#Velocity of Memory

[void-botanist]

ALSO trolley problem answers for spinder & anyone else who you think has a creative solution 👀

from this ask game

Spinder gets the point of this thought exercise but if they're going to ask such a contrived question, he's going to give a contrived answer. Which means he would learn a lot about trolleys and how easy it is to derail them (I am far from an expert but I think it would depend on the landscape. I suspect a trolley with a cable grip, like in San Francisco, is harder to derail if the cable grip is active, but idk). He's got a whole plan for derailing, or otherwise mechanically disrupting the trolley (if it stops pulling power does it stop moving? how fast can he get on the roof?). Aside from his absolute pettiness he also can't help but imagine the fallout from having vehicularly manslaughtered one or more people and he doesn't think he could deal with that.

Christina "now you're thinking with warpals" Larousse would just warp the trolley. Ideally this would happen after she already was not in the trolley, but if she has to die with it, so be it. In general, if sacrificing herself would save everyone else, she'd probably do it. But if there are other people in the trolley, as in some versions of the problem, because she's not going to sacrifice them to warp. Hypothetically she could just warp away the split in the track, thereby derailing the trolley and saving everyone. But that's a much smaller target than a trolley and harder to hit when she's moving. If she had to actually abide by the rules of the exercise she would kill the one person. Unless that one person was her father. Then she'd be so paralyzed about it that she'd do nothing and the five people would die. Which is still a lot less people than she indirectly enabled Althea to kill, but that's cold comfort.

Althea would let the five be killed without hesitation if there was a single person among them that had ever pissed her off. She doesn't really care either way, but it would feel better to get a little revenge. However, she would also switch away from a track Christina is tied to, an absolutely frigid comfort for Christina.

Vic, among others, has pointed out that if you do nothing, you're not responsible for what happens. Which is a tenuous position, but he would like it to be true. But he'd also rather kill one person than five, so make of that what you will.

Celia and Allison are still wondering what kind of Gotham-ass trolley line this is, like, first of all, how did these people get tied to the tracks? Is this some kind of a trick? Are the five people all robots and the one person a human? There's just not enough information here.

Dez would be extremely dismayed by the idea that the five people could be robots. But if they were, they have backups, right? Right? Syndy is already holding him back from steering away from the five probably-robots, because she considers herself an expert on how humans die, actually, so they can't run over the human. If the robots turn out to be humans, they are both scarred for life and also the first androids to go to jail, probably. They develop a weird game of chicken where they keep saying they're going to delete the memories but come up with reasons not to. Doing this only deals them more psychic damage.

"You just gotta kill the one person," Avis says, with total conviction and complete boredom. "That's how these puzzles work. You gotta do a shitty thing, so you have to do the least shitty version of the thing." It's a toss up if she'd automatically run over the five if she was considering whether or not to run over Sid as the one person, though.

@jezifster @kk7-rbs

[ysobelfours]

Lando's First Win — LN4

in which your boyfriend won a grand prix for the first time in his career.

lando norris x fem!reader

warnings; 18+ content !! MINORS DNI !! half of the story is SMUT, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), clubbing, drunk lando, praise, hair pulling, oral both receiving, and etc. word count: 3978

note: not proofread, not edited, will maybe; also, this oneshot has no mentions of y/n!

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

i was glued to the tv, watching the race like my life depended on it. man, i wish i could've been there in person, but nope, some last-minute work drama had me stuck at home. so there i was, heart pounding like crazy as i saw lando leading the pack, holding onto that sweet p1 spot with just 10 laps to go.

after a nail-biting ten laps, lando clinched his first-ever grand prix win in miami, crossing the checkered flag with style. bursting with excitement, i immediately sent him a message to offer my heartfelt congratulations. and of course, i had to capture the historic moment, snapping a quick pic of his finish on my tv screen and sharing it with the world on my instagram story.

amidst the interviews, podium celebrations, and photo ops with the mclaren team, lando's mind kept drifting back to one thing: my message. he couldn't shake the anticipation of reading my words of support, knowing that even though i couldn't be there in person, i was cheering him on from afar.

finally, as the chaotic whirlwind of post-race activities began to settle, lando seized the opportunity to check his phone. with a quick swipe, he navigated to his messages, looking for my name. his heart skipped a beat when he saw my name.

"hey baby! can't believe it, i did it!" lando greeted me as soon as i picked up his call. i could tell that he was smiling from the tone of his voice.

"oh my gosh, lan, i knew you could do it! you were incredible out there!" i excitedly responded to him.

"thanks, baby! it feels unreal. i'm just so pumped right now!"

"you should be! you deserve to celebrate this big win. any plans?"

lando pauses, thinking "hmm, not really, just thinking of winding down, you know?"

i frowned upon hearing his response, how could he not celebrate his first win properly?!

“absolutely not! you were on fire out there! you know what? you've got to celebrate this win properly." i rolled my eyes as the words came out of my mouth.

lando laughs, "yeah, baby? you think? got any suggestions?" he asks eagerly.

i started to think and an idea popped up in my gorgeous, genius mind! fortunately, i was done with the work assigned to me.

"hmm, how about a little victory party at the club? you deserve to let loose and enjoy the moment, along with the grid, ya know?!" i giggled, hoping that he would agree so i could push through with my plan.

lando considers it, "you might be right, sweetheart. but i'm not sure…" he sounded sarcastic on the other line, probably just to tease me. i sighed and rolled my eyes, again.

"come on, lan! you've worked so hard for this. make some memories! trust me, you won't regret it." i demanded, hoping that he would agree now.

lando was obviously smiling "alright, you've convinced me! let's do it!"

"that's the spirit! now go have some fun, and i'll catch up with you later, lan, okay?":

“sounds like a plan! love you, baby!”

"love you too! enjoy the celebration!"

as lando hangs up, little does he know that i've already booked a two hour long flight to miami along with a suite, determined to surprise him and celebrate his victory in person. with a mischievous grin, i start packing my bags, thrilled at the thought of seeing the look of surprise on his face when i show up unannounced.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

inside club velocity, the atmosphere pulsed with energy as lando, surrounded by his fellow drivers, basked in the euphoria of his first grand prix victory. the music thumped, mingling with the cheers and laughter of the crowd as they toasted to his success.

lando, wearing a grin that could light up the night sky, raised his glass in a toast, his eyes sparkling with joy and gratitude. around him, his friends and teammates clapped him on the back, their voices blending into a chorus of congratulations.

as the night wore on, the celebration only grew more spirited, with lando at the center of it all, soaking in every moment of his well-deserved triumph. little did he know, an even greater surprise awaited him, one that would make this unforgettable night even more memorable.

as soon as i finished getting ready, i messaged carlos to ask him which club they’re at.

me: "hey carlos! hope you guys are having a blast celebrating lando's win! which club are you all at?"

carlos: "hey! yeah, it's wild here! we're at club velocity on south beach. you should come join us!"

me: "awesome, thanks! see you there!" with carlos's reply in hand, i quickly went inside my rented vehicle, my heart pounding with excitement at the thought of surprising lando and joining in the celebration of his first grand prix victory.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

i got to the club as quickly as possible. still making sure that i wore my signature carol h. good girl scent.

as i approached lando, i noticed his glazed eyes scanning the crowd, seemingly lost in a haze of alcohol. but then, something shifted. his brow furrowed in confusion for a moment before his expression softened, and he inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring slightly.

suddenly, his gaze sharpened, and a spark of recognition ignited in his eyes. "wait… i know that scent," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the music.

a smile spread across my face as i watched him, knowing exactly what he was sensing. then, in an instant, his face lit up with realization, and he turned towards me with newfound clarity.

"it's you, baby! it’s you!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with delight as he lunged forward to envelop me in a warm embrace.

relieved and touched by his recognition, i hugged him back, feeling the tension melt away as he held me close. it was a moment of pure connection amidst the chaos of the club, a reminder of the bond we shared.

as we pulled apart, lando's grin was infectious, his eyes bright with happiness. "i can't believe you're here, baby, you’re really here" he said, his voice filled with genuine surprise and gratitude.

i chuckled, shaking my head fondly. "wouldn't miss celebrating with you, lan. even if you're a little… tipsy."

lando laughed, a sheepish expression crossing his face. "yeah, maybe i went a bit overboard."

"seriously though, you're swaying more than the palm trees outside and your words are starting to sound like a foreign language. i think it's time we got you home, don't you?"

lando slowly nods sheepishly "yeah, you're probably right. i guess i got caught up in the moment." he giggled and pinched my cheek.

“i missed you so much, baby. i love you” he whispered in my ear, lightly biting it. i couldn't help my cheeks from turning hot after what he said.

i struggled to make up my words before i responded, “i missed you too, lan. i love you.” i gave him a peck on the cheek and ruffled his curly hair. he smiled at me, a smile warm enough to melt my heart.

“let’s get you some rest, lan. say goodbye to the grid.” i guided lando to stand up, his hand wrapped around my waist to help him navigate his way through the crowd.

“hey guys, i just wanted to say a huge thank you for being here tonight to celebrate with lando. it means the world to him, and to me."

"of course! lando's victory is something we all wanted to celebrate together!" carlos smiled and gave lando a pat on the back.

"absolutely, it's been an amazing night. but right now, my love needs some rest. take care, everyone!"

as we exchanged farewells and well-wishes, i couldn't help but feel grateful for the support of lando's friends. with smiles and nods all around, lando quickly waved goodbye and thanked his fellow drivers.

as we navigated out the club, lando's whispers filled the air, his words a mixture of adoration and drunken rambling. "you're so beautiful, baby" he murmured, his voice filled with affection. "and i've missed you so much."

i chuckled softly, feeling a wave of warmth wash over me. "i've missed you too, lan. but let's save the sweet talk for when you're a bit more sober, alright?"

lando nodded earnestly, his gaze locking with mine. "yeah, you're right, baby. but seriously, your smell… it's intoxicating. i can't get enough of it."

grinning, i squeezed his hand gently. "thanks, love. i'll take that as a compliment, even if it's coming from a slightly intoxicated mind."

with a sheepish grin, lando leaned in closer, his breath warm against my ear. "i mean it, though, my love. you always smell like home to me."

as i opened the door to the shotgun seat, lando stumbled slightly as he climbed in, his movements slowed by the alcohol. with a patient smile, i guided him into the seat, making sure he was settled before reaching for his seatbelt.

as i leaned over to fasten his seatbelt, lando took advantage of the close proximity and planted a quick, sneaky kiss on my neck. the unexpected gesture sent a tingling sensation through me, but i brushed it off with a playful roll of my eyes.

"behave yourself, lan," i teased, my tone lighthearted as i finished securing his seatbelt.

with a mischievous grin, lando giggled and leaned back in his seat, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. i closed the door with a soft chuckle, taking a moment to compose myself before heading around to the driver's side.

as i settled into the driver's seat and started the engine, i couldn't help but smile at the lingering warmth of lando's kiss against my neck. but with a shake of my head, i focused on the road ahead, determined to get us back to our hotel safely.

as lando drifted off to sleep beside me, his face softened into a peaceful expression. i couldn't help but admire him at that moment. here was a guy who'd poured his heart and soul into his passion, and tonight, it had paid off big time.

i thought back on all the blood, sweat, and tears he'd poured into his career, the late nights at the track, the tough races, and the moments of doubt. but through it all, he'd never given up.

now, as he slept, i saw a sense of calm wash over him, like he'd finally achieved what he'd been working towards all this time. it was a pretty amazing feeling to witness.

at that moment, i realized how lucky i was to share this journey with him. and as i stole glances at him sleeping, i couldn't help but feel a wave of pride for everything he'd accomplished.

as i shook lando awake, his sleepy voice sent a blush creeping up my cheeks. "hey, love. did we make it to the hotel already?"

i managed a smile, trying to hide my embarrassment. "yeah, we're here, sleepyhead," i replied softly, guiding him out of the car.

lando leaned heavily on me, his arm draped over my shoulder. it was a struggle to help him towards the elevator, his weight making each step a challenge.

"you're amazing, baby" lando slurred, his words sincere but slightly garbled.

i chuckled, feeling both amused and touched by his compliment. "just doing my best, lan" i replied modestly, navigating us through the lobby.

lando's closeness sent a flutter through me, his arm around my neck, dangling through my breasts as we walked made me feel the way i felt earlier when he kissed me on the neck.

as we reached the suite, i gently guided lando towards the bed, urging him to lie down and get some rest. but to my surprise, he resisted, his eyes pleading as he reached out to me.

"i don't want to sleep yet, baby" he murmured, his voice laced with a hint of longing. "i've missed you so much."

my heart skipped a beat at his words, a rush of warmth flooding through me. despite his drunken state, there was an intensity in his gaze that left me breathless.

"i've missed you too, lan," i whispered, my voice barely above a hush as i met his gaze.

“c’mere, beautiful” lando patted the space next to him in the bed, asking me to sit down beside him.

there was a charged silence between us, the air thick with unspoken desires and yearning. in that moment, it felt as if time stood still, the world narrowing down to just the two of us in the dimly lit room.

and then, almost as if on instinct, lando's hand reached out to cup my cheek, his touch sending a shiver down my spine. the intensity of his gaze held me captive, drawing me closer until our lips were mere inches apart.

without a word, our lips met in a tender, lingering kiss, a silent expression of all the emotions that had been building between us. it was a kiss filled with longing and desire, a silent promise of what was to come.

"so beautiful, my love," lando mumbled in between our kisses, his voice thick with emotion. "you don't know how long i've waited for this."

his words sent a thrill through me, igniting a fire that had been smoldering between us for far too long. with each touch of his lips against mine, i felt myself melting into him, consumed by the heat of our passion.

our kisses deepened, each one more fervent than the last, as if we were trying to convey all the pent-up longing and desire that had been simmering between us for so long. "tastes like heaven, baby" lando murmured between kisses, his voice husky with desire.

"i've missed this so much, lan" i confessed, my breath hitching as his fingers traced patterns along my skin.

lando paused, his touch gentle yet charged with an electric intensity. "i've missed this just as much, baby," he murmured, his voice filled with emotion. "more than words can say."

his hands roamed over to my wet panties that sent shivers down my spine, igniting a hunger that burned hotter with each passing moment. "you're so beautiful, and wet for me, baby" he whispered, his voice filled with reverence as he started to play with my clit.

i arched into his touch, wordlessly urging him closer, craving the delicious friction of our bodies melding together. "don't stop," i pleaded, my voice barely above a whisper as the sensations threatened to overwhelm me.

two of his fingers slipped inside me, and i found myself clutching his hair. “don’t stop, lan. more, please,” i urged, my voice tinged with urgency and longing. and, as always, he delivered without hesitation.

“so wet for me, and only for me, baby,” he murmured against my skin, his tone raw with desire, igniting a primal spark within me.

lando's eyes darkened with hunger as he drew nearer, his breath a tantalizing caress against my ear. "you're mine," he whispered, possessiveness lacing his words, sparking a thrill of excitement in my chest. "all mine."

a shiver of anticipation ran down my spine at his words, a silent agreement to the intensity of our connection. "yes, lan," i responded softly, the words barely escaping my lips, "only yours."

with a shared understanding, he guided me onto his waiting mouth, each movement charged with unspoken longing.

“want to taste you so bad, baby,” he growled softly, his breath warm against my skin as his tongue danced with mine, exploring every curve and crevice with eager reverence.

“tastes damn good, pretty girl,” he rasped, his voice a husky murmur of appreciation as he savored the intimacy of the moment.

with every lick, i felt myself edging closer to the end, our bodies moving in sync, a symphony of pleasure and desire. he quickened the pace, driving me towards the edge until i was teetering on the brink, my senses ablaze with sensation.

"fuck, lan. i’m so fucking close," i moaned, the words tumbling from my lips in a breathless plea for release.

i hit my breaking point, just lost in the moment, riding that wave of pure pleasure, my voice echoing in the silence of the room.

as i caught my breath, i gazed at lando with a sense of wonder, gratitude swelling in my chest for the connection we shared.

“c’mere, pretty. take my pants off for me, will ya?” he said, his voice tinged with anticipation. and without hesitation, i obliged, eager to reciprocate the pleasure he had just given me.

as i removed his pants, his eyes locked onto me, filled with unmistakable desire. when he pulled out his length from his boxers, i was taken aback; it seemed even bigger than before.

lando noticed my gulp as i stared at him, clearly turned on by my reaction.

without warning, he guided himself into my mouth, gently gathering my hair into a makeshift ponytail as he directed my movements.

"i missed this fucking mouth," lando grunted, his hand instinctively moving my head forward and backward until his length reached my throat.

“ah, fuck, baby, your mouth feels incredible,” he moaned, his eyes closing in pleasure as he savored the sensations. releasing his grip on my head, he allowed me full control.

i licked the tip of his shaft teasingly, before gradually taking him deeper until i reached his base. “you're so fucking beautiful like this, love. such a good girl, taking me fully” he struggled to praise, his words punctuated by moans of pleasure.

each sound he made spurred me on, igniting a deeper desire within me. with passion driving me, i gave him my all, the rhythm of my mouth against his cock filling the room.

“so good with your mouth like this, love. fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he thrust his hips, his movements growing more urgent.

“baby, i’m about to cum,” he warned between moans. i yearned for him to finish so we could move on to the next stage; my anticipation palpable.

“i’m cumming, baby. fuck, i’m cumming. you’re so fucking good at this, my love,” he smiled appreciatively as i swallowed, clearly impressed and aroused by my eagerness.

turning me around, he instructed, “on your knees, my love.”

"lando," i breathed, my voice a mix of warning and longing, almost on the edge of a whine. my legs remained spread as i faced away from him, fighting the urge to squirm, my patience wearing thin.

lando's grin widened, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes as his hands pushed my legs further apart, positioning himself at the entrance of my wetness.

"you look stunning from this angle, love," he hummed, his voice laced with teasing sweetness. "you need me badly, don’t you, love?" his length traced over my folds teasingly, sending shivers down my spine.

though i hesitated to admit it, i couldn't deny the truth as my hips involuntarily bucked upwards, a strangled moan escaping me when he pinched my clit.

"i need you," i whimpered almost shamefully, my head falling back in surrender. "so bad, lan."

"i need you inside me," i mumbled, making his smirk return.

"missed you so fucking much," he hisses, parting my legs further as my breath got faster.

"missed you too, lan" i assured him, a moan slipping past my lips as i felt his tip pressing against my folds, though he made no further movements. i pushed my hip back to feel his length.

his hand tangling in my hair and creating a makeshift ponytail ─ one he tugged on immediately, forcing my head up.

"use your words, m' love" lando's lips grazed my ear, his cock still lightly pressing against my entrance, causing me to cry out.

"i want you to fuck me," i whined, rushing my words out as my hips pressed backward.

"need you, lan, please," i whimpered, sounding desperate.

he entered me without warning, bottoming out as my walls wrapped around him, our gasps mingling as i gripped the bedsheets below.

"always taking me so well," lando grunted in my ear as his thrusts became rougher, deeper, ensuring i felt every inch of him.

every movement sent pleasure coursing through my body, my moans filling the room as i surrendered to the pleasure.

"you feel amazing, lan," i stumbled out, my eyes rolling back as my body melted under his touch.

lando, too, seemed lost in the sensation, his head thrown back as he moved with purpose, the sound of our bodies colliding filling the room.

"does it feel good?" his question was rhetorical, just a way to chase praise, but i could barely form coherent thoughts, let alone sentences.

i nodded, the only response i could manage in his hold.

"damn, you're just perfect, baby," lando grunted, his kiss on my shoulder was gentle compared to what was happening between my legs.

it was almost too much, the tears and whimpers making it clear i was close to another climax. and just the thought had him reaching his own peak.

"cum on my cock, baby. cum for me," he urged in my ear, sending shivers down my spine as my second orgasm hit. i practically screamed, going limp in his arms.

feeling me tighten around him had him climaxing too, groaning as he leaned against me, both of us catching our breath.

his touches became softer as he pulled away, guiding me to lean against the counter. we fell into a comfortable silence, his hands gentle on my waist.

"wanna hop in the shower?" lando's voice broke the quiet, a grin spreading across his face, and i felt a wave of relief.

i grinned back and nodded, and he chuckled, lifting me effortlessly and carrying me off to the bathroom.

after a relaxing shower together, we dried off and crawled into bed, exhausted yet content. the weight of the day's activities and the intimacy we shared left us feeling pleasantly worn out.

"baby, that was something else," lando chuckled, his arm wrapping around me as he pulled me close. his laughter was infectious, echoing the contentment that filled the room.

"definitely," i agreed, snuggling against him. the warmth of his body against mine was comforting, a tangible reminder of the bond we shared.

in the morning, we woke to the gentle rays of sunlight streaming through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. the tranquility of the moment was almost tangible as we lay intertwined, basking in the quiet stillness of the early hours.

"morning, love," lando greeted me with a smile, his eyes filled with affection as he pressed a tender kiss to my lips. the warmth of his lips against mine was a sweet welcome to the new day.

"morning, sleepyhead," i teased, returning his kiss with a playful grin.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

hope u enjoyed reading my first fan-fic <3 feel free to give prompts and request !! enjoy !

