#Fallen Astronaut

[abstracteddistractions]

Paul Van Hoeydonck (October 8, 1925 -  May 3, 2025)

Paul Van Hoeydonck was a Belgian sculptor and painter. Van Hoeydonck was best known for his 1971 sculpture Fallen Astronaut, which commemorated fallen astronauts and was placed on the Moon by the Apollo 15 crew, where it remains today.

"Composition," 1960, Work on Paper, Drawings, 54 x 73 cm

[moonwatchuniverse]

Ad Astra... Paul Van Hoeydonck Saturday 3rd May 2025, Belgian artist/sculptor Paul Van Hoeydonck (1925-2025) passed peacefully aged 99... The Belgian artist became known after his name was revealed during the Apollo 16 launch as the man who created & designed the small Aluminium figurine of a " Fallen Astronaut "... which was left on the Moon in August 1971 by Apollo 15 commander David Scott. I had the privilege to meet Paul several times and to visit his atelier & garden near Antwerp... what an artist, what a man... RIP ! (Photo: Moonwatchuniverse)

[majortom84]

La segunda...

Angeles Caídos

[evilminji]

Okay but? We of the DPxDC? Are COMPLETELY Sleeping on DPXBNHA?

And not even for the Main Plot Shenanigans!

Just?? It has ALL of DC's super powers? But MORE OF THEM. And like 80% of the population has um! Danny can?? Finally achieve his DREAM of being???

JUST SOME DUDE™!

Yeah, he's in Japan. That's a bit of a learning curve. And YEAH, there was a cataclysmic war like a few centuries back that sorta... fucked everybody up. No one wants to talk about it. There may be mass graves and Never Forget memorials. But?

On the SURFACE!

This place seems utopian!

No ghost hunters! Advanced technology! Robust social services*!

Wait... what was that asterisk? What do you mean "corrupt shadowy government organizations"? What do you MEAN "Immortal Supervillians"? NO SPACE PROGRAM!?!? AaaaaAAAAAAAAAAH?!?!? I'M IN HELL!!! This is ACTUALLY THE BAD PLACE, THIS IS HELL, OH GOD NOOOOOOO-!!!!!!

Cause see?

There are SO MANY REASONS he'd end up there?

Think about it! Wish that he lived somewhere his weird biology wouldn't exclude him from becoming an astronaut? In Quirks having Bnha Japan EVERYBODY has weird biology! Y'ain't special! You could TOTALLY be an astronaut!..... if we HAD those! We do not. Shut down that program during the Quirk Wars and never really started it again. (And somewhere, Desiree LAUGHS)

Or MAYBE? Things are getting a little hot on the ground? Bit TOO spicy. The Family Fenton and Friends have fallen back, behind the barely holding shields. Not even the Mansons considerable political maneuvering could stop the inevitably of human fear and blind unthinking hatred. Money can't buy everything, in the end. There is only ONE(1) way out.

Through the Zone.

Plan: Strangers In A Strange World is a go.

They're all Limnal enough to fake it. Sam with her plants. Tucker with his technology and persuasion. Jazz with her limited empathy. Their parents with their... well, weirdness. And with a touch of ghostly assisted meddling? Well, they've always BEEN there! Haven't they?

And that's not to MENTION the random 4 year olds with no control! JUST coming into their powers! With all those big emotions in tiny bodies? Startling events and tantrums? Villian attacks? What could THEY possibly hope to do to control or guide that fresh new power? It does what it does and the rest of us are just along for the ride!

If Danny happens to be minding his business and gets accidentally kidnapped by a VERY distraught 4 year old? Well, that's hardly the KIDS fault, now is it? They're FOUR! That is basically a toddler! Tiny child! They are upset, confused, and didn't mean to do ANYTHING. He's a hero. And Heros don't blame little kids from accidents, no matter HOW stressed it makes them.

No, the curse like a sailor INSIDE their head. Like an ADULT.

Just? Imagine~☆

The slow transition from *starry eyed shoujo sparkles* "This is SO COOL~!" to "huh, that's... kinda weird. And Sus. Weird Sus. Maybe nothing... oh! A distraction!" To "okay, this KEEPS happening, that was shady. You all saw that right? You realize that's not NORMAL, right? That that's fucked up? Not cool?" To "oh god, oh God, OH GOD! I'm in HELL! This is actually HELL! I'm trapped in HELL!!! WHAT THE FUC-"

Like? This kid LOVES space. LOVES the stars. And this is one of the few Superhero Cannon that SPECIFICALLY MENTIONS that IN CANNON? Thanks to Quirks? As in Superpowers? That VERY THING got fuckin SCRAPPED. Gutted. Consigned to be a relic of the past so they could all focus on punching each other Real Good.

He would weep BLOOD. Chew the WALLS. The LEVEL of unhinged this child would unleash? Not as Danny Phantom... but as DANNY J. FENTON? Beautiful. Vaguely psychotic. Definitely doing the Fenton Name proud. God, the NOISE HE WOULD MAKE would be inhuman and yet somehow? Come entirely from his human half.

They👏 Would👏 Hear👏 BOSS👏 MUSIC👏

I don't even know if he'd CARE about the main characters. They'd be tangential at best. The man would be in a one man war with I-Island over their lack of space program and hoarding of scientific progress. Probably living out of an abandoned building or forgotten subway station. Just? The MOST bedraggled, feral genius to ever haunt Japan.

As opposed to the REFINED feral genius. Who is Nedzu.

I bet Danny stands outside his school at one AM waving his scientific papers at a camera and YELLS. Like a deranged lunatic. Mismatched slippers and a "haven't slept in a week" crazed glint in his eyes.

He's Nedzu's new best friend. They GET each other.

And, yes, Nedzu COULD let him in... but it's faster to just let him yell and read the papers through the camera. Who CARES if they both seem insane! Let's shout about advanced physics and engineering at 1 am! Over the speakers!!! Oh? You need to physically SHOW me the notes? Well I COULD unlock the gates... OR just wait for you to finish scrambling up the walls like a feral Racoon, to then throw yourself OVER them.

Either, Or.

I'm just SAYING! We are SLEEPING on this! There is so, SO much fun to be had! Danny breaks rules and minds! His outrage over injustice and the complete lack of SPACE! His protection instincts going BUCK FUCKIN WILD. The INDESCRIBABLE hate boner he would have for Mr. "Lemme just rip parts of your soul out so I can collect your powers like pokemon cards" AfO.

There? Is SO MUCH, guys. SO MUCH!

@hdgnj @the-witchhunter @babbling-babull @hypewinter @nerdpoe @lolottes @dcxdpdabbles @mutable-manifestation

[iitslera]

to the real space ✶ LN4

english isn’t my first language, just some Father’s Day fluff (kinda short) 

                               ──  ✦  ──

Lando was in the kitchen, wearing a wrinkled white t-shirt and his hair slightly messy, flipping pancakes like he was in the middle of a qualifying session. He moved the pan with that driver precision he seemed to have for everything never losing focus, never making a mess, his movements swift and efficient, a sharp contrast to the slow, sleepy rhythm of the morning.

The smell of melted butter and sweet batter filled the apartment, and from the kitchen island, you watched him with your cheek resting on your hand, like every small gesture of his reminded you exactly why you’d fallen in love with him. Despite the travels, the races, the fast-paced life he had led for so long, Lando had become a safe place.

Ever since you came into his life along with the little whirlwind called Oliver Lando hadn’t hesitated for even a second to open the door to both of you. He wasn’t Oliver’s biological father, but no one would’ve ever guessed that.

He taught him how to ride a bike in the park behind the house, his hands shaking with emotion the first time Oliver pedaled on his own. He bought him ice cream after preschool even when you said it was too much sugar. He read him bedtime stories in pirate, astronaut, and dragon voices and when Oliver fell asleep on his chest, Lando kept holding him like he was the most precious thing in the world.

“Landooo!” The little voice echoed down the hallway, loud and clear. “Lando, come play!”

Lando set the spatula aside and turned just in time to see Oliver running toward him. Barefoot, in dinosaur pajamas, and with his blond hair wild from the pillow. He had that perfect mix of energy and clumsiness that only a four-year-old could have: arms wide open, unsteady little steps, and a laugh that filled the entire apartment like music.

“Slow down, little one!” Lando laughed, crouching down to catch him with open arms. Oliver threw himself into his chest like he hadn’t seen him in weeks, even though it had only been a few hours since he’d fallen asleep next to him during a bedtime story about planets.

Lando scooped him up with ease, resting him on his hip, and Oliver immediately wrapped his little arms around his neck.

“I had a dream,” Oliver mumbled sleepily. “That we went to real space.”

Lando smiled and kissed his cheek.

“Well then, we better start building a rocket after breakfast, huh?”

From the kitchen island, you watched them in silence. Your heart full, your eyes misty. Because even if you’d never said it out loud, you knew Lando was the closest thing to home Oliver had ever known. And you, too.

[azulhood]

It all started because of a school project, technically two projects, while it wasn't a world ending threat they set of a change reaction that lead to startling discoveries.

Mr Lancer had given the class the task of looking through their pasts and finding an life changing event that helped shape them into the person that were today and writing about that event.

It was a ten page essay (they were allowed to go over that limit) the more details the better and if you had something from that event to show (such as photos or keepsakes or really anything) you were awarded extra credit.

Danny's choice of event was the school field trip to a nearby museum he went on when he was seven, the space exhibit they had was what sparked his love for the stars and kick-started his dreams of being an astronaut.

It wasn't like he had any other choice (he doubted mister Lancer would accept 'my death' as a good life changing event)

He knew that he had photos of the field trip somewhere with all the other photos taken throughout his life, he just had to find them.

And after digging through thousands of boxes and piles of discarded inventions he handled with care (in case they blew up) he found them tucked inside an old photo album covered in green stains that sat on top of a bookshelf.

Opening the book caused all the pictures to fall into his lap, it seems like his parents didn't get around to actually adding them to the book, Danny resigned himself to spending the rest of his day shifting through old photos.

It wasn't all bad though, he found pictures of when Sam still had blonde hair and wore pink and of that time Tucker wrote an 'I love you' on his parents cars with their keys and many other embarrassing photos.

A treasure trove of blackmail material.

He finally found the picture he was looking for.

All of the kids who are now students of Casper high stood in front of an old building each proudly holding up something they bought in the gift shop (Danny had bought a book on planets that had long ago fallen apart)

It was a normal photo.

And yet, something seemed off.

Sam and Tucker were there with him in between them, Dash was there too.

Along with Kwan, Mikey, Paulina, Valerie, and all the others.

And yet, something was missing.

Then it hit him.

Wes wasn't there.

Danny could've sworn that he had been on that trip, but the more he thought about it the less he was sure.

He couldn't actually remember Wes being there and Danny remembered nearly everything about that trip.

'Maybe he was sick or something?' It was the most logical thing he could think of to explain the other absence, that and his parents not wanting him to go for some reason.

Mystery solved he pushed it to the back of his mind , he had an essay to finish.

Still, it stuck with him.

-----------------------------

The next school project Lencer gave them was one with assigned partners.

Danny got Wes who, despite not being Sam or Tucker, was leagues better then Dash and he'd take that as a win.

Wes had insisted on studying at his house so he could, and Danny quotes "Keep an eye on you Fenton"

Danny could practically feel the hidden cameras burning a hole into him while he stood in front of the Weston's door, waiting for him to go ghost for whatever reason.

Jokes on him though, Danny asked all the ghosts to leave him along for this month with the promise of giving them a head start the next time they caused trouble, so really Wes was just wasting his time.

"This way." Wes said already heading inside without caring if Danny followed.

Being the first time he had ever been in Wes's home Danny looked at everything and anything.

It was a fairly normal home, not like Danny's which had an anti-ghost defense system or Sam's super rich house.

But more like Tuckers

One of the things that drew his attention was the pictures that lined the walls.

There were so many.

Some with Wes and his mom, some with just him, some with just his mom, and some with people Danny didn't recognise.

But there were no baby photos.

The only pictures Danny could find of a young Wes seemed to be from when he was eight? Nine?

And nothing before.

'Maybe they were put away in storage' Danny guessed, but it still made his brain itch.

He remembered looking at old school photos and not finding any sign of a young Wes at all, he didn't even remember Wes coming to school any time before the year Danny turned eight.

And in a small town where everyone knew everyone that really wasn't possible.

'Maybe they moved here and lost a lot of stuff' Which would explain a lot, well no harm in asking. "Did you loss a lot when you moved here?"

Wes stopped walking and turned around to give him a look that asked if he was insane. "I've lived here my whole life, Fenton."

Danny froze, that couldn't be right, he'd remember that.

Something was wrong.

