#Lab engineered hybrid

[neonlunatic]

This isn't Runia Canon, but boop.

Will be releasing this boi's Canon Prologue soon. Dw guys. ^^

Tales Of Runia is a wip book series being written by me and Kato,

[hamilton-here]

Hello, I finally found someone who writes about Lewis and it's so hard to find on this app

I can't get this idea out of my head,Lewis married A teacher From a university that is super smart and teaches engineering

It's very difficult to put a profession other than models and singers and actresses, I love when they put the reader's profession as a more normal profession, you know?

Sorry if any words come out wrong, my first language is not English.

Beijos from Brazil🇧🇷

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐹𝑜𝓇𝓂𝓊𝓁𝒶 𝑜𝒻 𝒰𝓈

Authors Note: Hey lovelies! Not to worry, I hope this meets your expections Beijos🙂. I'm still hella unwell but I wanted to post something today since I didn't yesterday. I apologise if it’s bad... Lots of love xx

Summary: The reader is a university engineering lecturer, sharp and respected in her field and married to Lewis Hamilton.

Warnings: none

Taglist: @hannibeeblog @nebulastarr @cosmichughes @piston-cup

MASTERLIST

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

In the sprawling lecture hall of one of London’s most prestigious engineering universities, your name carries a kind of reverence.

Not because of celebrity. Not because of scandal. But because you make thermodynamics feel like poetry.

Officially, you’re the youngest tenured professor in the mechanical engineering department. Unofficially, you’re the one students trust the most - the professor who inspires careers, not just degrees. You bring biscuits during finals week. You stay behind after class for an hour to answer questions you’re not paid to. You make lectures feel like dialogue, your feedback like mentorship, and your presence like safety.

Your classroom runs on curiosity. Respect. The occasional scent of vanilla from your hand cream.

You have that quiet charm - intelligent, warm, a little whimsical. Most days, your hair is tucked into a messy bun or a loose braid that begins to unravel by the afternoon. You wear flowy blouses and trousers with pockets deep enough for chalk and flash drives, and there’s always some hint of white dust clinging to your hands or sleeves by midday.

Students compare you to Miss Honey well if Miss Honey held a PhD in Applied Fluid Dynamics and could dismantle mansplaining with a single raised brow.

The Hamilton surname doesn’t raise many eyebrows. It’s a common name, and besides you don’t seem the type. Your shoes are scuffed from the lab, your canvas bag permanently ink-stained, your watch reliable but worn. There’s no trace of flash, no hint of ostentation. Just you.

You don’t bring up your personal life not out of secrecy, but because it doesn’t seem to belong between lectures and lab reports.

Thursday Morning—Regenerative Braking Systems

Halfway through an electrifying lecture on energy recovery in hybrid drivetrains, a third-year student raises their hand.

“Professor Hamilton,” they ask, hesitant but eager, “are you related to…y’know, the F1 driver?”

A pause. A smile.

“Which one?” you reply, eyes twinkling.

The room erupts into laughter, and just like that, the moment drifts away.

As the lecture ends, students scatter, footsteps echoing down the corridor. You gather your notes, tuck a chalk-dusted flash drive into your pocket and glance at your phone as it vibrates twice on the edge of your desk.

You don’t need to check the name.

Lewis 📩 12:37 PM — Just finished media. Nearly fell asleep on Toto again 😵‍💫

📩 12:39 PM — Miss you already.

Your lips curve in amusement, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

You 📩 12:42 PM — Poor Toto. Miss you too. Teach the tires a lesson today 🖤

Sliding the phone into your coat, you push your glasses up just as Dr. Patel strolls past your door with a coffee in hand.

“You’re always smiling at that phone, huh?” he muses.

You nod, polite but unruffled. “My husband’s traveling. We keep in touch.”

His eyebrows lift just slightly. Most people don’t know you’re married. You’re not exactly secretive. Just private. A polite nod passes between you as he moves on.

Later, as you sit at your desk combing through final proposals with a red pen, Dr. Martin leans casually against your doorway for the third time this month.

“Y/N,” he says, too familiar, “Some of us are heading to that STEM in Schools seminar this weekend. Could be good exposure. You coming?”

Without looking up, you reply, “I’ve committed to judging student prototypes. I try not to overbook weekends.”

“Oh, right. Well…if you change your mind, I’ll save you a seat. Maybe we could catch up about it and I could swing by with coffee, maybe—”

“I’ll be with my husband,” you say, gently but firmly.

A beat. He falters.

“Of course. Well…see you around.”

Only once he’s gone do you let yourself exhale, thoughts already drifting to Lewis.

Not the global icon. Not the record-breaker.

Just your Lewis.

The one who texts you memes of Roscoe mid-snore. The one who brings you tea when your voice is hoarse from lectures. The one who looks at you like the world slows down.

By the time you arrive home the flat is warm with low lamplight and the scent of roasted vanilla. London hums outside, winding down as traffic grows sparse and streetlights flicker gold against puddles from earlier rain.

Inside, a quiet jazz playlist hums in the kitchen. Roscoe lies curled at the end of the couch, belly rising and falling in slow rhythm, paws twitching in some kind of dog-dream race.

You sit with one leg tucked beneath you, red pen in hand, glasses sliding down your nose. You’re deep in grading, thoughts darting between student projects and what scraps might make a decent dinner.

You don’t hear the door.

But you feel him.

That familiar presence. The scent of cologne, travel, and maybe the faintest trace of engine oil. Then arms warm and solid slip around you from behind, and lips press to your temple.

“Hey, brainiac,” Lewis whispers against your skin, voice rough from travel but softened by affection.

You lean back into him. “Hey yourself. You’re home early.”

“Flight landed ahead of schedule,” he murmurs, nuzzling your neck. “Didn’t want to miss your toast dinner.”

You smirk. “I was thinking about it.”

“That’s not dinner. That’s edible depression,” he replies, mock horror in his voice. “Sit tight. I’m cooking.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

So, you do. You stay right there, pen in hand, while he pads into the kitchen with all the gentle confidence of someone who knows his way around a saucepan and your spice rack.

Twenty-five minutes later, you’re seated together at your small kitchen table knees bumping, minestrone soup steaming, wine uncorked but untouched. It’s simple. Perfect.

He tells you about his media day mimicking Toto’s unimpressed face when Lewis nearly fell asleep beside him. You tell him about the student who accidentally set off the fire alarm with a badly rigged capacitor.

He throws his head back in laughter. You reach across the table and squeeze his hand.

“You make everything feel lighter,” you say.

“And you make everything feel like home,” he answers, sincere as ever.

Soon after, in the dim quiet of your bedroom, you lie pressed to his chest with one of his arms looped around your back, his fingertips tracing lazy shapes you can’t quite place.

Roscoe’s soft snores fill the silence like a lullaby.

“No one ever connects us,” Lewis murmurs, low and drowsy. “I think it’s kinda sexy.”

You smile, eyes already heavy with sleep. “You’re not a secret.”

“I know,” he whispers. “But I like being in your quiet world. I like being just your guy.”

You lift your head slightly, brushing your lips against his collarbone.

“You’re not just anything, Lewis.”

He kisses your forehead, arms wrapping around you like a promise.

“You’re the impressive one, Dr. Hamilton.”

“And you,” you murmur, sinking into his warmth, “are hopelessly biased.”

“Madly.”

And the last thing you feel before sleep takes you is his hand tightening ever so slightly around yours like even in his dreams, he’s holding on.

The next morning, sunlight spills into the bedroom in soft, golden ribbons, painting lazy stripes across the sheets. Your alarm buzzes faintly on the nightstand, a quiet, persistent reminder that reality is creeping in.

You groan and reach out from under the duvet, your hand smacking around until it finds the phone and silences the sound. The warmth of the bed is too inviting. The stillness too perfect.

You blink once. Twice. And then you register the steady weight across your waist, the gentle rise and fall of breath behind you, and the soft pressure of lips against your shoulder.

“Lewis,” you murmur, voice raspy and full of sleep. “I have a 9AM.”

“Mmm,” he answers, barely more than a breath against your skin. His face is still pressed into the curve of your neck; his arm curled tighter around your waist. “Don’t go.”

You try to wiggle free, but he only sighs, groaning like the act of keeping you here is a full-time job he’s too dedicated to quit. His leg slides over yours like a lock, pulling you back into him.

“Lewis,” you laugh softly, the sound muffled in the pillow. “Seriously. I have to shower.”

“No, you don’t,” he mumbles, not budging. “You smell perfect. Stay. Cancel class. Let me be the one you teach today.”

You twist slightly, just enough to glance back at him. His eyes are still half-lidded, his curls a tousled mess, his expression smug in that sleepy, endearing way of his.

“You can barely spell ‘viscosity’ before 10AM.”

“I could learn,” he offers, brushing his lips against your cheek. “But I’d probably just stare at your handwriting on the whiteboard and think about how much I miss you.”

You roll your eyes, even as your chest tightens with something tender. You press a quick kiss to the tip of his nose before finally prying yourself from his grip with the kind of determination only coffee and a packed lecture hall can summon.

Ten minutes later, the flat is a scene of controlled chaos. You're sprinting from room to room in a damp towel, muttering under your breath as you dig through your wardrobe for something professional yet forgiving, your wet braid flopping over your shoulder.

In the bedroom, Lewis lounges against the headboard, shirtless and entirely unbothered, Roscoe snuggled up at his feet like they both have nothing but time.

“You’re chaos,” he says, clearly amused as he watches you wrestle with the buttons of your blouse.

“You’re in the way of my shoes,” you shoot back, hopping into one heel and scanning the floor for its match. “Also, remind me to order more oat milk.”

He stands finally, pulling on a hoodie over his sweatpants. “Noted. Breakfast of champions today, I see?” he teases as you toss two cereal bars into your satchel and cap your travel mug.

“I’m a walking health icon,” you mutter.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.” You turn to him, leaning in for a quick goodbye, lips brushing his.

But Lewis doesn’t let it end there.

His hands catch your waist, pulling you in for a firm and effortless kiss before you can fully process it, his mouth finds yours again, deeper this time. The kiss is unhurried but demanding, like he’s trying to make up for the hours you’ll be apart.

You melt for a beat, your fingers curling into his hoodie, your breath catching against his. He tastes like sleep and warmth and something just slightly minty annoyingly perfect, even at 8:30 in the morning.

When you pull back slightly, breathless, he tilts his head and murmurs against your lips, “You sure you don’t want to stay?”

You laugh; forehead pressed to his. “You’re dangerous.”

“You love it,” he says smugly.

You manage to escape with one final kiss and a quiet, “Lock up after you take Roscoe, yeah?”

“Yes, Professor,” he replies with a grin, giving you a cheeky salute.

You catch Roscoe wagging his tail at the sound of your voice and nearly double back just to hug them both again.

By the time you reach campus, the clouds have thinned to a hazy blue, and London’s rhythm hums in the background of honking cars, soft chatter, the rush of students moving between buildings. Your braid drips occasionally onto your shoulder, but there’s no time to worry.

Inside the lecture hall, your first years are already gathering some still yawning, others furiously typing notes from a pre-lecture scramble. The air smells like espresso, pens, and worn paper.

“Morning, Dr. H!” someone calls from the back row, a little too cheerfully for 8:55 AM.

“Morning,” you reply, setting your laptop on the desk and plugging in the HDMI cable. “Let’s dive straight in before your caffeine runs out and someone tries to convince me that DRS is unfair again.”

A few of them groan. One girl clutches her iced coffee like it’s her entire reason for existing. You smile fond, but unrelenting.

“Hey, I’m running on four hours of sleep and granola bars. You don’t see me whining.”

Someone near the front chuckles. “Yeah, but you probably had a good reason. Like solving equations. Or I don’t know maybe you’re related to a hot F1 husband?”

You pause for just half a second. Smooth your blouse like it’s a reset button. “Today’s lecture,” you say coolly, “is on the thermodynamics of hybrid power units. If you’re lucky, I’ll let you rant about Red Bull at the end.”

They settle in quickly. The projector lights up. Your fingers move across the remote as you guide them through slides that are complex, but clear.

You pace gently in front of the room, weaving between rows, voice steady.

“Let’s start with the basics MGU-K. Think of it like a tiny, obsessed goblin living in the car. Every time you slow down, it panics. ‘No! Not wasted energy!’ So, it scoops it up, stores it, and tosses it back at you when you accelerate.”

Laughter trickles in, but more importantly, heads nod. They’re listening. Engaged.

You walk to the board and draw a quick diagram, your handwriting looping elegantly across the white surface. You see their eyes follow you some scribbling notes, others watching intently.

When a girl in the front raises her hand and asks about energy scaling in relation to battery mass, you light up not just because she’s asking a smart question, but because she wants to understand.

“Great question,” you say, walking toward her. “Let’s think about the cost-benefit curve here. What happens when we increase battery mass?”

Hands start to rise. One boy talks about kinetic output: another mentions heat loss. You gently correct a misunderstanding, but never once make them feel small. That’s never been your style. You build confidence like it’s a second language patient, structured and subtle.

The conversation evolves. A few students even start debating hybrid regulation loopholes like it’s a sport. And you?

You thrive in it. Not just the content, but the fire in their eyes. You live for the moment they get it.

When the lecture ends, most students scatter off to their next class, but as always, a few linger. A girl asks about internships. You promise to email a contact. Another asks if you’d mind giving feedback on a research proposal. You nod, writing your office hours on the back of a sticky note.

One boy stays longer than the rest, shifting his weight nervously as he clutches a notebook to his chest. He’s quiet, always has been.

You offer him a gentle smile. “Need something?”

“I um. I just wanted to say thank you. I didn’t think I’d like engineering. I was going to switch majors. But…you make it make sense.”

The honesty of it hits you square in the chest.

You blink, touched. “Thank you,” you say quietly, sincerely. “That means a lot to hear.”

He nods, shyly, and hurries out, the notebook still clutched like a lifeline.

You lean back against your desk, exhaling as the silence settles around you. It’s quiet now just the soft hum of the building, a high window cracked open to let in fresh air, the faint thrum of the city far below.

You glance at the clock. Fifteen minutes until your next lecture.

Plenty of time to check your phone.

Lewis 📩 10:23 AM: Roscoe and I both miss you. Send equations to distract us. 📩 10:25 AM: …Or a selfie. That works too 😌

You shake your head, smiling down at the screen, warmth spreading across your chest.

You 📩 10:27 AM: You first. 📩 10:28 AM: Make it cute. You’re distracting a professor at work.

You tuck your phone back into your bag, still smiling as you gather your notes and start setting up for your second class.

They don’t know it, your students. Not fully.

But here surrounded by questions and wonder and learning, you are wholly yourself.

And when the day ends, when your voice is hoarse and your whiteboard filled with diagrams and ideas, you’ll go home to someone who sees that version of you and kisses her breathless at the door.

You belong in both places.

And today, they’re both waiting.

The next day.

The scent of warm cookies wafts through the lecture hall, mingling with the usual cocktail of espresso, highlighters, and the faint hum of overworked laptop fans. You carefully set a large Tupperware container on the desk with a proud little smile, snapping off the lid like a magician unveiling her trick. Your students immediately perk up.

“You baked for us?” one of them gasps, as if you’ve just offered them salvation in the form of chocolate chips.

You tilt your head with mock solemnity. “I baked for me,” you say, tapping the edge of the container. “But I’m feeling generous. Thermodynamic modelling deserves a little sugar on the side.”

They erupt into grateful chaos, like puppies let off-leash. Hands shoot out, voices overlap with "thank you, Dr. H!" and "you're actually the best." You wave them off with a dismissive but affectionate shake of your head, already grabbing the remote as the last slide flickers to life behind you.

You resume pacing gently at the front of the room, cookie-crumbling fingers typing notes and shoving pieces into mouths.

“Okay,” you say, brushing invisible crumbs from your blazer. “Before I let you escape in a cookie coma, here’s your homework task for next week: pick any component of the hybrid system that isn’t the MGU-K because I know half of you were already halfway through a paragraph about regenerative braking. One-page minimum, diagrams encouraged. You can—”

The door at the side of the lecture hall creaks open.

You glance up mid-sentence, expecting maybe a late student or a confused TA.

But no.

Oh no.

Standing there leaning casually against the doorframe like this is a rom-com and he’s here to ruin your academic credibility is Lewis. Dressed down in a black hoodie and grey joggers, curls messy under a cap, a brown paper lunch bag in one hand, his phone in the other. Roscoe sits just behind him, tail thumping happily against the floor.

You forget how to breathe.

He raises the bag with an innocent shrug. “You left this,” he says. “Didn’t want you to starve during your lecture marathon.”

Time freezes.

You’re frozen. Your students are frozen. Roscoe may be the only creature in the room still blinking.

Because Lewis Hamilton - the Lewis Hamilton just walked into an engineering lecture hall like he’s dropping off forgotten gym clothes.

One student blinks dramatically and whispers, “Wait I thought it was just a coincidence her last name is Hamilton.”

“No way. No way that’s her actual husband,” another mutters, slowly lowering their cookie like it’s sacrilegious to eat during this moment.

