#symbion

[evilhorse]

Biker Mice from Mars (Volume 2) #7

[literare-archive]

@symbion : Grasp

there is usually one encounter for each. at least face to face. the true death. and death comes and goes in everyones lives at one point, there is no escaping it for anyone. some are more familiar with it than others. there is no escaping her however. there is no changing it either. no second chances. for most anyways. a few slip through her fingers. a few cheat, and doesn't play by the rules set down so long ago.

fingers curl around her chin and gaze drift up to find his, complying to him for a heart beat. knows chaos had taken a liking to this one, more so than anyone else in their time here. not the reason he stands here now however, no, that was something else entirely. she did not give favors like that. this was someone, something higher up, it would not let him die. would not let her take him.     ❝   careful.   ❞      her voice is soft when she finally speak.

[saintlarue]

* / @symbion / HUMOR CREEPS UP ON HER LIKE A SPOUT RELEARNING ITS ROLE: like a trickle, the sprinkles of a laugh work their way up her throat. for a moment it becomes stuck, plastering itself against her tongue as she sips from her cup -- it escapes as a sputter. it escapes cruel and displaced, misplaced in the fragmented time of conversation. his threat hangs in the air as if held up by a string. the Saint ( ! ), she assumes that it is her fault that it arrived: her own threat [ I am certain that I will push you from myself, someday... ] sits hollow between air and armchair. the promise of platonic removal, as if the plan to snip his friendship from Her was already being formulated, their relationship made discardable. in an instant, she realizes that she does not mean this. she had brought her glass to her mouth, red meeting red, liquid fruited and sour down her throat.

HE SPOKE AFTER A PAUSE, AS IF HE CONSIDERED HER THREAT, REGARDED IT AS MOMENTARILY TRUE. anticipatory cruelty fills her throat the moment his mouth opens, divinity from his holy maw. ❝ you see: I’m not going anywhere, unless you tell me to leave... ❞ he brings his glass to his mouth again, a moment passing as long as a held breath.

❝ -- and even then, we might need to negotiate. ❞

THE VAMPIRISTIC WOMAN, HER INABILITY TO TAKE HIM TRUTHFULLY. her laugh leaves, finally, bitter in taste. wine - tart and red on her tongue, she rises from her chair, reaches over to lift his plate ( cleared off, damn him. ) along with hers; her footsteps to the kitchen are light. the plates clatter in the sink, her sigh following glass tinkling.

❝   that's funny, Henry.  ❞ when she returns to the dining area, her fingers wrap around her abandoned glass. she brings it to her chest and glances towards him, then holds his gaze: a silent, childish dare. ❝   i would rather you not tether me to your existence, at least not in this life.  ❞ in an instant, she turns her humor on its head and becomes serious. her mouth twists downwards, then upwards, then downwards again. ❝   i would rather not have to wrestle with the idea of becoming a bird, desperate for escape... promise me you'll not become a cage in this friendship. we are allies, we're not chained together...

... you can stay the night, if you'd like, though. ❞

[foxtaeil]

the room, packed with extravagant suits and evening gowns, comes to a standstill as the president makes her entrance. she's not sure she'll ever get used to it. she used to see it happen constantly with fitz, but being able to command a room like this all on her own ━━ it's a different feeling. she'd pushed the guest list to the back of her mind. surely he wouldn't be here. liv had sent the invite ━━ she'd had to. or so she'd said, despite mellie's many protests. he wrote the book we're celebrating, she'd insisted. apparently they hadn't heard back, and so she'd deemed herself safe . . . until the locking of gazes from across the room.

she'd begun her pleasantries, welcoming exclusive guests offering their congratulations, when mid - conversation . . . those eyes. just as haunting as the last time she saw them. she averts her attention purposefully, momentarily, and finishes up her remaining greetings before slowly, painfully, she makes her approach. " henry. " aware she's being watched, she offers a smile ━━ convincing to all but those who know her best. " the man of the hour. congratulations. "

@symbion : REUNION : for one muse to run into the other again after a long time.

