#✦ ⫽ main ... my touch is lethal ̗ my touch is power.

[m0onlustre]

Only a fool would bargain with the leader of Onychinus

ᯓPairing: Sylus x female reader (afab)

ᯓGenre: somewhat enemies to lovers, smut, porn with oc plot, angst

ᯓWord Count: 5,8k

ᯓ tags - WARNINGS: mdni, reader isn’t the lnds!mc, explicit sexual content, first time sex (not virginity loss) alterations to the main story, dr/y humping, thigh riding, b/egging, f!receiving oral, p in v, unprotected sex, creampies, squirting, dirty talking, use of pet names (kitten, sweetie, baby), violence, mentions of injuries. 

ᯓ Notes: Some of you may have already read my fic, The Price of Desire, in which the reader’s evol is mentioned. If you have, you’ll notice that the evol is the same in this story; however, there is no connection between the two. The concept of a reader with this ability was too appealing for me to resist, and since it was briefly mentioned in the previous fic, I decided to explore it further in this one. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it! All likes and reblogs are appreciated. :3

Going on missions for Sylus was nothing new to you by now. You had spent years by his side since he first found you, a wild creature desperate for survival. Sometimes, you could still recall how close you had come to killing each other back then. You had been hunted by nearly every illegal underground group, all seeking your evol, and while on the run, you stumbled upon him like a scared and feral animal.

You had instinctively tried to attack him on sight; it was all you knew how to do, having fought for your freedom for as long as you could remember. You were no stranger to the danger he represented—the bloodthirsty leader of Onychinus. If other groups sought you as a mere experiment for your power, you could only imagine what Onychinus would do if they got their hands on you.

The moment you realized the person you had fallen headfirst into was the white-haired menace himself, you had attempted to fight him with everything you had. Sylus, of course, dodged every single one of your attacks effortlessly, but he was merely toying with you, for he possessed something you were unaware of; he could not be killed.

You had always been feared for your lethal evol—one touch from your bare fingers could send someone halfway to the other world. You were an extraordinary weapon, yet Sylus was not deterred; he was intrigued, even enamored by you.

With his energy manipulation, it was impossible for you to harm him, particularly when he thrived on high levels of adrenaline and excitement.

So, even as you forced yourself to keep trying to touch him, desperate to end the chaos, he reveled in your fierce determination. He loved witnessing the fire in your eyes as you believed you could take him down. When he finally grew tired of your little game and decided to put an end to it, he was blindsided by a fact he had overlooked.

While he had learned nearly everything there was to know about your evol and your abilities, he did not realize one important thing; you were immune to his mist.

No matter how fiercely the red and black tendrils curled around you, the moment your flesh made contact with them, they vanished into thin air.

Sylus had nearly salivated when he realized the challenge you presented. It had been far too long since he had encountered someone so intriguing, and he was determined that you wouldn’t walk out of that valley without becoming his.

That’s how you found yourself in his group now. Unlike everyone else, Sylus had made a promise that night: if you went home with him willingly, he would never force you to use your abilities for his research or personal gain. He needed you to choose to be there if you were going to help him.

His condition was simple: think of aiding him, and in return, you would gain his protection, a life free from fear and the constant need to run for your freedom.

You had taken a significant risk when you decided to go with him, but the white-haired man kept his word. It took you months to contemplate helping him instead of merely enjoying the luxury of his lifestyle, but he was patient. In time, you became not only his most valuable asset but also his right hand. Whenever he was out of town for deals or missions, you handled matters back home on his behalf.

Deep down, back then you knew he wasn’t just a kind-hearted man simply looking to help a struggling girl off the street. What he truly sought to protect was your evol because he believed you would eventually come around to assist him when he needed it most. So when you finally did, it was no surprise to him. He had merely given you a subtle nod and handed you the first files.

Now, two years later, you stood beside him at one of the many auctions taking place in the N109 Zone. He was after a particularly important and valuable protocore—one he had pursued for years—and today presented his chance to possess it.

Being next to him not only amplified his chances of leaving unscathed without extensive negotiation—after all, who was crazy enough to challenge the leader of Onychinus and his lethal right-hand woman?—but it also made it easier for him to operate, as you inevitably drew attention and distraction from other bidders.

His hand curled possessively around your waist as he proudly showcased you to the crowd. The dress you wore was as red as his eyes, hugging your every curve and accentuating your figure. Your hair was styled in a simple updo, revealing your back to the admiring gazes around you.

The less fabric you wore, the more difficult it was for his mist to approach you, and that was one thing you clung to. You knew he wouldn’t hurt you—he had come to not only depend on you but to trust you as well. Still, you maintained a small resistance, a defiance that you weren’t ready to surrender, no matter how much it irritated him.

Your gloves were snugly in place, allowing you to interact with him without draining his energy, thus enabling you to warn others of the imminent danger your touch posed. One slip of fabric, and whoever you touched would be lost forever.

“Mr. Sylus, I didn’t think you’d make it tonight,” a distant voice interrupted your thoughts, drawing both of your attention. A young man addressed your boss, his tone a mix of surprise and formality.

“Not happy to see me?” Sylus replied, his voice smooth as silk and sweet as honey, the smugness evident in his expression as he arched a white brow at the man.

“Of course, sir! I’m sorry, sir. I just thought you’d be out of town—”

“Change of plans." Sylus muttered, cutting him off with a tight smile before guiding you forward, his hand resting firmly on the small of your back.

As you walked toward the room where his meeting would take place, you tilted your face up to catch a glimpse of his profile. “He’s right, you know,” you began, curiosity lacing your words. “Weren’t you supposed to return next Tuesday?”

Sylus’s smirk deepened at your question. “If I had known you’d be so disappointed by my early arrival, sweetie, I would have made sure to come back yesterday.”

You scoffed at his remark, subtly flexing your back to shake his arm off, but his grip only tightened, keeping you glued to his side. “Be good now. You know how important tonight is,” He leaned in closer, his hot breath sending a shiver down your spine as it tickled your ear. “Don’t screw this up.”

You couldn’t shake the uneasiness that crawled up your spine from the subtle threat lacing his tone. Sylus had been under immense pressure lately, but you refused to let him take it out on you.

“Sylus.”

He let out an impatient huff as you halted him just outside the door of your final destination, but he turned his body to face you fully, his expression a mix of frustration and intensity.

“I’m not your enemy,” you asserted, holding his gaze with unwavering resolve. “Many people work for you, but aside from Luke and Kieran, no one stands by your side with the same loyalty I do. I know you’ve been struggling, but I’m the last person you want against you right now.”

“Oh, is that right, kitten?” His brows furrowed, drawing closer until your chests nearly touched. To an outsider, you might have appeared to be lovers, but the tension between you was palpable and lethal. “And why is that? Because you’re oh-so-dangerous?”

His provoking smirk ignited your anger, and while you couldn’t fathom what was going through his mind, you chose to avoid making a scene. Stepping away from him, you tried to regain your composure. “They’re waiting for us.”

Before you could take another step toward the door, you were abruptly lifted off the ground, hanging upside down over Sylus’s shoulder.

“What the hell are you doing?” you whispered-yelled, frantically scanning for prying eyes. Your surprise deepened when, from the shadows, Luke and Kieran rushed toward you, effortlessly pulling you from Sylus’s grip. “What—”

“Take her to the car and wait for me,” Sylus commanded sharply, his tone clipped and leaving no room for negotiation. As you were carried away from him and the room, you felt a pang of frustration.

“Let me down!” you practically shouted as the twins put distance between you and the auction building.

“Sorry, ma’am, no can do.”

“Yeah, ma’am, we’re sorry, but no one bypasses the boss's orders!”

Your heart thumped loudly in your ears as the events unfolded, anger and frustration boiling within you at how Sylus had treated you. It was the first time since you started working for him that he had dismissed you so callously, and you couldn’t ignore the pang of hurt that coiled deep in your stomach.

You sat in the backseat of the car while the twins chatted and bantered in the front, oblivious to your turmoil. It felt surreal, as if they were living in a different world. Maybe you were overthinking it—after all, you hadn’t expected him to disregard you like that, especially during an auction so crucial to him. You were valuable to him, weren’t you? He needed you by his side, didn’t he?

Your thoughts spiraled until they were abruptly shattered by a loud bang. Before you could process the sound, part of the building in front of you exploded in a fiery eruption. Wait—was that the floor where the auction was being held? The very floor Sylus was on?

Without a second thought, you threw open the car door, sprinting toward the burning building despite the twins’ frantic shouts urging you to stop. Your mind was consumed by one thought: Sylus. He couldn’t be hurt. He couldn’t die. Foolish girl, not even his evol could save him from an explosion of that magnitude.

Your breaths came in ragged gasps, sweat clung to your skin as you pushed your limits, charging up the stairs to the floor where you had been just forty minutes earlier. You stumbled multiple times, falling to your knees, but the thought of Sylus pushed you onward.

When you finally reached the floor, it was a scene of devastation. The area lay in ruins, engulfed in smoke and chaos, with scattered survivors struggling to breathe amidst the wreckage. You focused your eyes and ears, straining to find Sylus amidst the agonizing cries of others. Time blurred as you searched, exhaustion creeping in and threatening to overwhelm you.

Just when you thought you might pass out, you spotted it—silver locks, now dirty and disheveled, just a few feet away. Panic surged through you as you fell to your knees and crawled with the last remnants of strength you had left. When you finally reached him, your heart stopped. You had never seen Sylus so vulnerable, so exposed.

You reached out to touch his face, your irritation intensifying at the realization that you still had to keep your gloves on, unable to feel his soft, dirt-streaked skin. With the last remnants of your strength, you shook him gently, your voice coming out hoarse as you tried to call his name.

Slowly, his eyes peeled open, and you let out the breath you had been holding. Unfortunately, you had inhaled too much smoke, resulting in a violent cough that wracked your body.

Clutching your chest, you hunched over, trying to cough out the smoke while moving away from him. Just then, you felt his fingers wrap around your wrist, tugging you down to him. You attempted to focus on his face, searching for any injuries, but your eyes were tearing up, and your vision was blurred from the smoke-filled atmosphere.

Just as you thought you might lose consciousness, his voice broke through, shaky and hoarse but still as sharp as a knife. “What are you doing in here, kitten?” His eyes were half-lidded, and he groaned as he struggled to sit up. “Didn’t I tell you to wait for me outside?”

You tried to help him rise, but his heavy body only dragged you down, sending you sprawling onto the floor. As he noticed your condition, his eyes sharpened with concern, and his features turned serious. He began removing his coat, which was now dirty and full of holes.

“Sylus—you need to get out of here,” you urged, trying to push him away as he attempted to cover you completely with his coat.

“Don’t talk right now, sweetie.” His movements were urgent, almost desperate, as he made sure no part of your upper body was exposed. Your hands were now firmly pinned to your torso beneath his coat. “And don’t fight me.”

His fingers came to your face, squeezing gently until your lips formed a pout and your attention was solely on him. “Stubborn little kitten,” he muttered, his voice a mix of frustration and affection.

Just before you slipped into unconsciousness, you felt the tendrils of his red-black mist enveloping you, pushing through your evol’s resistance and carrying you away from the chaos.

When you finally opened your eyes, it took a moment for your surroundings to come into focus. The unmistakable scent of Sylus’s mattress enveloped you, grounding you in reality. You were back at the mansion.

Your limbs felt heavy, and a dull ache throbbed in your head. Every part of your body screamed for you to stay in bed, to drift back into sleep and forget everything that had happened before you lost consciousness. But your mind was fixated on one thing: Sylus.

With a groan, you attempted to sit up, quickly glancing over your body. To your relief, you realized you were freshly cleaned and dressed in one of your nightgowns, with no significant injuries aside from a few scratches on your skin.

You took a moment to steady yourself, ensuring your vision wouldn’t fade to black before you attempted to walk across the room toward the door. Sylus’s office was just down the hallway, and as you stepped outside, you could faintly hear Luke and Kieran’s voices drifting from inside. You paused, heart pounding, and when you heard Sylus’s gruff tone, a wave of relief washed over you. He was okay.

After a brief moment, you knocked once before turning the doorknob and peeking through the small opening. Sylus’s gaze met yours immediately, and the twins turned to regard you with their rare smiles. It wasn’t often they dropped their masks, even in the mansion, but now their boyish features shone through. Their red hair was pulled back into matching messy ponytails, and a hint of blush colored their cheeks as they took in your appearance in the gown.

Sylus coughed discreetly, and the twins exchanged glances before standing up to give you two some privacy.

As they made their way to the door, Kieran paused to ruffle your hair playfully, leaning down to whisper in your ear, “You gave us a scare there, little crow.”

You regarded both twins with a small, apologetic smile before turning your full attention to the white-haired man seated behind his desk. He still wore his torn shirt, which left his muscular frame fully exposed. With a languid movement, he rolled his chair away from the desk and beckoned you with a finger.

Taking slow, deliberate steps toward him, you felt a wave of self-consciousness wash over you as his intense gaze roamed over your form. Despite the butterflies in your stomach, you approached and stood before him, his legs slightly apart, causing your knees to brush against the inside of his thighs as he looked up at you.

Your eyes fell to his toned chest, now marred with scratches and bruises—evidence the damage inflicted, perhaps a sign that he was running low on evol energy and unable to heal completely.

“Are you okay?” Your voice emerged as a barely audible whisper, still tinged with hoarseness. You clasped your hands behind your back, fidgeting awkwardly.

You weren’t quite sure what had come over you; you had never before found yourself in a situation where you needed to actively express your concern for Sylus until tonight, and you hoped he wouldn’t recall too much of what had transpired in that building.

“Worried, kitten?” he asked, a small smirk curling at the corners of his lips as his gaze swept over your body. His fingers twitched with the urge to reach out and touch you, yet he seemed equally torn, grappling with the worry that had gripped him when you had passed out in his arms.

You sniffled softly, your eyes darting anywhere but to him, your body tense and rigid as if your bones were locking into place. Instead of answering his question, you opted to redirect the conversation. “Do we know what caused the explosion?”

His expression was unreadable, and you noticed his jaw tick slightly as he processed your words. After a moment, he exhaled slowly, raising his hand to brush his knuckles gently across your arm. A shiver coursed through you at the contact, and you could see the corners of his lips curl slightly at your reaction. This time, he didn’t bother to hide himself from you.

“I did.”

“What?” Your voice came out louder than intended, earning a deep, rumbling chuckle from Sylus. He relaxed further into his chair, locking his carmine eyes onto yours with an intensity that sent your heart racing.

 “What are you talking about, Sylus? When I came in there…” It was becoming increasingly difficult to mask the emotion in your voice. “When I came in, you had fainted. What would have happened to you if I hadn’t found you in time?”

Amusement danced freely in his eyes at your small outburst. You truly were exquisite in your concern. “You underestimate me too much, sweetie.”

“You’re the one underestimating your enemies, Sylus!” You raised your voice, your hands gesturing in disbelief. “Just because you’re the leader of Onychinus doesn’t mean they can’t get to you if you’re unconscious.”

“Burnt men can’t walk, kitten.”

A small gasp escaped your lips at the speed and bluntness of his response. His smugness only fueled your anger at his reckless behavior. Leaning down, you gripped the arms of his chair, effectively caging him in. You were about to respond when you suddenly realized the position you had put yourself in. It gave him a full view of your breasts, the fabric of your nightgown flowing away from your skin and leaving little to the imagination.

Your ears and cheeks burned a deep crimson as you tried to pull away just as quickly as you'd leaned down. However, Sylus’s arm had already wrapped around your waist, anchoring you in place and pulling you impossibly closer. Your breath hitched when you noticed the way his pupils had dilated, his lips parting slightly as he fixated on your slowly hardening nipples.

“Sylus…” Your voice was barely a whisper now, heat pooling in your core under his intense gaze.

Finally, Sylus’s eyes met yours, and he began to stroke your back slowly, his tone low as if he feared shattering the delicate bubble that enveloped you both. “The explosion; It was my plan all along. Why else would I want you out and away from the building, sweetie?”

A frown crossed your face at his admission. Despite your initial shock, your body grew more compliant under his gentle strokes as he pulled you in, guiding you to straddle his thigh. His red irises darkened just a bit when your pulsing core made contact with his jeans and you felt a rush of heat flood your cheeks at the realization that he could probably feel just how wet you were.

Yet, he continued speaking, his voice smooth and steady. “Tonight had no other way of going. It was necessary and inevitable.”

“But why?” Your eyes had softened since you’d first entered his room, and you found yourself relaxing more beneath his touch as he explained the events of the night.

“Because, kitten, tonight’s transaction was off the table the moment it was proposed by the other side, a few days back when I was still away."

By now, confusion began to cloud your understanding of Sylus’s motives. “But…” Your gaze drifted to his desk, where numerous files lay scattered. “Is this why you came back earlier? Tonight’s transaction was for that protocore you needed, Sylus. I thought nothing could screw this up for you. Weren’t you after it for years?”

Sylus let out a small scoff, his lips pressing into a thin line as he studied your face intently. “You never asked me what the price of that protocore was, kitten.”

Curiosity piqued, you looked up at him again, instinctively leaning closer. Your breasts brushed against his chest, heightening the tension between you as if his answer were a secret he needed to share. “And what was the price?”

“You.”

Your eyes widened in shock, and a dark cloud crossed his features as he spoke. His grip on your waist tightened slightly, causing you to squirm on his thigh, which elicited a low grunt from him.

Your emotions were a chaotic mess, thoughts swirling together and leaving you breathless as you tried to process what he was implying. “So what you’re saying is…”

“The deal was off the table the moment they thought you were for sale.” Sylus’s leg bounced suddenly, and you couldn’t suppress the moan that escaped your lips. Your hands instinctively flew out to clutch the fabric of his open shirt for stability. “I came back because I had to send a message.”

His voice dripped with malice as he continued to move his leg, sending shockwaves of sensation through your core as it ground against his thigh.

