#may I also point out his pulsating temple

[couldawouldashoulda50]

The chest hair when he’s on the couch with his dogs 😍 Fuck this man is hot 🥵

I've probably said "fucking guy" 88 million times to myself today.

I'll just leave these here too.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: The illusion of Pain

“The monastery is secured.”

“Excellent.” Vil said over his shoulder. “What of the survivors?”

“We’ve gathered them in the main hall.”

With that Vil waved away his underling and returned his gaze to the outside. Situated atop the tallest mountain range on the planet Vil had to give the humans credit for a truly majestic location to build a temple. He was also grateful that it was so isolated which made raiding it even easier. The nearest terran league outpost was a system away and since his pirate crew disabled the temple’s transmitter in the opening volley no distress signal had been sent out.

Turning from the view the pirate captain began walking the corridors to the main hall. He strode past several of his men ripping tapestries from the walls or carrying several large golden artifacts under their arms. Vil was not concerned with gathering loot himself. Once all the loot had been gathered aboard his ship he would get first pick of the treasure, and if any of his crew had kept loot for themselves before he had his pick they would find themselves the guest of the airlock chamber.

A short walk later and Vil had reached the main hall. Gathered at the center were a dozen or so human monks. They had offered no resistance to his crew when they attacked and as such none had been killed during the attack; though some bore a few new bruises from his crew’s “encouragement” to comply with their orders.

“You have all complied with my orders and as such I will give you a chance to earn your freedom.”

The gathered humans looked amongst themselves in confusion at Vil’s statement. “We are going to play a game.”

Vil entered several keys on his wristband and an energy barrier appeared around his person. It was capable of stopping level three plasma energy shots as well as the occasional thrown knife. He had known a few pirates who had neglected that last feature and had paid the price for their carelessness.

“If any of you can reach through this shield and touch my person, I will set you all free and return your possessions to you.”

Several of the humans looked up at this but Vil raised a taloned finger to forestall them.

“However,” Vil continued, “should none of you be able to complete this task you will be sold into slavery for profit.”

The sudden jubilation at potential freedom was just as quickly quashed by this statement and Vil grinned. He may not be a vindictive pirate, but that didn’t mean he had other ways to enjoy a bit of sadism now and then.

“I will give you until the final setting of the sun to win; you may begin when ready.”

His crew watched the humans whisper between each other before one of them finally stepped forward. Like the rest he wore a simple orange robe and had his head shaved to the skin.

Vil stood silently and watched the human approach him. He stopped just outside of the barriers range and reached out with a hand cautiously. The moment his finger touched the barrier a shower of sparks erupted from the point of contact and the human withdrew their hand immediately.

The surrounding crew guarding the humans laughed at the foolishness of the human monk. Looking down at his singed finger the human was horrified to see the top layer of skin for his entire digit was missing. The red pulsating muscle surrounding his bones was now clearly visible and the monk wept from the pain.

Vil looked down at the monk and shook his head. “If this was an easy game it would be no fun.”

The first monk retreated back into the group nursing his wound as a second monk approached. He walked as close as the first monk and stopped, taking several deep breaths and closing his eyes. Reaching out with his right hand the monk touched the barrier but unlike the first monk continued moving his hand forward as the energy barrier began to spark. He had made it all the way to his wrist before he finally gave out and screamed in pain; retracting his now flayed hand and collapsing to the ground.

Vil grinned and turned to his crew. “Anyone want to start a side wager?” he chuckled. “I bet fifty credits not one of them will get past their shoulder.”

His crew laughed and joined in on the side wager, placing all sorts of bets from which one will be the first to die to which would piss themselves from pain.

On and on this went as the sun slowly set in the distance and the room grew darker save for the light generated by the energy barrier. Vil watched as every monk stepped forward and tried their best to reach him. Many could not handle the pain after mere inches; while others tried repeatedly each of their limbs had been flayed in some manner by the barrier. One had even gone so far as to sprint at Vil in an attempt to use his forward momentum to reach Vil. That human had lost their footing just as they leapt at Vil and had merely grazed the barrier, and in the process flay half his body as he flew by the pirate captain.

“If there are no more contestants,” Vil finally declared as the sun was just about to set, “I think we can end this game.”

Vil was just about to deactivate the barrier when a voice gave him pause.

“I believe it is my turn.”

Vil looked up from his wristband to see an elderly monk slowly make his way through the crowd of humans. His pace was slow yet precise as the old man finally stood before Vil.

“You are the leader of these humans?” Vil asked the elderly human.

“Yes, I am the master of this temple.” They replied in a throaty voice dimmed by age.

Vil tilted his head to the human in recognition. “A pleasure to meet you,” Vil began as he waved a hand at the injured monks, “but I must ponder the nature of a master who allows his students to come to harm before he intervenes.”

To his surprise the elderly human shook his head. “A true master will let their students test what they have learned, rather than deny them the chance of enlightenment.”

This was not the response he had expected. “Then tell me, wise one, what have your students learned?”

“They have learned the meaning of pain,” the human replied, “but have yet to master the means of overcoming it.”

Without saying another word the elderly human walked forward. He did not outstretch his hand or leg as his students had but simply approached Vil with his back upright and his breathing calm.

The energy barrier sparked to life as the master stepped through it with his entire body as if it was nothing more than a gentle stream of a waterfall. Vil’s eyes went wide as he watched the skin from the human be peeled away by the barrier from his head to his toes in an instant. Yet what was more astonishing was that the human made not a single sound aside from his deep breathing, even as his clothes burst into flames and fell from him in clumps of ash.

His crew stood silent as the elderly human reached out with a now shriveled hand and touched the forehead of Vil with a single finger. They had never seen any being perform such a feat before and watched with baited breath for their captain’s next words.

“How…..” was all Vil could manage as he watched the flayed man standing before him.

Through lidless eyes the master looked up at Vil.

“Pain is a great unifier amongst the many peoples of the star ways; yet only when you realize that it is an illusion can you truly begin to experience the universe.”

He motioned to his gathered pupils who were still nursing their wounds. “Our order has been persecuted long before we reached the stars and in doing so has taught us much of pain.”

“And yet you appear to be the only one who has overcome it.” Vil remarked.

The flayed old man looked at him and smiled. “That is why I am the master.”

[the-palelady]

I was wondering if you were writing your crime wife thought as a full story/longer drabble? If not may I request her meeting Ghost???? Thank you!!!

- 🪼

i have written some thoughts on this, and half of a chapter, but it's been so long since i've written a series. i'm not sure how i feel about it tbh. i'm pretty self conscious. i'll mention here and in the warnings that reader is afab and she also doesn't have a name, but she does go by a nickname. friend of mine helped me to decide on the nickname and where it came from so shoutout to them otherwise it would have ended up being something about sharks lmao

but plz feel free to send reqs for this little idea or any others! ♡

cw ; afab!reader, brief mentions of abuse, reader has severe anxiety and a stutter, brief mention of blood in a metaphor, reader does not have a name but she does go by a nickname, i tried to keep most other descriptions of reader pretty vague so everything else is up for interpretation, she and ghost are hella awkward

The breeze was a stranger to you, an unknown feeling against your skin as you stepped out into the spring sun. Your dress fluttered like the wings of the birds that flew about around you, dancing along the thralls of freedom, something you had longed to taste.

How long has it been now? How long have you been stuck here in this prison, the walls of your cell slowly closing in on you day by day? Time was hardly something you understood anymore. What was the point in keeping up?

Your husband had taken his leave earlier in the morning. You were thankful that he left you be, allowing you to stay consumed by your dreams. However, you could hardly call a void opening up underneath your feet and swallowing you whole a dream.

But nightmares were safer than the gaze and touch of your oh-so-loving husband.

You had the house to yourself, for the most part. You knew somehow, someway, your husband still had eyes on you. You were unsure how, but he always managed to know every little thing you were doing from what books you read to what time you decided to crawl into bed. Even if he was miles away from home, he knew every detail about your life. Your own personal dictator.

The thought made your temples pulsate, a headache beginning to form when you had barely stepped outside.

You wouldn’t let your husband get in the way of your one chance at solace. He wasn’t here to hound you about how disheveled your hair looked when the wind had torn through it, pushing it to and fro. He wasn’t here to decide what your dinner for the night would be. He wasn’t here to put his hands on you, shoving you back into the wall as he blamed you for every little wrong thing that happened in his life. He wasn’t here to blame you for his own mistakes.

So you put on a dress you had kept hidden in the back of your closet, a white sundress with blue lemon tree accents and puffy sleeves. The waist was cinched, revealing your curves, and the square neckline allowed the sun to kiss the exposed skin of your neck and shoulders. The dress cascaded down to the middle of your shins, pooling out around you as you sat amongst the blanket you brought with you to the garden.

You were surrounded by all of your favorite things: the sun, flowers, and butterflies that danced atop the curves of the leaves on the bushes you had spent years mothering.

This was your safe haven, your joy. The only happiness you felt you had left.

Soon your husband would return, and you’d have to retreat back into the warzone that was your own home. You’d be tucked back into your tower, unable to see the sun, unable to see the flowers you’d spent so long taking care of, flowers you’d watched bloom with your own eyes all those summers ago when love didn’t take the form of a wild bull. Its horns had ripped flesh from bone, puncturing what was left of your heart and letting you slowly bleed out.

Nausea began to settle deep in the pit of your stomach.

Your hands reached for one of the many books you had brought out, landing on The Picture of Dorian Grey, one you had already read a thousand times.

You open to the first page, your eyes gravitating to the words as if it were second nature. You read sentences, and paragraphs, ahead in your mind, the book memorized from front to back, engraved in the crevices of your mind.

And yet you still found yourself smelling the roses and lilacs of Basil Howard’s studio as he listened to Lord Henry boast about his art, and how he explained the beauty of the young lad Dorian Grey.

“You might see nothing in him. I see everything in him. He is never more present in my work than when no image of him is there. He is a suggestion, as I have said, of a new manner. I find him in the curves of certain lines, in the loveliness and subtleties of certain colours…” You read the lines aloud, word for word, your voice growing soft as you reach the end.

“...That is all.”

Snap.

Your eyes fly up to the bush that sits to your right. Over the years your ears had grown sensitive to the sounds around you, always listening for the footsteps of your husband, listening for the clack of the bulls' hooves as he charged towards your cell.

But you were met with a silence that sucked the oxygen from your lungs. You could have looked away. There was nothing there. Nothing that you could see at least. So it was safe, right?

So you blinked back the fear in your eyes, pushing it aside and turning your attention back to the book in your lap. However, it was hard to concentrate on the words now, the syllables jumbled into one chaotic mess, a tornado of letters that seemed incomprehensible. Your ears felt full of water. Your esophagus became tight, an unseen force pushing you under the waves of an ocean you’ve only ever seen in your nightmares.

You were being consumed by the fear that your husband had instilled into you, the vexed look in his eyes flashing behind your own. However, fright molded you into an ignorant woman, that very ignorance keeping you from seeing the brawn of a man standing from behind the very bush you had been wary of. He was slow, calculating, giving you plenty of time to react, and yet you didn’t.

You were lost at sea, plunged under the waves by the anxiety that had nestled its way into your life, so graciously placed there by the so-called “love of your life”.

The leaves rustled, and you blinked: once, twice, then three times.

You were intelligent. This was one of the few words of affirmation you had given yourself over the years, one of the few things you actually believed.

And yet in this moment, you couldn’t have felt any more stupid. Thinking wasn’t an option when his clouded, amber eyes locked with yours. His size was something you should have accounted for when your book fell out of your grip and you lept from the blanket. You thought you’d be fast.

But he was much faster.

His iron grip was on you before you could even take a step towards the house. His massive, gloved hand practically consumed your bicep. Out of instinct, you kept quiet. You blame your silence on your husband. The only sound you made was a quiet gasp as the stranger tugged you towards him, forcing you to face him.

Those chocolate eyes were so much brighter up close, the color reminding you of the outer wing pattern of an Atlas Moth. They shined in the afternoon sun, glowing in a way that had you enamored despite the pure horror that circulated through you. The rest of his face was obscured by a mask with a skull painted on it. The skin around his eyes was painted with black paint that seemed applied in a rushed or lazy manner, and you could see beads of sweat dripping down through the pigment.

Your eyes were wide, you were sure, a deer in headlights. Yet you didn’t resist, didn’t tug against the hold he had on you. After all, obedience was all you had ever known.

“Shh shh…husband doesn’t need t’know I’m ‘ere. Be quiet f’me, yeah?”

You simply watched the way his mask crinkled where his lips would be. His voice was a deep timbre, a sound most would find intimidating and yet you found it…charming. The way he spoke was hardly threatening, and over time his grip on your arms seemed to loosen as well.

“Well?”

Your eyes darted back up to his, lips parting to speak, but words were never your strong suit. So you instead opted to nod, bobbing your head up and down slowly, noting the way he studied your movements so closely.

And as quickly as his touch was there, it was gone, one hand falling to his side while the other reached up to rub across his face and down his chin.

“Bloody hell…” he whispered, your eyes still tracking his movements. After all, this was your home, your garden, and this complete stranger was just…standing here, speaking to you so casually, even making demands of you.

Not that you’d have told your husband anyway.

You watched his irises flick from the flowers of your garden to the windows of your house that sat behind you and then back down to you. You stood on the brink of being consumed by the stillness of the air, the situation making you fidget your fingers, index fingers intertwining with one another as your hands crossed.

It was impossible to read him, his body language relaxed and yet stiff all at once. You couldn’t tell whether he was scrutinizing you or simply just had a staring problem, maybe even both. The man simply towered over you, staring down at you with a look you couldn’t decipher even as he spoke.

“Husband did say ya were a quiet one. Although most people would scream if they were grabbed by a stranger.”

His statement was blunt, tone flat. Perhaps you had a staring problem as well, focus cast on the look in his eyes, and the way the sun made the pools of amber sparkle. You didn’t even notice the way your lips parted or the scratchy voice that came out right after.

“Just…just wasn’t expecting it was all.”

You were met with silence, the quiet air between you both making your skin crawl with an uneasy feeling, fingers wrapping around one another tighter.

“You’re one of the men from…across the street, right?” You finally blinked, his gaze becoming too much and you looked away, deciding that the ground was much more interesting now. He shifted his stance, arms crossing over his chest. His biceps bulged out a bit, the sleeves of his shirt tightening around the muscles.

“I am.”

You felt an odd sense of satisfaction knowing that someone else out there was just as bad at conversation as you were. The thought almost made your lips twitch into a smile, but you stopped it before it grew any wider.

The breeze picked up again, cutting through the stillness in the Spring air. Your hair swayed behind you, dress fanning out even as you pressed your palms down against your thighs to keep it from flying upwards. The longer you stood there in the quiet, the longer that familiar blade of anxiety cut through your sternum and dug deep into your chest. You felt sick.

His boots drug across the dirt when he uncrossed his arms, “S’pose I should ask your name?”

“It’s…um…” You stuttered out, eyes flitting from the ground, up to him, then back down. Why was talking such an impossible task, something so menial?

“Make it easier if I told ya mine first?” Your hand came up, pushing a stray piece of hair behind your ear while you nodded, looking up at him from under your lashes just the tiniest bit.

“Ghost.”

“Ghost?”

Even through the mask, you could see the way his eyebrow rose in a quizzical manner underneath.

“Got a problem with it?” You thought perhaps this was his way of sounding sarcastic. You let out a faint huff and shook your head in response.

“Good. Your turn then.”

You uttered your name to him, quiet, yet loud enough for him and the ensemble of flowers and butterflies around you to hear.

“But…most people call me Scarlet.”

There it was again—that same curious glint in his eyes from before when you questioned his own name.

“It’s a butterfly,” and as you spoke you turned. Distantly, you could hear him take a step towards you. However, you simply bent over, grabbing a hold of a book that sat on top of a larger stack of books. When you faced him again, you were already opening it to a page that was familiar to you. Of course, you had turned to this specific page numerous times before.

There was a large picture at the top of the left page with a black butterfly sitting front and center, and a few paragraphs of information listed underneath. Closest to the body and on the edges of the hindwings were sections of scarlet. You point to the image, his attention moving from you to the book.

“They’re called Scarlet Mormons. I’ve always…liked butterflies and moths, but they’re my favorite…” Your cheeks grow hot with embarrassment as you explain your favoritism for the species. In your mind, you sound like a child, so any scrutiny he decides to throw at you, you feel you deserve. And as he opens his mouth, you prepare yourself for the worst.

“They’re beautiful.”

Your apprehension becomes a distant memory at the sound of his voice and the words that fall from his lips, a word that sounds taboo coming from a sinister-looking man like him. Is a man like Ghost allowed to say such a word? Does he even know what it means?

You don’t take him for an idiot. Of course, he knows what it means, but it doesn’t stop your heart from pounding against your chest cavity, begging to burst from the space between your ribs.

“Why are you here…Ghost?” The question comes out hesitantly as you seek a change in subject. You don’t notice the way his eyes flick to your lips when you enunciate the syllables of his callsign, the way he tracks your hands when you close the book and press it to your chest.

When you do finally look back towards him, you can see him pondering something. The gears in his mind are working double time, and you don’t think you’ll even get a proper response. There’s a hundred possibilities as to why he’s here. You think maybe he works for your husband, cozying up to you to earn your trust and tell your husband all of your whereabouts and what you do while he’s gone. Perhaps he is an enemy of your husbands and you’ve made a terrible mistake, your ignorance once again clouding your judgment. 

That same fissure begins to open up below you, threatening to pull you under. You’ll be blamed, and this time the mistake will be your fault. Your husband will take the last bits of happiness you have: your garden, books, the sunlight.

And it’s like Ghost sees this void underneath you, the foreboding tendrils of your husband dragging you into the furthest depths of Hell when he whispers out, “Think you’ve been pulled into this war enough. That’s a secret for another time.”

[thecleverqueer]

On Marrok: Why I hated your theories and why I am glad I was right all along:

So, Marrok ended up being literally no one, and this I sort of knew. I’ve blogged about why. I’ve also blogged about why I thought your theories sucked, but let me break it down for you again because I feel like gloating a little.

First, your theories about Barriss Offee:

Barriss was done hella dirty in The Clone Wars. In legends, she was one of the greatest healers the Jedi had. And, to this effect, it would make sense that she would hate the war and what was happening. She felt that shit on a molecular level. Every cell in her body probably pulsated pain from what she was witnessing day in and out on the battlefield. Orchestrating a bombing of the Jedi temple though? Eh? I don’t know. I get WHY she was the choice, but… it still sucked. There is a pretty sizable chunk of fandom that still have a lot of negative feelings about it too (people that the Ahsoka series was made for). And, even on a Watsonian level, Barriss’s reasoning for bombing the temple would suggest that she would never become an inquisitor willingly. It just wouldn’t make sense that she bombed the temple because she was keenly aware of the fact that the Jedi were unknowingly (in their defense) fighting for the dark-side only to later become an inquisitor. She would likely sacrifice herself before it came to that. Never mind, on a Doylist level, the fact that ship has sailed. If Filoni had intended to use her as a mere Inquisitor, he would have already done so in Rebels. Barriss could have easily been the seventh sister, but she wasn’t (Filoni has said so).

