worry about you, squirt. Your ego took quite the beating this weekend. Maybe you need more of my tech to supplement your talents.” With a quiet pop as the Crimson Programmer squeezed her wrists, hidden capsules released a swarm of Crimson Nanites into the room. Perhaps her fiddling could pass the movement off as a nervous gesture.

Meanwhile, Manic Alchemist bristled at her jab. “Thank you for the offer,” he said, “but I don’t have the budget for any upgrades at the moment. You have a steep price.”

The Crimson Programmer forced lightness into her voice, saying, “Come on. Isn’t it worth it for the fee? I’m top of the line. You were lucky to find me.” She was desperately stalling for time. The cluttered room would increase travel time for the nanites. Disguised by her hood and minimal self control keeping her head trained on Manic Alchemist, her eyes sporadically flickered from the bots to him. Distantly she wondered what Zach would think. He obviously assumed she would use the glove she showed him, maybe other equipment she’d developed in his company, to apprehend a B-list villain. Theoretically, she could, but it was just so much easier to use her nanites. She was using the latest version, 6.3, which was exclusively for her personal use, since it was still in beta and far too dangerous and useful to put in anyone else’s hands. Besides, she deserved to treat herself with one of a kind new toys every once in a while. 

“Maybe,” Manic Alchemist said, breaking through her train of thought. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I have no money to spare! As you said so subtly, my attack this weekend failed, so everything I risked was lost.” Lights began flickering at the edge of the room; he was getting dangerously ticked off. While his anger would make him less observant, it would dramatically increase his likelihood of storming off or driving her out, and that would doom the easy picking he served as one of her more docile contacts.

“Don’t worry,” she said, trying to smooth over his frustration. “You can get new equipment on credit. Interest rates are very low, especially for regular high-paying customers like you, and I already have some updates planned for what you’ve purchased from me already.”

Manic Alchemist drummed his fingers on the sliver of free space at the table he sat at and said simply, “Perhaps.” The heat had drained from him, but his outburst had left both of them on edge, tense in biting, barely sustained diplomacy. 

At the prompting of a beep updating the Crimson Programmer on the Nanites’ progress, she jumped in. “Say that you did get the updates. For a reduced price, even. What would you do then?” She hoped the usual tactic of getting the Alchemist to talk about himself would be distraction enough. He loved gloating, even if he would never  admit it. Thankfully for his own sake, he only did it in secure spaces where he was sure no one would interrupt the schemes he revealed. Though amusing, it was embarrassing to watch villains monologue in front of heroes that would then effortlessly defeat them after the villains revealed their plans. 

Slowly at first, almost as though skepticism and tension from earlier was holding him back, Manic Alchemist began talking, which quickly became ranting, about his grand plans. He continued speaking while the Crimson Programmer barely paid attention to him as she glanced constantly at her overengineered watch that was receiving updates about the Nanites’ status. It was agonizing, watching them creep across the room, hindered by Manic Alchemist’s mess. They flickered in and out of sight, climbing the wreckage of experiments, hiding behind trash cans littering the floor, avoiding piles of unidentifiable goo. There was no clock on the wall, so the Crimson Programmer was certain time was flowing slower than molasses, taunting her with the potential of failure. What if he saw the nanites crawling across the room? Surely he would with their snail-like pace. 

Finally, finally, they reached Manic Alchemist’s scuffed and stained boots. So as to not make their presence immediately obvious, the Crimson Programmer tore her eyes away from the bots and forced herself to look Alchemist in the face without cringing away from the possibility of eye contact. Her subtly inclined head might tip him off otherwise. 

Now sitting forward, his black eyes glittered with passion, frenzy, delight, as he monologued about his ambitions for tearing apart chunks of the city. It was impossible to tune back into what Manic Alchemist said, so the Programmer just watched his hands fly, darting out and mimicking patrol routes and flight paths and explosions. It was strangely endearing. Absently, she wondered how she ended up working so closely on a regular basis with teenagers. One of his hands abruptly stilled and jerked to his scalp. Risking a glance at her watch, the Crimson Programmer saw the bots were almost in place. Manic Alchemist’s fingers continued to reach towards the Nanites. A few more millimeters and the plan would fall apart. 

There were no contingencies for her to fall back on.

“Hey!” the Crimson Programmer said, lurching forward and brandishing her glove-clad hand in his face. “You should see my newest project.”

Manic Alchemist froze, dropping his hands away from his head and leaning farther forward, eyes narrowed, intrigued. The Crimson Programmer barely withheld a sigh of relief. If he suspected anything from her interruption, he held back, likely his curiosity triumphing over any other trains of thought. Impatiently, he waved his hand in her direction, prompting her to continue.

“You see, there are chips in the fingers with wireless probes that detect and hijack electrical currents,” explained the Crimson Programmer. “The signals feed through the wires…” She trailed off, waiting for him to catch on, hoping the time he took to connect the dots would be enough for the Crimson Nanites to lock in position.

“And you can take control of whatever you’re holding with the glove. That’s brilliant!” Manic Alchemist said after a few seconds, sounding impressed, for once. Technology wasn’t his strong suit, and he was loathe to admit his shortcomings. 

“Thank you.”

“Aren’t you going to elaborate?”

“No,” the Crimson Programmer said as her watch buzzed, signaling the Nanites were in place. “I don’t need to stall for time anymore.”

“What? So none of your offers… What have you done?” Manic Alchemist said, panicking. His face was pale and strikingly obvious in the gloomy light. She had never seen him so unsettled, so scared.

“I'm sorry. Good night, my friend,” she said, the last two words dripping with mockery. With that, the Crimson Programmer pressed the capsules on her wrists again. Manic Alchemist stiffened, spasming once as his nervous system was tapped into, and collapsed bonelessly into his chair. If her ambitions weren’t on the line, she would have pitied his helpless form. “You were just too good of an opportunity to pass up.”

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[apocalypsewriters]

A/N: Welcome to part 3!!! In my head these next two parts as a cat’s interaction with their prey and then their person - toying with the prey then presenting their person with a prize. and any titles that don’t fit the theme are alliterative

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Part III: Gloat

The over-air-conditioned room gave Bella goosebumps under her long-sleeved uniform. Her office chair creaked as she swung restlessly back and forth in small arcs. She almost wished she felt more remorse for the situation, but years of business dealings had left her cold and hardened towards trivial, temporary suffering — especially when she was the one who benefited. It didn’t mean she sought to cause others pain; it just didn’t seem worth putting herself at disadvantage to prevent minor misery.

