#open source ventilator

[r1elle]

“no use crying over spilled milk.” —except, there probably is.

a. miya x reader

atsumu knows he’s messed up.

he thinks he may need to leave all that he’s accomplished in his lifetime — all because of a simple, but dire mistake.

“this can’t be happenin..” the blonde murmurs, looking at the monstrosity infront of him.

spilled vegetable smoothie. on three dozens of cooling cookies. that you’ve excitedly made. for your friends and family. as gifts.

atsumu was definitely crying over this ‘spilled milk’.

brushing off the fear of getting divorced on Christmas Eve, atsumu decides to think of how he can remove any remaining evidence.

he thinks that perhaps he can just bake the cookies again, —but argh, he silently curses osamu for taking the culinary skills.

the blonde scrambles around, scurrying to every part of the kitchen to at least try and scrape some of the green-kelpy smoothie bits on your cookies.

the opening of the front door was the only thing that could make him drop whatever he was doing.

“atsumu!~ do you think you can help me with the groceries? i ended up going a little overboard, so i bought some hot coco and chocolate fondue as something to go with the cookies! and—“ you ramble on, however atsumu could only feel the lump forming in his throat, the sweat on his forehead, and the drying of his lips.

he’d rather experience losing a volleyball match right now.

but unfortunately, the sweating of his palms wasn’t going to help him cover his crime scene— with you finally walking up to him with a questionable tone and all.

on some lame attempt to delay your discovery by even a fraction of a second, atsumu lays a cloth on top of your pastries.

“hey, something the matt—……er…?”

you pause in between your words, familiar with atsumu’s current expression. your husband is wearing the exact face he made the last time he realized he’d accidentally mistaken your diy project as trash and threw it out. (valentines almost ended off with him sleeping on the couch.)

his face could only mean one thing, then.

however, distracting you from the overly guilty look on his face was the unusual placement of the rag that you had bought not long ago.

you look at the cookies.

he looks at you.

you look at him.

he looks at the cookies.

you lift the rag.

green, protein-y, vegetable smoothie mix laid on top of your thick, chocolate chipped cookies.

“miya.”

despite the fact that you both now share the same last name— atsumu knows you talk of his last name.

he fears that you may end up going back to your own after this night passes.

“baby please, i— i didn’t…” he rambles, but knows that no excuse can save him from his actions. he pinches the bridge of his nose. “…im…i’m sorry, hon. i’ve got no excuse. i was bein’ careless, and yer’ cookies are all damped because of my stupidity. i’m sorry. what can i do? hm?”

his build envelopes yours, and suddenly you find a man nearing his 30s senselessly murmuring sweet nothings to your ear, hoping that perhaps a single saying can be of the slightest comfort to your disappointment.

the room quiets down, the sound of the ventilation being the only source bearing noise.

the silence only makes atsumu antsy, who begins to lose hope of your anger easing down any time soon.

and so, he decides to call it a night.

“i’ll take the couch tonight, hm? how’s that? i know that it’s nothin’ much…”

a grin.

“…but if it’ll help you in even the slightest way, i’m more than willing to do it—”

a stifle of laughter.

atsumu paused, thinking that the (familiar) sound he’d just heard was some sort of hallucination that his mind had made up on the spot.

“a-anyway, i’ll see what i can do soon, and—“

finally releasing any ounce of self control you had, bursts of laughter start leaving your mouth.

“oh— oh, oh my gosh, i…” your unexplained cackling begins to alter the solemn look on your husbands face into one of confusion.

“you just looked so pathetic— it was cute! i’m sorry, i’m sorry..” you manage to hide in a snort, your husbands eyes following every movement you made.

why were you laughing? was he getting divorced?! is this some sick way to break it to him? no…no??! you’ve both been through so much together, you couldn’t possibly—… but then again… he’s probably put you through so much! argh! is this what osamu meant when he said—

atsumu’s disorganized internal thoughts then get interrupted by your pecks, something that’s been able to melt him since your last year of highschool.

“i’m not mad, no.. no,” you smile, a little giggle sneaking out. “i just couldn’t help but see how you’d react if i looked mad! i’m sorry baby, forgive me?” you coo, your head lifting up to meet his eyes as you sway his tall figure.

“but… i.. yer not mad? i completely trashed the cookies, babe. look!—

“i may or may not have accidentally mixed the salt up for sugar.” you say, a playful smile greeting your lips. “haven’t told you about the cookies i just bought from the store.”

as if all his worries had come to an end, atsumu’s shoulders slump down, a sigh coming out of him.

“ya couldn’t just tell me all that in the beginnin’?”

“and miss seeing you all so guilty and pouty? what am i, insane?”

“be happy i love ya’.”

“need i remind you of last valentines, then?”

“why don’t we get set up? also, yer’ lookin’ beautiful in that dress. anyone told you that yet?”

“okay, you can stop that now, miya.”

“yer’ a miya too, ya know.” he grins.

you roll your eyes, however a smile creeps it’s way in, betraying your ‘dismay’ towards the man.

“you’re right. i suppose i am.”

this was from the request of an oomf !

can we just pretend this was posted before Christmas thank u very muchiez

i fear that the pathetic husband atsumu will never become a trope i’ll get tired of

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays everyone !

ps. if you start seeing that i lowkey started to get confused as to how to write that lil accent he has, no u didn’t.

[novlr]

Any tips on how to describe indoor spaces so they feel real and match the vibe of the story without throwing in too much detail?

Getting interior scenes just right is all about finding the balance between setting the mood, showing the unique personality of your story world, and keeping the plot moving. There are lots of ways you can use senses, action, and background to set a scene, all of which can work seamlessly with the type of story you want to tell. Here are some tips on how you can achieve that:

How does it look?

Lighting: does your space contain the soft glow of lamps, harsh fluorescent lights, or natural light?

Use colour and textures like peeling paint, plush velvet, or sleek marble.

Size and scale: is it claustrophobically small or impressively grand?

Architectural features: does the space have high ceilings, crown mouldings, or exposed beams?

Furnishings: are they modern, sparse, antique, or cluttered?

Style and decor: what style is represented, and how does it affect the atmosphere?

State of repair: is the space well-kept, neglected, or under renovation?

Perspective and layout: how do spaces flow into each other?

Unique design features: describe sculptural elements, or things that stand out.

Spatial relationships: describe how objects are arranged—what’s next to, across from, or underneath something else?

How does it sound?

Describe echoes in large spaces or the muffled quality of sound in carpeted or furnished rooms.

Note background noises; is there a persistent hum of an air conditioner, or the tick of a clock?

Describe the sound of footsteps; do they click, scuff, or are they inaudible?

Include voices; are they loud and echoing or soft and absorbed?

Is there music? Is it piped in, coming from a live source, or perhaps drifting in from outside?

Capture the sounds of activity; typing, machinery, kitchen noises, etc.

Describe natural sounds; birds outside the window, or the rustle of trees.

Consider sound dynamics; is the space acoustically lively or deadened?

Include unexpected noises that might be unique to the building.

Consider silence as a sound quality. What does the absence of noise convey?

How does it smell?

Identify cleaning products or air fresheners. Do they create a sterile or inviting smell?

Describe cooking smells if near a kitchen; can you identify specific foods?

Mention natural scents; does the room smell of wood, plants, or stone?

Are there musty or stale smells in less ventilated spaces?

Note the smell of new materials; fresh paint, new carpet, or upholstery.

Point out if there’s an absence of smell, which can be as notable as a powerful scent.

Consider personal scents; perfume, sweat, or the hint of someone’s presence.

Include scents from outside that find their way in; ocean air, city smells, etc.

Use metaphors and similes to relate unfamiliar smells to common experiences.

Describe intensity and layering of scents; is there a primary scent supported by subtler ones?

What can you do there?

Describe people’s actions; are they relaxing, working, hurried, or leisurely?

Does the space have a traditional use? What do people come there to do?

Note mechanical activity; elevators moving, printers printing, etc.

Include interactions; are people talking, arguing, or collaborating?

Mention solitary activities; someone reading, writing, or involved in a hobby.

Capture movements; are there servers bustling about, or a janitor sweeping?

Observe routines and rituals; opening blinds in the morning, locking doors at night.

Include energetic activities; perhaps children playing or a bustling trade floor.

Note restful moments; spaces where people come to unwind or reflect.

Describe cultural or community activities that might be unique to the space.

How is it decorated?

Describe the overall style; is it minimalist, baroque, industrial, or something else?

Note period influences; does the decor reflect a specific era or design movement?

Include colour schemes and how they play with or against each other.

Mention patterns; on wallpaper, upholstery, or tiles.

Describe textural contrasts; rough against smooth, shiny against matte.

Observe symmetry or asymmetry in design.

Note the presence of signature pieces; a chandelier, an antique desk, or a modern art installation.

Mention thematic elements; nautical, floral, astronomical, etc.

Describe homemade or bespoke items that add character.

Include repetitive elements; motifs that appear throughout the space.

What is its history?

Mention historical usage; was the building repurposed, and does it keep its original function?

Describe architectural time periods; identify features that pinpoint the era of construction.

Note changes over time; upgrades, downgrades, or restorations.

Include historical events that took place within or affected the building.

Mention local or regional history that influenced the building’s design or function.

Describe preservation efforts; are there plaques, restored areas, or visible signs of aging?

Describing indoor spaces doesn’t have to feel like a chore. Focus on the details that matter most, tie them to the mood or characters, and let your readers fill in the blanks. A well-crafted space not only sets the scene but builds your character's relationship to it. Use sensory language, background, and action beats to tie it into your narrative, and don’t be afraid to play around with motifs and contradictions, depending on who is experiencing it!

[evamame]

anon request for kita / post marriage life in your new tiny country house

you’re in the kitchen, a place that’s still a bit bare and lacking decorations, mixing together a side salad for dinner in the only bowl you could find. from the small window above the stove you watch kita out in the field, finishing his work of tending to the rice paddy for the evening. the sun’s just begun to set, hues of pinkish orange and yellow decorating the sky. you slide open the tiny window, creating a slot for you to yell your voice out into the vast space beyond the walls of your new home. “kita, dinner’s ready!” in the distance, you see his small figure stand up straight from its crouched position and give you a glove covered thumbs up. you leave the window open to ventilate the house, letting the breeze nick your skin and the cicadas become background music.

he returns to the house quickly, going to the bathroom to wash up as you set the table. your real dining table hasn’t came in yet—everything takes longer to arrive far out in the countryside—so you sit on the carpet in the living room where the low coffee table resides. kita returns from the bathroom, throwing his towel on the arm of the couch before taking his spot on the floor across from you.

“how’s the rice going?” you ask. you don’t know much about being a rice farmer, but you act invested in his work nonetheless. kita never fails to listen intently to everything you say no matter how mundane, so it’s only right you return the favor.

“it’s goin’ well. now that it’s the summer season, i have to work on managing the fertilizer and the water,” he tells you as he picks up his chopsticks.

as he scarfs down his food, worn out and hungry as he should be from a whole day of hard labor, you look around your new living space. the area is decorated by empty shelves yet to be filled, boxes piled high that still need to be unpacked, and dim evening lighting surrounding the two of you created by the only light source not still in the moving truck—the overhead light. lines of gold stream in through the windows, fully uninterrupted without any curtains put up. your plates are mismatched, and kita sips out of ice water from a coffee mug as you use chopsticks of different lengths. your socks are just as uncoordinated, since you’ve deemed it impossible to find a matching pair in the mountain of clothes that were rearranged in turbulence on the road.

