#guys with problems and issues. guys with Stuff. in their brains.

[no1ryomafan]

My main focus of video essays rn is the Kikaider one-which is only a bit stuck in limbo since I have not gotten feedback on my script rip-and I’m trying to hold back on doing ideas until/if I even enjoy the process past the scripts but I’ve been rotating in my head on doing a ranking video for all of imagawas mechas cause he’s still the one dude who’s adaptations have had a profound impact on me so at the very least I wanna rank them either as a video or at most as a post just the problem comes 1. I will be ABSOLUTELY jumped for my ranks even if I’ll give genuine criticism 2. I need to still watch shin tetsujin and finish shin mazinger and neither of those have been a compelling thing for me to do, putting aside I may be mecha fatigue as per usual but I worry to go into them and get a mixed or negative reaction- especially with the second one that I’ve literally put off for years 💀

[skrunksthatwunk]

stole this chart from @asubakaa and spent wayyy too much time making my own so. yeah. also i did 6 instead of 5 bc i know no restraint

[ozymoron]

reading posts that come across my dash and sitting for a minute to debate with my mental disorder if not reblogging this will mean a hell portal will open beneath my feet and i will suffer for eternity for my lack of action or if its all good and i can just scroll on by (its usually the hell portal thing)

[cats-in-the-clouds]

my sister got engaged and we’re all really happy for her but my bitter rain cloud of a dad (who naturally she told last) is giving her a bit of passive aggressive grief about it despite her boyfriend being like the best man of our generation (presumably either because he’s not catholic or because my dad sees them as young dumb unemployed people who aren’t ready for marriage or because he’s mad he barely has any real love with his own wife or something). so like pray for us? i wish i knew what to do

[so-i-did-this-thing]

Would you be ok discussing your emotional changes timeline on T?

Yeah, no problem! It's been one of the biggest benefits of HRT for me.

I'm autistic and have some minor mood cycling on top of that. Before HRT, I had a hair-trigger temper, which expressed anywhere from frustration-crying to shouting and slamming my fist on things, sometimes throwing things. Keep in mind I was a late bloomer (HRT at 33), so this wasn't just "teenage hormones" stuff.

My first few shots of T, I'm sure there was an emotional placebo effect from the sheer relief of finally having started. But I'm convinced something chemical has happened in my brain, that this isn't all just relief from stress. (In part because transition brings new stresses into your life!)

By about month 6, I noticed I didn't seem physically capable of frustration-crying anymore. That knot in my throat would still be there, but the tears just wouldn't come.

A year or so later, I was aware that I didn't feel the same simmering anger I used to always marinate in. Old angry songs I would play loud in the car to vent didn't grab me in the same way. I noticed I wasn't snapping as much at people, even though I still often felt grumpy or irritated or even furious at things.

I'd say about 3 or 4 years in, it really became evident to me that my anger reaction had completely flip-flopped. I am still a pretty emotional person, and folks who know how to read me can definitely tell when I get mad, but I've become one of those "gets calmer the angrier he is" guys. There *is* a point where I explode, but the runway to it is quite long.

Also anecdotal - I'm on a 2 week shot cycle, and can eventually tell when I've forgotten a dose, because I start feeling irritable (usually ~2 days overdue). I also had a year where I was on a very low dose of T, due to healthcare access issues, and it coincided with some of the grumpiest I ever behaved at work.

Not everyone has the same emotional changes on HRT, but I've seen enough trans men with similar stories, that I feel it's evidence enough to push back on "testosterone makes you a rage baby" fearmongering.

Hormones will most likely change how you regulate your emotions, and it's very valuable to track those changes and examine how they impact your life and how it all makes you feel.

Not everyone enjoys the emotional changes (I was worried briefly I was getting emotionally detached from things), and it's worth seeking out therapists and other trans people who can help you navigate this part of the whole transition journey. <3

[vonbabbitt]

big long kamimura loredrop that i sent to my tetro staff two years ago. obvious spoilers and trigger warning for a lot of stuff. not for the weak of heart. also forgive the very casual tone this is written in i was sending it to my STAFF!! MY FRIENDS!! it has not been curated for public release lol

KAMIMURA KAZUTOSHI. WOW. LOTS TO UNPACK HERE. so kamimura was born as a very sickly kid. his parents were initially planning to have two kids, but when kamimura was born with very particular needs, they decided it would be better to dedicate their full time and attention to just one kid. so thats what they did! kamimura was born with a few conditions that made his childhood a bit rougher, the main of which being hemophilia, an (at the time) unidentified autoimmune disease and a few lesions on his brain. not ideal! so he was in and out of the hospital a lot as a kid, something that was very scary for him at the time, but his parents were very very supportive and loving during this time. they would be at the hospital with him every single time he had to be there (obvs cuz he was a tiny baby boy) and his mom would not go home until he was discharged. she would always be there telling him stories and playing games with him and doing her best to make the experience as comfortable as possible for him. so that made it less scary!

kamimura had a very good support system and it made him a very happy and social kid! he grew up very outgoing and playful and eager and close with his family. his dad was a busy guy who worked in tech, so while he was usually at work, his mom worked from home as a copy editor, so he spent a lot of time with her. as he started to get a little older (7-8), a few more comorbidities and diagnoses started popping up - chronic fatigue, crohns, some vision problems, muscle issues, things that made his life a lot more difficult and worried his parents because he was getting bad fast. this meant a lot more time in the hospital for baby kamimura which is very unfortunate for him. eventually he gets put on a new balance of medications/treatments and his family keeps doing their best because goddamnit their kid should get to be a happy kid! which he is! hes a very happy kid! hes just also a kid with a LOT of medical issues

SO THEN WE HIT AGE NINE. kamimuras mother is home alone with him when a close family friend drops by. hes someone kamimura knows very well - comes to all their parties, visits often, etc etc. but he was also someone who had very strong feelings towards kamimuras mom. he had confessed to her multiple times and obviously she had said no because she is married with a child and was not interested at all. except this time hes completely fed up with it. she says no, he gets aggressive and violent and tries to overpower her. she fights back, he panics and stabs her. a lot. repeatedly. over and over and over. so the kitchen is an absolute bloodbath. not good! a few minutes into this, kamimuras dad gets home from work and is very quickly added to the body count. family friend runs, and about ten minutes later, kamimura gets home from school.

so now this nine year old boy has walked in on his parents mutilated bodies lying in a sea of blood on the kitchen floor. his mind basically shuts down. he cannot even begin to process the ways in which his entire world has just come crumbling down. he goes upstairs to his room, closes the door, and proceeds to stay there for two days straight. if he can just stay in his room and not go outside, no matter what he saw, no matter what he smells, he can pretend that everything is fine and theres nothing downstairs.

after two days of this, kamimura's dad's work calls for a wellness check. a wellness check is performed! EVERYTHING IS NOT WELL. the police find kamimura, remove him from the house and into the system he goes. pretty soon he ends up living with his moms sister, who isnt a mean person or anything, but she never wanted kids and shes just lost her sister and shes going through a lot so she never really connects with kamimura. she feeds him and houses him and does her best, but hes completely shut off emotionally and very traumatized and wants nothing to do with this new life thats been put on him so he mostly ignores her and just goes through the beats of life.

from this point on, he has no friends. he doesnt get close to anyone. he doesnt try to. he shuts himself off, keeps to himself and gets picked on a bit because of it. hes outcast at school pretty quickly and that does not do much to help his mental health. it doesnt help that his PHYSICAL health is still deteriorating pretty fast and hes now living with somebody that has NO experience in taking care of his medical needs. hes still in the hospital all the time, but now hes alone and its quiet and hes scared. he hates hospitals. he hates going to the hospital so so so so much because hospitals are scary and it only serves to drive home the complete lack of his mom existing that is haunting him every day. it doesnt help that hiding out in a corpse house for two days has given him a deep, DEEP fear of anything dirty or putrid in the way that his parents' crime scene was. this evolves into a pretty bad case of germophobia that makes him hate hospitals even more because theyre disgusting infected places where people go to die and rot. bad.

but life continues! so when he turns 14, kamimura goes to high school for the first time! its also around this time that he finally dyes his hair - his black hair makes him look exactly like his mom and he cant handle seeing that every time he looks in the mirror, so blue it is! because blue does not look like either of his parents and now he doesnt have to fking see their faces every single time he looks at himself. yay! so he enters high school, his mental health is tanking, his physical health is tanking and everything is bad. high school is equally bad because hes still getting bullied and he feels sick all the time and school is stressful and he is completely lacking in socialization. so at age 14, kamimura tries to kill himself for the first time. it does not work. he goes to the hospital and very hastily explains it to his aunt as having simply fucked up his own medication and says it was all an accident because fuuuuck he does NOT want to be institutionalized. that would suck. and luckily this excuse works and he's back out in the world soon after. yay?

anyway life goes on! so kamimura goes back to school. except weirdly enough, he actually starts talking to another person. this person is named isao kamei and he is a boy in kamimuras grade! hes nice and cool and hangs out with kamimura and likes kamimuras dumb blue hair and likes all the things kamimura likes (scary movies. breaking random shit behind the school after class. yknow) so the two hit it off pretty quickly and soon kamimura has a best friend. except, uh oh, maybe hes more than a best friend?? kamimura starts realizing that hes got feelings for isao and panics because he does not need this complication ruining his one and only friendship. kamimura has had severe severe trust issues for years now and has finally let himself get close to another person again and he CANNOT LOSE THAT. but isao is a good guy, and theyre close, and kamimura is starting to think that isao feels the same way about him so maybe hed be cool about it. it goes against every instinct he has spent the past five years cultivating, but he finally works up the nerve and admits to isao how he feels about him.

IT GOES BADLY. SO BADLY. isao is uncomfortable and frankly kind of disgusted and pulls back HARD. he basically distances himself from kamimura forever and word very very quickly spreads (starting from isao) that kamimura is gay and that he asked out isao, something that absolutely quadruples the amount of bullying he is receiving. so a few days later, kamimura tries to kill himself for the second time. once again it does not go well. he gets very very very sick, but still wakes up in the end and is absolutely miserable and furious about it. his awful awful awful life continues to march on as always and hes back at school pretty soon after that! he continues getting relentlessly bullied, his health continues to deteriorate, and finally during one of his numerous numerous hospital visits he gets hit with two fun new terms: multiple sclerosis and myasthenia gravis. these are the two things that produce the vast majority of his symptoms. so at the very least he now has a few words to label himself with, but hes not really that thrilled about it either way. kamimura is someone with a lot of internalized ableism and resentment towards his own body. he sees it as the reason his life sucks and the reason he gets bullied and the reason he cant live like other people can. he hates himself, and that makes him hate himself even more because his parents always made such a big deal about telling him how much they loved him and how much he should love himself, so he feels like hes betraying them by absolutely loathing himself and his body.

so at sixteen, he tells his aunt he wants to move out. they arent close and he just wants to be on his own and honestly shes on board with this because she never wanted kids and shes ready to go back to her life. so out the door he goes! hes got his own apartment now, which means theres nobody to make him get out of bed or shower or eat or go to school. so he stops doing all of those things, which makes his health deteriorate faster and makes him even more miserable. so at age sixteen, kamimura makes a third attempt on his life. he learned his lesson last time and ups the dosage hard. except he cant keep it down because he hasnt been eating anything for like two weeks and his stomach just physically cannot handle the amount of medication hes ingesting. so this one fails too. but life goes on and kamimura needs to pay rent! his landlord thinks he is strange and concerning and wants to help him so he manages to get kamimura an apprenticeship with a man named ryōichi katō, a very experienced crime scene cleaner! kamimura EXCELS in this field. hes able to shut off his emotions around blood and viscera - his brain just completely blocks out the horror of it, which is almost a coping mechanism i suppose - but the point is that hes great at it. he starts working full time and it pays the bills well enough so hes got nothing to complain about quite frankly.

except his life still sucks. hes alone. hes sick. he hates himself. everything is bad bad bad bad bad. so at a particularly bad mental low at age seventeen, kamimura makes a fourth attempt on his life. this one has GOT to work because he has been honing this method for years now and SURELY he has worked out the kinks by this point yes? so he downs a shitton of pills, washes it down with cheap booze and passes out. then he wakes up in the Fujioka Memorial High School Basement Laundry Room and now we are here

[thesilmarillionblog]

𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐋𝐎𝐘𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐘

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓: 𝟏

Click here for Series Masterlist.

Summary: You can't stop thinking about Sam Winchester's older brother, Dean Winchester, even if you two are happy together. You know, he feels the same way. But can desire and passion surpass regret and guilt? You and Dean have to face your own demons.

Pairing: Dean Winchester / Sam Winchester x Reader

Warnings: +18! HEAVY SMUTTT!!! , blowjob, cheating, dirty talk, unfaithful reader and dean, mixed feelings, naive sam, slut shaming, face fucking, oral sex, kinky, cock worship, hair pulling, spanking, insulting

Word Count: 4434

A/N: English is not my first language.

As you continued to eat some strawberries and watched TV as if under a hypnotic trance, you saw that Sam had just sent you a message and grabbed your phone off the table in front of you. He was possibly going late tonight, he told you. With a heavy sigh, you thought about his recent behavior. You thought he was cute enough to date, even though he was an awkward, charming boy with attachment problems, strange, and obsessed with ghost stories. After all, men who had absurd and harmless obsessions were superior to those who had pervy ones. Sam Winchester was a good man.

His brother Dean Winchester, however, was a different story. He appeared somewhat more reasonable, but he was no different from his brother in that he enjoyed listening to and looking up strange stuff. It was kind of sexy and a memorable moment when he immediately flirted with you when he first saw you, without considering how his brother would react. He had given you the impression that he could fuck you in front of him if you signaled to him. At first, you assumed he was just a flirtatious guy, but the way he sent you enticing and promising glances told you differently. Like he was gauging your response.

You had no idea if he was doing this to gauge your level of devotion to his brother or for another reason. It didn't really matter, though. You didn't struggle with attachment issues and are prepared to see how far you can go. You only had one chance at life, and Dean Winchester was attractive. Occasionally, loyalty was overrated. It wasn't that Sam and you would get married. You were in your early 20s, so you were still quite young.

When Sam was fucking you like a crazy guy who hadn't fucked in months, you were picturing his brother a few weeks before. while Sam was pushing his dick inside of you like a dog in heat. Whilst his hands were on your hips, fucking you from behind and bruising your ass violently, you had to bite your lips until they bled in order to keep from screaming his older brother's name.You loved that position. You were free to imagine anything you wanted and to fully immerse yourself in the experience without worry about interpretations.

You imagined his brother would fuck you. It felt terrible at first, like you were the worst person ever. Your clit was interacting with your brain at the moment, and your mind continued to play tricks on you despite your best attempts to concentrate on Sam and his long cock. Sinful images bombarded your mind and spirit, and you were helpless to stop them. You called Sam ‘Winchester’ to tease him as he dominated your body and put you in every position. You knew you were unable to scream his brother's name, so you thought at least you could scream with that name on your lips. Sam liked to be on top and obviously wasn't a person who stayed still, letting his woman ride his dick. You loved riding, seeing him torn apart beneath your hips, though. 

For the first time, you were really loud, remembering how he fucked you a week ago while Dean was sleeping in the next room. God knows if you did it on purpose. Who cares? “Ah, baby,” you remembered screaming, "Fuck me harder. I need you to come inside me so badly; you're doing so good..." And so on. You were so lost in the moment and screaming that you nearly burst into tears from pleasure. Since Dean could hear you and might be beating his cock to the noises you were making beneath Sam, you were shrieking. 

Sam also enjoyed your volume. He made sure to push you until you practically begged him to slow down since he knew you enjoyed getting fucked rough and raw. Your legs were on his shoulders after you pleaded with him to slow down a bit due to his brutal and quick thrusts, and he responded by fucking you even more forcefully. You nibbled the strawberry while recalling how vile you were that day and the joy it bestowed upon you.

Sam was better to all of the people you have dated and fucked thus far. He looked like an animal more than anything else, which you liked and desired. After he gave you two or three orgasms in a row, you would occasionally tell him how much you liked him because he could give you what you needed effortlessly.

But lately, the idea of fucking his brother has been on your mind constantly. For the past few weeks, those ideas have been eating you alive. You couldn't stop dreaming you were his girlfriend when he went to his room with her a week ago. It was your desire to be the one fucked by him. When you heard her getting a bit louder and their bed hitting your walls as if to demonstrate his dominance, you had to press your thighs together. Sam was enough and perfect, but your want for his brother was becoming unbearable.

It might have been another kink. Your legs were shaking with desire at the naughty idea of getting fucked by your boyfriend right after his brother had penetrated you. You wanted to get fucked by each of them in the same day. At least you wanted to ride each of them, even if you knew none of them were into threesomes, which was disappointing. As you imagined their mixed cum dripping from your pussy, you squeezed your legs together. 