So, her gaze was cold and hard as she gazed at Manic Alchemist splayed out in front of her. Using general knowledge and her own specialized knowledge she had as his supplier, she had stripped him of anything that would help him escape. His overly dramatic dark green cape was gone, as were his boots and the detailing from his costume that she had custom-made with escape attempts in mind. 

He looked naked with the key elements of his outfit missing. 

She flicked the seam between his glove and sleeve. His dark goggles were still on his face, left there to protect his identity. Though this meant Bella couldn’t tell if his eyes were open or not, it was easy to tell he was still passed out — his breathing was deep and even, and his expression was relaxed and serene. His face was smooth where annoyance usually tightened his features. 

He actually looked fourteen like this.

Standing and clenching and unclenching her fist twice at her side, Bella came to a decision. She padded over to stand by his head, swept his dark hair away from the side of his head, and brushed a hand over his ear. Sitting down once again, Bella settled in to wait for him to wake up.

It didn’t take long. 

Not three minutes later, Manic Alchemist pushed weakly against the restraints and then bucked harder when they didn’t budge. His head whipped around, half-lidded eyes darting wildly, trying to get a gauge of his surroundings. 

Bella smoothed her red domino mask down. She adjusted the distortion speaker hooked around her ears as she watched Manic Alchemist vainly twist his wrists in the restraints and try to slip his feet out. Honestly, it was kind of pathetic. 

“What am I- who are you- where is-?” Manic Alchemist seemed to have retained none of his usual coherence. Bella supposed that made sense - it would probably be rather alarming waking up in a strange place chained to an angled bench, especially after the simulation he was put through to keep him under longer. 

“Hello, Manic Alchemist. You’re awake sooner than expected,” Bella said levelly. 

Alchemist’s mouth went slack, his unfocused eyes wheeling around where she sat, purposefully positioned in the center of his vision. His questions had stopped, and he didn’t seem to be close to procuring words to interrogate her any time soon.

She continued, “Or perhaps not. Your superior intellect isn’t that grossly exaggerated, so it follows that you’d be able to throw off mental distortions meant to keep you subdued relatively quickly.”

“Who are you? What am I doing here? Where am I?” he asked, words tumbling out of him in a desperate jumble.

Bella sighed in exasperation. She should have known he would be disoriented, thrown off. While it was jarring to see him so unlike his usual self, it was gratifying to have him humbled and shut up. “How much do you remember before being locked up?” she countered, sidestepping his questions.

Missing her change of subject, he answered haltingly, as pieces of his memory fell into place, “I remember meeting up with… her. And then she made some offers, and then, and then…”

“Nothing else?” prompted Bella. She needed to know how much to throw off Manic Alchemist’s suspicion, and anyone else who would interrogate him. Lies were easy enough to handle, given the extent to which she schooled her words anyway, but it was better to formulate coverups sooner rather than later so as to concoct a believable falsehood that would keep her secrets hidden.

“She knocked me out!” Manic Alchemist blurted. Bella cursed silently. “She must have been set up, she’s never so nervous, and she never lets me ramble since it annoys her, and she never apologizes, she, she… You! You must have set her up. Forced her to kidnap me.”

Scrambling to take control of the conversation, and the teenager’s train of thought, Bella attempted to soothe him.  “I don’t know who you’re talking about. And you weren’t kidnapped. I arrested you.”

Once again, Manic Alchemist was at a loss for words. Bella smirked, her expression hidden by the shadows of the poorly lit room. 

Finally, he faintly said, “What?”

“I arrested you,” repeated Bella, overenunciating every word.

“Why?”

Bella pursed her lips in mock consideration. “You’re not a very intimidating figure. You’re not dangerous in close quarters. And the damage you’ve done to the city warrants some punishment.” As she spoke, she ticked off the reasons on her fingers. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Manic Alchemist said, stalling as Bella watched the gears turn in his head. His hands twitched in their restraints. “Who arrested me?”

“The city.”

“How?”

“Very easily. It’s nothing strictly personal, but beyond your little light shows that tear up a few blocks at a time, you’re a weak villain. Just. A. Kid.” Scarlet Maiden paused for effect then added, “And it’s our job. My job now.”

With those devastating words, Manic Alchemist drooped, head hung low in hopelessness. Scarlet Maiden turned on her heel and left the room. The steel door clicked shut in her wake and reverberated around the room now lit only by monitors and the glint of a captured villain’s goggles.

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[apocalypsewriters]

I want to write, but motivation is alluding me, so...

Send me at least one of these and one of my characters

March Prompts 🍀

Word prompts to use for doodling or writing

flowers

butterflies

petals

grass green

spring

flutter

cherry blossom

lake

bees

comet

four leaf clover

daydream

smell

feathers

blooming

thunderstorm

boat

colorful

kite

waterfall

shiny

rabbit

tulip

flower crown

bridge

pattern

nature walk

clock

brick house

fairies

garden

[apocalypsewriters]

It’s finally here!! An intro for A New Infection

I’ve been dying to introduce this for so long, but my procrastinating ways always trip me up. I hope you enjoy finally having context for my characters

[apocalypsewriters]

A/N: Feast your eyes on part one of five in a Superhero Au official arc! This is going to be my first official finished project, and takes place relatively early in any planned universe lore. Without further ado, I present

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Part I: Opportunity

Bella’s leg bounced under the desk as she tweaked with her newest creation. Her hand threaded through her chestnut hair, which was frizzy and mussed after working through the night. The door to her office slid open and her head snapped up to meet the gaze of who was entering. She gazed, unseeing, unblinking, at the person in the doorway. 

Zach stepped into the room, dressed in his navy blue and muted yellow uniform, holding his limp mask. After staring vacantly too long, making Zach shift uncomfortably, Bella finally beckoned Zach inside, not standing to greet him, as social propriety demanded.

“Are you okay?” Zach blurted after sitting down across from her. He perched awkwardly on a flimsy, foldable chair. 

“Hmm?” Bella rubbed the heels of her palms against her eyes as she tried to focus on the real world. Finally processing Zach’s question, she said, “Oh, yeah. Just a little” – she broke off with a yawn – “tired.”

“So, what did you call me in here for,” asked Zach, eyeing her cautiously, as if he was afraid she’d keel over and pass out.

Bella waved her hands vaguely at the slate-gray glove displayed on a stand. Dim red and blue wires crisscrossed the insulated fabric like veins, connecting to barely covered over processing chips in the pads of the fingers. Grounding herself, she inhaled sharply, the acrid smell of the Bladed Officer, Zach’s, suit filling the room. 

