#World's Tallest Arch

[ellecdc]

The Drink Snob

mafia!Remus Lupin x fem!reader | 3200 words

p1 // p2 // p3 // p4

CW: mentions of spiked drink (no one drinks it), reference to past spiked drinks, complaining about misogyny, bad reputation of American tourists in the UK (I'm sorry!)

The short of it was: it had been a long day.

The long of it though, by God, was that you really, really needed a drink.

You got to your favourite pub which was only a brisk 7-minute walk from the university; a tiny, hole-in-the-wall Irish pub which probably had several thousand identical pubs lined across the UK but that didn’t matter, dammit, because this one was special – this one was yours. You chuckled at the irony that you had moved half-way across the world to England only to sit yourself in an Irish chain pub that you’d likely be able to find back home a mere 6000 kilometers away.

You relished the feel of the warm air hitting your rosy cheeks after marching your ass down to the pub in the biting wind in naught but a long coat and a scarf. The warm air stung but in all the best ways as you shucked off your outer-layers and plopped down on a stool by the bar, unawares of anyone else within your vicinity other than the bartender promised to serve you your drinks.

“Alright there, Lass? What can I get for ye?” The fellow asked and you could have kissed him right then and there.

“Can I have a negroni and your tallest pint please.” You asked, hoping the desperation in your voice wasn’t noticeable – the fact that the bartender didn’t comment on the odd combination of drinks let you know that is was noticeable. No matter – you were desperate, what did you care?

Turns out you should have cared more.

“I’m sorry but I must tell you, that is an awful combination of drinks.” A lilting voice came from your left side. You groaned audibly and held your hands up to your temples like blinders to avoid even looking at the voice who dared to speak to you after such a day.

“S’pose its good nobody asked you then.” You muttered darkly. You didn’t make a habit of speaking to people this way often – people already spent enough of your time in the UK mistaking you for an American on account of your accent anyway, you needn’t add fuel to the fire by adding to an already bad reputation.

“Please tell me that you’re ordering for a friend. You’ve surely just ordered for someone who’s meeting you here?”

You knew better – you really did. You don’t let strange men in bars know that you’re alone; make them believe someone could show up to save you at any minute. But dammit, you’ve been fending off jackasses all day – what’s one more?

“Apparently, I live to disappoint men, sir, so no – both drinks are for me. Is that quite alright with you? I didn’t realize I had to pass this decision by the board.” You spat, finally turning your what you were sure was a burning gaze to this mystery guy on a stool to your left.

You hesitated in your ire for a moment: the man was quite a bit larger than you had pictured in your mind – not large in a particularly broad way but the man seemed to be excruciatingly tall; he sat basically spilling off his stool, while still managing to look elegant in doing so. He was dressed sharply but not in a way that made him stand out – respectable but forgettable, he blended into this bar well. Or he would if he hadn’t been so fucking handsome.

He had warm, honey-coloured curls that seemed to artfully fall in front of his face, and eyes to match. You’d never seen amber coloured eyes before, but you couldn’t seem to pull your gaze away from them. You did – by god you did – because the rest of the man was too enticing not too. He had a chunk missing out of his left eyebrow which was arched mischievously at what you assumed was your attitude with him, and his crooked smirk matched. He had a few scars littering his face – most were small, but there was one large one that crossed the bridge of his nose, and another nick on the right of his upper lip that may have continued onto his lower, but you didn’t want to get caught staring at his mouth. And of course, of-fucking-course he’d have a dimple. Why wouldn’t he? Could this day get any worse.

“What was the thought process, then?” He asked, his smirk growing deeper.

“What?” You guffawed. He couldn’t seriously be doing this; people didn’t do this, right?

He gestured between the two drinks sat in front of you with his own – a rum and coke if you guessed correctly. “Why those drinks, specifically? They don’t exactly pair well together.”  

You stared dumbly at this hot, audacious man. You hoped he’d decide you weren't worth the breath and move along. He only stared back at you.

“There wasn’t any.”

“Hm?” He queried.

“There wasn’t any. Thought process, I mean.” You muttered, taking a sip of the negroni. “I like both drinks – usually separately, but I’ve been dreaming about getting my ass down here since practically 9:30 this morning and I couldn’t choose which I wanted first and I knew that I planned on getting at least a little bit tipsy in order to pretend I didn’t have a completely mind-fucking day so I thought ‘fuck it, I’ll order both’ and I thought since it was no one’s business but my own what I put into my body that I could get away with it but clearly, I was wrong.” You felt winded after your mini rant as you looked back at the man. He seemed genuinely entertained at your story, though his eyes grew a bit softer.

“Thinking of drinking at 9:30 am, hm?” He pondered out loud. “You know, that’s usually the sign of a problem; one might call it alcoholism.”

You barked a laugh. “Yeah, you call it alcoholism, I call it Gilderoy Lockhart.”

“Ah, so boy-problems then, is it?” He asked in a laugh.

You shot him a warning look. “It is not like that.”

“I didn’t mean to offend.” He offered with his hands in the air in mock surrender. “Tell me what it’s like then.”

You sighed dramatically. “It’s really not that big of a deal, I’m just mad about stuff at school.”

“Ah, you’re a student, then?”

“PhD candidate, but technically, yes.” You offered, downing the rest of the negroni.

“Very neat. What’s your focus?” He asked again as you began sipping on your pint, trying not to grimace at the change in drink. You're sure you failed.

“Music.”

“Hm, I didn’t know one could get a PhD in music.” He queried.

“Music theory, but yeah.” You offered, moving your drink back and forth between your hands.

“And that brought you here? To England? Why not stay in Canada – if that’s where you’re from, pardon my assumption.” He quickly apologized.

You smirked at his correct assumption – thankful that you didn’t come off ‘too American’ today.

“She goes wherever the wind takes her.”

Your statement was met with silence, so you turned to see the man had frozen in his movements and stared at you incredulously.

“Are-are you quoting Disney movies to me?”

“So, you did get the reference.”

“I did, I just fail to see how Pocahontas relates to a PhD program in England on music theory.” He mutters, looking up at you from the rim of his drink.

“I finished my Masters, then the wind changed.” You offered with a shrug, “It brought me here.”

He seemed to study you for a few moments before coming to the conclusion that you weren't going to elaborate further. “And what does this Gabriel fellow have to do with the winds of musical theory?”

You snorted indelicately. “Nothing. He just, I don’t know, it sounds stupid now that I try to say it out loud.”

“None of that, now.” The man said gently with the same smirk on his face, “a smart girl like you doesn’t strike me as the type to overreact to male foolishness.”

He seemed honestly interested in your answer, at least, the most interested anyone has ever seemed in your ramblings about your toe headed fellow PhD’er. You tried facetime’ing your friends from home about him many-a-times before, and they listen but they don't get it. And your schedules don’t align and with the time-difference one of you is always either just waking up or going to bed. But this random, handsome guy in your bar making fun of your drinks has done nothing but listen so far and you really wanted to get it off your chest.

So, you did.

You told him how your morning started terribly as you ripped a hole in your stockings and only noticed once you got to campus and you usually don’t dress this formally to campus, but you were guest lecturing for Minerva and you know professors didn’t technically have a dress code, but she always looked well put together so, dammit, so were you. You explained that your mother always was the superstitious type and had you carry an emergency pair on you at all times, so you were thankfully able to change, but only after you spilled coffee on your blazer and had to shrug that off for the day and the lecture halls are ridiculously cold always; you know these stone buildings were built before electricity but surely with the great minds this school has churned out, they could find a way to keep the warm air in and cold drafts out?

And if all that hadn’t been bad enough, the other PhD candidate working under McGonagall is this absolute bell-end that you're almost positive has plagiarized half of his written work because everything he spews is absolute nonsense. He’s rude, and condescending, and spoke over you throughout all of your lectures to wax poetic about different Opera’s he’s performed in across the world - that you swear to God you will fact-check one of these days - that had absolutely nothing to do with the course content. And then, and then, he had the audacity to suggest you were only here because the school was required to accept a minimum number of foreign students and since you were, quote, just a woman, you also checked off their minority requirements too.

“People don’t get accepted here because of their nationality or their gender or their status as a minority. They’re supposed to get here because they’re good.” You muttered, finishing your pint you hadn’t realized you had guzzled during your rant

“And how’d Gavin get in, then?” He asked. You choked on the last of your beer.

“Fucked if I know.” You sighed.

A few more pints were placed in front of you as you continued to rant about the ins and outs of being a scholar in the world of music [for Christ’s sake, what was I thinking? I’ll never work a day in my life.] The man interrupting only to say that switching back to liquor would be a choice you would regret in the morning, and who were you to argue?

And he listened. He scoffed at some parts when you quoted Gilderoy suggesting something ridiculously altruistic that he’d done for the less fortunate while being nothing but condescending, he sprinkled in a few you’re kidding me’s, and even asked you to repeat something he couldn’t fathom the first time.

“See? I knew it. A smart girl like you wouldn’t overreact like that. Sounds like you’re perfectly justified in your ire.” He said.

You hummed as you finished your last pint. You felt thoroughly warm and heavy which was your intention of coming to the pub in the first place. You looked over to notice that the man – whose name you still hadn’t got – was still holding the same drink he had when you first arrived.

“Who are you here waiting for, then?” You asked him.

He looked confused for a moment. “How do you know I wasn’t just in desperate need of a drink myself?”

You nodded toward his still half-full cup in his hand. “Because you really haven’t been drinking.”

He narrowed his eyes and smirked at you. “Observant, aren’t you? Clever girl.” You rolled your eyes at the compliment.

“I was supposed to meet a business associate, actually.” He offered as he looked behind you towards the bar door. You turned to take in the rest of the bar yourself; it didn’t seem like the sort of place one would meet a business associate. The bar was dimly lit and somewhat claustrophobic; it didn’t offer a lot of privacy to talk business. You liked it because it was small - you’d be able to see everyone who was currently in the building with one sweep of your gaze save those who may be in the washrooms, and you could see out onto the street from your seat at the bar.

“I think it might be safe to say they stood you up.” You offered with a smirk as you turned to look back at him, only to find him already looking at you.

“I think you might be right.” He offered, looking you up and down.

You couldn’t help but admit he was quite attractive – and not just in his honey-blond curls and mischievous smirk and long limbs way, but he seemed clever, smart, and clearly he was a good listener. You sort of hoped he’d offer you his name, maybe even his number. You wouldn’t mind waiting around for a business associate of his with him again sometime.

You had no such luck.

He began to stand with an expression that bordered regret crossing his face.

“It appears I must be off.” He offered with a sad smirk as he placed some bills down on the table. You weren't quite familiar with the bills in the UK yet, but it seemed like an awful lot of money for the one drink he had at the bar that was still unfinished. You took notice of said drink as you came to this conclusion and got a weird feeling in your gut as he took the drink by the rim and brought it to his lips.

“Wait!” You said as you grabbed his arm. He tensed immediately and you pulled your hand away as if it burned. “I’m sorry. Just, is that the same drink you had when I first arrived?”

He looked from the drink back to me with furrowed brows. “Yes, why?”

You pointed to the drink he still held in his hand. “It’s old.”

He smirked. “Are you a drink snob, miss orders-two-incompatable-drinks-together-and-drinks-them-at-the-same-time?” You rolled your eyes and snatched the drink out of his hand as he brought it to his lips once again, which earned you an indignant ‘oi!’

“No, you berk, what I mean is, this drink is old. It’s warm to the touch, the ice has all melted and it should be as flat as a board but it’s bubbling, like, a lot.” You said as you held it in front of his eyes. He watched you for a few moments before you continued.

“It looks like someone put something in it.”

His gaze shot back to his drink where, sure enough, his should-be-flat diet coke was fizzing wildly as it began to turn a slightly murky shade.

You watched as he gently plucked the drink from your hand and casually put it back down on the bar and shrugged on his jacket.

“It appears you’re right.” He said in monotone. “Looks like we both ought to take our leave, hm?”

You nodded and followed suit; replacing your jacket and scarf you had ripped off unceremoniously as you had entered and headed for the door. The alcohol made you wobble for but a moment, but you were quickly righted by a gentle hand pressed to your lower back. Mortified, you put your best foot forward and marched out the door, hoping your embarrassment wasn't to evident in your cheeks.

You had to admit, you were beginning to panic. Why were you trusting this man? You had spent the last – you checked your watch – nearly two hours talking to this man whose name you still don’t know completely unaware of what was happening around you, and it turned out that there was someone here drugging drinks.

What if it’s him? An unhelpful part of your brain supplied. Why would he spike his own drink and then almost drink it? You argued back.