Although it was wicked and twisted, you couldn't stop thinking about it. 

You let go of your strawberries and sighed as you stood up as the door was knocked. But when you saw Dean Winchester standing in front of you, your heart began to accelerate. He stood uncomfortably with his hands in his pockets. He seemed to be waiting for Sam to show up as he glanced behind you. His eyes held promise and danger. What you both desired was the same. 

By jokingly saying, “Hey, Dean, why not come in?” you encouraged him to get in. You were already getting chills from the way he appeared a little nervous. Even though Dean knew he should have left and called you instead, he was unable to turn down your kind invitation. His gut twisted because his heart was already full with expectation. 

“Is Sam not here?” he inquired as he made his way to the saloon. In response to his strange query, you arched an eyebrow. 

“He is your brother. Don't you know where he is?” 

As he examined your home with keen eyes, he whispered, “Let's say he's acting a little mysterious nowadays, doll,” and then he sat down on the couch and faked a smile. “I assumed he would talk about it with you. Perhaps, I mean.”

Taking your plate full of strawberries and sitting on the chair just in front of him, you started eating them without giving him any. You saw him looking at your legs and exposed flesh, your small shorties. Your pussy was barely covered. Your underwear was on display. He shifted on the couch and cleared his throat while you opened your legs slightly and gave him something to look at. Dean tried to turn away, but he was unable to do so. With only one motion, he could effortlessly see what's underneath your shorts and panties.

As you continued to eat slowly, you spread your legs a little wider and placed your feet on the table between you. You answered calmly and confidently, “You're not here to talk about Sam,” as you saw him struggle to cover himself by gripping his jacket tightly in an attempt at hiding his bulge. Despite having a cute, attractive face, he was really pathetic. “I think, you are here for me.”

His mouth opened to protest, but he was unable to do so. Yet Dean wanted to lie. You couldn't blame him. After all, you were his brother's girlfriend, and the three of you had hung out a lot in the last seven months. Dean knew he was unable to take action and couldn't go too far with you, so he let his dick fight his inner battle. He was a man who kind of flirted with any female living thing around him. But you didn't care about it at all. By allowing your fantasies to take over you, you had already gone too far. No matter how hard you tried, you were unable to feel remorse. You doubted whether Sam cared about your wild screams that night.

When Dean's eyes met yours, you saw that he was acting a little cowardly at the moment by not wanting to initiate contact. Maybe he was looking for someone to blame later. He frequently criticized himself brutally. With the exception of himself, Dean showed mercy to many. It's funny because whenever he decided to fuck a woman, he always took the first step. It shouldn't have mattered if that woman was you now.

You got up, knelt down in front of him carefully, licked your lips, and moved his hands away from his jacket. While doing so, you continued to look at him. His bulge was visible, and the pressure he applied on his jacket caused his hands' knuckles to turn white.

“What the hell are you doing?” He gulped down, unable to find the proper words to say. You were kneeling in front of him like this, your face so close to his hardness, and he was too weak to push you away. He let out a startled gasp because the gap was so small. Dean felt it was time to get up and go. He was quite aware that his presence was unnecessary from the very beginning. 

“Stop fooling oneself.” You stated the same thing: “You're not here for Sam. You came here because you wanted me to convince you.” 

“Convince for what?” he said in a low voice, his eyes already darkened. His cock was probably pulsating at the moment, pleading for the release from his tight boxers. You also had a dry mouth; you had to use his semen to moisten it. 

With a spectral smile, you caressed the bulge between his legs and asked, “How long have you been torturing yourself?” Your mouth was watering. You pondered who had the better taste. Sam or him? Sam took a while to come inside your mouth, but his sperm wasn't particularly thick. However, you really enjoyed how salty he was. 

When your palm touched him, you both gasped. Dean's jaw contracted as if he were in agony, and he shut his eyes. It was obvious that he considered fleeing. However, it was difficult to act when you were kneeling in front of him like that, as if you were prepared to offer him all he might have fantasized of and desired.

He simply waited as your hands began to unbuckle his belt without saying anything. You couldn't take your eyes off those lovely green eyes. You thought his lips would look adorable on your pussy because they were so soft and pink. You really wanted to sit on his face, rub your pussy on his lovely pink lips, and cum in his mouth. At your mercy, he would look flawless beneath you while you used his face for your own pleasure.

His cock popped free and rested on his belly as soon as you lowered his boxers and jeans. To look at how his cock seemed on his bare stomach, you lifted up his shirt. Your mouth immediately watered at the sight of it, causing you to lick your lips in yearning. When you realized you were kneeling in front of your boyfriend's brother and staring at his cock, your heart began to race wildly in your chest. Its large, hefty head turned purple from pain and begged for your attention. It was impossible to avoid comparing his and Sam's sizes. Your heart raced with anticipation as you saw how Dean's dick was thicker and heavier than Sam's, who had the definitely longer one. Dean would wonderfully stretch you and fill you up.

He said, “We shouldn't do that,” in a rough voice. He sounded like he was talking to himself, even though he was speaking to you. You were aware of Dean's intense wish to put an end to this, but he was too weak to disregard his hardness and his deepest desires. He was a captive to his own body and mind, just like you. His balls, which resembled two pieces of rock and appeared to erupt like a volcano, were resting hard between his legs.

You muttered, “Shh,” and moved closer to his balls while maintaining eye contact. You then slowly extended your tongue and moistened his cock by licking it from the balls to the head. The contact made your body tremble, alerting you know you've gone too far. Every vein of him was palpable on your tongue's surface. Like his brother, Dean had a strong scent and was salty. 

“Oh, fuck,” he moaned, sounding almost furious. His hand was now behind your hair. Dean could feel better if he could only let go of his fears and concerns. But he was scared about feeling better. 

“Do you want me to suck you off? Put you in my mouth and make you cum? Do you want this, Dean?” With your lips waiting on the tip of his cock and tasting the precum, you whispered. With a long, deep moan, he bit his lip instantly. “Why don't you just let go? Stop thinking. It's just us.”

“Fuck, yes.” In preparation to fuck your mouth, which was leaking already, Dean widened his legs and tightened his grip on your hair. He considered you to be the forbidden apple, the fruit he should have rejected from the start. He couldn't take his eyes off of you since you were the sin itself. You almost pitied him.

As if to punish you for making him feel this way, Dean pulled your hair very roughly. Then, with a very rough motion that made you gasp, he put his cock inside your mouth while holding himself between his hands. His erratic motion caused your pussy to clench around nothingness.

“You're a good teasing bitch, aren't you? Fucking greedy slut,” he groaned and shoved your head against his cock. At last, he let his worries go. Dean had a firm grip on your head. He held you still for a minute, causing you to choke on his cock while pressing your head into it until you had taken him completely. You gasped for oxygen and drew back when he finally released your head. You couldn't believe how rough he was.

You needed that.

You curled your tongue around Dean's thick head and eagerly gripped his erect cock as you continued to stare at him through watery eyes. You then start to bob the head into your mouth while your hand pumps the rest of his cock. You wanted to savor his face, his green eyes...

With a loud roar, Dean pushed you to his cock more forcefully, making you swallow him whole. Even though your throat was already experienced and flexible enough to withstand all he did, the amount of pressure he applied was already hurting it. You let Dean forcefully tug your hair while you moan loudly on his dick. Desperation arched his back. 

“Fucking bitch,” he nearly yelled when you pulled back and spat on his cock. “You love acting like a porn star, don't you? Are you trying to make me cum on your face?” 

You felt shivers down your spine at the way he insulted you and gazed at you with both disgust and passion. “I don't know,” you answered, sucking your own spit mingled with his cock's precum. “Perhaps I just enjoy sucking off of my partners' older brothers, like you.” Speaking in such a manner should have made you feel ashamed. You didn't.

With hatred and awe, he muttered a curse. You were aware that Dean didn't want to hurt his brother or cause him any pain, but you had already gone too far, and there was nothing you could do about it. You both spent too much time fantasizing about his moment. Your pussy was becoming even wetter just thinking about giving your boyfriend's brother a sloppy head, even if it was immoral. You became wetter and also craving more once you realized that Sam could enter at any time, and you ran the risk of being caught by him like this while you were between his brother's knees, sucking his thick cock like it was the finest lollipop.

“You wanted to fuck me that night, didn't you?” After swirling your tongue around his head and swallowing his precum, you moaned. As you popped Dean's cock, you continued to stare at him, and the sloppy sound caused you both to shiver. “You wanted to be him at that moment.”

“Is that the reason you screamed that loud when your pussy was railed raw that night? I did jerk off. Is that what you wanted to hear?” As he spoke complete insults, Dean slapped your face with his huge cock and said, “I was beating my cock while he was slamming into your tiny cunt.” After his confession, he saw that you were smiling, so he got up and shoved his cock down to your throat, which made you whimper without allowing you to speak.

He made you gag around him by using his hard hands to steady your head and then forcing himself into your mouth. His head was close enough to your throat to feel. You were choking on his throbbing cock. When he pressed his whole length to the back of your neck, his quick, harsh thrusts caused your eyes to water. Tears were streaming down your face as you gazed at him with your hands on his knees. He was crazily fucking your mouth, but you needed some air. The sounds of your whimpers and his balls striking your chin filled the entire house. It was just sinful and obscene.

You whimpered while you tried to push him a little, but he wouldn't let go and continued to fuck your throat regardless of whether you needed to breathe or not. 

He had to fill your mouth, and you had to taste him.

But you gasped in disapproval as he pulled his cock back just as you thought he was going to fill your mouth. “Come on,” you whispered, “Show me how good you taste. Don't want it?”

Dean gave you a faint smile that didn't reach his lips. "It wants to taste your pussy first." While placing his hand in his pocket, he released his grip on your hair. Your pulse pounded as you watched him open the condom and slide it around his cock. Just by seeing him tie a condom around his hardness, you could come at any moment. Before he pushed his cock into your pussy, Sam would do the same thing, which you always enjoyed watching. It was a delicious view. 

“Lay down on the carpet, turn around,” Dean urged as he checked that the condom was properly positioned. “On your hands and knees.” 

Your body has been craving that order for weeks, even months. You obeyed his command without a second's hesitation, lowering your underwear with your shorts while you lay on the ground. He could see your ass now. You felt vulnerable all of a sudden. After that, you looked at him. You were still wearing the same shorts. Sam had lowered it with your panties and fucked you hours earlier before he left your home, and you needed Dean to fuck you while you were wearing the same shorties. 

Your body could burst in excitement as soon as you noticed Dean approaching. You were already soaked and ready to take him in, so you didn't need to prep. Once Dean was certain the condom fit properly, he positioned himself behind you and took himself in hand. The plastic surface was slick from his saliva in his hand. You gasped in shock as he pushed his cock inside your pussy with a single, strong stroke without even making sure if you were wet enough. You were unaware of his rapid and harsh side. He always seemed a little romantic to you with his flirtatious demeanor. Fortunately, you were wrong.

“Fuck, yes!” When he grunted deeply and forced you to lie on the floor properly, you screamed out in delight. Your ass was no longer in the air, and your walls were clenching firmly from the way his hips pressed against your body. To intensify the pleasure, he wanted you to be as tight as possible. 

“You wanted me to fuck you just like this, didn't you?” Dean moaned as he spoke in your ear and roughly tugged at your hair. He forced you to hunch over. Spreading your legs for him would be simpler, but it seems that he wanted you to be as tight as possible. “Answer me!”

“You feel so thick, so good, Dean,” you moaned. The corners of your mouth formed a smile. You were in heaven. Dean could barely control his groans as he fucked you deep and moved rapidly inside you. The sound of his balls striking your ass from behind and your frantic whimpering filled the room. “Oh god, oh fuck, ah yes, fuck, right there!”

You were staring into Dean's teary eyes after he yanked your hair once, forcing your head to arch back as much as it could. You were sobbing with joy and anticipation at finally getting fucked by him. Dean glanced at your open mouth and accelerated his thrust.

Then he spat into your mouth out of the blue. His abrupt coarseness caused your walls to tense. “Fucking slut. You need your mouth to be filled right now so badly. You like sucking cocks? You like getting fucked like this, don't you? That's what you deserve. Do you like it? Look at you. Spreading your legs for a man who's ten years older than you.”

“Fuck, Dean, I like it so, so much.” You swallowed his spit and whimpered, “I need your cum in my mouth so badly; I need to taste you.” You loved the age difference between you and him. It was just perfect. 

“You wanna to drink my cum? You believe you're worthy of it?” He fucked you rough from behind, groaning into your lips and tugging your hair a bit more. 

“I really, really need this. I really need you.”

Dean sped up, letting your hair fall loose as your walls began to tighten around him. He placed his rough hands on your hips and grunted, lifting them slightly to properly strike the sensitive spots. You were unable to contain your orgasm, which swept through your entire body, and you shook violently while screaming his name. While you rose to heaven, reached the peak, your hands firmly clutched the table next to you. 

Dean didn't even pause to fuck you throughout your climax. He repeatedly insulted you while spanking your ass, despite your attempts to push his hands away when your pussy felt too sensitive. You let out a painful moan after the third hard spank. The cheeks of your ass were burning. Tears were streaming down your face as you continued to tell him how wonderful he was and whimper in both pain and pleasure.

Dean grumbled, froze inside of you, and began spilling his sperm into the condom just as your orgasm was fading. You were motionless beneath him because his hand was firmly gripping your ass. You wished Dean wasn't wearing a condom and used his white sperm to paint your walls at that precise time, even though you've never had sex without your partner using one. He would feel hot and sticky, you bet.

When he continued to moan and fuck you in order to thoroughly empty himself within the condom, you grinned slyly. You could get an orgasm just by listening to his masculine moans as he filled you with his satisfying noises. Once you turned your head as far as you could and watched him tightly closing his eyes as he emptied his balls, you bit your lips. The view was just perfect. 

He muttered, “Fuck,” and then cautiously withdrew. You smiled as you turned to face him and pulled up your shorts and underwear. You were feeling satisfied and at ease. 

With a disgusted expression, he put the condom in his jacket pockets after taking it out and tying it, and he gave you a look as if you forced him to fuck you. “That was awfully good,” you finally said, panting as you continued to lie on the carpet. 

Dean straightened his jeans and pulled himself back into his boxers. Then, without a word, he stood up and left you on the ground. He appeared to be in trouble and was gradually regaining consciousness. He felt a wave of regret and sorrow wash over him as the overwhelming realization of the betrayal hit him in the gut. He had carelessly fucked his brother's girlfriend on the floor. 

You did everything you could to feel what he was feeling at the moment, but there was nothing. His anguish, remorse, and guilt were palpable. He was determined about not letting these bad things go. If he could, Dean would have fun and live his life the way he wanted. 

Saying in a gruff voice, "This won't happen again," he also straightened his shirt.

His pathetic attempt to downplay the bond between you made you want to roll your eyes. After all, nothing could stop what was about to happen. You each had what you wanted, and it was only sex. You wanted to say a lot of things and wanted to put your hands on his cheek. However, you stood up and faced him instead.

When you said, “You know it will, Dean,” you couldn't help but smile. You didn't want it to end quickly and were already for a second round. Maybe another time.

Dean said, without comment, “I gotta go.” As if it would help him forget what he had just done, all he wanted to do was get out of there. All he could think was about his betrayal, his brother, and his trust in him. 

AN: My soul was drained by them and this fic. The first chapter is here now. Do not write 'Part 2', please. 😓 It's causing me a great deal of stress. Tell me what you think, please. ���

TAGLIST: @deaniemyboo @crooked-haven @ladykitana90 @kamisobsessed @artemys-ackles @thecutestaaakawaii @suckitands33 @queenofmanydreams @kimxwinchester

@supfan67 @chi-raz @mggsrightfoot

[seungkw1]

heroes — chs

💿 heroes - david bowie 🎶

🪐 pairing: chwe hansol x gn!reader 🪐 theme: sci-fi/horror au 🪐 wc: 13.9k 🪐 warnings: suspense, scary imagery, mild gore (nothin crazy), minor character death, doppelgangers, lots of talk about goo, wistful yearning, some good old fashioned angst. 🪐 a/n: here it is!!! my longest work to date!! this fic is inspired by the movie Alien (1979), one of my all time favs - and who better to star in it than our favorite Movie Guy™️ chwe hansol. i truly had so much fun writing this, definitely made some stuff up about space ships and physics along the way but i hope u find the world of this fic to be immersive, intriguing, and best of all - spooky!! :) huge shoutout to @haologram for beta reading and @miniseokminnies for being my writing buddy and listening to me go insane ♡

You’ve been Captain of the Atlas IV for five years now, so a months-long interstellar cargo haul like this one is standard work for you. But when you’re mysteriously woken prematurely from your cryogenic sleep-stasis to find yourself still in the middle of deep space, nowhere near your destination planet, it’s up to you and your Pilot to figure out what triggered the Emergency Revival System - before it’s too late.

hisssssss

Your brain begins to awaken as you re-enter consciousness. Somewhere in the back of your mind you recognize the sound of the sleep pod unlocking, signaling your long journey through the depths of space must be coming to an end - but right now the only thing you can think about is how dead you feel. Waking up after such a long, artificial sleep is always physically challenging, but nothing you’re not used to by now. You give yourself a couple minutes to lay there, still half-lucid, letting your body slowly readjust from the months-long cryogenic sleep cycle. You listen to the ambient sounds of the ship. The noise is loud, but low - mere background noise that you’ve grown accustomed to. The mechanical rumbling of the engine amidst the otherwise silent ship brings you a strange sense of comfort, a contrast to the usual chatter of the crew and beeping and blooping of machinery. You decide to take a few more moments to enjoy the peace and quiet before you have to get back to work.