The pleasure mixed with confusion made you feel light-headed; even if you wanted to resist, your body had already betrayed you. There was no stopping your hips from chasing the friction, no way to quell the whimpers that escaped your lips. Sylus’s fingers curled tighter around the fabric of your nightgown at the sound.

As you continued to grind against him, he spoke with a dark intensity. “They had to know, kitten; Nobody lives to say they tried to bargain with what belongs to me.”

“I—I don’t belong to you,” you breathed out, unsure whether you were trying to lie to him or to yourself.

“Is this why you’re drenching my thigh, sweetie?” As if to emphasize his point, he bounced his knee again, causing it to press against your sensitive nerves with a force that made you moan involuntarily, your head falling to rest on his shoulder.

“You poor thing,” he cooed in your ear, his hand sliding to your lower back, urging you to grind down against him.

“Tonight—you put yourself in danger, Sylus.” You struggled to form coherent thoughts as you chased your orgasm on his thigh, your mind slowly turning to mush. “That was so stupid, even for you.” You finished your sentence with a moan, and Sylus groaned, instinctively moving his hips upward, his own hard-on seeking friction.

“Were you worried about me, kitten?” He dipped his head to your neck, his lips leaving open-mouthed kisses as he awaited your response, which never came. Sensing your hesitation to voice your concern, his hand slipped between your bodies, his fingertip pressing onto your throbbing clit, making you cry out. “Answer me.”

“I—yes. Yes, I was s'worried.” Your head fell back in bliss, granting him access to suck and nibble on your throat as your hips moved faster and harder. The tight coil in your belly was only a few movements away from bursting. “I thought I’d—”

“Go on.” Sylus urged, his fingers dancing over your clit as he bounced his knee in sync with your movements, relishing the way you were making a mess on him, your whole body heating under his touch.

“I thought I’d lost you.” The words escaped your lips just as your orgasm washed over you, making your vision go black and your entire body shake with its intensity. Sylus’s arms wrapped around you, caging you against his chest as he let you ride it out, offering the small comfort you sought after your confession.

When you finally came down from your high, you were breathless, panting, and a few tears had escaped your eyes. But he was there, holding you gently and running his fingers through your hair. “I’m not that easy to get rid of, sweetie.”

You pushed your head off his chest, your eyes meeting his soft red ones. Without thinking clearly, you reached out to cradle his face. The moment your fingertips made contact with his skin, his whole body visibly flinched, and just like his heartbeat, it felt like time had stopped.

Horrified and regretful, you realized you had let your emotions get the best of you and forgotten about your evol. You stood up from his lap, pressing your hands tightly against your chest, the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Just a few seconds. Just a few seconds, and he’ll wake up, like he always does, right? Doubts gnawed at you; he was so weak after tonight, but his evol would heal him. It had to.

Just when you were about to scream for help, Sylus’s chest began to rise and fall again. His eyes fluttered open, and relief flooded your entire being. Your shoulders slumped, and your body shook, even though he was alright. How could you have been so careless?

“Sweetie.” His voice was soft as he stood from his chair, towering over you. “Look at me.”

You tilted your head up hesitantly, your regrets gnawing at you for what you had just done. You tried to open your mouth to apologize, but no words came out; instead, his lips found yours, silencing any sound you might have made. He threaded his fingers through your hair, pulling gently to angle your head to the side and deepen the kiss until you thought you might faint from lack of breath.

This time, you made sure to keep your hands glued to your sides, not daring to touch him again. When he finally pulled away, you were both panting. He rested his forehead against yours and moved his hand to the back pocket of his pants, retrieving something.

You tilted your head to watch him unfold two pieces of leather gloves. He carefully took your wrist, drawing it toward him before placing the glove on your hand, then moved to the other to do the same. It was a temporary solution, one that frustrated you to no end, but you wouldn’t jeopardize his life just for a touch of his soft skin.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your thoughts crashing over you like a tsunami of negativity at the prospect of harming him. Your frustration only fueled your desperation, and you found yourself clawing at the remnants of his shirt, trying to pull him closer. “I need you, please, Sylus, ’m so sorry.”

Sylus groaned as he felt you tugging him nearer, his own hands finding refuge on your body, touching and caressing anywhere he could reach. “Are you sure, kitten? Once we start, I don’t know if I can hold back.” His voice was low and controlled, while your legs trembled with desire and need.

“Then don’t hold back. Give me everything you have. I can take it, Sylus.” You pressed kisses all over his exposed chest, making him gasp and thin his patience. In one swift motion, you found yourself lifted off the floor, your body cradled in one of his arms as he carried you toward his desk.

“You really know how to bring a man to his knees, sweetie.” He placed you gently on top of the desk, taking his position between your legs. Your lips connected again as his hands deftly worked to rid you of your clothes.

Once you were bare before him, he stepped back, his gaze roaming over your body like a starving man taking in a feast. “Breathtaking.”

He fell to his knees in front of you, throwing your legs over his shoulders with a force that sent you backward, your elbows bracing against the desk for balance. He was too impatient to tease; he dived right in, his tongue lapping at your folds with urgent fervor.

Your back arched immediately, moans and whimpers spilling from your lips as he worked his mouth on your cunt, devouring you as if you were his last meal. Your legs tightened around his head, the pleasure overwhelming, which only made him groan and feast on you harder.

His tongue plunged into your tight hole, sending shockwaves of sensation coursing through your body. You thought you could hold on a little longer, but when his large hand spread across your tummy, pressing down, you exploded in his mouth. Your vision went white as you drenched him, your thighs shaking violently around his head.

The realization of what you had done hit you when he pulled away, his chin and exposed chest glistening with droplets of your release. You shot your gloved hand to cover your mouth, your legs instinctively closing in embarrassment.

Yet, he looked even more exhilarated, his hands gripping your thighs and spreading them apart as he positioned himself between them, his lips finding yours once more. “You’re going to do this again. And this time, you’re going to do it on my cock.”

He pushed you back, a firm hand on your chest as you lay spread out on top of his desk. Your eyes focused on his hands as they deftly undid his pants, pushing them down along with his briefs. The moment you saw his girthy cock—veiny and the tip angry and red for you—your mouth went dry.

You craved to satisfy him as he had satisfied you, but when you tried to sit up, his hand pressed you back down against the desk.

“Not tonight, sweetie. Right now, I just need to be inside you.”

Even though he spoke, he made no move to get on you, waiting for your consent first. You nodded, your eyes clouded with lust.

“Use your words, kitten. I need to hear you.” He was pumping his cock with his hand, his fingers barely wrapping around it. Standing before you in all his naked glory, he resembled a Greek statue, and your chest tightened at how wickedly beautiful he looked.

“Yes. Please, Sy, need you inside me.” Your voice came out breathless, and that was all the confirmation he needed. He wrapped an arm around your thigh, pulling you to the edge of the desk and throwing one of your legs over his shoulder to spread you open exactly as he desired.

He pushed the tip in at first, making you clench around him instinctively, as if trying to suck him deeper. An unsteady breath escaped him, and his body stuttered momentarily. You were killing him in the sweetest way. “So goddamn tight.”

Your eyes rolled back in pleasure as he pushed further inside you, his grip on your thigh tightening the moment he was fully buried in you, his pelvis pressing against yours. You could feel him all the way up into your stomach, and your legs began to shake, even though he remained still.

His breathing had turned erratic, and the moment your hips squirmed forward, his other hand came down to keep you in place. “Shit, baby, don’t move. Give me a moment.”

You were a whimpering mess, sweat beading on your forehead from the anticipation. But the instant he started moving, your whole body unlocked, turning to pudding under his thrusts. He began with a slow, deliberate pace, his lips parting as small grunts escaped him, each thrust igniting the fire building within you.

The more you clenched down on his cock, the faster he moved, until the desk scraped against the marble floor. “Fuck, kitten. You’re squeezing me so tightly.” His voice was thick with lust, and the sound of skin slapping against skin only intensified the fire burning deep in your core. “Do you love my cock that much?”

Your mind had turned to mush, thoughts consumed by how he stretched you and filled you to the brim. You nodded uncontrollably, crying out every time his cock brushed against your sweet spot. “Yes! I love it so much, Sy.”

“Good girl.” Sylus’s thrusts quickened as he heard your pretty sounds, the way your walls sucked him in making his thighs tremble slightly as he felt his release drawing near. “Such a good girl, so cock-hungry for me.”

“Ah— fuck.” Stars began to form behind your eyelids, your whole body rocking on the desk. If it weren’t for Sylus’s hands gripping your thighs, you would have slid right off and ended up on the floor from his relentless force. The desk shook violently from his pounding, and you were certain the whole house could hear you.

Sylus’s hand reached for your face, his thumb brushing against your lower lip before slipping past it to press down on your tongue, making you clench around his cock instinctively. “That’s it, sweetie,” he breathed, his eyes closing and his head tilting back in pleasure as your cunt hugged him tightly. “Give it to me; I can feel how close you are.”

You were indeed on the brink, your whole body burning and trembling under Sylus’s powerful thrusts. But what sent you over the edge was a sudden knock on the door, followed by Luke’s voice calling out to see if everything was alright.

The moment you realized you had been caught, and Luke could turn the doorknob at any second to find you spread for Sylus, his cock pressing against your cervix, you exploded. Your loud moans were partly muffled by the white-haired man's finger in your mouth. The pressure you applied around his cock as you climaxed made Sylus falter, his own orgasm crashing over him with a force he hadn’t anticipated.

His hot seed coated your walls, filling you to the brim and spilling out of you, trickling down your thighs as he continued to thrust, ensuring every last drop found its way inside. You were a crying, spent mess on his desk, while he tried to catch his breath, slowly lowering your leg back down from his shoulder.

Luke was long gone from outside the door, having heard enough to realize what was happening between you and Sylus.

You could only look up at him with a small shared chuckle before he leaned down to kiss your lips, his newfound gentleness contrasting sharply with the intensity of the moment. “I believe they received a lesson about eavesdropping now,” he murmured, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

ps; this story has the potential to delve into other parts, either of Sylus and reader in the future or of their shared past from the moment he found her. You can always comment and let me know if you'd like to see something more from this fic:))

[ambitiouslyher]

it's late. and, if this entire picture weren't cliche enough, a steady downpour of unexpected rain completes the moment.

there's no guarantee he's home , and her being here is a risk in of itself. but, for once, nina's putting herself on the line. an arguably more dangerous line than what business transactions involve. to admit fear and to further admit the need of his comfort is uncharted territory, a long forgotten need.

when the door does open , nina's shoulders tense , lips parting to say something clever. something that's herself to briefly distract from how unlike her this all is. she fails.

" may i come in, jason ? " ( @spllledwlne )

[maidencfdeath]

OPEN STARTER!

A body lay still on the ground, there's a splatter of blood, her eyes are open and unseeing. A moment passes, the span of a single heartbeat. Then another. Then -

Cassie gasped as awareness rushed back to her, her heart lurching as it began to beat once more. Coming back from the dead was like waking up from a nightmare, there was always a second of panic and confusion before she remembered.

“Fucking...ow! Did I get shot? Who shot me?”

[writefightandflightclub]

Ride or Die (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader): Chapter Five (of 11 - COMPLETED SERIES)

Series summary: Together, you and Santiago have been “soldiers” then “friends” then “lovers”; but will you ever figure out what comes next, especially when Santiago can’t (or won’t) stop running? 

Genre: a LOT of angst, some smut, best friends to… lovers?

Warnings: see collated series warnings, here. Please note this series is 18+. Minors / ageless blogs interacting will be blocked.

Series info: this is a COMPLETED SERIES. All chapters are written and queued. Posting schedule is here (includes series master list). 

Author’s note: This is SO VERY ANGST. More angst than any other chapter so far. STRAP IN GIRLIES (GN). I'd love it if you feel like sharing what you think - your feedback means the world to me. ILY :-* Reblogs, comments, and asks are literal power-ups in my day and I appreciate every single one!

Word count: 8.3k for this part. 

Tag list info: will reblog separately tagging those on taglist. You can request to be added to taglist if you are 18+. Send me an ask, please, so I can keep track :)

You’re spiralling. 

You’re pissed off and you’re hurt and you’re somehow still horny as hell (somehow, perhaps even more horny since Santiago helped you out in that very particular way of his). You feel all in a tizz, like you don’t know which way is up; but even so, you’re pretty sure you’ve simply been going around in circles, and it’s dizzying. Santiago makes it easy to do that when you follow his lead, after all – all the more reason that you’d had to get out finally, all those months ago. 

Safe to say, you’re a little bit worked up. Too many thoughts are racing through your head. Resentment that he could get you all riled up like that, have you come undone, and then straight up deny you. Like it was some power play all along and that all he wanted was the satisfaction. On the other hand, a dreadful longing spikes at the thought that maybe he really did just want to protect himself, because he wouldn’t know how to find his way out this time if he got lost in you all over again. 

The main thing you’re feeling though – a bitter shard of pain stabbing through any sense of pleasure you may be left with - is a singular fear. 

What if he really doesn’t want you anymore? 

He wants you, yes, on some level. His admissions in the kitchen about wanting to kiss you confirmed that much. But his desire for you had always felt like an unstoppable force. Like something he couldn’t help or hope to control. Like a raging fire. He had told you that he loved you, wanted you, needed you, all those months ago. And while you are sure that remains true at least in part, you are terrified that all you leaving had achieved was to teach him how to live without you. And, contrary to that, his touch had simply confirmed how hopelessly consumed by him you still are, all your progress - moving on and rebuilding and forgetting - unravelled in mere moments by his fingers. 

You resent that too. His power over you, when you always prided yourself on being strong – needing no-one. You have never liked to feel like the one who is compromised, in any situation. You always prefer to be the hunter as, that way, you’re not the one who gets hurt. But Santiago? Santiago is lethal, and he has always known your weak spots.  

Maybe that’s why you had stormed angrily to your room, subduing your heavy footsteps reluctantly, only for the sake of your dear buddies sleeping soundly in their beds. Maybe that’s why you had hastily cleaned up, throwing on some fresh clothes from your case – a low cut top and some obscenely tight jeans. A splash of perfume. Some lipstick. All in the hopes of heading out to the local bar and searching for the kind of late-night attention which feels in your control. Seeking a desire which feels manageable. Trivial almost, instead of the kind which burns. 

Part of you – a small part of you, at least - recognises you’re being ridiculous, irrational, reactive, even as you zip on your boots. But there is another part of you that simply can’t stay here in this house with him a moment longer, feeling like he doesn’t want you the way you want him. 

You feel like, while you’ve been breaking apart for all these months, he was healing. It’s cruel maybe, that you would wish for his desire to burn him as much as it has a hold over you – but perhaps you’re not perfect. Perhaps you’re only human. 

Whatever. It doesn’t all need to make sense right now. Your head’s all over the place. You’re not really thinking straight at all. You don’t know whether you want to cry or scream or get your brains fucked out (or maybe all of the above - not in that order). And so, you’re definitely not thinking when you throw open the door to the bathroom, recalling that you’d left your necklace on the counter. If you were -thinking- perhaps you would have heard the rushing of the water. Perhaps you would have heard the muffled, bitten back groans emanating from the shower cubicle. 

Fuck. 

If you weren’t thinking straight before, every thought falls right out of your head altogether when you swing open that door. Namely, when you see Santiago, his body slanted into the wall as he palms his thick, straining length in something of a frenzy. 

You should retreat, probably. In fact, yeah. That's exactly what you should do. But, the sight of him there arrests you, and you can’t help but devour every detail of him. Your eyes skim over him only fleetingly, and yet your memory of his body fills in the gaps, meaning you’re able to see far more of him than you could otherwise in the split second your eyes rove over him. 

He is stripped down, his body curled into the tiled wall, his forehead and one shoulder bracing himself as the stream of water thunders down on the back of his neck and his broad, lightly muscled shoulders. 

His thighs are slightly spread and his full glutes are clenching as he fucks his hard, veined cock into the circle of his left hand, squeezing tight and showing no mercy, his pace relentless. 

From the way his nipples are pebbled and the way you observe the tightness of the muscles coiling in his back, you can guess that the water is cold. Perhaps, that he had attempted to cool off after what had happened downstairs, seemingly to no avail. His need is heavy and urgent and burdening his hand, the veins popping in his slick forearm as water sluices over every contour of him and still, his want is evidently raging. 

The most important detail of all, however, is that his eyes are closed, droplets of water beading in his long lashes, and a wracked moan sounding from around his own fingers as he shoves them over his tongue. 

Fuck. 

He’s licking them clean. He’s tasting you. Tasting your juices from his fingers and pumping himself raw from the thought of it. 

Holy shit. 

He wants you. 

You see it now, clear as day. He wants you to the point of desperation. Helplessness. To the point of coming undone with his need for you. His want rages even beneath the stream of a cold shower, taken in hopes of subduing himself. He works himself urgently in his fist, in hopes of finding his release. You find him here, like this. 

Unfinished. 

You can see it much more clearly now. You see how he wants you. You see what you do to him. What you still do to him. 

You see now that saying no to you likely took every scrap of control he had, and now that is gone, there is nothing left for him but you. 

As you enter, Santiago hears the door creak open – you weren’t exactly sneaking- and he immediately tilts his body to the wall. It’s automatic - showing his ass rather than his dick in his hand, likely in case one of the boys had just walked in on him. But, when he sees it’s you stood there, all slack-jawed and honey-eyed, he foregoes the need to hide. He turns towards you instead, his length twitching as it grows even more rigid and more ruddy at the sight of you. Santiago’s eyes hooded and desolate with want as he looks you up and down in your ridiculous, come-fuck-me clothes. 

Santiago knows fine well that you only wear red when you want to be shown a good time. You feel like a flare, on display, and maybe you’d feel stupid -like scrubbing this red paint from your mouth – if his need was not blatantly on display too. If his predicament did not seem even more dire than yours. 

