#but there had been about six years of wall-to-wall aliens

[plaguedocboi]

Waterfalls! These gorgeous, powerful features of nature have been oddly lacking in my past lists, I think in part because their danger has always seemed more “obvious” to me. But doing the research for this list has reawakened my phobia of the water. Some of the later entries (numbers 9 and 10 especially) brought back anxieties that I thought I had gotten over long ago, but it was kind of thrilling. Like watching a particularly scary horror movie. Let’s get into it!

1. Underwater Waterfall, Mauritius

No, it’s not really a waterfall. It’s just an optical illusion caused by sand falling off the island’s slope down into the deeper water below. But it looks cool and scary, and the drop-off is 2.5 miles deep so that’s pretty impressive and I think it deserves at least a mention.

2. Blood Falls, Antarctica

There’s nothing particularly dangerous about this one, it just looks incredibly creepy. Obviously, it’s not actually blood, it’s just water that’s very rich in iron. But the really fascinating part of this waterfall is that its source seems to be a subglacial lake that contains a unique microbial ecosystem which has been isolated for two million years! These microbes are like nothing else we’ve ever observed in nature before. They live in an incredibly cold and extremely saline lake, and metabolize sulfur and iron ions with no oxygen present. They are being used as a model to study what life on ice-covered alien planets could be like.

3. Khone Falls, Laos

This waterfall is not nearly as famous as some of the others on this list, which is surprising because it’s the widest waterfall in the world, with an average width of six miles! Although not particularly tall, it is the second most powerful waterfall in the world, more than double the power of Niagara Falls! The Khone falls divide the Upper and Lower Mekong river, making travel by boat between the north and south impossible. What makes it kind of unsettling to me is that during the rainy seasons the falls are basically swallowed up by the river, turning them from a spectacular waterfall to a series of massive rapids.

4. Huntington Gorge, Vermont

When water levels are low, this river is a popular and scenic swimming spot, and the canyon has an almost otherworldly quality with its unique bends and overhangs. Unfortunately, these very features are what makes it so dangerous. Much like the infamous Strid, the gorge is full of holes, steep drop-offs, and powerful currents hidden beneath the water, which can suck people in and trap them against the cliff walls. Over fifty people have died here since the 1950s, and many more have been injured. With proper precautions, one can safely explore the gorge and swim in the river, but don’t forget that this water has swallowed up many people before you.

5. Victoria Falls, Zambia

I’m sure most of you already know about Mosi-oa-Tunya, more widely called Victoria Falls, as the largest waterfall in the world. Formed as the Zambezi river pours into a series of massive gorges, this curtain of water spans nearly a mile and falls 300 feet with such force that columns of rising spray can be seen for miles around. Despite this, the pools around the lip of the falls can be relatively tame, and locals have fished while balancing on the edge of the cliff for generations. The safest and most famous of these fishing holes is the Devils Pool, which allows you to literally swim right up to the edge of the world’s biggest waterfall. The pool is actually very safe when the correct precautions are taken, and I can only find one death attributed to the pool specifically, when a tour guide in 2009 fell while trying to help a man who had slipped and was dangling off the edge (and, honestly, I was expecting a lot more deaths given the amount of clickbait articles advertising it as the most deadly swimming hole in the world). Although that was the only death from the Devils Pool, there have been many other deaths at Victoria Falls, mostly tourists who underestimate the power of the river or get too close to the edge. So if you ever visit this spectacular waterfall, please observe it from a safe distance and follow all the rules.

6. Huka Falls, New Zealand

This is not a traditional waterfall, but rather a series of small waterfalls along a narrow stretch of the Waikato river, creating an incredibly turbulent chasm that ends in a whirlpool. The 300-foot wide river is funneled into a 50-foot wide stream, causing a torrent of water that flows at a rate of 58,000 gallons per second. Obviously, this is not an area that you should get in the water, but not everyone takes that advice. There have been multiple deaths at this waterfall, and a few narrow escapes, including two swimmers who, incredibly, survived after trying to raft down the falls on pool toys. Please, for the love of god, don’t do that.

7. Niagara Falls, US/Canada

These falls are the only place on this list that I’ve visited, and I can tell you they are certainly an incredible sight, but also rather intimidating due to their sheer size and power. These three massive waterfalls are fed by the Great Lakes and, combined, have nearly 700,000 gallons of water thundering down every second. There is also a permanent whirlpool in the river that has existed for over 4,000 years and reaches depths of 125 feet! Besides being huge and awe-inspiring, these waterfalls are known for their appeal to daredevils who have gone over the edge in barrels or, in one case, a giant rubber ball. But these famous success stories are punctuated with tragedy. Roughly 20-30 people die at Niagara Falls every year. Most of these, sadly, are suicides, but others are failed attempts to replicate the successful daredevils of the past, and others are accidental. An estimated 5,000 bodies were recovered at the bottom of the falls between 1850 and 2011.

8. Murchison Falls, Uganda

Also known as Kabalega Falls, this is the worlds most powerful waterfall. Formed as the Nile River flows from Lake Kyoga to Lake Albert, this waterfall is so strong it literally causes the ground to shake around it. Here, the Nile is constricted from a river nearly 400 ft wide to a passage only 20 ft wide, creating an incredibly turbulent and violent tunnel of water that tears its way into the pool below at 79,000 gallons per second. And this is no ordinary pool. Waiting below the falls is the highest concentration of large crocodiles observed anywhere in the world, waiting for any dead or stunned animals caught in the falls to wash into their lair. Although the waterfall and surrounding park are now a beautiful tourist attraction and wildlife refuge, the history of the falls includes tales of human and animal sacrifices, thrown in alive to appease the gods that some believed resided beneath the raging waters.

9. Bath Fountain, Jamaica

This is just a random little waterfall along a hiking trail, but the video triggered some intense bathophobia in me for the first time in a while. Like, I was scared to get in the shower after watching this. Proceed with caution:

10. Kipu Falls, Hawaii

This one scares me because, despite my research, I can’t actually figure out what the hell is happening here. Multiple people have died here; all tourists, all drownings, all of seemingly very unclear causes. Kipu Falls is a beautiful and popular swimming spot, and locals frequently dive off the top of the falls with seemingly no danger. However, five deaths over the course of five years from 2006-2011 challenged its reputation of being a safe swimming hole. All the articles I could find seem to repeat the same information; there is no current in the pool and the waterfalls are not especially powerful. Despite these established facts, all five deaths were the same. Someone jumped in, surfaced, and then were dragged back down to the bottom of the pool and held there until they died. This has resulted in a lot of speculation, including everything from a hidden whirlpool current to evil spirits. I’m just. Really unsettled by the lack of information on this one. Every article I found was published in 2011 and I couldn’t find any updates, which hopefully means people aren’t still dying here, but… what the fuck???? Was going on????? Sorry guys this one might not be as dangerous as some of the others but it freaks me out a lot so it’s getting a higher rating. I want to know what’s going on but I’m sure not going to investigate it myself.

[typewritingyip]

The Arcturus Missions

Part Seven - Communication Break

Part Six

———

Radio waves were the first sign that the intergalactic community got that there was intelligent life on Earth, as they traveled infinitely through space, language and music lightly introduced to scientists of several societies. Special equipment was designed to refine the weakened waves and check the sounds that originally traveled over them. It was interesting to learn about a civilization so far away.

Radio waves were a common communication tool across several planets, whether for entertainment or military operations. It was considerably easy to maintain and made communications between groups on the same planet more convenient. Most societies kept track of a certain number of channels to prevent conflict, you’d be stupid to have espionage over radio.

In roughly the area of space that Cybertron sits, the radio waves from Earth were from around twenty or more years ago, and were going though the systems for re-mastering the original audio. Unfortunately those who chose to listen to other worlds radio waves, it was now playing the original hits of the 1980’s, just before the Quintessons attacked.

—

Hound was standing there, staring through a wall in the general direction of the communication while the others lost their shit behind him, “He can’t actually mean Jazz, not like pilot Jazz, right?” Sideswipe stands and starts pacing, looking over to Sunstreaker, “We heard him over the delayed messages, we knew he made it to this planet. But there is no way he’s still alive.” Sunstreaker leans his head back against the wall, “It’s been five years and we’re the first group Mecha has bothered to send to find him, five years. Stuck with a bunch of aliens who have similar tech to our own.” It hung in the air for a moment, “Could they be fighting the same things we are?” To be perfectly honest, none of them had thought of that before.

What if those things were fighting the same thing they were, on this weird planet that was covered in metal and rained acid, fighting the tentacle monsters of nightmares, “Even if they are, our mission is to stop them from attacking Earth. Was to find Jazz and stop them from attacking Earth.” Hound turns to the others, who were all in states of shock, “Our focus needs to be on the mission, if we can actually find Jazz then that’s step one done.” Sideswipe stands, moving over to Hound, “If we get Jazz, we might actually be able to finish this mission.” Breakdown nods slowly, finally letting the hum of his cannon die, “That is if we can get off this planet, with the Odyssey.” “If these things trust Jazz, then I’m sure he can talk them into helping us.” Sunstreaker pops his knuckles lightly which causes his suit to creak painfully, Sideswipe winces and swats at his brother, “Don’t do that.” “Then stop biting your lip.” And they started to bicker as Breakdown got up, moving over to Hound.

“What do you think of this, really?” Breakdown leans towards Hound, they’d stayed off comms since Prowl’s abrupt appearance and disappearance; “I don’t like it, if these things are spread out attacking multiple planets? How are we going to find where their coming from and not where their attacking.” Breakdown hummed and shook his head, his visual feeds starting to pick up the beings heading towards them, “The enemy of my enemy is my friend, right?” He sounded unsure of the saying but Hound nods with a smile, resting his hand on Breakdown’s shoulder, “You’re not wrong. But if these things are keeping Jazz hostage or worse, then they are the enemy.” Breakdown nods and keeps watching as the figures drew closer. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe standing, joining them near one of the walls.

—

The transmissions were near and clear, filled with typical battle chatter and sounds of explosions. Even if no one could make out exactly what they were saying, the same strange mechs as Jazz had activated the defense system of a solar farm off the coast of the sea of rust. It typically defended the area if the Quintessons landed in the sea or for the regular vermin that lived out there, it was over kill for the scraplets though.

It had been Blaster who’d picked up the signal and sent it to Prowl, knowing he was able to loosely translate the strange language. At which point Prowl had been in a meeting with Mirage, he’d gone from going over the recent reports to standing stock still, staring at nothing. For a click, Mirage let it slide, when Prowl continued to stare at nothing though, it was time to act. Standing and moving over to his commander, Mirage edges his way in front of him, “Commander, Cybertron to Porwl, sir.” He waved his servos in front of him, “Sir?” Prowl just about jumped out of his plating, “Mirage, I apologize, I was receiving a communication from Blaster.” Nodding slightly, Mirage steps back to give Prowl space. He watches in almost shock as Prowl drags his servos down his faceplates, the only time he looked like that was when it involved Jazz, “Sir, is it Jazz?” Mirage couldn’t help but ask, always finding their relationship so intriguing.

Prowl’s scowl was more typical, making Mirage smirk a bit, “No, it’s not Jazz, but it’s more of his kind.” That made the smirk fall and sent his spark to his peds, “More of them?” Jazz was a unique mech, needing more recharge but able to take more pain than any cybertronian. He was already becoming a mythic legend on the field, more of them could help keep the Quints off Cybertron. The gears were already turning in his processor. For Prowl though, who knew what Jazz really was, he was horrified. One of them, this Hound, had given a pilot number like Jazz did when trying to contact home. More pilots sent on a mission to their demise for the greater good of their planet, more who missed their families and home. Prowl could understand that, he’d have given just about anything to save Praxus, but he’d learned that giving your life for a cause didn’t mean much in the long run.

Raising a hand, Prowl silenced Mirage’s tirade, “Their out at the rust sea and likely are to attack anyone they come upon, since our weapons hit them first.” “Scrap.” Prowl nodded again before starting out of the room, Mirage hot on his peds, “I’ll need to contact Jazz along the way to alert him, their is a potential that he knew these other— mechs.” Biting his glossa, he nearly swore aloud at himself having to reframe from saying pilots. Mirage nods and falls in at Prowl’s side, “Do they know were coming?” Prowl delays for a second, “Not yet.” Nodding again, Mirage falls silent as Prowl contacts the strangers.

Out in the sunshine, they hurried into a transformation sequence, Prowl turning on his siren briefly to clear a bit of the traffic. Iacon was a sizable distance from the edge of the rust sea, the specific solar far that was current being attacked was on the edge of Polyhex, if they got on a high speed transport they could be there within clicks. Mirage stayed tight to Prowl’s bumper as they sped to the transport station, it wasn’t every day you got to meet other mechanicals; meeting Jazz has altered Prowl’s world so much and Mirage wanted a piece of that action.

They arrived at the station in record time and requested the fastest private transport, Prowl was still on comms so Mirage remained quiet, not wanting to be a distraction. Entering the transport, he took a seat away from Prowl and retrieved a datapad from his subspace, deciding to take the short amount of time they had on here to catch up on a report. Prowl glances up briefly before returning to stare towards nothing in particular, clearly deep in conversation with someone. His servo comes up to rub his jaw and Mirage has to hide a smile, he knew Prowl as speaking with Jazz. Jazz was the only mech who could make Prowl flustered, though it looked more exasperated than anything. Mirage sits back with his datapad, pausing only for a moment to read a message, swearing loudly, “The big yellow one took Beachcomber’s arm off.” Prowl looks up, “Fuck.” It was a moniker he’d picked up from Jazz but it often fit the situation.

—

Their sanctuary of the warehouse shook lightly as the approaching figures landed the transport, Hound adjust the grip on his gun lightly, fingers flexing, “Stay on your toes, we don’t know what they are.” It was a reminder that none of them needed. Hound was watching intently, eyes flicking between the displays on his visor, before pulling up an experimental piece of tech from Perceptor, turning the translator on in hopes it would eventually be able to discern their language. It was still a work in progress, the front liners back home all had them in hopes of learning the aliens language.

The twins were each shifting from foot to foot, both still splattered with the very pink fluid which had since dried to their plating. Breakdown kept turning down the command to reactivate his cannon, it clicking menacingly on his back and Hound stood straight with his gun held comfortably to his front. After several minutes, the rolling door in front of them opened and three mechs stood there, though one ran off once it was open.

Both had, odd, attachments to them. One painted reminiscently of older police vehicles and the other a very typical factory blue, but both had their odd features and neither was adorned with a facial shield. Each had a highly expressive and realistic facial unit, something that was often discussed back home to make the suits appear more friendly. Hound lightly raised his hand, lowering his gun, even though the one did not lower his cannon, he honestly couldn’t blame them. Clearing his throat slightly, Hound shifts his weight wanting to step forward but deciding against it, “Uh, hello there. We are Mecha pilots, from Earth.” The black and white mech raised his hand, clearing meaning to hold Hound off from talking further. Sideswipe leaned into his brother, “So, they don’t really know any English, do they?” “I doubt it.” Sunstreaker held his arms slightly up in a defensive position in case either chose to attack.

—

Standing there, Mirage knew they were talking in their strange language, he’d heard Jazz speak it several times but it was stressful to not know what they were talking about, “Any time Prowl, would love a translation.” All their heads whipped to him, visors glowing slightly brighter, “Their creatures must have been weird mecha to give them all visors.” He shifts back a bit, looking across them briefly though eyes landing on the green one, he started at the rifle hanging lightly from one hand, “A moment more Mirage, I am trying to get Jazz on the right signal.” “Jazz, is across the planet in Kaon with Megatron and the others dealing with the Quints there.” Prowl held his hand up again, annoyingly. Sometimes he wished his commander would just ask him to shut up, the green ones held tilted ever so slightly.

—

Static filled their comms, making them all wince and the twins tried to shield their ears, “Oh god, again?” Sideswipe was half bent over from the painful noise before the comm frequency clicked and fell silent, then the monotone voice spoke, “ID’s, now.” Hound sighed, it wasn’t the most friendly way of asking but he understood this man hardly spoke English before nodding slightly, “I’m Pilot 1124, Harold Jackson, call sign Hound.” The one he could only assume was Prowl nodded before turning his gaze to the next of the Arcturus crew, “I’m Pilot 2450, Sonny Salucci, callsign Sunstreaker.” “I’m Pilot 2451, Simon Salucci, ugly’s brother. Callsign Sideswipe.” Breakdown shifted uncomfortably before looking to Hound, who nodded, “I’m Pilot 1457, Oleksknder Kovalenko, callsign Breakdown.” There were several clicks and pops over the line, Hound winced and lightly rubbed one of his ears. The blue and white mech’s eyes widened, starting at the twins, Sideswipe shifted uneasily even as Prowl rested a hand on the other mechs shoulder.

A loud crash of sound filled their ears before the obvious sounds of fighting filled the comm line, “There is no way in hell that Hound would come on a dead end mission, it’s not possible.” Jazz’s voice filled their ears even as the clear sounds of his struggle joined the noise, “No way.” “That’s funny, because as you say, I am looking right at them.” Prowl’s voice joined Jazz’s, sounding much more relaxed than previously. Hound was staring at Prowl, taking a breath before finally speaking, “He would if he was looking for you.” There was a loud crash from the other side of the line, which Hound tried not to smile at, “Hey Hound.” “Hey Jazz.” He took a breath, relieved, stage one done.

“Holy shit, Jazz, hey!” Sideswipe turned away from the weird mechs and throw his hands up, likely smiling, “Fucking five years and all you can say is hey to Hound?” Both their laughter filled the comm line, it was more than a relief, it was more than they could hope for in the mission, “Where you at?” “Ah, you wont know where Kaon is, but we could use the help with the Quints.” Sideswipe stopped, tilting his head slightly and Hound cleared his throat again, “Quints?” There was another loud crash, “Ah, right. The aliens invading Earth have been attacking here too, for a hell of a lot longer. They’re the Quintessons, Quints for short.” Jazz paused, “They really need our help, the cybertronians aren’t quiet like us. Not people in mech suits, just mechs. What you see, is what they are.” He clearly sounded worried, “And they think we’re like them, only one who knows the truth for the moment is Prowler.” The mech across from them had his face plates turn a light shade of pink. Hound stared, in shock, for a while, “Well, we’ll need to move the Odyssey, then find Kaon I guess.” Prowl looked up at him, turning to the other one for a moment to say something in their strange language before motioning them out of the warehouse.

“Do we go with them?” Breakdown kept his voice down and off of comms, “Do we have any other choice?” Together, they followed Prowl out of their sanctuary.

———

A/N

Alright, did I work on this while my family was cooking Thanksgiving? Yes, was I supposed to be studying? Also yes, but they certainly did not need my help in the kitchen and I can study more now that it’s done.

I love seeing all your tags and comments, it’s been so great.

Tags!

@lunarlei68 @whirlywhirlygig @loop-hole-319 @pixillandjester @alek-the-witch @not-a-moose-in-disguise @goddessofwind8water @neurologicalglitch @dersereblogger @pixel-transformers @mrcrayonofdoom @wireplaces

And once again thank you to @keferon for this amazing AU.

[stardust-thief]

ada wong x reader enemies to lovers and we make out in the end please and ty

hello @omorebi u cannot hide from me!! dinner is served rue i hope it's good enough for u

synopsis: you're helping leon find ashley graham in spain, for a moment you're seperated from them both. but never fear! ada wong is here to save the day (she does no saving, like at all she just looks hot), 1.3k

cw: no smut but there is tension, and maybe a little knife play rue don't look at me, vague non-lethal threats, mention of raccoon city incident in re2, lip locking, they make out hard, ada is a tease, and a little ooc im sorry

request /// masterlist

After a long, hard trek through a Spanish village, you would think a castle would be a welcome reprieve. While it was better than facing waves upon waves of crazed villagers, it still did nothing to soothe the anxiety coursing through your blood.

It was clear when you and Leon were assigned to the case that it would be strange, no one would give a normal assignment to the survivors of the Raccoon City incident, but nothing had really prepared you for this. In some way, it reminded you a lot of that September night back home. Swaths of innocent people brutalised by something they had no part in, minions to a powerful man's schemes. If you were anything less, seeing it all happen again might have broken you. But years of being forced to work under the government made you no damsel in distress.

The two of you had worked your way through the village, finding Ashley, and ended up inside the desolate castle walls. Where you promptly lost them both! Ashley’s infection was getting worse, making her more volatile and scared. Honestly, you could hardly blame the girl. Feeling the virus worm its way through your own body was hardly something you were happy about. Which was exactly why you needed to find them again, preferably before the virus took complete control. Leon had met a scientist named Luis Sera who had promised you all the cure to the virus, if only you could find him again. The Spaniard had a habit of popping up and disappearing at the most inopportune times.

