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spectraspecs-writes · 7 months ago

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Manaan - Chapter 130

Link to the masterpost. Chapter 129. Chapter 131.

@averruncusho @ceruleanrainblues @chubbsmomma @darthvendar-blog @80strashbag thank you for reading, you get a tag. @skelelexiunderlord thank you for support, you get a tag.

A/N - yes, I changed the impact of the sonic emitter on the firaxan sharks, but that's because I wanted to make my life easier later. Cope lmao

——–

“You can’t be serious,” Carth says, "You want to go out there with the sharks?”

“I mean, I’d love to not have to,” I say, “but you’re right, this almost definitely has something to do with the machinery, and that’s on the other side of the base. That’s only accessible through the flooded portion of the base. And there’s still two people alive over there, one of them has to know something. We can get environmental suits from storage.” I put out my datapad and consult the map. “And that’s… that way.” I point. “First door on the right.” I lead the way.

The door hangs open, trying to auto-close but the mechanism is impeded somehow. We squeeze through the narrow gap, and find the thing stopping it. One of the base scientists had his hand in the wall panel interrupting the signal and tripping a safety mechanism, and was killed there by one of the deactivated droids, based on the blast scarring. His other hand is wrapped around a round device. Must be important if he held onto it even while dying. The room is dark, but from around a corner I can see a bright flickering light. Something’s still on, then. I should have thought to get my flashlight from the ship. I activate my lightsaber instead, so I at least have something.

The flickering light is the display for a research station. It’s still displaying just fine, the brightness just keeps changing. And there’s a research log still active. Let’s see… Nothing about the current situation with the Selkath, but I see designs and mockups of the round device clutched in the dead man’s hand. A sonic emitter. “This device emits a powerful sonic pulse useful for scaring off or stunning various wildlife,” the notes read, “It normally has an extremely limited range, but in an underwater environment the signal would travel quite a distance. It has proven a useful repellent to several species of firaxan sharks.” Sounds like it could come in handy out on the ocean floor. I go back to the dead scientist and gently pry the device from his fingers.

I consult my map again. There’s a series of pod-like rooms between here and the envirosuit storage. Four rooms, one with a little hallway room thing jutting off the side and entirely avoidable. And I smell fish. (God, that’s racist, I feel bad for even thinking it, but it… the Selkath have a distinct odor, there’s just no getting around it.) “There are still Selkath in the base, close by.” I pull out my second lightsaber. Carth readies his blaster. Juhani pulls her lightsaber from her belt. We move forward to the next door.

Selkath.

They don’t notice us at first. Three of them, all wandering aimlessly not interacting with each other. Not talking. I won’t strike first. Maybe they’ve recovered? One sees us and screams, and the other two look at us and rush us. Nope, not recovered! One fires a sonic blaster, the other two are unarmed. Striking with their claws. I duck just barely in time and strike with my saber. Meeting flesh. Through the torso, clean. Dead as the saber breaks through. Which feels terrible, he couldn’t even defend himself. I deactivate that lightsaber and the Selkath slumps onto the floor. The other clawed Selkath raises his arm to strike against me, and I slash again with the other lightsaber, cutting off the arm at the shoulder. Carth blasts him before he can strike again, and the force of the blaster bolt knocks him back. Juhani deflects a sonic bolt perfectly, and the third Selkath hits the ground.

I can’t recall fighting an unarmed opponent like this. Maybe with my swords, but this is different. A sword can’t do that kind of damage with such little effort. A sword can break. A sword can be defended against even by an unarmed opponent. Not a lightsaber. I feel sick. And the fish smell isn’t getting any better. I have to figure this out. No one deserves to die like this. “New goal,” I say, trying to catch my breath and at the same time not breathe in the smell, “Get to envirosuit storage without killing anyone else.” I can practically feel it as Carth and Juhani exchange a wary glance. I know, that’s usually out of our control. But there are ways to avoid it. I pull the sonic emitter back out. The report says it scares off wildlife. Maybe it’ll chase away Selkath.

I lay my hand on the next door. Only one Selkath. Makes it a good test. I open the door and immediately activate the sonic emitter. The Selkath stiffens, and when the emitter turns silent, he collapses. But I can still feel him through the Force. Still alive. “Wow,” Carth says, “That little thing packs quite a punch.”

“As long as that punch is non-lethal,” I say, turning it over in my hand. I open the door to the next room and hold out the emitter before I can even get a good look into the room. I hear two Selkath slump to the floor. None others. Double-check my map - just one more room. Envirosuit storage is through the next door. I open it. There are four Selkath, all huddled and clawing at a storage locker. I activate the emitter again, and they all faint.

Carth and Juhani move past me into the storage room, both going to an envirosuit. Juhani lifts one, pushing her fingers through a massive tear. “This one is not usable,” she says, in awe of the massive tear. Understatement of the year.

“This one’s the same,” Carth says, grabbing another one, “And this one - it’s like they’ve destroyed all the suits.”

I look at the lockers. All in a line, from left to right, the lockers have been broken open, their contents torn apart and spilled onto the floor. All in a line, until you get to the one they were gathered around. After that point, the lockers are untouched. I open the largest locker. “This one’s intact,” I say. I kick the other lockers open - no suits in any of them. “Means there’s only one suit,” I say, “You guys will have to stay behind.” Carth opens his mouth to object. “There’s only the one sonic emitter anyway, it’ll probably work different underwater. You guys are safer here anyway.”

I hear a demented little laugh. Not from Carth. Definitely not from Juhani. Echoing in the locker all the Selkath were gathered around. I gently Force push them to the side and try to open the locker. It won’t budge. “Is somebody out there?” the locker says, “Fishy, fishy, fishy? Coming to eat me, too?” The demented cackle rings out again. “You can't get me, little fishy. Not in here. I'm safe behind my walls.”

“Are you… okay in there?” I say to the locker.

“Oh, yes, yes,” he cackles, “I've got a winning hand right here in this room! These walls and door are six centimeters - no… twelve centimeters! - of durasteel! I'm invulnerable behind my walls! Nobody's getting in here! No fishy, fishy for me!” He cackles again. Then his voice gets low. “When the Selkath went insane and started killing everybody, I locked myself in here! I'm safe in here. Nothing can hurt me in here! No fishy food for me!”

“What made the Selkath insane?” I ask.

“Don't know. Go ask them!” Cackles again. “When the demon screamed it shook every mind in the station. We fell to the ground, but survived. Fishy, fishies, though, they just got hungry!”

Demon? What does that mean? Whatever. “I have this sonic emitter - you can come out and we’ll protect you from the Selkath.”

“No, no, no, no, no,” he whimpers, “That's what the others said. Mercenaries like you. But they're dead. The Selkath ate them! Lunchie-munchie!” Cackles again. “Only the ones left in the south part of the base might still be alive, where the kolto is. Few fishies there! But many, many fishy in between in the water!”

“We’re two Jedi and a Republic soldier. I’d say we can do a fair sight better than mercenaries,” I say.

Cackles again. “Jedi? You're just like the others - fodder for the Selkath. Walking fish snacks. Chomp, chomp, chomp - if you can run you might be fast food!”

Carth lays a hand on my shoulder before I can say anything else. “You’re not going to get through to him,” he says, “The Republic will help him once we restore safe access to the base. We need to move on.”

“Bye-bye!” the locker agrees, “Go look for fishy people. They'll chomp and bite and chomp and bite. Food for fishy - that's you.”

The isolation and trauma have clearly gotten to him, and I’d rather not leave him like this. But Carth is right. We need to move on. We move through the next two rooms, Carth carrying the good envirosuit while I take the lead with the sonic emitter.

At the airlock door, Carth helps me put on the environmental suit and affixes the sonic emitter to my hand so all I have to do is clench my gloved hand to activate it. “Juhani and I will stay here,” he says, “We can defend this area well enough.” I can’t be heard through the helmet, so I just nod my now-massive head. He secures all the seals. Then says, so only I can hear, “Come back to me, okay?” I nod again, because that’s the only way I can communicate, but I wish I could touch his hand more tenderly than the suit would allow.

He twists open the airlock door. I step in, and look back to him as long as I can as he closes the door behind me. The room begins to fill with water.

#star wars #knights of the old republic #star wars knights of the old republic #kotor #fiction #autistic artist #specs writes stuff #rena visz #oc #fem!revan #ls!revan #kotor fic #carth onasi #juhani #manaan #death mention tw #death tw #chapter 130

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magical-awesome-kid · 2 years ago

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Ok whoever needs to hear this, hear it: Stop gatekeeping cannon.

Seriously, stop.

This is FANDOM! We do shit to our funky blorbos because we love to see them in weird situations! We imprint upon them and want to see ourselves in them! Is it sometimes Out of Character? YES! That's why we tag it!

But if you want to gatekeep something like the Marvel Universe or Detective Comics, let me just say: Everything is Probably Cannon.

Why am I ranting? Because someone just told me to read a batman comic. Holy Guacamole, Batman! You want to discuss cannon? Fine.

Yes, there are Batmans who are absolute pieces of shit. Who abuse their Robins. Who say things that no sane person ever would. There are also Batmen who adore their children, would do anything for them even if they've fucked up before. Hell, there are also Batmans who are COMPLETELY emotionally competent!

Bruce Wayne? Thomas Wayne? Dick Grayson? Terry McGinnis? ALL BATMAN!

In fact, you know that strong moral code, the "no killing" rule that we all cite? HAHA you FOOL for the ORIGINAL cannon was that Batman was a bloody, violent character! Willing to kill! Yes, that was back in the 30s/40s. Still comic cannon. Even at other times, during different stories, we have seen Bruce dip back into those rages. Batman is violent and cunning and emotionless and great with kids and a genius and learning and always prepared and constantly adapting.

Batman is a lot of things.

And that's just the comics. Batman has also been in dozens of TV shows, movies, radio specials, and more. Cannon varies so drastically based on just where and how you were introduced to the character.

I have had no less than a half a dozen commenters tell me to "read the comic." Bitch, I watched the 1960s Adam West Batman and Robin as a kid. It was a special thing shared with my dad. Commissioner Gordon calling on the special Bat Line, the ridiculous costumes, and Bat Shark Repellent.

I gravitated towards cannons where there was a little goofy, a little funny, and, above all else, Bruce was a good mentor and peer to others in the superhero community. Where his Robins were his kids, whom he loved and adored, even if he sometimes fucked up.

And this is just for Batman. Over and over again, I've seen people nitpick about cannon. I've had people come to my blog, my fan accounts, my shit, and get mad because it's not fitting cannon, even as I tag what I'm writing. Even if there is just one cannon, I'm not the writer, editor, or producer of the cannon. I'm never going to write exactly what the makers wanted to be made. I'm a fan.

So for every comic gatekeeper screaming "BUT THAT'S NOT CANNON! READ A COMIC!" Get out. I don't fucking care what you think of as cannon. If you don't like how I play with my little, unreal blorbos, go over to the other corner with your toys and sulk.

#I'm a LIL mad #Cannon #What the fuck even is cannon #Batman #Especially Batman recently #DC Comics #Detective Comics #Marvel #Marvel Comics #Rant #Also this does not apply to real people #Leave real people alone #I am talking about fictitious characters

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lamuradex · 1 year ago

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Short Story: Repellent

Here is my Halloween Short Story offering. I hope its creepy enough for you.

Trick or Treat, everyone!

Short Story: Repellent

Wordcount: 7871 (Kind of a long one)

George was not having a good week. Between debts and his absentee dad dying, he wasn't really sure what to do with himself. But then he learned he'd inherited a house. A perfect getaway.