[cassafrassie]

the nerve - (also on ao3) length: 2,535 words rating: T (teenaged kissing)

This is the last time, the last time! Pacifica thinks as she's jumping into the passenger side of Dipper's beat-up old pickup. Next to her, Dipper slams his own door and quickly smacks the lock button, eyes scanning the forest beyond the wide windshield. 

"I think we're clear," he says, before spinning to Pacifica excitedly. “Did you get a load of the size of that guy?!” 

“I didn’t see much as I was a little busy running for my life!” Pacifica gasps, clutching her chest.

Dipper picks up his camera. “Oh man. This was a good one. I think I got some good shots,” he continues, flipping through the display.

“Dipper! He nearly killed us!”

“Oh Paz, we were fine,” he replies confidently, still looking at his pictures. “I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.” He looks up, reaches over and bops her on the nose, smearing more mud on her already dirty face.

The nerve.

Pacifica glares at him. He always gets like this after monster hunts. Dipper has a cocky streak that usually lies pretty dormant, but something about the shot of the adrenaline that he gets after narrow escapes makes it rise to the surface. At least that’s her theory. The worst part is that can’t pretend she totally hates it, even if it’s currently raising her hackles.

“I’m beginning to regret giving you that thing,” she says, gesturing to the camera.

“No you don’t.” He spins to her and points the lens in her direction. “Who else would take all those pictures of you for “the gram”?” he asks, a teasing lilt in his voice. He clicks the shutter and Pacifica is blinded by the quick flash.

She rolls her eyes and pushes the camera away, but lets a small smile play on her lips. That photo won’t see the light of day. She’ll make sure of that. Both she and Dipper are absolutely covered in forest filth, and she makes a mental note to swipe the memory card before he drops her off at home later.

Dipper grins, thinking he’s won this round, and reaches behind his truck’s bench seat to place the camera in the rear of the cab. Twisting back, he fiddles with his keys and the ignition until the old clunker finally turns over.

Pacifica lets her mind wander as he navigates them out of the clearing he parked in and back to the main road. Picking leaves from her hair while she watches the trees pass by her window, she wonders why it is that he only lets this side of him come out when they’re alone. Dipper has come a long way from the insecure prepubescent boy she met five years ago, but he’s still pretty reserved and serious in mixed company. When it’s just the two of them, or the two of them and Mabel, it’s like he lights up. He’s sillier, more relaxed, more outspoken, more… is heroic the right word?

And it does things to her, to say the least. And they’re going to have to talk about it soon, because she strongly suspects he’s been feeling… things… too.

She started noticing it when their afternoon monster hunts began turning into twilight strolls around the lake, the two teen’s fingers brushing up against one another as they circled it. When hugs of relief after narrowly escaping death for the umpteenth time began to linger just a little too long. When he grabbed her hand while helping her down a steep rock face, and then held it the whole way home.

She knows a confession is imminent. That he’ll address the shift, the obvious destination they have been barreling toward with increasing velocity.

And sometimes she lets herself fantasize— because why not? She’s a seventeen-year-old girl, isn’t she? She’s allowed to have her little daydreams. She indulges in visions of confessions in a meadow of shimmering flowers. Maybe she’s wearing a long gown that fluttered in the wind. Maybe he brings roses and rides up on a white stallion and sweeps her up and into his lap as the orchestra swells and the credits run and…

Okay yes, she’s getting carried away. So sue her.

She chances a glance at him now. His eyes are trained on the road, hands responsibly placed at ten and two on the steering wheel, easy smile playing on his lips. He must sense her watching him though, because his eyes suddenly dart over to meet hers.

She meets his gaze, gives him a small, reckless smile that clearly carries a secret meaning that they just haven’t put words to just yet. She expects to receive the same smile from him, just as she has so many times before—and especially recently—but instead he just studies her seriously, and she can see the gears spinning in his mind. 

His mouth straightens into a determined line as his eyes snap back to the road. Without warning he twists the steering wheel to the right and Pacifica shrieks as he haphazardly directs the truck to a turnout overlooking the valley below. The truck bounces to a rough stop, and Pacifica snaps her head to look at him.

“What are you doing?” she gasps, more confused than angry.

He kills the engine, quickly unbuckles both their seatbelts and twists fully to face her. His cheeks are flushed, eyes focused. He honestly looks a little manic, Pacifica thinks.

Dipper takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. When he opens his them, he reaches a grime covered palm toward her equally dirty cheek. He smiles sweetly, and his palm cups her face, one thumb lightly tracing a path across her cheekbone.

“Paz,” he starts, smile broadening as he says her name. “There’s something I wanna tell you.”

Oh no. No, no, no, no, no. He was not seriously doing this right now! Not like this! Not covered in mud and leaves and god knows what else, crammed in the front seat of his dilapidated old truck on the side of the road, heartbeat just beginning to return to normal after escaping whatever grumpy cryptid that was that they had woken early from hibernation.

Is he freaking kidding me?!

She watches her hopes of horseback rides into the sunset dissolve in front of her eyes. Disintegrated by the sweat, foliage and mud coating them both.

“Dipper! Now?? I look terrible!”

“I think you look great!” he says and the worst, most terrible part is that she can tell he is being completely sincere.

“I’m covered in mud, Dipper.“

“Maybe I like it,” he smirks, a move that Pacifica knows he thinks is charming.

“You’re a freak,” she deadpans.

Dipper leans in closer, looks her right in the eyes.

“Your freak?” He smiles, hopefully.

Oh my god seriously? He’s such a sap.

Pacifica groans and rolls her eyes, but she also has to fight to keep the corners of her lips from tugging into a smile. She can feel for cheeks warming, and she knows he knows.

“I’m sorry, that doesn’t qualify as a response. You’ll have to use English,” he teases.

“Fine,” she drawls.

“Fine what?”

She is going to murder him. MURDER HIM.

“Oh you know what!”

“I really don’t Paz, did you have something important you wanted to tell me?”

She wants to slap that stupid grin off his face. Or kiss it.

“Dipper!” she whines.

“Hey I’m just trying to get clarity here!”

“Dipper if this is your way of asking a girl out then it’s no wonder you’ve never had a girlfriend before. You’re impossible,” she says crossing her arms and straightening her back.

“Okay okay,” he laughs, settling down. “I’m sorry.” He turns to her, smile sweeter, more earnest. “Let me start over.”

He untangles her crossed arms, grasping her hands with his free one. She feels a shiver at the way his one hand can hold both of hers. When did that happen? She stifles the distraction as she refocuses on what he’s saying.

“Pacifica. You’re one of my best friends,” he continues. “You’re smart, self-assured, funny, a huge dork”— Pacifica opens her mouth to protest but he puts a finger to her lips—“you are, and it’s one of my favorite things about you.”

She scoffs, but lets him continue, cheeks growing warmer.

“You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever laid my eyes on, but that’s just the icing on the cake. Because the way I feel about you comes from so much more than that.” He takes a breath, rubs his thumb on her cheek once, and she melts a little. “Pacifica, I...“

Here it comes, she thinks. She gives him a small, encouraging smile, waiting to hear him say the words she’s been imagining in her daydreams, for him to confess that his “like” of her has turned into the special kind. The “like like” kind.

Pacifica figures maybe it’s okay that this is the way it happened. It’s more them. But still, she would have appreciated flowers maybe. She doesn't presume that his feelings for her run deep enough as to justify red roses, but pink maybe... 

“…I’m in love with you.”

Wait. What?

Pacifica's brain struggles to rewind and playback, and she ends up just blinking at him for a moment.

“You’re in love with me?” she asks, and her voice sounds so terribly soft to her ears.

“Yeah,” Dipper confirms, face bright red beneath the dirt.

“You love me?” she repeats.

“Yes,” he says again, laughing a little, nervously. But he nevertheless moves his hand from her cheek down to circle the side of her throat, pushing his fingers into her hair.

“No one has ever loved me before,” she says, matter of fact.

“Oh Paz, your parents love you. I know they’re tough on you but I’m sure—“

“No. No I mean like the different kind of love. Like, the voluntary kind. When you don’t have to love someone, you just do. When it’s not because of blood, or because you want their life, or clothes, or ponies. When you just like them. No one has loved me like that.”

He studies her a beat.

“I do,” he says, finally, firmly, not breaking the eye contact. Not taking his hands from her.

Her head feels light, and she’s vaguely aware of that he cheeks are wet. But then she surges forward, and crashes her lips to his, because she can’t not. There’s a magnetic force pulling her in a way she can’t control.

Dipper’s lips are chapped and crusted in dirt, but they’re warm and his she immediately thinks that kissing him is about to be one of her favorite pastimes, and why did they wait so long to do this again?? Dipper responds to her kiss instantly, opening his mouth and seeking entry to hers, which she grants without hesitation. The hand in her hair ventures up to grasp at the back of her head, pushing their lips closer still, as his other wraps around her lower back and tugs her closer to him on the bench seat. Her own needy hands run up his chest to grab the lapels of his flannel, holding him to her as she shifts forward and up on to her knees, eventually ending up straddling his lap. Dipper moans into her mouth and his hands move to grasp her hips, but then he stops, pulls back slightly and takes in a sharp inhale of air, letting it out slowly in what appears to be a practiced attempt to calm himself down.

“You don’t know what you do to me, Paz,” he chuckles, finally, leaning his forehead on hers.

“I could do more,” she says softly, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

“I wouldn’t say no to that.” He leans back in his seat, arms loosen around her waist but not letting go. A smug smile plays on his lips. “I’m winning the romance game now, anyway. You gotta catch up.”

She senses a challenge here, which she knows he knows will always pique her interest. She arches an eyebrow.

“How so?”

“Well, I’m the one who said something first. In my book that means I’m leading you in romantic gestures.” He gives her a pointed look. “And confessions, too, actually. I might remind you.”

She laughs. “Okay, dork. I love you too. Even?”

“I mean technically I said I was in love with you. So, I still win.”

“Well I’m in love with you too, then!”

“No copy catting,” he says, grinning as his hands raise to her neck and he leans in.

Her giggles are muffled by his lips once again and she lets him push her back in the seat, tipping her backward until she pivots and is laying down with him hovering over her. He peppers her face with sloppy kisses and works his way down her neck, still a little grimy and sweaty, and Pacifica grins as she thinks that white stallions in springtime meadows might be overrated.

------

Later that night, Pacifica finds herself freshly showered and wearing some spare sweatpants of Mabel’s that she swiped while the latter is out at the movies with Candy and Grenda. She’s cuddled on the couch in the Mystery Shack’s living room, brand new boyfriend— also clean and smelling of mint and evergreen—next to her with a lazy arm stretched around her. She tugs up the blanket they share to her chin and tucks her face into the crook of his neck, kissing it lightly as Dipper begins stroking her hair.

“You know, the reason I’ve never had a girlfriend isn’t because I would suck at asking them out,” he says, after a while. “I happen to think I did pretty darn good here.”

“Settle down, Casanova, you got lucky this one time,” she mumbles, smiling into his neck.

He ignores this, persists in his point.

“You know the reason I haven’t had a girlfriend.” He says, turning so his lips brush the top of her head.

She does, but she wants him to say it. She looks up at him through her eyelashes. “Mmm?”

“Because I’ve only had eyes for one girl since I was fourteen.”

“And who was that?”

“Well I think you know her…”

“Oh?”

“Mhm… gorgeous, witty, bit of a brat…”

“She sounds great.”

“Yeah, she sure thinks so.”

“What stopped you from asking her out?”

“Well I wasn’t sure how she felt for a long time.”

“I bet she was crazy about you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, she probably liked your courage, your heart, your smile, your cute floppy hair—“

A loud groan carries into the living room from the kitchen, and Stan strides into the room, making a beeline for the front door.

“Okay, you two have officially crossed over from sweet to gross. Let me know when the honeymoon phase is over, til then I’ll be somewhere where the air doesn’t cause my blood sugar to spike.”

The two teens freeze, then burst into laughter as soon as the door slams behind the old man.

Dipper turns Pacifica in his arms to face him.

“Well would you look at that. Now we have the house to ourselves,” he smirks.

“Look at that,” Pacifica agrees, grinning.

[f0point5]

Max Verstappen x bestfriend!reader Masterlist 2

Mr. Always Wins, so far above me in every sense - Max takes another win, and a disappointed Lando leans on Y/N

I see you every day now - Flashback to April 2020 when Max and Y/N first moved in together

All they keep asking me is if I’m gonna be your bride - Max’s podcast goes live, and Max and Y/N attend a wedding. Later, Y/N admits her frustrations to Daniel

I think he can see through everything but my heart - Max and Y/N vacation in Brazil, and Max covers Time magazine

So many things that you wish I knew, so many walls up, I can’t break through - Y/N goes to Sao Paolo to see Lando while Max heads to the UK. Meanwhile, Max opens up to Vic

This is looking like a contest, of who can act like they care less - Y/N and Lando take Las Vegas while Max is back in Europe. But both Y/N and Max keep tabs on each other through others

I can see you standin’ honey, with his arms around your body - Y/N attends Velocity Invitational with Lando, which stirs controversy on both sides of the pond

I can see you starin’ honey, like he’s just your understudy - It’s Lando’s birthday. In Europe, Max streams with Redline

Like any great love, it keeps you guessing…like any true love, it drives you crazy - Clara and Max arrive in Vegas and Clara lets Lando in on a well known secret

I don’t even dare to wish it - It’s Y/N’s birthday, but she has to deal with the fallout of Clara’s drunken confession

I think he knows - Y/N and her friends celebrate her birthday, which seems to give something to celebrate…or run from

Put your lips close to mine, as long as they don’t touch - The Vegas circus begins with a dramatic opening ceremony, followed by a gala event

Two headlights shine through the sleepless night - Y/N and Max continue to miss each other, and the weekend gets off to a chaotic start on track

I sent you signals and bit my nails down to the quick - Y/N attends Martin’s set and has a vulnerable moment with Max that goes awry

I’m capitulated by you,baby, like a firework show - Max wins in Las Vegas and Y/N puts aside the awkwardness to be happy for him

And that was the moment I knew - Max hosts Y/N’s birthday party, and gives her a huge present with unexpected results

Nothing safe is worth the drive - Max and Y/N have an open and honest conversation

I woke up just in time, now I wake up by your side - Max and Y/N leave Las Vegas just in time

Meet me in the afterglow - Y/N and Max spend a day in the desert and Lando puts the pieces together thanks to fruit

We’re burned for better - Mick makes an announcement, and the world once again speculates about Y/N’s love life

When they point to the pictures - Bonus part of Y/N sharing past memories

Our daddies used to joke about the two of us - Max and Y/N have dinner with their fathers after a nervous FP1 for Max

May these memories break our fall - Bonus part where Y/N shared memories near the end of the season

What would you do, if they never found us out? - Rumours swirl about Max and Y/N…for the final time

We will be remembered - And with that, the 2023 season comes to an end

✨There was one prize I’d cheat to win - Max and Emilia attend the Longines World Champions Tour✨

[task800]

this fandom pairs gavin and the rk900 dude like theres no tomorrow, which is lovely, follow ur bliss, happy for you. i want that same energy for north and kara. they are sampling from parallel water wells, they are running on similar batshit frequencies. north like 'what if we blow their ass up' (iconic of her) and kara like 'i'll run straight into high-velocity traffic man i'll fucking do it' (and then she did it) like these two women. repeatedly exposed to apathy, violence, cruelty. repeatedly wiped of their memories to keep them passive in the face of constant abuse. what if they met and held hands and raised alice to be their madmax pipe-bomb slinging baby . anyone.

[galateaknife]

Supernatural Wincest Reclist:

All stories here are over (roughly) 30k words, written before 2020, not frequently recommended these days (as far as I can tell), unearthed from various storage areas on my computer, and end with Sam and Dean together.

Please mind any tags and author-written descriptions.

If a story says (podfic available) underneath it, that means that I have a copy of the podfic. Feel free to dm me for a file.

I hope you find something new to enjoy here!

Under my skin by yourkidney. ~31k words. Post-S1. Ghost-induced mind meld.

https://yourkidney.livejournal.com/27595.html

(podfic available)

Chains of Babylon by poisontaster. ~43k words. Post-S1 futurefic. Dean is trapped in an evil mental institution.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/5721952

(podfic available)

Turn of the Wheel series by gekizetsu. ~111k words. Vague S2. There’s a war between the elements, and Sam and Dean get caught in the crossfire.

https://amalthia.mediawood.org/ebooks/viewstory.php?sid=127

This is Ourselves (Under Pressure) by clex_monkie89. ~30k words. Post 2x12. On the run from the FBI.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/230040

(podfic available)

The Things We Carry With Us by lovesrain44. ~48k words. Late S2. Dean thinks that Sam needs to get laid.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/267862

(if anyone has a copy of this podfic lmk, I lost mine a couple laptops ago.)

Black Velocities and Shining Movements by dimeliora. ~40k words. Late S2 AU. Sam is seriously injured, and something is seriously wrong.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19454164

Swear By All Flowers by sweetestdrain. ~37k words. Post-S2. Sam’s out of the game, and Dean is cursed.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18507

(podfic available)

Crush by sonofabiscuit77. ~61k words. AU from mid S3. Partially outsider POV. Dean owns a mechanic shop and Sam teaches.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/826173

(if anyone has a copy of this podfic, I’ve lost mine)

Threefold Path series by rei_c. ~182k words. Alternate end to S3. Sam gets Dean out of his deal. It changes everything.

https://archiveofourown.org/series/1581844

I’d Gladly Lose Me To Find You by flawedamythyst. ~36k words. Post S3. Sam makes a vow of silence to save his brother.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/2215497

(podfic available)

And So Awakens Devils by concernedlily. ~59k words. Alternate S4. Sam ends the world.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/190731

Not Time’s Fool by FayJay. ~58k words. Mid S4. Dean gets turned into a girl.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/4720

(I’ve also lost my copy of this podfic and would appreciate another copy)

The incestuous courtship of the antichrist’s bride by fleshflutter. ~48k words. Post-S4 AU. A classic.

https://fleshflutter.livejournal.com/102268.html

(podfic available)

As Through a Glass and Darkly by lexicale. ~118k words. Preseries and S1-5 AU with Hindu mythology instead of Christian.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/524025/chapters/927238

Hidden by AxeMeAboutAxinomancy. ~79k words. S6 Daemon!AU. Sam’s back from hell but daemon is missing.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/9488537

(podfic available)

Tornado Warning by dear_tiger. ~28k words. Early S6. Sam is walking around without a soul, and a man with no memory gets a job at a butcher shop.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/475602

Choir of Furies by Atanih88. ~32k words. Late S6. Sam’s wall has sprung a leak.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/221544

(podfic available)

Another Brick in the Wall by road_rhythm. ~170k words. Late S6. Sam disappears. Dean searches for him. Sam tries to survive.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/3207755

The Allegory of the Cave by Jay Tryfanstone. ~36k words. Post-S6. Memories and emotions and a hunt in New York City.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/488058

(podfic available)

Absolute Zero by pixymisa and selecasharp. ~61k words. Post-S8 AU. Sam closed the gates of Hell, and now he can’t die and can’t wake up.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/4156011

Sam Winchester’s Guide to Blood Magic, or How the Rockies Were Made by badbastion, thursdaysisters. ~46k words. S9AU. The apocalypse everyone forgot.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/4147914

(podfic available)

The Partisan by nigeltde. ~39k words. Mid S9. Post-Gadreel claustrophobia and restlessness.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/2049891

The Babel Fish Has Forsaken Us by orphan_account (indiachick). ~34k words. Late S9 AU. Phantasmagoria.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/2146206

a long hard day, a long hard night by deadlybride. ~39k words. Post-S9. Dean’s body disappeared. Sam gets him back.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16475585

Apophenia by MeltinSkelton. ~149k words. S10 or thereabouts. There’s a hunt and human evil in a town by Austin. Mutual pining and fever dreams, with a side of pining Cas.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17274647/chapters/40624721

Baba O’Riley and Eleanor Rigby walk into a bar by thecapn. ~33k words. The only non-hunting AU I’m likely to ever recommend.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27906127

Captured by the Game by rivkat. ~54k words. Raised apart AU. Azazel sends Sam to gain the confidence of Dean Winchester.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/1389

(podfic available)

[chiyoso]

“THE MARA'S WILL”

someone as fragile as you shouldn't have to reign the bloodied fields of cloudford, along with raging war against two powerful factions—as well as an internal presence that invaded your mind that started all of this mayhem.

content warnings; oneshot · female reader · honkai impact 3rd inspired · takes place after xianzhou arc · canon universe · manupulation · mentions of depressive tendencies · declining mental health · war · death · traumatic events · mentions of blood · fighting · sensitive descriptions · dead dove: do not eat.

author notes; an open ending is an open ending. i appreciate all your of love for this oneshot, but i won't be making pt2. ty.

The Astral Express.

A widely known faction of celestial mysteriousness that traverses across the galaxy, they dedicate themselves to the ways of trailblaze and adventure, an enormous train conducted by a rumored fluffy creature that travels through vast worlds with its starry residers.

However, you didn't expect to meet the faction like this. The time that you yourself encountered the famous members of the Express— or rather, they bumped into you.