With no choice but to move forward, you pushed the colossal door open and found yourself face to face with two figures in a clock, both had gargantuan alien maws on top of their normal heads. You rolled under one as it reached out to grab you and pulled yourself up so you were now facing their backs. The creatures slowly turned around as you reached for the gun in your thigh holster and disposed of the one on your left. You switched your aim to the second, pulled the trigger and - click. No more bullets. Fuck. With every step the monster took forward, you took two back, reaching into your pocket for more bullets. As soon as you bring the gun back to aim, the creature falls dead to the floor. 

“Thought you were smart enough to not get caught reloading like that.” A smooth, syrupy voice says from behind you. “Could’ve got hurt real bad there.”

As you turn you say, “Well then, it’s a good thing I had you there Ada. Always saving the day.” Ada Wong was a mercenary who you first met in Raccoon City. From your previous galivants with her you knew she was trouble. Unfortunately, you also knew that she was maybe the hottest person you’ve ever seen. 

“I didn’t expect to see you here. Leon, yes, but I never expected you to become their lapdog as well.” She crooned.

“A little hypocritical don’t you think? What’re you here for this time Ada?”

“Oh, how I do love hearing my name from your lips. I’ve missed you, you know. Six years has been too long.”

Is she trying to seduce you right now? In this dusty room with two still warm corpses behind you? Is it working? “Stop trying to distract me Ada, I have a mission to complete so unless you’re here to help me I suggest you step aside.”

“Right, you’re here for the girl. She’s a lost cause, you should get out of here while you still can.”

“Ada, you know I can’t do that. I’ve got to get back to Leon so if you could get back to whatever plotting and scheming you’re doing and leave, that would be great.” You bit out.

She hummed and took a step closer to you, “I could help you, if you wanted it. I know you’re sick from the virus. How long has it been in you now? I have the cure, you just have to be willing to pay.” With every word her voice grew deeper and deeper, it thickened into something soothing to listen too. It almost made you want to agree with her.

“No, Ada.” You snapped, “Leon and I found someone with the cure, I don’t need your scraps.”

“You wound me, truly. I guarantee you I could help you quicker than Luis could, all I need is a little something from you. I promise it won’t hurt.”

“How do you know Luis?”

She frowned at you and cocked her head, “How bad at my job do you think I am? I’ve known about Luis Sera longer than you have.”

“That bastard’s on your side isn’t he?” You tighten your grip on the gun, a motion that doesn’t go unseen by the woman across from you. “He’ll make the drug and you’ll sell it to the highest bidder, I knew you hadn’t changed. Get out of my way Ada, I don’t want to play this game with you.”

“Or what, you’ll shoot? It’ll take a lot more than that to put me down. Or we can tussle, let it all out?” As she (rather euphemistically) spoke, she unsheathed a blade from her side and positioned herself as if to fight. Her form was uncharacteristically bad, her left side was completely open, as if she somehow forgot how to fight hand-to-hand combat. Which you knew was a lie considering how natural it came to her in Raccoon City.

Taking the bait, you  threw your gun to the side and moved into her space; you spun her so her back was pressed to your front. In your hands was her knife, her knife that was pressed against her throat.

You felt her throat bob as she said, “Nice move hotshot, who taught you that one?” Without even letting you respond she twisted you both around and pressed you into the wall, knife now somehow back in her possession. She traced the point down the middle of your chest. “Not nice enough.”

The air thickened as she pressed her body closer to yours, you could feel every curve on her body, feel every breath she took. Unbidden, your eyes moved down to trace the shape of her lips. You watch as the corners tilted upwards. Her breath warmed as it hit your face, she leaned in further until your lips were ghosting each other. You looked up to see her eyes boring into yours. 

Much to your chagrin, you closed the gap between your lips. Hers were smooth and warm, nothing like how chapped your mouth had gotten due the Spanish heat. You wouldn’t be surprised if Ada carried a secret compartment of lip balm in her shoe. The knife in her hand pressed further into your chest - not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to remind you it was there. Your hands rested on her hips, desperate to pull her in more. She let out a hum from deep in her chest and pulled away, laughing as you followed her movements.

“I don’t think Leon would be too happy to hear about this.”

Catching your breath, you spluttered, “Way to ruin the mood, Wong.”

“I live to serve,” she mused, “speaking of serve, I really must be off. The overlord beckons.” She moved towards the open window, letting her hand graze your body as she passed.

“You’re leaving? After that?”

“I thought you had a girl to find? Don’t worry, you’ll find me again soon.” With that, she took out her grappling hook and shot it off into the distance. 

Ada’s abrupt leaving shouldn’t shock you much, she was never one to like goodbyes. But riling you up like this was something new to the both of you. Honestly, it might be something you could get used to, if she weren’t fighting opposite you of course. 

Shaking the wildly inappropriate thoughts from your head, you recollected your gun and went to continue your quest into the castle. As you move, a glint from the window catches your eye. You find yourself picking up Ada’s knife again, the steel still warm in your hand. Maybe you two would meet again. It would be rude to not return a lady’s knife, after all.

[edgar-allan-possum]

Bit of a sci-fi thing I've been working on. It's not much other than world-building tbh

...

"Midshipman Kerr, reporting for duty to Skit'tra Hiveship Abhorrent," I spoke into the small intercom next to the airlock, the only bit of clean plastic or metal on the ship's stony exterior. It hissed open and I stepped on board, ready to begin my new life among the stars.

The airlock was human design, of course. Skit'tra hiveships didn't dock with each other, and the "rockets" being specialized Skit'tra embedded in pits in the surface of the asteroids the ships were hollowed out from meant there was no exposed machinery to be damaged by debris strikes, so spacewalks were a minimal concern. They were standard feature on all ships carrying humans, though, just for that added level of safety.

A Skit'tra drone met me on the other side of the airlock. She, like all her species, was an insectoid with six limbs; four of which were used for walking, while the foremost pair could be used alternately as manipulator arms or extra legs when traversing difficult terrain. Her carapace was black with a hint of metallic purple, and bioluminescent yellow stripes ran down her sides. The pulse pattern of the stripes should have denoted her rank, but I was supposed to receive my training to differentiate the patterns on board.

She chittered, and the Head-Up Display in my goggles lit up with the translator readout.

"Greetings, Midshipman [UNTRANSLATABLE]," she said. I noticed she'd made a click and a trill that sounded like "Kerr" with a rolled "R" and wondered if one of the reasons I had been hired was because they could almost pronounce my name. "Your presence among the Abhorrent Kind is most appreciated."

She gestured for me to follow, and we set off through the tunnels of the hiveship. The walls and ceiling bore fresh marks showing where the passages had recently been enlarged so humans could comfortably traverse them. Wires connecting soft yellow lights were strung along the walls for visibility. The Skit'tra didn't need them, of course. They navigated their home by the scent of pheromones and the light of their own bioluminescence.

I switched on the speakers in my breath mask. "It's good to be here, and I'm looking forward to learning more about the Skit'tra," I said, the translator turning my speech into alien clicks and trills. "Do you..." I hesitated, hoping my question wouldn't be rude. "Do you have a name?"

"You are speaking directly to the Abhorrent Mind," the drone said. "Unlike humans, who have their own minds, I directly control all but a few of my children." Her light-stripes pulsed twice as another drone passed us going the other way, and the other drone lit up in return.

"This drone will be your guide and companion aboard the hiveship," she continued. "You may give her a name if you wish."

I nodded, then realized that the Abhorrent Mind may not know what that meant. While it had been in contact with humans for around ten years now, it had mostly been over radio waves until the hurried retrofit of the hiveship in the last year after the request for humans to live among them. In exchange, a few of the independently thinking Skit'tra had been sent to Earth.

"I'll have to think about a name," I said. I looked around the rocky corridor. "Where are we heading, anyway?"

"We are going for a tour of your solar system," the drone explained. "The scientists are eager to see the moons of Jupiter."

I laughed, the translator speakers buzzing with nonsense output. "Right, but where are we heading inside the hiveship?"

The drone cocked her head to one side and her light-stripes fluttered. I reminded myself not to anthropomorphize her. This wasn't embarrassment. She was just processing the new question.

"To the human quarters," she chittered. "We are almost there."

A few moments later, we rounded a corner and found a metal and glass door. Another airlock.

"Please enter," the drone said. "This drone will be waiting for you here when you exit."

"What will you... What will she do while I'm inside?" I asked.

"This drone will sleep," she said. "Another drone will bring this one food if it needs to eat. Please do not be concerned, Midshipman [UNTRANSLATABLE]."

I nodded and made a mental note to put my name in the translator's database as soon as possible. Stepping into the airlock, I waited for it to cycle before pulling off my breath mask and taking a lungful of good air. The exterior airlock was to make sure the hiveship was pressurized better than Skit'tra resin could keep it, but this airlock kept the good old Earth air separate from the alien air outside.

I made a quick check of all the systems, making sure everything was working properly before throwing myself on the nearest bunk and grinning up at the ceiling.

"Real space aliens!" I said aloud. Other humans would arrive later. There would be hard work, both mental and physical, before this voyage was up. But for the moment, I was the only earthling on a spaceship full of aliens.

[leo-muscle]

I’ve heard a little bit about this King Leon guy. Who does he think he is to call himself a king? Seems far to pretentious if you ask me. I wouldn’t be caught dead bowing to someone like that. Not in a million years.

Sure I’m the most basic looking white dude on the planet. My face gets lost in the crowd and my body is light enough to be blown by a breeze. But a king can’t change that, and I would like to see him or any of his subjects try to.

"Are you sure about that?" The bartender told you. You had just arrived on your vacation in Haiti, and the resort's bartender had decided to strike up a conversation with you over drinks. He was enormous, seven feet of pure surfer boy muscle, with a thick gut that was the very picture of strength. He would have been the most beautiful man you had ever seen, if you weren't in the middle of a massive rant.

"Oh, absolutely." You continued. "Whoever these 'kings' are, I don't want anything to do with 'em. Who are they to declare rule over the entire world, and who are we to listen to them?"

It was true, of course. Much of Africa, the British Isles, Central America, and even the islands you were now in had been united under the rule of these Kings. While many praised them for their novel social reforms and exponential increase to quality of life in their domains, many others, yourself included, remained attached to the old ways. Even this vacation was a scouting trip, to see if whatever propaganda these Kings were putting out was true.

"On the contrary, my friend, I am perfectly happy to listen to the rule of my King. You should have seen this island before King Kai came here. Homelessness, poverty... it's all been amended since he arrived."

"Really?" You asked, taking a big swig of your drink, savoring its tingle on your lips. "And NO one's uncomfortable being ruled by just one person?"

"People love King Kai. He is kind and just, like any good king should be. You'll see that soon enough." The bartender said.

"What do you mean by that?" You asked, your heart racing.

"Oh, nothing much. Just give it a few seconds."

"What are you-- UGH!" You doubled over, your skin on fire with a sensation entirely alien to you.

The bartender walked out from behind the bar, and soon, his magical hands went to work. With his kingly essence in your system, you could be molded into a respectable citizen of the world.

He started with your pecs, cupping them from behind as they burst through your tropical shirt with new strength. They were enormous, voluptuous pillows, jiggling with muscle and a thin layer of fat.

He then moved his hands along your shoulders, pumping them into cannonballs of strength. The moment his hands reached your arms, they pulled and pushed, leaving your twiggy biceps and forearms as but a fleeting memory, replacing them with pulsing, powerful cannons of strength. In awe, you flexed your right arm, forming a mound easily as big as a baseball if not more.

You moaned softly as King Kai's beautiful hands lightly traced a six-pack onto your stomach, each ab popping into existence, forming an impenetrable wall of strength.

Soon, his hands navigated south, one massive hand palming your flat ass, while the other grabbed your tiny three-inch cock. You moaned, long, low, and hard as both of his hands began to move out from your body, pulling your cock and ass with them. Your cheeks rounded out into a big, bouncy bubble butt, bigger than most women's. It shook with strength and sexuality with every slight movement you made, much like your cock, which had grown so big with the King's touch that no pair of pants could conceal your enormous bulge. His touch was electric on your shaft, causing you to pre almost endlessly.

Your mind was in heaven as he continued to your legs. Your cock was at full mast at its enormous eleven inches as he took his hands to your legs, and blew them up into corded steel pillars as big as any christmas ham. You moaned, your cock firing blanks as he looked you deep into your eyes, placing one hand to completely cover your currently-unchanged face.

"As much as I love my people, we cannot be a global community if all my citizens are homogenous." King Kai said. "Hmm, where should I send you..."

Your skin flickered through thousands of shades in a single moment, before settling on a tone a few shades darker than your original. Your hair darkened to black, and you instantly sprouted a thick dark mustache, and a chinstrap beard to match. Your eyes became narrower and monolid, your stare intensifying into a sexy smolder. As King Kai leaned in and kissed you, your bulk increased, and your muscle became padded with a thin sexy layer of fat.

"Cum." King Kai commanded you, his voice sexy enough to send you over the edge.

You had been reborn, a Vietnamese stud in the Carribean. Your brain was aflame with new neurons, making connections faster and better than ever before. You knew you had been improved, in every conceivable way. You were stronger, smarter, wiser, and you had no one but your new king to thank.

[sugar-softies]

Out of This World Gains

Feeder pov, contains stuffing and extreme weight gain

You should never have been nervous about starting your new job as a interplanetary diplomat.

For starters, you'd studied hard for years, you had degrees in xenolinguistics and extraterrestrial sociology, and if that wasn't enough you had your secret weapon.

See, making sure important alien diplomats, guests, and royalty had a good time on Earth was pretty simple thanks to one simple fact:

No one makes food like Earth makes food.

Most recently you'd been tasked with escorting two neptinites during a six month stay on good ol' terra firma, and already the effects of your hospitality were showing.

You woke Auran and Minxi around three in the afternoon, letting them sleep in the way they so loved to now. You remembered when they first got here and would be up and ready at eight am, their slender frames already dressed in crisp formal attire.

Now, you had to bribe them out of bed, and encourage them to change out of pajamas.

"Noooo, five more minutes..." Minxi whined, trying to hide under her blanket.

You informed her you'd brought doughnuts and she peeked back out from under the blanket with a curious trill. You dangled one above her face and chuckled as she reached for it, encountering trouble when her belly weighed her down.

You'd guess she was weighing in around 270 now, which was nothing compared to most of your guests at this point, but her species didn't gain weight easily and she was clearly thrown by how the added weight had affected her movement.

Auran needed a little more bribing. While Minxi ate doughnuts and tried to squeeze into clothes she'd had resized just last week, you had to roll Auran onto his back and start pressing doughnuts to his lips.

Auran's growth was... well, nothing short of impressive especially considering he came from a more slender species. 530lbs of lazy extraterrestrial flab- the frilled fans on either side of his face were beginning to become swallowed by fat, his tail had gotten so chubby he could no longer lift and wag it as he once could, his belly hung down to his knees even when standing.

It was no wonder he'd gotten this large though, he loved Earth food so much you were able to feed him while he was still waking up.

You were able to feed him two and a half boxes of doughnuts while he was still half asleep, and once his strange purple eyes finally opened you were able to plop the next box on his belly so he could help himself.

"Mmph... mornin'," he mumbled around a mouthful.

You patted his stomach fondly before going to help Minxi with her outfit.

She squeaked and whined and jumped as she tried to yank form fitting jumpsuit up past her shapely hips. "It's so small!" She huffed, trying again and gasping adorably as a ripping sound echoed through the room.

She blushed purple as she examined the large tear in the jumpsuit and then looked to you. "... I need comfort," she pouted dramatically.

You slid up behind her, lifting her belly and giving it a jiggle before reaching up to squeeze her round breasts, and assured her that you'd already placed an order for comfort in the form of burgers and fries, and they'd be here shortly.

She squealed with delight and hugged you. "We'll never fit back on the ship home, you're just going to have to roll us back to your place and feed us forever."

You laughed and told her you wouldn't mind that at all, which made her blush.

She was startled out of her cute expression when Auran belched loud enough to shake the walls. "Hey... little help?" He held up his hands.

You and Minxi went over, rolling him closer to the edge of the bed and then straining to help pull him up to his feet. Auran panted as if he'd done any of the work and then accidentally bumped you with his swaying belly as he went right for the jar of candies you refilled for them everyday and left on the dresser.

Your heart pounded as you watched him open the jar and tilt it towards his open mouth, and were glad you'd thought to remove all the wrappers. He gorged, pouring candy down his gullet, eyes glazed over. You'd heard Earth food could be a bit... addictive to some off planet species before but you'd never seen it like this...

After helping your charges get dressed and then helping them through a hearty fast food breakfast, it was time to get back on schedule.

You were supposed to show them a few historical sights, but after ten minutes of waddling, whining, and gasping for breath, your alien friends got distracted.

"What is that?" Minxi asked, her fans quivering with excitement as she sniffed the air and glanced over at the nearby restaurant.

You explained it was a buffet, and how it worked, and suddenly found yourself knocked on your ass as both of them pushed past you to get inside.

You sighed fondly as you paid for their entry and tried to guide them towards a table.

Minxi was eager to try everything she could, making several trips back and forth. You waited at the table as she did that, and wondered where Auran had gotten off to.

"Nn... helppp... I want more but-" Minxi tried to get up and her stuffed belly bumped the underside of the table. She hiccuped and tried to slide out of the booth but ended up groaning and rubbing her belly. "Too heavy..."

You smiled, heading over to fill up another few plates. When you returned, you sat down next to her and started hand feeding her.

Minxi's eyes glazed over and she trilled with sleepy delight as she ate everything she was offered. Her belly gurgled and groaned, and she had trouble keeping her eyes open as she continued to feast.

"M... more..." she breathed. "More? More..."

You chuckled and told her if she had anymore you wouldn't be able to get her out of the booth much less the door. You rubbed her belly to help her digest, assuring her you'd come back here again tomorrow. Her shirt had ridden up considerably, so you were able to feel her skin warm under your loving hands.

After you felt that Minxi was suitably handled, you decided you really needed to go find Auran. It wasn't too hard to find him, he'd sort of... attracted a crowd.

You gasped as you found the wreckage Auran had left behind: buffet trays emptied and tossed onto the floor, full sections completely emptied out, employees scrambling to clean up and refill.

Then there was Auran himself.

His belly was swollen, hiding his knees from view and squishing up against the counter as he ducked under the sneeze guard and simply grabbed handfuls of whatever food he came across, shoving it into his maw forcibly without stopping. It was clear he'd fallen prey to Earth food addiction, and you knew you had no chance of stopping this now. You'd just have to wait for him to run out of food or get too heavy to move.

You followed him as he waddled and shuffled from counter to counter, eating and eating and eating and eating-

At one point he stopped to catch his breath and burped. His eyes rolled back and he tried desperately to get one last chicken wing to his fat face as he fell completely onto his back with a loud thud that shook the restaurant.

You sighed, wondering how you were going to get him out of there, then noticed he was still trying desperately to feed himself.

Well, in for a penny... in for several hundred pounds.

You grabbed the tray he'd been eating from and, ignoring the onlookers that were being shooed off by the staff, started feeding him.

You couldn't tell if you were forced feeding him or not, because he kept moaning and turning his head as if to escape, but whenever you stopped he groaned for more. You could feel his stomach growing taut even under all the pudge, and his clothes were starting to rip into ribbons.

"So... full..." he gasped for breath, his belly weighing on his lungs.

You shushed him gently, and fed him another slice of cake.

You considered Auran and Minxi's stay on Earth to be successful because they didn't want to leave.

Not that they'd be able to get up and walk to the shuttleport on their own anyway...

"Nnmpf..." Auran chewed greedily as you fed him another slice of pizza. "Faster."

You shook your head fondly at his demands and reminded him that if he hadn't eaten himself into such a huge state then he'd be able to move his arms and hands with enough dexterity to feed himself.

Auran was in bed technically, although you couldn't see the mattress or shattered bed frame under his bulk. He was a melting pile of rolls of fat with a greedy ever open mouth.

Minxi wasn't there yet, but she was close behind.

She whined as she got wedged in the doorway, a popsicle in her mouth and a pair of shorts two sizes too small struggling to cover a growing ass. She braced her hands on either side of the door and tried to force herself through. You watched her attempts for awhile, and were somehow surprised when the doorframe simply... crumbled to accommodate her wide body.

Minxi grinned as she waddled to her own bed, every inch of her swaying side to side and jiggling incredibly as she plopped herself down on her ass. "Oooh you got the kind I like!" She wiggled her fingers before flipping open one of the pizza boxes. She started rolling the pizza into a burrito shape, which was her preferred method of eating them these days. "You're the best!" She giggled, taking a big bite and patting a belly that was only going to grow bigger and bigger...

[phoenixcatch7]

The Wayne doll house

Have some haunted doll au, since it's been bubbling away in my mind.

The bat cave is large and sprawling, many layers and tunnels and hollowed out cracks in the walls. It takes many years to fully reinforce to prevent stray kids from tripping into stagnant waters or fall down crags as he once did. The doll cave, as it becomes known, is in one of the deepest, darkest corners, one where the lights of the furnished caverns above don't reach.

