#tagging for crystal cluster

[mewos-laptop]

Heeyyyyy guysssss so Astro is back fyi.

Xey're at @/antiendoking if you wanna block xem 👍

He's leaning heavily into the "social experiment" bullshit, so he's not gonna interact w any1 unless they interact w him first, so dw abt harassment hopefully, but don't engage him, either

Just block his ass and ignore him. Don't give him more content, just block him

[mobian-cats]

Lalala I love being endo lalala me and my sysmates are kissing lalala I played wq without permission. Oh no that meanie guy keeps coming bsck to Tumblr lalala I love having him blocked. Lalala~

[the-crystal-femmes]

Actually the reason why I don't know how to tell my friend I'm Rose in an up front way is because we would spend HOURS just completely fucking talking shit about her and I feel horrible because

A) why was I doing that anyway? Was it because I was upset about what source me did to everyone?

B) Now that's just self hatred because I AM Rose.

Also my friend has admitted to thinking source Rose is pretty and I am mildly uncomfortable about even if I'm aware he was referring to source /lh

[underground-skelecats]

Gosh this is amazing

Merry Xmas

My (second) favorite part cpau for christmas

Reaper belongs to renrink

Geno belongs to loverofpiggies

[lillysys]

empty post for mutual tag adding

[plasmaglacious-dndendtotem]

Every time i hear about an integration/fusion and death in another system I'm going to split another couple of alters to cope. I'm already trying to have a controlled split because of this spliting season I cannot fucking do this. This is going to give us a panic attack/break down the moment i have more of front. after we already dealt wiht me breaking own yesterday./nbh/just venting into the void.

[funlovingfuzzball]

Cool white feels like it’s the equivalent of sex with broken glass involved. I know people who’d be into that. Not being into sex in general, I personally think the one that doesn’t sound physically painful to me is the default winner.

This may be purely because my sensory processing disorder. No, also my migraines. Basically, cool white is physically painful to me just in general life, so presumably it would be here too. I do not get the appeal. (Yes I do have tumblr on the low contrast classic setting, why do you ask? Lol)

You can explain yourself in the tags and in fact I hope you do.

[mewos-laptop]

ASTRO'S BEEN TERMINATED FOR THE FIFTH TIME, LETS GO

[haretobeloved]

this DIVA.....

[mere-vanilla]

Here it is! I made a very rough first try at the Silver Crystal pendant from the Sailor Moon manga. I used a multi-tool pair of pliers, due to my other tools being in storage.

Image description: three cell phone photos of a glass prism pendant attached to a station chain. The necklace is overlaid on pages of the Sailor Moon manga where the Silver Crystal pendant is most visible, so as to see the similarities and differences in each. End image description.

[lcvemiyuki]

"in proximity" | hq, ushijima

content: ushijima asking for help on English is one thing--him sitting just inches away from you is another

tags+warnings: fluff, ushijimaxfem!reader, thirdyear!ushijima, tendou+semi appearance, not proofread

character(s): ushijima

word count: 1.6k

a/n: im sorry in advance this was written on the bus LMAO

Brown shoes pattered as the students of Shiratorizawa started to cluster in the slightly filled classroom. It was lunch break, and you decided to stay in with your feet bouncing slightly and earbuds in, the music blasting so loud it could be heard from the external world. It was so loud you didn’t pick up on the dress shoes cladding on the wooden floor. You were so focused on reading up the next lesson for English that you didn’t feel a tall, looming presence in front of the desk.

“[Y/N].”

A few more seconds passed until an unknown hand plucked your right bud out of your ear.

The muted classroom suddenly filled your hearing, and the chatter of classmates could be heard crystal clear. Your eyebrows furrowed at the action, and you trailed your eyes to follow up the cladded arm until you reached a calm, yet slightly tilted head.

Wakatoshi Ushijima.

Your mouth clamped shut with only a slight hum in response to the stunned and sudden intrusion of the ace on your academy’s precious volleyball team.

Your puzzled expression had you blinking your eyes more than usual, causing him to only slightly clear his throat.

“I know you may not know me, but you’re [Y/N], right?” His expression remained unchanged as if carved from stone. It almost felt like you were in deep trouble with how a million eyes darted right at the two of you.

After quickly glancing around the now hushed classroom, you peered back up at him and nodded, “Of course, I know who you are, Ushijima-san.”

The pressure of possibly being the next target of rumors in the upcoming week terrified you. It was astonishing at the rate and creativity these students could create over the slightest piece of information.

He only nodded in return and began to rummage through the black book bag slung across his body. It took him a moment to finally find what he was looking for, and he stretched out his unwavering hand to reveal another English textbook.

“I was hoping you could tutor me for the upcoming finals.”

“Huh?” You quickly zipped your lips shut as the thoughts in your head blurted out.

Okay, that really stumped you; your eyes scanned the area for some sort of snicker or nudge of the arms as a sign of a prank.

But that wasn’t part of his nature, was it—no, he meant business with how his sandy-brown eyes never left yours.

It wasn’t like he was trying to hide it either. His voice was crystal clear and projected enough for everyone to chime in. You would expect that from the volleyball captain, yet he still needed your help with English.

“What do you need help with?” you continued.

There was a short pause as he suddenly moved away from your gaze, his hand reaching out for a vacant chair and pulling it up next to you. The slightly grating sound of the chair legs scraping against the wooden floor paused any remaining conversation in the classroom, drawing all eyes to the two of you.

His sudden presence filled your senses in seconds as his side profile came into view. The scent of fresh laundry lingered in the air as he was near. You could see the fine details of his chiseled jawline, and the determined set of his brow. Up close, it was no surprise he looked even more handsome.

Suddenly, your palms felt a little sweaty, and the room got a little warmer.

His intense focus and proximity made it hard to breathe steadily. His huge frame caused him to lean back on the small wooden chair, making it creak slightly under his weight. Meanwhile, your frame remained sort of uptight, your back straight as a rod, in fear you might accidentally touch him.

The sheer size of him was overwhelming; his broad shoulders seemed to take up more space than the chair allowed, and his legs spread slightly to accommodate his height. His arm brushed lightly against yours as he reached forward, causing a spark of electricity to shoot up your spine.

He placed the blue textbook next to yours, his large, calloused hands moving with surprising gentleness. Flipping to a certain page, he revealed a passage that had been neatly bookmarked, as if he already knew exactly what he needed help with. The text was underlined and annotated in pencil, showing his efforts to understand it on his own.

His voice, low and steady, broke the silence. "I figured you would be the best to tutor me."

He glanced over at your in-progress notes, his gaze unwavering and thoughtful. The closeness of his presence made the air around you feel charged, every small movement amplified your heightened awareness.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. "I... I’d be happy to help, Ushijima-san."

He nodded appreciatively, his stoic expression softening ever so slightly. “Thank you. I won’t take much of your time. It’s quite difficult to find time after school to study.”

As you started to explain the notes you had been working on, you couldn't help but feel the weight of his gaze on you. It was intense like he was studying every word you said, every movement you made.

The sliding door abruptly slammed open, the force of it causing a few heads to turn in surprise. An overly excited redhead waltzes into the room, a completely annoyed companion trailing behind him.

“I thought I saw ya in the window while walking past, Ushi!” Tendou explained, his mouth wide open with a pearly-white smile, eyes gleaming with mischief. His voice echoed through the now silent classroom, making sure everyone knew of his arrival.

Ushijima barely reacted, his focus still on the textbook in front of him, but a faint sigh escaped his lips. You, on the other hand, jumped slightly in your seat, your eyes widening at the sudden intrusion.

Tendou stopped just inside the doorway, leaning against the frame with a casual, almost theatrical air. Semi stood beside him, his expression shifting into one of mild entertainment at the sight. “And look who you’re with! [Y/N], right?” Tendou’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he peered over in your direction, taking in the view of the English textbooks and your notes spread across the desk.