“You should be more careful.” You offered in what you had hoped to be a playful manner, but it came out strained. “Do you know of any reason why someone may want to spike your drink?”

He seemed to consider your question as you both walked somewhat briskly down the busy street to the subway station.

“No reason that would be suitable to share in the presence of a lady, I’m afraid.” He offered with a wink, leaning down slightly with his hands in his pocket. This answer didn’t make you feel any better.

“Any particular reason why you’re familiar with the signs of a spiked drink?” He offered back.

“I have a feeling most girls would be able to answer that.”

“Hm, perhaps. But I do not believe all would be as quick to catch it as you were.”

You didn’t answer him; you decided you had shared more than enough with this stranger tonight, and you were officially feeling all sorts of uncomfortable with the situation. You were mostly uncomfortable with how not uncomfortable you felt. It felt easy, walking with this stranger, as if you’ve been walking down dreary streets of London together for ages and this was just another Tuesday.

He stopped suddenly and flagged a taxi. You scowled at how quickly a cab stopped for him and his long as arms.

“Here, it’s too muggy for such a lady to brave the underground.” He offered as he opened the door. You began to protest, you had a tube pass through school for a reason, but his hand was on your lower back again as he gently led you into the car and closed the door before sticking his head in the window of the front passenger seat and tossing a handful of bills at the driver.

“Anywhere she wants to go.” He said, stepping back to the middle of the sidewalk and waving you off.

Between the alcohol, your nerves and being disarmed by the attractiveness of this man, you simply spouted the address of your flat to the driver and turned your face forward. The whole evening seemed otherworldly – like you were missing a big chunk of information of what happened tonight, even though you could account for every minute of it.

Your suspicions would have been proven correct if you had turned around to see your mystery man again, who was now accompanied by two other similarly dressed men - one with an unruly mop of brown curls and a shorter man with long black hair tied back haphazardly - who began chasing a fourth man in earnest down the street in the opposite direction.

Continue to part two here.

#marauders era #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #marauders au #mafia au #reader insert #x reader #self insert #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fanfiction #short ficlet #marauders are in the mafia #obviously #marauders are a gang #vigilante

[visit-new-york]

Chrysler Building: A Shimmering Icon of Art Deco Elegance

In the heart of Manhattan's bustling skyline, one architectural masterpiece stands tall, capturing the imagination of all who gaze upon it. The Chrysler Building, a shimmering beacon of Art Deco elegance, is not just a skyscraper but a symbol of New York City's enduring spirit and architectural innovation. With its captivating history, exquisite design, and a touch of old-world glamour, the Chrysler Building continues to enchant and captivate, leaving an indelible mark on the Big Apple's iconic skyline.

The Chrysler Building, completed in 1930, was the brainchild of architect William Van Alen. Its distinctive design is a symphony of style, blending Art Deco with influences from the Machine Age. The tower rises to a staggering 1,046 feet, making it one of the tallest buildings in the world at the time of its completion. Its crowning glory, the iconic stainless steel spire, reaches even higher, ultimately soaring to 1,476 feet. This bold architectural choice, combined with the building's tiered setbacks and intricate ornamentation, immediately sets it apart from its contemporaries.

The Chrysler Building's spire is nothing short of a masterpiece. Composed of seven concentric stainless steel arches, it seems to ascend endlessly into the sky, a testament to human ambition and ingenuity. The polished metal glimmers and reflects the ever-changing hues of the New York City skyline, giving the building a dynamic and ethereal quality. The spire's tip is adorned with a spectacular sunburst design, a symbol of hope and optimism that encapsulated the spirit of the Roaring Twenties.

Beneath the shimmering façade, the Chrysler Building holds a treasure trove of architectural marvels. The lobby, in particular, is a breathtaking work of art. A soaring, marble-clad space is adorned with ornate, artful details, including intricate friezes, Egyptian-inspired motifs, and a magnificent ceiling mural by artist Edward Trumbull. The lobby's elegance and opulence transport visitors to a bygone era of sophistication and glamour.

The Chrysler Building's enduring legacy goes beyond its architectural significance. It has played a prominent role in popular culture, making appearances in numerous films, television shows, and works of literature. Its silhouette, unmistakable and timeless, is a symbol of New York City itself, representing both the city's storied past and its ever-evolving future.

Yet, beneath its polished surface and captivating design, the Chrysler Building harbors an air of myth and mystery that adds to its allure. One enduring legend is the tale of a secret spire race between the Chrysler Building and the Bank of Manhattan Trust Building (now known as 40 Wall Street), a nearby skyscraper under construction at the same time. This tale, though perhaps more myth than fact, only deepens the intrigue surrounding this architectural wonder.

The construction of the Chrysler Building was not without its challenges. The architects and builders had to contend with the limitations of 1920s technology, including the absence of modern safety measures and equipment. Nevertheless, the determination and expertise of the builders triumphed over adversity, resulting in an enduring symbol of human achievement.

As we look ahead to the future, the Chrysler Building continues to stand as a symbol of resilience and creativity. While no longer the tallest building in New York City, its timeless elegance and iconic spire remain a source of inspiration for architects, artists, and dreamers alike. Recent renovations and preservation efforts ensure that this shimmering gem will continue to grace the Manhattan skyline for generations to come.

For those who wish to experience the magic of the Chrysler Building firsthand, tours are available to explore its exquisite lobby and learn more about its history and architectural significance. Standing in the shadow of its gleaming spire, visitors can connect with the past, marvel at its beauty, and imagine the countless stories that have unfolded within its walls.

In a city that is constantly changing and reinventing itself, the Chrysler Building remains a steadfast symbol of New York City's enduring spirit, artistic excellence, and architectural innovation. Its shimmering spire reaches for the heavens, while its hidden treasures and legendary history capture the hearts and minds of all who encounter it. As an icon of Art Deco elegance, the Chrysler Building is not just a skyscraper; it's a living testament to the dreams and aspirations of a city that continues to inspire the world. It's a reminder that in the ever-evolving urban jungle of Manhattan, the Chrysler Building's brilliance still shines as brightly as ever, inviting all to partake in its timeless allure.

Chrysler Building -  Next page>

#Chrysler Building #new york city #new york #new-york #newyork #urban #nyc #ny #manhattan #city #usa #United States #buildings #travel #journey #outdoors #street #architecture #visit-new-york.tumblr.com

[chimielie]

You're just trying to get back to your room.

It's misty outside for the first time in days, and your hair is doing weird things because you just woke up, and it's laundry day, so you're wearing the best combination you could find of strangely-patterned sweats and a sports bra as a shirt.

And you're doing your laundry, so you have to go all the way downstairs and back up again. Back up again, however, seems to have been roadblocked by a wall of leggy, perfectly unmade-made-up girls who are all coming back at nine in the morning from someplace unknown and mystical, smelling of coconut body spray.

"Excuse me," you try, your voice maybe too quiet as you attempt to sound less than annoyed. A few of them move out of the way, and you walk past gratefully, only to be stopped short as the tallest, coconuttiest, perfectest one rocks back right into your path, bubbling over giggling like celebratory champagne. You don't have to look to know who it is that made her laugh like that, where she's coming back from.

You stand, staring, for a moment, involuntarily comparing her side profile to your own, the way her hair is piled up in a messy bun girls on Wattpad in 2012 would envy. She doesn't even notice you, still addressing a rapt audience, and you feel much, much smaller than you should.

Blessedly, someone says her name, an abbreviated, fond version of it, and she glances at you and moves out of the way. You mutter "thanks," and sidle through, though there's not enough space in the tight hallway to avoid bumping your knee into someone else.

"Sorry," Kuroo says, and despite how hard you’ve been trying not to look at him, you just have to.

Your eyes scrape over his stupid high school hoodie, his growing stubble, his piercing eyes. His hair’s a mess and your chest grows tight imagining why. There's something awful growing in there, vines you can feel growing offshoots that you cannot let burst out.

Part of you is indignant, insisting that you shouldn’t feel like a mouse in the presence of all these popular people, that you have self worth beyond cowering beside the queen bee. The rest of you shivers, remembering that you have every reason to feel guilty around her, that you’re the other woman.

You try not to think about how the reaction is more due to remembering the night you fucked her boyfriend than anything.

You hadn’t carried on any lascivious, secretive affair with Kuroo. It had been a one-night stand before they’d gotten together. The night they’d gotten together.

You’d found yourselves in the same social circle after the frantic rush to make friends during the first week of university, and he was the handsomest thing you’d ever seen, just between man and boy. You’d pushed—hard—to get closer to him, signed up for the things he liked, didn’t make too much fun of his awful chemistry puns or taste in bands. You’d lingered in his life, been the last one in his room, late at night, and his roommates weren’t coming back.

You’d woken up, sore and a little embarrassed (you were pretty sure they couldn’t build walls thick enough) but as weightless and joyful as the dawn. He was still dead to the world, so you’d climbed out of bed and hustled back to your room with the full intention of texting him later in the day.

Mere hours later, the news had come through like wildfire.

You’re pretty sure they’re not official, that boyfriend and girlfriend are titles only used in your head, but everyone knows they are capital T Together.

You feel silly whenever you watch him out your window, back arched and eyes narrowed as he hits a perfect spike playing volleyball in the green. You were the one who left before he woke up; you who had promised him a one-night-stand.

Still, something in you screams that he was yours first.

He's looking at you like maybe you'll respond, spit out a joke, pretend like you haven't lost your mind jumping into something you didn’t understand. You don’t stay long enough to read his face; you duck your head and go.

He waves a half-assed wave at your back. You have eyes in the back of your head, it seems, because you can’t help but wave back.

#haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #hq!! x reader #kuroo x reader #kuroo angst #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tetsurō x reader #kuroo tetsurou x reader #kuroo x reader angst #haikyuu!! angst #haikyuu!! x reader angst #haikyuu x reader angst #shorts!

[disco-elysium-via-polls]

The bad news is that we failed to get into the book club. The good news is that means we can go pick up where we left off at the Whirling.

I mistakenly enter Cindy's room instead of the apartment block.

A hundred tiny feet scurrying beneath the grate. The rats of the city.

VISUAL CALCULUS - Ruination has come. The broken arches betray the once grand history of this building. It towered over the harbour, until *it* happened.

Form a guess about what happened.

[Discard thought.]

VISUAL CALCULUS - A great force from the northeast fired into the city. Heavy artillery shelled the coastline, fired from the water -- a straight shot into Revachol.

The tenement acted as a defensive wall against the worst of the shelling. Until it was destroyed, and they had a direct firing line.

Take in the ocean.

Look at the ruins in the water.

Time to go. [Finish thought.]

VISUAL CALCULUS - The waves of the Martinaise inlet roll over the fallen remains of the building. The dark waters obscure the better part of the remains.

LOGIC [Medium: Success] - What didn't fall into the ocean was used as scrap; what wasn't used as scrap was thrown into the ocean.

2. Look at the ruins in the water.

VISUAL CALCULUS - Those arches acted as support for something greater than what you see now.

Only three storeys stand where nine to twelve once did. Restoration has failed. What the shelling took out was never re-built.

SHIVERS [Medium: Success] - Underwater, iron helmets have sunk deep into the sand and the mud. Helmets of soldiers. And their fingerbones, too. And clavicles. Littering the ocean floor...

3. Who did this? This damage?

VISUAL CALCULUS - A fleet -- the combined armies of Occident and Graad, with Mesque volunteers. A five-nation army. Hundreds of vessels.

They massed airships further down, in the bay of Revachol. The artillery was so powerful, the ships not only required gyroscopic stabilization -- they were anchored into the ocean floor as well.

Many are still there to this day. If you squint, you can just barely see the shadow on the water, far in the northeast. Cannons still ready to placate Revachol.

+5 XP

4. "Hey Kim. Do you know who *shelled* our city?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "The Coalition," says the lieutenant. "But that was a long time ago. I think we should move on. It's chilly up here."

EMPATHY [Easy: Success] - He does not like talking politics of this kind.

HALF LIGHT [Medium: Success] - He fears the discussion might lead to disagreements. As it often does.

5. Time to go. [Finish thought.]

🎵 Whirling-in-Rags, 12 PM

Smoker's still here.

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - "Hi again, gendarme."

4. [Composure - Legendary 14] What is it about the way he carries himself?

+1 He's so different.

COMPOSURE [Legendary: Failure] - It's the sports, he's a sports guy, all about that physical prowess and athletic skill... Nothing else here.

Ok, back to pinball, then.

3. "Let's take a closer look." (Pull out the machine.)

KIM KITSURAGI - "Oh, great." The lieutenant sighs.