It's one late night sitting at the computer when it suddenly occurs to Bruce that his first encounter with a doll was at the well entrance, many levels above.

There was nothing there when he went back.

-

The justice league stared at the subaru. The subaru, having no eyes, did not stare back.

The seven of them had just finished a very long, arduous mission, and narrowly escaped government censure after the base they'd been raiding had turned out to belong to some corrupt official. With the alert up, they couldn't escape through city airspace, or even in their hero suits.

So civilian it was.

Batman had hotwired some bloke's car while the rest of them ducked into alleys and shop bathrooms, but the problem remained. There was seven of them. And five seats.

"I can shift into something more suitable for being carried," suggested j'onn, "but I believe one of us might have to hide."

"Foot well?" Hal tried, and everyone looked around at the tall, bulky, broad heroes.

"Think they'd have to go in the boot," Barry finally said. Everyone immediately turned to him. "No."

Batman spoke up before the discussion could devolve.

"I think.... I would be best for that."

The team stared.

"Batsy?"

Having no lungs meant he could not drag in the tired sigh he wished, but whatever force allowed this body to talk was capable of approximating something suitably resigned.

"As I am, I am... incapable of fully passing as human. It would be best if I remained out of sight."

"So just? Go change? I swear we won't be weird about whoever you are under the mask. Even if you're like, bald."

"Thank you, Wally, but I'm afraid I'm being serious." Reaching for the mask in broad daylight was unpleasant, but the glue and wires held as he gave it a few thorough tugs. "It doesn't detach."

Everyone stared. Clark reached out as if he wanted to check, but withdrew.

"Do you even have a civilian identity??" Oliver eventually asked. "Because at this point I'm genuinely not sure."

Wayne Enterprises and Queen Industries had a meeting that same evening. "Hn."

"Can we go back to the 'incapable of passing as human' part?!"

"We can discuss it in the car," he snapped, stalking past Barry and popping the boot. "In case you haven't forgotten, we're on a time limit."

For once, that seemed to encourage them, and batman, with great dignity, folded his joints and cape into the small space, ignoring Hal's mutter of 'what kind of contortionist -' as he slammed the lid. With a little shuffling he managed to activate his comms.

"I will inform the watchtower of our delay."

"Batman, they're tapping all outgoing signals, you can't -"

"It won't trigger," he interrupted, before he twisted his consciousness and sent it spiralling across the country.

Bruce awoke with a groan, stretching his limbs and taking a moment to marinate in his annoyance before he reached for the comm and voice modulator on the beside table.

"Batman to watchtower, we've encountered delays. If the Texan state government calls we haven't entered the state in six weeks. Batman out."

-

"Alien?"

"No."

"Reanimated corpse?"

"No."

"Uh... Demon?"

"Hm. No."

"You're not just a meta human, are you?"

"No."

"Vampire?"

"No."

"Robot??"

"No."

"Batsy, please, someone's got to win the bet eventually. How do we even know you're not lying?!"

"You don't," Batman said, not looking up from his paperwork and Flash groaned, letting his sticky notes fall to the floor as he buried his head in his arms.

"One day," he bemoaned to the keyboard, "one day we'll figure it out."

"Until then please keep your eyes on the monitors."

Flash groaned again.

-

Robin ducked under superman's arm as he scuttled down the corridor, laden with the night's haul of snacks. The real problem wasn't getting them - stopping league members from raiding the kitchen would be extremely counterproductive - but keeping them until he could return home to his human body to eat them. Batman had started searching him each time they left and it was really cutting into his daily sugar intake. Unfair! Just because he didn't actually use energy to stay up my night to fight crime, it felt like he did!!

'Oh, you're broken, Robin, oh, don't go out until the glue has fully set, Robin' his arm was fine! It wasn't like there was much crime to be fought on the watchtower anyway! At least not physically.

So he was pretty pleased with himself until he went to set the snacks down and found that the tar like glue they used had soaked through the sleeve and gotten all over his chocolates.

With his other hand, he tried to pry them off, wincing as the wrappers tore and stuck. He tried to shake it, ignoring the way his elbow rattled in the joint.

"Come on, come on - aw, cheezits."

The arm fell off. Robin stared despondently at the limb, surrounded by torn wrappers and dripping black glue where it connected to the elbow. The sour stink of formaldehyde filled the air.

He was going to be in such trouble with Bruce.

The click of the door jerked his head up.

Flash stood in the doorway, wide eyed. Robin stared back.

Flash screamed.

Oh yeah @dehydratedmockingbird have a thing

[alliskit]

The Grand Design.

Really wanted to write something because this game lives in my head rent free. Following dialogue on a PS5 sucks. @atsadi-shenanigans was an inspiration to introduce a useless earth human, but make it for the moms. LOL

Summary: "I always believed alien abduction was, possibly and, maybe, plausibly, real, but it was for other people. Maybe, aliens like abducting people who are already mentally ill so it seemed like they are lying? Maybe, that's why I ended up on the nautiloid. Or maybe, I wasn't supposed to. Either way, whether by design or by accident, I got to see a world saved. Even if it was technically just a tiny corner of it and not even my own. Sometimes, it takes just a random group of people motivated to solve the same problem to make a difference, one step at a time. As Frodo took to the pen to record his adventures, at the behest of my companions, I will do the same. Excuse the grammar and random inserts from others, I promise to get this edited, so it's not so heinous and more cohesive. Sometimes the Gods really are listening. And sometimes they're just cunts. Cheers to the Heroes of Baldur's Gate and, hopefully, we can get a more accurate retelling down since Volo's was -- please, don't read it. We didn't have a dragon with us, just a dragonborn."

(This is written as an imagining from 1st person POV of essentially ���Tav” writing down her journey of becoming one of the Heroes of Baldurs Gate.)

Long form chapters! Weekly on Saturdays.

Yes, I have other WIPs that I'm putting on the back burner for Patch 8. I'm not sorry.

On AO3.

CH. 1: I Will Never Go Camping Again.

- Abduction - The gun incident - Seeing my friends for the first time - Sylas and the cambion

Once upon a time, I, and my son, Sylas, were abducted by aliens. [Come up with a better first line]

Camping was Brian, my late husband's, favorite activity in the summer. After his accident, it felt like a great way to keep his memory alive. Sylas and I would stuff the Jeep  wagon (need to find a better explanation) and grab packs of junk food (explain or leave it?) at the local shop (gosh, grocery stores!). This was the last weekend before school would start. For Sylas, it would be the first day of school, ever. I had to make this trip as memorable as possible since it would be the last camping trip for a while and one without his dad. He was a great sport about it all, excited even. We had camped almost every weekend that summer, having several friends join us, but this weekend would be just the two of us.

I was barely holding it together. Brian had died in the spring and knowing he wouldn't see Sylas' first day of school loomed over me like watching a storm rolling in as Sylas laughed his way through the shop's aisles.

We drove out to the Knob, our family's favorite spot, and hiked up to the peak. At the top was a small open-walled cabin with a fireplace and roof. It allowed for some protection from the elements and a place to cook. It was Brian's favorite spot to watch the sunrise. If you set the tent facing east, you would have a view of the sun rising over the valley below.

I had brought a few portrait albums to share with Sylas some stories of his dad while we sat by the fire and made s'mores (need the Faerunian equivalent). I had made it most of the night without crying until Sylas held up an image of his dad that had been hidden behind another. Brian's silhouette was shadowed against a large blood moon at the very top of the Knob. I had forgotten about the image. It had been our first camping trip together as a couple. Seeing it cracked the wall that was damning up the sorrow inside of me.

I was near inconsolable in the arms of a six-year old boy who should have been the one crying, but instead, he was taking care of his mother. In my attempt to get control of the mess, I picked up his hand and led him to the rock where his father had sat ten years prior on a late summer night just like this one. I sat the precious boy, the mirror of his father, dark brown waves over amber eyes, in my lap as we watched the moon rise through our tears. 

After a time in the silence of our grief with brief moments of sniffling and wiping, Sylas' little voice broke over the breeze, "I'm cold." I hugged his small frame and said, "Okay, let's go get warm then."

We stood, clicking on our lanterns, seeking the path back to the campsite. Then Sylas gasped, pointing toward the western sky, "Mom, look!" 

I have never seen an unidentified flying object, as they call them from my realm, but there was no mistaking the flying ship. It was horrifying. The flying ships recorded in my realm are oblong and made of metal that look like bright floating lights, others were said to be round and flat. But, I had never heard of a nautiloid, except in nature texts when referring to the ancient fossils of smaller sea creatures of the same name. To see a giant squid flying faster than birds or any other flying object was petrifying (not literally...).

Others from my realm have spoken of feelings of awe or shock when seeing a flying ship, but the terror I felt as I grabbed my six-year old was similar to what deer must feel when they see a wolf prowling nearby. It's said, when in fear, you respond with fighting, freezing, or fleeing. Sylas was frozen in place as I tried to flee us to safety.

Practically speaking, pulling someone who is frozen in place, even one as small as a child, can cause delays in reaction time. The time between seeing the flying ship in the distance and seeing it soaring overhead felt like a breath. It moved as fast as a star streaking across the night sky. I felt my feet slide as my arms tightened around Sylas' small waist, my spare arm reflexively reaching out to catch us on the rock face we would have surely slammed into if we had actually fallen instead of been lifted. 

Sylas' screams were the last thing I heard as the rock below blinked out. 

The time between being taken and waking up felt instantaneous, but in actuality, was probably several hours. At first, I didn't register being awake when I stared out of my pod at two tall octopus (does faerun have octopi?) headed persons who were standing over a large tub of some kind. I watched one hand the other a shrimp-shaped object. The deliverer made its way to the pod adjacent to mine. In my amazement, the inhabitant was another unique species of person. They were clearly in distress as they tried to fight their captor, then failed as the larger held up a clawed hand, stilling the occupant by some kind of mental force. 

In my home realm, there are fictional stories about people from the stars who have the ability to control others with their minds. Though, they were just stories to me until this point. Now, I was experiencing real life "Star Wars", it seemed. 

Instinctual fear roared through my body as I watched the shrimp-worm chew its way into my pod-mate's eye. They screamed before passing out. I desperately hoped they weren't dead. But, as the possibility of their death settled into my mind, two questions followed: "Am I next?" and "Where is my son?"

One always hopes to be the image of strength and decorum in the face of grave danger. I was not. When the natural instinct to run full speed away from danger meets being trapped, fear is superseded by pure panic and incoherence. Screaming, thrashing, and crying had become my automatic response. Defense experts recommend scratching, biting, kicking, screaming, and all out feral behavior when kidnapped to encourage panic in the perpetrator. But, if you are trapped behind glass on an alien ship, the likelihood of being dropped off for bad behavior is slim. Many would succumb to panic and allow the inevitable, but there is something to be said about protective mothers doing anything to defend their young. 

The bear in me drew my panic and fear into a sharp claw and pointed it right at the monsters floating around the room on the other side of the glass. The urges of flight were burnt up by the fight now raging through my human veins.

I remember the first time Brian told me he owned a gun. I was a little shocked, considering his stance on gun policies. He said that even when you believe that weapons of mass destruction should be heavily regulated, if you were of 'able mind' to defend yourself, you should own one. Spending so much time in the woods, he would never camp or hike without one. Bears couldn't be reasoned with when most humans could. The first year of marriage, he signed me up to get licensed and take lessons. While we kept his in a safe for home defense, mine was kept with our camping gear. Whenever we went camping, one of us always had it holstered. 

I reached back and felt the small holster still strapped to my jeans. The alien pods were either soundproof or the aliens didn't care enough about the occupants to pay attention when they were screaming and panicking. It probably happened constantly, so they learned to ignore it. Which, came to my advantage. They weren't paying attention when I pulled out the weapon, switched the safety, checked the clip, and loaded a bullet. 

The failure of the other occupant was their instinct to use their hands to attack. A weapon might give the captors a pause. Though, if I was abducted, it was likely they may have seen a gun before. It was worth a shot, literally. I knew I was next.

I laid still, finger on the trigger, gun at my side as the tentacled monstrosity stood before my pod. Hissing sounded, the glass lifting overhead, as the alien stood waiting. If they noticed the weapon in my hand, they made no attempt to remove it. As soon as the hood clicked fully open, I swung up my arms, the gun held just like I was taught, and pulled the trigger.

A few things happened at once. The ricochet reverberated through my arms as brain matter spattered outward from the alien head as it flew back landing on the ship's floor. The bullet, having made it straight through the head, slammed into the tub, cracking and bursting it. The high-pitched screech of the second alien echoed through the room along with the booming shot. The room's floor was now covered in writhing grubby worms. 

I didn't wait for the second alien to respond before shooting again, sadly missing my target. The alien threw out a wave of purple that hit me square in the chest. It felt like a small gust of wind, but as it hit, I saw what seemed like a flash of shock in the eyes of the caster. Something had happened that wasn't supposed to. 

A voice roared, STOP. It felt like it filled the whole room.

The other alien held up its arms in a sign of surrender as I continued to hold my gun aimed at its head. I stepped carefully out of my pod avoiding the sulfuric smelling liquid covering the floor. I peeked over into the pod with the other who had tried to fight earlier. They looked feminine with a small nose, spotted greenish skin, and elf-like ears. Some kind of soldier, if my assumption of their outfit was metal armor. Nice metal armor with what looked like ruby gemstones. 

It took a moment to register, but I realized the alien had spoken in my language. "You can speak my language?"

In a way. The voice boomed again. It felt more like I was imagining it in my head as I heard the liquid drip audibly from the remnants of the tub, onto the floor. 

"You're speaking in here," I said pointing to my head.

Yes. The alien didn't move from where it was standing next to the tub. Good. It knew who was the threat here. I had 18 more opportunities to kill this thing and it was a fish in a barrel in this room. Though, it could float and probably fly. I wasn't as sure of myself with moving targets, but it didn't have to know that. 

"Where is my son?"

He is being held at the helm. We have no need for children. Thank fucking God. 

"I want proof of life," I demanded holding the gun more firmly.

Give me a moment. I need to contact those at the helm. Do not kill me, please .  

I felt a sheen of sweat on my palms. I couldn't take on a whole ship's worth of aliens with 18 rounds. I had killed one of them, so I was likely never getting off this ship. But, I had to figure out a way to get Sylas off safely. Maybe, they could drop him off near the house or family or a hospital. Abductees got dropped off all the time, at least according to the stories of the survivors, some having been taken multiple times. 

As the alien closed its eyes and took a position as if in prayer, I turned to look around the room at some of the other pods. Every one of them was filled. The one on the other side of the green soldier looked like a human man in a renaissance costume. Could these aliens travel through time as well? The gun was beginning to feel like a toy in my hands. I was clearly in over my head.

They are coming. Give it a few minutes. 

I stood not taking my eyes or the barrel of the gun from the purple monster. After several silent minutes, my arms slightly shaking from fatigue, but out of pure spite, still lifted, the door squelched open. Another large alien stood beside a terrified Sylas. 

"Mommy!" he cried, tears that had been held back burst forth. He made a move to run to me, but another booming voice echoed, Do not move. Sylas stopped immediately, terrified eyes flashing up at the purple face. He stepped back into place instead.

The brine covering the floor is acidic and will burn through your shoes if you run.  The new voice added. It held a tinge of softness. As if trying to seem friendly to Sylas. Sylas nodded staring at me. Eyes fearful, but posture defeated.

"Will you hurt her?" he asked weakly.

As long as your mother puts down her weapon and comes willingly, we see no need to hurt her. She was only defending herself and fearing for you. 

A light, but tired grin filled his little face. "Thank you," he added softly.

I lowered the gun, clicking on the safety while keeping an eye on the original alien, and tiptoed around the brine to the fleshy doorway. As soon as I took the two steps onto the landing, Sylas slammed into my legs. I sunk to my knees, my own tears of relief and fear falling down my face as I wrapped him in my arms, still gripping the gun. 

When you have finished your embrace, you will follow me to the helm.  

I stood and holstered the gun. Then looked at our new companion, "If you try anything, I can put you down as easily as I did your comrade."

Orange eyes stared back at me, unblinking, unreadable. I do not doubt you will do anything to keep the young one safe and I do not wish to find out what it may be. We are not a warship, we are a research ship. We will make sure to return you and the boy. You were not intended to be retrieved for this project, but we are not ones to waste what can be of use.  

I nodded, "Thank you." Turns out the experts were right: If you thrash and fight, the kidnappers will be more likely to throw you out of the car. 

"I wanna go home," Sylas cried as he hugged my side. 

I rubbed his back as we followed the alien through the new cavernous space that seemed to have small pocket offices and a second level. "We will, Bubba, we're going home."

I've never been on a leisure ship (how to explain a cruise ship), but I've watched some horrifying examples of sailing ships being caught in storms with terrible tidal waves. Passengers gripping columns or bars as tables and chairs slide around with the tipping. 

But, there was nothing to grab onto as this ship tipped. Even the new alien, who had chosen to walk to guide us out, was now sliding down toward a table with, what looked like a dwarfed person strapped to it. Sylas slammed into me as I gripped onto a stand with glassed horticulture. If I had time to examine it, it would have probably been very interesting, but instead, it was keeping Sylas and I from sliding into a wall and slamming into the floor as the ship righted.

I ducked, covering Sylas, as the ship was thrown again. A new smell of burning crammed up my nose as a breeze picked up my hair. 

A memory flashed in my head of watching a door being sucked into open air as luggage was sucked out with the change in air pressure. But, it seemed, whatever held the compression on this flying ship kept us from being sucked out too with the new gap in the wall. 

We need to get to the helm, now! The voice echoed through our minds. Sylas' little hand filled mine as we raced after, the now flying, alien. He stopped short of the new gaping hole as we flew over ancient towns. It looked like the towns you would find in another region in my realm called Europe. Which was what I thought it was until the alien said, Good, we're back on Toril . 

What the fuck is Toril?

There are conspiracy theories in my realm about other parallel realms existing. They can't be proven, but there is some evidence, like stories of travelers showing identification papers from countries and regions that don't exist in my realm. Evidently, these 'stories' are true as we flew over one of those parallels. 

I never got the chance to ask the alien about what Toril was because it grabbed me with one arm and Sylas in the other, flying us past severe damage up onto a ledge that was once a hallway to another fleshy doorway that led to a new room where bodies laid passed out on seats. 

Ignore the thralls. It said. I didn't want to know what a thrall was supposed to be.

As we ran after the large purple alien, I spotted another pod, the occupant slamming her hands against the glass. 

"Mommy?" I heard Sylas call. I looked up to see that I had stopped to watch the poor girl with the weird haircut crying out. I had no idea how to help her. My hand itched back toward my gun, but I looked up at Sylas and hurried through another doorway. It closed behind us, shutting out my chance to help her. I imagined her getting the grubby worm placed in her eye and hoped she had missed out on that particular experience, but the state of the other occupants of the room didn't bode well. 

The helm was large with some kind of blue tentacled mechanism up at the front. Two other purple monsters floated about the room quickly, clearly unnerved by whatever had caused the blast hole and the tipping. 

Go above. There are chairs. Please try to stay put until we can get out of the line of fire.  

"Line of fire?" I asked, my eyes glancing toward the large windows. As if on cue, several guttural roars sounded through the room. Two goddamn dragons flew past the front windows a moment later.

"Mommy, were those dragons?" Sylas asked nervously.

I looked down at him, mirroring the incredulity in his face. "Yes, Sylas, those were real dragons." The words felt like a lie as they crossed my lips.

He looked back to the front of the ship, his face morphing before my eyes from nervous fear to pure delight. "DRAGONS ARE REAL?!" 

The alien looked back at the excited Sylas with deep confusion. Then what seemed like curiosity or delight changed in the alien's posture. Those dragons are very real and have knights that ride them. 

Sylas' eyes widened in amazement. "Knights that ride dragons? That's so cool."

They are our people's sworn enemy and are currently hunting us. We are trying to escape them. They caused the blast on the side of the ship.  

Sylas' excitement faded back into the original nervous fear as he held his gaze on the orange eyes of our captor. "Are we going to die?" he asked quietly.

The alien just started at the boy. I would prefer we all lived and will do what is necessary to ensure it. 

Sylas nodded softly. I knew it wasn't an assurance of getting home, but it was the best they could offer under the circumstances. I spoke up, "Where do you need us to go?"

The tentacled face looked up past our heads, Up on the next level, you will find a pair of seats. Take those and hold on.  

We nodded and ran for the staircase. As we made it into the seats, one of the aliens stood at the front of the helm and put two tentacles together, causing a momentary and unexpected thrust, throwing us into the backs of the seats. I reached out gripping Sylas' wrist in case he went flying. 

