#update 212

[gofancyninjaworld]

OPM manga updates 212 and 213 review

Hap-palled

Now y'all know that I've never met a piece of OPM story that I can't glom onto and gobble up like I'm late to a buffet and have been on an all-day fast, so you betcha I've got thoughts on the last couple of chapters. To say that I've got mixed feelings is an understatement. Fortunately, I found just the right image to convey this; it's a picture of Ippo (titular character of Morikawa's long-running boxing manga series Hajime no Ippo -- check it out if you like sports manga) being equal parts happy and totally appalled. Hap-palled, I'm calling this emotion.

I thought about summarizing the last two chapters but doing so is getting on my nerves and fuck it, everyone bothering to read this is highly literate, so you know the story. Let's just go straight for the meta.

META

I'll admit it; there's quite a bit in here that made me laugh. ONE's love of low-brow humour never left him and he brought it back. I shouldn't laugh but the ludicrousness of Saitama farting his way back to Earth after being teleported to the Sun; his wardrobe malfunction that restored his clothing everywhere except over his crotch, and Saitama being knocked ass over teakettle by an over-enthusiastic Genos did make me chortle. And of course, seeing Genos alive makes me happy.

However. Let's get more serious.

It's Not What You Want; It's What You Can Live With

While One-Punch Man is a story grounded in Saitama's lack of fulfilment owing to his getting what he wanted, in this story, if you look around, it's full of highly-capable, highly-driven, highly-accomplished people getting what they say they want... and then trying to live with it.

You can see OPM as an extended mediation on the futility of looking to any specific achievement or emotion as the source of happiness. When people ask how it can be classified as a seinen despite never having met a shonen trope it won't clothe itself in, it's this. And when OPM brings the sobering reality that happiness is not a static thing that can be attained once and for all to the world of insane characters striving to achieve impossible things, the implications get frightful.

Saitama's wishes have an especially terrible way of coming true.

Let's start with a positive one. You know OAV 1 when Saitama was sitting alone in the diner and saying that he had to believe that there was somebody out there who saw what he did and appreciated it. And that maybe it could be the guy who'd asked to be his disciple? Don't remember it? Go refresh your memory when you finish reading this. In chapter 155, that moment when Saitama finally understood that Genos really is a hero in his own right and isn't just fighting to get battle data or to fulfil the terms of their contract was the moment Saitama realised that his prayers had been answered TO. THE. LETTER.

Less positively, this arc has seen some of Saitama's less positive wishes come true too. His desire for a tough fight, for a rival who spurred growth, to feel himself growing stronger, to have to come up with new and exciting moves, he got them all.

Not that Garou was much of a rival; he only lasted as long as he did because Saitama decided to beat him with one hand. King pissed Saitama off by calling his desires shallow, immature, and not what being a hero was about. How right he was. The tragedy for the planet's existence was what it took for Saitama to see the truth of that.

I know Saitama said that he'd felt like destroying the Earth in a fit of frustration over losing his house. The fact that he really did throw a punch that would have destroyed the planet were it not for Blast (and team) intervening on losing Genos... should really give Saitama serious pause.

Garou also got his wish of being the Ultimate Evil, the ominous future that threatened survival itself, but how bitterly he came to regret it!

Just Had To Go There

After update 211, we had much speculation on how it could be possible that Genos's injuries were compatible with life. The answer: they weren't. Everyone else with blood coming out of every available orifice? They're dead too, even the allegedly unkillable Zombieman. Garou? He died; God went Old Testament on his ass and turned him into salt for displeasing Him. Saitama's the only person left alive on a planet that looks lifeless as far as the eye can see -- and probably much further. Not that the still-living would have much consolation: Jupiter, the protector of Earth from deadly projectiles, has been splashed and is slinging gigatons of rock and gas spewing in every direction. Even the Sun has not been left unscathed. ONE really went there, huh. But we'll fix it all... with time travel! This side of me is just appalled.

Physics is of course, not a friend to manga, but this time travel via subatomic particles thing takes the cake. There's just a homeopathic whiff of reality to it, in that subatomic particles can be symmetrical in time as well as space (e.g. an electron moving forward in time can be represented as a positron moving backward in time), but Garou being able to make particle and anti-particle sychronise but cancel out and Saitama being able to make them all go the same direction, thus moving backwards in time on the macroscale, ah hahaha.

Hell Is Truth Seen Too Late Redux

A few weeks ago, I wrote a meta about Garou's development in the story that is panning out quite well (damn) link.

As you know, I am never happy to see just one translation source. The last few chapters have really brought home why it's so important to have more than one independent person/group looking at the source material. A real problem with Garou's entanglement with God was that the translation given by the Reddit scanslation group and Viz alike was 'avatar', which created the impression that Garou was forced to do God's bidding. How does any redemption for Garou make sense if he didn't do anything? Denying characters agency is a horrid thing to do most times. Denying Garou agency is especially senseless.

I suspected otherwise and said as much; however, it's Koumbaya's love of digging into the connotations of the words used that really shines here. In an excellent bit of detective work (here), they pointed out that God's words to Garou were not that Garou would be His avatar per se, but rather the terms used when you empower someone to act in your place and with your authority. It would have been more correct to call Garou God's agent rather than His avatar. Garou has not been deluding himself about his actions being his own will. He was just telling the truth. Which means that what he did is his fault. This is a good thing but bear with me a second.

In their translation of update 211 (here), they also pointed out that when Garou was noting that he'd have to never see Tareo again, he moved from pronouns indicating closeness to those indicating distance. English has no compact ways of indicating distance. French can go from 'tu' to 'vous' here, so their translators are going to find this easy to convey. I noticed a couple of people puzzled as to why Garou went in the opposite direction to Tareo rather than towards him; that's your context. Garou should have left when Blast pleaded with him to come to a pocket dimension to save the lives of the people around him. He'd give anything right now to do that now, but Hell is truth seen too late.

One of the big, big flaws of Garou is that he's never seen people as people. They've been faceless things to him, and Tareo was the only person who could consistently cut through his miasma. His tendency to do this is mirrored by Saitama's state and thoughts just before he met Genos, btw. Like him, Saitama was losing his sense of reality. One becomes a monster when one becomes a separate existence from humanity, indeed.

Garou Finally Changes His Story

Bringing it all together, seeing Saitama holding that core was what brought it home to Garou that other people could understand him. They could feel like him, suffer like him, not think through the full consequences of their actions like him.

All through this story, Garou has seen himself as a victim of circumstances and has railed on how other people should behave better. Other people should stop being bullies. Should stop discriminating. Should stop being heroes with smug smiles on their faces as they put down the outcasts. He's appointed himself a monstrous busybody, going around trying to dictate to people how to be -- by knowingly adding great, needless cruelty to their lives. Nothing good was ever going to be built out of an enterprise founded on such crooked foundations. Well, what about you, Garou? What can you do to do better than you did before?

That's the most wonderful thing, to see Garou actually ask himself and find an answer to that question.

If Garou chose his actions, then that meant he had responsibility. If he had responsibility, then that meant he had agency. And if he had agency... then what stopped him from using his talent and imagination to consider a way to use his (literal) God-given abilities to a better end?

And that's when Garou humbled himself to ask for help. He could see how to use those powers, but he acknowledged that it was Saitama who had the ability to pull it off. This is a ridiculously huge step forward for him. I also read a certain humility in his asking Saitama to stop him before it was too late. An acknowledgment that he isn't going to be able to make different decisions without intervention.

I wondered how Garou's actions in this timeline could be forgiven. I had really hoped that what would happen is that he'd reverse entropy and heal the people he'd hurt, but alas, it was too late for anybody. I'm not a fan of redemption being death, but I understand ONE choosing to keep it simple (told you I was hap-palled). His actions were unforgivable so he paid for them with his life. But, he paid bravely. Even as God was turning him into salt, he did not waste a second panicking or feeling bad for himself and continued to instruct Saitama.

You may go 'why am I saying mean things about Garou?' But I feel that if for me not to note and condemn his bad sides is to sell his good aspects short and minimize the great personal development that he made. It's to me like measuring a mountain only from sea level, ignoring the fact that it is a sea volcano with its roots deep in the abyss. Half-assed.

He that would change the world must first start with himself is said so often it sounds trite, but self-transformation is no joke. Garou changed his story and, sad as I am over how it turned out, I couldn't be more proud of him. It really makes the cover hit different when you look at it again after reading the chapter and you realize that that's not Garou and Saitama's fists clashing but is rather a fist bump and that Garou's already turning into salt even as he does so.

In the end, they are not so different.

Too Little, Too Soon?

Speaking of personal change, let's move to Saitama who realised too late what he actually valued. And then dismantled causality itself to undo things. That moment of empathy when Garou realised that Saitama clung onto Genos as he clung onto Tareo for his very sanity, I wonder if Saitama has that same insight into his actions?

As I watch Saitama apparently forget why he re-entered the timeline once he merged with his present-day self and see him distracted by his disciple and a wardrobe failure in a very inappropriate place, I'm scared that Saitama won't remember enough to understand why he has to completely defeat Garou. If he only 'almost' beats Garou, Garou will continue on his catastrophic path and that would be a crime for which Saitama would be entirely responsible.

I hope the mute witness of the core he's still holding and the cramp in his left hand remind him of a future nightmare that might still come to pass, just a few minutes from now. I hope that his arms remind him of the feel of the dead child he rearranged to look as if they'd inexplicably decided to take a nap in a sea of rubble. I hope that his tongue reminds him of the taste of a youth crumbling away, who used his last bit of life to ask him to save him from himself. Even if Saitama doesn't remember what happened, I hope he realizes what he has to do and that it's not over until he ensures that Garou quits his quest for evil and finds a better path.

horrible, meaningless ends I never want to see again

Please, Saitama, this isn't the time to half-ass things. Beat Garou completely. His life and the lives of everyone you know and care about depend on it. Maybe that's why there's still a time-travelled core in Saitama's hand; the future is not averted. It's merely postponed unless he does the right thing fast.

I'm also concerned that Saitama may have dropped back into time too soon. That gamma-ray burst has still happened and it might not be too long before people start dropping dead anyway.

I've got a feeling that this isn't over by a long chalk. That baleful moon is still watching. It's not over until the Sun rises.

[dailykugisaki]

Day sixty-three | id in alt

A puppet and a witch.

[thecoffeelorian]

In Case You Might Have Missed It...

...Here are the links to my Codywan series, "The Special Guest", because I will be offering a third installment and I hope to offer a refresher to any and all new folks before then. Thank you, and may the Force be with you!

[hella1975]

[hydrodragons]

i slapped the flower i got today + a new circlet i got yesterday on ayato bc i figured the 2pc set worked for him AND THE CRIT RATEHDJKSJDKD

[cirrus-grey]

Chapter 12 of "Not quite a tale as old as time" is posted!

[kouukie]

Sink Clutter Set Includes 23 Objects

Loved this set by @aroundthesims and it was a huge inspiration for this set! I'm extra and wanted a bunch of options for the dish rack including pots, pans, bowls and utensils. Made some other goodies too! This set took me what feels like my whole life but I had a lot of fun making it and I hope you guys love it!

General Information:

Custom Thumbnails

Base Game Compatible

Used Mothz Pattern Pack for Hanging Towel

Search 'Kouukie - Sink Clutter' in build/buy search bar to easily locate

Object Information:

Sink Tray: Polycount - 366 - §30 - 26 Swatches

Brush: Polycount - 270 - §10 - 24 Swatches

Sink Tray Brush: Polycount - 582 - §10 - 24 Swatches

Hand Sanitizer: Polycount - 182 - §6 - 7 Swatches

Sponge: Polycount - 402 - §3 - 5 Swatches

Dish Gloves: Polycount - 1634 - §15 - 20 Swatches

Scrub Mommy: Polycount - 206 - §5 - 4 Swatches

Hand Soap: Polycount - 406 - §7 - 8 Swatches

Dish Rack: - Polycount 1274 - §40 - 26 Swatches

Dish Rack Plate: - Polycount 8 - §124 - 14 Swatches

Dish Rack Bowl: - Polycount 134 - §10 - 14 Swatches

Dish Rack Pot V1: - Polycount 212 - §40 - 18 Swatches

Dish Rack Pot V2: - Polycount 212 - §40 - 18 Swatches

Dish Rack Pan V1: - Polycount 158 - §40 - 18 Swatches

Dish Rack Pan V2: - Polycount 158 - §40 - 18 Swatches

Dish Rack Cup V1: - Polycount 98 - §8 - 1 Swatch

Dish Rack Cup V2: - Polycount 98 - §8 - 1 Swatch

Dish Rack Cup V3: - Polycount 257 - §8 - 1 Swatch

Dish Rack Utensils V1: - Polycount 432 - §8 - 1 Swatch

Dish Rack Utensils V2: - Polycount 482 - §8 - 1 Swatch

Dish Soap: - Polycount 622 - §10 - 1 Swatch

Sponge Plate: - Polycount 218 - §10 - 14 Swatches

Hanging Towel: - Polycount 166 - §10 - 49 Swatches

DOWNLOAD: SFS | SIMS-CLOUD

Follow my TOU for recolors or any other inquires involving my content.

If there’s any issues you’re encountering message me! Check original post for updates & fixes.

You can find my other downloads here #S4CC Tag me if you use my CC! I follow the tag #Kouukie

⭐ CC in pictures [ Sink | Tawashi | Counter ] ⭐

UPDATES & FIXES

Specular maps are now fixed and items will look as intended in the picture. I forgot I had this mod in my game which removes the cube maps from items. Please redownload.

[slashersgostabbystabstab]

Impulses

[MALE] Xenomorph x Reader

There are many benefits to being a science officer

Update: If you like this fic, make sure you read the other one I wrote! It's a NSFW fic with this same Xenomorph character~

This is my first fic ever for the Xenomorph, and it's a rather lengthy one that I hope to write at least another part for. Just some info: I understand that there's a gray area in which the Xenomorph lands so the one I have written here is one that is a man-made hybrid creation. It still very much looks like a Xenomorph but it's changed up a bit. I think the fic describes a bit more in detail.

Sorry if it sucks, I got very much into detail after doing so much Alien lore research and this doesn't even seem like an x reader, I also apologize if it's shit, I am so desperate to post this that I just didn't even bother to revise it. I'll do it tomorrow 'cause it's late right now lol ;7; Feels like I'm writing the next Alien movie lmao

Warnings: Mention of death/corpses. Some violence (ya know, the movies are action packed with the marine corps and such). Not sure what else to mark but please do message me if you feel I should add something

Words: 7,145

Being the Demeter’s science officer had its perks, but it unfortunately also came with its share of detriments such as any other job did. But then again, your particular career choice had its own kind of drawbacks that would make the average person not take the position. Sure most science officer positions didn’t come with so many risks, but being the science officer for THIS ship’s crew was a whole other experience.