CORNELIUS GURDI AND THE MOUNTAIN GOATS - 'CORNELIUS GURDI AND THE MOUNTAIN GOATS' reads the golden lettering on top of the backbox. There's a small column of text underneath it. The machine is coin-operated.

INTERFACING - Get the game on, finger-boy! Those flippers are *ready*.

Lean closer to read the text.

Inspect the playing field.

Insert coin.

"Pinball isn't for me." [Leave.]

CORNELIUS GURDI AND THE MOUNTAIN GOATS - Above the painting of a moustached man climbing a hill, a column reads: 'Inspired by the legend of Cornelius Gurdi taking on the world's tallest peak, Corpus Mundi. The Mesque legends holds that when the nation is in danger, heroic Gurdi shall return and save his people.

2. Inspect the playing field.

CORNELIUS GURDI AND THE MOUNTAIN GOATS - The theme of the game is to explore Gurdi’s climb through the perspective of goats, and to ascend to the top of the mountain in a time of trouble.

The peak of the mountain is at the top of the playfield. All the balls have small goat icons on them, and represent the goats as they race up and down the mountain.

Areas around the playfield represent Gurdi’s climb: Places he was said to have camped, which the goats can discover. Get them to the summit!

3. What's with all the goats?

INTERFACING - Indeed. Think of them as balls.

4. And Gurdi?

INTERFACING - A mountaineer? A Mesque nationalist? A goat herd? Play the damn game already.

5. Insert coin.

CORNELIUS GURDI AND THE MOUNTAIN GOATS - It takes a while to get into a rhythm, but pretty soon you're able to keep three goat-faced balls in play with with relative ease.

INTERFACING - Go-go, finger-boy!

KIM KITSURAGI - "I feel sorry for the goats. If they only knew the kind of guy old Cornelius really was..."

"Wait, what 'kind of guy' was he then?"

"I'm pretty good at this." (Continue playing.)

"Enough with the fun." [Leave.]

KIM KITSURAGI - "The kind of a guy who uses the word 'savages' a lot when recounting his travels. A Mesque nationalist."

"A racist mountaineer?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "An avid huntsman too," the lieutenant adds. "He was often photographed in his dining hall, surrounded by wall-mounted hunting trophies from every continent."

"That is *not* cool."

"Technically the human beings *are* at the top of the food-chain, so…"

KIM KITSURAGI - "He also hit his wife. And kids. Other people's kids too. Sometimes pets. Hateful little man."

"But you seem to be having fun?" He nods at the machine.

"I'm pretty good at this." (Continue playing.)

CORNELIUS GURDI AND THE MOUNTAIN GOATS - Your game is definitely improving. The jolly goats are flying all over the board and although a few plummet to their deaths you're never left with less than three.

Suddenly a special passage, leading to the summit, slides open at the top of the board. This is where the balls need to go.

Concentrate and aim for the narrow passage.

CORNELIUS GURDI AND THE MOUNTAIN GOATS - Maneuvering a goat-ball into a position for a perfect hit isn't easy. More fall to their deaths, but finally the opportunity presents itself. One of them gets through.

PERCEPTION [Medium: Success] - Tiny hammer shatters something inside the machine. Something glass.

LOGIC [Challenging: Success] - An ampoule?

INLAND EMPIRE [Challenging: Success] - The last one.

CORNELIUS GURDI AND THE MOUNTAIN GOATS - The words 'PALE RUPTURE' light up on the speaker panel and the machine starts filling with a thick milky fog... something's happening.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Congratulations." The lieutentant nods. "This is where the game ends. It's a cheap way of getting more money out of the players. A stupid, nihilistic finale."

CORNELIUS GURDI AND THE MOUNTAIN GOATS - There's so much fog you can barely see anything. Some is actually leaking out of the machine and one by one your goats start slipping, disappearing into the milky nothingness.

INLAND EMPIRE [Challenging: Success] - Lucky goats. The fog looks soft and inviting.

VISUAL CALCULUS [Trivial: Success] - This *can* be navigated. The balls leave an almost imperceptible 'disruptions' in the fog. Use them to calculate where they hit next.

VOLITION [Challenging: Success] - The amount of focus it takes to predict when a ball-goat is in striking range is staggering, but it *can* be done. Focus!

CORNELIUS GURDI AND THE MOUNTAIN GOATS - You're down to your last goat, going mostly by sound -- eyes are useless at this point -- but that goat is something special. Five times you snatch him back from the jaws of death.

"Kim, it can be done -- just watch!"

[Reaction Speed - Legendary 14] Stay on the ball.

"Why do they even make these if it's impossible to win?!" [Give up, winning is too stressful.]

KIM KITSURAGI - "I am. I've seen it before. Played it too. You will eventually make a mistake -- and then it's all over."

[Reaction Speed - Legendary 14] Stay on the ball.

-1 Bad at ballgames.

No good, even with me changing into the beanie.

REACTION SPEED [Legendary: Failure] - How, if you can't even see it?

CORNELIUS GURDI AND THE MOUNTAIN GOATS - The last goat plummets into the fog with almost suicidal glee.

INLAND EMPIRE [Medium: Success] - It killed himself to *spite* you.

INTERFACING - There goes nothing, finger-boy.

CORNELIUS GURDI AND THE MOUNTAIN GOATS - The machine is dead and silent. It needs serious maintenance before anyone can play again.

ELEVATOR - This small elevator is dimly lit by a bulb that's been glowing for ages. The latticed cage is open, inviting you to step inside.

Look in.

[Leave.]

ELEVATOR - Smells of nougat and sweat. Your head brushes up against the ceiling. There is a control panel to your right -- and just enough room for two people to fit in.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Medium: Success] - The maintenance card under the control panel reads: 'Last Maintenance: 10 July '88'.

Look at the elevator controls.

"It says the last maintenance was in '88."

"I wonder what this elevator was used for."

(Close the doors and go up.)

[Leave.]

ELEVATOR - There are large rectangular buttons: 'Monter', 'Descendre', and an international: 'Call for Emergency Assistance'. That third one appears to be broken.

ENCYCLOPEDIA [Medium: Success] - A small steel plaque reads 'Halter 800'. Halter is a Königsteiner lift company who went out of business a long, long time ago.

2. "It says the last maintenance was in '88."

KIM KITSURAGI - "That it does." The lieutenant peeks in. "I say -- let's brave it."

"This elevator was last maintained in the *future*?"

"Eighty-eight... This elevator was maintained a long time ago."

KIM KITSURAGI - "No, it was maintained in '88 of the *previous* century."

"So it's *not* a message from the future?"

"That's disappointing."

"That means it's not really that safe, is it."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Look on the bright side: if it fails, we will only sustain minor injuries. I'm talking three, maybe four months in the hospital. Maximum five."

RHETORIC [Medium: Success]- It appears his whole enthusiasm is sarcastic.

3. "I wonder what this elevator was used for."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Seems like a small freight elevator for transporting machinery. For that -- it's pretty quaint." He taps the on the guttering light bulb -- it's golden in the dark.

4. (Close the doors and go up.)

ELEVATOR - The elevator screeches and rattles, like the belly of some ancient beast, as it carries you upward...

🎵 We Are Not Checkmated

Small windows, taped shut with black plastic. You can't see outside.

Boxes of tools and replacement parts line the shelves.

Schematics for a pinball machine -- futurism themed.

PINBALL MAKER'S COAT

+1 Empathy: M. Nyflox blues +1 Hand/Eye Coordination

This dusty old coat used to belong to someone called "M. Nyflox". The name is stitched into the silk lining. It smells of moths and ancient engine grease, but fits you perfectly. A strange, lonely emotion fills you when you tighten the belt around your waist.

The pinball machine has been taken apart and gutted.

LOGIC - So this is where they brought faulty pinball machines to fix them up -- a long time ago. Everything is covered with dust now...

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant looks around the dusty, crowded room, inspecting the tools on the shelf.

"Looks like they gave up on fixing the pinball machines at some point."

"This used to be a... pinball workshop."

Not interested. [Discard thought.]

KIM KITSURAGI - "At some point -- twenty years ago? Fifteen maybe. Before pinball went out of vogue."

2. "This used to be a... pinball workshop."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Looks like it. I'm guessing Martinaise North 22 used to be a pinball arcade before it became a hostel. There are machines left over..." He taps his foot.

PERCEPTION (HEARING) [Medium: Success] - A creak, some dust falls off a shelf.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Downstairs in the hall -- next to the main door. One of them even works. I've seen one of the Hardies bang away at it."

3. [Finish thought.]

FOOTPRINTS IN THE DUST - You *clearly* see footprints in the downy carpet of dust covering the workshop floor.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Jackpot." The lieutenant takes out his notebook. "These, unlike everything else here, are *new*."

"Someone's been here -- within the last week or two."

"Let's have a closer look then..." (Crouch, study the footprints.)"

"Let's move on." [Leave.]

KIM KITSURAGI - "Three weeks maximum -- from the dust coverage. It could easily have been *one* week too. You know, officer..." He looks at you.

EMPATHY [Easy: Success] - This is so good it makes him forget the whole *Kimball* memory.

That would have made more sense if we hadn't left halfway through this section.

KIM KITSURAGI - "It was a *stereo-investigation* after all. It has now converged with our main investigation. Adding a new fact to *consider*."

Task complete: Explore the Whirling's secret passages

+30 XP

Level up!

2. "Okay. What does this mean?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "It means someone snuck through what seems like a secret route -- behind Klaasje's room. In the recent weeks. This may prove to be significant."

3. "Let's have a closer look then..." (Crouch, study the footprints.)

FOOTPRINTS IN THE DUST - Large prints, most likely made by boots. The size is hard to determine (sole could be bigger than vamp). The soles have left a pattern -- uniform, horizontal lines.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Challenging: Success] - One person has been here. They've gone back and forth. The tips point both ways.

VISUAL CALCULUS [Challenging: Success] - Shoe size is 41-42, maybe 43. It could be a large-footed woman or a small-to-average-footed man. This is, unfortunately, the worst, most vague shoe size there is.

HALF LIGHT [Medium: Success] - Of course! Damn...

"The prints look like one person went back and forth."

"This print doesn't look like the Odd-soled print we found at the hanging, Kim."

"This doesn't look like the workers boots from the hanging, does it?"

Get up. (Conclude.)

KIM KITSURAGI - "Between that," he points to the elevator doors in the corner, "and that," he points to the barred door.

2. "This print doesn't look like the Odd-soled print we found at the hanging, Kim."

KIM KITSURAGI - He inspects the tracks closer. "The size looks about the same, actually. They're not the same *shoe*, but they *could* be the same person."

3. "This doesn't look like the workers boots from the hanging, does it?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "No. These little... horizontal lines are different. They look custom made to me. Or some kind of foreign print? Hard to say. Still a *boot* though."

4. Get up. (Conclude.)

FOOTPRINTS IN THE DUST - Everything around you is quiet. The prints criss-cross the workshop floor.

4. "Let's move on." [Leave.]

There's a tiny hole in the wall. You see a bedroom on the other side.

BARRED DOOR - This is the barred door you tried to kick in before.

Lightly punch the door once more. Just in case.

"So what's on the other side?"

Unbar the door. [Leave]

Let the door remain barred. [Leave.]

BARRED DOOR - The door shudders a bit, as though it were laughing at you.

2. "So what's on the other side?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "Unless we've veered off into a folded M dimension, I'm expecting to step out on the roof -- we could ask Klaasje about this route, see how she reacts?"

CONCEPTUALIZATION [Medium: Success] - Folded M dimension. A reference to the popular science fiction series *In System*. Look who's in a good mood suddenly (and reads science fiction).

INLAND EMPIRE [Medium: Success] - Yes. It *is* quite likely that we will re-emerge on the M-Plain. Brace for psychokinetic impact. (Or the roof.)

3. Unbar the door. [Leave.]

PAIN THRESHOLD - Bent metal, broken glass... your path lies strewn with the broken forms of everyday objects...

You are *The Destroyer*, the bane of inanimate matter.

Gaze upon me, stuff, and despair!

No, I'm just a disempowered individual trying to take my disempowerment out on everyday objects.

Yeah, I rip shit apart.

PAIN THRESHOLD - Look! There's a discarded milk carton on the floor. Why don't you destroy that, too?

Good idea. Fuck you, milk carton, this is all *your* fault!

No, I actually feel sorry for the things I've destroyed. (I'm sorry, milk carton.)

PAIN THRESHOLD - Kudos.

Thought gained: Anti-Object Task Force

ANTI-OBJECT TASK FORCE

Temporary research bonus: -2 Pain Threshold: Hurts! Research time: 2h 15m

Take a look at your hands. See how bruised they are? See those little scars? This is Exhibit A. The material world is holding you back. Containers, mailboxes, doors, chairs -- they are all your enemies. Always have been. Atoms themselves are in on the conspiracy, forming shapes and structures that you hate. You are energy stuck in a body. You are spirit trapped in matter. Break free! Beat up that lamp post! Let it know just how much objects *suck*.