Colony Manor, in the middle of the woods.

Repellent

George drove up the road, veering up the narrow path through the woods. It had been… a rough couple of weeks. Various debts, a few loan sharks, and an angry ex-girlfriend had all decided to pile in on his life all at once, all asking for money or a pound of flesh. And, just when it couldn’t get much worse, his dad had died.

Now, George wasn’t exactly close to the old man. An old beekeeper, he’d always been more fond of the bugs than his own son. Mum had been the affectionate one, and that one-sided marriage hadn’t lasted into George’s teen years. Even so, his death had been a bit of a shock.

It had also been a bit of an out for George’s troubles.

George had been contacted by his dad’s attorney, or the executor of his estate, or something. All he remembered was the man was called Mr Harold Ives and he had some interesting news. While Dad was dead, he’d apparently owned an old house in the country, in turn inherited from some other long lost relative. And now it belonged to George.

Mr Ives had been very helpful, and even helped arrange the moving company to move him out there. And what better way to escape his debtors. The house, named Colony Manor, was miles outside the city, more than half an hour’s drive. It was perfect, at least until things had calmed down.

George looked up the road, but still couldn’t believe his eyes. Colony Manor had to be at least five floors, built out of old dark wood, and with windows and balconies all over the building. There was a wall surrounding the grounds, which was about two stories by itself, and the grounds had to be at least an entire acre wide. It wasn’t just a manor, it was a mansion!

George pulled up, got out of his car, and craned his neck to look up at the house. His new house, his mind delightedly reminded him. He produced a key from his pocket, a big brass one, and opened the gates. He’d have to park his car inside later, because right now he had to have a look around. He approached the front door, and produced a small door key from the same ring as the brass one. He turned it, but the door was already unlocked. He pushed it open.

“Hello?” he beckoned.

“Ah, Mr Honeydew,” a voice greeted back.

“Um… It’s just George,” he replied, spying the man coming down the stairs.

He was a tall man with a sallow complexion, grey hair, and a grey suit. It was one of those suits with a different coloured material up the back, which always reminded George of a beetle’s shell.

“Mr Ives?” George guessed.

“Correct. And you are George Honeydew. My condolences concerning your father,” he said sweetly.

“Yeah. Thanks,” George dismissed. “So, is everything in place after the move?”

“It is, but I must say, you didn’t have much to move.”

“Well…” George agreed. He’d have likely been able to fit everything from his old flat in the back of a car. “I do see this place is fully furnished though?”

“Oh yes, all under your name,” Ives smiled. “Now, I see you’ve got the keys. I had the movers gas up the generator, seeing as we’re a bit far for electrical cables out here. I also had them stock the furnace, it’s one of those old coal ones, you understand. I believe the previous tenants mostly relied on the various fireplaces, but I leave that up to you.”

“And, do you know why my father never mentioned this place?” George asked.

“I’ll admit it was a bit of an oversight with the paperwork,” Ives said unhappily. “He only inherited it a few years before he died, and something must have gotten lost in the shuffle. I’m not sure he ever knew he owned it.”

“Huh…” George looked up at the impressive house, reevaluating a lot of things. “So, what about entertainment?”

“What?” Ives was already heading for the door. “Oh, right,” he realised. “There isn’t any internet, but I’ve organised someone to come within the week. In the meantime, there is a TV which gets good signal, a fully stocked library if you’re a bookworm, and a couple of games rooms including some pool tables. It’s all yours to discover.”

“It really is…” George kept staring at the furnishings. “And if I really get bored, I can always go on a nature walk.” He gestured vaguely to the woods outside.

Ives turned a sharp smile on him. “Oh, I wouldn’t. Mosquitoes are terrible this time of year, and that’s not even talking about the bears. But there’s plenty of room for guests here, so that’s always an option. Now, I must be off. But please, if you have any questions, don’t be afraid to call. You have my number.” As Ives reached the door, he pulled a large cigar from a pocket and lit it. Even from the first puff it stank, but George tried to restrain his disgust. He waved Mr Ives off, and then settled into his new, wonderful house.

And Ives had been right. There were two games rooms, a TV room, three fully furnished bathrooms, six bedrooms, two with on-suites, a library as large as some ordinary houses, a portrait gallery, and a fully stocked kitchen. The furnace and generator were in an old janitorial room on the ground floor, and while there was a basement, the door was warped and nothing George could do could budge it. He put that on the list of things to ask Ives about next time they spoke.

For the rest of the day, George spent his time exploring the house, cooking some food, and then spent the evening in front of the TV. As he went to bed, he picked one of the upper floor bedrooms, enjoying the view over the woods below. The moon was out, the trees were lit with the cold light, and everything was silent.

Then he stopped. A shape caught his eye. Dark and indistinct, but poking out of the trees. A person, maybe? At the tree line nearest his garden wall? All the way out here? George rubbed his eyes, and the shape was gone.

He suddenly remembered he never brought his car in. He’d also forgotten to lock the gates, not used to remembering those yet. He stared a while longer, but there wasn’t any more movement. Finally, as his eyes grew tired, he gave up and went to bed, keeping a fireplace poker nearby just in case.

* * *

The next morning came, and fortunately nothing seemed out of place. George checked his car, and it was untouched, so he brought it inside the gates. He took a walk around the grounds, finding a few greenhouses and an ornamental garden, but no signs of anything disturbed. There was a long forgotten compost bin, which stank to high heaven and was swarmed with flies, but it was nothing he couldn’t deal with in the future… or more likely hire someone else to deal with once his money troubles were over.

Maybe he could rent out rooms in the house? The thought was unappealing, but he had some friends back home who might want a place to stay. Or at least some friends. Not many who weren’t involved in his money troubles… and trying to sell a place in the middle of nowhere with no internet would be a hard sell. It did have a phone, and a phone line, but he wasn’t entirely sure how it was hooked up. Maybe it was a satellite phone or something?

George finished his search and headed back inside. He wandered back upstairs to look out his window, staring down at the trees below. Below, and behind, and in front, and to the sides. There were trees in every direction besides the main road, which was still quite overshadowed. He looked down to where he thought he’d seen movement during the night, but there was nothing. Some ways into the woods however, he thought he could just see a plume of smoke…

DING DONG!

George struggled not to yelp, holding his hand to his chest to keep his heart in his ribs. It was just the door. Hurrying down as quickly as he could, he found Mr Ives waiting. Already inside.

“Sorry for letting myself in,” he greeted, “I’ve still got a key, and thought it better than waiting out in that cold. I also thought that if you had guests, then you wouldn’t really notice another body around.” He smiled up at George.

“No, just me,” George decided to breeze past the intrusion. “I don’t really have anyone to invite here.”

“Really?” Ives sounded genuinely surprised.

“Nope. I’ll have to keep this old house warm all by myself, for the time being.”

“That’s a pity. Old houses like this are built to be swarming with people,” he said sadly. “Oh well.”

“And, why are you here, Mr Ives?” George asked.

Ives took a second to recall. “Oh? Oh! Yes. I was just coming to check and make sure everything is going well. It’s a little out of the way, but I just had to check in. Company policy.”

“I see.”

“So, is everything alright?”

“Well…” George thought a moment. “A couple of things. First, that compost pile out back is disgusting.”

“I had noticed that,” Ives recognised. “I can give you a number for a very good gardener.”

George considered his finances. “Leave the number with me, I’ll get round to it.”

Ives pulled out a notepad and scribbled it down. “Anything else?”

“I can’t get the basement door open.”

“Oh, that.” Ives waved a hand. “It used to be for the heating and everything before it was moved upstairs. Nothing’s down there anymore.”

“Alright…” George accepted. “One last thing then. Are there people living around here?”

“What do you mean?”

“In the woods? Squatters, or homeless people, or anything like that?”

Ives quirked an eyebrow. “I suppose it’s possible. I haven’t seen anyone myself, but I can’t rule it out. Still, they’re likely harmless. And if not, the police are a phone call away. Besides, you can always lock your front gates, and I believe I saw a shotgun upstairs in the third bedroom.”

“That’s… comforting,” George lied.

“If that’s all, then I shall be off. I have a busy day ahead.” Ives headed for the door, pulling out another cigar. George followed him outside.

“Wait, where’s your car?” George realised. There was no sign of one.

“I left it down the road,” Ives said passively, puffing clouds from his cigar. “I didn’t know if your gates were open, and I don’t like parking in front of them. I don’t like to be in the way.”

George peered down the road, and could just about see a vehicle. A shiny little thing coloured a lot like Ives’ suit.

“Alright then. I’ll call you if there’s any problems,” George bid.

“Please do, and consider the idea of getting some guests up here. Places like this can get awful lonely.”

Ives left and George headed back inside. He returned to his window, and could just see Ives heading to his car. The plume of smoke was gone, if it had ever been there, and the woods looked as quiet as ever, besides the light haze of bugs flying over the treetops.

The rest of the day rolled past, with George spending it mostly by his TV, and a short amount in the library. Every so often he’d stop at a window and look out, checking for movement. There’d be the occasional shifting form between the trees, but from this distance they could just as easily have been branches moving. As evening marched in, and while he was getting snacks for his next TV show, he heard a buzzing not unlike an engine. He stopped by the window again.

Something was off. Amber light spilled over the land in front of him, but that wasn’t unusual. The trees looked normal, the road looked normal. It was his garden that looked off. A nagging difference. He’d only had it a short time, but he was already beginning to memorise it.

One of the greenhouse doors was open.

George had checked each of them when he checked the garden, only finding sweet smelling flowers with automated sprinkler systems which had somehow survived all this time. He suspected Ives had done it. But checking each one, he’d locked them afterwards. And now the door was swinging on its hinges. Again, part of him suspected Ives, checking up on the plants. But… what was that?

In the amber light, he couldn’t be sure… Was that something moving around inside?

He hurried from the window, headed for the third bedroom, got the wrong one the first two times, found the shotgun, and hurried downstairs. He stopped at a window on the way down and…

…The greenhouse was empty. The evening light had faded, and in moonlight he could see through the glass. It was certainly empty.

He replayed the moment, but began to question what he had really seen. Maybe it was just the sprinkler system. The shadow hadn’t looked human. It had been more… wriggly than that. Maybe it was just the pipes.

With one last wary glance at the night, he gave up on his shows and headed to bed, the shotgun at his side the whole night.

* * *

The next day began quietly. He rose with the sun, and went down to have breakfast. But thoughts nagged at him. The house felt quieter than usual, which should be impossible. The heating was low, the furnace not great, and Ives had left only a small amount of coal. He’d have to go into town sooner or later, but preferably later. First, he had to settle his most nagging thought.

Grabbing his shotgun, he headed out into the garden. There was the greenhouse, its door swinging on its hinges. The padlock lay broken on the ground, and the glass of the door was cracked.

“Shit…” George muttered.

This wasn’t an accident. Someone had broken in. The flowers were destroyed, dirt everywhere. No boot prints or other markings, but who knew why they’d broken in. He couldn’t be sure there weren’t poppies or something in there. He half recalled poppies were involved in making heroin.

Clutching his gun, he moved back inside and found the phone.

“Hello, 911. How may we direct your call?”

“Police please.”

“Please hold.”

…

“Hello, this is Officer Hooper. How can I help you?”

“I think someone broke into my property last night. Could you send someone over to investigate?”

“Alright, sir. Can I have your address?”