“i can’t believe we really have our own house,” you say in between bites of pork belly and lettuce.

kita smiles in agreement. “it’s kinda surreal, isn’t it? sometimes i still forget we’re even married.” his wedding ring, a sleek silver band on his ring finger, shimmers as he moves to grab a side dish. you look down at your own, a perfect match to his. his last name, now your’s too, is inscribed along the curve. you feel a weird swell deep inside your chest as you look it over. not one that’s fluttering, not a fleet of love like you felt when you two were still teenagers crushing over each other. rather you feel something more permanent, something you know will be there forever as long as you two keep the rings on your fingers. a warm and comforting feeling—home.

your new home, the paperwork for it written under your shared last name, isn’t necessarily big. there’s nothing more than cozy cottages within the walls of the countryside. all the room has been saved for large expanses of fields filled with beautifully colored flowers and rice farms overflowing with fertility and growing life. you hadn’t expected you’d ever find yourself in a place like this, but kita brought you here and so you can’t bring yourself to mind it. even through simple things like these, sitting in a comfortable silence over a small meal in a tiny and empty home, everything feels right. like it’s all you’ve ever wanted and all anything was ever meant to be. maybe that’s because, and you realize this as you watch him sit across from you, that the man you’ve become newly weds with is the only part of your life you need to feel fulfilled. as long as he’s there, the time spent lousing around on the wooden front porch doing nothing and taking slow walks across long quiet roads is all worth it. and you can’t wait for every evening to come where it’s just him and you, in the solitude of your sanctuary, tending to rice fields and spinning salads under the sunset lights.

masterlist | taglist | tags: @scoupsworld @nanasrkives @mires765 @amaliaaliena @frozen-waffle

© evamame 2025. all rights reserved. please do not repost, modify, steal, plagiarize, or translate my work.

[squibsformers]

Feral Fears pt. 2

Transformers x Human

18+

In which the human finds their fangs.

Prev

It took the human… two hours? Maybe? Before they got curious.

And when they got curious, things became dangerous.

They had stolen wire from whoever owned this ship- probably more fuckass robots, knowing their luck. They used it to make rope. lots and lots of rope. Some remained wound and bound up in their makeshift pack, and then more was used to make a way down- one time only, most likely, so they tossed extra out of the hole to store for later.

Then, they went up, not down.

It took work, a lot of hissing and cursing, but they clambered up out of the crate and looked around, squinting. Maybe if they were lucky…

Aha. They scrambled across several crates before getting to one marked with red and white. Even they could figure it out.

Medical supplies.

It took a lot of effort to climb onto the package, more still to pop the case open, but when they did… they couldn't help the delight that shot through them, despite the ache in their arm.

Sharps.

Oh, the little human stomped their feet in delight. Eagerly, they rummaged through, grabbing a few different items. A scalpel, extra blades, some tape and some soft cloths they could use as a blanket or make into something else. Syringe? Yoinked that needle. Some sort of small plastic case full of drill bits? They took a few bits, dumped the rest out into the crate and took the door-sized case. Storage, drill bits were always good, all they needed now was-

AHA.

Containers.

They bundled up all their goodies, the empty plastic test tubes would make for good water storage- a rare find, not difficult though on a ship. Once everything was secured, they made a sling to hold the spear-sized scalpel, packed a bunch of bits and bobs away in the small plastic case, and began abseiling down the side of the crate.

Probably should have tried closing the medkit back up, but they didn't care enough to do so. Fuck these stupid robots, these ones were probably just as bad as the others. Giant, metal monsters, with insatiable appetites for violence and humiliating others.

…They shook their head and kept on going, yanking the wire they used to rappel down and finally dislodged it, bundling it back up and making a run for the nearest wall. Their arm felt like there were two little discs of aching lava lodged in it, but didn't want to dwell on it. They had to hurry.

Come on, come on, they had to find it, they had to find one so they could hide and- BINGO! One ventilation shaft, right on time.

The little human unscrewed some bolts, tossed their junk in and soon followed behind, pushing and pulling their haul along. Dips, turns, sheer wall of metal they used some magnets they had in their pack to get up… There was (hopefully) a machine in this ship like the other had, one that let out water vapor and drifted it up to a dehumidifier that they could use as a water source…

They would be in here for a while, and they would set up a good little base, and be millions of lightyears from those other bastards. Everything would be fine. They would be fine. Everything was fine now.

….Their busted arm hurt so bad…

Once they found a good base camp location, they would be making sure to wrap and brace it as best they could. They were no medic but, well. The little human was sure as hell not about to stroll up to one of THOSE things, asking for help. Those metal demons…

_______

Oddities followed the Lost Light like a plague in the cycles after they took off from the outpost. Which was normal but…you know.

It was truly no one's fault, everyone that was a passenger aboard had long since accepted the fate. Glitch mice plague? Seen it. Spark Eaters? Dealt with it. Spontaneous hallway brawls?? Ultra Magnus had started making some incident reports ahead of time that he just had to fill in some blanks to save time.

Rodimus…was staring at the storage hold, arms crossed.

“So…we have a thief…?”

“It's pretty likely, Rodimus.” Ratchet grumbled, digging through the medical supply box and sorting while looking at the order he had placed. “That, or the outpost ripped us off. Half of my supplies are missing.” Snarling, he threw a damaged laser scalpel to the ground. “This is a load of slag! What in the pit am I to do with half my order missing- that fabric tape was important for staunching flows in coolant lines!!”

“Frag…” He grumbled, hand on his chin. He looked over to Perceptor, the mech studying the hole in the crate. “Do you think that it was that shady mech with the grey stripes who loaded us?”

The sniper hummed, zooming in on some of the discarded and scattered blades. “Maybe… or perhaps we have a stowaway?” He murmured. “Look at these marks. They're kind of oily, and look like..silicone or rubber digit pads. Very small, but-”

“Dude, I can't see what you're talking about.”

Perceptor huffs.

“I think what we have is someone who snuck aboard. The reason why is anyone's guess, but, taking into account the amount of sharp items that have been taken…”

Rodimus felt a chill slink down his backstruts, glancing over at Ultra Magnus. “...a potential assassin…?”

“Sounds like it…” He grumbled. “The question now is who the target is…. as well as where they vanished off to.”

Perceptor had moved to scouring over the crate, trying to see what he could discover as Ratchet clutched the medical supplies closer, uneasy at what was being said.

“Okay. This stays between us here and those in the security detail.” Rodimus points at Perceptor. “That means no Brainstorm.” He turned, pointing to Ratchet, who looked a bit cross. “And no Drift.”

“You say that as if Brainstorm would focus on something like this.”

“Prime, you're going to end up telling him anyway.”

“I know. But I wanna tell him. Not you.”

“Whoever this was is around the size of a Minibot.”

That caught Magnus's attention, the enforcer looking back over. “Are you certain?”

“Very. It's the only way they could squeeze through a hole this size, though, their plating would catch for sure…” Perceptor slowly stood, tracing a warbling path with a laser pointer before having it end right at the vents. Narrow, but some minis could stand upright in parts of the passages…. “Small, flexible, and doesn't want to be found.”

Rodimus's optics narrow. “Get the smallest security drones to do sweeps through the vents. We're flushing this cyber-rat out.”

________

Next NA

[nikkeora]

High Enough (Without the Mary Jane)

summary; 'in every other universe, gwen stacy falls for spider-man. and in every other universe, it doesn’t end well'. you don't want to be a mary jane anymore.

or, in which you were the mindy s. mcpherson to miles's prowler

pairing(s); e-1610! Miles Morales x fem!reader, e-42! Miles Morales x fem!reader (r is referred to with she/her pronouns, no physical description.)

warning(s); fem spanish terms are used ('hermosa' etc.), reader’s hand is smaller than Miles’. author can’t write action sequences for shit.

may be ooc but we haven't seen a whole lot of p!miles yet so there isn’t really much to go off of

implied/mentioned parental issues with reader, not proofread, written (mostly) at ao3 hours

a/n; according to google the sinister 6 of e42 are doc oc, vulture, electro, rhino, sandman and scorpion, although i've seen some other ppl say that the eastereggs are vulture, rhino, scorpion, sandman, shocker, kraven and electro. i'm going w the google one, maybe kraven and shocker are their own thing. also they're prolly rich aholes since their signs are on buildings n stuff, so that's what i went with.

also reader was sent to earth 42, but like, a few days before 1610 miles arrives, kind of like how gwen was sent to 1610 a week before she found miles

Miles — or, who you assumed was Miles, anyway — took you back to his place, going out of his way to avoid alleys where there weren't many people around and sticking to the bigger streets. You found it kind of weird. Back home, you and Miles used to cut through backstreets and even some sketchy buildings all the time to make it home before curfew.

You felt him steal glances at you the whole walk, and you’d be lying if you didn’t do the same.

This version of him just felt so.. different.

Once the two of you reached your destination, he let you up the stairs first before quietly calling for you to stop once you reached his floor. You hesitated for a moment on the steps. It was a higher level than Miles’s flat back home, and the building had looked a lot different from what you’d seen just half an hour ago, even if it still felt familiar. You’d chalked it up to the multiverse doing multiverse things at first, but he was starting to act a little off.

Having been around your Miles for years, you knew all his tells. You could see how his weight shifted on his feet as he unlocked the door. You could see he was overall standing straighter and more tense. You could see the hesitation before he turned the key.

Miles was lying to you. And he felt guilty.

But what were you going to do?

This universe was new to you. Sure, everything seemed just about the same, but it was all so foreign at the same time. There where skyscrapers you’d never seen before, new graffiti on the streets of the same couple people over and over again - all of whom you were sure you’d seen somewhere before but couldn’t quite grasp where. The sight of buildings blocked by yellow tape and more in the process of repair after seemingly being burned down or blown up were common in this world, like it was an active war zone or something.

You really didn’t have a choice but to follow along.

He opened the door and waved you in, closing the door rather hastily after the both of you.

You took a glance around the room. There were metal bars on the windows, to keep people out or trap them in you couldn't quite figure. There was a DJ setup near them that looked awfully familiar. Hooks hung down from the unfinished ceiling, some holding chains and others oddly shaped items haphazardly wrapped with what looked like brown lunchbag paper. Wires and ventilation just about everywhere, most of the wires leading to either monitors or gadgets you assumed were in the progress of being built. An old, beat up couch and some gym gear by the wall, an open kitchen-slash-workshop area straight ahead.

The only source of light was the neon red from the signs outside the window, and even then the farther bits of the apartment remained a dark purple hue.

Then someone came out of the other room.

“What's this?”

The hell—?

From the shadows, Aaron Davis emerged.

His beard was more grown out then you'd ever seen, and his features looked sharper, almost rougher. His shoulders seemed more broad, though maybe that was the heavy jacket he wore making him look bigger than he actually was.

“¿Tío?”

Miles had taken you around to his uncle's a couple of times, which you now realized was why you recognized this place. Aaron raised an eyebrow at you, surprise flashing across his face before it was quickly wiped out. He looked over you, taling in your appearance.

“Miles.” He asked again.

“I dunno,” the boy replied, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets and avoiding his uncle's gaze. “Just found her on the way home.”

“Found her?”

Aaron glanced at you, then back to Miles, then back to you, his eyebrows furrowed in either confusion or frustration. He finally looked back at his nephew, the two of them having a silent conversation you couldn’t read.

“…Fine.” Aaron sighed, turning around—

You felt like you were dying, or being born, or possibly both at the same time. For a split second, you were nothing but particles, your skin and bones and just about everything being ripped apart then sewn back together. Your vision was a mix between TV static and rapid fire neon colors, and it was about the same deal with your hearing (which was concerning, since you couldn't usually hear colors).

Miles had taken a step forward, letting you grab his arms to keep you from falling over as he said something you couldn’t quite hear. Aaron had whipped around so fast you wondered how it didn’t give him whiplash, fists at the ready in case he needed them.

“What was that?” Miles’s voice finally got through to you, the high-pitched screaming in your ears dying down. You blinked at him as your mind went blank.

“I don’t—” You cut yourself off. Wait, was it..? Had you just..?

“Complete cellular decay.” You recalled Miles’s countless retellings of the multiversal mess that had happened just about two years ago. “I’m glitching, aren’t I?”

“Right, and you know this because..?” Aaron asked, his hands now at his sides but not eased yet. He eyed your face as if he was expecting you to grow a third eye or something. Honestly, you couldn’t blame him.

“Okay, so, this might sound crazy,” You started, “but I’m from another dimension.

“We had something like this happen back home a while back — except, y’know, people came into our dimension rather than people from ours going somewhere else.

“The people that came, they were glitching, too. Their atoms were displaced and decaying.”

“So you’re saying,” Miles spoke up, his grip tightening around your forearms just slightly. “If you stay here too long—”

“I’ll die, yeah.” You said, the reality of the situation hitting you like a KTX. “Disintegrate, to be more accurate.”

Silence filled the flat as all three of you processed the information. Miles was frozen, his gaze fixated on the spot where your hands grabbed onto him as if he was scared you’d disappear if he looked away. Aaron crossed his arms, his eyes darting from left to right like he was reading some invisible text.