Klaasje is already gone, so no surprising her. You know who we can tell about this, though?

🎵 Whirling-in-Rags, 12 PM

She's made around four months of payments for this room.

You see the yard below. The corpse is no longer there.

GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER - "Hey." He nods in greeting. "Was there something you needed?"

SUGGESTION [Trivial: Success] - Well, well, bringing him that new bird sure made a difference in his attitude.

3. "Garte, I saw another *thing* at the Whirling..."

GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER - "Another thing -- great. I love those."

4. "Garte, what if I told you I got into the back room -- behind the *blue steel door.*"

GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER - "Oh? Okay. Well." He controls his excitement well. "I did hear you make noise back there. So -- good for you."

COMPOSURE [Medium: Success] - He's really, really holding himself back here.

VOLITION [Easy: Success] - It takes a lot of willpower not to ask. Obviously he's been wanting to know what's behind the door...

"Aren't you gonna ask me what's back there?"

GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER - "Okay -- what *is* back there?"

"Skeletons. A mausoleum of the dead."

"Pinball machines. A pinball workshop."

"Nothing. The black gaping maw at the end of Time."

GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER - "Yes. Ha ha. What's *actually* behind there?"

3. "Nothing. The black gaping maw at the end of Time."

+1 Apocalypse Cop

GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER - He shakes his head. "There is no gaping maw. If you don't want to tell me you don't have to. It's okay."

DRAMA [Medium: Success] - *But please do still tell me!*

2. "Pinball machines. A pinball workshop."

GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER - "Hah! I knew it. I've always wondered where those machines by the door came from -- *and* they told me there was some kind of pinball thing here too..."

"I knew it." He repeats. "Were there any back there? In working order I mean?"

Uh, not anymore.

"Why? Do you want to play? Because I might be up for a game…"

"Didn't check. Pinball isn't relevant to the investigation."

"Didn't check. Pinball is stupid."

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant nods in agreeance.

+1 Reputation

GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER - "I was... just wondering." He appears to be making a calculation in his head. "If you found pinball machines there..."

DRAMA [Medium: Success] - He was *wondering* about something business-related. About how much money he could make off one.

"Thinking of turning this place back into a pinball arcade?"

"If you're thinking of selling those pinball machines, I want a fat cut. C-Suite shit." (Beat your chest.) "I'm a disruptor."

"I feel a capitalist plot coming up."

+1 Communism

GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER - "Capitalist *plot*." He rolls his eyes. "The pinball we have in the corner now is broken -- I want to diversify the entertainment options."

"It wouldn't hurt to get a little life in here. Other than the hellish karaoke machine. That one's always *causing trouble*."

+5 XP

LOGIC [Medium: Success] - Yeah, those numbers he's adding up must be making good sense to him right now.

4. "There's a peephole in the wall."

GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER - He startles. "What wall?"

"Upstairs in the secret back room -- right next to Klaasje's bedroom. I found it when I found the pinball machines."

GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER - "I'll have it fixed at once. Thank you for letting me know. I assure you -- the Whirling does *not* abide spying on its guests."

COMPOSURE [Medium: Success] - The colour has drained from his face.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Medium: Success] - What a shame. To fix such a good peephole.

"Are you sure *you* haven't been spying on your guests?"

"Couldn't you *keep* the hole there? What if there are some hotties staying in that room…" (Wink.)

"Alright -- you've been notified." (Conclude.)

GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER - "Absolutely not." He breathes in and out. "Fuck you for even implying it. It wasn't me, it wasn't my staff. The establishment will look at it and ascertain what it was."

DRAMA [Medium: Success] - Well, he's definitely not lying -- he wouldn't endanger this business like that.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Sir, he was only asking a question. It's his job -- and mine. See that it's covered."

GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER - "Yes. I absolutely will." He calms his breathing. "Sorry. It's been a bit of a day -- and now a hole in the wall."

2. "Alright -- you've been notified." (Conclude.)

GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER - "Thank you, I'll patch it up personally. Was there something else about the establishment? I hope not..."

+5 XP

There isn't, so that's going to conclude our time here today.

#disco elysium #kim kitsuragi #harrier du bois #garte the cafeteria manager #smoker on the balcony

[orqheuss]

The sun does not weep for Icarus PART 4 FINALE

(Ominis Gaunt/Sebastian Sallow/GN!Reader ANGST) Can be read as platonic, implied Ominis/Anne and Sebastian

Parts: 1 2 3 4

Summary:

The Gaunt boy didn’t remember if his closest friend even liked the taste of berries. The thought struck him as odd— what a mundane thing to worry about. So simple, so insignificant, yet somehow still so meaningful.  *** It was time. Time to go to Azkaban; time to greet their best friend for the final time. Even with all their preparing, all their planning so their scheme would be pulled off perfectly, were they truly ready for this?

Word count: 9.9k

Tags: graphic depictions of child abuse, assisted suicide, emetophobia, major character death

AN: I’m moving all of my fics over from Ao3 to make them more accessible! These are my fics.

For this final chapter, I am recommending the songs "The Lament of Eustace Scrubb" by The Oh Hellos, "I Know the End" by Pheobe Bridgers, "Fourth of July" by Sufjan Stevens, and "Je te laisserai des mots" by Patrick Watson.

Chapter 4: I Am Not There, I Did Not Die

Light danced across the Transfiguration courtyard as the sun reached its lowest point in the sky, winking at the fast approaching night before tucking itself into the thick, white clouds for its nightly slumber. Shadows stretched across the stone floors, catching briefly on the statue that rested in the center atop a grand fountain. The woman in the sculpture was gaunt in form, small and malnourished; if she wasn’t made of stone she would surely blow away with a particularly strong breeze. Long hair flowed from her head and drooped down her shoulders, resting just below her hips, its edges frayed and sticking up in different directions like she hadn’t taken care of it in some time. She wore traditional wizard robes, a long beautiful dress with an intricately decorated cloak draped over her shoulders. The cloth seemed to fall from her body and pool at the ground like it was no longer form fitting; her bony collarbones peaked through the depressed fabric. Long, lithe fingers covered her face in anguish. Only the apples of her cheeks and her mouth were visible, her lips twisted into a sorrowful wail as silver painted tear tracks streaked downwards from her covered eyes. The statue was meant to be a symbol of heartbreak— the lack of care for oneself when something you loved was long gone from your life. Standing in her shadow were two students, hoods pulled over their faces to shield their watchful eyes from any onlookers milling about the castle, astutely unaware that they were resting in the shadow of their future. The tallest of the two craned his neck towards the overcroft walkway diagonal to them, listening carefully for any sign of movement. All that was heard was the skuttle of tiny animal paws against the cracked concrete; likely a cat, he mused. Nodding his head to his partner in confirmation, the duo sprinted across the large courtyard, careful to stay in the shadows and away from the bright rays of the setting sun. They had to be as discreet as possible— any wrong move and their entire operation would come crashing down around them like the end of the world itself. The pair of students made their way along the darkened walls of the Transfiguration courtyard, slinking through the exit on the other side and pausing behind one of the many stone braziers lining the walkway, carefully monitoring the Defense Against the Dark Arts hallway adjacent. It was around dinner time, so their peers would either be in the Great Hall or making their way there from each of the four common rooms. The only sound that could be heard was the cool wind outside blowing through the arches lining the walkway and the steady breaths of the two fifth years. Small puffs of fog bellowed out of their chapped lips before they were gently carried away by the chilled wind of winter. A shiver ran down their already taut spines, each tense with anticipation and unease. The duo gave one final scan of the hall, double and triple checking for any sign of life, before bolting towards the far corner where the secret entrance of the Undercroft lay. The smaller of the two quickly unlocked the mechanism and squeezed through the shallow doorway before ushering their companion through the entrance and down the stairs. The gunmetal gate whined at their return to the secret fortress in the underbelly of the school. Once safely inside, the pair shucked the hoods from their heads, panting slightly in perturbation, before turning to face the other head on. 

It was time. 

From under his robes, Ominis pulled out the invisibility cloak. It had taken slightly longer than anticipated to retrieve from Diagon Alley, a full week instead of a matter of days, leaving them six days to get to Azkaban and find their friend. The iridescent fabric caught the light of the floating candles near the ceiling and glimmered a multitude of colors, small flecks of rainbows dancing on the walls around them. It was just big enough to shield one of them from the eyes of the guards, the other would be disguised as someone else under a polyjuice potion. Ominis would be the one taking the potion, as he knew the mannerisms of the person they chose as the best fit, while he would be holding on to his friend under the cloak so they could lead him without his wand. The blinking light would surely give him away in the vast prison. He may not be as famous as the rest of his family, but he was at least known enough for others to spot his disability. 

The two sat on the conjured couches at the center of the room, each taking one loveseat and placing the different parts of their plan onto the table before them. The invisibility cloak draped over the wood like a beautiful tablecloth, reminding the sighted fifth year of the place settings around Christmas. Atop rested three vials, one containing the putrid green polyjuice potion, one containing the golden, lustrous hue of felix felicis, and one containing a new concoction that they had created. 

The two fifth years had snuck into the potions classroom the night before, testing out the invisibility cloak and how well it would work to their needs. In a mortar and pestle they crushed the small purple nightshade berries with its stems and leaves, which were just as if not more deadly than the fruit, together into a thick paste before dumping it into a small cauldron heated by an incendio charm. The plant brewed for an hour, distilling down to a fine syrup that was easy to drink. The fifth year had the idea to add some sugar to the pot in order to make it more palpable— something Ominis dryly laughed at. They were sweetening poison so it went down easier, what a stupidly caring thing to do. 

The final vial was filled with their poison, the liquid inside swirling with shades of plum and red wine— little seeds of the berry still floating in it. The Gaunt boy didn’t remember if his closest friend even liked the taste of berries. The thought struck him as odd— what a mundane thing to worry about. So simple, so insignificant, yet somehow still so meaningful. 

Ominis stared unseeing into the open space above the table, his eyes glazed over in deep, destitute contemplation. His hands were pressed together in a prayer shape, pointer fingers just slightly touching his lips and his thumbs resting under his chin; his elbows rested on his knees, his body hunching over like a statue at rest. Vibrations rocked through the couch under him and shook the table from his rapidly bouncing leg; nervous energy convulsing in his veins and ricocheting out of his body like a bullet in a chamber. The boy prepared himself for what he had to do— who he was about to turn into. He may not know faces, but he knew body language and speaking patterns, and this particular one haunted his nightmares more often than he had a peaceful night's rest. The vial of hair resting in his cloak pocket burned against his skin like one thousand suns. He had to sneak into his family home to get it, somewhere he hadn’t been in a very long time. There was no one that he hated more in this world than his family, and he was about to become one of them. 

His friend stretched their arm across the table, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder and giving it a squeeze. They knew what he was about to do would be inordinately hard for him— to become someone he hated more than anything else in the world weighed heavily on his heart and sent panicked jitters through his limbs. His fight or flight would be kicking in at that moment if it hadn’t fizzled out long ago at the hands of the family that was meant to care for him. 

He was just a child when his family first began their heinous torture— no more than the age of five when they first wanted him to wield dark magic against those who “wronged” them. His magic had barely shown itself, only little bursts of scattered sparks sprinkling from his fingertips had appeared at that point. He was a fairly late bloomer in the Gaunt household, which of course was blamed on his physical “defect,” as they so often put it. He was lesser than them in their eyes, not truly carrying the Gaunt name if he could not do everything that they did. Instead of strong, intimidating, and regal, he was nothing but a weak child— a stain on their good family name. The first time they had ever tortured him was when he was four, a tiny thing made of all bones and sharp angles even then. His mother had received his marks in the mail from the private magic school they sent him to; every Gaunt had to attend and keep up the family image. He had struggled with school when he was younger, unable to do things as easily as his peers without the gift of sight. He didn’t have his wand yet, so in layman's terms he was quite literally flying blind. It really shouldn’t have been a surprise that he would get terrible marks on his tests, both academic and skill based, but his mother was furious. She had shouted at him for hours in their large family room before his father came home. Ominis had always questioned the name of the space— his family never spent time together, even at dinner, so why would they have a room dedicated to something they most definitely weren’t? The question truly solidified in his mind that day when his father walked through the door. If his mother was furious, his father was absolutely seething. 