A memorable impression, leading their hearts and minds to waver in complete uneasiness, fear and curiousity.

It was one of those moments. Moments of tranquility, replaced almost immediately with unsightly chaos, and screeching horrors.

And they weren't coming from you.

2:49 PM — CLOUDFORD, XIANZHOU LUOFU

NOW PLAYING ♪ TOT MUSICA

11 minutes until eruption.

ᚷᚨᚺ ᛉᚨᚾ ᛏᚨᚲ ᚷᚨᚺ ᛉᚨᚾ ᛏᚨᛏ ᛏᚨᛏ ᛒᚱᚨᚲ

ᚷᚨᚺ ᛉᚨᚾ ᛏᚨᚲ ᚷᚨᚺ ᛉᚨᚾ ᛏᚨᛏ ᛏᚨᛏ ᛒᚱᚨᚲ

“F- Fu-aahh.... Haah...” You groaned in pain. The sounds of alarms, crumbling and a voice of elegant dread echoed inside your mind, chanting unfamiliar, incomprehensible sounds that you were unable to understand nor fathom its sound waves.

Your flesh continued to crack as gold seeped out from the insides, bright lightning marks all around your form, accompanied with your heavy eyelids, struggling to keep your consciousness as you panted heavily. Your thoughts fogged viciously with memories of all kinds, your mind had felt like a mix between ice and fire. A flaming vortex along with an Icy storm that seethed inside, causing a severe throbbing that had you wailing in pain in heaps of volume consecutively as you grip your head.

“M- Mr. Yang!” A high pitched voice trembled, struggling on her feet while a grey haired female helped her up to stabilize her balance.

“Go. Call for reinforcements. I'll take it from here.” He says, gripping his cane while the other hand hoists his frames up to his nose bridge, returning his gaze towards the sight of you.

Reinforcements?

“H-hhgk—” You coughed up gold. Your face stained with your aureate tears, gasping for air as you clenched the area of your heart, which was beaming light, pulsating with the same color as the liquid that stained your whole being.

What was happening?

You screech, lower limbs suddenly at work, executing swift dodges that your untrained body couldn't handle physically, stretching and tearing your muscles.

Something was fighting for survival, and it wasn't you.

Your actions lowered the morale of determination from the Cloud Knights that had stationed on the sidelines, now replaced with a panic and fear from your ever so visibly increasing strength and agility, etching negative emotions into their wounded states that you have inflicted previously.

The man with the glasses, distance away from you clicked his tongue in frustration, he had summoned a multitude of black holes, raining hellish orbs of gravity towards you in such high speeds and velocity, but you... despite your poor state of self, you've managed to avoid them all.

But,

Even you weren't aware of your own skillful sequences.

ᛗᛁᛖ ᚾᛖᚷ ᛟᚾ ᚷᛁᛖᚲ ᚷᛁᛖᚲ

ᚾᚨᚺ ᛈᚺᚨᛋ ᛏᛖᛉᛉᛖ ᛚᚨᚺ

“P- Please... shut... get out of m—”

Feeble attempts of retribution, cease your resistance.

Play into submission, child of Lan.

You cocked your head to the skies, letting out gutteral sobs to the heavens, screaming and pleading your heart out while your own nails dug into your skin, your eyes weeped in gold, blurring your sense of sight.

Your thoughts were a sea of fragmented memories, bad ones, the negative ones that only fueled your transformation and the thread of your consciousness that you desperately were holding onto, was now being threatened harshly.

The man in glasses gripped his cane, firming his hold while witnessing your overwhelming presence and what was happening infront of him.

You were talking to yourself. You were visibly in pain, you were weeping, and the mara that was supposed to overcome you right now was... being barely resisted. Resisted. Resisted?

That's impossible.

You can't resist the Mara.

Beads of sweat formed trickled down along his jawline, his eyes diluded towards the sight that was all too familiar for him.

Someone- or something was talking to you, and he felt nothing but the sensation of dread swell inside him.

He didn't know what to do. Based on your own visible actions, it was clear—you didn't mean to do any harm, you were struggling more than anyone in this dire situation.

You brought your tainted hands that was darkening onto your face, trying to hold onto what's left of yourself, your consciousness.

“PLEASE! L- LEAVE M—” You choked out.

You were stumbling on your feet, drowning in pain as you sobbed your pleas of desperation.

His face scrunches, biting his bottom lip, frustrated over his hesitancy and lack of determination into going all out against you.

You reminded him of a state that reminded him of his past companions from another world, a state that only led to an upbringing of a powerful force, leading to the destruction of humanity and civilizations, a state that almost destroyed his homeworld.

But he had to remind himself repeatedly, you were just... Mara-strucked. A man-made work from the schemes of Sanctus Medicus, their work, befalling to an unfortunate character before him.

But... why the hell were you talking to yourself? Why were you pleading? Crying? How were you still able to talk? And most importantly, how were you still able to resist your supposed inevitable demise?

You peeked through your digits, your eyes pierce to the man with glasses, before lowering your hands to your sides in idle, continuing to pant heavily in place.

Your stance had your staggering legs slightly bent, your chin upwards—but your stained eyes remained on the figure infront of you.

His eyes diluded upon meeting your sorrowful gaze, his hand tightened around his cane further, seemingly ready to take on any action you will commence, but he wished you didn't engage, he wished for your attacks to cease. He didn't desire to harm you at all—You were in obvious pain, emotionally, physically and mentally, and only his veteran observations can see that.

“M- Miss—”

“Kill me.”

You said breathily with your burning throat, your voice had been accompanied with a second, mixing with your original tone with a now deeper, and sinister chord that showed the fruition of the transformation you were currently experiencing.

Your hands find their way to your throat as you coughed out more gold, along with the taste of iron that mixed with the aureate liquid that had turned into an morbid shade of color from your blood.

Your legs gave in, bringing you to your knees while you continued to choke on your own secretes, sobbing continuously from the sensations you were experiencing.

“BENEFACTOR! SHE HAS FALLEN!”

“WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?!”

“END HER LIFE BEFOR—” “Gghk-... Nngh...”

“Reinforcements are on their way.”

“I- It hurts.... It HURTS!!!”

“Call for further units! At ONCE!”

“P- Please tell me I'll live...”

“BENEFACTOR ITS YOUR CHANCE!”

“M- Monster!” “M- MY ARMS!”

“KILL HER!” “HER STRENGTH IS ONLY-”

“KILL HER!” “KILL HER!”

“KILL HER!!!!”

“KILL HER!”

The man with glasses was overwhelmed with contradicting emotions, hindering his wavering will to use the opportunity of your vulnerability.

The cries and pleas of desperation from the several Cloud Knights that have fallen from your battle, ring through the bloodied field, along with your genuine—sorrowful filled sobs that only haunted and hesitated him much more.

His own thoughts were only mirroring the mess that you were in, having to be filled with deep memories of a life that was filled with death and torment, reminding him of his sins once again.

The child of the Hunt, hopelessly clings onto the wretched humanity, only to be shunned out and betrayed by your own race.

I feel their sea of desperation, their desires for your lesser existence to perish without a trace in the galaxy.

Give into the sensations of truth, let it embrace your poorly sculpted soul, for I will accept you without fail.

You were already on the floor arched, your hands had continued to hold your head, gripping your hair as you wallowed in your pool of tears, gold and blood that soaked your once beautiful skin.

“Sss-top... Stop... Please...”

You've already hurt your own kind.

“I- I... Hgk— Ahh-Haah...”

You've already inflicted enough despair and chaos to the point where these lowly humans cling onto their life in a feeble attempt of living.

“Th- That's not...”

Savor their pleas and screams of anguish as they call upon your death. You aren't wanted, you aren't needed.

“THAT'S NOT TRUE—”

The floor beneath your shaking body began to crack, the density and force around you had only drastically strengthen, creating a growing crater below you.

You are only inducing fear in your surroundings, and you are more than aware of what you're causing.

Hatred. Anguish. Despair. A need for violent measures. A selfish greed of clinging onto life from their grave wounds you placed upon them. This is all you.

All you.

Mindlessly in pain, your body unwillingly helps itself up despite your own injuries. You took a heavy step forward, only ceasing the noises that surrounded you as they witness your hauntingly beautiful yet bloodied form, but there was no attraction, they were now instilled with a new type of fear.

2:55 PM — CLOUDFORD, XIANZHOU LUOFU

5 minutes until eruption.

You were a golden death. A victim.

A new dreadful existence that was unintentionally yet successfully created by Sanctus Medicus.

The golden liquid had already burned the rest of your outfit. Your body only continued to pour gold from the rifts on your skin, your heart—or your now crystalized core, pulsated with consecutive glows, as if your former heart, and the rest of your biology had changed, in which case, it did.

That's it... Embrace it... Your perfected, honed and better self.

Shut up.

The voice chuckles, continuing to fog and envelope your whole essence.

The unwavering, unbearable pain was now released, replaced with the sensations of your skin, healing slowly. The paleness in your face had become warm once again along with your body.

Your hair only grew longer, luscious and free, your eyes glimmered in high self esteem once more, while previous cracks all over your body had almost disappear as if nothing was there in the first place.

You will never admit it, but you felt more healthy, you felt beautiful, you felt confident, you felt...

New, refreshed and reborn, and you grasped control of yourself once again.

Your newfound vigor and vitality only brought unease and curiousity to the Cloud Knights who loathed your existence being a supposed child of Yaoshi the Abundance now.

The man with glasses couldn't help but be reminded of his weakness from your newfound growth, he had hesitated until now, witnessing your upbringing and his own actions had left a sour feeling on his drying throat, unease had surrounded the man, in fear of what will commence. He doesn't know how much longer he can fight, accompanied with the knowledge of his two fatigued Astral companions seeking out help of any kind, but another question lingered in his thoughts;

What were you?

You weren't a mindless Mara-strucked individual that they've previously continuously dealt with, nor you had the appearance of golden leaves that battered and grew out of you. You were just a woman, at what he assumes to be your very prime, the high peak of your health, appearance, physicality and mental state, and your curiousity and confusion about your own state confirmed his assumptions.

“I-...” Your senses interrupt you as your instincts come into fruition, tilting your head to the right, only to reveal a Cloud-Piercing spear infront of your vision that had thrusted forward from behind. The light, horizontal slit from your left cheek which the Cloud Knight slightly grazed, begun to heal almost quickly, as well as suddenly realizing your hand was already around the unfortunate Cloud Knight's neck, lifting them up in a chokehold as their air supply begins to be cut off.

With widened eyes, you immediately loosened your grasp upon becoming aware of your actions, retorting your hand while guilt pumped into you.

“It- It was... It was instinct I-” Your voice cracked, bringing both of your hands to cover your mouth as your once blurred vision finally had a good look to your surroundings, grasping the situation and your hellish surroundings at bay.

Remember the sight.

Your mind throbbed once again, yet your nerves find ways to soothe the pain, but... even then, it will never be able to heal your aching heart and the damage you inflicted against the soldiers of the Xianzhou Alliance.

Instincts went into play once more, feeling a sudden familiar, pulling force behind moving towards you in a faster, denser velocity, only for you to barely dodge a faster orb of gravity that you had previously, went up against.

“W- Wait! I-” You turn your face quickly towards the man whom attacked you just now, only to be met with a bright, icy blade that moved quickly towards you, but both of your hands had already instinctively raise to your face, piercing both of your palms instead, grasping in the side of the bloodied tip of the cold sword that pierced you.

“FUCK!!! NNGH—!” You whimpered in pain, feeling the sensations of burning that sourced within your palms, along with the skin and nerves that was already healing, your own rejuvenating flesh, pushing out the icy sword as a 'CLANG' follows suit.

“Hmph. You're lucky I didn't throw it with too much force, otherwise you wouldn't be able to survive that!” A voice of a young boy graced the battlefield, turning the red sea into a cold, thundering storm of snow and ice, putting the injured Cloud Knights at ease and discomfort from the coldness that surrounded the environent.

“L-Lieutenant Yanqing!” A Cloud Knight gasped at his arrival, alerting the rest with jarred cheers erupting, while your gaze dilutes back and forth to the man with glasses—and a child who happens to be a lieutenant that had arrived.

“P- Please- I-”

“Save it servant of the Abundance!”

A continuing, cold breeze of snow enveloped the young boy, his aqua colored swords flying towards you once more.

Now equipped with newfound, engraved instincts that you have begun to get use to, your body- that had not tasted the ways of war and battle, danced its way around elegantly and flexibly from the skillful wrath of ice that relentlessly continued to attack you.

Despite your consciousness and having a sense of control once again, you felt another sensation, one that felt like another presence, another soul, tangled with yours, tugging at your essence, and it was most definitely the reason as to why you were moving in such a way, that continued to inflict fear and uneasiness to the Cloud Knights, and the man with the glasses whom continued to witness your dance of agility and grace against the right hand of the Arbiter General.

...

...

Why me...?

Imperfect.

There are many others.

...

The embodiment of failure and success.

Wh- What does that even mea—

A host of purity and defections all in one. All suited for me.

A canvas of the purest, warmest of soul, painted with absolute grief, sadness, regret, pain — yet harboring no anger, rage, hatred. A non-existent need for revenge.

Something a certain diciple of mine lacked, thus her inevitable defeat from the subjects of Akivili.

And you are mine to break and reconstruct. I can finally fathom why the Hunt had their arrows set on you.

The words gnawed your logical, racing thoughts, leaving you in a moment of disarray, visibly seen from your relentless opponent.

The Hunt... The... Reignbow Arbiter? But—

“Hhgk—!”

Tch. So flawed.

You felt another burning sensation to the left side of your waist, looking towards a deep cut that split your flesh into two from the icy blades that hailed like the rain against you, yet once again, it had begun to heal slowly, as sounds of your flesh and cells crickled, halting the young boy in his trained steps for a moment.

“What... What are y—” The young boy gets cut off.

Your gaze suddenly returns to the boy, with your left iris flickering into a golden color, replacing your original shade.

“Your demise.” The voice took over your vocals for a moment.

“N- No! you will NOT HARM ANYONE FURTHER!” You grit your teeth, holding your curled fists into each other, retraining yourself and letting the voice solely focus on avoiding further attacks.

How unpleasant.

Why do you continue to resist, child of Lan?

The sight of you... talking to yourself? No... Your voice had continued to change back and forth, only confusing him further.

Something was amiss, but the young boy and his youth couldn't fanthom the uniqueness of the situation before him, he had only one thing in his determined mind, the solution of exterminating a being that threatened the peace for the Xianzhou Luofu; You.

The boy took his stance, his flying swords once again stationed behind him, but a sudden deep voice emerges from behind him, only startling the whole battlefield in his appearance.

“Yanqing. Well done in keeping the adversary at bay.”

A commanding presence immediately intensified the trickling air of tension, only leaving sounds of sharp breaths and your continuous argument with yourself.

Hush.

Huh?

You fall into silence to its bidding, only to look around to the young boy, who was now accompanied with the famous Arbiter General, holding a glaive that had a threatening presence, along with the General himself.

“I apologies for my tardiness Mr. Yang. I had matters to tend to.” The strong presence spoke, his eyes hovering upon your naked, yet coated state, assessing the situation with an unknown gleam in his eyes.

“Where of Stelle and March?” The man with glasses walked beside him, mirroring his gaze upon the beautiful woman before their sights.

“I sent message to the High Elder Vidyadhra medic to tend to their wounds, not to worry, they will be back.” He said faced to him with a knowing smile, only causing goosebumps to your skin, he was taking in this stage you set lightly, only irritating the voice in your head slightly.

“Now... What of the contexts of this fascinating situation?” The Arbiter General's penetrating gaze returns to you, eyeing your undeniable attracting form. You were oblivious, but the voice wasn't.

Leave the premises, now.

Wha? W- Who are you to tell me what t—

The throbbing had begun once again. Their conversations sealed upon noticing your actions as your hands gripped tightly around your head, whimpering in place.

“S- Stop...”

No. If you perish, I-

...

Leave, woman.

“Is she...?” The Arbiter General looks towards the man with the glasses, his eyebrow raised slightly in speculation.

“She's... She had been at this state for more than a few minutes since earlier...” He frowned, gripping his cane, being reminded of fragments from his life that whispered evily to him.

“Who cares? Let's extinguish her presence already General!” Impatient, the young boy firmed his grasp around the hilt of his sword of ice, pointing the tip of the sharpness towards you, his sky filled eyes sending daggers to your direction with determination.

“Patience little lieutenant. One does not rush in unknown, trifling matters.” The General warns with a faint smile that doesn't reach to his eyes, and without a choice from the tone of command, the young boy's will wavers with a sigh, lowering his blade in defeat.

“P- Please, end me...”

Your words grasped the attention of the trio, while your tears began to flow, taking note of your willingness to submit in defeat.

“See?! Even—” The young boy gets cut off once more, earning a serious glare from the General that hushed him almost immediately.

“Please I-... I'm sorry for causing harm...” You continued to sob quietly, gritting your teeth while your head continued to throb mercilessly with ruthless, familiar pain.

I said leave now, and I'll cease the pain.

The Arbiter General takes a step forward, his left hand holding the body of his glaive, no words left needed to describe that despite his aloof hold around his weapon, he was more than ready for any attempt of violent assault.

NOW.

Mirroring the gesture of his, you took a step back abiding the voice's word, your glistening, heterochromic eyes lock with the readied General, only fascinating him further from your saddened, alluring gaze. Noticing your hesitancy for closeness.

“...My lady, if you escape this very moment, I will make sure that every inch of the Xianzhou Luofu will be well guarded, awaiting your presence in every corner you find yourself in to hide away from our— from my grasp.”

A silence from him ensued for a few long moments, following a faint warning smile from earlier, his gaze unwavering towards you while you weeped, assuming you aren't able to grasp his own chords.

“I- I do not... wish to harm anyo—”

“You're right my lady, I won't allow it.” He came closer, moving towards you with delicacy in his footsteps.

“ ... ”

...

...Stubborn child.

“Don't go, my lady.”

“It- It hurts... My head... General I-”

“Our High Elder Vidyadhra apothecary will assist you.” The General says firmly with undertones of softness, taking another step forward, but you remained still, weeping in silence from the continuous throbbing and regeneration of the nerves that seethed you repeatedly.

He manipulates.

S- Stop the—hhnghk... Please...

His experienced words, eons worth of vocabulary, coming into fruition, laying the power of syllables onto you. Do not—

I DON'T- I CANNOT CARE FROM THE UNBEARABLE PAIN YOU CONTINUE TO MAKE ME SUFFER IN!

A befitting punishment for your unwilling soul.

“I- I didn't mean to... General I- Hnnhk—...” Your form staggers, suffering from the internal turmoil that resumed, collapsing in place—but before you hit the floor, the sensation of warmth arrived behind your lower back and waist.

You found your crystalized golden core, your bare, coated chest pressed up against a man with command, towering and holding your suddenly weakened state that matched a situation one again in prior events.

“Jing Yuan.” He said, lowering his own golden to you, his expression, hidden with enthrall from your weakened state.

You hear the voice click its tongue.

“I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I'm so—”

“Hush my lady,” He said in his low, husk voice, holding your weakened body, his hand firming against the soft, coated and warming flesh of your waist, stirring a once familiar sensation that rooted in his stomach.

“General Jing Yuan—” The young boy averted his gaze with a slight flush in his cheeks. Jing Yuan had not heard him, lest deciding to tend to the injured Cloud Knights instead, grumbling under his breath.

The man with glasses came closer to the two of you, his gaze feigning ignorance on the display.

“Miss... What—” He gets cut off, both men alarmed from your sudden intense grip around his biceps, your golden, crystalized core beaming, pulsating rapidly along with your quickened breath.

A golden ray of light erupted from you surrounding you vertically in a circle, sending the light up towards the sky endlessly, alerting everyone who bore witness to the intense display.

So be it.

A powerful, echoing screech escaped your mouth, tilting your head up to the direction of the clouds that welcomed your gaze as rubbles of cement from the previous struggles of the battle began to levitate the surroundings.

”ᚷᚨᚺ ᛉᚨᚾ ᛏᚨᚲ ᚷᚨᚺ ᛉᚨᚾ ᛏᚨᛏ ᛏᚨᛏ ᛒᚱᚨᚲ”

I claim your soul, little child of the Hunt.

You will be my host, my pure, imperfection of despair.

Only I shall intertwine with you, body, mind and soul eternally.

And this mortal, blessed with the lightning guardian spirit, shall be your first prey.

3:00 PM — CLOUDFORD, XIANZHOU LUOFU

The eruption commences.

how ironic, this fic being my first successful hsr fic ended up being the reason why i got my ppl pleasing tendencies back pfft. anyways, reblogs help my audience reach, thank you!

[nemastraea]

Doormat extraordinaire: Andrew Graves is down horrendous for his own sister | Part 1

Or as I like to call it, actual literal word vomit attempting a proper character analysis!