Suddenly, you are flooded in the sterile brightness of the ship’s interior lighting as the capsule lid is opened - nearly blinding you even behind closed eyelids. You reluctantly open your eyes to, to see-

A face, staring down at you.

You jump a little. You blink a few times as you sit up, still processing the identity of the face’s owner. Then it registers: it’s your Pilot.

“Jesus Hansol, you fucking scared me.”

“Sorry, Captain,” he apologizes. He just stands there, upright, so still that he could be mistaken for a mannequin if you weren’t paying too much attention.

“Why are you standing over my pod?" you grumble, still adjusting to being roused so abruptly.

He looks at you, his demeanor calm as always - but based on the concerned look in his eyes, you guess he’s going to tell you that there’s a bit of a problem. 

“We have a bit of a problem.”

“Yeah, I guessed that much. What-”

Before you can ask anything, he’s already spun around on his heels, making a beeline back to the cockpit. You stumble out of the pod and quickly don your coveralls before hurrying after him.

You enter the control room, its many processors and screens humming all around you. At first glance, everything seems fine - all machines are fully operational, no blinking lights, no alerts going off. Somehow, you find this more worrying than if all the alarms were blaring.

Hansol hovers over the main computer. You join him, stepping up next to him to get a good look at the screen. To an untrained eye it would be incomprehensible, but you could interpret the map in your sleep. You take one look at the coordinates and the issue is glaringly obvious.

“Shit.”

Your whisper is barely audible, but Hansol gives you a stoic nod.

“Yeah.”

You’ve captained the Atlas IV for five years now - you’ve been on so many of these routine, months-long cargo expeditions that you’ve stopped keeping count; every last detail of its operations is ingrained in your memory at this point. The ship is programmed to wake up the crew in stages upon entering a 0.5 parsec orbital radius of the destination planet (Pilot first, Captain next, and then the remaining crew), allotting plenty of time to communicate with the ground crew and prepare for landing.

However, the blinking blue light indicating the ship’s position is nowhere near the destination planet. It’s not even near any planet - you are in the middle of fucking nowhere.

The system is designed to wake the crew early if an emergency arises - a critical built-in safety measure - but there’s no emergency. Aside from the fact that you’re deep in interstellar space, there doesn’t even appear to be a minor issue at hand.

You look up at Hansol, who is patiently awaiting your response.

“Why was the Emergency Revival System triggered?” you ask hesitantly.

He stares at you for a second before responding.

“I don’t know.”

“And is anything malfunctioning? At all?”

He shakes his head.

“I’ve run all diagnostics twice - nothing. If there’s a problem somewhere, it’s undetectable.”

You grimace. Hansol lets out a sigh. You both know you only have one option here.

“Well, guess we better start combing the place. Find the problem ourselves.”

He nods resolutely. You head to the supply room together, gearing up in silence. You grab as many tools as you can carry - anything you might need to repair… whatever the issue is. 

“Alright, I’ll start at the fore, you start at the aft. Take your comms - radio me if you find anything, no matter how trivial.”

You prepare to head out, but the silence filling the room stops you. You turn around to see Hansol, geared up head to toe with supplies, holding two pulse rifles. He extends one to you.

“Why-”

“Just in case.”

“We’re the only ones here, and everyone else is still in stasis. Who would I possibly need to shoot?”

“Nobody. But you never know what you might come across.”

“Hansol if there was anyone, or… anything else on this ship we would know about it,” you reply, but not confidently. You know he’s right. Weird shit happens in deep space sometimes - better safe than sorry. You take the rifle. 

“Be careful, y/n.”

Normally if a subordinate addressed you informally, you would scold them. You have a good camaraderie with your crew, but you still demand respect. But you and Hansol have known each other for years - although you were never super close, you were still in the same class at the Academy. You did all your basic trainings together - and that kind of shit builds an unspoken bond. You wouldn’t necessarily consider him a friend, but truthfully you do see him as your equal. Being on a first name basis with him just comes naturally.

You give him a firm nod. “You too.”

He clips his rifle to his utility belt. “Meet you in the middle. Unless I find something first.” He shoots you a playfully-smug grin. “Which I will.”

You roll your eyes, but you grin back at him. “Hey, take your fucking time, it’s not a competition.”

“I know,” he says as he exits the room. His voice echoes from the hallway. “But I’m still gonna win.”

[two hours later]

You wipe the sweat from your brow as you shut the large panel door. You’ve checked what feels like a million controls and systems at this point, but - frustratingly - everything appears to be in order. Still no insight into what’s going on.

With an exhausted groan you sit on the ground, leaning your head back against the wall. You grab your canteen and chug some water. This type of work isn’t hard, but it’s fucking tiring. Not to mention boring as hell. At least you have an old mp3 player to keep you company, but you’re still too alone with your thoughts for your liking. As level-headed as you normally are, your mind can’t help but wander, imagining every terrible thing that could possibly happen. You try to push those thoughts aside, knowing you’re probably overthinking it. But the worries still linger. 

You close your eyes, zoning out to the sound of David Bowie’s voice in your ears:

I, I can remember (I remember) Standing, by the wall (by the wall) And the guns, shot above our heads (over our heads) And we kissed, as though nothing could fall (nothing could fall) And the shame, was on the other side Oh we can beat them, for ever and ever Then we could be Heroes, just for one day

“Captain! Come in Captain!”

You jolt upright. You curse yourself, realizing you must have drifted off to sleep for a bit. It takes you a moment to process where the voice is coming from - but then you notice the red light of your comms lighting up on your wrist. 

“Hansol, come in.” you reply, bringing your arm up to your face.

“Geez, I was starting to think something happened to you.”

“Sorry, was just taking a rest. What’s up?”

“I found… something.”

“What do you mean ‘something’?"

“It’s easier if you see for yourself. Meet me in Cargo Bay 7.”

“Roger, on my way.”

The large pneumatic doors to the cargo bay open with a deep whoooosh. The coldness of the hangar stings your face as you step into the freezing room. Hansol’s head pokes up from behind several rows of large crates, his breath visible in the frigid air. He waves you over to him. 

“What is it?” you inquire as you approach him, but as you step around to where Hansol is facing, you see it. Along the side of the crate, where the door is meant to be sealed shut, is a large hole ripped through the multilayered titanium walls. The shredded-up metal protrudes outwards in a peculiar manner, almost as if…

You lean in to get a closer look at the busted door. Hansol’s arm instinctively shoots out in front of yours to stop you from getting too close.

“Be careful - we don't know what's in there.”

You give him a firm nod. You retrieve a crowbar from your toolkit, sticking it into the small opening. Hansol lifts his pulse rifle into position, pointing it at the crate. Slowly you heave the large door open. 

The beam of your flashlight illuminates the crate’s interior. In the center of the crate sits a biocapsule - not unlike the ones you use to enter stasis during long journeys, though notably larger. The capsule’s exterior is fitted with several, heavy-duty locking devices that appear to have been inadequate, given that the glass lid is almost entirely missing, accounting for the thick shards of broken glass strewn all over the floor. Dozens of tubes and wires connect the capsule to various bizarre pieces of machinery, presumably keeping its former occupant in stasis or something of the like. But now, it is vacant. Whoever - or, whatever - was in there, is gone. 

“Okay, this is fucking weird,” you say, turning to Hansol. “Live cargo isn’t even permitted on this ship. What do the logs have listed for this shipment’s contents?”

Hansol lifts his arm and activates what looks like a sleek wristwatch. The watch projects its hologrammatic display into the air in front of his face, featuring a small keyboard. He types in the crate’s serial number into the interface.

“Um,” he starts, his face remaining placid, but you can see the confusion in his eyes. “There’s no record of this container in the system.”

“Like… at all?”

He types in the number again, checking if he made a mistake. But the projected screen once again only says 0 results found.

“Nothin’.”

You furrow your brow. That should be impossible - crates go through two checkpoints to ensure they are registered correctly before they are even allowed on the ship. 

“Search the lot number.”

He types AT-07 into the device. It brings up the general cargo bay information - shipments are sorted into different bays depending on the type of contents they carry.

“‘General Plumbing Equipment’,” he reads from the screen.

You let out a short laugh.

“Plumbing equipment my ass.” 

“Yup,” Hansol agrees. “This has gotta be contraband.”

Despite all the weird shit that’s been going on, the man has remained cool as a cucumber the whole time. You’re reminded why you’ve hand-selected him to be your Pilot for the last six missions.

“So, we have no idea what this is or where it even came from.” 

Hansol nods. “Affirmative.”

You take a closer look at the hole. Crude, jagged edges line the gashes where the wall was torn asunder. Worse, however - deep scratches lay engraved around the hole’s perimeter, distinctly made in sets of three; they look eerily like claw marks. It looks exactly like what you’d expect a titanium crate to look like if something large broke out of it. But, the impenetrable thickness of the walls renders the crate nearly indestructible. Whatever being was held here - it is capable of gargantuan strength. 

“What could have possibly done this?” you ask - not necessarily to Hansol, for you know he doesn't know either. You really would rather not find out, but that doesn't seem like an option at this point. 

Hansol stares into the bizarre crate, mind racing with theories and questions. 

“I don’t know, but I don’t like it.”

You turn to face your Pilot. His demeanor is unchanged, but he looks undeniably concerned. As are you. 

“Well. What now?”

Hansol gives a slight shrug. 

“It's your call, boss.”

“Right,” you sigh. Being in charge of decision-making is something you've gotten very good at over the years, but it certainly is a burden sometimes.

A sudden few beeps resonate from Hansol’s wristband. He lifts his arm to read the notification. 

“The rest of the crew is waking up now,” he informs you. 

“Shit. We better go brief them on the situation.”

Hansol nods in agreement. He puts his flashlight back on his tool belt and pulls his pulse rifle up again - safety still on, but ready to fire if needed. You do the same, silently praying to any god who might be listening that you won't need to use it.

But you're not too optimistic about that. 

You head back up to the sleeping quarters to find the four other members of your crew mulling about - most still pretty dazed and grumpy from the waking process. Your Lieutenant, Jones, is the only one who doesn’t look like they want to kill somebody.

“Captain,” she greets you with a salute. 

“Alright, listen up,” you command your squad, cutting right to the chase.

“We have a bit of a situation,” you start. Your crew is focused, listening attentively, but a nervous air of tension hovers in the room. Those are definitely not the words they were hoping to hear.

“First off, we’re not at the destination planet. Not even close.”

Hushed murmurs echo throughout the room. You continue.

“Chwe and I have not yet identified the source that triggered the Emergency Revival System. We did, however, find something of interest.”

You glance over at your Pilot. He gives you a subtle nod of assurance. 

“A crate in one of the storage rooms was… breached," you start, trying to give as unalarming an explanation as you can manage. But, you know your crew isn’t stupid.

“To speak candidly, I have reason to believe this crate - which is missing from the ship’s logs - was transporting some kind of contraband life form.”

“Life form?” chimes in your Sergeant, Ridley. “What kind of life form?”

“Unclear,” you respond. “I don’t know exactly what I saw, but the crate seemed to be some kind of stasis chamber. Now, there is no reason to panic just yet. But I want everyone to remain vigilant, so I am issuing a Code Gray until we have an all-clear.”

A few subdued grumbles roll through your crew, but everybody knows it’s the right call. Code Gray indicates a potential hazard to the wellbeing of the crew or ship - not yet an emergency, but could quickly become one if things take a turn for the worse.

“Alright, let’s get going people,” you say, clapping your hands together. “Jones and Ridley, take the mid decks. Liang and Destin, lower decks. Follow code protocol, you know the drill. And radio if you find anything, no matter how small.”

The crew disbands, splitting off into designated pairs and gearing up for duty. As the duos depart, you nudge your head up at Hansol, signaling for him to follow you. 

“Let’s go back to the cargo bay,” you tell him quietly. “I want to investigate every inch of that crate.”

You spend at least an hour poring over the crate’s contents, learning frustratingly little about its former occupant. All you can really tell is that the capsule was built to accommodate an individual approximately 8-9 feet tall, slender, with undeniably alien proportions. Your biggest lead is the mainframe - you’re not able to view any of its contents, as it appears to require an eye scan and a passcode, but you recognize the display language to be Acheron. Unfortunately, neither you nor Hansol can read a single word of it - and while it’s not the most ubiquitous language in the known galaxy, it’s still fairly widespread, only narrowing down possible origins to a minimum of 500,000 different star systems. But, it’s at least a start.

The only other discovery you make of potential interest is a thick, black, slimy residue coating the various internal components of the capsule. You collect several samples, scraping it into miniature vials for analysis. 

“Well, let’s hit up the lab,” you tell Hansol as you wrap up your painstakingly thorough investigation. “I don’t think we’re going to find much else in here.”

“Should we send everyone an update?” he inquires.

You raise an eyebrow at him. “What exactly are we going to tell them? All we can say for certain right now is that it’s big and gooey.”

Hansol scrunches his nose in disgust. 

“Please don’t say ‘big and gooey’.”

A subtle smile creeps onto your face. “Big and gooey,” you repeat.

“Blech,” he grumbles, pretending to gag - but the tiniest upward curvature of the ends of his lips breaks his facade. 

“Let’s get these samples analyzed,” you say as you pack the vials into a red plastic bag bearing the words CAUTION: BIOHAZARD.  “I don’t like how much time is passing without us getting any answers.”

“Do you remember that time at the Academy when you nearly killed that guy during a drill?”

The trek to the ship’s biolab has so far been traversed in silence, the only sound present other than the ambient rumbling of the engines being the muted echoes of boot-steps as you and Hansol walk down a seemingly endless number of corridors.  

“Oh my god,” you groan. “I couldn’t forget about that if I tried. And trust me, I have.”

A wide grin spreads across Hansol’s face. One thing about your Pilot: you can always know exactly what he’s thinking by his expression. You know for a fact that it’s not that he can’t hide it - he simply doesn’t feel the need to.

“I still can’t believe I set my comms on the wrong channel,” you lament, shaking your head in embarrassment. “Did NOT get the memo that the drill was long over.”

“That’s why Sergeant Briggs personally went searching for you. We all thought you died.”

“Nope, not dead. Just an idiot,” you sigh. “And then he scared the shit out of me and I almost blasted him in the head.”

“Hey, we all make mistakes,” Hansol reassures you. “And in the end nobody got hurt, that’s what’s important.”

“You’re right,” you sigh in agreement. “Some mistake though, huh?” Hansol says nothing, but smiles.

You walk a few moments without conversation, but the silence feels too heavy. You’re not one to make small talk - but in the quiet your mind starts to wander, and now is not the time to let your nerves get the best of you.

You turn your head toward Hansol. “What the hell made you think of that, anyway?” you ask, the question genuinely on your mind anyway.

“Oh.”

Hansol looks up. His eyebrows scrunch a bit as he stares off down the hallway, seemingly deep in thought. He muses for a moment, then nods to himself.

“I felt similar then, like I’m feeling right now,” he tells you, his eyes still lingering in the distance. “I wouldn’t call it fear - I’m not scared. But there’s certainly the same… palpable sense of dread. And the anxiety of not knowing.”

He looks back at you. You meet his gaze, struck by the unexpected gravity of his answer. Despite knowing Hansol for years, he’s never opened up to you like this before. It’s not that he had anything to hide - he’s always been honest and communicative, and you trust him with your life. But, this conversation feels deeper, more intimate than any you've had with him in the past. Your eyes linger on his for a moment, unsure what to say, but as the next airlock whooshes open your attention shifts to the figure at the end of the corridor. It’s your Engineer, Liang, her back turned to you as she faces the next airlock - but given that she was assigned to search the ship’s lower quadrant with Destin, your Science Officer, her presence on the upper decks catches you off guard.