“I live out at Colony Manor. It’s out in the woods, by-”

“Hold on, sir. Did you say Colony Manor? I’m not even sure that’s in our jurisdiction.”

“Well, this is where my phone dialled out to.”

“Hmmm…” the officer considered. “Hold on a moment, sir.” The policeman set down the phone, but didn’t put it on hold. George could still hear him as he called over a colleague.

“What’s the problem, Hooper?”

“Some rich knob up at Colony Manner. That’s like an hour outside the city.”

“Just go look, Hooper. Take someone with you.”

“Right, boss.”

The officer picked up the phone again. “We’re on our way, sir.” Then he hung up.

George sat and waited. Fifteen minutes later, he couldn’t just wait. The house was old and creaky, but every creak sounded like someone could be upstairs. It was a big enough house. There could be someone here and he might not even know it.

With that terrifying idea in his head, he grabbed the shotgun and started to search.

Room after room, he checked thoroughly, moving as quietly as he could to not alert the intruders. Room after room, he checked to see if anything had moved. But he honestly couldn’t recall where everything had been before. By the end, only the TV room and the kitchen could be confirmed as untouched.

After 45 minutes, fear had given way to irritation. The police were taking their time, and the search was fruitless. He’d started at the top and worked his way down, but found nothing. Now he was back by the phone in the entrance hall, right beside the stuck basement door. As a matter of curiosity, he gave the door a pull. It wouldn’t budge.

There was something though. He couldn’t see through the gaps, but a little air was getting through. Musty, stale, and grim air. Air with a hint of… something sweet? Sickly, saccharine air. Like the flowers outside, or maybe the smell of rot.

With a wince, he picked up the phone again.

“Hello? Mr Ives? It’s George.”

“Ah, Mr Honeydew. What can I do for you?” the bright voice of Ives answered.

“There’s a funny smell coming from the basement, and I still can’t get down there. You wouldn’t happen to know how to fix that.”

“How to fix it…” Ives thought aloud. “Well, it’s a little awkward if I’m honest.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, what you’re smelling is likely… mould.”

“Excuse me?”

“There was a slight mould problem, or so I’m told. It’s partially why everything was moved upstairs. Have your guests been complaining?”

“Still no guests, and no. I think I’m going to have to get someone to look into this,” George sighed. Part of him wanted to complain, but another reminded him he’d technically gotten this house for free. As he considered his options, there was a knock at the door. “Thanks anyway, Mr Ives.”

“Anytime, George. Anytime.”

George hung up and let the police in. They didn’t seem best pleased, but they heard him out. They investigated the greenhouse and agreed it had been broken into. But, aside from that, they couldn’t find any evidence. With George confirming there was no one else in the house, and with a quick sweep of the garden, they left, not even giving a customary “Call us if you see anything else.”

George spent the rest of the day in his usual routines, and occasionally checking the windows. Tomorrow he would head into town. He was running low on food anyway.

* * *

A buzzing noise woke him up. Like a car engine, or more like a bike. It was nighttime, with him having fallen asleep watching a TV show. The TV had automatically turned off so the house was quiet… No. Almost quiet.

George went to the window and stared out into the dark. Clouds dappled the moon, but there was still some light. Amongst the shadows, shapes moved. Something along the road.

There were figures running towards the house.

George panicked. His heart was gripped with ice as the distant figures grew closer and closer. He couldn’t be sure, but it looked like they were armed, swinging their arms wildly.

He ran to his shotgun and carried it downstairs. He stopped near the front door. He could hear yelling, like a charging battle cry. They were just outside the garden.

George remembered he hadn’t locked the gate again.

Retreating from the door, he readied his shotgun. The first figure hit the door, smashing a shoulder against the wood. He had locked it, luckily. But the figure kept bashing, screaming, roaring. This man, judging by the voice, was coming in sooner or later.

George had an idea. If he was getting attacked, he’d take the advantage.

Sneaking up to the door, he unlocked it with his key. He waited for the man to ram the door again, nearly buckling the wood, and readied his hand on the handle.

The man charged again and George opened the door.

The man stumbled through, toppled onto his front, and rolled across the floor. He rose like something rabid, frantic, his eyes wide and crazed.

“Whatthehell!” he snarled, advancing on George. “Whatareyoudoinginhereyoulittle-”

BANG!

George hadn’t meant to, but his finger had shaken on the trigger. The man had stepped a little too close and the finger flexed. Suddenly there was a hole in the man’s chest where some shirt buttons had previously been.

George looked outside, but there was no one else. There had just been one man. Seeing what he’d done, he called the police.

* * *

It took the police two hours to arrive. Two hours with a corpse in his lobby. He’d taken a cursory look, as much as he could handle with the gore, and guessed he was some kind of wild survivalist. Less a homeless lunatic, more likely a man out of his mind on some drugs.

When the police arrived, they assessed the scene, heard George’s story, and even traced down the road to where the man had first been spotted. Even so, they did not seem happy. Middle of the night, a man killed, and getting the call from the same owner of the really posh house. Simply put, they took against him. Even so, his story was sound. They could see the damage to the door, the tracks outside, and the timeline fit with when they got the call. With that, they took the body and headed back to the station.

A coroner who was with them did stop before they left.

“One more thing, sir,” he asked, clearly doing his best Columbo. “There were certain injuries on the body that your story didn’t cover.”

“What do you mean?” George asked.

“Bite marks. Some insect bites, but some bigger ones too. You wouldn’t happen to have dogs or anything, would you, sir?”

“No. I don’t have any pets,” George answered.

“I see, sir. We’ll be in touch if we have more questions.”

George watched them leave, and a thought surfaced in his unpleasantly stressed mind.

What if that man had been running from something else when he shot him?

George awoke late the next day, sleep deprived and stressed. There was blood on his carpet where the man had died, as if he needed some reminder it wasn’t a dream. It was enough of a reminder that he didn’t want to stay in the house today. With a tired step, he headed out, going to get in the car and-

Where was his car?

He stared at the empty space where his car should be. There were grooves in the soil where the tires had been, but no car. Had the police impounded it last night? No, he recalled seeing it as the police left. But now it was gone.

He went to the phone, called the police again, but could tell from their tone that they weren’t sending anyone. Not quickly anyway. His car had been stolen, and they would keep an eye out for it. That meant it was gone.

George walked back to the gates, weighing up if he could walk into the city. It seemed a flat no was the answer. Maybe he could call a cab? No. The fare would be insane. Maybe he could call Ives? No. He had already asked the man for enough.

He would just have to get by… somehow. Maybe he’d call Ives tomorrow instead.

As he turned to head back into the house, he eyed the tire marks again. Then he paused. Tire marks, but no tire tracks. Just stationary marks. If the car was gone, then somehow, it hadn’t been driven away. It had just… flown off.

George didn’t know what to make of it.

* * *

It was only an hour before George broke and called Mr Ives again. Not because of the want for a lift however. Over the course of the hour, he’d repeatedly heard that same buzzing noise again, like a motor or an engine. Each time he ran to a window, expecting to see his stolen car driving down the road, but each time there was nothing.

It was as he was headed to the phone that he heard it again. It was coming from below. From the basement.

“Hello, Mr Ives?”

“Ah, George, good to hear from you. How have you been?”

“Not great. But what I wanted to ask about was the basement again. I can hear strange noises down there. It’s like a motorised buzzing, like an engine or something?”

“Oh, that,” Ives fielded casually. “That’s just the remnant of the old heating system. Not all of it could be removed, so it does occasionally make a bit of noise. Sorry if it’s bothering you and your friends.”

“Still alone up here, Ives. Well, mostly. There was some kind of survivalist at my door last night.”

“How dreadful. Are you alright?”

“I am, at least,” George said grimly. “I don’t want to talk about it though. I did want to ask, could you come and give me a lift into town. My car appears to have gone missing.”

“That’s… odd. But unfortunately, I can’t. I’m swamped with paperwork, and will be for the next few days. Sorry, George. You’re on your own.”

And he hung up.

George spent the next hour fielding what he’d heard. He heard the pipes buzzing, and it began to ache in his brain. He stationed himself on an upper floor, but it hardly stopped the noise. He found himself staring out the windows to ignore it, and failing. As he stared however, he stared where he thought he’d seen the smoke the other day.

If the man he killed was a survivalist, then that must have been there camp.

He thought it time to check on the neighbours, if it would get him out of the house.

* * *

It was twenty minutes’ walk to get there, and then another ten to navigate through the trees in the guessed direction. He’d seen a plume of smoke, he was sure of it, and so the camp would have to be approximately there.

And, as he rounded a large oak, he did find the camp… mostly.

It wasn’t quite the scene he’d expected. A survivalist camp, he’d been expecting a few tin pots, some bags, and a couple of tents maybe. But there was a caravan, four tents, benches, and a rather professional looking campfire, one with a proper rock border. There was also a fence surrounding the area, and a sign with a rental lot number on it.

“A campsite?” George muttered to himself. He’d been camping once or twice with the scouts as a boy. He hadn’t enjoyed it. This was clearly a commercial one.

His first thought was, he’d shot an innocent man. This was swiftly countered by the memory of the man manically trying to barge down the door.

Second thought, where was everyone else? Abandoned equipment, too much for one man, and the caravan left behind. And why hadn’t Ives mentioned it? Surely he had to know.

George decided he needed answers, but since he was alone, they would have to come from him. He inspected the area, drawing on every detective instinct he had from watching crime dramas.

To start, he inspected the car. It was covered in leaves, bird crap, and another six inches of leaves around the tires. It hadn’t moved in a few days. It also hadn’t left and come back. The leaves in front of it weren’t embedded in the tire tracks, just sitting neatly on top.

Seeing the tire tracks, he looked for how it had gotten in. There was a narrow, but passable road between the trees. And footprints. It hadn’t rained, and the earth was hard and cold. There were three sets of tracks, all heading off towards the road. They almost bounced off the side of the car, as if they’d tried to get in but given up.

A dark pit of dread settled in George’s gut. They’d tried to run. From what?

Thinking back, he thought he’d seen two others that night, running with the dead man. But when only one arrived at his door, he thought he’d imagined it.

Trailing back, he followed the tracks. They led out to the road, where they were lost to the tarmac, but that wasn’t a surprise. Instead he followed them back. They bounced off the car, and then converged, the trio having been scattered across the camp when… whatever happened actually happened.

He followed one trail. Two actually, as apparently a pair had been hanging out by a bench. The third had been by the fire. There was an abandoned bucket beside it.

“Last thing he did was put out the fire,” George assessed. The trail then led back to a chair, now tipped over. Sitting by the fire, someone got up and put it out… then started running for their lives?

It still didn’t make sense. George looked about, trying to put the pieces together, inspecting the ground. He stopped and stared.

There was a fourth set of tracks, and perhaps a fifth? The fifth, so called because it didn’t match the others, led into the clearing, towards the fire, and then just… stopped. The shoe-prints were thin and fancy. There was also a glass jar beside the end of the path, something sticky visible around its open rim. George could smell the sweetness of it without bending down.

Unable to make that fit any mental picture, he turned his attention to the fourth. He grouped this one with the others, wearing hiking boots and trailing back to a chair. But this one didn’t run to the car. It ran to the caravan, and didn’t look like it left again.

“Hello? Anyone in there?” George called loudly. The blinds were down, and he realised he’d been pretty quiet since he arrived. Someone could just be inside. “Hello?” he walked up and knocked on the door.

Something inside buzzed.

“Is anyone in there?”

No response. Just more of that buzzing and a strange clicking.