You nodded, trying to compose yourself. “Yes, that’s right.”

Tendou grinned wider, not moving from his spot. “Tutoring, huh? Just like we sai—uh, thought so!” He straightened up slightly, trying to awkwardly save himself from the slip-up. His eyes darted everywhere as he looked around, trying to gauge the room’s reaction.

The ash-blonde friend next to him raised an eyebrow in amusement, then let out a small scoff, clearly entertained by Tendou's ridiculous attempt to cover up his mistake.

Ushijima glanced at his teammates, his expression unchanging as he blinked up at the two.

“Yes, that’s right.” he parrots you as he responds to Tendou.

Tendou chuckled, his voice carrying easily across the classroom. “Well, we wouldn’t want our star player struggling with finals, would we?” He shot you a teasing grin before wiggling his eyebrows.

Tendou clapped his hands together, the sound startlingly loud in the quiet room. “Alright! Let’s go and nourish our starving bellies, Semi-pooh,” he cooed, waving a hand towards the sliding door.

Semi’s eye twitched as he muttered a curse word under his breath. “Don’t call me that,” he grumbled, his annoyance clear, but he still followed Tendou out of the classroom.

As they left, Tendou continued to chatter animatedly, his voice fading as they walked down the hallway. Semi’s occasional responses, a mix of chuckles and sighs, echoed faintly back into the room.

You were left there dumbfounded in your chair as you couldn’t help but glance back at Ushijima. He, on the other hand, resumed his notes like nothing had happened.

‘Huh, that was weird.’

You decided not to think anything of it.

𓇢𓆸 Later that day

“I told you to sit across from her, not next to her!” Tendou’s voice echoed out from the locker room, a blend of exasperation and amusement in his tone.

Ushijima glanced up from his phone, intrigued. Tendou’s rants were a familiar occurrence, but this time, there was a sharpness to his words that captured Ushijima’s attention.

“You were practically crowding her! I could feel the awkward tension all the way from the doorway!” Tendou continued, his arms waving dramatically as he paced back and forth. His eyes were wide with mock horror, clearly relishing the chance to tease his stoic friend.

“I thought it would be more efficient,” Ushijima said, his brow knitting slightly.

Tendou snorted, laughter reverberating in the confined space. “Efficient, huh? Sure, let’s go with that.” He gave Ushijima a knowing look, his eyes narrowing with playful suspicion. “Come on, Ushi, we both know why you really wanted to sit next to her.”

Ushijima’s expression remained impassive. “I respect her intelligence.”

Tendou’s grin broadened, his enjoyment evident. “Mhm? And you wanted to be close to her too~”

Ushijima’s gaze dropped back to his phone, his fingers idly tapping the screen as he sat on the dark wooden bench, his posture relaxed.

“That’s why I suggested you ask her for help,” Tendou said, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he leaned against the lockers. “You needed an excuse to spend time with her.”

The room was filled with the familiar silence Tendou was accustomed to.

He clapped Ushijima on the shoulder, his cue that he was taking off. “You’ll get the hang of it. Just remember to give the lady a little space next time.”

Ushijima remained seated on the bench, fingers navigating to his contact list. At least he got one thing right: asking for your number.

want more?

⤷ masterlist.

[mewos-laptop]

"Urrrmmm guys,,,, this system has an alter who's a kid and knows they're gay or trans :((("

Homeboy do you,,, do you know that sometimes kids who AREN'T headmates are, get this, GAY OR TRANS ?????

Me and the homies undiagnosing bc our agre alter happens to be a lesbian and use xenogenders 😔😔😔😔 /silly, nay

GIGGLING SO HARD AT THE BINGO BOARDS YOU FILLED OUT I'M FUCKING CLOBBERGONKED AT ALL OF THOSE FUCKING BOXES 💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀 /silly

"Urrrmmm, knows who's in front 🙄" tell me you know nothing abt how systemhood works 🤨 /nay, silly

-Mewo and probably Sunday lurking

YES AHHAHAHA- also "pluralkit is a disability aid 🤣🤣🤣" king i dunno how to tell you this but.. /silly /nay

[rubyin-wonderland]

Swimming

opla!Zoro x gn!reader

Summary: a day at the beach can be fun, until you can't participate in certain aquatic activities

WC: 3.3k

Warnings/tags: feeling left out, reader has a devil fruit and can't swim (my knowledge might be innacurate, sorry), one suggestive comment, nothing too bad she's fluffy, Zoro is an attentive bf because I said so

You sat on the beach, on a towel, looking out at the shining sea, crystal blue waters lapping at the shore.

The sand clung to your feet, wet from your earlier adventure into the shallows. A small collection of pretty shells and rocks sat next to you, scrounged up from the pebbled water. You leaned back on your arms, feeling the water on your legs slowly drip down onto the yellow sands. It was a perfect beach. If someone were to tell someone to imagine the perfect beach, it would not look unlike this.

A bright blue sea, layers of foam where the land met the shore and where light waves peak. A field of sand, lively yellow with a hint of brown to dull the vibrancy. On the edge of the sand, a line of palm trees that faded into a lush forest. You could hear birds deep in the forest squawking at each other, that accompanied with the sound of gentle water drifting in and out in waves making a gorgeous soundscape for your ears.

You looked out at the sea and smiled. All but one of your crewmates swam in the water, splashing each other, having fun.

You enjoyed watching them having their fun, but you still felt the ache of missing out. Luffy was off chasing a brightly coloured bird down the sand, not as bothered by his exemption from this activity.

You admired his optimism. You wished you could be less unhappy with your situation. You supposed he was more used to not being able to swim and would reasonably be more willing to let his crew have fun while he split off.

You still felt wrong. You were supposed to be in the water, like you were last time. Before that day. Before everything changed.

A lot of things had changed, and you still weren't used to it. Sometimes you felt yourself getting angry or excited, and had to calm yourself before you got out of control.

You had changed a lot. You felt strange in your body, now wielding a power you still worried about when your emotions ran high. However, that was not your concern at the moment. You were mostly grieving your swimming. You had loved to find yourself in the water, but due to your new situation, you were no longer capable of doing it.

You had loved the way everything seemed to slow down when you were in the water, the gentle waves around your body, pushing you towards the shore, the way the feeling stayed with you even on land, and the naps you used to take on the beach afterwards, waterlogged and happy. You missed it terribly.

Despite your pain about the situation, you refused to voice it. You weren't going to ruin everyone else's beach day because you couldn't swim.

The rest of the day had been fine, most of the time spent on the sand, or in the shallows, but the group wanted to go deeper, and you couldn't. Your boyfriend, Zoro, had decided to stay at first, joining you in your attempt to sunbathe, he even took a small nap, but you refused to let him miss out on the beach day because of you, even if you selfishly wanted him to.

You watched the fun from afar as the crew played in the water, a cluster of heads bobbing up and down in the water, moving back and forth. You watched as Zoro and Sanji's heads moved away from the group and swiftly returned. A race. You saw a few playful splashes exchanged between the group and Nami being hefted onto Sanji's shoulders for whatever reason.

You missed splashing the others. You missed being challenged to races and making excuses as to why you lost. You missed everything.

You must've looked disappointed, because Zoro split off from the group, trudging up the beach and kneeling in front of your towel.

His shirt was off, which made you feel a little better, seeing the trails of water shining on his bare skin. He had been shirtless the whole day in order to soak up the sun's rays of course, but he was currently covered in water, which was dripping down his body and reflecting the sun. He was shiny. Your eyes trailed over the muscles moving under his shiny skin and you smiled faintly, looking up at his face. "Hey."