---------------------------------

Tim Drake sat in front of the bat computer as the rest of his family patrolled.

He had one monitor displaying the other bats locations while all the other monitors were used to show him files, or rather the lack there of.

Wayne Enterprises had tournaments held for schools and the prize was an all express paid trip to Gotham and tour of WE and surrounding areas, Tim could think of way better prizes that weren't visiting the crime capital of the world but that wasn't the point.

What was the point was that every time there was a winner Tim preformed a routine background check on students and staff (and by routine he means learn their whole live story) just in case anyone happened to be trained assassins set to kill one of them, stranger things have happened.

Wes Weston was one such student whose background Tim had to check.

And he found nothing.

Sure, there were hospital and school documents from age eight and upwards, but other then that nothing.

There was no birth certificate, no evidence of him attending daycare, nothing.

It was as if Wes did not exist before he was eight years old.

And perhaps the most interesting thing.

Amy Weston was listed as Wes's biological mother, DNA even said as much, and yet Amy's medical file said that she had never been pregnant and also had no siblings that could've been Wes's parent.

And yet Wes existed, appearing one day as if he had always been there.

Was it cloning? Aliens? Magic? A changeling? Someone creating false information to hide the truth?

It was a mystery, and mysteries had always been Tim's Kryptonite.

[lenle-g]

Since Scott last saw him, someone's propped John on a pile of pillows so that he's almost sitting - his limp body only slightly reclined. He seems to be breathing a hell of a lot easier for it, and there's less tubes and wires attached to him than there were earlier. He looks… geez, Scott has to swallow hard because, for the first time, John looks like he might actually be ok after all this.

“John...” His mouth moves without his consent, his voice cracking on the syllables and John, John who's actually awake, looks up - bleary but surprised, blinking at the shell-shocked shape of his brother standing there.

“Mm, Scott?” He tries, and he sounds almost normal. Normal! “Are you-?”

And then John goes all blurry because, and who let this happen, Scott's eyes are watering.

It'd be incredibly embarrassing, only it's just John - John who's seen him at the highest highs and lowest lows of his life. John who was there when he broke his leg at thirteen falling out the big bur oak round the back of school, and lied to Mom for him that it wasn't even that high. John, the man who found him, more than once in the early hours, shaking from the strength of the night terrors he'd had fresh out of the Air Force - who sat with him until sunlight poured in his window, until he could finally sleep. John, who has never commented on, or judged him for the service pistol he keeps under his pillow because it makes him feel safe. Who has always been there for him, unconditionally, even when Scott used his dissertation as a doorstop as he didn't understand a single page. John, who, right now, despite everything, fixes him with a slightly amused look of understanding.

The spaceman sighs, tilts his head, then pats the bed beside him.

“Get over here, tough guy.” John says, impressively willingly, and Scott doesn't need to be invited twice. He's at his brother's side like a shot, wrapping both arms carefully around his brother's ribcage and drawing him in. He slides one hand up his to cradle the back of the younger man's skull, bringing John's bruised face gently in to rest against the junction of his shoulder.

Scott's shaking, but John, fingers curling weakly in the soft material of his t-shirt, doesn't seem to mind.

“I'm alright, Scotty.” Little brother breathes, ever so soft, into his shoulder, voice muffled. “I'm here and-”

“You got tortured by criminals.” Scott's voice breaks on the word, and it sounds suspiciously like a sob. He feels John tense. “You're not fine.”

“I'm…” He hears John take a slow, deep breath, like this is a particularly difficult rescue and he's aboard Thunderbird Five, planning out what's best to say. But he's not 22,400 miles above the planet right now. He's here. In Scott's arms. Having gone through hell.

“Geez, Johnny.” He grip tightens.

“I'll be fine.” John amends, and Scott is impressed because the astronaut has never been good at admitting how he really feels. An Adam's apple bobs against his shoulder as John swallows. “I- I don't wanna lie to you Scott: I see that room every time I close my eyes.” Scott feels the shudder that rips through him, “but all I have to do is open them, yeah?” John's voice wavers and Scott hates it, “I open them and one of you guys is right here and that-” He takes a hitched breath, “that helps.”

“Of course.” Scott says, wetly, then a beat later; “I'm getting you a therapist.”

John laughs at that, the sounds honey warm and only a little strained. Scott feels it vibrate against his chest and it might just be the best sensation in the world.

“I'm sure they'll have a field day with me. I could be career making.” 

“I'd say I'll let you vet them first,” Scott pulls back to grin at his brother, resolutely wiping his face on his own shoulder, “But you'll have looked up where they live, their social security number, their childhood school, their-”

“All sounds reasonable to me.” John interjects casually. His eyes have fallen closed.

“It should probably scare me that you could find everything you could possibly want to know, legal or not, in under five minutes.”

“Give me ten.” He seems sleepy, but the edge of a smile on the corner of his mouth means everything to Scott right now. “It's an off day... I promise to stick to their practice records and any criminal convictions. After all... I wouldn't want to scare them by whipping out their children's birth certificates in the middle of a session.”

Scott barks a laugh, then presses his mouth solidly, firmly, to the top of his brother's head.

“You are gonna be ok, Johnny.” He promises, resolute. “I'm not gonna have it any other way.”

John, half asleep now, gives him a tired mmhuh. Scott takes that as a cue to fully untangle himself; gently laying his brother back against his pillows and warmly brushing the loose curl of John's forelock off his bruised face.

He takes a moment to study his sleeping expression - soft and relaxed and showing no hint at all of dreaming about that damn room.

Scott thinks he'll sit here, on guard, for a little while though... just in case. John would, and has, after all, done the same for him.

[hederasgarden]

Lewis Pullman Characters Masterlist

Thunderbolts

Oneshots

A Gilded Cage (The Void x F!Reader x Bob Reynolds | Explicit 4K)

As a mutant who can siphon energy and emotion, you’re brought onto the team by Val to control the Void—but things quickly spiral beyond expectation.

Drabbles

Yelena teaches Bob how to dominate his girlfriend

Couch sex with submissive Bob

Outer Range

Oneshots

My Favorite Mistake (Rhett Abbott x F!Reader | Explicit l 1.8K)

Half the reason you’re in the middle of nowhere Wyoming is because you’ve always been bad at choosing men. You expect Rhett Abbott will be no different.

Show Me The Ropes (Rhett Abbott x F!Reader | Explicit l 1K)

Rhett’s talents with roping and knot tying translate well in the bedroom.

The Trouble With Books (Rhett Abbott x F!Reader | Explicit l 1.2K)

You and Rhett discover a surprising new kink together.

I’ll Be Your Fantasy (Rhett Abbott x F!Reader | Explicit l 2.4K)

Sequel to The Trouble With Books. Rhett helps you play out a new fantasy.

Can’t Keep My Hands To Myself (Rhett Abbott x F!Reader | Explicit l 1.5K) Rhett’s a handsy drunk, not that you mind.

Cowboy Trouble (Rhett Abbott x F!Reader x Rip Wheeler | Explicit l 3K)

When your boyfriend loses a game of poker, Rip Wheeler claims a night with you as the reward. 

Drabbles

Take The Weight of Me (Rhett Abbott x F!Reader | Explicit l 570)

You go to Rhett when you don’t want to think anymore.

I get on my knees, but it ain’t to pray (Rhett Abbott x F!Reader | Explicit l 700)

In the darkness behind the bar, you find yourself on your knees, ready to take everything Rhett has to offer.

Learning to Ride (Rhett Abbott x F!Reader | Explicit l 300)

Rhett teaches you the proper way to ride a bull (and him).

Oasis (Rhett Abbott x F!Reader | Gen l 650)

When you reach your limit, Rhett’s there to help.

Need You Now (Rhett Abbott x F!Reader | Explicit l 650)

After the rodeo, Rhett shows you how much he wants you.

Take Me to Heaven (Rhett Abbott x F!Reader x Arvin Russell | Explicit l 700)

If heaven’s a place you’re certain it can be found between Rhett and Arvin.

Take a Breath (Rhett Abbott x F!Reader | Explicit l 250)

You and Rhett experiment with breathplay.

Hiraeth (Rhett Abbott x OC | Gen | 400)

A strange hole on the Abbott farm upends Mae Collin’s whole world.

Series

Stand By Me Masterlist (Rhett Abbott x F!Reader | Ongoing | Explicit)

When a local ranch hand’s attention evolves into something more sinister, Rhett Abbot becomes an unlikely source of comfort and protection for you.

Small Mistakes New Beginnings Masterlist (Rhett Abbott x F!Reader | Ongoing | Explicit)

After you fall pregnant from a one-night stand with Rhett Abbott, both of your lives change forever.

Headcanons

Jealous Rhett

Rhett and Cowboy!Jake Crossover

Being Rhett’s Housewife

Teasing Rhett

How Rhett spends Valentine's Day

Moodboards

Practical Magic AU

Top Gun

One Shots

All The Right Moves (Robert “Bob” Floyd x Reader x Natasha “Phoenix” Trace | Gen l 1.8K)

Your day takes a turn for the better when you meet not one but two cute Navy Pilots at the hospital. 

Follow the Leader (Robert “Bob” Floyd x Reader x Natasha “Phoenix” Trace | Explicit l 883)

You and Bob love it when Phoenix takes charge.

Drabbles

Eager to Please (Robert “Bob” Floyd x Reader | Explicit l 400)

You learn pretty quickly that Bob is eager to please, but he still manages to surprise you with a request. 

Catch a Fallen Star (Robert “Bob” Floyd x Reader | Mature l 350)

Mermaid!reader x Sailor!Bob. He’s the only survivor from the ship that broke apart on the rocky shores of the island last night. Well, there were others, but your sisters took care of them all too eagerly.

No Wingman Needed  (Robert “Bob” Floyd x Reader x Natasha “Phoenix” Trace | General l 700)

When Hangman realizes you like Bob and Phoenix he tries to help.

Headcanons

The day Bob earns his call sign

A night of absolute devotion and attention with Bob

Valentine's Day with Bob

Moodboards

The Astronaut's Wife AU

Bad Times at the El Royale

Oneshots

Little Games (Miles Miller x F!Reader l Explicit l 1.4K)

Miles knows it’s wrong to watch you but he just can’t help himself. 

Saving You (Miles Miller x F!Reader l Mature l 1K)

Miles has done a lot of bad things in his life but saving you isn’t one of them.

Series

You Can Check Out Any Time You Like (Vampire!Miles Miller x F!Reader | Explicit | Ongoing)

Your life changes the night a mysterious stranger rescues you, but you'll soon learn that salvation comes at a deep cost.

Drabbles

Sleeping Beauty (Miles Miller x F!Reader l Explicit l 820)

Sometimes it’s easier for Miles when you’re quiet.

Press Play

The Small Things (Harrison Knott x Plus Size!Librarian!F!Reader | Mature | Ongoing Series)

A chance encounter on the first day of your new job leads to something wonderful and unexpected

♡Main Masterlist♡

[nottheeconomy]

Cue the 30 year old washed up detective duo ready to turn against yet another old classmate for fridge money hahahahahhahahahha

AU idea below the read more!

Imagine if Shuichi gradually lost all contact with his old Hope’s Peak classmates after graduation except for Kaede (who had to settle for being a piano teacher after reality didn’t turn out as she hoped) so he hasn’t heard from the rest in a decade.

Shuichi, now 30 and down in the dumps as a failed detective, slaves away at his day job as a journalist for a gossip rag.

But one day as he nurses his sorrows, an old clown enters the scene, accuses an ex classmate of being a serial murderer and proposes that they track him down together all the while describing in depressing detail how everybody else in their old class never managed to fulfil their dreams

Would Shuichi take his words for the truth? Assume they’re all lies because he really doesn’t want to believe that everybody succumbed to booze and cigarettes to get by? Well, he can only find out if he reaches out to their old classmates himself to know for certain :) (Which may or may not be Ouma’s plan in the first place)

Ouma: You should’ve seen him Saihara chan! Drunk in broad day light and harassing little girls for money! How far has our resident astronaut fallen~

Shuichi: I see you never really changed at all have you Ouma kun? I suppose lying is a life-long habit for you.

Ouma: You say I’m lying? Prove it.

Shuichi: This is Kaito we’re talking about.

Ouma: But when’s the last time you’ve seen him? Accusing me of lying without evidence? No wonder you couldn’t make it as a detective!

Shuichi: …sigh.

[failbettergames]

any games you'd recommend? could be for any reason! (similarity to fallen london, you know the people who made it, you just think it's neat, etc.) besides your own, of course, I already own all of those :)

Yes, here's a list of all of the games we talked about in our newsletter last year:

Birth: an adventure puzzle game about constructing a creature from spare bones & organs.