The sky through the windows twisted and changed. It was no longer the faded blue of early evening, but dark red with black clouds. A few red flying things slammed into the windows, sliding off like bugs on a windshield (think of a new equivalent example, no cars in Faerun, if only I knew how to build all this shit I'd make so much money). Clearly, this was a bad thing as a bunch more began to fly up and slam the windows with weapons, a mass flying around trying to find entrance.

"Mommy, what are those?" Sylas asked, scared.

I shook my head, "I have no idea, Buddy. Hopefully, they don't find a way in." Moments later, the ship turned, trying to outmaneuver the new assailants and the old ones, by the sound of more roaring. I turned to look at Sylas as he pointed at the windows. One of the dragons had found a purchase, gripping the side of the ship as it blasted open two of the windows with its fiery breath. 

My gut sank watching the scene, looking back at my terrified son, who was now crying, no longer amazed by the dragons. I pulled him out of the large chair onto my lap, holding him like he was much smaller, and tucked his face into my neck. This whole experience was out of some fantasy nightmare. I squeezed my eyes shut. Maybe, this was a grief-induced dream and we were still cuddled up on the Knob. Maybe, I was holding him close in our tent, hearing him cry over the death of his dad and not the fear of dying himself. 

Holding his small body, I could feel the sobs wracking through him as he cried and sucked in breath. The smell of sulfur started to get heady, making me nauseous. The sound of tunneled air blasting in through the front windows made it hard to think. I felt my own tears sneak down my face, pooling in my clavicle dips. A wet spot from our united tears grew on my t-shirt. 

"I want daddy."

A piece of my soul died in that moment. Brian had a hero's heart. He would have fought back as soon as he woke up on this cursed ship. He would have been down on the main floor fighting demons and monsters to make sure we were safe, even if it seemed all hope was lost. I knew Brian would have at least tried.

Sylas turned to look and I pulled his head back into my neck, watching in muted horror as two large winged and horned fighters sliced through one of the aliens. But, another alien jumped and gripped one of the new winged individuals wrapping its tentacles around their neck and twisted as brain matter splattered on the ground. 

It was the absolute worst time for the ship to jerk and tip, then drop. 

Time seemed to slow as Sylas floated out of my arms as I floated out of the chair while the ship went into free fall. One of the new flying demons lifted into the air but wasn't ready for the quick adjustment the ship made mid-fall to catch itself. Sylas, falling through the room, slammed into the demon, both crashing into the floor. 

Before the thing could recover, Sylas jumped off, running to a desk, and grabbing a silver bulb. The winged horror stood up, seeing our alien companion, raising its large sword above its head, ready to strike. 

Throw the bulb, boy, and see something new. 

Sylas nodded, "Hey, ugly!" The warrior flashed over to the boy, confusion painting his face. "Fetch!"

The bulb hit the fighter square in the chest, blasting out like buckshot (need a faerunian equivalent... fuck sake) fragments as it tore through it. A small gurgle escaped before the demon collapsed. 

Get back to your mother, the alien demanded and Sylas bolted up the stairs as another winged warrior soared in, heading for the pilot. The alien threw out a blast of purple knocking the demon to the ground. 

The doorway squelched open and three new individuals burst through. Hope clanged through my chest as Sylas and I saw my green warrior pod mate, the black-haired girl trapped in the other room, and a white dragon-man stop short of the mess in the helm. 

Get to the transponder. The alien commanded. The three newcomers made quick work of the demons flying around as the alien fought off the large one. The dragon-faced one tried to step in to help the alien but was quickly dissuaded. Sylas crawled to me on the ground, my arms wrapping around him tightly as we watched the red dragon do another fly by, roaring and spitting fire. 

The black-haired girl in armor made it to the transponder. As she gripped two tentacles, we watched in horror as a dragon stuck its head through the broken windows. 

"No," Sylas whispered.

At that moment, the girl looked back and saw us huddled. She held my stare, nodded, and slammed two of the tentacles together. The suction thrust threw the dragon out of the window and all of us back, the sky beyond changing from red to dark night. 

As the ship changed locations, the drop of another free fall threw all of us into the air again. I gripped Sylas to me as hard as I could, feeling his fingernails digging into my skin as he held onto me for dear life. 

I felt the stairs slam into my back as Sylas landed on me. Our alien 'friend' was thrown down next to the dark-haired girl who was then sucked out of a hole in the wall. 

All hope died. I thought of the remains of mothers and their children still clinging to each other after centuries buried by mudslides or lava fall. At least we were together.

And soon, we would be with Brian too. 

The first thing I felt was a headache, the next was the sun, the last was two little hands trying to shake me awake. 

[maccreadysbaby]

there's a little synopsis of a quiet place under the cut for my bentley followers that have no clue what I'm on about!! 9000 words later lmao, the quiet place au is finished!!! ALSO WERE GOING BACK BABY BENTLEY MY PEEPS, HES 10 AGAIN IN HERE 🥹🥹

Project: Killcode Drabbles

tw: violence & gore

wanna read the extended fic? here’s the table of contents!

⚠️ THIS IS NOT PART OF BENTLEY’S MAIN STORYLINE, THIS BENTLEY INSERTED INTO AN AU (ALTERNATE UNIVERSE.)

brief overview of A QUIET PLACE:

A Quiet Place is a sci-fi/horror movie series originally directed by John Krasinski, in which aliens crash into earth via a meteor. They spread quickly, and are extremely strong, agile, and resilient. They’re completely blind, but they can hear as much as an unsteady breath across massive distances and likewise get extremely violent towards anything that makes even the slightest noise. Not many people survived, and the ones who did… may not be the lucky ones.

Bentley Whittaker was 9 when the meteor hit. The monsters were probably twice as tall as him, and no one could have ever stressed enough just how the tiniest of sounds could kill.

photos for your imagination ↴

THE “MONSTERS” - formally called death angels, but Bentley only calls them “aliens” or “monsters”

TEN-YEAR-OLD BENTLEY WHITTAKER WALKED DOWN THE GOTHAM STREETS SLOWLY, ONE STEP AT A TIME, LISTENING.

It was a thirty-six degree overcast afternoon. The city was dead silent apart from the subtle howl of wind that came and went every now and then. 

Debris was blowing softly across the street, piled full of crashed cars and decomposed bodies reduced to nothing but clothes and what looked like ashes. The electricity in most places was shot. It had been since the meteors fell, since the monsters got there and started to rip apart and kill every single thing that made the slightest bit of noise. 

Most of the buildings lining the streets were mere bones of what they had been, the windows shattered, doors ripped off, and some of the walls entirely collapsed — undoubtedly by the creatures ripping them apart, seeking prey that’d been inside. People.

Bentley stepped cautiously, holding tight to his father’s bloody shotgun that was far, far too big for his little hands. It was nearly his height, and probably his weight, too. An old blue bag sat on his back, the zipper haphazardly cut out and replaced by a myriad of safety pins to eliminate the sound. (It was the biggest backpack ever, his father had said once. Good for the end of the world.) 

He was wearing three jackets, all thin and soft instead of puffy and loud, and cargo pants he’d gotten for his birthday a few months ago that almost covered his feet. His shoes, dirty and torn red tennis shoes, were wrapped in thin cloth cut from his old sheets so the soles didn’t make noise against the concrete.

The monsters could hear a pin drop. They could hear an unsteady breath. They could hear everything.

Which was unfortunate, because Bentley was out of food. He’d gone as long as he could without it, attempting to substitute with other things like water and uncooked rice that were left inside the Whittaker Estate, but now he was really hungry, and therefore forced out of hiding and into the city. Where absolutely everything made noise.

It was strange to see Gotham abandoned. He hadn’t been there since before the monsters showed up — once, with his father on business. It was bigger than Drew, and had more places to get supplies, which was why he was there. Not a soul remained in the streets now; the city was a sad, lifeless husk, nothing more than a graveyard. Bentley’d wondered… Why didn’t the monsters eat their kills? Were they just slaughtering humans for fun?

Bentley missed when people were everywhere. The world was so quiet now… he was so lonely. People used to make him nervous, but now, he would probably kill for the chance to be with someone else. 

He kept walking, keeping his breathing slow and shallow, exhales rising in front of his face as clouds of vapor. His feet were falling in very precise, very calculated heel-to-toe steps. He’d learned quickly that it was the quietest way he could walk.

There was a corner store coming up at the end of the block that his father had taken him into, the one time they’d been to Gotham together. Not just out of the goodness of his heart, though — it’s because Bentley was sick and his father was pissed off that he’d even think about throwing up in a Maserati. He shoved him into a corner store bathroom, went home, and sent some men to pick him up later.

Bentley was really upset at him, then… but now, he guessed it was an advantage to know where the store was. 

Plus, he couldn’t be mad at his father anymore. He glanced down at the shotgun splayed with blood and grimaced, inhaling lightly. No, he couldn’t be mad at him at all.

He continued to walk in silence. A piece of newspaper clipping blew across the street near his feet, and the headline was something about baseball. Bentley had never seen anyone play baseball, nor did he know the premise of the game, but he missed it. He guessed it was normal to miss stuff from before the world started ending, though. Even if he never really saw it.

Suddenly, one of the shutters on a nearby building started blowing in the wind, hitting the the brick with soft clacks every few seconds that made Bentley’s anxiety thrum within his veins, his heart quicken in his chest. Everything was silent except that shutter, clacking above him, seemingly deafening in the dead Gotham street.

He closed his eyes and held his breath, pausing his movement to listen. He counted from zero to ten Mississippi. Nothing moved. Nothing made any noise — no pounding feet, no chittering, no growling… nothing.

So he resumed walking, but at a slightly more brisk pace than before.

Maybe ten minutes of that passed before the corner store finally came into view. The front was blown out, the doorway nothing more than a large hole in the brick, and all the windows were shattered, but… the inside looked intact.

So he moved for the door, keeping his footfalls silent, stepping over debris and parts of cars and bodies that he didn’t dare look at until he made it to the blown out front wall and peered inside.

The entire thing seemed coated with concrete dust and ashes, but there were also supplies left on the shelves.

With a quiet exhale, he glanced down at his shoes, at the ground. There was a pile of ruined brick blocking the doorway (that was really just a massive hole in the wall), too large to step over and definitely something he couldn’t step on without making noise. He took a step back and glanced at one of the nearby windows. There were only two in the whole store, small, and on either side of the door.

He moved for the one on the left. Most of the glass was blown out of it, a few shards lying outside but most scattered on the floor inside.

So Bentley stepped over to it and inhaled.

He took his backpack off and carefully lifted it through the window, laying it gently on the other side. He did the same to his shotgun, carefully laying it atop the bag so it didn’t make any noise against the concrete floor.

He exhaled. Well, his turn.

Ever-so-slowly he lifted his right foot, holding his breath and swinging it over the windowsill at a glacial pace. It was pretty high, so he had to sort of push himself up to sit on it, holding on tight to the edges while he brought his other foot over. 

He set his feet on the floor gently, and-

CRUNCH. The shards of glass on the floor cracked under his weight.

He flinched, ducking beneath the windowsill as quickly and silently as he could. With a flare of terrible pain and a little tearing sound he could hear in the silence that Gotham had become, a piece of glass still stuck in the window frame sliced his left hand open from his wrist all the way down between his middle and ring fingers.

He slapped his right hand over his mouth as a pained noise threatened to escape him, his eyes involuntarily brimming with tears. He sank down into the floor of the building silently, tucking his bloody arm close to his chest. His entire hand was throbbing and burning and already drenched in red that made him kind of dizzy to look at.

Something hit the ground with a fleshy thump outside.

There were no words for how hard Bentley’s heart was pounding, threatening to break out of his chest all together. The reflex tears in his eyes quickly became real and started streaming down his face. With a deep, guttural set of clicks, he heard the monster’s feet as it walked, away from the window but toward the door.

He choked down every sob that threatened to force it's way out and stayed eerily still, holding his breath for as long as he could, breathing in and out, then holding it again.

The next time the monster took a step, a loud sound came along with it that he recognized as the bricks at the door, sliding and falling against each other.

Something moved in Bentley’s peripheral, and he closed his hand over his nose and mouth, forcing himself not to breathe.

He saw the monster’s head peer into the building. Its front legs, lanky and insanely long in an unnerving type of way came to rest on either side of the hole in the wall, its long, narrow claws clicking against the brick there. Its head, covered by probably a dozen or more plates of armor, swiveled this way and that, the armor plates opening up like some kind of horrifying flower to reveal the fleshier inside of its head. Bentley knew that when they did that, they were listening. 

He stayed dead silent, forcing his body not to move, forcing his lungs to burn for just a little longer, forcing everything to shut down and stop as best he could. Could it hear his heart trying to break out of his body? Could it hear the sobs trying to rip up his throat?

His stomach growled.

The monster whipped its head around to face him directly, no longer chittering but making a deep, ear-splitting hiss.

Bentley didn’t move.

He didn’t move when it came fully inside the building, propelling itself forward by using its long arms to grab walls and shelves, shooting across the distance with speed uncanny to anything else. It knocked over shelves and slashed a few magazine racks across the room as it came directly. Toward. Him.

Bentley curled up a little tighter, and when it was mere feet from him, it-

CLACK! Something hit something else outside. CLACK! And again. It was faint, but Bentley could hear it, and the monster paused with its wide jaws full of serrated teeth a mere foot from his face, turning to the window and opening its plates to listen.

CLACK! CLACK! CLACK!

The shutter. It was the shutter, from down the road.

With a terrifying screech, the monster all but lumbered out the window right over Bentley’s head, its back leg brushing his hair right before it slammed on the road and skidded away like a car drifting on ice.

The sounds of its thundering footsteps faded away, and for a long time, Bentley just sat there, crying silently.

After a while, he reached over and unpinned his bag, shifting things around until he found a small cylinder of unpackaged bandage. He unrolled it and wrapped it around his arm and hand tightly, over and over until he could tuck it in somewhere.

He didn’t get up until the sun was going down, because the temperature had dropped a solid ten degrees and he was starting to go numb. 

He forced himself off the floor — freezing up and freaking out wouldn’t serve him well anyways. He couldn’t afford it, not in this world. Not anymore.

 Stepping carefully around the glass and debris, he went further into the store. The whole place was run down, and sort of looked like someone had picked out of it before. 

The first aisle, the one closest to the door, had household items. Bentley scanned the shelves, stepping lightly, and settled on grabbing a packaged toothbrush, a pair of large metal scissors, and a can opener, should he ever get his hands on any canned goods. There wasn’t any toothpaste, but he’d survive without it. 

And then he spotted a package on the top shelf — a set of four plastic jars, probably double the radius of a normal jar, with screw-on tops.

There were so many things he could use those for. The only problem was…

They were about four shelves above his head.

He reached up with one arm, pushing up onto his tippy toes, but was still about two shelves off.

With a muted huff, he glanced around the store. There were some baskets up near the ruined door, thick and red. There was also an office chair behind the counter, but he didn’t think that would be safe — it had wheels, and if it rolled out from under him, he was as good as dead.

So, he tip-toed over to the baskets and picked one up silently, shuffling back over to the shelves. He put it on the floor upside-down, then ever-so-slowly put one foot on it. The plastic dipped dangerously, but it didn’t crack or pop, so he went about putting his other foot on it.

When it didn’t break, he carefully lifted his hands up toward the little package of jars. He could barely skim the cardboard they were sitting on with his fingertips. 

He did that a few times, softly nudging the pack until it was almost halfway off the top shelf. The next time he did it, it tipped sideways toward his head, and he was able to carefully slide it off the shelf and into his hands.

He carried it all back over to his bag and tucked the loose things neatly inside. He used his scissors to cut the jars out and prepare to fill them with stuff. All that was in the bottom of his bag currently was a flashlight, a journal and pack of pens, one schoolbook, ammunition for his shotgun, and a fourth jacket, weaved and folded around all the other things so they didn’t make any noise. 

One by one, he took to searching the aisles. He came out with a small first aid kit, two bottles of honey, four full water bottles, and seven cans of food that he was rather proud of already locating the can opener for. Three corn, two peas, and two peaches. There were a lot of chips left, but rightfully so — as appetizing as they sounded, the bags and contents were both so loud they were likely to get him killed on the spot. He did manage to find about a dozen slim jim’s and several bags of lifesaver gummies, which he cut open carefully with his newly acquired scissors and emptied into one of the four plastic jars he’d found. The other three jars ended up holding a bunch of energy bars, two bags of beef jerky, and several packs of those weird orange peanut butter crackers. He cut everything carefully out of its packaging and organized them quietly, shoving all the cans and jars into his bag and weaving the jacket between them so they didn’t knock around, going as far as to take off one of his own to use when the other ran out of slack. He had to dig his flashlight out in the middle of packing up, because the sun was setting more and more.

His bag was much heavier when he slung it on, but he didn’t mind — it was all stuff that would keep him alive, right? He grabbed his shotgun out of the floor and rolled his shoulders back, getting used to holding the weight against his injured hand because he had no other choice.

On the way out of the corner store, he stopped at the checkout and grabbed a bundle of candy bars — the only ones left in the small candy rack, careful not to rustle the packaging. There were also a couple small travel books with crosswords and word searches, three lighters left in a small container, and a mini fridge that was empty besides two plastic bottled electrolyte drinks. He grabbed it all.

He shoved the small books, lighters, and candy in his jacket and pants pockets, and the drinks in the side pockets of his backpack, and then stepped out onto the street, where the vague positivity provided by finding supplies died instantly.

It was now pitch dark outside, the only beam of visible light being the one from his own flashlight. A breeze that chilled him to the bone came and went. How was it that much colder after removing one jacket? He was still wearing two, and a sweater!

Nonetheless, he shivered harshly, watching his breath plume up like smoke in the beam of his flashlight. If there was something he was grateful for, it was that the monsters were blind. He’d be far too afraid to venture into a dark city if they weren’t. Actually, he’d be dead if they weren’t.

He walked for a little bit longer. He debated on heading back to the Whittaker Estate, but walking so far at night wouldn’t be easy, plus the heightened risk of making noise because he couldn’t see anything. And he was just kind of sleepy — he had been walking all day, after all.

He glanced at the buildings as he walked, trying to find a suitable one to sleep in. Most of them were all decrepit and torn to bits, and he didn’t think he could really survive being that cold all night.

He’d walked another entire block before something peaked his interest. A sign, big and yellow, planted on the side of an absolutely massive library: FALLOUT SHELTER, it said, with a nuclear warning sign and arrows pointing into the library.

A bomb shelter? It might not be warm, but it could definitely get him out of the wind. And bomb shelters were super strong, so maybe the monsters wouldn’t be able to get inside…

With a nod of satisfaction, carrying his shotgun in one hand and the flashlight in the other, he pushed toward the library. 

The outside of the building was dusty and worn, and the doors were blown off, but the frames were still intact. There were a few cracks creeping up the walls but nothing serious. Even the sign was still up above the door, and it was supposed to say WHITEHOUSE LIBRARY, he thought, but the letters T, E, and R were missing and lying on the road next to the front door, so it actually said WHIHOUSE LIBARY.

With a soft exhale, he stepped up the three steps toward the doors. Another gust of freezing wind came, urging him through the doorway and into the building.

He stood in the entry and panned the flashlight around, his eyes following the beam of light as he took in the building around him. The whole thing was dusty and lined with cobwebs. Most of the shelves were upright, but there were a few sets near the doors that had fallen over and sprayed their books everywhere. There were a few dead bodies near the doors, but he promptly chose to ignore them, instead, stepping carefully over books and things on the floor toward the back of the massive room.

He paused for a few minutes and perused some of the aisles, coming across a couple survival tip books and one about cooking. He put them in his bag. Who knows, maybe they’d come in handy one day.

After a few minutes of that, he wandered around until he found the sign for the fallout shelter — with arrows pointing at a basement door that was torn off its hinges and laying uselessly on the floor. There was a walkie talkie duct taped to the wall right above the sign, and the little green light that indicated it was on was glowing.

Bentley found it odd… but the prospect of shelter overshadowed that.

Bentley swallowed quietly, shining his flashlight down the stairs. They were wood, and a few of them had red duct tape stretched across the entire expanse, and in big, black marker, the words DO NOT STEP! were written across it.

Bentley, with an inhale, stepped on the first step gently, applying his weight in very, very slow succession so it didn’t creak. He skipped the steps with red tape, creeping down into the basement. He didn’t even realize he was holding his breath until he could breathe again at the bottom.

He glanced around, cautiously flicking the flashlight around. It seemed sort of damp, and kind of creepy and spidery down there, but alright. On the far left wall, there was a big metal door with a huge spinning handle like a boat. Next to it was the fallout shelter sign.

With a quiet exhale, he moved forward.

There was more red duct tape splayed across the door, this one had the words: LUBRICATE BEFORE OPENING! on it, as though someone had written it on there to remind themselves. At the base of the door sat a can of WD-40, cut in half with a paint brush handle sticking out of the top.