"Hey yourself, what's wrong?" He spent no time trying to pretend he thought you were alright. It was apparently very evident that you weren't having fun, as his eyes searched yours. You didn't want to make him feel guilty for being able to indulge in something you couldn't, or ruin his fun by moping on the shore.

Your eyes looked guiltily towards the ground as you futilely tried to make up some stupid excuse and lie that there was nothing wrong. He just lowered his head so he could continue looking at you.

"It's nothing, Zoro. I'm just being weird." You gave him a half hearted smile, trying to convince him that you weren't upset.

That wasn't good enough for him. He leaned forward, until his forehead pressed against yours, looking up at you, and it made your heart flutter. "Zoro, you're dripping on me." You said through a hiccup of a laugh, a little flustered by his action, but making no move to push him away. He continued to lean forward and gently pushed you to the ground. You were grateful for the towel between you and the sand.

"Zoro." You tried to scold him but you couldn't help but let out a laugh after his full weight fell on you. You could feel the water soaking through your clothes. "Zoro, you're getting me wet."

"What's wrong?" He asked again, head resting on your chest. "Tell me and I'll get off." Both of you knew that he would get off if you asked him plainly, but it was a small bit of incentive for you to tell him.

"I miss swimming." He nodded on your chest, but didn't get up just yet. You struggled to find the right way to phrase how you felt. "I love my powers, they're cool and all, but I miss what it was like beforehand." You took a deep breath, ready to voice something you had yet to say out loud. "Sometimes I wish I hadn't eaten that Devil fruit."

It was well known amongst the crew that you had no choice but to eat it. At the very least, you had no choice if you wanted to save your crew, which you obviously did.

Even then, it had not been easy for you to do it. Knowing the risks and consequences, the responsibility and the pain. You still got thanks for saving the crew that day. For sacrificing your safety on the sea in exchange for the control of winds so strong they could flip a ship upside down.

You felt Zoro press a kiss to your neckline, leaving the skin wet. "I'm sorry."

He had never been good with words, but he was always able to show you his affection with his actions. Before your official beginnings as a couple, he had helped you with chores, fought close to you and even dared to talk with you, albeit about casual topics. His love language had always been acts of service and you had never forgotten it once during the length of your relationship.

He knew it too, which was why he tended to communicate his emotions with actions as opposed to words. It was easier for him.

You kissed his head in return, slicking his wet hair back first. "It's not your fault. I'd do it again one million times." You ran your fingers through the short green hair, gathering little drops of water in your fingers and flicking them into the sand. You felt him relax on you, as your fingers went through his hair over and over again. He hummed happily and you supposed he did it because nobody else was around to hear his moment of weakness.

You messed up his hair when you were done playing with it, and lightly tapped his shoulders.

"Don't let me ruin your fun, Zoro. Go back out there, merman, swim all you want." He shook his head firmly, but got up, your shirt now thoroughly soaked through and clinging to your skin. "Come with me." He insisted. "I can't swim." "I can."

Despite your confusion, he got you to strip down to the swimsuit you had on, originally to make it easier to wade as deep as you could without getting your other clothes soaked, but Zoro had already ruined that by practically using you as a towel.

Zoro turned around, exposing his back for you, legs bent, and told you to climb on. Despite your confusion, you obeyed, stepping on his thighs to push yourself up higher.

Your arms linked around his neck, legs crossed around his stomach. Your head nestled in next to his, your nose barely brushing his ear.

"You ready?" He asked. You pressed a kiss to the side of his neck in response. "Let's do this."

He walked in at first, and he was holding your legs up, but had to let go when he was about waist deep.

When he leaned forward to swim into the deeper area where the rest of your friends were convened, you moved your head beside his so that he could lift his head up to breathe. He wasn't used to swimming with someone on his back, but he adapted to it quickly. The water barely made it to your back, but your front half was completely submerged, and you pulled yourself closer to Zoro.

When he met up with the others, he straightened up again, standing on the sandy floor, allowing you to be submerged up to your shoulders. You held on tight, even though the water still wasn't that deep. If you fell under, any one of them was more than capable of retrieving you and getting you back to Zoro, or if need be, drag you to shore.

"Look who's here." Nami smiled, and you felt like you could breathe easier. You were in the water again. You resisted the urge to detach from Zoro and stand on the ground yourself, aware that if you did so, you would be helpless against the will of the sea.

"You okay?" Nami asked, looking a little worried for you. Obviously this was not an ideal situation, but she wasn't going to openly oppose what was clearly working.

"Yeah." You breathed shakily, still a little nervous yourself about the vastness of the ocean and how quickly you could be lost in it. The thought made you shiver, but you played it off as if the temperature of the water was what was bothering you, having just got up from the warm sand and hot sun.

Usopp splashed you first, sneaking up behind you with a puddle of water cupped between his hands that he flung at the back of your head, splashing your hair. You looked around to see him duck under the water and swim to the other side of the group, pretending nothing happened. You tightened your fist and a small gust of wind pushed a wave of water onto him at your command, soaking him entirely.

You felt the vibrations of Zoro's laughs under your hold as more splashes of water were exchanged. At first the splashes at you were smaller, they didn't want to make you or Zoro go under, but they soon realized that neither of you would be going down without a fight. Small splashes become waves of water that you sent back eagerly with the aid of your wind. You were laughing by the end, as water dripped from your face, hair and shoulders, leaving you completely drenched.

The water surrounding you weakened you a small bit, but not enough to deter you from your amusement. You were having too much fun to call it quits.

"Hey!"

The call came from the beach. The group turned to see what was going on, Zoro grabbing hold of your legs with one hand, your arms with the other as he turned around, making sure you didn't fall off.

On the beach, Luffy stood, looking out at the congregation, though he hardly looked upset to be missing out. He looked at you with a gleam in his eye and a smile on his face. "I want to go in too!"

Without another word from your captain, Sanji took off and let Luffy climb up on his back as Zoro had done with you, arms around his shoulders, legs crossed around his stomach. Sanji swam back in, and the crew was reunited in the ocean.

The day went on, more than enough fun was had, and as the water began to prune fingers and tiredness took over, the crew slowly left the water to go dry off, one by one, until you and Zoro were the only ones left.

You were tired as well, and definitely pruned, but the feeling of the water around you was too comforting to miss.

The sun had begun to set, painting the sky in a variety of warm colours that were reflected on the sea, creating a lovely view.

Your head rested on your arm, leaning against Zoro's head. He had refused to leave until you wanted to, weathering the conditions for your comfort and amusement.

"Enjoying the water?" Zoro asked as you watched the sunset. "Yes. Thank you." "It's nothing." He insisted. "It's nice." "Anyone capable of carrying you should do it." He brushed aside the praise with a huff. "I know some who could but wouldn't. You would. That's what matters. You're good Zoro. The sooner you admit it, the better."

You felt him sigh under you, but you could tell it was a good sigh. The kind he did when he saw your crewmates getting in an argument and he found it amusing. The kind he did after a good drink of sake. The one he did after falling away from your lips deep in the night, your name coming out in satisfied breaths.

Your heart beat faster and you wondered if he could feel it against his back the way you could feel the way he breathed and the vibrations of his voice.

When the sun was nearly gone over the horizon, a majority of the sky was purple, nearing deep blue, as vast and merciless as the depths of the ocean, The crew started a bonfire on the shore.

You saw this and decided it would be best to leave soon and huddle around the comforting warmth of the fire when a thought wormed its way into your brain.

Even though you were alone in the water, you wanted to try something. "Can I try standing in the water?" You asked softly. You could feel Zoro tense under you at the idea. "Are you sure?" He sounded reasonably doubtful, having saved you from the water before. "I know. I just want to try."

He stayed still for a moment, struck with indecision. He didn't want to risk it, but he knew that you wanted to do this. That you missed this. So he was going to support you.