Coming onto the crew it was made clear what you were to expect. It was made clear what conditions you would be made to work under, and you somehow still decided this was the path for you. It was made clear that your crew’s purpose was a mission only a specific bunch of associates was picked.

On planet 212, also known as Gethov, there was tale of an overly faithful group of persons. Or without the polite sugar coating provided: your crew was meant to investigate what it could of the possible cult that inhabited the planet. And after spending more than enough time camping out on the planet, it was quite obviously not a possibility but the fact that there indeed was a cult deep within the planet.

But this was in no way no ordinary cult, whatever the hell that meant, this group of pious persons devoted themselves to the very thing that threatened the human race as well as others.

These crazy bastards worshiped Xenomorphs.

They worshiped every kind of Xeno, every shape and form of theirs; even the man-made ones. They venerated the creatures so much that, based on your gained knowledge, they made it their goal to bring life to as many Xenomorphs as they could.

Xenomorphs were believed to have been completely eradicated, even after the mess created by the Weyland-Yutani corporation’s greed. Thankfully they went under great scrutiny in the 90’s before being completely outlawed in 2349 along with numerous other corps. But even things like that weren’t going to stop at least one bastard from starting the whole process again.

Mother’s Order of Propagation. That was the name of the cult created by Charles Lincoln, former executive officer who was so dedicated to helping Xenomorphs reproduce that he, not only groomed his science officer into joining, but he went as far as making recruits “a part of the hive”. One could not easily integrate themselves into the hive, not unless they were covered in Xenomorph pheromones or…implanted themselves with chestbursters.

And that was exactly what the order did. It wasn’t the first time such a phenomenon was heard of, other cults having done what was a delayed gestation in which they could hold the parasite for a longer period. Not only were they able to blend in easier with the Xenomorphs, but they were able to live long enough to take victims of their own to aid in Xenomorph breeding.

Which led to the current position you found yourself in.

You had decided to step out of the base for just a moment, merely wanting to gather a sample of Xenomorph resin one of your crewmates mentioned to you earlier that day. It would be quick, even if it was from a distance from the base. But when you spotted what could have been some other person not a part of your crew and actually one of the cult members, your black out was no doubt quick.

It was uncertain just what the devotees did to knock you out, everything had happened too fast for you to process just how many of these people had even come to find you. There was an intense throbbing in your head the moment you finally awoke, that possibly a hint as to what they did. Your eyes initially shut tightly before they opened to a blurred sight in front of you, the darkness shrouding you not providing the slightest bit of help. However, there appeared to be a sufficient amount of illumination coming from the work lights you spotted strategically scattered around the area you found yourself in.

“Finally awake.” a man spoke to you, his voice somewhat familiar as you realized just how you were currently positioned him. “Didn’t think you’d wake up again. Not like that entirely matters.”

“This is one Kingston wants alive.” a different man stated while you lifted your head as best as you could, feeling as each man had an arm under yours to drag you behind them. Your boots dragged along the murky ground, leaving lines dunked into it before a noise caught your attention. But soon your boots were accompanied by those belonging to others, all in similar positions as you. The difference being that all of these people were already deceased.

“Where the hell am I?” you bared your teeth at the men who didn’t even bother to give you a response. However, your much needed answer seemed to come soon as you took in your surroundings.

Your eyes soon widened at the countless amount of corpses before you turned your head to the side: no matter where you looked, there were cadavers everywhere, and they were unfortunately accompanied by other bodies. These bodies, unlike them, were well and alive. Healthy and strong. Bloodthirsty.

“Don’t mind them, they’re just making sure something good was brought in.” The first man mocked reassurance, looking behind himself to smile in your direction before he returned his gaze to the front as more of these bodies appeared.

The bodies of Xenomorph, full fleshed out creatures who observed you from a distance. You could barely make up the shapes of their bodies, but you knew they were there: patiently waiting for some order. All around you you were able to hear hisses with slight shrieks mixed in every now and then, almost as if what resided in the darkness watched you and communicated. In all the time you investigated what went on with this cult, you would have never imagined such a number of Xenomorphs.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” the other member questioned as he gazed around the hive, practically grinning in awe at the fruits of the cult’s labor. “These beauties never cease to amaze me.

You made a face at his words before attempting to rip your arm away from him, but his grip on your suddenly grew tight and even somewhat painful.

“Nice try.”

A low groan rumbled in your throat at your poor attempt, allowing the men to continue dragging you. You didn’t want to give up just yet, but your only choice at the moment was to unfortunately go along with whatever these demented assholes had in store for you. Based on the bodies that the drones explored all over, it was already clear what they were planning to do with you.

Soon enough however, the men came to an abrupt stop that prompted you to look up at them. They stood still, frozen almost, merely staring up ahead of them before the reason came to mind. From in front of them you could already hear a specific kind of hiss that accompanied a trail of light yet still audible footsteps. A hiss was then heard, right before the footsteps came to your front where you were now being interrogated.

Before you stood a typical drone, a tad bit nosier than the rest of the hive who continued on with their business despite having caught sight of their new victim. The drone was nothing short from menacing as you watched it cock its head to the side to properly examine you. The situation became all the more appalling when the alien hunched its figure down to your face. Its silver teeth clenched in your face with a threatening hiss as it hovered mere inches from your nose, right before it dashed away from your location in an instant as if satisfied with what was brought in. A wave of relief overcame as you were spared for just a few moments longer, but as if one cue, a new kind of danger was presented soon after the Xenomorph’s departure.

“Took the two of you long enough.” you now heard a third voice before the men harshly dropped you to the ground, and you landed on your back before you looked up to see a new pair of legs. Their owner surveyed you with his aged and tired eyes, right before you were given a soft smile from the man. “Welcome to our humble abode.”

You realized who this man was, Joseph Kingston: the science officer who followed right behind Lincoln. He knew of you just as you knew about him, but this was the first time either of you had actually come face to face after numerous battles concerning your shared field. You were each a threat to each other, a fact both of you acknowledged.

Immediately, you made another attempt at escaping. You jumped to your feet as quickly as you could, shoving the lackeys away from you while racing through the resin covered hive. But in spite of that, your adrenaline-filled efforts soon came to an end when you skid to a stop the moment something jumped in front of you. You once again found yourself on your back, flinching at the sight of a new Xenomorph that pounced right in front of you.

You brought your hands up to your face to defend yourself from the creature that snarled rather loudly as it leaned down towards you. The alien opened its mouth to reveal its inner jaw, ready to strike you right through the head, but it retrieved its second mouth the moment a thunderous cry throughout the hive.

The Xenomorph momentarily turned its attention away from you, eventually returning it to give you one last hiss before scampering away along with some of the other drones who paid no mind to you. Many of these creatures ran by you and the trio of men who considered following them after hearing what you knew was the call from a higher-ranking Xenomorph, but they decided to stay in place when they were reminded of your presence.

“To the royal chamber.”

“The royal chamber?” one of the minions blinked at the scientist who broke the silence between you all, right after he and the other man made sure to restrain you yet again. “A-Are you sure?”

“You bastards! What the hell do you want from me!?” you yelled while attempting to kick your way out of their grasp. “Let me go!”

“I think our little scientist here is eager to learn more about our creations.” Kingston spoke before turning on his heel, having the men follow behind him as you continued to struggle again. Though, one of the men made sure to give you a good kick to the leg to ease you down. “I know how much you’ve researched my Xenomorphs, and I just think it’d be fun to give you some hands-on experience. Like a real science officer.

You winced at your newfound pain as you were dragged through the seemingly empty hive, giving a quiet moan before you finally came across another human. Not like that exactly mattered considering how it was just another one of these cultists who beamed at your presence.

“Tell Lincoln we’re taking this one to the royal chamber.”

“I think he’ll be very pleased to hear you’ve finally acquired the Demeter’s science officer.” the other member crooked her head at you, making sure to look your form up and down. So they had been wanting to get you for a while now…that Xenomorph resin your crewmate came across may have just been some kind of bait. “It’s invigorating to see that our mission is coming to full fruition.”

Before you could get any words out, the pair of men shoved and forced you as Kingston resumed his walking through the hive as if it were any ship. Although the scientist eventually did turn his attention back to you, grinning at you with complete pride.

“What are you planning Kingston?” you directed a glare his way, and you realized the enthusiasm he attempted to contain at your question. “What do you need me for?”

“Well you see, we don’t necessarily need you. Any body will do perfectly fine, but we thought it best that the body belong to the one person who’s been pointing out all of our weaknesses. It’s easier to produce more Xenomorphs when there isn’t some other scientist disrupting every one of me and Lincoln’s plans.” Kingston replied before returning his attention to the front.

“So you brought me all the way to your hive just to have one of your creatures kill me?” you spat out before receiving another shove from the men holding you. “That seems almost useless. My crew isn’t stupid enough to come crashing into a place like this just to get their science officer.”

“Your crew is a matter for a different time.” he stated, now standing before an entrance that he opened by dialing a code into the number pad. “We just need a fellow scientist to support our cause.”

“And what exactly is that?” you questioned, but you were soon interrupted by the familiar sounds of Xenomorphs hissing. This time around though, one of the Xenomorphs’ noises stood out from the rest who decided to remain hidden.

You felt the sudden need to hold your breath the moment a stomping was heard just outside the corridor you were currently in. Even the men with you couldn’t help but take a moment to themselves, their hands gripping you tighter as if to conceal the slight apprehension overcoming them. Although these guys were committed to their so-called cause, they were quite conspicuous with their terror: but weren’t most religious zealots the type to fear their own gods?

The stomping, although slow-moving proved to arrive fast, and the figure cast by their creator came soon, approaching from the deeper end of the hallway. It was clear that this silhouette was immense, belonging to something sizeable that eventually stepped into the light with one of its feet before the second followed. And after its legs came the torso and the rest of its body, displayed and almost glistening under the work lights that illuminated it.

“Holy shit,” you finally remembered to breathe, backing up in the only way you could before the men holding you gave in and followed your actions.

“Specimen number 7.” Kingston’s voice proudly declared before he stepped in front of you and the men. “I’m delighted that he’s decided to make an appearance.”

“He?”

“Yes, he.” he reiterated, standing tall in front of the Xenomorph who stopped in its tracks to look down at the scientist, no doubt immediately recognizing him as one of its own. “Number 7 is my finest creation, a male Praetorian who has taken charge of the hive after our queen’s unfortunate demise. Until we create her replacement, he has self-proclaimed himself the temporary leader. Nobody seemed to have any dispute against it.”

Kingston turned away from the Xenomorph along with the alien who made sure to flash its teeth to you; this was yet another one of its features that you quickly realized did not belong to the typical Praetorian. Putting aside the topic of its sex, this one lacked the metallic-colored teeth all Xenomorphs had. Its head crest, although not so different from the female royal guards', seemed to have its own quicks, perhaps even larger. And its color wasn’t the typical jet-black, but it instead had a midnight blue kind of black to it. While female Praetorians stood at at least 10 feet, this one was slightly shorter than that height; as if it even made a difference.

“What’s the point in making a male specimen when Xenomorphs have always been a female-based species?” you spat out before the alien took a step towards you, a successful attempt to intimidate you as Kingston chuckled at the sight. “How…how did you even tame it?”

“I didn’t tame Seven,” Kingston made sure to make the statement as the alien peered down at him, well aware of what the man spoke. “Considering how Xenomorphs went into extinction, save for the embryos we were able to salvage, we had to fill in certain gaps at times. This guard is somewhat of a hybrid, containing human DNA in his genetics to better bond with…me. All of us members of the order. And since the Xenomorph’s genetics have been altered and controlled by me, I was able to design a male. I’m sure you know how biology works.”

Kingston made sure to lean towards you after stepping away from the Xenomorph, giving you another one of his sinister smiles.

“Although hermaphroditic, we must ensure our Xenomorphs can reproduce with each other if another corporation or the government attempts to eradicate what we’ve worked so hard to make.” he disclosed before facing the alien one more time. “Now imagine the wonders Seven could perform if we were to give him a queen that won’t die out as easily as our last one. That poor girl…like most women, she just wasn’t the type to listen. Too resistant. Too many casualties thanks to her resistance.”

“You killed your own queen?”

“She belonged dead. This hive has no place for a queen that will turn the others against us.”Kingston posited in a much darker tone. “Which is where you come in.”

“W-What?”

“Killing you off is too simple, as is implanting a typical chestburster.” you watched the man step away from you and into the chamber meant for your end. The two men holding you intended on taking you inside with Kingston, but the Praetorian stepped once again to stop them in their tracks.

The Xenomorph hunched its towering form to take a better look at your face, giving some kind of a trill before it backed away from you.

“It seems, Seven approves of our choice.” you heard Kingston speak from the room. “Come inside.”

“No!” you exclaimed as you began to kick around again. “Let me go, you sick fucks! Let me go!”

The Praetorian watched as you were led to your doom, eventually making its way back into the corridor as you continued to shout for your release.

“I thought you’d be more ecstatic to indulge in this, seeing how much you enjoy studying our Xenos.” Kingston gave a small laugh as you saw him wearing thich gloves, these with the intention to hold a monstrosity smaller than the drones. In his hands he tightly held a facehugger, but not an ordinary one. “Seven and Lincoln are more than happy to have you as the royal host.”

“Get that thing away from me!”

“Shhh, you wouldn’t want to wake the baby.” he teased while drawing the alien closer to your face. “Here, no one can hear you scream.”

Horror filled your body at the sight of the royal facehugger that spread its webbed digits as it readied itself for your face. You struggled against the grip of the men who were careful enough to keep their heads away from yours, and this ultimately gave you your last chance.

Despite the men’s restraints having become somewhat loose, they restrained you tight enough to give you the right stability that allowed you to kick your leg forwards. In the adrenaline-filled moment, you were able to kick high enough to rip the chestburster out of Kingston’s hands, sending it flying across the room much to the men’s shock.

While the lackeys gasped dumbfounded at the flying facehugger, you ripped your arm out from one of them to give him a good elbow to the face. The man immediately dropped down as you proceeded to repeat your actions on the second man, sending him to his back while Kingston boiled with a newfound anger.

“You, good-for-nothing scoundrel!” he seethed from his spot before turning his attention to his men. “Get the facehugger! Ensure she’s alright!”