Could we still see Barriss? Perhaps. I don’t hold my breath, but I think a lot of folks want to know what became of her. I tend to think IF she shows up in the Ahsoka series, it will be as whatever the hell kind of “Jedi” Baylan and Shin are. While Shin obviously has a sort of dark wild-side, Baylan seems as though he is motivated by something he sees as a greater good. What becomes of this is anyone’s guess, but I could see Barriss trying to better the Galaxy… whatever that may mean for her.

Second, your theories about Ezra Bridger:

So, this one I have not talked about prior, but I still thought it was sort of a stretch. While being the most compelling option if Filoni had wanted to take the “he’s someone important” route, it didn’t make much sense characteristically for Ezra at this point. And, I say that because Ezra already flirted with the dark side in Rebels and gave it up. We saw him struggle with anger and attachments, so much so that he was able to open the Sith holocron, attain knowledge from it, and use questionable dark side powers to help his friends (him controlling that Imperial in the walker in season three was peak; I’m not going to lie, but…). Ezra was already brought back in. He failed epically and nearly got his friends killed, and Kanan was able to talk him off of the ledge. By the end of season four, Ezra was zen in a lot of ways, wise in others and was willing to let go of his attachments for the greater good. He overcame.

Ezra serving the dark side in New Republic times would be a step backwards, and I don’t think that’s going to happen. I don’t know how Ezra is going to get pulled back into the fold, but when he is, he won’t be evil.

Third, your theories about Galen Marek (aka Starkiller):

I’m going to be real with you. This seemed to be the most popular theory, and yet it was my least favorite one. Mainly because of the toxicity that would have surrounded this choice on so many levels.

First, Starkiller was grossly overpowered. He brought a fucking Star Destroyer out of the sky with the force, melted an entire legion of storm troopers and wiped the floor with Vader in a duel. Ahsoka wouldn’t have stood a chance in hell. And, folks are like “well he could have been nerfed!” But no, because the toxic element of fandom that truly wanted Starkiller to face Ahsoka would have been pissed that he was nerfed… and they would have bitched loudly about it.

Second, thematically, it made no sense. It would have been the worst possible fan service known to mankind. It would have made virtually no sense narratively, and it would have sent up dozens of questions about canon that would be yet another mess creatives would have to clean up afterward. So, no. Bad. Bad all around.

Third, and this is just me being who I am, but I know good and goddamned well an uncomfortably large set of fandom would have shipped him and Ahsoka. There’s probably a small underbelly of fiction about it that already exists. And, honestly, I’m completely surprised we didn’t get Marrok shipped with Ahsoka (Marrosoka? Ahsorok?) because it feels as if Filoni is purposely avoiding men to ship Ahsoka with in this series. Like, you’re being force to grasp at straws. Regardless, it would have been gross. It would have been problematic on so many levels. It just makes me cringe thinking about it.

In closing:

Anyway, it was good watching Marrok literally go up in smoke. For those of you that aren’t privy to this, that was night sister magic. Marrok was the equivalent of a night sister zombie. If you haven’t seen The Clone Wars, you probably didn’t know that and congrats, Filoni just gave you the finger again for not being in the know. I will say that while this moment seemed insignificant in the short term (Marrok’s existence as an entity), this is going to come back to haunt the heroes later… as there is likely a whole hoard of undead night sister zombie creatures waiting in the wings to wreak havoc on everything and everyone. It isn’t coincidental that everyone stopped battling the moment Marrok went up in a puff of green smoke including Shin. Wait for it.

[pufflocks]

hi bestie! here's a concept for u: think about sitting in arans lap after taking an (eventful) shower after practice. his skin warm against yours and the towel hanging loose around his hips does nothing to stop his bulge from pressing into yours. his kisses are slow and purposeful, sucking on your chest and neck while you apply product to his damp hair, massaging his scalp in that circular motion he likes. it's soft and intimate how you crane your head to get a better look at his scalp, brushing down and around in a clockwise motion a couple times until the waves curl in on themselves and he's looking dashingly handsome per usual.

"gonna put the duey on too?" he grins and you humm in reply. confirming his assumption when you lean in to press a kiss to his plump lips, simultaneously tugging the baby blue silk material off his desk. you secure it to his head with ease and slide your fingers along the seams to ensure the fabric doesn't press into his forehead while he sleeps. "there. all good" you whisper.

arans lovestruck smile is blinding, he looks at you with dark, hooded eyes that unleash butterflies in your abdomen. then a pulse of wanting warms you from the inside out when he rasps "mmm, thank you prince"

Summary: When- when I say I look dumb ash smiling hella hard in my bed- I say that with the highest confidence cuz. ✌🏽😛 I dont think yall understand but Aran is literally a fucking- *bangs on the mf table* BLACK GOD— lemme do this before I bust a nut in these damn pants. Also I love yo ass for this. ❤💙💛 { Hope you don't mind I got carried away. This req might make me do a part 2. 🚶🏽‍♂️}

Warnings: NSFW • Aran being fine ash • proof read

Cast: Bottom!M!Reader! X Aran Ojiro

○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○

Steam clouded shower windows with two intimate silhouettes crossing eachother. Coming for the second time is when your mind started o slip into something darker than your own lust. You draw your body closer to the chest of your lover, Aran, as his heavy hands squeeze near your rigid hip bones as if it was routine.

In an hushed voice to your ear, "So out in the open for me, sweets." He smirked when you turned to plant a messy kiss under his jaw. Not meaning to linger longer than you need to.

Due to everything basically falling in slow motion, breathing felt more difficult as you felt him pulsate inside of you. Ugh, his girth was most definitely something you favored.

Anything that required moving felt hard, though. How could he be conscious while you were barely on your own feet ? God complex anyone would think, honestly.

Minutes passing while your heart sped up for the umpth time as you felt your orgasm come in reach. Not even a break ? You could only guess he was still pumped with adrenaline from the winning game earlier.

He hit the finishing touch to the ball as the audience roared with excitement and cheer. He deserved it. And as the greedy and lovestruck thing he was, he also thought he deserved some shower sex from his favorite person. You.

"Baby- g- Mm-! Gonna cum, bae. Fuck !" He held you close as though someone would take you from him. Broad shoulders hunching over as he jerked you off under lukewarm water.

He mumbled a, "Come on baby boy.. Come on daddy and show me how much I deserve this tight ass." That sent you over the moon immediately, having you shooting a quivering load. Breath racked in your lungs and head thrown back as your curled in closer to the much bigger body. "There you go. Good boy. Fuck, such a perfect lil' thing." Ending the sex with tender kisses to his lovers back.

He did deserve it.

●•》☆《•●

After a long while, you both made yourselves present in his room. Aran not even bothering to adjust the towel around his hips considering the light bulge he had underneath rudely pressing against your own.

"I love you so much Y/N." He started with purposeful kisses occasionally giving your ass a firm, but a gentle stroke of his enlarged hands. He loved you alright. He couldn't stop himself from nipping at your warm wet skin on your chest to your neck. The hickies already looking as red as a rose in spring. You doubt he would apologize for them since he enjoyed hearing you complain in the morning.

"I love you too. Too much.." You were in sync with his body language and movement. Had you not drawn yourself back, you probably would have had him have his way with you again. That sounded pleasant to the ears though you both needed rest.

"Give me the comb and oil bottle." Your boyfriend stopped his idle ministrations and quirked and eyebrow at you.

"Give you what ?" He waited for a response before you giving him a playful eye roll.

"Please. Please give me the comb and oil. Stop play with me, Aran." You said. He stifled his laugh as you were handed the comb. Soft stroking his head with it as you crane your head to get a different angles at a specific area. His hair was one of the things he cherished secretly so you and some other family members were only aloud to touch it.

A minute later or so you realized his eyes were lingering near your chest down to your idle member. "Feel good ?" You whispered. Scooting yourself closer to his body.

"Yeah. S' good to me, baby boy. Thank you." He murmured. The movement to hug your waist nearly made you drop the oil bottle out of your hand.

He sat up straight to look up at you only to give you a lingering smooches to your jaw. "Gonna put the duey on ?" He asked. You hummed. Raising your shoulders a bit from the ticklish sensation he was giving you to your jaw.

"So sensitive." He poked your sides making you jump, while in the process of grabbing his silky baby blue durag from his desk.

"Stop before I choke you with this string, boy." You giggled. He snickered. Not funny.

"You wouldn't." He pestered on. You would, but you weren't in the mood to act goofy after kickass shower sex.

He started to trace his fingers under your towel, rubbing on your thighs while you were at work putting on the duey. It was silent in the room besides him humming every now and then some songs.

"Done, you look sexier now." You kissed his forehead as you smoothed your hand over his head. He smiled then his face turned into confusion.

"I wasn't sexy before ?" He said chuckling. It was cute and funny how your day started with a win of a your boyfriend's game, then ending in you both in his room giggling and cackling like dumbasses.

"You are ! But this baby blue on yo big ass head gonna make me bust one. Stay safe." You chuckled lightly as you pulled away from him. Finally standing on your own legs on the cold wooden floor. The water on both of your bodies dried up now aswell.

"'M finna put on some clothes. It's cold in here." Before you could even step closer to the dresser he grabbed you by your waist. The both of you falling into the plush bed as he made quick ministrations to cover you both in blankets and his sheets. The towels you both had around your bodies long forgotton.

"You are literally something." You mumbled scooting closer to his warm chest. Having a slightly bigger person to cuddle with was always a blessing and he took that role with a smile.

"I may be something, but I'm your something and you're my prince." So sappy. He planted a kiss to your temple. You hummed in appreciation as you placed chaste kisses to his chest and underside his clipped beard.

"Sleepy now.." you said. Yawning felt really good at the moment. Letting your eyes hang low and mind rest fully. Aran held you closer to his chest as he brushed back any hair from your forehead.

"Go to sleep my prince. You deserve it." He murmured laying the final kiss to your upper eye lid. You don't know what you did to deserve it, but knowing how humble and forgiving your man is, you might have deserved it at this point if he said something.

Yes.. Yes.

[fairyoftbz]

maternal weariness | l. sangyeon

🐣 pairing: neighbour!sangyeon x single mother!reader 🐣 word count: 2.7k 🐣 genre: fluff, slight angst, a bit domestic, cliché AF 🐣 tw: none? 🐣 synopsis: your daughter is suffering from her growing teeth and you're about to lose your mind, but you have enough self-control to do something before bursting. 🐣 a/n: i am so domestic for that man it was almost impossible for me not to write something else for sangyeon + kids. 🐣 requested: no!

╰☆☆☆☆╮

A headache started immersing itself into your skull, hitting all your nerves at once to the point of having you totter for a few seconds. Once you finally got a grip on yourself, you decided to take your crying baby in your arms in order to desperately calm her down. You closed your eyes as you rocked her, feeling frustration, exhaustion and annoyance bubbling inside your entire body. This torrent of emotions crashing into you didn’t help with your headache, only to have it spreading at the back of your neck to your shoulders. Sitting down inside your rock chair, the cries of your small daughter didn’t subside, you almost had the feeling that they increased.

“Shht baby, I know it hurts, calm down love,” you said as you stroked her cheek with your thumb, tears gathered in your eyes as you felt helpless. It was wonderful to have a baby, you had never felt this happy in life, but it was a whole other responsibility. There were many ups and downs, but never once have you regretted giving birth to your beautiful daughter.

Today, you were more on the downside of the life of a mother. Despite all the efforts and pieces of advice you received from books or other mothers, your daughter seemed to not be ready to sleep through the night yet, forcing you to stay awake until dawn, only getting dozens of minutes of rest each night. Bringing up a child on your own was not impossible, but it was certain that it was hard. Hearing your friends that had husbands or partners willingly taking the reins so they could rest had you envious, and somewhat feeling guilty.

The baby daddy was never there, only supporting from afar through small amounts of money. At the beginning of your motherhood, you hated it but almost begged him to come and help you, but he always claimed that he had better things to do and that you should already be grateful that he was willing to financially support you two.

What kind of father did you give your daughter? Where did the gentleman and the caring boyfriend from a few years ago go? Who decided to replace him with a rich asshole that only cared about his appearance and his own health?

The tears threatened to fall as you thought of all this while rocking your daughter back and forth, the side of her cheek against your chest as she kept on yelling in pain. It hurt to see her in this state, you wished you could take the pain away from her, but sadly, you had to assist her in her teething process as best as you could, which meant only cradling her and kissing her.

However, your daughter seemed to have another sense, a sixth one if we could call it that way, and she knew when you were stressed or angry, two emotions that were currently pulsating in your veins and controlling your entire being. You wanted to scream and cry just like her, but you resisted the temptation, you had to stay strong for your daughter. The process was hard you two, but one of you was about to burst and lose her mind. Your breathing pattern picked up, became irregular, the crying of your baby only increasing.

Clutching your teeth, the tears finally spurted out of your eyes violently, uncontrollably cascading down your face onto your daughter’s pyjamas. While a tidal wave of emotions burst into your mind, you remembered one thing many mothers, as well as your own once told you: Never. Ever. Shake your baby out of pure rage or despair. No matter how exhausted or frustrated you are, pass it onto someone else before calming down.

And that’s exactly what you did. Putting on your slippers, you crossed the threshold of your apartment to appear into the corridor, the cold air only increased your daughter’s cries, probably disturbing the entire building. Violently crying and struggling to catch your breath back, you weakly crashed your fist onto your neighbour’s front door, desperately hoping that they were here.

It was getting suffocating, and you felt like fainting, but you were trying to get a grip on your emotions for your daughter. As you were about to go back to your apartment filled with utter defeat, the door opened on your neighbour, a confused look written on his face as you sighed in relief.

Sangyeon was a young man you had met on your first day moving inside your current apartment. He was kind enough to help you get some boxes inside the elevator while you maintained the metallic doors opened, helping you even more as he saw that you were his new neighbour. He looked really happy to help, relieving you of this stress as you were exhausted from the irregular sleeping schedules of being a mother.

He had let you come inside his apartment once when you had accidentally locked yourself out with your daughter as you were going on a walk to try and lull her to sleep. You felt like you had the angels on your side because he knew an old friend from an ex-co-worker that was a locksmith. He offered him a great tip, so he came within the next hour, allowing you to unlock your door and get back to your apartment safely. The next day, you walked up to his door and offered him a bottle of wine and some baked goods as a way of thanking him, and you could tell that he was touched by your gesture.

Back to the present, Sangyeon took in your messy state, concern filling his eyes as your tears never seemed to stop.

“I am so sorry to disturb you, but my daughter’s been crying for hours now and she doesn’t want to stop, and I don’t know what to do and-“ you tried to say in one breath, but your neighbour stopped you by placing a hand on your shoulder, exhaling deeply as you were lost and confused.

“Please breathe Y/N, it’s gonna be okay. Tell me what’s happening,” he said, his voice clear-cut and composed despite the disturbing screeches of your daughter.

“Her teeth are coming out and she’s in so much pain I don’t know what to do, it keeps me up all night and… and I don’t feel like being capable anymore,” you said as you kept on crying, your neighbour nodding at every word you said.

“Let’s not stay in the corridor. Can I come in your apartment?” he carefully said as he quickly grabbed his keys and locked his door, accompanying you towards yours.

“Yes, yes, of course,” your daughter couldn’t stop yelling and crying, the volume never decreased, only getting rid of the echo thanks to the smaller walls of your apartment.

Your neighbour took his shoes off and placed his keys next to yours, eyes quickly wandering around the apartment: there was no sign of a partner’s presence. He made a mental note of it and strode to the living room, your apartment layout being the same as his, just a tad bit smaller. You sat on the sofa with your crying daughter, eyes still glistening with tears as you couldn’t hold them back.

“Pass me your daughter,” he said as he extended his hands, only for you to stand up and began to guide him on how to take your daughter, but he seemed pretty comfortable without your explanation.

“My sister is a mother too, I got a bit of practice beforehand,” he explained with a reassuring smile, and you nodded, thankful that he filled in the silence, satisfied with the small nods and exhausted smiles you were giving him.

He soothingly rubbed your daughter’s back, gently resting her head on his shoulder as he strolled around the living room. You sighed as you let your temple rest on the backrest of the sofa, trying to get rid of the negative thoughts invading your mind.

“May I ask for her name again?” he asked, and you sniffled, wiping your tears with your top sleeve. “It’s Haerin,” you answered with a tired expression, the man nodding at your words with a reassuring smile. “I wish we could have met again in other circumstances, but babies are a priority,” he said as your daughter’s cries were slowly decreasing, feeling already a bit better as he seemed to be able to magically soothe her.

“I’m so sorry. I needed to give her to someone for a moment, I feel like exploding,” you explained with an apologetic look on your face, but Sangyeon just shook his head, his reassuring smile never leaving his face.

“Don’t apologise for this, you did what was best for you and your daughter,” you felt better at his words, the encouragement you were desperately craving from someone finally reaching your ears.

At the mere thought of not having someone by your side to raise your daughter, loneliness and guilt hit you like a tidal wave, eyes filling up with tears again, and Sangyeon sadly looked at you.

“Thank you. It’s just that… I don’t have someone in my life right now and I barely talk to my friends and family because of my job and my daughter, so hearing some reassurance just makes me feel slightly better,” you said and Sangyeon smiled, walking to the couch as your daughter was now magically asleep in his arms, reddened cheeks due to her cries and the pain of her appearing teeth.

“Y/N, I am sure you are being an amazing mother. It’s not innate to take care of a newborn, it requires a lot of effort, strength, and sacrifices. Of course, it is easier to have someone by your side because they can help around the house, feed your daughter, bathe her, and take care of you and her while you rest. Nevertheless, it’s not impossible to do that alone, and you are even stronger when you cope with everything on your own.” Sangyeon mumbles, gently caressing your daughter's back.

“Don’t you think you are doing a bit too much?” you asked, a bit embarrassed to be praised like that by your neighbour, but you also asked for it. You truly didn’t know what to say, and timidly looked away as Sangyeon didn’t seem to stop.

“No, I don’t think so. Not only do you take care of her, but you also do all the chores, go to work, grocery shopping, do all the administrative work, you are a wonder woman! So with all the physical and mental charges you go through every single day, it’s normal to want to break down at some point. And you did what’s best, give your daughter to someone before you burst. It was a good reflex. Even if it’s hard, you are doing great Y/N, never forget that,” he said with your sleeping daughter in his arms, her tiny fists clutching onto the fabric of his black t-shirt. Tears were streaming down your face as you managed to smile at his words, feeling some strength reappearing in your system at the end of his praising monologue. “Thank you. You don’t realise how much I needed that,” you said in a weak voice, only to have Sangyeon smiling down at you.

“It’s completely normal. You can always come and ask for help with your daughter, or anything else. I’d gladly praise you for being a single mother all over again,” you managed to chuckle at his words, looking down to the floor as you felt his eyes never leaving you.

Looking at your daughter, you felt some maternal inner peace coming back as she was now resting, looking quite peaceful. She looked so safe in his strong, muscular arms, you were almost envying her for being in someone’s embrace.

Sangyeon exuded financial and mental stability, you were glad you rang at his door and not some crazy people. He looked so comfortable on your couch, almost as if he lived there. Well, maybe he felt so comfy because the configuration of his apartment was just like yours, but something felt different. Seeing him sitting on your couch with your daughter in his hold felt… natural, almost normal.

You shook your head as you tried to get rid of those thoughts, feeling suddenly embarrassed to fantasise so easily about him. You held back a smile by clutching your jaw, putting your thoughts down on the fact that you were exhausted and slowly going crazy with managing everything in your life.