With the furrow of his brows, Bentley grabbed the brush and coated the hinges and handle of the door before he slowly turned the huge circular handle. He waited for it to squeak terribly, but it never did.

He stepped into the bomb shelter, quietly closed the door behind him, and glanced around with his flashlight. It was oddly… warm, inside.

It was rectangular, and larger than he’d expected, with a barrel ceiling lined with metal beams. There were a bunch of army green cots lined against the walls, probably eight of them. A room divider stood at the back of the rectangle, probably closing off a bathroom space or something, and ahead of it were shelves piled with cans and pouches of government-issued rations… but also different things, like the gas station food that Bentley carried around. There was a small fire stove thing that vented up through the ceiling, too, back on the other end of the room.

All of the beds were devoid of bedding besides two — right next to each other in the back corner of the room. They both had pillows and blankets, but the farthest had a stuffed cow, too. There were a couple of large backpacks sitting between those two beds, and a large, long sniper rifle, laying under the one without the stuffed animal. There was a walkie talkie — probably the partner of the one from upstairs -- taped on the wall right at the pillow of that bed.

Bentley crouched, shining his flashlight to get a closer look at the gun. There was ammunition under the bed, too — tons, probably thousands of rounds.

He stood back up with an exhale, glancing around the room again. There was nobody inside, not a soul, so it should be safe for him to crash there for the night, right? Whoever had been staying there was probably dead, anyhow… 

Bentley softly padded to the nearest cot. He shrugged off his bag and sat it carefully on the floor, and then did the same with his shotgun, propping up his flashlight against the wall so it illuminated the room. He sat down on the cot gingerly and, pleased when it didn’t creak or squeak, pushed himself up on it and reached down to unpin his bag.

He fished out a few of the things he’d gotten from the corner store — the jar of beef jerky and some water, the first aid kit, and the journal and pen he’d brought from his home.

The first order of business he went about was opening the first aid kit and checking what was inside. Not much; just the basics, really — bandage, antibiotic ointment, butterfly stitches, gauze, alcohol wipes, cotton balls, that sort of thing. 

With a breath, he began to unwrap his arm. The bandage was already soaking through with blood and sort of sticking to the wound, drawing a soft, pained inhale out of him that he put his injured hand over his mouth to silence. After a few moments of picking the fabric out of the gash, he grimaced and dropped the bloody bandage on the floor.

Silently as he could, he drew the scissors from his bag and cut open the products he needed, wiping his arm down with an alcohol wipe, synching it together with butterfly stitches (which really hurt, by the way.) putting some ointment on it and then wrapping it again, circling his arm and hand in several layers like a mummy. He wasn’t quite sure if that was the right way to do it, because he’d once heard about letting wounds breathe or something like that, a long time ago, but he didn’t care. He’d rather it suffocate and be clean than breathe and get dirty. 

Once he finished that, he took some motrin for the pain and packed all of his first aid stuff back up. He settled in the center of the cot with his beef jerky and the journal. It was a calendar journal that his father had started filling out on the new year to keep up with the dates, since no one really did anymore -- each day had a little square he had to check off, and a space for him to write comments. It was a five-year-journal, but, luckily, only the first two months were filled so far. There were also a few dozen pages of simple lined paper at the back of it that he doodled on sometimes.

With an exhale, he turned to February, checking off Friday, the thirteenth, munching on some jerky. He remembered the rumors of fear that used to surround that day, but now, fear surrounded every day, ruled every moment, counted every second. He missed when Friday the thirteenth was supposed to be scarier than the rest of the days.

His hand hovered blankly over the comments section, swirling his pen around before he started to write. Just the basics.

Third day out of the estate. Colder than before. Made it to central Gotham. Stomach growled and a monster almost killed me in the corner store. Now i’m sitting in an abandoned bomb shelter, and it looks like a nice-

A light on the other end of the shelter flicked on suddenly, and Bentley very nearly fell off the cot.

There was a person over there -- had they come from behind the room dividers? -- holding a bright lantern in their hand. They were tall, and lanky. A man.

Part of Bentley wanted to cry at the sudden discovery of another human being (he hadn’t seen one in so long! The first besides his father in the last seven months!) The other part of him, the sad, rational part, realized that this person was probably going to kill him.

Bentley wasted no time leaning over the bed and swiping his shotgun off the floor, aiming it at them warningly. He’d never pull the trigger. Gunshots were loud. The man probably knew he wouldn’t kill him, too, but it was nice to pretend he had the upper hand.

The man set the lantern down on the floor, lifting his empty hands up near his head to show Bentley he had nothing in them, and was harmless. He looked young, maybe twenties? With this pitch black hair and these crystalline blue eyes that were almost kind of enchanting. Deep, with a glisten of something Bentley couldn’t place swirling in them. He was wearing black sweatpants and a big blue hoodie, covered with two jackets much like Bentley had. He even had on tennis shoes, too. Blue, but not wrapped in cloth like Bentley’s.

Bentley continued to aim his shotgun directly at his face as he drew slightly closer, keeping his hands up and visible. He slowly knelt down to be more Bentley’s height, his eyes flicking to the book Bentley had been writing in. 

He moved one of his hands in a subtle writing motion, pointing at the journal for a moment, then at himself. Bentley had no idea what he meant, and was so focused on not killing this guy but looking like he would that it took a few moments for it to click.

He wanted to write to him, instead of talk.

With his shotgun propped on his leg and still poised for a trigger pull, Bentley turned to one of the lined pages in the back of the journal and held it out to him, along with the pen. The guy took it gently, his eyes scouring Bentley’s face as he began to scribble on it.

Bentley didn’t know what he’d expected, but it wasn’t what he got.

Get out. You’re not welcome here.

He glanced at the page, then at the man, who showed little to no emotion regarding shoving an injured ten year old outside in twenty degree weather to die via superhearing aliens. A stab of something like fear, like dread settled in his chest, and he scribbled, handing the book back over a few moments later.

I didn’t know you were here. I just need somewhere to sleep. It’s really cold tonight and there's monsters in the area.

The guy looked at it for a second, before writing back.

No. We’re safer alone. Leave. Now.

Bentley read it and a stubborn burn surfaced behind his eyes. With a faint inhale, he scribbled.

Please. I won’t bother you, and I’m really quiet.

When he got the book back, the message on the page was: No. I’m not a babysitter. You have ten minutes to eat and pack up.

Please, I’m lonely and tired. I won’t bother you. I can give you supplies! was the message he handed back.

No. Leave. Was what he got in return.

Bentley began to scribble the word please again, but the man reached out and touched his hand (much to his horror), stopping the writing in its tracks and closing the book so he couldn’t write anymore. Bentley looked up at him, and he shook his head, a stone cold expression on his face. He pointed roughly at the door and mouthed the words: Get out.

Bentley inhaled lightly, glancing down at his fingers. The first human he’d seen besides his father, the best shelter he’d come across the entire apocalypse, and he was being forced out of it by some guy who very obviously had no soul.

He was lonely. And he was tired. And he was so, so scared. He didn’t want to go back outside… to find somewhere to sleep in the dark and the cold where, if he survived the monsters, he might die in the freezing temperatures instead.

Bentley drew in a shuddery breath, glancing up at the man with tears in his eyes that he couldn’t force away. He mouthed the word: Please.

The man shook his head, pointed at the door, and then walked off, toward the cots on the other end of the room. 

Shit. 

With a few silent, hopeless sobs, Bentley shoved more jerky in his mouth and packed everything up again. The man just sort of sat on the bed that had the sniper rifle under it and watched him, not a hint of regret crossing his features even at the child’s tears.

Once Bentley was all packed up, shotgun and flashlight in hand, he dried his tears and took one last glance at the man, who concluded their short-lived interaction by pointing again at the door.

Bentley wiped his face and turned, heading back to the door and turning the handle, pushing it open. He took one last weary glance at the perfect shelter, and then closed the door, pushed himself back up the stairs silently, and stepped into the library.

It was much colder up there. Like, a solid thirty degrees colder, and Bentley began to shiver vigorously as soon as he made it to the top of the stairs. It was pitch black outside, and silent.

He moved slowly to the back of the library, where he’d spotted a makeshift reading area earlier. It was a conglomerate of old couches and chairs, but he didn’t dare sit on them. Instead, he put his stuff down and settled on the ugly green carpet, curling up to defend against the cold.

And that’s where he laid for the next eleven hours. Freezing his absolute ass off, drifting in and out of light sleep interrupted by unsettling dreams and the terrible cold. By the time the night was over, he could hardly feel his extremities anymore.

But alas, the sun rose, and the temperature went up just enough to give him a little will to live.

He ate some jerky, drank some water, wrote: some guy kicked me out of the bomb shelter to finish off his calendar day from last night, and set off again.

He wasn’t sure where he was going, but he wanted to hunker down somewhere not too far from central Gotham. It had a lot of good stores and places to get supplies. Maybe there was another bomb shelter… not too far from here? How far apart did the government build them?

With a silent exhale, Bentley padded down the three stairs of the library and into the street. He should check out the next street over, see what shops were on it. His bag was really heavy, but he could probably swing carrying a few more supplies.

Bentley stepped down the road slowly, keeping his footfalls quiet, turning into the alleyway next to the library and heading to the next street over. He had to round a big yellow fire hydrant on the way. The street  looked much like the other — the library had entrances there, too, but the shops were different. He spun to get a look at them, glimpsing a pharmacy and a clothing store that might be handy, as well as a hardware store that could have some useful items inside.

So Bentley went to work, silently, starting at the hardware store, where he took more pens and loads of batteries for his flashlight. The building was mostly intact, so he didn’t have to worry about stepping on glass or stuff like that — the only thing wrong with it was that the door was blown off, nowhere in sight. He managed to find some matches, too, and two extra flashlights.

Next, he went to the clothing store, where he found two more soft but thick jackets that he put on, and one blanket that he was able to roll and strap to his backpack via scissor holes and two belts that had also been in the store. This building had the front wall blown out, too. He thought about grabbing another outfit, but it seemed unnecessary to carry if he was going to settle somewhere nearby. He’d get it later.

And last but not least, the pharmacy.

He stepped quietly up to the front stoop. There was one step up to the entry, and the front door and windows had been reduced to mere holes in the walls, the brick on the front buckling and separating in a way that looked like the whole thing might fall soon.

He crept through the front door, careful to keep his feet away from debris. A pharmacy was basically a gold mine for staying alive. He wished he could just take everything inside with him — because what if he needed it?

Slowly, he crept down the aisles. He ended up grabbing a few more over the counter medicines — liquid only, pills were too loud — for generic colds and flus and stomach bugs. He grabbed a couple things of melatonin gummies, too, and he found a myriad of bandages, which he took a lot of because they were light and relatively small. And some bandaids!

He left feeling good about his haul, heading back out onto the silent street, and-

Crack.

Bentley glanced backwards at the pharmacy building, hoping and praying he’d just imagined that noise…

But he hadn’t.

Suddenly, after being disturbed for apparently its final time, the entire front wall of the pharmacy came down with a deafening crash, sending plumes of dust into the air and all over Bentley, bricks crashing across the road and near his feet.

And he just stood there.

A mangled screech came from somewhere down the road… and then another, a response, and loud hiss from somewhere else, and Bentley…

He ran.

He tried to do so as quietly as he could, but his footfalls were still audible as he shot down the road and back into the alley next to the library. The sound of the monsters thumping down from above and galloping on the road like horses reached his ears and made his heart slam around in his chest. They’d heard him running. They had to have. 

He pushed himself against the brick wall of the alley and put one hand over his mouth, muffling his panicked breathing, holding tightly to his gun with the other. The loud, fast footsteps of the monsters were drawing nearer.

Three of them ran by the alley and were to him nothing more than black splotches in his vision, there one second and gone the next.

But one paused.

He stayed pressed tight against the wall when the monster turned and took a few steps into the alley, hissing lowly. It walked further, and the plates on its head opened up to listen, probably three feet from Bentley’s face, and he was freaking out too much and breathing too loud, and his heart was absolutely pounding, and-

With a terrible screech, the thing lunged for him, and Bentley lifted the shotgun and pulled the trigger.

BANG! went his gun in the middle of the silent city. 

The monster’s body fell limp into him, and he couldn’t help but stumble over due to the weight. Suddenly, his left leg exploded into a terrible, searing pain, the worst he’d ever felt in his life, and he… 

Screamed.

He clapped a hand over his mouth as soon as he realized. The body of the alien he’d shot — blown half of its head off, actually — was looming just above him, it's blood pouring out in droves that coated his clothes and skin. A whole handful of it's claws, it's gigantic, horror story worthy, long, scary claws, had sank into Bentley’s left thigh when it fell on him. He tried to push himself out from under it, but the thing was so heavy, and his leg was hurting so bad, and he couldn’t see because he was crying and he tried to be quiet but he choked out agonized sobs anyways that sounded so deafening in the silent city-

Another one of the monsters blitzed into the mouth of the alley at breakneck speeds, his head wide open to listen for his sounds, and Bentley grabbed onto the fire hydrant at the end of the alley, trying to pull himself out from under the alien, but it wasn’t working, and-

BANG!

The alien's head exploded into a mist of red from a shot he hadn’t taken, and it fell.

Bentley lifted his shotgun up toward his face, turning it to the side and aiming it the best he could at the fire hydrant valve-

BANG! 

Gallons and gallons of water started spraying from side of the hydrant with a vengeance, creating a roar of white noise loud enough to cover all of the minute sounds Bentley could make, like crying, which he was definitely currently doing. It was perhaps the hardest he’d let himself cry since this all started, since he had the cover of the water to silence it.

Suddenly, two arms grabbed him under the armpits and yanked him out from under the monster’s body, and its claws that had been buried in his leg dragged, tearing open more skin as they went before he finally pulled free. Bentley screamed again at the agony, but one of the hands left his armpit and came to slap over his mouth. A hand that wasn’t his. The other arm left his armpit, too, and looped around his torso, and he was slowly dragged out of the alley and right behind the fire hydrant. Close to the loud noise.

Bentley reached up in an attempt to pull the arms away, but a voice came, a whisper that wouldn’t be audible over the raging water: “Don’t fight me.”

Suddenly, four monsters all skidded out of the alley, screeching and hissing at each other, stumbling like a stampede and climbing over one another to get to the fire hydrant.

Bentley watched in horror, the mysterious hands still around him, pinning him in place and keeping his mouth closed as the monsters clicked gutturally at each other. The plates on their heads opened up and they skittered around, listening intently, circling the fire hydrant as though they were deciding what it was. They were so close to them… four feet at absolute max. And there were four of them. And they were so close…

Whoever was sitting behind Bentley slowly released his mouth, and he kept his breaths quiet, forced himself not to cry audibly. The person's hand slipped under his knees and slowly lifted him off the ground, bridal style, causing a flare of terrible pain to explode up his leg. He bit his tongue until a metallic taste blossomed in his mouth so he didn’t make any noise.

He turned his head away from the monsters, toward the person who was holding him. The sniper rifle sling and shiny blue eyes told him it was the same man from earlier — from the storm shelter.

The guy began to slowly back away, carrying Bentley as he went. He ventured around the back of the library, his footsteps drowned out by the rushing water. He moved slowly, smoothly until he was able to go through the library door and down into the basement, skipping the red stairs and heading into the fallout shelter, closing them in, all in a practiced, silent precision.

The guy carried Bentley over to the same cot he’d sat on earlier and put him down on top of it, removing his bag from his shoulders and shotgun from his hands, putting them on the floor near the bed. Then he immediately walked away to the other end of the room, digging softly in one of his own packs.

Bentley layed back on the cot and put his hands over his mouth. The pain in his leg was absolutely incapacitating, and kind of made him wish the whole thing would’ve just been chopped off. His left pant leg was solid red, and he sucked in deep, quick, panicked breaths instead of scream-crying like a toddler throwing a tantrum, which is what he actually wanted to do. He could feel the hot tears streaming down either side of his face quicker than he could even think about wiping them off, but he kept his hands dutifully clamped over his mouth like his life depended on it. Because it did.

The guy came back over with a few things gathered in his arms that he laid out carefully on the floor at the foot of the bed. He stood up and made sure he was in Bentley’s field of vision, holding up a glass bottle of vodka.

Shit.

Bentley shook his head lightly, internally begging him not to pour it on the wound, but the guy was already moving. He rolled up what looked like a washcloth into a thin cylinder and held it up toward Bentley’s face. To put in his mouth. To bite on.

When Bentley didn’t move, the guy manually put it between his teeth, and then knelt down and cut Bentley’s pant leg clean off halfway up his thigh with a knife.

Agony. 

Bentley writhed when he poured the alcohol into the wound. He kept from screaming by biting down on the washcloth so hard he probably cracked a few teeth, his entire body thrashing so hard he nearly kicked the guy in the face with his other leg. The only noise that managed to escape him was a soft whine mixed strangely with a few sobs that sounded kind of like he was choking on blood.

The guy’s hand came to rest on his other leg, maybe trying to comfort him, or maybe warning him to shut up. Bentley wasn’t sure, and it didn’t matter. After a few minutes of blazing agony, he spotted the small sewing kit the guy had placed on the bed, and passed flat out.

—

When Bentley woke up, he was really warm.

He peeled his eyes open, blinking a few times until the slightly illuminated metal ceiling of the bomb shelter faded into his vision. It was dead silent, apart from a quiet, extremely soft crackling sound that was coming from across the room.

He blinked a few times, pushing himself up until he was upright. There was a blanket over him — the blanket he’d gotten from the store.

His leg, instead of feeling like it was going to fall off, was throbbing with a pulsing ache that was ten times better than it had been earlier. He lifted the blanket to glance at it. Nearly his entire pant leg was cut off, and the giant gnash from the top of his thigh to just above his knee had been covered with bandages that looked like they’d been wrapped with a practiced precision. He was really glad he couldn’t see the stitches, because he’d probably just pass out again if he could.

With a grimace, Bentley glanced over the edge of the cot at his bag. It was still pinned closed, and his shotgun was laying just where they’d left it, so he safely assumed it hadn’t been tampered with.

He finally glanced across the room at the other two cots. The little fireplace was on now, but the fire was barely lit, to be quiet, he guessed. There was a bucket of water directly beside it that he guessed was to put it out quickly. The guy was sitting on his cot, the one without the stuffed animal, and his gaze seemed to land on Bentley at the exact same time Bentley’s landed on him.

The guy immediately rose and strode across the room toward him. Bentley found himself shrinking away, absentmindedly reaching for his shotgun.

The man knelt down and held up his hands, just like he had earlier, doing the same writing motion as before. He looked less… cold, than last time? Like, nicer, maybe?

Keeping one eye on him, Bentley fished the calendar journal out of his bag and turned to the pages they’d written on before, quickly scribbling and handing it over

Thanks for saving me. I’ll leave now.

With a brief glance up at the child, the guy wrote and handed it back quickly.

No. Stay. I was wrong before.

Wrong? Bentley wrote. About what?

We’re safer together. Was the man’s reply. I saved you with the sniper shot. You saved both of us with the fire hydrant. Safer together. You can stay with me.

Bentley looked down at the page for a few quiet moments, the sudden urge to cry returning, but he pushed it away and wrote.

My name is Bentley Whittaker.

The guy read over it carefully, tracing it with his eyes a few times before writing and handing it back.

Hi Bentley. I’m Dick Grayson.

Bentley nodded to himself, glancing back up at him, connecting the name to the face. Dick Grayson. He looked like a Dick Grayson. 

A second later, Dick Grayson took the book back and wrote:

Alone, or lost?

Alone. My father died protecting me eleven days ago. Bentley wrote. Are you? Alone? 

Dick stared at the question for a moment, before writing what seemed like a long reply.

My family tried to fight against the invasion. Only me and my youngest brother survived the first month. He got sick about a week ago and I went to the pharmacy to get some meds, I didn’t know he followed me. He sneezed on the street. I wasn’t close enough. Now it’s just me. He wrote. Sorry about your dad.

Bentley read through it carefully, pity streaking through his chest as he glanced up at the other cot, the one with the stuffed cow laying on it.

I’m sorry about your brother. And the rest of your family, Bentley wrote back. How old was he?

11, Dick replied. I’m 26. What about you?

Bentley wrote back: 10.

A moment of quiet passed, and Dick twirled the pen in his hands before glancing at a watch that was sitting on his right wrist. You were out for probably 6 hours. I’d recommend pain meds if you have them. I’m out, he wrote.

Bentley nodded lightly, pulling his bag up on the bed and digging out one of the motrin bottles he’d taken from the pharmacy. In silence, he dosed himself out as much as he needed based on the weights provided on the bottle, then a little more, and took it all in one gulp.

Once he put it all back away, he wrote on the page again. Why change your mind? I thought you wanted me gone?

Dick looked at Bentley, then studied the page for a moment too long, his eyes growing very vaguely misty for a few odd moments. Then he wrote, slowly, and handed it back.