Scarlet Hollow: an immersive, episodic horror-mystery.

Egypt: Old Kingdom: a strategy simulator of the Great Pyramids period.

The Past Within is a fun, eerie way to spend an hour with a friend.

The Pale Beyond: high stakes on the frozen wastes, Sunless Sea feelings. 

King of the Castle: medieval monarch party game.

Stray Gods: an urban fantasy, musical visual novel featuring the gods of Greek myth.

Vampire Survivors: so moreish.

Knotwords: extremely satisfying crossword-anagram-puzzle game.

The Banished Vault: so gorgeous it actually makes us a bit cross.

Astronaut the Best: an anarchic comedy about assembling a team of hapless astronauts. 

El Paso, Elsewhere: supernatural neo-noir shooter, in which you must destroy the villain you loved - even if it means dying yourself.

Thank Goodness You're Here: may be the only game that’s more British than the ones we make.

The Fabulous Fear Machine: pulpy horror narrative strategy.

WORLD OF HORROR: Junji Ito-adjacent roguelike.

Lies of P: tickles your Fromsoft fancy. 

The Lamplighters League: essentially 1930s supernatural XCOM 

Tails Noir (formerly known as Backbone): gorgeous, bleak, compelling and unsatisfying in equal measure. 

Mediterrea Inferno: a spicy story about finding yourself after isolation.

DotAGE: manage a village where the Village Elder has helpfully precise visions of the future.

Slay the Princess: the princess is very bad and you have to kill her. 

VR remake of The 7th Guest: very fun, silly and far less punishing than the original. 

Astrea: Six-sided Oracles: interesting dice-and-deckbuilding system. 

Return of the Obra Dinn: truly a modern classic.

[queereads-bracket]

Queer Adult SFF Books Bracket: Preliminary Round

Book summaries and submitted endorsements below:

The Last Sun by K.D. Edwards (The Tarot Sequence series)

Endorsement from submitter: "Totally immersive, absolutely gut wrenching, with the most fascinating of unreliable narrators, this series has me in a chokehold. This first book is the least diverse, but as the series goes on you get more female characters and more characters of color. I think one of the most personally striking things for me is how nice it is to read a book by an ace man about an ace man. We don't get near enough of those. Plus I will die on the QPR Rune/Brand hill. There are so few stories where one of the most crucial relationships in the book is neither romantic nor sexual and you can pry it out of my cold dead hands."

Rune Saint John, last child of the fallen Sun Court, is hired to search for Lady Judgment's missing son, Addam, on New Atlantis, the island city where the Atlanteans moved after ordinary humans destroyed their original home.

With his companion and bodyguard, Brand, he questions Addam's relatives and business contacts through the highest ranks of the nobles of New Atlantis. But as they investigate, they uncover more than a missing man: a legendary creature connected to the secret of the massacre of Rune's Court.

In looking for Addam, can Rune find the truth behind his family's death and the torments of his past?

Fantasy, urban fantasy, mystery, series, adult

The Javelin Program by Derin Edala (Time to Orbit: Unknown series)

When Dr Aspen Greaves signed up for the Javelin Program, humanity's first foray into colonising deep space, they expected to wake up to life in a thriving colony on a distant planet. Instead, they find themself five years away from their destination on a broken spaceship full of complex mysteries, dead astronauts, and a very unhelpful AI.

Aspen wasn't trained for any of this. But if they can't keep themselves alive, get the ship in working order, and find out what went wrong by unravelling a chain of mysteries leading all the way back to distant Earth, then neither Aspen nor the five thousand sleeping passengers in their care will ever see a planet again.

Science fiction, mystery, series, adult

[valandrawrites]

2024 Recommended Fics - Incomplete List

Here's my start at an end of year round up. If you're looking for a specific kind of fic or trope, let me know, and I'll try to find something for you! I have many, many more I could add, and what I've included is in no particular order.

I didn't list the rating or warnings with this because it just got too long, and honestly, I'm lazy. Read at your own risk.

A. fragilis by eachainn @eachainn

This is quite simply the best fic I've ever read. Do not continue until you read this one!

150 million years ago, an Allosaurus finds a stranger had wandered into his territory and he wants the intruder out.

1878, the middle of what will become known as the Bone Wars between O.C. Marsh and Edward Drinker Cope. Castiel Novak is transporting fossils from the latest dig in South Dakota back to Yale. He has to be careful, because there are people who work for Professor Cope who would gladly take the fossils off of his hands.

Those Who Get in the Way of Peace by ladyofthelake17 @ladyofthe-lake

“Don’t make me an optimist. You will ruin my life.”

Dean Winchester finally has his shit together: business is booming at his auto repair shop, he's eating healthy (okay, he's eating salad with bacon bits), he's exercising (in a cemetery). He's single, but he's claiming it as a good thing. And so what if Sam's not talking to him? So what if his dad is marrying an insane artist? And so what if the priest marrying them is hot as hell with a name that sounds like a sin just to say it — Castiel?

AKA: another Fleabag fic, but maybe it'll have a happy ending. Maybe.

Illicit Ink by allmystars @allmystars-i

Dean Winchester has a secret. He does this thing maybe two or three times a week, and he loves it, don’t get him wrong, but… He’s a camboy, and that’s not exactly something he wants shared around the breakfast table. When Dean decides he needs a change, it’s nothing too drastic, just a tattoo. But the hot-as-sin tattoo artist he gets to do the job might just change everything.

Ground Control to Major Tom by MrsShinigamiDaiko @mrs-shinigami-daiko

Dean Winchester dreamed of being a mechanic all his life, but he never thought he would end up working as a mechanic for NASA and going into space. He is thrust into his first ever space mission after a strange lunar body, dubbed Luna-b I, mysteriously appears in Earth’s sky. Teams of astronauts scramble up to the permanent lunar base and begin analysis to determine if the blue orb is any threat to mankind. Most of the first team is sent home after a few months, nearly all of them having fallen ill with devastating cases of space sickness. As time goes on, it becomes clear that something altogether unnatural is going on here. Dean feels like he’s losing his mind as he and his crewmates also begin to succumb to sickness. He races to figure out what could possibly be the root cause. Is Luna-b I really just some weird, deep space rock that got caught in the Moon’s orbit by chance? Or is it something much more sinister, watching and waiting for the opportune moment?

Pinfall by crowleyo @crowleyo

Cas runs the family diner with his adopted son, Jack. His old high school flame rolls into town and he thinks he can just step back into Castiel's life. Well... He's kind of right.

This Impossible Happiness by FriendofCarlotta @friendofcarlotta

In one universe, Dean Winchester is pushing thirty. He’s just danced at his little brother’s wedding, he likes his job at the garage, and he goes on the occasional hunt with friends and family. He’s also desperately lonely for someone to share his life with. One day, he finds a mysterious package outside his door. It contains a news clipping about an urban legend that just might be real, and a book by Professor Castiel Novak, who happens to specialize in that same urban legend.

In another universe, Castiel Novak’s roadside motel is slowly dying, its business hollowed out by the interstate system. Dean Winchester, the man who asked him to run away together years ago, is only a painful regret these days. Until the day a mysterious letter Castiel doesn’t remember writing brings Dean back to his doorstep.

Out there in the multiverse, a man and an angel look for each other in all the wrong places. In the meantime, they might as well help a few other versions of themselves figure things out.

Then Comes the Rain by someonetoanyone @someonetoanyone-blog - a three part series

“I’m not looking forward to it,” Rowena tells him, as though that will absolve her of anything, “he may have a better solution for this, but the spell requires a smidge of spilled Grace. He’ll need to be hurt for this to work, and — Dean, all joking aside, you may be the only person fit to do this.”

“Oh, this’ll be great — go ahead, tell me why I’m the only one that can get butt-fucked to save the world.”

Mind Your Own Business by BunnyHunter

While the ability to overhear the secret thoughts of the people around him was distracting at best and anxiety-inducing at worst, Castiel had found ways to cope that included a pair of noise-canceling headphones and burying himself in his PhD research. After hearing inner thoughts for his entire life, there were very few things he overheard that surprised him anymore. So imagine his shock when his roommate Sam's brother, Dean, came to stay with them. While Dean may have been able to keep a straight face on the outside, his inner thoughts told a much different story.

Survivalism by bleuzombie @bleuzombie

Genetic engineers Castiel Novak and Dean Winchester are on the verge of a breakthrough in cancer treatment and possibly even a cure, using genetic manipulation and incredibly, shark DNA.

Following a devastating diagnosis of brain cancer, and amid growing pressure from his boss, Dick Roman, for results, Castiel is pushed to an act of desperation. He tests the cure on himself with disastrous and violent results.

He has never been so hungry.

Dean Winchester’s half-way house for orphaned half-monsters (and humans) by foolondahill17 @foolondahill17

What if Dean just kept every kid he’s ever interacted with?

A re-write of season 6 onwards in which Dean slowly collects every conceivable stray that crosses his path.

The eyes of a lamb by naughtystiel @naughtystiel for Shedar

The year is '98 and Spring is approaching fast. For most, the season is a symbol of new beginnings with Mother Nature’s chaste kiss that breathes life into everything once more. It's inspiring, peaceful and beautiful. So, the fact that this is exactly when a certain serial killer loves to strike makes Detective Winchester's blood boil. Two years in a row now, the guy has slipped through his fingers, not leaving a single trace behind. No clues, no leads, just murdered women in the most picturesque places imaginable. And the worst thing of all? Sometimes Dean catches himself admiring the killer's work.

where there is darkness by quiettewandering @quiettewandering @wanderingcas 

When Castiel Milton takes a job to be the new assistant keeper at Whaleback Lighthouse in Kittery, Maine, he expects to live out his new life in quiet isolation. What he gets instead is Dean Winchester: bitter, brash, and, like Castiel, harboring a dark secret. As the spark of attraction between them grows into a flame, the lighthouse walls start closing in—as do the ghosts of Dean and Castiel's checkered pasts.

[paintlesscanvas]

SPACE SNPTS . .

system names: the solar system, the abyssal dwellers, those that rove around on mars, the satellite system, the wormhole weirdos, the milky way, the universe, the supernova collective, the space invaders, the astronauts, team rocket, extraterrestrials, the space crew, the system that was taken by aliens, the collapsing galaxy, the nebula, the alien system, the binary stars, the collapsing stars, the chaotic cosmos, the globular cluster, the rocky orbit, the blustering asteroid, the astronomer collective, the royals of the universe, the dwarf planets, the runaway ship, the intergalactic committee, comet children, solar satellites, the [ number ] planets, the fallen rocket, stargazers, nasa, the remnants of a nebula, the stuck-in-space system, the crashed rocket ship, the shadow of a blackhole, those blinded by the stars, the nasa engineers, the infinite system, those that are lost in the void, the cosmic crusaders, the astral adventurers, the meteor shower, the [ planet ] collective, those on the moon, the rocket scientist system, blasting off, the astro-nots, those in awe of the stars, the aurora borealis, the earthlings, the constellations, the children of the moon, the telescope lurkers, the organisms in space, specs of stardust, drifting through the void, the silence of space

usernames: cryingcosmos, driftingdust, crateronthemoon, nogrxvity, lunarlove, astronomyyy, iamastar, cxsmiccrater, galaxygal, junipiter, kissedbystars, m00ndust, grrnantennae, beepbooop, totalatomizer, thebinarystar, inaufobeam, takenbyaliens, spaceismyplace, astrological, striinights, lostinthevoid, starsrfriends, cxsmicdxath, whereaminow, stuckinspace, lostintheship, 321blastoff, leftbehindinspace, cometchiild, nomorenova, leftoverspacedust, madeofstardust, eyesofstars, princeofthemoon, queenofmars, shootingstxrs, cloudofdust, moonpriints, solareclxpse, milkywaykid, galaxygaze, lostastronaut, astron0t, sweetstarrr, hesmadeofstars, earthtome, downtoearth, www.nasa.com, nasa_nyx, nasadevotee, httpsmooncords, tuneonthemoon, jarofstarrrs, farawaygalaxy, starringmytea, planetsinmytea, starryb0ba, spacekween13, qonstellat1ons, galactea, splinteredstarlight, lunarcloud, plutoprincess, marsr0cks, satellitesweeper, gleepgloorp, theinfinitevoid, worrrmhole, st4rg4zer, blackholebxtch, poppopplanet, fieryblazingsun, br1ghtsunrays, lasergunnn, keypadcodee, solarfl4re, stardustinmyveins, collapsinggalaxy, chaoticcosmos, andromedaaa, orbitingyyou, biiigdipper, liiittledipper, uursamajor, uursaminor, scalyscorpiio, gemeniiiii, totesatauras, capricornnn, slayggitarius, crabbycancer, aaacutius, actuallyaries, litrlyleo, vivaciousvirgooo, mystarchartsays, lusciousleo, princesspisces, mmaybemercury, vvixievenus, eeeeitsearth, eccentricearthling, imanearthling, themoonchild, memoriesofmars, jupiterstupider, joypiter, jupiiiit3r, putaringonit, ssoooossaturn, sillysaturn, ringsringsrings, uuuuranus, neptuning, neptwo, cuteopluto, ubersupernova, atomsplitter, microscopic, studyingstars, actuallyintheabyss, throughthetelescope, astroaroundus, lunarlunatic, solarspotsss, starsinmyheart, swirlsinspace