You blink back into reality, your mouth parting slightly. You hadn’t checked your phone since the last class. You had absolutely no idea he was coming. And now he’s here, just existing. In your lecture.

He grins, fully aware of the small academic earthquake he’s just triggered. “Sorry,” he offers casually, scanning the rows of stunned students. “Didn’t mean to interrupt. Hi.”

Your throat catches. “That’s my husband,” you say, finally, like it’s the most bewildered confession of your life.

And with that, the room explodes.

“WHAT?!”

“DR. HAMILTON!!”

“YOU’RE MARRIED TO LEWIS HAMILTON?!”

“NO. FREAKING. WAY.”

You drag a hand down your face, trying not to laugh. “Okay, okay. Please. Focus. Breathe.”

It’s a lost cause. One girl has both hands clasped over her heart. Another is already whispering furiously to a friend, undoubtedly calculating how long you’ve been married, checking Instagram for clues. Someone very confidently says, “This is giving ‘hot professor with secret F1 husband’ energy. I knew it.”

Lewis strolls over like this is perfectly normal, Roscoe trotting behind and sitting politely next to your desk as if he, too, has tenure. He places the paper bag next to your laptop, then leans in and presses a soft kiss to your cheek fully cementing your status as married to a legend.

“I’m still not convinced you didn’t plan this,” you mutter, cheeks burning.

He grins. “Just being a supportive husband. Delivering lunch. Kissing professors.”

A student near the front raises a hand. “Can he teach next week?”

Another chimes in, “Wait, can we all get lunch delivered by world champions if we forget ours?”

Someone else blurts, “Okay, but like you’re beautiful and you bake? And married Lewis Hamilton? Dr. H, respectfully, how is that fair?”

You sigh dramatically. “We’re moving on.”

Lewis holds up a hand, eyes glinting with mischief. “Wait, wait. Sorry, just a quick poll.”

You already know you’re going to hate this.

He turns to the students. “Be honest, who actually wants this homework assignment?”

Groans. Boos. Even Roscoe lets out a small yawn for effect.

Lewis grins, turns to you with wide, innocent eyes. “Babe. They’re suffering. Surely you can’t do this to them?”

You shoot him the look. The look that says don’t test me in my own lecture hall, Hamilton.

A tense silence. The class holds its breath.

Then, with the world's most resigned sigh, you mutter, “Fine. You get an extension.”

The crowd goes wild.

Cheers. Whoops. Someone slaps the desk like it’s a drum set. You swear one girl actually starts chanting “Lewis! Lewis!” and Roscoe barks in perfect rhythm.

Lewis gives you a smug little smile. “You’re the best, Professor.”

“You’re banned from this building,” you reply flatly, even as you smile like an idiot.

He kisses your cheek again, showoff - then turns to leave with a casual, “See you at home. Roscoe says thanks for the cookie.”

You glance down and realise he’s already stolen one from the Tupperware.

“Hey!” you call after him, but he’s already backing out the door, hoodie up, dog trotting loyally behind him. “No more freebies!”

“Too late!” he calls over his shoulder. “Star pupils deserve snacks!”

The door swings shut with a soft click.

Silence.

Then your most dramatic student raises her hand and says, voice reverent and absolutely deadpan, “Dr. H…respectfully your life is literally my dream.”

You turn slowly, face in your hands. “I’m giving you all extra readings just for that.”

More laughter. You pretend to scowl, even as your heart is absolutely full.

Cookies, equations, a classroom full of chaos, and your ridiculously charming husband making a surprise cameo.

Just another Thursday.

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

One Week Later…

You should’ve known something was up.

The department secretary had waved at you that morning with the kind of grin usually reserved for lottery winners or people who were about to witness some good, old-fashioned chaos. Then there were the students. Whispering. Glancing at the door too often. Snickering every time, you walked past.

And yet, like the dangerously overworked academic you were, you chalked it up to mid-semester burnout and ignored it. You had cookies. You had lecture notes. You had a paper-cut from opening a box of lab manuals. Things were normal.

Or so you thought.

The lecture hall buzzes as usual. A few late arrivals shuffle in, tripping over backpacks. The usual suspects sit in their usual seats. You boot up the projector, sipping from your coffee like the last line of defence between sanity and another midterm season.

There’s a light laugh when you remind them that their ERS system analysis assignment is due next week an extension, you emphasise, that was entirely the fault of your husband, not your mercy. Lewis had interrupted your last lecture with a lunch delivery and a face so charming it derailed the entire session.

“I expect detailed breakdowns,” you warn, pacing across the front of the room with your clicker in hand. “And no one is allowed to pick the MGU-K just because it’s easier to pronounce. Challenge yourselves.”

A few groans. Some muttered curses. You smirk.

You’re halfway through drawing a block diagram of the hybrid power unit when—

The door creaks open.

You pause.

Every head turns.

There he is.

Lewis Hamilton. In a tailored navy blazer, black shirt underneath, sleeves rolled just enough to show a glint of tattoos and that braided bracelet you gave him for your anniversary. And next to him?

Roscoe. Wearing a little service vest. Tail wagging like it’s his lecture now.

You drop your whiteboard marker.

It hits the floor with a dull clack.

The room goes dead silent.

One student whispers, horrified: “He brought the dog again.”

Lewis lifts a takeaway coffee cup in a peace offering. “Am I late?” he asks innocently. “You said you were covering hybrid systems.”

You stare at him.

He grins - that grin, the one with the dimple and the sparkle that always, always spells trouble.

“I thought you were kidding,” you say slowly, eyes narrowed, “when you said, ‘What if I came in and taught your lecture next time.’”

“I lied,” he says cheerfully, walking down the tiered stairs like it’s a red carpet. Roscoe trots beside him like he’s done this a hundred times.

“I hate you,” you mutter under your breath.

Lewis reaches the bottom, kisses your cheek in front of sixty gasping students, and sets the coffee next to your laptop. “She says that when she’s flustered,” he tells them like it’s a private joke. “I brought visual aids.”

From his pocket, he pulls out a folded sheet of notes and a pen. Someone in the back audibly chokes.

“Do you want the HDMI cable, Mr. Hamilton?” one student shouts gleefully.

“Absolutely not,” you say, glaring at Lewis. “This is my classroom.”

“She makes me flashcards,” Lewis tells them, completely undeterred. “She even colour-codes them.”

“Against my will!” you shout, scandalised.

“Best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he replies, completely sincere.

You stare at your husband, unsure whether to throw him out or throw him a gold star. Your class is already spiralling.

“Okay,” you say, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Fine. Guest lecture rules. Be nice, ask questions. And if he gets anything wrong, I swear to God, do not put it on TikTok.”

“I’m right here,” Lewis says, pretending to be offended.

“You’re everywhere and that’s the problem.”

Ten Minutes In…

Honestly? He’s good.

Too good.

He talks about real-time feedback in the car, how the MGU-H lag feels at high-speed straights, how data on throttle mapping can change race strategy in seconds. He references your lecture slides like he memorised them. (He did. You caught him last night reading your notes while Roscoe snored on his lap.)

And when he says, “Of course, I get to test all of this first-hand but none of it makes sense without her. She’s the brains behind my speed,”

You bury your face in your hands as the students absolutely combust.

“Oh my GOD,” someone says breathlessly. “They’re in love and also engineers??”

“Do they do equations together? Is that a thing?”

“I’m gonna cry. This is like academic royalty.”

You glare at Lewis, who only shrugs, basking in their adoration. “Don’t look at me like that,” he says with a smug smile. “You married this.”

After Class…

They swarm him.

Not about racing. About you.

“Is it true she organises the bookshelf by journal impact factor?”

“Do you really own matching safety goggles?”

“Did she really correct your spelling on the whiteboard that one time on Sky Sports?”

Lewis answers everything. Roscoe gets more head scratches than the last three therapy dogs combined. One girl even kneels down to whisper, “You’re the real star, aren’t you?” to him, like it’s sacred knowledge.

Eventually, the crowd clears, leaving behind crumpled paper, laughter and one sticky note on your desk:

Best. Lecture. Ever. Please bring your husband again. Or at least the dog.

The door clicks shut. You exhale dramatically and toss your notes onto the desk.

Lewis is already spinning lazily in your chair like a smug cat. Roscoe curls up by the door like he owns tenure.

“Well?” Lewis asks, eyes twinkling. “How’d I do?”

“You ambushed me,” you deadpan.

“You loved it.”

You narrow your eyes. “You interrupted my lecture, wore my oversized blazer—”

“It’s mine now.”

“—and then made my students love you more than cookies.”

“That’s unfair. Cookies are unbeatable.”

You sigh, walking toward him. Without hesitation, you drop into his lap, knees bracketing his hips. His hands find your waist immediately, like they always do.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” you mutter, brushing his hair back gently.

“I’m devastatingly cute,” he whispers.

You kiss him just a quick press of lips that tastes like coffee and warmth and annoyance you don’t really feel.

“Next time,” you murmur, “I’m crashing your press conference.”

He grins. “That’d go viral in five minutes.”

“Exactly.”

“And what will you bring?”

You smirk. “Cookies. Flashcards. A live demonstration of your inability to remember acronyms.”

He laughs into your shoulder, pulling you closer. “Deal. But if you show up in that little lab coat again…”

“You’ll forget your lines?”

“I’ll forget my name.”

You roll your eyes, resting your forehead against his. “God, you’re insufferable.”

“Good thing you married me.”

Later that evening.

The house smells like basil and garlic when you step inside not the distant kind from a candle, but the real, lived-in kind. The kind that wraps around you like a hug and makes your shoulders drop before your brain catches up. Your tote hits the floor with a tired thump, coat following in a heap. You toe off your shoes, already half grumbling to yourself.

You’d had full intentions of coming home and sulking on the couch maybe watching trash TV, definitely drinking tea, ideally being spoon-fed sympathy.

You didn’t expect candlelight and a half-set table.

“You’re joking,” you mumble under your breath.

“Hey, baby,” Lewis calls out from the kitchen, and he says it like he didn’t walk into your university classroom like it was his stage this afternoon. Like he didn’t completely upend your very controlled, very professional day by turning your lecture hall into an impromptu press room.

You step toward the kitchen and pause in the doorway.

He’s barefoot, sleeves rolled up, curls soft around his face. Holding two plates of what looks like homemade pasta as if he’s the romantic lead in a movie and you’re just catching the third act.

“You cooked or did you order food to make it seem like you did?” you ask, arching a brow. “After hijacking my class?”

Lewis doesn’t even flinch. He just grins, that dimple-deep smile full of shameless charm. “Seemed like the least I could do.”

You narrow your eyes, stepping closer, hands on your hips. “You mean after showing up uninvited, pretending to be a guest lecturer, and making all my students fall in love with you and Roscoe again?”

“Hey, I was invited,” he says, cool as ever, tapping a spoon against the edge of the pot. “You told me I could crash sometime.”

“‘Sometime’ did not mean today, Lewis.”

He shrugs. “You didn’t hate it.”

You open your mouth to retort, hesitate, then close it again with a sigh. “…You were kind of brilliant.”

He smirks, cocky as ever. “Knew you’d come around.”

With a small kiss, he brushes past you to set the plates on the table, casually turning on the soft jazz that now fills the background like a movie score. And you despite yourself, despite everything let it happen. You settle at the table, your foot brushing against Roscoe’s warm, sleepy body as he curls beneath your chair.

Dinner’s perfect. Of course it is. He’s irritatingly good at everything - cooking, teaching, loving you without trying.

You twirl a bite of pasta, shaking your head. “They’re never going to stop talking about it. Pretty sure one kid asked if we could adopt him.”

Lewis coughs into his water. “Wait, seriously?”

“Dead serious. Another asked if you’d guest lecture for the rest of term.”

He grins, chin in his palm, like he’s never been more pleased. “Would you let me?”

You shoot him a look. “Absolutely not.”

“Even if I brought more coffee?”

“…Tempting. Still no.”

“What if I let Roscoe sit in the front row and you pretended not to know him until the end of the semester?”

“Lewis.”

He laughs, eyes softening as he reaches across the table and laces his fingers with yours. “Okay, okay. I’ll behave. Promise.”

You arch a brow. “You’ve literally never behaved.”

“Fair,” he murmurs, leaning in.

The warmth between you simmers something steady and golden in the candlelight, something that smells like tomato sauce and affection and home.

“Hey,” he says after a pause. “You were amazing today.”

You scoff, poking at a tomato with your fork. “I was flustered. I dropped a marker.”

“You were funny. Sharp. Confident. That classroom didn’t know what hit ‘em.”

You smile behind another bite of pasta, cheeks warm. “You’re biased.”

“I’m obsessed,” he corrects softly, “That’s different.”

You pretend your heart doesn’t stumble at the word. You pretend he didn’t just say it like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He sees right through it, of course. Leaning in, nose brushing yours, voice a whisper.

“Next time,” you murmur, “Just remember this, crashing your job.”

He tilts his head, amused. “Oh?”

“Press conference. Full audience. Me and a laser pointer.”

Lewis hums low in his throat, all teasing. “Bring the cookies. I’ll make room on the podium.”

You kiss him before he can say anything else - a soft, slow press of lips that says thank you and I hate how much I love you and maybe you were right to crash my class. Roscoe lets out a long sigh beneath the table, like even he knows this is overdue.

When Lewis pulls back, he’s grinning. “So, was today your best lecture ever?”

You squint. “It was alright.”

“‘Alright’? Babe.”

“Well,” you say, gently brushing a dab of sauce from the corner of his mouth with your thumb, “the guest speaker was decent.”

He laughs again full-bodied, delighted and pulls you gently into his lap like it’s routine. Like this is how every dinner ends.

And maybe it is.

After dinner, you groan and start to collect your things. “Okay. I really need to get through these submissions. If I leave them until morning—”

“Nope,” Lewis interrupts, standing up and stretching like a smug cat. “Denied.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” He leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching you like you’re a challenge and a gift wrapped in one. “What if I offered a counterproposal?”

You shoot him a look. “What kind of counterproposal?”

He steps forward, slowly. “You. Me. Cozy bed. Cuddles. Optional foot massage.”

“I have three student emails to answer and—”

Without warning, he ducks down and scoops you into his arms, bridal style, lifting you like you weigh nothing at all.

“Lewis!”

“Shh,” he says dramatically. “You’ve been kidnapped. For your own good.”

You smack his chest, laughing, legs kicking in protest. “Put me down!”

“Never. You work too hard and sleep too little.”

You huff. “You don’t even know my schedule.”

He leans in and kisses your nose. “Baby, I’ve memorised your calendar.”

You roll your eyes but let him carry you up the stairs, arms looping around his neck. He kicks open the bedroom door and sets you gently on the mattress like you’re something precious.

(You are.) ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

Three Days Later

You're mid-coffee, half-dressed and muttering about a broken printer when Lewis walks in with his phone and a huge grin.

“Hey, babe?”

“Don’t ‘hey babe’ me unless you’ve fixed the—”

“I got fan mail.”

You frown. “What?”

He turns the screen toward you.

Subject: Quick Follow-Up to the Lecture!! (Also Tell Roscoe I Love Him)

From: [malik]@university.edu

To: lewishamilton@something.com

Hi Mr. Hamilton!!! Just wanted to say thanks again for speaking in class last week!

1. Could you recommend any beginner-level telemetry books?

2. What kind of treats does Roscoe like? I’m trying to win over a bulldog.

3. Do you have your own podcast or something?? Because we NEED it.

PS: Please tell your wife she’s really cool. But like you’re cooler 😅

You read it. Once. Twice.

Then you let out an actual scream.

Lewis is already laughing.

“They emailed YOU?”

He shrugs. “I told them they could if they had follow-ups!”

“They are my students!”

“I’m just answering as a supportive co-educator.”

“Supportive co-educator?!” You’re nearly shrieking now. “They’re asking YOU about telemetry and calling you cooler than me—”

“I mean, babe,” he says with a shrug and a wink, “they’re not wrong.”

You throw a pillow at him. Roscoe, entirely unbothered, lets out a snore on the couch.

His inbox pings.

Another email.

You glance at your phone.

Subject: Mr. Hamilton pls do a guest series? Weekly?? We’ll bring snacks

You scream again.

Lewis disappears upstairs, cackling, phone in hand.

You’re going to have to start docking his appearances from your syllabus.

Or file for divorce.

(Probably both.)

But later when you're curled up in bed, grading beside him, and Roscoe is snoring between your legs you’ll admit, very quietly, that it was kind of nice.

Even if your students love your husband more than they love you. ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

The last week of term arrives like a freight train and you’re standing directly in its path with no intention of moving.

Final projects are flying in like shrapnel, some pristine, others barely held together with duct tape and desperation. Resits are stacked like Jenga towers, threatening to collapse at the slightest nudge. Office hours have morphed into emotional triage sessions. You’ve hugged two students, cried with one, and given another a five-minute pep talk in the hallway that somehow spiralled into a debate about philosophy and the thermodynamics of burnout.

The printers on campus have declared war three of them jamming, beeping, or outright lying about being “out of paper.” You’re running on sour worms, vending machine coffee, and a four-hour Spotify loop labeled “Academic Combat Mode.”