You looked around the area, considering escaping through the doorway like a sensible person would, but for a moment you considered that running through a hive full of xenomorph drones was not the wisest of choices. On the slick and damp ground, the royal facehugger seemed to notice you after the lackeys backed away so as to not get infested, and you reacted fast.

From your suit’s pocket you pulled out a screwdriver you always kept on your person, managing to strike the facehugger as it jumped in your direction.The screwdriver stabbed smack-down in the middle of its slit where its longer organ would have unveiled itself, and this singular stab was more than enough to have it fall limp much to Kingston’s dismay.

“No! No, no, no!” he cried out, the calm demeanor from before having completely disappeared as he was filled with an intense fury.

Not wanting to deal with him any longer, you scurried out of the doorway despite not knowing what your next plan of action was. All you could do was run, run as fast and quietly as your body allowed you to.

All around you you once again heard the Xenomorphs communicate amongst you while Kingston yelled from behind, even going as far as calling out to his pet. Realizing the danger this posed, you ran into a nearby chamber you hoped they would not suspect.

You weren’t sure just how you managed to hide yourself as well as you did, but it seemed to be effective with the way in which the Xenomorph drones avoided the room you were in. Perhaps in the process of creating these creatures, they unintentionally made them less functional than their natural counterparts. No matter, you took the opportunity to make yourself at home deeper in the chamber as you realized it wasn’t a den but…more of a storage room. It really was shocking to see how much these Xenomorphs allowed the cult to integrate themselves within the hive.

Turning away from the open entrance, you took notice of the resin-covered furniture inside the room that seemed to keep items of importance inside. This room in particular seemed to be a bit more secluded, perhaps another reason for the drones not bothering to come.

You immediately began to look through the drawers and cabinets, unfortunately not finding very much other than some work tools, desk supplies and containers. Honestly, the best you could work with were the tools which even then were useless against Xenomorphs, the most you could defend yourself from were face huggers. Supplies like pens and clipboards weren’t going to do much either, and these containers…

Your eyebrows furrowed at the sight of the jars, actually piquing your interest to see what was behind the cylinder glass. You rotated the canister in every possible angle to figure out its contents, and you were finally able to find a label with what you knew was Kingston’s handwriting.

“Royal jelly,” you mumbled, a sudden realization hitting you. “Holy shit.”

Somehow, someway…this was going to be your leverage against the cult members, at least them. At least against Kingston, for you knew the value this substance held. And it didn’t surprise you that most of the room was filled with these cylinders, which were immediately pulled out by you and dropped to the ground before you took a maintenance jack from the drawers to smash the glass.

Royal jelly was the key ingredient used when producing Xeno-Zip, a powerful drug that could enhance one’s body while tearing apart their mind. And if the order was in possession of such quantities, no doubt having collected it from their latest queen, you knew they weren’t going to use it to make drugs. Their intentions were clearly to enhance their creations’ performance, or even ingest it raw themselves. Hell, they might have already done that considering how long some of these members survived with a chestburster residing in their bodies.

You then proceeded to smash another one of the containers, and you continued to do so until there were less than ten left. One would consider the destruction a waste of time, but you knew it was needed to prevent more of this cult’s progression as well as be ready when somebody eventually found you.

And that they did soon enough, for while you attempted to destroy another one of the containers, you heard a familiar thundering of footsteps as a hand grasped onto your wrist.

“Don’t you dare!” came Kingston’s voice before he threw you to the side, enraged at your actions from the moment you kicked his facehugger. “You bastard! Hellion! Do you realize what you’re doing!?”

“Of course I do!” you recovered quickly before reaching out to a nearby cylinder, but the man dared to step on your open hand as harshly as he could which caused you to cry out in pain. Before he had any time to react, you took a pen from your suit’s pocket to stab him right in the leg.

Now it was his turn to wail, falling onto his bottom before his creation from before appeared in the doorway with a full-blown roar. Perhaps the Praetorian didn’t care much for the jelly like Kingston and his members did, but you still took the opportunity to take what you could of the containers despite your aching hand.

“Let me get out! Or I’ll break what’s left of these!” you threatened while holding one of the jars above your head.

“Don’t you dare!”

“Let. Me. Out.”

Kingston could only glare at you from the ground as his alien awaited an order from behind him, snarling while drool dripped from its teeth.

“Seven,” he began before groaning at the pain your pen in his leg caused, soon pulling the item from him to spew out a mixture of blood and ink. “I believe it’s about time we terminate the science officer.”

Your eyes widened at his words, somehow appalled by his command. So before the Xenomorph could properly process the doctor, you launched the jar in your hand at its head. And soon enough, you watched as it stood in place, practically seething like the doctor was earlier.

That…that honestly may not have been the smartest choice.

“You-!” Kingston began once again, but he was interrupted by the sound of his alien roaring yet again.

Instinctively, you threw another jar at the Xenomoprh before it exploded just like the last one, coating its head crest in the fluids while some dripped down its face. You hurled another one, astonished when the Xenomorph skillfully moved its head to avoid this attack which caused you to drop the other containers from your arms, ignoring the anguished scream from Kingston.

With nothing else able to save you from the Xenomorph’s clutches, you backed up as far as you could, until your boot came into contact with some of the jelly from a jar you had previously broken. In an instant, you slipped and found yourself on the ground near the man who attempted to crawl at you while your heard screeches from outside the chamber. The room was soon filled with drones who stood by the Praetorian, awaiting any form of instruction as they watched you and the man struggle.

“You…you ruined EVERYTHING!” Kingston yelled before throwing himself at you, and you immediately attempted to wrestle him off while all the Xenomorphs watched.”Seven! Kill! Terminate! End it!”

Kingston had gone mad to the point of trying to clench at your throat with his bloody hands, waiting for the aliens to help him out in finishing you off. But he and you soon came to realize none of them bothered to move an inch, not until the Praetorian gave the order. An order that never came.

Instead, while still fighting off Kingston, you noticed as the alien grit its teeth with a growl before turning to the drones. A command was soon given. And it was not the command Kingston desired.

“What are you doing!?” he shouted at the Xenomorph who roared and trilled before the drones began to step backwards. They were quite hesitant about it, but they listened to the Praetorian before turning and jumping on all fours, soon scurrying away to leave the three of you alone. “Seven! What the hell are you doing!?”

The Praetorian now made its way to you and Kingston who paused his actions, turning to look at the alien who leaned down with a shriek.

You covered your ears at the volume before the Xenomorph finally grit its fangs again, no doubt having given Kingston a warning.

“Seven! Why-?”

Once again, the Praetorian gave a roar as well as stomp of its foot. It wanted you alone. Oh shit. You were pretty sure at this point the alien found every single one of your actions personal and was not going to allow Kingston to finish you off.

The alien warned Kingston with one last threatening stomp, and the message finally seemed to get through to the man’s thick skull.

You felt Kingston release you before crawling off of your body, his eyes never tearing away from the Xenomorph who made sure to give a hiss.

The man shot you one last glare before he too raced out of the room. The bastard was smart enough to make sure to shut the door with a code, as if you had any form of escape against a monster such as this one.

Once again, you backed away as fast as your hands allowed you while you slid across the scattered royal jelly. The alien observed you as you managed to get up onto your feet, trembling while reaching out to the countertops where you tried to find some kind of a tool you knew would do nothing to the Xenomorph. It turned away for a moment to examine the chamber, its attention on the jelly staining the ground.

Your hands found a wrench that you instantly brought up and held in front of you, ignoring the intense shaking from your hands. The Praetorian immediately snapped its head in your direction, at least as fast as its large head crest would allow. Its maw practically pointed at your form, tightly clenching the teeth inside as an audible hiss sounded from behind the row of fangs. Although the alien lacked any discernible eyes and brow bones to distinguish any sort of expression, it was apparent the way in which it peered at you.

It used one of its claws to swing at the wrench you held, and your weapon soon went flying to the side where you dashed to. But the alien followed with a roar, forcing you to face it once again.

Your much smaller form shook at the sight of it, clearly now its center of attention while you cautiously attempted to step away from the alien. However, you soon enough found it making its way towards you, every step it took having a detectable stomp come with it. Every step it took sounded with obvious suspicion as it titled its head to the side, never ceasing its scanning of your shape.

You continued your backing up, your hands eventually finding their palms against the mucky surface of the hive’s walls. Ignoring the slimy sensation, you soon pressed your back against the wall before your head followed suit. But you then turned your head to the right, eyeing the Xenomorph with a side eye. A slight whimper tried escaping your lips, managing to cause a rumble in your throat as your eye found the alien muh closer than before.

The Praetorian’s mouth released a breathy growl as you immediately looked away from it, shutting your eyes the moment you felt the cold from its body practically radiate on your skin. At this point you learned the bigger a Xeno was, the colder their clammy body would be.

Tightly shutting your lips prompted your nose to breathe intensely, this almost alluring the alien further as it brought its face close to your cheek.

Its breaths were felt against your skin, these somehow warmer than the rest of the creature who took notice of your own heat. Its maw finally pressed against your skin, olfactory senses sniffing you out before you felt a thick substance fall on your head until it slid down to your face.

Finally you opened your eyes, watching the Xenomorph continue to examine your face. While you realized what was on you was the jelly from before. The alien’s jaw smeared it all over your cheek with every sniff it gave you, more of the jelly dripping from its head every now and then.

Praetorians like any other Xenomorph possessed inner jaws, but this one…it was even cleared that it was not a naturally born specimen based on what came from inside its mouth. From in between its teeth slithered out a tongue, warm and slick as it licked the juices off of your cheek ever so delicately. It took a moment as it retrieved its tongue, tasting the jelly on its organ before its throat rumbled with some kind of snarl.

You took the chance to turn your head towards the Praetorian, surveying the alien’s features before it also stared down at you head on. You caught sight of a drooling that fell from its teeth, pooling beside your boots as you found a way to press yourself further into the wall behind you while the Xenomorph pressed its mouth against your face once again. Its minacious claws were brought up to your sides, and you winced at the touch before the alien snapped its teeth at you. Yet again you stood still while the creature appeared to have relaxed, resuming its actions as it snaked its enormous claws behind your body. You felt yourself being pulled away from the wall in an almost tender way, your body nearly pressed against the Xenomorph’s hunched one as your arms disconnected from the wall as well.

It craned its head at you once again, giving a coo-like trill while you held your arms close to your chest so as to not touch the alien in any way. However, this prompted the Xeno to finally hold you close against it, almost as if it wanted to feel the rapid beating of your poor heart against its mesoskeleton. Once again it let its tongue slither out, licking the features of your skin as you gave a wince and shut your eyes for just a moment.

The moment it stopped with its actions, you gave it one more look. It gave you another trill, awaiting any kind of reaction from you with anticipation. For some strange, enticing reason…you felt compelled to bring one of your hands away from your body, hesitantly lifting it before deciding to cautiously place it on top of the Xeno’s head.

You ran your fingers over the smooth surface of the alien’s head before finally reaching the more ribbed parts of its crest, hearing a purr-like sound coming from its throat. And somehow, you felt a smile creep up onto your lips as you admired the Xenomorph’s newfound amiability while a euphoric sensation overcame you.

Your fingers found some of the jelly that still stained the alien’s head, and you retrieved your hand to properly study it as it coated most of your palm. Before you could look any further though, the Xenomorph’s tongue instantly licked it clean off of your hand. The second it finished doing that, you felt the alien begin to nuzzle against your face as more pleased trills escaped it.

Royal jelly was a crucial substance to Xenomorphs, but it made you wonder just what kind of effects it had on man-made ones who were also depicted with a more male design. The jelly was a substance used to make Praetorians from drones, and Queens from Praetorians, lest the Queen chose to simply strengthen her royal guards. From what you had heard, the Xenomorphs were usually affected in seconds, and this Praetorian did not seem to have changed in one bit. Perhaps that was because of its male sex.

Meanwhile, the effect it had on humans…

Whilst you were deep in thought, the Praetorian stood erect to its full height the second it detected some kind of sound outside of the chamber you were in. You snapped out of the wonder and daze you momentarily felt, remembering just how tall the alien was compared to you.

From outside the area your ears caught the sounds of gunshots, yells, and even a sudden explosion. It was so instant that it made you snap back to your senses, but not enough to have you back away from the Praetorian who actually released you that very moment.

The alien whipped around as fast it could while being careful to avoid you with its tail, instead bringing it to its front as it snarled at the locked door that concealed the both of you. It sensed intruders in the hive, able to tell that its drones and the cult members were no doubt under attack. But by what?

Almost as if on cue, that question was answered when a boom practically pounded on the door, shaking it enough for it to create a clear dent in the thick metal.

“Again!”

Another boom sounded before a large hole bursted through the door. This prompted the Praetorian to roar at the presence of the intruders who blasted at the door one last time, finally bringing it down before a group of men stepped in.

Marine corps! You honestly couldn’t believe it.

“Doctor! We’re here for you!” the leader of the group announced before a second man stepped in front of him. “Cover your ears!”

You immediately did as instructed, cowering down the instant you noticed the Praetorian rush at the marines. At that moment, a horrendously loud boom was heard in the chamber. However, considering the weapon’s design, the sound was specifically transmitted as a directional beam shot specifically at the Xenomorph who gave a shriek the second the sound hit it.

“Doctor, this way!” the first man motioned towards him, ignoring the completely disabled Xenomorph who seemed to writhe in pain. You couldn’t help but give it one last glance before the man called to your attention again. “Doctor!”

Turning away from the Praetorian, you hurried towards the man whose hand you accepted in that moment. However, you decided to spare the alien one last glance, watching as it slightly recovered enough to lock gaze with you. You paused, watching as the Xenomorph reached a claw out to you, right before it was hit with another ultrasound beam that prevented it from standing up.

“Doctor, let’s go!” the leader of the troop yelled before turning to his marines. “Make sure that thing stays down, don’t waste ammo on it! We’ll come back to kill it some other time!”

“Did my crew send for you!?”

“That they did! Sergeant Newton at your service doc.” the man spoke as he led you through the hive’s corridors you had found yourself in earlier. “We found you with that tracker of yours, made navigating this shithole easier.”

“I’m glad.” you responded as the man held you close when your running was momentarily stopped to avoid incoming drones. It was at this moment that you took notice of the new corpses that adorned the hive, corpses belonging to the cult members that had not appeared to you before. “You killed them!?”