“Where is your daughter’s crib?” he whispered and you slowly stood up, waiting a few seconds as dizziness took over your brain, your neighbour holding your forearm with his free hand.

“Follow me,” you tiptoed to her purple bedroom, Sangyeon smiling as he looked at the pretty decoration. He handed your daughter back to you to get her ready for bed, admiring the walls to give you two some privacy. Once you placed her down and neared her stuffed toy, you turned the baby phone on and switched off the light, Sangyeon inviting you to leave the bedroom first before closing the door.

“Thank you so much for your help,” you whispered, and he shook his head, a friendly hand landing on your shoulder.

“You can ring at my door at any time, I’ll try my best to help you,” he said with a reassuring tone. You felt like he was slipping away from you, and before you could do anything, your mouth spoke faster than your brain.

“Can I maybe cook you dinner to thank you?” his eyes widened for a quick second. “It’s really nice of you Y/N, but you are exhausted, you should rest.” “I insist, I think I can do it,” you cursed at yourself for sounding this helpless, watching him ponder your offer before sighing. “Only if you let me help you, then,” he said and you nodded, getting into work in silence as not to wake up your daughter.

With a warm dinner now digesting in your stomach, you both sat down on your couch, unintentionally sitting close to the other as you were exhausted. Closing your eyes for a second, you felt like you had been hit at the back of your head, your tiredness being easily readable on your face.

Drawn features, pale skin, dark circles falling to the middle of your cheek, you looked extremely scary, almost sick. But at least your daughter was healthy, and that’s what mattered the most to you as a mother. Sangyeon started chatting with you about some things, but you were too tired to keep up with what he was talking about.

“Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention,” you mumbled as silence filled in the room, Sangyeon looking at you before letting a smile emerging on his face.

“It’s okay, it was just chattering anyway,” he said and you swallowed down the lump of guilt on your throat, heavily sighing as your whole entire body was screaming and begging you to go to sleep.

The man next to you noticed your drowsy state and exhaled as well. Your head kept falling downwards, only to immediately raise it back up and blink a few times. Without even noticing it, Sangyeon sat closer, and his hand raised to your cheek, cradling it as he gently pushed your head to the side. Your other cheek landed on his shoulder and you frowned, trying to move away as his hand didn’t leave your face.

“Rest Y/N,” he whispered, and you weakly smiled, now realising how your daughter fell asleep in a few minutes in his arms.

Only by resting on his shoulder, you could feel your body grow heavier and more comfortable. His body warmth mixed with his laundry scent and cologne were a surprisingly good mixture to lull you to sleep. Your eyes grew heavier, and you finally gave up, shutting them before falling asleep within the following seconds.

Sangyeon chuckled at your state, gently pushing you away to unfold his arm and wrap it around you, resting your head against his chest. His thumb rubbed in circular motions on your upper arm, sitting comfortably on your couch as you slept against him.

He threw a few glances towards you and you were heavily sleeping, smiling to himself as you unconsciously wrapped your arm around his middle. Maybe he was meant to enter your life and to be honest, he wasn’t willing to leave anytime soon.

[littlefreya]

Bourbon and Candy

Summary:  After a frustrating day at work, August just wants to sit down and enjoy his princess, in any way possible.

Pairing: August Walker x OFC

Word count: 1.6K

Warnings: Smutty Smut, Daddy Kink (alert!), stripping, oral sex on a man, possessiveness, sex, depiction of bodily fluids.  

A/N: I saw this photo and was inspired to write about August watching his girl perform for him. Many thanks @agniavateira​ for being my editor and my muse 💕 Hope you’ll enjoy.

Title: Bourbon and Candy

The harsh CIA agent sits on the sofa wearing a strained look on his face. It has been a long, frustrating day at work and he hasn’t even had the chance to take off his suit. He stirs the bourbon in its lowball, watching the little vortex that forms in the agitated golden-brown liquid

And there she is, his little kitten. She sneaks into the great living room with the  obvious intent to welcome him back. Wearing makeup like an actress from an old French movie, she dons a sheer pink babydoll dress over a luxurious lace lingerie set and golden high heeled shoes. 

Diamonds sparkle on her skin as the sunlight kisses them through the open window. She never owned diamonds before, she’s  not a materialistic girl, but August loves seeing her adorned with expensive necklaces and bracelets as if she is a doll to play with.    

And his to covet.

With a sweet smile of her face, she begins to dance for him in slow, snake-like movements. Her hands caress her soft skin, twirling her long dark hair before she throws it back and lets it fall against her rounded ass. 

August sips the bourbon and grits his teeth as the spiced liqueur hits the back of his throat. His eyes fix on the treasure, the way those slender hands run through her own body sinfully, approaching the mysteries that belong to him, where his big rough hands should be. He muses to himself; the only person allowed to touch her except for himself is her, and only when he permits it.      

The first article of clothing, if you could call it that, falls from her body like a feather floating down the air. She kicks it away with her high heel and pushes her shoulders closer to squeeze her breasts against one another as they’re still locked inside that lacy Victoria Secret’s bra. 

Also a present from her dear love. Cotton-candy pink, of course. He loves her sweet, the way she is. 

The bulge in his trousers becomes overwhelmingly evident. She eyes it while letting the strap fall off from her shoulder, sucking her lips and putting a finger inside her mouth to let him know how badly she wants to taste his cock. August places the empty glass on the end table next to the sofa, the sound sharp against the surface. He places his knuckles against his mouth and ogles her with pure fascination while his other hand rubs at his erection to slightly ease the need.

She exposes her delicious breasts, hugging a hand over them while her bra slips between her fingers. A large smile slowly spreads on his face. He loves it when his kitten acts so innocent, it makes his cock twitch with double the excitement.

There is an ocean of admiration in his eyes for his little pet, his little piece of gold in a pile of coal that is this horrible world. In her, he sees all that’s pure and delicate in this world, the sweet among the bitter. He likes to pretend she was a virgin when he met her, even though she told him she wasn’t, never wanting to lie to a man like August. Yet he’d like to think he’s the only man who picked her ripe fruits and every time he fucks her, his dirty soul defiles her body and steals some of the purity in her soul.   

At last, she reaches for her underwear. Her dance moves are stilled as she looks deeply into those beautiful malicious blues and allows the flimsy piece of lace fall from her thighs, exposing her silky smooth mound. 

Just the way he likes it.

“Leave those on.” He commands, seeing as she means to take off her jewelry. 

Ever so obedient, she nods and then sensually crouches on the floor, crawling naked on the carpet, hair thrown back and resting on her back.She moves to where he is seated with his legs spread conveniently to accept her while massaging the bulge in his groin. 

He swallows the lump in his throat, watching his kitten give him that sweet naive look. She gazes at him with big eyes, adoring her master, greatly devoted to him. She presses her cheek against his thigh, humming gently as he entangles his fingers in her soft hair. 

“My sweet girl,” he murmurs, tilting his head while looking at her dreamingly. Her creme-painted nails scratch at the hard bulge, tracing the metal of his belt buckle against her tips.    

“May I, daddy?” She asks for permission and is granted a pleasant smile as his hand waves away from her head, allowing her space to work on freeing his painful cock from the captivity of his trousers. Her nimble fingers do quick work on his belt. The sound of leather slipping through the metal clasp makes her shiver and the rich juices that drip from between her legs are becoming a burden, but she is not allowed to touch herself yet.

It’s forbidden.  

August growls as her hand sneaks into his trousers, her small digits taking him in her palm, appreciating how vast and beautiful he is. She shifts her thumb across the pulsating veins, trailing across the ridged surface until reaching the head of his cock where sheer precum drops greet her sight. 

His groans are melody to her ears, music that makes her heart flutter and her core throb. She wants him to unload himself in her in any way he chooses. 

Nothing in her body is scared anymore anyway, he made sure of it. 

She lowers herself, breasts brushing against the soft material of his trousers as her tongue slips between her lips to taste him. Her velvet tongue swirls around the tip, eliciting the most pleasant groans from his beautiful lips. Carefully, he is taken into the warmth of her mouth while her gaze is fixed on his and his cock disappears between her succulent lips. 

August throws his head back, relaxing as his kitten works her mouth up and down his big shaft. Her back arching, her ass sticking in the air behind her. An erotic view for him to feast upon with his ocean blues. 

But it’s not enough. He needs more, he needs to be buried deep inside her lush walls, to have his anger surge through her body and cleanse his soul.

His fingers cup her chin, gently pausing her ministrations. There’s a slight worry in her eyes, afraid she might have wronged him in any way but the enamoured look in his eyes relaxes the surge of anxiety that runs through her heart. 

He takes her hand and guides her to sit on top of him. Legs spread with knees to each side of his hips, she sinks herself onto his meaty erection, gasping as he spreads her walls inch by inch until he is sunken in her depth. Her ankles lift in the air, the heels of her shoes point upward as her head falls back. 

“You’re so big!” She yelps, nearly powerless, feeling full with his cock reshaping her taut canal. The tightness of her cunt makes it impossible to move so she remains still, keeping him inside her abundant warmth. 

He grips her ass, squeezing the flesh and guiding her, bouncing her on his cock while taking her breasts into his mouth. His teeth nip at the tender flesh and then licks at the hollows that his teeth created. 

The thrill of the pain and the comfort that comes after makes her body comply with his invasion.,He leaves her no choice anyway, he will keep going even if it hurts, but he’d rather have her enjoy herself as well.

“Good,” he groans, watching her as she begins to ride him, swaying her hip and dancing on his cock, letting her clit grind against him with every shift she makes. He thrusts up to meet her pace, biting his teeth as he enjoys the desperate look on her beautiful face. She looks as if it hurts to have him in there yet the pain brings her so much pleasure. Her body wants to resist and take him at once whilst she is driven into madness by desire. 

Fire begins to tingle in her core, increasing her pace. Something inside her breaks, and his little angel turns into a succubus in front of his very eyes. Her body is thrown back hanging in the air with only their sex keeping them together. Her hand grabs at his tie for support while she squirms onto his girth in an urgent rhythm.

He grunts, nearly choking as the noose tightens around his neck. It does nothing but make him harden even more inside her already too tight heat. Letting one hand glide at the small of her back, he holds her from falling and puts his right hand to his mouth, coating his fingers with his saliva before pressing them against her clit. 

“Who does this pussy belong to, angel?” He asks, another guttural grunt escaping his lips as his kitten tightens around him while he manipulates her clit into submission.

“Yours, August!” She wails, feeling the warmth increasing, fury burning between her thighs. 

“No,” he rasps, pressing harder against her clit. His cock swells inside her, his sack squeezing beneath her ass. 

“Da...daddy!” she cries out, pulling back with all her might as the fire consumes her, making her melt with ecstasy with him hitting her cervix. He lets himself go right after her, coating her walls with his liquid and continuing to push into her until it drips between them, warm and smooth. 

“I’m sorry, daddy…” she bites her knuckle, letting go of his tie and looking at the mess she made.  

He gives her a smile, with his hand still on her back he pulls closer against him, laying soft butterfly kisses all over her face and then nuzzling her temple.  

“Don’t worry, angel. Daddy’s not mad, not this time.” 

___________________________________________________________

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

May I have a scenario/imagine, whichever makes more sense, of Trey, Rook, and Crewel trying to tame some sort of wild, magical invasive species of Poison Ivy that has taken over the greenhouse?

Crewel gives me perpetually disappointed wine aunt father vibes. This piece also lowkey turned out to be Trey x Rook, but you didn’t read that from me.

This imagine’s longer than my usual 1k word self-imposed limit, since it goes out to a friend of mine that’s been supporting me through final projects and exams. I’m not sure if they’d want me tagging them so publicly, but they know who they are.

Imagine this...

To Professor Crewel’s chagrin, members of the Science Club had never had strong academic intent. In actuality, the club was a thinly veiled excuse to bake cakes (just to find the perfect ratio of leaveners and sweeteners!) and to stalk watch students in their natural habitats (nothing wrong with an impromptu observational study, right?). Instead of test tubes and beakers, the lab benches were littered with cake pans and photographs of unsuspecting Savanaclaw students.

“I do wish you two would take this club more seriously,” Crewel would often gripe, fingers massaging his temples. “Science is not a play thing, it is a powerful tool with which we can use to redefine and reshape the world around us.”

Such were the woes of an instructor--but today, he had no time to lament.

Crewel’s jaw tightened as he gazed upon a sprawling mess--the shattered glass panes of the Botanical Garden, with massive stalks of ivy reaching for the skies. Casualties lined the ground--plants and flowers drained dry of their life, all withered and decayed. The ivy writhed in glee.

(He shouldn’t have been surprised that the headmaster summoned him and the Science Club to resolve the issue instead of hiring a real exterminator.)

“How unseemly,” Crewel noted, clicking his tongue. “Running amok and ruining so many of the specimens we’ve carefully cultivated... This shall not go unpunished.”

He glanced over his shoulder.

“Clover.”

“Yes.” Trey stepped forward, his magical pen ready.

“Hunt.”

“Oui.” Rook followed suit, smoothly drawing forth his own pen.

“The time has come to prove your mettle,” Crewel announced, rapping his pointer against his palm. His onyx eyes seethed with a quiet, controlled rage. “Show this overgrown weed what the Science Club is truly capable of.”

At his command, the boys nodded and tore off toward the Botanical Garden.

Crewel held his ground. The corners of his mouth curled into a condescending smirk as he addressed the poison ivy. “Come here.”

An arm of ivy flew at him, so fast that it was but a blur.

An alive, but livid, blur.

“Heel!”

A column of fire erupted from Crewel’s pointer. His attack slammed against the plant, settings its leaves awash in embers. The rogue plant let out a sky-splitting roar.

The battle had just begun.

Trey ducked under an arc of burning ivy and threw open the door to the Botanical Garden. Tucking his limbs in, he barreled through right as more ivy snaked in to seal off the entrance once more.

He could feel the heat upon his back, the earth quaking under his feet, and Rook close behind him--yet he willed himself to keep his eyes glued ahead, even as he launched across the threshold and into a terrifying new realm.

The inside of the greenhouse now glistened with ivy--covering the glass panes, slowly strangling what few plants remained. The Botanical Garden had always been warm before, but it was unusually so today. Sweltering, and almost so humid that the floors and walls seem to eerily pulsate with life.

“Keep your wits about you, and don’t look back, boys,” Crewel had instructed them. “Just get in there, and cut it off at its source--at the heart.”

Trey’s eyes darted this way and that. Green, green, green. It all looked the same to him. Where in the world was the point of origin?

“Got any ideas?!” He glanced over his shoulder at his partner--and his protective goggles nearly went askew.

Rook had dropped to one knee, pressing a gloved hand against the floor--now a carpet of vines. “Hoooh! What a fascinating specimen!” he marveled. “Such destructive power, and yet it also sports this emerald sheen... Très manifique!”

“H-Hey... No offense, but I don’t think now’s the time to stop and sniff the roses. Or, well. I guess it would be ivy in this case.”

“Non, non! There is always time for beauty--even in dire situations!” Rook insisted, his hands continuing to grope around. His eyes suddenly creased, and his smile turned sly. “Ah, te voilà.”

“Even if you say that, that’s not going to help us fix this...!!”

“Calm yourself, Chevalier des Roses,” Rook advised with an airy laugh. He cupped a hand to his ear and beamed. “Listen closely! Surely even your own heart beckons you to still your worries.”

“Heart?” Trey straightened, adamant as he folded his arms. “Sorry, but I just don’t believe in stuff like that. Come on, Rook. We need to focus--Crewel-sensei’s trusting us with this task.”

He cast a concerned glance at the doorway, ensnared in vines. They’d have to blast their way through later--but if they stayed in this space for too long, they, too, would soon be drained of all their life force. “We can’t just mess around!”

“Ah--but you must put your faith in me as well, Chevalier des Roses!” Rook insisted, pointing to the patch of floor that he had been not-too-subtly groping earlier. “I implore you to lend me your strength!”

“You want me to attack the gr--?!” Trey froze mid-sentence. He had become vaguely aware of a gentle sensation creeping around his ankles.

In an instant, he was yanked into the air, dangling upside down like a useless rag doll. Blood rushed to his head, and his surroundings spun.

“Chevalier des Roses!!”

“I’m fine!! I-I’m fine!” Trey called--though he clearly wasn’t. “I can just--” He waved his magical pen, the air growing tense as a small ball of fire collected at his command.

“Non!” Rook warned, startling his classmate. “There is nothing to cushion your descent, mon amie! You will surely break a leg--and certainly not in the theatrical sense!”

He’s right. Trey’s fire extinguished itself, replaced by a chill crawling down his spine.

“A little help then?!”

Rook’s eyes widened. “You would give me your trust?”

“Not exactly like I have any other choice.” Trey would shrug, but it was a rather difficult motion to pull off while suspended midair--and far more troublesome, his veins ran cold. It was a sure sign of the ivy sapping his energy.

“Have no fear! Today, it shall be my turn to be the chevalier.” The hunter grinned from ear to ear, magical pen in hand.

“Please, Rook! Any day now--before I become plant food!” Trey’s voice was hoarse--from exasperation, or from the magical ivy, he wasn’t quite sure. Perhaps both.

“Just for today, I shall be your Chevalier D’amour.”

And with a confident wink, Rook plunged the ivy-covered floor into a sea of flames.

The accursed plant wailed as it shriveled to ash upon a backdrop of billowing smoke. Embers flickered and danced in the afternoon, the Botanical Garden set ablaze. Crewel took a step back, grimacing at the growing fire.

A figure emerged from the greenhouse, carrying another. The professor squinted into the smoke, pinpointing the familiar outline of his Science Club members--Rook, cradling a pale-looking Trey in his strong arms.

“Puppies.” Crewel pinched his temples.

“C’est chose faite--it is now done.” The brim of Rook’s hat eclipsed his eyes, making the typically cheery hunter appear dark to match his tone. Then he lifted his head, basking in the sunshine, and that somber moment was over. “All is well and good again, as it should be!”

“I... I thought I was going to die,” Trey groaned. “... And Rook, I appreciate you catching my fall, but you didn’t need to carry me out like you’re an action hero in a movie or something.”

“Are you able to still stand after an attack from that heinous plant?”

“Yeah. Just put me down.”

“Oui.”

Trey stood on shaky legs--and instinctively leaned on Rook’s shoulder.

“Well, boys. You’ve exterminated the ivy--as well as just about every other plant in the Botanical Garden. How exactly do you intend to atone for this?!” Crewel snapped, whipping his pointer at his students. “I believe my instructions were quite clear--destroy only the heart of the ivy.”

“The fault lies with me, Monsieur,” Rook declared, dipping into a bow. “We dallied for longer than was necessary, and in a moment of panic, I unleashed my magic.”

“Always one with a flair for the dramatic. Unfortunately, that will not serve you well in detention, Hunt.”

“Wait. Crewel-sensei, that’s not the whole story,” Trey interrupted. “Rook got me out of a pinch--and he deserves credit for that. He’s also the one that found out where the ivy’s heart was--buried in the floor itself. I didn’t realize until it was too late.”

The professor’s lips pursed into a straight line. “Clover, are you confessing to your own negligence?”

“I am.” He nodded firmly. “I’m the one that deserves the detention.”