“Liang,” you call out, your voice carrying in a hollow echo down the long corridor. Her head snaps around to face you with startling speed. She stares back at you for several seconds, unmoving, before twitching slightly to stare at Hansol. Then, she bolts - disappearing into the adjacent corridor in the blink of an eye.

You glance at Hansol, who stares back at you equally confused.

“What was that about?” he questions. You lift your comms and page the Engineer.

“Liang? Come in, Liang.”

A couple moments later her voice rings through the device.

“What’s up, Captain?”

“Is everything okay? What are you doing in the upper decks?”

“I’m not in the upper decks,” she replies matter-of-factly. “Me and Destin are down on Deck 27 still. Haven’t found anything yet, though.”

You and Hansol stare at each other for a moment. The figure you just saw was undeniably Liang - her short stature and fiery red hair were a dead giveaway. 

You switch the comms to all channels.

“Atlas Crew, report back with your positions,” you order the whole team.

A curt female voice rings through the comms. “Jones here, me and Ridley are on Deck 14, nearing the engine rooms.”

“Ridley here,” replies a deep voice. “Ditto.”

“Destin reporting from Deck 27,” a second male voice replies. “I’m here with Liang.”

A sinking feeling swells in your gut as the realization sets in: nobody is even remotely close to you and Hansol right now.

Your mind starts to race, but now is not the time to stand here and think. You raise your pulse rifle at the ready and motion for Hansol to follow you.

“Who the hell is up here with us, then?” he asks as he marches beside you with haste. 

“I don’t know, but I don’t like this one bit,” you mutter as you head toward the corridor the figure vanished into. “Something feels very off here."

The pneumatic door to the connecting corridor is sealed, but not locked. It opens as you approach it, revealing a short, dimly lit passageway leading to a handful of Emergency Ejection Modules. The gargantuan ship has many such escape pod installments - fortunately, you’ve never had to use any of them, but they do offer a sense of security when you’re stuck on board for months on end. However, their quiet stillness feels eerie as you peer down the vacant hallway, their glowing red standby lights glaring ominously back at you through the darkness. As you and Hansol slowly move down the corridor, you notice a faint, mellow beep resonating in the distance. Then, you see it: the lights of the furthest Module blinking slowly, in sync with the beeping sound. In glowing green text, the panel screen beside the pod’s airlock displays the words MODULE DEPLOYED. You tap the screen and pull up the record log; sure enough, the pod is gone - deployed not even one minute ago from this terminal. 

WHOOOOSH 

Startled, you jump slightly at the loud sound coming from behind. You whip your head around to see the pneumatic door sliding open, gatching the briefest glimpse of a large, dark shadow fleeing the corridor. 

You cock your pulse rifle and charge after the figure, bursting back into the vivid light of the main corridor to see… nothing.

Hansol appears beside you in a flash, but also stops in his tracks. The hall is far too long for anyone to have escaped on foot already, and the airlock behind you wasn’t opened. Whoever you’re chasing after has seemingly vanished into thin air. 

“Atlas Crew, come in,” you call as you raise your comms. “I’m issuing a Code Orange effective immediately. Engage shipwide lockdown protocols and be on high alert. Rendezvous at the bridge ASAP.”

“Affirmative,” three voices reply one after the other. 

“Affirmative,” Jones responds a moment later. “What’s going on, Captain?”

“I’ll explain when we get there, but be on high alert.” You glance nervously at Hansol, finding an equal amount of fear in his eyes. Somehow, you find it reassuring. You raise your arm once more to speak into the comms.

“There’s somebody else on this ship with us.”

“I just don’t understand,” Jones says as she reads the biologistics report on the screen for the fifth time. “There’s not a single biometric signal readout on this entire ship except for the six of us. If there were another human present on this ship - or any being for that matter - we would know about it even if they were dead.”

Your crew is gathered in the main control room on the bridge. You just finished giving them a detailed rundown of what you saw, relaying the uncanny events exactly as you witnessed them. 

“And you’re sure it was me you saw?” Liang repeats, her brow furrowed.

“100%,” Hansol confirms. “They looked exactly like you. And besides, you’re the only one here with bright red hair.”

She lets out a somber laugh. “Fair enough. But it’s not like evil doppelgangers actually exist, and we’ve confirmed there’s no other living beings on board. So… you must have been seeing things right?”

“I don’t know,” you reply with a frown. “We both saw the exact same thing though.”

“You’re forgetting the missing creature.”

You turn, shifting your focus to the voice across the room. You see Destin, who had been silent until now. He sits hunched over in his chair, elbows balancing on his legs as he rests his chin upon his clasped hands. His legs bounce slightly in his usual anxious manner. 

“What about it?”

“Nobody’s found the thing that escaped that crate,” he reminds the group.

“True,” you respond. “But whatever it is has to be dead by now. There’s no trace of it at all.”

“That’s just it, though.” His legs still as he sits up straight, resting his palms upon his knees. “Like Jones just said - if there were someone else on the ship we would know about it even if they were dead.”

The room fills with silence as everyone sinks deep into thought. Your mind races, trying to think of any logical explanation to any of this - but nothing makes sense. 

“What about the Emergency Ejection Module?” Ridley finally asks, looking toward you and Hansol. “You guys said one was deployed as a decoy, but what if somebody… something was on it after all?”

Hansol quickly strides over to the nearest terminal, a blue glow illuminating his face as he pulls up the interface. His fingers fly as he speedily types upon the keypad. Every escape pod is equipped with a tracking device and a biometric monitor built in as a safety precaution; he hones in on the ejected module. 

“I’ve located the pod.” 

You hurry over to the terminal and look at the screen. Unfortunately, there’s no good news.

“It’s currently 0.02 parsecs from the ship. No sign of life on board. Or death.” His shoulders drop as he closes out the terminal in defeat. “There’s nothing.”

“Okay, so whoever we saw on the upper decks is still on the ship,” you state. “And we have an unknown specimen on the loose who is evading all detection. The most logical explanation is that the specimen is our mystery guy. But that doesn’t explain why they looked exactly like Liang. That part is…”

“Unsettling,” Hansol finishes your sentence for you. You nod in agreement. 

Jones stares at the computer screen, reading the metrics over and over again in hopes of a revelation, but she knows the effort is futile. She shakes her head and turns the screen off with a sigh. “The way I see it, whatever escaped the crate is some kind of unknown biological specimen that can either shapeshift or induce hallucinations. Or maybe it’s advanced android technology. Regardless, we should still be able to detect something. But there’s not even a residual trace of electromagnetic radiation we can’t account for. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Chwe and I were on our way to the lab to analyze the substance we found in the crate,” you inform the crew. “Hopefully a molecular analysis will provide some insight into whatever the fuck is going on here.” 

“I sure hope so,” Jones grimaces. “I’m not one to be superstitious, but I have a bad feeling about all of this.” 

“What do you want us to do, boss?” Ridley asks from across the room. “While you guys run the tests?”

“Try and track down where that crate came from,” you tell him. “The mainframe language is in Acheron - that’s all I could glean, but start there and see if you can narrow down potential origin planets.”

You turn to the others. “Destin, you’re with me and Chwe. We need your expertise. Jones, Liang - try and figure out why we aren’t able to detect it. Search the scientific database - there’s gotta be something we’re missing.”

“What’s the protocol if we encounter the specimen?” Hansol’s voice resonates from behind. You turn, finding his eyes locked on you - focused and attentive. 

“We know barely anything about it,” you respond, addressing the whole crew. “We don’t know its intentions or motives. But in an abundance of caution, assume the subject to be hostile. Set pulse rifles to stun - we don’t want to cause it any unnecessary harm. Worst case scenario, though…” 

You hesitate. For all you know, whatever this species is may be friendly, intelligent. You certainly have a hunch that it has high intelligence - but as for friendly… Your gut tells you otherwise. And above all else, your duty is to protect your crew.

“If it comes down to it,” you continue, “do not put your life in jeopardy. Use your best judgement. Shoot to kill only as a very last resort.”

Several “yes, Captain”s are solemnly murmured through the room. Every member of your crew has years of experience under their belt, and you were all thoroughly trained for any type of situation. But simulated drills at the Academy, while intense, are nothing compared to the real thing - and none of you have ever experienced any true threats on a mission before. 

Except for Hansol. 

You don’t know the details. He’s never offered them, nor have you ever asked. But you know through the chatter of colleagues that one of his past missions involved an emergency on board, and - allegedly, according to some - one of the crewmates did not survive. Your gaze falls on him once more: still calm and collected, focused and taking his job seriously as usual. But his focus on you is more intense than you’re used to, and you detect a somber aura looming around him. You find yourself wanting to pat him on the arm, to tell him everything’s going to be okay. But, although you care greatly for each member of your crew, you know that would be starkly unprofessional. You cannot let your personal connection to Hansol cloud your attention right now. 

And besides, you can’t tell him that anyway, because you don’t even know if you believe it yourself. 

“These readouts are incredible - like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

You and Hansol stare at the monitor as Destin pulls up the lab results. You both have a fairly extensive background in science, as everyone who graduates from the Academy does, but the overwhelming jumble of data readouts on the screen are far beyond your paygrade. So you let your Science Officer do the interpreting. 

“99% of all life discovered in the galaxy so far is carbon-based - it’s one of the most abundant elements in the universe, so that makes sense. But this specimen has a silicon-based biochemical makeup. Now, we have seen a few silicon-based lifeforms from a few remote planets, but all of them thus far have been primitive, relatively speaking,” he explains. “We’re talking mostly single-celled organisms. There’s been a small handful of multicellular silicon-based species discovered, but nothing more complex than bacteria or algae. Certainly nothing like the large and presumably-advanced specimen that’s running amok on the ship right now. But look at this…” 

He pulls up a 3D image rendering of what you can only assume must be the creature’s DNA - but it’s nearly unrecognizable as such. The main culprit is its triple-helix structure - something that’s been theorized as potentially possible, but has never actually been seen before in nature. Though, the bizarre molecular formations you’re staring at makes you wonder if this creature is even naturally-occurring - it’s so strange that it almost makes you think it must have been engineered in a super-advanced laboratory, on some planet unknown to science.  

“Obviously, the triple helix is astounding in and of itself,” Destin continues. “But even stranger is there is no water present in its chemical composition.” 

“No water?” Hansol echoes, a perplexed expression etched onto his face. “Like, at all?”

“None whatsoever,” Destin confirms. “There are some known species who use ammonia as a solvent - which makes sense, because ammonia and water are both polar molecules, so their structure is similar. But this specimen appears to use methane as a solvent instead. Which, it’s a hydrocarbon, so that is theoretically possible, but with its tetrahedral structure…”

He glances over to you and Hansol, seeing that he’s starting to lose you in his technical jargon. He shakes his head, abandoning the in-depth explanation.

“Basically, this creature is theoretically possible. But for all intents and purposes, it shouldn’t exist.”

The laboratory air hangs still around the three of you as nobody speaks for several prolonged moments. An unnerving chill runs through your body - you thought you would feel better after gathering more information, but at this point you feel even worse. None of these findings comfort you in the slightest.

“Well, at least we have a lead here,” Hansol points out, breaking the silence. “We can eliminate a large majority of possible origin planets.”

“True,” Destin agrees. “It’s a good start. But I have a feeling based on this completely unfamiliar biochemistry that we might be dealing with an unregistered planet here.” 

You frown, but you know he’s right. You may have narrowed your search down, but the answers you’ve found thus far have only led to more questions.

“There’s one more thing.”

Destin types on the interface again. An empty chart pops up on the screen.

“These are the readouts on the spectrometry analysis.”

“It looks blank,” you tell him, confused.

“Yeah. It is.”

He turns back to you, the wrinkles on his forehead more prominent than normal. 

“That’s not a mistake - the test was completed. The results are either nonexistent or off the charts, neither of which makes any sense. Basically, all living beings produce bioelectric fields, giving off some form of radiation. Radio, infrared, our visible spectrum, ultraviolet - wherever it is on the electromagnetic spectrum, there should be detectable waves. But there’s nothing.”

“How is that possible, then?” Hansol asks.

“I don’t know,” Destin responds quietly. “I can’t even begin to reason why this might be the case. But this must be why we aren’t able to detect it.”  

He looks anxious, and you don’t blame him. It’s your job as Captain to know what’s happening on the ship at all times - uncertainty is not an option.

“Send these results over to Ridley and Liang,” you tell him. “We can rendezvous with them and see if they’ve found anything. Maybe they can help fill in some of the missing pieces.”

“The good news is: based on its system’s language, I’ve definitely narrowed down the crate’s potential origin.”

Ridley picks up a mug sitting on his desk, taking a large sip of what appears to be lukewarm black coffee. His small office very clearly is not meant to accommodate four people at once; you crowd around his screen, standing sandwiched between Destin and Hansol as you listen to his report.

“And the bad news?” Hansol inquires.

“The bad news… only to around 50,000 star systems.”

“Fifty thousand??” Destin blurts out, incredulous. “That’s it?!”

“Hey, out of the one billion star systems in the galaxy known to have life? Could be a lot worse,” Ridley counters. 

“Did you import the data from Destin’s test results?” you ask. “Maybe that can help pinpoint it further.”

“Unfortunately, that didn’t help. In fact it eliminated all 50,000 of them - not a single one has an atmospheric composition matching the creature’s biology.”

“Sounds like you were right,” you nod your head toward Destin. “The creature must be from an unregistered planet, then. Whatever planet this crate came from was probably just transporting it.”

“I’ll check the ship logs and see if I can piece together where we might have picked this crate up,” Ridley states. “I don’t think that will tell us any more about the creature but maybe we can figure out how we ended up with it in the first place.”

You nod in agreement. “Destin, you go with Ridley. Hansol and I will see what Jones and Liang are up to.”

As if summoned, you hear Jones’ voice echo from your comms.

“Captain, come in. Are you alright?” 

You stare at the device for a moment. The other crew members in the room turn to look at you, also confused. You raise your wrist toward your face to reply. 

“I’m here. What do you mean?” 

“We just saw you down the corridor but you were acting… weird. Are you on Deck 7 right now?”

Your stomach drops. 

“No, we’re in Ridley’s office. Jones, that wasn’t me.”

“Shit. It looked just like you, Captain, I swear,” she replies.

“What was… it doing?” you ask reluctantly. But you have to know.

“You… well, the creature I guess - it was walking really fast toward the medical bay. I called your name out and it turned and looked at me but…” her voice trails off. “I’m not gonna lie, the look in your- its eyes scared the shit out of me. It was a cold dead stare. Then it said something but I couldn’t understand, it was unintelligible. But it was your voice, Captain.”

You instinctively look up at Hansol, meeting his gaze with horror in your eyes. He looks deeply concerned, but he remains calm. You would never admit it to him, but his presence always reassures you when you would otherwise be freaking out. You take a deep breath; your mind refocuses, and you decide you can worry about the details later. 

“Should we go after it?” Jones’ voice rings through the comms.

“No, not yet - it’s too risky. Stay where you are, Hansol and I are on our way.”

You signal to your Pilot to follow, but he’s already by your side, pulse rifle at the ready. 

"Turn your locators on your comms on,” you order to the whole crew. “Send a ping to check positions if you see somebody out of place. Report back with any anomalies. And stick with your partner at all times. I don’t want anybody going off by themselves.” 

You and Hansol head straight for Deck 7, walking hastily but with caution. Every corner you turn, every airlock you open - you expect to see the image of a crew member lurking there, out of place. You remain focused, but there’s no denying you’re a little on edge. 

Hansol notices, of course - he always does. You’re good at hiding it when you’re stressed or anxious - it’s part of the job, after all - but he’s known you long enough to recognize that you’re growing increasingly nervous. He watches the back of your head as you walk briskly down the corridor, alert and attentive as you clear each passing airlock.

“Hey,” he speaks softly. “Captain.”

You make sure the next hallway is clear before turning to face the voice behind you. It’s just Hansol, but something about seeing him gives you a sense of reassurance you didn’t know you needed.

“Yeah? What’s up?”

“Do you think we should send a distress signal?”

You pause for a moment, staring off into the distance as you mull over his words. Slowly, you begin to nod your head.

“I’ve been considering it for a while now,” you admit. “I didn’t want to jump the gun, but I think at this point it’s better safe than sorry.”

“I agree,” he nods. “Let’s head to the bridge after we meet up with Jones and Liang - no need to split up.”

You continue toward Deck 7. As you near where your crew is stationed, you hear loud banging sounds, followed by a thunderous CRASH. Your heart rate spikes. Glancing at Hansol, he looks equally as concerned. You raise your pulse rifles and start running toward the noises, when then you hear Liang’s voice ringing through the hallway.

“FUUUUCCCKKKKKK!!!”

You and Hansol burst into the room, prepared for the worst - but all you see is the Engineering Lab, looking like a tornado went through it. Liang is at one of the workstations, smashing some sort of device with a hammer while screaming expletives. Jones is laying on the floor, looking like she has given up.