Here's a link to the AO3 version for archive purposes: The doormat extraordinaire has a bit of a romantic streak,

Content warning: This will heavily feature spoilers from Episodes 1 & 2 of The Coffin of Andy and Leyley. Trigger warning: Abuse, cannibalism, child neglect, codependency, harassment, incest, murder, self-harm, and suicide. Disclaimer: I will occasionally reference an extremely normal essay from Sufficient Velocity commenter Leyleyfication (here). It would be a lot easier to read this essay first as Leyleyfication does a pretty good job establishing the following: - Ashley is dependent on Andrew to assure and validate her of her own insecurities, and - The game heavily implies that Andrew wants to fuck his own sister.

Anyway: The Coffin of Andy and Leyley! A game in early access where a pair of siblings are stuck through a seemingly never-ending quarantine together, desperate not to starve to death. When their cultist neighbor dies in a ritual gone wrong, they rationally resort to cannibalism. Fun!

I am definitely going to assume that you read Leyleyfication's extremely normal essay (I am on my knees, begging you to read that). Which is why this essay immediately starts with, "yeah, Andrew definitely wants to fuck his sister" as its baseline.

What I will be adding to that funny little cauldron of fucked up sibling dynamics in a horror visual novel are the following: Andrew's fixation and sexual attraction manifests as his desire to control, dominate, and possess Ashley. And it is framed as a fatalist attraction and the totality of his existence (for worse or even worse).

Because of Tumblr's limit for 30 images per post, though, I'm going to have to split this extremely normal and reasonably lengthy essay into... multiple posts! Yeah! I have no idea how long this will fucking go!

So first things first: how can we tell that Andrew is even attracted to Ashley in the first place?

Nemlei (Devlog 05). Note the hickeys above and below Ashley's choker and her left inner thigh, and Andrew's left hand creeping into her right thigh.

As Leyleyfication points out, the game primes us to believe that Andrew is a pushover and Ashley is his abuser. This occurs in the Steam page as it explicitly says Ashley is "in fact, very bad" and Andrew is a "doormat extraordinaire." Moreover, it's very easy to tell that Ashley is, on some degree, obsessed with Andrew:

She's happy to hear that Julia broke up with Andrew over the phone;

She repeatedly accuses him of finding the Lady from Room 302 attractive and he 'tried anything with her;' and

Her flashback to wanting to punish her friend Nina ("the Bitch in the Box") for crushing on Andrew.

Episode 1, dream and memory. Leyley previously said that Nina should know better than to 'steal from another woman,' referring to herself. The implication that Andy is hers is toyed with after this moment, when she says she'd put Andy back in the box.

The game does prime us to think that Ashley is Andrew's abuser. It also suggests that Ashley projects an unrequited and incestuous love onto Andrew. Before we consider Episode 2's narrative, Episode 1 gives the initial impression that if Andrew comes to reciprocate her feelings, it's more of a reaction and subsuming to her will. That it may not be something he wants for himself and independent of Ashley's manipulation.

But again, I do believe Andrew wants to fuck Ashley. And always has been. He just frequently vacillate between 'subtle' and 'really fucking obvious' tells that completely take advantage of the game's third person limited POV.

Keep in mind that both Andrew and Ashley are extremely unreliable narrators. We aren't going to get information they personally do not care about and that is on top of our own choices as the player.

(A digressive example: you will not learn that the founder and CEO of Toxisoda's company was a former surgeon unless you interact with the television in Andrew's Episode 2 dream and memory of their blood oath. Otherwise, it neatly ties into the surgeon that Mrs. Graves conveniently says she was directed to regarding the siblings' quarantine in the main story.)

When it's really fucking obvious

When you play as Andrew in Episode 2, his post-dinner argument with Ashley carefully frames them both. They are cramped in the foreground and Andrew's left arm is conveniently blocked by Ashley and the kitchen knife, as seen here.

Episode 2, common route. Prior to this, you can interact with Mrs. Graves for her to pointedly comment on the siblings being inseparable.

At this point in the game, their physical closeness is something we're used to by now. After all, we've already seen Ashley on his lap at least twice; Andrew slept in her bed in Episode 1; and Ashley confirmed they've shared the same motel bed multiple times in the one-week interim between Episodes 1 & 2.

But the game abruptly shifts to Mrs. Graves' POV when she enters the scene and not only do we see the two as physically close, but we notice a few more details.

Episode 2, common route. The first picture transitions from Andrew's POV to Mrs. Graves as it introduces us to her entering the scene.

The contrast of how spacious the kitchen is from Mrs. Graves' POV to Andrew's cramped POV is obvious. More importantly, Andrew's fingers loop through Ashley's belt loops when the two are huddled together. When Mrs. Graves clears her throat, the two don't really separate.

Ashley pivots on her left foot so that her body is turned to their mother, not Andrew, but she doesn't step away from him. Andrew, meanwhile, recoils from Ashley and withdraws his hand. But he isn't turning his body to face their mother like Ashley does here. His attention, at least in this moment, is still towards Ashley (and, yanno, the sink).

Episode 2, common route. Two things to consider in the second picture: Andrew hides Ashley's bite mark on his cheek with his left sleeve and he conveniently moves the pillow from behind him to his front.

The 'tell' isn't so much as the two are unusually physically close. Again, we're used to that by now. But it's how the two siblings react whenever Mrs. Graves comes into the picture. Ashley doesn't really give a fuck about whether or not people assume the worst of her or even her intentions regarding Andrew. To Ashley, their proximity is normal and anyone who sees that as a problem is not worth an explanation or reason.

But Andrew is at least subconsciously aware it's 'not normal.' As far as these moments are concerned, Andrew instinctively tries to do damage control by either putting space between them or keeping his hands occupied so they aren't visibly touching Ashley. Still, he either does not mind or actively appreciates his physical closeness with Ashley.

When it's really fucking obvious (but only in hindsight)

In Episode 1, Ashley passes out after trying to clean up after the apartment. Regardless of her passing out in the living room, the bathroom, or their parents' room, she will wake up on the couch with her head pillowed by Andrew's lap.

Episode 1, Ashley's POV. Andrew's hands often hover over Ashley's head, but more than that—

I personally didn't notice this until I replayed Episode 1, when I basically have the hindsight of Andrew's fixation with hair. But yes, his fingers idly twirl through the ends of Ashley's hair as they watch TV. It's implied that Andrew can and will do this when Ashley pillows his lap, awake or asleep. He does not recoil from it when Ashley does wake up and later on, in Episode 2, even continues to brush it from her face.

Episode 2, common route. Ashley fell asleep at the passenger seat, so Andrew had to have transferred her to the back seat to pillow her head again. Though, technically, she's more cramped at the back seat than if he'd just reclined the passenger seat.

So far, we've seen that Andrew has a natural tendency to not only be physically close to Ashley, but to hover over her personal space and be in constant and direct contact with her. Whether it's by having her head on his lap, twirling her hair through his fingers, or even constantly grabbing her by the head in various states of comfort, playfulness, or outright threat (but let's put a pin on that for now).

The weight behind this candid contact shifts when Episode 2 draws a pretty explicit parallel between Julia and Ashley. Assuming that you interacted with Julia's landline and heard Ashley's voicemails, you know (and Andrew knows) that Ashley draws that connection herself:

DO YOU THINK YOU'RE BETTER THAN ME!? Just because you can fuck him and I can't? You think that's love?! Are you fucking delusional?? Cumdumpsters like you are just that. He will never love you. Not like he loves me. I am the only one. I am everything. I am the secrets you'll never hear. When he lies in bed at night, and when he needs someone to hold on to... It's not you he seeks out. It is me.

Episode 2, common route. Andrew's dream and vision implies that Andrew's heard these voicemails before.

That connection extends to the hair contact as well, as Andrew goes in to hug Julia, cards his hand through her hair and requests she tie her hair up.

Episode 2, common route. Andrew's dream and memory of Julia when they're older. From the use of Andrew's present-age portrait, suggests is closer to the timeline of the game's events than his and Ashley's memories as Andy and Leyley.

From this moment, we can have one of two assumptions: either Andrew wants Julia's (black) hair put up like Ashley's, or Ashley caught onto Andrew's hair kink and puts her hair up to imitate it.

Regardless, we infer the following:

Andrew teases affection through touching and even pulling on one's hair.

His fixation on ponytails and pulling on them does not exclude his own sister. It still stands and without reservation, perhaps more explicitly since he can do it so candidly, as we saw before.

The last of that Julia-Ashley parallel is self-contained within Episode 2. But only if you end up in the Burial route regardless of Ashley's platonic or incestuous vision.

Episode 2, common route (first picture) and Burial route (second picture). It's worth pointing out that Andrew is actually disinterested and moody during his conversation with Julia, and only perks up when he mentions Ashley or feigns care for Julia (since he extends his care of Ashley to her as well).

The game ends up drawing parallels on how Andrew treats Ashley, for better or for worse, with his ex (which is definitely worse, poor Julia). In doing so, the game blurs the lines between romantic affection for Julia and 'platonic and familial' affection for Ashley.

Y'all, this isn't even getting into how Andrew respectfully gives his parents space and only crowds them when he threatens them with his cleaver. In his mind, Ashley and Julia are in that same space of physical and romantic displays of affection; something he reserves only for them (only without reservation for Ashley) that does not extend to anyone else. His ex-girlfriend, and his sister. Shit's wild.

When it's obvious BUT it's violent!

That isn't to say that his hair fixation (hair kink?) is completely innocuous, though, as it rears its ugly head (pun unintended) in Decay. Which is what that previous pin was for! Yay!

You end up in the Decay route if Ashley doesn't trust Andrew with keeping an eye on their parents. Here, Ashley sleeps on their parents' bed by herself and has an alarming vision: an unknown party chases after her through the in-between and when they catch up to her, it's Andrew. Ashley has nowhere to run and Andrew eventually grabs her and threatens to kill her.

Whether or not Ashley can defend herself depends on Andrew expending all of her gun's ammo when he deals with the hitman, or not. But that outcome divergence will matter much, much later (so that's another pin for us to come back to).

The sequence of events actually mirrors the way the siblings ambush the Lady from Room 302 back in Episode 1. There, Andrew closes in on her and grabs the Lady by her wrist and uses his front to pin and restrain her. With his cleaver to her throat, the Lady is completely at his mercy.

Episode 1 & 2, common route (first picture) and Decay route (second, third, and fourth pictures). Note that Andrew restrains the Lady from Room 302 by the wrist while with Ashley, by her hair.

Andrew asserts control of the person and the situation through violence. Whether it's by killing them (the wardens) or by threatening physical violence (the Lady from Room 302 and Ashley). It's always on the table for him. As Leyleyfication puts it, "He's so calculated in how he approaches his use of violence [here]."

That violence includes Ashley. It's always on the table where Ashley's concerned. The game even juxtaposes when Andrew threatens violence and physical assault 'playfully' versus when he's seriously out for blood:

When you interact with the wall of call girls' numbers and Ashley jokes about leaving her number on the wall, Andrew 'jokingly' threatens to backhand her for even thinking about it.

When you interact with their parents' latched window for a second time, Andrew 'teases' slapping Ashley if she doesn't find a way to open it. (Ashley jokingly asks if it's on her ass or at her face, and assumes it must be the face when Andrew says she'll have to find out.)

The two other times that Andrew exerts violence against Ashley are both in Episode 1 & 2. We can remember when that happens in Episode 1, when Andrew's had it with Ashley's fits and threatens to kill her:

Episode 1, common route. Y'all, Andrew was choking her hard enough for his grip to bruise.

It happens again in Decay when he confronts Ashley about repeatedly calling him Andy and therefore, breaking the promise he coerced her into from Episode 1.

Episode 2, Decay route. Another thing to keep in mind is that Andrew's outburst is preceded by Ashley prodding him about his current state and insisting that Andrew was fine with 'Andy' during their home invasion.

In Episode 1, Andrew resorts to harming Ashley because he's fucking had it with her accusing him repeatedly of trying anything with the Lady from 302 and, in her eyes, his 'infidelity.' Where she accuses Andrew of not loving her enough that if his eye catches another girl, he'd leave her behind or flip on her. In Episode 2, she's poking and prodding on his boundaries on 'Andy' and whether or not, once again, he's with her on their now-committed life of joint crime.

If I can give another example, it happens in Andrew's common route memory of Nina's death and his blood oath with Leyley.

Episode 2, common route. Prior to this, Andy expresses immense exasperation at Leyley's tantrums over him 'thinking about that bitch again.' When he goes to grab the kitchen knife, cleans it, and returns to Leyley on his bed—he's briefly considering killing her.

Andrew threatens Ashley violently whenever he intends to confront her on her perceived brattiness, for lack of a better word. And keep Leyleyfication's essay segment on Ashley's insecurities and need for Andrew's validation in mind here—when Ashley does this, she wants and even needs Andrew to comfort her. But her aggression treads Andrew's patience and really, his tolerance of her behavior.

When Ashley's anger, clinging behavior, insecurities, and possessiveness of Andrew slips his control and tolerance, he resorts to violence to coerce or even dominate her.

I think (or hope, if it's clear enough) it reinforces what Leyleyfication points out:

The truth of the matter is, Ashley can only make Andrew do anything because he lets her. I don't mean in the sense that I'm saying abuse victims let their abusers emotionally abuse them, I mean in the sense that he is clearly considering his options on the table and choosing to discard those that could stop her, or bring an end to any of this.

It also reflects on another aspect of why Andrew resorts to violence: in all three situations, Andrew remarks on Ashley's behavior and her sake. If she acts up again once they're out of the apartment, it'll cause trouble for him while they're evading authorities. If she's going to call him Andy from hereon out, what's the point of running away with her. If she expects him to leverage keeping 'her secret,' he won't because it's for her sake.

Andrew rationalizes his attempt to control of Ashley's behavior as being for her sake. But really, isn't it him confining her behavior to something he can tolerate and personally handle?

I'd also like to point out that Andrew admits that he noticed Ashley push for calling him 'Andy' during the home invasion, and he did not argue with her on it while they held their parents hostage and readied to sacrifice them. We can infer that when Andrew calculates his use of violence, that can also factor when, where, and how he exerts it.

--

Well, that's where I can reasonably end this half of my word vomit! Now, onwards, to part 2!

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

FINCH'S FRENZY (IV)

|| COV MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER V ||

PAIRING: Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 8.7k

WARNINGS: Angst, blood, guns & shootings, canon typical, death, vulgar language, gore, arguments, self-destructive behavior, PTSD, fluff at the end? Maybe?

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*  

Vividly, you remember the first time your father brought you into the Museum. You’d only been little, then, no more than ten but old enough to form lasting memories that would stick with you. Key moments in the spanning woven tapestry that grew and spread like roots with colors named ‘Happy’ and ‘Sad.’ A memory bank of images that never leave the screen behind your eyes. 

The statue had only been there because of the fire. 

Made by men’s hands, it really wasn't the responsibility of a Museum of Natural History, but this was a special case. The other, sister, building to this one was far off into the city and had been completely ablaze not a week prior by unknown circumstances. Your father’s friend had burned, along with many priceless artifacts that were housed there. But not this. 

The stone statue of the woman. Only here because it needed a place to rest before being sent out of state to a more… appropriate facility. They had flocked to her—marble scorched and covered in ash. Yet beautiful. Heavenly. Long arms reach up, a tiny bird held in the clutch of her stiff hands, presenting it to a far-off sky.

Cameras flash and eyes water.

“They’re calling her dīvīnā, Little One.” You had looked up at him, clutching onto your father’s shirt sleeve in wide innocence. He smiles softly.

“Di–” Your lips sputter and face heats, “Di-ven-a?” A small chuckle makes you huff, your expression souring. The man kneeled down, gripping under your pudgy chin and teasing.

“Not quite. Dee-veen-uh.” 

“What does that mean?” You stubbornly shake your head, confused, “why are they calling her that?” A kiss is planted on the top of your head, your father standing back up and laughing, as you once more look at the statue with wonder. Your eyes glitter.

“It is Latin, my Little Love,” that stone bird in her lifeless hands has a broken wing, yet still she prompts it to fly; as if she knows it can even though it’s impossible. “Divine.”

To be loved like a woman in stone was a rare thing. 

You’re not quite sure why you remember that when you turn a swift corner, slamming a shoulder into it as bitter tears track your cheeks. The bloody hand that steadies you leaves a trail of crimson behind as evidence. You don’t slow, not even when Gaz’s hat threatens to fly off your head at the break-neck pace you set yourself on.

“The park,” you breathe raggedly, frantic slams of your shoes bouncing off the corralling buildings at your side as you dart out of the tree line and into the city streets. If you had been focusing, you’d realize you have no idea where you are; utterly alone while the violent sounds of firing guns and screams continue to bounce off airwaves. Too close. Too loud. “Oh, God, the people.” 

Cold couldn’t begin to describe your temperature. Frigid perhaps; shaking with frozen terror that makes you lose feeling in your limbs. Buggy eyes snap to shadows and trash in the alleyway like they were grabbing at you with phantom intentions. 

You don’t know when you lost Kyle—when you’d taken a turn too fast and completely disappeared or something else along those lines. But in your chest, your stiff ribs almost welcomed the solitude. You had looked into his eyes. Stifling a loud sob, you increase the pace as the screams behind you loom over your head like a cloud. 

Amber. Meadows. Deathly serious.

“No, no, no…” How had the attackers known you’d be out in the city? On campus? That white Sudan…How? 

You miss the rapid calls of your name in the background, equally as desperate as your instincts. Loud and distinctly British. Separated by stone and mirky puddles. You increase your velocity; moving farther and farther away. Run, you just need to run. From everything. From everyone. 

But when you rush one last corner, the large form that stands there isn’t a made-up phantom of the past. It isn’t a statue.

Skirting to an immediate stop, your legs quiver from the force and the dragging of your heels; your fingertips wrenching into your aggravated injury in retaliation. Gasping, your leaking eyes widen even farther at the covered face. The few feet of precious separation from the man that also surprised at the sudden arrival. 

A dead second of slow-motion thoughts and nothingness that seems like a year ensues. Not a single atom bounces. Had he been waiting for you?

You slowly look down with white eyes to notice the assault rifle in his shifting hands; the nervousness of hips as they rotate weight into a form that would remind you of a football player if you bothered to engage with that thought. The air is stuck in your nose. Blood pressurizes itself forward. You swallow tersely, one shoe shifting to take a step back carefully. No words, no exchange of sentiments. 

Only a target and a man holding a gun. 

“I…” You trail, lips not responding as the rabid pulse in your ears threatens to drown you with blackness. At the click of a safety, you’re running like a rabbit again, darting back down the same way you came as bullets explode through the corner you rampage past. 

“Gaz!” The call bounces to the sky, ringing off buildings. Was it possible to die from adrenaline? Everything burns a bright shade of red in the corner of your vision. Shouts ring from behind, a race of scarlet and duty now taking place with feral implications. 

This was what being prey felt like, and you had thought you'd only have to experience that feeling once. 

“Gaz!” You scream again, ripping vocal cords, and ducking as a round goes directly above your head, slapping your hands to the cap with gasping fear. How many were out there? Had they set a perimeter if you decided to run? 

This was a level of professionalism you never expected from terrorists. 

Sprinting past an open turn, a hand snags out, jerking you by the jacket collar as a second covers your mouth. Screaming, you bite down as your heart stops, mercilessly slashing out an elbow into hardened ribs. A sharp hiss meets your ear before the shadows of the inside of a doorway overhang swallow you. 

Your back is slammed into the barrier, breath on your forehead as your hand snaps to the pen knife in your pocket like a whip. The shock of electricity down your spine is inconsequential to the hand that flies over your mouth. It tightens before your eyes can adjust properly through the tears; fingers flinching fast past layers of cotton canvas. 

Lips dance over the shell of your ear. “Stop moving.” 

The struggling of your limbs halts, eyebrows slightly losing the agonized furrow. Heat wafts from the body pressed into your own—great bouts of natural warmth that you hadn’t felt in years from another human being. Your heart skips for it; muscles lessen. 

Goosebumps raise the hair on the back of your neck.

You blink rapidly, staring into the nose of Sergeant Garrick with a shuttering inhale behind his grip. Sensing your slowing pulse, his hand lowers, moving back immediately. Long fingers find his lips, signifying silence with nothing more than a tap and a frown. There’s still blood over his visage, splattering up his stubble and along his cheeks like paint as his jaw clenches with meaning. 

Wheezing, you shake with both fear and a sliver of ease even as your back aches from the force that the Brit had exerted to drag you back. You swallow down saliva and nod a number of times; completely out of it. 

You’re moved behind him with a firm push—a part of you flinches at the sudden chill that overtakes you once more—as the yelling gets closer from beyond your hidey-hole, a bulky thumping over the concrete ground like hail. You stare at Gaz’s neck as he grabs the pistol from his belt, leaning on the part of the wall that juts out with a single shoulder and barely peeking out. 

He blinks slowly, not even looking at you as his lips thin. He looks merciless and loose at the same time.

The man sprints past, barely making it a few feet from where you watch with stilled breath before Kyle separates from the wall. One shot is all it takes, and the stranger doesn’t even scream before he hits the ground; a last round being driven between his skull plates to silence any sound. 

It all falls silent after the reverberations cease—gunpowder in your nose and burning your throat. But it doesn’t even matter, because you’re already being forced along with a heavy hand on your shoulder before the blood can pool over the ground.