names: abyss, aloea, altair, andromeda, atlas, archer, arian, aster, asterion, asterix, astra, astraea, astrophel, atom, aurora, aquila, bael, bellatrix, blaze, burst, caelum, carina, celeste, celestia, comet, comette, constellation, cosmos, crater, dai, dawn, dipper, dorian, draco, dusk, dust, elio, eris, eclipse, estelle, estrella, etherea, flare, galaxy, galaxae, gamma, gem, grim, haumea, indus, ixion, janus, kepler, knox, lepus, leo, lucien, luna, lunar, lyra, lynx, merak, meteor, mira, moon, nebula, nebulae, nix, nocturne, noire, nova, orbit, orcus, pandora, pavo, phobos, phoenix, procyon, pulsar, pyxis, quark, quasar, ray, reid, rho, rigel, rinn, sawyer, sedna, sirius, skye, solar, solaria, star, stardust, starla, stella, steren, supernoca, tucana, uni, universe, ursa, void, vela, volans, zade, zaire, zenith, zeta

pronouns: space/spaces, planet/planets, universe/universes, nebula/nebulas, star/stars, shine/shines, shimmer/shimmers, sun/suns, gas/gas', heat/heats, burn/burns, void/voids, cosmo/cosmos, explode/explodes, float/floats, drift/drifts, dust/dusts, comet/comets, asteroid/asteroids, moon/moons, eclipse/eclipses, orbit/orbits, galaxy/galaxys, andromeda/andromedas, solar/solars, lunar/lunars, shootingstar/shootingstars, constellation/constellations, planet/planets, mercury/mercurys, venus/venus’, earth/earths, mars/mars', jupiter/jupiters, saturn/saturns, uranus/uranus', neptune/neptunes, pluto/plutos, supernova/supernovas, quasar/quasars, ufo/ufos, alien/aliens, rocket/rockets, fuse/fuses, spacedust/spacedusts, abyss/abyss’, nova/novas, lune/lunes, astro/astros, scope/scopes, void/voids, ray/rays, pulse/pulses, neutron/neutrons, atom/atoms, glow/glows, vortex/vortexs, wormhole/wormholes, celestial/celestials, telescope/telescopes, see/sees, vision/visions, swirl/swirls, beam/beams, infinite/infinites, eternal/eternals, silent/silents, forever/forevers, vast/vasts, gravity/gravitys, interstellar/interstellars, sunspot/sunspots

titles: the infinite, prn who shines in the night, prn of stars, whats left of a supernova, the big dipper, the little dipper, prn who walks on stardust, the comet, drowning in stardust, prn who made the prints on the moon, the astronomer, prns stardust, the lunar eclipse, the cosmos, bathed in the glow, dancing through saturn’s rings, the ursa major, the ursa minor, mesmerized by mars, the ship’s brightest laser, the shooting star, prn who is made of stars, the alien on the ship, drifting through space, the creator of constellations, the astronaut, prn who floats through space, a blazing sun, prn who explores the galaxy, the thing in the galaxy, prn that created stars, the one who made the milky way, the aurora borealis, the one in space, the endless, prn who floats, the big bang, prn who waits in the wormhole, prn who walks amongst stars, the dimmest star, the curious, the beautiful stars, prn who fixes the ship, a new star, prn who encounters an alien, the atomsplitter, the one who found a new planet, the stargazer, the one who landed on the moon, lack of gravity, a meteor shower, prn who searches in the stars, prn who looks through the telescope, the admirer of stars, a new constellation, the glow of a star, the exploration of space, the explosion of nebulae, the spark of stars, prn made of matter, the burning sun, a fiery meteor, the moons reflection, a planet orbiting, the cosmic collision, the light in the sky, the flash of a ufo, prn who gets captured by the beam, prn who meets the aliens, the brightest star in the sky, the center of the universe, the interstellar traveler, prn that studies the stars

[aspenmissing]

Hiii! This is my first time asking for a request, hehe. I have fallen in love with your writing ever since Arcane. Im such a hug fan. So I see that you can write resident evil 🙈 I was hoping if you could make Leon and reader are best friend since childhood but never had a chance to confess to each other after their high school. Hahaha, you can add more stuff in the story

Sorry for being awkward, and i dont know what to add. I hope you don't mind. I'm a hug fan of resident evil 🙈

ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴛᴡᴏ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅꜱ

ʟᴇᴏɴ ᴋᴇɴɴᴇᴅʏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ-ɪꜱʜ? || 3656 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ꜱʟᴏᴡ-ʙᴜʀɴ? ᴄᴀɴᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏɴ-ᴄᴀɴᴏɴ ꜱᴛᴜꜰꜰ!

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏᴏᴏᴏᴏ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛᴇʀ! ᴡᴇʟᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ꜱɪᴅᴇ, ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ! ɪ ᴀᴍ ꜱᴏ ɢʟᴀᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ, ᴇɴᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴇɴᴅ ɪɴ ᴀ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ, ᴀ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ɪ ꜰᴜʟʟʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴇᴅ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ!! ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴀᴘᴏʟᴏɢɪꜱᴇ, ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴇɴᴏᴜɢʜ ɪɴꜰᴏʀᴍᴀᴛɪᴏɴ! ꜱᴏ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ! <3 <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʟᴇᴏɴ

You and Leon first met on a bright summer afternoon when you were both six years old. The neighbourhood park buzzed with the joyful noise of children running, shouting, and playing. The air smelled of fresh-cut grass and sticky lemonade from the nearby stand. You sat alone on the swing, clutching a scruffy stuffed animal that had seen far better days — its fur was matted, and one eye was missing. It was your most treasured companion, and you held it tightly, feeling both comforted and a little shy.

Leon’s eyes found you almost immediately. His wide, earnest gaze was full of curiosity and something gentle — a kindness rare for a kid his age. He approached carefully, as if not to startle you.

“Hi, I’m Leon,” he said, flashing a grin that was all teeth and warmth. “Want me to push you?”

You hesitated for a beat, unsure if strangers could be trusted, but there was something about him that felt safe. You nodded, barely able to believe that this small act — someone wanting to push you on a swing — might be the start of something special.

He jumped onto the swing behind you, and with steady hands, he pushed you higher and higher, the wind rushing past your face. You laughed, a sound bright and light, as you felt yourself soaring — free and unafraid.

=

From that moment on, Leon was always there. Your days filled with him became your favourite adventures. You discovered you shared a love for all things thrilling and imaginative. Together, you created stories where you were heroes battling dragons in the woods behind your houses, pirates hunting treasure in the tall grass, and astronauts exploring the stars from your backyard.

You both knew every secret hideout and shortcut — the hollow tree where you stashed your treasures, the tiny creek where the water sparkled like diamonds in the sun, and the old abandoned swing set where you dared each other to swing higher and higher, testing your courage.

You scraped your knees and elbows together during races and climbs, the sting softened by Leon’s quick bandages and easy laughter. When either of you fell, there were tears, but you wiped them away for each other, promising “Next time, I’ll catch you.”

Sleepovers were sacred rituals. Under the soft glow of flashlights and tangled blankets, you whispered secrets into the night. Your voices were small and hushed, blending with the quiet sounds of crickets and the rustling leaves outside the window. You talked about your dreams — who you wanted to be when you grew up, what adventures you hoped to have, and the silly fears that sometimes kept you awake.

=

As you got older and entered elementary school, your friendship blossomed into something almost legendary among your classmates. Teachers would smile knowingly when you both answered questions in unison, or when you passed secret notes full of silly doodles and inside jokes.

You had your own language — nicknames only you understood. Leon was “Bullet” for his lightning-fast reflexes, and you were “Picasso” for the way you could paint whole worlds in your mind and on your canvas, creating beauty out of nothing. You called each other by these names in the hallways, grinning at the confused looks of others who didn’t quite get it.

Leon was the brave one. Always the first to stand up if someone teased you, always quick to jump in when something felt unfair or scary. When thunderstorms rolled in, he’d sit with you until you felt safe enough to sleep. He was the one who’d hold your hand tight if the dark felt too big.

You were the calm one, the thinker. You loved to plan your next adventure or solve puzzles you found in books. When Leon was frustrated or worried, you knew just how to calm him down — a quiet word, a gentle smile, a reminder that together, there was nothing you couldn’t face.

You celebrated birthdays with homemade cakes and endless laughter. Sometimes you would surprise each other with little gifts — a comic book you found at the library, a friendship bracelet woven from colourful threads, or a carefully folded paper airplane with a secret message inside.

Summer breaks were magical. Days stretched endlessly, filled with video games, bike rides, and ice cream runs. You’d stay up late, your rooms lit only by the glow of the TV screen, competing in silly contests and making up stories about your favourite characters.

No matter what happened, you knew that Leon was your person. Your best friend, your partner in crime, your secret keeper.

And beneath all the laughter and shared adventures, there was a quiet feeling neither of you dared to name yet — a feeling that maybe, just maybe, this friendship was something more.

But then came high school, with its sprawling halls and new expectations — a whole new world to navigate, filled with pressures and possibilities that neither of you had quite imagined as kids.

At first, you both still tried to hold onto what you had. You’d meet up after school, stealing moments between classes to laugh and catch up.

“Hey, Bullet,” you’d joke, nudging him as you walked down the hallway.

“Picasso,” he’d grin back, eyes lighting up. “Still painting your own world while the rest of us get lost in the noise?”

You’d laugh, the old comfort settling in like a warm blanket.

But soon, your own worlds began to pull you in different directions.

=

You found yourself drawn deeper into your art classes, where the chaos of teenage life melted away in the swirl of colours and textures. The quiet hum of the studio became your sanctuary — a place where you could lose yourself for hours, painting dreams on canvas, sketching the people you saw, or just letting your mind wander.

One afternoon, as you packed up your brushes, Leon caught you just outside the art room.

“You’re really talented, you know,” he said quietly, watching you fold your sketchbook. “Have you thought about art school?”

You smiled, a little wistfully. “Maybe. I want a place that feels… mine. Somewhere peaceful.”

He nodded, his expression serious. “I get that. I’m headed somewhere too, but it’s not peaceful.”

=

Meanwhile, Leon’s focus sharpened in a different way. His days were packed — early morning workouts, late nights at the police academy, drills and training that pushed him harder than ever. There was a fire in him, a fierce dedication fueled by a deep sense of justice and a need to protect the people he cared about.

You admired that determination, watching from afar as he grew stronger, more confident. But with every step he took toward his dreams, he seemed to pull further away.

One evening, you managed to catch him on the phone.

“Hey, Picasso,” he said, voice tired but warm.

“Hey, Bullet. Long day?”

“Yeah… feels like I’m running just to keep up.”

You hesitated, wanting to say more, but only managed, “I miss hanging out.”

“Me too,” he replied softly. “We’ll make time. I promise.”

=

The little things started to change first. The texts that once came like clockwork — casual invites to hang out, excited commentary about movies or games — slowed to an occasional message.

One night, you stared at your phone after reading his text: “How’ve you been?”

You typed a reply — “Good. Busy with projects. You?” — but hesitated before sending it, the words feeling so small compared to what you really wanted to say.

Phone calls, once full of laughter and long conversations, became less frequent. When you did talk, the silences stretched longer, weighted with all the things left unsaid.

“Do you ever think about… us?” you finally asked once, voice barely above a whisper.

There was a pause on the other end.

“I do,” Leon admitted. “More than I should.”

You swallowed hard. “Me too.”

And yet, you both held onto the connection you had — however fragile it felt. Neither of you wanted to admit how much distance was growing, afraid that saying it out loud might break the bond forever.

It was like you were two trains running on parallel tracks, close enough to see each other, but never quite close enough to reach out.

=

There were moments, though, when the old closeness flashed back — a shared smile in the hallway, a random text full of memories, a familiar joke that made your heart skip.

“Remember when you tried to climb that tree and got stuck?”

Leon teased in a text one afternoon.

You smiled so wide your cheeks hurt. “How could I forget? You had to call my mom.”

Those moments were bittersweet reminders of everything you had, and everything slipping away.