“What the hell is going on??” you inquire loudly, relieved that there is no emergency but exasperated from the near-heart attack Liang almost gave you. “I thought you were dying in here!”

“Liang is smashing her third attempt at a tracking device with a hammer,” Jones remarks dryly. “I’m lying on the floor.”

“Yes, I see that,” you reply with an eye roll. 

“It’s not BANG fucking BANG WORKING!!!” Liang bellows, giving the busted machine a final BANG before shoving it off the desk. Her shoulders slump as she hangs her head in her hands. You glance at Hansol out of the corner of your eye; he meets your gaze. You stare at each other for a moment, then the corners of his mouth start to twitch. You bite your lip to prevent bursting out in laughter; Hansol tries his hardest to stifle his grin. Nothing about this situation is funny, but the ridiculousness of it all definitely offers some comic relief. 

Hansol clears his throat, shoving the laughter back down. “Um, so what have you tried so far?”

“Well, somebody fucked up the first machine because they got a little too solder-happy,” Liang grumbles, shooting a glare at Jones.

“I said I was sorry!” Jones retorts, exaggeratedly throwing her hands up into the air.

“The second one was close, I could feel it - but then I fucked up the wiring so bad I just decided to start from scratch again.”

“And you see how well that went,” Jones teases. Liang picks up a pencil and chucks it at Jones, hitting her in the forehead.

“OW!”

“Get up, dumbass. Make yourself useful and go get some power couplers,” Liang gestures at the giant wall of spare parts.

“Alright, alright! Damn!” 

She hops up and brushes hastily past a shocked-looking Hansol to go fetch the requested parts. You laugh, remembering that this is his first mission working with these two. 

“They’re always like this,” you reassure him out of earshot of your crew members. “Trust me, they’re best friends.”

Hansol scratches his head, letting out a nervous laugh. 

“If you say so, boss.”

You head over to Liang’s workstation as she plops what you can only assume is Attempt #2 onto the desk. It’s a bulky, unsightly thing - a crudely-soldered collection of mismatched parts - but as she flips a switch it whirrs to life, displaying a blue hologram screen that you recognize as the ship’s schematics. Four glowing white dots appear upon the map.

“So obviously, that’s us,” Liang states. She makes some adjustments, zooming the display out to show the whole ship, and two additional white dots pop up. “And that’s Destin and Ridley up on Deck 3. Still no sign of our alien anywhere.”

“I assume you built an electroscope into the device?” Hansol asks Liang.

“Yeah, but it’s not detecting any anomalies.”

“What’s the detection threshold for static electricity, millivolts? Microvolts?”

“Microvolts,” Liang answers, raising her eyebrow at Hansol. “Why?”

“Instead of volts, hone in on the amps,” he instructs. “And up the sensitivity to nanoamps. I have a hunch.”

“Oookay,” she agrees with a shrug. “Can’t hurt to try anyways.”

Jones returns, setting a handful of power couplers on the desk. Hansol gets to work rummaging through endless boxes of parts; he returns in a few minutes with dozens of tiny pieces of machinery. He and Liang get to work, fine-tuning the machine. You don’t exactly want to sit around doing nothing, but you’re not much use here - and besides, you could use a few moments of rest. You plop down on a nearby rusty folding chair, watching your crew diligently fiddle with the contraption, but you quickly catch yourself zoning out. You didn’t realize how exhausted you were until right now. You close your eyes, just for a minute, you tell yourself. Just a quick breather…

“Captain!”

You jolt awake from the nap you didn’t know you were taking, nearly falling off the flimsy chair.

“What’s happening?” you ask frantically. “What time is it? What-”

You feel a hand on your shoulder. You look up to find Hansol’s face hovering above yours.

“God, you have got to stop doing that!”

“Sorry,” he replies with a sheepish smile. “We finished.”

“Fuck, how long was I out?”

“16 minutes and 58 seconds,” Jones reads from her watch. 

“Oh,” you say as the panic in your body ceases. “That was fast.”

“Yeah, because me and Hansol are geniuses,” Liang says smugly. 

“Well, does it work?” you inquire, getting up and walking back to the workstation.

“Don’t know,” Hansol replies matter-of-factly. “We’re about to fire it up.”

“Moment of truth…” Liang says with hesitant optimism. She flips a few switches, but the machine remains silent. Her eyes widen, looking like she’s about to reach for her hammer again, but fortunately the machine slowly starts booting up.

“Oh thank fuck,” she exhales. The blue screen pops up again, showing the same dots as before. Grimacing, she stares at the machine tiredly. “Well, nevermind that.”

“Wait,” you call out, leaning in to get a better look at the display. “Zoom in on our location.”

Liang zooms in on the Engineering Lab, the cluster of four dots growing larger. 

No… five dots.

Everyone stares at the display in silence, processing what is being shown.

“Zoom back out?” Jones requests quietly. 

Liang zooms out. Two additional dots appear for Ridley and Destin, still on Deck 3. You look back at the five dots in the Engineering Lab. Four are stationary, the fifth one slowly circling the others.

“There it is…” Liang utters, her voice barely more than a whisper.

You raise your comms to your chin. “Ridley, Destin, come in. State your locations,” your voice wavers as you ask the question you already know the answer to.

“Ridley here. I’m with Destin on Deck 3.”

“Destin here, copy that.”

You ping them on the locator, just to triple check - but they are indeed still up on Deck 3.

You stare at the fifth dot at your location. It’s still circling the other four, the eerie steadiness of its creeping pace sending a haunting chill up your spine. You feel the room shift, abject horror washing over everyone’s faces as the severity of the situation sinks in.

You slowly raise your pulse rifle, signaling for your crew to do the same. Everyone looks around the room anxiously.

“Where the hell is it?” Jones whispers reluctantly. The room falls silent as everyone tries to detect any trace of the creature. Then, you hear it.

swhoooooosh

The sound comes from above. It’s almost undetectable, but you hear it: the sound of wet, muted slithering from hell, accompanied by horrid crackling noises.

Hansol hears it too. He peers up, staring at the ceiling, his eyes widening with fear.

“It’s in the walls.”

“How…” Jones’ voice trails off momentarily. “I thought it was supposed to be gigantic… how can it fit in there?”

“I don’t know,” you respond as you cock your rifle, holding it at the ready. You point the barrel at the source of the sounds, tracing steadily along the ceiling as you hear it move above you. “But that doesn’t really matter right now. Everyone stick together at the center of the room - but hold your fire.”

“Blasters to stun?” Hansol checks, his arm brushing against your shoulder as he takes his position beside you. You turn, unintentionally staring directly into his eyes; your mind is racing, but his steadfast gaze grounds you back in reality. You nod at him.

“For now,” you add quietly. 

The slithering and crunching continues, barely audible, but it echoes through your skull like nails on a chalkboard. You continue tracing the sounds with the muzzle of your rifle, when suddenly the noises cease, right above a vent cover.

“The vent!” Jones stammers. Time seems to freeze as you all stare at the hatch in the ceiling, terrified to blink or breathe lest it makes its move. You don’t know how much time passes - all you can focus on is the dreadful roar of blood rushing through your ears. Your heart pounds in your chest, so heavily it threatens to burst through your ribcage. But all there is is silence. Until-

BANG.

The vent cover rattles in its frame as the creature slams against it.

BANG.

Dust and particles trickle down from the ceiling. The whole room seems to shake.

BANG.

The vent protrudes from the blows, threatening to burst at the seams.

BANG!!!!

The dense metal covering gives way, falling to the ground below. Harsh clanging sounds ricochet through the room as it bounces off the floor - but the creature remains in the shadows above.

“I can’t see it,” Liang frantically hollers, staring up into the dark hole. “Where is it?”

Nobody moves as dust and shards of metal settle onto the ground, leaving behind deafening silence. Then, a series of deep, hollow clicks starts rippling through the air - you can’t tell where it’s coming from, it feels like it's all around you. A large dark figure suddenly plummets to the ground, landing with another deafening CRASH. You immediately fire your weapon, but it darts away, vanishing as quickly as it appeared.

“It’s over there!!” Jones screams, firing at a black blurry form in the corner of the room. You turn your head, trying to follow the horrid clicking sounds, but it’s as if you’re moving in slow motion - by the time you are facing it, it darts off in another direction. You do your best to aim and shoot, but your vision grows fuzzy, your head spinning with vertigo as you struggle to maintain focus.

“I can’t see!!” somebody shrieks. The room wobbles around you as you try to locate the creature, but it's near impossible. Finally, you spot the dark figure hovering not five feet in front of you, standing above one of your crew - your vision is too obscured to tell who. It raises its appendage, ready to attack. You scream, raising your pulse rifle with frustrating slowness, aiming it at the creature, but you know you’re too late. The crew member cries out in terror as the creature swings toward them, but then the room fills with a blinding flash of somebody firing point-blank at the creature. The creature howls, flying back up into the vent in a single leap. You hear it slithering away, its body crunching and creaking as it forces itself through the walls. By the time you can see straight again, it’s long gone. 

Your eyes focus on the crew member laying upon the ground: it’s Jones. Her left sleeve is ripped clean off her jumpsuit, exposing a set of three slashes in her skin. You rush to her side, careful not to touch the wound. All things considered, it could be a lot worse - it’s not very deep, just a scratch, but the wound is already turning a concerning shade of purple. You whip your head up to find Hansol - you spot him across the room, helping Liang off the ground, both of them seemingly unscathed. Jones grits her teeth as she groans, clutching her arm in pain.

“How bad is it?” she asks reluctantly. 

“Not the worst I’ve ever, but also not great,” you tell her truthfully. “Looks like our alien is venomous, unfortunately.”

“Yeah, might explain why it feels like my bones are on fire,” she remarks with a forced laugh. Hansol and Liang appear by your side, crouching down to get a good look at the wound.

“Yikes,” Hansol exclaims as his face grows contorted with disgust. Liang elbows him in the rib. “I mean, you’ll be fine,” he adds. He looks up at you. “Looks like we need an antidote. I think we can use the goo.”

“Shit, you’re right.” You jump into action, paging your Destin and Ridley on your comms. “Atlas crew, come in. We encountered the alien. This is Code Red - I repeat, this is Code Red.”

“Is everyone alright? What happened?” Ridley’s voice rings through the device.

“I… I don’t know really. We were attacked. Jones got hit and turns out the damn thing is venomous. We need an antidote - Destin, you there?”

“Copy, Captain. I can use the sample from earlier to cook one up. We’ll head to the lab, stat.”

“Wait,” you reply hastily. You return to the tracking device, thankfully unharmed despite the commotion. Zooming out, you see the seventh dot rapidly heading toward the upper decks.

“It’s headed right toward you. You have to go now - and FAST.”

“Roger that, Captain,” Destin responds. “We’re quite close to the Laboratory so we should be okay, but we’ll remain on high alert.”

“Keep us updated. Liang will take Jones straight to the Medical Bay. Me and Hansol will meet you at the lab to fetch the antidote.”

“Got it.”

You grab the bulky tracking device off the desk, taking a spare strap of leather from the ground and hurriedly fastening it to the device with some rivets. You go to put the strap around your shoulders, when Hansol stops you. 

“I’ll take it,” he insists, attaching the device to himself before you can protest. “You’re a better shot than me, in case we encounter that fucking thing again.” 

“Captain-” Liang shouts from behind. You turn to see her lifting Jones off the ground, but barely - as Jones is nearly a head taller than herself. They both stumble - you rush in to grab Jones’ torso, hoisting her back up while being careful to avoid touching the wound. You look back at Hansol.

“I’ll go get the antidote. You guys get Jones to Medical.”

“No!” you shout, louder than you mean to. “I don’t want you going by yourself. Come with us-”

Hansol shakes his head. “You know it’ll be faster if I go alone. We can’t waste any time.” He gestures to Jones’ arm, which is even more purple at this point.

You sigh reluctantly, but you know he’s right. 

“But be careful,” you tell him sternly. “Please,” you add in a softer voice.

He gives you a quick salute, then disappears out of the room, tracking device and pulse rifle in tow. An anxious pit starts to develop in your stomach, but you ignore it. He’ll be fine, you tell yourself. And you know it’s true. But if something happened to Hansol… you would never be able to forgive yourself.

Turning back to Jones, you hoist her up so she can lean most of her weight on you. Liang pulls her rifle at the ready - and the three of you take off to the Medical Bay. It’s not terribly far from where you are, but having to drag an entire crew member with you makes the journey feel ten times longer than it actually is. You wish you had the tracking device to calm your nerves, but you know it was the right decision for Hansol to take it - he is heading in the same direction as the creature, after all. Eleven grueling minutes later, you arrive at the Medical Bay. You quickly help Jones into a medical capsule - the stasis technology won’t stop the venom from spreading, but it will at least slow it down slightly. You just hope and pray it’s enough. 

“I’m going to the Bridge to send the distress signal,” you inform Liang. “Stay here with Jones, ping my comms if anything changes.” She stares back at you solemnly, not liking that you have to go off alone too, but she nods in agreement.

You run as fast as you can toward the Bridge, willing the creature to be anywhere else but in your path. You approach the final corridor, relief washing over you that you’re almost there. The pneumatic door whooshes open as you turn the corner; you look down the long hall to see the Bridge’s bright blue security door-

And Hansol is standing right in front of it. 

Except, it’s not Hansol. You don’t even have to stop and think about it, you just know: that’s. not. him.

The creature disguised as Hansol stands unnaturally stiff, in an unnaturally wide stance, shoulders hunched in a way that seems painful. But the dead giveaway is the eyes - instead of the familiar warm gaze of Hansol’s brown eyes, you are met with a cold, hard glare of solid black irises. The hollow, disturbing clicking sounds from earlier begin again as the creature contorts Hansol’s lips into a hideous snarl. The same disgusting slimy goo you found in the crate starts to ooze from Hansol’s mouth, frothing and gurgling repulsively; it has also started pooling around Hansol’s boots where the vile creature stands. You stare back at it intensely, trying to see if you can get any read on it, any sense of kindness or well intentions - but all you can glean from its dead piercing eyes is a dark, harrowing sense of evil.

Then, it charges at you.

The Hansol doppelganger runs awkwardly, but startlingly fast, speeding straight down the corridor to where you stand. You don’t even have time to think - you shut the airlock and engage the blast shields moments before it reaches you. It thuds against the blast shields with a thunderous BANG.

You run. You don’t know where you’re going, you just run - as fast as you possibly can. All you can hear as you run away is

BANG.

BANG.

BANG.

It grows quieter the further you run, but you know if the creature can’t break down the blast doors it will just find another way out. You run, zig-zagging randomly down the corridors, until your legs feel like they’re going to give out. You slow to a stop - just for a moment, to catch your breath, when Ridley’s voice suddenly echoes from your comms. 

“I just ran into the alien,” he frantically informs all channels. “And it fucking looked like me.”

“Ridley - are you hurt?” you quickly respond.

“My shoulder, it might be sprained,” he groans. “I’ll live. But shit, that was fucked up man, that was so fucked up…”

“Tell me what happened.”

“I turned the corner and saw myself standing right in front of me, god it was so fucking weird. But Captain - it talked. In my own voice. It said… It asked me, ‘Whoooo areeee youuuuu’. Fuck, it was so creepy. I blasted it in the face five times, that fucker barely even flinched. Then it picked me up and threw me into the wall. Landed on my shoulder, I think I might have sprained it - but I’ll live.” 

“Where is it now, Ridley?” you ask imperatively. “Where did it go?”

“Ran off toward the upper decks, I think. Starboard.”

You look up, checking the corridor number where you ended up. Sure enough, the creature must be headed your way. Just my fucking luck. You start off in the opposite direction, aiming to avoid running into it, when you hear the thump thump thump thump of heavy footsteps growing louder.

It’s coming.

You have no time to think. You spot a supply closet - definitely not the world’s greatest hiding place, but it’ll have to do. You pull the door shut as you stumble into the closet, practically throwing yourself to the ground. You sit against the wall behind one of the shelves, pulse rifle across your lap in case you need to think quick. The thump thump thump thump-ing continues, the owner of the footsteps clearly getting closer. And closer. And closer. Then, they stop - right outside the closet door. You practically hold your breath, lest you make any sound to alert it to your presence. The doorknob squeaks as it slowly turns; bright light floods the small closet as the door opens. You raise your weapon, aiming it at- Hansol?

His eyes widen as he stares down the barrel of your rifle. He gently raises his hands, gesturing to you to lower the weapon.

“Hey, Captain-”

“Don’t move!!” you scream, rifle trembling in your grasp. 

“Captain, it’s me-”

“How do I know it’s really you??”

Tears flood your eyes as you stare down your Pilot, blaster aimed directly at his head.

“Y/n, what happened?” 