She said, “I made these. For me. On the field.“ Prepared for the inevitable disappointment she added, “I know I’m not allowed, but what’s the harm in trying. Again.” And again and again, she thought, bitter from rejection.  Fixing a lazy glare at the boy in front of her, she seethed. He dared reject her as she tried to do some good in the world, after years of prosperity and success in the market of villains, as if she was a green programmer, as if she hadn’t improved the company tenfold, as if he was better than her. Distantly, she wondered why she put up with the treatment she suffered in the company. 

Despite her doubts and trampled hope, Zach miraculously seemed to consider her offer. He placed his chin in his hands and his elbows on her desk. “Explain,” he said. “And simply, please. I’m not as smart as you.

Picking up a glove, Bella pulled it on. Its manufacturing was perfect as it slid onto her hand, given she had spared no expense on it. The glove was cool, and the currents running through it made her blood hum more than usual. Biting her lip, she mentally tamped down on the tirade she could easily go on about the device. It was nice to be listened to, but she shouldn’t push it. Zach didn’t need to know about logistics, he didn’t care about the intricate programming, he just needed to know what it did. “These can take control of anything with an electric current just by touching it,” said Bella. It was almost painful to dumb it down so much. Beyond the electric current making the hairs on her forearm stand up, she barely felt it; something so complex and advanced was revolutionary in its physical simplicity. It had taken months of work, dozens of sleepless nights, but for the sake of her employer, she could only convey its brilliance in a single sentence. She stifled the urge to scream. 

Zach leaned forward. “What?” he asked, baffled. Good, a chance to elaborate. 

“Look,” Bella said, reaching out on a whim and grabbing his covered forearm, gripping the place she had installed his comms. She tapped a button on the holographic screen that appeared above the glove.

A robotic voice rang out. “Calling Dad.”

“No!” Zach sputtered. “Stop.” His cheeks were bright red. 

Immediately, Bella released his wrist, letting her hand fall onto the desk. Seized by another idea, she gripped the lamp on her desk. A slider projected in front of her and she swiped her finger back and forth on it, the lamp dimming and brightening and accordingly. Zach’s eyes widened. His pupils expanded and contracted, more than likely mirroring her own.

“Okay,” he said, wincing as Bella froze with the lamp on its brightest setting.  “You can go out.”

“What?” Bella said. Every thought screeched to a halt.

“I said,” Zach repeated, “You can g-”

Finally processing his words, Bella cut him off. “Really?” she asked, hope flickering in her chest against all odds.

“Yes,” said Zach. “That glove clearly only fits you, and the stuff it would be used on will be too complicated for anyone but you to understand. At least in our company.”

“O-okay,” Bella said, still stunned. She made to stand up, but Zach caught her wrist, the fibers of his thick glove chafing, and tugged her back down to sit.

“Hang on,” he said. His words rang out in the silent room as Bella stilled. “When I said you could go out, I didn’t mean with me. Right now. You need a little more experience before you go public.”

Stifling a snort at the irony of his words, Bella nodded, indicating for him to keep talking.

Chewing the inside of his cheek, Zach finally continued, “I’m going to have to confirm with the higher-ups, but I think it would be best if you start with a tamer mission.” His comms beeped. He glanced at it, sighed, and got up. As he made his way to the door, he said,  “If you find a smaller villain, one that doesn’t put you in a lot of danger and arrest them quietly, we should be able to consider you for more field work.”

That made sense. Who knew what kind of legal mess would be made if some office worker was killed immediately after going out. Not only that, but it would spell doom for the company’s publicity. “Perfect,” said Bella, already hatching a scheme. Warehouses of equipment and veritable phone books full of villain contacts were at her fingertips. 

Catching the gleam in her eye, Zach sternly said, “Just wait until I talk with management. Please.” It was difficult to take him seriously, no matter how intimidating he tried to be with his teenage face still spattered with acne. 

“You got it, boss,” Bella teased.

His expression softened. Stepping into the doorway, Zach turned back and said, “And get some sleep.”

Bella rolled her eyes, which were dry and aching with exhaustion, but nodded. The adrenaline from his news was fading, leaving her energy drained and thoughts moving at a snail-like pace. Zach’s shoulders slumped with relief and he strode out. Mere seconds after he disappeared from the door, Bella heard a clatter, a thump, and a grunt. How someone so clumsy was such a competent hero, she’d never know. She snickered, packing up her tools and equipment, finally heading home to crash. Her hopes coming at last to fruition, she left the building with a small smile and a metaphorical spring in her step.

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[apocalypsewriters]

A/N: I did mean to space these apart evenly from now, but that’s okay. this is bella presenting zach with the thing she caught, but like any good cat owner, zach is confused but mostly grateful and touched by the gift

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Part IV: Gift

Walking down the hall, Bella tugged at the emotions tangling in her chest. Remorse. Pity. Excitement. Guilt? Triumph. Good enough, and normal enough feelings for the situation. She knew she wasn’t the epitome of a good person, seeing as she personally supplied tools for campaigns injuring people and destroying the city, but personal check-ins that assured her she wasn’t a heartless monster were nice.

The headquarters of Miranda’s Protection Agency was empty; only suckups and overachievers worked Saturday afternoons in the office since that time was reserved for fieldwork or family time. Bella checked her phone, swiping from the night vision equipped cameras showing Manic Alchemist to double-checking where Zach was. Good. He was in his office.

Drawing up to the starkly plain stainless steel door, she rapped on it. Bella had remembered to pull her sleeves over her knuckles for protection since the doors in the building were infamous for bruising knuckles. The muffled knock rang out through the deserted hallway. Hearing footsteps approaching, Bella squinted, knowing what was to come. As the door opened, she knew her partially shut eyes did nothing. Every wall of the room screamed with different jarringly bright colored paint and was lit by tasteful choices of complementary LED strips. Beanbags lined the walls, interrupted only by a floating desk suspended by electromagnetic suspension Bella had designed. A mountain of stuffed toys, from cerulean lions, to lilac unicorns, to magenta cats, sat haphazardly in the corner of the room. Zach himself stood in the doorway, looking embarrassed, as usual, at the state of his room. The scene was mildly endearing, once Bella got over being blinded. He sheepishly passed her the pair of sunglasses he kept by the door for whenever she came to visit.

“Hey,” Zach said, as Bella stepped into the room. He closed the door behind her, asking, “What’s this visit about? Normally people don’t work at this time.”

Pushing the cold sunglasses up the bridge of her nose, Bella said, “I did it.”

“Huh?”