Your desk is a battlefield. Loose pages drift across the surface like surrender flags. Coffee rings mark the passage of time. There’s a half-eaten protein bar lodged beneath your grading rubric and sticky notes that simply read: BREATHE and DO NOT CRY HERE AGAIN.

Your students are running on caffeine, chaos, and increasingly deranged group chat memes.

You?

You’re running on spite, love, and the memory of Lewis wrapping his arms around you last night, his breath warm against your neck, whispering, “They’ll do great. You’re the reason they even believe they can.”

You didn’t believe him.

But then…

They do.

They pass.

Every single one.

You double-check the spreadsheet. Then again. Then stare at the results like they’ve betrayed physics.

A few just scraped through barely crossing the threshold with the kind of messy brilliance that makes your heart ache.

A few soared sharp, elegant, precise.

But all of them made it. All of them.

You sit back in your chair, stunned. Your eyes burn. Your throat clenches. And then you laugh a loud, trembling, relief-soaked laugh that turns into hiccuping sobs halfway through.

You don’t even hear the front door until Lewis appears in the doorway, already out of his post-training gear, curls damp, wearing that hoodie you always steal.

“Hey…” His voice is careful, low. “What’s wrong?”

You spin in your chair, blinking back tears with zero success. “They passed.”

He frowns. “Wait who?”

“My students. All of them. All of them, Lewis.”

He crosses the room in three steps, crouching beside you, his hand firm and warm on your knee. “Are you serious?”

You nod, laughing through your tears. “I double-checked everything. Even the ones who were struggling they pushed through.”

Lewis stares at you like you just won Monaco in a go-kart. He doesn’t say anything for a long second just brushes a knuckle down your cheek. “You did that.”

“They did that.”

“But they had you.”

You don’t know how to explain what’s lodged in your throat the combination of exhaustion, joy, and the deep, giddy sense of oh my god, I actually made a difference.

So instead, you collapse into him and let yourself feel it.

That night, curled up together on the couch, you send off the final marks, pour yourself a victory glass of wine, and open a new email thread.

Subject: SURPRISE ENGINEERING TRIP – Permission Forms + NDAs

Lewis glances over at you when your typing hits a rapid-fire rhythm.

“You look suspiciously productive,” he says, rubbing at his shoulder.

You grin. “Everyone passed. So I’m rewarding them.”

He raises an eyebrow. “With…?”

You spin the laptop toward him. The email subject stares back in bold.

He stares at it. Then at you. “You’re bringing them where?”

“To see real engineering,” you say, practically glowing. “To show them that everything they just learned doesn’t live in a textbook. It lives here. In this.”

He lets out a low whistle. “You want to show me off?”

You roll your eyes. “I want to show them what you do. And what’s possible. I want them to feel it.”

He leans down and kisses your forehead. “You’re incredible.”

You nudge his side. “Start prepping that smoothie-blender metaphor.” ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

The Surprise Day – Trackside

The sun is just beginning to rise when you meet your students outside the paddock gate, all of them wearing bright university lanyards and the exact expression of people who thought they were going on a boring lab excursion.

They’re fidgeting. Whispering. Clutching clipboards and wondering why there are security checkpoints.

“This is kind of a lot for a factory tour,” someone murmurs.

“Are we even allowed to be here?” another whispers.

You beam. “You’re allowed. Just don’t touch anything with a red sticker.”

Then the gates open and the world as they know it tilts.

The paddock is alive.

Team haulers gleam like spacecraft. Engineers rush past with headsets and carts full of parts. Mechanics joke over laptops displaying real-time data.

The students freeze.

Then, slowly, they realise where they are.

This isn’t a museum.

This is the frontline.

And then Lewis walks into the garage.

He’s mid-discussion with a race engineer, sleeves of his race suit knotted around his waist, fireproof top clinging to his chest, curls still damp. His smile drops the moment he sees the crowd of wide-eyed students.

He stops in his tracks.

Then looks at you.

You wave cheerfully.

“Professor,” a student breathes, clutching your arm. “Thats him. That’s Lewis Hamilton your husband.”

You nod. “Yes. That’s my husband. Welcome to practical applications of everything you’ve ever cried over.”

Lewis walks over slowly, a baffled look on his face. “You said ten.”

You shrug. “Ten-ish.”

He counts. “There are thirty-five.”

“Plus, me.”

He leans close, barely containing his laughter. “You ambushed me with an engineering cult.”

“They’re future legends. Consider it networking.”

He exhales sharply, eyes flicking over their faces. “You’re serious.”

“Deadly.”

He grins. Then turns to the students. “Alright, class. Let’s talk aerodynamics and heartbreak.”

First up was the garage tour -

The moment he starts speaking, it’s over.

Your students descend on him with the fervour of people who’ve spent their lives dreaming of this exact moment.

“Mr. Hamilton, how do you factor side wind into the suspension load distribution?”

“Can we see the CFD simulations?”

“What’s your real opinion on porpoising?”

“Can you feel the difference when they shave two millimetres off the floor edge?”

Lewis takes it in stride answering every question with patience, humour, and the kind of depth that leaves half your students scribbling frantically and the other half open-mouthed in awe.

He pulls up data on a nearby monitor. Demonstrates how telemetry reflects energy recovery curves. Explains corner balancing with an analogy about dancing in wet shoes.

They are eating. it. up.

One student nearly cries when he explains the front wing adjustments in Barcelona last year.

Another practically proposes when he walks them through his feedback loop with his race engineer.

At one point, someone leans over to you, breathless. “I didn’t know real engineering could be this…cool.”

You grin, heart fit to burst.

Later.

Eventually, the group begins to disperse still buzzing, still asking questions. Some exchange social handles. Others ask for internship tips.

One of your quietest students lingers back. Malik. They walk over, hesitant, still absorbing everything.

“I just wanted to say thank you,” they murmur. “I’ve never…I’ve never felt this close to what I want to do before. It always felt like something other people did. People I could never be.”

You squeeze their shoulder. “You can be. You will be. You belong here.”

Their eyes shine. “Because of you.”

And then they’re gone swallowed by the group.

The garage is almost quiet when Lewis walks over and wraps his arms around you from behind. His chin rests on your shoulder, and you melt into him.

“That was insane,” he says softly.

“Good insane?”

He kisses your cheek. “The best kind.”

You lean your head back against his. “You were amazing with them.”

“I think I got asked more technical questions in two hours than I have all year.”

You laugh. “That’s what you get for dating a lecturer.”

“I should’ve known what I was signing up for.”

He spins you gently to face him, eyes still warm. “I meant what I said earlier, you know.”

You arch an eyebrow. “Which part?”

“I’ve never been more in love with you than I am right now.”

You blink, stunned for a second then smile so big it hurts. “Even after I hijacked your garage and brought thirty-five chaotic nerds into your workspace?”

He laughs. “Especially because of that.”

Then Lewis’s phone pings.

A student’s name appears on the screen.

Subject: Follow-up on the CFD airflow demo ���

You groan. “They love you more than me now.”

He leans in, forehead against yours. “You love me enough for all of them.”

You roll your eyes. “Ugh. Cheesy.”

He kisses you again soft, slow and grateful.

And in the space between his breath and yours, you realise:

This is what every hard night was for. Every breakdown. Every fight to make them believe.

This is your love. For them. For him.

For everything you’ve built together. ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

Two Weeks Later.

Your office is a mess again this time not from grading, but from possibility.

Blueprints spill off the desk. There’s a half-eaten croissant sitting atop a textbook on thermal systems, and your whiteboard is covered in equations and mock telemetry graphs. You’ve been working through design exercises with Malik your brightest, most determined student every afternoon since the Mercedes garage visit.

He hasn’t stopped talking about it since.

“I didn’t think someone like me could belong in a place like that,” he told you, voice cracking slightly.

So, you told him the truth: You do. And we’re going to prove it.

When Mercedes posted a summer internship for engineering students limited slots, hundreds of applicants you knew Malik had to apply.

So, he did.

And now you’re waiting.

He’s been pacing outside your office, chewing his hoodie strings and muttering torque ratios under his breath like a prayer. You’ve refreshed your email fifteen times in the last hour. Just in case.

Then your phone vibrated.

Subject: Mercedes-AMG F1 Internship Offer – Malik A.

Your hand flies to your mouth. You don’t breathe. You read it twice, three times.

And then you sprint.

“Malik!” you shout, flinging open the door.

He turns, eyes wild. “Did they—?”

You don’t even say it. Just hold up your phone.

He reads the subject line. Once. And then everything crumbles.

He gasps and covers his mouth, knees buckling slightly as he sits hard on the bench. “Oh my God. Oh my God.”

You crouch in front of him, your hands on his shaking shoulders. “You did it. You earned this.”

His eyes are wide, wet. “You believed in me before I did.”

You laugh, heart thudding in your chest. “And now Mercedes does, too.”

He hugs you tight, breath hitching. “I’ll make you proud.”

“You already have.”

That Night...

You walk in the front door, still glowing, still not quite believing the day you just had.

Lewis looks up from the kitchen, dressed down in a hoodie and sweats, Roscoe curled up nearby.

He takes one look at you and smiles. “You look like you just won a race.”

“Better,” you say, dropping your bag and walking straight into his arms. “Malik got it. He got the internship.”

Lewis pauses. “Wait Malik - Malik? The one who asked about the ERS recovery map and almost cried when I showed him the pit wall software?”

You laugh into his chest. “That’s the one.”

Lewis holds you tighter. “He’s brilliant. That’s incredible.”

“I think I screamed,” you admit. “I definitely startled at least three undergrads in the hallway.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes soft. “You’re changing lives.”

You shake your head. “They’re doing the work. I’m just I don’t know. Holding the door open.”

Lewis smiles not just proud, but awed. “You kicked the door off its hinges.”

You exhale, leaning your forehead against his. “This is why I do it. Not the admin emails. Not the late nights. This. That moment when they see themselves somewhere big and believe it.”

He kisses you, slow and sweet, as if he knows that for all your pride in them he’s proud of you.

[peachiejeongin]

Venom and Velvet - Hyunjin

Synopsis: Snake hybrids were terrifying; the mere thought of them integrating into society sent humans into mass hysteria. You cannot help when one of them captivates your attention, however, leading to an entire reconstruct of your ideology...

Pairing: snake hybrid!Hyunjin x reader

Genre: hybrid!AU, Fluff, Angsty Elements

Warnings: Do not read this if you have ophidiophobia, bullying, mentions of vandalism

Notice: Hello, darlings! I have recently acquired Snake Hybrid Hyunjin brain rot, thus why you are receiving this story today! [Thank you, fluffylino, we all say in unison]. I have not seen many fluffy Snake Hybrid Hyunjin fictions, so I thought I would create one of my own. Enjoy! :)

It was an honest mistake, how they came to exist.

The fateful day at the chemical plant seemed like any other; chemists researched in their labs, engineers repaired certain sectors of the building, and quality assurance workers monitored every aspect of the plant to a tee.

What happened in the later hours of the day is still unknown. Perhaps it was a careless chemist, maybe a freak accident; however, what was factual was the explosion. The plant erupted into a fury of flame and smoke, first stemming from the lab quarter and swiftly engulfing everything in its path. Hundreds of workers lay dead within the remains.

Or so was speculated.

The first signal of many that something was off was the flames; they were not the typical shades of orange, yellow, or red that one would typically catch glimpse of during an explosion.

They were green.

Flaming, emerald green.

'A mix of chemicals,' was the initial speculation, since that was the most reasonable voucher and humans preferred to opt for the easiest explanation rather than delve into the technical science of situations.

However, this explanation proved irrifutably inaccurate as the second signal came into play; the "deceased" workers rose from what was determined to be their gravesite, yet they were not...themselves. It was evident that some sort of radioactive mutation had occured; those who were once thought of as dead sported a new appearance, consisting of cascading, Sacramento green scales prevailing in patches, primarily on the victims' shoulders, collarbones, forearms, and calfs. Fangs protruded from their upper jaws, claws replaced their fingers nails, and both appeared sharp and hungry. Their tongues forked perfectly down the center, and their once neutral-shaded eyes turned a bright yellow shade, their pupils dilating until they were nothing but thin, black slits. From here, the story became clear: necrotoxins and cytotoxins, specifically the kinds commonly found in snake venom, had somehow been involved within the accident and were responsible for this mutation.

This new species wreaked havoc on the town, biting, constricting, and terrifying every human being in sight. It took nearly a full year for the madness to cease; a surviving chemist from the chemical plant created an antidote for the infected individuals, who the town had started referring to as, "Snake Hybrids." The antitode was administered to every Snake Hybrid, whether by choice or by force. While it did not remove the physical side effects, like the scales or fangs, it significantly calmed their tempers, allowing them to fully act like regular members of society once more.

The town council, however, did not want to take anymore chances; as such, the Hybrids were secluded from society and forced to live in a sectioned off, abandoned chamber of the neighborhood. They were forced to adapt to this new way of life, forced to raise their children in a town in which they had to explain why the humans had such a horrid distaste for their kind.

Yet, the newly-elected mayor had an irking to put a stop to these laws. His mind's configuration believed in equality for both humans and Snake Hybrids. Because of this, he slowly but surely began testing the waters, beginning with a new mandate.

"All university age students, whether human or Hybrid, will be allowed to attend whatever university of their choosing, starting this upcoming school year," he declared one Saturday morning during a press conference.

That, my friend, is how you found yourself in the situation you were currently facing.

You were "normal" by society standards; you had excellent grades, you were above average in athletics, and you had a phenomenal social life. You were the golden child of your town. Growing up, you had heard stories about the Snake Hybrids; the adults in your life did not speak fondly of them by any means, and there were a plethora of urban legends surrounding them. You had been raised to fear these creatures.

As were others your age, you had quickly inferred. When the Snake Hybrid students arrived on campus, everyone had fled like the plague. Nobody had dared to go near them; it was not like they cared, however. They stuck together, with the only humans they interacted with being their teachers. An overwhelming terror shrouded the university.

So, why in this moment, did you find yourself fixated rather than fearful?

You could not take your eyes off of the Hybrid sitting across from you. He looked absolutely nothing like the creatures friends and family had depicted in gruesome stories and tales. He looked relatively human for the most part, spare a few scaley sections on his shoulders and collarbones peaking out from underneath his top. His face was chiseled, the yellow of his irises complimenting it fairly well in your opinion. He had shoulder-length curly black hair that framed his face perfectly. From time to time, you would catch a glimpse of his forked tongue peaking out between his teeth when he became focused on an assignment.

He was incredulously, irevokably beautiful.

You were concentrated on the boy all hour, only opting to focus on your assignment whenever his eyes flicked up to meet yours and you nervously glanced away. Before you knew it, class was dismissed; you took a long time gathering your things on purpose, attempting to work up enough courage to talk to him. You did not take long enough, it seems, as you walked out of the classroom feeling slightly dejected. You did not have to make the planned effort, however.

"Take a photo," the boy nearly snarled out in a harsh manner, catching up to you in the hallway. You swiftly whipped your head around to make fierce eye contact with him; his slitted pupils bore an annoyed stare into your round ones.

"I'm sorry?" you inquired quietly, almost timidly. The both of you were now stopped in the middle of the corridor.

"You heard me," he hissed, both literally and in his tone. "A photo will last longer than staring at me. I'm not some spectacle for you to ogle at." Your eyes widened almost instantly, and you made an attempt to explain yourself.

"Oh my gosh, no!" you exclaimed, regret prominent in your voice. "I am so sorry, that is not what it was at all!"

"Yeah?" his tongue was protruding at his cheek, his tone laced with faux sympathy. "Then what was it?" He crossed his arms as he awaited an answer.

That is when you froze. You did not know how exactly to explain to the guy that you were focused on him in class because you found him absolutely stunning. Even if you did tell him, you were sure he would think it was some cruel joke. You stared down at the ground, your heart beating with guilt.

"I'm sorry," was all you managed to mumble out. You could have sworn that when you looked up, you saw his face soften. He rubbed his lips together and tsked slightly as they unfolded.

"Just don't make a habit of it," he replied, the sentence diminishing in volume as he walked away from you.

---

From that moment onwards, you were captivated by him. Everywhere you looked, he was in your line of sight; at lunch, during classes, even walking around on campus. It was like you could not escape him.

Yet, you did not physically come up to nor encounter him until one late night. You and a couple of your close friends were walking back to your dormitories after a brief party; you were not drunk by any means, but you did feel a tad tipsy after the night's events. You had began to space out when your friends began snickering and stopped in the middle of the walkway.

"What's up?" you asked; their response came in the form of more scorning giggles as they pointed upwards. The direction of their fingers landed on a different dormitory building; it was the dorm specifically designated for the male Snake Hybrids to reside in. Specifically, your friends were motioning to one of the middle windows in which a Snake Hybrid seemed to be working out.

You recognized that face anywhere.

"Oh, yeah, snakes," you stumbled over your words as you spoke. "Anyways, let's get back before lights out?" you tugged on one friend's jacket sleeve, encouraging them to get away from the building.