“Unfortunately had to, they fired first and were commanding the Xenos to attack us. I don’t understand these crazy bastards.” Newton claimed before he resumed his running and gingerly pulled you along. “That seemed to confuse the Xenos for some moments, they can’t work without someone telling them what to do. Which brings me to ask, what was that Praetorian doing with you?”

“I-I don’t-” you began to stutter, but your words were interrupted by a sudden roar that was followed by shrieks that were clearly replies. “The Praetorian! It’s telling them what to do!”

The corridor you and the sergeant were in soon ended as the two of you found yourselves in the openness of the main hive room, the walls filled with crawling drones who had a sole purpose. Thankfully though, the sergeant’s troop soon accompanied him with the necessary weaponry that kept many of the aliens away.

“You won’t be able to take them all! We need to get out!”

“On it.” Newton replied before giving the order to the marines who began to let loose on the Xenomorphs, nobody exactly noticing that their sole purpose…involved you. Nobody except the sergeant who realized that the aliens only attacked those guarding you when they protectively surrounded you. “Keep them at bay, I’ll take the doctor to safety!”

You heard the man’s words in between the sounds of gunfire and turrets shooting continuous flames at the aliens, and you didn’t spare a moment in following Newton when he began to escort you to where he knew the exit was nearby.

“Doctor, go!” he shouted once the Xenomorphs turned their attention to your form, ignoring the troop who immediately grew confused. It was then that you realized why he directed you to leave without him: the Praetorian was already making its way through the hive’s remains, fully intending on getting you.

“Go, go, go!”

Without looking back, you ran through the wet floor of the hive as you felt Xenomorphs quickly approaching you. Praetorians never left the hive, they were the queen’s guards, so all you had to do was reach that damn exit. And that your eyes found soon enough, a light at the end of a tunnel where you heard voices shout at you.

The beating of your heart pounded against your chest and even rang in your ears as you felt yourself running out of breath, having to catch yourself from falling every now and then. At the same time, you could hear the trills and screeches and roars from the Xenomorphs not too far behind, the pounding of the Praetorian’s feet so close.

One last time did you look behind you, watching as the alien reached out to you before you felt yourself be tugged out of the cave. The screeching of aliens sounded right after flames shot out at the hive, forcing them all to retreat behind the Praetorian who you could tell was considering escaping running through the fire.

But the troops that now guarded you did not allow it, firing their weapons while one of the marines stole you away from the hive. You heard the alien screech at your absence while its drones returned to the hive, no doubt to rid of the troop still inside, and as you were taken away…the world suddenly grew quiet as you no longer paid any mind to the hive.

[ieatangstforbreakfast]

Pairing ೃ⁀➷ 𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝟒𝟐! 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 x Fem! Reader

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Lovers have secrets of their own, no matter how much they come to trust each other, whether it be a past mistake or an unspoken trauma. For you and Miles, however, your secrets came in the form of hidden identities— one being a masked vigilante, and the other a mastermind.

Genre ೃ⁀➷ Forbidden love, mutual pining, angst♡

Tags ೃ⁀➷ Both are artists, reader is from a very wealthy family, both are living double lives, underaged smoking, reader is female and uses she/her pronouns, forbidden love (ish?), swearing, daddy issues, mommy issues, reader is unhinged, both are mentally unstable, lots of flirting.

Author's Note ೃ⁀➷ l went through like a fuck ton of shit [Broke up with my boyfriend of two years, entrance exam, and uh I lost some friends] and 2024’s barely started lol sorry for the late update, i am,,, extremely deep in hurting 👍

Tag list ೃ⁀➷ @sakura-onesan @coffeeandtealol @luvjunie @noetophat @proudgojofucker @depresssedcowboy @adorefavv @l0starl @your-girl-mj @nyumeii @iheartamajiki @yoluv-tiannaaa--212 @bakauwu @callsignwidow

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟐: 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐎𝐧 𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Miles and Eddie make an exchange. A certain nightmare plagues his thoughts. Your insanity unfolds, and so does Miles’ suspicions.

[Warning: Blasphemy, mentioned of fucked up things and crimes, deranged thinking]

MASTERLIST

Previous chapter || Next chapter

“Miles, what would make you hate me?”

The memory was so long ago. Well, to be exact, perhaps it’s been a month or two since it happened. Miles could still so clearly remember the way you leaned your head against the damp wall, your eyes far off into the void of whatever haunted you. At that time, his feelings had been but a spark budding within his chest ever so delicately, a butterfly ripping out of its cocoon in his stomach.

“I don’t know.” Miles whispered into the air. “I don’t think it’s possible to truly hate a person when you know them personally.”

At that moment, you looked at him, with your head half-buried within your hood.

“Why’s that?” You asked, fiddling with the ends of your hoodie.

Miles took a moment to think about how to word his answer.

“When you recognize someone enough to know that they’re not evil people who’d do random shit for shits and giggles, you learn to realize that they’re not really a monster.. At least, not as much as they seem.” His lingering gaze travels towards the ample of your cheek. “I can’t hate you when I know you. You’ve got a name, and you’re somebody’s sister, daughter.. Well, you don’t have to be all that. You just need to be somebody, and you’re somebody to me, and that alone’s the reason why I can never hate you.”

“That’s.. Interesting.” You whispered. “So technically, you humanize your enemies.”

“That’s one weird way to put it, but yeah.”

“But what if it’s a façade?” The words rolled off your tongue seamlessly. “What if.. They’re not exactly the person you thought they were. What if they’ve done more harm than good?”

He thinks about it for a moment.

“It’s not my job to humanize people. People humanize themselves.” Miles answered. “If there’s truly nothing at all about this person that makes them human, or makes me feel like they still have a relatively active conscience inside of them.. I can’t.”

“So you’re saying thay if they’re not human, you’ll hate them?”

“No!” He rapidly shook his head.

“No, ‘cause Miles, I’ll be fair with you. Ion think there’s anything more monstrous than humanity. We are our own enemies. Nothing else causes more pain to a human other than its own body or its own kind, which is why hatred is such a natural thing.”

“Hatred is a natural thing for you, because you grew up only having to think about yourself.”

“Because if not me, then who would?” You spewed. You didn’t mean to sound overtly bitter, but you were. “Unlike you, Miles, my family ain’t the shit. It’s me against the world always— I-If, had I gotten a remote opportunity to care about anyone other than myself, maybe I wouldn’t be this hateful.”

“Well, you got a chance now.”

“How so?”

“You got me.”

You paused, wondering if you’ve heard correctly.

“… I’ve got you?”

Whatever did that statement mean? You’ve heard about a million pick-up lines, but what the hell was this?

“F’course you do. We’re friends.”

Friends.

“Friends?” Just friends?

Miles hums. “Buddies. Amigos.”

Ah, right, that’s how it always starts. Just friends.

Miles snuck his hand into one of his pockets, plucking out something round that you were too lost in your haze to even notice. He seems to fiddle with it for a moment, digging his fingers into its plush before nudging it towards you.

“You want some?”

You turned around and realized he’d peeled you an orange. “.. What.. These are so expensive these days. How’d you even get one?” Your hand reaches out for the fruit, examining its tiny size. You’d heard about the sudden inflation of prices, so fruits inevitably turned into a luxury for most. Miles parts the mandarin and places the larger half on top of your hand.

“.. I stole one from my neighbor’s garden. God did say generous people prosper, so I did him a favor.”

“I’m pretty sure there was a ‘thou shall not steal’ in one of the commandments, Miles.” You laughed, plopping a piece atop your tongue. The tangy, sweet, yet sour flavor bursts right in, making you grimace ever so lightly. “Oh, that’s sour.”

Miles took after you, similarly cringing. “Eugh.”

“It’s probably not all that ripe yet. It’s fine though,” You plopped another into your mouth. “I like oranges— sour things as a whole. They snap me back into life.”

“That sounds sad.” He mumbled, turning to look at you. “Kinda worrying, if you ask me.”

“Well, I wasn’t asking.” You plucked out one of the seeds from your teeth.

“Right, ‘cause you never ask.” Miles took another bite. “You only answer.”

“What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know.” Miles shrugged. “I like saying random shit to tick you off.”

You rolled your eyes, trudging your way up from the floor as you staggered from the cold. “Thanks for the orange, Miles.” Running a hand through your hair, you looked out and sighed. He couldn’t help but feel surprised at the lack of your sass.

“You’re welcome, princesa.”

Your brow cringed. “Don’t call me that.”

His finger twitches. He watched as you froze for a moment, turning to look at him. With gentle steps, you approached and leaned down— tufts of your hair brushing against the temple of his forehead. At that moment, he swallows while taking in the scent of your perfume and its ridiculously sweet stench. How could everything about you be so sweet?

You plucked your pen out of his hands. “This is mine.” You reminded of him. Miles didn’t utter a single word til’ your eyes met. Even in the darkness, you saw, but you ignored— well, rather, you tried to ignore it, but it stung.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

Miles turned his head, forcibly pushing down the butterflies fluttering like haywire in his stomach.

Hands clammy, heart haywire, eyes unable to meet yours.

“Sure, whatever.”

That day ended there, but Miles knew then. He knew.

Eddie Brock couldn't look past the television store, as his eyes were drawn completely to the news. Not that he couldn't afford a paper, or a gadget of his own— he was simply nervous, figdety, and this ominous pit that holed itself into his stomach unnerved him like a pig carved up for the butcher. He'd known of the news already, honestly, something along the lines of the daily murders and crimes that weren't all too unusual to be fair, and rather than the screen's bright technicolored themes, he was hyper focused entirely on one thing.

The face of Will Barlowe, the almighty senator. Eddie had long been staring at that man's creased, brown skin and slick, blonde hair that was fading into this falsified shade of platinum all because of his whitening strands.

Damn the rich, all of them.

Eddie was no one, like everyone else. A drop of water in the ocean, a needle in a haystack. He was one, like the rest, with the hard workers who carried the economy with their white, blue, pink-collared jobs. He thrived, initially, three years ago. He was an activist then— a journalist in a crisp collared shirt and black dress pants, warning the young about the dangers of climate change, and speaking outwardly in regard to politics.

Now, he was nothing more but a wrinkled jacket-wearing, eccentric and amusing conspiracy theorist scraping the tiniest bits of his dignity to post videos on Facebook or Youtube shorts about how fucked up and dystopian America's grown to become.

When the Prowler, the younger one, decidedly linked him a location allegedly shared by the elites, Eddie wanted to think of it as a chance to shine, to end everything once and for all, and to avenge Anna. For Anna, and for what could’ve been their happy, serene life. But when he arrived, painstakingly clad in plaid while forging the identity of a lost tourist, he was disappointed entirely to find out that the warehouse had been burnt down.

He could still recall the charcoaled crevices of what could’ve been his salvation— that masked boy, the Prowler, promised him salvation in a what-could’ve-been some rich guy’s attempt of a house barbecue.

“Did I make ya wait long?”

A voice reminiscent of a growl. That same shade of neon magenta lingered, popping like a change of color in the melancholy of great Harlem. Eddie tries not to look, but the presence of the boy simmered like fire even as he hung like a spider from the ceiling. He was always like that— the Prowler. The boy was a tall, lanky thing who walked and talked suave. Dominican, he initially assumed. Eddie figured this little vigilante was likely a high schooler with hopes consequently dimmed by the recession.

“Nope.” Eddie attempted to appeal cooly, instead, he only crumbled more. “I’d been watching the news this whole time, tryna check if there was anything about the fire.”

He hears a metal click. “They prolly wouldn’t say nothin’. See, if they didn’t wanna hide it, it’d be all over the television. But it ain’t there, so that means the Chávez’s are hiding the fire from the other families. They prolly paid the witnesses to keep their mouths shut or bribed all the television networks to say it’s some barbecue party gone bad.”

A few passersby couldn’t help but squeak at the sight of the infamous vigilante hanging from a store sign, but they all seemed to know better than approaching him. Trouble was wherever he was, after all, or something the daily bugle said along those lines. They shared glances, sure. Curious, amused glances like how people would marvel at a lion in a zoo.

“It’s,” Eddie finally looked at him. “it’s something ‘bout the Chávez’s?”

With a momentary pause, the Prowler released his grip from the metal poles and dangled down for a second before decidedly letting his feet hit the ground. He was tall— truly, around an inch or two taller than grouchy Eddie. His braids seemed much longer than he’d last seen them. Did he recently get them redone?

“.. That’s right.” Prowler hummed. “.. But we might wanna move some place else to have this conversation, Mr. Brock.”

And where the cat went, curiosity followed down as it made its way to the dark alleyways.

Eddie had a million questions, like any other normal being. The Chávez’s, the Primos, the Barlowes, the Fisks, the Osborns, and all of the other wealthy families connected to one another were all listed down on his kill bill naturally, and he’d been dreaming about the day of crossing out their names with ink made from their blood. Cliché, but a threat either way. Eddie wasn’t a writer, but a journalist anyways. Creativity in terms of wording his hatred was limited and it wasn’t his forte.

“In your past facebook post, you mentioned the Chávez’s briefly,” The boy began, halting by the corner dampened by rain. “I need information about the whole family.”

“… Aren’t you supposed to know the basic information about your enemies?”

“If it were that easy, I wouldn’t be needing your help.” The two white shapes that proxied as his eyes narrowed, grimacing ever so lightly. “There’s little information about them in the black market, and within the scarcity, most of them aren’t factual.”

“They’re rich enough to be able to squander their wealth on silencing people,” Eddie kicked at a can. “Of course no one knows, but I do.”

“How so?”

Picking at something in between his cheek, Eddie sighed a long sigh.

“… My wife worked as their private attorney.”

He watched the boy take a step back. “.. Your wife?”

“Yeah.” Eddie nodded. “My wife, Anna. She was taught to keep silent about their crimes, and to find a loophole in every case.” A lump formed in his throat.

The Prowler stared. He couldn’t make out whether it was an empathetic or judgmental one. “.. So your wife covered up the Chávez’s crimes?”

“A part of it.” Eddie mumbled. “There’s more to the elite than we know, Anna had to burn her files after every case, so she couldn’t snitch or post them after she quits.”

His head turns. “… I see.”

He sees the boy shift, weirdly, fidgety. He couldn’t particularly describe the unease this young vigilante conveyed. It was almost like he was on the verge of asking something, but his mask made it harder to read what he was desperate to know about.

“.. So can you tell me?”

A simmering silence sunk into the gaps of their conversation.

“What’s in it for me?” Eddie asked, knowing he shouldn’t have, as it was obvious and painstakingly accusatory.

“Why do we have to have transactions when it comes to justice?”

Eddie paced. “Capitalism.”