“The job? So I can go out,” she elaborated. She strode over to a beanbag and sat down. Being Zach’s confidant as one of the youngest members of the company meant Bella had spent enough time in his room to be comfortable enough to do as she pleased.

“What? Already?” Zach said, blinking in shock. Honestly, what did he take her for? Thankfully, he corrected himself before she had to, shaking his head and sighing. “You know what? I shouldn’t be surprised. Though, this is quick, even for you. Did you start before the mission was approved?

No. She was just highly efficient and had a long list of villain contacts to choose from. But she didn’t share that. Not when it would surely cost Bella her job at the company. Despite her smug internalized reply, her triumphant smirk slid off her face. She could have, should have waited longer so as not to be suspicious. Cursing silently and smoothing on a placid expression, she said, “I guess I’m just good at my job.”

“Well, if you’re so good at your job,” teased Zach, poking fun at her matter-of-fact tone coupled with prideful words, “Then we’d better start planning your next mission.”

“I can’t just join you now?”

“No. No! I can’t-” Zach said, sharply exhaling before finding his words. “I can’t lose someone like you.”

Something warm bubbled in Bella’s chest, but she replied, bitterly only half-joking, “Yes, losing such a vital asset to your company would be a significant blow to your heroic efforts.”

Typical, sweet Zach saw through the flimsy cover of her low self-esteem. While Bella knew her extensive value as an individual pertaining to personal goals, it was so easy to rationalize being excluded from groups when all she brought to the table was computers. “No,” he softly corrected. “I enjoy you as a person. Your company. Just” – he punched her arm lightly – “I care about you and I don’t want you getting hurt.”

The warm feeling grew. Punching him back, Bella said, “You’re such a softy. I can handle myself, so don’t be afraid of giving me something more dangerous.”

“Handle yourself how? Besides your tech, what else can you do? I don’t think there are any nanites you can invent that would fix gashes or broken bones.”

Making a mental note of an addition for the next Crimson Nanite update, she turned her attention back to the conversation at hand, excitement twisting in her chest. This was her chance! “I’m a powered person,” Bella said, watching his face closely for a reaction. His face remained blank, so she continued, “My blood has special properties. When it’s frozen, it becomes a healing salve that closes any surface level wounds in around five minutes.” She would have kept going, but as earnest as Zach was if she talked too long his eyes would start to glaze over. All the same, she couldn’t help but add, “And I am resistant to heat and fire.” Other words and explanations itched to be released, like her costume idea, the gadgets she would add, how she wanted to be presented to the public, but there was no way he would retain any of the information.

“Okay,” Zach said slowly. “Maybe I can get the higher ups to consider you for more dangerous stuff. We should probably decide what you want to do first, though.”

Conversation for the next ten minutes was dull. For most people's standards, at least. Bella was thrilled to be discussing the tactics, strengths, and weaknesses of villains and vigilantes that mildly terrorized the streets of the surrounding area. As topics wound by, they slowly drifted from fieldwork to new recruits in the office. Apparently, some of the less youthful members of the company hadn’t been taking Zach seriously. Bella couldn’t fault them entirely – it was hard to swallow one's pride sometimes to take orders from a kid. Still, it was unfair given how much he had done for the city. 

Having talked for long enough and being distracted from more relevant topics, Bella decided it was finally time to bring it up.

“Hey,” she said, interrupting a natural lull in between conversations. “My task to qualify for fieldwork. It’s done, right?”

Zach fixed her with a stare. “What do you mean?” he asked.

Bella fidgeted, hoping she wouldn’t reveal her scheme. Maybe it would pass up for nervousness at her newly acquired position being in the balance. Taking a calming breath, she said, “Say Manic Alchemist gets out. Would I still be able to go out?”

“Oh. Yeah. Your job was just to catch him. You’re not guarding his cell, are you?” 

Bella shook her head.

“Okay! So if someone messes up bad enough to lose him, then that’s their fault. You can still go out, don’t worry. There’s no way he could escape without help anyway.”

She sighed with relief. “Okay. Okay, good,” she muttered, half to herself, thankful for a reason completely different from what Zach assumed. 

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[apocalypsewriters]

Likes: programming, learning as much as possible, cartoons

Dislikes: being put in charge of 2 children during an apocalypse

Do this for your OC’s 

[apocalypsewriters]

A/N: it did occur to me that i should have scheduled the already written part 5 before i left on holidays for two weeks but there’s nothing i can do now. finally you can see bella’s scheme come to fruition in the final part of this series (not counting the alternate ending i’ve been cooking up for months now)

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Part V: Release

Feedback whistled in her ear, making Bella wince. She would take out her earpiece, but it would only make calibration take longer, so she tapped the side, turning down the volume. Her keyboard clicked as she tapped into the back entrance of the camera system. While she could use her personal login, it would heavily implicate her in her upcoming task, jeopardizing her job and new opportunity; even if she wasn’t suspected of helping, watching and not doing anything would not look good for her. Still, to say she hacked into the system was a stretch. She simply created a new login that she would purge when she was done.

Finally, the ringing in the earpiece stopped. Bella turned it up again and tapped it twice, tuning her into Manic Alchemist’s channel.

“Hey,” she said. “Wake up!” The Crimson Programmer turned up the volume on Manic Alchemist’s end to rouse him.

“What- what is this?” His voice was rough from disuse but clear through the speaker. Everything the Crimson Programmer made was always of the highest quality.

“Stars above, you’re dense. This is a rescue,” she said, overenunciating the last four words. “The Crimson Programmer is getting you out of this hellhole.”

Manic Alchemist didn’t let up with his questions. “How? Why?”

The Crimson Programmer groaned into her hands. Peeking between her fingers, she saw Manic Alchemist look around the room. She hadn’t even hit him over the head; how could he be so slow to readjust to consciousness? Surely he hadn’t been wallowing in pity the entire time. “Do you think,” the Crimson Programmer ground out, “that either of us have time for explanations?”

“I don’t like doing things if I don’t know the reason why,” said Manic Alchemist, his tone regaining its usual snark. “And I have good reason to be suspicious of you. Last time we met up I was kidnapped!”

“Let’s just say I had a resurgence of my conscience–”

Manic Alchemist interrupted the Crimson Programmer. “Bullshit.”

The Crimson Programmer was glad she had concocted a lie earlier. Smoothly, she said, “Look, I was blackmailed. It was either go to jail myself, or turn someone in that I could break out.”

Always shrewd, Manic Alchemist asked, “And why risk your safety for me?”

“I had nothing better to do today,” the Crimson Programmer said.

“Right.”

“Do you want to be tattled on by the government to your parents? Or go to a juvenile detention center?”