"Wait, oh my gosh, do you still have it?" one of them asked the girl standing next to her, completely disregarding your comments. In response, the girl smirked and took off her backpack; reaching into it, she pulled out a can of black spray paint.

"Snagged this from shop class," she explained to your confused stature.

"What are you doing with that?" you interrogated, having an anxious idea as to how this conversation was going to go.

"You mean what are we doing with it?" you were corrected. "We're going to have a little late night fun, duh." She accentuated her words with a nod towards the dormitory. Your eyes widened in bewilderment.

"You mean vandalize the Hybrid dorm?"

"Obviously," she stated as if it was the most obvious action in the world. "These guys shouldn't even be here. It's only fair we make that known." She outstretched her arm towards you, spray-can in hand. "Want to do the honors?"

You hesitantly took the can, looking down at it in obfuscation. Without thinking, your grasp on it tightened and you threw it into oblivion, specifically into the spanning woods behind the dorm. You were not exactly sure how far it went, but you did know that your "friends" were pissed.

"Y/n, what the hell?!" one of them scowled.

"I'm not doing this," you crossed your arms as you defended your stance. "Sorry, but they have done nothing to us. How is that fair?"

"Because they're-"

"What?" you interrupted your friend's monologue. "They're freaks? Misfits? Imperfect? Because guess what, so are we. Sure, they have scales and fangs and their eyes are a tad scary at times. Other than that, they are no different than we are." Your friends side-eyed one another and then nodded. They walked away from you without saying another word. You turned around to face the direction they were walking in, your mouth agape in pure vexation.

You let out a deep inhalation in the fall air as you glanced up towards the dorm; the sight that greeted your eyes shocked you: he was staring at you, a smile playing at his lips. The two of you locked eyes before he walked away.

He had seen everything.

---

The next morning, your so-called "friends" ignored you like an unwanted phone call from an ex-partner. They purposely sat on the other side of the room from you in your first hour class, whispering no doubt rumors about last night.

'Great. I'm going to be alone for the day,' you had made up your mind on that matter, dropping your head into your hands. It was not for long, though; you instantly felt a tap on your shoulder. You looked up and met the same alluring gaze you had been hyperfixated on for weeks. Your heart skipped a beat as he spoke.

"Can I sit?" he asked genuinely and politely, contrasting the first and only conversation you had ever had with him. If your face did not physically smile, your eyes surely did. You nodded slowly, and he took the open desk beside you. He never turned his head away from you.

"What's your name?" he pondered, finally getting a chance to get a good look at you.

"We've been in class together for weeks, and you don't know it?" you chuckled humorously. "I'm y/n. Your turn." He quirked an eyebrow towards your reply.

"Hyunjin," he held out a scaled hand for you to shake. You smiled slightly, ignoring the heightened whispers from the other side of the room.

"Hey, about last night, because I know you saw me-"

"Why did you stick up for me?" Hyunjin interrupted your ramble before it began. The question had you pause for a moment.

Why did you stick up for him?

Was it because you thought he was attractive? Was it due to your fight against injustice? The miniscule amount of alcohol in your system? What was it?

You could not formulate a proper response to this question; therefore, you shrugged your shoulders.

"I don't know," you spoke earnestly. "It felt right. I don't like seeing anyone being treated wrong." Hyunjin gave a small nod at your words, a sly smile appearing and his fangs protruding.

"Well, thank you," he replied. "Whatever the reason, it meant a lot." You reciprocated the small nod, and for the next hour, you and Hyunjin got a whole bunch of nothing done. You figured out he was an art major, and he smirked at the fact that you were majoring in literature; you pretty much goofed off essentially all class period, making jokes and getting to know each other.

The period ended much too quickly, and you let out a sigh of despair.

"Sit with me at lunch?" Hyunjin asked you optimistically. You nodded, an agreement that, little did you know, would morph your ideology for years to come...

---

You and Hyunjin became inseparable; you spent every waking hour of every day with one another. You sat together in classes, at lunch, and you began spending your free periods with one another. You had quickly concluded that almost everything besides the origin story you had been told about Snake Hybrids was false. The legends about ten foot talk snake creatures, tall tales of them preying at night, and other stories were quickly debunked, some even earning hearty laughs from Hyunjin from how absurd they were.

You were judged harshly by your peers for the time you were spending with him, but you did not mind. As the two of you got to know each other, you grew closer and closer until mutual feelings erupted between the two of you, though neither of you had the guts to confess them in fear of corrupting the fantastic friendship you had just built up. It was an unlikely pairing, a snake and a girl, one being as coarse as venom and the other as soft as velvet.

One fateful day, the two of you had paired up for an art project; you knew Hyunjin's expertise and your fantastic planning skills would get the job done quickly and precisely. Hyunjin had suggested you work on the project at his dorm, so that is exactly where you were headed, catching a couple of off-hand glances as you entered into the building.

You were given access to the building and quickly made your way to Hyunjin's room. You knocked a few times on his door, a plethora of colorful paints in your hand. He opened the door, and the sight that greeted your gaze shocked you: Hyunjin was shirtless, his emerald scales on display, shining under the luminescence of his ceiling light. He took out one earbud and smiled.

"Hey, give me just a minute to set up!" He closed the door gently, leaving you standing there in shock. You knew he was ethereal, but seeing him shirtless was a different tale entirely. You snapped out of your trance when the door reopened; Hyunjin was now in a grey hoodie, matching the color of his sweatpants. He invited you inside his lonesome room, closing the door swiftly behind you.

The next few hours were dedicated to your project; paper was splayed out on every surface with plans sketched on each one, paints of every color were opened and splattered onto a pallette, and those colors subsequently made their way onto the canvas, thanks to Hyunjin's skillfull brushstrokes.

Before you knew it, your project was finished; the prompt you were given was to draw something you thought was beautiful. The point of it all was to contrast every student's differing perspective on the subject. You had opted to paint a sunset, a basic approach but still effective; you had decided, in order to remove the simplicity of it, that would explain in the presentation why the sunset was beautiful. You would go beyond just the mixture of colors and bring in a bit of symbolism as to how the sunset ended the day, thus bringing beauty to a respective finale.

You felt great pride in the progress the both of you had made, and you stared intently at the painting; you were in awe of Hyunjin's talent, how he had made every shade of orange, pink, purple, and red blend together to create an exhilerating portrait. You focused on every intricate detail and how it all came together to make an incredulous scene.

"What are you thinking about, Pretty?" Hyunjin poked your arm with the handle end of the paintbrush; you quickly turned to face him, blushing from the nickname.

"Just how beautiful the painting is. I wish I could look that beautiful." you admitted.

"If you only knew," Hyunjin mumbled in a tone barely above a whisper. You heard what he had said, but you wanted to see if he would repeat it.

"Sorry, what did you say?"

"Um," Hyunjin felt a lump caught in his throat; his forked tongue moved from side to side in his mouth from anxiety as he tried to explain himself. "I said I could make you pretty like the sunset."

"What?" Before you could receive a reply, Hyunjin dipped the brush he was holding into a glob of orange paint and smeared a streak of it across your forehead. The motion made you gasp before you bust out into giggles; Hyunjin's antics did not cease.

"Now we have to get the red. And the pink," he described as his faintly-clawed hands dipped the brush into each respective color and repeated the swiping motions; he proceeded to do the same with the purple and yellow paints.

"There," he put his brush down and clasped his hands together. "Now, you look like a sunset!" Hyunjin's fangs were loud and proud as he smiled down at you. Your thoughts were colliding together as you figured out a way to get your revenge.

Suddenly, you grabbed a wider brush and coated it with green paint.

"You know, now that I'm thinking about it, I don't think these scales are necessarily green enough," you lunged towards Hyunjin's collarbone; however, you missed entirely, instead meeting a pushed out hand from the male. The impact caused your brush to fleet backwards and land on your neck instead.

"Awe, you look cute with scales!" Hyunjin complimented sarcastically. You widened your eyes, a jolly glint sparkling under the artificial light. Without thinking, you tackled Hyunjin, landing you both backwards on the bed and smearing the array of paints on his grey hoodie. Hyunjin attempted to free himself from your grasp, hissing exuberantly in between fits of laughter; his attempts were for not as you grabbed both of his hands in one of yours, the scales lightly scuffing your palms.

You lifted his hands above his head and, taking the still-glazed brush, smeared lines of green from the top of his neck down to the indents of his collarbones. The ticklish sensation made him squirm and shut his eyes as he continued to giggle. You threw the paintbrush aside on his study desk and rubbed your hands together.

"There," you leaned down, eyeing Hyunjin as the two of you were almost nose-to-nose. "Now, we're even."

The two of you stayed in this position for a while, grins ever-so-present on your faces. Hyunjin took a long, admirable look at you; he looked at your fair skin, your sparkling eyes, and your snow-white smile.

He had concluded in that moment that you were the prettiest girl he had ever laid his amber gaze upon. Yet, an unanswered question still lingered in his head.

"Why were you staring at me on the first day of class?" he inquired, moving his hand up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, his claw slightly scratching your ear in the process. Your face flushed a deep shade of pink at the question.

"I thought," you mumbled. "I thought you were pretty. I didn't mean to offend, I swear. I just couldn't help myself."

"You think I'm pretty?" You nodded slowly.

"Beautiful, even."

He was not exactly sure what thought went through his head before his lips were on yours. Perhaps it was your sweet words alone. Perhaps it was the fact that you had attempted to move your head away from his out of embarrassment from your confession, and he had placed a firm yet soft hand in your hair to stop you. Perhaps it was the way you had looked at him after he did just that, a daring yet shy glint present in your stare. He was not for sure what had pushed him to this action.

He was sure that he wanted to kiss you.

So, here the two of you lie, you on top of Hyunjin as the two of you passionately encapsulated one another. Your hands were cupped tightly on his cheeks while his lightly hovered over your waist. His lips were everything you had imagined them to be; they were smooth, soft, and entranced you into a compassionate haze. His forked tongue teasingly poked at yours, and you felt his fangs accidentally nip at your bottom lip a couple of times. The kiss felt straight out of a 1990s romantic tragedy.

You were not aware of how much time had passed before you had pulled away to catch a breath; you felt the swell in your lips and you physically visualized Hyunjin's as he lay, breathless beneath you. Your arms moved slowly down to his chest, and your head fell to the crook of his neck. He moved one hand to your upper back, the other still gently entangled within your hair.

"Woah," was all you could utter at the moment in time. "Who knew snakes were such good kissers?" you jokingly asked, eliciting a soft chuckle from the Hybrid.

"We're romantics, what can I say?" Your heart was pounding as you looked at him beneath you, and his arms went to snake tightly around your middle, no pun intended.

"Y'know," you had regained your composure and began to chatter. "I wasn't sure about you at first. After all the stories I had heard, all the rumors and tales. Even after you had debunked them, there was still some sort of fear present within me," you confessed, mentally punching yourself as you saw Hyunjin's content expression falter.

"But you...you are so different than what I had imagined. You are the kindest person I've met. You're so gentle and gracious and sweet, and I feel absolutely horrible about the things that I believed, so I guess I'm just going about the long way to ap-" Hyunjin cut off your babling by tilting your head up to face him and capturing you another kiss; this one was shorter but filled with just as much care as the first.

"I get it, I like you too," Hyunjin mumbled against your lips.

"Who said I was going to say that?"

"Am I wrong?" He teasingly asked, looking at you and tilting his head in perplexity.

"Not at all," you confessed.

"I wasn't sure about you either, if it makes you feel any better," Hyunjin admitted. "I thought this was just an act and was going to play out into some sort of cruel prank. But having you here, right here right now with me proves me wrong. You're different than the others. I actually like being around you. I just never wanted to say anything in fear that my deepest worries would materialize and I would lose you as a friend."

"Glad to know the feeling is mutual," you softly spoke. "The only thing is I want to lose you as a friend." Hyunjin shifted his head backwards in indecision.

"NOT like that," you clarified. "I don't want to lose you by any means. I just," you took one of his scaley hands in your smooth ones, "want to gain you as something more than a friend, if that's possible." Hyunjin instinctively rubbed his thumb over your knuckles as his golden gaze affectionately made contact with your own.

"You sure?" he inquired, a playful smirk etched onto his features. "What if people talk?"

"Let them," you responded without hesitation. "Who knows, maybe we can start some sort of shift and people will see that Snake Hybrids and humans interacting isn't so horrible." Hyunjin could not help but beam at your confession. He nodded tenderly.

"Alright. Let's try this," he accepted your heartfelt declaration, causing you to grin wide like the Cheshire Cat. You wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing him in for a tight hug that you never wanted to end.

Thus, the snake venom was adoringly stained onto the velvet cloth, joining them together as one futuristic reality.

[chaispicelatte]

I was thinking about how one of my favorite genres of Sonadow content is Shadow realizing Sonic is way more fucked up than him (the alien hybrid made in a lab in space). And then I had the thought of Shadow realizing ALL of Sonic's friends are sort of weird and terrifying in their own right.

Sonic:

Him being freaky is a given

No one really knows much about his origins, yet he has power on the same level of Shadow, who was engineered in a lab with the help of an alien dictator

Is usually chill but relishes any opportunity to flex his powers and push them to the limit

Only thing keeping him from being an interdimensional threat is his altruism, which Shadow has somehow learned to just trust (which honestly scares him more)

Tails:

First off, why is this child flying a plane? Does he have a license? (The subject was quickly changed last time Shadow asked)

It takes months for Eggman to come up with new tech for his schemes only for this kid to reverse engineer it and come up with a new counter in half a day

Shadow has seen him make weapons that violate the Geneva Conventions out of a mechanical pencil and box of scraps

Also has better aim than GUN snipers with 10 years of training

Shadow takes him out first when it's him vs Sonic team because he doesn't want to risk either Tails getting a clear shot or him having time to pull out some other bullshit

Knuckles:

Knuckles being insanely strong is nothing new, Shadow is also strong

The difference is that Shadow's strength either comes from momentum, precise control of chaos energy, and/or knowing exactly where to aim. Knuckles doesn't need to do that, he's just strong enough to lift a mountain on his own

Shadow would think that Knuckles just doesn't know how to use chaos energy in that way (he's too dense to figure out Rouge is flirting after all)

Until one day Shadow's Chaos Emerald is acting weird. He reluctantly brings it up to the group chat to see if they're having the same issue. Knuckles says "Hold on" and goes quiet for a couple minutes

Then Shadow's Chaos Emerald goes dark. He would have thought this was a harbinger of another disaster if it didn't regain its color a second later. It's also working perfectly fine again

Knuckles used the Master Emerald to fucking turn them off and on again ("Yeah, it's the Master Emerald for a reason.")

Sonic asks if that's tied to the time Knuckles punched the Super out of him and that only causes even more questions that Shadow is too exhausted to ask about

Amy:

At first glance, she seems the most normal. She's got an apartment in the city, a day job, and is an active member of the community

Is a bit of a jack-of-all-trades when it comes to abilities

Shadow held her hammer once, and it's easily over a ton, but she's swinging it around all day with no problem

At first Shadow thought her bracelets were similar to his limiters, but they're just bracelets. But they are almost solid gold and crack the ground when they drop

Even weirder is that while she has more muscle than the average girl, it's nowhere near the amount needed to be as strong as she is. And he doesn't sense that her body's being augmented by chaos energy the way he does

And when Shadow thought about that, he started thinking about where she stores that hammer. He stores small stuff in his quills all the time, but no way could Amy do that with something of that size. Even when he watched closely, he just saw her hide it behind her back, and it was gone

It becomes obvious that Amy has some control over chaos energy, but the way she used it was so weird that Shadow can't make sense of the how or if she even knows she's doing it

And then there's how she always seems to know exactly where Sonic is. Shadow was starting to think she put a tracker on him with how precise she was

That was until Shadow noticed that every time he ran into her on accident, she instead seemed to be...expecting him

Amy chalked it up to her tarot cards, Shadow isn't so sure

Just what exactly was she seeing when she mixed him or Silver up with Sonic?

Cream and Vanilla:

Shadow hadn't had many run ins with Cream, but had heard she was stronger than she looked

Sonic once joked that she'd become a more popular hero than him if her mother let her go on more adventures

Shadow didn't think much of it until an incident in which he was fighting Eggman's badniks

A couple had escaped and were heading to a Chao Garden. Shadow goes after as fast as he can, but when he gets there, he's cheerfully greeted by Cream, sitting on a pile of destroyed badniks

Shadow walks her home, and is greeted by her mother and her overprotective pet robot. Gemerl is easy enough for Cream to calm down though

Though Vanilla is a...different story. She seems friendly enough on the outside, even invites Shadow to stay for dinner. But something about her unnerves him enough to gently turn them down

The look in Vanilla's eyes was too familiar, he'd only seen it in very experienced GUN agents. Like she was sizing him up, looking for any weak spots, and considering the best way to dispose of him if necessary. But not out of any malice, just as a force of habit

On his way home, Shadow remembers tales from an older GUN agent about the legendary Agent V. Said agent had been said to be dangerous enough that few knew their face, but had gone missing several years ago. But the lack of records on them or any urgency for GUN to find out what happened to them led many to believe that they were just a myth

But Rouge once said with certainty that she did exist

Shadow decides not to make that connection

[howlsofbloodhounds]

hello, howl!

since killer studies the dust and blood of his victims, do you think he would have scientific equipment to do it or would he study it through other ways? If he did have scientific equipment, where do you think he would get it?