The older Gaunt had never cared for his son, not since the announcement of his disability by the au pair taking care of his mother and helping her through the birth. As the youngest in his family of four siblings, he was already more of a nuisance than anything. Even his name, Ominis, did not match with the rest of the family; each of his siblings had a name starting with M, Marvolo, Morphina, and Metis, and he was ostracized before he even knew about the cruelties of the world— the cruelties of the sacred twenty-eight pureblood families of the wizarding world. 

His father had entered the family room that day, an aura of daunting domineerance flowing from his person and permeating the air with the scent of his signature cologne and the pure, unfiltered rage that always seemed to follow him. He remembered the sound of his mother thrusting his terrible marks at his father, explaining exactly what his professor had said to her and his performance in class. They didn’t care that he was genuinely trying his best, all they saw was a disgusting failure— a black spot on their pristine family tree. His father had joined in the belittling then, spittle flying at him and littering his son’s face from the close proximity of his face to the young boy’s. Ominis determinedly willed himself to not cry, something a young boy of his age would have normally been expected to do. In his family, tears were seen as a sign of weakness— any shift in demeanor that wasn’t deemed “appropriate” was. His struggles were for naught, unfortunately, as in horror he felt a tear leak down his cheek and gather at the corner of his mouth. Everything seemed to pause, the space around him getting eerily silent. For a moment he thought that his parents had left the room, but he knew that they would want him to know that they were abandoning him there. They would want him to feel the sting of their absence. That was until he felt the sharp sting of the back of a hand connect against his cheek; the ring his father always wore with the Gaunt insignia adorning it carving into his face and drawing a small bubbling of blood to the surface of his ghastly pale skin. He had sat in shock for a moment, unsure of what he was supposed to do— how he was supposed to act . He had never heard his parents strike his siblings, the territory was entirely unheard of to the young boy. More tears pooled in his eyes against his will, and he fought valiantly to keep them tucked away behind his lashes. His lip wobbled with desperately contained cries, his teeth digging into the flesh to stop its incessant movement. But, just because he may not be able to see doesn’t mean that the rest of his family was blind. His father tracked the boy’s expressions, infuriated at the weak will of his youngest son. He would give him something to truly cry about. At that moment, Ominis felt the violent pain of the cruciatus curse for the first time. His tiny body crashed to the ground as he writhed in anguish, demented, childish screams clawing their way out of his throat as he struggled to breath around the incapacitating agony. His father had continued to scold the child, kicking him in the stomach and sending him heaving onto his side as he continued to spew nonsense about blood purity, the image of the family, and his role in their future. He remembered biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, pushing himself to silence his constant wails so he could avoid a worse punishment. Once he was released from the curse, only then did his mother and father leave— one last word about his disappointment on the family name hissing from their lips like a threatened black mamba. They had forced him to clean up his own blood from the pristine carpet that night. 

Now, after so many years of avoiding the man, the reflection of Erebus Gaunt, his father, stood under the candlelight of the Undercroft. Ominis could feel the strength of his father’s shoulders resting atop his arms, the tautness of his neck and straight back that only came from years of training. His hands were the thing that unnerved him the most; they were so much larger than his, seeming to fill the entire space with their intimidating size. He refused to speak, the very idea of hearing his father’s voice come out of his throat sent tremors from the top of his spine to the bottom of his toes. 

His friend stood just behind him in the reflection, looking at the boy in the man’s body in barely hidden disdain. Ominis had confided in them about the torture he underwent from his kin, and they wanted nothing more than to hex that insufferable Gaunt family tree into the next century. Alas, there would be other moments for such violence. As if they could see the thoughts spiraling in his mind, they spoke resolutely over his shoulder.

“You may as well say something now so you don’t startle yourself later. You can make him say anything you want, at least, so if there’s anything you want to get off your chest I would do it now.” 

Ominis sucked in a breath and held it for a moment, thinking about what foul words he could spew from the normally regal man’s mouth. He could make him say whatever he wanted, whatever he desired most. Ideas filled his mind, each speaking over the other like a batch of rowdy bar patrons. Maybe an “I love you?” He had never heard that one before, at least not from his father. A simple “I’m proud of you, son?” No, he knew neither would sound genuine, nor did he want to hear the man say either of those to his face. If his father said those words to him, he was doing something incredibly wrong with his life. Instead, what he settled on was,

“I’m a huge fucking twat.” 

His friend barked a startled laugh, letting it titter off naturally and smacking him gently on the back in pride. “There you go, absolutely brilliant as always.” 

Ominis enjoyed their laugh. It seemed to fill the room with a little bit of sunshine, covering its normally dark and dreary existence for just a moment. He had to find things about his friends that he could latch onto— things that someone with sight would normally not notice. Instead of faces, he recognized voices, steps, heartbeats, scents, anything that he could hear or smell. His new friend sounded like sunshine after a storm, each word from them causing a small smile to creep at the corners of his mouth unconsciously. They smelled like the morning dew, and a little bit like gunpowder— like they had been around fireworks for a little too long. He found comfort in them. 

Ominis turned from the broken mirror leaning on the Undercroft wall and faced his partner in crime head on. His stomach was alight with nerves, butterflies roughly smacking into the lining of his gut and sending flutters of tension into his throat. With a steady, minutely calming breath, he steeled himself for what was to come. 

With a nod of his stoic head, the two students gathered the rest of their materials and set off into the great unknown. 

The turbulent sea struck the side of their small boat as they approached the far away island. Azkaban’s looming shape towered over the waves, cascading foreboding shadows over the surf and sending a bone-chilling shiver up the spines of the two young magic users. Ominis could sense the danger nearby— feel the dread seeping into his soul from the plethora of dementors flying above their heads. Even this far from their horrifying forms, he could faintly hear the sounds of his worst nightmares plaguing his mind— Anne collapsing to the floor in agony for the first time in front of him, breaking a glass in her hand and nearly smacking into the corner of the coffee table; the sound of Sebastian’s cries, tucked away in bed with a hand over his mouth to muffle his sorrow the night before he was cast out of Hogwarts; the shallow breathing of his newest friend as they lied in a hospital bed, the smell of blood still clinging to their clothes after a particularly nasty bout of ashwinders took them by surprise, and the fear that he had felt about if they were going to survive or not. Ominis pushed it all away to the best of his ability, trying to get into the headspace of his arsehole of a father before they reached the coast of the prison. He prepared for the foul things he needed to say— the grotesque things he needed to do in order to get into the fortresses walls. 

His hands shook around his wand at the re-emergence of his worst memory: the first time he ever cast the cruciatus curse on a muggle. The little girl couldn’t have been much older than he was. His older brother, Marvolo, had taken her off of the streets, laughing to his family later that night about how he had tricked her with a sugar-sweet voice and the promise of a nice warm fire for the night. He could remember her soft whimpers as he approached, the fear that permeated the air around her and mingling with the salty scent of her tears. His father had leaned down and hissed into his ear, promising him that if he didn’t do this and prove himself to the family that he would suffer a fate worse than the girl at the hands of his entire family— extended and all. He shuddered to think about what that punishment could have been, even to this day. His hand shook around his fathers wand, thrust into his chest not long before that and still burning with the residual heat of his previous spell, as he leveled it as best he could towards the girl. His mother had grasped his wrist harshly, twisting his arm in annoyance and pointing it directly at the little girl’s chest. He remembered the numbing pain in his chest, the fear in his mind at what his family would do to him if he failed. He wanted nothing more than to apologize to the little muggle; someone so frightened and unaware of why they were there and what was about to happen to them. If his parents weren’t there, he liked to think that he would have— maybe he and the young girl could have even been friends if he so wished it. In another world, another timeline, perhaps. The spell ripped its way through his wand arm and flew from the tip of his borrowed weapon, smacking into the girl and sending a torrential downpour of pain down her feeble body. He remembered her screams more than anything, the pleas of her tiny voice begging for mercy and for the pain to stop . Her wails filled his mind and haunted his dreams for weeks after that. 

Ominis threw his head over the side of the boat, dry heaving at the bile rising in his throat and threatening to expel his dinner into the salty depths below, like he did that night— the moon illuminating his sickly pale face as he vomited into his mother’s flower garden all those years ago. 

The two students reached the desolate island right as the moon reached its highest point in the sky. The terrain was incredibly uneven, leaving Ominis to already need to reach his hand out and grasp at the invisible cloak covering his friend for stability. As the pair approached the front entrance, the young Gaunt tried to morph his facial expression into one of his fathers. He had never felt the man's face, never wanted to really, so it was a guessing game at that point. He settled for a neutral scowl, his eyebrows slightly pinched together at the bridge of his nose in a look of constant annoyance. A Gaunt always believed that they were better than everyone. 

Under the low lamplight, a guard came into focus. Ominis could hear his heartbeat, fairly strong and steady for someone surrounded by the worst creatures ever discovered in the wizarding world— likely not a good thing. His friend quietly whispered his description to the boy, and he wracked his mind for any inclination that he had met the man before. His father had many people that worked at the Ministry in the palm of his hand— he had to if he wanted to continue to get away with his blatant use of dark magic. The description did not seem familiar to him, but everything clicked into place when a whispered name came from his left. 

“Yaxley.” 

The name rang a bell in his mind; he had never met the man, but he had heard his father talking to him in his study before. Not that he was ever invited around his fathers friends in the first place— too much of a disappointment to the Gaunt name, he supposed. He could hear the man stand from his post, the illuminated tip of his wand casting over in the direction of his approaching form. He straightened his shoulders, switching into the persona he took on whenever he was forced to attend a Gala with his family, and confidently walked up to the guard. 

“Halt! Who goes there?” The guard barked, an obvious, overconfident professionalism about him. 

“Come now, Yaxley. Surely we can skip such formalities among friends, can’t we?” 

The voice still felt strange dancing across his tongue, like someone had crawled into his mouth and was speaking for him from behind his teeth. He held back a shiver at the gusting cold winds spiraling around the island and tried to take on a laissez faire attitude, his face relaxing slightly as to seem calm and collected. 

The prison guard laughed in astonishment, stepping forward and smacking Ominis lightly on the arm. “Erebus! What are you doing here? Surely you wouldn’t make the journey all the way out here just to see me.” 

Ominis pretended to sigh in indignation, the crease in his eyebrow returning and his scowl growing deeper. 

“Unfortunately not. I’m here to see the Sallow boy before his date with the dementors.” 

There was a pregnant pause. Ominis could feel the trepidation streaming off of Yaxley, the moral dilemma of helping out a friend and doing his duty as a Ministry worker. Curiosity got the better of the two, and the guard inquired his reasoning for the visit. 

Ominis thought on his feet, quickly coming up with a believable lie. “The cretin was a friend of my youngest— somehow made him softer, if that is even possible. Sallow had him gallivanting with a disgusting mudblood, of all things, doing Merlin knows what around the campus grounds instead of studying and making good of the Gaunt name. I would like to give him my two cents while he’s still conscious enough to hear them.” 

It felt like he had swallowed a stone around the wizard slur, the mass in his throat pushing the degrading word down further and making it come out slightly stuttered. Ominis held his breath, hoping that the guard didn’t notice. 

A sound of hesitation came from the man before him, “I don’t know if I can do that, Erebus. He’s in the east wing— lockdown. No one’s supposed to go in or out.” 

The Gaunt boy leaned towards the guard, a demanding, insistent presence next to the meek man. A commanding aura filled the space around them, dripping from his intimidating stare and eroding the stones below like acid. His face morphed into a sharp smile, his fathers pearly white teeth shining in the moonlight and stretching the skin around his mouth like a snare drum. Ominis truly felt like a wolf in sheep's clothing. When he spoke, his words were laced with sovereign-like ire— like his drawbridge of canines and molars were the only thing separating the world from his fury. 

“Yaxley, my dear friend. I invited you into my home; we broke bread together. I am inclined to ignore this slight against me this once, but it would do you well to remember the kinds of people who are in my debt.” He leaned forwards slightly more, nose nearly touching nose, “How is that family of yours doing? Maybe I should send one of my… other friends to pay them a visit. They are a lot less forgiving than I.” 

Ominis could feel the fear shed off of the man before him in waves. He leaned back out of Yaxley’s space, cringing lightly at the smell of sweat coming from the guard and straightening his waistcoat. 

“Now, what did you say his prisoner number was, again? I promise to make the trip quick and painless.” 

Yaxley shrunk backwards, hands shaking around the lock adorning the large archway of the prison and stuttering out the Elder Futhark runes of Sebastian’s Azkaban identity, “ᛣᛟ263.” 