And so, after wading to a slightly shallower area, he let you unwrap your legs from around his body, hanging on to him by his neck, letting your feet touch the sand, most of your body supported by the arms around his neck. He reached an arm around and moved you around so the two of you were face to face. He held out his arms so that he could catch you if necessary.

When your arms dropped from his neck and you put your full weight on your legs, they failed, and you sunk into the water.

Zoro tried to catch you as you went down, but you sank too fast, like a giant stone, going down faster than you expected. You felt helpless as your back touched the sandy sea floor and a little silly for requesting something that was obviously rigged to fail.

Zoro fell into the relatively shallow water and grabbed you from the sandy ground. You wanted to wrap your arms around him when he reached down so you could hold him on your way up, but the curse of the sea kept you from doing anything but sit limply at the bottom, waiting for help.

Zoro pulled you up above the surface, draping your arms over his shoulders. As soon as you felt strong enough to move them, you wrapped them tightly around his neck. His one arm reached up to hold the back of your head, the other under your legs as they wrapped back around him. On the beach, the patrons of the bonfire were alerted to your fall, all of them standing at the shore, feet in the water, prepared to get you if needed.

They all stood ankle deep in the water, watching the scene, and you waved a weak hand in the air to show them that you were alive, and no less worse for wear.

Zoro buried his face in the nape of your neck and held you tightly to him, arms wrapping around your back, holding you tight. "I think we should go back." You coughed out quietly, feeling the way his heartbeat had sped up.

"I think so too."

He brought you back from the water, not even bothering to move you back around. When you reached the shore he let you go, and you stepped onto the dry sand, legs stabilizing on proper land.

Zoro stayed next to you as the two of you walked towards the fire the crew had started up. They all looked nervous as you came over, like they wanted to ask why you fell, but weren't sure how to say it. You felt bad about startling them.

Nobody said anything about it and you were thankful for that, even though you knew they were all thinking about it.

In the light of the fire, you curled up next to Zoro, pressed as close as you possibly could be. He had wrapped his towel abound both of your shoulders while the two of you sat on your towel. You tentatively kissed his cheek before whispering in his ear. "Thank you for taking me out there." He looked at you when you moved away. "I'll do it again a million times as long as it makes you happy."

He looked back to the fire as if what he said meant nothing. And you supposed that, to him, it might have been nothing. A simple expression of what he was willing to do for you. No problem. But it was everything to you. You felt tears prickle at the corners of your eyes. "I love you."

"I love you too." He looked over when your breath hitched. "Why are you crying?" "Because you said you'd do that for me as long as it made me happy." "That's what I'm supposed to do." "I know. But I'm glad anyways." "If sitting in the water with you on my back is what makes you happy, I'll do it."

You rested your head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry about falling in." "Nothing to be sorry about. Luffy falls in every other day." You stayed quiet. "And you had a strong swordsman to look out for you." You could hear the soft, proud smile in his voice.

You smiled. "I know. I'm very lucky to have you." "Not nearly as lucky as I am to have you." He pressed a kiss to your forehead, and in that moment, you felt a warmth spread through you, just as a light gust of wind blew over the beach, and for the first time in a very long while, you felt like yourself again.

[zraiusxo]

Part 4 for "A Game of Composure" please. :) I forgot how beautiful works like these are even without smut, I appreciate your writing so much, it's so novel worthy! Made me realize that fanfictions don't need smut to be well written and interesting. You're so underrated, I'm actually so shocked you're not getting hundreds of likes yet. But I wish you the best of luck, I know you're gonna get there some day! <3

♡ aww thank you so much anon! thank you for the kind words. i appreciate it a lot and it motivates me to keep writing! though i started writing on impulse whenever i got high, now i find it enjoyable thanks to you all. hope you like this one, enjoy! :3 ♡ tags: @isolde-zoe @hangesdeadcomrades @owo-teabag @morphids @primaddona-girl ♡ comment if you'd like a tag on my hange fics! also if you haven't yet, read the parts before this. ^^

A Game of Composure ,, Older Hange Zoë x Younger Fem!reader (4)

The evening unraveled like silk, steady and sumptuous, but Hange’s mind was a flurry of static. They hadn’t taken their eyes off Y/N since the moment she entered the room, dressed like some velvet vision in black, drawing men to her like moth to a flame. And even now, after the subtle claim they made by sending the curious businessman away—Hange remained coiled tight beneath the measured veneer.

But Y/N didn’t make it easy.

She never did.

She remained by Hange’s side, yes, but she didn’t hang onto them like a trophy on her arm. She spoke to others when addressed, she smiled at compliments—though never too widely—and she tilted her head and nodded when someone shared a story, that perfectly bored expression feigned just enough to pass as polite. Her elegance wasn’t an affect; it was a natural consequence of her self-possession. It was why Hange couldn’t look away.

They stood together near a stretch of the hall where the chandeliers dimmed to a gentle amber. Soft music floated through the space, and the press of bodies in formalwear moved like a gentle tide, each cluster of conversation shifting rhythmically.

Erwin passed by at one point, giving Hange and Y/N a subtle nod and a ghost of a smile before disappearing again into his own web of connections.

“I’d ask if you’re enjoying yourself,” Hange murmured under their breath, breaking the silence between them, “but you’ve never struck me as the type to do anything so… mundane.”

Y/N didn’t look up at Hange who stared down at her with an intense gaze, instead watching the banquet hall over the rim of her wine glass. “And you’ve never struck me as the type to get possessive.”

Hange’s gaze narrowed. “I’m not possessive.”

She turned towards them, that same maddening calm on her face. “You sent away a man who asked to speak to me. That’s a strange way to spell ‘possessive.’”

Hange leaned against the marble counter lining the wall, arms crossing loosely. “He didn’t want to speak to you. He wanted to flatter you into pretending he was interesting.”

“And you think you’re the exception?” Y/N asked with a raised brow.

“I know I am.”

That earned them a small laugh from her—low and brief, but genuine.

“You’re bold tonight, Doctor.”

“I had a month to think.”

Y/N set her glass down with a quiet clink. Her voice softened just enough to be heard beneath the music. “So did I.”

They didn’t speak for a moment. Hange watched her profile—sharp, serene, achingly young and yet composed in a way most their age never learned to be.

Y/N’s expression gave nothing away, but her hands—slim fingers brushing over the rim of her glass—were too still, too measured.

"You know," Hange began, their voice lower now, "you play this game better than most seasoned politicians."

Y/N’s lips quirked. "I imagine that’s meant to be a compliment."

“It is. It just makes me wonder what you’re hiding under all that control."

She didn’t answer right away. Her gaze lifted to the massive chandelier above them, crystals refracting specks of light across her face like fragments of stained glass. When she finally spoke, her voice was composed but deliberate.

“I grew up around individuals who thought power was something to be taken. I learned early on that power isn’t seized—it’s given. And people give it to the ones who don’t ask for it. They give it to the quiet ones. The ones who never seem to need anything.” She started.

Her sharp piercing eyes turned to Hange, tilting her head to the side slightly. “But wanting, that’s a different thing.”

That made Hange pause.

The answer was unexpected. Not because it was eloquent—Y/N was always that—but because it rang with something they rarely heard from her: honesty.

A revelation wrapped in velvet. Hange hummed, observing her again, but this time differently. As if the mask had slipped, even for a moment.

“I see,” Hange said, their tone more serious now. “So you let people see what they want to see.”

“I let people think they see something,” she corrected.

“And what do you think I see?” Hange asked.

Y/N turned toward them, her sharp eyes calm but unreadable. “I think you want to see what’s underneath. I think you’re smart enough to know it’ll take time. And arrogant enough to think I’ll let you.”

For once, Hange didn’t have a clever response ready. The air between them felt charged, thick with something heavier than flirtation.