Killer is studying human blood, monster dust, and both human and monster SOULs — particularly the “code” behind each SOUL — his work would probably span biological, magical, and computational/metaphysical sciences.

He may jury-rig broken or stolen equipment from labs (like Alphys(es), Sanses, Gasters, other AU scientists in AUs like Underswap, or human science centers).

Given my headcanon that Delta is into engineering and mechanics, and he often barters his work, services, and time with the Omega Timeline in exchange for what he needs, I wouldn’t be surprised if Killer stole equipment built by him either completely as is, to turn into something else, or to take apart for any specific parts he needs.

He might build hybrid tools out of things like bones, magic, and wires—a shitty “SOUL stabilizer” made of femur shards and glowing cables, for instance, just as a ridiculous example.

He’s likely obsessive, erratic, and hands-on, using trial and error with little concern for ethics, especially in Stage 2.

Given Chara’s past influence on him, his workspace might have meticulous notes in some type of professional looking script, even if he personally pretends not to care or doesn’t seem to care to any outsiders observing him.

[reality-detective]

Chapter 3: The Great Unmasking

They told you to look the other way. They fed you lies to keep you docile. But now, the storm brews closer, and the masks are slipping. The elites you worshipped—the politicians, the celebrities—they’re no longer untouchable. Putin has uncovered the map, a trail of blood connecting the globe, a sinister web of power, greed, and unspeakable horrors. But this isn't just about adrenochrome anymore.

Sources within the Kremlin are reporting new, explosive intelligence: biotech labs hidden within these adrenochrome farms. These aren't your average science facilities—these labs are conducting grotesque experiments, fusing human DNA with something else. Something inhuman. Hybrid creatures, bred from stolen children, designed to serve a new world order.

This is where it gets even darker: these labs are not just about adrenochrome. They’re breeding grounds for something worse—a new race, a twisted vision of humanity controlled by the elites. Engineered in secret, these hybrid children are created to be obedient slaves, designed to feed the hunger of those who seek dominion over the world. These labs are also where the strongest of the children, those who survived years of unimaginable pain, are converted into living weapons—super soldiers, molded for one purpose: to protect the very system that feeds on their suffering.

The Adrenochrome Task Force has been keeping tabs on these labs for years, but their reach didn’t go deep enough. Not until now. The recent raids revealed hidden vaults, where files on advanced genetic modifications were stored. This information is what’s driving Putin’s new offensive: a global operation to dismantle these hybrid labs and burn down the network behind them.

And here’s the shocker: it’s not just Russia on this warpath. Anonymous sources within the U.S. military confirm that a faction of high-ranking officers, disgusted by what they’ve uncovered, are preparing to join forces with Russia in a covert strike. They’re calling it “Operation Genesis.” This isn’t about geopolitics anymore—this is about reclaiming humanity from those who would twist it into something unrecognizable.

The elites are panicking. Hollywood big names are fleeing, political figureheads are vanishing overnight, leaving only cryptic resignations and suspicious accidents in their wake. Do you think these are coincidences?

The global cabal is scrambling. They know the clock is ticking. There are whispers of bunkers being filled with food, money being moved offshore, preparations for an event that could wipe the slate clean. But it’s too late for them. The world is waking up.

The final hour is almost upon us. The reckoning has begun, and no one is safe—not even those who hide in plain sight. This war is not just for land, nor for power—it’s a battle for the future of the human race. Are you ready to fight for it? 🤔

[hotheadedhero]

In Unrequited Love

Love and relationships can't be forced but sometimes they can be built on common ground and an understanding of one another's tribulations.

Part 2 here

Donatello x Reader

Having a crush on someone sucks. Having a crush on someone who has eyes for someone else sucks even more. This is the sad truth of your current circumstances. You knew that high school would come with its challenges but you weren’t prepared for the fact that you’d fall for the careless, hockey-loving maniac from your math class. It began with a casual friendship before feelings deepened on your end. Feelings that wouldn’t seem so terrible were it not for April O’Neil. You have absolutely nothing against the girl but it’s clear as day that she unfortunately has Casey’s heart in her stronghold. It’s not like you could even vent these frustrations, given that the only friends you have happen to be those two people. 

Then, through some shenanigans that seem like the norm for you now, you meet four turtle brothers - one of whom is in the same boat as you. Not to mention, between the very two friends in question. Were it not heartbreaking to witness each other trying your hardest to grab the attention of your crushes, you’d find some humour in this.

You tried hanging out with Raphael more in an attempt to get in close quarters with Casey, seeing as they’re practically tied at the hip, only for you to realise that the rough-and-tumble environment isn’t your strong suit. That’s when they both suggested you try your hand at assisting Donatello in his laboratory given your aptitude for the sciences. What they failed to realise is that you do well in class but that doesn’t inherently mean you enjoy it. Theoretical sciences and learning about how things work are interesting but there aren’t enough practical applications that allow you to engage in the school environment. The closest you’ve gotten to having fun was when you made “elephant toothpaste” for a chemistry lesson but that’s about it. 

Nonetheless, you see no harm in passing by the lab and giving the brainiac brothers a visit. Other than your not-so-subtle pining towards the other humans in the group, nothing has been outwardly mentioned about the situation you are both in. Neither of you has hung out enough to have that conversation. It wouldn’t be weird to talk about it, would it? A query that shall not yet receive an answer seeing as you’ve already knocked on the large, metal door. You walk through the open garage to see a couple of legs poking out from under the battle shell. 

“Huh? Oh! Y/n, sorry- Ow!” He slides out from beneath the vehicle and rubs the fresh bruise forming on his head. “Sorry, I’m a little busy, right now. I think Leo is watching Space Heroes if you’re looking for someone to hang out with, though.”

“Actually, I came by to see if you needed any help,” you offer, holding your hands behind your back respectfully whilst also trying not to laugh. 

His eyes widen, having not expected such a proposal, and he’s quick to scramble to his feet.  “Oh, okay! Let’s see- uh… how are you with engine repairs?”

“Depends.” Your tongue clicks contemplatively. “Is it gas, electric, or hybrid?”

“That already tells me you know more than enough,” he chuckles. “Here, I’ll show you.”

He opens the hood of the van to reveal the ensemble of burnt-out parts and overworked mechanisms. The guys’ last mission must have been intense because this engine is almost in complete disarray. Were it not for the fact that your Uncle is a mechanic, you’d be sweating under the pressure of somehow ruining this heap of metal more than it already is. A probability still if you want to jinx your person but that’s getting ahead of yourself. 

Donatello gestures towards a box of spare parts and holds the back of his neck. “These just need to be taken out and replaced. It’s probably the easiest of what needs doing but I also need to finish rewiring the brakes, check the throttle calibration, replenish the weapons ammunition-”

“You need an extra set of hands to get it done quicker,” you cut him off with a smile. “I’ll see what I can do.” 

He bares a gap-toothed smile in response and nods before resuming his initial position beneath the vehicle to finish the brake wiring. This leaves you to begin on your assigned job. For starters, you’re glad that this is a case of piecemeal repair rather than a complete engine rebuild. You’d be out of your depth were that the case. You start by pulling the entire engine out via a hoist, assisted by a load levelling bar so that it doesn’t tilt at a funny angle. Then, you secure it onto a stand and glance over what you’re working with. The crankshaft, piston ring compressor, oil filter, and fan need the most attention, so you start with those first. Just to save the disturbance, you look into a few tutorials on your phone to make sure you’re doing it correctly. 

During this entire time, the two of you work on separate parts of the battle shell in silence, seemingly content with your tasks. By now, Donnie has moved on to tightening the wheels’ lug holes. Admittedly, you had been concerned about a lack of things to talk about but this is a nice settlement. It’s certainly the most relaxed you’ve felt in a while; something to keep you distracted from the quelling of your hopeless romantic attraction. Plus, you have this sense of relief from finally being able to work on something with your hands rather than straining your brain over textbooks and pop quizzes.

"Question,” he starts abruptly, keeping his eyes on the centre cap of the wheel. “What’s it you like so much about that cave mouth?"

First, you blink quickly to yourself, having not expected to get into the nitty gritty of it so soon. So much for being distracted but you can’t be mad. Curiosity isn’t something to be berated. Then, you find yourself snickering at the mildly degrading nickname. The question may appear brash but he’s puzzled by why April seems to like Casey so much. Hearing it from you might give him the insight he needs to turn the odds in his favour. He’ll take anything at this point. 

"I dunno. There's just this air to him that I like. He's an ass, I am well aware of that, but he's fun, you know?” you admit awkwardly. “Psh! Don't ask me to explain it. You can't really put that stuff into words." You squint down at him, lips poised mockingly. "What is it you like about April so much?"

He halts his own task and glances down at his hands, cheeks reddening as he thinks about the girl of his dreams. "She just... had my heart from the first moment I saw her."

"Wow. The first girl you ever see in your life and it's just like that.” Yes, that bit of information is known thanks to our dear Raphael. “'Pretty shallow to fall in love with someone based on looks if you ask me." 

"You would know,” he scoffs sarcastically.

"Now you're calling Casey ugly?” you ask, both playful and moderately offended on your crush’s behalf. “Man, you really don't like him."

"I’m sure the same goes for you with April!"

"Hey! I don't stoop so low into my dissatisfaction of the circumstances to insult her." A wry grin then beckons your lips. "Although~"

"Whatever you think you're going to say, don't."

The staring match doesn't last long, breaking beneath a shared laugh; fond and unwilted by the ache in your hearts, which has been forgotten for a split moment to enjoy each other's company.

From that point on, that’s precisely what you did. More often than not, you found yourself in the confines of his garage, assisting him with the occasional doohickey and thingymabob. Even if there wasn’t much you could help with, you wound up being a decent lab partner in any case. In turn, he would offer to help you with your homework if you had any particularly difficult assignments. Your grades have never looked so good. When neither of you were doing that, you’d simply hang out and rant about little annoyances with your unreciprocated infatuations. 

“I mean, I try some jokes here and there but nothing seems to land,” he concedes begrudgingly, throwing his body weight into the back of his chair.

“Can I hear one?” you inquire as you gently swing around in your own seat. 

His lips press together and he mulls it over before sighing, “Okay, so, you remember how I told you about Metal Head?” You nod, to which he continues, “Well, the first time I took him out for a spin, we were on watch duty together. That’s when I asked her if she likes metal.”

He groans to himself as he replays the memory in his head, only now realising how corny that must have sounded at the time. However, you laugh and not the heckling kind either. Your head tilts back into your chair, knees lifting to compensate for the tension in your shaking stomach. How could April have not loved something as precious as that? The girl must be crazy because that would have worked on you in a heartbeat. 

“You should’ve asked if her favourite dance move is the robot,” you say in between laughs. “No, wait, wait! I got a better one! Ask her out to the circuits for a date!”

Donatello can only smile at your self-induced amusement, happy that there’s an appreciation for nerdy pickup lines and puns. They may not work on his crush - and his brothers sure don’t find them that funny - but he’s glad at least one person around here gets it. 

It felt good to know that you had a friend you could be closer to because of your mutual understanding. For the first time since you realised your feelings for your schoolmate, you didn’t feel so alone. This bond formed on cluttered affection may have seemed unlikely to begin with but who are you to complain now? You and Donnie have a good thing going given your positions. 

That is until your heart diverts its attention towards the very turtle. 

You came to the realisation when he expressed his excitement in showing you his newest invention. The fact that he had called upon you first made you feel special. It made you feel wanted and desired for the first time in your life. A seemingly small phenomenon given how he merely wanted to showcase something to you but the way it had tugged your heart was unparalleled to anything else you had ever experienced - and that smile. You could have happily fawned over that proud grin of proclaimed accomplishment and self-justified pride for the rest of that day. Then, it all came crashing down on you like heaps of scrap in a junkyard. You have fallen for someone who is in love with April. Again. Are you just doomed to fall for any man that crushes this girl? This must be some sick joke. One that you don’t find yourself laughing at. 

It eats away at you for the days - weeks - to come. You can’t console anyone on the matter, either. If any of his family catches wind, there’s a chance of him finding out. An outcome you wish to avoid if possible. As for Casey and April, dear lord you don’t even want to know what would happen if you told them. You’re at square one again just as before: crushing on someone who will never feel the same way about you. Rotting in a pool of your self-made disillusion.

Alone.

Having a crush on someone sucks.

[sanjoongie]

ᆞAᆞᆞlᆞᆞpᆞᆞhᆞᆞaᆞ

ღ @pirateeznet 2nd anniversary Fic~

ღGenre chosen: sci-fi, with prompt: a lab-engineered [unspecified] has broken out of the lab, and you/a member find you/a member hiding in an alley

ღPairing: Scientist! Jeong Yunho x Hyena Hybrid! Reader (f)

ღGenre: smut

ღau: sci fi, hybrid

ღtrope: s2l

ღword count: 2,698

ღsummary: when yunho gets fired from his big corporation job as a scientist, on his way out, he finds you in an alleyway and brings you home. what he doesn't see coming is exactly how much more of the animalistic side of you there is...

ღspecial thanks to @downtoamagicalland & @mejuii for helping me iron some details out

ღsmut warnings below cut!!

ღwarnings: toxic male moment!, futa, dom! Reader, sub! Yunho, oral (f), fingering (f), cock stepping, degradation, Mommy nickname (f), baby boy nickname (yunho), praise kink, degradation kink, orgasm denial

ღmood board inspiration by daeeun @daemour for inspiration:

Yunho was having an absolute shit day.

Yunho worked in a top-class, corporate funded lab. The problem was that he was stuffed into an absolutely useless department. What the fuck was Developmental Analysis anyways? So Yunho felt like his academic mind was rotting away in a basement suite.

So what if he drank sometimes at work? It was boring. He didn’t actually do anything. He could be studying and breaking down genetic makeup, but noooooo he just filled charts and wrote up papers that he was pretty sure weren’t getting read.

His boss, some frou-frou higher up that probably didn’t know the difference between an atom and an apple, looked at him distastefully from across their desk.

“I’m sorry to inform you, but we’re letting you go.” Except for this man, Yunho squinted at the name plate at the desk, Park Seonghwa? Yeah, this guy didn’t look sorry at all.

“Here’s a box to put your things in and leave the premises immediately. I’ll have Jongho escort you for old times' sake.” Seonghwa put on the most half-assed sympathetic smile and then waved his hands to show he was finished with Yunho.

Yunho hiccupped while he put his framed text photo of Every disaster movie starts with the government ignoring a scientist that his best friend Mingi had bought him when he first got the job. Yunho didn’t need this job. This job needed him! Yunho sent a glare around at the open concept office, and everyone ducked their heads.

“C’mon, Yunho.” Jongho gripped his upper arm rather roughly. “This hurts me more than it hurts you, big guy.”

“I’m the one that got fired. How are you hurting more than me?!” Yunho pointed out but nonetheless grabbed his box and let Jongho tug him towards the elevator.

Jongho turned his head away and, with his free hand, wiped a finger at his eyelashes. “You’ve the best work friend I’ve had, Yunho.”

Yunho rolled his eyes and dropped his jaw, making a face. He was so over this place.

Jongho didn’t let go of his arm, even as they reached the rotating doors to the upper level. “Seonghwa says I’ve got to take your lab coat too, Yunho.”

Yunho sent a look of disbelief at the security guard. “I paid for this out of my own pocket!”

Jongho shrugged his shoulders. “They’ll remove the charge from your severance pay anyways, bro. Just do it.”

Yunho squared his shoulders stubbornly. “I may be fired, but I’m still a scientist. They can’t take that away from me.” And with that final sentence, Yunho twirled around on his heel to leave. He overestimated and did an extra half twirl, facing the wrong way to leave. He put his converse-covered feet in front of each other, heavily crossing his legs, but eventually, he made his way out of the building forever.

“Stupid corporate bigwigs,” Yunho mumbled under his breath.

Where did he park his car again? Yunho instinctively turned down an alley. He was pretty sure he jaunted down it on his way to work this morning. Who fires someone on a Monday anyway?

Something pushed a can into the middle of the alley, and Yunho stopped. No object moved without a force behind it. Was it an alley cat or a homeless person?

Yunho started to dig into his box. “Uhhhh, if you want something of worth, I suppose this pen might be good for a few bucks at the local pawn shop, but I can’t make any promises,” Yunho muttered.

“Help…me…” A raspy voice says from behind some garbage bags.

Yunho took a step back from the rustling bags. “Listen, you don’t want a piece of this, buddy.” Yunho dropped his box and brandished his old letter opener.

“...please…”

Yunho grabbed his phone from his back pocket and turned on the flashlight. You blinked up at him, dark eyes reflecting back the light. Yunho shook his head. Didn’t only nocturnal animals have that feature?

“Who are you?”

You whined, hands in between your legs, that sprawled out on either side of you. “...I…escaped.”