You found yourself wondering what might have been — the words you never said, the feelings you never voiced. The quiet “I like you” that hovered just out of reach, trapped behind fear and timing.

Leon probably wondered too, though neither of you ever admitted it.

Still, life pulled you forward, carrying you both toward futures you dreamed of but couldn’t quite share anymore. The years stretched on, and the distance grew, but somewhere deep down, the bond remained — a silent promise that no matter what, you would always have a place in each other’s hearts.

Tonight was one of those rare nights when fate seemed to pull you both back into the same orbit, as if the years and distance between you were suddenly shrinking with the simple ping of a message.

You were sitting alone in your small apartment — a cozy, well-lived-in space tucked above a quiet street — the soft hum of the city filtering through the cracked window. The only light came from your laptop screen, casting a pale glow across the room. The walls were lined with framed certificates and awards you’d earned in college — your art degree, a few recognitions for your work in local exhibitions, and a scholarship plaque that still made you smile quietly to yourself. They were reminders of the dreams you’d been chasing, a testament to the life you’d been building on your own.

A canvas sat propped against one corner, half-finished brush strokes catching the light. A scattered array of paints and pencils spilled from an open box on your desk, mingling with the soft pages of a sketchbook that was worn from constant use. The scent of turpentine and fresh paint filled the air, grounding you in a moment of calm.

Just as you reached for your coffee mug, your phone buzzed sharply on the table, breaking the silence.

You glanced down, eyes widening at the sight of a message from an unknown number:

“Hey Picasso? I’m in your city for a bit. Want to meet up?”

Your heart skipped a beat — the familiar name, the unexpectedness of it all.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you typed back almost immediately:

“Yes. I’d like that.”

You stared at the screen for a moment longer, breath caught somewhere between hope and nerves. The years since you last saw him played back in your mind — the laughter, the stolen secrets, the silence that grew between you.

For the first time in a long time, it felt like maybe, just maybe, there was a chance to bridge the gap.

You set the phone down and stood up, moving over to the window. The city lights twinkled outside, each one a promise of something waiting to be found — maybe even the friendship, or something more, that you and Leon had never quite been able to say aloud.

The café where you agreed to meet was exactly the kind of place you both needed — quiet and warm, a little refuge from the relentless noise and rush of the city outside. It was one of those hidden gems, tucked between a faded bookstore and a narrow florist shop, a place where the streets seemed to slow just enough to catch their breath. The soft amber lights hung from the ceiling like suspended lanterns, casting a gentle glow over the worn wooden tables, each scar and nick on their surfaces a story in itself. Shelves lined the walls, heavy with dog-eared novels, thick volumes on art and philosophy, and clusters of potted plants whose green leaves reached toward the muted light as if seeking warmth from within.

The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee—deep, dark, and inviting—mingled with the subtle sweetness of cinnamon and vanilla from the baked goods displayed behind the counter. You could almost taste the dense chocolate croissants, the buttery scones, and the flaky puff pastries just from the air alone. Somewhere just beyond your hearing, the soft hum of indie music played, a playlist curated with quiet voices and slow rhythms, wrapping the space in a gentle cocoon of intimacy.

You arrived early, nerves fluttering like a trapped bird in your chest. The café door closed softly behind you, the familiar chime barely audible as you stepped inside, a small, delicate sound that felt like an invitation. Your fingers trembled slightly as they twisted and untwisted the strap of your bag, the motion both grounding and futile in quieting the storm of anticipation that churned inside you. Your eyes darted around the room, drinking in every detail: the flicker of candlelight in glass jars on each table, the steam rising in lazy spirals from half-empty mugs, the soft murmur of quiet conversations weaving like threads in the background.

Usually, the familiar warmth of the café soothed you, wrapping around your nerves like a well-worn blanket. But tonight, your mind raced far ahead—imagining every possible outcome, from the joy of seeing him again to the ache of realizing how much time had passed between you. You caught your reflection in the glass of the window, startling for a moment at the person looking back. The faint lines beneath your eyes spoke of long nights spent hunched over canvases, paint-streaked fingers tracing the edges of dreams. Your hair, pulled back loosely, betrayed the casual effort you put into appearances these days. And then there was the slight curl of a hopeful smile—the kind of smile that had been buried beneath layers of exhaustion and doubt but now, in this soft light, felt ready to bloom again.

Your gaze drifted slowly around the walls, resting on the few prints and certificates you’d carefully hung here. Delicate watercolors, soft and intricate, captured quiet moments—a pale blossom unfurling, a bird frozen in flight, the city skyline caught at dusk. Each piece was a fragment of your journey, small victories from local competitions that had felt like validation in a world that often dismissed dreams like yours. Nearby, the framed diploma from art school gleamed quietly, a reminder of years spent grinding through classes, sacrificing sleep and social life for a future that had always seemed just out of reach. It was a testament to the path you’d chosen—a world far from the chaos and shadows of your childhood, and yet, tonight, somehow, all of it felt tangled together again.

You glanced down at your watch, willing time to do anything but move at its steady pace. You wanted it to speed up and bring him through that door, or slow down and give you a few more moments to steady your racing heart. Your pulse thudded unevenly in your chest—anticipation, anxiety, hope—all tangled into one complicated knot.

And then, finally, the café door swung open with a gentle jingle, and there he was.

Leon Kennedy.

He stepped inside with a confident, purposeful stride, but there was something about the way he moved—hesitant, almost careful—like a man stepping back into a place from his past, wary yet longing. He looked older now, taller, his lean athletic frame unmistakably the same boy who’d once raced through school hallways with you, dodging lockers and laughter. His dark hair was shorter, a little messier, falling casually over his forehead in a way that softened his sharp features. But those eyes���the bright, piercing eyes flecked with gold in the soft afternoon light—were exactly the same. They held that familiar spark you remembered so vividly: warm, alive, and quietly fierce. There was a perfect balance in the way he carried himself, blending the hard edges carved by experience with a lingering boyish charm, like a soldier who hadn’t yet lost his humanity.

You froze for a moment, breath caught tight in your throat, the world narrowing down to just him and the space between you. Then, almost without thinking, you moved forward. The gap closed with a breathless, tight hug—one that squeezed all the years of distance, silence, and uncertainty into a single heartbeat. Your head rested against his shoulder, and you could feel the steady, reassuring rhythm of his heart beneath your cheek, a grounding pulse in the swirl of your emotions.

When you finally pulled apart, his smile was the same crooked, heart-melting grin you’d always adored—the one that made your heart ache and hope all at once.

“Picasso,” he said softly, that nickname only the two of you shared, a secret from your childhood when your art was your sanctuary, a language you’d spoken without words.

“Bullet,” you replied, laughter bubbling up despite the nerves. It was the nickname he’d earned for his lightning-fast reflexes and unyielding spirit, the one that stuck even now.

You both eased into the small wooden chairs at a table near the window. The soft afternoon light caught the flecks of gold in his eyes, making them seem almost alive with a quiet, vibrant emotion. Around you, the café hummed softly with life, but it felt as though the world had slowed down just for this moment — the noise faded into a gentle backdrop, irrelevant compared to the fragile intimacy sitting before you.

For a long stretch of time, you simply looked at each other, words tangled in your throats, caught beneath the weight of all those unspoken years. Memories swirled in your mind like drifting autumn leaves—the childhood games played under the summer sun, the whispered secrets traded beneath starry skies, the moments when you’d been each other’s anchor in stormy seas. The way his laugh had once rung out so freely, the quiet comfort of knowing you had a place in each other’s lives, no matter what.

Leon was the first to break the silence, his voice low but steady, carrying the quiet strength you remembered so well.

“I’ve been keeping an eye on you,” he said, a shy, almost bashful grin tugging at his lips. “Saw your socials… your art. The exhibitions, the awards — Picasso, you’re incredible.”

A blush rose to your cheeks, a warmth flooding through you that had little to do with the café’s soft lighting. Your fingers brushed nervously over the edge of the table, suddenly self-conscious but also proud. To have him see you this way — not as the kid who once painted on scraps of paper in the schoolyard, but as someone who had fought to make their dreams real — it was more moving than you could put into words.

“I never thought you’d notice,” you admitted softly, voice barely above a whisper.

“How could I not?” Leon leaned in slightly, eyes shining with something like awe and something deeper, more tender. “It’s like I’m seeing the world through your eyes now — every stroke, every color… I’m proud of you.”

His words settled over you like a gentle fire, melting away the cold edges of doubt and fear that sometimes crept in. You smiled, finally finding your voice again.

“What about you? What’s your story these days? What have you been up to all these years?”

Leon’s expression grew serious, the easy smile slipping away as his jaw tightened just slightly under the weight of the path he’d chosen.

“I’m heading to Arklay County in about a few months,” he said quietly, eyes flicking toward the window as if the words were heavy to say. “Raccoon City, more specifially. I’m going to be a police officer.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Raccoon City — a place you’d heard about only in hushed whispers and stories, a city with a shadowed reputation looming like a storm gathering on the horizon.

“That’s… huge, Leon,” you breathed, eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and something else—worry, maybe? “You’re really doing it.”

He nodded firmly, the set of his shoulders straight and determined. “Yeah. It’s the start of something new. But it’s also scary. A lot of unknowns waiting out there.”

You reached out instinctively and squeezed his hand, wanting to offer comfort and strength even if you couldn’t fully understand what he was about to face.

“You’ve always been the brave one,” you reminded him softly. “If anyone can do it, it’s you.”

Leon looked down at your hand, then back up with a soft, grateful smile—the kind that made you believe in hope again.

“Thank you, Y/N. It means more than you know.”

You both leaned back into the moment, the years of silence finally giving way to a conversation that felt like a fresh start—filled with hope, shared memories, and the fragile but powerful possibility of whatever came next.

And in that quiet café, surrounded by the scent of coffee and old books, it felt like the world might just be ready to give you both another chance.

“I missed this,” Leon finally said softly, voice thick with emotion. “Missed you.”

“I did too,” you admitted, warmth pooling in your chest.

The years of silence, the missed chances, the unspoken feelings — it all melted away in that moment.

Leon reached across the table and took your hand in his, fingers curling around yours with a tenderness that made your heart race.

“Maybe it’s not too late,” he said.

You smiled, the slow beat of your heart echoing the hope you both held close.

“No, Leon. Maybe it’s just the beginning.”

[thatsrightice]

The story of these two men is my Roman Empire.

Yuri Gagarin and Vladimir Komarov were highly decorated Cosmonauts, both of which made firsts in the history of space flight.

Yuri Gagarin famously became the first man in space on April 12, 1961.

Vladimir Komarov piloted Voshkod 1 on October 12, 1964 on the first space mission to carry multiple crew members. He flew again aboard Soyuz 1 on April 23, 1967, becoming the first Russian man to make two spaceflights.

Yuri Gagarin and Vladimir Komarov were close.

The Soyuz 1 was described as being “a piece of shit” and a “devil ship” as issues plagued the spacecraft throughout development and failed testing. Yuri had done everything he could to get the launch postponed, including writing a ten-page memo detailing the 203 structural problems he had discovered during inspection of the Soyuz 1. Any person who had laid eyes on the memo would be fired or demoted.

Komarov knew of these issues, but refused to step down from the missions. In March of 1987 he met with Venyamin Russayev, a then-recently-demoted KGB agent who had been assigned to "mind" Yuri Gagarin.

He met with Russayev and said, "I'm not going to make it back from this flight." Russayev asked, “Why not refuse?” Komarov answered: "If I don't make this flight, they'll send the backup pilot instead." That was Yuri Gagarin. Komarov couldn't do that to his friend. "That's Yura. And he'll die instead of me. We've got to take care of him." Komarov then burst into tears.

Yuri, nicknamed Yura by friends and family, showed up on the day of the launch “demanding to be put into a space suit,” "demanding this and this and this...", doing anything and everything he could to be the one on that spacecraft instead of Vladimir. Unfortunately, his attempts were be futile.

Soyuz 1 would launch on April 23, 1967 and faced serious issues throughout the flight. The parachutes failed to deploy during reentry and the spacecraft burned up while Vladimir screamed and cried and cursed out those responsible.

Yuri Gagarin was grounded from future space flights and denied permission to pilot military jets. This was devastating for the already deeply depressed man and everyone knew it. Even his favorite hairdresser said that “Yuri couldn't live without flying. It was his whole life. A man can't live without his trade. He can't survive.”

He eventually convinced them to let him fly, but on March 28, 1968, less than a year since Komarov’s accident, he was tragically killed during a routine-training flight aboard a MiG-15. The cause of the accident is unclear, though many speculate that the accident was an assassination on the cosmonaut as he had a falling out with several high-ranking officials following the death of his close friend.