[soreile]

Arhou Dex #063, Symbion! This Normal-type is the first stage of Arhou's pseudolegendary.

Symbion were once the pets of a clan of mages who summoned powerful Pokemon without Pokeballs. The magic sigils on their bodies are remnants of this lost art.

I can't actually say much about this one on its own but I will have a LOT to say once I post the evolutions. The name comes from symbol + lion + a secret third thing.

[chimeride]

[literare-archive]

@symbion said : stay.

he is so very human in this moment. a bucket of ice water kind of reminder of their differences perhaps. and yet . . . something is drawing her in. something is making her pause, rather than walk on as if she had not heard him. disappear from his life, be nothing but a faint memory. yet, comes to a halt in the doorway. a recipe for self destruction, she is sure. the last couple of hours however, had been something she had surprised herself by enjoying. more than usual. kindred spirits, if one would believe such a thing. usually surround herself with chaos, sometimes deliberately so, all by her lonesome. had been that way ever since she came to be. now, there was someone else. someone that came to find the same thrill in it as she did. someone that understood her, without even trying. without even knowing.

hand is curled around doorframe, tightly gripping the material. turning only half way after a second or two, gaze settled upon him. a unsettling feeling slowly curling through her. and then it disappear, slowly but surely. replaced with a warm sense of comfort. like seeing her own reflection. like seeing herself and not be judged. not be looked down on. company she could do nothing but enjoy. hint of a smile tug at the corner of lips, pointy finger tap against wood, brow raise ever so little. run away. walk out. leave this all behind. there is no hope for a future here. not for her. not for them. the sensible thing to do. of course, she rarely listening to that little voice.     ❝   come with me.   ❞

[saintlarue]

* / @symbion / OH... THE SENSATION OF GRIEF SWELLS HER LIKE A BALLOON TOO BIG. it is a fault of hers, the quickness of attachment that makes her stick like gum on a shoe. she, the ever - elusive woman, allows the solitary creature into her home and becomes sour when it attempts to leave. she believes in overstayed welcomes. she prefers when her hallways are shaking with noise, when commotion drips from her ceiling like a honey trap. it has been the two of them for as long as she remembers. they have occupied her home as two sides of a coin, jagged and smooth at once. the Saint ( ! ) looks over to her friend and sees another holy creature, untouched by her grime, unspoiled by hungry rot. when he tells her he must leave, it seems as if the world threatens to end. ❝   oh.  ❞ begins she, the first syllable acting as a pin - drop. the teacup she holds is set down against its corresponding saucer, its rim lightly dusted with a lipstick stain. she repeats herself, Oh., as if his news of exiting has startled her. ❝   have you finally gotten bored of my company, Sunbeam ?  ❞

the endearment hangs in the air as a thread, tense in its removal from her tongue. she tries to make it gentle with a small smile, but the surrounding syllables betray her: inside her gut is a churning hunger, a need of destruction. they stand at the same time, him to address the door and her to pretend to be hostess. she watches as he grabs his coat and rests it against his shoulders, makes no movement to offer him any leftovers from the night before. You've eaten enough of my food to last two winters, she chides, though she disappears into the kitchen and returns with a small bowl of something green. Take this. Wash it before you return it.

IT IS HIS TURN TO SPEAK: one arm wraps around her and she does not stop it. quickly, as a swinging door, she is pulled inwards for a swift hug, her mouth finding his cheek in a friendly peck. he brings it out of her, this want for friendship, this reserved affection. against the hug, he makes a promise, makes her promise things in return. ❝ Be safe. Be well. I’ll write soon. ❞

THE PROMISE, A PROMISE IN HER MIND, PRESSES TO THE AIR. it sticks there, lingers for a while, then vanishes. ❝   do you promise ?  ❞ says the vampiristic woman, though she appears more girl than grown. with a single step does she move away from him, arms against her shoulders as if protecting herself. ❝   promise me that you will write. or else, i'll have to keep your fingers here with me.  ❞