Finally, though, as you look and he lets you, you register the intrusion, and with a series of stunted vowel noises which barely make it past your teeth, you are dragging your eyes away from his. Your legs like jelly and skin flushed beneath your tight clothes, you are clasping the door handle and turning on your heel. Your only objective is to make it out of there, even if you turn to vapour in the hallway after the fact. 

“Where the fuck are you going?” Santiago asks gruffly, and you are not sure what he means. Not sure whether he means to ask where you’re headed out to so late, or to inquire why in the hell you’re leaving the room now that you’re here, but God, you’re not sure anymore that you could answer either question in any way that would make the slightest bit of sense. 

You’re just not thinking straight. Can you be blamed? Look at him. Look at this, all for you. 

So, you freeze, breath held in your lungs as you grip the handle – your back to him, and about to swing the door open to hasten your exit. Instead, though, against every shred of good sense you have, you push the door closed, ever so gently, with you still on the inside. You turn, preposterously slowly back towards him, and when the sight of him stood there, wet and dripping, face all stern and languidly palming himself in the circle of his hand hits you, you flatten your back to the panelled door. Truth is, your legs feel so weak that you could barely stand without it. 

And, as if that wasn’t quite answer enough, Santiago continues to look at you insistently. 

Well? The quirk of his thick brow seems to enquire. Where the fuck are you going? 

Your voice comes out all breath. “Nowhere.” 

You’re going fucking nowhere, apparently. Only ever around and around in circles with Santiago “Pope” Garcia – but suddenly, you could care less.  

Your eyes lock then, and it takes less than moments for him to be on you, his wet hands fisting everywhere - in your hair and your clothes - and dragging your mouth onto his in a sudden, consuming crush. Your hands snake into his hair, squeezing cool shocks down your forearms as you wring rivulets of water from his grizzled curls, grabbing handfuls of the length at his crown to pull him deeper into you, his tongue hot and supple and buried in your mouth. Your top sticks to you, wet and sodden in all the places he has grabbed up handfuls of your flesh, or pressed his hot body flush against you. 

He drives you back, into the door and the awkward mess of towels hanging there on hooks. 

“Fuck,” he bites off into your mouth, and you surge forward with this barrelling want, walking him backward and slamming him against the cool tiles with a thwap and enough force that he grunts. Still, it barely slows him down at all, his hands all over you and his kisses still devouring, ripping the air from your mouth. 

There is no romance in this, you think. Only need, raw and animal, and you are surprised that you show enough restraint not to tear each other down to the floor and go at it right on the tiles. Still, you barely show any more restraint than that. 

“Shit. Fuck. Turn around. Turn around,” Santiago rasps, entirely wrecked already, barely able to get the words past his mouth. His cock looks almost painfully hard, and entirely insistent against your ass as he spins you and roughly bends you over the counter, pots of toothbrushes knocked into the sink and soap rolling who knows who cares where. 

“You want this?” he asks as he presses you into position, little precision or ceremony in it – just a rough, raw urgency, entirely untamed. 

You can see yourself reflected in the mirror above the sink, blurry and steamy and bent over, and that’s exactly how it feels. Everything; blurry and steamy and close and tight. He’s as hard as the cool marble surface digging painfully into your hips, and you’re as hot as steam and as wet and slick as this mirror and you’re melding into one another – not single bodies anymore but shapes and a mood and a feeling, and there is nothing else. 

“Princesa?” Santiago pleads, even as he tugs your jeans down over your ass, removing the bare minimum of clothing to give him access where he needs, the garment still tight and unforgiving around your thighs, not allowing you to move  - barely at all. “You need me?”

“Yes. Fuck me. Need you,” you beg, and you hear him spit unceremoniously into his hand -not that he’d need it- and slather it all over his length, groaning as he makes contact with his sensitive, needy dick as though he might spill over his knuckles with the anticipation of stuffing you full alone. 

Still, he holds on -by a thread – and your eyes roll back into your head as you finally feel the blunt tip of him notch clumsily at your need-swollen entrance. 

Then – ohhhhhh- then, there is the dull ache shortly after as the girth of him pushes through your wanting folds. You grunt at the initial stretch as he works himself inside of you, but pinned between the counter and his surging hips there is nowhere for you to go, and his need sinks into you inch by inch until he fills you all the way. 

You succumb to your ragged breaths and mewl for him, you arms practically giving way beneath you as you press them into the cool surface to keep you standing. He fills you, and God, you’ve missed this. Have missed how full you feel with him inside of you - in every sense of the word. The way his hands grip your hips in that specific spot he likes. 

You have missed his girth. Could swear you can feel every inch of him pressing outward against the tight grip of your heat as he fucks his cock into your hole, bottoming out with a delicious, wracked, stuttering moan, the sound alone causing pleasure to bloom around the drag of him deep inside you. 

Still, despite this fullness - you also feel the give of your walls to him, your slick and eager heat actively suckering him in. He stutters his hips as you clamp tightly around him and then, so help you, he finally begins to move. 

Jesus, this feels even better than his fingers, even better than you remember, and you relish every moment as he fucks into you, bareback and desperate, your pleasure coiling up impossibly quick as the straining mass of him works you open, hitting all of your sweet spots. Your legs tremble beneath you with adrenaline and want, and you feel Santiago’s thighs flush against the back of your legs, his hips snapping against the cushion of your ass as the counter edge bites painfully into your hinged hips. 

He's not taking his time with you. Not teasing or planning or thinking. You can tell by the undone grunts and groans he’s submitting to you already, that -for once- he is far too consumed by his own need to contemplate yours. Can tell by the sloppy pace of his thrusts and the lack of attention to your clit or your breasts or anything else but filling you - his hands fisting in the meat of your hips as he takes what he needs, gives what you crave – that he’s not even trying to make you come… but goddamn it if he isn’t going to get you there all the same. 

Soon too. 

God, the head of him is rubbing exactly where you need, and you can’t remember the last time you felt this good with a dick inside you. Your cunt is primed for him, still sensitive from where his fingers fucked you open and it isn’t going to take you long at all to reach your peak. 

Even without seeing him properly, in the misted-up mirror, you can tell that Santiago is going feral behind you. Filling you deeply and haphazardly, his fingers leaving imprints on your skin. 

You hear a snarl, and see a pearly flash of teeth as his lip curls up from how good you’re making him feel. 

“Fuucckk,” he groans, his head tipped back now, that pretty chin pointing up to the sky and his mouth dropping open – you can vaguely see in the mirror

His broad hand smooths firmly down the middle of your back and over your ass - grabbing handfuls of you- before he retraces his path, sliding his hand up between your shoulder blades and winding his hand in your hair, grabbing and pulling until your spine is curled back for him like a bow, your ass arced up and allowing him a deeper angle of penetration which sends tingles all the way to the tips of your toes when he hits just right. 

You practically yowl for him, your whole body trembling and shaking, sweat trickling down the centre of your cleavage as the layers you did not have time to dispense of overheat your skin. As your clit is nudged into the lip of the counter in a way that shouldn’t work for you, probably, but totally does, the intermittent slap of Santiago’s hips against you providing a pleasing rhythm. 

It’s uncomfortable, and hot, and cramped, and in some ways painful to be rammed up against the surface like this, but you wouldn’t tell him to stop for the world. You wouldn’t tell him to stop because the way he’s taking you feels divine, Santiago burying his want for you as deep as it will go, releasing his punctuated, abortive gusts of breath in time with his thrusts.

You feel drips land on the small of your back, and whether its water cascading from his dampened curls or beads of sweat from the exertion rolling down his temples you do not know or care. 

You only know that you want more. 

Determined as ever, you plant your hands firmly on the counter as he fucks you near boneless, driving through your hips until you meet his thrusts, working him up higher, finding the angle which hits just right and-

“Unnnngggg.” A whimper falls from his pretty mouth and his thrusts are suddenly far more shallow, slow, nudging against your nervy, sensitive entrance. His breaths are coming in deeper, heavy gusts now and you might be afraid that he was about to stop - if you weren’t so sure that he was, in fact, gearing up. 

“Santiago,” you complain as he blunts the sharp edge of your precipice with the break in rhythm. You urge him to give you more, and he uncurls his fingers from your hair and adjusts position. 

Obligingly, he wraps his stronger arm around your chest to guide you closer to standing, pressing his chest to your back, his head hooking over your shoulder. And, with his other arm, he reaches forward towards the steamed mirror, using his palm to clear a window from the condensation. 

“I wanna see you,” he rasps, a hoarse, gritty whisper in the shell of your ear. “Wanna watch you.” 

God, it’s too much. The way his arm is wrapped around your front, strong and yet tender as his forearm braces across your chest and his fingers dance tenderly over your jaw. The wracked, undone voice of him, whisper soft. The contrast between this and the certainty of his thrusts as he finds a new rhythm. As you find a new rhythm together, entirely in sync. 

Slowly, so slowly, he draws out of you, ensuring you can feel every single inch of him, the tantalising drag of him through your folds making your quiver. Then, he snaps back into you all at once, so suddenly shoving himself up into you, balls slapping against your ass, each repetition of this pattern building you up. God, you want him to spill himself inside you, and you think vaguely that it is the only thing which could quench you. 

It is your undoing when his eyes find yours in the mirror, and this all becomes real. No longer fantasy like your unreliable recollections of him all these months. No longer shapeless, tangled, blurry bodies, but now so very suddenly, you are looking at you and him, with all that means. 

The look in his eyes gives form to this act, as though the love settled in them is the very thing giving form to the way he fills you. He is at once stern - his brow burdened, heavy-lidded with need, his eyes sunk into a pit of desire - yet soft. His strong nose is crushed up against you as his lips caress your neck. His eyes dance over your face, taking you in as you languish up against him. 

His eyes are molten when they find you again, dancing with a soft, subtle heat not unlike firelight, long lashes fluttering in disbelief at the sight of you. At the feel of you wrapped around him. No longer just a body or some carnal need, shapeless and intangible. 

Instead, Santiago and you, and your bodies moving as one. 

His soft lips and rasp of stubble break from the column of your neck as his thrusts become sloppy, and you feel his hot breaths come thick and fast against your skin now. 

He missed you.

He missed you, and this is what he’d meant. Had meant he needed to feel you wrapped around his dick. Moaning his name. Needed to see you being his. Missed you being his. God, you missed that too, in so many ways. 

A moan rips through you as you approach your peak, and you plead profusely with him. 

“Don’t stop. Santi. Please.” 

You don’t ever want him to stop. 

As you clamp down on him, your fluttering core wrings his own orgasm from him too, and then he’s pulsing his load into you, thick and warm and abundant, his thighs quaking against yours and his arms gripping on to you more tightly – this time for purchase – as though this might be the time his knees finally buckle if he doesn’t hold on to you. 

You can feel his racing heartbeat hammer from his chest to yours as he holds you flush to him. Can feel his mouth suck at the column of your neck, his tongue sliding along your pulse point and tasting your perfume. 

You come down from your high, thrumming with it. Wet and messy between your legs as Santi drags his softening dick out of you, letting your juices and his seed slip down your inner thighs. 

You feel good. Blissed out. But, as ever, with you and Santiago, there’s always a catch. The joy is immense, but, guaranteed that one of you - if not both - will find a way to ensure it is short-lived. 

Indeed. All too soon, you begin to feel that creeping sense of regret hollow-out your stomach. 

You can see it on his face too. The uncertainty. The lack of understanding of what this all means. About what to do next. It is evident from the way he so quickly moves away from you, picking up his shorts and t-shirt and covering up his body. Similarly, you hike up your jeans without even cleaning up, and as much as you might have hoped for a joyful, intimate moment, you know that it’s already too late for that. The moment that the insecurity, doubt and uncertainty had crept in on each of your faces it had become self-reinforcing. A spiral. Running in circles. 

“Shit,” you sound out, in a clear peal of regret, planting a hand over your face in distress - despite everything. 

“Sounds about right,” Santiago agrees in a monotone, brows drawn down and his gaze fixing on a spot of tile, unable to look you in the eye, despite having been buried inside you only moments ago. 

“No,” you stress, bringing a second hand to your face. There’s something else. Something that makes you feel stupid and sick. “I…. I mean, shit. I changed my birth control up and I… I mean we…” Santiago snaps his eyes back up to you now, alright. You curse when you note the writhing of his taut jaw, set and a little annoyed. Your softly puffed expletive which follows is contrite, but it doesn’t help. 

It’s not like you -or him- to make a mistake like that. And yet, you had all the same. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” 

You bristle at his harsh, accusatory tone. How quickly things sour. “It’s not like you checked!” It is his turn to bristle now, and so you opt to be harsher still. “Besides, I didn’t exactly think you were going to be quite so quick on the trigger, Santi.”

He narrows his eyes at you, his riposte about his stamina not even required. He got you off, didn’t he? So, your attempted distraction is futile, as he manages to stay alarmingly on topic. You fold your arms across your chest as he steps towards you, feeling on the back-foot as his flattened palm nags through the air to punctuate his words. “It didn’t occur to you to mention that before we fucked?” 

“I forgot. I switched up my method and I’m not technically covered yet. It’s marginal, you know. Most likely fine. I mean, what’s another 24 hours? Besides, I didn’t exactly plan on this, did I?” 

He scoffs, then he purses his mouth until much of the colour drains from his lips. “Oh yeah. Sure you didn’t.” 

You raise your eyebrows, and jut a hip out to the side for good measure. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

Santiago shakes his head softly. Plants his hands on his wide hips, making himself larger. You don’t shrink back from him, but you note it. “For real?” He flashes his line of teeth now, a lopsided, disbelieving lilt of his lips – no happiness in it. Not at all. “I know you love to pretend like I’m the bad guy, right? That serves your narrative or whatever? Bullshit, honey. You knew exactly what you were doing tonight.” You snort out a huff of air through your nose, your look all steel as you prepare to deny his claims. You falter though, with his next words. “I can’t get off without you, Santiago?” he mimics, and your comeback dies on your lips. “You wanna put this all on me now? Believe me, I gave it everything I had to stay out of-“

“-My vagina? Yeah, great job, Pope.” You throw your hands up in the air and they slump right back down again. “You’ve had everything up in there except your damn tongue.”

“Let’s go then, sweetie,” he challenges, nodding to the rear of you, his voice taut rather than inviting. “Hop up on the counter and spread your legs, I’ll make it 3 for 3.”

It’s unfamiliar to you, this tone of his. It makes your heartbeat rage. You swear you can even feel the pulse of it in your tongue. “Fuck. Whatever. I’m not having this conversation with you.” Your adrenaline spikes at the prospect of another argument and you turn on your heel, looking for an exit. 

However, before you can retreat, Santiago’s broad palm contacts your arm to stop you – open hand, no force applied – and you turn your head over your shoulder. “At least tell me you’re going to take care of this,” he bites off, with a clear attempt to restrain his aggravation, expression sullen. 

“Of course I am.”

“How?” 

You think. “I’ll go to the pharmacy in the morning. I’ll deal with it.” You pump your brows emphatically. “Okay?” 

You shrug his hand off of you then with apparent disdain for his touch, and in spite of his (relative) tolerance of your acerbic tone, that is apparently the move which fractures his composure. “You know what actually blows my mind? The way you can be nice to me just long enough to get yours. Pretty fucking convenient.” 

You feel your face twist with the weight of a sour expression, mirroring his. “Why are you always like this?” You don’t wait to hear his answer, the adrenalin propelling you away, down the hall and closer to your room, but his footfalls follow closely behind you, hot on your heels. Your voice is a whispered hiss, as, somewhere in the back of your mind, you are vaguely aware of the need to keep it down – the other boys are lights out by now. “Why can you never just fuck me and be happy about it, huh?” You spin to face him, chest to chest and facing off. 

“I knew this was a fucking mistake.” 

Your pulse is in your throat. “Right. Maybe it was. That’s all I ever was to you, I guess.” 

Your voices raise, slowly creeping up in volume as you each get lost in this intimate bubble of angst. Of resentment. On some level, you know you could stop now - before it gets worse and you say things you will only regret (or worse, hear things you’ll wish you hadn’t). You know that you should stop, but it feels… oddly necessary. 

Like it’s inevitable. Like you’ve been waiting all this time to fuck and fight because it’s all you know how to do with him anymore. At least, it’s all you know how to do when loving him heart and soul seems off the table. 

The space your bodies create is tight, leaning into each other’s circle of personal space. 

Santiago’s fingers bridge like a claw and he taps them against his own chest, his eyes needling you like he could sew this up once and for all. Tie off all those loose threads of blame which sit frayed between you. He’s angry. Angry and riled and pissed and even so, there is still this eerie sense of calm about him. 

You’ve seen him really let loose. You’ve seen him kill, for Christ’s sake, and yet he’s still measured and restrained in the face of you. That should make it easier to bear the brunt of his sharp edges, but that’s not quite so. There’s something about the precision of his anger when it’s focussed on you. The fact it feels so considered, so targeted only makes it cut deeper. “You know what? I’m tired as shit of always being the fucking bad guy here. You wanna get into it, huh?” His voice breaks now, splitting like shrapnel, lodging in your chest. “I told you I love you and you fucking left me.” 

“That’s fucking bullshit!”  

He’s not happy that you said that. He rocks from foot to foot like he’s priming for something. Scoops a hand over his jaw, around his taut mouth. You’re close enough to hear it rasp, the fleck of his stubble bristling against his palm. “Oh, it’s bullshit?”

Your voice comes out hot now, your words bitten off between your teeth, flecks of spit cast from your mouth. “Yes! Because if I hadn’t left you never would have told me! You told me because I left you! You told me to fucking punish me. To try and drag me back in.” 

“Wow. Jesus fucking...” He laughs, but it is a cold, brief sound. “That’s fucking rich, cariño.” His eyes glint like knife licks, and he plants his hand indignantly against his chest, jutting up his chin. Puffing up his chest and making his body all angles. Protecting himself. “That’s really what you think of me, huh?” You try to look away from him, but his eyes chase you for an answer. 