“Me too! I’m so glad I never have to go back to that place. You know what? We should celebrate! At my place.” Yunho pulled his flask from his box. “I’ve got more where this came from!”

As it turned out, Yunho’s car had gotten impounded from its less than auspicious parking spot in front of a computer café. Yunho lugged his box to the nearest bus and paid for both your fares.

“A little early for Halloween, isn’t it?” The bus driver shouted.

Yunho pouted as he sat down on the bus. “I’m a real scientific man!”

You hesitated at the front, arms wrapped around your body. Yunho patted the seat beside him, and you scurried over. You tucked yourself into his frame and shivered. Yunho instinctively put his arm around your shaking shoulders.

“Hey hey.” Yunho patted your shoulder in reassurance. ���We’re better than that place! There's no need to cry.”

Yunho stumbled off the bus steps, missing his bus stop by several stops later. But that was okay. Because he had his flask and he had you now as company.

“So, what do you go by, fellow escapee?” Yunho giggled, tipping his head back and taking a shot of his whiskey.

“Fi--”

Yunho hiccupped, interrupting you. “Fi, huh? That’s cute. I’m Yunho.”

“Yu--” Yunho shoved the flask at you. “Yu?”

“Yuyu!” Yunho giggled again. His nose and ears were red. “I love it. Yuyu and Fi!”

You sniffed the flask and then growled at it. Yunho shrugged and took the flask from you. “More for me then!”

How Yunho managed to drink, balance his box, and make it back to his apartment is a mystery, but the fired scientist does, in fact, do everything AND unlock the door to his place.

“You stay as loooooong as you want,” Yunho says, throwing his hands up in the air. “I’ll never kick you out. I’m not mean like that horrible place.”

“I--” You take a long look at the bachelor pad. “Do you live alone?”

“I used to have a roommate, but he got a girlfriend.” Yunho rolled his eyes. He landed on his couch pretty heavily with a huff. “San, the romantic.”

You tug on the beanie over your head and the long jacket over you. Yunho squinted at you. Did you have those on earlier? What did he care? “Make yourself at home.”

Yunho spent the rest of the night drinking any liquor he could get his hands on. He bitched and whined and complained about his job and his place of work. You listened to him, preferring his babble to the thoughts in your own head.

Eventually, Yunho laid down on the couch, mumbling under his breath about the idiocy of the 1%, arm outstretched to the floor. Tentatively, from your position on the floor along him, you reached your hand to brush your fingers to his.

“You and me, kid,” Yunho grunted from under his breath. “We’re gonna take over the world.” His fingers curled into yours before you both fell asleep.

When Yunho woke up, he groaned, slapping a hand to his forehead. “Oh fuck.”

The toilet flushed, and then you came out of his bathroom. Yunho was too busy rubbing sleep from his eyes. “I need water,” he noted to himself.

“I hope you don’t mind,” you said sweetly, “My clothes were…dirty--”

Yunho shouted and jumped on his couch. “What the fuck?”

You winced. “I’m sorry, I’ll take the clothes off immediately!”

Your hands grabbed the hem of Yunho’s t-shirt and began to yank it off. Yunho’s eyes ran over your soft thighs, your tummy, your underboob and then covered his eyes. “No no, it’s quite alright, you can wear it!”

You chewed your bottom lip nervously. “You don’t remember last night, do you?”

“Well, by the way I’m fighting nausea, and a half naked woman is coming out of my bathroom, I can make assumptions.”

You shook your head vehemently. “I knew this was a bad idea.”

“Bad idea to fuck me? I’m sure others told me I'm better when I’m drunk…” Yunho scratched the back of his head in confusion.

You whined in the back of your throat. “You didn’t fuck me, Yunho. You helped me escape.”

Yunho chuckled dryly. “Oh right,” he said mirthlessly, “I got fired.”

“I really appreciate what you’ve done,” you said in a worried tone. “Not a lot of people would have stuck their necks out for me.”

Yunho waved his hand. “It’s nothing, Fi…” Whatever else was going to come out of his mouth was gone as you pulled your yellow tail around your body and anxiously pulled at some black hair at the tip.

“Oh, I’ve fucked up.”

“Please, Yunho, don’t kick me out,” you begged immediately. “You said you’d never kick me out last night!”

“I also said I’d solve the majority of Einstein’s theories!” Yunho yelled back.

You winced, curling your shoulders forward to make yourself smaller. “Please,” you whimpered.

Yunho zoned in on the black tipped yellow ears on your head. Oh he was so fucked. He had heard rumors about the Genetic Experimentation level, but he just thought it was other scientists razzing him.

Adrenaline rushed through Yunho. He grabbed your arm roughly, akin to the way Jongho escorted you out of his old work and started towards the door. “I’m taking you back before I get sued. What the fuck was I thinking? A million dollar investment in my apartment? I’ll tell them I found you and I brought you back as soon as I could!”

“No, you can’t!” You struggled in Yunho’s grip, digging your feet in, but still the man pulled you to his door.

“The hell I can’t!” Yunho snapped. “This is my house and my life. You will listen to me.”

Something snapped in you. No one ever out ranked you. You were the strongest, the fastest, the better one in this situation. Who the fuck was Yunho to tell you what to do???

You growled, deep in your chest, and planted your feet. You broke the grip. Yunho had you by hitting his hand off you with your fist. Yunho yelled in surprise and held his wrist to his chest. You placed two hands on Yunho’s shoulders and dug your fingers in cruelly to his neck muscles. Yunho whimpered and was driven to his knees. “You weak-minded man,” you sneered.

“Weak minded?!” Yunho gulped as he stared up at you.

“You are below me in every single fucking way,” You spat. “How dare you try to evict me when you promised me safety. Are you that scared of the world that you can’t stand for your own words? Pathetic.”

Yunho licked his lips. What is going on right now? What happened to the pleading woman who he could have sworn was smaller than him just a few minutes ago.

“I’ll show you who’s boss, little man,” you threatened.

Yunho watched with fascination as something rose from under his t-shirt that you still had on. “I bet you’ve never seen a clit as big as mine, huh, sissy boy?”

“clit?” Yunho’s eyebrows shot into his fringe.

“Wanna see?” You said practically giddily.

Science made Yunho nod his head.

You tucked your fingers into the waistband of your panties and tugged them down your legs, and neatly stepped out of them. Then you raised the t-shirt to reveal that your clit had indeed engorged itself until the point where it appeared like a… Yunho’s eyes became as big as saucers.

“I… You have a cock…” Yunho whispered almost reverently.

You shook your head. “No, sweetums, that’s my clit. It’s ten times more sensitive than your pathetic cock.”

“How sensitive?” Yunho asked.

“Why don’t you suck it and find out,” You said sweetly.

Yunho nodded his head to himself. His mouth was watering. Something about your domineering attitude was honestly luring him in. He wanted to wrap his lips around your clit. He wanted to feel what you felt like in his mouth. And most of all, he wanted your approval all of a sudden. What would it take?

“There’s a good boy,” you cooed as Yunho licked the tip of your clitoris.

His eyes glanced upwards to your encouraging, smiling face and then his lips encompassed the head of your engorged clit. He sucked on it and it caused your head to cast backwards. “Fuck, Yunho, that feels amazing, baby.”

Yunho looked nervous as he bobbed his head down your length, gagging as you hit the back of his throat. Except that it felt wonderful and you needed more of it.

“Drop your jaw, sweetums,” you cooed some more. “Let Mommy fuck your throat, hmm?”

Yunho managed a tiny squeak in agreement and then you were shoving your clit down his throat. Yunho moaned in between breaths, your slick-covered clit gliding over his tongue and down his throat. Being used like this was making him hard.

“What's this?” You sang, and Yunho felt his stomach drop out of his ass.

The hard bottom of the ball of your foot pressed down on his semi-hard cock. “Are you getting turned on by this, Mister alpha male?”

Yunho whimpered as you continued to step on his cock. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and you sighed in disappointment. “More like a sweet baby beta, hmm?”

You pulled out your clit and grabbed it by the base. You smeared it against Yunho’s cheek, watching as his ears got red in embarrassment. “Stick your tongue out, Yunnie,” You commanded.

Yunho did, looking debauched and delicious in the process. You tapped your clit on Yunho’s outstretched tongue, enjoying the feeling of the roughness against your sensitive organ.

Your other free hand gripped the back of Yunho’s head and you shoved your clit back into his mouth.

“That's it, take my clit in your mouth, just like that,” You moaned.

This sensation of having your clit sucked like this was making your pussy lips wet with desire. “Put your pretty fingers in me, Yunho, make me feel real good.”

Yunho stared up at you, your clit pushed into the soft flesh of the inside of his cheek, as he put one, then two fingers inside of you. You moaned at the dual sensation. It was nothing that you have ever experienced before; it was mind-numbing as Yunho penetrated you and sucked on you.

“Make mommy cum, Yunnie, oh fuck yes, that feels so good baby boy, give me what I want. Come on, swirl that tongue around me. Suck me good. Curl those fingers into my rough spot, that's a good boy, yeah yeah!!-”

You let go of Yunho’s head as you rode your orgasm. Yunho coughed, wiping his lips with the back of his mouth. “...what was that?” He asked.

You opened your eyes and stared down with a lust-lidded look. “That was my pseudo-penis, and that was me dominating you, Yuyu. But you liked it, didn't you, big boy?”

Yunho swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously. “I…”

You gripped his chin harshly and began to growl. “Say it, Yunho. Say it for Mommy.”

Yunho whined, biting down on his lower lip. “I like it, Mommy. Yunho likes being your baby beta.”

“Much better.” You let go of Yunho and pushed the t-shirt back down, your clit having become normal sized again. “Now you know what happens when you try to pull rank on me.”

“You're just going to leave me like this?” Yunho called out dejectedly.

You waved a hand. “I'm gonna shower. You take care of yourself, big boy.”

Yunho watched as you sauntered to the bathroom and wondered how exactly he had gotten himself into this mess. And why exactly he was DYING for another chance for you to fuck his throat.

Yunho sat in thought. You had a pseudo penis. Your genes made you dominate him. Your tail and ears were yellow with black accents…

“Wait, you’re a hyena hybrid?!” Yunho shouted out to the closed door, and he swore he heard a cackle just like a hyena on the other side.

[catrionaalexandra]

Chapter 5 — The Longest Night

Resident Evil: Sable Dawn

“Not every battle is about victory. Some are about making it through, and some farewells take everything you’ve got left.”

Swiss Alps – 12 Hours Later

The snowcat’s engine hummed through the quiet, barren stretch of the Alps as the wind battered the dense pine clusters, while the fading sky burned a strange, unsettling orange.

Just beyond the next ridge stood the forgotten NATO facility, once abandoned but now run by Margot.

Leon remained silent as he drove, his focus solely on the slippery ice trail ahead.

Y/n sat beside him, adjusting her gloves and keeping her expression unreadable. Their objective was clear: infiltrate the lab, shut down hybrid production, and if necessary, eliminate Margot Cross.

However, clarity didn’t make it any easier.

“It’s cold up here,” Leon said, his voice a low-controlled whisper, trying to ease the quiet.

Y/n offered a small smile, “Gets colder the closer we get.”

Leon flicked his gaze towards the h/c haired woman before looking back in front of him, “Like Siberia…”

“Not quite,” she said, her gaze drifting to the window. “Siberia was survival. This is… grief waiting to happen.”

Leon looked at her again, but said nothing.

He could still hear her screams echoing through the stairwell in Geneva after Margot disappeared. Y/n never cried; instead, she stared and screamed as if her entire past had unraveled before her eyes.

Flashback – London, 2000

Eight-year-old Y/n crouched inside a closet, her nose bleeding.

Outside, floral wallpaper slowly peeled and fell from the drywall, stained and discoloured. The voices were muffled by the floor below.

And then—

The door creaked open.

Twelve-year-old Margot stood there, scraped up and holding a crowbar, her eyes burning with a rage Y/n had never seen before.

“He touched you?” she uttered, her grip tightening around the carbon-steel.

Slowly, Y/n nodded, her eyes filling with tears.

Margot left without a word and kept the door ajar.

What followed was a sound Y/n would never forget: the cracking of metal against bone, their stepfather’s screams, and Margot’s screams echoing louder.

Later that night, they sprinted through rain-soaked streets, holding hands tightly.

“I’ll always protect you, Y/n,” Margot had promised, “Even if the world burns.”

Present – Alpine Drop Point

The snowcat halted near the B.S.A.A. drone drop. Y/n opened the crate, revealing a variety of weapons: incendiaries, EMPs, and adrenaline shots.

Leon checked his ammo, but his stare kept wandering back to her. “Are you okay?” he finally asked.

“No,” she replied, meeting his eyes. “I’m ready.”

He paused, a stiffness spreading through his chest, “You don’t have to go through this alone.”

“I’m not,” she mumbled, “You’re here.”

That hit him somewhere deep.

Without much thought, he reached up and brushed her cheek with his knuckles. “I’ve seen people lose everything, and seen what it does, but you… you never fold.”

She leaned into his hand, just a little, “I learned from the best.”

He should’ve kissed her. God, he wanted to, but the mission loomed large.

And the dead don’t wait.

—

As they neared the hidden NATO base, night cloaked the mountain. Drones circled above, their turrets tracking movement from the cliffs.

“EMP first.”

Leon tossed the charge, and the turrets went dark.

They slipped through a crumbled hangar shaft, the corridors bathed in flickering lights and infested with something alive—organic and pulsing.

The virus had claimed the facility, it was a part of her now.

“Jesus,” Leon spoke, “She turned this whole place into herself.”

“She always needed to have control,” Y/n replied, “Now she has it.”

A rusted monitor flared to life ahead,

Welcome Home, Ivy. –M.

Flashback – Two Weeks Before Montreux

Margot paced in front of the containment unit, her arms crossed, “They won’t understand, Ivy. The B.S.A.A. only sees threats, but what if we could control the virus and use it to heal?”

Y/n stepped back, her heart pounding in her ears, “You’re playing god.”

“I’m trying to end the suffering we’ve both lived through.” Margot’s eyes darkened, “I can’t protect you if I’m weak.”

Y/n’s last words before walking out still echoed, “I don’t need a god, Margi. I need my sister.”

Present

The core chamber whizzed open, revealing Margot standing at its centre—transformed. Her beauty remained, yet she was monstrous. A hybrid of human and virus, her skin shimmered like obsidian glass, and her eyes held a mix of pain and brilliance.

“Ivy,” she said, and her voice—somehow—was still hers.

Y/n stepped forward, “You called me.”

“I needed you to see,” Margot said, “I became this to never be helpless again, to protect you, to protect them all.”

“This isn’t protection,” Y/n said quietly, avoiding her sister’s look, “It’s control.”

“I did it for you,” Margot said.

Leon raised his gun, “You tested on civilians, released hybrids on city streets.”

Margot turned to him, “Still following the rules, Leon? Still trying to fix the unfixable?”

“Not anymore,” he said. “I fight for people now.”

“For her,” Margot said, eyes back on Y/n. “You love him.”

Y/n didn’t answer, she didn’t have to.

Tears welled in her e/c eyes as she raised her own weapon, “I loved you more.”

The chamber erupted in light, and the virus shrieked in response.

Margot attacked, but Y/n didn’t flinch.

Their battle was savage—gunfire, broken glass, screams of pain and grief.

Machines crumbled around them.

Then, Y/n shot a single bullet straight through Margot’s heart, causing the virus to disintegrate like ash.

The stronghold began to fall, and Y/n dropped to her knees, catching Margot’s frail body as it collapsed.

She was human again, but she was dying. Her eyes were distant, but they were soft,“I never meant to hurt you,” Margot choked.

“I know,” Y/n murmured, holding Margot close, “You never did.”

Margot gripped her hand one last time, “I just… wanted to protect you…”

“You did,” Y/n cried softly, “You always did.”

Margot Cross took her last breath, and was gone.

Y/n held her sister, who once saved her from monsters, long after she became one herself.

Leon knelt beside her, offering no words but wrapping his arms around her and holding her through her sadness.