As for you, you felt unreal. Your body didn’t feel like your own anymore, your vision more like looking at the screen of a first-person shooter. Were you going to die here? You didn’t want to die yet. What would your dad think? Would he file a police report? Would Miles’s dad send out a search party to look for you? And Miles—

You hadn’t even said goodbye to him at the party.

You hadn’t said goodbye to anyone.

I don’t wanna die I don’t wanna die I don’t wanna die I don’t—

“Hey,” Miles says, his voice softer than earlier, snapping you out of your spiral. His hands slide down your forearms and slip into your own, giving them a firm squeeze. “No vas a morir.”

You’re not gonna die.

“Te llevaré a casa.” The boy said, his deep brown eyes bore into yours, slowly bringing you back from feeling like you’re looking at a video game to feeling more like you’re lucid dreaming. It wasn’t a total fix, but it’s a start. “I’ll get you home, I promise.”

You took a deep breath, trying and failing to ground yourself more.

“What’s five things you hear?” Miles asked gently, tilting his head and leaning ever so slightly closer to you. You just blinked, overwhelmed with everything.

“Mi vida,” he said again. “Five things.”

You paused for a moment.

Sirens outside.

Yelling from the streets.

Chains clinking in the breeze from the open window.

Aaron shuffling around in the other room. When had he left?

The buzzing of the lights overhead.

“Good.” Miles said encouragingly. “Now, four things you see.”

Miles.

A pan on the kitchen stove.

The DJ table by the windows.

Tio Aaron pulling out the couch to make a sofa bed.

“Three things you can touch here.”

Miles.

The ground if you bent down, you guessed.

Some trinkets on the table just over there, but you’re not gonna touch that.

“Two you can smell?”

Rusted metal. There’s tons of it around; on the walls, the ceiling, tables, even on the shelves. What was that chest plate doing back there, anyway?

That pool smell, which is kinda gross since it came from the chlorine in pool water mixed with all the gross stuff that came from human bodies.

Miles smiled as you said that. “Vuelves a mí, mi sol.” He squeezed your hands again. “One thing you can taste.”

“I dunno, soda? We had a ton of it at the party.” You wiggled your fingers. It was like you were stepping into your body for the first time — nothing was a perfect fit just yet, like a pair of knitted gloves with too much room at the ends of the fingers. You’d have to get used to it again.

It’s then that Aaron called Miles over, the boy reluctantly leaving your side and following his uncle to the other room. He told you to make yourself comfortable on the couch before he went, though, so that’s exactly what you did. The spring cushions feel oddly comforting under you, the familiarity of home twisted just slightly out of proportion.

There’s really nothing to do alone here. You tapped your fingers on your leg. Thankfully, Miles and Aaron came back after just a few minutes.

The first thing the boy said to you, “I’m gonna get you home.” A firmer, more certain repetition of his promise from a minute ago, albeit there’s a bit of a strain in his voice as if it physically hurt him to say it. In a clumsy yet swift motion, he quickly leaned down and kissed your cheek before making his exit rather hurriedly.

You felt the heat rush to your face, your hand coming up almost immediately to touch the spot.

Aaron chuckled and shook his head.

“So,” he said. “You as smart as she was, too?”

-

You tinkered with the gauntlet of a prototype suit that Aaron had dug out of storage somewhere, the man himself working on the main body. The helmet — or was it more of a mask? It was a bit bulkier than Miles's Spider-Man mask, a bit more tech-y. Probably more similar to an Iron Man helmet, now that you think about it, albeit lower in its level of advancement — was plugged into one of the many monitors strewn about the flat.

You'd managed to pry a couple bits of information out of him for the past few hours (during which you hadn't glitched again, thankfully) in exchange for some of your own. So far you knew that this universe’s Jefferson Morales had passed away a few years ago, prompting Miles to take on the mantle of the Prowler to avenge his father’s death — the details of which he stayed frustratingly vague on — and, later on, to keep the city as safe as he could.

“Wait, wait, who’s your Spider-Man, then?”

“Who’s Spider-Man?”

You blinked in confusion. “What? You don’t have a Spider-Person?”

“What, like, a part-spider guy? Nah. Scorpion’s mostly bug though, that count?”

This dimension didn’t have a Spider-Man. That was why the city was so overrun with bad guys.

You gave him a general rundown of the whole ‘radioactive spider’ thing and moved on.

Your own variant, who was Miles’s best friend and had helped make a lot of his gear, had disappeared a while after the Prowler started taking out some bad guys that were a step above villain-of-the-week, the ones who had all sorts of shady connections. Hearing about your presumed death was a strange experience.

“We know they took her,” The older man had said, jamming his screwdriver into a faulty part of the suit. “But the cops are all in on it ever since the Cartel bought ‘em out. Declared her dead after less than 24 hours.”

Oh, speaking of, apparently there was a team of villains bringing Gotham to life in New York, Brooklyn being the heart of it all. How fun.

The Sinister Six Cartel, as the Bugel had dubbed them, was the one Aaron and Miles believed to be behind your variant’s disappearance. The two were certain that the Cartel had worked out a connection between you and the Prowler. The nail on the coffin was when they sent a body double of you in the Prowler’s direction to mess with his head just a couple months ago, complete with some sort of Face Off style mask that made it possible for the fake to look exactly like you. It was only a day or two before Miles figured out it was a setup, but it had shaken him up pretty bad.

“I thought you were another one.” He’d admitted. “But then you did the whole glitchy thing. Looked horrible, by the way, real nasty. It hurt much?”

“You have no idea.”

In return, you told him about home. You told him how Miles’s dad was up for a promotion, practically Captain already. You told him about your Miles’s art and how he made a mural of him after his death. You didn’t go into too much detail about the ‘death’ part, focusing more on the peaceful aspects since it was so clearly missing from his every day life. You couldn’t really read this Aaron Davis that well since he was more guarded than he had been back home, but you could tell he appreciated it; especially the parts about his brother.

You also told him how Miles and the other Spider-People who were sent to your dimension had worked out a solution to fix their situation, and gave him a brief summary of the whole ordeal, the details of which he texted Miles since he hadn’t given you a chance to tell him about it when he left so hastily. He said something you couldn’t quite make out as he did — you caught the words ‘lab’ and ‘property’, but that was pretty much it. He only waved it off as nothing when you asked him about it.

“How’s my dad?” You asked, pushing your hand into the gauntlet to test if it worked right. It was a near perfect fit, which made you wonder who exactly it was for, since Miles’s hand was bigger than yours. “Is he doing okay? After the whole ‘declared dead’ thing?”

“He’s holding up, just like the rest of us,” Aaron replied, checking on the monitor. “Your mom — her mom’s been sticking around. Grief brings people together and all that. They’re trying therapy.”

A weird feeling bubbled up inside. While it was good to know at least one version of your parents were trying to reconcile, it bothered you that your absence had prompted it. Was that what was happening right now back home? Had your disappearance magically brought your parents back together? Had it even been long enough for that to happen, or did time flow equally throughout the multiverse?

…

Would it be better for them if you just didn’t go back at all?

“Oh.” You said, nodding slightly as you flexed and wiggled your fingers in the gauntlet, watching the way it moved. It was a lot thinner than the claws that adorned the Prowler’s hands from what you’d spotted here and there in the flat, built to be stealthier in the way it functioned. There were no clunks or clinks, just soft whirring noises that sounded almost like a cat’s purr. “That’s good, I guess.”

It was worse this time around, which you didn’t even know was possible. You felt yourself being split in a billion different directions, parts of you re-atomizing not quite in the right places. You’d never known the feeling of having space between where all your joints were supposed to connect, but now you did, and it honestly made you want to die. Not really. Well…

-

Miles came back sometime before dawn. You heard the door opening slowly, almost like he was trying not to wake his parents up as he was sneaking in past curfew. Not that he used the door ever since he could climb walls, but still.

He crept into his uncle’s flat, even leaving his shoes at the door so he wouldn’t make too much noise. He was making his way to the other room when he looked at you on the couch, only to flinch in surprise when he saw your eyes were open.

“¿Qué haces despierto?” He whispered, his shoulders tenser than earlier from the split second of adrenaline. “It’s late.”

“What are you doing that you have to sneak in?” You whispered back. The boy just shrugged.

“Oh, you know…” He trailed off, looking around to avoid your questioning gaze. “…Stuff.”

You rolled your eyes. “That has gotta be the lamest excuse I’ve ever heard.”

Miles huffed, shuffling over to you and sitting down on the floor in front of the couch, facing you. “Yeah, well, I asked you first. Why’re you up, hermosa?”

You sighed. “Can’t sleep.”

“Why not?”

“Oh, I don’t know, the thought of my impending doom, maybe.”

A couple beats passed by without a word from either of you, a bit of awkwardness hanging in the air, though it was accompanied by a familiar sense of comfort.

“Do you trust me?” Miles asked, his hand reaching out to gently grab a corner of the blanket draped over you.

“Probably.” You replied. You hadn’t known him long enough to trust him just yet, as much as you wanted to. The corners of his lips tilted up just a bit in an almost smile.

“Then trust that I’ll do whatever it takes to get you home.” He said. “I already lost you once, I’m not letting that happen again.”

-

The next day was pretty uneventful. For the most part, anyway, if you don’t count the random glitching throughout. You were advised heavily against going outside since the Cartel had eyes everywhere, so your area of activity was limited to the flat. Miles had evidently snuck back out after your little talk the night before, which made you feel a tinge disappointed since you wanted to get to know him better. Fortunately, Aaron said you could help with the suit again.

The TV played in the background as you tapped on the keyboard, giving the helmet a few final touch-ups as the sun set outside the window. J. Jonah Jameson jabbered on about this week’s biggest disasters and lamented about how ‘if only there was a hero to save this city’, which made you snort.

“He’s gonna switch up real quick if a hero does show up,” You remarked to Aaron, who looked at you questioningly. “The guy hates Spider-Man back home.”

“What, Jameson?” He said, raising an eyebrow. “Nah, he’s the biggest Captain America fanboy out there. Loves heroes an’ all that.”

He thought for a moment. “Pretty sure Miles saw him at Comicon that one time too.”

“What’s a Comicon?”

Unfortunately, you never got the answer as you heard the lock on the door slide open. You spun around in your chair to greet Miles as you knew he was supposed to be coming by sometime in the evening, but your friendly smile quickly faded as his expression turned to one of shock, catching a glimpse of what the two of you were working on.

The boy froze as he stared, wide-eyed, at the suit. “Tio,” He said, looking at Aaron as he clenched his jaw. “What’s that doing out?”

“She needs a suit.” The older man answered simply.

“What?” Both you and Miles asked, though you could tell it was for vastly different reasons.

“We need to get into Alchemax to get her home, and we can’t do that unless she has protection.”

“Which is why I came here to make a plan!” Miles shouted, his hands moving animatedly, the way your Miles's always did when he got upset. “Eso, eso no le pertenece. ¡No es para ella!”

They had a back and forth as the pieces came together as to why Miles was so upset.

The suit was supposed to be for you.

His you.

You were, essentially, fixing up a dead girl's clothes to wear.

“The Cartel isn't stupid, Miles,” Aaron tried to make the boy see his point. “Even if we somehow made a distraction big enough for the big ones to leave base, there's still gonna be someone left to guard it. Would you be able to live with yourself if she got hurt? Or worse—”

“Don't.” Miles's nails dug into his palms, leaving dark cresent moons in their wake. Aaron sighed.

“If she got hurt, you'd feel like that's on you. If you got hurt protecting her 'cause she doesn't have anything to protect herelf with, then I'd feel like that's on me.” He said, his features softening as he reasoned with his nephew. “This is the best bet.”

“We could build her a new suit—”

“And take what? Couple days? A week? Two weeks?”

He glanced at you, Miles following his gaze towards you as well. You knew what was implied. The only people you knew this happened to had gone maybe over a week before the glitching became a real problem, and they were superhuman. Who knew how long you had?

“She can wear mine. We have a ton of old ones, I'll just take one of those—”

“I'm not gonna let you get hurt for her, kid.”

“Don't call me that.”