Is it? Is that what you genuinely think of your best friend? Is that what you think he’s done to you? Tried to do? 

If so, no wonder you’re so fucking angry. No wonder your body is trembling with it. 

But the truth is, when pushed on it, you have no intelligible retort you can form. No evidence you can offer. So, instead, in your panic over losing ground, you opt to minimise. You throw your hand up dismissively and you turn on your heel, stomping towards your door at the end of the hall. “Fuck this.”

This time, his footsteps do not follow, even if you can still feel his eyes boring into your back. You think that might even be the end of things, until…

“No,” he sounds. A forceful, robust note which fills the whole hallway. A command to wait. This isn’t over. 

With you and him, it’s never going to be over, is it? 

You turn towards him and he is fixed in position, stance set wide and chin dipped down, eyes blackened half moons as he looks at you. “Just let me get this straight. If I’m the one who drags you back in? What the shit do you call what you just did?”

You scoff. “You were a very willing participant, Pope. Or, I dunno. Why don’t you just consider it payback for all the times you fucked me around?” 

He’s biting words back as he listens to you now. You can see them, in the tilt of his head and the flare of his nostrils. In the flip and curl of his tongue settled around his upper lip, dragging back and forth just below his filtrum. “Revenge, then? Really? Is that what this weekend has been about for you? You really that vindictive?”

“No. Don’t be ridiculous.” You dismiss him again, as though not one of his complaints about you can possibly be valid. Or, rather, revealing you are currently unwilling to admit it even if they are. After all, you’re as stubborn as he is. Each of you trying so desperately to palm off the blame for how fucked up this became. 

Santiago paces towards you then, footfalls rhythmic and steady as he swallows the space between you in the hall. “Jesus. You don’t even give a shit, do you? Think I deserve to have my heart crushed into fucking dust?” 

Hot, angry tears spike at the corner of your eyes as you spit your words, jabbing his shoulder with your pointer finger. “Like you give a shit that I left?” 

His dense brows draw down, his whole face a grimace, his voice practically booming throughout the hallway, close enough that the sound of it rumbles in your chest. “I don’t know how else I can say it. I never wanted to lose you.”

“Yeah? Well you never fucking had to!”

Santiago is the one who turns from you now, pacing back in a loop, both hands lifting and dragging backward through his grizzled curls, flattening them to his head in disbelief. He rounds back to you, spittle glistening on his lower lip from his tirade. He’s waving his arms now, everything being thrown upward just like the hideous lurch in your stomach. “You’re the one who ran from this!”

Well, that’s the biggest pile of shit you ever heard. You fold your arms to your chest, becoming guarded and taut where he becomes more frenzied. “Oh ho ho,” you scoff. “Now that’s a grade A delusion, right there.” He mumbles something under his breath, shaking his head from side to side in a long, disbelieving drag. In denial. Still. “You’ve been running, Santiago. You’ve done nothing but run from this. Even the whole time I was right next to you. Especially then.”

He steps towards you, driving your body back into the door without making a scrap of contact with you. From the force of him alone. He leans his face in real close, his movements disconcertingly slow - cautious and deliberate. It’s not threatening – you don’t feel physically unsafe at all - but you can tell from the flare of his nostrils and that gunpowder glint in his eye that while his movements may be constrained, he’s still arming himself with a coming barrage. 

You flatten yourself – your back to the shut paneled door-  and Santiago lifts his hand, reaching up to you. Pincering your chin deceptively tenderly between his thumb and forefinger, making sure you look at him. “Right. And you’ve been so perfect, huh?” His eyes needle you, making it impossible for you to wheedle out of this one. To dismiss him. He’s making sure you take at least some accountability for your part in this. “Fucking other guys to get back at me? Insisting we keep it a secret? Pissing off to another fucking continent, two days early, by the way, before we’d even put things right?” You break eye contact, your vision of him blurred by wilful tears. He releases your chin from his grip then, but the space between you remains tight. Close, even as you feel a million miles from him. “Christ - it’s like you never fucking wanted this to work. Never believed I was worth it. How am I supposed to work with that?”

Hot, spiking tears spill over onto your cheeks. You scrub them away with a flattened palm but it still doesn’t slow them down. 

“Please,” you beg limply, shaking your head from side to side. You want him to stop this. You just want this to be over. 

“I was never the guy someone would bring home to their mama, was I? Too fucked up and too broken for that? Hands too bloody, right, to be good enough for you?” You balk audibly in protest at his words, but even so, it sends a hot flash of heat to your cheeks. 

Is there some truth in it? 

Had you been afraid of what he’d done, even though the blood on his hands matches yours? Or… maybe because of it? 

Your lower lip begins to tremble as the ire in Santiago’s eyes burns you, hot like coals. But he has more to say. “I get it. It’s easier to blame me for everything that got fucked up, right?” He beats his palm emphatically against his chest and flattens it there. “I’m hardly a fucking Saint, I’ll admit that much. But do you honestly think that I ever wanted to hurt you? That this doesn’t fucking hurt me?” 

No. You want to say “no”. No. That’s not what you believe at all, but instead the words that find their way out are cruel and petty. “Well you did. You hurt me!” 

You wish you could get rid of it, this anger in your chest. You only want to love him… but you tried that, and since it didn’t work, it somehow feels like the anger is all you have left to fill this hole in your middle.

His eyes tighten, and Santiago jabs his finger back and forth, his voice hoarse as he pushes the words out from the pit of his chest. “It never mattered, what I did or didn’t do. It was never going to be good enough for you.” 

“That’s not true. At all!” You spit back. “It’s you who thought that. Not me. Not me. You wouldn’t even fucking try.”  

Santiago scrubs a tear away from his own cheek now. His voice creaks and cracks apart. “I tried. I did. But you only want me under certain conditions right. If I quit. If I get out. Maybe if I’m someone fucking else.”

“That’s not fair, that’s not how it is. For fuck’s sake, Santi.”

You are both entirely undone now with this ugly rage, tears wetting your cheeks, and this resentment and blame twisting your words and your faces into something unrecognisable. 

That makes it all the worse when Frankie’s torso pokes out of his door in the hallway. You know that the two of you are not yourselves. Frankie’s face twists with disappointment and concern in equal measure, and you fold your arms across your chest defensively, feeling embarrassed that he is seeing you this way. At your worst. Why do you and Santiago always seem to bring out the worst in each other? You’d swear blind to anyone that he’s the best person you know. 

“Guys. What the fuck?” Frankie ventures. His voice is grogged by sleep, and you get the feeling he would step out into the hall if he wasn’t entirely nude behind the door frame. 

Feeling suddenly ashamed, with the contrasting softness of Frankie’s eyes on yours, you feel the urge to run from yourself and what you’ve become, all twisted up like this. You push past Santiago in the hallway, storming down the stairs as tears now cascade freely down your cheeks. You don’t even make an attempt to mop them up now, letting them course down and drip from the point of your chin. 

Then, with an aggravated sigh, Santiago follows you too, in pursuit, despite Frankie’s barked pleas that he “leave it alone, cabrón”. 

You push out of the threshold and into the night, the cooler air a welcome relief. You pace away from the house, wanting to leave it, to leave him entirely, but your body will not let you. Will not carry you far enough away, and your steps quickly run out of steam. 

When Santiago finds you, you are stood with your back to him, looking out towards the white crash of waves. He comes and stands next to you, hands gently clenched by his sides. 

“Look,” he begins, staring out at the expanse of water. You feel your anger cresting and with it comes a wave of sadness. “I love you. But maybe you’re right. Maybe… we’re not good for each other. Maybe we just… can’t make each other happy.” 

You shake your head softly. Tip your eyes to the sky to stave off yet more tears. “I just wish we’d never changed things.” You wish more than anything that you could simply swallow it. Go back to how things were before. 

“Don’t,” Santi implores, turning to you with his hands cupped as though in offering, soft and haphazard and trying to catch on your elbow, your shoulder, your hand. “Don’t say that. Please. No matter how fucked this got… You’re the best thing I ever-” 

But, your anger is not done. Your palms raise in the air, forming a barrier between your bodies - a defence against his brutal love - and you snatch yourself away from him. Your voice is once again harsh as it rings in accusation, words tearing from your lips like bullets. “-Let go?”

There is a beat. 

“Seriously. You’re gonna stand there and tell me I could I have fucking stopped you?” 

You raise your palms and plant them to your face, splayed fingers tugging in disbelief from your temples, sliding down to your mouth - drawing your cheeks into a grimace. You look at him and his face is once again taut with blame. His mouth a thin, downturned line. But even now….. Somehow, even now, you want to kiss him. Want to kiss him until he is soft again, like you know he can be. 

Why would he never turn soft for you - not all the way? Soft in your arms? Why would he never? 

He shifts his weight from foot-to-foot under your scrutiny. He sees the anger melt away from your face, but his is not done. “I mean, fuck. What do you want from me, huh? You want me to come with you? Just drop everything?” 

“Just stop, Santi,” you plead, weakly, but there’s no way he heard you over his own tirade.

“My whole career. This shit I’ve got going on with Lorea. Pick-up and move here? Huh? Tell me? What do you want from me?” 

You fold your arms across your chest, closing yourself off to him. “Please, just drop it.” 

“You want me to have dinners with you and your family on Sundays? Take the nephews to the playpark, huh?” 

He won’t stop. He won’t stop talking, stop pushing you, and you can’t take it. You’re going to snap. 

“Go fucking grocery shopping? And get married and have babies and-?” 

“Yes!” you finally yell, your whole body craning forward as you fire your answer out through your throat, the word coming out scuffed and sudden; but nothing if not truthful. Your eyes go wide, quivering with tears as well as the shock of your revelation. The shock of revealing something you can barely even admit to yourself. 

That is what you want. With him. 

Santiago is evidently as shocked as you are too. Stunned into silence, in fact. He takes a perceptible step back from you, punching out a breath like he’s just been struck with a body shot. All the tension drops from his limbs, and his arms flop uselessly to his sides.

But, instead of backtracking, from somewhere, somehow, you finally find the courage to stand in your truth. “Yes,” you say shakily. “I want that, you asshole.” And, at those words, you interpret the most repulsive thing you’ve seen in his eyes all night. Pity. “And you, meanwhile? You’d rather get shot in the guts than do that with me, wouldn’t you? Something so mundane as being happy? Something so fucking worthless as loving me?” You tear your head away from him, whip your gaze away as you cannot bear to look at him. Cannot bear to see your true wants rejected. With a final question, you stab your pointer finger against your sternum with enough force that it hurts. “I’m not a mission, so I’m not worth it right? Not important?”

He shoves his hands in his back pockets, his gaze dropping to the floor, to a neutral spot between you. His voice all but cracks apart, small and broken. “I told you that I love you.” 

“That wasn’t enough!” You bite your words off before you can even think, and his eyes snap back up to yours then. Wounded. Glassy. You regret the words as soon as you have spoken them, but it is far too late to recall them now. You can see that they cut him - and you can even understand why they would hurt. What an awful thing to have said, you think; that his love wasn’t enough. 

It was everything. 

Everything. 

Wasn’t it? 

Even so, here you stand, still waiting and hoping that he can offer you something more than that alone. A solution, perhaps. A way to fix this. 

Instead though, Santiago simply nods slowly. Contemplatively. In resignation. He stands eerily still. Eerily quiet. Entirely stoic. “Right. Well.” His hand rasps back and forth over his stubble, and his voice is entirely sunken. Defeated. He’s a soldier. Your friend. Your lover. But most of all, now he’s someone who appears to have stopped fighting for you. He looks you in the eye, all of his anger dissipated. Voice scrubbed clean and entirely dispassionate. “That’s too bad then. Because I don’t have anything else I can give you.”

He turns from you now, and you grab onto his arm. “Believe me. The only thing I ever wanted from you… With you, was a future, Santiago.”  

It breaks your heart when he quietly, slowly extricates his arm from your grasp, slipping through your fingers like fine sands. Did you really think that you could do that? That you could keep on pushing him, without eventually pushing him away? 

A divot notches in his brow. “Mmm-hmm. Well I guess we fucked any shot at that now, didn’t we?” 

You search his ashen eyes - almost in desperation - for some of that all too familiar fire. For any sort of spark for you. 

Godammit, as soon as the anger has gone, you want it back. You want something; only because it seems a damn sight better than nothing at all. 

You can’t handle it - the thought that any future with him is being taken off of the table once and for all. You know - if you step back from this - that you’ve been far from perfect. That you’ve been bitter, volatile, reactive. Maybe even cruel, at times. You know, in truth, that you shouldn’t be so hung up on the past -on what happened all those months ago and beyond- but it’s the only thing Santiago has ever given you to dwell on. How were you supposed to move on, when he’s never been able to look ahead with you?

Still, all of a sudden, being faced with any and all possibilities of a future with him being ripped away from you, it is all you want to talk about. The past and your grievances and the blame now seem wholly irrelevant. You feel bile rise into your mouth. “Listen. It doesn’t matter. None of that matters. Just… How do we get past this, Santiago? That’s what matters.”

He stops, halting his retreat back to the house. He turns, slowly. And, Santiago takes your hands into each of his. Looks at you solemnly, as your eyes flit over his face in doubt and fear and regret. He bundles your hands up together, sandwiching them together between his warm, steady palms and he gives them a squeeze - full of finality. “Maybe… Maybe we don’t,” he sounds, flatly, voice scrubbed clean of emotion. And, the only thing worse than hearing his words out loud, is that he looks like he believes them. 

For once, Santiago “Pope” Garcia seems cold, and it hurts more than any of his fire has ever burnt you. Maybe the anger, horrible as it feels, is better. Because it is better than nothing. Better than losing him altogether. 

After all, what is it that happens when the fire goes out? 

Well, you suddenly feel like you’re about to find out. 

You suddenly feel like it’s truly about to be over. 

And so, you clasp your hands over your mouth and you sob, fleeing towards the interior of the house, because you have no place else left to run but away from him.

[ellzilla]

Had a hell of a time trying to upload this lmao. Doodles to accompany a ramble about my silly horrorverse/metathesiophobia/worldbuilding ramble that's very large so it's under the cut. It's as much Ella lore as it is Elliot lore :3c there might be some grammatical errors but idc I've tried to upload this 7 times now and don't wanna reread it lol

"Most organizations classify them as extinct, caused by villages hunting them and a lethal mutation in the survivors saliva, there are theories there are a few hidden surviving members, their numbers being merely in the single digits. Lycanthropy is not a 'one size fits all' type of curse/disease/parasite, it's classification is still being debated today, and it adjusted both according to it's host and to it's surroundings when it developed.

Before the lethal mutation, an infected person's lycanthropy could vary extremely in the first few months as it got a grasp on what was a normal environment for the individual. All recorded cases fit the 'true' werewolf classification. For people who gained Lycanthropy through genetics, bloodline werewolves, a vast majority were only slight variations of the 'true' werewolf.

-

The 'true' werewolf was most rampant back in the medieval ages, up until the mid 1800's, as to the Lycanthropy it was the peak time one could live 'naturally' and also a lack of constant danger while also having a sense of community. Although they were still bloodthirsty monsters, they held themselves back from ravaging people their host knew and hunted only strangers, even avoiding children if the host's morals were strong enough. They only hunted what they needed for the night, a person or two at most. True werewolves had very mild control of their curse, only being able to transform on command in dangerous situations. These transformations were relatively quick, taking less than 20 seconds, but remained agonizing as let the host take control until they were able to calm down in a safe area.

Sometimes an extreme burst of negative emotion could make part of their body rapidly transform to physically deal with the source of the stress, but it would result in the skin tearing due to the speed of it. Lycanthropy will only rip itself apart when it senses an emergency, a knee-jerk reaction if you will, to something in front of it. The last recording of a 'true' werewolf was in 20██, █████, Australia, however she had been found dead in her home. The cause of death was blood loss, caused by a silver laced bullet wound. For details about this report, please send a request to Dr. A. Whitelock.

-

Socialite werewolves are an extremely modern and elusive mutation of Lycanthropy. They are the sole reason the theory lycanthropes could still be alive today holds any water. Unlike 'true' werewolves, who could be anyone, all Socialite werewolves have been people who have lived in lavish luxury for the important developmental years in a bloodline werewolf's life. They are physically the weakest recorded mutation. The main theory for this is that the Lycanthropy adapted to learn that social power among regular humans is far more valuable for survival than hunting them for sport and changed to make transformation less intensive and more 'suitable' for it's new survival strategy. They were able to transform in around ten seconds on average, one recorded process shows them morphing with little to no pain visible on their face. The host confirmed that the Socialite werewolf's transformation is far less painful by saying: "A muscle cramp is only a touch more painful." This has enabled the few recorded individuals to amass groups around themselves, as they all publicized their lycanthropy. Most simply saw them as role-players with good 'fur suits' due to the fact the host's hair style remains unchanged while turned.

The last recorded socialite werewolf was in 19██, a popular rock star who had unfortunately overdosed on theobromine, the news had covered it as a 'normal' drug overdose and were forced forge it as a cocaine OD.

-

Brute werewolves are a debated topic, as some think we should classify them as Werebears instead, but all recovered remains confirm that their bone structure was far closer to a wolf than a bear's.

They are also debated to be a separate anomaly all together as they were initially thought to be a prehistoric megafauna before the bones were carbon dated to be only a few hundred years old. The term 'werewolf' was only applied to these bones upon the recovery of a library curated by a 'true' werewolf back in 1874.

According to literature in the library that claims to be history, Brute werewolves were thought to be lycans who had gone mad or were born to an accursed mother. Additional notes glued to the book claimed that they were simply those in the bloodline who had been tormented for a prolonged period of time, through they admit the 'cursed mother' could be part of it. Brute werewolves were described to be barbaric, rabid beasts that would rip apart anything with a heartbeat in front of them, only being satisfied when it had gorged itself on fresh meat and then some. There are drawings of Brute werewolves fighting packs of 'true' werewolves and descriptions of Brute werewolves being the cause of many deaths.