“And if I’m patient?” they asked eventually.

“Then you might just see what they don’t,” she countered. “But you’ll have to stop sending men away like some territorial animal.”

Hange chuckled, shoulders relaxing. "Noted."

Before anything else could be said, an unwelcomed voice cut in.

“Miss L/N.”

They turned to see Marie approaching.

Of course.

She looked pristine as ever—her emerald green gown tight across the bodice, her jewelry understated but expensive. Her smile was far too polite.

“I was surprised to see you again,” Marie said, eyes flitting briefly toward Hange before settling back on Y/N with a challenging look in her eyes.

Y/N’s expression remained cool, meeting Marie's gaze with equal intensity. “Yes, I was invited.”

Marie’s voice lowered slightly, just enough to come off as intimidating but loud enough for Hange to hear. “Well. I’m sure your… presence is always appreciated. Especially by the older crowd.”

A small hum vibrated against Y/N's red-stained lips, but didn’t rise to it. “It seems so. Though I’m sure you don’t have to rely on insinuation to be remembered.”

Marie blinked.

A faint smile tugged at Hange’s lips, but they said nothing. This was Y/N’s fight, and she wielded silence like a blade.

Marie continued, undeterred. “You know, some of us worked very hard to build our place here. Years of study, internships, research. Not everyone has the luxury of just… being interesting because they’re young.”

Hange’s jaw tightened. Y/N didn’t flinch.

“That’s true,” Y/N replied calmly. “But not everyone can make people listen without shouting. I suppose we all use what we have.”

There was a beat of silence. Marie’s smile tightened, but she gave a small nod before turning away, heels clicking with restrained fury.

Hange exhaled slowly. “That was brutal.”

“I was being polite,” Y/N said, picking up her glass again.

“You were being surgical.”

Y/N glanced at them. “You don’t like her.”

“She doesn’t like you.”

“I noticed.”

“And the age thing?” Hange asked.

“I expected that too.” She glanced up at them, her gaze sharp but curious. “Does it bother you?”

“Not in the way she hopes.”

Y/N smirked, bringing the wine glass to her already red-stained lips. “Good.”

They stood like that for a while, letting the sounds of the banquet drift around them.

“So,” Hange said at last, voice gentler now. “When this is over, would you let me take you somewhere quieter? Just the two of us. No flattery. No businessmen. No Marie.”

Y/N looked up at them, the smile on her lips slowly fading. “Ask me again when I’m not surrounded by men in thousand-dollar suits.”

Hange chuckled softly. “Got that.”

But the promise hung in the air. And neither of them planned to let it go.

♡ not my favorite because it was super rushed due to me being too busy with my finals and other personal things to come up with something better, had to get high just to write this. can't function without it at this point. but i promise it'll get better! pinky promise. :3

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

Weaponized | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Part Fifteen

← Previous Chapter Next Chapter →

Words: ~5,000

Series Tags/Warnings: Violence, Trauma, No Hogwarts House, Post Hogwarts, Auror!Sebastian, Auror!MC, Modern AU, Female Reader Insert, Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Forced Proximity, Ancient Magic, Mutual Pining, Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Betrayal, Reconciliation, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Divergent

Beta: @dreamy-gal-30 !!!

Auror Division Headquarters, Operations Wing – London

Your boots hit the polished tile with a hollow echo as you stepped back through the Ministry threshold, the fluorescent lights washing every corner in sterile gray. It was Saturday. Your two-week leave was over. Rotation had resumed.

And somehow, the place felt foreign, like a uniform you’d outgrown without realizing. Because somewhere in the last fourteen days, you’d lost the one thing that used to make this work: the knack for keeping mission and emotion in separate, airtight boxes.

You tried to slam the lids shut now, but memories leaked through the cracks: Sebastian’s laugh, the tea he wordlessly made for you each morning, the quiet evenings you’d spend curled up together on the couch. 

It felt like another life. A borrowed one—quiet, slow, soft. A life where you felt at home.

Home. Merlin, when had it started to feel like you belonged there—with him?

You hadn’t even slept together last night, though both of you knew you could have. Wanted to. Instead, you’d traded careful goodnights for separate beds, because whatever was growing between you wasn’t going to be fast or casual. It was deliberate, and that was terrifying. Exhilarating. He’d kissed you like a dam giving way, like he’d been waiting ages for the water to break, and now you were still struggling to breathe in the undertow.

But the briefing room loomed ahead now and there was no time for floods. You flattened the memory beneath your ribs, straightened your shoulders, and reminded yourself why you and Sebastian had agreed to arrive separately: field-unit protocols were crystal clear about romantic entanglements, and you weren’t going to give the higher-ups any reason to suspect that anything had changed between you.

You stopped in front of the door.

Hale had marked this morning’s briefing as urgent—a word that made your stomach tighten the moment you saw it on the assignments board. No context. No details. Just a time, a room, and that one word in red text. 

You hadn’t had time to find Ominis or Garreth beforehand, not even for a quick word, so you didn’t know if they’d uncovered more about the smuggling ring, about the artifact laundering, or who at the top was pulling the strings. But you knew enough to know that Ministry intel was a snake with too many heads. Enough to know that if this was an artifact op, you should expect a blade pressed to your back before the day was over. 

You stepped into the room.

Garreth was leaning back in a chair near the back row, his arms crossed and jaw tight. His eyes found yours quickly, a brief flicker of acknowledgement that held more meaning than it let on. His squad was scattered across the room, half-casual, half-tense. 

On the other side of the room, your squad was gathered in a loose cluster, some seated, some standing, all pretending to be more relaxed than they were.

And then you found him.

Sebastian stood near the far side, beside one of the support beams. His expression was unreadable, but he met your gaze for a moment, just long enough to make your pulse stutter. Long enough to feel it. 

You took your spot near the edge of your squad, dropping into a chair with your back straight and your eyes forward.

Hale stood at the head of the room, clipboard in hand, mouth set in that expression she wore whenever she was about to lie to all your faces.

“Early this morning,” she began, crisp and direct, “Intel came in about an estate in Cornwall. Our sources indicate traces of illicit artifact storage, as well as signs of ritual activity.”

A flicker of unease stirred low in your gut.

“Your objective is containment and retrieval,” she continued. “Search the property. Secure any artifacts you find. The estate is uninhabited, but proceed with caution.”

Your hand curled subtly into a fist on your thigh. You’d heard this kind of briefing before. Too clean. Too simple. And assignments dressed up as routine recovery but always ended with more questions than answers. And as you glanced around the room, catching the tight lines in Garreth’s jaw, the unreadable weight behind Sebastian’s eyes, you knew you weren’t the only one thinking it.

“Departure in fifteen,” Hale said. She gave no further instructions. No maps, no schematics, no backup protocol, just a nod and a sharp, “Dismissed.”

Chairs scraped. Boots shifted. The room dissolved into movement and murmured chatter, but you didn’t move right away. You let yourself watch Sebastian for a second longer as he stepped away from the support beam and out of the room. His gait was steady and controlled, but you could practically hear his thoughts racing beneath the surface.

You rose a beat later, your expression calm, but your pulse thrumming. Whatever this day held, you had a bad feeling it was about to change everything.

Tehidy Woods – Cornwall

The crack of apparition left your ears ringing and your stomach reeling as your boots landed hard on wet underbrush.

Fog coiled low over the forest floor like smoke. Thick trees stretched upward, gnarled and looming, their branches clawing at the gray morning sky. In the distance, the silhouette of the estate towered—half-swallowed by ivy, windows gaping and hollow. 

You inhaled through your nose. The air tasted damp and metallic, like burnt magic and old blood.

Your squad fanned out around you, wands drawn, steps cautious. Garreth’s team had apparated in just beside yours, their arrival announced with another sharp burst of air. No one said a word. Just glances exchanged. Tight shoulders. Grim expressions.