His soft voice fills your ears. You stare into his eyes - warm, brown, gazing down at you with concern. Those are Hansol’s eyes alright, but you know the alien keeps getting better at mimicking your crew - plus, it can speak now. You have to be sure.

“Tell me something so I know it’s really you,” you demand, your voice wavering. “Something only the real Hansol would know.”

He looks back at you for a moment, thinking. 

“Do you remember how we first met?”

You stare up at him, still afraid, but you wait for him to continue.

“It was our first year at the Academy, on our third day of training. I was exhausted already - we all were. That first week was rough, I mean they really tried to kill us with the physical examinations, huh,” he says, a small grin appearing on his face as he reminisces. “Anyway, I didn’t know it but I had somehow already made an enemy. Chadley Praxton.” Mumbling, he adds, “stupid fucking name…” You’re still trembling, but the corners of your mouth twitch briefly into the tiniest of smiles. “Anyway, he was an asshole and decided I was a nerd or something, I don’t know what his deal was. In the mess hall that night he kept throwing peas at my head, for some reason. I ignored it, but then he started flinging bits of mashed potatoes with his spoon. I grabbed my tray and started to leave - but not before this random girl from my barracks walked right past him and dumped her full cup of cola and ice on his head.” He laughs, shaking his head at you. “You went, ‘Oops! Sorry!' in the most insincere tone and just kept walking. That’s when I knew I wanted to be your friend.”

He makes eye contact with you again, the smile on his face so kind you almost forget where you were for a moment. You go to lower your weapon, but realize you’ve already lowered it. You drop it to the ground, then burst into tears.

Hansol stands there, unsure what to do for a moment.

“Can I… come in?” 

Your face is buried in your hands as you sob uncontrollably, but you nod. He enters the supply closet, shutting the door gently behind him, then plops down right next to you. Hesitantly, he gives you a couple pats on the shoulder - you lean in to him, burying your head in the crook of his neck. Fuck it, he decides, and wraps his arm around you, letting you cry as he holds you. After a few minutes, you start to calm down.

“Sorry,” you say with an embarrassed sniffle. “I didn’t mean to have a mental breakdown on you.”

“It’s okay.”

He rubs your arm as he embraces you, letting you lean against him still. You wonder when the last time you felt this calm was.

“I ran into the creature earlier. It looked like you, but it was all horribly wrong,” you explain. “That’s why I freaked out when I saw you.”

You feel him nod. “I figured.”

“Hansol, I was so fucking scared. I mean, I still am - I don’t know what’s going to happen. And I hate not knowing.”

“I know, me too,” he says as he rests his chin against the top of your head. “It’s going to be okay though.” He pauses, then somberly adds: “It has to be.”

You sit in silence for a few moments, listening to the steady rhythm of Hansol’s heart beating in his chest. 

“Can I ask you something?”

You lift your head up to look at him after you ask. You see your trusty Pilot before you, but more importantly, you see your friend. Hansol.

“Sure,” he answers. “Of course.”

“I’ve heard rumors, but I’ve never known for sure. Did you have a mission that ended… badly?”

Hansol closes his eyes, giving you a solemn nod. 

“Yeah. Four years ago, I was on a short transport mission. Was supposed to be super easy - one payload to be picked up and delivered. We’d all done it a hundred times. We were nearly at the destination planet when the ship had a strange malfunction. One of the engines shut down and nobody could figure out why. I offered to suit up and go check it out, but our Captain insisted he would go instead. Because it was my birthday.” He laughs softly. “He was always like that - he really cared about the crew. Just like you do.”

He looks back to you as he says it, and it makes your heart sink.

“So he went out to do a routine maintenance check. But, turns out the engine shut down due to a gas leak. I don’t know how it went undetected, but it did. The moment he took a pistol grip to the tank carriage, it exploded.”

“Oh my god,” you mutter softly.

“Yeah. It severed his tether and pierced his primary life support system. He died instantly.”

A gentle stream of tears falls from each of his eyes, running gracefully down his face. 

“We had to make an emergency evacuation in the auxiliary shuttle. There was no time to even retrieve his body. That was the worst part of it all: watching him float off into the void of space as we flew away to safety, knowing there was absolutely nothing we could do. I’ll never be able to get that image out of my head. It haunts me.”

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, placing your hand on top of his. 

You stay there together, sitting in silence for a bit. You find yourself leaning your head on his shoulder again - it’s comforting for both of you.

“Thank you,” you finally say.

He tilts his head to look at you. “For what?”

“For being there.”

He smiles softly. “You too.”

You sit up abruptly. “The antidote!! And the distress call! Did we-”

“We got it,” he answers immediately, quelling your worries. “I noticed the distress signal wasn’t sent yet, so after I delivered the antidote to the Med Bay I went to the Bridge - everyone else stayed behind with Jones. You weren’t in the Bridge, so I sent the distress call and went to come find you.”

“Why didn’t you just call me on the comms?”

He grins, lifting up his wrist to show the busted remains of what was once his comms.

“What the fuck did you do?” you inquire, your eyebrows furrowed with concern.

“Had a brief run in with the alien. It was a giant dark blur again - I fired at it like 15 times in a row but it still managed to body slam me into the ground.” He shrugs. “Then it ran off.”

“And the only thing hurt was your comms?”

“Um, I might have a broken rib,” he admits, scratching his head. “But it’s fine.”

“What?! Okay, come on, let’s get you to Medical too.”

“I’m fine, really,” he insists, but he reaches for the tracking device from his stash. “Here.” He fires it up, the hologram display projecting seven white dots before you. Two are you and Hansol, in this stupid supply closet. Four are the rest of your crew up in the Medical Bay. And one lone dot lingers near the engine rooms.

“Okay, the creature isn’t close, that’s good,” you comment. “But why is it down there…”

“I dunno, but it can’t possibly be up to anything good.”

You and Hansol make it back to the Medical Bay with no issues - the creature appears to be staying put for now. You’re relieved to find Jones with two intact arms, the sickly scratches looking significantly less purple after the antidote.

“Practically good as new, boss,” Jones announces cheerfully. “I’m ready to get back out there. What’s our game plan?”

“Well, Hansol sent the distress signal but so far, no response. One option: stay here - lock down Med Bay and wait for someone to pick up our beacon.”

“And hope and pray that the creature can’t break in?” Destin questions. You sigh, but you know he’s right. “What are our other options?” he asks. 

“Well, we could-”

Your sentence is cut off by the sudden blaring of the emergency alarms. 

Startled, everybody jumps to their feet. A loud, grating bell rings on top of the piercing sirens.

“What’s happening?” Liang shouts over the noise.

Hansol is already at the terminal, pulling up the reports. His face drops as he reads the text on the glowing blue screen.

“One of the exhaust pumps on the portside engines is malfunctioning!” he shouts urgently.

“What??” you shout back. “How-”

You are interrupted by another bell ringing.

“A second exhaust pump is offline??” Hansol yells with confusion. He scrambles back to the tracking device - six dots up in Med Bay, one down in the engine room. 

Another bell. You don’t have to look at the terminal to know exactly what is happening.

“That thing is dismantling the exhaust pumps!!” you shout, watching as fear washes over your crew’s faces yet again.

“The ship is gonna fucking blow if it keeps this up!!” Liang shrieks.

You find yourself looking to Hansol. He nods to you, and you know what must be done.

“EVERYBODY TO THE AUXILIARY SHIP,” you command your crew. “WE’RE EVACUATING - NOW.” 

“What about the alien??” Ridley yells. “What if it comes after us?”

You look back at him, replying with a single word.

“Run.”

The blaring alarms screech in your ears as you and your crew bolt through the ship, heaving footsteps clanging against the metal floors as the emergency lights flood the hallways with their incessant flashing. You sprint, as fast as your exhausted body will allow, but time seems to lag, your movements occurring in slow motion. But you can’t stop - not until your whole crew is safe. 

“It’s running right towards us!” Hansol hollers from right behind you. “Approaching fast, from behind, 1000 meters…” Then, seconds later, “800 meters… 600…”

“Shit,” you growl under your breath. You yank your pulse rifle up, cranking the blaster to maximum voltage. You’re not taking any more fucking chances.

“500 meters,” Hansol shouts. “400… 300…”

You stop in your tracks, whipping around to face the hallway you just came from. Your crew follows suit. 

“KEEP GOING,” you shout to your crew. 

“No way,” Ridley shouts back. “We’re sticking with you.”

“THAT’S AN ORDER.”

You scan the faces of your crew - they are filled with terror, but you see the determination in their eyes. They each salute you, then run. You watch the backs of their heads as they flee down the corridor. A horrible feeling that you will never see them again creeps into your head.

You turn back around, Hansol standing beside you, ready to fight.

“Hansol, GO.”

He shakes his head in refusal. “I’m not leaving you, Captain.”

He looks at the tracking device once more. 

“200 meters, 150, 100…”

You hold your ground, bracing yourself for the worst. You hear the repulsive scuttle of the creature’s footsteps, rapidly approaching, accompanied by the god-awful scraping of its claws against metal. You aim at the airlock, finger on the trigger - but the pneumatic door doesn’t open. The horrifying realization sinks in as you hear it stomp and crunch above your head, passing you in an instant as it heads directly for the auxiliary ship. 

“It’s still in the fucking walls!” you yell urgently to the rest of your crew over your comms. “It’s heading straight for our escape route - divert course immediately!!”

Several seconds pass with no response, and you fear for the worst. But then you hear Jones’ voice crackling through.

“We’re headed to the nearest Emergency Ejection Modules,” she shouts through the static. “We lost Destin though, I don’t know where he went!”

“Keep going - don’t stop for anything.”

You switch channels, pinging Destin’s comms.

“Destin, come in - where are you?”

“I’m going to distract it,” his voice rings distantly through the device. “You and Hansol get to the auxiliary ship, I’ll lure it away.”

“No! It’s too dangerous-”

“Godspeed, Captain.”

The channel goes quiet as he shuts off his comms.

“What the fuck is he doing??” you cry out, staring incredulously at Hansol. 

“I don’t know, but it’s working,” he replies as he looks down at the tracking device. You see two stray dots on the map, heading for the aft. The confusion on Hansol’s face lifts as he realizes.

“I think he’s going to try and trap it in the garbage receptacle.”

“He’s going to get himself killed,” you grumble.

“What do we do?”

You meet Hansol’s eyes. He patiently awaits your order, looking back at you with all the trust in the galaxy. It nearly rips your heart in half.

“I don’t-”

BOOOOOOOOM.

The rumbling explosion cuts you off. You feel the ground shake beneath your feet.

“That was nearby,” Hansol announces with concern. Pulling up the map again you see a third dot on the deck above your current position, unmoving. Another dot speeds back in the direction of the other crew members.

“Quick!” You sprint up the nearest stairwell, Hansol right by your side. Up on the next deck you find yourself in Central Mainframe Storage, but one of the huge towers of computers has been fully knocked over. Spark zap in the air as the exposed wiring flickers to death. Then, at the other end of the room, you spot your Science Officer. He clings to the Terminal as balances himself on one leg, the other appearing to be badly mangled.

“Destin!” you shout. He peers over his shoulder, his face contorted with pain. 

“You have to go,” he tells you somberly as he types a long string of codes into the Terminal. “I’m gonna blow this shit to pieces.”

Flashing red lights fill the room as a deep, thundering alarm overtakes the air. The sound fills you with imminent dread.

“Emergency Self-Destruct System activated,” a robotic female voice echoes through the chamber. “T-minus 10 minutes until self-destruction.”

“Destin what the hell?!?!” you shriek.

“This is all my fault,” he laments, hanging his head low in shame. “I’m the one who allowed the crate containing the specimen on board.”

“What? I…” you struggle to form words as shock, confusion, betrayal course through you all at once. “Why?”

“Three months ago I was contacted by a strange man. I never even found out his name, he told me just to refer to him as The Ambassador.” He rolls his eyes with a huff. “That should’ve been the first red flag. But he was looking for a recruit to help him on a project called Operation Prometheus. He told me it was a classified government-funded operation and that he couldn’t give me many details, but he needed somebody on the inside to help him bypass security measures to get a crate on this ship for its next mission. I don’t know where it came from, it was being transferred from another cargo ship. Another measure to bury the trail, I guess. But the payout was incredible, almost too good to be true, but he paid me 50% up front. So I agreed. He told me the crate contained new weapon technologies, but he assured me it was perfectly safe for transport.”

He lets out a deep sigh. “I should’ve known better. I don’t think he meant for the alien to ever escape, but regardless I shouldn’t have trusted a word he said.” He pauses, lips quivering as tears start to fall from his eyes. “The only reason I did it was for my family - my daughter, she was diagnosed with a rare blood disorder last year. I took on extra missions, my wife got a second job even, but the bills were insurmountable. We were drowning. Even just the 50% payment was enough to change our lives. My family can be free now.”

“T-minus 9 minutes until self-destruction,” the robotic voice booms through the air.

“You have to go,” he urges you and Hansol.

“We can get you out of here-” Hansol starts, but Destin waves his hand.

“It’s too late, I’m not going to make it,” he shakes his head in defeat. “My leg is broken to pieces and I’ve lost too much blood.”

“Shut up, you’re coming with us,” Hansol snaps, charging over to the Terminal, but he stops in his tracks as Destin raises his rifle at him. 

“Please,” he begs. “I couldn’t live with myself anyway. My will to live is long gone.”

“T-minus 8 minutes until self-destruction.”

“Go!!” he insists again. You grab Hansol’s arm, pulling him along as you back out of the room. He looks at you, distress coloring his face. You shake your head in defeat. 

“There’s no time.”

He nods, reluctant, but he understands. As you step back into the hallway, you take one last look at your Science Officer. Solemnly, he gives you a final salute. He disappears as the airlock shuts itself closed.

“The alien is still headed toward the rest of the crew,” Hansol informs you. “I think we can make it to the auxiliary ship in time.” 

“Atlas Crew, come in,” you call to all channels, panting through labored breaths as you and Hansol run down the hallway. “The alien is headed directly toward your position, get out of there.”

“Roger, Captain,” Ridley responds immediately. “We’re all in the Modules, ready to Evacuate. We may lose contact once we stray too far from the ship.”

“Ejection in 10 seconds,” Liang announces through the comms. “Goodbye Captain, Hansol. If you two don’t make it out alive I’ll kill you.”

A smile spreads across your face. “Godspeed, Crew.”

“Catch you on the flip side,” says Jones. A loud whooshing sound overtakes the comms - the Modules have deployed.

“T-minus 8 minutes until self-destruction.”

“We’re almost there,” Hansol shouts over the awful cacophony of sirens and alarms. You turn the corner, the airlock to the auxiliary ship waiting for you at the end of the corridor. You sprint down the hall, traversing the final 50 meters as fast as you possibly can. You reach the door, scanning your hand to unlock it. It zips open, and you and Hansol practically throw yourselves into the airlock.

“T-minus 7 minutes until self-destruction.”

You scramble into the craft, sealing the blast doors on the airlock and taking your respective places on the flight deck. Hansol fires up the ignition - it gives a few sad-sounding spurts, but the engines fail to start. He stares at the controls, trying again. Same thing. He tries again. And again. 

“Oh my fucking god,” he mumbles, burying his face in his hands as he sinks into the chair in defeat. “You have got to be joking.”

You flip a few more switches - the interior lights turn on, as does the climate control. 

“We have power,” you tell him. “The engines just aren’t firing. Looks like the combustion chambers are offline.” You groan as you too sink into your seat. “I don’t think we could even fix that if we tried.”

“T-minus 6 minutes until self-destruction.”

“Fucking SHUT UP!!!” you scream at the robot voice. Taking a deep breath, you quietly ask Hansol, “What the fuck are we gonna do?”

He thinks, staring blankly at the ceiling. Suddenly, he bolts upright. He starts flipping switches and adjusting dials on the deck. “We have system power, right? So we can at least detach. We float away until the main ship self-destructs, then the explosion will propel us away. Comms are up, we can send a distress signal once we reach a safe distance.”

“‘The explosion will propel us away’.” you repeat. “That, or it blows us to smithereens.”

“Yeah, one of those.”

You mull it over briefly, then shrug your shoulders. “It’s the best shot we’ve got. Let’s do it.”

Hansol dismantles the coupling, detaching the smaller ship from the main hull. Without power, you linger for a moment, but then the ship jolts, sending you floating out of the bay.

“T-minus 5 minutes until self-destruction,” you hear the ominous voice fade as you slowly drift away.

The ambient humming of the ship’s generator fills the air as you sit there together in silence, unmoving except for the steady heaving of your tired chests, waiting out the longest five minutes of your life. You watch the seconds fall in the countdown as you drift, putting good distance between you and the ticking time bomb that is the ship you’d grown quite fond of over the past five years.