Both Yuri Gagarin and Vladimir Komarov’s names are featured on the memorial for fallen US Astronauts and USSR Cosmonauts left on the moon by the Apollo 11 crew.

[darlingkaveh]

synopsis: a short story, based on my take on Caleb’s childhood & the mysteries involving it

tw: death, major violence.

other: in third person, and mc has a name and is described as “pale” once or twice (ain’t my name or looks tho, this is not self-indulgent of me haha 🙅 i still consider it x reader bc it’s lads’s mc but i kind of had to give her a name for story purposes, sorry 😞)

( caleb x f!reader , both children. 21 pages )

————————

CALEB loved his family. Each and every one of them, from his mom to his dad, to the little black lab that he had found in a park as a boy. His family was small. Condensed, like four atoms bonded together. He had always wanted a sibling, but his parents were always oh so busy — they were researchers, see; scientists, to be exact. So they left him home with the pup, or, sometimes, if he got lucky, Grandma Josephine, until the sun sank below the horizon, and they trudged home in their rumpled white coats.

Today was no different. He had been playing with his newest science kit, sticking red and blue bulbs onto the ends of black sticks to construct a double helix, when his parents stumbled inside. He could hear their frantic footsteps all the way from the kitchen, and could imagine them scurrying about, like a pair of bespectacled mice, squeaking to do this and that, put this here and tidy that there. Oh, and not to forget to push Caleb (a smaller mouse, kept in a different cage) a little bit of cheese now and then, so he’d shut his squeaking while they chatter away. He was no brilliant mind, no quantum physicist or astronautics expert, not like his parents.

“Sometimes I’m glad I’m no genius.” Caleb popped a grape into his mouth. “Mom and dad are always so busy. Seems like a lot of work, huh, Snoopy?” He looked at the black lab sitting on his bed, who was quite a bit bigger now — the mattress sunk more under his weight than Caleb’s — and he barked in response. Caleb grinned.

“Well, at least I do more than you.” He plucked a cucumber from his fruit salad and tossed it Snoopy’s way. It was gone in an instant. “Hah,” he muttered. “All you do is eat, sleep and play. Though, I guess that’s all I do, too.”

The lab set his head down on his paws, and looked up at him with sad, wet eyes. Caleb scrunched up his nose. “Okay, you’re cute, I’ll give you that.” He sacrificed another cucumber.

“Caleb!” His mother hollered his name. “Come on out! We want you to meet someone!”

Caleb frowned. “Oh, man, don’t tell me…” he set his bowl aside, cramming the last few grapes into his mouth before stepping out, Snoopy hot on his heels. “Yes, mom?”

“Oh, there you are, sweetie, we were starting to think you had fallen asleep.” His mother raced past him even as she spoke, checking her purse, clipboard, coat, and maybe a hundred other places. 

“Mom, your glasses are on your head,” said Caleb.

”Oh! Yes, yes.” Her hands instantly started to pat down her face, and she fixed her glasses. “Thank you, dear. Thank goodness. What might I do without you?“

“Certainly nothing at all!”

His father burst through the front door, glasses askew, though with how much he was beaming, Caleb doubted he could see much, anyway. “He’s our little genius, isn’t he, Amelia? Quite the bright boy, he is.” His father laughed and went about his usual ramblings; the effect of the humidity on his hair, the neighbor’s cat digging through the trash cans again. Caleb noticed a little girl standing in the doorway. He didn’t mean to stare, but she was most odd. She had skinny, knobby knees, and the thinnest hair he’s ever seen.

A feeling of dread crept over him like a cloud. He knew what was coming.

“Are you listening, boy?” His father ruffled up his hair. “Guess not, hm?”

“Is anyone surprised?” His mother gave her husband a pointed look. “You talk too much for your own good.”

“Dreadfully true, dear, though I’m afraid you knew that when you married me, didn’t you?”

Caleb crossed his arms and didn’t say anything, hoping that’d somehow catch their attention. It didn’t.

“Mom?” He said irritably. “Dad?”

They both looked at him.

“Who’s that?” He pointed at the little girl. She raised her head at that, and took a couple steps closer. She walked like she did not quite know how to walk, knees knocking together and toes pointed in.

“Toes out, Leslie,” his father scolded. “No walking pigeon-toed, that’s bad for you.” Leslie fixed her toes, but Caleb wasn’t sure if it really helped. “There you go.”

“Brilliant, darling.” Amelia took Leslie’s hand and smiled as she kneeled to her level. “Well done. Now, Leslie, I’d like you to meet someone.” She gestured at Caleb. “Leslie, this is your new brother, Caleb. Caleb, this is your new sister.”

Caleb’s mouth dropped open.

“Sister?” He spluttered. “Sister? She’s the third one this year, mom! You can’t be serious!”

“It’s just for the time being, dear, we’re fostering her.” His mother hushed him as she stood. “You’ve always wanted a sibling, so here we are. Be polite, won’t you? We raised you better than that.”

“Where is she going to sleep?!”

“In your room, dear, your father will set it all up, it’ll be quite nice, really.”

“Mom! You can’t—“ 

“Caleb, I advise you to be careful with your next words.” 

He fell silent, feeling the tips of his ears heat up.

“Don’t fret, chap, it isn’t so bad.” His father tried to pat his shoulder, but he dodged. “Oh, don’t be like that, now.

“I don’t want to talk to any of you!” Caleb ran back into his room, slamming the door behind him. He stood there for a moment, breathing heavily, before looking at Snoopy, who had stuck his head into the bowl of fruit.

“…Oh, Snoopy.” Caleb sighed, half-heartedly petting the lab. “Get your nose out of there.“

Snoopy licked his hand a few times and whined as Caleb sat down next to him. A slice of cucumber sat on his snout.

“Gross.” Caleb plucked it off, and Snoopy ate it in one fell swoop. “You’re like a trash compactor.”

He flopped onto his back, staring up at the ceiling — his ceiling — decorated with paper planes and planets, twirling around on strings. His mother had bought the craft, and his father had helped him hang them up. He had spent a good few hours playing with the hole puncher alone. Now, he had to share it, with an odd, pigeon-toed girl with skin too pale and funny brown eyes. She was like an opossum.

He had plenty of brothers and sisters before her, sure — it had started a few years back, when his mother and father suddenly seemed to take interest in fostering — but he was different now than then. He knew how this went, how it was going to go. His new sibling would stay for a little while, but they still left in the end. It had happened to the one before, the one after, and it’d happen to this one, too. His siblings had all been odd, yes, but odd on its own was fine; one might argue he was odd, his parents were odd, his family was odd, and he’d hardly care. But family who left was hardly family at all.

Caleb shut his eyes. There was whispering outside his door. He couldn’t stand it. Eventually, it stopped. Ten minutes later, his door crept open. Leslie stood there. Her hair was wet and stuck to her face, and she was in new clothes and shoes. She blinked owlishly at him.

“Hi.” Her voice was raspy. “My name’s…Leslie.”

Caleb rolled over and pressed his face into the pillow.

“You’re…Caleb, right?” He could hear her shuffle closer, with her odd legs and steps and walk. Snoopy barked. “You have a dog?” She brightened. “She’s cute.”

“…He’s a guy.” He sat up and heaved Snoopy into his arms. “His name’s Snoopy.”

“Snoopy?”

Caleb grumbled. “That’s what I said.”

The dog wriggled in his arms, and he eventually released him. Snoopy made his way over to Leslie and sniffed her hand.

“Snoopy’s a cute name. A cute name for a cute dog.” Leslie rubbed Snoopy’s neck. His tail thumped against the floor. 

“…It’s ‘cause I found him in a bush.” He looked away. “A blackberry bush,” he continued, slowly, “in a park nearby. He got all pricked by the thorns, so me and my parents took him home and helped him.”

“Your parents…like to pick up strays?”

“No,” he said. She stared at him. “Well…” Caleb thought about it. “I guess. They’re kind of strays themselves. But the good kind. They’re scientists.”

“I know.”

“You know?”

“Yeah.”

Curiosity pricked at him. Eventually, he caved. “How?”

Leslie nearly poked Snoopy’s eye out trying to pet him. Caleb stood up.

“Don’t pet him like that. Use your palm, not your fingers.” 

“Like this?” She tried again.

“Yeah.” He smiled a little. “Good job.“

She looked surprised, but soon smiled back. “Thanks.” She looked around. “I like your room.” His walls were decorated in a variety of posters. His favorite one was of the solar system. Sometimes he’d go up on the roof with his father and watch the sky.

“Thanks. My parents helped me decorate it. What stuff do you like?”

“Hm?”

“Stuff. What stuff do you like?” He repeated.

“Like…my clothes?” She picked up the edges of her yellow skirt and did an awkward spin that wasn’t really a spin, but Caleb clapped for her anyway. “I do like these clothes, they’re certainly nicer than my older ones. I wore those nearly every day.”

“Um…not really, but that works, I guess. My clothes are ok, I guess.” He tried to think of something better to ask. “Hey, wait, you didn’t tell me how you know.”

“Know what?”

“What you said before. That my parents are strays. Or, scientists, or whatever.”

“Oh.”

“You can sit down, by the way.” He patted the space next to him. Leslie’s smile grew, and she obliged.

“Well,” she said, “I just thought they look like scientists.” She flicked one of the paper planes hanging from the ceiling. “You know. White coat, glasses, always carrying a clipboard and pen.”

“That does sound like them.” He pushed one of the planes, too, laughing when it swung through the air and bumped into the one Leslie had nudged. 

“Time for bed!” The door opened, and his mother stuck her head inside. She smiled when she saw them sitting together. “I’m glad you two are getting along. You can play more tomorrow.”

“Okay. Good night, mom,” he said. 

“Good night, miss,” said Leslie.

“Good night, kids.” She set up a mattress for Leslie on the floor before she shut the lights, guided Snoopy out, and closed the door.

Moonlight filtered in through the blinds, illuminating strips of the room.

“Isn’t that mattress uncomfortable?” He said.

“Not really. The bed’s too soft. I feel like I’m sinking.” He could just barely make out the outline of her body, curled up by the foot of his bed.

“Are…you sure?”

“Yep. This is the type of thing I’d sleep on back home.”

He shifted. “Home?”

“Where I met your mom and dad.”

“Oh.” He figured she must be talking about the orphanage. “How is it, there?”

“Cold, mostly. But fine. The people are nice.”

“Nice?”

“Yeah. Most of the time they do things I don’t like. But that’s just how it is in the world.” She pulled her blanket snug around her. “They’re my family. They…they have my best interests at heart, you know?”

“Yeah.”

“…Do you think we could be family?”

Caleb looked at her smiling face. “Maybe.” He propped himself up with his elbows. “If you can promise me something.”

“What is it?”

Don’t leave. The words were heavy on his tongue. He swallowed them.

“Actually, nevermind.”

Promises meant nothing.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. It’s silly, anyway. We can be friends.“

“Huh.” Her breathing slowed. “Friends. That’s good, too. I don’t have any friends. Didn’t, I mean.”

“Well, I’m happy to be your first friend.”

“Thanks. Do you have a lot of friends?”

“I guess. I don’t know them very well, but yeah.”

“That must be nice.”

He rolled around, facing the window. “Something like that.”

He could hear the last of the lights in the house being shut, and the last of the doors being closed.

“…I’m sorry. For earlier.”

He laid there, listening to the sound of his own breathing. Waiting. A response never came.

She had fallen asleep.

——

There was a room in the house that Caleb had never seen. It was an ugly thing, grey and withered, tucked away in a little nook that never saw the sun. Its wooden door hung on rusty hinges; Caleb could hear it squeal from his bedroom every time his father went in. Though he had never seen what laid inside, he could guess: failed prototypes, spare parts, and dusty textbooks from his parents’ school days.

“I bet there’s a monster in there,” said Leslie. She sat cross-legged on his bed, flipping through an old science magazine as Caleb peered into the hallway, staring at the grey room.

“Maybe,” he mumbled. “I wish they’d just tell me. I tried to open the door once, too, but it was locked, and my dad got mad.” He shut the door when his mom rounded the corner.

“So, either a monster, or some top secret work things.” She grinned. “What do your parents do, anyway?”

“They work for some bigshot company called Ever. They’ve been a big deal since the Deepspace Tunnel appeared.” He leaned over, closing her magazine. On the cover page was a swirling, blue-purple mass, inhaling the sky and stars.

Her eyes went wide. “Oh, I’ve seen that somewhere! What’s it called? A w…”

“Wormhole?”

“Yes!” She beamed. “That.”

“Yeah, Ever does research on it and stuff. Most of my classmates think it’s scary,” he said. “Since a lot of people think it made Wanderers — do you know what Wanderers are? — appear.”