“Fair point.” The Prowler sighed, rocking on the ends of his neon shoes. “Well, what d’ya want?”

Eddie thinks, and thinks. What could a conspiracy theorist— no, a journalist want? Could he ask for a man’s death? The head of Barlowe? The head of Chávez? Or could that only be achieved after this gamble? He looked at this boy, and Eddie pictured this teenager basking his hands in blood.

What would make him any different from the elites?

“… When you went to the warehouse, you guys.. Took evidence? Even a USB, right?”

He stared. “Yeah, we dug it up and we tried sending it to every news outlet we could find.. All of them rejected the information.”

“Why?” Eddie furrowed his brow. “Was the information incomplete? Did you send the evidence beneath a credible name as a source?”

“Credible name?”

“Yeah, if the information comes from a credible source, they might do something about it. Likewise, if the information is complete, they might take the risk, after all, the Chávez’s are old money, and they have a lot of influence in regard to politics. If they publish anything against them, without complete information, or if you’re just a bunch of trespassers regarded as criminals by the media,” Eddie held out a finger. “Someone will get shot.”

The boy swallowed.

“If not you, if not your partner, it’s the journalist. Always the journalist.”

And Eddie’s seen too much of his co-workers wound up as mere victims in a headline. ‘Journalist shot dead.’

And he didn’t want his name to be reduced to a John Doe in one of the many causes people are too afraid to fight for.

“… I’ll tell you all about the Chávez’s, if you give me the records you stole from the warehouse.”

The Prowler stood, seemingly caught up in his thoughts for a moment. “.. Okay, but I’m telling you, don’t make a large move without consulting me first.”

“I still want my head attached to my head, of course I’ll consult y’all first.” Eddie chuckled, his fingers pouring into his pockets. “Then, what do you want to know about the Chávez’s?”

Without missing a beat, he answered.

“You can give me all you got. Recent scandals, fuck ups.. Perhaps, you got anything from the collapse of the Aureum building three years ago?”

“The Aureum building,” Eddie echoed, reminiscing like a veteran released from war. “That was the messiest thing I’ve ever witnessed in the last ten years. The lawsuits, the bribes, and the social media mayhem—“

“The deaths.” Miles cringed, remembering his father. “Surely, that was the most fucked up thing.”

“Aside from the architecture? Sure.” Eddie pulled out a box of cigars from his pocket, wringing out a single stick. “Weak scaffolding, quick-dry cement.. Put two and two together, and everything collapsed as soon as the opening began.”

Miles wallowed, grimacing at the sight of the habit. “Could it have been planned?”

With a flick of his lighter, Eddie took one breath in and sighed. “Could? There’s no ‘could’, boy, it was planned.”

Planned? Planned by who?

Were the Chávez’s really masters at self-sabotage? Or were their enemies really just each other?

“You see, the Chávez’s specialize in human trafficking, slave trade, and child labor. The people they ship work tirelessly for other businesses without a fee— because we, you and I and the rest of us who had the freedom to earn education, refused to work under hellish circumstances and poor environments. Without us, precisely, without the poor, the rich are nothing.”

“Then the Aureum building?”

“The Aureum building was a cover-up for a bigger scandal.” Eddie tilted his head. “The people inside were likely witnesses, or people who knew about the human trafficking.. And when the building collapsed, they sued the construction companies involved, got the money, but damaged their reputation.. And I don’t see why they’d do all of that just to damage their reputation.”

Miles pondered and pondered.

“.. It was probably someone from inside the family who planned everything.”

“That’s what I think so too.” Eddie added, blowing off another puff of intoxicating smoke. “Someone who won’t suffer from the damaged reputation.. Yet someone who still manages to benefit from it all financially.”

“… Could it be.. Any one of the siblings?”

Eddie takes a step back, likely thinking about it. “.. Well, the other one’s in London, the other one’s too stupid, and the last’s a minor.”

“Minor?” Miles repeated. “How young are we talking?”

“.. Well, the last time I heard about the girl.. She was thirteen, and it’s been three years since then, so she’s probably fifteen to sixteen.”

It’s not as though a thirteen year old could possibly plan out such a meticulous plan… Well maybe, or maybe not, it’s not as though Miles was the only genius capable of great things.

“You know any of their names?”

“Names.” Eddie furrowed his brow. “The last girl’s protected by the law, since it’s illegal to paparazzi minors.. But the first two are Montrell and Anthony.”

Montrell. Mon. Three children. Two older brothers. One girl. Sixteen, sixteen years old just like you.

Miles swallowed.

It’s as though he could feel your hands blocking your vision, whispering sweet nothings into his ear.

He falters, alerting Eddie. “What’s wrong?”

“.. My head just hurts.” He mumbled, turning his head. “I think I kinda overworked myself. I still got a date.. Need to.. Rest.”

“Date?” Eddie blew. “That’s right. You’re quite famous, ain’t you?”

Miles rolled his eyes, able to freely express his distaste for the supposed compliment behind his mask. “I try not to be, don’t wanna make her think about it too much. The broad shoulders don’t help as much, though.”

“She know all ‘bout your..” With his cigarette squeezed between his ring, Eddie gestured at him. “Your little vigilante thing?”

Leaning his head against the brick wall, Miles crossed his arms and shrugged. “She better not. Don’t wanna make her daddy even madder.” He lowers his gaze a bit, his mask naturally zooming into the title of Eddie’s cigarette box. It was the same brand as your brother’s, likely a different flavor. Mint or something. Everyone around him smoked too much.

“She from the finer part of York or what?”

“The finest.” He recalls your brother’s luxury car. “.. But I think she’s tryna hide it.���

Eddie plucks the cigar out his teeth, a sort of accusatory yet mundane expression scribbled all over his scruffy face. Eventually, he laughs it off. “That’s all of what’s wrong with our society. The poor pretend to be rich and the rich pretend to be poor. They like romanticizing poverty but likely won’t be able to find comfort if they walked in our shoes for ‘bout a damn mile.”

“She ain’t nun like that.” Miles butted in. “She’s sweet, my girl. Cruel, sometimes, but that’s how ladies gotta be from time to time— seeing as how the world fucks them up every now and then.”

“.. That your first date?” Eddie asked.

“I guess. We’re kissing, but we got no label.”

Eddie scoffed an old man’s scoff. “Your generation’s got me fucked up. Y’all and your situationship bullshittery.”

“It ain’t like that.”

“It’s always like that.” Eddie narrowed his eyes. Miles similarly cringed, wondering how Eddie could be so bitter— having to remind himself seconds later that the man’s poor wife was dead. Dead as hell. As dead as his father. “If she can’t even be upfront about her wealth, she’s likely hiding something from you.”

“My man, I’m lucky she even looked my way. You know nun ‘bout her, don’t be like that.”

“And what if she’s from the oligarchy, huh?” Eddie exaggerated. “What if she’s a Fisk? A Barlowe? Hell, even worse, what if she’s a Chávez?”

Miles didn’t reply.

As the puff of smoke emanated through the damp air, suddenly, Miles pictured you holding a cigarette while grinning at him wickedly— and somehow, that tantalizing air.. Suited you like the slip of a glove.

“I’m just kidding w’ya, man.” Eddie laughed, flicking the cigarette away, crushing it with the sole of his wrinkled boot.

“Ain’t funny, Ed.” Miles grumbled. “People I loved died in Aureum.”

“But she’s still rich, though. You can never be too sure ‘bout the kind of secrets her family’s keeping. If push comes to shove, will you still be able to love her if you do find out that her family’s fucked up?”

“Stop it.” He angrily seethed. “Stop.”

Eddie watched with a certain stank in his eye.

“… Y’know, there’s a rumor that one of the Chávez kids are illegitimate.”

.. Miles left seconds after.

It’d not been his greatest day, and earnestly speaking, his gut’s been clamoring at him to listen, only for him to reject its pleas. He’d thought about listening— to whatever higher being was calling upon him to stray away from you.

His Mama told him to pray throughout his struggles. She’d not been a zealot, his mother. But she was no stranger to the novena, to pray and to call for help in such long days. He’d been subjected to it early on: the novenas, the masses, the lingering of frankincense in the air. Though she never truly coerced him to participate in the church, Miles simply titter-tottered throughout those dull Sunday evenings.

He didn’t want some higher being to stop him from becoming a horrible person; Miles wanted to be good on his own accord.

But you.. You made him question. Not you, but himself.

Though his dad always told him to question everything while he’s young, Miles couldn’t question you. How could ever question you?

An illegitimate child. Which one was it?

Your brothers, who had everything?

Or you, who had nothing?

And although Eddie left the alleyway unscathed, Miles felt that blood had stained his hands.

And you could still taste blood in your mouth.

You could still hear the crunch of that man’s neck echoing in your ears, his tiny pleads of self-preservation before the snap to his death. It rang and rang behind your eyes, between your ears, like a haunting melody you couldn’t help but repeat.

The memory of his fear merely energized your veins, but left you gawking in dauntness even as you worked your way through the hotel— showing Montrell the ropes and tending to the preparations for the upcoming charity event. The snap, the way it snapped— the way his neck snapped was a musical lyric that pulsed and pulsed in your mind.

Snap.

Snap.

ＳＮＡＰ.

The idea of fear intrigued you, cannibalism, however, not so much. The symbiote immensely argued with you, that it wasn’t your body in particular feasting on human flesh, but the symbiote itself. It needed to be fed, and it needed sustenance— but you didn’t know where else to find that sustenance.

“Miss?” Charlotte, the head housekeeper called out to you, snapping you back from the profanities of your mind.

Suddenly, you’re back staring at the new, tall, stained-glass windows— basking you in the glory of pale lights in shades of ethereal yellow and blue. It’s been under construction for quite a while now, but after your father had approved of the idea, you were willing to wait long enough to see its outcome. You’d only gotten the news just a few hours ago in regard to its completion, and now you’ve been staring at it for a while now.

“Yes?” You stifled airily, wallowing in a hundred emotions.

Charlotte bows her head for a moment, unveiling an approaching guest.

Before you could even process to question who it was, Montrell and his gentle eyes appeared before you. He seems to marvel at the windows before you as he takes another step up the stairs.

“Wow,” He huffed. “Is this.. Your design?”

You simply looked at the window with crossed arms and a smile. “I couldn’t forget about the windows when we went to Veronica’s wedding. I liked.. The colors and the drama it endowed.” You smiled, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. “.. This was my final project in the hotel.. I’ve done so much to rebrand everything, but we still can’t do much ‘bout what happened in the past.”

The lights dawned upon the both of you.

“Does it hold any special meaning?” He asks.

You shrugged. “It varies on the person, I guess. I think, those who don’t really know me will try to put meaning into all that I do, but those who really know me know that my art is plainly.. Meant for aesthetic.”

Montrell frowned. “How can you make art without passion?”

“.. You pick up a pen.” You carved a smile. “And you just draw.”

You draw, and you draw. Carved it in, like how a knife would pierce a sack of flesh. Murder the canvas with each stroke, and if they ask you ‘why?’, answer with ‘why not?’.

“I think.. Only Miles can place meaning in my art. After all, my passion resides in him.”

“Like a proxy.” Montrell darkly laughed, shaking his head. “.. I wonder how hard you’d break once you lose him.”

You turned your head to look at your brother’s charming face.

“Is that a threat?”

“A warning,” He remarked. “After all, how could he ever love you once he realizes that our family’s responsible for his father’s death?”

You turned your head back to the windows. “… I feel guilty, actually. I don’t really know how to approach Miles if he ever comes to realize my identity.”

“.. Don’t you feel lonely having to constantly push away the people you love?”

You shrugged. “I’m a pretty girl. Pretty girls are never lonely.”

“Sure.”

Montrell looked at you. To be precise, he eyed you, and he looked at the way you casted your eyes downward. From a mile away, one would believe you fostered insecurity and shame in the way you’d stare, but knowing you and the way you were, that downcast gaze of yours imbued disinterest and a heightened sense of.. Superiority.

No matter how hard you try to appear empathetic, you were always and inevitably still a Chávez. Even in the way you pursed your rouged lips, or spoke with eloquence, or held your head high.. You and your siblings, who were forged to become heartless from the beginning, were never bound to be kind.. Or good.

But could Miles do it?

Could he actually change you? Humanize you?

Make you kind and loving, and normal?

You tightened your grip over your arm. “I.. Was going to escape tonight, originally.. For our date. He wanted us to have a halloween date. It’s so dorky. He’s so dorky.” The way you fawned was genuine, though. He could see it so clearly. “But after daddy mentioned the USB, I didn’t know how to face him without feeling guilty.. I came to meet Miles with the intention of using him to get his dead dad’s stuff but I ended up.. Falling for him. I never knew I was capable of feeling like this.”

“.. When we’re too busy to survive, it feels frustrating to have to care for someone else. That’s why our family doesn’t feel like one.” Montrell whispered.

“We’re not a Greek tragedy.”

“Exactly, which would mean,” He turns to you. “You’re likely still savable, [N/n].”

You lightly winced. “.. I haven’t heard that nickname since I was twelve.”

Your brother chuckles at the reminder. “.. We called you that since you couldn’t pronounce your name when you were three.” Montrell heaved a long breath, as though he were a dreamer reminiscing the times. Ah, he truly is a sucker for what’s long gone, huh? “Antonne and I were so excited to have you. Your first word was my name, actually, Mon. I had to sneak up into your cradle every night just to make you practice say my name. Mama used to hold you in her arms whenever I got home from school, and she used to read out my cards with you in her other hands ‘cause you were one energetic kid.”

Oh, so like a normal family?

We were capable of having that this whole time?

…

“[Y/n]?”

You snapped yourself back to reality, Montrell’s voice leading you out of your internal monologue. “Did you hear my question?” He queried. “You kinda zoned out there.”

“Sorry, I was thinking ‘bout something. You were saying?”

“Once you get the USB.. Are you going to leave him?”

The question seemed far fetched from the previous topic, which caught you off-guard. You turn your head. “.. I don’t know. I’d rather make him hate me, and have him leave me first, because I don’t think I can ever bring it upon myself to leave him.”

Such a romantic.

“Do you think you can handle it?”

“.. It’s not a question of whether I can handle it, it’s a question of whether Miles can handle it.”

Montrell murmured. “.. What if he gets revenge?”

“Revenge?” You repeated, the idea sounding funnily dramatic. “Revenge on me? I didn’t throw that building over his father’s head.”

“Ah, yes, but there’s a thing called karma.” Montrell spoke as thought to remind you. “It’ll be out there to get you, or at least, that’s what I’ve heard.”