I couldn’t save anyone in my family. But I could save you.

Bentley blinked at the words, that sudden urge to cry rising in him again. Instead, he exhaled in a calculated way, writing: How did you know I was still here?

I didn’t know it was you, Dick wrote, but I heard this morning’s chaos on my walkie. He pointed at the walkie talkie taped on the wall above his bed. I figured you were smart enough not to move in the dark…

Bentley nodded, tapping the pen on the paper as he tried to come up with more to say. He glanced at his bag for a few moments.

I got crosswords and stuff from the store if you’re bored, he wrote. I need to do my school from yesterday and today. I forgot yesterday because I was walking.

Dick furrowed his brow, writing again: School? You just, like, almost died?

Bentley nodded, shuffling in his bag before he pulled out the single schoolbook he’d brought from home. It was a cheap one, because his father hadn’t cared very much about it, a sort of all-four-subjects-in-one textbook that gave him a daily dose of math, english, history, and science. He put it on the cot near to Dick so he could see it, and wrote in the journal: I don’t want to end up stupid.

He could’ve swore Dick smirked at that, his eyes shining like he was reliving a fond memory. You’re very smart already. Wrapping your shoes, cutting the zipper out of your bag, shooting the fire hydrant. It's impressive. Doing school while the world is ending -- You remind me of my brother Tim. 

Bentley read through it and smiled faintly. He wondered how many siblings Dick Grayson had, but he was too afraid to ask in case it upset him.

You can stay over here if you want, but it's just boring old school, Bentley wrote. He pulled out the crosswords and other pens, too. Everythings kinda boring if you can’t make any noise. But I promise not to bother you.

Dick never wrote back.

For a while, they just sat in the quiet. Bentley went through his hour-a-day school lesson, and Dick Grayson moved to the cot next to him, doing some of the little puzzles in the book he’d found.

It was a while later when Dick finally rose. Bentley tried not to stare at him, but he did see him shuffle around in one of the two bags for a moment. He looked away, finishing up the last of his math problems.

Dick stopped ahead of him a few moments later, holding out a bundle of clothes in his direction. 

Bentley promptly realized they’d have to be his brother’s clothes if they were going to fit.

Glancing down at himself, he realized he didn’t have much of a choice but to wear them. He didn't have any more clothes of his own, and his current pants were missing a leg, and his shirt was absolutely drenched in monster blood.

He took them from his hands slowly, giving him a opportunity to snatch them back, but he never did.

Dick pointed back at the area with the room dividers, and Bentley went about forcing himself over there. His leg throbbed with a pain so harsh he nearly fell over when he first put his weight on it, and Dick hovered close by for support, but eventually he managed -- even if it did take almost ten minutes for him to walk the mere distance from one end of the shelter to the other.

He changed quickly, right next to the toilet. It was a strange combination of soft sweatpants and a button up shirt, and he briefly wondered why until he realized it was probably quieter to slide a shirt on that way than over their heads. The only issue was that… his left hand was wrapped, and he couldn’t actually do the buttons.

He managed to get the bottom three done and called that good enough, making his way back out into the larger part of the room. The clothes were a little big for him, but he’d manage, since the sweatpants had elastic at the waistline.

Dick turned to him when he came out, scanning his outfit with a sad, nostalgic look in his eyes. Bentley wondered if he regretted giving him his brother’s clothes. Once Dick spotted the undone buttons, he approached Bentley slowly and knelt down ahead of him, finishing them off from the middle of the shirt up to his neckline.

When Bentley glanced up from the article of clothing, Dick had tears running down his face.

It caught Bentley off guard, and he immediately felt terrible, almost offering to change back into his old stuff, but he didn’t have the time.

Because Dick Grayson hugged him.

It was strange. Bentley couldn’t remember the last time he’d been hugged, if he ever had. His father wasn’t exactly the hugging type… he was kind of… the opposite of hugging type.

It was… really warm. And comfy. And kind of great.

He brought his arms up and around Dick’s neck in return, and much to the relief of Bentley’s leg, he stood, picking him up off the floor as he did so. For a while, Dick carried him around and paced the shelter, in a bid to calm himself down, maybe, Bentley didn’t know. What he did know was that he was getting pretty sleepy because of it.

He felt sort of bad, because he just woke up, but also not really, because he’d just fought for his life and felt at peace for, like, the first time in ten years.

So he put his head on Dick Grayson’s shoulder, and he tightened his arms around his neck, and he fell asleep feeling kind of safe for the first time in a long, long time.

--

tag list that KINDA works lmao

@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @gayboss-too-close-to-the-sun

@xiaonothere

@skylathescholarly @flyrobinflyy @bookwarm0-0

[haesunray]

FINDING MEANING: PROLOGUE —l.dh, s.hb

PAIRING: (mainly) haechan x fem!reader, best friend! sung hanbin x reader 

GENRE: major angst, eventual fluff, classmates to lovers, super slowburn.

WARNINGS: contains heavy and triggering topics. self-reflection, grief and unhealthy representations of mourning, character death (hanbin), reader goes through grieving process, self-harming behavior and drug abuse. A few sentences in the beginning about weight insecurity, fat-shaming, and weight loss. If any of these topics are triggering for you, please proceed with caution, or skip the fic. You are responsible for what you choose to read. Because this fic has pretty dark and serious topics, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Due to the nature of the fic, it will take a while to get into the Haechan x reader part, so if you’re looking for something lighter, this might not be the fic for you hehehe

SYNOPSIS: you had never been good at dealing with loss. with the passing of your best friend still a fresh wound in your heart, you find yourself alone in the dark, left to pick up the pieces of your grief. 

 then one day, against all odds, you find something that might just be your compass, in the shape of a boy named lee haechan, who swears he will stand by your side to navigate the storm. 

And though the pain in your chest makes you struggle to breathe, he chooses to stand with you under the rubble of your broken world, and he shoulders some of the weight. 

NOTES: a good friend of mine passed away very recently and I needed to write something to get it off my chest. Maybe this will help me process my grief, or maybe it won’t. But i found the process of this very therapeutic. I sobbed a lot while writing this, just because the main character is a reflection of how I’m feeling currently. It’s mainly a self-indulgent piece. I’ve experienced so much loss in the past few years, and this is a cathartic piece for me. 

THEY SAY HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS, and you suppose they are right. 

For your home had been left a heaping swelter of smoke and ash, doors torn from hinges and paint scraped from walls. There were no remnants of the solace you once held in your sacred home, now reduced to gunpowder and gasoline, and all that is left is a house that isn’t quite a home, leaving you feeling a stranger in your own house—an alien in your own body—and you can’t help but curse the very person who created that quote because how dare they make you feel so powerless, knowing that you had lost the very one who held your heart, and now you will never get it back. 

The irony of the quote is not lost on you. The positive implications; that a home has no bounds, that four plaster walls and a shingled roof don’t fit the criteria. That instead, a home is made of flesh and blood and sweat and tears. 

You found your home when you were six. You found him in Mrs. Park’s kindergarten class in the shape of a round boy named Sung Hanbin, with grubby glue stained fingers and paper cuts from the broken origami butterfly he had made you. Your home had a gummy smile and eyes that reminded you of summer days in Busan, and a heart so big, it made your home feel like a castle of gold and ivory. He invited you in and you made it your own, and the origami butterfly was the first decoration you placed on the shelves of your newfound house. 

You protected your home when you were ten, earning a month of detention when you used a pair of your mother’s favorite kitchen scissors to cut off Sophie Jung’s long ponytail on the playground after she made him cry by calling him a ‘chubby potato,’ (and at the smile he gave you as you wiped away his tears, you realized you’d gratefully take a year of detention if it meant he’d smile at you like that again). 

You’re fourteen when Park Jeongmin spreads rumors about you to your whole grade because you rejected him, and when the whispers start to crawl up your back and dig holes in your mind, Sung Hanbin is there to walk with you and defend your name. He pulled you into his warm, enveloping arms and told you not to listen to the whispers, and yet he was the one who seemed to be stewing in anger. It was the first time you had seen Hanbin angry, and it was the only time he had ever gotten in trouble at school (and after punching Park Jeongmin straight in the nose and getting cleaning duty for the whole spring semester, he told you that he’d do it again if you asked him to). 

You both were eighteen when he grew into his body and his beauty finally became noticed by more than just you. You protected him when he overworked himself over and over and over again, when he would run until his knees buckled and his chest collapsed, chasing an unattainable goal built on a road of the insecurities you tried to convince him were his own perfection. You held him when he refused to eat and sat with him when he cried, and you tried to hug his demons away even when they told him he wasn’t trying hard enough. You whispered in his ear that he was worth every bit of love you held and more, that every inch of your home was worthy of being lived in and loved, that it doesn’t matter what shade the walls are or how expensive it was, he was your home and you would never change a thing about it. And that no matter how many people looked at him now that he was conventionally attractive, you had always seen him as beautiful. 

It’s New Year’s Eve of last year, and you both are twenty-two and more than a little drunk when you share a kiss. Had you both been more sober, it probably wouldn’t have happened. After all, at a Christmas party a few days earlier you’re sure you saw him ogling the boy from your poli-sci class, Zhang Hao—who had been taking up more and more of Hanbin’s time these days—but yet here he was, the boy who was nothing less than perfect in your eyes, pulling you by your flushed cheeks as the timer ticked down to one, and when the world erupted in cheers as the new year emerged, your ears fell into a calm hush, because Sung Hanbin’s gleaming eyes had fluttered shut and his lips finally met yours. 

It was the one and only kiss you guys shared, and yet, despite the alcohol in your system, it was committed to your eternal memory, a vivid painting you had framed and hung in your home. 

As the night came and went and the morning took its place, he woke you up how he usually did after a night of drinking; with a cup of coffee, a few ibuprofen, and a plate full of food, and no matter how much you wanted to say something about what happened the night before, you didn’t. And he didn’t either. 

Maybe you both were pretending it didn’t happen. Or maybe he didn’t think it was important enough to bring up. Hell, maybe he didn’t even remember it. All you knew was that you were too chicken shit to open a can of worms that shouldn’t even be opened, because you thought it was better to keep your mouth shut if it meant keeping him. 

Minutes turned to hours and hours turned to nights. Your calls going unanswered and rain checks from him created a monster inside you named jealousy. He was slipping through your fingers, opening the doors of your house to someone new. You hated the person it made you; hated the person you became. You locked the doors and chained him up. You protected his gold-filled heart because it was worth more than money, worth more than jewels, worth more than anything because he was your home and you couldn’t bear to open the doors to someone he might just like living there more. 

Maybe it’s the vile, bitter taste of regret that runs through your veins right now, thinking that maybe if you had told him earlier about how you felt, it wouldn’t have come out sideways. Maybe if you had been less pathetic and scared to let him know, he wouldn’t have walked out the door last night. He wouldn’t have gotten in his car and left. Maybe he’d be in your arms right now, and you’d be joking about how silly Ricky’s hair looked or bickering over what to make for dinner tonight. Maybe if you had said something earlier, an unresolved argument wouldn’t be the last conversation you’d ever have. 

They say home is where the heart is, and you suppose they are right. For your heart is ripped out of your chest, artery from artery and vein from vein, placed in the cold, unmoving hands of the boy who you would have died for, and now you’re left with the words you wish you had said, because you could have protected him and you didn’t. 

This is your fault. You made him leave.

There’s no recovering from this. There’s no feeling better, because your home currently lies in a coffin, cold and breathtakingly beautiful as ever, and you see yourself lying right beside him because he had taken the part of you that was worth living for. The truth was impossible to reckon with, a bitter pill that you would never, ever be able to swallow down. 

Sung Hanbin had died, and he took the world and everything good in it with him.

[theverumproject]

hihi verum! i wanted to ask how it’s been writing your first story! what’s the process like for you? has it gotten tough to stick with? how do you go about issues in your writing?

hope you have a great day :>

Hello! Thank you for your questions and excuse me for answering a bit late (I like to take my time, lol)

How has It been writing your first story?

Writing Verum has had a little up, then a giant down and now it has been going up again since this year. The first book took me three years to complete, while it is only more or less 15 k long! I began the second book this year in April, and I think it's at about 40 k words right now, nearing the end of season 1. So at the moment, it is going great!

What's the process like for you?

I write everything down that comes to my mind. Be it a whole book or a very small detail to some alien species' biology. That's kind of how I build the story in my head. When I begin with a book, I write down all my ideas for the book and what should roughly happen in the different parts. One to five sentences are enough, though sometimes I also write down more, depending on how much I already got in my mind.

When I wanna write a part, I first make a description of it, where I just write down everything that comes to my mind and start to plot. It should be at least 500 words long, though recently it's been getting more and more. My newest description is over 2.6 k words long, longer than my minimum word count of 1.5 k, woopsies.

Once that is done I start actually writing the part. Like I already mentioned, my minimum is 1500 words, but my parts have been becoming longer too. The latest part is over 7 k words long, also woopsies.

I always give myself one month to write 10 k. And until now, I have always reached it. I use NaNoWriMo to keep track of that. Giving myself a goal to reach has really helped me!!!

I edit in between of my "writing months". For example, I write three parts, edit them, write another three parts, edit all six of them, write another three parts, edit all nine of them, and so on and forth.

Not sure if I understood your question right, but I hope this answer is good enough!

Has it gotten tough to stick with it?

Writing the first book really has been tough. I had no... Discipline nor motivation. That's also probably why it's not that good. It's kind of half assed, I guess?

But since writing the second book it has been going wonderful! The toughest part of it is actually figuring out how to write some things, or when there are plot holes and I don't know how to fix them. Or simply just beginning to write. But once I start another month, I have no other choice but to write.

How do you go about issues in your writing?

So, while I write the whole part for the very first time (after the description), I try to ignore all issues and questions that pop up and simply just write them into the text (like this). One of the simplest issues is for example:

There's a part where Arushi and Zri'Kla go hunting. They live in an Indian jungle, but I don't know what kind of animals live in an Indian jungle. I need one though that isn't too big to carry, but it also needs to have enough flesh on it to feed them for a little bit. So instead of thinking about what animal it is while writing, I simply just write down something like this; "The arrow pierced the (animal)'s flesh". I solve all issues while editing.

But when it comes to issues that affect the plot and stuff like that, I have write down the questions on notes. I often think about Verum throughout the day, so my questions often just get randomly answered. I just need to write it down before I might forget it again.

I think my own brain sometimes gaslight me though. I have a question and a simple answer that is not good enough. I look for a better one, but can't find one. And then suddenly I think that the first answer is alright I think it's a form of giving up.

Sorry for this wall of text! Hope I didn't ramble too much.

[mandyyvibes]

Hydra Husbands- 40 …because the world is ending.

Or Winterbones up to you

40- a kiss because the world is ending; winterbones

f i f t e e n h u n d r e d w o r d s

i would love to make this a full fic and put it on ao3 one day goddamn. i kinda popped off.

Brock had never, in all his years of active field duty and life-or-death situations, been so fear-stricken as he had been when he opened his inbox to an email from Pierce.

It wasn’t the mere fact that Pierce sent out an email, one with ATTENTION STRIKE FORCE ALPHA AND CLEARANCE LEVEL EIGHT FACULTY in the subject line that had icy dread curling between Brock’s ribs.

It wasn’t the beginning of the email, in which Pierce sung his praises, gloating about how well the most recent mission had gone, that caused the dread to settle in a pit in Brock’s stomach.

It was what followed, one singular sentence, that had Brock leaping up out of his chair, kicking it to the side and storming out of the restaurant with Jack close behind, practically trembling with the horror that he felt.

The Asset will be permanently decommissioned by March 10th.

The Asset will be permanently decommissioned by March 10th.

Brock was a lot of things, but he wasn’t stupid. There had been talk of budget cuts and the merits of replacing the Asset with something purely mechanical, taking whatever fractured pieces of a human soul that remained within it out of the equation entirely.

It had been a rough couple of months for the Asset and its team. It seemed to need to go back to the chair more and more frequently as time went on; in barely-perceptible moments of weakness its hand would tremble, or it would whimper when no one was near it.

It was breaking. Brock wasn’t stupid.

But he had been foolish enough to hope that the lab coat jackasses would simply come up with a more effective way to wipe it. Something that lasted longer, something that could reach deeper into its brain and remove all the horrors of its successes.

Instead, Pierce was going to have it put down.

“What the fuck, man?” Jack snapped, jogging after Brock to keep up with his rage-fueled pace.

“We’re going to work. Now. Check your phone.”

“God, what is it this time…”

Brock was in the car by the time Jack could read the e-mail, revving the engine impatiently. The beginnings of a plan had already begun forming in his mind, though it did little to settle the nauseous feeling of dread.

Jack opened the passenger door and gave a grim nod, one that said I’m with you on this one.

That’s why he was Brock’s right hand man.

March 10th.

It was March 4th.

He had six days before everything would come crashing down around him. He couldn’t bear to start from scratch- he didn’t want to start from scratch.

This felt closer to the end of the world than any world crisis or alien invasion had ever felt before.

—

“Where is it?” Brock’s voice boomed and ricocheted off of the concrete walls, just decibels away from a shout. He knew he had to keep his cool, to keep up appearances for now.

The handful of technicians busying themselves with paperwork gave him a strange look.

“Cryo prep-“

“No. No, fuck no. Leave it out.”

“Pierce ordered-“

“I don’t give a RAT’S ASS what Pierce ordered. Do you know who the fuck I am?!” He was yelling now, clenching his fists and working his jaw.

“Rumlow,” Came a calm voice from behind him.

Alexander Pierce himself stood at the bottom of the stairwell, many floors below where he usually ventured.

“Sir.” Brock grunted, chastised. He knew that this conversation would impact the entire course of the rest of his life. No room for fuck-ups.

“The most humane way to do this is to leave it in cryo,” Pierce said pointedly, gesturing to the heavy metal door on the far wall. “I understand that this might seem sudden, but Sitwell-“

“Mr. Secretary.” Brock interrupted, shoving his hands in his pocket and taking a step forward, chin raised in a show of nonchalance. “It has served us well for decades. I simply want to see it in action one last time. I’m requesting permission to take it up to the gym to spar-“

“You want to hurt it one last time,” Pierce’s eyebrows were raised. He would’ve been smirking, if he had been capable of such a thing.

“There’s no point keeping it in good condition now,” Brock replied, mirroring his amused expression.

He felt sick.

He felt angry that he felt sick.

“Alright. You can have it for a couple hours. Then it needs to go back into the cryo tank.”

“Thank you, sir. Hail Hydra.”

“Hail Hydra.”

Brock let his shoulders sag slightly as Pierce disappeared up the stairs. This is what years of loyalty to this organization had gotten him. A couple hours.

He maneuvered into a camera blind spot and pulled out his phone to text Jack.

—

It was still in its gear from the last mission. No one had even bothered to clean it. Cryo prep, his ass. Those lab coats were just bluffing.

The Asset stood at attention, its back pressed against the wall. It was almost strange to see it like this, its gaunt face exposed, after growing used to seeing it with its muzzle on. It looked like they hadn’t been feeding it enough.

Brock let the door shut behind him and could practically feel the Asset’s fear dissipate, though it didn’t move an inch. He took a step forward.

“Kneel.”

The Asset knelt, falling silently, gracefully, to its knees.

Everything was still. Brock watched it for a couple long moments, waiting for a tremor or a sob, anything that indicated weakness.

It couldn’t know the fate that Pierce had dictated for it.

“Are you listening to me?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Brock crossed the room in two strides, resting a hand gently atop its matted hair. He resisted the urge to tug on it and listened to the way its breath deepened. Something primal ached deep within his chest.

“Who do you belong to?”

“Hydra, Sir.”

“And who is your primary handler?”

“Commander Rumlow, Strike Force Alpha, Identification number 06081965,” Its eyes narrowed as if it was processing something, reaching into the depths of its brain to understand. “You, Sir.”

“Good, good job. Look at me,” Brock crouched down, putting himself at its eye level, breaking nearly every protocol in the book- protocol that he had written.

It looked startled when it met his eyes. There was something deer-in-headlights about the icy blue gaze. It looked back at him as if waiting for answers, for instructions, for help.

Brock would have put money on the fact that it could sense his fear. He took a deep breath.

“There’s been an emergency. You are going to come with Rollins and I and listen to every word that we say. No hesitation.”

The sound of a nearby explosion made the Asset break eye contact for half a second, gaze darting to the source of the noise.

Deafening alarms began to ring.

“Soldier!” Brock barked, gripping it by the back of the neck. “What did I say? Look at me, goddammit.”

“Sorry, Sir. Please.”

It held eye contact once again, conveying everything that it couldn’t say with its eyes. It was scared, it was confused, it hadn’t mean to upset him.

“It’s alright. Nothing outside of normal mission parameters, just focus. Any weapons on you?”

“No, sir.”

Brock slipped a knife from his boot, tucking it into one of the many holsters affixed to the Asset’s clothing.