“C’mon.” He speaks blankly, whatever sly teasing and amusement from earlier today completely gone. “Exfil point is a block away—we need to move.”

You can’t do much more than follow, your head screaming at you. 

“B-but what about…” Wanting to ask about the people who are back in the park, not quite understanding the horror yet. 

Sensing this, Kyle knows it’s better to respond briefly. 

“They’re dead.” You flinch at the truth, hearing the bitter reality settle in coupled with the man’s bluntness. Gaz sends a side-eye your way, looking down at you from his lashes. 

While not willing to offer any comfort at the moment, he twitches his nose and simply states, “You need to stay focused,” while noticing the far-off look in your eyes; the rapid pulse under his grip. 

Humming under his breath, he leads you on ever faster, knowledgeable of the quickly dwindling bullets in his mag. As you both speed walk, he speaks through his earpiece, telling Kit the streets before the far-away man replies with the correct route to the Exfil point. 

“How’s the VIP?” Kit asks, and Kyle grunts, not giving anything more than a quick response.

“Alive. We’re nearly there.” He inhales slowly. “Multiple civilians down in the park.” 

“Copy, 2-6. Keep en route.” Gaz scoffs under his breath, surveying his surroundings as the wails of sirens fly over buildings. This never should have happened.

This brought him back to Piccadilly Circus; the start of his entire counter with 141 and subsequent approval into their ranks. He’d seen many things over the course of his deployments to the Middle East—when he’d put a target on his back when disrupting Opium supply lines. He shouldn’t be here. He should be with his comrades. 

Not with a girl that seems to want to put herself in every dangerous situation known to man.

Even with all the mental strain and uncomfortable scenarios he’d been in…watching innocent people die never got any easier. 

He moves you along; muscles wound and gun in a tight grip. Gaz tries to tell himself that you couldn’t have possibly imagined this happening and with how you were acting that would be the truth with no doubt. He’d told you, though, hadn’t he? That’s what really gets his jaw stiff.

I told her. And she didn’t listen. Didn’t even try to think it over.

You shake under his grip, and a part of him feels pity, honestly, but right now the severity of the situation is more important. 

“Take a left,” he utters, forcing you on with hardened brown eyes. You nod again, throat closed so tight you’re unsure if speaking is the right decision. 

Everything is a mixture of hot and cold—fingers burning yet arms shaking from a lack of heat; teeth chattering. 

The both of you were close now, only a few more winding turns left and the van should be waiting with the driver; authorities taking care of the shooters left in the park still searching for you. But these alleyways were like a rat’s maze. 

“Keep close,” Kyle offers, “We don’t know who else is—”

“Right!” Your yell makes him turn sharply, knife barely grazing the flesh of his neck as he weaves. Brown eyes flair with anger, gun in his grip just as easily coming up to the armed assailant. 

The covered face held no weapon besides a combat knife; another person intent on taking your life. How many were out here?

“What in the…?” Gaz grunts, but before he can bring the pistol up to pull the trigger, the man’s other hand is grabbing his wrist, twisting it to the side mercilessly and away. 

The Brit hisses, throwing out his other arm to block the knife from once more coming down to settle in his neck. These people were many in number, but how was it that they were so rusty? Anyone with combat sense knew it was best to go low before going high when attacking with a knife. Before he can swipe the Bastard’s legs out from under him, locked in that familiar battle of wills, Gaz hopes in his head you don’t run off again. 

Starting to gain the upper hand with gritted teeth and sparking eyes, there’s a swift thunking of metal meeting flesh moments later. Blinking wildly, Kyle’s face goes confused, slightly losing grip in that mere second of oddity. 

Then he sees it.

“Bloody Christ.” Gaz gasps, gazing at his own reflection in the hilt of a small pen knife stuck in the eye of his attacker who subsequently begins screaming wildly, trying to back up until the Sergeant shakes out of his shock. 

The gun levels with a chest, and it was done before the killer could rip the blade from his eye.

Only one bullet was fired until the small click of an empty barrel signaled that Kyle had used up his last round. The man falls into a heap and lays on the floor, a puddle of crimson leaking from his guts as he gasps and coughs. 

Breathing heavily, there’s a pause in the air. Gaz looks back at you slowly, eyes wide with astonishment. 

You stare back, right hand quivering and twice as bloody then it had been before. You had made a mirror slice on your palm by holding the blade and releasing it to hurdle forward loyally. Not that you knew that. 

No words are exchanged as the gurgling from the body falls silent, only the air speaks in brushing breezes that ruffle your jacket. 

“2-6,” Gaz’s earpiece speaks, but for a moment he’s stuck gazing into your eyes as you stare at the body, lips parted and jaw slackened. You’d just… “2-6, do you copy? Extraction is waiting for you.” 

Brown eyes snap away, feet quickly shuffling to rip your penknife out from the socket and place it in his pants pocket. Later.

“On it, Actual. Keep ‘em ready—we’re coming in hot.”

“Rog. Laswell’s been informed, expect request for a full security unit comin’ the lady’s way.” Frowning, Kyle doesn’t respond, having to physically turn your body away from the scene and move you forward. 

His X12 is slipped back into his belt, useless entirely. 

“Love,” Gaz speaks to you, trying to see if you’d respond, but your eyes stay blankly ahead; tears frozen in time on your cheeks yet the hysteria is shown in the stumbling of your legs. The racing pulse under your skin makes the Brit concerned. A stiff sigh is released before a decision is made with creased eyes.

You’re being lifted with little warning, carried into a bridal hold as if you weighed no more than a piece of paper. You gasp briefly, sense coming back in a flash of a thrown knife and a wide brown gaze. 

“H-hey!” The exclamation is met with a click of a tongue and increased footfalls, Kyle keeping you close to his chest with wind whipping past your ears. But you can’t think beyond the defining moments. The bodies in the park. The man you helped kill. Had killed. 

You force down the bile in your throat as Gaz’s warm body encompasses you. 

I didn’t…I didn’t do that, did I? You hadn’t thrown that blade. Couldn’t have. That would make you…

Your face tightens, brows creasing like tin foil. 

The van was torn open with a loud bark of ‘get us the fuck out of here,’ and a dumping of you onto the back seat only three minutes later; you didn’t have the thought capacity along that short run to tell Gaz to keep his hands off of you, or to stop sending you those glances with his hidden thoughts. All you could do was try and keep back the flooding hysteria. 

Kyle shoves himself into the car, slamming the door.

“Go!” He hits his fist on the back of the front seat and the driver peels out of the open alleyway with a screech of tires. 

Breathing heavily, you blankly look outside to watch the rushing police cars and ambulances dart past in the opposite direction. The streets were so condensed with fleeing people that they were having a hard time getting through, the flickering flashes of red and blue lights trapped behind your eyelids even as you blink and shake your vision away. 

Jesus, how many people are dead right now? How many were dying?

“Take us back to Base,” Gaz’s harsh accent drives a spike into your ribs. Focus on that. Focus on hating him. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about the knife.

You force out through a shaking diaphragm. 

“Fuck no,” the air flips; driver sending a wide-eyed glance through the mirror as Kyle’s wound body stills like a flag on a stagnant day. You persuade a sneer to your lips.

Just make him angry. Make him yell at me—distract me. A vile form of self-destruction, sure, but you can’t start thinking about anything that just went down. 

You know how it would go if you had time to process. How the first year went after your father met his fate. You’d…You’d…

The Sergeant’s tone comes out in a snarl, “What’s that?” 

You’d never thought his file was true about that part. The hardheadedness and the opinionated side. When he was with you he always seemed level-headed; calm. Now though, it was like you didn’t have a grasp on his character like you thought you did. 

In the driver’s seat, Private Clancy clears his throat and grips the wheel tighter, not sure where to go.

“You heard me,” he had, Gaz’s ears had twitched at the curse—vulgar language not common from your tongue. “Fuck. No.” Eyes hard on his knee, you glare through very obvious fear. Kyle stares with venom lacing his silver tongue, lungs inflating. “I’m going home.”

“Home?” The Sergeant asks immediately, the car taking a left turn quickly. “Oh, my apologies, then,” he shakes his head, “Do you mean the exact place you’d be ambushed? Perhaps giving yourself up would be more your speed, Ma’am. Private,” Gaz glares into the rearview mirror, “Base, now.” 

“You do not get to dictate where I go, Garrick!” You scream, ripping his hat off your hair and pointing a finger with the same hand. A flash of amber replays in the back of your mind. Stop. Please, stop. “I am not going to the damn—!”

“People are dead!” Flinching, your shoulders hunch in faster than someone can blink, and brown eyes burn at you, jaw tight and teeth bared even as self-restraint tries to hold back a more poison-coated octave. The thin line between the two of you breaks. “Civilians!” You see Kyle take down a deep breath, his hands clenching. The next sentence is slow, but deep, “I don’t care what you bloody want because I’m not asking. I’m taking you in and getting a full Unit assigned.” Your heart freezes, lids going back in shock as sweat trails down your back. Gaz scoffs, turning away from you to run a hand over his hair. “Never should have agreed with Laswell and taken you on. I need to be with my team. You don’t listen!” 

Opening and closing your mouth, you stutter for an answer. 

“Take me home, Kyle,” your voice is breaking, but Gaz doesn’t even look in your direction; his lips firmly sealed as he glares at the headrest with his resting fist tapping periodically on his chin from the window-ledge. “Kyle.” 

He shakes his head to himself, and in a fit of infectious rage, you chuck his cap directly at his skull with a strong arm.

“You fucking pathetic twat! I just goddamn killed someone trying to save your useless life!” You bare your teeth and feel your throat constrict, eyes red and holding back a weeping deluge. Kyle growls under his breath as the hard brim slaps his temple, snatching it back mid-air. But his snapping reply stills on his lips when he meets your gaze head-on. His breath halts for a brief moment, recognizing the dwindling sense of control. Your words give him pause, and he doesn’t think you realize you’re looking into his eyes again as you rage. “I should have let the bastard tear your throat open—at least he’d be getting to do what I’ve always wanted since the moment you put a fucking gun to my head! For leaving my family a mess of blood and pain! Do…do you expect me to be thankful? For what?! All of this is your fault! Don’t you dare try and put the blame on me.” 

You’re sobbing, and the Sergeant watches silently, lips slightly parted as the driver gets more and more anxious. The car sputters along at a slow pace; everything relies on who wins this volatile battle. Brown eyes are stuck on the blatant brokenness of your gaze, for the first time able to study them without side-eyeing you or sneaking glances when you regard him by looking at his lips or nose. 

He’d never seen eyes like yours.

Blame? He didn’t blame you. Not…not entirely. But he was angry at you.

“For the love of God, I will chuck myself out of this car and sprint home—I don’t give a shit if I get shot at, Garrick. You and your little Task Force can go and fuck yourselves. You left my father with a hole in his head; made my mother leave me in a decaying house all alone and expected me to be okay with seeing my dad slump dead and feeling his blood drip off my chin. That fucking house.” Hands weaving through your locks, you wrench your eyes shut and the connection is severed in an instant, Gaz blinking back to the car with an unsteady inhalation of breath. His body is as still as a stone statue, fingers twitching when you finish with, “Fuck!” 

Foot stomping to the floor, you hunch forward, wailing in earnest as the blood on your hands makes you want to barf. Your head burns. Your throat aches. Everything felt like you were being rocked back and forth on a violent wave of self-loathing and hatred.  

“Stop it,” you rest your head between your knees, mouth open with desperate pants of air, “Fuck, p-please just stop it.”

No one knows what you’re referring to.

The car had parked a while ago—sitting in the parking lot far away from the park. Once a moment has passed, the Private only taps the wheel in the strangled moment of relative silence, and asks above your wet sobs, “Sir, I…Where are we going?” 

Kyle stares at you, opening his mouth to speak before it freezes and falls back shut. He swallows down the saliva in his throat before licking his lips, not looking at his cap before numbly putting it over his head with two hands.

“...Mansion.” The tires peel out slowly.

You don’t hear anything above the ringing in your ears; see above the red curtain settling. All you breathe down is death, and all you can think about is what went wrong. 

“It is Latin, my Little Love,” that stone bird in her lifeless hands has a broken wing, yet still she prompts it to fly; as if she knows it can even though it’s impossible. “Divine.”

Your nails dig into your scalp harder, lips trying to strangle back sounds of a breaking mind. But you can feel his eyes on you as your face burns, digging deep when ruffling fabric makes you tense. 

Everything is so loud—too bright. You can’t focus on calming down…you…you need to—

A bomber jacket settles over your head, the sides draping down to your ankles as you blink back with panic. You’re about to scream before you realize where you are. 

Park. Car. Gaz.

The penknife.

Darkness surrounds you, and body heat suggests someone sits close. On the ground, you see a combat boot peak in from the makeshift shroud, shifting from time to time with unease and an inability to stay still. A blessing and a curse. Your bursting lungs begin to slow as you take count of the laces, studying the color and the shine. Letting the calming low-light seep right into your brain as your fingertips loosen. 

A throat lightly clears, and they tense again. 

 “We…we’re nearly back, Ma’am.” You don’t answer. Gaz sighs quietly under his breath, pressing to the earpiece sitting in his canal. “Actual, change of plans. I need a full Unit to sweep the entire VIP’s property—we’re heading back now.”

“I don’t think Laswell will go for that, 2-6.” Kyle peeks at your hidden form—the way you shake so violently he was afraid you’d shatter like glass. He thinks about what you said, not able to peel his eyes away. Even as he tries to force it down, his heart hurts.

“Do it. I’m not takin’ her to Base.” The Sergeant tits his head down, hand clenched. “It’ll make this worse than it already is.”

“...Rog. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Copy, Mate. Keep me updated, yeah?” 

Gaz thinks back to the alleyway and the penknife in his pocket feels heavier than stone. He hadn’t needed help. That wasn’t pride, that was just a fact. The Brit wasn’t as large as Soap—certainly not Ghost—though he was still well above average for what a regular workout would give you. Even if he did value integrity far better than brute strength he wasn’t like a dull blade. 

He’d had it under control. 

So why had you done that? Even you had expressed confusion over the action. For all intensive purposes, you should have wanted the terrorist to win. It seemed like you did.

“Hell,” Kyle whispers, bushing off the dried blood on his cheeks with the back of his hand as the city falls away to a slower-paced town. The adrenaline was wearing off, and the internal guilt was beginning to form. 

He hadn’t meant to yell. 

It had been a while since he’d worked Protection, had forgotten how much he should regulate his emotions. Gaz was used to strong bands of brothers—tight-knit groups that went in like a shadow and left with nothing but a whisper. That was One-Four-One; his brothers. 

But…brown eyes slowly rove to stare. Listening to the struggling breath like an animal being choked by a collar. 

You’d already gone through so much, and although he could grab you by the arm and shake with all his might, it wouldn’t change the fact that you didn’t know how this worked. 

He needed to keep his gentle approach, not force you back into the hole you were intent on keeping in. Gaz needed to fix this. Tell you. Show you. 

He’d do it tonight and if his honesty didn’t work even a smidge then he’d send in his offer for re-assignment. He’d made a mistake, and he was never one to let that stand.

By the time the van was pulling into the iron gate, held open by a black-clothed soldier, the property was already swept and cleared. Gaz opens his door and steps out, leaving it open on the off chance you would follow him. You didn’t, of course. 

“Sergeant,” the man’s face was covered with a balaclava, large of shoulders and chest. A hand is presented, and Kyle takes it with a soft greeting.

“How’s it looking?” 

“Everything’s in order, Sir. Laswell took the time to set us up back in town,” there’s a glance sent your way, and Kyle restrains himself from sidestepping and blocking the man’s view. His instincts were still rampant and he shifted his legs restlessly. “Figured the Lady wouldn’t be too keen on letting us stay here—can’t do anything without the inheritor's permission.”

Gaz blinks at that but only adds it to his databank. He knew you had control over who you allowed on the property, but hadn’t known you were the inheritor. 

Why hadn’t the estate gone to the wife? 

“Good to hear,” Kyle smiles slightly, tapping the side of his fist with the soldiers. “I can take it from here, yeah? See to it your men are comfortable and keep the radio up—we don’t know what else might be going on.”

“Copy, Sir.” When Gaz switches weight, looking into the interior of the car he’s already addressing you with a calm demeanor; ready to coax you out with a good chunk of his gut filled with apprehension. 

“Love…can you—” The car was empty, and before Kyle could begin to snap to attention, the black of his bomber jacket slashes his wide vision. A deep sigh falls after a second of exasperation, sarcasm about to be called over the air. Hands rub over eyes before itching at his cheek with a muttered, “Keep it light, Garrick. Sky’s not falling just yet.”  

He follows, concern growing steadily. 

You had killed a man. Lived through your first shootout. How was he supposed to make this work? You already hated him…what could he say? 

Gaz knew for a fact that it hadn’t fully hit you yet, and when it did, he was afraid you would break apart even more. But why was he so conflicted about staying or leaving?

Your feet carry you to the house quickly, head down and extra jacket over your shoulders that you don’t bother to flick off. Shoving past leaving soldiers that give you stiff looks as you pass makes your lungs hitch. You didn’t want them on your property—you didn’t know them. 

“Love!” Kyle calls your name from behind, and you hear his jogging feet catching up as your fast-snapping eyes find the black void in the bushes. 

The cat. 

Green eyes brush against your, slitted pupils corralled by overgrown foliage. It blinks slowly, and you force your head forward once more; un-cut hand snapping to your mouth to keep down the frantic way your lungs jump. 

Doors were of no obstacle to you, you shove through them with a hunched shoulder, letting it swing open and hit the wall with a defining bang of oak. 

“Hey! Slow down, would you?” Ripping your shoes off, you speed across the foyer, heart distressed. Before long your body points you down the hallway. 

Gaz rushes after, heart beating fast as your form disappears down a sharp corner that he grabs to swing himself past.

The black of his bomber jacket is a temporary sight before the barrier of a door slams shut, swallowing you whole. 

“I need to…!” Kyle halts to a quick stop, arms at his sides as his button-up stays rolled up at his elbows. Brown eyes close tightly.

“...Apologize.” He places a hand on his head, tilting back his neck, “Shit.”

—

By the time you realized you weren't in your room, it had already been too late to turn back around. 

You gradually come back into reality after a fitful anxiety-induced fatigue on your father’s office couch. Hours had passed, judging by the pitch darkness of the room; the temperature was already colder than you usually were used to. 

Eyes stare at the ceiling for what seems like an eternity, and it’s sad to think the only time that everything in your head calms down is when you can listen to the pipes in the walls. Creaking wood. Forcing yourself up, you hiss sharply, lids wrenching shut at the zinging pain up your right arm. 

Ripping your hand up, you blink rapidly through the achiness of your red eyes to stare down at the dried wounds. The twin gashes across your palm crack as you flex your fingers, crimson lines opening. Even as your sigh builds, you only watch them begin to bleed at the movement; not relaxing your muscles for the single purpose of not caring enough to. 

The skin was agitated. Itchy as well. 

I sent a knife into a man’s eye. You still, lips parted and numb. I watched people die one after the other because I went outside. This is…this is my fault. 

Kyle had been right. You don’t listen. You’re stubborn, vengeful. 

“But I can’t be anything else.” Whispers bounce off the walls; the coffee table ahead of you and the gargantuan desk behind where you’d play hide and seek in the gaps. 

You’d run to your father's office to try and find comfort you know you’d find nowhere else. Pull it from memories considering it was all you had left. 

But you can’t pull comfort for this. Part of you wants to put on the news—know the count of the dead. The other part says that would be worse. 

“Because of me.” You mumble, standing on unsteady legs that threaten to buckle. Your body is sore from all the running; fleeing from bullets. 

No, not because of you. 

Sucking in a slow breath and listening to the creaking of the house, the ghosts, you clear your throat to dispel the mucus. 

Because of your father. Mind racing, this event puts a hammer into the stained glass that was your family legacy. Before you could deny it—you could say it was Samson Row that was judge, jury, and executioner; while that was still true, what kind of people would fire on innocent bystanders to try and nail a single target? 

Turning, you think back to Laswell as your tongue licks at the dryness of your lips and your eyes move to attempt and paint a picture. You stop to look at the desk.

“Your father had sensitive information that searches of his shipping lot and museum office didn’t offer any leads on. While you’re spending more time at your home, I want you to look for them. Anything that involves other dealers or a location to a hub.”

Taking down a slow breath, the walls were suddenly suffocating you. Your father didn’t…he…he couldn’t have.

Your right hand pulses mockingly. 

Without knowing, your feet pad over the floor to his desk quietly, standing behind the chair and over the dust-hidden mahogany. The old lamp on the corner; the strewn papers that have faded ink and old script haunt you as you slide your vision over them. 

Museum exhibits that never got installed, bank statements, and more important documents pertaining to his job. You skim over them, bloody fingers leaving streaks in their delirious acts. 

Feeling the fiber under your flesh, you push them aside one by one. 

Nothing of interest. 

Your throat closes for no reason, skin goes slick with perspiration dribbling down your brow. Nothing, see. 