The large doorway unlatched from the ground with a loud click, slowly rising into the sky like a portal to another plain of existence. Ominis could feel each creak of the gate resonate through his bones as he prepared himself for the horrors within the prison. With one final clang, the gate disappeared into the archway above, only its prongs poking through the top like a demented fork. Without another glance at the cowering prison guard, Ominis and his invisible friend entered the famed monument by the sea and began their search for their doomed friend. Sebastian Sallow was on borrowed time.  

Before the pair stood walls upon walls of cells, each one filled with the most dangerous people known to all of wizard kind. Wails of grief, regret, and woe filled their ears and nearly sent them to their knees— the volume only getting louder as the sound waves echoed off the cathedral style ceilings. His friend took Ominis’ hand once they were in the clear and were now leading him through the maze of tortured souls, each one in a worse state than the last. Dark wizards lined the bays, some lying on their sides and clutching at their heads as they screamed in fear; their worst memories filling their minds on a constant loop. Some were pacing their tiny square cell, muttering to themselves and twitching like someone was flicking them every so often directly on the ear. Ominis had never heard anything like the sounds of Azkaban. It was like the dagger-shaped building harnessed the howls of the condemned and amplified it tenfold, floating it towards the very top of the building and sending it out through the skylight looming above their heads. He kept his head high and shoulders back as he walked the dreary halls, passing each guard with barely an acknowledgement to avoid suspicion. To anyone else, he was just a very important man making a quick visit, nothing more, nothing less. The two students made their way towards the east wing of the prison, creeping carefully up the decaying spiral staircase at the center of the large tower and stopping on the second floor. Once reaching the top, it was like they had suddenly stepped out of a whirling tornado into the still air of the eye of the storm. The hallways were eerily silent, not one cry to be heard. It was like someone had cast a silencing charm on the entire wing— nothing could be heard outside of its ominous silence. He could sense each person in their little, crate sized rooms, all looking exactly the same: their bodies curled against themselves, arms resting atop of their bent knees, and their faces either turned towards the wall or tucked into their chest. They had reached dementor alley, the land where no one ever returned the same as they once were. Every person on the floor had given up, either accepting their fate or simply pretending like they were already dead. Ominis couldn’t help but feel sorry for the people— their fate aligned with something worse than death: the destruction of their very soul. They were lost, deep in the chasms of their own minds without a safety rope in sight to pull them out. 

The boy felt a tug at his cloak, his friend alerting him of the blockade before them. Ominis flicked his wand slightly out of his sleeve, activating the location charm and looking closely at what was in their way. Directly in front of them was another guard, leaning against one of the pillars between two cells. His face was turned away from the pair, so far unaware of their presence. His friend tugged at him again, whispering as quietly as possible. 

“That’s Sebastian’s cell— 263.” 

Ominis’ heart dropped slightly in his chest, a lump of anxiety quickly forming in his throat. 

Shit.

They had to get around the guard somehow. He quickly scanned his wand around the floor below his feet, searching for something that he could use as a distraction. A spell would certainly alert the other man in the hall, and as much as he would like to think it, he wasn’t nearly good enough at wandless magic yet to do something to that caliber— an accio here and there, sure, but not something large enough to draw the attention away from the pair of magic wielders. The duo crept closer, steps gentle and precise like walking on a thin sheet of ice above the freezing cold waters of a frozen lake, before quickly skidding behind the nearest column. 

Ominis could feel the polyjuice potion beginning to wear off— they had to act fast. He began to panic slightly, images of himself in one of the terrible Azkaban prison uniforms, locked behind heavy bars in a tiny room barely big enough for him to lie across the floor. If they got caught, they would get two years of imprisonment, at least . The thought alone made Ominis want to chug the poison hiding in his robes just to save himself the trouble. 

The fifth year next to him quickly drew their wand, prodding the boy in his stomach to stop his incessant breathing. Now was not the time for panicking. They leaned around the curve of the pillar, checking both directions before leaning close to the thin boy’s ear, whispering their quickly concocted plan. 

“You aren’t going to like what I’m about to say, but it’s the only option we’ve got.” They took a deep breath, “We need to use the imperius curse. I know how you feel about that kind of magic, so I am willing to cast it, but we need to act fast. You’re beginning to look like yourself again.” 

Ominis winced at the ferocity of their words, shocked but also somewhat resigned to the idea. It was the best plan they currently had, and their goal was so close they could reach out and brush their fingers against the cold steel of the prison bars. His mind briefly flashed back to the day in Slytherin’s Scriptorium; their friend had barely known him at the time and yet still took the cruciatus curse so he didn’t have to go near it, nor hear his closest friend under the torturous effects of the deadly spell. They were so much stronger than he was, and he felt like he owed it to them to do this. He couldn’t let them step out from under the cloak; one wrong move, one prison guard turning around a corner at the worst time, and everything would go up in flames. Ominis could do this, he had to. 

The young Gaunt sighed deeply out of his nose, the crease between his eyebrows beginning to feel permanent. He owed the person next to him, just the same as he owed Anne. He couldn’t turn back now, even with the devilish smirk of dark magic looming above his head like a macabre marionette puppeteer. He shook out his shoulders, swishing the rest of his wand out of his sleeve and raising it up to his chest. A dauntless visage crossed his features, his jaw was clenched and his eyes steely. Only those closest to him would notice the slight shake of his hands, the slight stutter of his breathing. 

Some would say that being brave is just another word for being afraid. Ominis thought those people could go shove it. 

The invisible student placed a hand on his arm, their warmth seeping through his belled sleeve and easing his shivers slightly. No words needed to be said, they knew what he was preparing himself to do. 

They both stepped back into the dimly lit hallway, making their way to the cell holding their closest friend until his untimely death and the man that guarded the entrance. They only had one shot at this, so they had to make it absolutely perfect. Stopping just shy of the room, the blond raised his wand and leveled it at the chest of the innocent man— unaware of their quest and the heavy weight of grief resting on their conjoined shoulders. He mentally tallied how many years he would be sentenced to Azkaban for what he was about to do, the number sending stronger tremors through his arm and shaking the clear image he had in his mind from the locator charm. His friend stood just over his shoulder; their heart crumpling in their chest at the sight of the once resolute young wizard dissolving before their very eyes. They gently ran their hand down his arm, pressing their calming heat throughout his limb before carefully wrapping their fingers around his wrist and holding him steady. 

Ominis blinked at the soft touch, closing his eyes and taking a shaky breath in, completely filling his lungs, before exhaling through his nose like a sleeping dragon. 

They would do this together, just like how everything started in the first place. 

In a hushed whisper, Ominis cast his first unforgivable curse in years. Imperio.” 

From the tip of his wand flowed a soft, cerulean haze. The tendrils crept towards the prison guard, gently curling around and entering through any opening it could find— his nose, his mouth, his ears, his eyes— and lulling him into a sweet, peaceful oblivion. The glow of his irises cast a soft shadow on the young wizard before him, watching the eyes of his attacker make the final shift from an iridescent blue, the Gaunt family color, to a muted, milky grey without a care in the world. Ominis stood straighter, the hand of his friend falling from his wrist moving to lightly hold on to his bicep, and spoke in the most monotone voice he could muster to the human puppet.

“Open the door and stand guard outside of cell 263. Do not let anyone inside or near the room until we have left and are out of sight.” 

The guard nodded his head, unlocking the cage and standing to the side for the two students to enter. 

The new fifth year moved to enter the room, already slightly moving the cloak from their head and searching for the Sallow boy on the other side. Ominis grabbed at their shoulder, quick as a viper strike, and stood petrified with haunting fear. His eyes were wide in his skull, finally morphing back into his body, and his chest stuttered under the weight of his breaths. He didn’t know what lay on the other side of the old, creaking gate, and he was terrified of what he would see. Was Sebastian truly there? Was there any semblance of his friend remaining to save, or was he already gone? The dead eyes of the once exuberant, jocund male Sallow twin would hurt him worse than his death would. If he wasn’t there anymore, everything they had done for him, and for Anne, would be for naught. 

A young, first year Ominis shook behind his eyes, locked inside his own mind as he desperately banged against the space inside his temple and begged his limbs to move— to do something. He didn’t understand why his body wasn’t running to his best friend and throwing everything, every emotion he had, at him. Sebastian was hurt, he was dying, so why was he doing nothing? The childish boy that still rested behind his eyes after all these years, unaware of how truly terrible the world could be outside of the four walls of the Gaunt manor, sobbed for his friend, his brother, and the terror he must be facing, but his body did nothing. The disconnect between his two sides felt like standing at the middle of a bridge overlooking a colossus chasm— to the left a pack of hungry cannibals stood ready to tear the flesh from his bones, while to the right stood his entire family in all its villainous, inbred glory, with their wands alight with red lightning raised directly at his heart. 

Just as the boy was prepared to tuck his tail between his legs and turn towards a life of lineage and pureblood pedigree, a croaking, scream damaged, but still so young sounding voice broke through the diamond-crusted walls surrounding his last iota of hope and stopped his faltering heart in his chest. 

“Ominis?” 

Ominis turned tail and ran towards the cannibals. 

Was he running towards something he should have fled from? Or should he have turned on his heel and run away long ago? Only time would tell, and time was a malicious bitch. 

The sound of creaking metal swinging open filled the wretchedly silent hallway and alerted the arrival of the two young wizards to the long lost third member of their group. Sebastian sat tucked away in the farthest corner from the door, bare of everything except the thin material of the striped prison jumpsuit. Skin seemed to hang from his bones like a well cooked rotisserie chicken, making him look even more gaunt than his longtime companion. Black circles filled all inches of space under his lower eyelids making his face look similar to a skeleton, and his cheeks had begun to sink into his face leaving stark lines of bone stretching from his ears to his pointed chin. The only thing the same on the malnourished boy were his eyes— still a brilliant brown and shining like amber pools of honey were injected directly into the irises. Ominis could feel the soft warmth of his gaze across the room, and nearly wept in melancholic happiness. He was still alive, still breathing. Sebastian. His Sebastian. 

Their new friend quickly cast the muffling charm just before the two boys flung themselves at the other, teetering on their feet and clutching at the cloth decorating each of their shoulders like the end of the world was knocking at their door and all they could do was sit back and let it take them. Sobs wracked the taller of the two, his bony hands clutching at the lapels of his brother and hugging him with every last bit of strength he had left. Ominis had one hand buried in Sebastian’s hair, grease and grime covering the once silken tresses, and the other pressing the boy as close to his heart as he could get, like if they moved any closer they would become the same person. He hadn’t expected this reaction when he had set off towards the island earlier that day, but nothing could have prepared him for the pure, relieved joy that filled his chest at the sound of the freckled boy’s voice. Tears clung to his eyelashes and spilled into the dry neck of his closest friend, washing the dirt from the patch of skin and wetting the collar of his uniform. He felt a third presence join the fray, and both boys gladly welcomed their newest friend into the embrace. The trio held each other for a few moments, time ticking by like sand through an hourglass, and grieved for all they had lost in their grand journey of life. 

Sebastian was the first to leave the pile of limbs, taking each of his friends' faces into his shaking hands and looking at them like they put the stars themselves in the sky. He had so many questions for them: why did they come? How did they get there? How was Anne? How were the both of them holding up after everything? But all that came from his mouth was,

“Ominis, why are you wearing your father’s robes?” 

The lithe boy chuckled softly, his hand coming up and pressing against the back of Sebastian’s resting on his cheek, leaning minutely into the comforting touch. He explained everything about their journey, bar their reasoning for now, beginning at the arrival of the Daily Prophet two weeks ago and ending at his intimidation of the front gate guardsman. Sebastian listened enraptured, fascinated and, quite frankly, so incredibly flattered at the lengths that his friends would go through to see him one last time. Tears welled in his eyes yet again at the heroic journey of the duo, quickly wiping them away with the palms of his hands before pulling them both into a hug once again. 

He pulled back for a second time, a tearful smile adorning his features and making him look just the same as he did in the wide halls of Hogwarts. His eyes flickered back and forth over his two companions, the main question burning in his mind leaving his lips. 

“Why are you here?” He stuttered at the forlorn looks crossing their faces, “Not that I don’t want to see you! But, why now?” 

The pair remained silent, sharing a badly hidden glance of worry. Sebastian’s smile slowly fell from his lips, his hands falling from their shoulders and resting back at his side. He cradled his right arm against his chest, his left hand coming up to grasp at his right wrist before he began to pace around the small space. 

“I know you didn’t come to break me out. You know that I belong here just as much as I do. So, why this mission? Why the need for secrecy?” 