Still not satisfied with her explanation, Manic Alchemist sharply inhaled, ready to go on another tirade.

It was the Crimson Programmer's turn to cut him off. “We are wasting time here. I could be found at any minute. If either of us get caught, this fiasco will end disastrously.”

“I’m already caught. Aren’t you breaking me out?” Manic Alchemist remarked drily.

“Then cooperate!” The Crimson Programmer bit back. “If you want out, then do what I say and stop playing dumb. You’re better than this.”

“Oh, you think I’m smart? I’m flattered. How unlike you to compliment–” The Crimson Programmer sent a pulse of feedback to Manic Alchemist’s end, momentarily deafening one ear and cutting him off. “Okay, okay,” he corrected himself. “Tell me what to do.”

“Relax your hands,” she said.

“Why?”

“What did I say before?”

“Right, right.”

“If you relax your hands you can pull them out of your gloves. The restraints were tightened to accommodate for the fabric around your wrists, so it’s not tight enough to effectively bind them,” explained the Crimson Programmer.

She watched the gloves poking out of the cuffs wiggle a little, the fingers going limp. Manic Alchemist’s arms twisted as he coaxed his hands free.

“That’s it,” the Crimson Programmer said. “Try angling your right elbow towards you – your hand should slip out easier that way.”

Manic Alchemist froze. He said, “Wait. Can you see me?”

“Of course. It wouldn’t be a very efficient escape attempt if I was blind to what you were doing. Then we’d waste precious time as you described your surroundings,” said the Crimson Programmer, tapping the desk beside her.

“You hacked into the cameras?”

The Crimson Programmer hesitated. “Yes,” she finally said.

“Why did you pause?” Manic Alchemist asked. Of course he was back to his usual perception. He always picked up on everything, paranoia teaching him to be good at picking up on social queues.

“Because I… thought I heard someone coming,” the Crimson Programmer said, covering horribly with a lie.

Shaking out his wrists, Manic Alchemist looked around the room, searching for the camera. Likely noticing the blinking red light, he stared straight at it and asked, “Where are you?”

“The less you know the better.”

“Fair enough.”

A smile played on the Crimson Programmer’s lips. As annoying as he was, it was, at the very least, entertaining to clash wits with Manic Alchemist. She let the smile drop and focused back on the task at hand. “There should be a button on the inside of your ankles that releases the cuffs,” she said, watching Manic Alchemist bend down, folding awkwardly over the chest binding. The metal straps popped open, leaving his legs dangling comically, like an abandoned puppet. “Now just slide out from the chest restraints. You’re skinny enough.”

“Hey!” Manic Alchemist protested, doing what she said all the same.

“It’s true. You forget to eat, like me,” the Crimson Programmer said without a hint of doubt. “Alright. If you walk to the table there should be a fist-sized canister there.”

She heard the faint tap of his footsteps over the audio, using that to guide her perception of Manic Alchemist's place in the room as he stood in an almost blind spot of the cameras, his Ironman socks peeking into the view of a camera. The Crimson Programmer had planted it there earlier after deciding on the risk of freeing Manic Alchemist. It would likely look like she had forgotten it there after monitoring his condition before reporting her success to Zach.

“I’ve got it. Now what?” It made sense that Manic Alchemist would do what he was told, but it still shocked the Crimson Programmer how little he was questioning her orders. 

“Roll it under the door.”

“What is it going to do?” There was the resistance.

“Nothing lethal,” the Crimson Programmer said evasively. “Don’t use it, by all means, but I doubt you can take out the armed guards on the other side.”

“No, no. I was just curious. I’d prefer to know of course, especially in case I could have done it better,” Manic Alchemist said as he ambled towards the door.

The Crimson Programmer snapped, “I’m sorry, next time you can break yourself out.”

“Don’t be so touchy,” Manic Alchemist soothed in vain. “I think I deserve to insult you a little bit after you got me arrested.”

“Just send the canister under the door.”

The pair was silent as he did so. The Crimson Programmer switched the cameras displayed on her monitor to watch blue-tinted smoke stream out of the canister. The poor people standing at the door only had a scant few seconds to look confused before the chemicals took effect and they slumped to the floor.

“You can step out now. The door is,” the Crimson Programmer paused, the click of buttons echoing around the room as she reprogrammed the lock. “Open.”

Manic Alchemist shuffled into view and stopped cold. “Are they dead?” he asked hollowly. Nudging one with his foot, his pixels shivered as he shuddered. The prone bodies showed no sign of life as the visors on the helmets were reflective, and the armor was protectively stiff which hid any movement of the guards’ chests.

Scoffing, the Crimson Programmer reassured him, “Of course not. They’re just passed out. Honestly, what do you take me for? I am many things, but I am not a murderer. And I do my best to make sure my creations don’t take life either.”

The staticky silence was not comfortable.

Stifling the urge to clear her throat before she spoke, the Crimson Programmer directed Manic Alchemist, watching his progress as she talked. “Go down the hall… turn left. Wait!” She had been too focused on the screens and had forgotten to unlock the door. Tapping out a preplanned sequence of buttons, she continued, “Alright. The door on your right is open now.”

Manic Alchemist twisted the handle and the door popped open easily, revealing a medium-sized broom closet with an overstuffed plastic bag inside.

“That’s your stuff. Get changed now if you want to be more prepared later.”

As Manic Alchemist slipped inside the over-glorified cupboard, he asked, “You’re not going to spy on me while I do that, will you?”

“You could put it on in the hallway. There’s nothing intimate you have to do to get your gear on. It’s just detailing and gaudy, unnecessary accessories.” 

At her words Manic Alchemist sighed, his sharp exhale tinny and staticky through the earpiece. He stepped out of the closet fully dressed, cape brushing his boots and seams faintly glowing on his dark pine suit.

“You took your time,” said the Crimson Programmer snidely.

The quality of the monitors and cameras was so good she thought she saw Manic Alchemist roll his eyes.

“Before you start insulting me again, you should try a new upgrade I added on to your suit while you were napping.” The Crimson Programmer switched views of the camera as she spoke. “There is an option on the modes of your suit that reads CM-FG. Select it, and you will be invisible to cameras and slightly less conspicuous as your suit changes to match the color of nearby walls.”

The hues on the screen abruptly flipped as the cameras loaded. A few months ago she had installed a thermal view onto them. It was only available to her, and she planned to keep it that way; it was a valuable asset to have in her arsenal, and she didn’t want anyone snooping on her after-hours work. She already had an excuse in place if anyone was bright enough to stumble upon the function, which was unlikely. If she was confronted she’d claim she’d been perfecting the system and wanted to ensure all bugs and glitches were gone before sharing. She’d had thermal imaging cameras installed and customized in her personal living space for three and a half years, so the perfected system was easy to transfer to headquarters if somewhat challenging to install undetected. 