<- Previous Next ->

[squad-724]

ALL THAT'S STAR WARS MASTERLIST

Hi hello on my Star Wars blog. You can call me Moss or Kosh, and I'm here to deliver all the weird aus I make for this fandom

'*' means I am not proud of the drawing and it's old :>

(+snippet) means there's an additional piece of fanfic to match the artwork

THE BAD BATCH

Hybrid Bad Batch: Clone Force 99 are hybrids of Jango DNA and another sentient species. Trandoshan Hunter, Chiss Tech, Zygerrian Crosshair, Lasat Wrecker, and Diathim Omega -all that's chibi <3 | a peaceful nap | and a Bookmark -original (old) designs* -baby batch sleeping pile* -Baby batch squad photo -Baby Wrecker in Lula onesie -Wrecker's a show off (cadets)* -The Batch all grown up -nap in the sunlight -Crosshair got put in the air jail for scratching pilot seats -S1ep1 screenshot redraw -mission going wrong page 1 -Zygerrian mission going awful -Wrecker's bo-rifle -A nap after Wrecker got blown up -Hunter's chest scars -Crosshair vs the red dot -Tech and his pillow Wrecker -Tech helps Hunter with his molt -Snowy day with Omega and Hunter -Hunter protective over Omega -Crosshair's murder mittens and Wrecker's murder mittens

Mermaid AU: Four mers raised by a fisherman called 99, Lionfish Hunter, octopus Tech, Whale shark Wrecker, eel Crosshair. There are also the betta twins Fives and Echo, and manta ray Omega, but these three the batch meets after being captured by Admiral Rampart Ref Sheets: Tech | Omega | Hunter | Crosshair | Wrecker | Domino Twins and CHIBI BOOKMARK -How does Tech's underside look? -Baby Wrecker and 99 and part 2 (+snippet) -Doctor Nala Se and Omega -Kiddos Tech, Hunter and Crosshair -Wrecker meets Tech -Teens resting and 99 fishing on a warm afternoon -Hunter teaching Omega to swim in open waters -Crosshair in trouble + Mayday finding him -Hemlock and subject 9902 -An unrelated food pic and Hemlock eating it

Centaur Wild West AU: (i'll add explanation later) -Ref sheet for the Batchers -Wrecker vs Zygerrian hunters -Wrecker nad Lula napping

The Bad Batch x Detroit: Become Human: Android Force 99 is a team of four specialized androids that hunt down deviants -Ref photo -Wrecker saves Echo from humans -WR-993 protects TH-992 from bullets -Crosshair CS-994 kills his brother Tech the deviant TH-992 -Crosshair and Tech getting out of the Cyberlife building

Tantiss Batch: Hemlock once visited Kamino before the war, finding himself curious about four defective clones slated for decommissioning, all young and easy to mold. He took them as his side project, transporting the batch to his lab on Tantiss, where he raised them -Kiddos Wrecker and Tech -Wrecker and Tech, their brothers the night after rescue (+ snippet)

Fairy Batch: Fairies are born from normal insect eggs infused with a special elixir, their wings match whatever egg they hatched from Fairies that are born on the same day treat each other like brothers Each fairy picks a job in their community, hunters gathering food, defenders fighting birds and other dangers, and engineers creating new tools and other stuff -Ref sheet for the Batchers -Eepy batchers -Phee finds a surprise in a lab

Coraline AU: Omega and her family arrive at their new house, where she meets her other Brothers with buttons for eyes -Omega and other Tech (+ snippet)

LULA in all the AUs

CLONE WARS

Dragon Jedi AU (Fantasy medieval setting) The United Kingdoms of the Republic own all the dragons on their territory. When the Confederacy of independent Kingdoms began a war against the Republic, the Kingdom of Mandalore provided their soldiers; the princes of the house of Mereel being the leaders. Every battalion was given a dragon to fight alongside them, and during the time spent together the soldiers realised that the creatures were as smart as humans and kept against their will Which one can you pet? ANAKIN Ref sheet | and Fox | in harness | OBI-WAN Ref sheet+ Ahsoka | and Cody | PLO Ref sheet | and Wolfee | AAYLA Ref sheet | and Bly | KIT Ref sheet | and Monnk | MACE Ref sheet | and Ponds | QUINLAN Ref sheet | and Fox | QUI GON Ref sheet | MAUL, ASAJJ, and MOTHER TALZIN Ref sheet other dragons

Mecha AU: Kaminoas created an army of droids for the Republic. 10-15 meters tall, perfect in combat, and have suspiciously advanced AI. It is located in tubes filled with thick, red liquid, which, if not cracked or destroyed, can be transported into a new metal body. Some of the mechas are modified so that the Jedi can pilot them from the inside, with the commander and the general working together. -Rex and Cody* -Anakin and Rex -Blank trooper design

Non-connected Rexwalker drawings

Medically mandated comforting pressure Rexwalker week 2023 Vampire AU Vaderkin exchange: Massive Mer Ani and Rex

[sonic-fankid-showdown]

Poll 5, Round 1.

About Zayne: (by @sapphanimates) Zayne is Espio the Chameleon's only son, with no one knowing the identity of his mother aside from Espio himself, only stating that she was an 'Oni.' Zayne is quiet and calculating, with a bit of teenage edge. He studies the art of ninjitsu under his father's watch, but he also possesses the ability to manipulate metal objects with his mind. Perhaps a trait inherited from his mother? He dislikes those who let power go to waste and people who tend to repeatedly get on his nerves. So you can probably guess how he feels about Sasha, huh?

About Scorn: (by @transgender-battlekukku) Imagine if the worst people ever had an angel for a child. And said angel was also an abomination of nature scientifically engineered in a lab ^-^. Anyways, Scorn is 4 years old and inherited Mimic's shapeshifting, but neither of his fathers' natures.

[theresattrpgforthat]

Any RPGs about being an unethical mad scientist or being a mad scientist's creation? Like creating an orangutan with buzzsaws for hands, a horribly mutated two-headed crocodile, grafting a rocket launcher onto a demon's back, giant biomechanical monstrosities, etc.

THEME: Mad Scientist’s Paradise

Hello, so I have a few games that seem specifically tied to mad science, but I also found some games about mutant animals that are a bit more focused on a post-apocalypse. I hope they are still close enough to what you are looking for!

Metamorphosis BX, by Tragos Games.

Metamorphosis BX is a post-apocalyptical MiniBX hack in which you'll roleplay a hybrid survivor in an ever-changing world in which a cataclysm fragmented time and space. It is light both in mechanics and tone, aiming to be fun above all.

This is one of the games where your strange mutations and abilities don’t necessarily come from mad science; but I think they could, if you wanted them to. This is a game that employs the use of roll-tables and gives your characters both benign and malign mutations, with different sized pools of different size dice for your hit dice. What is interesting is that you have a list of different dice pools on what is called your hit dice double-helix, aka HDDH - taking your highest dice from your dice pool every time you take a hit. This encourages your characters to end fights quickly, or avoid them when you can - and it also makes for a highly lethal game.

Mutants in the Now, by Julian Kay.

In the ‘80s and ‘90s, they ruled the streets, kick-flipping off of villainous faces and slipping into the shadows. Then, they vanished from the world of tabletop gaming.

But they’re back. And ready to KICK BUTT.

Mutants in the Now is a retromodern retake on the mutant animal role-playing games long past and left behind by licensing. Mutants fight to survive, thrive, and make the world better for themselves and humanity.

I’m not entirely sure what the origin of your mutation is in this game, and it seems that’s the point. The source of your mutations is meant to be a mystery, although big tech corporations, alien conspiracies, and psychic ninjas are all on the list of potential bad-guys. The game itself has a multitude of good reviews, with a lot of praise for the flexibility available to you at character creation, and a large amount of love for the random tables.

If this game sounds interesting but you want something a little less scienc-ey, you might also want to check out the Mutants in the Next supplement, which adds in cryptids, mythical beasts, and a post-apocalypse setting to throw at your characters.

CyberRats, by Alex Rinehart.

You are genetically engineered Operatives addicted to Biotech, a glowing gel that gives you superhuman powers. 

The world is being invaded by extraterrestrials known as Interlopers. You have been employed by a megacorp to ensure that the aliens don't win, and that if they are stopped, it's you who does it, and not some rival corporation.

Winning won't be easy. But it also won't be enough. The right corp must get credit.

Can you stop the aliens? Will you sabotage the military to steal equipment and defense contracts from your competitors? How many Operatives will you lose before you taste victory?

Cyberrats, an illuminated RPG.

Here’s a game all about being lab rats - literally! Cyberrats is a fast-paced shoot-em-up about genetically engineered rats addicted to the substance that gives them super-human powers, up against a terrifying alien threat. Your characters can be altered biologically, but also cybernetically, so I have a feeling rocket launchers and exo-suits are on the table here!

If you want to hear what this game plays like, you can check out the Cyberrats Radio Hour, a 30-minute episode full of alien combat and explosions.

Bio-Drones & Cryo-Clones, by ChrisAir.

Bio-Drones & Cryo-Clones is a 48pg biopunk facility-crawl for Mothership RPG, inspired by the body horror of Cronenberg’s The Fly and a twisted take on Metroidvania “save stations.” This zine is the first installment of The Sleeper Crew Adventures zine series.

PCs wake up in the Mountain Forces R&D Facility, dropped smack center into the plans of a scientist gone mad in her love for the dead despot that once owned the world. Players must gather clues, navigate NPC motivations, evade monstrosities before they Become the Mutants.

This is less of a gonzo scenario and more built for fans of horror, putting the player characters in a hostile lab environment and threatening them with a number of mutations as they try to find a way to stop the mad scientist big-bad of the adventure.

This isn’t a standalone game, but rather a module for Mothership, which is a game set inspired by Alien and has many, many different kinds of modules that you can run in many different horror scenarios. This module looks rather extensively developed, with printable maps, a set of VTT tokens, and art for all of the listed NPCs and Creatures. If you want a game full of suspense and horror, you should check out Bio-Drones & Cryo-Clones!

The UPLIFT, by Kurt Potts.

The Uplift is a tabletop RPG about cybernetically uplifted animal heroes saving the galaxy with superpowers! Think Guardians of the Galaxy, but you're all playing Rocket.

You awaken to find you are both less and more, you are both old and new.

You play animals who've been cybernetically uplifted by some mysterious company or lab. Through your adventures you may get the chance to learn why this was done to you, but by then it may not matter anymore. You're a hero and the galaxy needs saving.

Describe yourself in four steps, and let the GM describe to you the situation the crew finds themselves in. You roll 2d6 for pretty much everything you try, with modifiers for advantages and disadvantages. Each character will have one super-power that allows you to add a third d6 to certain rolls, to increase your chance of beating the difficulty score. You can risk personal injury or busted implants on a failure, and then spend downtime later to fix yourself up.

I like that the designer of this game took the basic rules of WSCA games and combined them with tools like clocks and downtime, which are commonly seen from Forged in the Dark games. It allows the players to deal with bigger setbacks during play, because you know you’ll have a chance to fix them down the road. That being said, you can still choose to die a heroic death if you still want to!

Science & Sabotage, by Live Real Press.

You are a team of evil mad scientists, hell-bent on creating a doomsday device that can bring the world to its knees.

Unfortunately, there is competition for the honor. You must finish your device before they finish their device. 

You don't have time to play fair.

This is a game where you actually get to play the mad scientists, rather than their creations. It’s built off of the famous Lasers & Feelings structure, so you just need a d6 or two to play. Race against a rival team of mad scientists to be the first one to destroy the world - or at least, to threaten the world with destruction. This is probably good for a single one-shot, or perhaps, if you want to combine it with one of the other games here, you might want to use this game as a set-up for the event that destroyed the world, or perhaps your scientists are instead racing to be the first to cause mutations on a global scale!

Blister Critters, by stillfleet.

Pick your favorite varmint, grab your dice, and roleplay as a cartoon animal on a radiation-blasted Saturday-morning show!

The humans are gone just like the ozone layer, and the world they left behind is overflowing with danger…

In this innovative and surreal game, you play as a small animal who can wield bizarre mutations called Blisters as well as physics-bending Nonsense powers. These strange abilities—artfully developed within the Grit System—will help you survive in a vast, cruel suburbia populated by fellow Critters and their feral counterparts, Beasts.

The sun will mutate you and give you special powers as you scavenge the piles and piles of loot that the humans have no more use for. The tone of this game is very much like a Saturday-morning cartoon, but you can also turn up the gritty dial and make it about the harshness of this new world if you want to. Blister Critters uses a number of different polyhedral dice, with larger dice assigned to traits you’re good at and smaller dice assigned to traits you’re… not so good at. Your character also has two pools that can diminish: Health and Grit, which represent your hit points and your energy respectively. Your Grit can be spent to power the special abilities given to you by your Blisters, so the course of gameplay will likely require balancing your resources as you work through various obstacles.

The Kickstarter has finished for this game, but you might want to keep an eye on it so you can see when the final product is published. In the meantime, you can also check out the Quickstart, as well as the entries to the Critter City Crawl Jam.

[materialsscienceandengineering]

Scientists develop high-impact materials for optoelectronic technologies

Every day, people are reaping the benefits of work by scientists and engineers to make more effective X-ray machines, computers, cell phones and televisions. Florida State University researchers are pushing the boundaries of those technologies and developing new more cost-effective and environmentally friendly materials for these devices. FSU Professor of Chemistry and Biochemistry Biwu Ma and his lab have spent years pioneering the use of hybrid materials known as organic metal halide hybrids, or OMHHs. These materials combine organic molecules with metal halide units, resulting in structures with easily manipulated properties that are used in solar cells, light-emitting diodes (LEDs) and more. This fall, their work related to various aspects of these materials was published in three different scientific journals.

Read more.

[bardic-tales]

Day 6 | Diana Ravenscroft | Day 8

31 days of FF 7 Headcanons: Day 7: Role in the Original FF7 Storyline

Today’s prompt dives into where our OCs fit within the original narrative of Final Fantasy VII: whether they stood in the spotlight or haunted the shadows. For Diana Ravenscroft, her influence was anything but peripheral. She wasn’t a name you heard in passing or a figure glimpsed from a distance. No, Diana was embedded in the architecture of Shinra’s rot.

This post explores her role in Project N, her twisted legacy with Hojo, and how her obsession with transcendence left a trail of blood, suffering, and broken bodies beneath Midgar’s polished empire. While Cloud and his party fought battles above ground, Diana was engineering new gods in the dark.

Possible Trigger Warnings: abuse of power, body horror, captivity, coercion, eugenics, experimentation, medical abuse, psychological manipulation, scientific torture, vivisection

During the events of the original Final Fantasy VII, Diana Ravenscroft served as a critical yet covert player within Shinra’s darkest scientific endeavors. Though she wasn’t seen on the battlefield or standing before the player’s party, her presence was felt behind the scenes, woven into the very machinery of the Company’s most heinous experiments. As Professor Hojo’s protégé and eventual collaborator, Diana operated from the shadows of Shinra’s laboratories, overseeing the day-to-day cruelty of Project N: the experimental program that attempted to hybridize celestial, infernal, and Jenova genetics. Her work didn’t unfold on the frontlines, but it shaped the horrors lurking beneath them—creating failed supersoldiers, triggering biological anomalies, and warping the lives of beings like Bianca Moore, whose suffering became synonymous with the project’s ambition and humanity's hubris.

Diana’s role became especially prominent following the Nibelheim Incident in [μ] – εγλ 2000. As Sephiroth began to spiral toward his god complex and after his 'death', Shinra scrambled to maintain control over its rogue creations. While Hojo remained obsessed with Sephiroth’s legacy through direct cloning, Diana turned her attention to something more audacious: unlocking the essence of divinity itself through Bianca Moore, a celestial-demonic hybrid imprisoned within Shinra’s labs in the Shinra Mansion. This decision reframed Diana’s role in the story. She was not just as a scientist but a zealot of human transcendence. She wasn’t trying to make another SOLDIER. She was trying to forge a new species and to break death itself. Her experiments, which involved repeated vivisections and cellular infusions, paralleled the same moral decay that Shinra, as a company, had wrought on Gaia.

Her influence quietly underscores the moral rot Cloud and his party are fighting against. As Avalanche wages war against reactors and Shinra’s military arm, Diana is deep within the scientific caste, doing far more insidious damage. Her presence adds an unseen layer of horror to Shinra’s empire: one not powered by guns, SOLDIERs, and Mako alone but by the abuse of life itself.

Project N’s failed clones and biotechnological monstrosities can easily be imagined haunting the lower levels of Shinra facilities, a chilling echo of the work she and Hojo performed in tandem. Had the party ever uncovered the full extent of Diana’s work, she would have stood among the most ethically bankrupt figures in Shinra’s entire hierarchy.

As Sephiroth began his Reunion through the Lifestream and Jenova cells across the planet, Diana’s connection to him through Project N became even more disturbing. Warped by the infusion / interjections of Jenova and S-cells, Bianca Moore’s dreams and hallucinations hinted at Sephiroth’s influence bleeding into her psyche, suggesting that Diana had unwittingly created another tether between Sephiroth’s will and the physical world, much like the Robed Men. This deepened the implications of Reunion, expanding it beyond mere fragments of Jenova and into something more metaphysical: a reunion of Mother, Son, and Celestial Consort who was connected to a prophecy which spoke of destroying and remaking Existence. Ever blind to consequence, Diana remained focused on perfecting immortality, unaware that she was amplifying the very threat Avalanche sought to contain.

In the end, Diana’s role in the original story is that of an invisible architect of tragedy. She is not a villain in the traditional sense. She doesn’t hold a sword or command an army or even met the main cast of Final Fantasy VII. Her actions ripple across the storyline with the weight of irreversible consequence. Her scientific genius makes her one of Shinra’s most dangerous minds. And while the main cast may never have spoken her name, the experiments she oversaw, the suffering she sanctioned, and the monstrous ideals she chased all contributed to the desolated world Cloud and his allies fought to save. Diana Ravenscroft was not a peripheral figure. She was just a scalpel in Shinra's hands and, along with Hojo, the reason some experiments never had names: only numbers.