Sebastian moved just ahead of you, sweeping his wand in a slow arc to scan the perimeter. You couldn’t see his face clearly, but you didn’t need to. You knew that posture. Rigid. Calculated. Tense.

Garreth caught your eye from across the clearing, and you didn’t miss the way he gripped his wand just a bit tighter than usual.

You all felt it. The wrongness in the air.

“Alright,” Sebastian called. “Let’s split up. Garreth, take your squad through the main floor and the basement.”

Garreth gave a short nod, already signaling his officers to enter the manor. “Copy that.”

Sebastian turned to your group. “Evans and Mercer, you’ll take the west wing up the upper floor. Higgins and MacKinnon, you take east. The Warden and I will cover the attic.”

“Sir,” Evans acknowledged with a quick nod, already turning to follow Mercer inside. Higgins and MacKinnon followed suit with murmured affirmatives, boots crunching against the ground as they ascended the front steps.

Sebastian didn’t say anything else, just cast one glance your way, a silent you ready? and started toward the manor.

The manor creaked as you stepped inside, the air unnaturally cold. Dust hung suspended in the shafts of light slipping through half-boarded windows. Furniture lay overturned and stripped, curtains hung in shreds, and picture frames were cracked and scattered across the floor.

But someone had been here recently.

Fresh footprints marked the dust. A brand-new lantern sat on the console table, untouched by time.

Passing by Garreth’s team, you followed your squad up the stairs. Evans and Mercer turned right, Higgins and MacKinnon fanned out to the left. Meanwhile, Sebastian led you down the hall toward a small, narrow stairwell tucked behind a door.

You followed close behind, and the moment he shut the door at the base of the attic stairs behind you, the rest of the house fell away like you’d climbed into a pocket outside time.

Only then did Sebastian speak, voice low.

“You alright?”

The question settled somewhere beneath your ribs. 

You exhaled. “Not especially.”

Sebastian nodded like he understood exactly what you meant, like he felt the same slow coil of dread wrapping around his lungs. But didn’t offer you false comfort, just stepped quietly up the stairs, wand in hand, as you walked behind him.

The attic groaned as you emerged into it. The air was thicker here, dense with the residue of ritual and secrecy. Melted wax and half burnt candles coated the floor, and runes, partially scorched, sprawled beneath your boots like scars.

“Shit,” Sebastian muttered, crouching low to inspect the sigils. “These are fresh.”

You stepped further in, the floor creaking beneath your boots. Every sense was alert, skin prickling as you followed his gaze. You knelt, inspecting the markings with a frown.

“These are the same ones we saw in Whitechapel,” you said quietly, running your fingers just above the charred etchings. “Linked anchors.”

Sebastian’s brow furrowed. “What would they be using them for? I thought these were just to create large-scale explosions."

“They are,” you murmured, voice tight. “But they can do more than that, depending on the layering…”  You trailed off, eyes narrowing on the pattern. “Maybe they’re not just smuggling existing contraband but making their own cursed objects. Or worse, testing them.”

Sebastian straightened slowly, his wand still out, eyes scanning the corners of the attic. “Testing on what?”

You didn’t answer right away. Because the answer was too obvious. Too horrifying.

“More like who,” you said finally.

A beat of silence passed between you, thick and weighted. Then you caught a glint of something metallic, half-hidden behind a stack of boxes. 

A Ministry filing cabinet.

You moved toward it with purpose, pulse pounding harder with each step. 

“Sebastian,” you breathed, pushing boxes out of the way. “Look.”

He was beside you in an instant, his eyes narrowing as he took in the sight.

There was no mistaking it. The emblem etched into the cabinet’s surface, the reinforced edges—this wasn’t scavenger scrap or something lifted from a black market vault. It was Ministry-issued. Official. Secured and sealed with proprietary charms.

Sebastian ran a hand through his hair. “That’s a field lock. Level Four.”

You glanced up at him. “Do you know the counter?”

He nodded once, jaw tight. “Yeah. I’ve seen Ominis use it before.”

You stepped aside just enough for him to kneel, wand already shifting in his grip. He muttered an incantation low under his breath, a series of movements too precise to be improvised. The locking charm flared briefly, then clicked open with a reluctant groan as though even the cabinet itself knew it was giving up something it shouldn’t.

You braced yourself as the drawer creaked open.

Inside were rows of neatly stacked folders, all tagged, indexed, and stamped with an unfamiliar red seal.

"What the hell is this..."

Sebastian reached in, pulling one of the folders free. His brows furrowed deeper as he flipped it open. “Containment logs. Dates. Locations. Object descriptions. Threat tiers—” He stopped, his eyes locked on one entry. “—What the fuck.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest. You stepped closer. “What is it?”

Wordlessly, he turned the file so you could see. Your eyes scanned the top of the page.

PROJECT DOMINION – INTERNAL USE ONLY DO NOT REPRODUCE. DO NOT ARCHIVE. DO NOT DISCLOSE.

You read the text below.

MAGICAL SUBJECT MONITORING SYSTEM The Magical Subject Monitoring (MSM) system was originally approved as a protective oversight initiative focused on cataloging and safeguarding cursed and enchanted objects. Within Project Dominion, MSM classifications have been repurposed to evaluate: - Exploitability - Weaponization potential - Market and strategic value of magical entities and artifacts.

Your gut twisted. The contents were split into a hierarchy.

Tier IV – Low-grade curiosities. Nothing lethal. Mostly junk with residual magic that was auctioned off, gifted, traded for favors. Tier III – Tactical enhancers. More dangerous. Spy tools. Cursebombs. Memory crystals. Distributed for “low-risk deployment.” Tier II – Active hazards. Dark objects with combat potential. Field-tested on live targets. 

And then you froze.

Tier I – Living Strategic Weapons Human magical anomaly. Singular. Unreplicable. Considered a tool of deterrence. Subject may be deployed under wartime or treaty provisions. Designation: Major Warden #137 Status: MONITORED Use Case: Global leverage. Magical deterrent. On-loan deployment to allied Ministries under clause-specific supervision.

The words blurred then sharpened again with cruel precision. Your name wasn’t written, but it didn’t have to be. The title was yours. The implication was unmistakable.

You barely felt the folder slip from your fingers as you dropped to your knees in front of the open cabinet, pulling out another file. Then another. And another.

Each one was meticulously catalogued and itemized. Artifacts, objects, cursed heirlooms and hexed tools. Dozens of them. Hundreds. 

Pages flashed past. Containment dates. Weapon tests. Target outcomes. Some of the folders were light, just a sheet or two with sales information or field reports. Others were thick with case logs and arcane analysis. But only one had a Tier One designation. Just one.

You.

“No, no,” you muttered, flipping faster now, papers sliding beneath your palms. “They can’t—they can’t just put a person in here. Tell me that’s not what this is.”

Sebastian moved closer, voice low and steady. “Hey. Hey, look at me.”

You didn’t. You couldn’t. Your thoughts were spiraling too fast to catch. “I’m an object. I’m a fucking object to them.”

You felt sick. Like the floor had disappeared beneath you and the attic was suddenly closing in.

Sebastian reached out, his hand wrapping around your wrist, “Just breathe.”

You shook your head, barely hearing him over the roar in your ears. “They put me in a drawer, Sebastian. Next to blood-activated golems and cursed lockets.”

“Look at me.”

His voice cut through the fog this time, sharper and more urgent. Your eyes met his, wide, frantic, and full of a betrayal you hadn’t even begun to process.

“This can’t be real,” you whispered. “My deployment here was supposed to be about protecting people. My Ministry said I was here as a precaution, for oversight. They said—” You choked on the next words. “Surely the Canadian Ministry’s not in on it? They gave me intel about the illicit smuggling in the first place!”