Thus, Manic Alchemist remained visible to her and invisible on any other cameras. The less work she had to do wiping the memory of cameras and other equipment she tampered with, the better.

Barring a few biting exchanges, the rest of the escape attempt went relatively smoothly. Seven turns away from the exit, however, some poor, overworked employee’s hot computer disguised a figure turning the corner.

“Stop, stop stop!” The Crimson Programmer hissed. Manic Alchemist tripped over his feet in haste. “Walk back five paces and step behind the corner. Don’t make a sound or we’re both busted.”

The edge of Manic Alchemist’s cape had just whipped around the pillar as someone stepped into the hallway. Thankfully, whoever it was walking by was fully absorbed in their phone and hadn’t seen the shimmer in the air that was Manic Alchemist. Strangely enough, the Crimson Programmer didn’t recognize the person, which meant they were most likely a new recruit. Scratch that, they were definitely a new recruit. Many older employees griped about the new generation being “good for nothing” and “always on those damn screens” and would gladly slap the phone out of unsuspecting green workers’ hands under the guise of “maintaining good work ethic.” If they still had their phone in their hand walking through headquarters the person had been there for a week at most.

It was a good thing the rescue mission took place on a Saturday so no one was around. No one besides her, Manic Alchemist, the few people working overtime, and Zach, Bladed Officer.

“Excuse me? Please tell me whoever is running down the hallway that crosses with my path is planned and I won’t run into them.” Manic Alchemist’s voice broke through the Crimson Programmer’s coding fog. She had zoned out while setting up commands for equipment needed later after Manic Alchemist had reached a long stretch that required no directions. He had stopped two paces away from the intersection.

“Um, just give me a second,” said the Crimson Programmer, pulling up a view of the hallway he was talking about and minimizing the windows that she was working on. Zach was half running, half hopping down the hall as he pulled on the Bladed Officer costume. The Crimson Programmer cursed so loudly that she glanced at the door to the spare room she had holed up in. She hissed under her breath, “He was supposed to leave earlier.”

“What was that? Are you going to handle this?” The lack of inflection in Manic Alchemist’s voice betrayed his nervousness. When he talked with her there was always at least a slight undercurrent of smugness. He had an insufferable superiority complex.

Letting out a few more entirely necessary curses, the Crimson Programmer checked the status of the virus she had planted in Bladed Officer’s comms. As she had planned, a false alert had gone off twenty minutes before Manic Alchemist had left his cell, intended to draw Bladed Officer away from the headquarters so there would be no legitimate threat to the rescue.

Zach drew closer to where Manic Alchemist was frozen, picking up speed as he finished pulling his boots on. What could the Crimson Programmer do? Frantically, she searched her command board for obstacles, some kind of distraction, a barrier to hide the heat-shimmer Manic Alchemist left in the air. The two halls were dismally barren, with no doorways or corners nearby that wouldn’t put the two boys on the same path.

“He’s not going away,” Manic Alchemist ground out under his breath. “Do something!”

Forehead damp, the Crimson Programmer said, “Don’t move.” 

“What do you think I’m doing?”

“And don’t talk either.”

In a rush of air, Bladed Officer dashed across the path. He didn’t even turn his head as he pulled on the sleeves of his uniform jacket. Neither villain spoke, moved, breathed until the door leading outside had slammed shut, reverberating through every fiber of Manic Alchemist standing in the hall, through the speaker and into the Crimson Programmer’s earpiece.

“That was helpful,” snarked Manic Alchemist.

The Crimson Programmer exhaled sharply, her shoulders slumping as she threw her rolling chair across the room, trying to expel the remainder of her pent-up tension. Pulling herself back to the desk she said drily, “I don’t see you putting much effort into a break out of a well-known superhero’s headquarters. Wait a few more moments and take the same exit as he did. I’ll see you in a few moments.” She pulled out the earpiece, stuffing it in her pocket to muffle the earful she would have gotten otherwise. Moments like this during the escape made her wonder if it was worth it to break the kid out. Hypothetically speaking of course. While her morals were often questionable, knowing she could do something to improve a bad situation she caused would have plagued her with guilt for days if she didn’t take action. Such an emotional state would have limited her capacity to complete her work as efficiently as possible.

It only took a few clicks to sign out of the borrowed monitor system, and a scant few more to wipe her existence and log history. Years of conducting her less-than-legal business ventures at the public library made her quick at leaving no traces of digital activity.

All her gear packed up and in hand, she shut the door softly so as to not attract any attention. A door leading outside was adjacent to the room, purposely chosen for a quick escape if any hint of being caught arose. The Crimson Programmer stepped outside and immediately spotted Manic Alchemist leaning against the wall. His shoulders were around his ears.

“Thanks for all that,” Manic Alchemist said. He pushed away from the wall and stood five paces away from the Crimson Programmer, who was quickly overheating in her dark hood and bulky cloak. She would have conducted the rescue later, under the cover of darkness, but talking with Zach had revealed plans to send Manic Alchemist out that evening. “Maybe next time don’t fold to schemes concocted by the people we’re working against,” Manic Alchemist added, interrupting the Crimson Programmer’s train of thought. “Then we won’t end up in messes like this.”

We? The Crimson Programmer was glad she had her cowl to hide her expression. What she would pay to see Manic Alchemist’s face if she told him about her recent promotion. Not her reputation in the villain’s market, that was for sure. Still, his comment stung. “My bad. Next time I won’t listen to threats made on my life and work,” she bit back. She paused, watching Manic Alchemist’s expression twist. A mixture of sympathy and curiosity at the effects of her equipment tugged a question forward. “What happened in there?”

Manic Alchemist scuffed the floor with his boot. “Oh nothing much,” he said flatly. “They just screwed with my brain a little. Tried to make me happy with messed-up visions. Not with addictive drugs or anything, I don’t think. It didn’t work. I mean, can you imagine me happy?” He laughed incredulously.

“So it had no effect?” The Crimson Programmer asked, trying not to sound disappointed. She had worked hard on the Nanites and their electric signals, hoping to sell the technology. “It didn’t work at all.”

Whatever had been open and willing to share in his guarded expression winked out. Manic Alchemist bit his lip and turned. “I’m going to go now,” he said, words clipped. “And try to recover from the mildly traumatic situation you caused.”