Blood drops down to the table as you hold your hand over it, loose and limp at the wrist but violently quivering. You watch. And then you start to open the drawers with a heated fervor, wiping at your forehead and leaving streaks of crimson. 

“There’s nothing.” You gasp. “Nothing. They’re dead because of nothing. I killed a man for nothing.” 

Guns fire in your mind; people scream like you had when sitting in that chair in a basement. Gaz’s eyes boring into you. You’d looked into his eyes not once but twice—the second of your own volition.  

“Nothing?!” Folders are grabbed and slammed to the desktop, exploding with a poof of dust that leaves you turning and sneezing violently before you stifle yourself. 

You’re ripping them open one after the other, burning in the back of your nose. A knife keeps releasing from your hand. A shove on your shoulder as a bullet hits a trash can that was used for cover. 

The black bomber jacket that had fallen off in your slumber and was now sitting in a heap on the floor. 

Innocent people. 

Fuck, they were screaming at you.

“There can’t be nothing.” You seethe, trepidation both your drug and your double-edged sword…what if you did find something? “There needs to—”

“Love…?” Air silences. “Are you alright in there?” 

There’s a shadow under the door, barely discernible over the darkness as you shiver. How long had he been there? How…how long had you been in here? 

Your fingers stop their aggressive tossing and you blink through the dizziness of your brain. Stumbling back a step or two, your hip bumps into the chair. Instantly, the large thing skids over the floor with its wooden legs as an ear-ringing screech as you grab onto the arm to stop from falling. Your skull pounded. 

Quick, loud, knocking starts. 

“Ma’am? Ma’am!” Breathing quickly, your body shakes at the noise, the sound so similar to the sounds in the park. 

“S—,” your voice breaks, “Stop fucking knocking!” 

It stops instantly, and you pause there for more than a few moments glaring at the floor; brows tight and teeth biting into your lip. The quiet sound of a hesitant voice echoes after a minute.

“Could you open the door for me?” Gaz clears his throat as you stare at the wooden barrier with glinting eyes. An attempt at a kind chuckle. “...Been getting cramps in my neck from leanin’ back against the wall all night. And I, uh,” you close your eyes, “I think we need to have a conversation, Love. A real one, if you follow me.” 

You were tired, incomparably so, but even you knew he was right. What he had yelled at you in the car was true. All of this had gotten put into place with as much consideration as a mallet gives a nail. 

And Kyle had known all along what would come of it. A sliver of guilt stabs you. 

You didn’t have to like him—didn’t have to forgive him, because you probably never would—but you had to begin to listen. That didn’t mean stop pushing back, it just meant that his expertise was needed for the safety of the city as a whole. 

The city with the museum that your father had loved dearly.

Feet shuffling, you move around the desk, side-eyeing the now bloody contents atop with a numb expression as you move to the door. You had locked it, apparently. 

Not that you remember. 

Hand stuttering above the handle, you stop and listen with straining ears. A shifting body calls to the Sergeant’s anxiousness at your non-visibility. The erratic behavior. Resting your forehead over the wood, you truly wonder if there would ever be a time you were used to someone else living in this house. 

This house. Your house. 

It didn’t feel right for anyone to live here. 

“Are you there, Ma’am?” You open the door stiffly. 

Kyle’s face is tense, you can tell just by looking at his chin; how he holds his shoulder back like that. There’s a split-second where you both study each other—you, noticing how he’s still just as dirty as you, and him, seeing the focal point of the streak of red blood on your forehead. 

“What, Garrick,” you speak as he sees the ruffled nature of your clothes. Defeated muscles. “Here to tell me you were right?”

His legs cease their movements, mouth half-open with apologizing sentiments now snapping shut with a click of teeth. But not from anger. Concern. Why were you bleeding? Had he missed you being injured? Kyle had sworn you were alright—no shots had ever met their mark.

He’s touching you before he remembers to ask first.

You’re being swept back into the room and plopped down on the couch with no warning, and you don’t fight it. Warm hands grip your shoulders and squeeze quickly.

“Bloody hell,” Gaz rushes to the desk to flick on the lamp, “Why didn’t you tell me you were hit?!” Your eyes snap shut, blinking rapidly at the light.

Rays cascade over the room, the dust in the air being sent into dance classes with how they flew. Lids narrowed at the floor, your socked feet shift over the old rug, but you offered no answer over a soft shrug of your shoulders. 

Kyle gawks at the back of your head, rushing back over to check you over as he bends on one knee. Hesitating for only a moment, he first looks at your head, tilting it back and forth with a hand under your chin and the other by your ear. You’re cold under his grip and that makes him even more nervous.

How much blood had you lost?

“I need you to tell me where it—”

“Hand.” He blinks, staring at you for a second with surprise. Gazing down he sees the spasming limb with a small inhalation of air. 

You let him slowly move back, all digits moving to encompass the afflicted area. But he pauses. 

Frowning, you rub the side of your face into your shoulder as you hear the man suck down a sigh. Confusion lingers in your heart, but you care little at the moment. 

“May I?” In between the brief palpitations of your most important muscle, you forget for a second who’s in front of you. You forget the Sergeant. The Brit. 

Your face softens.

When had someone last asked you that? 

Your lids slide open and closed in surprise as Kyle waits, outwardly patient with an internal raging heart. 

“You’re already here, aren’t you?” The room is bathed in warm light and quiet creaking. Two people who don’t know how to act around one another suddenly suffocated with too many words. So they say nothing. 

Kyle grips your hand so softly that you have to hold your breath in order to keep sane. You want to rip it back from how warm he is.

“Christ, Love, you’re freezing.” It’s a low comment, passing more for a whisper as brown eyes snap up to you. But slowly he shifts your flesh with the dig of his firm fingers, running over the bone to check for internal damage until he flips it over entirely to see the real problem area. 

He holds in a sharp gasp. Tries to keep his cool as you stare at his bobbing neck.

“That…this’ll need stitches.” You hum. Gaze sliding to his face you say what first comes to mind as you draw a comparison to his twin scratches. You end up wondering if you’re drunk again.

“We match.” you point casually to Kyle’s left cheek. His were smaller than yours, of course. 

Gaz focuses on your eyes even as you choose not to look at him directly. 

“Yes, Ma’am.” He attempts a weak chuckle, still holding your hands with the hope that you might take some of his heat for your own. Why were you so cold? “I suppose we do. Why don’t you come with me and I can get you all cared for, yeah?” 

You weren’t acting right, and for an instant, the Sergeant misses your snarky attitude. Anything was better than that bitter nothingness living in your expression. He was shocked. The woman who he’d had this iron impression of was using a chisel on it every instant she could. 

It only made him feel more and more like a prick. 

Fucking hell, Garrick. This is a whole different game. 

“How’d you get them, then?” You were in shock, speaking whatever came to mind with a far-off stare dunked in alarm. Kyle had seen it all before and it didn’t matter who it was plastered on. It was his duty to help. 

“Tell you what, Ma’am,” he stands, helping you up by the arm and sending a soft smile your way. “We’ll get you all proper again, and I’ll tell you all about my days in the police force. I wager you’d like that. History and all.”

“I like old history,” leading you out the door with a hand over your back that rubs small circles, he traverses the darkness and leads you to the shining light of his room one step at a time. 

He sends an amused glance, “That’s my old history. Pretty good, too, in my opinion.” 

You shiver again, and Kyle draws you a little closer, frowning tight. Your eye bore into the ground with cold sweat on your temple. He moves for a second to wipe it away but stops himself with a tight closing of his lids.

“Why would I care about that?”

“You just asked me, Love.” He reminds softly, turning the corner slowly as the two of your feet make the floorboards scream. This house was never quiet was it?

“Humph,” your sound bounces off the walls when Gaz makes it to his chosen room, the door already open and the light on.

He moves you to the cleanly made bed and lets you sit down while he walks to one of his bags by the wardrobe. A medical kit is pulled out, yet he keeps sending looks behind him to stare at you. 

Legs hanging off the bed, you can’t really tell if you’re here or if this is some strange point between delirium. For certain, though, you don’t feel good. 

Bleeding like a stuck pig and trying to keep your vomit down. It was all a state of far off sea-water. A roaring of waves in the back of your head. But there was a realization as Gaz shifts in front of you once more, face creased.

It is the realization that no matter what you do or what you try and change, you will always just be this. Stuck; stationary. Left to waste like the mansion itself—breaking down year after year until all that’s left is rotting wood and shattered stone. Blades of grass in the cracks and termites with fat bellies. But what was even worse was that you didn’t know how to function without this decay in your skin. The quiet rage pulled down beams of sanity. The agony a network of scuffed floors and dented walls. Shut curtains. Abandoned rooms and memories that shutter with every gust of wind. Ghosts in the hallways. 

Was it all real, or was it just a pigheaded attempt to find something to relate to? There was truth to it—there had to be.

This was home. 

This was you. 

This would always be you.

“You asked how I got my scars,” Kyle speaks and you notice his hand back in yours, skin tingling not from the medicated wipe he runs over your palm like a feather, but rather from the sensation of touch. 

Warm. It was a blanket of pure silk. A stuffed animal set into the dryer. How had you ever forgotten what that felt like? 

You hum an acknowledgment, flinching when the chemicals start to turn your hand numb. Gaz lightly shushes you, squeezing your wrist. 

For some reason, your nose starts burning at the action. 

“It’ll be okay, Sweetheart.” He stands, grabbing a chair from the corner table and bringing it over to place in front of your knees. The medical bag is placed beside you, various contents being taken out as elastic gloves are pulled over long fingers. “Where should I start then,” Kyle stares at your sad-tilted eyebrows. “The moment it happened or how I put myself into that bloody stupid situation?”

“Situation?” You utter, scoffing without venom, “Sounds pretty serious there, Sergeant.”

“Oh, trust me it was,” the way he places your hand in his lap is deeply intimate, disgustingly so, but even as you want to rage and shove him off, it hurts to think too deeply. “Terribly serious—I was undercover, y’know.” 

His soft expression holds you as the first stitch pierces your flesh. Pressure, no more. You frown, rubbing your eyes with your free limb. He pauses and glances your way, finding no pain, he continues on with the second, deft hold creating perfect knots.

“Ever done that, then? All your snooping around, I wouldn’t be surprised.” A smirk comes and goes on your lips. “Certainly seem the type, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“Can’t say I have.” 

“Hm, well,” he chuckles. “Anyways, you see, it was a drug bust during my third year with the Blue. Opium. Sizable Mates running that whole operation. They found me out two bloody weeks in.” You blink to slight surprise, shoulders losing their hunch as you now have something else to draw your attention to. “Hoped to at least last a month, to be honest with you.”

“You’re insane.”

“Ah, probably, Ma’am.” Taking notice of the blood staining Gaz’s cap from earlier today when it was on your head, you bite your lip as the story continues. “I was held up in a shipping crate for a whole damn week, and this one fellow,” Kyle moves one hand up and your vision snaps to it, seeing him motion to his chin with a ‘U’ shaped hold, “proper beard on him, tells me I need to give up who I was.” 

“...Did you?” Lip quirking, the Sergeant finishes off the first row of sutures, grabbing another wipe and cleaning the area. He was happy you were focusing, at least, but you were still too shaky for his liking.

“Hell no—Bastard sucker-punched me. Happened to have a nice ring on his finger. Can only pray for whoever was married to the bloke. Ripped my cheek open something nasty, enough to make it scar over.” Both of you are surprised by the huff of laughter that jerks your chest. 

A pause as Kyle feels his chest go loose. That wasn’t a bad sound at all.

“Well, that’s it,” Gaz admits softly, halfway done with the second, smaller cut, “can’t say it’s all too amazing.”

“Because getting tortured by drug lords isn’t what you consider amazing, apparently.” You cough through your embarrassment, feeling slightly back to normal. Taking down a deep breath, you stare down at your palm as it gets sewn back together again. Hearing how the skin squelches.

“Well,” the Brit holds you delicately, a swelling of pride in his chest, “I’ve done a few bigger things than busting the likes of them. Stuff that meant a great deal more in the moment.”

The rest of the sutures and cleaning is done in total silence, and your lungs are suddenly able to work properly again. Kyle places a thick gauze pad atop the marks, holding it down while taking a roll of bandages; beginning to unravel them. 

His thumb is holding the end down when he whispers.

“Why didn’t you want my help?” You ran from him in the park—hid away when you were injured. None of his teammates would do that.

She’s not them. 

With a skip to your pulse, you hold your lips shut with an iron rod. That was the question, wasn’t it? You had run from the only person in the world that seemed to care whether you lived or died.

Peering at your palm, you speak the only truth you know, “Because then I’d have to admit something was wrong.”

There are more things you want to say to him—horrible things; pleas and nonsense—but in the end you just turn to stare at his neck with blood on your hand and stitches stuck in your flesh. 

Kyle’s eyebrows peel up, holding your hand in his own and suddenly more in tune with you than he ever had been before. 

“I…” He starts but doesn’t finish. Not for a long while. “I’m sorry, Love. For all of it. But you need to start listening to the things that I tell you—I’m here to keep you alive. It’s my first and my only priority. You need to be able to live with that.” 

He wasn’t sure there was more he could say. Your lips pull in, pressure living in your chest like an infection. 

“I hate you,” you say, eyes watering. Blood on your forehead.

“I know,” he responds, slowly, softly; wishing for a moment you’d look into his eyes again so you’d realize he’s finally starting to understand. 

TAGS:

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[aziraphales-library]

first off TYSM FOR THIS ACC AHH ITS BEEN SO HELPFULL <3

do you know any fics with touch-starved Crowley struggling to get used to the amount of affection Aziraphale shows him?

anyways love you all byee

We have a #touch starved tag that you will want to check out! Here are more fics to add to the collection...

Demons need hugs too by apeiiron (NR)

The thought of losing Aziraphale, his one constant, his one love, his everything, is too much to bear. Crowley wants to hold him more than anything, but he's too intimidated by the what-ifs to try. Aziraphale did it for him.

My Dear and Only Love by Sarah_hadeschild (G)

“I like your hands,” he said, plainly. Aziraphale huffed out a laugh. “Do you?” “‘Always have.” Aziraphale regarded him for a moment as recognition dawned on him. The things was, Crowley loved to grandstand. He loved to act braver than he was— more callous. That way, when things went awry, he had no one to blame for it but himself. Aziraphale knew this. And because of it, he knew that if he didn’t look out for Crowley’s heart, then no one would. AKA Thanks to a well-timed Valentine's gift, a touch-starved Crowley is about to get everything he desires. Well, almost everything.

Charred Feathers by KannaOphelia (T)

The wings burst through, a flurry of feathers and ripping fabric. “Damn. Thought they’d be enough room. That was a Tom Ford under-vest, would have cost me eighty quid if I’d actually bought it.” “Of course you stole it, you vile fiend,” Aziraphale said automatically, staring at Crowley’s well-groomed wings. They were black, and tidy, but it wasn’t a pure, midnight black. More a very dark, almost shabby grey, for all their beautiful condition. He was beginning to have a horrible suspicion about those wings. He reached out, and very gently brushed his fingertips through one, not letting any healing power through yet. “Made it. Y’know.” Crowley mimed snapping his fingers. “You’re wearing knock-off flannels?” Aziraphale demanded, tone high with outrage. He let his other hand come to the other wing, stepping closer, as Crowley snorted with laughter. Aziraphale had been right. Crowley’s feathers were smooth and perfect and undamaged, and at the same time, they were charred black by fire.

The Touch of Your Hand by EdosianOrchids901 (T)

After a moment of casual contact in Rome, Crowley realizes that he’s touch-starved. He dreams about holding Aziraphale’s hand or—even better—hugging him. But Aziraphale is an angel, and Crowley is a demon. And demons don’t deserve hand holding or hugs…do they?

Velocity by dragon_with_a_teacup (T)

Aziraphale can sense Affection whenever that emotion is near. Yet he has never looked for it within himself whenever Crowley is near. It should be impossible, an angel feeling such things for a demon; why, then, would it have occurred to him to look? Why would he have thought to analyze his bond with Crowley—a bond forged throughout the centuries through a convenient work arrangement—for anything beyond mere camaraderie? Yet now, his favorite angelic ability turns inward for the first time, and at last, he sees: He’s been such a fool.

An Exercise In Trust by organizechaos (T)

It’s been eleven years since Armageddon and Heaven and Hell have been conspiring to restart it. Meanwhile, Aziraphale and Crowley moved in together, got married, and are overall really happy. When their former bosses finally confront them — attacking with an object that will take centuries worth of memories from the ineffable pair — something goes a little wrong in the process… Crowley takes the full hit. (Basically, it’s just about +37,000 words worth of Crowley being a confused mess at why Aziraphale’s finally reciprocating his love)

- Mod D

[wastelandmoony]

Things We Lost in the Fire

Characters: Sebastian Sallow x Reader/f!MC

Summary: Sebastian Sallow was many things: your dueling partner, former friend, object of your secret desire. But most of all, he was a pain in your ass.

Going practically M.I.A. since the Battle of the Repository, you hadn't spoken or seen him since the end of your fifth year. As a new school year begins, you'll need to come to terms with his overbearing presence around the castle...and his new relationship.

Warnings: language, allusions to smut, mild violence?

Word Count: 6K+ (oopsie)

A/N: This idiot has been living rent free in my brain for over a month. After finishing the game and being less than enthused by the culmination of his storyline, here we are.

Sebastian Sallow Playlist

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The Great Hall was buzzing with excitement; the electricity crackling through the air was palpable. September 1st was always an exhilarating day, but this year even more so. The promise of a new school year, a new start; the feeling was invigorating. After the events of last year everyone was in an elevated state of elation to be back amongst friends, nestled within the fortified stone walls of the castle that had become home to them all.

 As you strode through the large oak doors, the empty seat amongst the faculty table shot a dagger straight through your heart. From the dais, Professor Hecat wore a small sympathetic smile, one reserved specifically for you. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you shook off the visions of Professor Fig, of the faces currently staring back at you fighting alongside underneath the castle. You weren’t unsure what sort of unseen force was propelling you forward, subconsciously managing to make it to the Hufflepuff table. 

For being as tiny as she was, Poppy practically body slammed you onto the floor with the velocity of her hug. Though the two of you had kept in touch over the summer, you hadn’t seen her in person since last year.

You hadn’t seen anyone since leaving Hogwarts in June. 

Last Spring had been a bit of a blur. After defeating Ranrok in the bowels of the castle, your body had shut down, completely going into autopilot as you navigated the remainder of 5th year. Classes had resumed like nothing had happened, but the whispers around the school eventually changed to shouts, and everyone became fully aware of how close they (and the rest of the Wizarding world) had come to complete destruction. Word quickly spread of your unique abilities, and how you were able to defeat one of the strongest uses of ancient magic known to history. The notoriety was overwhelming, and frankly uncomfortable. So much had been lost, and you didn’t have the strength to put on a happy face for all of the well-wishers and nosy students that pestered with questions in the halls. 

Once the snow melted and the Scottish Highlands were beginning to bloom with color, a ceremony was held in the Great Hall, including a memorial for those lost. Headmaster Black requested you speak in honor of Professor Fig, but the thought made you violently ill. How do you sum up the life of a man that took you in when no one else would? Who taught you about the special powers that laid dormant inside your soul? The man who fought beside you until the very end?

Professor Weasley took over the task, understanding the desperate look in your eyes when you had asked. She had taken to watching over you in Fig’s absence, scheduling weekly tea times to check in on your wellbeing. She was the lifeline you needed, but frankly not the one you wanted.

Poppy stuck by your side for the remainder of the year, trying her best to keep your mind off the trauma of everything. But she wasn’t there when you were asleep; she couldn’t keep the nightmares away. The screams were the worst, echoing in your subconscious with no escape until you woke up violently thrashing. You heard Ranrok’s cold laughter; the crack of dark magic; the screams of your friends. 

You heard Sebastian. 

You heard Anne’s scream.

When you woke, a flash of blinding green light shot across your vision each time, one single phrase playing over and over: “I had to do it—“ 

The greed in Sebastian’s voice plagued you, long gone was your cheeky dueling partner from Crossed Wands, the one that confided his darkest secrets while exploring hidden rooms throughout the school. The two of you hadn’t spoken since the memorial ceremony, he had all but become a ghost. Occasionally you’d see him in the halls, walking with a dead-eyed stare that never seemed to land on you. Ominis kept you informed about Anne; she wasn’t speaking to Sebastian, going as far as to banish him from attending their uncles funeral altogether. According to his best friend, the news didn’t surprise him in the slightest, but the lack of communication with Anne was eating Sebastian alive. 

You tried to forget about your former friend, the one that you had lost to the lure and power of dark magic. Regardless of his original intentions, Sebastian had strayed too far from the help he had set out to find. You weren’t innocent in this either, utilizing dark magic throughout the struggle to defeat Ranrok. The difference was, that you knew when and where to use it, Sebastian was drunk on the power. 

Ominis kept in touch over the summer, writing occasionally to check-in and talk about your respective breaks and desire to be back at school. He never mentioned Sebastian in his letters, a deliberate choice and something that you were grateful for. 