“Trey-kun is not responsible!” Rook protested. “He is the one that attempted to set us on the right path. I refused to heed his advice, which led to events escalating.”

“I didn’t listen to Rook when he tried to tell me about what I needed to do.”

“I should have phrased it more concisely.”

“You--”

“Trey-kun--”

“Enough. It is clear to me that both of you contributed to this chaos.” Crewel sighed. “... Hunt, take Clover to the infirmary. I will put out the fire myself.

“... Are you letting us go?”

“Of course not. Once you’ve recovered, Clover... you boys will be restoring plants in the Botanical Garden for the remainder of the semester as punishment.”

“Ahhh, I should’ve known. Riddle’s not gonna like this at all.”

“Chin up, Chevalier des Roses! At the very least, we shall have each other’s company!” Rook laughs, smacking Trey on the back and sending his peer nearly doubling over.

Crewel sighed once more--he was disappointed, but not surprised.

His Science Club puppies still had a long way to go.

[aenxiome]

Chapter 4: Who do you call when the ghostbuster is on vacation?

When I awake, I find myself tangled up in the bedsheets, half lying on top of Jazz and the other half plastered against the wall. Somehow we ended up looking like a pretzel. When the alarm started to blare, we startled and accidentally crashed into each other. Some part of her hit me in the mouth while my head slammed into her own.

" Oww, Jazz, cant you keep your head to yourself," I whine accusingly while trying to rub away the pain. " ah, that's going to leave a mark," Wincing as I look at her, holding the side of her head rubbing her temple. We carefully separate ourselves from each other, taking in mind our new splitting twin headaches and my own lasting injury from the day before.

I look over at Sam and Tucker, who are also waking up. It seems Sam found a comfortable spot on the floor using a bunch of blankets and a few of my hoodies along with a pillow from who knows where. On the other hand, Tucker fell asleep in my desk chair with his head on his arms lying across the desk. Jazz reaches over and turns off the alarm. She sits up, still half asleep,p and makes her way out of the room. I continue to lay on the bed as Sam and Tucker finish waking up, with Sam going as far as to put away the bedding and hoodies.

"Hey," Tucker says when he sees that I'm awake, " Are you feeling okay? You're not going to pass out again, are you?" Sam turns around at his questioning and exclaimed, "Danny! Your awake!" I smile sheepishly at them, " I'm okay, a little sore, but I'm fine." I attempt to sit up, but a wince accompanies every move. When Sam notices, she comes to sit on the side of the bed and helps me. Once I'm finally up, she engulfs me in a gigantic hug. When she pulls away from the embrace, she puts her hands on her hips and starts yelling, " Do you know how much you scared us!" Finally, she shakes my shoulder with tears brimming in her eyes, " Don't you ever do something like that again!"

" I won't, and I didn't know that would happen." Tucker comes over and joins the conversation. His expression is serious, " Dude, when you fell, it was like we were back in the lab. I thought…" he brakes, choking up, " I don't know what I thought but seeing you like that again." blowing out a shaky breath he finishes, " I thought we lost you this time."

Sam moves out of the way as I reach over and clasp my hand on his shoulder and look him in the eye, " Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere." Then, trying to lose the tension, Sam asks, " Hey, do we still have clothes here or," I cut her off, "Oh, yeah, look in the bottom drawer," I say referencing the dresser, "you both should have clothes left in there." They both go to grab clothes and rush off to go get dressed.

I hate lying to them, but I can't guarantee anything. That feeling, just knowing what to do without having to think about it. Just feels so right. It was almost as if, at that moment, I was complete. While, yeah, doing it in my human form was my bad, though. I didn't expect such a big drawback but ill be ready for that next time. Maybe in my ghost form, it won't be so bad, though? I'll have to test this, but where…. " The bathroom is free," Sam shouts as she goes by the door freeing me of my musing. Tucker leaves the room to get ready, and I attempt to get up.

Every mussel protests as I force my fist into the top of the mattress and gingerly force myself to stand. I fight my tight muscles and straighten myself trying to keep my balance. I force myself to walk around the room and get ready for the day. With every step I take and arm movement, I make pain shoots through me. Up through my legs and into my waist into my joints and up inside my chest, my core, I feel pain. When moving my arms, they feel like a ton of bricks, making them feel heavy. I wince as I change my clothes and then put on a neutral face and make my way to the kitchen.

When I get there, the three of them are around the kitchen table eating cereal, but no Mom or Dad to be seen. Jazz sees me first, immediately getting up and forcing me into a chair, which I am so grateful for despite my neutral deposition. " What are you doing down here?" She hisses, " You should still be in bed." I grab a box of cereal and shove my hand in while replying, "as I told them," gesturing to my friends, " I'm fine." Grabbing me a bowl, she says, " You could barely walk stand hours ago. Let alone walk on your own. I'm not buying it." I avoid looking at her while providing my defense, " Spead healing remember. Im better."

" If your sure, man, but wouldn't you rather stay home? Sam had to help you sit up earlier." Tucker says. Jazz points at me righteously, " See, you need your rest! Go back to bed." She demands. I shake my head in refusal, " I can't afford to miss any more school. I'll be fine, I swear." We all continue arguing about my attendance when eventually Jazz gives up but forces an ultimatum, "fine, you can go, but no ghost fighting! Not until your 100%." I groan in response, " Then what are we going to do if a ghost attacks?" I question.

"We can handle it." Said Sam determined. "But what if-" I start to interject but can cut off by Sam, " We help you all the time. Doing it by ourselves won't be hard, you'll see. After all, three is better than one." I relent and let go of my argument. It doesn't take long for us to finish eating and head to Jazzes car.

The struggle starts as soon as we get out the door. The box ghost has managed to get out again. Before anyone can stop me, I fire off a carefully placed ectoblast and force him down. A second later, I pull out my thermos, and he was immediately sucked up and defeated. Maybe it was a cheap attack, but with the way things are currently beggars, can't be choosers.

"Danny!" Jazz shouts accusingly. " What?" At the angry looks, I sigh and continue, "It was only the Boxxy." Tucker tilts his head in question while sam voices their confusion, "Boxxy?" I nod my head agreeing with the name, "Yeah, Boxxy." Tucker looks as if he has swallowed a lemon, "you're giving the ghost nicknames now?" Great something else for us to argue over, "So? Why does it matter? They give me nicknames, So I can give them ones." They still don't look happy, but we are running out of time. "Can we talk about this later? Were going to be late." Tucker takes a look at his PDA and shows it to the others. The conversation is done.

For now.

They may not like what I did, but in my opinion, it is well worth it. One less ghost for them to worry about.

We all pilled in and traveled in silence to the school, barely making it in time. Before we get out, Jazz stops us to give a lecture, "Danny, no fighting today. Not with the ghosts, not with Dash, not with anyone. Understood?"

"Yeah, Yeah," I reply, sulking, "I know."

Then she turns to Sam and Tucker, " Now you two, keep Danny out of trouble. If anything gets out of hand, let me know, and I will take care of it." They answer simultaneously, " We've got it." Then, she turns back to me once again, " if the pain gets too bad, let me know, and I'll take you home."

" I'll be fine," I reassure her.

"If you say so," she says, not in the mood for an argument.

We enter just as the warning bell rings, making me feel a bit bad. While anymore I'm habitually late for just about everything, that doesn't mean that they are. We rush to homeroom and make it just in time to reach our new assigned seats and get ready for class.

The day is just beginning.

How hard could one Friday be?

A lot harder than expected.

As soon as the class finished, I headed out for my next class when I felt something. I was pulled by the back of my shirt into another hallway, separating me from Sam and Tucker. I get pushed up against the wall making an echoey thump in the hallway. I look around the hall, empty, then look up at my kidnapper. Lo and behold, it's just Dash again. When is this guy going to give me a break? I mean, this is ridiculous. Doesn't he have a life? This whole hallway meet-up is starting to become a cliche at this point. So instead of paying attention to Dashs' pathetic reasonings for his grab and go, I drown him out and internally ask the really important questions like:

Does this count as Kidnapping? While yes, I have been taken without my consent, I haven't left the building. So maybe this would be a forced separation? Abduction? Couldn't this be considered as a criminal ac-.

My thoughts get cut off as his fist lands in my stomach. I blanch from the sucker punch feeling my cereal trying to make its way back up. I manage to swallow it back down just as another punch makes contact. I try to keep my composer, but my body just can't take it. A small dribble of vomit makes its way out of my mouth and onto Dashs' arm. " Ew!" He exclaims, "Did you just spit up on me! Uggh, what's wrong with you, Fenton." With a look of disgust on his face, almost as he can't believe I got sick on him, he turns around and goes back into the main hall while I book it to the nearest trash can.

I manage to spit out what I had come up without losing any more of my breakfast. I lean up against the wall trying to pull myself back together. The punches, while weak, still hurt. The force made my core pulsate as if trying to come forward to protect me. When it pulsated, I could feel how strained it is. Even with its call for me, my core is weak, throbbing for reprieve.

The minute bell starts to ring as I force myself down the hallway, gritting my teeth, trying to stop the pain. It takes longer than usual for me to get there, oh how I wish, scratch that (you never know when you-know-who is listening *cough* Desiree *cough*), would love to be able to float right now. Thankfully I didn't get in any more trouble than a simple tardy on my record when I showed up. Being known for bathroom issues can come with its perks.

Classes so far today have been my saving grace. Especially since we have health instead of P.E this week, if I had to move around much more, it would have become the end of me. Not that the hallways aren't trying to get to me first.

To make it even better, So far, the only ghostly activity has been a couple of blobs. Hopefully, by the end of the day, I will somewhat be back to normal.

Once we are let out for lunch, I slowly make my way to the cafeteria. Once I get there, I spot Sam and Tucker near the back of the room already with their food. Sam, of course, has some kind of green thing. I can't tell what it is, but I know it's the opposite of Tuckers. I can identify his food, a leftover pork chop, and other assorted non-veggies make up his lunchbox.

After the Lunch Lady incident at the beginning of the year, they started to favor meals from at home rather than the schools. Sam for the issue with her not being able to eat what they serve as it is not to her taste, and Tucker for his issue with " stinky ectoplasm messing with beautiful meat." Apparently ecto- contaminated meat is where he draws the line with his obsession.

Me on the other hand, I am more than willing to risk it. A meal that Jazz and I didn't cook with less than a 70% chance of coming to life, sign me up. On the off chance that I do bring something from home, it is always factory-sealed junk food. I don't want to be known as the guy who brought murder hotdogs to lunch.

"Danny!" I hear coming from their spot, calling me over to them. I sit down across from them, letting out a relieved sigh. "There you are," Sam says, relieved, " we were getting ready to come to look for you. We thought Dash cramped you into a locker again." Thankfully not, I can't help but think. Those things are cramped. When I got to class after Dashs' interference, they weren't pleased about what had gone down. Tucker looked almost murderous when he found out what kept me.

" Aren't you going to get any food, dude?" Tucker asks between mouthfuls of food. "Nah," I reply and gesture to the line, " there is no way ill be able to get anything before lunch is over." The lines go down the walls of the cafeteria until right before the door. " I'm not hungry anyway," I say, lying through my teeth. " Are you sure?" Sam asks, quirking her eyebrow at me. " Yeah, I'm sure. If I change my mind, I'll get something." Satisfied, we turn our attention to small talk.

After a while, our conversation heads back to current events. " So, what do you plan to do about the ice thing?" Sam asks. I tilt my head a little in confusion, " What ice thing?" I get two looks of exasperation back before Sam slowly says, " You know the thing from the lot." Oh, that ice thing, " I thought that was all taken care of? It's not there anymore, so what is there to worry about?"

"Yeah, it's gone, but where did it come from? It's not like there are a lot of ghosts that can make ice." Tucker points out. A feeling of understanding rushes through me as I part my lips, " Ohh, did I forget to tell you?" Both of them look at me dumbfounded as I wait for an answer. I slump down farther in my seat as I reveal, " The ice is mine." Eyes wide, Sam questions, " You made a spike of Ice?" I nod my head then she continues angry with my omission, " why didn't you tell us!? We thought there was a new ghost on the loose!"

"I thought you guys knew," I say, throwing my hands up in defense. "I'll admit I've never done something like that before, but I thought you would have realized it came from me. As Tuk said, there aren't many ghosts who can make ice." Tucker comes to their defense, "It's not like we have ever seen you do that before." I sigh in understand then try to create the end of the discussion, " I plan to go to the Farfrozen to see Frostbite anyway. After what happened yesterday, I need to know what's going on with me."

"What do you-" Tucker gets cut off by a scream. The whole room goes dead silent. Then, another scream comes right after echoing through the room. After a second, just about everyone is jumping out of their seats in a panic. Sam and Tucker rush to their bags and start pulling out ecto-weapons. " Sit here," Sam orders, " let us take care of it."

"Yeah, Yeah," I blow them off, "well, at least the line is gone. I'm going to grab a bag of chips or something." Another scream echoes out, and they start running towards the door. "Be careful!" I yell out at their backs, but they are already out the door. I get up and go through an empty line and buy some pre-packaged foods and then make my way back towards my seat.

I take a few minutes to eat what I want then put the rest in my bag. I look towards a clock that's in the room and see that almost ten minutes have gone by. Against their orders, I pick up my things and go towards the chaos. Once I make it to them, I see something that I would never have expected. In the middle of the hallway are Sam, Tucker, and Jazz, tangled up with two Ecto-Octopi.

One of them has Tucker hanging upside down, holding him by his ankle. While another has Sam squashed beneath its tentacles and shaking her like a rag doll. Jazz, on the other hand, is the only one who is armed. She Is hiding behind a trashcan with a lipstick blaster.

I stare at the chaos in front of me and can't help but to say, " what in the zone is going on!?" My yell startles everyone. Even the Octopi.

"Danny!" They all holler simultaneously, the people, not the Octopi. " Getaway, we've got this!" Sam yells back. " This what you call handled?!" I say, hands out, gesturing to the scene in front of me.

I walk over to Jazz and take the lipstick blaster away and start over towards the ghosts. Using the lipstick blaster, I hit the Octopus holding Sam and the eye. The pain startled them, and they quickly released its tentacle from around her. Sam hurried away and rushed over towards me. " Give the blaster to me, let us handle it" I ignore her and push us away from the octopus just as a tentacle comes slamming down onto the tile floor.

" Get back, let me handle it!" I say in a rush, " You too Jazz," looking back towards her. I make my way forward with the blaster and go to the octopus keeping Tucker. I carefully point the blaster at its tentacle with a steady hand and fastly slash downward with it cutting it off. The tentacle and Tucker drop towards the ground. The heat from the blaster cauterizes the wound leaving only the ectoplasm from the cut limb to bleed out.

Tucker rushes over to safety as I use the blasters to hit them in the eye once again. While being temporarily blinded, they flail their limbs around, trying to hit everything around them. I, on the other hand, quickly reach into my bag and look for a Fenton Thermos. As soon as I find one, I quickly pull off the cap and suck the octopi up and seal them in.

Once everything is in the clear, I slump down to the floor, huffing for breath. Letting the adrenaline wear off, I stay sitting on the floor while everyone else comes to me. "What were you thinking!" Jazz exclaimed while slamming into me with a hug, " Are you hurt? You should have stayed away. Your powers are out. Don't you realize how dangerous this was?" Giving her an accusing look, I can't help but point out, " I am better off than you. A lipstick blaster? What happened to the weapons you guys took with you?" I ask turning to, my friends. Tucker, mumbling with a blush plastered on his face, admits, " They ate them."

I stare at them, starting to lose some color. Then, stumbling with my words, I stutter out, "Ate them? They ate the weapons, oh my, that's not good." Jazz and I both look at each other with a look of doom. "What, what is it?" Sam asks, now worried due to our reactions. " Those weapons weren't normal Fenton weapons." Jazz confesses. " What do you mean?" Tucker asks, confused, " Your parents made them, right?"

Jazz looks over to me for approval which I don't give before she answers, " Those weapons were advanced models. They aren't supposed to be available to the public." I interject, " Since the weapons are made of metal and not an organic ectoplasmic substance, the octopi won't be able to digest it. So meaning eventually they are going to spit the weapons back up." Looking at them and seeing that they are listening, I continue worried, " there is no way to tell when they are going to drop them, and whoever picks them up could hurt someone."

Before we get a chance to talk, any more noises start making their way through the hall. Sam, Tucker, and I go back towards the cafeteria, but before we get too far, Jazz calls out to me, "Danny," I stop to look at her, " I think its best if you go home." Then, giving her a betrayed look for her suggestion, she elaborates, "you don't look too good. Your really pale, and your barely moving."

"I don't know what you're talking about." I reply stubbornly. Sighing, she walks over to me and takes my bag, " Come on, I'll drive you home." Before I can get out a protest, she reminds me, " You need to go to the Farfrozen right? What better time to go than when Mom and Dad are going to be on a ghost hunt." With that, I stopped protesting and let her lead me to the car.

[angelbrock]

dancing with the demons -the fallen angel

summary: a mischievous 21year old girl dies from a crime she committed, finding her way and new journey to hell and warmly welcomed into the arms of the fallen angel.

warnings: can be graphic- lots of swearing- mentions of death!

pairing: colby x reader!

masterlist

//

your point of view

you laughed, flipping off the cop cars that chased your car down as you sped through the road. dodging cars, maniacally giggling as adrenaline pulsated through your veins. your hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, speeding through the busy california traffic. good girl gone bad is what some may call it, but what you called it was purely living life to the fullest. 

what you had done was quoted, “the funniest thing anyone could ever do”. out of all crimes you had committed throughout your years, this one by far was the worst one of all. you had thrown eggs at your annoying neighbours’ windows, spray painted over shops’ glass, drank underage and drove, but this one. oh boy. 

you had not only vandalised a police officer’s car with sharpies, but you broke their walkman machine; which you still think was an accident - so not only were you going to get charged, you were about to be sentenced six months in jail. six months because of all the crimes you had committed. however, you were unbothered. 

you were determined to escape them, only adding onto your thrill. but, your plans suddenly changed. the second you swerved left, a truck came at the fastest speed towards you. you tried to react as quickly as you could, even though it was completely pointless. the truck had already struck into your side of the car. 

your car flipped, your head banged against the steering wheel, your vision went blurry. your heartbeat quickened, then weakened just as quickly. you shot yourself one last smirk before your eyes shut completely. 

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

you slowly opened your eyes, fluttering as you did so, then squinting almost immediately towards the brightest light you had ever encountered in your entire life. you sighed in relief, “thank god it was a dream.” you whispered to yourself, rubbing your eyes as you sat up slowly; groaning. 

“are you sure about that?” a female voice called out soon after you spoke. your eyes widened, jumping back to the unknown old lady. you stammered, “i know what you’re thinking. ‘where am i’, am i correct?” you slowly nodded, your eyebrows heavily furrowed. “this my dear, is the afterlife.” 

your mouth fell agape. “what..?”  she nodded in response, “d-did i really die?” 

“unfortunately sweetheart.” she reached out a hand for you to grab, you shakily took your hand in hers as she rubbed your back gently. 

“am i in heaven?” she was silent for a moment. your non-existent heartbeat wanted to fall to the pit of your stomach as to how quickly she fell quiet. 

“i’m afraid not my dear.” she soothingly spoke to you.