“That’ll do for now, Rollins is bringing in some guns in approximately two minutes. That’s when we move. Do you require anything else for optimal functionality?”

“The Asset has not been provided nutrition in approximately six days, Sir.”

No wonder it fucking trembled. Brock could’ve burnt the whole place down, he was so mad. He reached into his pocket and produced a Jolly Rancher hard candy (Jack’s favorite).

“You see this? This is candy. It’s a reward. You can have it if you do good, if we get out of here. And I’ll get you some real food too.”

“Thank you, Sir,” It all but whispered, still staring at him unblinkingly. It hadn’t even looked away to assess the candy.

It was so good.

It would be good.

Brock stood, keeping time carefully in his head. They had about thirty seconds. He motioned for the Asset to rise and follow him towards the door.

One second passed. Brock turned around and stepped towards it, toeing at its boot with his own.

Two seconds. They would get out together, all three of them. Flee the country. He already had forged paperwork for the Asset.

Three seconds. But if they didn’t…

Four seconds. Brock lifted his chin slightly and leaned in. The Asset remained perfectly still, perfect, lips slightly parted. It breathed in through its nose and out through its mouth.

Five seconds. It exhaled. Brock pressed his lips to it, something chaste and sweet, entirely unlike anything he’d done to it before.

Six, seven, eight, another explosion. The Asset inhaled and exhaled once again. It did not speak.

Brock kissed it again, because he could, because this very well might be his last chance. The rage in his veins popped and simmered like hot grease. Together, or this was the end.

[samieree]

Peace, Wound, Scar. Again. || SW: The Acolyte

Qimir (The Stranger) x OC

-> Previous chapter -> Next chapter

Chapter II ''Hunch''

Originally, the mission assumed that after they captured Osha, they would return to Coruscant, but at that time the Temple on Olega was broken into. They were instructed to go investigate the incident and take Osha with them. Of course, there was a little opposition from Yord, but eventually he went to set a course for Olega, and Lys followed him.

"If the person behind the break-in was the same who killed Indara, it couldn't have been Osha." Elyssa said, leaning against the wall of the ship and watching Yord get the coordination right.

"Unless two different people did it. Or they work together." he replied skeptically, not even looking at her, instead focusing on the task at hand.

"She's surprised Mae is alive." here he looked at her and gave her a look that clearly suggested that he still didn't believe this version. "I feel it." she added.

She was already getting irritated by his constant questioning of everything. She wouldn't say that if she wasn't sure. His eternal skepticism towards everything without hard evidence could be irritating, especially since some things were easy to guess. But of course he never simply believed in anything.

"I was close to Osha, just like you, but a lot could have changed in six years." he explained calmly, finishing setting the route. He sat down in the pilot's seat.

"No, you don't understand." she denied it immediately. "I know she didn't do it." she sighed and moved away from the wall, sitting on the other chair next to him, turning around so that they were face to face. "I can't explain it, but as soon as I set foot on Carlac I had a feeling where she was. The same feeling tells me that she's not the one who killed Indara."

"If she's really innocent, we'll prove it. Jedi never allow injustice to occur."

Something inside her cringed at his statement, but she didn't say a word about it. She turned in her chair and looked at the landscape outside the window. The ship had already taken off and would soon leave the planet's atmosphere, and then it would only be a jump into hyperspace.

While she was staring out the window, Yord was staring at her. After even this short stay on the snowy planet, her hair was already starting to return to its original state. She rarely left them as they were - thick curls. Even though her curly hair did a better job of hiding the scar on her face that he had had for as long as he could remember. He always wondered what she must have done to herself as a child to cause such a wound. Many would say it defaced her face, but in his opinion it added her character - and even a kind of charm.

"How does it feel to finally be away from Coruscant?" he asked, wanting to continue this conversation and not make it look like he was staring at her mindlessly. He wouldn't want her to notice it. There would be some uncomfortable questions from her right away, and it's possible he wouldn't even have to answer for her to see through him.

"It's kind of nice to finally have something tangible to do." she replied. "Despite the circumstances."

She still wondered, why now? Why did Vernestra want her to fly on this mission? Until now, she felt like everyone was trying to keep her on Coruscant while she wanted to explore this vast galaxy. What changed that made her set the condition for Sol to take her with him?

* * *

Olega was very different from what she had become accustomed to on Coruscant. It wasn't so bustling with life, even though there were plenty of people and aliens of various races on the streets. It wasn't multi-level, it didn't look so clean and bright. When they went to the local Temple, she looked around the city: dilapidated buildings, sand instead of normal streets, and the style of clothing was completely different, more... careless.

She had the same feeling when she saw the Jedi who greeted them. His robes were significantly different from theirs, although they were now wearing the 'inferior' ones, designed for field operations rather than the formal ones worn mainly in the temple on Coruscant. Although Lys wore them less often than others in the Temple, as she spent more time training than them.

While she was looking around, she was listening to the conversation. An elder Padawan brought a child who helped Mae break in. She was even more sure because the child, when talking about who made it do it, pointed to Osha as the hooded person.

They entered the Temple, which was not at all as majestic as the one on Coruscant. Moreover, most of those that were merely Jedi stops on planets were built worse than the headquarters, especially on the most remote worlds. Or maybe she was just pickier after all that time spent in the perfect surroundings of the Temple on Coruscant.

Suddenly Lys stopped, and the others - except for Yord, who walked right next to her - continued on. They turned and saw Osha turning into a side corridor.

"If I were suspected of murder, I wouldn't separate myself from the group like that." he said.

"Luckily you're not." she replied, quickly adding: "Let's follow her."

"I was just about to say that."

She rolled her eyes. Together they followed Osha, staying at a safe distance to see what she would do. They also remained quiet so that she wouldn't hear them. They followed her to the room where Master Torbin's body lay. They were late.

But at least they now had proof that Osha hadn't done anything. Even though Yord would keep insisting that they could have worked together, in the end he was... Well, Yord.

They saw her crouch down next to the body and pick up something from the ground - something like a vial. Then she closed Torbin's eyes, and then the Jedi who led them through the Temple and the rest of their team rushed into the room.

"Hey! Step away from the body." he shouted, drawing his lightsaber.

It was obvious that Osha was on the verge of jumping to her feet, but she forced herself to do it slowly, lest the Jedi accidentally react more aggressively.

"I know what it looks like, but I can explain everything." she said calmly.

"Do not move." the Jedi ordered, still holding his saber on.

"You better start explaining." said Jecki.

"He was poisoned-"

"How do you know that?" he didn't even let her finish.

"She didn't kill him." Lys said, coming down the stairs with Yord at the second entrance to the room.

"We've had our eyes on her since she left the group." Yord added. "When she came here, Master Torbin was already dead."

"Thank you." Osha said to them. She was obviously relieved that the Jedi had sheathed his weapon.

There were no signs of a struggle in the room - which Jecki rightly noticed. This meant that Torbin had to voluntarily take the poison, which only raised more questions: why did he do it? He meditated for over ten years, and now, when - most likely - Mae came to him, he simply kill himself? How much his conscience must have been bothering him, what happened?

For her, there are still more questions than answers. Sol seemed particularly affected by the death, after all, he was an old friend of Torbin.

It also turned out that the poison was done from a bunta, from Osha's planet, Brendok. It had to be made here, because after distillation it retains its deadly properties for a short time. Osha explained all this to them. The decision was quickly made to take a closer look at the only pharmacy in the city, because it was there that the poison was most likely prepared.

They stood on the balcony of one of the buildings near the pharmacy. The Padawan who caught that child was watching through binoculars as some guy entered the building.

"Hey, it's not the usual one." he said, putting down the binoculars. "I do not know who this guy is."

They looked at the man who was just entering the pharmacy. He was just finishing eating something, was wearing large clothes that fit the atmosphere of the city - and so did his longer, messy hair. He had a quite large bag slung over his shoulder, I wonder what he was carrying in it...

"Is he alone?" Yord asked.

"No signs of Mae. She may not even be here, she could have killed Master Torbin and fled the planet." said Jecki.

"Any suggestions?" they heard Master Sol behind them.

Yord immediately began to outline his elaborate plan, but Lys didn't really listen to him. With her arms crossed, she looked at the building that this suspicious guy had just entered. When her eyes fell on him for the first time, a strange feeling passed through her. She couldn't explain it, but she clearly felt that something was wrong.

She realized that she had been staring only when she heard Jecki presenting her plan for this action.

"...if he's working with Mae, he might confess something useful, we'll record it and we'll have evidence. This seems like the most logical thing to do." she had only been listening to her statement for half of the time, but even without knowing what Yord had proposed, she knew that this was definitely a better plan.

"I'm in." Osha said.

"I also prefer Jecki's plan." Lys added, so as not to make it look like she wasn't paying attention.

Yord then looked at her as if he was sad that at least she didn't support him. Lys just shrugged and felt like giggling when she saw Yord roll his eyes. Especially since Sol had decided that they would do as his Padawan suggested.

Of course, he had to point out that giving this weapon to a civilian violates several laws.

Just a dozen or so minutes later, they first watched Osha enter the store, and then they were gathered around the communicator to control the situation.

"Hello." Osha greeted after clearing her throat.

"Hello." the guy answered her, quite cheerfully. Not like someone who recently made a poison that killed someone. Not like someone who works with a murderer.

"Hi." she said again, a little awkwardly.

"Hi?" it sounded a bit more suspicious, but still extremely light. "Hi." he dragged out the word. "Everything's all right? You came back early."

"I wanted to see you."

"See me? Oh." he seems rather... silly. "Mae, are you okay? Did the poison work?"

"That's all we need." Jecki said, breaking the silence that existed between them as they listened to the conversation.

"We're getting her out." Yord was about to go, but Sol stopped him.

"Wait!" he said and everyone fell silent again.

"You're acting strange. Wait... You killed Torbin without poison. He will be so pleased."

Who will be pleased? What 'he'? It had to be this mysterious someone who trained Mae. And this guy knew him too.

"Go." Sol said quickly.

They no longer paid attention to the conversation. Everyone left their observation spot and split into two groups. Lys and Jecki went to the back entrance, and Yord and Sol went to the front. By the time Yord reached the doors, Osha had her stun blaster drawn and moved away to the door. The stranger looked surprised.

"Where's Mae?" Yord asked, already drawing his lightsaber.

"Hold on, hold on..." the man started to retreat to the second exit, but first Elyssa came out, and then Jecki.

'We know it was you who gave Mae the poison that killed Master Torbin." said the first one, stopping at the end of the counter and leaning against it.

"You admitted it yourself, we have it recorded." added Jecki, standing at the counter.

From this distance, Lys could definitely say that she wasn't just thinking something up, she really felt something strange. Although she still wasn't sure what it was, she became much more careful.

"Wait, wait, wait, it wasn't my idea, it was hers." he defended himself. "I didn't know what he was going to do with it."

You given someone poison and didn't know what it would be used for? Pff...

"If you cooperate, we'll consider letting you go with just a warning." Sol said as he walked past Yord.

Let go? Someone who does with something like this? If it wasn't a bluff, she will have to protest.

"Okay, thank you. Thank you, sir." the guy thanked, gesturing quite strongly. "Please don't do the memory wipe thing or whatever it is you guys do."

Even though Lys was still looking at this odd stranger, she quickly glanced at Yord and made a small gesture with her head, suggesting him to turn off his saber. There was no way he could escape them now, so there was no need to have his weapon ready.

At that moment, she didn't know that the stranger had already taken a look at her. Especially since a certain detail in her appearance... Well, it's quite eye-catching.

"What's your relationship with Mae?" Sol asked.

"I'm just her supplier. Yeah, I started out gunrunning for the Hutts, and now I'm supplying people like her with what they need." he explained with a shrug. "For the right price." he added a little more quietly, grimacing for a moment.

Either he really was that silly or he was very good at faking it.

"So maybe you could supply us with something too? The truth." Yord spoke up for a moment.

"Who is 'he'?" Sol asked next.

"Uh?" the stranger frowned, clearly confused. He looked from Sol to Yord, turning his head several times. "I-I thought he was with you?" he said to the Jedi Master, pointing behind him at Yord.

"Does Mae have a master?" Sol continued, after the man possibly trying to avoid the question. "Is someone training her?"

"Look, I have no idea what's going on with this girl. All I know is that she wants revenge on four Jedi." there was silence for a moment before the man added something else, as if he was just remembering it. "If you want to get her, she'll come back here tonight. I'm holding a few things for her."

"Yord, secure the area. Keep an eye out for Mae." Sol began to give orders. "Jecki, Elyssa, go back to the ship."

Lys wanted to protest, but Sol had already left, telling Osha that she would go with him. He said over his shoulder that they would come back in the evening and he was gone. It was written all over her face how much she resented being taken off the case again.

* * *

On the ship. She. Kept away from everything again. Why is she here? One person is enough to pilot the ship or set the autopilot. She would definitely be more useful on site, securing the area with Yord. Instead, she sat on a chair in the cockpit and spun around.

"Mae's here already?" she asked Yord over the communicator.

"You're asking this for the tenth time in fifteen minutes." he replied to her, clearly tired - but at the same time a bit amused - by her constant questions.

"Is she there or not?"

"No. When I see her, I will tell you."

She sighed heavily and swiveled in her chair again. She literally has nothing to do and it's killing her. She even began to consider whether she would rather stay in the Temple on Coruscant and do something, like helping with the younglings or training again with her favorite guard.

"I have a bad feeling about this." she and Jecki heard over the comms after a few minutes spent in silence. "What if the guy is lying? What if it's a trap?"

"We'll find out soon." Lys muttered, looking at her nails as if it would keep her busy in any way.

"Yord, stick to the plan." Jecki admonished him. "Don't interfere. Master Sol wants to face her himself."

"And what should I do in the meantime? Count the cables on this ship? Are they diodes? Or maybe buttons?" Lys' voice was dripping with sarcasm, which clearly showed how much she disliked her current situation.

"Everyone has their own task, we secure the action from the ship." Jecki was calm and quite happy with her part in the action. Besides - apart from a short stop on Carlac - this was her first mission.

"You do it, I just sit here and wait until it's all over and I get back to Coruscant." you could still hear she was angry, but she was telling the truth. She wasn't needed on this ship, Jecki could handle it all herself just fine.

"You will still have a lot of work to do, there are many tasks that require the Jedi's attention."

"It's a pity I don't fly to do any of them." she said it more to herself and didn't say anything else.

The next few minutes passed in rather awkward silence until Yord's voice came over the communicator, saying that Mae had showed up. Only then did Lys perk up a little, but not enough to get up from her seat, even when Jecki took off. Sol was fighting with Mae and she was here, why should she look out the window? Might as well imagine it.

"In the name of the Galactic Senate of the Republic, you are under arrest." Jecki said, which also echoed through the ship's speakers. Only then did Lys get up of the chair and, with her arms folded across her chest, stand behind Jecki's chair and look at the situation below. "Drop your weapons and surrender."

For a long moment, it looked like Mae had no escape route. For that one moment, the case was over, won.

But nothing comes that easy. Yord, you have prophesied that.

Mae used the Force and moved sand up all around her, giving her cover for long enough to escape.

"Open the door." Lys quickly said to Jecka, taking off her coat to give herself greater freedom of movement.

"But-"

"Open the door!" she interrupted, repeating her words, but much louder. She was already at the exit of the ship. It was a short moment, one blink, but she probably knew which direction Mae was running, she could still catch up with her.

The second time, Jecki listened to her and opened the exit from the ship, through which Lys jumped out. She landed on the roof of the building, doing a somersault as she did so. She sprinted forward, jumping to the next building, from which she managed to see the silhouette of Mae running away.

She ran in that direction without looking back, jumping onto lower rooftops along the way, and finally jumped down onto the street, using the Force to break her fall not only by rolling. She caught up with her in a narrow street. She used the Force to push her against the wall and gain a few precious seconds to reach her.

Mae grabbed her wrist and threw her against the wall, and so began their brief exchange of blows. In the narrow alley, they took turns pushing each other against the walls or dodging so as not to get hit in the stomach or face. Lys didn't draw her saber until she realized that Mae tried to take it from her every chance she got.

"You want that?" she asked, panting and kicking her away. She took the hilt in her hand, which was longer due to the fact that she had chosen a double-bladed lightsaber. "Then be my guest!"

She attacked her with a sword in her hand, hitting her opponent's arm with just the metal handle. Their fight continued until they reached the street, where they fell out quite suddenly and were hit by a speeder.

Unluckily, Lys was the first in the vehicle's path and took most of the impact, while Mae remained mostly unscathed. The alien driving the speeder immediately stopped it and got out of it, running to Lys lying on the ground. Mae took the opportunity to kick him so that he wouldn't stop her from stealing the transport.

However, something stopped her from driving away already. Osha.

Her sister. She was convinced he was dead. Seeing her...

"Oshie...?"

They looked at each other for a moment until Osha, with tears in her eyes, shot but missed. The brief moment during which they were occupied with each other gave Lys enough time to get up from the ground. Thanks to adrenaline, she didn't feel the force of the speeder hitting her yet and managed to get back on her feet.

Mae started to drive away, but suddenly the speeder stopped, held from behind by the Force.

"Shoot!" Lys shouted to Osha, but in vain, because the girl couldn't bring herself to pull the trigger again, and Lys couldn't hold the speeder much longer, especially since Mae seemed to be pressing the gas pedal harder and harder.

Finally, she couldn't take it anymore and as soon as she let go, she flew forward, landing on the sand once again.

~

-> general masterlist -> Star Wars masterlist

Tags: @linkpk88

[mollybecameanengineer]

Qualifying Life Events

Summary: Set in 2007, when Mulder finds a concerning lump, he and Scully discuss health insurance. 

Word count: 1405

This was insipred in part by this post by @unremarkablehouse

@today-in-fic

Read on AO3 or continue below

2007

Mulder was soaping up his balls when he felt it. 

A lump.

On his testicle.

It was pea sized. Hard. And in forty-six years of ball soaping, he’d never felt it before. 

The edges of his vision darkened, and he leaned against the cold tile of the shower wall. He took deep breaths, trying to bring his panic under control. 

It could be anything. 

It didn’t have to be cancer. 

Right? 

He would have shouted for Scully, right there and then, if she’d been home. But she was at work. Mulder rinsed off, and in nothing more than his boxers, headed to his office to consult Doctor Google. 

.

When Scully arrived home, she was annoyed she didn’t smell dinner. They had discussed this: on nights she got home after seven, he needed to cook dinner. How hard was this to remember? She’d even put a schedule on the refrigerator to remind him. 

“Mulder!” She knew she sounded annoyed. She didn’t care.

“In here,” he called from his office. Scully put down her stuff and stomped across the living room. If he tried to explain to her how some shit about aliens had kept him from cooking dinner, she was walking right back out the door and going to her mom’s. 

She slammed open the door and paused. He was sitting there, in only his boxers, looking at the computer. If that wasn’t strange enough, when he turned to face her, she saw his panick face. 

Her anger dissolved and she crossed the room. “What’s wrong?”

He grabbed her hand. “I need you to look at something.” He stood, and started pulling down his shorts.

“Mulder, I’ve seen that before,” she said, trying to lighten the mood.

He grabbed her hand and placed it on his balls. “There’s a lump.”

Scully’s stomach dropped as she started palpating his testicles. She felt it. 

“Well?” Mulder asked. “I’ve been looking things up on the internet. It seems like the likelihood it’s nothing or I’m dying is fifty-fifty.”

“The internet isn’t good for you,” Scully murmured, continuing to feel the lump. Louder, she continued, “I’m not an expert, but I think it’s more likely a cyst than a tumor. But you need an ultrasound and a consult with a urologist.”

“Can you do the ultrasound?”

Since Mulder had been in hiding, Scully had been doing his physicals at home. A few times she’d brought him to the hospital for a blood draw, wanting to keep an eye on his cholesterol. But this — this she couldn’t do herself. 

“No. I’m not a radiologist. I’m not confident in my ability to tell a cyst from an early stage tumor.” She let go of his balls and stepped back. 

He pulled his shorts back up. “What do we do?”

She had long feared something like this would happen — that Mulder would need medical care and would have to come out of hiding for it. 

“We make you an appointment for an ultrasound.” She tried to keep her voice calm. Detach herself from this situation. He was a patient. Don’t think about anything else. “You can go with your Anthony Blake ID and pay out of pocket. It should be less than $500. It should hold up if no one tries to run it for insurance.”

“Then what?” 

“Then we will know what it is.”

Mulder started pacing. “What if it’s not just a cyst? What if they need to do a biopsy or something?” 

She grabbed his hand and pulled him to her. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. If the ultrasound isn’t conclusive, we’ll figure it out. Ok?”

He grunted. She patted him on the back before pushing away. “I’ll order some pizza. Go put something on the TV.”

.