They went back and forth for a while, and eventually Miles went to the other room to cool off and think things through. Aaron sighed, wiping a hand across his face.

“No offense.” He said to you.

“None taken.” You replied, not really knowing what to do. It felt wrong for you to be tinkering with something that was so clearly not meant for you, even if it was for a variant of yourself.

You could hear Miles pacing the other room, muttering to himself.

“Maybe I could...” You trailed off.

“You could try talking him into it,” He suggested. “He'll listen to you more than me right now.”

“...Should I, though?” You couldn't even begin to imagine what Miles was feeling. All this multiverse shit was too damn complicated.

“Look, kid, I know it's weird.” Aaron said, shoulders sagging just a bit. “But this—” he pointed to the suit— “is the best way to make sure no one gets hurt. Trust me.”

There was something he wasn't telling you, but he didn't have to for you to know what it was. Miles thought you were alive, somewhere out there. You knew it was entirely possible that he blamed himself for your disappearance, as it was your own version of him's go-to for anything and everything that went wrong. The shadows under his eyes, that look whenever he saw you... you wondered how many nights he'd spent outside, looking for some trace of you, a new lead to follow. Especially since your arrival.

Aaron thought this was the best chance Miles would ever get to let go of you. To get some sort of closure by sending you home.

“…I'll try.” You finally agreed, getting up from your seat and shuffling to the other room. You hesitated before going in, but the lack of a door made it awkward to linger, so you just bit the bullet and walked inside.

The room in question was more of a faux-veranda (which explained the no-door thing); a long, narrow space separated from the main living area by a sheet of drywall, with one of the wider walls filled with shelves of CDs and albums and the other decorated sparingly with old band and movie posters along with Miles-brand stickers.

“So...” You said, fiddling with your hands as you took a look around the area. You gestured at one of the stickers on the wall. “Did you make that?”

Slowing to a stop to face you, Miles nodded, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket.

“Cool.”

You both stood there in silence for a moment, you working out what to say and Miles trying to come up with some other solution to the problem. The boy had an unhealthy obsession, that much he knew, but he just couldn't bring himself to let go of it. Not when you could be out there, just waiting for him to find you.

“I don't want to push you,” You started hesitantly. “But.. I think your tìo may be right.”

“I know that.” He looked at his feet as if the dirt on his shoes was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world, the sight of him reminisent of a little kid getting scolded by his mother. “I know that.”

“I can't say I understand.. whatever's going through your head right now,” You said, taking a step towards him. “But he just wants what's best for you.”

“What's best for me is finding—” He cut himself off when his eyes met yours, frustration and confusion and stubbornness and sadness and who knows what else all mixing into a big mish-mash of conflicting thoughts inside of him. He clenched his fists, tilting his head up as he tried to think clearly. To his dismay, his throat closed up, the familiar sting of tears pricking at his eyes.

“I need to find her.” He muttered, putting a hand over his eyes in an attempt to stop his tears from falling. It didn't work. “I need to find you.”

“And you will.” You were sure of it. Aaron and Miles were both so sure that their you was alive... she had to be. “But right now? Right now, I need you to help me out.”

He looked at you, his gaze almost spaced out for a moment. You wondered if he saw her in you — if she had the same haircut, the same eyes, the same accent...

You could tell he was frustrated by the way that the scrunch above his nose wouldn’t go away. Hesitantly, you reached out, wiping away the tracks stray tears had left on his cheeks. He stiffened for a moment.

“...Fine.” He finally muttered, a hand coming up to grab your arm, though he seemed unsure if he wanted to push it away or pull it closer. So he just held it in place, his thumb brushing over the inside of your wrist, the edge of your palm. His posture relaxed, just a bit. “Okay.”

-

Two days later, it wasn't too dark when the plan set into action.

Security at Alchemax — once belonging to Kingpin, now in posession of the Sinister Six Cartel — was thinnest sometime around six to seven pm, when dinner breaks, shift changes and the checkout of regular scientists were prominent.

Miles and Aaron had each set up time bombs at multiple smaller warehouses the Cartel used for storage, each coordinated to go off within minutes of each other. With little to no heroes or police in the way, the Cartel had no reason to keep their lesser important stocks well-guarded, which made it easy to sneak explosives into some of the shipments, support beams and pipes.

Once the explosions were set off, Aaron would use some rip-off Mysterio tech to make projections of some new vigilante gang, with each fake member leading the forces of the Cartel away from Alchemax. During this went on, Miles would sneak you in and to the Super Collider (which, surprisingly, had not been scrapped since its change of ownership) through the vents—

“Wait, wait, isn’t there like, a tunnel that can get us directly to the Collider?” You’d asked, remembering what Miles had told you when he first told you how he became Spider-Man.

“It got sealed off.” Aaron had said. “Some sort of supercharged electromagnetic thing. They did that with all the major underground entry points. Can’t shut it off without blacking out half of Brooklyn.”

“Or getting fried.” Miles had said. “The generators powering each point are all hooked up together a single system, como una mente colmena. You attack one of ‘em directly, all the others shoot a billion bolts of energy into you. And we don’t have time to hack into and get past the firewall to shut the thing down.”

—which you would navigate by memorizing a blueprint of Alchemax that had been conveniently leaked in a mass Cartel server leak a couple months ago. Miles would then plug in the goober he, Aaron and you had made using information gathered via Aaron's 'friends', and send you home.

It was a simple mission. Maybe a bit too simple, but you didn't really have much a choice when you were on a time crunch with limited information. Besides, Occam's razor.

“Copy?” Aaron's voice asked from your earpiece.

“Copy.” You answered, followed by Miles from his own communicator.

“A-6 is a go in 3.. 2...”

Boom.

A couple blocks away, a cloud of dust shot into the air. The building you and Miles were on the roof of shivered slightly as storage unit A-6 blew up.

“A-27.”

Boom.

“C-15.”

Boom.

From your vantage point, you had a clear view of what was going on at Alchemax without the risk of anyone down there catching a glimpse of you. You could see the non-combat scientists scrambling to get to their cars and the armed guards being led by weirdly dressed villains in the direction of the explosions. Although you supposed you weren't quite qualified to comment on the 'weirdly dressed' part at the moment, since you and Miles weren't much better in your respective suits.

Speaking of, Miles hadn't talked much ever since he first saw you wearing the suit. His responses were short if he even gave one, although you could feel him sneaking glances at you when he thought you weren't looking.

Miles fixed the gauntlet on his hand one last time before shuffling closer to you. “Ready?”

His voice sounded strange to you, his actual voice coming through your earpiece overlapping with the voice coming through his modulator.

“Mhm.”

“Going in.”

You hooked your arms around his shoulders and his arm wrapped around your waist, holding you tight as a grapple shot out of his gauntlet. He used it almost exactly like how Miles used his webshooters, although his actions were a bit more... forceful? Rougher around the edges, if that made sense.

As your feet left solid concrete, the city sped by underneath the both of you, a pretty blend of neon and gray. Your suit prevented you from actually feeling the air whipping by, but a fraction of the wind managed to seep through the cracks, sending a chill down your spine as your stomach dropped at the sudden decline.

For a moment, gravity seemed to disappear. The laws of physics no longer felt like they effected you in any meaningful way. Anything and everything that had been weighing down on you — this whole situation, Miles, demanding schoolwork at Visions, your parents and their myriad of problems — no longer held you down.

It was exhilarating.

Your 'flight', so to speak, was over almost as soon as it started. You tucked your legs as you reached the roof of the Alchemax building, separating from Miles and rolling to lessen the impact. Surprisingly, the move came quite naturally to you, even without practice. You chalked it off as something you'd learned when you were a toddler, when your mom used to sign you up for all sorts of extracurriculars. You were pretty sure martial arts or something had been one of them; maybe you'd learned it there.

Your heart pounded as the sudden rush of adrenaline faded away, and you found yourself wishing it didn't. The thrill was addicting, as was the freedom that came with it. It was like a rollercoaster, or watching How to Train Your Dragon in 4D for the first time, only a hundred times better.

Miles had never taken you swinging. He'd never exactly told you why, always brushing off your request with something like a 'maybe later' or 'I can't right now', but you knew why.

Swinging together was a him and Gwen thing.

And you were fine with that.

What, like you were gonna be jealous about something as small as that? Pfft. No way. Nope. Nada.

“¿Estás bien?” Miles asked, pulling you out of your thoughts. You nodded in confirmation.

The two of you pried open a vent using the gloves of your suit, which was easier than you’d expected it to be. To your surprise, the claws that extended from them were very useful.

“We’re in.” You muttered as you crawled into the duct, hoping Aaron wasn’t having any trouble on his end. He’d been awful quiet… Then again, no news is good news on a mission, right?

Miles crawled in after you. “You remember the way?”

“Yeah.”

Together you made your way to the underground levels of the building, miraculously avoiding any possible dead ends or mouse traps. That musty smell of mold and concrete reached your senses as you reached the deeper parts.

There weren’t many people at the Super Collider, thanks to the diversion and timing. Miles gestured for you to stay put as he swiftly dropped out of the vents, knocking out the few guards there one by one with relative ease. It was strange seeing him fight; so similar to yet completely different from him. You were doing as told and observing from the vents until you saw one of the last three people — a scientist, by the looks of it — sneaking up on Miles from behind while he was preoccupied with the two other guards.

You quickly dropped down from your spot, landing behind the guard and catching him by surprise as he whirled around with his weird-techy-science gun. Dropping to the ground, you swept your leg under his, toppling him over and knocking the weapon out of his hands. You were about to knock him out when—

“Peter Parker?”

Are you kidding me?

You were certain it was him. This Peter was scrawnier, his hair more sandy blond than Peter Parker’s back home (before he passed, anyway), and he wore thick, black-rimmed glasses that perched awkwardly on his slightly crooked nose. But the ID that read ‘Peter Parker’ in big bold letters around his neck was a pretty solid indicator.

“…Yes?” He almost squeaked out.

Meanwhile, Miles had dealt with the two guards, stepping over them to get to the console. “Sácalo y entra ahí.” He called, fumbling a little as he tried to figure out which buttons to push to fire up the Collider.

“We have a bit of a situation..” You said, pulling Peter up by his arm and dragging him to the console as well.

You gave him a hushed explanation of your unwillingness to hurt the guy, and how you believed he was genuinely a good person. After all, this universe was almost the same as yours, right? Peter Parker couldn’t be that different here…

“And besides, he probably knows how to work this thing. It’d be helpful.”

Miles sighed. “…Fine, I won’t knock him out,” He agreed. Turning to Peter, he asked, “How do you start the Collider?”

Peter gulped, everything in his body language screaming ‘I want to run away’. “You- you need codes,” He stammered out. “Approval codes, from—”

“Don’t care.” Miles cut him off, giving him a brief glance at the goober. “Just start it. ¿Lo pilla?”

Peter nodded hastily and got to work, pressing buttons and switching levers as you made your way down to the Super Collider. There was a catwalk that ran from one side of the machine to the other, connecting the two mechanisms. If you got to the middle of it, you could jump off and into the portal once the Collider was at full output. Sure enough, its huge metal plates clinked and clattered as they slowly sprung to life.

This was it. You were finally going home.

Just then, you heard a thunk along with some choice words in Spanish, and looked over to the source to see Peter out cold on the ground.

“He got to the panic button!” Miles said, scowling to himself as he plugged in the goober, praying that this plan would work out in the next minute or so. Bubble-like particles appeared at the two points of the machine that faced each other, the noise it emitted now making it so that you could only properly make out what Miles was saying through your earpiece.

The Collider whirred and sputtered as the bubbles grew bigger and brighter, eventually bursting into two beams of light that met each other in the middle, creating one big sphere with a bunch of little bubbles going in and out of it and surrounding it. The sphere grew larger and larger until it collapsed in on itself, sprouting thin, curvy lines.

The thing grew bigger and bigger until it was about the size of a person, you could feel it starting to pull you in. You just had to wait for Miles’s go ahead—

Ow.

What the hell?

You were suddenly sprawled on the ground, something having tackled you at what felt like a hundred miles an hour. That something — or rather, someone — skid to a halt just a few feet away from you, dragging a hand across the tiled floor and leaving… scratch marks?

Scrambling to your feet, you crouched in a defensive stance as you looked over the newcomer.