“wh-what?” is all you could say. your tongue felt dry and numb, you wanted to collapse, but you couldn’t let yourself fall weak. i never hurt anyone, why do i deserve to go to hell? i’ve never let anyone get to harm. what have i done. thoughts consumed your whole body. “b-but i never hurt anyone..”

“i’m sorry, honey. fate decides these things. unfortunately you have to be a part of the underworld.” you wanted to fight back and argue, but she placed her hand over your forehead, causing your eyes to instantly close. “it’s time to go, my dear. bless you.” suddenly, you were falling. you screamed at the top of your lungs, tears glistening in the air as they floated then melted away. 

you fell for a long time, before finally landing on a hard surface. you jumped from the harsh impact, crying out as you reached for your stomach, blood dripping from your mouth. you wiped your nose and mouth, your blood being the first thing that you see. you, being incredibly sensitive to the sight of blood, felt dizzy within seconds before you fainted. 

-

your eyes opened for the second time, groaning out in pain. “well, well, well. look who’s awake.” you were startled by the deep voice who spoke up. your eyes darted towards the direction of the voice,

“stop, don’t scare her.” a short girl scolded the boy. your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

“welcome to hell, y/n y/l/n.” the same deep voice guy spoke, smirking slightly. 

“h-how do you know my name?” 

“we know everything.” another man continued on, 

“okay guys seriously stop, don’t scare her.” a brown haired girl huffed out. “sorry about them.” she apologised to you, giving the boys a glare. 

“the big man is waiting for her, we should probably get going.” these strangers quietly spoke in front of you, as you weere not only freaked out, but were having a total anxiety attack in the middle of their small conversation. they all soon left the room, leaving you clueless and afraid. 

soon enough, the doors opened roughly, slamming against the walls causing you to shriek from the impact. you squinted your eyes, trying to see the tall figure’s face. “good-morning princess.” you thought the other guy’s voice was deep? this man’s voice sent shivers down your spine, it was that deep. he slowly walked towards you, the sound of his shoes clinking against the floor was so loud. he turned his back to you, shutting the doors and locking it, the man and silence intimidating you. 

you finally saw a glance at his face and, wow. ‘the big man’ as described came closer to you, crouching down and leaning his face towards you, making you flinch and turn away. “welcome to hell.” he smirked at you, his eyes gave off extremely evil intentions. what else did you expect, you were in hell. it’s not sunshine and rainbows, it’s eternal suffering and endless pain. “when someone is talking to you, you make eyecontact.” his rough tone made you flinch once more, his fingers aggressively bringing your chin up to meet his face.

you gulped, “s-sorry..” you whispered, your voice broke off in between the one word you spoke. 

“anyways, like i was saying, welcome to hell. my territory.” goosebumps rose on your skin when he said, ‘my territory’. he couldn’t possibly be... 

“are you..” a smirk slowly rose on his lips, 

“the fallen angel?” he mocked the saying, “yes princess, i’m the devil, lucifer, whatever the fuck you want to call it, i don’t really care.” you furrowed your eyebrows to let that sink in. 

first, you committed a crime, second, your car gets hit by a truck, third, you acutally died, fourth, you didn’t go to heaven, and lastly, the devil is sitting an inch away from you. what the fuck. you felt like fainting again. “woah..” you mumbled out, your eyes slightly rolling to the back of your head. his arm went to your side, forcing you to sit upwards. 

“this is your third time fainting. can’t you just suck it up?” your hands reached to your head, your breath being shaky as tears stung your eyes.

“why am i here..” you spoke more to yourself than to him. he scoffed, rolling his eyes, rubbing his temples.

“you pathetic humans give me a headache.” he grumbled out, clenching his jaw. “fate, fate is why you’re here. believe me, if i wanted to drag you down here for no reason, i fucking would. no hesitation. but you’re too much of a baby for me to mess with. so i’d get bored too easily.” he stood up. “this is your room from now onwards. and don’t fucking complain about it either. you’re lucky that i didn’t throw you into a pit of dispair as soon as you got here.” he opened the doors, walking out, “enjoy your stay, forever.” his tone was more evil than you had ever heard. he slammed the doors shut, you could hear it lock from the outside. 

why is this happening to me? why didn’t i just get thrown into an endless blackhole of suffering? isn’t the devil supposed to be this ugly, demonic looking creature? i’d rather die a second time than be here. the amount of questions you had was unbelievable. you fell back against the bed, why the fuck is there a bed in hell. another thought pondered your mind, covering your face with your hands as tears slowly slipped out. 

“what is happening to me... please be a dream, please be a dream, please be a dream.” you hadn’t even realised that you had cried yourself to sleep. 

A/N: i really hope you guys enjoyed part one! i’m so excited about this series, i have some really good ideas for this. also working on another series called ‘sweet and sour’ for a while now, let me know if you want me to upload those too! thank you for reading and leave any requests for some imagines if you like! part two is coming out soon! love you all <3 

[marvelicious-concessions]

Lucent

Chapter 1 - One fateful day

I was ‘bored’ and started writing a thing... also yes, I like moodboards.

It’s going to start ‘shortly’ before the first Thor movie and progress until after the tv show :)

Pairing Loki x f!reader

Warnings: for this chapter? none? I think?

To say the past few hours had been stressful would be the understatement of the century. Y/N crouched behind a large container, catching her breath, beads of sweat rolling down her temple. Honestly, she had no idea how it all went so horribly wrong. She was on vacation, a long waited, much needed vacation.

One moment she was strolling the streets with her friends, the next she was separated from her group, the city in complete chaos. The swarm of panicking pedestrians had pushed her like a relentless force. What were they even running from? The world had become just a little crazier those last years. You just didn't know anymore if it was a natural disaster, terrorist attack, gamma radiations gone wrong or some billionaire in an armored suit.

She never got an answer, a loud crashing noise ringing through the streets. The people crouched, covering their heads or desperately attempted to get to any semblance of safety. But as Y/N cautiously raised her eyes she saw a massive chunk of the skyscraper before her slowly bending towards them. Pieces of glass were falling, someone screamed to her left, the shrill piercing her eardrum. She was pushed back, the flow of people suddenly changing direction. There was something wet on the back of her shirt, but she didn't dare look, her eyes fixed on the building as she was trying not to be trampled by the masses. The snapping of the metal resistances, the grinding of the materials and shattering of glass could all be heard between the cries.

They were not going to make it. Not her and probably very few lucky bastards of the ones around her, if any. The block of concrete came loose and plummeted, breaking a few more windows on it's way from the floors below before ricocheting. It was a horrible sound, drowned in screams and shouts. But she didn't want to die, not there, not then. Not yet.

She felt it then for the first time, an odd sensation, something that was there, but not entirely. And she grabbed at it without a second thought, holding onto it for dear life. A life line. It filled her entire being, tingling at the tips of her fingers, begging for release. Power. So much power.

It blasted through her hands straight at the rubble mere inches from her and suddenly everything was white.

The entire street had been filled with... feathers. Fluffy and white and falling down like rain, blocking much of everyone's view.

But they were alive. She was alive.

Or at least she felt alive. The aching of her feet where she had been stepped on suggested she was very much still alive.

It took only a few minutes maybe for the white blanket to settle. People, confused but slightly relieved, stated making their way again away from the damaged building, once again pushing her to move with the heard. God, she just wanted the day to end! Maybe just go back home and sleep for the remaining of her free days. But something was off.

Y/N looked around only to notice people were staring at her and keeping distance, a circle slowly forming around her. She stopped and the mass seemed to take another step away from her, pointing at her and whispering between them.

"What's wrong with her?"

"Do you think she did this?"

"I swear, more and more freaks are showing up every damn day!" Ok, that last one was more of an exasperated shout than a whisper.

Was there something wrong with her? She felt fine, just tired. She looked down and she noticed her hands.

They were glowing.

Her hands were freaking GLOWING! A soft golden light that she hadn't noticed before, but it was there and once acknowledged it seemed to be fueled even more. The light sparked and the people let out one collective gasp, backing away once again in unison.

She imagined it would have been funny to watch the hive-like behavior. If she wouldn't have been in the center of it all.

The next few moments had been, confusing to say the least. The mob had separated in two groups, fluctuating between "Let's just get out of here!" and "She has to pay for what she did!", that last statement worrisome.

She had to get rid of the glow! Fast! A few people started approaching her.

"Stay back, please. Just... just-" Her voice cracked.

Just what? Let her be? She didn't do anything? Did she? Why the hell was she glowing then??

A group of men cladded in black pushed through, flashing some kind of badge. What kind of 90s movie did she land in?

"Stand back! Coming through!"

"Go home people! We'll handle things from here."

Handle things? She was not a thing. Not something to be handled, solved. Was she? Her hands, still radiating, would beg to differ.

"Agent Coulson, miss. I will have to ask you to come with us." He was friendly looking, at least compared with the others. But she really didn't want to go anywhere with them.

"I just want to go home." A nap, she just needed a nice long nap, right after a bath to wash away the grime and hopefully the glow.

"That, may not be an option. Not yet at least. We only want to talk with you somewhere more private." The guy to his right moved suddenly and she realized he squared his shoulder, tightening the grip on his holstered gun.

"I didn't do anything wrong." Coulson noticed the panic in her voice and took a step forward to get her attention back on him.

"It's for your best interest, miss. We need to get you out of here." In hindsight, maybe she should have accepted the offer, she almost had. But a nagging little voice to the back of het mind was just screaming at her not to. She was just one girl, confused and alone, and they were a dozen shady men with weapons at the ready. She had to get back to her friends, make sure they were alright. Had to call her parents, before anyone saw the incident on the news and get worried.

"Thanks, but I think I'll be fine. I just-"

Two of the agents pounced on her. They grabbed towards her upper arms, apparently trying to avoid her hands. Who could blame them? But she took the opportunity and bolted, ducking and dodging the men. If her heart was not threatening to beat right out of her chest she'd be impressed with her performance.

The people who stayed to watch had parted before her with startled screams as she pointed one had at them.

For a moment, she pictured the scene: the poor scared pedestrians avoiding her like the plague, the government agents on her trail, guns out and a few warning shots fired. And her, running from them all like some kind of cartoon villain.

Surely she was just dreaming, right? It was all so absurd it couldn't be real. Just like that scientist couldn't turn into a green beast and like a dude flying around in armor just could not happen, ever. She decided she wasn't ready to take that chance. So she ran.

And that's how she ended up on the docks, hiding behind a container that smelled so bad she almost puked while trying to steady her erratic breathing. How could anyone think she was a threat? It only took a potent smell to bring her down.

Her back to the container, she slid down the cool metal, legs shaking and hands still shining. She heard the agent call her out again, the one who spoke to her, and she thought she should just go with them. She probably had already broken some law by running and the last thing she wanted was to become a fugitive! But...

She just couldn't bring herself to do it, couldn't stand up, either from exhaustion or fright, couldn't show herself and plead for safety. The tears spilled as she cradled her hands to her chest, forehead resting on her knees. A small sob escaped her as she curled into herself, a futile attempt to make herself smaller. She just wanted to disappear.

What was happening? What was wrong with her? She needed answers, she demanded them! She had been stomped on, pushed and pulled in all directions like a ragdoll and almost crushed to death by a falling building. On top of that her hands were now aglow and men were chasing her. She was tired and sweaty, her clothes felt disgusting on her skin. She deserved a break!

Footsteps, barely audible but definitely there, made her tighten her eyes, more tears rolling down. They were going to lock her up somewhere, maybe experiment on her like some kind of freak. Someone called her so earlier, had they not? More rustling close to her hiding spot. Another sob and she tried to bring her legs closer, be smaller, disappear.

The energy she felt before was still there, somewhere, pulsating around her, touching her skin, but still out of reach. She wanted to be anywhere else! She wanted to go home! She wanted to be safe!

It was an even weirder sensation than before. Something akin to to being on a plane when it takes flight, a motion made without really moving. Or maybe like she had been suddenly thrown out of said plane. The air wrapped around her so fast it was hard to breath for a moment. She opened her eyes and instinctively reached with her hands forward. She landed on her stomach, forearms talking the blunt of the fall. Where the fuck did she land from? Had the agents thrown her around??

Someone was talking above her, but her ears were ringing and she couldn't make out the words. She groaned and tried to stand up, the soft dirt floor smudging her sweaty skin and clothes. Dirt floor? On the docks?

"Are you alright, my lady?" The voice was booming, the accent strange. Y/N's eyes shot up and she stumbled backwards. The man before her looked like he walked right of a sports magazine. But she didn't notice much else about him, the looming golden castle in the background just too eye catching. Where? What?

"Easy there. You seem to have been through a lot." A woman joined, her outfit strange. "Can we help you with anything?"

"Um, where exactly am I?" She tried to get up, but her legs faltered. Before she could fall someone steadied her, hands firm but careful. "Thanks." She met his eyes, such a vivid green. The man gave a small nod in response, nose crinkling as he stepped away from her. Well, she sure didn't need the extra confirmation that she smelled bad, but there it was. She dusted herself, as if that would have helped, but noticed her hands were not glowing anymore. Good, at least that was out of the way.

"You are on the training grounds, my lady." Another man explained and she turned her head to notice three more men.

"Interrupting my victory, may I add." Green eyes chimed in from the side.

"Ha! In your dreams, brother." His laugh was boisterous and almost contagious. Almost. Her eyes scanned the group. They were dressed weird, medieval in a way but way too clean and fancy. Were they reenacting something?

"I believe you were five points behind, Loki." The shorter blonde man patted green eyes - Loki - on the shoulder.

"All part of the plan." He retorted and they laughed, some kind of inside joke maybe? They all seemed nice. At least they didn't want to harm her. Their friendly banter reminded her of her own friends and suddenly she felt very out of place. Lost and alone, she wished she had someone on her side.

"I, umm. I'm very sorry I interrupted your game, but could you please tell me where exactly I am right now?" They deadpanned, a variety of raised eyebrows and wide eyes. Loki had the audacity to scoff, his lips stretching into a smirk.

"On Asgard of course."

"Right, Asgard. Of course..." It was the last thing she could muster the strength to say before the dizziness finally took over and she passed out. The woman caught her this time and she could hear the concern in her voice.

"Thor, I don't think she's-"

[laurelnose]

monster! parasites!

you know how a few days ago i said we weren’t going to talk about monster parasites? that was a fucking lie.

the basis of my monster parasite thoughts are: every organism comes with its own internal ecosystem that goes with them everywhere. it’s like having built-in friends! ergo, when monsters crossed over to the witcher dimension during the Conjunction of Spheres they must have brought many new and delightful parasites with them. you know what fiend manes are full of? MITES. you know what drowners got on their skin? COPEPODS. what can we do with this information? anything we want.

i promise there are no pictures below the cut. i have tried to put warnings on all my sources but click any of the links below at your own risk. warning for internal and external parasites of animals, monsters, humans, and witchers; parasites altering the behavior of their hosts; and probably general body horror. if you read the eating-liver-flukes post that’s probably a decent baseline for how revolting you will find this post. 

also, super obvious bias towards aquatic parasites as referents. my degree is fisheries science not terrestrial ecology so that’s primarily what i’m drawing on even though nearly all of the witcher monsters are terrestrial. there is a TON i’m missing here bc of that bias! specifically i really wish i could talk about how parasites of invasive species often act as co-invaders with their hosts and monsters definitely count as invasive species and would have majorly reshaped ecological interactions on the Continent but i don’t know enough about terrestrial ecosystems to speculate properly. (ETA: while i still think monsters would have majorly reshaped ecological interactions on the Continent, I don’t actually think they’re invasive species anymore!) hopefully you enjoy it anyways!

it is, hilariously, canon that parasites are used for alchemy. according to The Last Wish, the Temple of Melitele’s grotto grows a bunch of different “rare specimens—those which made up the ingredients of a witcher’s medicines and elixirs, magical philters and a sorcerer’s decoctions” and some of those specimens are, uh, “clusters of nematodes.” nematodes being parasitic roundworms. this is really funny because it’s so fucking weird. also everything else in this description is a plant or a fungus and nematodes are definitely animals? i choose to believe the world makes sense and nematodes aren’t plants in the witcherverse. therefore parasites are alchemical ingredients, it’s canon, give me more witchers digging through monster intestines in search of worms and put a nematode colony in the basement of corvo bianco please and thank you

this actually leads right into my personal favorite drowner headcanon (hello yes i’m tumblr user Socks Laurelnose and i am always thinking about drowners)—you know those bits where drowners kind of have red blotches in their skin? those are nematodes, actually, because i said so. the reference is Clavinema mariae, a nematode that infests English sole. the worms are basically harmless but they’re dark red and you can see them through the skin. it freaks people out and makes it hard to sell sole. (IMAGE WARNING: a picture of an infected flatfish. it looks mostly normal but there’s a dark red lesion near the fin.) said lesion is probably a coiled-up Clavinema. sole have so many of these, it’s not even funny (PDF article link, IMAGE WARNING for worms visible underneath skin of flatfishes. relevant images pointing out exactly how many worms on page 5). “but the red parts of drowners could just be flushed from blood”—no. worms. 

okay that was my main specific-parasite-for-specific-monster headcanon (except also succubi probably have a unique species of lice for their hairy legs. but that’s barely even a headcanon, basically all terrestrial vertebrates have a unique species of lice.) i wanted to start with it because i think that everyone should feel free to arbitrarily assign a totally benign but conceptually gross worm to their favorite monsters. why not, yanno? also it probably sets the tone for the rest of this post. 

carrying on: “what monsters might have nematodes, besides drowners,” you may be wondering? probably all of them! all of them are full of nematodes. nematodes are fucking everywhere. allow me to share a deeply unsettling quote from nematologist Nathan Cobb: 

“In short, if all the matter in the universe except the nematodes were swept away, our world would still be dimly recognizable, and if, as disembodied spirits, we could then investigate it, we should find its mountains, hills, vales, rivers, lakes, and oceans represented by a film of nematodes. The location of towns would be decipherable since, for every massing of human beings, there would be a corresponding massing of certain nematodes. Trees would still stand in ghostly rows representing our streets and highways. The location of the various plants and animals would still be decipherable, and, had we sufficient knowledge, in many cases even their species could be determined by an examination of their erstwhile nematode parasites.”

jesus christ! thanks nathan, I hate it. nematodes are usually both benign and microscopic, but we’re talking witchers, we want some parasites we can fuckin get our hands on. sperm whale placentas are sometimes infested with nematodes up to 28 feet long but only a centimeter in diameter (Wikipedia link, no images). like an incredibly awful spaghetti! we don’t really seem to know if this bothers the sperm whales. also, i unfortunately do not know enough about the size of whale organs to tell you how big the placenta is in relation to this worm. the point is: real big monster? REAL BIG NEMATODES.

moving on from nematodes—okay, you know, since i mentioned eating deer liver flukes at the start of this post, let’s just go there. real life flukes max out at about 3 inches long, but hypothetical monster flukes could be much bigger and equally edible if desired. (if you’re wondering what a liver fluke would taste like: the flukes feed on the liver and they have very few organs of their own, so they would taste basically just like liver, just also long and flat like a fruit roll-up. if you’re going there, a witcher should not eat any flatworm live. if they’re digging them out of cockatrice livers or whatnot they should kill them before munching or save to cook later. it would probably be safe to eat one live, but you know that cliche “their tongues battled for dominance”? handling a live flatworm is like a handling very strong and energetic tongue complete with slime, okay, it wouldn’t be nice.)

parasites often need more than one host to complete the life cycle—for instance, Leucochloridium paradoxum (VIDEO WARNING: you may have seen this, it’s the one that makes snail eyes pulsating & green) has a bird stage and a snail stage, and it makes the snails look and act really weird in order to attract the birds. parasites altering host behavior to attract the next host in the life cycle is pretty well-documented; for instance, there’s an eye fluke that can make fish swim near the surface where predators can eat them (New Scientist article link, images of a microscope slide & a normal-looking fish) and a tapeworm that does the same and makes the dark silver fish turn white (JSTOR article, no images). i posit that at least some monsters are accompanied by “ill omens” of animals looking or acting strangely because they become infected with a stage of one of the monster’s parasites—usually, the mechanism is that internal parasites lay eggs that are passed in feces & transmitted that way. witchers who are up on their parasite ecology might be able to identify what monster is hanging around by observing exactly what kind of freaky-looking animals or animal behavior is going on around the area!