Ominis cleared his throat around the lump forming there. All thoughts in his brain flew out of his ears like the frost breezing across the grass on a winter morning. He reached into his cloak pocket and pulled out a single, white Chrysanthemum— a few of its petals missing from the bundle of sprigs and its stem beginning to droop but still holding on to life with everything it had, and placed it gently into the outstretched hands of the boy before him. Sebastian stuttered slightly at the gift, looking confused to the new fifth year he had befriended what felt like so long ago. They looked away from his burning stare, gazing at the ground as tears welled in their eyes once again. The Sallow boy began to panic, thoughts swimming in his mind about what something as small as a flower could mean. He remembered the little garden his sister had at their cottage, tucked away in the far corner by the gate and far away from the chickens. He remembered her favorite flowers and their meaning— how each color coordinated with a message of sorts. Orange, if he recalled, meant happiness, red meant love and passion, and white meant…goodbye. 

His breathing stilled in his chest, his heart ceasing to beat at the thought of what the message presented to him could mean. He did not want to believe it, didn’t even want to think about who could have sent them the flower, what they could be trying to tell him. 

He turned towards the other boy again, distress shedding from him like autumn leaves in the fall, and desperately implored him to explain further. 

“Ominis, what does this mean? Please tell me that this doesn’t mean what I think it does.” 

The young Gaunt refused to meet his gaze, his overcast-colored eyes looking just over his shoulder and filling with silvery tears. 

“No. No, please, Merlin, no! Ominis please, tell me it's not true— it can’t be!” 

Sebastian choked on the air rapidly filling his lungs, one hand clutching at his chest and dropping the flower to the dirt covered ground. The other shakily made its way over his mouth, covering his woebegone expression and muffling his soft cries. His legs gave out under him, sending him stumbling into the wall behind and sinking down to his knees. The boy curled around himself, his hands now reaching to grab and pull at the hair at the base of his skull and lowering his forehead towards the cold ground. Loud wails flew from his already damaged throat, garbled strings of apologies to his dearly departed sister breaking through the earth shattering pain every so often. His friends sank to the ground at either side of the sobbing boy, running their hands along his spine and pressing their temples against his shoulder blades; sobs wracking their bodies as they grieved along with the last remaining Sallow. They slowly brought him out of his hunched over posture, gently placing him between the both of them with his back resting against the stone wall. Sebastian’s head was tucked under Ominis’ chin, the smaller boy stroking at his long gone curls and sending sweet shushes in their stead. His new friend had their arms around the freckled boy’s waist, their face against his shoulder while they pressed soft, fluttering kisses to his exposed skin. They could feel his heart shattering in his chest, each shard breaking off in pairs before stabbing their sharp edges into some other organ or patch of skin. Sebastian sobbed for his sister, for the life that she could have lived if he wasn’t so selfish. He lamented his own choices, his stubborn and headstrong nature. Never once did he ask his sister what she wanted, what she needed him to do for her in her time of need. All he cared about was his desire to not lose her, and that was exactly what had happened in the end. He was the last of his name, the last in his family line, and all he could do was wait for the inevitable downward strike of death's blade when it was his time to join them once again in the afterlife. 

In that moment, Sebastian Sallow finally gave up. 

Once his tears subsided enough, he leaned back from the comfort of his friends and retreated into himself— his dead eyes looking at the wall across from him in numbing acceptance. He had become like the others on his row, their dead stares and startling silence seemed to take over his body like a ghost. In a voice of resignation, he spoke to the two sitting next to him.

“So, what now?” A single tear made its way down his cheek, gathering at the corner of his mouth. He made no move to wipe it away. “Why else have you come?” 

Ominis reached into his cloak once again, grasping at the small vial resting there and placing it into Sebastian’s open palm. The boy slowly looked down at his hand, regarding the tiny glass jar of swirling purple liquid with little interest. He leaned his head slightly in the direction of the other boy, indignation lacing his tone.

“Enough of the silence— I deserve at least that much. What is this that you’ve given me?” 

The young wizard cleared his throat of the tears still lingering there, resting his hand over the lone Sallow twin’s and encapsulating the little sample between their palms. 

“Anne had one last wish, before she—” He cleared his throat again, stuttering around the final words. “She asked us to save you in the only way she knew how— the only way that would guarantee that you both would see each other again.” 

He looked over at his friend to continue, his voice lodging itself just under his jaw and refusing to exit the comfort of his soft palate. 

The fifth year ran their fingers through Sebastian’s hair once again, bringing their hand back and resting it on his upper arm. “In that vial is a dose of muggle poison— we brewed it ourselves. It is in your hands now; you can either take the poison and be free from this all, or you can wait a few more days for the dementors kiss. We won’t make this decision— we can’t do that for you.” 

Sebastian considered their words, rolling them around in his mind like a morose game of dice. His friend hummed in hesitation, the next words leaving their mouth against their better judgment and filling the fresh silence of the room. 

“Please know, Sebastian, that this is likely the only way for you to see Anne, to see us again. The dementor will take your soul, and you will be nothing but a shell of a body and a barely beating heart.” They shut their eyes tightly, nails digging into their palms as if to relieve the pain building in their chest, “I don’t know what afterlife you believe in, if one at all, but we will be right here for you when you make your choice.” 

Silence filled the tiny room once again, every ounce of happiness that once filled the space now sucked out with a giant black hole of despair. The three friends sat side by side, each with their hands in their laps, legs out in front of them, and head leaned against the wall behind them. Thoughts swirled through each of their minds— their subconscious trying to fill the silence that only the end of the world could bring. Sebastian muled his options around in his head, tossing back and forth his two fates. Some sick part of his brain wished that it would have been a harder decision, but he knew his choice long before the quiet fell across the cell. 

He would travel to the ends of the earth for his sister, swim through the rivers of Tartarus if it meant seeing her again. 

The young wizard, suddenly looking much older than he ever was, than he ever would live to be, closed his hand around the potion vial and uncorked the stopper; its soft pop pirouetted around the room and invited the sickly sweet scent of the berries to dance. Sebastian closed his eyes, a pair of twin tears falling from his lids and splashing onto the ground below, and whispered to his friends— his tiny family. 

“Will it hurt?” 

Ominis bit his lip to muffle his sobs, tears streaking down his face and collecting in the silk of his collared shirt. The other fifth year sniffled, before giving the scared, death-bound boy a small smile that didn’t quite meet their eyes. 

“It’ll be like falling asleep.” 

Sebastian nodded his head, looking down once again at the wine-colored elixir. He swallowed around the heart beating its way into his throat, before facing forward once again and lifting the vial closer to his trembling lips. 

In a final, meager voice, he whispered to his best friends, “Will you stay with me?” 

Ominis grabbed at the hand closest to him, holding it against his chest in a strong grip and pressing a final, feather light kiss to the boy’s knuckles. He leaned into Sebastian’s side, tucking himself under his chin and against his chest, right over where his heart beat steadily, and nodded his head. 

The student on the other side of the boy placed their hand on his shoulder once again, leaning up and pressing a soft kiss on the side of his forehead. They leaned their temple against where they had just touched, tears softly cascading from their eyes, and whispered against his skin. 

“Until the very end.” 

Sebastian leaned softly against his friends, cherishing their closeness for a moment more, before bringing the tiny, deadly thing to his lips and drinking down every last drop. 

There the three wizards rested once again, tucked together like a small group of sleeping owls in a roost, until the skin of their dearly beloved friend grew cold and his heart beat no more. 

Under the glow of the rising sun, its light glittering across the top of the beautiful blue sea and sending small shimmers of sea-foam green against the side of their boat, rested two students. Both gazed across the vast ocean, feeling the gentle touch of a new day’s warmth spread over their frozen forms and slowly begin to thaw their comatose limbs. Their hearts would remain like tiny glaciers in their chests, each waiting for the other to take a pick and start chipping away at the layers of frozen earth. 

In a mere moment, across the tides and back on the large, lonely island, the prison guards would begin their morning rounds once again. Tucked away in the far corner of the monument lied a cell, barely enough room to stretch from one side to the other comfortably. Inside, they would find the body of their dear friend, Sebastian Sallow, the very last of his bloodline. It would look like he was simply asleep, his soft brown eyelashes just slightly ghosting across his cheekbones in an expression of peace. Against his chest would rest a small, white Chrysanthemum— a tiny, frail thing. Its petals littered the ground near his head, scattered like an incandescent halo. Four petals remained attached to the stem, one for each of them— a silent promise to find each other once again in the next life. 

The news of his death would spread around the school like a forest fire. The Daily Prophet would tell the world that it was from a broken heart— the news of his sister's death being just too much for him to take. No one would bat an eye; they knew how loyal he was to her. No one would come looking for the pair of students, tucked away from prying eyes in their secret hideaway in the underbelly of the school. There they would stay until they got too hungry, too thirsty; until the world would tell them to continue on living around the hole in their heart. 

They both lost something that day— be that a piece of themselves, or a piece of something they loved, or maybe even a piece of something that they had long forgotten about, something tucked away deep in the toy chests of their minds only to be found again years down the line with a thin layer of dust coating the surface. 

For now, though, the two would look across the horizon and let themselves mourn the loss of their dear friend. 

They did not fear the future. They knew that they would be there for the other, no matter what would come their way— no matter the terrors that lied in the twisting clouds above. 

And, maybe, a good few years down the line at least, they would be reunited with their family once again. 

Atop of the small, lonely hill to the east of Feldcroft rested an old sycamore tree. The sun shone down on the earth and warmed the ground below, spreading its life as far as the eye can see. Not one cloud could be found in the sky, no dreary weather making its way over the horizon to end the glorious day. 

Resting under the soft shade of the tree were two children, both with a set of mousey brown hair falling from their heads and a littering of freckles sprinkling across their cheeks and nose. They laughed together in the summer sun, basking in the gentle cushion of the soft grass below, and pointing out shapes that the shadows of the leaves above made on their clothes and skin. 

Down the hill from the pair stood two more forms, one slightly smaller than the other, and the other slightly skinnier. Blond hair fell across the opalescent eyes of the scrawny one, his hand coming up to push it out of the way and shield his face from the light above. The other, new to the land and wanting to take everything in, spun slowly in their spot before spotting their friends just slightly out of eyesight. They called to them, their voice filled with happiness and laughter, and received a happy welcome in return. 

The two twins made their way down to their newly arrived friends, bringing each one into a long overdue hug before dragging them up the gentle slope of the earth to their tree. Pure, unadulterated joy spilled from their souls and wrapped each other in a blissful comfort— happy to finally be home at last. 

There was no pain, no suffering, no death in their little paradise. Everything stayed just the way it was, and that was how they liked it.

AN: This is my absolute favorite thing that I have ever written. I poured my whole heart into this one. It started off just as a one-shot but someone requested more and I thought "hell, why not?"

I sobbed like a baby writing this final chapter. Sorry for the emotional turmoil I've caused you

***

like what you read? here's more!

#tina speaks #masterlist #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt #hogwarts legacy mc #hogwarts legacy #hl #sebastian sallow x ominis gaunt x reader #sebastian sallow x ominis gaunt x you #sebastian sallow x ominis gaunt x mc #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x you #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis gaunt x you #ominis gaunt x mc #sebastian sallow x ominis gaunt #ao3 #ao3 fic #ao3 writer

[devine-star]

The Summer That Lead to More 18+

Dylan x Male!Reader

Warnings: SMUT! dirty talks, fingers, oral, 

Note: Sorry this took so long! Enjoy! 

BY READING THIS YOU ARE CONSENTING THAT YOU ARE 18 YEARS OR OLDER! 

When Y/n first met Dylan, it was during a summer festival in his town. He was with a group of friends and was EASILY the tallest one there minus an Aussie. The two would see each other through the crowd and send small flirty smiles and wave. 

Dylan didn't have the guts to go up to Y/n, he was very insecure about himself. So when Katilyn jokingly threatened to go ask for the other man's number, he panicked and rushed off towards where Y/n was standing in line for some food. 

"Hey," he started, cursing to himself as his voice cracks with nervousness. 

"Hm? Oh! Hi!" Y/n chuckled. 

The conversation flowed easily as the two waited to order food. Once their time came the two pinning men ordered, Dylan pulled out his wallet saying he'd pay for both of their meals. 

"What? Dylan you don't have to!" Y/n argued pulling out his own wallet but was too slow seeing the cashier handing Dylan back his card. 

Dylan placed his good hand on Y/n's back to guide him to the other side of the food truck where they would pick up their food. "I know I didn't HAVE to, but I wanted to treat the most handsome man in this festival." 

Y/n blushed looking away before mumbling "You should be treating yourself then," Dylan nearly choked on the drink he got, coughing as Y/n laughed. 

In that moment, Dylan decided that Y/n's laugh was the best thing ever, and he would do ANYTHING to hear it again. 

And that is exactly what Dylan did! The two swapped numbers that night and would go on several hang outs that neither knew if they were dates or not. 