“What if it’s not nothing?” he whispered to her. He’d been lying in the dark, unable to quiet his mind and sleep. 

She rolled towards him and put a hand on his chest.

“I know you want to wait and see,” he said, still staring up at the ceiling, “but my mind is going crazy and I need to know we have a contingency plan.” Mulder had looked up how much it cost to treat cancer. Sure, they could afford a $500 ultrasound, no problem. Even a $30,000 biopsy would be fine. Not how he wanted to spend 30 grand, but fine. A couple million for cancer treatment? They didn’t have that. “I’ll need health insurance.”

“I know.”

“Can we get me health insurance?”

She sighed. “I think the Gunmen could have figured something out, but I’m not convinced your I.D. will hold up. Plus, we need to get you the insurance before there is any record of this lump, or else it will be a pre-existing condition.”

“So ‘Fox Mulder’ needed health insurance yesterday?”

She stroked his chest. “This is why I want to wait. If it turns out ‘Anthony Blake’ needs treatment, then we can start the process of getting ‘Fox Mulder’ insurance. And then none of the diagnostic work will be on your chart.” 

He grabbed her hand, the one that was stroking his chest. “So, what will bring me down is a mass on my balls. Not the government, not the aliens… mother fucking cancer.”

“We don’t know it’s cancer. It’s likely a cyst.”

He rolled his eyes. That had to be the twentieth time she’d said ‘likely a cyst.’

“Well, I guess if I do come out of hiding and get arrested, the government will pay for my treatment in jail.” 

She sighed. “Mulder, they aren’t going to arrest you. If they wanted to, they would have already.”

He let go of her hand and scrubbed his face. “You keep saying that.”

“They know where I live. Yet they have never been out here to search for you. They. Don’t. Care.”

What she was saying was logical, even reasonable. But he couldn’t shake the fear. But he could shove it aside, for the moment. “Ok, assuming they really don’t care, how do I get health insurance without a job? Just call an insurance company?”

Scully retracted her hand from his chest. “We’ll get married and add you on my plan as a dependent. That will be significantly cheaper than purchasing individual insurance.” 

He froze. Slowly, he turned his head to look at her. He could just make out her face in the moonlight. “Did you just propose?” 

“I proposed a plan to get you health insurance. And anyway, you’ve already proposed to me half a dozen times.”

“Do you want to get married? Other than for the insurance?”

“I… I don’t know that getting married would change anything for us. I’m committed to you, and I think you are to me.”

“I am.”

“So,” she took a breath, “the main difference it would make is in health insurance and taxes. But none of it matters if you’re in hiding, so it didn’t make sense to bring it up.”

He reached out, taking her hand again. “I want to marry you. And not just for the health insurance.”

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “That’s very romantic.”

“What can I say? I’m a romantic guy.”

They settled into bed, him wrapped around her. His mind felt more at ease, now there was a plan. He drifted off to sleep, thoughts of their wedding displacing fears of cancer. 

.

A year passed. ‘Anthony Blake’ had his ultrasound, and it came back conclusive that the lump was only a cyst. Thoughts of weddings and coming out of hiding were put on the back burner, until one day the FBI approached Scully. They needed Mulder’s help, and all would be forgiven if he assisted them. 

It turned out coming out of hiding involved a lot of paperwork. New driver’s license, access to bank accounts. Setting up retirement crap again. Trying to figure out what to do with his life, now that he could do anything. 

One night, when he knew Scully wouldn’t be home too late, he cooked her favorite meal (that he could make) and put a cloth on their old table. He lit candles, and put on what could only be described as ‘make-out’ music. The table set, the food ready, he added the final touch. 

A print out. The form to add a dependent to a health insurance plan, due to a qualifying life event. And on top of the form, Mulder placed a ring. 

[the-aftonsparv]

100 follower special!! fun alien facts!!

okay!! 100 FUN FACTS!! for each follower!! i’m sorting them by type!!

hey also!!! i’ll answer the first ten asks i get. whatever they are. completely honestly. pinkie promise! ask me anything.

20 fun facts about me!!

i wrote this while listening to the alien stage soundtrack

i have a 4 year old nintendo switch! it’s pink and green and makes me feel happy inside

i read. a lot. so much, in fact, my brain is bigger than megaminds

my first oc’s name was nightheart and she was the leader of thunderclan

i have written fanfiction since i was 10, had a wattpad account since i was 11, and only recently got an ao3 account

i have four published works on ao3, and about five million wips

i have eight published wattpad works. and i forgot my account email. if you see an account that’s called like guest123456789 (yes. that’s what it was called.) and is mostly wings of fire and warriors that’s probably me

my music taste is the neurodivergent trio + mitski + indie + occasionally rock

i’m neurodivergent :) big shocker!!!

i have a lot of health problems so sometimes i wont post on here lol

i have uhh let me count 6 tumblr accounts 4 of which i actually maintain regularly

im going to see an ado concert soon :) first concert ever!!!!

my walls are COVERED in posters

i i have a secret pokemon card stash

i have a blahaj as well as an aftonsparv!

my blahaj’s name is daryan!!

my blahaj is named after daryan crescend from aa4. bc the shark motif? anyways

this is harder than i thought it’d be

im currently halfway through a zukka fanfic?

i have the biggest list of ships and fandoms im in maybe ill post it (cough scroll down)

20 fun facts about my fandoms!!

ace attorney!! current favorite!!

name a musical. it’s that

favorite musical though is either heathers or rtc!!

splatoon!! i speedrun it occasionally too!!

genshin (but only sorta i haven’t played since fontaine)

DUNGEONS AND DADDIES!! (current second favorite!!)

project sekai colorful stage!!! WORLD FUTURE STAR!!

LEGEND OF ZELDA!! (t4t zelink has me in a stranglehold)

mob psycho!! (reigen drives me crazy)

tgswiiwagaa!!! GREEN YURI

wicked (since the musical one lol) GREEN YURI

love bullet!! GUN YURI!!

BUNGO STRAY DOGS (TOP FAVORITE OF ALL TIME!!)

saiki k!! THE SILLIES

toilet bound hanako kun (not the sillies :(( )

percy jackson!! (leo valdez and solangelo are my favorites!!)

HERMITCRAFT!! SCARIAN IS MY ROMAN EMPIRE

deltarune!! rouxls kaard is so babygirl

s1 and s2 tales from the stinky dragon!! haven’t started s3 yet :[

ALIEN STAGE as of like three hours ago RULER OF MY HEARTTTT

20 fun facts about space and or science!!

space is really quiet!! so you’d think i (an alien) couldn’t hear music?? WRONG i’m an alien i have special ears or whatever

i just finished a brief history of time by stephen hawkins

the moon isn’t perfectly round

time is relative

*insert thomas jefferson* every action has an equal opposite reaction

space is really cool guys trust

it would take nine years to walk to the moon

jupiter has 95 moons!!

i’ve played where in space is carmen sandiego like. four times? shoutout to the androgynous rep

voyagers 1 and 2 are still working even though it’s been like since the 1970s

99.84% of the universe is just. the sun

black holes are really cool looking

space is really fucking huge

splatoon 3’s boss level takes place in space!! sick!!

mouthwashing also takes place in space!! sick in a different way!!

i’ve read so many creepy ai takeover space books i dont wanna go

my favorite space books are either the illuminae files and/or the final six + its sequel

my favorite dndads episode is partially in space (finding tori)

you can last like. 15 seconds. before the vacuum gets to you

there’s like LOAAAADS of corpses up there just chilling. forever.

20 fun facts about my aftonsparv!!

their name is slaughterhouse

don’t ask why his name is slaughterhouse

slaughterhouse’s favorite crayon flavor USED to be dandelion but it got canceled

slaughterhouse’s favorite crayon flavor is robin’s egg blue

slaughterhouse’s favorite ship of all time is either ranpoe (bsd) or mitsuaya (tgswiiwagaa)

slaughterhouse’s nickname is william.

slaughterhouse’s favorite song is red green yellow by the garden

slaughterhouse’s name takes forever to type out so i’ll be calling her william now

william DOES NOT LIKE being called will

or willy

or bill

william’s favorite musical is the starlight express because they have a crush on c.b.

william’s best friend is orbulon from warioware!!

orbulon from warioware is one of my favorite characters in any media ever.

william drives a ford f-150

william’s ford has been featured in three (3) two trucks by lemon demon music videos

william cowrote two trucks fanfiction with me (psst it’s published on ao3) (psst it was always you truck x2)

william just stared at me i think she’s hungry

william just started levitating so i better hurry up and finish

OH william is nonbinary and eats only crayons and transphobes

20 fun facts about you guys!!

my first follower on here was @the-purjolokhaj ‘s main account :)

this blog is most inspired by @the-blahaj and their creator!

it was actually @the-rodhaj ‘s creativity that made me actually start this :)

sorry for the tags you guys :(

im working on a really cool project!! its dndads themed ill put it in the replies maybe

i have an elaborate april fools prank planned so expect that

trans rights!

intersex rights!

lesbian rights! (this is the 69th fun fact i’m typing btw :P)

gay rights!

ace + a-spec rights!

neurodivergent rights!

everyone deserves rights. all of them. all of you.

you all are doing amazing

im very proud of you!

you’re still here :]

the secret language i use is enderspesk bc i was a HUGE dsmp fan (support tommy and not dream)

i was originally gonna be something along the lines of alienhaj, and then i looked over at my aftonsparv and my brain went WOAH

the fact that im aftonsparv is funny because in one of my discord servers im in im known as momguy (i ship mafumom pjsk with the purple guy (fnaf)

you’re all so amazing and wonderful and this blog makes me so happy! thanks for being here :)

[writingpei]

wicked games (l.m.) - chapter six

previous chapter series masterlist next chapter

pairing: lee minho x reader genre: academic rivals to lovers wc: 2.6k words

color me green

everyone ought to know not to mess with the extreme hormonal imbalance that gets tangled up in the form of teenagers.

because classes started in march, the education system pulled out one of the most important events that students would most like to experience during the school year, valentine's day. what happens is that, in haneul high school, the students could not accept such slander. in the 90s, the celebration of kiss day was created; it consisted of a day that was common to see heart-shapped confetti across the floor in the halls, people crying over being rejected and others with teddy bears and bouquets of red roses under their arms, bragging about the amount of confessions they received.

to say that day made y/n want to gouge her eyes out with her bare hands would be an understatement.

everything about the celebration made her feel odd. she could not shake feeling like an alien observer watching the girls her age and all their unspoken yearning, how they fell apart over loud displays of affection and exaggerated gifts. what's with the allure of romance anyway? she couldn't quite grasp it within her fingers, and for some reason, it stressed her out.

shaking her head as a way of physically trying to shift her focus to another corner of her mind, she quickly settles into thinking about hyunjin and theorizing how much her assistance had actually helped him on his math test.

she hadn't heard from the boy the last few days, ever since the test. she figured he must have blacked out after studying as intensely as he had for the first time in his life. or he probably failed, and that wouldn't be kind to her ego.

when she first stepped into school in the chilly morning, she noticed that the confetti hadn't been thrown all over the place yet, so she still had the margin to pretend that day was a normal day.

what caught her eye, however, was the employees hanging up a gigantic sheet of paper on the wall. a cluster of people started forming in a circle, curious eyes examining the words printed in oppressive black ink, some were on tiptoes trying to catch a glimpse among the sea of heads.

y/n hurried into the middle of the crowd. even though physical contact with so many people made her skin sting, she slipped into the tangle until she came to a stop in front of everyone to see all the rankings on display.

once she found her name in the first column of the chart signaling her perfect score, a wave of relief and satisfaction emanated through her entire body.

regardless of how focused she was on her own accomplishment, her eyes were captured like a magnet to the name right below hers, and, to bring even more joy to her day, with a not-so-perfect score...

while she made 100 points, lee minho's name got stained by a hideous 98.

after the hellish week the boy had put her through like he had decided out of the blue to tease her countless times more than he already did on a day-to-day basis, y/n allowed herself to rejoice at the feeling of pride she felt because of the score.

caught out of her blissful trance, she realized classes were about to start, if the halls beginning to overflow were any indication to follow. her steps were determined while she made her way to english class with certainty that nothing would strain her mood.

when her eyes found minho sitting at the back of the classroom with his pet friend on his side as usual, she didn't refrain from her calculated stride until she came to a stop in front of the boy. minho, seeing her approaching, already masked his lips with the classic sarcastic smile he always performed flawlessly whenever he saw her, taking advantage of any prospect to get her worked up.

"what do i owe you the pleasu-" he started, but quickly realized she wasn't having any of it at that moment.

"shut up, now it's my turn" she interrupted, crossing her arms and lifting her chin, superioring herself through her ever-so-fierce body language. "you got 2 math questions wrong on the test? what's going on with you? i hate to say it but you were better than this back in the day..." a smirk that held no trace of kindness bloomed on her face as a silent challenge to his own, that started to die down by the second, cheeks falling.

he just frowned as if he had come upon something that had a bad smell, disgust being physically transferred from her to him, tables turning.

"you know it's not like me to put the blame on other things when it comes to my performance, but taking this test in the same classroom as you really affected me. i almost had to go outside to throw up 3 times just because i couldn't shake off your presence inhabiting the same space as me."

"oooh, taking it to heart now, are we minho?" a humorous little laugh escaped her lips as she lightly tapped her fingers on her arms.

"this is much worse than when you're tearing your hair out just by listening to me" he rolls his eyes and turns his body completely towards the blond boy who was aggressively drinking from his juice box, not daring to spare a glance to the frightening girl in front of him. "she's so annoying, seriously..."

"so you can play the game but i can't?" the question sounded dumbfounded and she felt anger starting to bubble on her chest.

"uhm, duh-uh" he replied as if it was obvious. "i prefer it much more when you are locked up in your own brooding"

"i don't get locked up in brooding" her tone got higher at his ridiculous accusation. "i'm sorry to spoil your childish ways of entertainment but my pride won't allow you to remain unchecked"

"talk about your pride" he scoffed with all his might, disdain evident in his voice. "don't go putting all your judgment over me on a single test, especially the first one. i don't want to see you crying later when i start to take this seriously."

"what ever made you think that i'm afraid of you taking things seriously? if you are trying to humiliate me by attempting to put me at your level, i can tell you is not working" her hands slipped from her previously crossed manner, and descended to settle on top of his desk, leaning in as a way to provoke him. "your immaturity has no bounds whatsoever."

minho looked into her eyes in silence for a chain of seconds until he groaned in desperation, eyes rolling back and an irritated sigh escaping his lungs.

"ugh, today is going to be a good day for me filled with chocolates and love letters, so stop trying to spoil it with all your nagging on my ears" he said, eager for the conversation to end soon.

minho hated it when she was like this, and getting 2 questions wrong on a 40-question test was disgraceful enough.

sometimes he found himself believing that both of them were one and the same while being two completely distinct planets all at once. he could tell that her talent for consistent pestering was just like his, but he couldn't help but prefer when she was the one hot-faced and struggling to hold her unceasing rage from lashing at him in a deadly streak.

and he really was looking forward to all of the confessions he was going to receive throughout the day, that hadn't been a lie. the compliments that were thrown in his direction by lovesick girls always amused him and tickled his undying ego.

"you never fail to make me sick to my stomach" she says with a deep frown, knuckles turning white at how hard they were being pressed against his desk.

"speak to my hand" minho raised his hand towards her, mocking her with movements imitating someone talking. "ah, i'm park y/n and my favorite pastimes are terrorizing innocent classmates and institutionalizing extreme boredom" he spoke in a demon-like voice as if trying to imitate her, and she only managed to scoff at his antics.

it took all her strength to walk over to her usual spot at the table at the front without caressing his pretty face with an uppercut.

he was outrageously unbearable, lee minho was the worst of the world.

"you fell asleep in the middle of the math test. you wouldn't do that if you had doubts about any of the questions" yongbok started right after she left them be, looking at him from the corner of his eye, pinning him in an accusatory stare.

"the last few days have been weird for me, yongie, give it a rest" minho dismisses his friend while sulking and crossing his arms, face falling slowly until his forehead reached his desk.

"if you say so..."

“why, are you insinuating something?” it didn’t take many seconds for him to get defensive as he always did over topics like this. topics that were about her.

minho liked to perceive himself as a person who was fully aware and in control of why he did the things he did, and having someone who knew him as well as yongbok insinuating things bothered him beyond measure, making him doubt his own conscience.

“oh, no, never” he answered sarcastically and kept chugging the straw coming out of the orange juice box. 

“ugh, whatever” minho says finally, shrugging and pretending he didn't care. "you've been weird as hell these past few days too..."

the class went by smoothly and y/n believed that her good mood would be unshakable for the rest of the day. it all ended in shambles when the bell rang and people started to leave the room to go to their respective next classes.

it all ended in shambles because it was at that exact moment that hwang hyunjin burst through the door like a cannon, wide eyes scanning the complexity of the classroom in search of the girl.

"y/n! i've been looking for you everywhere!" hyunjin's voice calling out for her in such an open place and in the midst of so many of their classmates put y/n on alert instantly.

she didn't even think about looking to the back of the class to check if he was still there.

"um, what do you need?" asking carefully collected, she looked barely managed to scan around her to see if there were still a lot of people in the room who hadn't left yet.

"you are never going to believe it!" he was anything but quiet, still daring to bounce up to her in his unmatched good humor. "i got 30 out of 40 questions right on the test! can you believe it? can you?" he exclaimed, and she realized she hadn't looked up the boy's name when she'd seen the rankings earlier.

regardless of the non-existent relationship she had with hyunjin, the information left her very much satisfied. knowing that she had the ability to teach well meant that she could land some tutoring gigs down the road.

"that's nice, hyunjin" she responded with a small sign of contentment on her face.

while she started bending down to pick up her bag from the floor and going on her way, he stopped her by handing her a white bag.

"this is a thank you present for you. as soon as i entered the school and saw the rankings, i skipped the first class and ran to the bakery near the school to buy this. it's a cupcake, no big deal!"

but y/n's focus had been ripped from the words that came out of the mouth of the boy in front of her and thrown to the small whispers she heard behind her back as soon as he waved the gift in front of her face.

"oh my god..." a girl said.

"so the rumors were true? they're going out with each other?" another trailed.

y/n gritted her teeth and exasperation started building up inside her chest.

"hyunjin" she called him, firmly yet quiet as ever. "have you gone insane?"

"what? why?" the big smile that previously covered his face was replaced by an expression of pure confusion. "you don't like cupcakes? i'm sorr-"

"today is kiss day, you dumbass" she explained, holding the bag he had given her with only one finger as if she touched it more than necessary, she would be consumed by it on the spot.

"oh" was his first reaction, realizing that he had completely forgotten about the day. however, when he finally came to realize how what he just did could create such horrific misinterpretations, his eyes widened and he let out another "oh!", this time sharing y/n's panic.

after his comprehension of how grave the situation was, hyunjin's first instinct was to snatch the bag from her hand without hesitation or grace. "it's nothing like that!" he exclaimed loudly almost as if he was screaming at her, noticing that there was a considerable amount of people still in the room who were eyeing them curiously.

"tutoring session this friday again!" was the only thing he accomplished to say before running out the door with the same agitation he had entered it.

all's well that end's well.

"i hate cupcakes anyway..." she whispered at last, leaving the room without looking any of the people who saw the scene in the eye.

as if ignoring that everything that had happened would immediately be forgotten and left behind by everyone. she knew she was fucked.

"we're going to be late for the next class, minho" yongbok called over to the boy who was still sitting fixedly in the chair, eyes narrowed at what he had just witnessed.

with his best friend's call, he put the bag on his shoulder and started walking next to the blonde in wary strides.

"who was that poor guy?" he asked, a lump in his throat that felt like something else was trying to escape from his lips, but he couldn't put it in words.

"that's the hwang hyunjin you asked me about these days" yongbok clarified, not missing the bewildered tone coming from his friend.

"oh. i really had no idea who he was until two minutes ago."

after a few seconds of walking in eerie silence, a squeaky voice shouted "minho!" at their back, and echoed down the hall.

when they both stopped at their steps and turned around, they saw a small girl with long dark hair and red cheeks running towards them with a giant box of chocolates.

"this is for you!" she held the box out to him, starting to smooth her hair in a not-so-discreet way from the second he took it from her hands. "my name is bae minah, let's hang out sometime."

minho smirked mechanically but the genuineness was nowhere to be found. he still leaned into her slightly as if to take a better look at her, flattering the younger girl in the process as her eyes started to blink rapidly at the sight of him growing closer.

"yeah, sure, i'll think about it. bae minah..." he said and she opened a big - and pitiful - smile. 

and so they both went continued their way, leaving her behind.

"take this" minho held out the box to yongbok, who looked at him confusedly and adjusted his glasses that fell down his nose.

"don't you want it? it's a super expensive brand."

"nah" he said, looking away. "i'm actually feeling a little nauseous."

stay tuned for chapter 7! ☆