(if geralt is involved you may desire to have him explain this totally non-supernatural mechanism for abrupt animal appearance or behavioral changes at excruciating length to the chagrin of all present. or maybe that’s just what i desire. it would be funny okay)

potentially even more hyperspecific application of dual-stage parasites: there’s a dinoflagellate parasite that, when it infects crabs, makes the meat chalky and bitter like aspirin (Smithsonian link, images of healthy crab and microscope slide). geralt hunts down dinner, digs in, and immediately sighs and grabs jaskier’s portion away from him to the poet’s complete bafflement before going to get his swords because judging by the flavor there’s definitely a shishiga nest in this forest. 

like. parasites are one of THE most hyperspecific things in biology. the majority of them have very specific hosts and life cycles, many of them are completely unique to a species, if you think a fictional parasite is too specific to be plausible you’re probably wrong, make it even more specific. “the witcher monster lore is so hyperspecific lol” IT AIN’T TRULY HYPERSPECIFIC UNTIL YOU CAN IDENTIFY EACH MONSTER SPECIES BY ITS UNIQUE PARASITIC LOAD, OKAY.

and, with regards to behavior-affecting parasites, before anyone brings up Cordyceps (Ophiocordyceps, as of 2008): yeah that sure is a thing! if you weren’t aware, just a couple of years ago we found out it actually is not a mind control fungus!! it bypasses the brain entirely and affects the muscles (Arstechnica article, Atlantic article—photos of fuzzy ants and electron microscope pictures of fungi). or as Ed Yong puts it, “The ant ends its life as a prisoner in its own body. Its brain is still in the driver's seat, but the fungus has the wheel.” which is. significantly worse than the brain thing. awesome!! i bet there would absolutely be similar fungal parasites of endrega and arachasae. real Ophiocordyceps still very much does not affect humans, but you know what, if plants can be cursed into becoming archespores and cultivated by mages i see no reason why mages could not also curse endrega fungus to affect humans, just saying

aaaand quickly back to hyperspecificity: monsters in different geographical areas having different abilities because of their symbionts. forktails in vicovaro acquire a bioluminescent symbiont in their diet that forktails in other parts of the continent can’t get, and they can create flashes of light? that’s sure gonna fuck a witcher on Cat up when he comes in the cave expecting a normal forktail. (geographic location affecting bioluminescence is a thing that actually happens in midshipman fish—Wikipedia link, no parasites.) geographically-dependent symbionts can also produce different toxins and such for their hosts! this isn’t exactly a parasitism thing per se (although parasites are also symbionts because ‘symbiosis’ refers to two organisms in close association not two organisms in positive association) but like. it’s cool okay ecology is so cool

writing fic and tired of all these same-old monsters-of-the-week? quick and easy way to spice up either the horror factor or just make the hunt stand out slightly: just add parasites!! i know i’ve read fics where monsters were described with distinguishing old wounds. you can do the same with parasites! i would fucking swoon over a detail like an ancient water hag’s eyes glowing in the dark, one of them marred by a dangling parasite—geralt notes the blind spot and presses his advantage. (Wikipedia link, no images: this one is referencing an aquatic copepod called Ommatokoita.) also, please put barnacles on skelliger drowners, i want it so badly. just—some percentage of monsters should be Extra Grody on the inside and/or the outside, that’s how nature works. spicing up a mundane hunt by making the monster a little extra gross for its species is Valid, is what I’m saying.

also, every single time frozen specimens with obvious fungal/ectoparasite infections come into the lab we absolutely always take extra close-up pictures of those suckers and make sure everyone else gets to see them. witchers bringing field sketches and notes of the weirdest shit they found on the path back for winter. lambert declares they’ll never know if this alleged fiend tumor was a fungus or mange because geralt sucks at drawing. eskel, the man who hauled a katakan corpse all the way up the mountain so he could dissect it, produces actual skin samples of his own encounters for examination, possibly in the middle of dinner. this elicits mixed reactions.

quick detour into preservation, since I went there—witchers are probably immune to parasites that infect humans by virtue of having pretty different biology to begin with, and probably immune to parasitic infections from other sources by virtue of superhumanly boosted immune systems and all the poison they put into their bodies on a regular basis. picking up a monster parasite would probably not be a big deal for witchers, either in that they have total immunity or that they would only be minimally and briefly affected, but the field of monster biology is likely such that they probably just don’t actually know what would happen to them in the majority of cases. this has potential as a source of battle stories and/or stories intended to freak out trainees, i think. therefore, out of caution, a witcher harvesting/preparing parts for alchemy might want to be sure to treat them first. personally i think all monster parts should be preserved immediately anyways to avoid attracting necrophages, and given that alchemical concoctions in witcherverse are alcohol-based, preservation in strong alcohol is probably the best way to maintain potency and kill basically everything. (cons: alcohol is SUPER heavy and jars are fragile. tissues or organs which are thicker than perhaps half an inch or an inch require additional preparation for the alcohol to penetrate properly. other preservation methods are more efficient for travel. depends on how soon your witcher intends to use or offload their stash.)

also, here’s an absolutely wild marine parasite that would make it worth a witcher’s while to make certain everything was dead! pearlfishes are long eel-like fishes that live inside the anus and respiratory organs (which are attached to the anus) of sea cucumbers, and they have pretty nasty teeth (PDF article link, IMAGE WARNING: dissected sea cucumbers literally stuffed to the gills with pearlfish). the highest number of pearlfish discovered in a single sea cucumber was sixteen (ResearchGate article, free PDF; no images). a different fact: we discovered tiger sharks eat each other in the womb because a researcher got bitten by a fetal tiger shark while he was dissecting the mother (NYT link, no images or parasites). what i’m saying is: parasites are often very small relative to the host and usually harmless to things rummaging around inside, but what if the monster’s parasites were also monstrous. give me a monster that has to be very dead or when you start rummaging around for alchemy ingredients the things in its intestines will lunge out and bite you. 

what happens if a human becomes infected with a monster parasite? bad things, probably, i mentioned before that parasites in the wrong host, if they don’t just die, often super fuck things up internally (if you get tapeworms outside of the intestine where they’re supposed to be... it’s not good y’all. CDC link, no images). host-jumping for parasites is actually fairly rare since most of them are highly specialized for their hosts, but it does happen. humans are very not my strong suit so i’m not going to dwell on this but it is entirely possible that something like necrophage infestations or monster-contaminated water sources or just being a little too involved on a witcher’s monster hunt could produce strange parasitic diseases in humans. up to you how well-known and/or how clouded in superstition these effects might be! opportunities for hideous whump? gross body horror? messy and horrifying parasite-driven behavioral changes? terrifying and potentially prolonged uncertainty over what the issue actually is because of minimal information about parasites? the decision whether or not to dose with a witcher potion? excellent possibilities.

okay last one, just because i think it would be fun: myxosporeans and sirens. Myxos are a parasitic relative of jellyfish that produce whirling disease in baby salmon. whirling disease causes neurological and skeletal damage and has a pretty high mortality rate, but it also makes infected fish do this, well, whirling behavior and it’s honestly fascinating. (video link: a pretty normal-looking young trout spinning like a fuckin top). imagine a siren doing that in the sky. i just think myxos are neat!

tl;dr: extra grody hyperspecific biology of monsters!!!

[passionate-reply]

This week, on Great Albums, we finally get around to discussing an industrial album--and we’ve started with one of the best there is, from the OGs themselves: Throbbing Gristle! (No, it isn’t jazz funk, I promise.) As always, full transcript under the break.

Welcome to Passionate Reply, and welcome to Great Albums! Today, I’ll be talking about one of the most important albums in the history of industrial music, and certainly one of the most...infamous. If you’ve ever noticed this album hanging on my wall in my other videos, you may well have wondered how an album that looks like this fits in with the rest of the stuff that’s up there. This record is the pioneering industrial group Throbbing Gristle’s classic 20 Jazz Funk Greats, and it’s essentially a bait and switch. It looks like a dorky, “family band” record from the bargain bin, but when you put it on, it sounds like this:

Music: “What a Day”

...well, not really. I’ve fibbed a bit here, much like Throbbing Gristle lied to you with this album cover. “What a Day,” one of the most sonically abrasive tracks on this album, is actually the second to last track! They take a little time to warm you up to the heavier stuff, actually. The first two tracks, the title track and “Beachy Head,” are still not really “jazz funk” by anybody’s standards, but they ARE decidedly softer than some of the other stuff you’ll encounter here.

Music: “20 Jazz Funk Greats”

Things arguably don’t start really heating up until we reach the third track on the album: “Still Walking,” which introduces us to ear-splitting distortion, rapid, disorienting percussion, and buried, albeit deeply ominous vocals, sounding like the first “typical” Throbbing Gristle track. It’s dense and almost comically busy, almost exhausting to listen to--and yet we have only just begun.

Music: “Still Walking”

So, where do we go from here? 20 Jazz Funk Greats wouldn’t be the legendary album that it is, if it was a one-note knock-knock joke, a jack in the box that emerges fully within the first few minutes of the album. What I think it really excels at is its ability to keep us on our toes throughout its entire runtime--it goes back and forth between showing a slightly friendlier face, and peeling back the skin of that face to show us the gory skull underneath. The whole thing vibrates along that contrast. Side two of the album, for instance, opens with one of Throbbing Gristle’s best-known tracks: “Hot on the Heels of Love.”

Music: “Hot on the Heels of Love”

Positioned squarely in the middle of the track listing, and at the crucial point of opening the second side, “Hot on the Heels of Love” certainly seems crucial to the album. It reads as a sort of dark parody of Giorgio Moroder’s famous “I Feel Love,” in which the voice of Donna Summer stands nakedly alone in a sea of pulsating synthesisers. It’s a pretty quick rebuttal, too, given that “I Feel Love” was released just the year before! Despite those sultry, breathy vocals, courtesy of Cosey Fanni Tutti, there’s no mistaking this one for a disco hit--not with its harsh hi-hats and gritty, highly textural synth scrapes. “Hot on the Heels of Love” features minimal lyrics--and they’re almost insultingly vapid--but 20 Jazz Funk Greats also features two prominent tracks that are much heavier in lyrical content, which I like to think as complementary to one another: “Convincing People” and “Persuasion,” which appear on the first and second side of the LP, respectively.

Music: “Convincing People”

Taken alone, “Convincing People” is weird, but it’s so vague and disorganised that it’s hard to come to a firm conclusion about what’s going on the first time you hear it. Unlike “Still Walking,” the fairly minimal instrumental accompaniment makes it easy enough to make out what the words are, without the sleeve handy. But it’s also so repetitive that it’s bound to infect you with semantic satiation, and fog up your brain’s ability to pay attention to those lyrics. The clearest statement “Convincing People” seems to be making is that you’ll never convince people when you come across as someone who’s trying to be convincing...well, alright, I suppose. But what really gives this song a darker significance is its counterpart on the flip, “Persuasion.”

Music: “Persuasion”

Abrasive numbers like “What a Day” and “Still Walking” are physically uncomfortable to listen to, but “Persuasion,” like the earlier Throbbing Gristle number “Slug Bait,” unnerves you with its lyrics instead. It takes up the mantle of a narrator who’s clearly a predatory, sexually violent character, and once again, a fairly simple instrumental makes us confront this vile subject matter head-on, as though we are alone in the room with this creep. “Persuasion” and “Convincing People” are actually extremely similar, but the biggest difference between them is that “Persuasion” is the escalation of their shared basic idea, with its much more explicit lyrics, and use of dissonant, unpredictable human screaming sounds. It’s actually a great metaphor for understanding how this album works--it gradually pushes our boundaries as we listen, worming its way into our consciousness like some masterful manipulator. And it dovetails with how Throbbing Gristle frontman Genesis P-Orridge would later style herself as a charismatic cult leader, with varying shades of irony, in later projects related to “Thee Temple ov Psychic Youth.” As we’ve recently been told, you don’t convince people by coming across as someone trying to be convincing. Or do you?

As I alluded to in the beginning, the name and cover design of 20 Jazz Funk Greats are a sort of musical booby trap, to hopefully ensnare innocent victims. It’s not jazz or funk, it doesn’t have twenty tracks, and its seemingly quaint cover photo, featuring the band in sunny surroundings, actually has a dark secret: the spot it was taken at, Beachy Head, is the most popular suicide destination in Europe, and one of the most popular worldwide. It’s Britain’s highest sea cliff, a stark, sheer wall of chalk that looms over the English Channel, and just a few feet away from where Throbbing Gristle are standing, people regularly throw themselves off of it. It’s a place where delicate natural beauty meets the profound human sickness sown by our twisted, exploitative industrial world. It’s just one more insidious detail, that heightens the cruel spirit of the album’s visual identity. It’s worth remembering that Throbbing Gristle were, first and foremost, provocateurs. I think that may be a better way to think about them overall, compared to thinking of them as “musicians.”

In my day, I’ve often seen 20 Jazz Funk Greats recommended as a good introduction to Throbbing Gristle, and to industrial music as a genre, more broadly. Industrial is one of the very few genres of music that was given its common name by an artist and not an outside critic--and we have Throbbing Gristle to thank for coining it, so they’re inarguably industrial royalty. Their catalogue remains indispensable to understanding what industrial is about--like so many acts we consider seminal or foundational, the seeds contained here inform a great deal of subsequent music. The problem, though, is where to begin, since they were arguably more of a jam band than a studio act, with legendary live performances that probably influenced other artists much more than anything they ever pressed on wax. Their discography is hairy, peppered with live recordings, non-album A-sides, and releases whose official vs. bootleg status is unclear. If you’re looking for a traditional album listening experience--as many music enthusiasts often are--it’s hard to do better than 20 Jazz Funk Greats.

At the same time, though, I think there’s something to be said for respecting the fact that Throbbing Gristle were never trying to offer anyone a traditional listening experience. Just the opposite! 20 Jazz Funk Greats is a Great Album, for sure, and it’s also a bit more of a softball than some of their other work, which arguably makes it a bit more accessible. But is it really all that fair to try and wring an “accessible” experience from a band like Throbbing Gristle, when it isn’t particularly representative of their work? Or is it better to meet them head on and try to tackle them on what appear to have been their own terms? If you’re new to them, but want to understand Throbbing Gristle and feel literate in their work, I think I might recommend their 1981 “greatest hits” compilation, Entertainment Through Pain, better than I would any of their proper albums--particularly if you’re like me, and prefer their more aggressive cuts to the ambient ones.

Music: “Adrenalin”

I think my favourite track is “Walkabout,” even though I would argue it’s one of the least “industrial” sounding tracks here. It isn’t heavy, rhythmic, or sludge-textured, but instead serves as a sort of “breather” between “Persuasion” and “What a Day,” a brief, floating melody that drifts by like a cirrus cloud. It’s both playful as well as devious, wedging itself between some of the hardest-hitting stuff, looking like it might be a reprieve, but ultimately leading right back into harsh musical territory--like an abuser love bombing you between some of their worst behaviour. Perhaps “Walkabout” is something like a masochist’s after-care, a moment of healing and cooldown after the excesses of simulated abuse. Or perhaps it’s the stillness and disquiet peace of the grave, for those who meet their end at the hands of “Persuasion”’s narrator? Ambiguity and possible irony are an integral part of Throbbing Gristle’s particular danse macabre...so I’ll leave the rest of the interpreting up to you. Thanks for watching!

Music: “Walkabout”

[kirstinmaldonado]

CHAPTER TEN 2.0

I had a horrible migraine Monday night. It was one of those that you feel after holding back tears all day, or letting it out all day, it was centered right in-between the eyes on the upper bridge of my nose. My eyes sweltered under discomfort. The icepacks or a cool touch to the head, something my mom would always do (she always has cold hands), couldn’t even console me. I didn’t feel feverish at all, but the pain was sharp and pulsating like a nervous heartbeat, over and over, until I couldn’t concentrate on TV or anything anymore I just had to go to bed and hope I could fall asleep. 

I rarely get those kinds of headaches, that placement and severity. I’m usually fortunate to pass with dull, achey, temple headaches; and even my hangovers are never so pointed and jab-like.

My mom on the other hand, has dealt with migraines for years. I remember her pain as a kid, waking up in the morning wondering where she was, only to find her in the dark in her room, barely able to speak sometimes. I was always so sad to see her in such anguish, all alone in the dark. Silent. Still. While her head throbbed as if a brass band was playing “The Music Man” at too loud a decibel.

We watched a lot of horror films, my mom and I. In contrast to all the Disney films, I grew up on Jeepers Creepers, Scream, Final Destination and all the Freddy, Jason, true horror classics (yes, and all seven billion of their sequels). When she would be in bed, in the dark, we’d joke that she was a vampire needing her rest and that she needed to stay in the dark unbothered, and that lightheartedness to the situation made us smile and contented us.

Monday, Ben asked if migraines ran in my family, and though I told him about my mother’s constant battle with them the last couple years I was hoping mine felt more situational as opposed to genetic. Fingers crossed on that, and kudos to mom and those who get migraines for sticking it out cause they can be a big B-I-T-C-H.

I say situational, because it’s been A WEEK to say the least, with big things and confrontations happening in the public eye and in my own private life. The last two weeks have been incredibly eye-opening, painful, uncomfortable, moving, you name it. An entire rainbow of emotions (Happy Pride, by the way, cuties, I haven’t forgotten about you all).

I feel as if I’ve transformed into a new person with big, wide, new eyes, shedding some old skin that felt a little naive and a little out of touch with how the world, not should work, but how it’s REALLY been working. I’ve been talking to my black friends and fans, talking to my Hispanic family and hearing their stories, and talking amongst my friends and respected mentors. I’ve been doing some soul-searching and digging through memories of my own cop experiences (one, for example, at 17 with two white males [we were pulled over and eventually surrounded by 4 armed cop cars that got us out of the car, surrounded us, and wouldn’t tell us why] and wondering but knowing how that situation could have been if they were black), my jokes of being white-washed or assimilating in to white culture and not focusing on my own, and me coloring my hair blonde and wearing colored contacts not MY brown eyes for so much of my life and wondering what the intention of it all was for. Was it genuine or was I doing it to fit in, did I think it made me prettier, or more likable? Did I think or know that it would get me roles, because many ingenues or leading ladies at the time didn’t look like me?