You couldn’t help but aimlessly ponder. “… Why do poor people believe in futile things such as karma?”

The way you worded it, and the way it exited your tongue seemed unusually natural. Montrell, who’s been too used to such words, only shrugged. “Cause there’s nothing else to save them. That’s why they have a god, [Y/n]. They can’t save themselves, and so that’s why they believe something otherworldly will.”

Before you could speak, Montrell looked out into the glass windows before turning to you.

“Speaking of which, I think you should use daffodils for the upcoming party.”

“.. Daffodils?” You repeated.

Your brother nods. “Yes. I find them to be quite lovely.”

Since when did he have an interest in flowers? You internally squirmed. “Where the hell am I going to get daffodils in autumn?” You groaned. “We can use other yellow flowers for the golden theme.”

“Well, you’re not in charge anymore.” Was his attempt of a tease. “Surely there are still daffodils here in this season. We’ll have to find the best greenhouse in town.”

“But why?”

“Because I said so.”

You sweetly casted a glance at him, smiling as a thought crowed at you.

A sharp pain shoots through Miles’ head. A pulsing, familiar pain— resembling a bullet, dove straight into his subconscious.

He stumbles back as darkness clouds his vision, a sort of slithering and slimy feeling coursing through his system like a snake seething beneath his skin. His heart was hammering against his chest. It was like that time during the warehouse, where he felt genuinely uneasy and unsettled. The eyes of that figure behind the window, watching him tremulously stare back.

In the cage of his mind, Miles finds himself inside a dark void— where the silence was loud enough to hear the sound of a pin drop.

Then there was this drumming.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The melody was unfamiliar, but the voice nostalgic. Miles crawled amidst the darkness, searching for the voice, only to look up and catch the sight of a pristine, delicately made shoe. It kicked against the front of a desk, making a rhythmic pattern. Thump. Thump. Thump. With each passing moment, his eyes continued to linger upward, from the shoe, to a leg, to a waist, to your pretty face.

You sat there, above the desk, with your pretty hair and your pretty eyes, puckering up your pretty lips along with the song. You were so idly calm, so leisure while singing so softly, he could hardly make out the words exiting your mouth. A dim, green light cascaded against the silhouette of your figure, further accentuating the pink of your lips and the darkening of your gaze.

You smiled, but your eyes held nothing. Like you never knew what kindness was, even in his presence. You never looked at him like that before— like you hated him enough that you wanted him to die.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The thumping was growing faster and faster with each second. Upon seeing his struggle, a stifled laugh laces the lyrics.

Miles tried to move, but his whole body writhed in pain— like he was beaten, defeated. His arms itched in burns and scars. With the sound of your hum, Miles looks up, only to see you cross your arms before your chest, the tip of your shoe gently grazing against the skin of his temple. He feels as though he was being watched, idly, by an audience that had no interest at all in intervening. Like everyone was amused to see him.. Kneeling before you.

Click. Click. Click. The cutter clicked in your palm as the blade rose higher.

It’s like your presence alone was enough to blind him, and his conscience kept crawling back to you no matter how hard it tries to stray.

Really, who are you, [Y/n]?

Why was it whenever you lingered in his dreams, you were the cruelest person to exist?

And why was it that Miles knew that he’d probably still adore you with your hands around his neck?

“.. Miles?”

From a gentle shuffle, Miles awoke to the sound of his mother’s voice.

Miles jolted up, his skin half drenched with cold sweat. Unfortunately enough, his awakening was nothing avian. On the contrary, his awakening felt like a somber chore. The material clung onto him like glue, making him utter a groan. For a while, he helplessly looked around like a child lost between rows of linoleum aisles, his mind hopping from question to question. 'What just happened? What was I dreaming of?'

Like some hungover drunkard, he gently peeled himself away from the sweat-stained sheets and begrudgingly sat upright. Rio’s gentle hand cradled his aching head.

“Rest, mijo, you’re exhausted.”

“Mama, I—“ He broke, running a damp hand over his head. For a moment, he flinches, checking to see if his hands were covered in blood. “What happened?”

His mother’s dark curls lightly brushed against his temple. Her eyes were just as exhausted as he was, with dark circles rimming the doeness of her gaze. “I got home to you taking a nap but you kept squirming. I was so worried. Que paso?”

He looked around, realizing he’d dropped himself unconscious atop the sofa.

“.. Nightmare.”

Night terrors, to put it precisely. It’s been haunting him since the death of his father three years ago. He thought they’d long vanished after meeting you, but after his suspicions arose, his anxiety came crawling back like a dreadful stench.

Rio handed him a glass of water, to which he gulped down to its very last drop— like he’s been thirsting for all his life.

“Mama,” He called out. “… What do I do?”

His loving mother creased her brow, shaking her head. “What is it, mijo? What’s wrong?”

He runs his hand over his face, wondering how to begin. At that moment, Miles recalls your sweetest smiles, your loudest laughs, and your warmest hugs.

You held his hand, dragged him out of that maze, and you vandalized the hotel together. You tore yourself away from the expectations of your family, and went to him.

You chose him.

But could he go so far to assume that you loved him?

Rio shifted comfortably, trying to appear more welcoming to whatever catastrophe Miles was about to unleash. “What’s wrong, Miles?”

Miles couldn’t even admit it to himself, though he’d long noticed, he preferred to remain ignorant ‘til the truth was spilled from your own lips.. But he didn’t know how much longer he could last. Blood runs thicker than water, but both feel the same when your eyes are closed— and that could mean many things.

“A lot, ma.” He buried his head into his hands. “And Ionno if I could deal with it all.”

“You don’t have to deal with everything, Miles.” Rio frowned. “You’re only fifteen. Eres demasiado joven. Con el tiempo todo se arregla.”

“Me duele la cabeza.”

“Ponte vaporub.” Rio stood to grab the small, blue ointment. As she unscrews its green cap, Miles was immediately hit with its loud, minty scent. Digging her fingers into the substance, Rio smears the vaporub all over Miles’ forehead. “Sana sana colita de rana, si no sana hoy, sanará mañana.”

He lightly moved away with a sigh. “I’m not a kid anymore, ma.”

“I’m your mother, you’ll always be my kid.” As the cooling sensation sunk into his skin, he felt his mother’s palm cup his cheek. “And since you’re my kid, I always get worried about you. I know we ain’t got nothing much, but we got each other, Miles. You’re a great kid bound to achieve great things.”

He wasn’t too sure about that. That whole great kid thing. You had your fingers entangled all over his puppet strings, and it made him hesitate.

But what if that was exactly your plan? To ruin him entirely for your benefit?

“.. Ma, what would you do if the person you liked lied to you about their identity?”

Rio sat in silence.

“.. Que?”

Ah, fuck. That’s a stupid question.

“Nothing.” Miles turned his head. “Sorry, that was a stupid question—“

“No, Miles. I didn’t mean to— I just, you like someone? A girl?”

Miles shifted uncomfortably. Rio softened. “A boy?”

“No, ma!” He exclaimed, embarrassed. “I-It’s a girl. I like a girl.. Por los clavos de Cristo.”

“Oh, I was preparing myself.” Rio placed a hand over her heart. “Don’t get me wrong, I’d accept you no matter what, I just didn’t have a long wonderful speech prepared for it.. But what’s wrong with the girl?”

“Well, ma, it’s just..”

“Did she cheat on you!?”

“No! We’re not even together yet, ma. We were gonna have our first date today, but.. But her family’s been treating her horribly, and her older brother picked her up while we were out buying costumes for our halloween date only for him to directly tell me that it ain’t happening.”

“And then?”

“She talked ‘bout her dad throwing a fit, and now she hasn’t replied the whole day.” He slipped his fingers through his hair. “I even woke up at six in the morning just to get my braids redone at Tasha’s… And they invited me to a party at their house on Sunday.”

“Sunday? Then— that’s great!” Rio exclaimed, placing her hands over her son’s shoulders. “That would mean they’re open to getting to know you. Well, I think you can borrow some of your dad’s old clothes for the party, you two look great in suits anyway.”

“W-Well, ma, that ain’t entirely the problem, she’s..” He swallowed. “Ma, I think she comes from a very rich family.”

“Okay, and?” Rio raised a brow. “Did she ever make you feel inferior for having superior wealth?”

“.. No? Well, she’s been trying to keep it on the down low this whole time, but.. Whenever I see her, she acts so.. Proper and polite when she don’t even notice it. And her brother’s British too, and I— Ionno how the hell that happened, but he sound like the type to spit out tap water if I ever brought him to a restaurant.”

“Well, you’re dating the girl, Miles, not her brother.” Rio sighed. He thinks of it for a moment, then shrugs. Only then he notices his mother’s wide smile, her shoulder nearly glued onto his.

“So.. Who’s the girl?”

Miles fiddled awkwardly, unsure how to answer. Rio seemed adamant for an answer, so, after a while of internally mustering up sentences, Miles replied. “Her name.. [Y/n].”

“Mhm.”

“She uh.. Sixteen. I-I met her three months ago.. And we started doing graffiti together since then.”

“Oh, so she’s an artist?”

Miles gaped. “S… Sum like that, yeah.”

Your art varied. Your colors were blander while his, more vibrant. But there was something about the way you drew, that was so meaningfully realistic that it captured entirely how your mind pondered in its darkest moments. An art style that captured entirely the darkest of what life could bring.

He remembers going through your sketchpads, how your dabbles consisted of dull realism. Maybe it was only dull because it was exactly what New York’s become— cold and calloused.

But in contrast, you were able to set his world on fire in a way he’s never seen. Only you could paint over the dullness with scarlet, in a way that had him choking from the smoke emanating from your fire.

But he couldn’t tell his mother the way you’ve worsened him.

His mother wouldn’t let him get too close to someone as bright and dangerous as you.

“Why haven’t you mentioned about her before? I could’ve helped!” Rio tossed her dark curls to the side. They’d always reminded him of the dark sea. “Es puertorriqueña? Puede hablar español?”

“No,” Miles thinks about it for a minute. “I-Ionno, actually. She never told me anythin’ bout it, but she can’t speak Spanish so I ain’t sure.”

Rio attempted, no she really did try to attempt— to hide her disappointment. Were her grandkids bound to forever be free of her culture? How saddening.

“Pero creo que ella está estudiando español.”

“Oh?”

“Sí.” Mile seemed to lightened up. “She’s so cute. She can’t even pronounce ‘roja’.”

“But she’s trying.” Rio could not be any happier. “She’s trying! Eso es bueno! Ella ya me gusta. Not everyone tries these days, you know.”

He wondered if his mother was faking her enthusiasm just to ease him. He’d expected her to be more.. Angry about it.

“.. I’m surprised you’re not upset, ma.”

“Upset?” Rio furrowed her brows. “Miles, how could I get upset? You’re experiencing what every other teenager experiences, that’s great!.. I know you’ve been trying to act like an adult to help us, and you’ve given up so much just to keep us afloat. I’ve been getting worried that you’ve been focusing too much with adult responsibilities that you’re forgetting that you’re just a kid. You’re allowed to go around and be a kid. You’re allowed to like a girl— so long as she’s not a bad influence.”

Miles pushes back the thought of you being a smoker.

“She’s not a bad influence. She’s.. Just going through a lot.. She makes me happy, ma.”

Rio looked at him proudly. Only then, she wondered if her dearest husband ever brooded like this too upon realizing his feelings for her. She wondered if Jeff ever pouted the way Miles did, and looked out into the world with such admiration in his eyes as though he were shaping the void into an image of her.

Jeff loved, and thus, Miles could love too.

“If she makes you happy, then I’m happy.” She beamed. “So long as she’s not a brat or an alcoholic, or a racist, or any of those bad people, I’ll accept her.”

The mother shared a loving glimpse of her son, making out an image of her late husband in the way he smiled. Suddenly, she pats her lap and stands up. “Bueno, I’m making adobo.”

“I can help—“

“No, sit down, you’re tired.” Rio held out a finger. “Take a rest, Miles.”

“But Ma—“

“Rest.”

And he did.

Well, he tried. It was a subtle attempt. A poor one, at that. He sat upright by the sofa, listening to his mother chop up the potatoes. He tries to discreetly look into your messages, only to find you’ve finally texted back.

her ♡ || two minutes ago.

sorry i haven’t texted!! 😭😭

remember the party this sunday? my dad is making me help with the preparations so i couldn’t go to our date

i’m really sorry 🥺 don’t get mad

if you want, we can do it tomorrow.

Miles pouted. He didn’t want to reply immediately. He didn’t want to look desperate.

So he waited for another five minutes.

.. Even though you made him wait for six hours.

He switches the television on in attempt to distract himself from your message.

‘Last night, a horrific murder happened within Brooklyn, as the body of a beheaded man was discovered outside of a local bodega. Witnesses claim that an alien disguised as a teenage girl had ripped off, and eaten the man’s head.’

“The hell?” Miles burrowed his brows upon being greeted with the news on television. “An alien?”

He watches as the screen switches over towards one of the witnesses, a scruffy man with reddened eyes— evidently too lost in whatever he was taking to speak too calmly.

“.. They’re prolly high as hell.”

‘I’m ain’t even [censored] with y’all— some [censored] ripped off Kyle’s head— it was a horrific looking piece of [censored] made out of black goo or whatever the [censored]. The government’s [censored] making alien [censored]!

‘So far, there have been no records of the scene, as the cameras had been blacked out.’

“What the f—“ Miles grew mindful of his language upon realizing his mother was in the other room. “How the hell did that even happen!? Blacked out my ass.”

It was more or less, likely a murder related to the elites. One of their kids must’ve been hanging out with those junkies and killed a man for fun.

A phone begins to ring. Miles turns his head.

“Miles, can you get that for me?” He heard his mother, who was too busy chopping up something, call out.

He turns off the television, hops out of the sofa and heads straight into his mother’s room. As he flicks the light open, a king-sized bed greets him with its gray, large glory. He used to jump on that bed too much when he was a kid. Now, it looked.. Desolate, and almost deserted. With how large the bed was, he couldn’t help but ponder how lonely his mother must’ve felt, sleeping in a bed less warmer than three years ago.

Miles passes by the closet, and after foraging for a bit, he manages to find his mother’s phone atop a drawer— swiftly grabbing the gadget before turning to leave.

As he turns, his foot accidentally nudges against a box.

He peers through it, before kicking it away.

Making his way back to the kitchen, he hands the ringing phone over to his mother before curtly returning to the room to close the lights.

But as his hands reached out towards the switch, his eyes were drawn back to the sight of the box.