Tampering with his neurons had worked. He was obviously trying to guilt-trip her. It wouldn’t work; three successes in a row had left the Crimson Programmer flying high on pride and dreams. Mildly, distantly, she said, “Enjoy the rest of your afternoon.”

Manic Alchemist laughed again, bitterly. He walked down the street, likely going to change into civilian clothing in an alley.

Bella turned back inside, ripping off her cowl and cloak, and draping them over her forearm. She was ready to go home. Who knew playing cat and mouse was so easy? And having a foot on both sides of the battle? Sharing and withholding critical information, catching and releasing important parties? Life was about to get a lot more fun.

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[apocalypsewriters]

first and last line tag

Thank you @47crayons for the open tag!! This is from a short story with the express purpose of character development. Will I post it? I don't know

first

"No. I- I can't. I'm sorry." Anabella took Grove’s wrist in her hand and pulled her chin out of faer grip.

last

Finally, something went well. At least, for the most part.

I will also leave it as an open tag

But also tag (no pressure) @pagesofcursive @writing-is-a-martial-art @did-i-do-this-write @wannabeauthorzofija

[apocalypsewriters]

Day 1 - love letter

A hundred thanks to @creativepromptsforwriting for the incredible prompts i rely on so much. Thank you

Unfortunately, this is just a snippet as it’s part of an alternate universe that will be posted soon on @pagesofcursive and my collab blog @eve-and-briar so if you want to see the rest shameless plug go follow us there

In the past, Bella had found the most effective way to process her feelings was to write them out. She’d vomit words onto the page and read them back to herself in hopes of getting a hold on the swirling mass of thoughts. 

Hundreds of pages had been filled with loopy, excited script as her projects gained recognition within her family, at school, and in the professional world. Successes tumbled into each other as Bella gained drive and passion and skill. There was no punctuation, no uppercase, no consistency in size, angle, or shape of the letters. Those were her favorite pages.

Dozens more had been filled with sporadic pondering. Curiosity Bella held about the world, unabating and passionate. The limits of space, the capacity of human empathy, true randomness, interactions with other people, and other questions that chased each other around her head day in, day out. All written in a precise, perfect font that she could return to years in the future in the hopes she’d one day discover the answer. 

Scores of pages had been written in a short time; frustrating and disappointing circumstances occurred within close proximity to each other. They weighed on Bella’s shoulders, sat like a stone in her gut, anchored her erratic brain in the worst ways. Angry scratch filled every white space on the page, venting. She’d spend hours hunched over a book, writing so furiously the paper wrinkled and tore under her pen. Recording what she wished she could scream to the wide expanse of space as her internship dreams were crushed, student debt multiplied faster than thought, and customers grated on her nerves at the coffee shop.

[apocalypsewriters]

@flashfictionfridayofficial This weeks prompt was fun! It reminded me of the beginning of A New Infection, so enjoy this not so creepy, angst with a fluffy ending, exposition type piece

WC: 988

---

Freddie emerged alone. He’d hidden in the storage closet as the world changed irreparably outside. He’d come out of the bunker to save the world, to finally get the credit his intellect deserved. It may have been a selfish act, but he still left safety to help. Those studying the gases before they were released were surely missing something he could add to the conversation. But his plans fell through as he ran out of time.

Now he had to survive alone. He didn’t have the first clue as to how to do so. His expertise lay in the lab, in the classroom; he could master any equation, concoct any solution, solve any mathematical or scientific problem -  within reason, of course. After all, he was only nine years old. 

Since he was young, Freddie didn’t have the first clue as to how to survive. He couldn’t build a reliable shelter. He couldn’t even find more food, let alone make it edible.

By some miracle, he found shelter within the first two days. An abandoned bunker underneath a vacated home of some likely sickly sweet and domestic family. There were, unfortunately, no can openers that Freddie could find, though he didn’t look very hard in the trashed kitchen. His supply of granola bars was running low, and, though he wasn’t as actively fighting for survival anymore, he was now likely going to die a slow death of starvation. 

Hope was not found in the bunker but was instead found elsewhere. 

The spark of hope lit tentatively when he heard movement echoing upstairs. From his own brief, half-hearted surveillance, Freddie knew the doors upstairs were closed. Though not much sound reached the underground bunker, he’d heard crashes at the front door that sent his heart racing with panic before. A person was upstairs. He was not alone anymore. 

---

Bella left people behind. She made a lonely figure as she walked away toward a city she didn’t know the situation of. Lying to her sisters made her feel bad - she’d told them she was going to look for their mother, though she didn’t think she’d be successful. The twins had food to last them, a place to stay, a door to lock.

They would be okay. They had to be. 

When she returned, Bella could bring them help, or a solution, or more supplies. If she returned. 

But any hopes of finding survivors or of finding a livable city were dashed as soon as she walked past the suburban areas. The city was in shambles, buildings crumbling, streets cracked, lamp posts knocked over. Her parents told her it would be bad, but it was worse than Bella could ever imagine. 

She was alone on these streets, in this city. The flashes of news she had caught over her mother’s shoulder left little room for hope of many surviving beyond her sisters.

Bella crisscrossed the city, going from dilapidated shops to closets in highly populated buildings, trying in vain to find any good shelter. She was lucky to find what she could. 

But luck didn’t begin to cover what happened next. Against logic, she held onto some hope that there were survivors. And then she found a bunker, and a small boy who had survived somehow. She was not alone.

---

Zach found himself alone when he burst out of the cupboard. His father was gone. On some level, he knew that was how it would turn out, but it didn’t make the confirmation any less devastating. He began wandering the streets, searching desperately for company.

Minutes turned into hours, and those hours turned to days. Zach’s legs were covered in scratches and bruises, the cut in his hand not improving. He wasn’t a good judge of wounds, but it didn’t look infected, although it sure wasn’t healthy. Knowing he could last longer didn’t make him feel any better. He picked up basic skills at boy scouts, though they were hard to apply in the city. He could even pick locks, a skill his father found questionable but useful. 

He hid from the people he passed, slipping into nooks and crannies of the city. It hurt to see them hurting; they were driven out of their minds by the gases. Zach was helpless to watch, out of his depth, lost in the world. Physically, he had very few limits, but when it came to what seemed to be biology, it was far beyond his expertise.

Zach did so much alone, for so long. Running alone, hiding alone, hurting alone, fixing himself back up alone. He began talking to himself, just to hear another voice. It had been ages since he heard someone else talk. Sometimes displays in shops flashed enticingly, a somehow intact recording promising company. Somehow, it felt like cheating. He knew he’d cave at some point, but he’d hold out for now, his waxing candle of hope flickering.