At a point, at multiple points, all the things I’d uncover or watch in recent news had my stomach hard and in knots. Every new clip made me feel like I wanted to throw up, but I couldn’t stop now that I had SEEN.

I was confused. Hurt. Believing what I’d seen, but needing other facts as if I was missing something completely because it all did not make sense to me. How COULD it?

I apologize for all the reposts and rants, but I hope it’s stayed in line with being something you should SEE, regardless of if its uncomfortable or not, so that you KNOW what is happening, while also trying to call action to addressing the issue but moving FORWARD towards a solution. I don’t want violence on my page. But now it’s hard to turn a blind eye.

The organized BLM LA protest on May 30th changed my life. After the speeches, we wanted to continue marching, moving, using our freedom of speech and combining our white, brown, black, and all colors in-between of voices so that we could be ONE VOICE UNITED to be HEARD. 

I don’t think I went to the front lines because I was white-passing and felt safer, or because I was a woman so could be “less a threat.” I went because my black allies, who I didn’t even know, asked us to because the front was starting to get unnecessarily violent. I went because I had done nothing wrong and planned on doing nothing wrong. I went, in a way, to be an innocent. Because if I was in the front with no bad intention, the people beside and behind me would be okay.

As we walked through the crowds, their hands on my shoulders, their thanks, flared something visceral deep inside of me and I knew I was here to protect and mediate, and in a way, fighting against hate in whatever form as if I was a newborn Avenger. Someone cried out “I love this, this is what this movement is for!” and that has stayed with me as so many lighter-skinned protesters made their way to the front. Because that IS what this is for. Not to divide, but to unite to fight for justice against those that have unnecessarily been wronged.

I’ll never forget one black man that my friends and I urged to stay back beside us in the lines that had pushed to the front. He was angry. Upset. Hurt. Defiled. I’d never understood the pain the black community felt. But as we tried to reassure him, block him from the batons (from THAT COP), bring him back to the safety of the group, when I was hit in the ribs and the face as collateral because he would have been hit so much worse, the last thing he said as we pulled him back was “I want them to hear me.” And suddenly I felt holding him and consoling him was wrong, like I was a part of stealing his voice from him even though all I wanted was to keep him safe. Suddenly I felt so upset, so angry; although, of course, I’ll never even know HALF of that feeling as a non-black person who, to my knowledge, has never been treated differently for their identity.

I’ll never forget the way he said it. With so much hurt and pain, the anger fading in to just pure anguish and loss.

I felt like I’d silenced someone, so all I could do was get back to the front. It was my turn to be silent and let their voices carry behind me.

I’m sure you’ve seen the video going around, the stillness before the cops were ordered presumably to push the line back. While I can have a whole blog post of levels and steps they could have taken before the cop bashed through my canvas sign with his baton, you can look at the video and see for yourself. People getting hit because they were at the front, with no provocation. The man striking me with a baton, honestly probably because I had said openly to watch out for him, because he was showing a LOT of premature violence, because of how quickly he went after the man we were protecting; yet then only pushing the white girl next to me with his hand, even though she unfortunately was struck multiple times from another officer.

All awful!! All taken a step too far. I’ve never been more in shock. Ben was trying to pull me off the floor so I wouldn’t get stepped on. Our friends were hit by rubber bullets. Our other friends on another street running from tear gas.

The tear gas, the rubber bullets, the bruises and the ache have *I PRAY* started to leave Los Angeles as all the protests have started to become more peaceful and more organized. Since, I’ve been to three and they were all just, beautiful, and moving, each one getting better and bigger as the week went on. I carry a sense of pride and love seeing the aerial footage of all the people Sunday, and I think back to what my May 30 experience was compared to June 7th. I heard it was the largest protest yet. And while I felt like a sardine in a can, it was so packed, it was beautiful and it’s a memory I’ll hold forever!

I sidebar to say, I may no longer be cheering at the literal protesting frontlines with you for a while  — I must return to Texas soon for family so must safely quarantine  —  but know the fight for equality, for justice has not ended just because it’s not trending anymore! I think I’m gonna have to shackle myself to my house so I won’t leave, haha, but know there is so much you can be doing from your home! As my grandma said, after the protests which are the catalysts and the calls for change the REAL reformative work begins!! And the road is long! 

The most important thing, in my humble opinion, is to show up. To not be afraid. To ask the questions. To educate yourself through your friends with their experiences or through history.

Humbly, you must think, but what even can I do to help?

Showing up isn’t JUST protesting. It’s signing petitions. Donating to charities. It’s calling local reps. It’s doing the research and thinking, what can I do to lend my voice to help create a better world for all and doing it authentically if even imperfectly because deep down you also want to right these injustices and demand change! Do it in public. Do it in private. But do it because you believe in it!

I know everything feels a bit dark and overwhelming right now! The amount of times I’ve needed a “break” and then wanted to cry because my black friends and fans don’t get the opportunity to take “breaks” is countless. But your mental health is important for you to be the strongest ally you can be!

And if you’re afraid of backlash, understand that many are hurt. I know many feel nervous to speak up in a damned if I do, damned if I don’t kind of way. But EACH of your voices are, and have always been so, so important. And each and every one of you have an important say and CHOICE/VOTE in to where we lead our country!

Someone told me this week that although sunflowers follow the sun, when it is cloudy and dark, they turn to face each other and share their energy!

I don’t know if that’s a million percent scientifically accurate, but the sentiment brought me to tears. In times of darkness, we should all be able to lean on each other for support.

We can all be sunflowers in the dark. <3

Love you all.

[virlath]

DA4 speculation on red lyrium

Yes I have even more thoughts on those three images, what of it. 

So, we know from DAO that lyrium grows in the fade. It even manifests in reality in the circle tower quest, on the third level no less, because the veil is thin (well close to non existent there).

Knowing what we know now, this seems to be some pretty dark foreshadowing for DA4.

In DAI, we encounter a lot of red lyrium in the fade. I know many people have suggested the red lyrium is a manifestation, but I disagree. I think it’s real and it is growing far worse in the fade unchecked, possibly because the corruption dates back to a time when the elven empire was dependent on lyrium to sustain itself.

Is it not strange that most of the red lyrium we find in the physical world has been intentionally grown and reproduced (eg. Emprise Du Lion and the Storm Coast) or where there has been death (thus affecting the veil)? 

The only place we see an abundance of red lyrium without much human intervention is at the Temple of Sacred Ashes.This is significant because this is where the breach was first opened. 

When you first get to the temple in DAI, Varric is confused as to how the red lyrium got there:

“You know that stuff is red lyrium, Seeker"

“I see it, Varric”

“But what’s it doing here?” 

“Magic could have drawn on lyrium beneath the temple, corrupting it..”

The temple is on a mountain, which could indicate a titan and abundance of normal lyrium, so Solas may still be correct (also note he suggests it was magic from the anchor that caused the corruption!!!) However, I think the main reason why the temple is so overrun with red lyrium is because the corruption came through the breach.

The temple features some pretty massive lyrium veins close in size and shape to the ones from the fade. It’s also interesting to note the rocks at the temple glow green like the fade as well (similar to the crossroads too, incidentally) - right alongside these shards of red lyrium.

I think the simple fact that lyrium can manifest from the fade in reality is significant, because if the veil was destroyed by Solas in DA4 (looking very likely at this point), it means red lyrium from the fade could easily manifest into the physical world.

This could explain why we see an abundance of red corruption above ground in the teaser images- because red lyrium has manifested from the fade into the physical world (not the other way round).

The veil is seemingly destroyed (see the green in the sky), and the flesh sacs are eerily similar to the demon growths we saw in DAO’s circle tower quest, indicating demons and abominations to come.

This is why I’m hesitant to believe that pulsating mass we saw in that DA4 teaser is in fact a titan heart. Not only is the corruption and mass above ground inside a castle, the flesh sacs all lead to this central, pulsating mass that looks corrupted, scorched, and molten (like it’s been through a fire?). Those red tendrils in the teaser may look like deep mushrooms, but they also look like the lyrium veins we see in DAO.

Considering the fact demons and abominations arose from similar fleshy growths in DAO, the fact so much red corruption is found in the fade, and the fact these growths lead to the “heart”, it seems to me like the pulsing mass is actually the precursor to a super demon or corrupted being about to emerge into the physical world.

The mass has a likeness to the red lyrium idol as well, which we know is integral to Solas’ plans (based off TN). Could this be what Solas has been planning all along or is this something else, maybe a mage’s ritual gone wrong? 

It’s worrying enough that Solas is dabbling with the idol in itself, but he’s also clearly got limited options with his orb destroyed (he is a means to an ends kinda person after all).

I don’t believe the idol even forms a part of his veil destruction plans, because from TN we see that he has already started the ritual and it will take several years to complete. Rather, I think the idol has more to do with his plans for the imprisoned gods, of which we are still completely in the dark as to what he intends.

I wrote in a previous post about some potential symbolism with Mythal and demons from DAO in the circle tower. Knowing Bioware planned a whole lotta stuff in DAO for future games, and the fact that Mythal herself says she *and* the world were betrayed, what are the chances she has a personal stake in the blight itself?

Often in stories, especially fantasy (think LOTR which DA is heavily inspired by), the hero needs to defeat evil with something that is in direct opposition to it- something to cleanse and purify/nullify. What if in this case the scenario was reversed? 

We already know Dagna was able to nullify Samson’s red lyrium armour using red lyrium fashioned into a rune.

What if Solas intends to harness this very same corruption, something he clearly abhors, in an attempt to stop the blight / deal with the false gods for good, thereby losing himself in the process?

The imagery of him in the mural and even his tarot cards show him with red eyes...which is foreboding in itself.

I just have so many questions.

If red lyrium is growing out of control in the fade, how long has it been spreading and what triggered it’s growth in the first place? Keep in mind no one even noticed this variant of lyrium for thousands of years in the physical world, up until Hawke and co. found the idol. Then after the breach, pockets of red lyrium began appearing everywhere.

Is this why Solas has finally decided to act after observing world events for so long- because the idol is out in the wild? Or is it that his home, the fade which he loves so much, is increasingly being overrun by red lyrium and will soon be entirely blighted if he doesn’t take action?

The circular logic is what gets me about Solas’ plans - they’re clearly genocidal, but he also says in TN he is “saving the world”. If he hadn’t given his orb to Corypheus, would there still be red lyrium everywhere in Thedas? Or does his personal responsibility go back to ancient elvhenan, when he personally helped control a lyrium mine which was eventually collapsed due to the “evanuris’ greed”?

Is this why he feels like he must do what he “must” - because he is in part responsible for the blight? Or because he has the best chance of stopping it- before the world falls to it?

[visual-explorxtion]

Vinylic Taste [Carlos Oliveira x Reader] - One Shot

Summary: You’re trapped and alone in the midst of an outbreak, struggling to survive. In the depths of your despair, Carlos came to the rescue. Through your ups and downs, Carlos soon became your best partner and vice versa. But...you soon realise Carlos isn’t who he appears to be.

A/N: Are you reading this at night time? Good...Wanted to write a Carlos fic but also wanna try and write something different from my usual stuff. But also got super distracted by other ideas and this fic got pushed waaaay further back and kinda took a different turn from my original plan and 11 pages in, I panicked. Still in first person POV.

TW: Graphic depiction of Violence, Blood, Gore, Angst, a bit of horror (idek), prob not as graphic as you think but it’s still graphic, uhh language and bit of a Mind Break.

Words: 6.0k

How did things turn out this way? Blood seeped its way across the vinyl floor, forming a pool around my feet as I sat helplessly with my body shivering in fear. Chest rising and falling rapidly and eyes locked wide open, my blurry gaze fixated onto a man but I could only make an outline of them. Him; on his knees, lays a lifeless corpse in between them, all drenched in venous blood as the deep red colour streams down every rigid and curves of his face. The air is thick combined with the stench of iron and gunpowder. He stares at his hands, covered in liquid but not his own. He laughs- echoes through my soul and pulsated the room- never have I ever heard of something so harrowing and sinister coming from a human. If he even had any sanity left in him. Neck twists abnormally towards my direction, head tilts eerily as if it's only supported by a thin piece of string. A soft gasp left my mouth, throat scorched with fear and lips quivering. My limbs lay still no matter how much I tell myself to run. My sense of self is being sucked into his dark, endless gaze. The light behind his eyes had vanished, all that's left is a soulless carcass I no longer recognise.

"Carlos...What happened to you?"

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

The thunderous rain came washing down my face, lowering my field of vision. The moisture trickles down from thick strands of hair and onto the rubble concrete in a light rhythmic pitter-patter. In the span of 24 hours, everything turned from just an average day in this town to be engulfed and corrupted by a fiery shitshow. Humans eating humans, without a hint of remorse. They have no emotions, no pain tolerance. Their sole purpose is to feed on anything that has a heartbeat. It creeps me out. Like somebody playing a joke too far to the point of no return. That's what I'd initially thought. In my struggle to keep myself alive in this godforsaken town, each bullet is scarce but every item you gather is expendable. As the gun recoils, a leftover shell would flicker out with each bullet piercing the head of the undead. A steady hand, steady trigger finger and steady breathing. One by one, I shot them down. The feeling of ambivalence surrounds my mind with every shot I take. This isn't right, they are...were...humans, flesh and blood.

The ringing in my ears grew louder with each squeezing action I take. The heat of adrenaline coursing through under my skin, my peripheral vision gradually disappears until I'm left with the image of head to head. Before I could react, my back was already on the ground. The backside of my head slams against the solid sidewalk with a loud crack, the noise echoed inside for a nanosecond. My self-defence mechanism kicks in- forearm struggle against the zombie's throat, it's jaw hinges wide open with blood oozing out as it frantically pushes it's deadweight onto me. Its skin texture is abnormal, like every part of them is set in stone. Why didn't rigor mortis happen? My fingers tremble, trying to grasp for the handle of my gun that's just out of reach. Muscles burn and ache as my defence is crumbling to its limit, teeth-gritting with every last strength that I have. I refuse to die like this. Not like them.

As my forearm grew tired- inching closer and closer to my face- I squeeze my eyes shut, refusing to look Death in its soulless gaze and let it consume me slowly in the space of darkness. The next moment, I felt liquid splatter across my face but the pain never set in. My eyes flew open and watched as the corpse lay limping on my arm and the rest drop dead around my vicinity. I grunt as I discard the corpse aside, inspecting it one more time for any sign of movement. Face frozen in place as blood runs dry from the temple. The sight of this made my stomach churn.

"Hey, are you alright? Can you stand?"

A muscular figure towers over me, fully equipped in tactical gear. One hand armed with an assault rifle and the other extended out towards my direction. His hand is all worn out, even though the gloves I can see his fingers covered in blisters and scratches. They have seen better days.

"Yeah...I'm fine."

I choked out as I accept his assistance. His grip heaved my weight without breaking a sweat but may have overestimated his strength a little. His aid offset my balance and my body crash-landed in his embrace. Even with me standing on my own two feet, he's still almost a foot taller than I am. Our eyes met for a brief moment but I immediately jumped out of his arms as heat flushed up my cheeks and I regain my composure. He chuckles.

"My name is Carlos, I'm with the UBCS and we're here to get you out of here."

The organisation doesn't ring any bells in mind, nevertheless, receiving help from a rescue team is better than trudging through this damned hell alone. I would be lucky if I could even make it out alive. But, this strange rescue encounter sends comfort to my mind and slowly easing off my anxiety, or maybe it's because I'm no longer alone with Carlos's presence next to mine. Either way, I shouldn't let my guard down even with the help I'm getting.

The rest of his team is gathered in the subway station, we've arrived just in time for the last train to bound. Every one of them is tattered and covered in rags, exhausted and in pain. I can't imagine what kind of hell they've fought through, compared to myself, it's nothing but a just a minor scratch. Carlos caught up with his crew while I took a seat as all my energy is drained from my soul. The cool metal sensation seeped through my jeans and triggered goosebumps and hair along my arm, I couldn't care less about the shock as exhaustion washes over my limbs. I've been beaten down mentally and physically enough for me to not realise the train was already in motion. The view from out the window is nothing but a fast pace blur of darkness. All that just happened felt so unreal- the gush of blood, the viscous touch of muscle fibres, so red yet so cold. Getting pinned to the ground by this...thing. Its strength is vicious and animalistic with a face that doesn't resemble a human anymore. And at that moment my mind went blank. What if, at that very second, nobody came to save me? What if, I just gave up? What if, I let its teeth sink into my neck? What if...I just died there and then?

"How are you holding up?"

Carlos appeared before me, interrupting all the trepidatious thoughts. A slow realisation sets in as my hands tremble in my lap. Immediately, I curl my fingers into fists to cover up the jitter from him. "Still holding" I swallowed and smile politely, hoping the lump in my throat won't betray me right now. He returned the smile and positioned himself in the seat next to mine. "You were brave out there. Fighting by yourself...not many people have the balls to do that."

I let out a quiet snort. "No, you saved my ass. I wasn't brave. I was just lucky. If it wasn't for you I would've..." A pause, "I would've become one of them by now." Tears tingled behind my eyes as I blinked several times to keep them at bay. Carlos catches my hands tenderly, unravelling my fingers one by one, releasing all the tension I took a grasp of and crimson liquid came dribbling out the crescent-shaped wound. The fear in my head numbs all my pain; unaware of the shallow cuts, the maroon shade stained the dents of my fingertips. He took out some bandages from one of his pouches and carefully bind them to stop the bleeding. "There. That should do the trick." he grins as I admire his patchwork. "Thank you." I returned the kindness and we sat in comfortable silence. Upon closer inspection, Carlos does look kinda cute. The corner of his eyes crinkles and smile line deepens whenever he laughs, not to mention, his voluminous mane is the centre of attention. It kind of reminds me of an Old English Sheepdog and that image alone made me giggle.

"Carlos, we have a situation." we turn our attention to another team member, dressed in the same gear as Carlos- except his appearance was more well-kept, clean-shaven. Carlos turns, face sombre, knowing the news that comes next won't be any good. "What's the status?"

"Charlie's comms are down. The situation currently unknown."

"And Bravo team's position?"

"They're en route to Charlie, but they've already lost half their men"

He ponders for a moment. "Alright, change of plan. We'll meet up with Bravo and rescue Charlie. Once we get there, see if you can call for extraction out of this city."

His colleague nodded and went off to relay the message to the rest of the squad. Carlos turns back and kneels down, looking at me in the eyes, he softly spoke. "Hey. We're gonna have to take a detour, but I promise you, I'll keep you safe." He paused, reading my reaction. "Are you okay with that?"

My gaze wanders around his nervous expression, but I simply smiled. "Yeah, it's better than being alone out there right now. And besides, I don't doubt your abilities to keep me safe." His face went blank for a few seconds to unexpectedly bursts into laughter as though my answer caught him by surprise. "Okay. We'll be getting off next stop. In the meantime, stock up on some supplies cuz we don't know what's out there. Talk to one of the guys and they can get what you need." Carlos winked before leaving me to psych myself up for what's coming ahead. Knowing the chaos that's happening out there, it's going to be a dirty fight.

Our clattering footsteps relay around the walls of the subway as the lights flicker in a retrospective beat. The place is bare and quiet. Too quiet, even. Not even a single croak or heavy breathing could be perceived. It is deadly silent. Why is it empty? With the city running amok, you'd expect people to be escaping this hell hole; or worst-case scenario, laying dead in this underground. But, nothing. Not a single body insight. That's what worries me. I could say the same for the rest of Carlos's team. Which means, whatever is waiting for us out there is greater than what we could imagine.