It looked like it’d been cast aside beside the closet.

Hearing his mother speak over the phone lightheartedly, something about something. Miles trudges towards the orange, cardboard box, kneeling by the floor with a single knee down on the wood. His hand curiously glazes over the top, feeling a pile of dust collect over his fingers.

Hesitantly, he takes off the lid, finding a familiar white, collared shirt. He pulls it up to the ceiling light and watches as it unfolds into a larger sheet.

This belonged to his father’s.

He looks right back into the box, finding a pair of black, dress pants neatly folded into a square. Meekly, he tugs on it, hoping he wouldn’t uncover anything sinister like a severed hand or an eyeball. After pulling the whole thing out, a longer line of black unravels.

A strange array of emotions lingered inside him.

Nostalgia. Wrath. Happiness.

It smelled like dust, and it was forever devoid of its owner’s scent and warmth.

“Miles, do you want juice?”

“Huh? Y-yeah.” He stammered. “Grape juice would be nice.”

His mother’s comment slips past his ears. For a moment, he pondered about wearing this to the Sunday party, but he couldn’t help but think how it likely wouldn’t fit him. His father was a giant, and he was quite lanky.

Upon hearing his mother’s footsteps, Miles hurriedly and clumsily attempts to refold the clothes, only then hearing a soft clatter. He pivots his head to the side.

There was a USB.

“For the florals, I think daffodils would be great.”

Your hands skimmed across the air in attempt of drafting an idea. From afar, you manage to earn a wider view of the banquet hall. Workers left and right helped with tidying up the refectory, scrubbing up windows and mopping up the floors. “It would match the golden theme, don’t you think?” You asked of Charlotte, who nodded wobbly with her dire age.

As of that moment, you’d been preparing for the layout of the party. As much as you didn’t want to listen to Montrell’s suggestion, you figured getting on his bad side would be a bad move.

The fundraiser, originally hosted by your aunt, was planned out to gather enough money to support Senator Barlowe’s projects. Your family was to auction off high-priced materials such as clothes, jewelry, paintings, and even estates for the sake of meeting the goal. Which would also mean that the highest of the elite would be attending the party.

And you were less than thrilled to be its co-host.

Charlotte marvels at your suggestion, taking it with a smile but a pique. “However, daffodils can’t usually be placed with other flowers, so I’ll have to make a special request to the florist to do the preparations extensively.”

You raised a brow. “Why can’t they be placed together with other flowers?”

One of the maids carrying a porcelain vase walk past you, making you gently remind her to put it aside.

Charlotte parts her palms. “They secrete toxins into the water. So whenever it’s placed among other flowers, the rest die.”

“Oh,” You widened your gaze, processing this newly found information. “How did you know that?”

Charlotte blinked, trying to think back. “.. Well, daffodils were used for your mother and father’s wedding. It was a struggle, since the day of the wedding, half of the bouquet had already wilted.”

You stood back in surprise, crossing your arms before your chest. “Mama must’ve been furious.”

Charlotte shook her head. “Your father plucked flowers out from the gardens and made her a bouquet himself.”

Wait. What? WHAT?

Wow, who knew your daddy was quite the romantic?

I’m just as shocked as every other person.

“M-My father?” You dumbly repeated. “My father plucked out the flowers himself? Or was it Mr. Nigel?”

“Your father, himself, Miss.” Charlotte laughed, finding your shock to be quite amusing. “He’s quite great at it too— flower arrangement. Your grandmother taught him from an early age.”

“My father truly arranged the bouquet for him and mama’s wedding?” You couldn’t believe your ears. “He has that sort of talent?”

“Why, of course!” She beamed a warm beam. “Like you, he used to oversee the interior of the hotel. He has great taste when it comes to color, and you’ve inherited that side of him.”

You tried to think about it, your father— who was now an old man with a permanent sneer on his wrinkled lip— arranging flowers in his youth, picking out pastel and cream curtains for the parties, and overseeing the menu. It didn’t seem like something he’d do, at all. Then again, your mother used to describe him in a way that made it tragic.

A good man, never a good father. Torn between yearning to be held in arms that never welcomed him and finding his worth beyond the standard of his own father.

You tried to sympathize with him. Your father.

Though he was who he was, he cared about you, in a twisted, fucked-up way. Your engagement with Richard Fisk was privately decided after the hotel went near-bankrupt had it not been for the Fisks and their mystical talent for cover-ups— and your father simply took most of your managing rights away just so the family you’d marry into wouldn’t use you for their own greed.

The fate wasn’t entirely horrible either. You’d marry into new money, sure, but their wealth would most definitely preserve the comfortable life you’re living right now.

It was your own greed that was worsening you.

Your desire to have a tantamount of power.

But what if you never needed it?

“Miss!”

What if all you needed was a peaceful life? Marry into the Fisks, host parties, and care no more about anything?

“Miss [Y/n]!”

.. But what about Miles?

He hadn’t answered any of your texts yet.

“Miss [Y/n], a call.” One of your secretaries came crashing through the doors with his phone. How you hated that word. Call. A signal of what would definitely exhaust you. Where was Montrell? Why weren’t they calling out for him? Were you really the only one able to handle all the messes in here? Workers left and right stopped as he trudged up the stairs, nearly tossing the phone over to you. You slip it close to your ear, making your way down with each click of your heel.

Charlotte watches as you listen to the caller with such intent. Silently, you eyed your surroundings before heading out.

As you reached the patio, you looked out into the dimming violet evening that was fading out along with the scarlet of the sun. The caller rambles on, something along about the recent incident.

“I’ve bribed the higher-ups to rush the investigation and to arrest the witnesses. We’ll release the story that they had murdered their friend after taking drugs.”

“Good.” You plucked out your vape from your pockets. “Report to me immediately once you find all the records about their families and their identities.”

“Understood.” You hear the sound of Morrison’s computer typing. Likely writing up a list. “I’ve also halted the investigation of the fire. I’ve told your father the information was tracked from an accidental leak after a delivery of the samples to one of the families had the address exposed. Sir Anthony will have to take up the blame since it was his idea.”

You took a long huff. “Good job. You did well.”

The smoke lingers, and you close your eyes.

Sorry, Antonne. You’ll live, I guess.

“Morrison,” You called out to him. “.. How’s Miles?”

The typing comes to a halt. For a moment, the two of you shared a moment of silence. You picture him pushing his glasses up higher off the bridge of his nose.

“.. I’ve spent most of my attention on other things, so I haven’t been able to check up on him yet.”

“Ah, is that so?” You mumbled. “Never mind then, just continue on with halting the investigation. I’ll take care of the rest, and remember, if any of the witnesses start describing my face—“

Clack.

You turned your head.

What was that?

ＳＯＭＥＯＮＥ‘Ｓ　ＨＥＲＥ

No shit.

Beyond the gardens, the skies were beginning to dim. That familiar shade of magenta, it lingered like a ghost and it haunted you like your past. There was a click that set your mind off, and suddenly you couldn’t help but feel like the world was integrating itself into a technicolor, dotted comic.

Then and there, spying on you from the top of the six Corinthian columns of the garden, sat the young Prowler.

“Miss [Y/n]? You were saying?” Morrison pried from you.

You parted your phone from you ear, a side of your grin heightening into a catty smirk.

“… If any of them start describing my face, take care of it.”

Then and there, you ended the call with one light tap. You remained stubborn with your posture, seemingly amused and befuddled by it all while keeping your head high. The boy watched you curiously but stiffly, as if he were unsure of what to do. You were mutually frozen, but you couldn’t allow any sort of weakness to seep through the cracks of your confidence.

You took a step close, and he tenses. The sound of your heel clicking against the tiles sends an echo into the garden.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” You greeted of him with sincere politeness, placing a hand over your hip. Was it an attempt to appear idle or what? “… It’s quite an honor to have you here as a guest.”

“Who are you?” The boy growled, voice delved baritones deep. “Really.”

You tilted your head.

“Who would you like me to be?”

His gauntlet unfolds, and suddenly, he launches himself at you, grabbing you by the neck.

[A/n: I PASSED MY FUCKING ENTRANCE EXAM GUYS]

[gofancyninjaworld]

OPM Manga Update 212 Raw and Translation

Translation:

[whoopsyeahokay]

Housekeeping

October Sun

UPDATE (2024-06-20): i have forsaken this taglist, peeps. i can't be arsed to get it working. i have tried everything i can think of; i've done copious amounts of research and used every tip 'n' trick out there to no avail. so. this taglist is officially CLOSED. if you'd like to keep up-to-date with October Sun, please FOLLOW ME and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS.

sorry for the inconvenience everyone 😔

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.

UPDATE (2024-04-18): for some reason not all the tags are linking and therefore notifications aren't being sent out when i update. i'm still tinkering away at it, and i'm still adding those who request it, but for the next few uploads, i won't be using the taglist. it's driving me nuts ⚰️

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ORIGINAL POST:

hi-lo,

a couple of y'all delicious specimens asked to be tagged in updates of October Sun (Wally Clark x fem!reader) and i'm happy to oblige 👻 if you'd like to be tagged, pls interact with this post so i can add you!

also (two birds, one stone), i am open to taking requests for any Wally Clark content you might wanna see. my priority will be my own ideas, of course, but, if it's something you want, i'd love to try and bring some of your ideas to life too 🎃

OCTOBER SUN Tag List:

@chosenoneslver @yoluv-tiannaaa--212 @call-me-bunny @vi0lentb3rry @ilbradipodisagiato @miwagila @bbjel @calam-arii @lovekm @melcatherine24 @valskeeper @milo-manheim-luver @starstruck-cupid @frenchvanillabatty @timetravelingmedstudent-blog @remanisce @noonesgoneuntiltheyregone @sukihito @naok-iyuu @capailluiscedove @clearglittersparkle @cancelledkaley @jjmaysbaby @girlkissersco @bebbalandia @pixxiestixs @elauranicolee @madsrose @hakunama-fuckit @twsssmlmaa @urmomsspeciallady @kitthouse @jacks4lifer @deafstuff @musicownsme @onlyaero @moonbutt12345 @moonlit-luna @briwasnothere @emilysamirrorball @ddarling-ddearest-ddead @amberputh @lunacurlclaw @unfortunatekiwitrash @rideacowbcy @aurory--borealis @cthoodaf @jasf444 @hoonieyun @styles-lov3r @vacillier @notwillingtolive @penny-the-pilea @yikes-on-bikes-dotcom @champagne-cool @ellaynaa @purplerose291 @juhdoche @rxmtoon @cades-outsider @starryrevelations @sja0312 @nezzasstuff @peepnisruler69 @tahaing @randomgurl2326 @maggiecc @chosenoneslver @ihatemen55 @coelhana1 @allylovescody @succumbtobuckybarnes @therulerofanime @dhdhdhdhdhdjjs @alnitakstarsky03 @justareadernotawriter1 @bookedbymiri @thekebs @pommepiie @makennadement @kaceyh24 @1118b @peppermint-girl-blog @allurycenoelle @lindsayjoy444 @lomlbillieeilish @dopeloverpurseoperator @myfatherissquirrelboy @scarlett-witchhh @shaywinchester12@ellaumbrella1

[coquelicoq]

System Collapse, ch. 3, p. 39: "I saw I had four private messages waiting from Arada, Amena, Overse, and Pin-Lee. I can’t do that right now. Pretending I’m fine for Mensah was hard enough."

8, 165: "Then he sent me a note back: So, you may not know this, but I read your letter to Dr. Mensah, the one you sent when you left Port FreeCommerce. I think you’re absolutely the right person to write this. I can’t handle that right now so I’m just going to archive it for later."

10, 212: "As I led the humans into the hangar, the contact with AdaCol2 started to drop. I sent, End session, acknowledge. It sent back, End session. There was a pause, then: Be safe. I can’t deal with that right now."

emotions: install "people respect and care about me" updates now!

murderbot: remind me later, remind me later, remind me later--

[aces-and-angels]

disclaimer: i do not vet/verify campaigns myself. please do your due diligence and double-check credible sources to see if a campaign is legitimate. (+ let me know if anything i've shared is from a known scam account). everyone listed below has reached out to me in some way + been vetted by one or more of the following: @/nabulsi, @/el-shab-hussein, @/90-ghost, and/or @/ibtisams. follow them for the latest updates on vetted campaigns.

verifications are (and should be) done by qualified individuals. (read el-shab-hussein's post here). then check their 📌 for additional resources.

if you can, please consider donating to any of the gfm's listed 🖤

here are the stats as of 6/30:

key: 0-25% raised= red | 26-75% raised= orange | 76-100% raised= green (linked are the campaigns + verification sources + tumblr accounts of the families)

tahani + family: $15,245/$50,000 (amount needed for green: 38K)

acct: @tahanishorbaje2 verification source (no. 112)

laila + family: €22,106/€45,000 (amount needed for green: 34.2K)

acct: @lailashaqoura verification source (no. 152)

mohammed + family: €21,310/€37,000 (amount needed for green: 28.120K)

acct: @hamzamahmed84 verification source (no. 176)

sharif family: $8,448/$90,000 (amount needed for orange: 23.4K)

acct: @amnehsharif10 verification source (no. 140)

bilal + family: €47,048/€70,000 (amount needed for green: 53.2K)

acct: @bilal-salah0 verification source (no. 132)

mahmoud + family: €20,051/€23,000 (87%)

acct: @hillesmahmoud verification source (no. 170)

dr. tamer al-deeb + family: €16,817/€40,000 (amount needed for green 30.4K)

acct: @tameraldeeb verification source (no. 191)

dr. mohammed al-deeb + family: €16,659/€30,000 (amount needed for green: 22.8K)

acct: @mohammedaldeeb verification source (no. 212)

yazan + family: €3,478/€50,000 (amount needed for orange: 13K)

acct: @farahabusafia verification source (no. 180)

nada + family: €8,781/€16,000 (amount needed for green: 12.160K)

acct: @nadasaftawi verification source (no. 182)

ruba + family: €26,429/€100,000 (amount needed for green: 76K)

acct: @rubashabansblog verification source (no. 90)

abdelrahman + family: €6,348/€20,000 (amount needed for orange: 5.2K)

acct: @anqer verification source

alanqer family: €26,070/€38,000 (amount needed for green: 28.880K)

acct: @mohammedalanqer verification source (no. 174)

yousef's family: $6,911/$50,000 (amount needed for orange: 13K)

acct: @06679799 verification source

hani + family: $2,819/$50,000 (amount needed for orange: 13K)

acct: @haniibrahimsh verification source (no. 228)

ahmed + family: €9,644/€100,000 (amount needed for orange: 26K)

acct: @ahmed8311 verification source (no. 161)

amira + family: €11,2847/€20,000 (amount needed for green: 15.2K)

acct: @amira-alanqar verification source

samer + family: kr53,507/kr450,000 (amount needed for orange: 117K)

acct: @sameraburass* | @samerpal verification source (no. 196) *= account deactivated

nader + family: €6,379/€120,000 (amount needed for orange: 31.2K)

acct: @nadergaza verification source (no. 153)

iman + family: £6,607/£60,000 (amount needed for orange: 15.6K) <-check; fundraiser no longer active

acct: @imanblogs verification source (no. 150)

ahmed a. + family: €22,049/€35,000 (amount needed for green: 26.6K)

acct: @zinaeleenyamin* | @ahmednimer verification source *= account deactivated

nour + family: €4,256/€40,000 (amount needed for orange: 10.4K)

acct: @noor-alanqar verification source

khalil + family: €1,230/€30,000 (amount needed for orange: 7.8K)

acct: @khalil95 verification source (no. 187)

suheir's family: $38,091 AUD/$70,000 AUD (amount needed for green: 53.2K)

acct: @haneenatya34 verification source (no. 71)

walaa + family: $3,250 CAD/$40,000 CAD (amount needed for orange: 10.4K)

acct: @ahmed79ss | @burningnightgiver verification source

sahar + family: €16,907/€50,000 (amount needed for green: 38K)

acct: @danashehab verification source (name: fahed shehab)

siraj + family: $1,615 CAD/$82,000 CAD (amount needed for orange: 21.320K)

acct: @siraj-2024 verification source (no. 219)

amal + family: €697/€30,000 (amount needed for orange: 7.8K)