Taking his chances, he reached out and opened the door. The lights were off, but he could just spy a switch beside the door. He poked his head in, doing his best to look neighbourly, and with one hand switched on the light.

There was something in the caravan. There was a lot of something in the caravan.

There were bugs. Beetles, at a guess. Little, shiny, green and bronze beetles, each the size of a mouse, with pincer jaws and spiny little legs. And there were hundreds of them.

George backed away, trying not to make too much noise. His skin itched looking at the swarming mass. He’d seen a nature documentary once which featured a section on army ants in the jungle, where when they slept, they all bunched up into a living wall under some log. The documentary had called it a bivouac. A swarming, scuttling, writhing mass of ants, as much a fortress as a swarm, that come morning would swarm out across the forest floor and kill and dismantle everything in its path.

And anything that wanted to live would be smart to get out of its way.

George backed out of the caravan, keeping his eyes on the dormant swarm. As he stepped down, the caravan rocked, just slightly. The bivouac pulsed, buzzing angrily.

As it shifted, something moved. An arm poked out. A skeletal arm. The remains were buried somewhere inside the writhing mass. George leapt from the caravan and ran.

Like someone had poked… well, an ant’s nest, he began to spy the little beetles everywhere. Little green and bronze shapes, scuttling in the dirt and under leaves. Most were the size of mice, though some were as large as rats. Many of them opened their shells, revealed wings, and flitted about. A couple dozen were swarming over the broken jar.

George hurried back to the road, swinging his shotgun, ready to fire if any of the little things came after him.

As he left the treeline, he finally began to relax. Not by much though. He’d never heard of another species swarming and grouping together like that, and those beetles were huge. The words of the coroner flashed through his mind, asking if he had dogs.

“Bite marks,” he muttered. He shook his head. Sure, the bugs were big, but not that big.

The skeletal hand flashed through his mind.

He shuddered, hurrying up the road. Meat eating beetles. The police had to already know though, right? They investigated the man’s death… unless they just went back to the city.

Against his will, he imagined getting swarmed by those things. Tiny biting mouths, no escape, the little things pouring into a caravan…

He walked faster, to the point he almost fell down a cliff. The road up to Colony Manor was winding, with a few sheer ledges off the side, and he’d almost walked straight off one. He stopped, regained his balance, and set off…

Something red glowed at the bottom of the cliff. Between some rocks was a little red light. A break light.

It was George’s car.

George stared a moment in disbelief. Looking about, he found a way down, half clambering down the cliff. He could see from above there was no hope of retrieving it, not without a crane, but he’d left a few possessions in there, including his wallet. He mantled down the rocks and stopped at his car door.

The windows were broken, the axles shattered, and one wheel was missing. A write off. Still, he reached in through a broken window, managed to open the glovebox, and pulled out his wallet, a few other documents, and then reached in to retrieve his keys from…

They weren’t in the ignition. Of course they weren’t. They were still in his home.

Then how had it gotten here?

The detective part of him sparked to life again. No keys, the electronics looked fine so it wasn’t hotwired, and no screwdriver or anything in the ignition. The thieves could have pushed it down the hill, but the parking break was still on.

George paused. The parking break was on. How did they move it at all?

Unless something big picked it up and carried it, he joked to himself.

Strangely, he didn’t find that particularly funny. The idea itched in his brain. The car had come down the cliff, sure, but then… It was sideways. It wasn’t a long cliff either. If you’d have rolled it off, even at an angle, it would have gone straight or wound up on its roof.

As he thought, thinking down dead-end after dead-end, he breathed to calm down. A sweet smell met his nose. The same as the jar at the camp and… the smell from his basement.

Feeling distinctly ill at ease, George clambered up the cliff, and scurried back to his house.

* * *

The house was cold when he got back. Lights were off, the evening was coming in, and a chill lay over the house. But it could wait. George weighed his options. Call the police and have them ignore him again? Call Mr Ives and… have him do something. Just run and try and get back to the city by himself?

None of the options appealed. The image of the hand in the caravan rattled in his head, and even now he questioned if that was what he’d really seen. It could have been anything. Maybe an odd fork, or some equipment or… or…

It could have been a human hand.

George pressed his face into his hands, panicked and not sure what to do. He blew out a long breath, only to watch it crystallise on the air in front of him. God damn, it was cold!

Rubbing his hands together, he hurried to inspect the boiler. It was downstairs at the back of the house, just above and behind the basement. As Ives had described, there was an old furnace and a generator, the generator fuelled by petrol. The furnace was fuelled by coal and had gone dark.

George approached a coal scuttle and reached in with a provided trowel, heaping a few scoops into the maw of the furnace. He inspected the workings and found a few buttons which should, in theory, ignite it. He pushed buttons, pulled a lever, and then began inspecting the pipework. Finally, with one last crank, the furnace sputtered to life and began to emanate warmth.

…and then it groaned, croaked, and died, going dark again.

George looked closer. There were pipes which carried warm air throughout the house. There was one that was clearly a chimney. Then there was a last one which seemed to feed in oxygen, the pipe clearly leading somewhere outside. George tracked it into the floor, where it disappeared below, into the basement.

George fumed. He was stressed, and cold, and increasingly angry. Why had he come here? Why had he come to live at this blasted house?

Blasted…

The idea formed, and George left the room, heading back into the hall. He retrieved the shotgun, and throwing caution to the wind, aimed it squarely at the hinges to the basement door.

Two blasts followed, then he was out of ammo. But the door was in splinters and the rest could be pulled loose with ease.

The saccharine scent of mould washed into the lobby. Sickeningly so, it stuck in the nostrils and caught in the throat. Nausea rose in George’s gut, but he held it back. Finding a torch, he headed down the stairs into the basement.

George shone the torch. There were no electric lights down here, just little candle holders on the wall. The stairs were stone, as were the walls. The stairs descended a whole floor, then turned and opened into an enclosed, pitch-black room, which had a single pipe running along its ceiling, the furniture and equipment having been removed long ago.

George inspected the pipe. Something was dripping from it. A viscous, amber liquid. He would have guessed honey, bees having built their nest in the pipe, but a drop on his fingers smelt foul. He wiped it frantically on his trousers as his fingers began to sting.

He turned the torch around, trying to work out what to do about the pipe. It sat meshed into the clean stone ceiling, so it would be difficult to remove or…

Clean stone. The words lingered in George’s mind. Ives had said there was mould.

He turned the flashlight, looking for any signs. Black speckled marks, green growths, mushrooms. There was nothing. There was just the pipe, one long forgotten cupboard and…

Something in the middle of the floor. He’d initially taken it for a rug, but it wasn’t. As his torch settled on it, he saw it was actually a hole.

As he approached, he could tell it was the source of the smell. It was so sweet to be almost rancid, burning at his eyes like an onion. He shone down his torch. He then flinched backwards, yelping in terror.

It was an insect. A massive one. Six legs, green and bronze, and almost four feet long, it sat down in the pit. Still. Impossibly still. George dared to walk closer, and could see a split running up the thing’s back. A moult? Something that size?

George shook his head. He didn’t want to believe it. He didn’t believe it.

But he dared look again. There was more. Underneath it were clusters of lumps, like little groups of pimples. The word “clutches” crept inevitably to mind. Eggs.

The mental image of the eggs hatching put George’s stomach in his throat. The way the carapace above was cracked and broken, it reminded him of a lobster on a plate. A meal for the little ones?

Morbid curiosity was all that held him, when finally his eyes caught something else. One side of the pit was hollow. A cave, or a tunnel, which led out. Out under the mansion. Out into the woods.

George had a terrible idea he knew which direction that tunnel was headed. Finally, his stomach and mind won out, and he ran upstairs to be sick in the sink.

He had to get out of here.

He went to the phone and dialled Mr Ives. No answer. It was a landline, he was likely away somewhere, and it was late in the day. Still, George decided to give it one last go. He fished out some paperwork from a bag and found his father’s attorney’s number.

“Hello?” a tired voice greeted. “Please be quick, I was just headed home.”

“Sorry to bother you, Mr…” George read the name from the papers. “Mrs Quentin. My name’s George Honeydew?”

“Oh? Oh! You’re Barry’s son,” Mrs Quentin recognised. “How can I help you?”

“Yeah, it’s this house he gave me. I think I need to sell it. Like, immediately. I don’t know if legally I have to live here for an amount of time first, but-”

“I’m sorry, what are you talking about?” Mrs Quentin asked. “What’s this about a house?”

George felt his gut twist. “The house my dad left me. Colony Manor?”

He could hear Mrs Quentin tapping her fingernails. “Mr Honeydew, your father didn’t leave you any property. I should know, I helped execute his will and complete a full assessment of his assets. As I recall, he gave you and your mother very little.”

George’s gut twisted more. “I was told he didn’t know he had it. A man named Harold Ives said he’d inherited it, but that he had likely forgotten. Inherited it from some distant relative?” he clarified. It sounded absurd coming out of his mouth.

There was a pregnant pause. “Mr Honeydew, how much do you know about your father’s background?” she asked carefully.

“Um…” George searched his memory. “Not too much, honestly. He left my mother when I was eleven.”

“Right,” Mrs Quentin understood. “Well, I’ve never heard of this ‘Harold Ives’, but I can assure you that there wasn’t a spare property under your father’s name, inherited from a distant relative. He didn’t have any family save from you. He was an orphan, raised in the foster system.”

The twisting in George’s gut reached up to his heart.

“I don’t know who you spoke to, Mr Honeydew, but you really should-”

The line went dead.

George stared at the phone. He tried to hit the buttons for a dial tone, but got nothing. There was a sound, buzzing like an engine, maybe a car pulling up. His heart went cold and his courage failed him. He ran upstairs to retrieve a fire poker or anything else for a weapon. He made it to his bedroom and closed the door, picking up the poker, and stopping at his bed.

The buzzing was everywhere. Outside, above, below. It even felt like it was coming from inside his own head. It enshrouded him. He went to the window to look, and could tell there was a direction to the sound. It was coming from behind the house. Out in the woods.

A dark part of his brain guessed it was the direction of the tunnel.

He looked out, and despite it being night-time, it was like there was a heat haze over the trees. A shifting, changing, glinting mass. Glinting not like diamonds, but more like plastic or laminate. And the buzzing only grew louder.

With a slam, something smashed against the window. George fell back and looked up. He tried not to scream.

It was a giant beetle. Easily the size of his car, it scuttled heavily over the pane, its barbed feet scratching at the glass. Its shell was green, but its mandibles and underside were a dark bronze. And the mandibles were enormous and jagged, with a dozen tiny grasping limbs at the centre in place of teeth. The creature couldn’t turn its head, but an eye like a black marble swivelled in its socket. Its shell opened, and like a plane taking off, it buzzed away into the night… or more appropriately into the swarm. The gathering heat haze.

The dozens of other monstrous bugs which were now flying towards the house.

Survival instincts took over, and George sprinted from the room. Just in time, as he heard glass smash behind him. He sprinted downstairs, heading for the door. He’d run. He had to get out. He had to make it back to the city.

He sprinted for the front door, only for it to swing open as he approached.

Mr Ives was standing there. George stopped.

“You know, it is a shame you didn’t invite anyone up here,” Ives smiled, smoking a stinking cigar. “A feast was expected, but I guess a snack will have to do,” he grinned. From behind his back, he produced a jar filled with a viscous amber liquid. “My sincerest apologies, Mr Honeydew,” he said insincerely, still smiling, before throwing the jar into the lobby.