“Nope, never heard of that.”

“Well, they’re these really weird looking monsters. Some of them look kind of cool, but most just look…I don’t know, mutated? Abnormal. They don’t look like animals or anything.“

“Do your parents study them?”

He thought about this. “Not Wanderers. Just wormholes, I think. I’ll ask. Anyway, a lot of my classmates think the wormhole is scary, but I don’t think so. I think it’s really pretty, actually.”

“Like space?”

He smiled a little. “Yeah. Maybe space is just pretty to me.”

Leslie looked at the wormhole again. “It’s nice,” she agreed. “I think I’d still be a little scared of it, though. I mean, there’s nothing we could do if it suddenly decided to suck us all up.“

“I don’t think wormholes do that…”

“Still!”

“Okay, okay, yeah, that’s true.” He leaned back, staring up at his ceiling. “So what could we even do?”

“Build a secret shelter?” She suggested. “An underground bunker?”

Caleb hummed in response, thinking. Leslie set the magazine aside and reached out and pushed a dangling paper plane, knocking it into the moon.

“Well, I’m going to be a pilot, anyway,” he huffed. “So I’ll just fly us far away!”

“That’s silly.” She giggled. “You’re not gonna have your own plane!”

“I will if I’m important! I’m not gonna fly an airplane. Something cool, like a jet.“

Leslie made a face. “What if you crash-land and die?”

“What? I’m not gonna die!”

“I’m just saying!”

“Well, it’s not gonna happen.” He crossed his arms and huffed. “You’ll see.”

“I guess I will…”

“Don’t look at me like that!”

She dodged his attempt to hit her, laughing.

“Okay, I’m sorry!”

He pouted. “Look!” He reached under his bed and pulled out a large white box. Inside was a colorful assortment of origami cranes. “If I fold a thousand of these, I get one wish. If I wish to be a pilot, it’ll be sure to come true.”

“Whoa, really? How do you fold them?”

“I can teach you!”

By now, Caleb had forgotten all about the grey room, and whatever mysterious things that laid within.

——

“Look, Leslie! Watch what I can do!”

Caleb took out a piece of orange paper, and made it into an airplane with a few clean folds. Then, he set it in his palm, and it began to hover. He guided it through the air, swishing up, down, left, right, until it perched atop her head, making her laugh. She was stretched out, sunbathing under an oak tree. She looked better under the sun, more full and happy and sated. It made her face less gaunt and her smile more clear.

“Wow, Caleb! That’s amazing.” She cradled the plane in her hands. “Is that your Evol?”

“Yeah! I awakened just yesterday.” His smile faded slightly. “While you were at the doctor’s.”

 She made a face and prodded his foot with one of her crutches. “Caleb, don’t get all soppy on me now. I’m okay.“

“Right.” She had never been as fast or strong as him, sure, but he hadn’t thought there was anything wrong with her. His shoulders squared. “Okay.”

“It’s not your fault.” She sighed. “Maybe they’ll get these things off me some day.”

“Maybe,” he agreed sadly. He didn’t like seeing her like this.

She patted his shoulder. “So, what is your Evol? Telekinesis?”

“Gravity, actually,” he said. “That’s what mom said, anyway. Apparently there’s a difference.”

“Gravity sounds a lot cooler.”

“I don’t know, telekinesis makes me sound like a superhero. Gravity is whatever.”

She laughed. “If you say so.” She leaned back, looking up at the cloudless sky, and Caleb followed her gaze.

“…Think you’ll get an Evol, too?” He glanced at her. 

“Who knows?” She shrugged. “It’d be nice, but I don’t need it. Like you.” She grinned. “Your Evol is nice, but you don’t need it to be Caleb.”

“Huh.” He smiled. “Guess that’s true. But, it is part of me now.” He kicked a pebble. “Caleb prefers the version of him with cool powers.”

“Yeah, of course he does,” she snorted. 

A collective groan from the other side of the school yard drew their attention. A group of boys and girls were huddled around a tree, pointing up at a kite stuck in its foliage.

Leslie nudged him with her crutches again. “Looks like it’s your turn to shine.”

He pouted. “But I don’t wanna! Gym’s almost over. I wanna talk to you.”

“Oh, it won’t take long. Go and help them.”

He whined, but her expression didn’t change.

“Fine…”

He ran over to join his classmates, who were making a half-hearted attempt at climbing the tree. Others had left to get the teacher.

“Hey, guys,” he said. “What’s going on?”

“Oh, Caleb!” One of the boys, Timothy, waved. “My kite got stuck in the tree.”

Caleb craned his head back, up at the kite, which had twisted itself into the tree’s foliage. “I’ve got this.” He raised his hands up and started to untangle the kite, willing gravity to tug and pull it around until it broke out of the tree. He made it soar above the school courtyard, swishing through the air with a few loop-de-loops, before it fluttered to the ground, landing in Timothy’s hands.

“Whoa!” Timothy held his kite up, beaming. “Wow, Caleb! Your parents work for Ever, and you’ve got an awesome Evol. How cool is that?”

“It was nothing.” Caleb smiled. “I can do it anytime, if you want.”

“Really? Thanks!” Timothy rushed off, kite back in the air. A few kids lingered, asking Caleb if he wanted to play basketball or could help them with their science homework.

“I can’t play right now, but maybe later,” he said. “And if you need help, I tutor after school. Two to three.” He patted their shoulders as they groaned in unison.

“But Caleb! You’re our best player!”

“Ah, you’ll be alright without me,” he waved his hand. “I’ll be at practice tomorrow, anyway. Get some sleep in before then, don’t overwork yourself.” 

They reluctantly accepted that answer and dispersed, returning to the court. Caleb looked back at where Leslie was, and waved at her as the teacher blew a whistle, calling the end of the period. She waved back.

“Did you see it?” Caleb grinned as he rushed over to her. “I got it out really quickly!”

“I know, I saw,” she laughed as she stood, leaning onto her crutches. “Good job.”

His smile widened. “Thanks.”

——

It was spring when Leslie’s birthday came around. His father had gone out to buy the cake, while his mother showed him how to stick two beady black eyes into the opossum plush they had crocheted. Caleb hadn’t ended up being very good at crocheting — the yarn got everywhere, and he’d much rather assemble one of his science kits — but the stuffed animal had turned out quite nicely.

Leslie herself, meanwhile, was at the doctor’s.

“Will Leslie be back soon, mom?” Caleb pressed the black eyes into the grey yarn. Push too hard and they’d sink into its face, but don’t push enough and they’d bulge. “What’s wrong with her legs?”

“Your father’s picking her up now, honey,” she said. “The doctor said the muscles in her legs have been deteriorating at a faster rate than before. Your father knows more about it than I do, but she should be alright.” She took the opossum once he was done. “Nicely done.”

“I still think we should’ve made the tail thicker. It looks like a rat.”

“I don’t think Leslie will mind, dear. And, opossums aren’t so different from rats.”

“Dad says opossums are marsupials.”

She laughed. “He’s probably right.” She set the plushie in a gift box, wrapped it, and set a neat yellow bow on top. “There we are.”

Caleb picked up the box and admired it. “Thanks, mom.”

The jangle of keys made him jump up. “Dad’s home!” He raced to the front door. The man behind it, however, looked scarcely like his father.

“…Dad?” 

His father, who had worn many expressions but never one quite so grim, looked rather pale this evening. He held a crumpled white box. He stood there, staring blankly, as if in a daze, before he at last blinked and sight returned to his foggy eyes.

“Caleb.” He set a hand down on Caleb’s head, but it was hardly a touch at all; he might as well have been a ghost and passed through him. “Is your mother home?“

“Yeah?” Caleb stepped back. “She’s in the living room. I’ll go get her.” He turned. “But…where’s Leslie?”

 He was met with a resounding silence.

He looked up at his father.

“She…needs to stay at the hospital for a while.” His father looked over the top of his head, peering inside. “So, we won’t get to celebrate her birthday.”

“Oh.” Caleb deflated. “But — but she’ll be back soon, right?”

“Well, it depends. But, hopefully.“

“Samael? Where’s Leslie?”

Caleb went back inside as his mother came up behind him. He took the yellow box and passed the grey room. It was shut, as always, and probably locked, too.

He gave the knob a jiggle.

Yep, definitely locked.

He walked straight to his room after that.

His bedroom walls had had some additions since Leslie’s arrival. A few robot posters were hung to the left side, where Leslie’s bed sat. It hadn’t taken her long to prefer a bed over a ratty mattress on the floor. He had less space, now, but he didn’t mind it as much anymore.

Caleb took out his origami paper folder, and chose the darkest color he had — a deep purple. He folded it into a little paper man, and set him on the paper moon.

He laid back and stared up at his ceiling, at the tiny universe that existed in his room. The darkening sky lulled him to sleep, and in his dreams, he saw Leslie, holding his hand in a garden of apple trees.

——

Leslie had visited Caleb, once or twice, since she started to get physical therapy for her legs. She couldn’t get very far without help, so his father always accompanied her to and from the hospital. But she was alive, and she was recovering.

And for a long while, he was alone again. His parents were more obsessed with work than ever before. Forget having dinner together, he hardly ever saw them at all. Most days, he was with Grandma Josephine. He slept in her guest bedroom. It had no stars on the walls, no planets hung from the ceiling, and no planes anywhere in sight.

When he was back home, it hardly felt like home at all. The grey room had grown teeth, and seemed to snap at his heels if he walked too close. He could make out two slit eyes on the door, gnarled knobs coming out of the wood. On their off days, his father would hurry in there, his mother close behind, and they’d stay in there and mutter to themselves until the sun sank below the horizon and painted his room gold. The little man on the paper moon had started to wrinkle from constant poking.

It wasn’t until one late autumn night did things begin to stir; his father burst through the front door as per usual, though this time with a small red wheelbarrow, muttering something about this and that, this and that, nearly knocking Caleb down as he bulldozed through the house. Snoopy was barking incessantly, pawing at his coat.

“Down, boy!” His father snapped. “Down!”

Snoopy whimpered, his tail stilling as he slinked into a corner.

“Dad—“

“Ah, hell.” His father cursed under his breath as he started to wipe some dog drool off his coat, but stopped when the wheelbarrow nearly tipped over. “Son!” He held his arm out expectantly.

Caleb quickly took his father’s coat and hung it on a rack. The ends were torn, like they had caught on something and ripped. He would’ve pointed this out, had the wheelbarrow his father was pushing around not have a bigger mystery: sitting in it was an odd lump, covered with a large sheet. It was driven through the kitchen, around a corner, and, to his horror, into the grey rooml

Just what was in there?

He brewed some tea for his mother; she was sure to arrive shortly. The buzz of the pot was comforting.

When his mother at last stumbled inside, she was panting, and her hair stuck up in curious directions. She kicked off her flats, breathlessly gesturing for him to step aside, so he did. 

“Mom, what’s dad moving?”

His mother glanced at him and smiled. It was an odd thing, that smile, not unlike the lump sitting in that wheelbarrow. “Nothing of importance, dear!” She hurried to pat her hair down. “Simply something work-related. It’s rather boring, quite frankly, you’d find no interest in it.”

Now that was interesting.

“No interest?” said Caleb, as he handed her some tea. “But you always think work is interesting.”

“Interesting to me and your father, yes. And thank you, darling.” She sipped at the drink. “But to you? Not so much, sweetie. It’s a lot of…” she waved her hand around, like that was somehow helping her explain, “well, a lot of nonsense, really. Also,” she let out a pleased hum, “lemon, is it? The tea.”

He glanced at her cup. “Yes. Grandma Josephine gave it to me.”

“Ah.” Her eyes grew misty. Snoopy curled around her legs. “Josephine. Nice lady, isn’t she? I’d let her babysit you more, if she didn’t live so far away. Shame, really. Wonderful woman. She was a family friend, on — on your dad’s side. Was always like a mother to me, though.”

Caleb pulled out a chair for her, and she sat down wordlessly.

“My own mother passed away,” she added softly. “Years ago. Decades, even.”

The steam was starting to fog up her glasses, so he took them off and wiped them clean with a handkerchief. Her smile was starting to fray.

“…I know.” He glanced up at her as he handed back her glasses, her fingers barely registering his touch. “You’ve told me this before. Never how she died, though.”

“Huh.” She laughed a bit. “Is that so? Perhaps it’s silly of me to not.”

“I don’t mind,” he said. “You can tell me when you’re ready.” 

Her eyes moved to him, and some of that mist cleared. “My darling boy…” she reached out and kissed the top of his head. “You’ll do amazing things. Brilliant. I just know it.” She put her glasses back on, and blinked some. Her eyes were blue again. She reached out and gave him a hug. She smelled like apples and cinnamon. He blinked away tears of his own.