You hadn’t been excited to leave Hogwarts, with nothing and no one to go home to. Professor Fig was the only guardian figure you’d ever known, having been the one that retrieved you from the group home in London over a year ago. You refused to go back there, to the never-ending list of asinine rules and an overbearing matron hell-bent on keeping an oppressive eye on your every move, so in exchange for working at the Three Broomsticks you were able to rent a room for free from Sirona until September. She understood better than most what you had been through, and also knew that no one else would possibly rent to an underage witch with little to no means of supporting herself. When you weren’t picking up shifts in the pub, the massive amount of books you’d amassed kept your mind occupied. Even after cramming all year and having multiple professors offer extra assignments, you still felt behind. Any free time was spent pouring over ancient spell texts and potion recipes, eager to come back to school feeling confident in your abilities as a 6th year witch (and not as the hero you had been portrayed as by everyone else). 

———

As you sat down with Poppy at the Hufflepuff table, you were greeted loudly by a few other housemates, their welcoming nature warming your heart. After the opening remarks from Headmaster Black and the sorting ceremony, the feast commenced with the entire hall erupting into the boisterous sounds of students laughing and reacquainting. 

Taking a sip of pumpkin juice, you were suddenly startled by two cold hands covering your eyes. 

“Guess who—“ a low voice sounded in your ear. 

“Ominis!” You whipped your head around to see his sly grin as he sat beside you on the bench. Without hesitation, you embraced him, wrapping both arms around his thin shoulders, “I’ve missed you.”

You felt him smile against your shoulder, “Likewise—how was the rest of your summer?”

“Uneventful…thankfully,” you laughed, pulling back from him, “How about yours?”

Ominis shrugged, “Nothing grand, I did visit Anne a few weeks ago though.”

Your eyes widened, “Oh! How is she?”

“She’s doing well…at least, as well as can be expected…” he trailed off, and she knew it was because there was more to the story. His milky eyes traveled over in the direction of the Slytherin table briefly, hers following on instinct. 

He came into sight almost immediately, you’d recognize those freckles anywhere. He was laughing at something, a true, jovial laugh that you hadn’t heard since Crossed Wands. Even from three tables over, you could pick it out of the crowd; the sound igniting the very blood in your veins. Sebastian’s eyes creased as the laughter died into a genuine smile; he looked good, he looked—happy. You watch as he leans over and places a kiss on the cheek of—wait.

“Imelda?!” You choked, forcing your mouth closed to avoid looking like a heartbroken sod. The fire that his laugh had set was now turning into a thick sludge in your gut, bubbling and seeping into the very essence of your being.

Ominis cringed, turning towards you with visible sympathy written on his pale face, “Yes, they began seeing each other over the summer. It’s been…rather insufferable if I’m honest.” 

You shook your head, unwilling to believe the sight in front of you. Out of everyone at Hogwarts, he had to choose her? Imelda was insufferable on the best of days; brash, loud, and incredibly boastful, she was the antithesis of yourself—maybe that’s why Sebastian liked her.

“How…?” Your attention was pulled back to Ominis, brows furrowed as your lungs constricted.

He shrugged again and shook his head in disbelief, “After everything that happened, he became distant as you well know, he barely spoke to me even. Imelda, being a fellow Slytherin, is incredibly ambitious and when she sets her mind on something, there’s nothing that will stop her. She saw a lonely, lost boy in need of guidance and support, and she struck.” 

The room was beginning to spin. 

You’d be lying if you said the feelings you harbored for Sebastian didn’t exist. The two of you had been through unspeakable things together, leaning on each other through it all, until he decided to take a path you couldn’t follow. Even after everything, he was still your Sebastian, and the hope that one day he would come around stuck firmly in your heart. You loved him, more than just as a friend and dueling partner. 

You were in love with Sebastian Sallow, you had been for a while. 

Eventually, Ominis returned to his house table, promising to meet again the following morning for breakfast to compare timetables. You glanced over as he sat back down amongst his fellow Snakes, and were caught in the unwavering stare that Sebastian had set directly on you. Averting your eyes as a deep blush creeped up your cheeks, the thought of sinking through the flagstone floor seemed very appealing. That wasn’t an accidental glance, he was fixated on you; eyes boring into yours while he sat beside his girlfriend. The expression on his face was unreadable, something you’d ruminate on later. 

The moment Professor Black dismissed the houses, you sprinted to your dorm, eager to be as far away from Sebastian Sallow as physically possible. 

———

The timetable for this term wasn’t awful; you had been able to choose which classes to pursue in accordance with which career path you planned on taking after Hogwarts, swapping the least attractive (a.k.a. impossibly boring and rather useless) courses for more riveting subject matter. After witnessing the corruption and insolence displayed by Officer Singer and her colleagues last year, becoming a member of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was the only logical path for you. The overarching desire to create fundamental change department-wide, and actually be able to help citizens and prevent unspeakable tragedies, consumed you. Poppy had tried to convince you to pursue a career in the Department of Magical Creatures like her; something that did in fact greatly interest you, ultimately pacifying her by taking another year of Beasts classes. The one course you were looking forward to, Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts, was going to be a struggle.

It was the one class you shared with Sebastian.

Professor Hecat was a welcome sight, smiling at you as she walked towards the front of the classroom. 

“Good morning everyone, and welcome to another year of Defense Against the Dark Arts! At this point in your academic journey, you should be well versed in most defensive spellwork, including protective shields and disarming maneuvers. Let’s do a little ‘welcome back’ warm-up, shall we?” Her eyes swept over the room, the majority of students returning eager expressions. 

“I’ll split you all into pairs, line up on either side of the classroom and begin trying to disarm your partner,” Professor Hecat began to rattle off names, and the further she ran through the roster, the lower your stomach sank. Gaze falling to the floor as she called your last name, you knew exactly what was about to follow.

“—and Sallow. Have at it!” She motioned for the start of the duels. 

You slowly pushed the chair back, refusing to even look in his general direction as you lined up against the wall. 

It’s just a duel, you’ve done it a million times.

Picture him as just another foe. 

Taking to the proper stance, you exhale slowly, trying to welcome in any semblance of calm. Finally looking up at your partner, his gaze was already glued to you. The vacant eyes that you saw last year were gone, replaced by the original brown, cozy warmth you had fallen in love with. It should’ve made you happy, the fact that he seemed to be doing better (at least on the outside), but all you felt was your heart sinking into your stomach. Sebastian raised his wand and narrowed his eyes, a look you knew all too well from fighting alongside him last year. He knew your exact style of dueling, he was your partner from the beginning, your right hand man; a fact that would only work to your detriment. 

“Expelliarmus!” You flicked your wand towards him, a spark of exhilaration shooting up your arm. 

“Protego,“ he growled, casting an immediate shield and blocking your test shot. The timber of his voice gave you goosebumps, it had been so long since you’d heard it. The two of you watched each other intensely, the air around you thick with everything unsaid. 

“Stupefy—“ he shot back. You expertly dodged the stun and instantly cast another disarming spell. It hit Sebastian in the arm, wand leaping out of his hand, only to be quickly grabbed mid-air before it could be lost entirely. 

“Shit…” you whispered under your breath, trying to think of another game plan.

He smirked as you repositioned yourself, “You’re rusty.”

You shot an angry look in his direction, shooting an even quicker levitation spell that he avoided with a shrug of his shoulder. 

“Oh come on, I know you can do better than that,” he sent a stinging hex your way, something you both knew wasn’t allowed in Professor Hecat’s classroom.

“What’re you playing at?” You threw both hands out in disbelief, while Sebastian grinned. He was doing this on purpose, he wanted to get a rise out of you.

Sticking to Hecat’s dueling rules, you sent a quick succession of spells forward, mixing both disarming and stunning, knowing that Sebastian lacked the speed to block each one. To your surprise, he managed to avoid them (you briefly wondered who he’d been practicing with), casting a perfect protego shield and firing another fierce stupefy in your direction followed by one single bolt of confringo.

The heat of the blast burned as it shot past your head, making you gasp at the aggression. Snapping your head around, he had a shit eating grin on his smug face. 

“What’s wrong? Hogwarts’ Golden Girl doesn’t want to fight back?”

“Fuck you, Sallow!” You spit, casting depulso and throwing him backwards into the wall. 

As his body slammed into the stone, Professor Hecate yelling your name out.

“—DETENTION. MR. SALLOW, YOU AS WELL!”

As Sebastian sat against the wall, rubbing the back of his (now bruised) head, you quickly snatched your bag off the floor and stalked out of class early before saying something regretful.

———

Ominis had found out about the incident in Defense class later that same day, the entire school was talking about the former friends turned bitter enemies. He was less than amused by the outburst on both of your parts, chastising you for losing your ‘sense of decorum and grace at Sebastian’s childish antics’. 

“You can’t let him get to you,” Ominis shook his head as he sat down with you and Poppy in the Great Hall for lunch.

Letting out an exasperating groan, you buried your head in your hands, “I know, I know. I’m not sure what came over me…” 

Poppy and Ominis began to chat about their shared Charms class while you ate in silence, trying to keep your thoughts from reverting back to the tiny spark of mischief you saw in Sebastian’s eyes earlier, or how you wanted to trace every single freckle on his face—no. Stop it. 

“—want to check out the newborn Kneazles that Professor Howin told me about after lunch?” Poppy chimed, looking at you eagerly over her sandwich.

It snapped you out of the daze, “Oh? Oh! Sorry, I can’t—quidditch try-outs are this afternoon.”

“You’re trying out for the team?” Poppy sat up straighter in excitement. 

You nodded, taking another bite of food.

“Good for you,” Ominis nudged your arm gently, “from what I’ve heard, you’re a pretty exceptional flyer.”

Blushing, you pushed him back playfully with your elbow, “Thanks, I guess we’ll see how I fare on the quidditch pitch though.”

———

Later that day, you sat mid-air on your broom in the warm September breeze, inhaling the early scents of oncoming autumn. The trees of the Forbidden Forrest rustled just off the side of the pitch, a grouping of Jobberknolls cresting over the tops. All four houses were holding try-outs simultaneously, organizing short scrimmages of inter-house players both prospective and permanent. So far, you were one of the strongest contenders from any of them.

Except for one.

Imelda turned the pitch into her own personal showcase, making an extra effort to show off for anyone watching; anyone, including a specific Slytherin 6th year in the stands below. You had flown low over the spectators earlier in order to avoid an incoming bludger, noticing Ominis seated next to your former partner-in-crime. As you looped around, you caught Sebastian’s brown eyes fixed on you, muttering something to your mutual friend beside him. 

Another Hufflepuff hopeful named Charlie thew the quaffle to you, signaling a turn to traverse through the other players and attempt to score. Weaving, diving, and dodging through the multitude of brooms, the bronze goalposts were within range; that’s when you saw a flash of green descend rapidly in front of you, blocking the path to victory. Imelda smirked, swaying as you attempted to maneuver around. She was fast and knew this game like the back of her hand, something you were already keenly aware of. 

Suddenly she shot forward, kicking roughly with her boot to try and knock the quaffle out from under your arm. Making contact with your elbow, you wince at the pain, narrowing your eyes at her sinister grin. The sight of her kissing Sebastian in the Great Hall flashed before your eyes, mocking you.

Imelda pulled back and lined up to charge again. To the right, you saw a Hufflepuff beater square up with an incoming bludger. You whistled to get their attention, signaling with your eyes to help out. They smacked the bludger in your direction, and you quickly spun to hit it with the tail of your broom, redirecting it straight at Imelda. It made contact with her ribs, knocking her off the broom and sending her careening towards the ground. 

Madam Kogawa shouted from the field below, “ARRESTO MOMENTUM!” 

Upon seeing the interference, you rocketed towards the goal posts, tossing the quaffle through the ring effortlessly. As the Hufflepuff captain flew over to congratulate you, your eyes focused on Imelda being carted off to the hospital wing below, Sebastian following close behind. 

———

On Friday night, you trudged to the Defense Against the Darks tower for detention. The thought of spending an entire night doing mindless tasks beside Sebastian made you want to vomit. All of this was his fault: the detention, the animosity, the…feelings. Everything could have been avoided if he wasn’t such an insufferable little twat. 

Turning the corner, you saw him leaning outside of Professor Hecat’s door, arms crossed over his chest. Even alone he looks utterly smug and pretentious, though the words crossed your mind, your stomach (which had now suddenly taken on the form of a dozen angry billywigs) had a differing opinion. Upon hearing your footsteps, his eyes snap up, features softening slightly as you drew closer. Completely ignoring his presence (and absolutely stupid looking smirk), you breezed past through the open door. You heard him follow behind, shutting the heavy wooden door as Professor Hecat looked up from her desk. 

“Good evening,” she said calmly, “as your punishment for using aggressive spells during a non-offensive lesson, you will each be writing an essay on how to best defend yourself against three types of beasts, each one without using a single attack spell.”

Sebastian groaned from the back of the room, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes at his typical dramatics. 

Taking a seat close to Professor Hecat’s desk, you got to work outlining your main points. Dugbogs, Acromantulas, and Mongrels; three beasts you were (unfortunately) very familiar with. Luckily, your combat experience with numerous different magical creatures enabled the essay to practically write itself. Across the room, the sound of Sebastian tapping his quill against the desk was driving you insane. You shot him an angry look as he put his hands up, mouthing a snarky “what?” back at you. 

Just ignore him, you thought, like Ominis said, he’s just trying to get a rise out of you.

Surprising absolutely no one, you finished your essay before Sebastian, rising gracefully from your desk and handing the roll of parchment to Professor Hecat with an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry again, Professor. I promise I won’t lose my head again.” 

She returned the smile, “You’re a brilliant witch, my dear, I expect great things from you. Don’t disappoint me.”

The hallways were deserted as you emerged from the classroom, curfew had passed a few hours ago so you would be in for a quiet walk back down to the dormitory. As you descended the main stairs, an insufferable voice came from behind, echoing through the vacant corridor.

“I expect great things from you, don’t disappoint me!” 

Sebastian was sauntering down the staircase, a mocking grin on his face. You rolled your eyes and continued on, ignoring him just like you did Peeves. 

The twin footsteps followed the corridor leading towards the bottom floor of the castle, Sebastian making an annoying point to whistle a jaunty tune the entire time that was grating on your nerves. The realization finally dawned on you that he had completely bypassed the staircase that led down to the Slytherin dungeons. Whipping around, he stopped short as to not walk directly into your body.

“Why are you following me?” You demanded, keeping your voice steady. The low lights of the torches lining the hallway flickered in his dark eyes, reminding you of the countless nights dueling down in the Undercroft together. The hanging braziers would always cast a halo effect onto his hair, looking almost angelic as he would reach out a hand to help you up after a particular strong blast. “Not bad—for a Hufflepuff,” he would chuckle, brushing the dirt from your hair. In those moments, it didn’t matter that Ominis was across the room listening, it didn’t matter that you weren’t any closer to curing Anne, it didn’t matter that the fate of the Wizarding world was weighing on your shoulders; it was just you, and him, two sides of the same Galleon, the rest just melted away.

He pushed past, cocking his head to the side as he approached the portrait leading to the kitchens.

“Promised Imelda I’d grab her something from the kitchens on my way back—they don’t serve dessert in the hospital wing, apparently…” 

Mouth pressed into a tight line, you nod. The upwards inflection at the end of his statement gave you pause, it almost sounded…amused? The sight of the large barrels at the end of the hallway was a welcome sight, and you picked up the pace towards the common room entrance, desperate to get away from Sebastian and the aggressively thick tension. Tapping the second to last barrel, you stared at the wooden entrance as it slid open, allowing passage through. Before stepping over the threshold, you could’ve sworn the sound of your name was whispered quietly from down the hall; when you glanced back, the kitchen portrait was just snapping shut.

———

Avoiding Sebastian was becoming almost impossible; for as large as the castle was, it seemed like the two of you kept running into each other at every turn. Defense class was honestly the easiest place to avoid him, surprisingly; after the incident at the beginning of the year, Professor Hecat knew better than to pair you together. He sat close to the back every week, an opposing position to your front row seat. Outside of the classroom was an entirely different story. In the Great Hall, you would always be within eyeshot of him, and whenever Ominis would stop by your table to chat, you could feel his gaze on you from across the room. 

“—I just don’t know how I’ll manage to keep up with it. I still have three essays for Magical Theory, Charms, and Arithmancy, how can I possibly find time to write another for History of Magic?” Ominis ran a hand down his pale face. Sixth year was giving everyone a run for their money; you had never seen Ominis this frazzled about school before. As he continued to whine, you glanced up from your lunch to see Sebastian sitting at the far table, staring directly at you with an expression that could only be describe as longing. Holding his eyes for the briefest of moments, his attention was quickly torn away by the arrival of Imelda, who flopped down on the bench rather dramatically. Her scowl was prominent, and you silently thought about what trivial occurrence had set her off this time. The contents of your lunch threatened to expel themselves as you watched Sebastian throw a protective arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to begin a vicious assault on her mouth. The call of your name snapped your attention from the gruesome display of affection.

“—are you even listening to me?” Ominis whined, face contorted with mild annoyance. 

You hummed, the display you just witnessed seemingly burned into your eyes, “Yes, sorry, Ominis. I’m just…”

“Distracted?” His voice was laden with accusation as his eyes drifted over towards the Slytherin table. Your eyes refused to follow, knowing exactly what scene they’d be met with.

“Yes…there’s a lot on my mind between school, and quidditch, and—”  

“—and our old friend, Mr. Sallow?” Ominis remained fixated on his house table, voice monotonous as if he were stating a well-known fact. 

You choked audibly, eyes about to leave your skull as Ominis’ face remained stoic.

“He asked about you the other day, you know.”

The sentence knocked the wind out of you. 

“…o-oh?” Your stumbling voice was a traitor, “and what did he want, exactly?”

“To know how you were.”

A volatile swirl of emotions happened simultaneously. As your heart did somersaults in your chest cavity at the thought of Sebastian giving even one iota of a damn about your wellbeing, the deep rooted hurt and anger from his actions began to courses through your veins like poison; threatening to consume the delicate fluttering between your ribs. 

“…and what did you tell him?” The question came out as a barely audible whisper, the hurricane still raging inside of your body, each emotion vying for control.

Ominis slowly panned back to your pained expression, “I told him to ask you himself.”

———

Last winter was brutal, but this years was shaping up to be even worse. The castle grounds had been perpetually blanketed in heavy snow for almost two months straight, so much that you had frankly forgotten what grass looked like. On top of that, the wind whipped violently across the lawns and swirled around the courtyards, making it almost impossible to be outside between classes. The majority of the time you were comfortably resigned to lounging in the Hufflepuff Common Room, the warmth and coziness of the underground burrow breathing some much needed life back into your bones. You and Ominis had begun swapping books as entertainment; once the two of you had completed your respective novels, you’d switch them in-between classes or drop them off at breakfast. Sometimes Ominis would write little notes and stick them in the pages of chapters he found very interesting, so you began to copy the sentiment, making notes in the margins on lines that particularly moved you. Afterwards, deep discussions would be had in the Undercroft about each story, coming up with theories and breaking down each plot point. It had become a hobby you truly enjoyed, and it brought the both of you even closer together. 

Ominis had been on a big muggle literature kick lately, opting for recommending ancient greek texts for this cycle of book-swapping. He dropped off a small, leather-bound copy of The Odyssey one morning at breakfast, raving on and on about how much he enjoyed it and being extremely anxious upon hearing your thoughts once finished. His excitement had you beaming, genuinely for once, a smile that made your cheeks hurt slightly. You hadn’t felt that since…well, since last year. 

The anniversary of the Battle of the Repository was approaching, something that refused to leave the forefront of your mind. The book-swap with Ominis had been helping slightly, giving you at least a slight reprieve while reading about far away places and fantastic adventures, but you couldn’t stay stuck in the pages forever, and the reminders would always creep back quickly. 

Double Potions that morning led into a free afternoon (thank Merlin, you could only take so much of Garreth Weasley in one day), meaning that the rest of the day could be spent curled up by the fire in your common room reading without distractions. The thought of the gentle heat warming your frozen body is what got you through the dreary hours-long dungeon class (the lack of feeling in your toes stealing most of your attention, allowing you to completely shut Garreth’s incessant talking out). At Professor Sharp’s grunt of dismissal, you practically flew from the dungeon, taking the steps two at a time back up to your warm, golden oasis. 

The best couch was unoccupied as you walked through the wooden tunnel, tossing your bag onto the rug and flopping down amongst the floral embroidered cushions. You stretch your feet out towards the fire, feeling the blood begin to flow back to your soles and wiggling each toe inside your boots. 

The spine of The Odyssey cracked as you pried it open, relishing in the feeling of the parchment on your fingertips. As you worked your way through, a small piece of parchment slid out from the back of the book, landing directly into your lap. A small note was scrawled onto the torn paper, and you instantly recognized Ominis’ posh handwriting (the way he flourished the last letter of each word was a dead giveaway). 

Meet me in the Undercroft after curfew tonight.

Tonight? There’s no way you’d be able to finish this book by tonight, it was already almost—shit, it was almost dinner. Sighing, you began to tear through the pages, deciding to skip dinner entirely in lieu of attempting to finish by this evening. You’d just pop by the kitchens on the way to the Undercroft, Ominis was always welcoming of midnight snacks anyway.