Despite the descriptions diminishing them as low intelligence beasts, they were said to speak in wails, attracting anyone to try to help the supposed person in danger, unknowing that they were the person in danger themselves.

Their transformations were said to be horrific as bone popped skin that ripped off muscle, their size was far to large to properly form from a regular human body. It is described to be a 'painfully long' process, so we assume it took over a minute for them to fully transform.

There has never been a case of an alive Brute werewolf, let alone a fresh corpse. We believe that if they are truly a mutation of Lycanthropy, they were the fist subsect to go extinct due to their heightened aggression that would have made it impossible to survive within the past 200 years. We hope that is the case."

7- █ - 202█ - Author Dr. Abigail Whitelock. Sources - ██████ - ██████████ -██████

[ms-scarletwings]

New (Cursed AF) Invader Zim Headcanon:

Barring the potential for major acute blood loss, Irkens can actually survive a full decapitation.

And I brought substance to make the case with.

Cockroaches, one of the most infamously durable of real life animals, can live for several days, sometimes even weeks without their head. And for the most part, they still even act like normal roaches- crawling about, reacting to touch, standing around, etc. it seems the only reason this eventually catches up to the critter is because no mouth = no way to keep bringing necessary food and water into the body. If that were bypassed, however, it stands to reason the little zombie could thrive just as much as a headed roach.

Almost disturbingly, the head itself can actually last a surprising amount of time solo as well. Experiments with decapitated roaches show that after body separation, roach heads can still move their antennae for hours before succumbing- much longer even if kept refrigerated and supplied with nutrients.

One of the neat things about roach bodies that makes such a feat possible is how their nervous system is set up- simplified ref against what yours looks like below

Now, anyone who has ever said a roach can survive for a while without its brain is not being entirely accurate. Functionally, they actually have two sort-of brains: the main point of nerve centralization is contained in the head, which for the most part is a primary brain responsible for movement coordination, certain technical functions, interpreting stimuli that comes in from the antennae, and more. The second main point of interest in this system is a series of nerve clusters running down the insect’s abdomen known as ganglia (singular: ganglion). These bundles of neurons are not exactly brains in their own right, but they do function as an extended CNS that handles the control over the digestive tract, reacting to stimuli, leg movement, and other more basic bodily functions. These can operate the body on a primitive level after the loss of the main brain, up until thirst/starvation begins to run the wind out of the sails.

You know what sort of creature actually DOES have two entire complete brains? One up top, and an auxiliary backup a little further down?

If you were nodding along and saying “irkens!” Then you would be correct! One peanut and five more days in the bunker for you 🥜 ~

As is obvious to anyone familiar with the show, the PAK is an essential cybernetic addition to Irken biology, holding their gear as well as an entire digital backup of their personality and memories. While it serves many functions to the user, the first and foremost priority of one is to protect the existence of the meaty entity it needs in to carry itself around.

To that end we’ve seen some autonomous acts from time to time with Zim’s close calls. If you recall “Plague of Babies”, he… kind of died for a moment there, caught up in a wave of GIR’s lethally amplified stupidity. In response, his PAK appears to resuscitate him with a quick jolt. The would-be events of “10 Minutes to Doom” emphasize the necessity of the PAK for any Irken’s survival beyond several minutes, which directly implies PAKs facilitate a major biological process their natural bodies are no longer capable of alone. Personally, I think it might be something either neurological or related to respiration, on a hunch.

Well, whatever it is, they are toast without it in swift manner, and the PAK doesn’t prefer to be without its other piece anymore than the body does. Dib’s revelation about the technology described their relationship with its body like that of driver and car, but I think he’s missing something. The PAK is actually more than capable of carrying itself around without the body… at least for a time.

When I think about those things, a little dilemma pops up in my head concerning how they.. well, how they’re powered. It is never explained or demonstrated that they are given time off of the body in order to charge; however, irkens are probably advanced enough to have some smaller and sci-fi wildly potent and small energy source up their sleeves, but actually, that wouldn’t quite make sense here. Because Irken bodies still produce their energy the same way every other lifeform in the known galaxy does, with food. Lots of food, actually. They can mow through snacks at about the same rate as Augustus Gloop. PAKs don’t need to produce their own independent energy source, they just need to efficiently make use of what this organism is already evolutionarily fine tuned to do naturally. Now that’s smart engineering.

And so, like any respectable auxiliary life support feature, they hold some of that energy in a reserve for those crisis moments like in “Plague of Babies”, and also in a deleted scene made for “Abduction”!

Fun trivia fact, but originally that episode was supposed to feature a sequence where Zim nearly game overs again. He takes a gnarly hit and a literal plunge through open flames that knocks him out in a free fall.

Despite his incapacitated state, the PAK extends its spider legs in order to catch a walkway railing, both saving his life and proceeding to keep carrying his limp body to a safer location, until of of course, he comes to about a moment later and carries on.

And neither of these are the only times it’s sprung into action the moment it detects something has gone horribly wrong. When accidentally detached from its own host, an emergency response will be triggered within the PAK in an attempt to reattach with its body. Failing that, it attaches instead to… well, whatever it can find.

In “10 minutes to Doom”, this was unfortunately Dib, an incompatible match (or maybe it just picked an improper attachment site), and in the comics… things got interesting at a point or two.

So, I already know what happens when you separate an Irken from their spinal brain, but what about the cranial one?

Because, they actually don’t seem on the same level of urgent necessity? Now that I think about it?

The time machine kerfuffle and the brain eating parasite escape were both events this guy evidently survived, albeit not comfortably or ideally until the problem was fixed (I have to assume in part with GIR’s or the Computer’s help). Now that I think about it Zim’s incredibly fortunate that most of these more serious mishaps happened inside of his base. But it’s theory time.

So, we do this, to a hypothetical green bug bastard

For fun let’s say, hypothetically again, like the hardy earth roach, he blood clots quickly.

Well, first and foremost, that higher up nervous system blackout is probably going to cue the PAK in to begin the following protocol:

1. Activate an emergency response to quickly access the situation.

2. Immediately scurry the body the hell away from whatever manner of threat just shaved a little too much off the top, engaging in all possible defensive measures if necessary.

3. Devote the entirety of its remaining backup power (of which it would have much more stored within the headless body than if it were itself detached) into making a beeline for the coordinates of the nearest Irken source of assistance. On the homeworld, or any fully colonized planet, this would be a cut and dry matter of finding the nearest theoretical space clinic or whatever those freaks have (maybe those dbz regeneration tanks? Idk that would be cool wouldn’t it?). For the lone invader… home base is the next best alternative, being a secured location with plenty of resources and advanced technology at the ready. I would bet my own head that situations like this are a huge highlight to the prime value of a personal SIR companion.

Now, best case scenario for what this help looks like depends on whether we can save and bring the head along too. Reattachment and repair at that point should be a pretty simple matter at the tech level we are working with, afterall. But that’s again, the ideal case scenario. Could they just… regrow the head eventually? We don’t really have a clear answer on what the limits and capabilities of what the Irken healing factor is, but I want to at least guess that having a personal lab and assistant on hand is going to help. Bare minimum, a solution can get worked out to supply the body with needed blood sugars again to buy more time.

The PAK itself retains a pretty much perfect digital backup of its body’s memories, experiences, and identity, so it’s not like information has been permanently been lost with primary brain damage. Replacing the primary brain entirely might be as easy as backing up your iPhone and downloading everything into some shiny new hardware. Hell, it may not even need be Irken hardware!

Do you know the real disturbing things from “Dark Harvest” NOBODY brings up are???

Why the fuck was an instantaneous organ-swapping device already just something Zim was carrying around in his toolset?

And

Zim’s morphology was horrifically receptive to those dozens of xenographs.

Those human organs were actually beating, pulsing, absolutely redundant and unnecessary in his body, but completely still functional and healthy in the name of selling his act to the school nurse. He didn’t just clumsily cram a bunch of offal into himself, he competently integrated them into his biology and somehow wasn’t suffering like… the tons of complications you’d expect from trying a stunt like that.

And in the comics, there’s this other fella I just adore for how skrangly he looks, and believe it or not, his actual fucking name is Skrang.

He’s a smart guy, though. Don’t be fooled. And I mean like, a smart guy. And it’s all thanks to a little help from a little upgrade he’s been fitted with :)

So, I hope you take all the implications I’ve been building here and make what you will of them. I genuinely think an Irken has a decent chance of making it out of a beheading alive to seek sadistic vengeance another day. Do I think ZIM could do such a thing? Tbh, I think he’d have to rely on GIR to come in clutch, and we may know that’s a complete roll of the dice in any case.

Wow, this got morbid, but, par for the course really.

[yanderes-galore]

Can you please do an overprotective pet-like concept for my favorite Pokemon, Volcarona? I just think they're neat 🔥🦋

I'd love to! Here you go!

Overprotective! Volcarona Concept

Pairing: Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Overprotective Pokemon, Murder, Clingy Pokemon, Kidnapping, Isolation, Possessive behavior, Violence, Forced companionship.

Volcarona is a Bug/Fire type Pokemon who was thought to be some sort of Sun Deity.

This Pokemon is not legendary yet considered rare in some regions.

At least when it comes to Unova….

The scales that drop from this Pokemon when it flies carry warmth like fire.

As a result this Pokemon is usually favored by people in colder areas.

You may have met your Volcarona in Relic Castle.

This place is a set of ruins deep in the Desert Resort of Unova, the region this Pokemon was introduced in.

You probably took your team in for some exploring and training.

That or you heard the rumors that there was an elusive Pokemon here.

When you eventually explore the ruins to the bottom floor you're greeted by a shrine.

On the walls is old art and depictions of a fire moth Pokemon thought to be like the sun.

Volcarona was worshiped by ancient civilizations due to its association with the sun.

The art on the walls is your first hint that you stumbled upon a sacred area.

Your next hint is hearing the cry of a Pokemon, only to turn and see a fully mature Volcarona.

This Pokemon is quite strong, as in the game this Pokemon is Level 70.

Battling it almost feels like a test.

Considering how this Pokemon used to be considered a holy symbol, it probably is.

But by the end of the battle it allows you to catch it.

After all, if you're so strong… it'll be worth listening to you.

Out of curiosity you find yourself interacting with the fire moth after you add it to your main team.

This begins your bond with it.

However… It also begins the start of a travesty.

At first, Volcarona listens to every command you give.

The Pokemon is receptive to your touch, it softly lets out a cry as you comb your fingers through the warm hair/fur on its body.

You don't expect it to do anything bad.

If anything it's just a cute sun moth with surprising power in battle.

For the most part it's docile before it's too attached.

Although the longer you train it, pet it, care for it… things start changing.

Your Volcarona expresses aggression during double or triple battles, not just towards enemies but your own team too.

The Pokemon never wants to go in its ball either.

Volcarona always wants to stay out of the ball, sticking close enough to you that you can feel the heat radiating off it.

The moth gets continuously clingy the longer it's with you.

Normally you could find a way to resolve the issue.

However things quickly take a turn for the worst.

Volcarona starts expressing agitation towards other trainers, even friends and family.

The Pokemon even seems to be oddly possessive of you.

Ironically because they're both fire types, this may end similarly to the Houndoom concept I made.

Something sets off the Pokemon and they leave in the middle of the night.

By the time you awake there's the smell of flames and burning wood.

When you open your eyes there's houses on fire.

You begin to panic but freeze when you see your Volcarona tilting its head, gently flying in front of you.

You're not stupid, you know it caused this.

Yet before you can try and flee, Volcarona uses a non-lethal move to tucker you out again.

Then the moth abandons your other Pokemon, dragging its trainer away.

Where is it going? Back home, of course.

When you awake you feel sand on your skin.

You're back where it all began, except this time you're much weaker.

You're at the shrine with Volcarona hovering over you.

Upon seeing you awake it lets out an excited cry before cuddling into you.

The warmth is soothing… yet you know what happened.

The sight of a flaming sea… the smell of burning wood and flesh… Volcarona in it all…

You no longer trust the moth.

But you can't escape it.

You have no other Pokemon… plus, Volcarona has other plans.

It doesn't plan on letting you leave.

Even if it means it'll have to use a move like Giga Drain on its dear trainer again.

[awa-the-skeleton]

Aahhh... I was going to draw few more sketches and doodles of her, but... I need some rest. So I will do it later.

But now here we are - my SKELESONA.

More info under the cut

(I'm a sickman. I need a lore for my skelesona)

Story:

Human from our reality (me😏) got sucked up into Undertale Multiverses. Something went horribly wrong and her body and her soul got separated going through reality barrier. Most of her physical body was burned in concentrated magic, all leftovers was combined into new skeletal body. But her new body wasn't strong enough to contain her soul as it was full monster body. So with some magic/divine powers she got two bodies: her own and cat as a soul holder.

Her consciousness locked to her body with all memories. And works as usual. Her cat part is quite independent and can roam by herself sometimes, but prefers to stay close to main body. She have a name - Ruru.

Ruru have lil personality of her own (smart, bitchy cat). They both hate when someone tries to pet or grab Ruru. As they both can feel it and direct contact to soul is too intimate, to allow anybody touch Ruru. Ruru would hiss, growl, scratch, bite and even Guster Bluster person if they will continue to try to pet her.

More info:

• Has no soul in her body, because it's too powerful for her body to contain. Her soul moves around independently in artificial magic body of a cat. Made from blue magic, her name is Ruru.

• Have two different appearances:

° chibi-mode. No soul in body. Her body less affected by gravity, bounces and floats around. Height 3'1. Can't use attacks in that form. Ruru can make few Guster Bluster blows from her mouth as a defensive mechanism. Spend almost all time in chibi-mode

° battle-mode. Soul in her body. Full adult, 5'6 height. Can use Guster Blusters, bones, TP. Generally much more powerful in that mode than Classic, because of her human soul.

• There's timer for her Battle-mode:

° intense battle - 3 min

° moderate battle - 11 min

° adult-mode without use of magic - max 30 min.

• If she got under influence of blue, purple or green magic while in battle... Welp, she could only hope they will release her before her timer went out. Otherwise her body starts take damage from her own magic. Could be lethal.

[nomsfaultau]

Daily ask №29!

Murder edition!

I was bored so here's my attempts at figuring out the fastest and easiest way to murder or disable the fault crew. And you can give me the chances of that actually working and what would your best bet be at killing them?

1. The first one is Phil cause he's the easiest one. I'm just gonna show him the fic and your shitposts and have him turn into words. Also I specifically do that in some isolated (as in no cracks and only one entrance) barn or something like that. And I also put some pine needles in the room and light them on fire. You'll see why.

2. The second problem would be Tubbo since they would absolutely already know about me turning Phil to words. Luckily they're a pacifist. I'm not sure how far that pacifism goes exactly, but if I pretend that I turned Phil to words on accident, I'd probably get at least some time. I pretend that it was an accident and run to Tubbo like omg what happened help. And lead them to the barn. In the barn, the pine needles already produced a shit ton of smoke. So I then go ahead and say that Phil is in there and then close the door behind Tubbo, and then light the barn on fire. Even if some bees do escape, the main body would be gone.

3. Wilbur. I do not remember how his connection to the void works exactly, but I also haven't said that I have to keep the world from being destroyed so I'd just probably give the void access to the real world. Which would probably destroy both worlds, actually. I wonder if that counts as killing the whole fault crew or not.

4. Tommy. I shoot him. Like, he's not that dangerous. Not really. I don't gotta touch him to kill him. Or, ideally, I shoot him with the neutralising dart and use him to defeat the Blade.

5. The Blade. Sigh. My only ideas on how to kill him include just not being seen. At all. So that he doesn't even know who's doing the thing. You can't fight someone if there's noone to fight or challenge. The plan is to kidnap Tommy and get him into some metal container on the bottom of the ocean. And then cause him to summon The Blade in one way or another. (Ex. Drug him with some bad mix of drugs causing great distress and fear, insert speakers into the metal box, potentially actually have someone lethal there with him.). The Blade would most likely just tear the walls of the container apart. That would be a mistake. Did you know that some boars can hold their breath up to 20 seconds? Yeah that ain't nearly long enough so technically he'd just doom both himself and Tommy. And also infect the ocean with the red so that's fun.

I enjoyed thinking and strategizing about this more than I thought I would. Concerning.

Had a great time with this one, an invited a special guest to add his insight.

1.Ah trying to safeguard against Tubbo I see. However, while I rag on Philza, I think just handing him a blog would not have the concrete proof enough to believe his entire existence isn’t real. He’s the most mentally stable of the group, and much like when someone is confronted with a conspiracy theorist talking about how reality is an illusion and we live in a simulation, Phil would just roll his eyes and move on with his day. The fic would un-nerve him a bit…but this is a world with anomalies. There’s a thousand possible explanations for someone with partial omniscient (say, Tubbo), and though I think the chapters from his perspective would very much creep him out, Philza is DEFINITELY not making that far into the fic before he sets it down and goes to figure out if Tommy is okay. He might not entirely believe the fic reflects real experiences and thoughts, but he will investigate it, and then will be way too busy dad-moding to die. 

What I would try: I think the fastest way to kill Philza is to grab one Wilbur and Redify it, as seen in Fault Whumptober prompt 5. Philza physically can’t fight back, and ultimately is assuming even if he dies he’ll reform in a few minutes. Only, Wilbur can devour conceptual souls and gain power, so chomp chomp lizard boi! 

Problems: Philza just simply leaving, waiting for the Red to wear off, though he may be trying to protect the others. Bathe everything in godflame and scooping up wilbur in dragon mode and just leave, not minding that his hand is getting eaten. When mentally stable he usually needs time to become a dragon though, so that might not work. 