@amalashuor verification source (no. 175)

diya + family: $23,910 CAD/$90,000 CAD (amount needed for orange: 23.4K)

@familydeea verification source (no. 227)

ahmd iyd + family: £10,265/£150,000 (amount needed for orange: 39K)

verification source (no. 116) account seen in post was deleted

dr. nasser mohamed + family: £6,001/£50,000 (amount needed for orange: 13K)

verification source account seen in post was deleted

yahya + family: €3,765/€30,000 (amount needed for orange: 7.8K)

verification source account seen in post was deleted

omar + family: €10,683/€25,000 (amount needed for green: 19K) <-check; fundraiser no longer active

verification source (no. 127) account seen in post was deleted

safaa + family: €1,272/€50,000 (amount needed for orange: 13K)

acct: @safaabed*// @safasalah verification source *= account shadowbanned/supressed

alnabih family: €2,208/€30,000 (amount needed for orange: 7.8K)

acct: @ahmedalnabeeh11 verification source (no. 218)

alostaz family: €12,634/€70,000 (amount needed for orange 18.2K)

acct: @ahmed-alostaz* | @59382 verification source (no. 125) *= account shadowbanned/supressed

albalawi family: €6,599/€50,000 (amount needed for orange: 13K)

acct: @yasminalbalawi* | @albalawii | @fatmasalahfamily | @yasminsalahgaza verification source *= account shadowbanned/supressed

nesma + family: $65,847/$80,000 (82%)

acct: @nesmamomen verification source | verification source

maha + family: kr20,731 NOK/kr1,067,200 (amount needed for orange: 277.472K

acct: @mahaibrahim12 verification source

hamza + family: €1,683/€21,000 (amount needed for orange: 5.46K)

acct: @hamzaahmed21 verification source (no. 226)

abuhamda family: $9,391/$18,000 (amount needed for green= 13.68K)

acct: @ahmad-family verification source (no. 137)

---

below cut are links to other grassroot organizations that vet/verify gfms:

el-shab-hussein + nabulsi's google sheet

operation olive branch

about us: Operation Olive Branch is a volunteer-powered grassroots collective committed to the collective liberation of ALL peoples. We connect with and amplify families and mutuals and orgs in an effort to support their critical needs, which include but are not limited to their mutual aid requests. This global solidarity initiative is steered by a diverse core council of advocates from occupied Turtle Island which include Palestinian activists, the Jewish grandchild of a holocaust survivor, and everyone else in between.

gazafunds

about us: Gaza Funds is a project that connects people to crowdfunding campaigns for individuals and families from Gaza. We are a global team of (mostly) Arab and Palestinian engineers, students, writers, and academics working to help get exposure and traction to fundraisers created for people in Gaza, Palestine. We are not an organization or a charity. We do not create fundraisers and we do not collect money on behalf of them. Our work on this project is completely voluntary. We created this site as a way to give others quick access to these fundraisers for informational purposes only.

operation poppy flower (now also linked in oob's sheet)

mission statement: Our goal is to fulfill as many fundraising campaign goals as possible through crowdfunding. Please do not underestimate the power of crowdfunding: small amounts of money donated by large amounts of people. Collectively, we can all play a SIGNIFICANT role in securing the safety of our beloved brothers and sisters in Gaza.

operation watermelon

about me: Hello there! I'm the person behind Operation Watermelon. My family hails from Rameh and Nazareth, and like many Palestinians, we're spread out across the globe. Born and raised in the United States by my migrant parents, I've always felt a strong connection to my roots and a need to contribute to the cause back home. Combining my skills in 3D printing, design, and e-commerce seemed like the right way to make a difference. So, here we are. Operation Watermelon is my way of merging my passion with purpose, creating items that not only tell a story but also contribute to a cause close to my heart. It's about doing what we can, with what we have, wherever we are in the world. Thanks for being part of this journey.

project watermelon

instagram based account from google sheet: Project Watermelon has personally vetted each and every donation link on this sheet. We are the creators of the spreadsheet and are the ones who maintain it. We can only provide technical support for GFM and we do not set up GFM pages.

strawberry seeds collective

from google sheet: Each fundraiser listed has been vetted by one of our volunteers and/or another reliable source. 100% of the donations made to these fundraisers go to the family or human(s) that need them. All funds are intended to provide food, medicine, shelter, and/or evacuation funding. Each fundraiser represents hope, life, and peace for the humans they aim to support - so please take a look around, and thank you for making the world a little kinder. ♡

ottawa4palestine

from google sheet: Although our team at Ottawa4Palestine has carefully vetted every link on this sheet, we acknowledge that we are fallible and may occasionally overlook errors. If you notice any discrepancies, please don't hesitate to contact us. Ultimately you are responsible for your financial decisions and the recipients of your donations. While we have assessed and communicated with each family listed here, we cannot be held liable for your choice to contribute to the GoFundMe campaigns below.

camps breakerz crew

mission statement: Camps Breakerz was founded in 2004, with CB Crew supporting the children and youth living in Gaza. Camp Breakerz offers therapeutic dance as a trauma informed practice, teaching children the art of creative expression through movement. In light of the recent and ongoing aggression, CB Crew have decided to mount a community crowdfunding initiative to further serve our people during this time of crisis.

gofund(water)me(lons) | linktree

run by yahya aka thelastturtle on instagram.

flowersfromfalasteen | linktree

instagram-based account; bedaar organization; platform to share stories of people from palestine/help them build their fundraiser campaigns

[hometoursandotherstuff]

I had high hopes for this 1900 charmer in historic Old Louisville, KY, but the updates slightly miss the mark. 5bds, 3ba, and not bad at $475K.

Loved the entrance hall fireplace. I assume that the armoire was placed there for coats and will not convey. That's ok, I'd rather have an antique coat tree.

This is nice- it was 1900 and the railings reflect a more modern look.

The sitting room was modernized- large new window and artsy black & white new fireplace.

Can't tell if the pocket doors are still there. The moldings are original, but I think that if the colors and furniture were different, it would look better. The inlaid floor looks great.

The kitchen footprint is essentially the same, but they skimped on the cabinetry and used metal shelves instead. They also installed a new glass door to the garden.

They placed a large banquette in this side room. Don't know if they'll leave it, but I wouldn't care if they didn't.

Updated bath painted red. I've seen the pattern on the curtain on HGTV a lot, but as wallpaper.

Stairs have been refinished.

The primary bedroom is spacious, has a fireplace and is basically original, but it's open to another bedroom.

Like that it has a fireplace.

I think that this is supposed to be a sitting room area for the primary bedroom. There's an en-suite right there.

Remodeled bath.

Home office has an original fireplace.

Going up to the 3rd level.

They've got beds up here, but it would be a nice family room. Love the keyhole hearth.

There's another bath up here.

I'm guessing that the only way to get into the basement is from the outside.

Plenty of storage space, though. I think that with some color and decor, this could be a beautiful home for the price.

Not much of a yard on the 3,049 sq. ft. lot, but I'm thinking there's potential for a rooftop deck.

https://www.realtor.com/realestateandhomes-detail/212-W-Burnett-Ave_Louisville_KY_40208_M41342-45919

[sleepanonymous]

This is a reminder to everyone in North America who is unable to get tickets for the pre-sale and general sale of Sleep Token’s Teeth of God tour. DO NOT buy resale tickets through third-party vendors like StubHub, Seat Geek, Vivid Seats, etc. Tickets for the Teeth of God tour are mobile-only and non-transferable. This means the seller will not be able to transfer the tickets you purchased from them. The only reliable way to purchase tickets to this tour is through Ticketmaster or your local venue’s ticketing system. Please protect yourself and do not get scammed. If you do not have tickets and need tickets, check out the list I’ve created below the cut. Once pre-sales/general sales are over, I’ll update this post with more links. For more context, check my post here.

Saturday, April 27 – Las Vegas, Nevada Sick New World Music Festival Purchase Tickets through Sick New World’s Website. Third-party sites and sellers can transfer mobile tickets.

Tuesday, April 30 – Phoenix, Arizona Arizona Financial Theatre 400 W Washington St, Phoenix, AZ 85003 (602) 379-2800 Purchase tickets resale through Ticketmaster.

Wednesday, May 1 – Albuquerque, New Mexico Revel Entertainment Center 4720 Alexander Blvd NE, Albuquerque, NM 87107 (505) 321-0406 Purchase tickets resale through Prekindle.

Friday, May 3 – Austin, Texas H-E-B Center 2100 Ave of the Stars, Cedar Park, TX 78613 (512) 600-5000 Purchase Tickets resale through Ticketmaster.

Saturday, May 4 – Dallas, Texas Toyota Music Factory 316 W Las Colinas Blvd., Irving, TX 75039 (469) 840-9730 Purchase Tickets through Ticketmaster.

Monday, May 6 – Tampa, Florida Yuengling Center 12499 USF Bull Run Drive, Tampa, FL 33617 (813) 974-3111 Purchase Tickets through Ticketmaster.

Tuesday, May 7 – Atlanta, Georgia Coca-Cola Roxy 800 Battery Ave SE #500, Atlanta, GA 30339 (470) 351-3866 Purchase Tickets through Ticketmaster.

Wednesday, May 8 – Asheville, North Carolina ExploreAshville.com Arena 87 Haywood St, Asheville, NC 28801 (828) 259-5736 Purchase Tickets through Ticketmaster.

Friday, May 10 – St. Louis, Missouri The Factory 17105 N Outer 40 Rd, Chesterfield, MO 63005 (314) 423-8500 Purchase Tickets through Ticketmaster.

Sunday, May 12 – Morrison, Colorado Red Rocks Amphitheatre 18300 W Alameda Pkwy, Morrison, CO 80465 (720) 865-2494 Purchase Tickets through AXS. Third-party sites and sellers can transfer mobile tickets.

Tuesday May 14 – Des Moines, Iowa Vibrant Music Hall 2938 Grand Prairie Pkwy, Waukee, IA 50263 (515) 895-4980 Purchase Tickets through Ticketmaster.

Wednesday, May 15 & Thursday, May 16 – Chicago, Illinois Salt Shed 1357 N Elston Ave, Chicago, IL 60642 (708) 967-2168 Purchase Tickets through Ticketmaster. Third-party sites and sellers can transfer mobile tickets.

Saturday, May 18 – Columbus, Ohio Sonic Temple Art & Music Festival Purchase Tickets through Sonic Temple’s Website. Third-party sites and sellers can transfer mobile tickets.

Sunday, May 19 – Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania Petersen Events Center 3719 Terrace St, Pittsburgh, PA 15261 (412) 648-3054 Purchase Tickets through AXS.

Monday, May 20 – Philadelphia, Pennsylvania The Met 858 N Broad St, Philadelphia, PA 19130 (800) 653-8000 Purchase Tickets through Ticketmaster.

Wednesday, May 22 – New York, New York Radio City Music Hall 1260 6th Ave, New York, NY 10020 (212) 465-6000 Purchase Tickets through Ticketmaster. Third-party sites and sellers can transfer mobile tickets.

Friday, May 24 – Boston, Massachusetts MGM Music Hall 2 Lansdowne St, Boston, MA 02215 (617) 488-7540 Purchase Tickets through Ticketmaster.

Saturday, May 25 – Laval, Quebec Place Bell 1950 Rue Claude-Gagné, Laval, QC H7N 0E4, Canada (514) 492-1775 Purchase Tickets through Ticketmaster.

Monday, May 27 & Tuesday May 28– Toronto, Ontario Massey Hall 178 Victoria St, Toronto, ON M5B 1T7, Canada (416) 872-4255 Purchase Tickets through Massey Hall.

[snowflurried]

More Australian Petitions for Palestine

Only sign if you are an Australian citizen/resident, will update if there are any more that appear. Focus on the higher ones as these are more likely to have something done about them. You have to confirm with a link sent to your email.

Available Until March 6th:

EN5899 - UNRWA funding needs to be reinstated (currently has 27 signatures as of 10/02)

EN5890 - Support an immediate ceasefire in Gaza and Recognise Palestine (currently has 17 signatures as of 10/02)

Available Until February 15th:

EN5847 - Provide Consular Support to Palestinian Australian Families (currently has 4762 signatures as of 10/02)

EN5783 - Investigate Australian citizens in the IDF for alleged war crimes (currently has 897 signatures as of 10/02)

EN5771 - Prevent Australian citizens from serving in the Israel Defense Forces (currently has 747 signatures as of 10/02)

EN5832 - Call for parliamentary investigation into DFAT's Gaza Consular Support Handling (currently has 212 signatures as of 10/02)

EN5756 - Publicly condemn the killing of children in Gaza (currently has 76 signatures as of 10/02)

EN5793 - Grant Palestinians fleeing conflict in Gaza access to humanitarian support (currently has 55 signatures as of 10/02)

All of these can be signed up until February 15th.