There wasn’t a single inch of skin showing, their suit covering the whole of their person. The suit in question was mostly white, with some gray sprinkled in here and there. It reminded you of Eve from Wall-E or a Stormtrooper, maybe a mix of both. Strangely enough, the mask was just a blank slate; a sleek, white panel with no features or details, kind of like one of those LED face masks.

Overall it was kind of… boring? It didn’t inspire fear nor did it seem very imposing or something of the sort, which you’d think would be a priority for a villain organization. If anything it was bland, the only thing that stood out from the suit being its hands which donned gauntlets that looked similar to yours, but slimmer and more polished, more accurately described as gloves rather than gauntlets. They had claws just like yours, albeit they looked sharper, a bit more gnarled.

“Miles?” You called, your heartbeat quickening. “What’s going on?”

You heard a grunt from his end. You didn’t look to see what was happening, not daring to take your eyes off of your attacker, but you guessed that backup from Peter’s panic signal had arrived.

“What’s going on?” Aaron echoed, his voice slightly fuzzy. Before you could answer, your attacker lunged. You managed to doge a full on body slam, but they grabbed your arm instead, using it to flip you over their body and knocking the wind out of you.

You writhed as you hit the ground, managing to rip your arm out of their grasp and landing a kick on their ankle, causing them to stumble. You took the opportunity to get up and put some distance between the two of you, though you didn’t get far before the lunatic started chasing you. They jumped at you again but you turned around at the last second, and as you were pushed back with their claws digging into your shoulders you kicked both of your legs out into their stomach just as your back hit the ground, sending them straight over your head.

“Tìo, get your nephew, now!” You shouted, rolling away just in time to avoid a punch that landed on the floor where your head had been just a second ago. “It all went to shit, get him out!”

The pull from the Collider was getting stronger, tiny scraps like bolts and papers flying through the air and towards the beam of light. You raced back to the catwalk but were once again stopped by the 29th century Stormtrooper. You yelped as you felt something grab the back of your neck, sharp claws piercing through your suit and digging into your skin as your head was thrown harshly against a metal beam.

And just like that, you were on the ground. Again. What was this, like, the third time? Fourth? Great. Just fantastic.

I’m not even supposed to be here, you thought, grabbing at your opponent’s wrists as their hands wrapped around your neck, slowly choking you. They were stronger than you were, faster, clearly more skilled. What were you thinking? You’re not a fighter — you couldn’t beat them, not like this.

Why was the universe so intent on making you miserable? You were just trying to get home, maybe not die. Not dying would be nice. But no. You couldn’t have nice things, could you? Not your own life, not Miles, your own damn parents were happier in a reality where you weren’t in the picture—

A sudden surge of anger made you lash out. The universe could go fuck itself. You weren’t dying like this. Not when your ticket home was right in front of you.

Your gauntlet caught your attacker’s mask, knocking it off.

You knew that face.

It was the same face that looked back at you every time you looked at a mirror.

Well, not exactly, you supposed. There was a certain roughness in her features, the same as how Miles looked different from Miles. But you’d know those eyes anywhere. But they were… what’s the word, fuzzy? Unfocused? It was like her body was on autopilot while her brain was off in Hawaii or something.

The thing you did next could’ve won you the prize for ‘smartest dumb decision of the year’.

In all your oxygen-deprivated brilliance, you retracted your mask.

It might shake her, was your reasoning. It would confuse anyone to see a doppelgänger in a fight.

Or, you know, it could go totally wrong and she could punch your face in. But you were already getting choked, so, what was there to lose?

And it worked.

Her eyes shifted back into focus as her grip slackened, and you quickly shoved her — or is it you? yourself? — off, gasping for air. You could vaguely make out the outline of a giant scorpion-guy going one-on-one with Miles, who seemed to be holding out pretty well. He was favoring his left hand though, when usually he used his right.

“I— wha—? Where—” You heard from your left. Your alternate universe counterpart looked around the lab, her eyes wide and movements jerky like a wild animal on drugs.

You were about to say something when a loud buzzing came through your comm, which had evidently been damaged in the whole head-beam connection thing. Miles’s voice came through in broken pieces.

“Col— get..t— ov-rload—”

The Collider. The goober could only force an incomplete system to run for so long. Your time was up.

Wonderful.

A flash of blinding light came from the machine as it malfunctioned. The goober could only make an incomplete system work for so long. You were just able to get your helmet back on before everyone in the vicinity was pushed back in an explosion. Was that Aaron—?

After your temporary blindness wore off, you made out the aftermath, a high-pitched ringing in your ear as you dazedly looked around. The glass that separated the control area from the Collider had been shattered, the Scorpion twitching as he tried to get to his feet — did he have feet? Now’s really not the time — There was no sign of Miles or Aaron anywhere, which was either very good or very bad. You decided to believe it was the former for your own sake. A short distance away from you was another you, that one unconscious but still breathing, from the looks of it.

Grabbing your variant, you ripped open a vent on the wall before the Scorpion could take notice of either of you, shoving her in before following suit and placing the vent cover back on. You had to get out of here. Fast.

[meathunt]

The alien pt. 3

heeeeeyy I'm still alive （´∇｀''） Hope you all enjoy! The alien pt,1 pt.2

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Yesterday when he checked up on you after the bath you already fell into a restful sleep, even as he was sure you were deep into your resting cycle he decided to be as silent as he could, taking a photo of your first day with him, to then accompany you in resting, curling possessively around you, just like his people do with their young.

The next day as he woke up he checked up on you first thing after waking up and his heart almost stopped, in our sleep you told up on him, nuzzling up to his side, as relaxed as you possibly could be. You were as wonderful as he though you would be.

After making sure to you wouldn't wake up, he transferred you to the bed and got up to look for some food for you, he wanted you to understand that he isn't a danger to you, more like a provider.

And what better way to make you understand than giving it to you! Now he only had to figure out what would you like to eat…

You woke up from probably the most comfortable sleep you had in a while, sleeping into an escape pod for least a week left your back really sensitive, as our really didn't have the biggest space to stretch or do anything but sit and crouch in it.

You roll around on the bed stretching as far as you could while enjoying the softness of the mattress. You were almost tempted to go back to sleep when you remembered your predicament, the aliens, the abduction, your strange "housing" situation.

The memories immediately making you shot out of the bed, taking in your surroundings in a panic.

Even when you didn't really had time to look carefully at everything you just couldn't help the amazement of what you were seeing, hologram screens filled with graphics that you didn't understand, a floating orb in the ceiling that shinned dimly in the room, and the bed that you were laying in was very similar to a waterbed\nest thing close to the floor which also look like maybe it was carpeted, plus the fact that here to everything was way bigger than you, making you feel almost like a child, you really wanted to just figure out the gibberish in the screens, how they even work and how they are powered, but it wasn't the time for that, for now you needed to find how to escape this place, or figure out if it even was possible.

You get off the bed, noticing that even when it was directly on the floor, the mattress looking thing reached up to eye level, making you barely half a head taller than it. When you turned to look at the door you noticed that the panel looking thing, which most likely opened the door, was way out of reach, so that escape option was denied… for now at least.

You didn't see any windows or other openings on reach, but near the ground you could see a ventilation cover.

You approached, tugging at it but it was either really well screwed in or glued, you were going to look for a tool or something that would help you to open it when the sound of an automatic door gets your attention. You turn at the source of the sound and see the alien that took you from your pod. You immediately feel threatened by the sight of this creature that just towers above you.

They click and trill when he enters the room, and in an almost automatically way you go take cover under the desk looking thing that was closer to the floor, giving a little space where you could press yourself against the wall, being at least 20% sure he won’t be able to reach you there.

He came back to the room holding a selection of foods for him to test what interested you the most, but when he came back you were missing from the spot on the nest where he left you. He knew you were still in the room as the door was locked and he doesn’t really think you had enough time to get tools to make a way out for yourself.

He was going to search for you when his ears cached the sound of little steps quickly going near his desk, he already knew where you were hiding, he can hear how quick your heart is going even when you are trying to control your breathing.

He softly walks to your hiding spot, putting the food containers with care on top of it

“Little thing, it’s okay, you are okay, no one is going to hurt you” He lowers himself down to your level “I know you are scared, but you can trust me” He says in the softest tone he can. But in your ears it just sounds like trills and little bops that you can make no sense of.

He has been trying to lure you out for a long time now, waving a strange ball near the entrance of your hiding spot, but not doing much. You are kind of surprised he hasn’t tried to be more… forceful.

And that patience is what gives you the confidence to maybe get near to the offering hand. Looking at the thing he’s holding confuses you quite a bit, it doesn’t really smell like anything really, but it looks very jello-looking.

As soon as you try to touch it you see the alien reach down for you, and faster than you can really react he manages to grasp your shirt, dragging you out.

You make a sound in surprise as you feel him overpowering you, and as much you try to resist, planting you feet on the ground or holding on the carpeted floor, you are no obstacle for him. And at the end he manages to drag your body enough to let him hold you more carefully, lifting you off the ground and into his chest, not really caring or bothered by your struggle or resistance. To him it looked similar to when a kid was throwing a temper tantrum.

Carefully he put you again in the water bed looking thing and went back to get the containers of food he left on the desk and bringing them back to you.

For your part once he let you go, you scooted as far as you could from him, taking in the situation that you now are in, the alien comes back with some boxes near you again, carefully he puts them near you taking another jello-looking cube, the same type which he lured you out of your hiding spot, in between his fingers.

He doesn’t seem intent of hurting you in any way, but you really can’t read his expression correctly, plus his size doesn’t really make you feel any less nervous, he overtakes you in almost all physical aspects as far you know.

You both stay in this stalemate for a minute, before he slowly lifts the cube towards you, at first making you tense up, but when he just let it sit on his palm extended towards you, the action seeming strangely familiar, the though letting you calm down a bit, and letting you examine what he could mean by his actions.

¿A peace offering? ¿A trick? ¿Hopefully an apology?

But after some more thinking about it you finally connect to what this scene reminds you off

Feeding a stray animal

He is treating you as some skittish homeless animal, and possibly trying to gain your trust? This revelation frees you a bit from the fear that was holding you back, realizing how silly this all is.

You almost dying in the middle of space just to find out that aliens are in fact fucking real, be abducted by them, and then discovering that they at best see you as a dumb animal.

And you know what

You think it’s better that they see you as a pet than some vermin, hopefully you can get across that you are a conscious being with complex thoughts.

The first way to show that, you decide, is signaling that you won’t take that cube looking thing, not only because it reminds you of the slight betrayal of being tricked out of hiding by it, but also because it doesn’t really look that appetizing.

You softly push the offering… paw? Yeah, sure. And shake your head, hoping to translate your denial at his action.

He looks at you for a second, turning from the food to your face.

Where you trying to feed him? ¿Share resources with him? …. Adorable

You were just so adorable

You worry for his well-being is just so touching, it makes him want to squish your little face, and before he can really stop himself he grabs you and hugs you very firmly against his chest.

By your side, you were a bit freaked out, but really you couldn’t do much about it, not understanding what prompted this show of affection, but you find out that you really didn’t mind.

This alien seems to be very nice, even if nonsensical at times, but you think you will be able to communicate with them sooner rather than later.

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You guys, i prommy i have been writting but i also have no real concept of time so i though i was making good progress, well flash news i wasn't orz Gn everyone! Will keep trying to make more things for you all soon! <3

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved in our archive (Daily updates!)

Video below the main text!

One of the simplest things you can do to protect your health is to keep track of indoor air quality. Viruses spread through the air and accumulate in spaces that are poorly ventilated. By opening a window or running on an air purifier you can reduce your risks of catching an airborne virus. While viruses spread most during the winter, some viral illnesses like COVID are present all year round, and can cause serious short and long-term health issues. This post explains how monitoring and improving indoor air quality can help protect your health through all the seasons.

Viruses can spread through the air at long distances Viruses spread through droplets and smaller particles called aerosols that are expelled by someone who has an infection. This can happen in a number of ways including coughing, sneezing, talking, or simply breathing. The highest risk of catching a virus is when you are close to the source, where there is a greater concentration of droplets and aerosols.

Viruses can also infect people from larger distances because viruses trapped in aerosols can linger in the air for hours, like cigarette smoke. When a room is poorly ventilated, aerosols accumulate, increasing your risk of catching the virus and getting sick, even if you are not standing close to someone who is infected.