The jar shattered, the sweet stink filling the room. The bugs followed. They ignored Ives in his smoke cloud, and a half dozen surged into the lobby. One ate the jar whole, glass and all, while the others spied fresh meat and began scuttling towards George.

George sprinted back, running to the only room ahead, the kitchen. As he passed the basement door, he heard buzzing coming from below, mandibles coming up the stairs. He threw himself into the kitchen, and in a panic threw everything he could in front of the doors. The table, the chairs, the fridge.

Chitinous shells pounded at the door, buckling the wood, but not breaking it. There were windows, but the bugs didn’t seem concerned by them. Not the big ones anyway. He couldn’t see out for the smaller beetles, clouding over the windows.

As he looked about, the lights went out as the power failed. He heard the bugs scuttling through the house looking for food, wood creaking, legs breaking banisters.

And George bundled into a corner, not sure what to do, as the insects battered against the door.

* * *

Three days passed, and George was starving. He’d run out of food on day one, but the swarm showed no signs of abating. Little ones swarmed his windows, morning, noon, and night. The bigger ones would batter at his door if he ever made a noise above a whisper.

But he had a plan.

The last thing the camper had done was douse the fire. Ives always smoked those sickening cigars. Smoke. Smoke drove them away. He just needed smoke.

All he had was a dining table, a tablecloth, a broken fridge, and anything else in the kitchen. The power was out, so no electricity to start a fire, but he could find some flammable cleaning chemicals. All he needed was a spark. And there were matches for the gas hob.

Wrapping the tablecloth around the end of a table leg, he held it ready, a torch doused in chemicals. It would never last. It would never hold until he reached the city. But there wasn’t a choice. He had to go.

As he struck the match, a thought occurred.

If the bugs couldn’t get to him, where would they go?

The city wasn’t so far away.

#writeblr #happy halloween #horror #lamura dex writes!#writing #scary stories #insects #I did a poll to see if the protagonist would survive this story #The answer was quite definitive #short story

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rickktish · 2 years ago

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Batfam Alphabet Mafia headcanons

Bruce

Bruce is pansexual/panromantic, uses he/they pronouns but is too shy to actually tell anyone for the longest time.

Batman is bisexual/demiromantic, uses he/it pronouns.

Will not elaborate under any circumstances.

“IT’S THE BAT!” Is such a gender euphoric thing to hear while swooping down on your enemies guys you have no idea

Dick

He/him lesbian?

Panromantic polysexual?

Gender???

No answers. None.

In practice? he/him pronouns. He refuses to inconvenience those around him even slightly by asking them to try using anything else.

“What do you mean i wouldn’t be inconveniencing anyone? No, I don’t feel inconvenienced switching pronouns for others. No, you don’t get it, I don’t want to make anyone uncomfy.”

In truth? Gender neutral pronouns make them feel uwu. They also have she/her days— rarely, but it happens.

If dangled over a shark pit without access to batshark repellant and forced to choose, would probably identify as a genderfluid pan with polyamorous leanings. But only very reluctantly.

Jason

He/him pronouns but in a very gnc way, like yes, he uses he/him, but damn if he doesn’t look good in a dress, you can’t stop him

He has actually never been emotionally attracted to a woman. Sexually he’s not picky, but emotionally? Does not see the appeal.

Demiromantic.

Cass

Does not object to she/her pronouns but neither does she actually possess a gender

Dislikes he/him and has vaguely uninterested feelings toward they/them but will not be offended.

Attraction is... not a concept she feels she fully grasps. Best guess is on the aroace spectrum? She just doesn’t feel confident on the idea as a whole.

Currently can comfortably call her relationship with Steph a qpr, but that might change as her understanding evolves

Tim

Genderfluid nonbinary. The gender spectrum has very minimal extremes, never fully one direction or the other, but the position on the graph does move around on the daily.

Demisexual biromantic.

Steph

Genderfluid but only rarely really; predominantly a she/her with the occasional theyday thrown in for spice.

A disaster bi in the most intentionally chaotic sense.

Duke

Genderfluid, but with all the extremes that Tim can’t grasp. Took all the gender when Tim and Damian weren’t looking.

Girls are pretty and Duke likes them a lot. Boys are bleh. Not outside the realm of possibility, but it would take a really special guy.

Damian

Agender he/they.

Gay. Just. Deeply gay.

Being gay for Damian means being unintentionally attracted only to men and agender people

This has turned into an ongoing joke among the batsiblings, waiting after Dami admits to having a crush for that person to come out as agender. It’s happened like three times, he still claims it’s coincidence but none of the family believe him

Babs

AMAB she/her. Batman year one involved Bruce rescuing Gordon’s infant son, after all— and idc what people say about Jim’s serial killer son, whatever, Babs has only child energy and I refuse to believe she has an older brother. Serial killer gordon can be younger than Babs but not older.

83% confident she’s straight, but it’s still technically shaky ground.

Alfred

Cis, spent the better part of his years as both an actor and a member of british intelligence as the company bicycle for both professions

Has vast and unknowable power and managed to keep Bruce completely unaware of his romantic or sex life whilst growing up

As an adult he has now made a game of flirting with anyone around his age he encounters while in Bruce’s presence

Has had an emotional Something going on with Leslie Thompkins since Bruce was like 12 but neither of them can find the time to define it and so Something it remains

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mariposasources · 3 years ago

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Aquamarine Sentence Starter

Feel free to change them to fit to your liking, but do not claim as your own! Following is under a read more due to it being particular long.

❝ Fine, the least you can do is read me the latest on boy-bagging technology. ❞

❝ Did you order a sand…witch? ❞

❝ Don’t worry. He won’t fall for yuck. He’s way too smart for that. ❞

❝ We’ll put them up again after it clears. ❞

❝ He knows what you did last summer. ❞

❝ Your boxes won’t pack themselves. Don’t put this off until the movers come. ❞

❝ Don’t play me like that. I haven’t seen you in days. ❞

❝ And maybe I could get more than one syllable this time? ❞

❝ How about…we go back to fewer syllables? ❞

❝ Oh, my God! The vending machine’s possessed. ❞

❝ And I broke your iPod. ❞

❝ If I have nightmares tonight, I’m blaming you. ❞

❝ O gods of hurricanes, makers of thunder and lightning…. ❞

❝ Hello, little freaky blue crab. ❞

❝ Are the pool lights still on? ❞

❝ There’s a shark in the pool! ❞

❝ Half the ocean washed up in there last night. ❞

❝ Did you feel them around you? Were they flexed? ❞

❝ Oh, God, they must’ve been flexed. ❞

❝ You were, like, this close to mouth-to-mouth. ❞

❝ I don’t want to catch it. I want to feed it. ❞

❝ It could’ve been blue seaweed or kelp. ❞

❝ I’m guessing…it was a mermaid. ❞

❝ I can see we have to take this slowly. Mer…maid. ❞

❝ Can you pick things up with them? ❞

❝ I can kick with them if you don’t let go! ❞

❝ How…how did you do that? ❞

❝ Your dad made those waves? ❞

❝ I swam away from home three days before I’m supposed to get married off to this merman who’s about as deep as a tidal pool. ❞

❝ You scared the salt out of me. ❞

❝ I thought you were that man with that awful sucking machine. ❞

❝ No. My bathing suit is like boy repellent. ❞

❝ It’s your bathing suit or her birthday suit. ❞

❝ I don’t understand how you can sleep on these when they’re so jumpy. ❞

❝ Technically, we can only have legs when the sun’s out. ❞

❝ So this is your first time ashore? ❞

❝ Oh! Crabs! They found me. ❞

❝ With a shell? ❞

❝ Did you know you can hear the ocean through these? ❞

❝ Well, it works both ways. The ocean can hear you, too. ❞

❝ Could you give me a minute? ❞

❝ Well, that’s your plan, not mine. ❞

❝ I don’t want to marry some spoiled, rich, squid! ❞

❝ Well, you can make all the storms you want, but I’m not coming back. ❞

❝ Three days, I’ll prove it to you. ❞

❝ Well, if I’m wrong, then I will honor your plans. ❞

❝ And I’ll call you every night, okay? ❞

❝ So calm down! ❞

❝ We don’t have it where I’m from, and if I can’t find it in three days, I’m sunk. ❞

❝ My dad says it’s just a myth. ❞

❝ We marry who our parents pick. ❞

❝ And my dad thinks that I have bubbles in my brain because I believe in love. ❞

❝ Or else I’ll be swimming down the aisle with that…that blowfish. ❞

❝ Uh..no, but I think you’re hot. ❞

❝ I need some salt. ❞

❝ He said I was hot, but how would he know? ❞

❝ All the girls are after him. Even a few boys. ❞

❝ You know, if you help a mermaid you get a wish. ❞

❝ I thought that was genies. ❞

❝ You…you believe in genies? ❞

❝ She’s been working to clean up the water in the bay here. ❞

❝ Well, tell her thanks for me because it tastes about ten times better than a few years ago. ❞

❝ He doesn’t like this harsh light. ❞

❝ Can you make boobs come out of hiding? ❞

❝ We begin where every girl starts with her first crush. We call him.

❝ Nothing. We just call and hang up. ❞

❝ Who ordered broom service? ❞

❝ No, no, no. Just a royal bitch. ❞

❝ Mm! For a crayon. ❞

❝ But your parents know you better than I do. ❞

❝ Yep, definitely dim-sighted. ❞

❝ There’s something very fishy about that girl. ❞

❝ I was such a clam. I couldn’t think. ❞

❝ Look at my finger scales. ❞

❝ But I don’t know what mood this is. ❞

❝ Wow, you’re good! Bye. ❞

❝ Oh, my God, he gave her a nickname. ❞

❝ Yes. Following you around is fun. ❞

❝ Um, I just love eating cotton candy. ❞

❝ Hey, what are those? Water bikes? ❞

❝ What, you’ve never been on a paddle boat before? ❞

❝ If he doesn’t get his way it’s always a huge disaster. ❞

❝ You know, you’re not like most girls around here. ❞

❝ Yeah, I know. We times it pretty well, didn’t we? ❞

❝ We’re heading back out to sea! ❞

❝ She’s gonna pop a tail! ❞

❝ I need some water to spend the night in. ❞

❝ No! No ocean my father would just manipulate the currents ad pull me back home. ❞

❝ Holy mackerel! ❞

❝ So was it ’ Are you going? ’ or ’ Will you go with me? ’ ❞

❝ I wish I could hide out here with you. ❞

❝ I’ll see you tomorrow, fish butt! ❞

❝ I never realized how big this room was without all my stuff in it. ❞

❝ I-It’s her last hope. ❞

❝ Why go through life unnoticed? ❞

❝ This store is for old people! ❞

❝ So, uh quick review? ❞

❝ Wait. I don’t have earrings! ❞

❝ Hm. Pretty. And…pointy? ❞

❝ What am I supposed to do with this? Like, stick through my skin? ❞

❝ Ugh! You’re so primitive. ❞

❝ You’ll love these. They’re my favorite aquatic accessory. ❞

❝ I need you to swim out there and find me a couple of starfish about…mmm, this big. ❞

❝ Live starfish? That’s what you wear for earrings? ❞

❝ No. I mean, they literally give me compliments. In my ear. They talk to me. ❞

❝ Starfish are notorious suck-ups. They love to give compliments. ❞

❝ But it’s nice when you need a little boost. ❞

❝ Don’t worry about it. I’ll get you a ride. ❞

❝ Don’t you just love, love? ❞

❝ It’s just…you’re so sure of yourself. ❞

❝ I don’t think they would’ve wanted you to be afraid of life. I think they would’ve wanted you to be friends with it. ❞