What my partner would try: Amnestics! Force him to forget his beef with the Foundation, then introduce him to a new Foundation Approved™ family. Then one week systematically have all important people in his life leave/say they hate him in rapid succession until he takes so much emotional damage that pure angst murders him, since he takes psychic damage literally. Okay on second thought you pump Phil full of amnestics to erase all of human history to revert him back to a non-person. Like he went insane after only 15-25 years erased but im suuuure you can do it. In 5 year increments. Okay maybe just have him snort Ranboo like cocaine. The Foundation is sure to nail it this time. Then kill him and have the Dovahkiin absorb his soul (me: how do you kill dragon or true form Phil) don’t worrryyy bout it.

2.Assuming step 1 worked….hell no they don’t believe it was an accident. Tubbo could’ve been reading over Phil’s shoulder and knows that what you gave him melted that sucker’s brain, even on accident, so there is absolutely zero trust. None whatsoever. But they aren’t going to attack you about it; actually they will give you a bee high five for killing Phil, even if they disprove of the whole murder thing. They would also see the smoke that you made in the barn, or try to go in and fall asleep so know that way that it’s super duper a trap. Especially since they’d have no reason to go to Phil, since there’s like not a lot that can be done for a pile of words. Tubbo just flies up like 6 feet to stand over your head and give a whole spiel about murder bad. 

What I would try: Pesticide BABYYYYYYY. Specifically consumable, since things that are consumed are shared with the rest of the Hive. I think the first time a trick would work but past that they’d be hella cautious. But enough constant exposure could really strip down the population. As numbers dwindled they’d get more concentrated at the body since they need a set amount of bees to carry it, and just carpet bombing the area with pesticide and smoke bombs would…still likely not kill all of Tubbo, especially since they’d know it was coming and could prepare/try to escape. Even The Blood God couldn’t manage to kill Tubbo. But with luck you could maybe kill the queens? But then they’d raise new ones…arg. Tubbo is invincible. 

What my partner would try: Use a lot of bullets. There is definitely no other better than using a full army armed with muskets. It's the best strategy every I have no idea what you're talking about. Alternatively smoke one (1) cigarette in the general vicinity. Or acme brand dynamite?

3…How are you giving the void access to the real world? Like that would definitely count as killing all the Fault guys don’t get me wrong. I just don’t know how you would do that. Bringing real world objects wouldn’t necessarily give access, just make you a target. My best sketch of how the void gets to devour the real world is by first devouring all of Fault so that nothing stands between. Potentially a hole could be ripped in Fault to the world beyond, you shove Wilbur out it, then make peace with your short life? But I don’t know how a human could make that hole in the first place. If you have an idea feel free to shoot that in the comments, because it would be very very effective. Still I think it would be easier to walk up to me in real life and just…shoot me. Here’s a hint to help you on this quest: something published in Fault doxxed me. Gooood luck! 

What I would try: Midday. Unexpected flashbang. Wilbur goes into a trauma response, meanwhile flood the area with helicopters with spotlights, the kind banned for causing permanent eye damage. Catch him from every angle, then get him with a high voltage taser. You’ll want a lot of people armed with this, because at this point Wilbur’s going to be going crazy with the cannibalism. In the few seconds while the entire void is screaming in agony (wherein most people in the radius experience things like instantly going mad, ear drums/skulls bursting) it won’t be able to fight back and Wilbur won’t be in enough sense to devour the bombs being dropped. 

Problems: Wilbur noticing the helicopters coming and booking it. The void eating the flashbang. Eldritch voice being employed quickly enough to prevent tasers (it’s not extreme when not in agony, but still has some potential to keep distance). Wilbur eating a hole through the ground in order to escape light/attacks, at which point the darkness will be enough for the void to fully retaliate. Wilbur tends to get extremely dangerous when cornered and not holding back, though that could potentially be mitigated by having friends in the area it doesn’t want as collateral damage? Potentially Tommy since otherwise you now are fighting two+ overpowered anomalies. But past a certain point he would be far too pained/scared and even that wouldn’t dampen retaliation. 

What my partner would try: Flashbangs. Or to stop him from attacking, throw tommy at him (no! Then it’ll get Red’d and cause more problem!) Solution: get someone weak to throw Tommy. Or use a lightning bolt for extra traumatic damage. To do so, ally with Thor the god of Thunder, who is sure to help you on your brave quest. Or wait for him to sleep and use a sledge hammer (me: he has insomnia dude) yeah but he has to sleep eventually! Eventually… 

4.Yeah just shoot that man lmao. In his own words:

“Well, no, obviously, like I’m pretty sure a bullet through the head would be a greater weakness. Or like if you blew me up or something. Boom. No more Tommy.” He made exploding gestures with his hands. He figured it would take a fast death to get rid of him, but the Foundation had always preferred slow ones. The crimson was sunk to his elbows and racing up his biceps. “Who’d have guessed a nuclear bomb would’ve taken care of him? Shocker.”

Of course, I would argue that Tommy could be extremely dangerous if he chose to be, but he’s mostly contact based. Well. Unless he starts coating bullets in Red and fighting armies so thick even he can’t miss…anyway like he’s killed more than The Blade at the very least, so, 

What my partner would try: Kill him with a tommy gun

5.Well the not being seen thing won’t work since The Blood God is physically drawn to challengers and battle luck can affect people halfway across the globe if they decided to beef with The Blade through indirect means. So you would hella not survive, but that doesn’t exclude his death as well. I think the ocean thing would deffo work and be very apt considering the ‘sea of voices’. Now I will say, Tommy is extremely used to being tortured, and anything nonlethal with minimal long term damage you can think of the Foundation has done. And, crucially, Tommy values his friend’s happiness over his own wellbeing and has been suicidal in the past. Basically the perfect recipe for a martyr. There’s a good chance he’ll kill himself just to ensure you can’t hurt The Blade. Past that…I mean I know Philza doesn’t change forms in doors, but I don’t know if that’s sense or because magically one can’t create a form where there isn’t physical space? Not something I ever considered. Potentially The Blade could be sliced in half just by trying to be summoned into a too small space, but I figure that would also be something the Foundation tested? Idk man. But assuming he can be summoned, either due to space or suicidal prevention, The Blade would drown. 

What I would try: First, do it when he’s hibernating post large battle, since while The Blood God will destroy people via twisting the universe while asleep, it does limit reaction on his end. Second, a challenger has to be alive for The Blood God's battle luck to be in play. So a suicide bomber could definitely take him. Or a score of them. One of the worst injuries The Blade receives is actually from shrapnel that occurs the second after a battle ends when The Blood God can’t use supernatural luck to avoid it. AI drones could also potentially do a lot of damage, though remote control won’t work at all. Or, get an enemy that’s undead! That one comes up much later :)

Or wait. Potentially has already come up. HOLY HELL DOES TUBBO COUNT AS AN UNDEAD CONSTRUCT- I think Tubbo has double defense against The Blood God omg..

What my partner would try: I think the moment Tommy wakes up in a metal box, even without the claustrophobia, would be bad. You don’t need the drugs. He’s already panicking. (I reminded him of the torture thing and he changed his mind) Actually Tommy has already been in a small metal box for a long time. Just put Jeff the killer in there with him. And watch him say his iconic line ‘im going to jeff the kill you’ 

As for The Blade, all you need is Loony Tunes level unrealistic focus fire from comically large automated weapons. Like the comically large gun from Despicable Me, or an entire wall of machine guns. Oh! I know! Go back in time to when he was a normal pig before he became vessel for The Blood God and kill him then. Also go back in time before the concepts of anger and fire existed, be the first to create those, and then have tiny Philza in your hand and crush. EZ.

[braveclementine]

Chapter 13

Warnings: 18+ readers only, mentions of nudity, smut

Copyright: I do not own any Wizarding World characters that J.K. Rowling wrote. I do however own Elizabeth Kane (main character) and Trang Nyguen (best friend). There should be no use of these two names without my permission. I also do not condone any copying of this.

🤎🤎🤎🤎🤎🤎

𝕺𝖛𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖙 of Christmas break, I stayed in my bed except for bathroom breaks. It was quite embarrassing because dad would have to help me down to the bathroom. My leg was not quite ready to walk on it's own. Severus showed up every other day to give me potions and ointments and performs spells and also, bring news.

"Greyback's being favored." Severus said, applying a thick green paste to my leg that burned and I stared up at the ceiling, gritting my teeth and squeezing dad's hand so tightly, he kept wincing.

"Why?" Dad asked through gritted teeth as I dug my nails into his hand.

"The Dark Lord is quite pleased to know that Elizabeth is having a child. He thinks the child will have her powers. Of course, I think it's actually good news. He won't harm Elizabeth until he finds out whether the child has powers or not and he won't harm the child unless he finds out that the child doesn't have powers. Of course, if he finds out the child doesn't have power, he'll take Elizabeth and kill the child. Or keep the child as bait."

"That doesn't sound like good news to me!" Dad said indignantly as Severus wrapped a bandage around my leg.

"It means they're both safe. From death at least." Severus said, tying off the bandage on my leg and then removing the ones from my stomach. I breathed deeply through my nose. "And probably for many years too since Elizabeth's powers didn't develop until she was eleven. And of course, he might be vanquished before then."

Dad was silent for some time. I on the other hand, thought it was good news. "I don't think the child will have powers." I whispered. "I don't think its genetic."

"Doesn't matter." Severus said quickly. "He's not going to get his hands on you anyways."

Severus squeezed my hand before applying some ointment to my cuts. Apparently, there was some sort of magical dust on Greyback's claws. Wasn't lethal, but it left scars that couldn't usually be cleared up. Severus however, had inside knowledge and knew how to reverse them. It was just going to take time. I whimpered, partly from pain and partly from fear.

"He's not going to touch you Elizabeth." Sev murmured, leaving purple paste on my wounds now. He started to wrap them up tighter. "I promise."

I nodded, squeezing his hand and then closed my eyes, letting my body rest until it came time to drink the potion that Severus had made. It was disgusting, but necessary, and I took it. I'd asked before if it was safe to take. There were many potions people shouldn't take if they were pregnant. It was perfectly safe according to Sev.

Dad gave us a little privacy, leaving the room, and going down the stairs. Severus immediately sat next to me, putting a hand on my stomach. The baby was restless, always kicking recently. I didn't blame her, I always wanted freedom too.

"She's going to be lovely." I murmured, feeling quite sleepy. "I can picture her already, inside my head."

"Oh?" Severus questioned. "And what does she look like."

"Snow white." I said. "Black hair, alabaster skin, red lips, blue eyes."

"Who's Snow White?" Severus asked, sounding slightly concerned. "I certainly hope that's not what you named her."

I laughed and then reached over, opening the top drawer of the bedside table, pulling out an old Disney storybook.

I flipped through the yellow pages until I came to the story of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. "This is her." I said, turning the book around to show Snow White, pretty as a picture, her black hair in curls tucked up around her chin. Her lips as red as an apple and her skin as white as snow. There might've been a song about it.

"If this is what our child looks like, then she certainly will be beautiful when she grows up." Severus said. "But I imagine she'll have brown hair, brown eyes like her mother."

"Perhaps somewhere in between, but I'm quite certain she'll look like this." I said stubbornly.

Severus smiled and leaned down and kissed me. I put a hand up to his cheek, pulling him to me. Perhaps things would have gone farther if dad hadn't cleared his throat at the door. Severus pulled away from me slowly, gathering his things with his wand, and he was gone.

I would have liked Severus to have been there for New Years, but my ability to walk was enough celebration for dad and I and we went to bed before midnight even occurred.

Dad and I got a Ministry car to Kings Crossing where he helped me load my things into the train and I went back out onto the platform to say good-bye to him.

"Please be careful." Dad said, holding my face in his hands. "I want you to stay out of trouble, no matter what. Nothings' worth your health at this point, nothing. Not with a child in you. You're not caring for your life anymore Elizabeth, but someone else's life too."

"I know Dad." I said, hugging him tightly. I hated parting with him. He hugged me back fiercely.

"I love you sweetheart." He said, smoothing strands of hair back from my face because I was crying. He kissed my forehead. "Everything's going to be fine."

"I know." I said, smiling weakly and chuckling. "It's just the hormones. I love you dad."

I kissed his cheek and climbed back onto the train, going back into my compartment where I started on reading A Game of Thrones.

Hermione soon joined me, her own things pushed up in the compartment. "That's a horrible book." She commented as she sat down across from me. I glared at her.

"You can't have possibly read this book yet." I said, barely looking up from the pages. "It only just came out."

"I got it a few days after the publishing date and read it in three days." Hermione recited off the top of her head. "It's barbaric and horrible."

"I'll make my own conclusions by the end of the book." I said, determined to like it.

Hermione shrugged, "So how was your break?" her eyes were resting on my cheek and I touched it gingerly. The scars had faded. Severus would continue the healing process when I returned to school.

"Oh, you know." I said, shrugging my shoulders. "Dad and I spent Christmas at the Burrow with Harry. Tonks was there Christmas day. Bellatrix Lestrange and Greyback showed up some time afterwards."

Hermione dropped her mouth and said in an incredibly bossy voice, "Don't tell me you actually went after them!"

"I was trying to help Harry." I said, bookmarking my place and setting the book aside. "Besides, I hadn't foreseen anything. I mean, what if I hadn't gone after him? I don't know what would have happened either way. Besides, I thought it was just Bellatrix. I don't know when Greyback showed up."

"Greyback was the one who clawed your face?" Hermione asked.

I nodded, "Because I'm dad's daughter of course. Greyback was the one that bit dad, though you probably knew that."

Hermione nodded, "I assumed, though I wasn't 100% sure."

I sighed. "Dad was so upset."

"You weren't bit were you?" Hermione asked in a sharp voice.

"No, it wasn't full moon so Greyback thought biting me would be a waste." I said scathingly. "Apparently, he's waiting for a full moon."

Hermione shuddered, "You really need to start being more careful."

"Believe me Hermione, I'm not going to go looking for trouble. . . well not anymore at least."

Hermione glared at me before pulling out the Daily Prophet and we spent most of the rest of the train ride reading in silence.

We disembarked the train, carrying out things to the carriages and we started towards the castle.

Hermione and I split up once we were in the castle. She went to put her things away in the Gryffindor Tower and I went to Severus' office to move back in.

"How's your leg?" Severus asked in greeting as I set my things down in the corner.

"Much better." I said brightly, pulling out my art pad and setting it down on the bed. I pulled out all of the drawings that I had drawn over the break and laid them out and then asked, "Have you seen anywhere like this or even know what these symbols mean?"

Severus took a long time, examining each of the drawings carefully and spent a lot more time looking at the six images on the piece of paper.

"No." Severus finally said. "Why?"

I sighed, shaking my head and putting the pieces of paper together. "I wish I knew why." was my answer and I put the pad back in my bag.

I kissed his cheek and said, "I'm going to go and hang out with Hermione. I'll be back soon."

"Right." Severus said, slightly disconcerted, watching me leave.

I headed down to Hagrid's where Hermione, Trang, and Hagrid were playing with Buckbeak. They were deep in conversation about something and as I got closer, I realized that they were talking about the attack on the Burrow.

"Elizabeth!" Hagrid exclaimed, "There yeh are!"

"Have a good break Christmas Hagrid?" I asked carelessly, petting Buckbeak on the nose.

"The best!" Hagrid said, a might bit to cheerful.

"I overheard you guys." I said, my lips threatening to twitch into a smile. "I know what you were talking about."

"How could you be so stupid!" Trang exploded angrily. "Don't you know what-"

"Yes, Trang!" I said quickly, in case she, like dad, mentioned the baby. The last person that I wanted to know about my child was Hagrid. I loved Hagrid, but he couldn't keep a secret.

"Dangerous stunt, that was Elizabeth." Hagrid said in a worried tone. "Don' know what yer father would've done if he'd lost yeh."

Guilt filled me immensely. Like I hadn't felt bad enough already. "It's not going to happen again." I said fiercely.

"Unless you don't foresee it." Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow.

I scowled. So they were all going to team up on me now, were they? "Look, I made a mistake and it's not going to happen again, alright? And I'd really appreciate if the entire school didn't know about this, okay?"

Without another word about the incident, we turned our attention to Buckbeak/Witherwings. I still called him Buckbeak because I hated change. Changing somethings name to another was quite uncomfortable.

Hermione, Trang, and I went up to Gryffindor tower as the hours started to get late and in front of the portrait was Harry, Ron, and Ginny.

"Harry! Ginny!" Hermione called, hurrying towards them. Trang and I followed. "I got back a couple of hours ago, I've just been down to visit Hagrid and Buck- I mean Witherwings. Did you have a good Christmas?"

"Yeah, pretty eventful. Rufus Scrim-" Ron started.

"I've got something for you, Harry." Hermione interrupted, not taking any notice of Ron. "Oh, hang on- password. Abstinence."

"Precisely." The Fat Lady said in an extremely feeble voice. I looked up at her portrait before she opened up to the common room, and saw that she looked quite pale and slightly sick. Could portraits take ill?

"What's up with her?" Harry asked, stepping through the room.

"Overindulged over Christmas, apparently." Hermione said, with a roll of her eyes as she stepped inside the Common room. Trang and I did not follow and instead, turned away and started walking towards the library.

Trang immediately turned on me once we were in a lonesome hallway. "You have a child and you went after a Death Eater?" She hissed.

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Trang, c'mon." I pleaded. "I didn't know there were going to be two-"

"The number of Death Eaters is irrelevant." Trang hissed. "if there was one Death Eater and ten of you, it's still irrelevant. You could be the one out of ten that gets hurt."

"Trang!" I said sharply. "I already talked with Dad and Severus. I am never, ever going to engage in a fight until I have this child."

"Not good enough." Trang said sharply. "You have to stay alive for the child, you know? Don't get in any more fights, period."

"You're not my mother." I said, sharper than I intended.

"No, but I'm your best friend." Trang said fiercely.