Sebastian’s eyes didn’t leave yours. “Then maybe they don’t know.”

“But what if they do?” Your voice cracked. “What if this whole thing was just a long con to get me here? What if this was the point all along?”

Sebastian crouched in front of you, hand still firm around your wrist. “Stop. Breathe.”

You were shaking now. From fear and fury and betrayal so deep it hollowed something out inside you.

“I’m not even a human to them,” you whispered. “Just… leverage. A deterrent. Something to parade around in a uniform and ‘loan out’ like some kind of diplomatic nuke.”

Sebastian’s jaw clenched. His thumb brushed your knuckles. “You are not a weapon.”

You laughed. Bitter. Breathless. “Aren’t I?”

Sebastian gripped your hand, steady and anchor-like. “No. You are not what that file says. That’s what they want you to believe. That’s how they control you.”

“...It doesn’t matter if I believe it. They already control me.”

Sebastian’s gaze burned. “Then we take it back. We find out who did this. Who signed off on it. Who buried you in that goddamn cabinet and thought they’d get away with it. And we don’t stop until it’s torn down. All of it.”

You shook your head, barely audible. “You say that like we’ll survive it.”

“I say that because we will.” He leaned in, eyes locked on yours. “You don’t get to give up. Not now. Not when we just found out the truth of what they’ve done.”

You finally looked up.

His brown eyes held yours, unwavering, burning with a quiet, furious loyalty that shook something loose in your chest.

He meant it. Every word.

You could see it in the way his jaw was set, in the way he was grounding you with his hand wrapped around yours, in the way he hadn’t looked away once. He wasn't trying to fix it, wasn’t sugarcoating it. He was choosing you—through the mess, through the revelation, through the fallout you both knew was coming.

And something in you broke.

Your vision blurred. Your breath hitched. A prick of tears welled at the corners of your eyes.

You couldn’t even remember the last time you cried. Probably around the last time someone had looked at you the way he was looking at you now.

You didn’t speak. You just leaned forward and wrapped your arms around him. He didn’t even hesitate. He caught you like he’d been waiting, strong arms circling your frame, pulling you in like he needed to hold you just as much as you needed to be held.

You buried your face in the crook of his neck, let your body tremble in his arms, and he stroked your hair, his hold on you sure.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured. “No matter what they say. No matter what they’ve done. You’re not theirs.”

You believed him. You did. Somehow, impossibly, in that terrible attic full of blood-marked sigils and bureaucratic betrayal, his arms around you were enough to make you feel like maybe you were more than a name in a folder. That you were more than what they wanted to make of you. 

And for just a moment, the world was quiet.

But it didn’t last.

You pulled back, breath hitching again as you swiped the tears from your face, trying to collect the pieces of yourself still trembling in his hands. But as you shifted back to your knees, drawing a breath to speak, to thank him, your elbow knocked the drawer of the filing cabinet. Just barely.

Then there was a click. Followed by a whirring hum.

You both froze.

The cabinet shuddered, no, shifted, like something inside had just been triggered, and before either of you could react, a sigil lit up on the floor, faint, flickering, then blinding. And then the entire floor lit up like a spiderweb catching fire.

“Get back!” Sebastian shouted, yanking you toward him just as the runes detonated in a pulse of defensive magic, blowing the drawers open and sending a concussive wave through the attic.

You hit the ground hard, ears ringing, splinters biting into your hands.

The cabinet was cracked down the middle, files fluttering in every direction like wounded birds. And when you looked up, you finally saw the glowing traces of containment wards scrawled across the walls. Active. Dozens of them. 

And then from downstairs—

CRACK.

Not one, but several. The sharp, telltale sound of apparition. Then shouting. And a moment later, spellfire.

It echoed up through the floorboards, muffled but unmistakable. The clash of magic against magic. Boots thundered against hardwood. More shouting.

Your blood ran cold.

“The filing cabinet was a failsafe,”  you said, voice hoarse. “I tripped it.”

Sebastian didn’t answer, but his expression said it all—tight jaw, eyes scanning the smoke-flooded attic, wand already raised.

A sharp crack split the air again downstairs, followed by a shouted spell and the unmistakable crash of something—someone—being thrown against a wall.

You turned to the scattering of Dominion folders now lying exposed, some half-incinerated from the blast, others still intact. You could still see the Tier One file—your file.

“We can’t leave these behind,” you said.

Sebastian gave a tight nod. “Grab what you can. Quickly.”

You moved to scoop up what you could reach—artifact logs, containment blueprints, your own profile now blackened at the corner—but then MacKinnon’s voice screamed up from below.

“They’re breaching the second floor!”

“Fuck,” Sebastian hissed. His eyes darted to the stairwell then to you.

There was no time to run. Even if there was, there was nowhere to go. The house was surrounded. The corridor below was already overrun.

Neither of you spoke, but you didn’t have to. Your bodies moved before thought, slipping shoulder to shoulder, the two of you falling into formation like you’d done a hundred times before.

Your mind snapped into focus. That cold, tactical clarity honed by years of training settled into place, steadying your breath even as adrenaline howled through your blood.

Then the stairwell door below slammed open.

Figures stormed into the attic—five, maybe six—faces masked, formation tight. And each one of them wore a British Ministry-issue wand holster, the exact model you’d seen in Knockturn Alley. The one that tipped you off in the first place.

“On your right,” Sebastian warned.

You didn’t hesitate. You didn’t even flinch. You struck first.

Your spell hit the lead agent square in the chest, blasting him off his feet before he could raise a wand. Sebastian followed with a wordless hex that knocked the next one hard into the banister, cracking it in half.

Another pushed through—wand already alight—but Sebastian dropped low while you covered high, your curse slamming the attacker back into the stairwell with a sickening crunch.

They were trained. Disciplined. You could tell by the way they moved, flanking wide, maintaining cover. But they didn’t move like you and Sebastian. 

No, you and Sebastian fought in sync. Perfectly, wordlessly.

When one of you struck, the other shielded. When one dropped low, the other went high. You twisted around each other like threads pulled tight—fluid, practiced, merciless.

A curse hissed past your ear. Sebastian deflected it mid-air, his countercurse arcing just over your shoulder.

“Left!” he barked.

You spun, wand already glowing, and hit the figure trying to flank you with a blast that shattered the nearby rafter.

Another flash. Another spell. 

They kept coming.

Smoke poured through the stairwell. Sparks danced across the floor. Heat rose like a living thing from the broken runes and ruptured sigils.

You didn’t think. You didn’t feel. You moved.

Until a blast went wide—too wide—slamming into a stack of old storage crates behind you. Wood splintered, the impact rocking the floorboards. For a second, it was just dust and noise, but then something exploded.

Another filing cabinet.

You hadn’t even seen it.

It had been half-buried beneath debris in the far corner, hidden behind stacked boxes and tarps. But now, its door was blown open, hinges shrieking, metal twisted like paper, and instead of folders, it was filled with artifacts.

Dozens of them. 

And the second they were free, you felt it. The pull. Like a claw hooking into your gut.

It wasn’t physical. It wasn’t something you could see. But it was there—something old, buried, reaching from the wreckage with greedy fingers. Tugging at the part of you they’d labeled. Catalogued. Tiered.

Ancient magic.

You staggered back a step, vision blurring, ears ringing.

Sebastian deflected another curse, glancing back at you with panic starting to crack through his battle-hardened focus.

“Hey, hey!” he called out, barely ducking another spell as he twisted to reach for you. “What’s happening?”

But you couldn’t answer. You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t breathe.

The artifacts were inside you now—no, through you. They were resonating at the same frequency as the magic that lived beneath your skin, and you felt it surging, snapping, ripping free. Not summoned. Not cast. Unleashed.

Your knees buckled.