❝ Smart, yes, like tuna! ❞

❝ I’ve got some advice. You need to seperate fantasy from realty. ❞

❝ I’ve got some advice for you two. Put on a dry shirt. ❞

❝ I can’t believe I was so stupid! ❞

❝ He obviously doesn’t like me at all! ❞

❝ Bull Shark! ❞

❝ Forget it. I’m going home. ❞

❝ Why not? I’m never going to see him again. ❞

❝ And you know what? He doesn’t care. ❞

❝ I’m just going to go home. This was all for nothing. ❞

❝ It was not for nothing. It was for love. ❞

❝ You know what I think of love? ❞

❝ Love stinks. No wonder we don’t have it back home. ❞

❝ It’s the closest thing we have to magic. ❞

❝ What’s happening to me? I’m leaking! ❞

❝ I’m leaking saltwater. I’m falling apart. ❞

❝ I guess you wouldn’t have them, living underwater. ❞

❝ Next you’re going to tell me water shoots out of your nose when your happy. ❞

❝ Jeez, relax. What’s the big drama? ❞

❝ Take a joke? What’s a matter with you? She’s scared. ❞

❝ She was trying to get attention. Hello! ❞

❝ I found two new men to love. Their names are Ben & Jerry. ❞

❝ That…that barnacle! ❞

❝ Guess who’s got a date to the Last Splash. Me! ❞

❝ Come on people! You can win a date with me! ❞

❝ Oh, I think I feel seasick. But in a good way. ❞

❝ Just be yourself. Minus the tail. ❞

❝ So what do you say we grab something to eat? ❞

❝ Yes. I’m good at that. ❞

❝ Um…is that good? ❞

❝ Yes. It’s very calming. ❞

❝ So, if you could travel anywhere in the world, where would you go? ❞

❝ Well, I’ve been to lots of places. ❞

❝ But I’ve learned it’s not where you are, it’s who you’re with. ❞

❝ You always so sure of everything? ❞

❝ Well, some of us are only human. ❞

❝ Oh, I love this song. You want to dance? ❞

❝ You ever spend any time in the water? ❞

❝ Back off! Don’t make a bigger fool of yourself than you already have. ❞

❝ I think I like dancing with you better than anything I’ve ever done on feet. ❞

❝ Uh-oh. I have to go. ❞

❝ I want to spend more time with you. What can I say to make you stay? ❞

❝ You can tell me how that makes you feel. ❞

❝ She lives in a water tower. Freak city. ❞

❝ Um, could you put away the negativity, sort of like you put away all those corn dogs at the street fair? ❞

❝ If anyone comes…honk. ❞

❝ Is someone there? ❞

❝ She’s a… She’s a… ❞

❝ Has grilling burgers fried your brain, or do you grill burgers all day because you have no brain? ❞

❝ She’s a mermaid. She has, she has scales and everything. She has a big, fat tail.❞

❝ That’s why she lives in the water tower. ❞

❝ There’s no mermaid. ❞

❝ Why are you looking at me like that when there’s a mermaid in the water tower, you guys? ❞

❝ Do you have any idea how far I had to walk?! ❞

❝ I think she’s trapped up there. ❞

❝ Will you take care of Moby for me? ❞

❝ Maybe we should think about the wish. ❞

❝ We asked for a miracle, and we got it. ❞

❝ Like what? Like a new best friend? ❞

❝ A new person to tell everything to? ❞

❝ You mean me, don’t you? ❞

❝ I mean I’m not your mom. ❞

❝ You act like I need you all the time when…the truth is you’re so mad at the world that nobody but me even wants to talk to you. ❞

❝ How do you figure that I’m your only friend? ❞

❝ I just did what any good citizen would have done. ❞

❝ She’s probably still hiding under the water. ❞

❝ You know why? Because she’s a mermaid. ❞

❝ You’re a long way from home, aren’t you? ❞

❝ You know, when you help a mermaid, you get a wish. ❞

❝ I,um…thought about you all night. ❞

❝ The last couple of days have been…amazing. ❞

❝ Do you love me? ❞

❝ I mean…we’ve had one date. ❞

❝ But…you don’t love me. ❞

❝ Hey…are you crying? ❞

❝ Yes. Apparently it’s something I do. ❞

❝ Just stay calm! Don’t fight the current. I’ll be right there! ❞

❝ He still chooses her over me? She’s a fish! ❞

❝ We can’t just let her go. ❞

❝ I can’t believe you two. It’s not safe out here. The storm’s too strong. ❞

❝ He can’t just take you away. ❞

❝ Yes, he can. That was our deal. ❞

❝ Take our wish…and you can stay here. ❞

❝ Yeah, take it. And you can call off your wedding. ❞

❝ My father was right. I couldn’t prove love exists. ❞

❝ What more could you do for me? ❞

❝ You jumped in the water to save me. ❞

❝ Why would you do that for me? ❞

❝ I didn’t know you leak when you’re happy, too. ❞

❝ I guess you get a wish after all. Any requests? ❞

❝ I have a family out there that needs me. ❞

❝ I belong in the ocean…most of the time. ❞

❝ I’d circle the world for you two. ❞

❝ Someone’s got to go back and return all those wedding gifts. ❞

❝ You can always call me on my shell. ❞

❝ Starfish may be big suck-ups…but they never lie. ❞

❝ Keep in touch, fish-butt. ❞

❝ It’s good to have friends with fins. ❞

❝ Um, they didn’t exactly cover this in lifeguard training. ❞

❝ S-surprised definitely and confused about a couple of things. ❞

❝ Like…for one, the fact that you have a tail. ❞

❝ Are you…planning to surface any time soon? ❞

❝ I’m not sure how to ask a mermaid out, but I’d like to see you again. If that’s allowed or even possible. ❞

❝ Well, I have to swim back for a bit… ❞

❝ Would you mind waiting a little while? ❞

#Aquamarine #Aquamarine Sentence Starter #sentence starter meme #rp meme #rp memes

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imageoftumult · 3 years ago

Note

I really want Batwoman to do an episode where that pays homage to Adam West. For one night and one night only, things play out exactly like in the 66 show. And yes that includes a scene where Ryan gets to use Bat Shark Repellant. And the real clincher is that Luke is the only one who notices how crazy things are and he's increasingly frustrated throughout the whole thing

Oh my god. That would be amazing. Honestly, Adam West's Batman is the best Batman. All these dark and gritty mofos can suck it. But yeah, I didn't know until now, but I need this to be a thing. God, can you imagine how much fun the cast would have with that?

#i'm dying over here picturing luke's face as the rest of them are oblivious to the campiness that their lives suddenly are #someone should write a fic #bat shark repellent is a requirement #but i'd also enjoy a bat fly swatter appearance #batwoman

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stayarmytinyzenmoa-l · 1 year ago

Text

NCT Spooky Season [Day 16]

Soprano

TW: Scare actors, Halloween Horror Night Genre: Romance, Comedy Pairing: Xiao Dejun x Reader YN Pronouns: Not specified Word Count: 0.6K Prompt: Ahh yes, my favorite duo! Scared and More Scared.

[NCT Masterlist] | [NCT Spooky Season Masterlist] | [Yesterday] | [Tomorrow] [Ao3 Link] | [Wattpad Link]

Notes: SCREEEEE also this isn't cryt for y'all who enjoy Horror Nights cuz me personally I would Disclaimer: Please remember that this is an AU and a work of fiction, obviously the idols mentioned/written about in this story would never partake in these actions. The idols mentioned in this work are meant to be seen more as face claims rather than the actual idols themselves.

Feedback is greatly appreciated!! Thank you for reading!

"Oh my god!" Your shriek was loud, but not louder than the man next to you. You both clung onto each other while the scare actor cringed. "I'm so sorry."

"We don't usually do this," Dejun adds.

"Yeah, we lost a bet and now we have to stay here for three hours," you gestured around you. It was true, you'd lost a bet with your friends a few days ago and, now, you and Dejun had to somehow survive Halloween Horror Nights for three hours straight. So far you and Dejun were an hour in and both of your heart rates had skyrocketed, your sides hurt from running, and you were both this close to getting new friends. The scare actor walked off, completely oblivious and looking for a new victim, while you and Dejun continued onward, still holding onto each other for dear life.

"This was such a bad idea," at every scream you gripped onto his arm tighter.

"This is so bad," Dejun holds your arm in a death grip and then-

"Boo!" Another scare actor pops up in front of you and both you and Dejun hit a high note, with the scare actor's laugh melding into it. "Hiya, lovebirds, which one of you is making it tonight?"

"Neither of us," Dejun tries to gather himself and you fought back tears.

"Wrah!" The scare actor is able to get in another scare before running off.

"Dejun?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm gonna run to the bathroom," you tug away and he holds you still.

"You're leaving me?!"

"I'm as scared as you!"

"Hold it!"

"No! Absolutely not!" You tug your hand away and run off to the bathroom, only thinking about how the only thing worse than getting scared shitless is actually getting scared shitless. So, begrudgingly, you entered the stall and boom, someone started slamming against the stall door and you very near ended it all right there until you heard the scare actor losing their shit in the bathroom.

Then you heard Dejun shouting outside too so there's that.

But, soon, your scream turned into laughter because wow, they really stopped at nothing to get a good scare, huh? You finished up your business, looked either away before leaving the bathroom, and scoured the area for Dejun.

"Dejun?" You looked around.

"Over here!" He peeks out from behind a trashcan and you laughed while helping him up. "They're everywhere, (Y/N)," he shudders.

"I know," you looked over your shoulder and you both took off again, speed-walking through the amusement park and tunnel-visioning the path in front of you. But, of course, that only spelled out disaster as now you weren't paying attention to the scare actors who had caught up and matched your pace.

"What's the rush for?" One asks, and you scream, crashing into Dejun, and subsequently crashing into the next scare actor, who took this opportunity to make a fake grabbing motion toward you both, which sent Dejun rolling across the floor with you clung onto him while the actors let out a sinister laugh and skated off. You and Dejun, meanwhile, stayed motionless on the floor.

"Would they know if we just left?" You ask.

"There's one at each exit so... yeah."

"They're so persistent," you cried.

General Tag List: @stopeatread @bat-shark-repellant @raeincitizen @umbralhelwolf @yangsrose @kazooms @sadcoffeecritic

NCT Tag List: @cherrylovr @minjiville

If you want to be added to either tag list or removed just send me a reply to this post, and ask, or a DM and I’ll add you as soon as possible!

#nct #nct x reader #nct x you #nct x yn #nct u #nct u x reader #nct u x you #nct u x yn #wayv #wayv x reader #wayv x you #wayv x yn #xiaojun x reader #xiaojun x you #xiaojun x yn #my writings #nct spooky season

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biaswreckingfics · 4 years ago

Text

No Limits: Bonus Chapter

Author: biaswreckingfics

Genre: Mafia AU - Warnings? Everything that goes on in a mafia au

Word Count: 1.5k

Previous Chapter

A few weeks had passed since EXO wiped the Baem off the face of the Earth, and things around the compound had definitely changed for the better. Everyone was less stressed out and less on edge, and it was a nice change from what you had grown used to. Ever since you came along, the men had been worried about the Baem. You've never known them in a world where the Baem weren't a problem, so it was fun to explore their more carefree personalities. That didn't mean, however, life had become all fun and games.