“Almost…” you announce as the timer approaches zero. Hansol extends his arm, placing his hand on yours. The unexpected sensation makes your stomach do a little flip, but you accept, turning your hand to lace your fingers through his. You stare out the window, bracing yourself. 

Suddenly, the ship begins to burst. A blinding flash of light causes a momentary white-out - you abruptly squeeze your eyes shut; when you open them again, you watch as your ship silently erupts in a massive ball of fire. The explosion violently shakes the ship, the vibrations rattling deep in your bones. You don’t realize how tight your grip has become on Hansol, but he doesn’t mind. Together, you watch the fiery remnants of the Atlas IV grow smaller as your vessel is safely propelled away by the shockwaves, drifting aimlessly into the void of space.

“Do you think we’re gonna make it back home?” you ask Hansol softly after a few minutes.

“Yes,” he replies without hesitation. Without thinking, he rubs his thumb over your hand lightly, as if he’s done it a million times before. “We’re gonna be okay, y/n.”

“You think we’ll see the rest of our crew again?” 

Hansol ponders for a moment, then a gentle smile appears on lips. He squeezes your hand in his, with no plans to let go.

“I hope so.”

♡ if you liked this fic, REBLOGS, TAGS, and COMMENTS are extremely appreciated ♡

TAGLIST: @miniseokminnies, @kyeomiis, @tinycatharsis, @hannieween, @smiileflower, @exomew @reiofsuns2001

[arttrampbelle]

If your astrology "observations" have any of the following.

You are not an astrology reader. You are bias,projecting,and are a snake oil salesman. You need to stop. Immediately.

Sexuality: sexuality and orientation has NOTHING to do with astrology. Stop lying and stop wasting time for people. Let people figure themselves out. We dont need a tumblr "guru" to fucking tell us if we feel "gay enough"

Weight. This one pisses me off. Fatphobia is not cool. It's actually gross. And you astro babes need to check yourself before you post some crap talking about someone's weight. Which again has NOTHING TO DO WITH WHATEVER THE FUCKING STARS SAY!!!! and fyi. Fat people exist,in all signs n placements. Get tf over yourselves! Fat phobia i wont tolerate in any field especially the spiritual. You should be ashamed astro girlies.

Racism. This one should be fucking obvious but apparently it's not. Ugh

Disorders and or mental or medical problems and issues. No. No no. NO! only said persons doctors and health professionals and providers. And a brain doctor. Should be telling them how to help handle their needs. Not some fucking tumblr person. UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES EVER FUCKING PUT ANYTHING ABOUT SOMEONE'S MENTAL HEALTH PROBLEMS OR POTENTIAL DISABILITIES IN A FUCKING ASTRO POST! i immediately know you're full of crap when you do this. "Pisces are more likely to have x disorders" fuck off brenda. No they are not. Don't fucking do that. You could be harmful to someone by saying that. So leave it to their actually care professionals and providers. Thank you.

Anything to do with i*cest,r*pe,etc wtf is wrong with y'all? 1 tag your shit properly. And 2. Why do you feel this is nessicary for an astro post?! I get it some people use it to cope....but that should be kept to a personal post not a PUBLIC astrology reading! Plz dont do this. Make it private if you're gonna talk about that stuff.

And as much as i love astrology,people genuinely get into this and take it seriously(that is a debate for another time) so be fucking careful what you say. You could be doing more harm then good. And if you believe in astrology,then you know YOU KNOW,that in retrogrades and other times similar. It is wrong and hurtful to be spreading lies and acting impulsively.

But whenever i see backhanded stuff like this. It bothers me,and i need to speak up.

So yeah. I know unpopular opinions. Right? But this shit needs to stop. And we should have a proper circle of spiritual practices that actually helpful,insightful,healing,and inclusive.

And HOLD OUR SPIRITUAL GALS/GUYS/PALS ACCOUNTABLE!

My fellow witches and star children. Plz. Dont let your circle be dong.

Thank you for coming to my ted talk.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Tim Through the Years - The Proposal

Series Masterlist (part 10)

Summary: Tim finds the perfect way to propose. 0.9k+ words

Tim has been trying to wrack his brain on how to propose. He found the ring because of Angela and now he doesn’t know how to ask the woman he loves to marry him. Because of the incident when he got the ring, everyone has an opinion on how he should propose, and it’s giving him quite the headache. Lucy has been talking non-stop since she found out and expressed all of the ideas she had. So here he is, hiding in the interrogation room, trying to think of the perfect way to ask. Tim’s phone starts to ring and he answers without looking to see who is calling.

“What?” Tim asks gruffly.

“Hey baby, is this a bad time?” 

Tim freezes; it was you calling him and not Lucy as he thought. “No, not at all, what can I do for you?”

“We’ve been having issues at school of someone stealing other people’s lunches. Today they stole my whole lunch instead of a couple of things. Everything is just gone; would it be possible to bring me some lunch? I really don’t want to eat cafeteria food.” 

“Of course baby, I’ll grab some food from your favorite place”, Tim replies softly. He can tell you’ve been having a rough day just by the sound of your voice.

“Thank you so much! I really appreciate it, I love you! See you soon.” 

“I love you too.”

When your phone call ends, he sees he has a few texts he missed from you earlier. They were pictures of different drawings your students did and they all centered around you and him together. Tim knows that you love your students and they mean the world to you. You always boast about how much your students grow and how proud you are of them. That’s when Tim has the best idea ever.

You slump in your seat after your phone call with Tim. The kids were in the gym before they were going to head to lunch. There has been a lunch thief in the break room and even if you leave your lunch in your classroom, some of it gets stolen. You’ve never had your whole lunch stolen - matter of fact, no one has, so it looks like the thief has stepped up their game. You have your suspicions of who stole your lunch: your coworker Dennis has been causing all sorts of problems. He cheated on his wife with a student's mom, and now he blames his ex-wife for why his kids don’t want to see him. A rumor you were told was that he was a massive alcoholic who took out all his stress on his family, and he had a gambling problem. You want to make a super spicy meal for him to eat so he will stop eating your lunches since Tim puts a ton of effort into making sure you eat a balanced meal every day.

You check the time and see that it is time to pick up your class before lunch so they can grab anything they need. When you walk into your classroom with your students, you see Tim sitting at your desk with your lunch. The class all squeals and runs up to Tim, asking him all sorts of questions. Your class loves it when Tim visits and thinks he’s a superhero. 

“Hey guys, I’m just here to have lunch with your favorite teacher.” Tim has a smile on his face while he talks to your students.

That’s when your class turns to you and declares they want to use their marbles to have lunch with the both of you. You use marbles as a reward system to encourage good behavior, and they can choose what they want within reason.

“How about instead of me taking your marbles, I’ll give you a free pass because you have been so well-behaved today.”

The class cheers and goes to get their lunch stuff, so you send a classroom aide to go with some students who need a hot lunch. Tim hands you your stuff and when the aide returns with your students, you tell her you are going to run to the bathroom and be right back. When you return to your classroom, all your students are suspiciously quiet. Lunch goes smoothly, with you and Tim talking about your guys' day and the students talking amongst their friends and asking questions here and there. Once lunch ends, the students say goodbye to Tim and you kiss Tim on the cheek before telling him you’ll see him at dinner tonight.

It is getting close to the end of the day when the fire alarm goes off, which is weird because there was no drill planned for today. You calmly walk your students outside and do a head count of your students. After a few minutes, police and fire arrive, and all the kids talk about how cool they thought the trucks were. That’s when you heard your name called from one of the police vehicles' microphones.

“Y/N Winchester.”

Everyone grows quiet, and all turn to stare at you. Your students run toward the vehicle, and you run behind them to try and stop them. You freeze because your students are standing behind Tim, who is on one knee.

“Will you marry me?” all your students shout together with massive smiles on their faces.

“Yes!”

[kozachenko]

[Click for better quality]

Ok yay I'm back from my vacation yipeeeeeee. I started this drawing of Keiki before I left and I was half considering just giving up on it.... until I did a short study of facial planes and then got motivated to work on this again! I'm glad I didn't give up on it though, as I'm actually really happy with this one!

Artist's Notes;

So as I mentioned in my last post about Touhou 17, I wanted to finish this by the game's five year anniversary but with how progress was going I didn't want to rush this so I decided to take a long break from it. Mainly because of the face. For a while now I was kind of feeling like I was stagnating with my drawings, not really in the clothing but in the bodies. There was something about the way I was rendering them that I just wasn't happy with, and after talking with someone else about this issue, I realized that the reason I felt this way was because the faces were too flat and didn't match the rest of the drawing and that I needed to find a way to make the rendering of the face feel consistent with everything else. So after doing a short study of the plains of the face (I used this 3D head model from art station as a reference for my short study, please go give this person some love as they are a lifesaver) I went back into this drawing and applied what I learned here. It was only after that that I finally became motivated to finish the piece, and while it started off as just a simple character sketch like Saki and Yachie's were, the moment I added in Keiki's little fire dragon I knew I had gotten in too deep and now here we are with a full on background. OK it's not super crazy or anything, but it gets the job done and it's better than there just being an empty void behind her. It's rare moments like this when I use brushes other than the Clip Studio Default Charcoal Brush and use the Clip Studio Default Paint Brushes as well (god bless the oil paint and dry gouache clip studio brushes, they were amazing). I don't know why but painting fire has always been really fun for me, there's something oddly satisfying about it y'know? I do think that another reason for this problem was because I was drawing faces like I would in my more sketchy style that didn't mesh well with my lineless style, so I'm glad I've started remedying that.

After adding in the fire dragon I had an idea to kinda make it feel like splash art in the way the composition works... probably because I have been playing Reverse 1999 again and it has taken over my brain. I do feel like Keiki's tools get a little lost in the composition, and I didn't fully render the metal parts of them mainly because I didn't feel like they needed it, but that's just something for me to improve on later down the line.

If you guys are wondering where I went for my vacation, I went to New York and got to go to the MET and the Museum of Natural History. In both places I found Kofun period stuff and I was so happy to see it you have no idea. I remember one of the Haniwa I saw had some neat face paint under the eyes that I tried to replicate with the makeup under Keiki's eyes in my drawing, though I think I'll gave to figure out how to draw makeup on characters because this reads more like blush to me than anything. While drawing this I also looked up some references of Kofun period jewelry and really liked the stuff I found, which also meant that now she has proper Kofun earrings instead of earrings shaped like Kofun tombs. I put some of the things I referenced with a closeup of Keiki's face as well down below. I made her outfit more reminiscent of the outfit I gave her at the beginning of the year with the buttons and all, though I do want to try and draw her in some more period accurate clothing like the Haniwa I took a picture of at the Museum of Natural History. I wish I could find a way to make her handercheif look better though as I wish I made it a little bit bigger, though I think I'm saying this because I've looked at this drawing for too long lmao. Once again something to work on for when I next draw her. Also want to get better at rendering hair, as some details (like the little strands in front of her ears) kinda got unreadable due to the similarities in colour lol.

Now you may have also noticed the little cracks I added onto Keiki's face, and that's because I have fallen in love with the idea of Keiki's body being made from ceramic and that she crafted her body herself. While they aren't very visible I also tried to add some doll joints to her body, which is an idea I played around with in the past but never went to far with. I also want to get better at rendering cracks in ceramic, porcelain, etc, as I'm not sure how those read in the drawing. I also have a headcanon where the cracks in Keiki's face show up because of heightened emotions, and while Keiki is aware of this and does her best to make sure her face doesn't break off.... she will still end up with at least a few cracks during any given day, and she can often forget to repair her own body quite frequently so Mayumi has to remind her quite a lot. Mayumi even taught herself some basic sculpting techniques to help repair parts of her body that are so badly damaged to the point where Keiki can't repair them herself, i.e. if both her arms broke off, Mayumi would put them back together for her so Keiki can at least have something to repair herself with rather than nothing. I also like to imagine that if Keiki created her own body, if you took a look at Keiki from the beginning of her life she would look completely different compared to now.

BTW If you guys are wondering what a very very angry Keiki looks like....ok in order for this to make sense have any of you read volume 11 of Land of The Lustrous? Am I bringing back some memories for those of you that have? Ok good, glad we all got that mental image brewing in our minds, I'll probably draw a version of Keiki that is somewhat inspired by that one day as it's an idea I've had for a little while now. And to those who haven't gotten to that volume yet and are confused.... don't worry about it, just keep reading :)

[seasidefallenangel]

part-time soulmate, full-time problem

lying about a boyfriend isn't that bad - right?

notes: nagi seishiro x reader, strangers to ?, first meeting gone wrong, reader is kind of a disaster

i asked @wttcsms if i could write a fic about her concept months ago and am finally getting my ass on it.

you didn’t come to this party with the intent to lie. not really.

it’s just that giving the same speech about “focusing on yourself” and “not being in the right mindset” to date gets old, and oftentimes leads people to believe you either have some sort of narcissism thing going on or some deep-seeded interpersonal issues that nobody wants to put up with. 

whether or not one of the options is correct is a discussion you’ll have with your bedroom mirror late at night.

you honestly just came here as your friends plus one so she could make a few posts promoting the clothes she got sent in pr last week. you were fully aware there were some celebrities or something here, you just couldn’t tell them apart from the average schmucks like yourself. 

regardless, you had subtly tried to slide both of those common excuses into your current conversation with whoever this no-name is. he has made it sound like he was some sort of hotshot in the marketing business but when all you did was return his self-induced hype with a blank stare, he opted for flirting with his natural charm - or, lack thereof, really.

your friends had mastered the art of the irish goodbye by this point and would be more than willing to use it in this situation. while you normally would consider it a bit rude to do so, you really wished you had taken pointers from them so you could escape your current predicament without making it obvious you were trying to kill the man in front of you with your mind. 

evidently though, he thought it was going well by the way he reaches for his phone and tells you about ‘his contacts within the industry.’ he was either going to try to impress you with a bunch of people he supposedly knew and that you most certainly did not, or ask for your number. both sounded exhausting to you.

“ - and that newest adidas spread has my name in the credits, you know? i hadn’t worked with any soccer players before, but they’re not as great as they claim to be.”

bingo.

“soccer!” you tell him with a bit too much excitement in your voice, internally wincing at how fake you sound. “my boyfriend’s a big soccer guy, you know? just can’t get enough of the stuff. soccer this, soccer that. you know how it is.” the man - kenta? kaito? - must not be able to read your awkward laughter at the mildly shaky lie by the way his face drops. rather than dejected though, he seems to be a bit competitive. maybe he assumes this ‘boyfriend’ of yours is a terrible player, or at least one who doesn’t make it onto the field that often, and decides that you having one at all isn’t good enough to completely deter him.

“what’s his name?” he asks a bit condescendingly, and you can’t tell if you should be offended or not that he might not think you could pull one of the better players. why even flirt with you if he finds you mid at best?

you rack your brain trying to come up with something believable enough. there’s not a single soccer player you know off the top of your head other than like, messi, which would not only make you a liar, but a really shitty one at that. coming up with a name on the fly seems impossible, so you work with history and land on that one character you had an irrational crush on many years ago - seijuro.

… which seems a bit too specific so instead you settle on, “sei. his name is sei.”

your previously overconfident companion’s face drains of color as he takes a step back. he clears his throat and puts his hand up, letting out a small laugh of disbelief - “seishiro? you’re dating seishiro? you’re joking, right?”

sounds good enough to you. “that’s the one! love of my life, you know? he’s a real sweetheart, but doesn’t really like it when i’m overly casual with other men, so…” you trail off, hoping that the insanely obvious hint finally reaches him for the first time tonight. your prayers are answered as he slowly nods before turning and departing completely, sparing you of an awkward goodbye or any more desperate attempts at getting you to sleep with him. you can’t help the sigh of relief that leaves when once you’re finally free and able to leave this party without guilt. 

although… whoever made the dorayaki put their whole chest into it, so it’d be disrespectful for you not to take a few home as a sign of gratitude for their hard work.

obviously.

after a quick glance to make sure kotaro, kantaro, kiyoshi isn’t by the dessert table, you carefully slide past other party goers to grab one. the first bite is all the reassurance you need that this was totally the right decision, until you feel the tap on your shoulder.

turning around with a glare that could paralyze, you thought it was that nuisance coming back for round two. instead, you’re met with a black-fabric covered chest and glance up to meet the owner of said chest. his brown eyes stare you down a bit unnervingly, looking almost empty if not for the slightest bit of confusion circling them. he looks almost familiar but you can’t quite place your finger on it. there’s a long silence as you raise your eyebrow. he’s the one that came to you after all, so clearly he must need something from you. “are you going around this party telling people we’re dating?” 

you nearly choke on the remnants of bean paste in your mouth. dating? why the hell would this guy even begin to think that you’d -

oh.

oh no.

through the last few crumbs lodged in your throat, you muster up the courage to ask him, “what’s your name?”

he seems to deflate even more at that, as if merely speaking is some sort of herculean task that he can’t be bothered to partake in. you think he’s about to just give up and walk away before he says with a sigh, “nagi seishiro.”

shit.