Illustration of how droplets and aerosols released during talking can transmit viruses if the person is infected. (Source: J Hosp Infect)

COVID spreads throughout the year Many respiratory virus illnesses like the flu spread predominantly during winter, because they can survive longer in cold and dry conditions, and because people are more likely to gather inside in poorly ventilated rooms during the colder months.

However, COVID can surge throughout the year. COVID peaks occur regularly because the coronavirus that causes COVID is extremely contagious; new variants can emerge quickly; and immunity from previous infections and vaccinations decreases over time. COVID usually surges in winter and summer, however the virus can circulate at high levels at any point during the year.

COVID still causes serious illness While things are different than in 2020 when COVID first appeared, COVID hasn’t gone away. In many countries, COVID is still the most deadly infectious disease. And COVID infections continue to cause long-term health issues for many people.

Anyone who gets COVID can develop Long COVID. Although people with severe initial infections are most likely to develop Long COVID, you can get Long COVID even after a mild initial infection.

Because coronaviruses mutate quickly, you can be reinfected with another variant as early as several weeks after you have gotten COVID. Reinfections can occur multiple times, and the more reinfections you have increases your risk of developing long-term health issues.

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Even being sick with COVID in the short term is disruptive because most people are infectious with COVID for at least 10 days. That can mean missing days of work, family time, or an important social event.

Simple things you can do to avoid COVID The best way of reducing your risk of developing long-term health issues from COVID is by taking a few simple steps to prevent getting COVID in the first place.

Staying up to date with the latest COVID vaccine reduces your risk of serious illness, infection, and Long COVID. Wearing a mask helps boost your own protection, protects others around you, and works against any COVID variant or other type of airborne virus.

Another effective way to reduce your risk of getting sick from airborne viruses is to improve indoor air quality.

Tracking air quality can help reduce your risk of sickness You can track air quality with a carbon dioxide monitor. When we breathe, we expel carbon dioxide molecules, which accumulate in rooms that are poorly ventilated. A high carbon dioxide reading means that you are likely breathing in a large percentage of recirculated air. If that air contains viruses, that puts you at greater risk of getting sick.

With this knowledge you can take steps to reduce your risk. This can be as easy as opening a window to allow particles with viruses to escape and fresh air to come in. If opening a window isn’t possible, HEPA purifiers or Far-UVC Light systems can help remove particles with viruses from the air.

To learn more about how carbon dioxide monitors can help reduce your risk of getting sick from viral illnesses, watch this video.

The Aranet team thanks Dr. Lucky Tran for offering insights and guidance on how to reduce the risk of COVID infection. May these revelations empower everyone to make mindful choices and foster well-ventilated environments, enriching not only our homes and shared spaces but also our overall well-being and health. Lucky Tran

[collapsedsquid]

In late May of this year, an erratic man was able to infiltrate and spend at least one night in the Miami [Secret Service] Field Office, according to four sources familiar with the incident. Some agents working out in the gym violated office policy by propping open the door to help ventilate the room. A man in shorts and a t-shirt entered through that partially opened door, and no one noticed. The man, identified as Ashtyn Domenech by one knowledgeable source, apparently found the “bunk room,” took a shower, and fell asleep in a bed overnight, sources said. Domenech accessed computers on an open internet line and downloaded and watched porn, according to two sources familiar with the trespassing incident. The next morning, Domenech asked administration staff where he “could get a cup of coffee around here,” and the employees responded by fulfilling his request for coffee without realizing he didn’t belong there, the sources said. He then ventured into a class on defensive tactics that a supervisor was teaching. The supervisor confronted him about his identity and apprehended him. The Secret Service didn’t arrest Domenech on federal charges, but instead turned him over to the local Miami Beach Police Department, which charged him with burglary, petty theft, and unlawful use of a police badge. Domenech had been arrested earlier that month for indecent exposure, according to Miami court records.

[iggyshippingcorner]

alright... a bit of medical malpractice stobotnik as a treat <3

the intro formatting on this is going to serve as a teaser for the rest of the long fic :3

tags for this include: medical procedures, questionable medical procedures, surgery, in house surgical procedures, medical inaccuracies, a lot of hand-waving, unwise medical practices, ivo "i have a medical doctorate i didn't plan on using" robotnik, hurt stone, stone's unconscious for this entire thing actually, mild gore, medical gore

< disclaimer: i am not a medical professional. i am an over-caffeinated fic writer with access to the world wide web and a very VERY minor background in medical terminology. medical inaccuracies abound, because i sourced all my info from the internet. >

RIBCAGE, CHEST, BACK (v1.05 - 2018.08.21 - NEW EGGLABS, SEATTLE, USA)

If Robotnik never has to use his medical doctorate again, he’ll die a happy man. His eyes burn, his arms ache, and his hateful childhood habit of grinding his teeth has resurfaced despite decades of suppression. AL02B hovers near his left shoulder, providing a helpful steady light. The other girls whizz about behind him, collecting equipment and fetching materials and carting off the corpses littered about the main lab floor. It stinks of gunpowder and blood. The mask he wears doesn’t stifle the smell as much as he’d like it to-- he adds it to his mental to-do list.

His fingers spasm slightly, and he grunts in frustration, teeth creaking as he clenches his jaw. Careful, careful, he adjusts his angle as much as he can, mindful of the clamps and the detractor, until the pressure on his wrist alleviates. The EKG beeps in time with every flex of his left hand, carefully carefully pressing Stone’s heart downwards against the firm ridge of his vertebrae. His molars grind together in a steady slide, keeping rhythm with the rocking motion of his wrist. 

“You’re almost more trouble than you’re worth,” he tells Stone, who doesn’t respond. He blinks hard, breathing in and out slowly. Of course he doesn’t respond-- Robotnik’s got his fucking heart in his hand. (Breathe in, breathe out.) The latex of his glove squeaks as he squeezes the ventilator with his other hand, keeping careful time. For as dire as it started-- Stone bleeding freely into his thoracic cavity for several minutes until Robotnik could finally open him up-- things have plateaued into this awful waiting game. If only the doctor (and what exactly does he think he’s doing, calling himself a doctor? Can’t even keep his hands steady-) could do more than just hope he’s buying Stone enough time to stabilise on his own. 

AL02B beeps. Robotnik doesn’t glance at her but he does tip his head towards her, gaze fixed on the steady artificial pulse of Stone’s heart in his palm and the manual flex of his lungs as he works the ventilator. Keep the blood and oxygen flowing to his brain and other important organs until his body decides to pick up the slack once more. His eyes burn, and he wants to wipe at them but if he takes them off Stone--. 

AL02B whistles sharply then, cutting through his thoughts, and he sighs. “Mommy’s a little busy, darling.”

She trills all high and urgent, and he finally tears his gaze away from the glistening, terrible meat that houses the one human life he’s allowed himself to truly care for, in order to see what’s gotten her in a tizzy. ALPHA pointedly shifts her light from Stone’s open ribcage to his pallid face, and-- 

His eyes are fluttering. 

Robotnik freezes, hands going lax, and--

The EKG machine crammed onto the work bench beside the gurney continues beeping. Stone’s heart flexes stubbornly against his palm, and his lungs take a breath of their own volition, the ventilator sagging against his chin as Robotnik’s brain reboots itself. AL02B nudges his shoulder. Forcing himself to move feels like wading through quicksand, but he carefully extracts his hand and pulls the ventilator away as Stone takes another breath, and then another. There’s a chirping at his elbow, and when he turns to look, it’s C14N001, extending a coil of cannula tubing towards him with her single metal arm. Her flickering lens whirrs as she glances between Stone, breathing on his own once more, and himself, gloved hands drenched and trembling. 

He takes the tubing. She bobs in place for a moment before moving to hover over Stone’s legs, scanning him. The space she once occupied is summarily filled by W475.N3 and W475.L11, carefully toting an oxygen tank between the two of them. They bump against his legs once they deposit their cargo, and disappear into the depths of the lab once more, likely joining the last of the clean-up efforts. 

Robotnik takes a deep breath. The rest of the procedure unfolds in his mind’s eye. Hook Stone up to oxygen and monitor his levels carefully while he attempts to close and reinforce his sternum. Send one of the girls out to “acquire” antibiotics, because he’ll be damned if Stone contracts something horrific after all the effort Robotnik just went through to save his sorry ass. Stitch up the incisions. Check that the gunshot wounds hadn’t re-opened in the chaos. Set up a blood transfusion. Scrub down. Watch his vitals. Assess the footage to see how exactly the rats entered his domain. 

The gloves come off first, latex squeaking and stretching as he methodically removes them and places them in the biohazard bin one of the girls helpfully fetched from the janitorial closet. A new pair snaps back on in a matter of muscle memory while Robotnik solidifies his plan of attack. 

Much later, when he finally gets a break and collapses into his chair beside Stone’s gurney, free of his scrubs and the latex gloves, Robotnik creates a new high-priority project to place at the forefront of his workload. A pair of medically-focused drones-- maybe three, or a whole fleet? It should be a cakewalk, given the complex works of art he’s already created. The prototyping period might take a bit longer than the weaponry drones, if only because they’re in the exact opposite field he’s been paid to work in for years now, but sheer determination will make up for any unfamiliarity. 

He’ll do anything to avoid holding Stone’s life in his hands like this again. He’d thrilled over it, once, before they’d begun their little… arrangement. The power trip of holding his very existence in his hands— placed there so willing and trusting by a man who could break every bone in his body— was headier than any drug Robotnik had ever fooled around with. But, now, to know that every tremble of his hands and every panic-driven moment of hesitation could jeopardise Stone’s survival? He simply cannot avoid the facts any longer: he is not as impartial as he once was. There is undeniable proof now, pressed into the atria of Stone’s heart and every layer of dermis and intercostal muscle and bone separating the very meat of him from the vile mortal world. Proof that Dr. Ivo Robotnik is not the unbiased, inhuman observer he once was.

He should rest. His arms still ache. His head pounds with the looming threat of a migraine. Instead of retreating to his quarters or curling up on the secondary gurney, Robotnik tugs his control gloves on and drags a holo-screen over to his careful perch beside Stone. The thick fabric and metal sensor caps hide the traitorous shake in his fingers just enough for him to pretend like it isn’t happening. He opens his self-built schematics program, ignoring his work flow playlists in favour of keeping one ear trained on the steady beeping of the monitors tracking his agent’s vitals. 

If he doesn’t sleep until Stone finally rouses for the briefest of moments, early the next morning, well. That’s between him and the girls (and Stone’s unconscious body).

[unboundprompts]

writing a fic where blorbo is poisoned and blorbo in love with her has to take care of her, ideas for how i could get this across?

I would recommend doing some research on the poison involved so that it's as realistic as possible. In a fantasy/sci-fi setting you can probably make up your own poison and choose the symptoms and treatment you deem the best for the situation. Here are some ideas to help you with that:

General Symptoms of Poison

-> from this source.

Stomach Pain

Feeling Nauseous/Being Sick

Drowsiness

Dizziness

Weakness

High Temperature

Chills (shivering)

Loss of Appetite

Headache

Irritability

Difficulty Swallowing

Breathing Difficulties

Skin Rash

Blue Lips and Skin

Double Vision/Blurred Vision

Sudden, Noticeable Heartbeats (Palpitations)

Mental Confusion

Seizures

Loss of Consciousness

Treatment

-> seeking medical help is also a good idea. The best idea probably.

-> from this source.

If they are poisoned by swallowing something, try to get them to spit out anything that is remaining in their mouth.

If they are unconscious and swallowed something, try to wake them to encourage them to spit out anything left in their mouth. Do not put your hand into their mouth and do not try to make them sick.

If the poison is on their skin or clothes, remove their clothes and wash the affected area with warm or cool water. Be careful not to contaminate yourself.

Lay the person on their side with a cushion behind their back and their upper leg pulled slightly forward so that they do not fall on their face or roll backwards. (Recovery Position)

If vomiting, keep their head pointed down to prevent them from breathing it in or swallowing it. Do not give them anything to eat or drink.

If they have stopped breathing or their heart has stopped, perform CPR.

It is important to know what substances you think the person may have swallowed, when it was taken, why it was taken, how it was taken, and how much was taken.