EXO's business nearly doubled when they eliminated the Baem. They picked up a lot of the Baem's old contacts since none of them wanted to risk working with a smaller, less experienced group. Of course, if EXO wasn't on everyone's radar before, which you were pretty sure they were, they definitely are now. They were one of the most powerful groups on this side of the hemisphere.

With the influx of business, Junmyeon had become buried in paperwork. He tried to say it was a nice change from blowing things up, but you knew he was two seconds away from throwing all of the paperwork in a pile and lighting it on fire. Minseok helped him with a lot of it, but he was often too busy helping Jongin train the new recruits.

Yes. New recruits.

After the success Jongdae and his old crew had in taking care of their districts the night the Baem were taken down, he threw out the idea of them possibly joining EXO. As it turns out, their old crew jumped at the opportunity to join. They were more than happy to help continue on Kyungsoo's legacy. They were a rowdy bunch, but they loved to share stories about Kyungsoo and Jongdae during their teenage years and embarrass the crap out of Jongdae. Plus, they got along with Jongin almost too well. Minseok often became exasperated by the bunch when the two were supposed to train them.

Everyone was beyond ecstatic that the Baem were no longer a threat. They felt like they were able to avenge their lost loved ones and come out on top in the end, but that didn't mean once everyone got home, everything was fine and dandy.

It took a couple of weeks for everyone to fall into a playful mood because there was one important member that was MIA at first, but once Sehun came home, everyone's spirits quickly lifted. You could see the change in him as soon as he came back, but whether that was due to his time with the Baem or losing Jaesuk, you weren't sure. You had very little doubts that both things played a significant role.

It took about a week before you could see Sehun becoming more and more relaxed and happy. Undoubtedly, it was partially due to Chanyeol and Yixing sticking by his side constantly and distracting him whenever his thoughts started to turn dark. The two men did everything in their power to help the youngest learn to cope and eventually accept the loss of not only Jaesuk but Kyungsoo as well since he had never had the chance to mourn him.

Sehun often came to you when he wanted a break from the two men or when he just wanted some peace and quiet. He knew he could come to you, and the two of you could talk about everything under the sun or nothing at all. It was comforting for him to be with someone he trusted and just exist, and you were grateful to be one of the people he could do that with.

While you did spend a lot of time with Sehun and the other men, the majority of your time was spent with Baekhyun. Your main source of comfort, calm, and happiness. Baekhyun no longer held himself back because of his fears. He made sure he told you he loved you every single day, especially if one of you were leaving the house and he did his absolute best to make you feel like the most special person on this planet. He had surprised you in the best possible way.

Admittedly, you had a more difficult time than you thought you would after killing one of the leaders. You had never taken someone's life before and while you didn't regret a single thing, it was still weird and unnerving to know you snuffed out someone's lifespan earlier than expected. You thought about their kids here and there, but the guys made sure to tell you that you shouldn't feel bad and often tried to get you to stop thinking about it.

Mostly, a small part of you was worried that you had caused future you problems by killing their fathers. What if you had created future monsters? Just like what was done to you and Junmyeon? You sought revenge for what was done to your parents, and you hoped with everything in you that they wouldn't continue the cycle.

This worry had caused you enough stress that Baekhyun had taken it into his own hands to actually plan the trip he had mentioned the day you attacked the Baem. Well, he semi-planned it and said, "the two of us will go wherever the wind takes us". He surprisingly got the okay from Junmyeon before you even knew it was happening and then, in the blink of an eye, you were getting ready to leave for a three-month-long trip to explore the world.

All that was left now was to say goodbye.

Of course, the was easier said than done, thanks to Sehun and Yixing literally refusing to let the two of you leave the house.

"You guys... we're coming back." Baekhyun sighs after five minutes of trying to get out the door. "It's not like we're going to stay away forever."

"No. You're leaving for too long. I won't allow it." Sehun stubbornly stands his ground.

Junmyeon walks over to the front door and shoos them away from it. "Come on. Come on. Let's let them go on their way."

"I want to go on a trip..." Jongin grumbles before shooting a glare at your brother. "I can't believe you're okay with this."

You smile at the oversized pouty babies in front of you. This was the infamous and widely feared EXO? Yixing literally looked like he was about to cry. "We'll be back in no time. Until then, how about you guys just don't blow up the city again."

When Jongin and Sehun looked away from you in the most suspicious way possible, your eyes immediately flashed over to Junmyeon, who had already narrowed his own at the two youngest. He opens his mouth to immediately scold them for whatever trouble they were about to get into before changing his mind.

"I'll deal with you two later. For now, you two," he points at you and Baekhyun, "have to get going, or you'll miss your flight."

After another round of hugs, you find yourself hugging your brother one last time. The moment was sweet, and you were happy until he ruined it when he pulled away from your embrace and pointed at you.

"Do not come back pregnant."

Your mouth falls open in shock, and you whack him in the arm while the men around you excitedly discuss what it would be like to have a little EXO baby running around the compound.

"I'm serious. I just barely got used to the idea of the two of you. We do not need a mini you running around here."

You feel Baekhyun's arm slide around your waist, and you look over to see him smiling mischievously at your brother.

"You're not ready to be an uncle yet?"

When Junmyeon looked like he was ready to knock Baekhyun out, Baekhyun laughs and relents. "Alright. Alright. We'll just make sure to get in a lot of practice for when you change your mind."

Before your brother could murder Baekhyun and ruin your trip, you push him towards the door. He fights you on it a little before finally letting you win the power struggle and opening the door, letting out a loud laugh thanks to Junmyeon's murderous expression.

When you hear Jongin lean over and ask Minseok, "He doesn't seriously think they haven't already been having sex right under his own roof, right?" You quickly wave goodbye to the guys and follow Baekhyun out the door.

As he stands on the porch waiting for you with a giant, happy smile lighting up his face, excitement floods you, and you can't wait to start your trip with Baekhyun and open this new chapter of your life. Who knows? Maybe someday you and Baekhyun will bring a mini you into this world but until then, you were going to live life to the fullest and start making some happy memories for once in your life.

Tagging: @knjkitten @kpopserene @multifandombxxch @tashaxvamp @kpop---scenarios @bhyunni @chanyeolismybaby @flaming-laboob @taetaeeyong @lilbitoflyssa @misstressporkchoppp @hoseok-wang @spiltkpop @ishas454 @depuis2mille @marovekian1 @ladylynae @abby8451 @lynniev @insta1010 @sawadabegum @avxngxrrogxrs @equesasprokishi @imstuckinafictionaluniverse @layisanangel @mongryong-the-corgi @overthelamebowz @lizbether01 @thatanonymousgirl-as14 @nothingbutadeadesceane @kim-ji-hyeons-world @suhappysuho @futuremrspcy @lovebuginlove @skylions-den @precious-seungwooya @softysuho @kuppyjiminie @blushinyouth @bat-shark-repellant @vickylamore @heartshapedenchiladas @cardtak @tanithrea @wooya1224 @multifanstuff @hyuniebaby @sehunnies-hunnie96 @endzii23 @kkpoptrashhh @mayzerofour @ries-universe @xcharlottemikaelsonx

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svtskneecaps · 4 years ago

Photo

play it again, part 19 ~ HA HA

< Prev | First | Masterlist | Next >

(Seventeen University! Time Loop! AU) ; fluff + angst ; lee chan x reader

Every day is Friday, again and again. Time resets with the sunrise, leaving you stranded in a single day, over, and over, and over. Good thing you’re not alone.

send me an ask or a dm if you’d like to be on the tag list

alright, got a couple of notes for you this time:

first, YES, this is a chan x reader endgame fic. do not forget it. we all know where this is heading. here’s your warning for the seokmin arc to follow.

second, NO, i don’t think that fuckin instagram picture is in character for vernon and YES i’m just as pissed about it as you’d expect but NO i will not be trolling pinterest for a studyblr picture that better fits a computer scientist and NO i will not fuckin spend eight hours trying to figure out how to photoshop something onto that goddamn computer, you are going to pay attention to the WORDS and NOT THE PICTURES i already erased somebody’s essay for this DO NOT MAKE ME DO MORE. you’re damn lucky i didn’t just delete it CAUSE I COULD HAVE. but i think the comments are WORTH EXISTING and i ALREADY HAD EM SO WHY NOT.

third, i’m pretty sure the tone is joking enough but to be sure, the texts are all playful ribbing on each other. nobody’s pissed. a couple of em gave me unclear vibes all of a sudden while i was writing em and i’m pretty sure they’re good but just to be absolutely positively certain there’s no mistake: they’re all joking around.

fourth, i’m back to classes in uni and i’m tired as all fuck; updates should still come out on the day they’re supposed to but i might also just. see a part with a lot of photoshopping or a fake instagram in it and decide it doesn’t spark joy and take a day off. idk if i will, it’s all up in the air, i’m just throwing that out as a possibility cause ngl i Did Not want to update today lmao

anyway if ever you’re confused or concerned or curious about anything in the fic or whatever just shoot me an ask, the anon option is turned on.

tag list: @elcie-chxn @vibecheckvernon @minghaocouture @escapewriter @minghaoist @kwonthefics @monstathedisco @brinnalaine @hao-are-xu @wuriwoori @jeonjungkaka @unravellyn @happyvitamin @svt13roses @yellowsreflection @bat-shark-repellant @strawberryhime @pebbypenny @dnylwoo @nose-bandaid @minghaofilm @hwaatemydoor @mieohmy @serenadesvt @otchae @fabshua @seventeeneration @lowkeycarat @pooofthechicken @dinosonzii @smolchild95

#caratwritersclub #seventeen #lee chan #dino #seventeen au #lee chan au #dino au #seventeen scenarios #lee chan scenario #dino scenario #lee chan imgaines #dino imagines #seventeen imagines #seventeen fluff #lee chan fluff #dino fluff #seventeen angst #lee chan angst #dino angst

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noctqrnxl · 3 years ago

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Writing Plot Twists

CREDIT: https://www.writersdigest.com/there-are-no-rules/4-ways-to-write-a-killer-plot-twist

1. Eliminate the obvious

When coming up with the climax to your story, discard every possible solution you can think of for your protagonist to succeed.

Then think of some more.

And discard those, too.

You’re trying to create an ending that’s so unforeseen that if a million people read your book, not one of them would guess how it ends (or how it will get to the end), but when they finally come to it, every one of those people would think, Yes! That makes perfect sense! Why didn’t I see that coming?

The more impossible the climax is for your protagonist to overcome, the more believable and inevitable the escape or solution needs to be. No reader should anticipate it, but everyone should nod and smile when it happens. No one guesses, everyone nods. That’s what you’re shooting for.

2. Redirect suspicion

When you work on your narrative, constantly ask yourself what readers are expecting and hoping for at this moment in the story. Then keep twisting the story into new directions that both shock and delight them.

To keep readers from noticing clues, bury them in the emotion or action of another section. For example, in an adventure novel, offhandedly mention something during a chase scene, while readers’ attention is on the action, not the revelation. Use red herrings, dead ends, and foils. Bury clues in discussions of something else.

3. Avoid gimmicks

Readers want their emotional investment to pay off. The twist should never occur in a way that makes them feel tricked, deceived, or insulted. Great twists always deepen, never cheapen, readers’ investment in the story.

This is why dream sequences typically don’t work—the protagonist thinks she’s in a terrible mess, then wakes up and realizes it was all just a dream. These aren’t twists because they almost never escalate the story but often do the very opposite, revealing to readers that things weren’t really that bad after all (de-escalation). Showing a character experiencing a harrowing or frightening experience and then having him wake up from a dream is not a twist; it’s a tired cliché.