[cripplecharacters]

How should you write/draw burn survivors? I know this isn't a drawing blog but I don't know of one that I could ask this question to.

Hello!

I'm not a burn survivor myself, so I'll mostly talk about facial differences/visible disability in general and link some stuff made by burn survivors.

First thing, I think it's important to remember that being a burn survivor changes a lot of things - not only appearance. Very important part is the psychological one, but I'm not a burn survivor so I will just let the resources linked below speak.

From the physical aspect, burns can also come with: chronic pain, limited range of motion due to scarring, tightened skin, problems with regulating temperature, itching, skin irritation, and even different nutritional needs during the initial healing process.

There is also specific everyday care associated with burns - something you basically never see in fiction. That could be things like occupational therapy, physical therapy, skincare (like heavy moisturizing and scar massaging), wearing sunblock, wearing splints, or stretching to prevent contractures or tightness.

There are also different types of burns and they (unsurprisingly) differ from each other - for example, electrical burns have a much higher rate of amputation than any other type. Chemical burns can cause eye issues. A burn caused by a fire in a closed space might result in a brain injury due to the lack of oxygen. A much larger portion of people than you (probably) assume have survived burn injuries as small children, and if they were young enough they might not even remember the event at all, unlike older people who might be very affected by the trauma.

Experiences of a person with 80% body surface burns, a person with quadruple amputations from an electrical burn, a person with a facial burn, and a person burnt very recently will be different from someone who has a 5% body surface 2nd degree burn in a spot that’s usually hidden, who has lived with their burn for a decade - despite them all being burn survivors.

When it comes to more thorough research, I recommend going through Phoenix Society’s and Face Equality International’s websites to learn more about both real burn survivor’s perspectives, and face equality as a social justice topic. I think the 3rd link (see below) puts it very well when talking about burn survivors being represented in fiction:

“Most likely, these characters were not created by someone with lived experience. The result is an increasingly garbled game of telephone [...] To avoid contributing to this false narrative, embrace research as part of the process. Explore interviews, first-person accounts, and articles from reliable sources.”

I personally think that the links below should be mandatory reading for writing not only burn survivors, not only people with facial differences, but visibly disabled people in general - because the treatment we get is often so similar the advice still holds up just fine. And if you don't plan on writing any of these, you should still read them to see how prevalent of a problem ableism in media is.

Lise Deguire's Hey Hollywood - scars don't make you evil.

Face Equality International's International Media Standard on Disfigurement.

Niki Averton's Tips for Writing about Burn Survivors.

The main sentiment that you will read from basically any first-hand source is that if you're writing the burn survivor to be either:

evil (just throw the whole character away)

a guy with the "World's Saddest Most Tragic Backstory Ever and It's So Sad and Tragic" (because he revealed he has a scar)

a helpless victim who is there to be The Helpless Victim

...then you're already doing it wrong and need to make some major changes.

From our blog's reblogs and posts, you might want to look at tips for writing a visibly different/disabled character and tips on drawing people with facial differences. Neither are specific to burn survivors but cover the topic of visible disability and facial differences.

Now for tips on drawing burn survivors (that weren't included in the last link);

Reference real people. 99.9% drawings of burn survivors seem to go through the same "increasingly garbled game of telephone" that Niki Averton mentions with how burn survivors are written, in that the newer the drawing, the less in common it has with how real people with burns look like because people reference from each other and none of them ever think to actually check if their depiction is accurate. If you just google "burn survivor" you will very quickly notice that burn survivors don't have that damn red overlay layer put on top of their skin. It just doesn't look like that, and basic research (aka Google Images search) will tell you that - and still, people color a hand with bright red and think that's how it looks like (it doesn't).

In the same vein, maybe don't just draw an able-bodied person and then put some scarring on top (or maybe do exactly that. No burn scar and no burn survivor is the same, and there are people that fit what I just described... but hear me out for a second). Think about how scars interact with their features - do they have both of their ears? Do they still have all of their hair? Do they only have parts of their eyebrow? Do they have all of their fingers? Can they move the same as before their burn, or are their scars limiting their joints? How did their body react to the post-burn hypermetabolism? Lots to think about. Take into account what type and thickness of burns your character has.

Ditch the mask trope. Just ditch it. There's no need to cover your character's scar from the world unless you as the author think it requires to be hidden, is too scary to show, or other ableist trope that seems to always come up with drawings of visibly disabled people, especially burn survivors. The one exception I will mention is a transparent face orthosis/mask (TFO) that facial burn survivors might wear while awaiting a skin graft early after their injury. But as the name suggests, it's transparent and doesn't work for the "scary facial difference, better cover it up and only reveal it in some hyper dramatic scene!" trope because you can see right through it. (I will also mention that TFOs are a very modern thing. Your medieval burn survivor wouldn't be wearing one).

No "body horror", no "gore" tags or trigger warnings or whatever. That's a human being. If you feel the need to warn your followers before they see a disabled person existing, you're better off not drawing them.

Some last notes;

Throughout this ask I used the term "burn survivor" rather than "burn victim" because that is, to my knowledge, the general community preferred phrase. Individual opinions will differ (because no group is a monolith) but "burn survivor" is generally the safest term to use and probably the best if talking about a fictional character.

Similarly, I used "facial difference" rather than "disfigurement". Just as the above, opinions will differ on what is the best to use but I personally, as someone with facial asymmetry and a cranial nerve disorder, heavily prefer the term "facial difference" over "disfigurement". (I am in this case The Individual Opinion Differing because you can notice that in the links above, facial difference and disfigurement are used interchangeably. The general community uses both, some people have specific preferences. I'm some people). When talking about a fictional character, "facial difference", "visible difference" and "disfigurement" are all probably fine. Just stay away from calling a person "deformed".

mod Sasza

[fallloverfic]

Finished the second season of Castlevania: Nocturne and loved it! Spoilers below.

Angry boi PROTEC HIS MAN!!!! Just his running to Mizrak, so worried. Even interrupted his revenge. I just love that his serpent form came back T-T And multiple times!!!

The fight scenes were so good!!! Just so many amazing ones!

ALSO WHAT DOES ADRIAN MEAN NOT THE FIRST TIME YOU SAVED MY LIFE???? I AM-!!!!

(So happy they know each other and I think it's hilarious my fic could potentially be a prequel now alkdjalkdjaljdalj)

Everyone cute. Annette and Richter were just awww. Glad Edouard and Annette get to stay together, and Edouard can go home and get his bass player :3

Also so many gorgeous Adrian bits. Truly. Him coming out of the river was so mmmm. Also loved all the magic he got to use XD And the music was fun!

Also loved all the Egyptian stuff. The soul count was a little... (I was like why are you saying just 2 or 3, there's more than that...?), but apparently the # of parts has changed over time (it's not just 4 or 5) and it's you know, vampires during the French Revolution, so sure, whatever. The trip to Duat was fun! And Ammit's form was pretty cool.

Poor Tera. Bye Emmanuel, no one misses you.

Loved that we got some dragon fighting. Also that the dragon didn't die. Was worried. Though I will say, Sekhmet punching it was kind of funny aldkjlaj I felt sort of bad when Juste, Richter, and Maria were all boosting its breath like, "That can't be too comfortable for the dragon..."

Just think it's funny we have animated Robespierre joining forces with the son of Dracula to defend Paris from a crazy Hungarian serial killer noble who believes she's the reincarnation of an ancient Egyptian goddess lol

The return of Drolta was really fun. I was sad she was in so relatively little of season 1. This was really great.

For historical things, I appreciate that they referenced how folks in France sold and bought food to watch executions. I also appreciate the reference to the trend of European obsession with eating mummies.

I will be thinking about Mizrox's future. I feel bad I'm mostly happy Olrox survived the season lol I like Mizrak just fine, and I like that Olrox likes him, but my priority is Olrox, not Mizrak, sorry lol Clearly they have some things to work out XD Should be fun (for someone, I hope). Someone else pointed out they never talked about the animal/soul stuff, and it was kind of just... Mizrak getting over it (or side-stepping it) and not apologizing to Olrox about it. And Olrox just... kind of accepting that the guy he's in love with is like this. I think it's funny that after having written You reluctant demon back in 2023, where they do have a conversation about it, I completely forgot it as a thing I wanted to happen lol Cause in my mind the matter is settled. Like the show, quite frankly, feels like neat fanfiction to me at this point (that's not what it is, but that's how my brain works, it's part of why I wasn't as anxious about season 2 releasing as I was for season 3 of the first series releasing). It's great in all the things it does, amazing stuff I never could have thought of, which is far better than a lot of the stuff I did in my fic (and those fight scenes, dang). But yeah, I do agree, they should have talked about it. And they don't. And it's... mm...

Another thing is that Mizrak maybe still has some racism to unpack. There's that line Olrox has about when his people were massacred by the Spanish, and Olrox says, "And our terrifying gods could do nothing to save us." And Mizrak replies, "Perhaps your gods were the problem," and it's like what the fuck Mizrak lol I don't know if it's part of his struggles with his own faith, which is very obviously happening, how if a god exists, they're allowing all this stuff to happen, that Emmanual failed so hard, and believing in a god - which is his issue - is causing so much of his issues (it's making him believe his affection for Olrox is false, that Olrox doesn't have a soul, and/or it's not saving him from what he believes is a wrong attraction, idk). Or, from a semi-logical standpoint, that Olrox's people were attacked because they weren't Christian, and that the Spanish wouldn't have attacked Olrox's people if they were Christian. Or simply that "well it's your fault for not being Christian", I have no idea. It's a weird moment. We have really not moved past the "animal" conversation all that much. Olrox is very, very forgiving. And I am way more forgiving because I forgot I resolved most of this in my fic over a year ago lol I don't know, relationships are messy, I enjoyed what I saw of them. Olrox running to Mizrak's side was a lot and I loved it. The way Olrox is like, "I thought you wanted to know" killed me.

ANYWAY though... it was a good season. Really, I liked it.

[dr-spectre]

I heard about how in Bancala Walker there was a short story about Marina and Acht and their time in the domes. And I'm gonna be 100% honest with you. It kinda makes me mad, and it really highlights a massive problem with Splatoon as a whole, and that's how it treats its stories.

(Yep I'm rambling about Splatoon's storytelling for the 500th time, welcome to my blog.)

Since Splatoon 2, the series has had a weird relationship with its storytelling, the main stories of each campaign are very simplistic and are very video game like plots. "Go get the Great Zapfish back and save Captain Cuttlefish. Go get the Great Zapfish again and find Callie. Find the thangs and get out. GO GET THE ZAPFISH AGAIN AND SAVE CAPTAIN CUTTLEFISH AGAIN!!! Climb up the tower." Splatoon 1 got away with this because it's clearly the most "tutorial" mode out of any of the single player campaigns and it doesn't really try to say any deeper messages or express a character arc.

Now, obviously video game stories must have goals for the player to work towards, I'm not complaining about that, you gotta have that stuff in games to motivate the player, however, what really drives me up a wall is when they decide to add depth and interesting things relating to the characters and world, yet they intentionally throw away that same depth and chuck it to the side. Hell they sometimes retcon the optional hard to find lore or make it more confusing just because!! If you're gonna add depth and something else to these stories, you HAVE to actually explore it and expand upon it WITHIN THE STORY! You cannot add it as "extra lore" when it's stuff that should have been in the main storyline to begin with. It's like not adding seasoning to chicken and that you boiled the fucking chicken and wrapped it in lettuce and mayonnaise.

I could obviously talk about the elephant in the room... you know... this little goober right here. This freak.

And I'm going to.

From the concept art we were given, we know that Callie was originally gonna have more exploration into her troubling mental health issues as seen by her being in the shadows and being comforted by Octarians. It's a significantly different tone compared to the final product.

However in the final game, they tossed MOST of this shit away and say in the game as well as in official media, "naw she was kidnapped and brainwashed forcefully because she's a dumb clutz lmao." They tried to backtrack with an obscure relationship chart, the sunken scrolls and Squid Sisters web prequel series, but then they backtracked AGAIN with the Splatoon 3 artbook that states that she was "brainwashed." It's an incredibly simplified and frankly insulting version of events that are TECHNICALLY canon but Nintendo and others don't treat it as such and i don't know why. I dont know why they treat Callie like this. Is it because she's silly?

Wouldn't it be more interesting and more powerful as a story if they made Callie had more control and awareness of her actions? That she was truly acting upon her mental illness and isolation? Putting DJ Octavio, the fucking funny octopus guy on the same level as Talon from Overwatch and Hydra from Marvel, the literal nazis who damaged Bucky Barnes' brain and removed all of his memories, making him into the Winter Solider, is fucking psychotic and actually insane of Nintendo to do.

There is also Acht and how they were shown between Octo Expansion and Side Order.

Some of the most powerful stories in media have strong character arcs and characters overcoming their struggles and pain. It is inspirating and incredibly real to see a loved one reach out to a person that they care about who have lost their way, either from mental illness or drugs. Trying to bring them back and help them go through their pain together. When someone is under distress and mental health troubles, they can act like a completely different person and the fact that Nintendo half assed serious topics like this and made shit WAY WORSE boils my blood to no end.

In Octo Expansion, we were told that they went under Sanitization willingly in order to remove doubts in their mind and put their all into music. Now due to the unknowns of Sanitization at the time, this made for a really interesting character and brought up a lot of interesting questions as to why they would do this and who they are.

However, in Side Order when they explained Sanitization further and told us that Acht lost all of their free will and were FORCED to make music for Tartar, it kinda damaged their story a little bit. Like sure, Acht still probably wanted to go under Sanitization to clear their doubts and remove emotion, but the added information kinda goes against the interesting story they were trying to tell with Acht. Acht doesn't even mention why they went under Sanitization in Side Order and their reasoning is only found IN A SOCIAL MEDIA POST BACK IN 2018!!! THEY DON'T RESTATE IT AT ALL WHEN IT WOULD HAVE BEEN IMPORTANT TO DO SO! They kinda tell us via their letters, but guess when you get those, IN THE POST GAME!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This leads me to another big talking point, most of the lore is hidden and hard to find. You have to go out of your way to find most of the shit Splatoon has to offer. Sunken Scrolls are hidden collectables and most people don't wanna go through the effort of finding them all in the stages, the chat logs in Octo Expansion are completely optional due to entries being tied to specific stations and you can choose to easily skip them, the dev diaries are locked behind lockers and some people may complete Side Order in a manner where they can get to the final boss and be done with the main campaign before seeing most of the entries. Now I'm not saying that there cannot be extra lore tidbits for players to find, hell no, i love extra stuff like that, i think Splatoon 1 and 3's hero modes did a really job of that. BUT WHEN YOU HIDE AWAY IMPORTANT DETAILS LIKE CALLIE'S MOTIVATION IN SPLATOON 2 AND MARINA'S AND PEARL'S BACKSTORIES!?!? YEAH I GOT A FUCKING PROBLEM RIGHT THERE!

In other games, these would be cutscenes or a bunch of mandatory dialogue, BUT NOPE! THEY ARE IN HARD TO FIND SPOTS!

Some of the other lore details are found on social media posts and some of them are YEARS old or on Splatoon's dead Tumblr account. Most people would rather go to Inkipedia and even they can sometimes make vital mistakes or have wording that gives people the wrong idea on what happened in particular events, which heavily impacts the community and discussion. When i talk about my perspective on what happened to Callie in Splatoon 2, I've seen people say to me "wait really? Huh?! I didn't know that." The amount of research you gotta do to go into these characters is an absolute nightmare, AND DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON THE SPLATBANDS!!! Their lore is literally locked behind Japanese exclusive expensive artbooks!!! WHY?!?!

I really do wanna stress again, is it cool to get cool lore outside of the games and as collectables?! ABSOLUTELY! You know how awesome it was to read the Alterna logs for the first time? The smile on my face seeing Pearl and Marina back in the Final Fest in Side Order. But when the main stories suffer because of important information being tossed to the side and not applied to the main games... I dont know man, it just becomes incredibly frustrating to me personally. Especially with all the misconceptions and other things that occur within the community, the fandom has an information problem and honestly, it's Nintendo's fault. Imagine if Side Order had flashbacks to a younger Marina and Acht, it would have helped with the middle chunk of the story being so... nothing.

[pallastronomy]

YOU. YOU GET ME

(I uh. May have gone autistic about my problems with Revue Frontier + Misc. Aruru thoughts in the tags. Oops.)

Every day I wake up and think about how irreversibly Arcana Arcadia has altered my brain chemistry. They did not have to go that hard for an arc exclusively in the mobile game and yet