”Thanks, mom.”

Amelia laughed some more. “I should be the thankful one, dear. Or, better yet, both of us. How about it?” She took his hand, small in hers, and squeezed. “Thank you, Lord, for letting me be with my son.”

”And husband!” Samael piped in. He had returned from the grey room. Caleb assessed him. “Your very charming, lovely husband, who—“ he pinched their cheeks, making them both grumble, “positively adores his family. Maybe even more than his exhilarating job, eh?“

“Honey!” She swatted at her husband. “I was just telling Caleb here about how dull our work as been as of late. Miserable, honestly.”

“Ah, codswallop. Listen here, son,” he ruffled up Caleb’s hair, “life is all about adventure. And, since you and I are both clever individuals, with enough brain in our heads to not go sideways,” he rapped his knuckles against his temple, grinning, “find the little adventures in your everyday life, and make them the greatest, most exhilarating things you’ve ever gone through. Even if it means you’re tricking yourself into enjoying filing data reports. Everything can be something enjoyable, as long as you don’t spoil it with your attitude, first.”

“Your father’s a hopeless romantic,” Amelia whispered. “Always going on about his idealistic ramblings. Don’t listen to a word he—“

Samael covered her mouth with his hand, hushing her. Caleb snorted.

“Oh, please, darling, I’m giving a speech, and you know how excited I get about those.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, now…”

There was a sort of swell in his chest as he listened to his parents bicker. How long had it been, since they last sat together? Saw each other?

He wrapped his arms around them, and squeezed. His parents stopped.

“Oh, Caleb…” they put their arms around him like they had when he was young, when their arms were loose and big and he barely reached their torso. 

He hoped they’d never let go.

Eventually, they drew back, his father patting his head.

“We have to go out again, but we’ll be back soon, son.”

Caleb recoiled as if he had been slapped. “What? When? Now? Why?”

“It’s okay, honey. We’ll be back.” His mother kissed the top of his head. “We just need to grab some things.“

No! He wanted to scream the word, but only watched as his parents gathered their things, and stepped out the door. It all felt too fast. Too much like a show, a sequence he’d see on tv, where all the actors were clay dolls moved around with strings. He felt like he was being tugged in opposite directions, and eventually, a tug would be too strong, too much, and he’d split at the seams and burst, a mess of clay and wire, and he’d sit there, dead, until he was swept away and replaced.

The grey room growled.

It was a low, rumbling sound, like bits of glass and steel were ground in its throat. Caleb’s eyes snapped to where it hid, turned away from the sun, curtained by shadow. It seemed to smile at him, all teeth; rid itself of its lock with a snap, and creaked open.

He stood frozen for only a moment, before his legs moved all on their own, lunging forward, grabbing the cold steel of the doorknob before it could slam shut again.

He stumbled inside.

It looked just how he imagined. It was a cavern, dark and damp and desolate, and horribly, terribly grey. He had stepped in to the jaws of the beast, and now, he stood on its tongue, in its mouth, only a moment away from being swallowed down.

The red wheelbarrow caught his eye.

It was a splash of color in the room’s monotony, a delightful pop and fizz he could practically taste and see, sparking with red and orange embers. The sheet remained drawn over it, the tongue of a clam swaddling its pearl.

Caleb touched the sheet. His fingers were numb, but his heart sang. What wonderful surprise might lie behind? What genius innovation? He was thrilled, yes, but more than anything, simply glad to be rid of the suspense, the curiosity that haunted him at every turn, so it was with a magician’s flourish that he drew back the veil from his eyes, ripped open the mouth of the beast, and saw! Saw! Oh, how his flesh burned, how his mind raced! And yes, it was then, then, with a magnificent smile, that he saw Leslie’s corpse, limp and pale and dead!

The buzz slowly faded. His smile died. The walls twisted around him, laughing, mocking.

He screamed.

It was then his parents rushed in, in their slick white coats and blotchy, waxy faces, and their murderous hands flailing in the air. It was all a lie. It had always been. That meant — his past siblings — were they dead, too? Dead, like Leslie? Dead, because his parents had decided it would be delightful to murder them?

He thrashed in their arms as they tried to restrain him. “Let me go! LET ME GO!”

“Caleb, Caleb!” His parents cried. His hands flailed, legs kicking, shoving, pushing away their traitorous hands and evil red faces. “Please, just—“

There was a bang. She fell to the ground, dead. Another shot. His father, dead. Blood pooled from their heads; they really were red, now, and it was getting all over his shoes and legs and hands and face, and suddenly he didn’t feel so clean, either, was he a murderer too, now? He wondered if it could’ve been him, who killed his parents, perhaps with an ill-timed blow to the head, or had he been holding a gun and not known it? Had he pulled the trigger, hoping to get rid of their red faces and hands and stop their wild flailing? Well, they were dead now, dead and limp, like dolls, with the smoothest waxen faces, white, like the moon.

Two hands grabbed him. He screamed. A man shoved his arm around Caleb’s neck, making him gasp and choke and scream as tears ran down his cheeks as he kicked at the air; the man forced a pungent rag against his face, pressing it against his mouth and nose, until his eyes rolled back in his head and he wondered, briefly, if he were dead now, too.

“Caleb, dear, please stop thrashing…” 

He awoke to a woman’s voice. He thought, perhaps, it was his mother! His mother, joining him, in his fate in the afterlife — but no. When he opened his eyes, and his vision returned to him, it was not his mother’s eyes who stared back.

“…Grandma Josephine?” He rubbed his face. “What…what are you doing here? What’s going…” the words died on his tongue as he looked around. He was in a white room, laying on a cotton mattress. In the hallway, he could see people in long white coats shuffling about, holding clipboards and mumbling nonsense like his parents once did.

“You’re in Ever’s research facility, dear. They were kind enough to lend us a spare room.” Grandma Josephine looked as she had before, but also not. It was as if someone had cast a veil over her, the same veil he had torn off when he looked in the wheelbarrow. He squinted at her, wondering if she, too, had murderous hands and a red face.

He laid back down. His head hurt.

“Where’s mom?” He blurted. “Dad? Leslie?”

Grandma Josephine didn’t quite look at him, like how his mother hadn’t quite smiled. He was starting to hate these little “not quite’s.” 

“They’re not here,” she said at last. “Your parents…were doing a very bad, dangerous thing. And they died because of it.”

“What thing? And what about Leslie? You didn’t let her body sit there, did you? How are you here, anyway?”

“Maybe it’ll be best for me to show you.” She took Caleb’s hand, though he shook her off; as far as he knew, her hands were sticky and red, too. “Ah, older now, are you?” She chuckled. He didn’t find it so funny. “Follow close behind, then.”

She led him through the winding halls of Ever’s facility, past floating organs bobbing around in jars, past large machines that clicked and chittered, past zero gravity rooms where all the people were bobbing around like the organs in the jars. Past all the people in white coats, and past even the man that had forced a rag on his face!

Caleb pointed and nearly screamed, but Josephine put a hand over his mouth and hushed him. “That’s Pablo,” she said. “Very nice man, you’ll see, don’t worry too much, dear, it’ll all be alright.”

He quieted, but did not stop shaking. They seemed to have been walking for hours before she stopped in front of a room, produced a keycard from her pocket, and swiped. The door clicked open.

Inside was Leslie.

Caleb thought it was a trick of the light at first, just his mind playing tricks on him, like his ears had when he imagined his mother instead of Josephine. But no! Leslie was there, in the flesh, and though her body was gaunt, her face was flushed and touched by life. She was alive! Alive!

Now it was that Caleb began to take in the more minute details of his surroundings. Leslie was, certainly, alive, but she wasn’t moving — she laid on a little white bed, not unlike his, eyes shut. Silver clasps bound her to the bed. Next to her, a number of weapons sat on a cart. He eyed a gun warily.

Two people were in the room, and they both wore those long white coats.

“How’s her vitals, James?” One of them asked.

“Stable.” The one they called James was looking at a clipboard. His hair was tousled, but not frazzled, and he had very calm, serene eyes. They were blue, like his mother. “The Wanderer core works as usual.”

Caleb tugged on Josephine’s sleeve. “What are they talking about?”

“Ah, you must be Caleb!” James knelt down to his level. “You seem like a nice lad. Well, here at Ever, we do top notch work, by the best people, for the best people.” He patted Caleb’s head with his clipboard. “Your friend Leslie is helping us out with some of our work.“

“What are you doing to her?” He frowned.

“Doing to her? Many things. Many amazing things.” James smiled brilliantly. “Leslie here has a Wanderer Core in her heart. It was placed in her at a young age, ever since she was taken out of the orphanage and adopted by,” he gestured around, “us! Her family, at Ever. Now, the core brings her back anytime she dies. It’s a wonder of science, really, a marvel. You might even call me Leslie’s father, in some ways.”

“So she’s not dead?” Caleb moved his suspicious gaze from James to Leslie, who appeared to be in a very peaceful sleep. “But I saw her. Before. And she definitely was dead.”

“Again, that’s the core at work,” James laughed. “Amazing, isn’t it?”

“Sure. But why was she dead to begin with?”

James’s smile faded.

“…Josephine, you have a very curious child.” James stood, and patted Josephine’s shoulder, this time. “He’s got a sharp mind for such a young lad.”

“Thank you, James. I hope what Amelia and Samael did can be forgiven…”

“For you? Anything!” He laughed heartily. Caleb was getting antsy.

“What did my parents do?” Caleb demanded. “And why was Leslie dead? Why won’t you answer my questions?”

James was silent for a long moment, tapping his clipboard against Leslie’s bed. He slowly turned. “Your parents,” he began, softly, “were smart people. But smart people, can do bad things.” He touched Caleb’s shoulder. “They turned their backs on their family. They turned their backs on Ever. They put you in danger.“

He started to shake. “But why?

James pulled his hand away, and suddenly, he was smiling again. “For Leslie,” he said. “They took her from our facility, and, apparently,” he checked some papers, “were planning to go out of state!” He shook his head. “Hilarious. I should’ve known, really. Brilliant minds, your parents, but always so fussy. I suppose Leslie was the straw that broke the camel’s back. And now, those camels,” he chuckled at his own joke, “are dead.”

Caleb felt something well up in him, red hot. “You think that’s funny?”

“Well — not their deaths, that was unfortunate, but that had to happen.”

Caleb stared at this man, long and hard — looked into his eyes, which had been the nicest, bluest eyes he’d ever seen — and had a revelation.

“You killed her. You’ve been killing her.” His face contorted. “You’re a murderer. My parents weren’t the ones who were evil. You are. ALL OF YOU!”

James’s expression didn’t change. “We’re scientists.” He looked at Josephine. “I think you should guide him out.”

Caleb didn’t budge, even as Josephine took his hand and tried to tug him away. “You’re horrible!” He screamed. He could see it: the grey room, Leslie’s limp body, his parents’s lolling heads and crossed-eye expressions. He could see the way the shadows twisted to mock him, how these people, these maniacs, delighted in his suffering, and the thing he did next he did not regret.

He looked at that gun on the table, and in the next second, the cold steel was pressing into his burning skin, and he had pulled the trigger.

It was amazing, to delight in a moment so much that you take in every moment, every detail. Caleb could practically see James’s expression change, frame by frame, into something akin to horror, just before the bullet tore through his face and left him dead. Blood splattered onto the floor, the walls, and Caleb. James’s red face slowly turned white as blood pooled onto the floor. One of his eyes had been ripped out, and rolled to him. Caleb crushed it under his heel.

He never knew killing could be this much fun.

He was numb for the minutes after, body still abuzz. He hardly noticed when soldiers stormed into the room, and he hardly noticed when they strapped him to a device and aimed something at his head.

Had the delight faded a moment sooner, he might’ve panicked. Might’ve kicked, or screamed. But he only laid there, smiling, as they fired, and light swallowed his vision.

——

Caleb loved his family. Each and every one of them, from his Grandma Josephine, to a little girl named Leslie. He had lived with them all his life, and his life was good.

He’s never known his parents. They left him when he was young, but Grandma Josephine had taken him and Leslie from the orphanage and adopted them, because they were the best of friends, and Josephine had always wanted kids around.

They lived in a nice house, just big enough for the three of them. His room was filled with model planes, stars and planets. He would run around in the yard with Leslie and play frisbee.

Sometimes, odd people in long, white coats would visit to “check up” on him and Leslie. He didn’t know what that meant, exactly, but they were nice, and Grandma Josephine seemed to like them, so he liked them, too.

He had no responsibilities. No worries.

His life was good.

———————————

I know this probably won’t be that popular but oh well haha, hopefully those who read enjoyed 😞