How do you solve this? Simply tell the reader it’s a dream beforehand. It can be just as frightening without de-escalating the story’s tension, and it can also end in a way that’s not predictable.

4. Write towards the readers’ reaction

The way you want your readers to respond will determine the way you set up your twist. Three different types of twists all result in different reactions by readers: (1) “No way!” (2) “Huh. Nice!” and (3) “Oh, yeah!”

When aiming for the “No way!” response, you’ll want to lead readers into certainty. You want them to think that there’s only one possible solution to the story.

The more you can convince them that the story world you’ve portrayed is exactly as it appears to be—that only one outcome to the novel is possible—the more you’ll make their jaws drop when you show them that things were not as they appeared to be at all. If the twist is satisfying, credible, and inevitable based on what has preceded it, readers will gasp and exclaim, “No way! That’s awesome! I can’t believe he got that one past me.”

With the “Huh. Nice!” ending, you want to lead readers into uncertainty. Basically, they’ll be thinking, “Man, I have no idea where this is going.” When writing for this response, you’ll create an unbalanced, uncertain world. You don’t want readers to suspect only one person as the villain but many people. Only when the true villain is revealed will readers see that everything was pointing in that direction all along.

Finally, if you’re shooting for the “Oh, yeah!” reaction, you’ll want to emphasize the cleverness with which the main character gets out of the seemingly impossible-to-escape-from climax. Often we do that by allowing him to use a special gift, skill, or emblem that has been shown to readers earlier but that they aren’t thinking about when they reach the climax. Then, when the protagonist pulls it out, readers remember: “Yes! That’s right! He carries a can of shark repellent in his wetsuit! I forgot all about that!”

Relentlessly escalate your story while keeping it believable, surprising, and deeper than it appears.

#writers of instagram #writers on tumblr #writers of ig #writerscommunity #writing community #writing community of instagram #writing plot twists

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hannie-dul-set · 4 years ago

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PAIRING. huang renjun x fem! reader. GENRE. high school! au, suggestive. WARNINGS. attempted murder, mentions of blood and self injury, veryy descriptive kissing, mc has a few screws lost, swearing, depictions of unstable behavior. WORD COUNT. 1.8k GENRAL TAGLIST. @danishmiilk @wownajaemin @leejunini @astroboy-lele @unknown5tar @yunoyeol @w0nni3wrld @charm-art @bat-shark-repellant @keemburley @deliciouslyyellow (pls dm me to be added/removed!)

NOTE. ah yes, the only two genres: murder and making out. inspired by the dream i mentioned earlier. different events, but same vibe HAHA. disclaimer that no matter how much you hate your academic rival, never ever turn to attempted murder! thank you and enjoy

huang renjun— with all his picture perfect smiles, prim and proper tucked in shirts, a pretty face enough to have you on your knees, and with a perfect gpa to top it all off— was someone you wanted.

wanted six feet under the ground.

“hey, congrats!”

speak of the fucking devil.

“you always do really well,” huang renjun towers over you in front of your desk as you sit down. you look up from the wrinkled certificate that have the abhorrent words second honorable mention printed on it's scented surface, only to face his fucking face instead. he beams at you with a smile. you feel convulsions wringing inside your throat. “congratulations again.”

you don't miss the first honor certificate tucked between his books in a measly attempt of concealment. it takes everything in your power to force out something of a smile.

“thanks. you too.”

with that, he quickly scurries away into his seat next to yours with red ears.

your first period teacher enters, beginning class with a greeting, but your mind is elsewhere.

it’s only midterms, you breathe out through your nose, hugging your arms above your desk while sketching out a study plan for the rest of the semester in your head. there’s enough time before graduation. the hold you had on yourself gradually becomes tighter.

still, you know that even if you worked yourself day and night until you bled cold and crimson, huang renjun would still be one step ahead. you bite down your lip, peeling off the dry skin with a sourness writhing in your gut, digging your fingers deeper into your arms. if only he were gone. you leer at the boy diligently taking his notes beside you. if only he were gone gone gone gone—

your eyes widen, ignoring the blood staining your nails.

if only he were gone.

after class, you walk up to his desk and asked if he wanted to work on the physics homework at his place tomorrow. he says yes with starry eyes in a heartbeat.

the next day, renjun couldn’t wait for the final bell to ring. you, too, couldn’t remain in your seat— albeit for a different reason. so when the ringing occurs, the both of you don’t waste a second in finally heading out of the campus.

it’s a silent walk to his place, a standard suburban neighborhood, the sky slowly turning orange in the background. every time you turn your head to look at him, he looks back with a small smile, and you can’t help your hands from twitching at your sides.

renjun unlocks the door and meekly welcomed you inside.

“you can leave your shoes here,” he says, digging his keys into the back pocket of his school slacks with dangling noises. you look at him, smiling, and with a soft hum you leave your school shoes next to his, trailing behind him into the living room.

looking around, you ask him. “are your parents home?” there was an opening that leads to the kitchen, glass doors showing the backyard. the stairs that lead to the second floor are made of sleek, dark oak. it’s a modern interior. they have a fireplace inside.

“no,” he breathes out, wetting his dry throat with a swallow before turning back to face you. “they’re out on business. i don’t think they’ll be home until the weekend.”

the both of you stop right in front of the staircase.

“i see.”

he quickly muffles a cough and leads you up to his room.

the inside of renjun’s room is neat— organized books on the shelf and sheets neatly pressed. There’s a set of candles beside his bed. you hold back a scoff. as expected from the top student.

your eyes flit over from the window above his bed to look at him, instead.

“you don’t have to be so nervous around me, you know,” you muse, dropping down your bag to join him on the floor. worksheets littered with numbers and constants, gravity and acceleration, all scatter on the floor. they blow with the wind knowing that they wouldn’t even be filled in, anyway.

“sorry,” renjun sputters out, loosening his striped necktie with two fingers. his vision is kept trained on the wall behind you. “i’m not— i’m not doing it on purpose.”

you adjust your legs on the floor, skirt riding. “is there a reason?”

“a reason?” he gulped.

“why you can’t look me in the eye.”

renjun thinks he sees the corners of your lips twitching upwards.

“i’ll— i’ll go open the window, it’s a little hot in here, isn’t it?” scrambling to his feet, his knees sink into the navy sheets of his bed, reaching for the window in a nervous flurry to let the air in. “the news said that the temperature’s slowly gonna start rising but i didn’t think it would be—”

he bumps into you when he turned back.

there’s a click from behind him.

the wind stopped coming in.

“it’s not really that hot.”

the way your breath fanned against his lips makes his head spin in circles.

you have an arm out against the glass, your sleeve’s fabric grazing his tempered cheek when you went to shut the window down. renjun feels a ghost in the air where there’s a space in between you. “i— i guess you’re right,” he says, clearing his throat. “i never expected that you’d ask to work together.”

there’s syrup at the end of your sentence. “you seemed pretty happy when i did, though.”

he isn’t sure if it’s just him or if you’re slowly getting closer. “well, that’s— that’s because i—”

“you don’t have to say it.”

your voice digs deep into his bones like chains of velvet. he can feel your chest pressing against him now, crushing the sense of rationality that he was bestowed with from birth and is replaced with a warm lush of rabid, violent waters gushing into bit of him stomach,

it comes off a whisper yet it sends him reeling.

“i know.”

renjun swallows. hard. but he’s afraid you’d hear the manifestations of a tempered restlessness that had managed to crawl its way up to the tips of his fingers— which found themselves resting onto the curve of your back. stray strands of his swair sweeps above his eyes, obscuring the closeness of your face, and he wants to ask how. how did you know that he likes you.

he never got to.

the question doesn’t even get to resurface after the first hit of your cherry flavored chapstick, his bottom lip caught in between yours, teeth grinding against the plush, pink skin. the second hit has his decorum slowly peeling away from his skin when his tongue traces over yours in a hot mess of delirium, when you settle between his legs, a coarse groan vibrating in his throat. the third has him forgetting his own name.

his eyes are hazy when you pull back with a rough smacking of the mouth. with a short-winded voice, you ask him.

“do you mind if i make a call?”

renjun looks at you in a fit of breathlessness.

an airy laugh leaves your lips that he can’t stop staring at. you press a kiss on his nose. “my parents need to know that i won’t be going home tonight.”

dazed, he answers. “y-yeah, sure.”

he blinks a few times before letting you go.

“take your time.”

you send him a smile before fishing your backpack from the floor and leaving the room.

just like that, a switch was flipped.

upon closing the door, you quickly twist the knob, locking it with the keys that you’d snatched from him earlier. it’s convenient that he has each one labelled— a belated thank you to your school’s ever organized golden boy who never fails to make you sick in the stomach.

at each wall you pass, you make sure to seal the windows shut and have all the doors closed. the contents of your bag make steady pangs against your back as you shuttled down the stairs. you lock the back door shut, close all the windows, turn on all the lights, and throw a match into their fireplace, waiting for the fire to come to full bloom. all that’s left is the kitchen.

there’s no time wasted in turning everything on— the microwave, oven, and the stove until you can't crank them any further. embers fly into the air. it’s getting hotter. you duck down to the compartment under the stove to reveal a white painted propane tank, taking out a cordless soldering iron to seal the safety relief valve close. you place a rag over the opening valve and twist it halfway through. a hissing sound whizzes through the air.

with that, you leave through the front door, locking it for good measure. his keys disappear into the bush nearest to their porch.

it’s only a matter of time until huang renjun ceases to be a pest anymore. if not for good, then at least lethally injured.

you head home to finish your physics worksheets that were due tomorrow.

for the first time in god knows how long, you wake up and head to school with a well rested air.

you take your things out of your backpack, humming a soft tune right before the bell rings for your first class. your other seatmate— donghyuck— notices your unusual cheery demeanor, and inquires about its oddities. you simply answer him with an allusion to finally being free. he laughs it off and turns his head to the chalkboard.

five minutes before eight. the doors creak open. you’re ready to stand and greet your teacher until you realize that it isn’t her.

it’s not.

something nauseating knocks into your lungs and stifles your throat, eyes wide and stinging. it squeezes your neck with poison prickling the surface.

huang renjun enters the classroom with his usual nods and smiles to everyone he passes.

“holy shit, dude. you look like hell.”

“i didn’t get any sleep last night,” he laughs, lightheartedly. “guess i’ll have to sleep through recess.”

your teeth grind against your lips, supple skin turning redder at each nip. your nails leave scratches on the desk as you rattle in your seat, thinking, thinking, panicking. each breath feels like choking on pulverized copper in sulfuric air. there’s a ringing in your ears and you hear nothing except your own voice screaming why is he here why is he here why is he here?

he doesn’t go to his desk. he’s standing right in front of you.

“you look well.”

it sears your fingerprints off your skin.

you don’t answer, don’t even look at him. he breaks into a small smile and leans forward, one hand pressed against your desk and the other reaching for a lock of your hair as he nears and nears and nears. “there’s something here,” he says.

there isn’t.

“you left my window unlocked, baby.”

his hot breath hits your cold cheek, tucking a strand behind with a smile. to everyone else, it would look sweet— heart fluttering. to you it was a death sentence. renjun breathes out a contained chuckle into your ear before letting his hand fall on your shoulder, a tight grip at the last second.

“better luck next time.”

#NCT-WRITERS #cznnet #neowritingsnet #kpopscape #huang renjun x reader #renjun x reader #huang renjun x you #renjun x you #nct x reader #nct x you #huang renjun scenarios #renjun scenarios #nct scenarios #huang renjun smut #nct smut

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