"You are very emotional about this subject." I said slowly.

Trang sighed, calming down, rubbing the temples of her forehead. "Yeah, I know."

"Why?" I asked curiously.

She turned, looking out the window. Snow littered the grow, but it wasn't sticking well. "I had to do volunteer hours in America. I worked with children who had lost their parents. They don't grow up right, Liz. I mean, some of them do, but not all of them. That's why they're in the center. Drugs, assault, robbery, I mean, would you want your child to end up there?"

"She's not going to." I said fiercely. "But. . ." I spoke softer, taking in a deep breath, "I understand what you're saying."

Trang put an arm around my shoulder, "Alright then, so we're in agreement?"

"We're in agreement." I said with a smile.

Well, at least I didn't make an unbreakable vow.

🤎🤎🤎🤎🤎🤎

APPARITION LESSONS If you are seventeen years of age, or will turn seventeen on or before the 31st of August next, you are eligible for a twelve-week course of Apparition Lessons from a Ministry of Magic Apparition instructor. Please sign below if you would like to participate. Cost: 12 Galleons.

"What do you think?" Ernie asked.

"Well I'll be signing up." Susan said, putting her money in the box after writing her name down at the bottom.

"I'll have to think about it." I said. I wanted to check and see if apparition was okay to do if you were pregnant.

In Charms, it was quite evident that Hermione hadn't gotten over her ignoring Ron stage. I couldn't blame her, but it was starting to get quite tiring.

Today, we were jumping into producing fountains of pure water. It was much simpler than many of the other charms we had been doing before break. I'd performed the charm last year, though I'd spoken it, rather than nonverbally. But I was one of the first to produce the pure water.

Seamus managed to produce a sprout of water which knocked Professor Flitwick off of his feet. He looked quite ashamed of himself, but he was immersed in whatever conversation he was having with Ron and Harry.

Hermione was stiffly producing jets of water, ignoring Ron completely. I was sitting on the other side of the room, watching silently. I still couldn't believe that the two of them got married. How ridiculous. Harry and Hermione were a better couple. I wondered what their reaction would be if I told them. But then again, that would leave Ginny out, and I couldn't do that to her either. Besides, Harry already had developing feelings for Ginny and I had no reason to crush his emotions.

I wondered who else was eligible to set up with Hermione, but I didn't get much time to think about it because Professor Flitwick wanted me to show him my charmwork.

I hurried back to the office after class was over with a new stack of homework from all the classes that I'd attended today. Severus seemed buried in paper work too and it seemed like it was more midterm than the start of term.

He sighed, tossing his quill down and pulled me onto his lap, our lips meeting quickly. I kissed back passionately, letting my lips part and Severus gave a small moan of ecstasy. He stood up, moving me carefully so that my feet reached the floor and then we moved towards the bed.

Being careful of my right leg, we became more tangled than we had been in the rose bush garden hideout. I'd always imagined that when a woman became pregnant, the couple stopped having sex because there was no point. However, from a view point, the sex almost seemed better in a way. Perhaps it was to encourage having more kids.

Every touch, every motion, every nerve was blissful, shiver inducing, and lovely. His lips kissed the curve between my waist and hip. His fingers trailing down my side. His hair, ticking my cheek while our lips interlocked in a dance.

As the sun started to sink, we lay there, our arms around each other, my cheek resting on his chest and his cheek resting atop my head. The white sheets were strewn around us, covering parts of us, leaving other parts of us exposed.

"I had a question." I murmured, looking at the other side of the room, absentmindedly tracing shapes with my finger across his abs, but not paying attention.

"Yes?" Severus asked politely, his fingers sliding up and down my thigh.

"Is it safe for me to take the apparition classes?"

His fingers stopped moving and I moved my head upwards to look at his face.

"Well..." He said slowly, looking up at the ceiling, his head tilted in a way that the light was thrown over it so I couldn't read his expression clearly. "If you already knew how, but you don't. Therefore, if you splinched yourself. . ."

"Right." I said. "So no apparition classes."

"Right." Severus said, kissing the top of my head. "Sorry."

"It's alright." I said, sighing in disappointment. I snuggled into his shoulder, the impending doom of bad grades from not doing homework didn't seem very important at the moment. Severus pulled the comforter up around my shoulders and I fell asleep quickly.

🤎🤎🤎🤎🤎🤎

"𝕯𝖚𝖒𝖇𝖑𝖊𝖉𝖔𝖗𝖊 𝖘𝖆𝖎𝖉 𝖞𝖔𝖚'𝖗𝖊 like Tom Riddle." Harry said as he joined me in the library.

"Excuse me?" I asked, revolted.

"It was a compliment." Harry said.

"Comparing me to Voldemort is not a compliment." I said, disgruntled.

"He said that Tom Riddle was an unusually talented and very good-looking, naturally drawing attention and nearly all were most favorably impressed by him." Harry said, grinning at me. "That does sound like you."

I glared at him. "So I suppose the memories you watched last night were quite interesting?"

"You saw them?" Harry asked. "It would be nice not having to explain them again."

"Quite right." I said. "Of course I saw them." I rolled my eyes.

"Anyways." Harry said impatiently, obviously there was a question on his mind. "Hermione said she'd never heard of horcruxes-"

"The library won't hold any information on horcruxes. Dumbledore took all of the books out of the library in hopes to explain more about Voldemort." I said immediately.

"Do you know what a horcrux is?" Harry asked excitedly.

I nodded. "When you kill someone, you lose a bit of your soul for committing such a crime. I'm not sure about all of the magic, but you can put a bit of yourself into an object. Like Riddle's Diary, like the ring Dumbledore wore on his finger that cursed his hand."

"Dumbledore didn't mention any of that." Harry said, frowning.

"Yeah well if I wasn't here you wouldn't know about horcruxes until you wrangled the memory out of Slughorn."

"Can't you just tell me the memory?" Harry asked and I looked into his green eyes and quickly looked away.

"No." I said flatly. "But I can tell you when the time is right."

"Rons right. That is frustrating." Harry muttered.

"When Aragog dies." I sighed. "Hagrid will invite you guys down. You will drink a small amount of Felix Felicis in order to give you some luck. After you drink it, you'll know what to do. The luck drink will tell you."

Harry continued to glare at me half-heartedly and I grinned. "Tough love Harry, tough love."

"So I should just wait?" Harry asked.

"No." I said. "You should ask him the first chance you get and pretend I never gave you this advice, alright? You'll ask quite a few times. It'll just depend, alright?"

"Sure." Harry said and then asked, "What did Snape want with you on Christmas?"

"Oh!" I blushed, looking down at the table. "Well, you know. Just to spend time together."

Harry shook his head. "I still can't believe your with him. He's-"

"Don't." I said softly. "Please, Harry? I understand you hate him and you can say that all you want to anyone else, just not me, alright?"

Harry and I stared at each other. "Alright." Harry said, sounding a bit frustrated.

"I do love him." I whispered. "That's hard to believe, I know, but I love him." I stared out the window, determinedly not looking at Harry.

"I'm sorry." Harry muttered.

"Let's just not talk about him and me, alright?" I asked, glancing down at the table again.

"Hermione and Ron are still fighting." Harry said at once.

"Yes." I sighed, "You'd think Hermione would have put her differences aside but then again, Ron shouldn't have dated Lavender in the first place. It's a bit of a conundrum, isn't it?"

Harry sighed, "I think he can date whoever he wants, can't he?"

"Sure." I said genially. "But Hermione believed that they were going to Slughorn's party together and then all of sudden Ron and Lavender are together like a bunch of squids. It's a bit disgusting if you look at it from an outside point of view. Hermione was my friend first so I'm going to defend her to the end."

"Are they going to be friends again?" Harry asked, sounding quite exasperated.

"Yes, but it's going to take some time."

"Do you know if Trangs going to take the apparition courses?" Harry asked after a moment of silence.

"Huh." I said, completely shocked by his question. "Well I suppose she might. She hasn't said anything. She is technically of age to do so despite her year."

"You'll be taking them too?" Harry asked.

"No." I said reluctantly. However, I didn't have time to explain in great detail why I wasn't going to be taking the lessons because the bell rang and we quickly gathered our things to get to potions class.

I sat down next to Ernie and Hermione sat across from us. I wasn't surprised about this considering she was going to be angry with both Ron and Harry.

"Settle down, settle down, please! Quickly, now, lots of work to get through this afternoon! Golpalott's Third Law... who can tell me-? But- ah!"

Both Hermione and mine hands had shot up in the air and Slughorn was looking between the two of us, seeming to try and pick a favorite.

"Miss Granger?" He finally called and I lowered my hand, slightly disappointed.

Hermione recited at top speed, "Golpalott's Third-Law-states-that-the-antidote-for-a-blended-poison-will-be-equal-to-more-than-the-sum-of-the-antidotes-for-each-of-the-separate-components."

I stared at her, stunned. How was anyone supposed to have followed that? I should consider myself lucky that I knew what she was even talking about.

"Precisely! Ten points to Gryffindor! Now, if we accept Golpalott's Third Law as true then we must know that the antidotes in common are refracting with the ingredients' endorphins and..." I looked around. Everyone's eyes were as slack as though we were sitting in History of Magic class. Ron was doodling on his paper and even the Ravenclaws looked quite lost. "...which means, of course, that assuming we have achieved correct identification of the potion's ingredients by Scarpin's Revelaspell, our primary aim is not the relatively simple one of selecting antidotes to those ingredients in and of themselves, but to find that added component that will, by an almost alchemical process, transform these disparate elements into urea which will then help with the prions and form an antidote to the poison and so, I want each of you to come and take one of these phials from my desk. You are to create an antidote for the poison within it before the end of the lesson. Good luck, and don't forget your protective gloves!"

Hermione and I were up and half-way across the room before the rest of the class even started to move.

I grabbed a phial of a sky blue liquid and carried it back to my seat. Hermione was already dumping ingredients into her cauldron, setting up glass phials to put ingredients into, but I went more cautiously.

I observed the crystal phial, finding that my poison was slightly glowing and its ingredients told me that this was Moonseed poison. With that knowledge, I pulled out the stopper and poured the poison into the cauldron and lit a flame underneath.

As Harry passed by, Hermione said brightly, "It's a shame that the Prince won't be able to help you much with this, Harry. You have to understand the principles involved this time. No shortcuts or cheats!"

I looked up briefly from having added lacewing flies to the poison concoction and saw that Ron was copying everything that Harry was doing. I rolled my eyes. Each poison was different. Ron was going to do horribly.

I carefully stirred three times clockwise before letting it simmer for two minutes. Meanwhile, I collected more ingredients and tools that I would need in the upcoming steps.

Hermione was dropping a thousand different things into her cauldron, ripping out a chunk of her own hair so that her hair was bushier than ever. She really wanted to beat Harry at this which was a really stupid thing to be attempting.

Carefully using a knife, I sliced some loose ends of my hair before dropping them into the cauldron and adding a pinch of lemon. I grabbed my mortar and pestle, crushing beetle eyes in a fine powder before adding them with a teaspoon of cinnamon.

I had long stopped paying attention to the rest of the group, waving my wand over the cauldron and adding beeswax before I started separating the ingredients and putting them into crystal phials. Hermione was jamming her ingredients into phials as fast as possible.

"Two minutes left, everyone!" Professor Slughorn announced.

I worked with ease, adding the final ingredients the last crystal phial- a drop of my own blood which I had gotten by pricking myself with a sewing needle- and I was done.

"Time's. . . UP!" Slughorn announced and everyone dropped back from their cauldrons except for Hermione who was trying to cram more ingredients into the phials. Hare and the Tortoise. Slower wins the race Hermione, I thought randomly, putting my crystal phial into a holder to present it. Then, I put my finger in my mouth to stop the bleeding.

"Well, let's see how you've done! Blaise. . . what have you got for me?" Slughorn asked, starting at the Slytherin table. I avoided looking at the table. I hadn't been able to be in the same room with Blaise for a long time. It was an uncomfortable situation.

Slughorn moved from the Slytherin's to the Ravenclaws and then, much to my disappointment, the Gryffindors.

Putrid fumes were emitting from Ron's cauldron and he had abandoned it, his task instead to avoid being poisoned by the fumes.

"And you, Harry?" Slughorn asked as he moved away from Ron's cauldron, retching. "What have you got to show me?"

Harry opened is hand which I knew contained a bezoar. I sighed in disappointment. While I did not fault Harry, I would've liked Slughorn to see that I had finished the antidote before he doted on Harry.

After about ten seconds of silence, Slughorn threw his head back, roaring with laughter. Hermione was seething and Ernie looked disappointed.

"You've got nerve, boy! Oh, you're like your mother. . . Well, I can't fault you. . . a bezoar would certainly act as an antidote to all these potions!" Slughorn announced joyfully.

Hermione didn't seem to be able to contain herself, "And you thought of a bezoar all by yourself, did you, Harry?"

"That's the individual spirit a real potion-maker needs! Just like his mother, she had the same intuitive grasp of potion-making, it's undoubtedly from Lily he gets it. . . Yes, Harry, yes, if you've got a bezoar to hand, of course that would do the trick. . . although as they don't work on everything, and are pretty rare, it's still worth knowing how to mix antidotes. . ."

I was starting, against my will, to get angry. He didn't inherit potion making skills from our mother! He was cheating! I felt quite infuriated and the only person who looked angrier than Hermione was Draco.

For about the first time, I wished everyone knew I was Harry's sister. Couldn't I be complimented about my potion skills because I'd inherited my mother's gift?

I took in a deep breath. No, no, that wasn't what I wanted at all, if I thought about it hard. I wanted to be known as a great potion-maker because I had the skills myself, not because I'd inherited them. Potion-making wasn't really a gene that was passed down from parent to child anyways.

The bell rang. "Time to pack up! And an extra ten points to Gryffindor for sheer cheek!" Slughorn announced, walking past our table.

"Professor!" I called, "You didn't check our work."

Yes, I was being selfish, but I couldn't really help it.

"Yes, of course, Miss Kane." Slughorn said, though he sounded more like he was humoring me, rather than actually wanting to check our work. He passed over Ernie's quickly, complimented Hermione slightly, and congratulated me on finishing the antidote and awarding Hufflepuff five points. I stalked out of the potions room in a bad mood.

"That wasn't fair at all!" Hermione seethed as we hurried to the library together. "You actually finished the antidote and I had fifty ingredients and Harry did absolutely nothing!"

"No." I agreed, "It wasn't fair at all but when it comes to Harry, people in our world seem to be a bit more willing to overlook his mistakes. Cheeky!"

"He would have failed if that had been Professor Snape's class." Hermione said, sounding as though she was barely listening to me.

"No." I answered. What were we talking about again? My blood was starting to simmer down a little.

"Miss Kane!" A sharp voice echoed down the hallway and Hermione and I stopped walking. I turned around and saw Professor McGonagall sweeping down the staircase towards us. "I must speak to you for a moment."

"I'll see you in the library." I muttered to Hermione and stepped against the side wall so that I didn't interrupt the flow of the crowd. "Yes, Professor?" I asked, looking up at her.

"Professor Dumbledore would have told you this himself but he is not here at the moment. He said that you are allowed to sign up for apparition classes and that he has absolute faith in you." She recited. Her facial expressions gave away nothing.

"Thank you, Professor." I said and I turned and headed to catch up with Hermione.

Once Harry caught up to us (I suspected he told Ron the outcome of talking to Slughorn first), my temper had fizzled out, though Hermione's had not, and Harry left soon after telling us the outcome.

I slipped away after class to go and see Severus but he was teaching a class. I wanted to go upstairs to the office to do homework, but that would be quite distracting to the other students. Instead, I went to the Hufflepuff common room and signed up for the apparition lessons. I wondered what Severus' reaction would be.

After the hour ended, I went back to Severus' classroom and up to the office where Severus was separating paper into three different stacks, a quill on the floor, and the inkpot laying on its side, ink spilling down the table and dripping onto the floor. He was saving the paper first.

"Scourgify." I muttered, cleaning up the ink. I picked up the pot and set it down on the chair with the quill.

"Thanks." Severus muttered, tossing three pieces of parchment onto one stack and the rest onto another. "An owl swooped through here."

"No problem." I said, kissing his cheek and setting my bag down and pulling out my homework before starting on the problems.

"By the way..." Severus said slowly, searching for something in his drawers, "You have an appointment with Madam Pomfrey tomorrow."

"I do?" I asked, puzzled, looking up from my potions homework. No one made an appointment with Madam Pomfrey and hearing those words was quite funny.

"Yes." Severus said, pulling out a fresh quill and slamming the drawer shut before sitting down in his chair, leaping up and removing the inkpot and quill from the chair. "It's a checkup, really, to see how the child's doing."

"Oh!" I exclaimed. I supposed I hadn't thought of checkups because I was in a magical school rather than in the muggle world. But muggle women went to doctors for checkups all the time to make sure that the baby was healthy. "That's fine."

"Good." Severus said, "I thought you might be difficult about it."

I stuck my tongue out at him before remembering that his back was to me.

I flew through the homework and when I was done, the sun had already fallen. I pulled out a fresh sheaf of paper and started to draw, letting my subconscious take over.

When I looked up again, Severus was deep in his papers, the candles low, the sun completely set. I set the pencil aside. Soot covered my fingers but there wasn't a single smudge on the paper. I set it down on the bed, grabbing a cloth and wiping my fingers while I observed the newest drawing of the strange place.

It was a hallway. The floor was tiled with a pattern of black and gold (if it was in color). There is a vine pattern on the tiles which also leads partly up certain parts of the stone walls till they reached the curved ceiling. But more unusual was that the hallway is filled with black chairs and café tables.

The tables and chairs are pushed up against the walls of the hallway in random order, not orderly. There are stacks of books on the chairs, all of them have gilded edges. There is also a cat, sitting on one of the tables. Its small and silver with large yellow eyes (if the drawing was colored).