@themaradwrites @shepardstales @megandaisy9 @watermeezer

@prehistoric-creatures @creativechaosqueen @chickensarentcheap

@inkandimpressions @arrthurpendragon @projecthypocrisy @serenofroses

[bloghyperfixes]

Taliesin is now holding his newborn baby between his arms and Mohito is next to him, Kampari and Rick totally succeeded this time but Eyre is having a few toughs on the baby suddenly dying after few seconds, minutes, hours or days.. Nobody knows

So, I overdid it. I was only supposed to answer about the hug, but it was like a fanfic.

English is not my first language!

Warning: lots of character OOC, crossovers, "crack relationships", discussion of genetic material and the presence of embryos, mention of death, attempts to kill a hybrid embryo for a scene or two, space angels and their effect on the environment

——— This evening ceases to be fun.

Moments earlier, Talsien was having fun and joking around with his angelic husband, but some short minutes later, the scientists of universe 3 appear in front of them and drag them to their lab, hastily showing them upon arrival....small creature? Talsien, blinking from the colored spots after teleporting, takes a better look, but he doesn't understand what it is. The creature, apparently not fully formed, is floating in some sort of transparent solution in a special huge equipped fixture with multicolored cables flashing around it.

- "It's a baby!" - Bulma chirped happily, looking extremely pleased with herself for the successful experiment, and looking at Mojito and Talsien for praise.

- "It's your baby” - Rick said with clinical indifference, belching loudly to the side without getting into a detailed explanation of what was going on.  He looked like genetic engineering and clone creation was nothing to him.

The elf blinks in confusion, a second later belatedly shifting his gaze to an equally lost Mojito. They both don't understand what's going on or WHERE this child came from, because mating them with a pregnancy was not an option.

- "We collected your genetic materials, and attempted to create your shared child”, -Camparri obligingly prompts, as if amused by the scene unfolding before his. - "Unfortunately, there were several failed attempts...."

- "Wait!", -Talsien is the first to come to his senses, shaking his hands as if trying to remove the tension from them. - "Are you saying that this creature, floating in a strange liquid, is a small homunculus, a future child?"

The scientists nod, Talsien sighs fearfully, and looks at Mojito again for support. But Mojito doesn't answer, staring blankly dumbfounded at this little experiment. Normally, Angels have to think fast to make a decision favorable to their god, but right now there's no Hakaishin around for Mojito to explain anything to. It's Mojito himself who needs clues to what's going on right now

Talsien touches Mojito's hand and the angel finally reacts, looking up at the elf. Mojito licks his lips, trying to hold them in place and not raise them up, baring his teeth.

- "What is the meaning of all this, Camparri? Creating offspring is only available to the Grand Priest"

- "So your father isn't the coolest at it. We wanted to create a hybrid, and we were able to do it!", - Rick laughs, sipping from his silver flask. - "We're waiting for this thing to fully form, do some more research, and when we're sure it won't die like past embryos, we'll give it to yous"

Talsien swallowed nervously, glancing at the incubator again. For some reason, the very existence of this thing has begun to freak him out, triggering a strange sense of unease before it, as if he's seen the cosmic form of Mojito so deeply lodged in his brain again, planting images of something creepy. Because, Talsien thinks, there's a difference between having a "kink to reproduce", and actually having offspring. And he's not sure he's even considered procreation at all. And even though these are genetic samples found and collected by someone else after sex, Talsien feels embarrassed and like he's being used for some dumb joke. There's a thought hovering on the edge of his mind that this is exactly how his former little toys feel, but he only brushes it off.

He hears a quiet " Mojito seems to like it!", looks at the source of the voice and back at the angel. Mojito has turned away from the scientists, looking at the incubator flask, lips parted in a smile, tail wagging behind his back and his head tilted in a studying gesture. Bulma takes it as an expression of happiness, Talsien knowing these micro expressions well, realizes that Mojito is on the verge of panic. And now, to top it all off, Angel's wolf ears are pressed against his head, his fingers on the staff beginning to tap on its surface. Mojito looks like a frightened wild animal.

Bulma shrieks as the test tubes next to her crack ringingly, she steps back fearfully. The space near Mojito shimmers, his humanoid sheath distorting for a second, almost disintegrating into mist before a smiling Camparri appears in front of him, blocking his view on of the homunculus, diverting attention to himself. Mojito growls indignantly but his brother doesn't back down; Talsien and the others crinkling their eyes away as the head in his temples begins to throb unpleasantly.

- "Oh, dear brother, calm down"

- "You allow your little friends too much, Kamparri. What will Father say about this?"

- "We won't tell, he won't know. Wouldn't you be interested to see what happens?"

- "You think you're a kaioshin?" - Mojito growls, his gaze falling to Eyre, who hides behind Rick fearfully, and back to Camparri. His brother only snorts.

- "No, just a little scientist wanting to do various shit. But you'd like to procreate if you could reproduce?"

Rick interrupts their conversation with a foul grunt: - "I'm pretty sure that if angels were free to reproduce, they'd be freely spreading their gene remnants everywhere. Or, well..."

- "Oh, if my main job was to come and bless mortals to procreate and leave puppies in them, rather than being an angelic conduit for the god of destruction, I might well be doing that," the words oozed with sarcasm and irony, interrupting a drunken Rick. - "But no, I don't think I've ever been interested in having children. Training chosen children to replace the old god of destruction, if there is no other choice in recruits for that role is not on this list."

- "Why didn't you...try it on your genetic materials?" - Talsien asks, inspecting the equipment.

Bulma and and Eyre hysterical laughter erupts in response, this dilutes the already tense atmosphere, causing Mojito to relax considerably as he watches them in surprise, his form gradually ceasing to club and reverting back to its normal state.

- "These two," Bulma points to Camparri and Rick, "were the first test subjects. You think you're the only ones they collected garbage from? They were so happy to collect their genetic materials!"

- "We tried many times, but the experiment died at different stages of planning, at the beginning, in the middle, even at the end. We tried to get to the point where we could form cells and a nucleus, but we could never get it to come together. Your materials have proven to be the most resilient so far," explains Camparri. Confident that his brother is not attacking the small creature, he steps back, but stays in the moment to defend himself.

- "Mojito",-Talsien, who has been pondering this topic for a long time, calls out to her husband. - "What if...What if we actually tried it? Would we have a family?"

- "You know kids are a responsibility? I know babies are loud and smelly. Plus we were shown a little creature, told it was our baby, and then hoped it could survive long enough? What were you all counting on?" - Mojito mooed unhappily.

Talsien sighs and snuggles up to the angel, his gaze occasionally dropping to the running equipment, Mojito leaning in when the man asks for it: "We could imagine you really did give me a puppy."

The way Mojito rolled his eyes and wrinkled his nose showed it was an unfortunate choice of words, but it seems the angel loves the elf too much, so he didn't dare deny his request to leave the little creature and see the result of the experiment.

- "Could I dream of it being the world's coolest boy?", - Talsien smiled flirtatiously.

- "We're not a toy store, asshole," - Eyre sighs.

--

When Mojito and Talsien arrive at the lab again, an already formed baby's body lies in the incubator. Their scientist friends are moving around the location, checking data, notes, electronics connections, and most importantly the baby's life status

They both slowly approach this little unusual thing lying quietly on a diaper under of dome

Eyre: I"'d advise you not to even breathe in his direction, but I'm too tired to fear that he could die at any moment. Readings indicate that the body is stable, and there's nothing wrong with his system. You can gently take him in your arms".

Talsien emits a sigh of surprised relief, looking over to her husband. As Rick opens the box, carefully pulling out the infant, Mojito sniffs, snorting at the smell of various medicines, Talsien extends her arms to take the little creature.

It is a baby. He holds a creature created from their genetic material, it is small, strange, warm and has weight in his hands. So...it.... it has bone and muscle structure, and internal body structure, because it's probably initially very difficult to take something from a blob of cosmic space…

Amidst the hum of the instruments working, the all too familiar sound of a teleportation vortex was heard and all noises fell silent. The first figure to emerge from the portal was Celestia, and she could have served as a shield between the lab and Daishinkan, but there was no smile of joy on her face, only displeasure. Daishinkan appears next to her, and a multitude of eyes open in the space around him, and a few on his face, as if he was partially controlling himself to keep his physical shell from shifting into the form of a space creature.

Eyes surveying the location, Bulma, oblivious, shakes her head from the pressure in the air, backs away, the angel's pupils catching her movement, stop on her, stop on the other members of the lab, and then all eyes are on the small child. The halo behind his head glows brighter, Daishinkan lets out a guttural growl and Mojito stands in front of Talsien and the child, literally challenging her father. Talsien cradles the child in his arms

As it begins to get colder and several test tubes are covered in frost, Ayr whimpers fearfully, exhaling a cloud of vapor, "Sir, please! Your anger is only making things worse, I wouldn't want anything to happen to the baby!", and huddles fearfully against the wall as Daishinkan glares at him

- "What made you think that was a good idea in the first place?" - Celestia hums, placing a hand on Daishinkan's shoulder reassuringly, and walking around the tables, approaching the reason for her appearance. The Grand Priest looks at her, grumbling quietly, but the temperature slowly drops and he walks, but on the other side. They are like two predators on the hunt, the others belatedly realizing that they are almost-then locked in the same room with the ancient gods.

- "Because we can do this" - Rick shouts.

Rick was itching to rub Daishinkhan's nose in it, to mess with him and start creating more angelic mutants, to show that he could be cooler than a god, but when he saw the tense look in the eyes of the silent Camparri, his fervor and adrenaline began to subside, realizing that he had read his drunken thoughts. It looked like he'd overdone it, but the idea was still tempting.

- "And it's definitely not up to you to be above divine and do weird experiments" - Answered Celestia, ignoring the protective Mojito, stepping closer and studying the child.

To Daishinkan, the existence of this creature is nothing more than a great anomaly. He is the one who controls the population of angels, creating them «when the time is right». At this point it is not known what this flesh child represents, it could cause trouble in the future, and...

- "Ah, perhaps I've jumped to conclusions? I don't like the way this baby appeared, but it looks cute enough", - Celestia purrs, catching Daishinkan's attention. - "And besides, from what I've heard, this baby could die at any moment due to its unstable components. Could we observe him? What do you think of that, Grand Priest?"

The many eyes surrounding Daishinkan blink stupidly, he makes a chirping sound at this moment of surprise: -"...what made you change your mind? Did your maternal instincts kick in?"

Celestia shrugs uncertainly:-"As I said, I am disgusted by this experiment, but I am not forbidden to be curious. Aren't you curious? To try and watch it once?"

- "If I give them a leniency, they'll keep using angels and breeding anomalies because they've learned how to do it" - Daishinkan pondered.

Celestia didn't hold Daishinkan's brain cells in her hands, but she realizes that if he had come here alone, he would have gotten rid of the problem without further conversation

And now she waited for the Grand Priest's decision, watching as the brightness of his halo gradually diminished, the eyes hovering around him fading away, and a few  remaining on his face.

- "Hmm. This child will remain the only artificially bred hybrid, I'm not going to let humans experiment with angelic materials" - Daishinkan gives a wave, allowing this experiment. The scientists exhale in relief, Bulma, who has survived the wrath of the divine beings, clings to the kaioshin's shoulder.

- "His life is still unstable, I'm afraid he could die at any moment. We've put so many resources into this, I've even shared my Ki with all the embryos" - The kaioshin speaks softly.

- "Yeah, I wonder why a child, that has a space angel, Which shouldn't have even a hint of DNA or anything like that in it,  in it as a second parent is so unstable that the experiment dies while still in the embryogenesis stage" - Celestia chuckles, Daishinkan mooing something.

He raises his hand, which has CI and angelic energy sparking on it, and touches the infant, transferring that bit of energy to it - "I'm not sure if my energy will help and strengthen the experiment's body, but let's see how this goes.

Daishinkan ignored the tense Mojito and Talsien, who froze as the angel performed strange manipulations on the child. They breathed a sigh of relief when he allowed them to keep the genetically engineered miracle, and smiled weakly as they gazed at the little face, wondering what the child would be like.

[cepheusgalaxy]

tell me abt ur ocs

:DDDDD

i'll be overjoyed to:

I'll. Stick to just one cast of ocs from one single wip or else we gonna stay in here all week. ;)

(this got a bit long. cws for fantasy eugenics and conditioning under the cut)

♤ Polaris!

Living weapon/child soldier <3 The first one I ever created, actually. One of my oldest ocs in general. I used to daydream ab him in bed as a kid.

He lives in a world where everything and everywhere is taken by war. It's the grand thing of the story; there are multiple human-like races, very similar between each other, and somewhere over the course of history they started fighting over the right calling themselves the 'true and only humans'. Each one wants to dehumanize the others and come out on top of the war. This has been going on for a while.

Polaris is born and raised amidst all of this. He is a lab baby (i ❤️ lab babies who were "made for this") and was genetically engineered to have the 'best' (arbitratrily decided) characteristics of each race, in order to be a human weapon for the nation he was created in. As such, by their standarts, he is not Human like them; he's an hybrid. A "mulatto". Subhuman. He was raised with these ideas shoved in his head, growing determination to fight for the True, Worthy Humans ("its a privilege to do so! he is immensely grateful of being allowed to") and end this war on their side, to bring the others, worthless beings like him, down.

He was trained to be a soldier and a killer from the start, but he hates killing. Human or "not-human", it drives him up the walls when he tries to sleep. Polaris has been carved and primed to perfection, sure, but he deeply despises it. But it doesn't matter, he thinks. It doesn't matter, because he is not even human. He was given the privilege of fighting for the true cause, of stopping all the killing and dying. the sooner the humans win, the sonner he can stop killing. god, he just wants to stop please let him stop of helping end the war! And that's all he truly wants, at the end of the day.

Part of his arc is focused on overcoming his conditioning and his self-hatred, working with the other protagonists to end this mindless eugenics war :) He is also blond, because I love blond characters. I've considered making him black with a nice fade undercut, which i'm still over the fence about, but for now he is blond.

♤ Miriam :)))))

She is of a different 'race' than the one Polaris "serves". She is from a military academy, training to serve her nation in the war; and she is good. Miriam is a star student at Solaria, the best academy in the Amirah country. She is similar to Polaris, in a way. Also brainwashed by the eugenics kool-aid, believing she is doing the right thing by fighting in the war.

She is, at the start of the story, what you could call a... "benevolent racist". Miriam wants the war to end. And for it to end by their hands, the Humans (TM), because the other races would turn the world into havoc if they won. But them? No, they would be good. They would rule above with a kind hand. They would provide all the races everything they needed and lead them into an era of peace and prosperity; if any other people won, they would enslave or kill the remaining, but them, being humans, would not. They deserve to be at the top, and when they do, all will end well amd nobody will have to be hurt.

THANKFULLY her arc is also around overcoming that view 😭😭 Miriam is really nice and kind. She really believes in that tho. She also has red hairrr. And when I said she was a star soldier I wasnt kidding.

♤ Zaire

The star! The protagonist! He is actually the only one from the main trhee who doesn't buy the eugenics.

Why?

Why, he was raised outside of it all.

Zaire's homecountry, Itarja, is (was) a little isolated island where people could live without divisions of "humans" and "nonhumans". A safe haven amongst the war. Most people are "mixed", like Polaris.

One day, a certain nation invades and "purges" them.

Zaire (whose nickname is Zai, also hes transmasc! yippieee) is one of the few dozens who manage to flee to a neighbourhooring country (Amirah!!! Miriam's!!!) who accepts to welcome them as quasi-citizens if they can serve. Zai is put with some others into the military, because he has a bit of the genes of the people in Amirah. He meets Miriam there, who protects him from more cruel bullies (she does see him as a friend and worthy of respect, because she isn't as radical in her eugenic beliefs as most the others, because Miriam is a very compassionate and passionate person st heart) and their first contact is mostly focused on changing the other one's views.

Zaire has white hair (i LOVE white hair. along with pink, black and blond its my fav hair color EVER) and i associate him with the color lilac. He is soft, although a bit harsh around the edges since he is not very good at dealing with emotions, and being shoved into this war out of a sudden is very painful to him. He looks like a pessimist, but he is also very passionate and wants to end this war as soon as he can. In a way, his, Miriam's and Polaris's goals, although their motivations vastly differ, are mostly the same

♤ Honorable mention: Aalyah

Aalyah is Miriam's younger brother!! :DDDD He is younger my maybe two years or three, and he looks up to her a lot. When Miriam goes "missing" and is assumed dead in field, he is devastated. This leads to his revenge arc, where Aalyah starts to grow a never-ending hate for the Non-Humans (filthy, cruel, undeserving) and joins the military as well, following Miriam's footsteps, becoming one of the most brilliant agents of his time, all to avenge her and honor her memory in the only way he thinks is worth it:

Corruption arc :))))

Needless to say, he gets a blast when they finally meet again

Ty sm for the ask!!!! I love talking about them :)

If you ever want to check them, I have picrews for Zai and Miriam, and a few drabbles with Polaris (here/and here/also here, trigger warnings listed at the top)

(Also fun fact: for the reasons mentioned above, the name of the story is twotht: "the war of the human throne")