Sebastian caught you before you hit the floor, but your eyes were already unfocused—glowing faintly at the edges, like light was bleeding out from behind your pupils. Your mouth parted in a soundless gasp as magic lanced through your veins like lightning, wild and electric, lighting up the room in bolts of impossible energy.

And then it exploded.

Not outwards like a spell, but everywhere. Blue lightning cracked against the attic beams, scorched the air, ripped sigils off the walls. Raw magic poured from your skin in jagged bursts, snapping toward anything it could find—metal, wood, people. One of the Dominion agents screamed as it slammed into them, flinging them backwards with the force of a tidal wave.

Sebastian staggered back, eyes wide. He was saying something, but you couldn’t hear him. You were frozen on the floor, comatose in the storm that you were and weren’t creating.

This wasn’t spellwork. This wasn’t you channeling. This was you becoming a conduit—no, a fuse—and the artifacts were the power source, lighting you up from the inside out.

The walls shook. The floorboards cracked. The Dominion agents scrambled, shouting over the chaos, a few trying to apparate out only to get struck mid-cast by another arc of ancient lightning.

And Sebastian—

You could hear him now, just barely, over the roar of power splitting the air apart.

He was saying your name. Screaming it. 

You forced your eyes open. The world tilted and blurred at the edges, your body suspended somewhere between too much and not enough. You couldn’t feel your hands anymore. Couldn’t tell where your limbs ended and the power began. Your heart thundered, your chest heaved, and all around you—

Chaos. Destruction.

The attic was crumbling.

The beams above you cracked like ribs, groaning under the weight of the storm. Plaster rained down. The walls were scorched black in jagged, crooked streaks, like claw marks from something feral and furious. And through the blur, through the smoke and the searing light, you saw them.

The files, torn from the cabinet. Scattered like bones across the floor. And Sebastian. Moving. Not away, not to cover, not to safety, but toward you.

His face was stricken, wild with fear, mouth shaping your name even as the air snapped and hissed around him. 

And that’s when it hit you.

You were going to destroy him.

The storm inside you wasn’t slowing, it was spreading. Flaring. Uncontrollable. It burned too hot, too vast, and it was tearing through the room like a living thing unchained. It would devour everything. The documents. The evidence. The truth. Him. 

No.

The word didn’t pass your lips, but it rang through every cell in your body, louder than the crackling energy, louder than the shriek of ruptured sigils. A scream from the marrow of your bones.

No. Not him. Not him.

Your chest seized like you’d been slammed from the inside. Your body convulsed, trembling violently, twitching like a machine pushed past capacity. Magic tore through you, howling to be free, to be unleashed. 

But you wouldn’t let it.

Instead, you turned inward. Reached for it. Reached beyond the pain, beyond the panic, past the noise and the white-hot void swallowing your senses. You went deeper, into a place that wasn’t training or instinct, that wasn’t spellwork or conditioning. Into a place that was yours.

And you took it. The power. Not as a spell. Not as a weapon. But as your own.

The magic fought you. God, it fought you. It lashed beneath your skin like something alive, biting and clawing and screaming to be let loose. You felt it rake against your ribs, your spine, your heart. But you didn’t let go. You held it with blistered hands and shredded nerves. With lungs that burned and a heartbeat that fractured like glass in your chest. You held it because you had to. Because you didn’t need to survive this. 

You just needed him to.

So you gave it everything. Every flicker of strength. Every cracked, half-lit synapse. Every searing thread of the ancient power coiled in your blood.

And slowly, agonizingly, the storm bent.

It shrieked in protest, howled through your skull like a dying god clawing for purchase, but it listened. Obeyed.

A shield, incandescent and trembling, bloomed around Sebastian like liquid lightning woven into glass, glowing blue and alive. It sealed around him and the scattered files in a perfect sphere.

Sebastian froze, mid-step. His eyes wide, stunned, as the chaos raged beyond him. He turned slowly, watching as lightning screamed past the barrier like a hurricane held at bay. The documents lay at his feet, undisturbed. Not a single spark crossed the threshold.

It held. It held.

And then you felt it. That final, shattering crack inside you, like a dam rupturing after too many winters. Your muscles slackened. Your vision bled dark at the edges. Your bones hollowed. Your skin burned. Every nerve screamed like it had been melted and played like a harp.

But it was done. He was safe.

And even as your mind frayed, pulled under by the cool, merciful tide of unconsciousness, you knew the shield would hold.

Because this wasn’t spellcraft. It wasn’t training. It wasn’t anything they could ever teach or categorize or dissect.

This was older. Wilder.

This was love.

The kind of magic they studied deep underground, in rooms without windows, spoken of in theory but never fully understood. The kind of magic said to shape worlds and defy death. The kind strong enough to bend storms, if only once.

And your last thought, dim and flickering like a dying ember:

Let the world burn, if it must. But not him. 

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Protocore Syndrome

Zayne x gn!Reader (Can be read as platonic or romantic)

Would Protocore Syndrome ever be like this in game? Unlikely. Does it sound cool? Yeah, that's why I wrote it duh

I wish Zayne got more love and attention in the fandom (and in the game too ngl) :(

Warnings: death, grief/mourning, medical inaccuracies, angst, emotional hurt/comfort, canon divergent

Word Count: 572

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

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The stars bring no peace tonight. You can’t remember the last time they ever did, but tonight, especially, they only serve to remind you of what’s been lost.

You still remember her laugh, just minutes before she was put under anesthesia. She said she was nervous, so you told her a joke to help calm her down. She fell asleep with light giggles that petered out into nothing.

That memory would forever be corrupted by a flatline, shouts for a crash cart, and the heavy silence of everyone in that room carrying her blood on their hands.

You sigh, breath coming out as a white fog in the darkness. For as much love as you held for this job, it never got easier.

The roof doors open behind you with a creak. Shoes click softly against the cement until they stop beside you. Fabric rustles, and a heavy coat is draped over your shoulders. Zayne sits down beside you.

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. Dr. Greyson and your own assistant were close, having done their residencies together, just like you and Zayne. Anything that happened with you was eventually shared with Zayne, and vice versa.

Your patient, female, 11, went in for an anterior temporal lobectomy, and died on the table. It was supposed to be a relatively simple procedure, one you’d performed hundreds of times before.

After a long silence, you sigh and lean against him. His lab coat is gone, replaced with the hefty black coat around your shoulders. He was about to head home, even though it was way past the end of his shift. Way past the end of yours, too. But then you messaged him, asking if he had time to meet at your usual spot.

“Her parents are mad,” you say, voice shot from crying in your office hours earlier. “I don’t blame them. Who wouldn’t be upset?”

He reaches over and takes your hand. It’s cold. He rubs his thumb over your knuckles. “You did everything you could.”

You sigh again. That’s all anyone could say when a patient died. Don’t carry that guilt with you, you did everything you could. What else could be said? “I know.”

You reach under his coat and into your pocket, and pull out a small vial. The paper label stuck to it had the patient’s basic info and some quick identifiers for cataloging. You hold it out for him to take. He gives you a confused look, but does so nonetheless. Something small clinks around inside. He holds it up to the moonlight.

A black crystal.

“I begged the parents to let me try figuring out what… They were clustered around her amygdala. I’ve never seen anything like it before, Zayne.”

He lowers the vial back to his lap. It rotates slowly, crystal tapping lightly against the glass as it’s turned over and over and over again. “And there were no signs of Protocore Syndrome?”

You shake your head. “I ordered an MRI, just to be sure, but there was nothing abnormal with her heart. I can send you the data. You know more about it than I do. Maybe there’s something I missed.”

He tucks it away in his pocket. You rest your head on his shoulder. He rests his cheek against your hair.

“You should go home,” he whispers.

“I will. Just…” You look back up at the stars. “Just a minute longer.”

---

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