The clock in the common room chimed at 10pm, signaling that curfew had officially begun. After a quick pit-stop in the kitchens (you grabbed Ominis and extra dessert hoping it would make him less annoyed that you hadn’t been able to finish his book that day), you snuck silently towards the Defense Tower. 

The gate to the Undercroft groaned as you lifted it, stepping through and looking around the dim area for any signs of life.

“Ominis?” You call into the room, “I’m sorry—I really tried to finish but I ran out of—“

A shuffling in the corner caught your attention. Ominis never remembered to light the torches if he got there first, something you really needed to remind him of. 

“Incendio,” you ignited one of the braziers by a nearby pillar, illuminating Sebastian’s face.

“What’re you doing here?” Your voice was accusatory as you gripped onto your book.

“Me?” His brows raised incredulously, “Need I remind you, this was my secret first. If anything, I should be asking why you’re here.”

Prick.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m supposed to be meeting Ominis.”

Sebastian hummed in acknowledgement, “I don’t think he’ll be making it.”

A pit of fear began to form in your gut, an unintentional mechanism put in place after everything that happened last year.

“What’re you talking about? Is he okay?!” Your voice began to raise as panic shot through every cell in your being.

He raised his hands in a calming manner, “He’s fine, last I saw he was heading up to bed.”

…What? Ominis knew you had a meeting tonight, he’s the one that bloody sent the invitation! You pulled out the torn piece of parchment from the pages of the book, examining the words again to see if maybe you had misread it.

Sebastian chuckled darkly from across the room, “Impressive, isn’t it? I think I’m getting rather good at imitation charms.”

Your eyes slowly raised to his smug face, “…you? You wrote this? Why—“

“I—wanted to talk to you,” his voice faltered slightly.

Your eyes widened, “Now you want to talk? It’s been months, Sebastian…”

The blood in your veins was beginning to heat up, all of the anger that had been building since last winter coming back to the surface. 

He sighed, “How are you?”

The cackle that left your mouth was accidental, “How am I? Is that a joke? You’re joking, right?”

He sat stone-faced as you raised both eyebrows at him incredulously. 

“You’re unbelievable…” you grumbled, turning towards the gate to leave.

“Wait!” He rushed forward grabbed your wrist. The touch sent electric shocks through your arm. 

“Please—I—I’m sorry,” His voice was low, eyes pleading with you to stay, “I just, don’t know what to say.”

“An apology would be a fantastic place to start,” you retorted rather rudely, earning a sideways glance from him. 

“I’m trying—”

“—No you’re not.”

“Well, maybe if you let me get a word in—“

“—go ahead then, tell me what you’re ‘trying’ to apologize for,” you crossed your arms over your chest.

Sebastian backed up slightly, “…Everything. I’m sorry for dragging you into this, I’m sorry you had to see me at my worst—“

“—at your worst? Sebastian, I lied for you, shit—I cast unforgivables for you. I convinced Ominis to keep everything a secret so you wouldn’t be sent to Azkaban. And what did you do? You disappeared—“

“—I know, I’m sorr—“

“No!” Your voice was growing louder as you felt the tears start forming again, “You don’t get it! We went through hell together, I fought beside you while you took advantage of me and my powers. You used me, Sebastian…you used me and threw me away when you saw nothing left to gain…”

“Is…is that really what you think?” He whispered, eyes full of a sad desperation that you couldn’t place.

You sniffle, avoiding his gaze altogether, “I needed you. After Ranrok…after losing Professor Fig…I was so alone. All I wanted was to see you, to talk to the one person I loved the most.” 

You watched as Sebastian’s eyes glassed over.

“I couldn’t face you, not after everything you saw, everything that I put you through. That day in the Scriptorium, when I—“ His voice cracked, wet eyes glancing up at the ceiling,”—when I cast crucio on you, I thought I’d lost you. I had promised myself to never hurt you again after that night, and I…I failed. I failed myself, and most importantly, I failed you. I didn’t use you for your powers…I needed you beside me because you’re—you’re the only person besides Anne that I can’t live without.” 

He drew closer, his soft freckles becoming more defined as he inched forward. Your breath hitched as he grabbed your wrist again softy, tracing down until his calloused fingers intertwined with yours. It was intoxicating.

“…I’ve missed you,” he whispered.

As you met his eyes, he closed the remaining space, crashing his lips to yours. All of the tension and emotions from the past year surged through your body, pushing against him as he wrapped an arm around your waist. Mouths moving in perfect tandem, he kissed you with a soft, longing passion that stole the breath from your lungs. He began to trail down your jawline, pressing delicate marks into your skin that threatened to burn you alive.

“What about Imelda?” You exhaled, his deft fingers gripping onto your backside as he wedged a knee between your legs.

You felt him smirk into your neck.

“…who?” He whispered into your ear before pushing you against the cold stone of the Undercroft, the devilish grin still evident as his lips found their home against yours. 

[forest-falcon]

The Butterfly Effect

Chpr 9

⚠️ Trigger Warning for whump and angst.

🧡💙🩵

John brought the space elevator to a smooth halt just above the caldera.

He wanted to get a birds-eye view of One before he touched down.

The elevator door opened, and the astronaut made a conscious effort to coordinate his limbs; the additional gravity about as welcome as a new Fischler Enterprise venture.

John cracked his joints.

"Alright. Time to fly."

The astronaut leapt from the elevator and his jetpack deployed.

*. *. *.

Kayo flailed midair.

There was no time to think, only feel.

Her stomach seemed to drop faster than terminal velocity.

Darkness was swallowing her as light flew from view.

A hand grasped her wrist.

"Kayo. Glad I caught you!"

"John!" Kayo gave an incredulous half-laugh.

"Am I glad to see you!"

"Hold on..."

John guided the two of them back to the relative safety of the poolside.

As soon as his boots touched the ground, Kayo wrapped her brother in a Virgil-esque hug.

"K-ay!"

Kayo indulged herself the human contact a moment longer, before the sound of a jet engine could be heard approaching the island.

"Protocol Phoenix."

John had practically exhaled the words. Relief and disbelief was etched in his features, as though he had forgotten that he himself had summoned them.

"Here. Help Scott."

John shed his jetpack and ran to meet the carrier approaching the beach.

With feline accuracy, Kayo caught the pack.

Hold on Scott, I'm coming.

*. *. *

"Scott? Scott? You with me?"

Scott stirred, his brain registering the noise, but not the name.

"Scott, it's Kayo. Come on, sleepy head, no snoozing on the job. Can you open your eyes for me?"

A muted moan rattled around his ribcage.

His head hurt.

He was vaguely aware of his eyelashes flickering. Jeez...the last time his head felt this bad, he'd sampled some of Gordon's homemade moonshine. The memory curdled his stomach and he whimpered.

"You're okay. You're okay. I'm with you."

Kayo's slender fingers were resting on his face...on grazed cheekbones. It didn't hurt, not really. Not compared to the other injuries his body sported; but there was something in the sensation that registered as uncomfortable; an invasion of personal space that had him pulling away from her touch.

"Scott, try not to move for me, okay? It's very important that we keep your neck and head still."

His eyes finally opened.

"There you are."

Kayo offered him a warm smile. A smile saturated in love and reassurance. A smile that told him that he was going to be okay.

"-ay?"

Eurgh, his mouth was dry.

"I've been called worse," her expression shrugged, but her hands remained steady.

"Head."

It hurt. He still didn't know why. Where were they? Building collapse?

"You've been in an accident."

"Air?"

"Air?" Kayo parroted.

"I'm not sure I follow. Your oxygen stats look good... Or do you mean you were flying in the air?"

"Wh-w-where?"

His lungs felt like they were out of sync from the other muscles it took to breathe.

"Oh! You're home Scott. Well, the pool...kinda."

Scott blinked at her.

"Not your finest landing."

Landing.

Like a circuit finally completed, the jigsaw fell in place.

He'd been fixing One's overhead locker when the call came in.

Some pot-holers had managed to get themselves wedged in a remote location and needed assistance.

Gordon and Alan were already out in Four, and Virgil was off rota, so; One was required to safely extract the group.

His mind had switched to rescue mode. Muscle memory fulfilling the required procedures to launch his Bird. Truth be told, he couldn't remember stashing the Toolbox he was using in the very locker he had been fixing, but his head injury attested to the fact that he had.

The mission proved to be a straightforward one. Honestly, the GDF could have taken it; but given the limited information they had to go on, they weren't to know.

With no visible injuries and paramedics having arrived on scene; Scott fired One, and headed home. It wasn't until she made the switch to horizontal flight that the toolbox had shifted. In any other locker it would have been fine, but...stupid is as stupid does. He'd shoved it in the faulty one.

...which promptly opened.

...allowing the contents to rain down on top of him.

Judging on colour alone; the wrench was the offending item that had clipped him. The grease rags had mercifully missed.

What happened next was all a bit of a blur.

All he could really remember was wanting to make it home to Virgil.

"Vir-gil?"

"We'll get to Virgil. Right now, you're my priority."

"Pri-rity?"

"Yes. John and the rest of Phoenix are heading to him now."

Scott felt his veins turn to ice.

"No, no, no... Virg-l!"

Kayo's hands were fussing around him.

He pushed the aid away. This was his fault.

He did this.

Kayo attempted to thwart his thrashing.

"Geroff me and help Vir-"

"Sco-"

"VIRGIL!"

"-Shut the hell up Scott and listen!"

Two cat-green eyes pinned him.

"One is compromised. You not listening endangers us both, get it? I'm not leaving you, so either you let me do my job, or we both die here."

Scott's brain cowered. She meant every word. Kayo, like the rest of them, was loyal to a fault. She wouldn't leave him.

Sensing his outburst had passed; Kayo began fastening the foam blocks around his head.

She was staring him dead in the face.

"Help is coming."

Now he understood. First responders make for the worst patients. Best he could do was to trust her.

"Okay."

"Good."

Kayo exhaled slowly.

“John's activated Protocol Phoenix. The carrier has already arrived and John's gone to meet them.”

Scott blinked groggily. If Protocol Phoenix had been activated, then this was an even bigger fuck-up than he'd first thought.

“Phoe-nix?”

“Yes Scott. We rise from the ashes.”

"God, that's cheesy."

"Attaboy. Now let's get out of here."

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

Galileo Galilei Main Story

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors and inaccuracies. Not proofread.

When I heard the story from her, various emotions clashed within me.

I could no longer put it aside as a coincidence.

Are you really someone who can influence fate?

Also, am I really that involved with you?

Galileo: "........"

After checking Mitsuki's condition, I returned to my room.

After some hesitation, I opened my desk drawer and found an old, forgotten origami crane tucked away in the back.

Galileo: "I suspected as much."

(Was that scar on her forehead caused by me?)

The scar on Mitsuki's forehead, her past stories, and the origami crane I now held in my hand all intertwined, bringing back vivid memories of that time.

Back when I traveled to various countries and time periods using the door in search of my dhampir brethren, I encountered an incident in a certain country.

------------Flashback-----------

Bystander: "A truck is coming! Run!"

A vehicle made of metal was speeding towards us at a velocity unimaginable in my era.

Among the cries of the surrounding people, there was a girl standing in the vehicle's path.

(If this continues...)

Before I could even think, my body moved.

Galileo: "Guh..."

Just before the collision, I embraced the girl and rolled onto the ground.

The vehicle then came to a stop, barely avoiding us.

Galileo: "Are you okay?"

Mitsuki: "I-I'm fine."

The girl was trembling and clinging to my chest, perhaps out of fear.

Still, I was relieved to feel her warmth in my arms.

Galileo: "Ah, finally, I..."

Those words spilled out of my mouth involuntarily.

The girl then looked up, and I noticed the smell of blood.

She had scraped her forehead on the ground when we rolled over, leaving a smear of blood on the right side of her forehead.

Galileo: "Sorry. I've caused a wound on your face."

Mitsuki: "No, it's okay. I was so scared earlier that I couldn't move."

Mitsuki: "If it weren't for you, I would've died. I'm alive, thanks to you."

The girl smiled brightly, and her innocent eyes overlapped with the eyes of someone I had lost, causing my heart to ache.

(Perhaps my body moved instinctively because their heights were similar.)

(Livia...)

Cruel scenes suddenly flashed through my mind.

Mitsuki: "Mister!"

Suddenly, the girl called me.

Galileo: "What's up?"

Mitsuki: "You see, I want to give you this as a thank-you. I folded this at school today."

The girl held something in her hand.

Galileo: "What's this?"

Mitsuki: "It's an origami crane. When you spread the wings like this, it looks like a crane."

Mitsuki: "Origami cranes are symbols of peace!"

(Peace, huh?)

The girl spoke those words cheerfully, even though they sounded like dry words to me.

Mitsuki: "Thank you, Mister. You're my lifesaver."

After that, I watched the girl run off to what seemed like her mother and then left the scene.

(Lifesaver.)

Galileo: "I couldn't save anyone, I..."

(Being called a lifesaver doesn't seem right.)

(Even though I saved one person, the weight of what I've lost remains unchanged.)

Just like how light casts shadows, despair lies next to hope.

Still, that scene remained in my memory and connected me to a strange twist of fate. 

---------Flashback Ends--------

Galileo: "The girl I helped back then was Mitsuki."

Galileo: "That event happened when I traveled to the future, which means..." 

Galileo: "Mitsuki came from the future, using the door in the mansion."

Traveling back in time, meeting the historical figures who have returned to life, and finally, without warning, meeting Mitsuki in that garden, it was as if I was following the thread of destiny. 

Galileo: "Even if she doesn't have any special powers, it seems she's still the woman of destiny."

(On top of that, the girl whom I once saved might have the potential to hinder my purpose.)

Galileo: "How ironic."

The coincidence that turned into fate made me want to laugh at myself.

(But the past is the past.)

(Regardless of any connection between her and me, it doesn't matter to me now.)

I tried to convince myself of this, but the eyes of the girl in my memory overlapped with Mitsuki's earnest gaze.

(The girl from that time is still alive.)

The fact that the life I had saved was now right in front of me made my heart tremble.

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[manikas-whims]

Forgive my badly done gifs and their velocity

I just wanna talk about the little detail at the beginning of Episode 6, where Carver's body has been removed and the place has been sanitized.

And yet, Lockwood can still see the death glow,

signifying how he must also be able to see any other such death glows and further signs of death throughout the house due to well..the deaths of his family.

He then proceeds to lookup at the room on the landing which most likely holds the most bright death glows and such.

Imagine living so long in such a place full of memories when you are burdened by the ability (curse) to watch these death glows every fucking day! A daily reminder of what used to be and what he used to have..

I feel like George and Lucy helped alot with this simply by their arrival. I like to believe that they turned this haunted house once again into a HOME for Lockwood 🥺

thank you for coming to my ted talk..😭

[storiesfromgaza]

Al-Rashid Street, I describe it as the street of death yesterday. I will describe the road for you. Gaza Port is no longer a port. You pass through a city that is entirely marred and destroyed, even the cafes and places that used to embrace our memories are now destroyed, a heart-wrenching devastation. We have surpassed the destruction, and calm has settled in. while i was reading Surah Ya-Sin (Quran) and saying the testimony (I bear witness that there is no god worthy of worship except Allah, and that Muhammad is the messenger of Allah), and weeping. Death on my right, and above me...

Death on my right, and above me, machine gun boats, not more than a few seconds pass, and suddenly, the sound of machine gun fire is unleashed on our car and the car behind us. I learned that they had fallen as martyrs, but I did not see them behind us. The bullets are coming from the west, and there are tanks in the east. The driver accelerated so much that the brakes were on the verge of exploding, and we almost caused an accident due to the extreme speed to survive. We lowered our heads and recited the testimony (I bear witness that there is no god but Allah.)

The driver lowered his head swiftly and steered the car with great speed, his eyes fixed on the road and lowered, the sound of gunfire continuing unabated. The people behind us had become martyrs. We passed through the barrage of bullets, only to encounter two cars, one empty and the other ablaze, the street strewn with corpses and body parts, including the charred figure that met my gaze. We made it out of the street of death, praise be to God.

It wasn't easy; I will never forget the pounding of my heart and my fear as the sound of bullets pierced our car, taking lives behind us. It was the most harrowing moments of my life. To this day, I am in shock from seeing the carnage and the speed of the car, which came dangerously close to flipping due to its extreme velocity. I still can't believe what happened. Even in any cinematic scene, I have never witnessed anything like this, teetering on the edge of death.

The sight of the man with his body reduced to ashes, and the smoker who remained etched in my thoughts, the woman and her young daughter turned into fragments with severed heads, and bullets strewn all over the place. There is no might and no power except in Allah, the Almighty. O Lord, they have indeed committed excesses in the land. Reveal to us the wonders of Your might. Oh God, what is happening is atrocious

[sweaterkittensahoy]

this is soooooo insanely self indulgent but for fic prompts could u write something where bucky is so attracted to buck’s brain to the point where it’s literally a turn on but buck is used to people not caring (his shitty parents) so he doesn’t really get it

The biggest trick any unit has to learn is what to do with downtime. There's things to do in Boise, but it's important to not just let the boys loose every day and night they aren't training.

Lectures are semi-popular. Buck offers up a few on science. High-school level stuff explaining physics and chemistry. Things a lot of the boys already know a little about and want to know more.

Bucky slips into the back of the room for one of them, standing against the wall because there's no free space to sit. It makes him smile. Buck's whole face lights up when he figures out a good topic for a lecture, and Bucky's glad to see how many seem to like them.

Buck steps up to the lectern and grins at the boys. "Who wants to figure out the best order to lose all four engines and survive?" he asks.

"Can we figure it out the other way, too?" Hambone asks, which makes everyone laugh, even Buck.

"Sure," he says. "But I'll let anyone who doesn't want that knowledge cut out before we talk about it."

Bucky chuckles as Buck turns towards the chalkboard and someone sends a paper airplane through the air, hitting Buck in the back.

"Douglass, that's five demerits," Buck says.

There's a few moments of tussling around Douglass as his friends give him grief, but they all go quiet when Buck turns to face the room again and says, "Okay, let's talk gravity."

Bucky follows the lecture easily. He and Buck have had these conversations before, Buck breaking down the science when Bucky can't follow, making sure he can explain it back to him before he picks up again. It means he can relax and simply watch Buck.

Buck's got the room's attention, his deep voice carrying easily, and the loose-limbed way he moves keeping everyone's attention. He walks the boys through equations and illustrations, drawing a full layout of the fuel line hosing from memory to help the discussion about how gravity and mass and velocity all wrap together to affect which engine has the best chance of running the longest even if the fuel pressure drops.

Bucky shifts his hat, moving it from under his arm to hold in both hands in front of his belt to hide the fact that his dick is half-hard. Buck's face is bright and relaxed as he answers a question about the equation. Bucky watches the pilot who asked the question nod along as he makes sense of Buck's answer.

He's so goddamn smart, Buck is. It makes Bucky feel like his insides are sparking when it's on display like this. Buck knows so much and explains it all so well. He's so open with what he knows and never tires at questions or confusion. Watching him be happy to share makes Bucky want to cut the lecture short so he can kiss him silly, taste the chalk dust that's settled on him, and tell him how amazing he is.

The lecture ends, and the room empties out. Bucky stays put, nodding to a few of the boys who say hello. Buck stays up at the front of the room, looking at the chalkboard like he's appreciating his own work.

"Another sold out show," Bucky says once they're alone.

Buck turns and ducks his head. "I think I'm the only show on today."

"That's not true, and you know it," Bucky replies, pushing off the wall and walking slowly up the center aisle to Buck. "You had them eating out of your hand, like always."

"It's just about finding the right way to explain it," Buck says. "That's not hard."

Bucky stops close enough to Buck that their buttons brush together. "You are so goddamn smart it makes me crazy," he says. "You know all this stuff, and you can explain it, and you can figure out how to make it interesting for anyone."

Buck slips a hand over Bucky's hip and shifts so he can slip a leg between Bucky's. "Did I get you riled up again, Major?"

"You rile me up every fucking second," Bucky says, cupping the side of Buck's neck. "But, yeah, watching you work that big brain in front of a crowd really gets me going."

Buck huffs a laugh and brushes his mouth against Bucky's. Bucky tastes the chalk dust and bites his lip so he doesn't moan. "Only you," he says, and it's deeply affectionate.

"Come on," Bucky says, tilting his head to one side. "Let me suck you off while you rattle off geometry proofs."

Buck snorts and shoves at Bucky, but then he reels him right back in and kisses him properly, a slow, steady movement of their mouths matched with an easy glide of their tongues. "I may be the brains of the operation, but you're the romantic," he says.

Bucky laughs and rocks against Bucky's thigh, sighing when Bucky shifts so there's more pressure on his cock. "Come on," he says, "Let's go find a spot to fuck my brains out."

"Only yours?" Buck asks.

Bucky shivers at the challenge in Buck's tone. "I'll never manage, but I will wear myself out trying."

Buck grins at him and takes one step back, grabbing Bucky's hand and pulling him along. "An equal amount of pressure on both sides," he says. "That's physics."

"Uh-huh," Bucky replies. "Keep talking dirty."