Any existing medical conditions prior to being poisoned are important to be aware of, as it may impact their recovery/ the poison may have effects on their condition.

Activated Charcoal - sometimes used to treat someone who's been poisoned. It binds to the poison and stops it being further absorbed into the blood.

Antidotes - these are substances that either prevent the poison from working or reverse its effects.

Sedatives - may be given if the person is agitated.

Ventilator (breathing machine) - may be used if the person stops breathing.

Anti-epileptic medicine - may be used if the person has seizures.

Writing Prompts For a Character Being Poisoned

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

"Hey, hey, hey," she was lightly tapping his face, his head lulled to the side. "Open your eyes," she said to him gently, her heart sinking with each passing second. "Wake up, I need you here with me."

She had trouble keeping her eyes open. The room was spinning. She felt so weak. All she could hear was their voice, as if they were far away, telling her not to fall asleep.

They had this awful marking on their skin. It crawled across their shoulders and peeked out from underneath their shirt at the sleeves and neck. She thought it looked like it was getting worse every day, slowly blossoming across their skin. "It's not as bad as it looks," they said, trying to make her feel better. The raspiness of their voice and pale complexion did not fill her with hope.

"Your heart is pounding," she said, pressing a hand to his chest. His skin was feverish, warmth radiating off of him. Yet, he shivered as if he were freezing. "Only because I get nervous around you," he responds, a flirty tilt to his voice. They both knew that wasn't the only reason, but she smiled anyway.

"Will you eat something? For me?" They shook their head miserably. "I can't."

If you like what I do and want to support me, please consider donating! I also offer editing services and other writing advice on my Ko-fi!

[zeketarion]

content warning ﹣ exploitation﹒heavy angst﹒betrayal﹒fem reader﹒implied childbirth﹒snippet

"i only have a year left, it would be best that you start planning a future without me." a rumble leaves zeke's throat. voice laced with sleep. his murky, hazy scent mixed with the strong fragrance of the cigarettes he smoked earlier fill your nostrils and leave you with a feeling of butterflies that flutter against your ribs. "you've been saying that for a while." your hands drop in defeat, lips curving into a frown. "because you need to." zeke yawns, his breath hot against the lobe of your ear. silver irises sharing at nothing yet something in the unilluminated room.

you've sat here for so long that you've lost the track of time, maybe it's past eleven. you can't tell from the sky and you can't make out what the clock says—you can't even see it. "when i die, what will you do? stay with my nana and-" zeke is interrupted by the sound of the chair scratching at the hardwood floor. it's hard to navigate your surroundings in the dark. "your grandfather is getting worse," zeke can hear the exhaustion in your voice. "your grandmother fears for your last days and...so do i." zeke wonders if you're mad at him, feet tapping against the cold floor.

finding the bathroom, you stand in the doorway, the gust of air is cold and mercilessly. flipping a switch that finally offers a source of light, the sink is the first thing you go for. splashing water onto your face, every worry washing away but the stress from all the missions still stays. a soft breath; a verbal utterance of your tiredness.

your fatigued and wearied walk out of the bathroom drains you of whatever energy you have left as you turn around. "are you really gonna...smoke in here?" an obvious question, zeke is lighting a cigarette right in front of you for gods sake. he hummed a soft "mmhm", dressed in nothing but dark pants. blond, flaxen hair with tired yet lazy eyes. everything about zeke was bordering on perfect, most-likely a side effect of his parents abuse and marley's influence. he was handsome, talented and intelligent, marley's poster-boy. the quintessential warrior, unmatched by any other.

but you had the luxury of having him as a husband, "just a piece of paper" he called it, though it meant more than that to you. it was always more than just wanting the perks that came with being married to a honorary marleyan.

still, you found yourself thinking of what marley made him, what his parents made him. their wonder boy, eldia's savior. to you, he was just zeke. "i'll open a window..." you shake your head, the flicker of light from the bathroom offers you a glow that guides you towards the nearest window. "you should go to bed." mumbled the unperturbed man.

surges of wind files in through the crack in the window, providing ventilation even as zeke continues to smoke—taking a long drag that fills his lungs with fumes. you continue to stare at him, eyes staring into yours. he never failed to distract you, to say you had fallen hard would be an understatement. "i know you're all worried, and...I'm sorry." zeke smoldered, approaching you with a smile. his words make your heart soar, yet it aches for him. "for what...?" you don't expect him to answer, he didn't choose to be a warrior. pulling him into a hug you stroke and pet his hair, tangled strands of knots fiddled in between your fingers.

"zeeke," his name dragging off your tongue as you held back tears. "I'll always have a part of you. even when you leave my side."

"really? it won't annoy you, pearl?" he asks, lips grazing your forehead. you shake your head, hair tickling his nose.

"never, i love you. so, so much."

the cell was cramped, disheveled and smeared with grime. unfit for one person let alone three. mrs yeager was silent, her face solemn, you can tell she doesn't believe this is reality. "how could this happen?" asked mr yeager, staring up at the dark ceiling though nothing looked back at him. he looked all the more perplexed, disgusted and disappointed. "faye, my sweet faye and my grisha. my children…" mrs yeager couldn't hold back a soft sob at the memory of her children. "and now my only grandson,"

"what has cursed this family so?" it was a question you couldn't answer, you though yourself closest to zeke; you shared his bed, his body, his "love", his memories and mind…that's what you tell yourself anyway. maybe this was some elaborate joke, a nightmare, something you could wake up from and everything would go back to normal. you would have your husband back, your home. you could introduce him to—

no, you shouldn't be thinking about that. you should hate him, he left you behind. he's not marley's poster-boy, he's not eldia's savior. he's a deeply flawed man, why did it take you so long to realize? even so, you miss him. you miss his warmth, saying his name. you miss the scent of his cologne. you miss his voice, his touch. everything.

"yooou lot, ain't neeever gettin' out." marleyan soldiers were known to drink copiously, chugging down bottle after bottle, shot after shot until they fell on their asses; unable to speak much less stand back up. dire and treacherous times like these; with betrayal and ambuscades on the horizon, they only got even more drunk to drown out the stress and physical pain. "so don't even…think about it." spat the marleyan, his uniform filthy.

when the soldier walked away mrs yeager bursted into tears, her sobs loud in the empty, isolated hall.

your hand traveled down your dress, reaching down to touch your flat stomach through the fabric.

her smooth skin, unmistakable blond hair and pretty, silvery irises, pale though not without a metallic sheen. her cheeks were red and her lashes long, she cried and cried until you held her—you remember crying too.

it seemed perfect in the moment but they snatched her away; your last bit of happiness.

© zeketarion﹒thank you for reading

[novlr]

how to describe? Houses, rooms, interiors, palaces, etc?

Creating immersive descriptions of indoor spaces is more than just scene setting—it’s an invitation to the reader to step into your world. Describing the interior of buildings with vivid detail can draw readers into your narrative. So let’s explore how to describe interiors using multiple sensory experiences and contexts.

Sights

Lighting: soft glow of lamps, harsh fluorescent lights, or natural light.

Colour and textures; peeling paint, plush velvet, or sleek marble.

Size and scale: is it claustrophobically small or impressively grand?

Architectural features: high ceilings, crown mouldings, or exposed beams.

Furnishings: are they modern, sparse, antique, or cluttered?

Style and decor: what style is represented, and how does it affect the atmosphere?

State of repair: is the space well-kept, neglected, or under renovation?

Perspective and layout: how do spaces flow into each other?

Unique design features: describe sculptural elements, or things that stand out.

Spatial relationships: describe how objects are arranged—what’s next to, across from, or underneath something else?

Sounds

Describe echoes in large spaces or the muffled quality of sound in carpeted or furnished rooms.

Note background noises; is there a persistent hum of an air conditioner, or the tick of a clock?

Describe the sound of footsteps; do they click, scuff, or are they inaudible?

Include voices; are they loud and echoing or soft and absorbed?

Is there music? Is it piped in, coming from a live source, or perhaps drifting in from outside?

Capture the sounds of activity; typing, machinery, kitchen noises, etc.

Describe natural sounds; birds outside the window, or the rustle of trees.

Consider sound dynamics; is the space acoustically lively or deadened?

Include unexpected noises that might be unique to the building.

Consider silence as a sound quality. What does the absence of noise convey?

Smells

Identify cleaning products or air fresheners. Do they create a sterile or inviting smell?

Describe cooking smells if near a kitchen; can you identify specific foods?

Mention natural scents; does the room smell of wood, plants, or stone?

Are there musty or stale smells in less ventilated spaces?

Note the smell of new materials; fresh paint, new carpet, or upholstery.

Point out if there’s an absence of smell, which can be as notable as a powerful scent.

Consider personal scents; perfume, sweat, or the hint of someone’s presence.

Include scents from outside that find their way in; ocean air, city smells, etc.

Use metaphors and similes to relate unfamiliar smells to common experiences.

Describe intensity and layering of scents; is there a primary scent supported by subtler ones?

Activities

Describe people’s actions; are they relaxing, working, hurried, or leisurely?

Does the space have a traditional use? What do people come there to do?

Note mechanical activity; elevators moving, printers printing, etc.

Include interactions; are people talking, arguing, or collaborating?

Mention solitary activities; someone reading, writing, or involved in a hobby.

Capture movements; are there servers bustling about, or a janitor sweeping?

Observe routines and rituals; opening blinds in the morning, locking doors at night.

Include energetic activities; perhaps children playing or a bustling trade floor.

Note restful moments; spaces where people come to unwind or reflect.

Describe cultural or community activities that might be unique to the space.

Decorative style

Describe the overall style; is it minimalist, baroque, industrial, or something else?

Note period influences; does the decor reflect a specific era or design movement?

Include colour schemes and how they play with or against each other.

Mention patterns; on wallpaper, upholstery, or tiles.

Describe textural contrasts; rough against smooth, shiny against matte.

Observe symmetry or asymmetry in design.

Note the presence of signature pieces; a chandelier, an antique desk, or a modern art installation.

Mention thematic elements; nautical, floral, astronomical, etc.

Describe homemade or bespoke items that add character.

Include repetitive elements; motifs that appear throughout the space.

History

Mention historical usage; was the building repurposed, and does it keep its original function?

Describe architectural time periods; identify features that pinpoint the era of construction.

Note changes over time; upgrades, downgrades, or restorations.

Include historical events that took place within or affected the building.

Mention local or regional history that influenced the building’s design or function.

Describe preservation efforts; are there plaques, restored areas, or visible signs of aging?

[ramblings-in-imagination]

No Answer (Part 3)

The ICU room buzzed with quiet urgency. Machines beeped steadily, the ventilator hissed softly, and the soft glow of the monitors bathed your face in pale blue light. Eddie never left your side, his calloused hand wrapped around yours as if he could will your body to fight. Buck stood close behind him, arms crossed, every muscle tense.

Maddie and Chimney had claimed the small seating area in the corner, but neither could relax; Maddie’s leg bounced restlessly, and Chimney tapped at his phone, reading articles about sepsis and treatments. Hen and Bobby came and went, bringing coffee, snacks, and quiet reassurance, but no one felt at ease.

Dr. Ramirez entered the room, eyes serious but determined. She carried your chart, now thick with labs, notes, and scribbled differentials. She approached the small crowd, her voice calm but urgent.

“Good news and bad news,” she started, drawing everyone’s eyes. “Her lactic acid is trending down from 6.5 to 4.3—that means the antibiotics and fluids are helping. Her blood pressure is stabilizing on the norepinephrine drip, and her urine output is starting to pick up.”

Eddie squeezed your hand, tears pooling in his eyes. “That’s good,” he murmured.

Dr. Ramirez nodded. “It is. But…” She took a deep breath. “We’ve identified the likely source of her septic shock.”

Buck leaned forward. “Where?”

“We found a small but deep cut on her left lower leg,” Dr. Ramirez explained, flipping open the chart. “It’s near her Achilles tendon, looked like a scratch at first, but it’s cellulitic and inflamed. We did an ultrasound and found an abscess that probably developed into necrotizing fasciitis—a severe soft tissue infection that can rapidly progress to sepsis.”

Maddie gasped. “Oh my God—she must have gotten it on a hike or something. She didn’t even say anything.”