There is a door between the vines, partly open, revealing part of a lit fireplace that is small and arched. I can see briefly that the floor is tiled still, checkered but also covered with rugs, navy colored (if the drawing was colored).

I set the drawing aside, placing it on top of the other drawings. All these drawings were unusual so they must be part of the magical world, it was the only explanation. But no one seemed to know where this place was. Not Tonks or Dad or Severus. But if this place was in the future, then no one would know about it would they.

Severus finally set his quill aside while I continued to add detail to the drawing. Adding thing, delicate whiskers to the silver cat. Defining the room to be more three-dimensional through the door. Adding a light here, a lightbulb there.

"It's lovely though unusual." Severus said, coming over, looking over my shoulder. He was shirtless and my heart started to pound, a complete overreaction considering how many times I'd seen him naked.

I set the drawing aside for a second time and hopefully the last time tonight. I stood up, running a hand over his abs. Severus pushed his lips against mine and we dissolved into each other. I wondered if it was possible to capture these scenes in drawing as well. But that might be a bad thing to do. What if someone found the drawings?

His fingers were cold, goosebumps appearing on my skin where he touched me. My hands were cold as well and I kept them under his back, heat radiating and warming them.

There really is no way to describe being together with someone. But it was sweeter, more romantic than that. It was perfect, the idea of a man and a woman that were meant to be together forever loving each other. Moving together as though they were of one mind.

That was how we moved, our mouths always met at the right moment, our hands, our legs, our bodies retracting and condensing and moving together.

No one could really understand how I could love someone older than me, someone like Severus. I suppose one only needed a night with him, one moment with him that he opened up and showed his true self.

His history was horrible to an outsider, to someone who didn't know what I knew. He was a Death Eater. He was a follower of Voldemort. He was evil and Dumbledore was a fool to trust him. He hated Harry Potter, he hates the boy who lived. He hated James Potter, he wanted them to die. His best friends are Death Eaters, he is using Dumbledore to keep him out of Azkaban.

But I knew what was true. He regretted joining the Death Eaters. He cared about Harry in his own way. He did not want Lily Potter to die and in order for her not to die, he did not want James to have died either. He was not evil. Dumbledore was not a fool to trust him. Voldemort was the fool.

And the sides that he didn't show anyone else. The sides that only I could see. The goodness in him, the love, the passion, the joy, the hopes, the dreams, the beliefs. Everything that made him, was mine to see, to explore, to exploit. It was mine to use and to love and to make passionately with. He was mine and I was his. We were us.

His fingers caressed my breasts, his lips made heart shapes on my neck, his manly parts made my female parts sore and loved. We rolled over so that I was underneath his weight. The candles went out in a gust, leaving smoke filtering through the room. His lips parted mine, pushing and caressing and loving.

Somewhere far away, bees were buzzing and keys were clinking in the wind and swords were clashing. Crowns were crashing and feathers were floating and hearts were beating. Somewhere far away, a heart beat slower and slower but I would never know about that heart, until everyone I loved was dead.

⬅️➡️

[retropobor]

Screw it, I'm an art blog now, have some more art (UTY pacifist Route Spoilers for part of it, also there's a lot of text you have to read in order to have this thing make sense)

This is my most recent work, made just last night. It's not perfect, but I'm proud of how it turned out, Although I feel as though pretty much everything needs an explanation here, especially if you feel like you recognize someone here.

For those of you who don't know (AKA pretty much every one of you other than maybe @yaboi88900) I run a DnD campaign. A very very poorly balanced DnD campaign. With a mix of heavy amounts of homebrew, and an inability to get anything playtested, I have my fair share of monsters who have almost resulted in a TPK, so I decided to put them all in an artwork to memorialize them.

Left and right: Blood elementals

A while back I was watching a a dungeon dad video about a creature known a blood elemental, and I thought they were cool, so I added a combat encounter against them. I was expecting quite a few people, so I thought 1 per person in the 4 person party worked out, and made a combat encounter against 4 of them... 2 people showed up, and as it turns out a CR 5 Blood elemental is actually pretty dangerous against a level 5 player, so even after killing 2 off, it was still a brutal combat session. There wasn't much else to say about it though. In my opinion, it was rather forgettable.

Middle (Bottom): The Cabinet Man

Ironically the blood elementals weren't the worst encounter of the storyline. Again 2 people showed up for the session, because during this time, we were struggling on player count. Basically everything after the blood elementals was this whole Lemon Demon based plotline with the BBEG being the main character from No Eyed Girl/When He Died, and the quest giver being the main character from Touch Tone Telephone (I can go more in depth in another post if y'all want to know more about it). As you are probably beginning to realize that fine figure in the center is based on Cabinet Man. He's one of if not the first stat block I ever made, which means he's not balanced in the slightest. I'll save the details of what this Cabinet Man can do for a different post because there's a lot on him, but for now know that he's never met a foe he couldn't kill before his second phase. Also he gave my players a crippling fear of arcade cabinets.

Background: The Demon Core Golem

I never actually ran this one because it's too late game for any campaign I've ever ran, but even without running it, just about everyone who's seen the stats has an innate fear for this thing and for good reason, because this thing is strong. It only has a few attacks, but all of them deal a lot of damage, and as expected for something named after the demon core, this thing is highly radioactive, meaning it deals massive amounts of unblockable poison damage if you get near it, and it can give out radiation sickness (CDC accurate radiation sickness at that). Survive all of that, and it does the job its father could only dream of, and becomes a literal nuclear bomb, at which point pretty much all you can do is run. Yes it is as powerful as it sounds. No I don't know what I was thinking when I made this.

Middle (Top): Ceroba Ketsukane, Defiler of Pacifism

This one's the most recent of the lethal encounters, having the related plotline finished tuesday. So Undertale Yellow came out, and I absolutely loved it (if you couldn't tell already), so I decided to adapt bits of the game into a plotline in the campaign (albeit with some lore and plot edits to fit the world, and because total plagiarism just ain't my style). Well if you know anything about the pacifist route, the final boss is Ceroba who dons a mask and becomes incredibly powerful* The party was sweeping through Ceroba's first second phases, and most of the third phase with ease, so I decided to quit sugar coating it for the second half of the third phase. When I was making the stat block for Ceroba I gave her an aoe attack, and perfect for her, all the players were grouped together in one place, so I decided to use that AOE attack, and in one round, I accidentally reduced the entire party other than the sorcerer in the backlines to hit point levels ranging from death saving throws to 4 at the best. Safe to say I re sugar coated it after that. And for anyone wondering, Ceroba was spared, and is now safe and sound in Ketsukane mansion, and she may or may not become a quest giver for some more side quests, Idk yet.

[ambitiouslyher]

" i'm still waiting to hear what's in it for me ? " @raisedcold ( alex ) , liked.

[professor-abeloved]

Love By Any Other Name [Amalia x F!MC] Part 1/4

Fandom: It Lives Within (visual novel) @itlivesproject 💜

Summary:

Amalia de Leon has won countless battles; whether it be through the exchange of words or through the exchange of blows, she’s never one to admit defeat easily… Until the faces the most lethal opponent of all: Writer’s Block. With her best friend, Amor Rodriguez by her side, will Amalia triumph and finally publish her Kenna/Sei fanfic before the end of the F/F Jam? Or will Writer’s Block get the best of our favorite fanfic writer? Or: The 3 times Amalia got inspired by Amor, and the 1 time Amor was inspired by her.

Characters | Ships: Amalia de Leon/Main Character (Amor Rodriguez); Minor Kenna Rys/Sei Rhuka

Notes:

- amor rodriguez [she/her] (used to call her amor powers on my blog, but then i decided to get serious HAHA) is my aggressive liamancer who, yes, is inspired by sei <3 she's trans, demi + sapphic <3 - as usual, dedicated to my beloved kristi-kins, my irl beta reader and best friends to lovers <3

—

“Kenna, I’d like you to meet Sei Rhuka.”

Dark eyes widen when they land upon a woman with a fierce glare…

Nope. Delete, delete. Maybe stare?

…with a fiery stare that burns right through Kenna. Red stripes—

Ugh, really, Lia? Stripes? Think, you didn’t study the thesaurus for nothing!

The red paint on her face rivaling the red tinting Kenna’s cheeks. She holds out a hand, which the other woman takes with a surprisingly tender touch. Warmth blossoms in Kenna’s chest. She can’t tear her eyes away from Sei, and in doing so, misses the smirk on Dom’s faceeeeaojdsssssvk

“Ugh. This is so bad. How am I ever gonna finish this?”

Keep reading

[derangedhyena-zoids]

Oh I definitely agree re: anime dumbing them down. I think the closest we got with how Backdraft truly operated was the episode where they stole Liger and had Bit do a death match in the fiery arena, but even that was toned down. I’d love to see the exploration of corruption betwixt ZBC and BD, and within BD itself!

I bet they keep those records closely guarded, too?

Agreed, yhea. The show made what nods it could to the appropriate level of severity. But people should be somewhere between concerned by and terrified of Backdraft. These are literally folks whose hobbies include trying to steal all of your shit while murdering you for entertainment. ffs. (which should honestly be kept in mind as I pull out all the tiny violins for the various characters and their problems. they are all some stripe of responsible for peoples' deaths and suffering and have decided that's acceptable.) I would hand-wring and be all "imagine raising a child in such an environment and how they'd turn out" but, well Backdraft actually has remarkably little patience for internal matters becoming corrupt. The org is massively profitable, and huge amounts of money changes hands constantly. It goes back to 'please see: people getting treated decently within the org' - not being put at a disadvantage to begin with, and being given some baseline level of trust reduces the impetus to steal. Honor among thieves and all that. This doesn't mean there's 0% internal corruption - just anyone engaged in such matters knows they'd DAMN well keep it hidden or they're dead. Because crossing the org is generally dealt with both quickly and lethally. a meandering aside: part of the problem BD has developed is like... an ouroboros syndrome. Yes BD deals with a variety of external forces, both ally and enemy, but their most profitable clientele by far are the insanely rich fucks who not only pay to see, but bet on 0999 battles, with carnage and casualty being heavily incentivized. but... y'see, most of those clientele are the descendants of the families who started Backdraft... and some of the old guard is quite aware of this and sees the creeping drain of wealth from older families who've lost touch with the past. So the main schism lies between those two groups. as for broader corruption... There are "some" high-ranking ZBC/ZBGF people in the Committee of Seven - and likewise some high-ranking Backdraft people on the ZB* governmental Council (which I don't actually have an interesting name for, I've always just called it 'the Council' in my head.) Only a handful of folks are aware of this: what they do is balance a perpetual game of cat&mouse to sustain a healthy level of perceived tension between BD and ZB*/law enforcement This isn't to say there aren't people genuinely against either side, on both sides - there are. they have no idea that a lot of what goes on is illusory. the majority of everything is run by a handful of people. What this fundamentally means: 1) The ZBGF/ZBC is corrupt at its highest levels and has been for a while. So is Backdraft. Part of the degradation of Backdraft into bloodsport mafia happened because a number of old-money families moved into these highest positions of power... and there doesn't need to be a resistance when they've already "won." But weakening Backdraft at all could put its consistent, obscene income at risk. Nobody wants to do that. (This is why Sara is in so much trouble with basically everyone. She became aware of this, declared it bullshit, and basically tried to buck off the ZBGF/ZBC for good... while setting the stage for 'improvements' of her own. She didn't succeed, but rocked the boat nuked the boat, and people are pissed.) 2) The above set of people absolutely do things like tighten rules in sanctioned battles.... to make them more boring so the unsanctioned battles become even more appealing. 3) Both sides actually have the equivalent of secret arms races and are actually trying to gain some kind of advantage over the other, while acting like they're sticking to their side of the "deal." And yes, they absolutely keep those records guarded. The problem is they've lost their shine over the time they've been kept and people have lost knowledge of what could be/is recorded there. Only history nerds - like Alteil - would bother looking into them

[frostcorpsclub]

Name: Juno Addison Frost

Nickname(s): Snow White (by their coworkers and clients)

Main Ability: Body Temperature Manipulation- The user has complete control over the body temperature of oneself and others, including increasing and decreasing it to harmful or lethal levels, increasing it to levels where touching the target is painful/damaging while keeping the target unaffected by the changes, concealing body temperature, making the target resistant or immune to temperatures, etc. (Source: Superpower wiki)

Personality: 

Juno is every stereotype of the sleazy Hollywood producer wrapped up in a romper and set with stringent hair gel. Life is a game and they’ve been cheating at it since day one. It helps that they’re very unassuming at first. Charming and suave? Sure, they could sell a broken down car to Henry Ford himself, but most wouldn’t consider Juno capable of doing a rotten thing like that. They have been known to be incredibly vulgar but not in a way that puts people off, in the way that would make a grandma scold them and lovingly pinch their cheeks. They don’t seem to be hiding any part of themselves at any time, this couldn’t be further from the truth, but most are under the naive assumption that Juno has let their guard down so why can’t I? They have one of those faces that makes people just want to tell them things. And my goodness is Juno a great listener! Nobody is suspicious at Juno’s elephant like memory as most consider it just a trait they inherited from their father. In addition to this, Juno has sticky fingers. Many a priceless item from the Frost house has gone missing and been sold for a disgusting amount of cash. The economy of the human world wasn’t fully in Juno’s radar until they were much older, but even as a child they understood that material things made a person very powerful. They observed the attachment their siblings had to their playthings and how they would fight over them, how Mother and James could get their siblings to betray what little morals they had with the promise of a little treat. Juno knew they had to get their hands on a resource no matter what it took. Being able to sneak in to Mother’s room and successfully (sometimes…they think) swipe one of her necklaces is a thrilling feat in and of itself, but, being able to make people just give you their money and valuables is another. Their skill at crafting bets and talking people out of their pockets contents started with…well their peers and their younger siblings. Not very difficult. However, as their family and friends grew so did their skill of the scam. Juno is aware of what tricking the people you spend every day around for years can do to a relationship. Part of their success is a genuine gregariousness and curiosity about the inner lives of others that seeps through even in their worst moments. With a blinding smile and a wink, truly is the main character of their own movie. 

Trivia

Juno’s powers allow their parents and siblings non winterbeing friends and partners to visit comfortably. Their power was a wonderful thing for the family and gave Juno a leg up.

Juno’s favorite snack is eyeballs. They love the vitreous and aqueous humors.

A HUGE movie buff they could talk about cinematography and movie history for hours 

In their adulthood when they really break in to the criminal underground they become a producer of snuff films.

Yes they have a chair with their name on the back as any director should! 

[chevvy-yates]

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⚠️ READ: Please do not repost/reupload any of my art here or to any other platform, or I will be forced to do anything to get it annihilated.

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Vijay's theme playlist.

Netrunner His main theme song represents his hobby and profession: being a netrunner. ever since he knows how to use a computer he's living 50% of his time on the net, exploring, discovering, reading, understanding the net and all its facettes, always learning something new ever since he got his cyberdeck. He uses it for fun as much as he does use it for work. Sometimes simultaneously. He loves recreating the interface and his own is a fully Vaporwave-y world in bright neons, with grids and typical Vaporwave art icons. The sound of the song is like his character: friendly with a Vaporwave-y touch, showing he's got a warm soul and is rather playful and cheery than dark and mysterious.

Malware Injection sounds more professional, like when he's working serious business now, ready to infiltrate through the net. He knows his way around active defense programs when he tries to enter data fortresses in different ways, knows how to rewrite codes, cloak himself, even create chameleon programs to avoid to get caught and uploads daemons to breach easily into systems for deleting data or mine it simultaneously to get all the information he can find. It's addictive and thrilling.

Damage can be seen as his battle theme. He's a pro level netrunner and capable of inflicting serious damage to his enemies via hacking their (cyberware) systems (he is a good gunslinger in real life as well btw). Most of the time he uses non lethal quickhacks and supports his teammates rather than taking active action in fights. He plays with his enemies causing several weapon glitches, system resets, reboot optics and overheating. No matter what he does; it's definitely some kind of damage. And if he wants to he can be dead serious and cause huge damage as well, therefore 'I'm the damage". The song has a sort of threatening melody. What V says, he means and will do.

Synapse Burnout is another battle theme song that tells he's no casual netrunner and capable to do lethal damage if he needs to. When he does, it hits unexpectedly. One moment you were fine, the next your synapses are burning out bringing you a painful end as your brain gets deep fried.

System Malfunction serves as the song for his almost never showing dark side. Even his system can malfunction if he loses control over it (gets or let himself get hacked). When it does, it sounds like this song. He did actions in the past where he clearly wasn't himself and that he regrets having done. He knows that his netrunner abilities are a powerful weapon once you know how it really works, but he does not fully make use of it. It is dangerous and can make you feel almost untouchable. Therefore he fears it will consume him one day if he makes use of it. He gained full control over it but he senses there's something locked away in the depths of his mind lingering there, waiting to be released to inflict serious damage, to kill, sounding exactly as brutal and hard like this song shows. He also senses there's something in the net that wants to make him do again what he did in the past. It's subtle but Vijay clearly senses it unable to make out its source. And it frightens him because he noticed the signal gets stronger with every year passing by he spends in Night City.

Memory Upload is the song for the good moments. Moments he treasures by uploading pictures and recordings into his personal cloud so he has access to them whenever he feels like replaying them. Moments like those with Ryder full of fun and stupidity, hotheaded situations and rave-y long nights or just chilling in their personal spaces listening to good old Depeche Mode on vinyl. And Moments with Arki sharing sweet togetherness and a love he never felt before. Pictures of the man he loves when he looks cute in private, hair all rebellious curly, sweet smile on his lips that seemed to grow with time passing on since they met, red eyes always looking desirably back at him. Moments with Hizumi spending time at the temple, having onigiri and talking about everything that comes to their minds. But also moments of Ryder and Thyjs together V secretly did especially when the two looked super cute together. And all other moments with his other beloved friends in Night City he treasured as well.