On a particularly dire evening, as his thoughts took a turn for the worse, Zach bleakly wondered what it would be like if he had help. In his experience, beyond a select few individuals, people were selfish and coldhearted. They shunned those they perceived as weak, cutting them down, ridiculing softer individuals until they were nothing or they grew a tough outer shell. So it was probably better that he was alone, not having to morally curb anyone else into staying focused on a goal that was more achievable with help. It was better to just survive, leaving the responsibility to find or make normalcy in the world to someone else.

Zach never learned to stop sticking his hands in places, whether accidental or on purpose, despite the advice and many hard lessons learned. He’d gotten stuck bending down and panicked. Movement echoed upstairs and around the kitchen, as it had before when no-longer-people stormed the school. This time it was different. This time he was freed. This time, Zach was not alone.

[apocalypsewriters]

5, 27, and 31 for bella? also how are you?? have a decent day, eve! :3 - 🔮⛈ (@enchanted-lightning-aes)

hey enchant! thanks for the ask. i ran a race this afternoon which was decent ig. i hope you have a decent day too <3 5. Where do they like to hang out? you will always find her in one of three places: her room, the library, or her schools computer lab. and she will always be doing work

27. Is their living space tidy or cluttered? she does not have the patience or the headspace to keep a tidy workspace. it always looks like a tornado swept through her room, BUT she can always find what she needs. good luck getting out of there alive though

31. Do they have a comfort item? her toolbelt. you will never find her without it. if she's not wearing it, it's within arm's reach. it has everything she needs to throw a gadget together or fix something. and usbs of photos and digital copies of blueprints and prizes

you can find the ask game here

[apocalypsewriters]

October Prompt Day 16 - flying kites

Wow, would you look at that, another short story inspired by the amazing @creativepromptsforwriting . This one was too sweet to share. It’s set in the family au, where half of @pagesofcursive and my characters are adults, and the other half are kids fostered by said adults. Enjoy the fluff!

wc: 890

Summary: Kite shenanigans on a beautiful afternoon

“Just reel it out,” Juni coached, one of her hands holding the edge of the kite controls, the other hovering over Violetta’s as the kid slowly unspooled the rope. “That’s it, you’ve got it!” The words of encouragement drew out a joyful smile from Violetta, and the pair grinned up at the bedazzled purple kite together. 

A few paces away, another duo was having a little more trouble. “Not quite,” Bella corrected, her voice strained as she corrected Tora’s grip and the angle of the kite control. “Remember, you need to take the wind speed and angle into account.” 

Tora shuffled, unable to remain still. She looked bored to tears, but she still hung on to the kite. 

Noticing their plight, Juni called over, “Don’t forget what we talked about, Bella.” 

Bella furrowed her eyebrows for a moment before a look of understanding crossed her face. She took a deep breath, recalculating her approach. She twisted around to meet Tora’s gaze and asked, “You do want to be the best, right?” 

The bored expression on Tora’s face immediately switched to one of excitement, her eyes sparking like lightning. She bounced on the spot, losing her grip on the poorly decorated kite as she cheered animatedly, “Of course!” 

Bella lunged to catch the brightly decorated blue and white kite before the wind swept it away, breathing a sigh of relief as she secured her grip on the kite once more. “Then do exactly as I say,” she commanded. 

Tora tightened her grip on the returned kite and nodded seriously, her focus revitalized by the new inspiration. “Okay!” 

The pair sitting on the porch had no such troubles. Freddie’s kite glided in the middle of the pack. He and Dawn had picked out the kite together, but Violetta had been the one who insisted that it had to be decorated, generously donating one of her glittery stickers to their cause, though Freddie and Dawn accepted it reluctantly. Their kite flew well enough, keeping steady in the breeze. 

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Dawn asked, her voice a murmur so the others wouldn’t hear. Her hand rested on his shoulder, just causal enough to seem accidental to anyone watching them. 

Freddie shrugged, leaning back against her knee, keeping his gaze on their kite. Many would think that he was bored or apathetic, but Dawn could tell that he was having fun and taking in the moment. 

She chuckled, a fond smirk on her face. “Me too.” 

A sudden commotion rose up from the front yard as Zach broke free from Lynn’s grip, sprinting across the front yard with his kite string in hand. “No, no, no, no!” Lynn called desperately, chasing after him, but she was too late to stop Zach from accidentally crossing kite strings with Aster. “Sorry!” 

The black and silver kite that belonged to Aster and Nyx had tangled and crash-landed with the obnoxiously glittery, electric blue kite that Zach had picked out. Lynn scooped up Zach to prevent him from causing further mischief, and Nyx just laughed. “It’s all good,” she said, attempting to untangle their kites. “I know you have a handful there. It was inevitable.” 

“Yes, but that’s the fourth time this has happened,” Lynn complained. She lowered Zach to the ground, and Nyx handed him his kite, smiling as she returned to Aster. Lynn crossed her arms, exasperated. “Zach, don’t you want your kite to fly higher than Tora’s?” 

“Not really,” Zach replied cheerily, waving the kite around in front of his face. “I just want it to fly!” 

“But you can’t do that when you keep running it into other kites!” Lynn explained, trying to find his logic, if he had any to begin with. 

He watched as Aster’s kite returned to the air. “But half the fun is getting it up there!” Zach pointed up at the sky, and then grunted as he locked his gaze on the sun. He fell backward onto the warm grass. 

Lynn chuckled fondly as she helped him back up. “Okay, well I don’t think I’m as good as Bella at maneuvering kites, but I can help you with that.” 

His brow wrinkled at the big word, and he tried to sound it out. “Manu- moo-vring?” 

She smiled. “We can even run along the street to get it moving,” she said, knowing that Zach would love that idea. 

And, indeed, his face lit up, and he bounced up and down at the mention of running. “Really?” he exclaimed. 

“Really,” Lynn confirmed. “Just on the path, though, not on the road.” 

“Yay!” Zach cheered, and he took off running, making a beeline towards the road. Unfortunately for both of them, he seemed to be on the perfect trajectory to crash into a parked car, and his eyes were fixed on the kite. 

“Hang on!” she yelled, dashing after him. “Zach, wait!” 

The entire group laughed as she desperately chased after the small boy, steering him away from any obstacles. As the day went on, the kites soared through the air, dipping and twisting against the bright blue sky. When the breeze finally died, the kids tucked their kites beneath their arms, and everyone trooped inside for food as rumbling bellies and complaining mouths grew in volume. Another perfect afternoon was over, but there would be more fun and laughter over dinner.