Dr. Ramirez nodded grimly. “We’ve started IV clindamycin in addition to the vancomycin and cefepime to cover for potential necrotizing pathogens. We’ve also called in the surgical team. They’ll likely need to perform an urgent debridement to remove any dead tissue and control the infection.”

Chimney let out a shaky breath. “She’s so strong, she didn’t even mention she’d hurt herself.”

Hen’s face was solemn. “She’s a fighter,” she said, voice soft. “But she’s going to need every ounce of that strength now.”

Eddie brushed a trembling hand across your forehead, voice low and fierce. “You hear that, baby? You’ve got a fight on your hands—but… you’re not doing it alone.”

Buck’s jaw clenched, eyes glassy. “We’re not going anywhere.”

Dr. Ramirez’s gaze was steady. “We’re prepping her for surgery now. We’ll take her down as soon as the OR is ready. The earlier we remove the infected tissue, the better her chances.”

Bobby placed a comforting hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “We’ll be here, okay? Every step of the way.”

Hours blurred as the team cycled through rounds/ checking monitors, drawing labs, hanging new antibiotics. Hen explained every beep and every test to Maddie and Buck, translating the jargon with calm precision.

“CRP’s dropping,” she murmured after one blood draw. “That means her body’s responding to treatment.”

Eddie nodded, grateful for any sign of improvement.

Chimney checked her Foley catheter, frowning at the urine output. “It’s picking up, but I’d like to see more,” he muttered. “She’s still on norepinephrine, but at least she’s holding steady at 90/60.”

Maddie hovered at the bedside, clutching a small bag of essentials: a change of clothes, a hairbrush, a sweater she’d stolen from your closet. “I’m staying,” she declared, eyes determined. “I’m not leaving until she’s awake.”

Buck cracked a small smile, even though his eyes were wet. “She’d kill me if I let you leave.”

Dr. Ramirez returned with the surgical team. “We’re ready to take her down,” she announced. “We’ll update you as soon as she’s out of the OR.”

Eddie pressed a kiss to your forehead. “You fight, baby,” he whispered, voice trembling. “I’ll be right here.”

[itswisp]

for the kiss meme: 32 and simpatico

(as for the scenario, maybe Brainstorm purposefully trapped himself in a dream because he's sad and depressed over something lol, and some of the crew has to invade his dreamscape to try wake him up)

Kiss prompt #32 "to wake up" from this post -> Send me a Ship and a Number and I will Write a Kiss!

Perceptor hadn't been too thrilled about the idea of entering Brainstorm's mind, but now that he was here, he had to admit that he was … impressed. And that didn't happen often.

When thinking about Brainstorm, the first thing that comes to mind is chaos. Then fire. Explosions. But this? This isn't at all what Perceptor expected to find when entering his dream space.

When he'd allowed Chromedome to hook himself to the other – more unstable and unpredictable, if he might add – scientist's consciousness, he hadn't expected to find himself in a quaint little university. He hadn't expected Brainstorm's dream world to be this quiet. But that's exactly how it is. Silent … and empty.

Preceptor wanders from room to room and hall to hall; head turning this way and that while he keeps his optics primed and sharp as not to miss the slightest clue that could lead to finding Brainstorm as quickly as possible.

There was no telling which surprises might be waiting in his mind, no matter how calm and safe it seemed for now.

He doesn't know how long he's been wandering through Brainstorm's dream university and is almost considering giving up and returning to his own head when he hears a noise. It's faint and muffled but the only sign of Brainstorm he's found since entering his dream and can't be dismissed.

So, he guides his steps towards the source of the noise; passes a few more empty rooms as he marches down the long, oddly gloomy hallway until he reaches yet another door. He opens it without hesitation and …

… there he is.

Sitting in the very back of the room is Brainstorm; one arm propped onto the table and his chin resting in his palm while his eyes are glued to a point in the front. His facial mask is gone.

Frowning, Perceptor turns and follows his optics and … oh. They are not alone, someone else is there. Pale and slender and familiar.

With his back turned to both of them, Quark works on a complicated equation; adding formulas and changing – or even erasing – them the longer he stares at the numbers and letters written on the whiteboard.

He is not real, of course. Quark is long gone, but that doesn't mean that he is forgotten.

Perceptor hesitates for a moment; unsure if it would be rude to simply interrupt this quiet, private moment Brainstorm has created for himself. But then he remembers why he's here and steps inside.

Careful and slow, he makes his way to the back of the room and takes a seat next to Brainstorm. For a moment or two, it seems like he doesn't even notice that he has company, but then Brainstorm sighs.

“He was the brightest mind I've ever known”, he says with a little flutter of his wings, and despite himself, Perceptor can't fight the small scowl pulling on his lip plates.

He jolts when Brainstorm suddenly turns and looks at him; a smile on his face but his eyes dull and distant. Sad. “Current company excluded, of course”, he says and somehow those words make Perceptor's spark pulse a little faster.

Brainstorm's eyes don't linger. They return to Quark's back and for a long while, they both are silent.

Perceptor studies him. Observes his posture and body language and picks up on the slight tremor in his EMF. “He truly meant a lot to you”, he comments and that sad smile returns to Brainstorm's face.

“He meant the world to me”, he admits quietly and Perceptor can feel the truth in his words. It's in the way his eyes soften and his ventilation turns into a slow, steady purr. How his wings flutter every now and then and the way his entire dream world seems to light up and shine with a gentle, warm yellow hue not unlike the color of Quark's optics.

“ … I'm sorry you lost him”, Perceptor says without realizing his vocoder is activating itself.

Brainstorm sighs again, his eyes staying on Quark for another moment before he finally turns back to Perceptor. He is still smiling. “Me too”, he says and then visibly starts to perk up. “But I've made my peace with it, at last. Well, most of it, anyway.”

Rising from his chair, Brainstorm stretches his arms and flicks his wings, and his smile turns into a smirk. It's a familiar expression. One, Perceptor has grown quite fond of, if he was being honest.

Brainstorm looks as if about to say something when he stops and blinks. Perceptor hears a little click, then a few more and sees his optics recycling. “Wait”, Brainstorm says and eyes Preceptor with suspicion. “What are you doing here? I don't remember ...”

Standing up as well, Perceptor rolls his optics and smiles the tiniest bit himself. “I'm here to bring the self proclaimed ship genius back to the world of the living”, he says in a rare display of attempted humor.

Brainstorm's optics grow wide and bright but before he has any time to react or say another thing, Perceptor leans in and places a soft, chaste little kiss on his cheek plates. “It's time to wake up, Brainstorm.”

And the last thing he sees before the dreamscape around him starts to tremble and fall apart is an adorable blush spreading across Brainstorm's entire face.

[edutainer2022]

I'm tinkering again with the idea of the Tracies making the life of Counterterrorism/Special Ops difficult. This bit is probably more pertinent to UNREQUITED. Tempers fly. More context could be found, but is not strictly necessary, in PERSON OF INTEREST TOO and COUP DE GRÂCE. All the thanks to @janetm74 for bearing with me.

DA 18*

"So, given the circumstances, I have to INSIST on protective custody."

*baffled murmur all around*

"With the GDF?! What do you mean?!"

"I mean, MISTER Tracy, that you need to close operations and sit tight, till we catch him."

"ABSOLUTELY NOT!"

"Scott, wait! If the threat is legit..."

"I just spent half an hour briefing you how legit it is, Ms. Kyrano!"

"If the threat is legit we can invoke the lock down of the Tracy Island and take it from there."

"I'm afraid, none of the Tracy properties hold up to my team's security standards."

"EXCUSE ME!"

*indignant murmur all around*

"Well, let's see - your secure venues and systems have been breached and overtaken on multiple occasions by an international crime ring leader Belah Gaat, his know accomplice, wanted for acts of terrorism, the Mechanic, and a Cognitive Transformer Model, aka Eos, which, in turn, had been compromised on at least two recorded occasions. Not exactly a stellar track record of security protocols."

"How do you know about Eos?!"

"Dr. Simpson?"

"The neural network, incorporating elements of an open source code Dr. Tracy left behind on Harvard servers a while ago, has been trained on curated datasets, before escaping containment. The model has been accessing data and training in unsupervised conditions ever since. Last known hosting - Thunderbird Five server."

"Thank you! But I'm still more worried about breaches in perimeter on the Island and Grand Roca ranch."

*blue glare* *jade glare*

"You DO NOT suggest there's a mole in the IR!!!"

"Now, now! I'm sure Captain here makes no such allegations."

"No, Colonel Casey. I'd still rather be safe than sorry."

"Do you stipulate my security protocols are insufficient?"

"Let's see... No extra recon, Ms. Kyrano: how many assault points are in this room?"

"Door, windows, ventilation, possibly the holo drive or carry on devices."

"Very good. But not good enough."

*blue glare* *jade glare*

"Of those present, at least Colonel Casey and myself are carrying firearms."

*gasps*

"Everyone in this room has been extensively vetted!"

"You see, Ms. Kyrano, the problem is you keep thinking like a bodyguard. To protect Mister Tracy, you need to start thinking like an assassin."

"I'm sitting right here!"

"No. You're not. I just shot you point blank."

*toppled chair clanking* *glare off*

"This is ridiculous! I will NOT shut down IR and cower just because there's possibly a psycho from Bereznik on the loose!"

*blue glare down*

"Caramba, Scott! Stop being so obtuse AGAIN and LISTEN! He doesn't want your money, he doesn't want your tech, he doesn't give a damn about your Thunderbirds, he doesn't want to make a statement about your father's legacy! He wants you to suffer and he wants you GONE! And he will get to you, by any means necessary. By ANY means! Do you think he'd care how many brothers he'd have to eliminate first?!"

*glare around*

*heavy breathing*

*hard swallow*

"What do you suggest?"

"Obrigada mãe Maria! For starters, let's get going! Right now I'm the only person I trust with your life."

*jade glare*

"Well, I DON'T!"

"Good, Ms. Kyrano! Now you're really learning something."

----

* highest level of Danger Assessment

[covid-safer-hotties]

My boyfriend traveled to Europe for a work trip. What's the protocol for when he gets back to make sure he didn't pick up COVID? I just assume the CDC website these days says not to worry about it and viruses are made of sunshine and rainbows.

The CDC's recommendations are made of worse than sunshine and rainbows: they're made of okaying a CEO to refuse his workers sick leave for covid in 2021. That shit they say about "not having a fever" is literally based in an old wive's tale about illness in general, as they science says nearly 60% of all covid spread comes from asymptomatic or presympomatic people. Tbh, the HHS, CDC, and NIH didn't need to have RFK and Battacharya put in charge to destroy them, they've been doing it to themselves for years by bowing to corporate desires instead of standing behind evidence-based airborne mitigations to protect the public health... but that's a different rant.

1. He needs to be wearing a quality mask the whole plane trip. The newest LP.1 strain is on the rise in Europe and is more transmissible. (This is one of those things that would have been good to plan for a month ago so you could get sip valves and the like for hydration)

2. Mask mask mask when he gets back. I assume you don't have a molecular home test. Rapid tests are incredibly fallible until people become more symptomatic, so taking a negative RAT as a sign of safety is potentially a route to exposure. Metrix sells a molecular home test with much better results that looks for *any* covid, not just high viral load. Order one now (they also make combo covid/flu tests, but IDK if they've hit the consumer market yet).

3. If you can, cordon off an area to be his quarantine for at least a few days. (Tips on how to do that) If you're using RATs, aim for two a day about 12 hours apart for the first 3-5 days. If you're seeing nothing, and assuming he's been in Europe for a while, you may consider relaxing your home quarantine, especially if you have air filtration and good ventilation in place.

4. If he does test positive, both you and he should continue to mask often, but his masking is most important. Source control is key in preventing spread of covid. Have him open the windows he can and assure there's a negative pressure out so his aresols don't creep into the home (guides in the isolation protocols linked above). Make sure he has his creature comforts (game system, books, movies, etc.) and plenty of tasty snacks and nutritious food. You can use video conferencing tools to have time together, talk during meals, etc. A lot of what you do if and when he gets sick is up to the limitations of your home (idk what size, style, or environmental factors are coming into play: it's easier to quarantine in a 2 story mcmansion than a 2 room apartment.) But he can come out once he's passed a series of rapid tests (3-5 is the rule of thumb to assure no false negatives, which are common) or a home molecular test.