My knees are getting weaker by the minute, shuffling closer to Carlos as I grasp my gun tight. Fingers nervously fiddling with the indents of the grip; sucking in a cool breath of air and pulling my shoulders back, we press on.

The layout of the underground is intricate and labyrinthine- reaching an intersection every few minutes, but we haven't let our guard down. Turning the last corner, we finally arrived at the main plaza; still remaining empty but the place was already thrashed. Carlos signalled for everyone to spread out and search the area, while I linger next to him. My heartbeat is racing quick as ever since I stepped off the train with the rapid pulse stuck in the back of my throat. He gently touches my arm, worry flash before his eyes but I shook my head. 'I'm fine' I mouthed. He looked at me for a few seconds, unconvinced, but decided not to force it any further. This place is eerily bleak, what was once lively is now filled with desolation. Somehow there's a slight dread and sadness inside me. The noise of metal clanking took my attention away from my surroundings.

"Damn it. The exits blocked." He gave it another shot but the gate shows no sign of budging. A short, heavy breath escapes his nose. I examined his troubled look and spoke out, "I'll go look for a way to open the gate."

He was stunned. "No. I can't let you do this. It too dangerous-"

"Please, I insist. You've helped me enough so let me do this. Even if I am in trouble, you'll come to save me, right?"

Carlos's expression is tense; I can almost see his thoughts rotating, like clockwork, inside his mind. Considering and reconsidering my offer. At last, my words overthrows him. "Okay, but take this." He hands me a palm-size radio, all tattered and taped. "Anything you see, you radio in. And I mean that. If you see one of those things, do not hesitate to shoot. Got it?"

"Yes, sir," I respond, sloppily saluting as I backed away to complete my new objective, continue to traverse down to the backside of the plaza. By the repetition of office doors, this justifies that I'm going in the right direction, but which one? The fluorescent lights blinked abruptly before returning to normal. Seems like the building is getting more unstable, with time quickly ticking away, I should hurry. And by some miraculous luck, I stumbled upon a door that catches my attention. 'Employees Only', this must be it. The door isn't locked but it took a great amount of energy to push a gap open, just enough for me to squeeze through.

Stacks of documents and brick computers blockade the door and next to it; a dead corpse that was once the employee of this place. He must have been dead for 2 hours- top, by the looks of it. The blood forms into a pool around the body and adheres to the sole of my boots. He took the quick way out. A blow to the head with his own pistol, laying dormant in his hand, now motionless in white. Crimson red liquid and shards depicted the blank wall, chunks frozen in place.

"I'm so sorry..."

Choking back my grief, I resume my search and in front of me is my mission objective. Monochromatic screens all tracking specific places of the building. Right on the bigger screen, displays Carlos and his men searching the perimeter. I radio in, "Carlos, come in. I'm in the control room. Hang on, I'll get the gate open."

"Good job. Hurry back and we'll get out-"

The building fades into darkness, heightening my sense of fear in this unfamiliarity. I draw out my gun and tightening my hold like it's my lifeline. My chest stiffens with each shallow breath I took, the effect of the blackout is developing claustrophobia within me. I heaved and the lack of oxygen in my brain cause me to hallucinate all my nightmares, but the image of Carlos flashed vividly in my mind. I took a deep breath and count to three. One...Two...Three... The emergency lights came on before my eyes and my anxiety reverts back to a sense of tranquillity. Talk about timing.

"Carlos? Carlos! Are you okay?" Please tell me he's okay.

No reply.

"Carlos? Are you there? I can't see you." I bit my lip, searching relentlessly on the screen for a trace of him. Just any sign at all.

"Yeah, we're okay. We've taken cover but it's pitch black out here, but...we could only see so much with our flashlight. See if you can get the power back on from your end"

Frantically, I pressed every button presented on the switchboard, nothing seems to be doing the trick. "Negative. I don't think I can do anything from here." All of a sudden, the floor began to rumble. And gradually it became stronger that shook the whole room, files and objects tumble to the ground until it subsides back down again, just like a tank passing by. "What was that?" I said in dismay.

"I don't know..." Coming from the other side of the line, a low growl and heavy footsteps. "But, whatever the fuck that is...It's definitely in here with us now."

In search of the monitor, I glue my eyes to the blurry image shown; even if everything doesn't seem out of the ordinary, my gut feeling is telling me otherwise. Still as a statue, they listened in closely to every motion IT makes. The sound is too quiet to be perceived. Out of the corner of the screen, something whoosh by. Its movements are too fast for me to catch but it's inching closer and closer to the lifeforms. With one swift swipe, it took a man down, and then the next. The claw marks on the wall...it stretches 10 feet wide from point to point, even looking through the screen, the blood is so vividly deep in hue. It crawls in close, but the team is still desperately searching.

It strikes! "Get down!" My voice is shaking down to its core.

They duck, but some did not make it. Their limbs severed; corpse dangling in half on the claw of the monstrous being, still clinging and screaming for their lives and then cease all at once. I shrieked out in horror. The size of that thing knocked the air out of my lungs. This being couldn't possibly be a human?! The zombie creation stood ten times its original size. The exposed skeleton is partially bound by its flesh- all swelled up and tainted, its tail bone morphed to a whip carrying a single-edge blade. Claws digging into the shallow pool of blood as the liquid cascade down the cracks of the marble flooring. The remaining squad open fire, bullets fly and ricochet off the wall. In the brief moment of spark, they lost sight of the target again.

"Shit, where is it?" I can hear the frustration in Carlos's tone.

Their flashlight drifts around the room as the tension sets in. You fear what you can't see, even more so if all you could see is darkness. The beast growls and encircles them, but the squad can't pinpoint where the sound is coming from. Intensity fills your gut as you watch the monitor closely, decoding its every move. After a beat, it leaps.

"Carlos, your 4 o'clock!"

He whips around at the speed of sound as he squeezes the trigger. The blast took impact greater than his expectation, every shot penetrated into its fleshy fibres while it screeched with a chalkboard sound. It struggles to keep a hold of itself up on the pillars as it collapses and tumbles to the ground. Without missing a beat, the team executes the behemoth until it turns into a bloody pulp, killing it with brute force. They inspected the pulverized mess further before they could ease off their defences. As if by command, the power's back on. My stomach turns into a knot. This is strange, but I pay no mind to it.

"Carlos, you alright?" I asked.

"Yeah...that was too close. That thing was too quick... We could've been killed here if it wasn't for you. You were our eyes when we couldn't see so...thank you." I could almost hear him blush at the other end of the line.

"Don't sweat it. Alright, I'm gonna get the gate open." I pulled the lever and watch the gate rise and retracted back through the screen.

"Got it. Now get your ass back he-" THUMP! Something's outside the door, trying to crank it open.

THUMP!

"Carlos? Carlos, someone's trying to get in here." my voice shivers.

"What? What do you mean someo-"

BANG! The door flew open. As an instinct, I drew my gun and aimed it towards them. A team of four heavily armed soldiers dressed in black armoury kicked in, almost like a SWAT team, weapons aimed ready. Without a second thought, I opened two shots on their thighs and calves to buy myself some time. They did not flinch, nor did it cause any pain to them. The unit moved in closer and closer towards my position by the time I made the first punch. My right hook collided with one of the soldier's throat and swiftly transitioned my elbow to another one in between the ribs. But all of that did not matter, my attacks took little effect as they soon surround me, putting me in a lock hold position, hands bound behind my back and dragging me away from the room. I can feel my heartbeat pulsating in my throat while I struggle to break free. Who the fuck are these people? What do they want with me? I don't want this. I'm scared.

"CARLOS!"

His name was the last thing that left my lips before the hooded squad inject my system with some form of liquid. My eyelids grew heavy, I fought back to keep myself awake but alas, the shroud of darkness consumes my mind, taking my soul to a distant world. The next time I wake up, the doors to the pandora's box had already open and it's already too late for me to stop it.

The snickering and one-sided conversation waver into my ear. I can't shift my body, still situated in darkness along with the effect of the drug. The icy metal clasp my limbs tight cemented on either side of my body and unable to produce any strength. The noises stopped and I froze like a deer in the headlights.

"Ah...you're awake. Good, good." The man sneered and carry on muttering in an absence. "You know, I was surprised by your...actions. You all exceeded my expectations. With this data you provided, we could improve on the flaws with our last experiment." He chuckled. "For now, my child, sleep. When you wake up, you'll be born anew again." His words became a slur in my brain, lowering into a hushed tone. Phrases repeat and distorting, just like an echo in an ice cave, cold and enchanting before my conscious slips away once more.

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

"WHAT HAPPENED? HEY, COME IN. HEY!" The statics over on the other line holds its place. "FUCK!" Carlos's voice howls, the thunderous boom stunned the remaining of his teammates. His fists clenched in a fit of rage as he smashes the radio onto the bloodied floor. The radio explodes with shards flying across the hall, some splinters still clinging onto his hand.

"Carlos...umph..." Tyrell struggles, limping its way towards him as he compresses his wound. "The mutated monster...the lights and the locked gate...I don't think it's that simple." he sighs, pushing his glasses back up with his forefinger. "There's only one company that would create such a big experiment. Carlos, listen...you need to stop them."

Carlos shifts to look at him. "T, we still have to meet up with Bravo and we've already lost half of our men. There's no prediction of what's roaming out there."

Tyrell shakes his head, a stern look in his eyes. "No...You've seen what they are capable of, there's no saying what Umbrella might do to next. Go rescue them, I'll handle the rest." He waves him away, still clenched in pain but casually shrugs it off. Carlos conflicted for a short period but ultimately chose to listen to Tyrell. Tyrell gave him a quick pat on his shoulder before Carlos turns away.

[Umbrella's research facility]

The eerie sound of silence fills the whole facility. A silence that stayed constant in your ears, just like the tv sign-off tone. The uneasy feeling never left Carlos's mind as soon as he traverses through the isolated building, gun in position. Walls dressed in white, the distinctive chill in the air and corridors that lead to nowhere. Carlos grew impatient by the minute.

There, at the end of the hallway, lays a door just barely visible for the naked eye. 'Security Room, EMPLOYEES ONLY'. He breaches in; a vast space all clustered with fallen chairs and paperwork, the multiple screens project different rooms within the facility, some looked like its the cafeteria and another resembles a cool storage room with weird pieces of machinery scattered around the place. Yet they are all empty, except one. At the top left-hand corner of the display box, it presents various aqua chambers containing partially mutated humans and failed experiments. And in the centre of that screen, he saw his companion positioned upright on a surgical bed, unconscious and all tied up. But getting there might be difficult without putting up a fight as four heavily armed mercs all gathered outside of the laboratory. Carlos unclips his assault rifle and peeks, the ammunition is barely enough to fight four soldiers; hell, not even four zombies. At this point, every shot counts.

The build-up of sweat in his palm loosened his grip. He examines his hand; trembling and numb with uncertainty, what lies between him and his enemies is just one simple electronic door. Beyond that, someone important is there waiting for him, alive and afraid. Or perhaps they...no. That couldn't possibly be the case. He clutches the handle once more, on the count of three breaths, he bursts in. It only took a split second for bullets to fly across the room, landing hits in the enemies' calves and forearms. Carlos moves in closer before they could react, instantly killing a soldier with one shot under the jaw as blood and plasma spew out onto the ceiling. They return fire, only to hit their ex-partner's lifeless corpse. Carlos thrusts the body towards the two henchmen and staggers them to the ground, he flips; locking the remaining guy pressed up the wall with his entire body, they struggle but was immediately executed with a blow to the head. Blood splattered on Carlos's right shoulder but that didn't faze him. The sound of his assault rifle clicks empty as he saw the two crawling back up. "Tch." His tongue snapped as the gun launched across the room at a high velocity, knocking one in the face and stumbling backwards. Like a chain of effect, they’ve sprawled out on the floor once again. Stepping his right foot on their torso, his gaze shows pity as he ponders over them before pulling out his pistol from the holster.

"Hope you got friends on the other side."

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! The aftermath of those four shots lingers in the room. A mixture of gunpowder and blood made Carlos's stomach twist up in a knot, but he got more important things to worry about. The life of his partner was the only thing that occupied his mind. The final door slides open; revealing a skinny, middle-aged looking man in a fresh set of lab coat, stood in front of a worktable and unaware of his presence. Inside, those hydro chambers stood twice his height with flesh substance floating inside the liquid. Some are just a blob of meat and others have fully transformed into somewhat human-shaped, but all are deformed. Upon closer inspection, one mutated monster's eye pop open. Carlos flinched. He examined around and was shocked to find that they are alive, all of them. What kind of sick joke is this? Is this what I've been fighting? He wondered.

"Admiring my creations, I see. Do you like it?" The man asked.

"Is this what's been running the city into a shitshow? What the fuck is this pharmaceutical company hiding?" He looks around. "Where are they?"

"Ah, yes! My precious little plaything. You're just in time to witness the beginning of my newest creation." The man chuckles, he pressed a button and the sound of machinery begins to whir. The glass cell shifts closer into the room, unveiling you in a comatose state, pretty as a picture. "They are sedated, for now. But soon, they will become humanity’s greatest invention and you will be the first one to witness it. Isn't that something?"

The blood inside him boils; the rage within could not be contained, white-hot magma erupting and coating every strain in his system. He pulled the trigger; the shots punctured through both of the man's legs as he knelt on the floor, screaming in agony. Carlos rushed to your side, unclasping any restrictions and carefully let you lean against the wall.

"Heh...what will you achieve by saving them...? The city's gone rogue...everybody's dead...and yet you couldn't save half your men. So...why bother saving them...the end is nigh!" His manic amusement shakes the whole room to the ground. But, the laughter was cut short and soon, it has been replaced by the clinking of a bullet shell against the hard deck and empty clickings. Gun drops as he struts towards the pathetic slob, straggling in the crimson liquid that's supposed to keep him alive. Well, not anymore. Carlos straddles on top of his weakened body, gaze bore into his soul. He wondered. How could someone like him still be alive? As the world burns and he gets to live? The ability to heal given to this monster and yet, he chose destruction. He must be purged.

The sound of his leather gloves creek as it made the first impact. The feeling of bone to bone seems odd to Carlos but...it excites him. With each hit, the pain pushes him even further, numbing and bruising. It felt right. He pants, the blood spews and paints him in a new shade of violence. The man weakly chuckles.

"The man who fights monsters have become a monster himself. Isn't that irony...?" He coughs, blood spilling out on the edge of his lips.

"Killing humans...how does that feel? Still want to play the hero and save them? With the world on fire and all those lives in your hands...you will only taint them. Lemme tell you a story...do you know what kind of flower blooms the brightest even in the harshest weathers?" Carlos looks at him quizzically.

"Snowdrops. They are the first ones to bloom long before spring comes around...the pure and innocent. At the beginning of time, Snow searched for a colour to borrow... The element admired flowers and their vibrant colours. One day, Snow asked and pleaded for one of the colours from the flowers, but the blossoms denied Snow's request; they felt Snow was too cold and undesirable. The snowdrop, however, felt sorry for Snow and offered it its own colour. It accepted the gift and the element itself became as white as an angel's feathers... To show its gratitude, Snow allowed snowdrops to bloom at the end of each winter with their own protection against the blizzard weather. From then on, Snow and snowdrops exist side-by-side as friends."

He heaves. "Like I said...irony... Their friendship is only a fabrication out of pity. Just like you!" The deathly cackle roams as he chokes on his own spit and blood.

Ears buzzed with white silence, his visions hazed with a red lens filter and heart palpate at an abnormal speed. Carlos felt every ridge of the handle on his knife and takes out his weapon, unhurried. The shiny metal pressed upon the wilting man's oesophagus- with only a little strength, it opened up. Blood spatter across Carlo's face, unflinching. His eyes darkened, tunnel vision focused on the crevice of the wound; there's friction on the thin layer of skin as the sharp edge glides slowly from one end of the neck to another. Carlos finishing him off with a fling of his blade, scattering red all over the wall. Both of his hands grip the handle tight; rising it high above his head, he paused for a moment to look at him one last time, then strikes down into the man's right chest in the speed of light. Pulverising his cardiac organ. He retrieves the knife and repeats over and over again with the red fluid gushes out with each stab until there is nothing left. A monster bathed in his enemy's blood. The man croaks in agony and over a few seconds, it stops. And so does Carlos.

The white noise has been replaced by his own rapid breathing. Thoughts are empty, his gaze quivers yet, he does not fear anything. He felt it...warmth. How did he not notice it? Is this how warm humans feel? He never realised this, this kind of feeling, it's something so different from killing a zombie. He looks down at his own two hands...so red. A smile crept along his face with the feeling of content. In a spark, he burst into a peal of harrowing laughter, vibrating the whole room.

"Carlos...What happened to you?"

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

In my moments of wake, I find myself bestowing my gaze upon a beast gazing back at me with a musing look in his eyes. They're so dark and dire, almost like someone gouged out a part of him and replaced it with something so sinister. He snaps, now truly looking at me through the eyes of the actual Carlos, as if nothing happened.

"You're awake! Good, I was starting to get worried about you. We should probably leave and catch up with Tyrell. They should've called for the extraction by now." Placing his tarnished knife back into the holster, he made his way towards me. My fear of him vanished, he's just like the Carlos I met a few hours ago. Warm and caring. "Let's go." He said, both his arms shifts under my back and behind my knees, picking my weight up with ease. "Get some rest...I wake you up when went get to the rendezvous point." His voice is hushed and the sound of his heartbeat soothes out all my stress. By the time we left the room, I was already drifting between dreamworld and reality.

The sound of his footstep was kept at a constant pace, his movement rocked me side to side, gently without missing a beat. But the further he tread, the temperature in the air got colder and yet I could not feel the wind brushing against me.

"Stay here. I'm gonna fix something real quick." Carlos's body heat left my side and was replaced by the icy touch of a piece of furniture. The mechanical hum occupied my eardrums and everything sound muffled once again. Eyes weakly opened and the sight wasn't what I was expecting. What greets me was four walls made of glass entrapping my body as he stood and watched.

"Carlos...what are you doing? Let me out. Come on...this isn't funny, Carlos. Let me out of here!" I begged.

He shook his head, resting a hand on the glass in front of me, looking at me longingly. "I can't." His words were breathless.

"Why?"

"I made you a promise. And this is the only way for me to protect you...You would be safer here, nothing can hurt you." His thumb grazes something small in his palm. I looked up and saw a room that was surrounded by pieces of machinery and nitrogen tanks, placed accordingly in rows of four. Then, it hit me.

"Don't do this..." I cried. But, it was too late. His thumb clicked on the small device in his hand and soon, a strain of gas misted out from the tubings and masking the entirety of the glass cell, leaving me dazed and numbed as I crawl back to the shivering nothingness.

"I'm sorry...I promise I'll come back for you." His empty words circulated in my ears and through the air as he walked away, leaving me in the darkest den of Umbrella. Cold, afraid and alone; frozen in time without anybody knowing.

And there I was, still as a landscape; living on top on a snowy mountain at the beginning of Spring, as pale as Death herself. Bidding my farewell to him until next Winter comes; when a blanket of snow tops the upside of the greeneries and then, we shall meet again.