Dylan learned a lot about Y/n and likewise. 

Dylan was secretly a little science nerd and was in college for Quatum theory. 

Y/n was an electronics nerd. Building little robots and he could take any electronic apart then put it together again without even breaking a sweat! 

And if Dylan was honest, he liked watching Y/n's fingers move about the electronics; letting the shamless dirty thoughts flood through his flustered mind. 

"-And then you just press this and....Dylan are you even listening?" Dylan snaps from his thoughts as his face turns beat red at being caught up in his sexual daydreams. 

"Huh?" Y/n rolls his eyes playfully reaching over to grab Dylan's arm and attaching the robotic prostetic to it. 

"If you want to be able to use this Dyl, you gotta pay attention." Y/n chuckled while playfully scolding Dylan as he did the last few adjustments before looking up at him with a smile. 

"I worked hard on this thing and you better take care of it," Narrowing his eyes playfully. 

Dylan was just staring at Y/n with some look in his eye. "Dylan-" "Can I kiss you?" 

Y/n face flushed as he heard this, looking back down at the prostetic before nodding slowly "Yeah," Using his good hand Dylan tilted Y/n's head up and smashed his lips against Y/n's. 

The world seemed to stop for a moment, Y/n reacted after a few seconds. Wrapping his arms around Dylan's neck as the kiss got more heated.

Dylan wrapped both arms around Y/n, pulling him from his chair into his own lap. 

Y/n's hands were in Dylan's hair as Dylan's were tightly on his waist almost as if Y/n would slip away if he didn't hold him close enough. 

A groan came from Dylan's throat at the feeling of Y/n's tongue slipping into his mouth. Dylan could taste the coffee he had bought Y/n on his tongue, his grip tighening along with his pants as he grew more turned on. 

Y/n's hands gripped Dylan's hair as he pulled Dylan's head back pulling a moan from Dylan. Y/n lips left Dylan's and attached themselves to his throat; sucking and biting to find the one spot that made Dylan's back arch slightly. 

"Y/n..." Dylan gasped eyes wide. Kissing his way up to Dylan's ear Y/n whispered "If you keep making those sounds, I don't know if I can control myself anymore," Dylan whines. 

"Is that what you want baby boy?" Dylan nods unable to vocalize what he's been dreaming of since the two met. 

Smirking, Y/n slid his hands under Dylan's shirt as he went back to kissing and marking Dylan's throat "Is that what you've been spacing about? hm? All the dirty thoughts you want me to do to you?" 

Nodding again but stopping as Y/n pinched his nipple Dylan gasped, his hips bucking unintentionally. Y/n groaned at the feeling as well as the pleasure that scrawled itself across Dylan's face. 

Pulling away from Dylan's neck to tug the man's shirt over his head, Y/n's eyes caught site of the small scars riddled across his lover's chest. Deciding against bringing it up, Y/n brought his mouth down to Dylan's chest. 

Taking one of Dylan's nippled into his mouth Y/n spun the nub in his mouth. "Oh shit!" Dylan panted gripping Y/n's hair for dear life. 

The postion the two were in wasn't making any of this easy, so Y/n pulled away before crawling off of Dylan's lap. Dylan looked up at him with a concerned look as he panted "Upstairs," was all Y/n said. 

Dylan stood quickly climbing up the basement steps and to the bedroom he's been in a million times with Y/n hot on his tail. 

Y/n closed the bedroom door before turning and pushing the taller man onto the bed with himself on top. Knees on either side of Dylan's hip; Y/n chuckled to himself feeling how turned on Dylan had gotten from a simple make out session. 

Pressing kisses along Dylan's stomach and chest Y/n whispered "So Dyl, tell me. What has you so excited? Or are you just so whipped that a simple make out session has you hard as a rock?" Looking up at him through eyelashes Y/n could see Dylan cover his face with the crook of his arm. 

"I-....uh" Dylan stuttered over his words as he tried to get a cohearent thought through his lustfilled mind. Y/n waited paitently as he kissed and sucked marks all over Dylan's chest and stomach while whispering praise of how handsome Dylan is; that further fucked his mind. 

"If you don't say what you want then how am I supposed to please you baby boy?" Dylan whined before finally saying what had been clogging his mind for the past month. 

"Want you to...fuck me," he panted. 

Y/n hummed as he playfully tugged at the waistband of Dylan's sweatpants, enjoying the view of his hard on through the grey fabric "What else?" 

"Want you to...Fuck!" Dylan cried out as Y/n gently started kissing his cock through his sweats "That! Please!" The desperation in his voice caused Y/n's cock to twitch in his pants as he groaned. 

"Want me to suck you off?" The cockiness in Y/n's voice made Dylan moan and push his hips towards the other's face "Yes! Please!" Looking up at Dylan, Y/n could see the tears of sexual frustraion beading in Dylan's eyes.

'Too much Y/n, take it down a notch' he told himself as he began pulling Dylan's sweat pants and boxers down at the same time. 

Gently stroking Dylan listening to him moan and whine as his hips moved from the pleasure, Y/n enjoyed the view. 

The room was dimly lit by the bedside table, light from the moon coming through the window above the bed. It covered Dylan and made his face glow; it was probably the sweat that made him glow but Y/n didn't care. 

"Please..." 

Placing a few kisses on Dylan's exposed thighs, Y/n got to work. First taking the tip into his mouth giving a few gentle sucks listening to Dylan curse. Bobbing his head lower Y/n set an even pace, one that wasn't too slow or too fast; just enough for Dylan to enjoy it but also want more. 

A groan slipped through Y/n lips as Dylan gripped his hair roughly before thrusting a few times harshly causing Y/n to gag. "Shit! S-Sorry!" Dylan looked down at Y/n with a look of concern "Don''t worry handsome, that was hot," Y/n said after pulling off with a small cough. 

Once again, Y/n kissed his way up to Dylan's ear whispering "Need some prep baby?" Dylan nodded slowly "Y-Yes, PLEASE use your fingers on me," Y/n sensed there was more to that sentence so as Dylan rolled over, Y/n grabbed the bottle of lube from his nightstand but not before shedding his own shirt and sweatpants. 

Dylan was on all fours, head leaning against the pillow as he took slow steady breaths. His body tensed when Y/n placed a hand on his ass "Relax baby, it'll hurt more if you're so tense," Y/n whispered kissing his hips before opening the bottle. 

The sound of the bottle opening and clicking closed made Dylan shiver, he was nervous but so excited. It had been a few years since he's had sex, so he doesn't know if he would be so relaxed. 

"Why don't you tell me why you're so excited over my fingers hm?" Dylan groaned, embarrsed that Y/n had caught on. "I never missed the stares you would give as I take things apart." Y/n spread the lube across his fingers before slowly inserting one into Dylan. 

"I-Aah~" Dylan moaned pushing back onto the finger "Watching you lick your lips while staring at my hands drove me INSANE," Y/n growled the last word, nipping Dylan on the ass after. 

Whining Dylan finally spoke in fast breaths "Just....seeing you skillfully take things apart and put them back together...seeing them work perfectly fine is...hot" Y/n chuckled as he inserted another finger picking up speed. 

"Shit!" Dylan cursed as he matched the speed of Y/n's fingers, fucking himself once Y/n stopped his movements. Desperation was growing inside of Dylan as tears of frustraion slid down his face "Please! I-I'm prepped just fuck me!" 

Y/n's eyes went wide as he laughed a bit, pulling his fingers out. He stood to grab a condom from the same drawer the lube was in but not before cleaning his hand of the sticky liquid; no need to get that on the sheets. 

Kneeling behind Dylan he slid the condom on lining himself up. "If you need me to stop let me know, okay? We'll use the color light system," Dylan looked over his shoulder, his cock twitching at the sight of Y/n gently stroking himself while looking at him. 

"Do you know that one? Green for good, yellow for slow down, and red for stop. Okay?" The concern in Y/n's eyes made Dylan fall for him even more "Okay," 

Y/n nodded before slowly pushing inside Dylan, the two moaning in unison once Y/n bottomed out. Giving Dylan time to adjust Y/n kissed along his shoulders waiting for Dylan to whisper that he was ready. 

Starting slow, Y/n dragged his hips down until only his tip was left inside before pushing back in moaning loudly "Fuck Dyl, you're tight." Dylan just moaned in reply nodding his head lazily. This pace continued for a good 5 minutes before Dylan was crying out for Y/n to go faster. 

Speeding up, Y/n gripped Dylan's hips in a bruising hold as his hips snapped against Dylan's ass groaning loudly. Dylan gripped the pillow as he looked over his shoulder to see Y/n's face contorted in pleasure "Y-Y/n," 

Y/n looked down at the call of his name concerned that he was going too fast "Yeah?" Dylan stayed silent for a moment before leaning his head against the pillow "D-...dirty talk me," Y/n groaned loudly as he sped up slightly at the thought. 

"You've been thinking about this having you? Daily daydreams of me bending you over my workbench huh?" Dylan whined nodding his head as he got off to what Y/n was saying. 

"Or maybe even me fucking you with my skillful fingers? Hm? Using my fingers to bring you over the edge as you babble about how good you feel?" Y/n was also getting off to the thoughts of Dylan daydreaming about this. 

"Admit to me what you've been cooking up in that dirty little brain of yours," Dylan mumbled incohearent sentences before his mind caught up to himself. 

"I've...UGH! Jerked off to the thought of you using the wires to....tie me up and use me," Dylan panted no longer feeling the shame of his thoughts; silently praying that what he admitted would lead to them ACTUALLY doing his dirty thoughts. 

Y/n moaned at the possiblity "You want me to use you? Yeah? Turn you into my little cumdump?" Y/n could feel his high approaching, far quicker than he would like it too. 

The moans Dylan was letting out were getting more and more desperate, Y/n knew he was close as well. Reaching over Dylan's hips to grip his swollen cock in his hands Y/n started jerking him at a fast pace. 

"Oh shit! Baby!" Dylan's back arched "Right there!" Y/n had unintentionally found Dylan's prostate at this angle. Bringing Dylan's back to his chest Y/n continued jerking him off as Dylan bounced himself on Y/n's dick. 

"Kiss me," Y/n damanded watching as Dylan turned his head smashing their lips together. They stayed in this postion for a good 5 minutes before Dylan pulled away from the kiss yelling "Fuck! Cumming..." 

Y/n felt as Dylan's cock twitched in his hands before spurting his cum over his fist, continuing to stroke him through his orgasm. 

Y/n came not long after as Dylan clenched around him with one final thrust Y/n groaned while repeating Dylan's name like a prayer. 

Dylan leaned his head back against Y/n's shoulder as they both panted, slowly coming down from his high. Y/n pulled out slowly as he laid Dylan on his back leaving to grab some water and a snack along with a warm wet cloth to clean his hand and Dylan's stomach. 

Gently wiping away the cum watching as Dylan stared at him lovingly, Y/n smiled placing a kiss on his lips softly before depositing the soiled towel into the laundry hamper. 

Grabbing the water bottle, Y/n brought it to Dylan's lips telling him to drink before laying down next to him. 

Dylan moved closer snuggling up to Y/n's side as the other man reached over grabbing the small bag of chips popping them open "Open," Dylan listened letting Y/n place a few chips into his mouth. 

"Ya know," Y/n started after the silence of them eating "You could've told me all those thoughts sooner, cause I've had just as many dirty thoughts about you." Dylan blushed hiding his face in Y/n's bare chest whining softly. 

"I didn't want to ruin anything!" 

"Dylan we've been going on dates for MONTHS!" Y/n laughed along with Dylan. 

"THOSE WERE DATES?!" Y/n laughed harder "YES YOU LOVEABLE IDIOT!"

#Dylan Lenivy x reader #Dylan Lenivy x male reader #Dylan x reader #Dylan x male reader #Dylan Lenivy x reader smut #Dylan Lenivy x male reader smut #Dylan LEnivy smut #Spicytalks #Spicy talk

[telemna-hyelle]

Since it is WIP Wednesday I think I'll post a little bit of one of my current projects.

So some of you may have heard of The Saga of Hilda, aka my lorulian history focusing on the lorulian counterparts to the Chain?

This is about them! It's showing why Ravio was in Legend's house in Hoarder of Legend, and what was going on behind the scenes.

Explanation for the AU here X X

“Did… anyone hear a door close?”

It was Realm who said it. Not surprisingly, as in his world he had to always be on guard, listening for the sound of Miharu tech spying on him.

They all froze.

Sol scowled, orange eyes narrowing sharply. “Of course we have to be here on the one day that some idiot decides to break into the hero’s house.”

Magic cleared his throat, lifting one finger. “Technically,” he said, drawing out the word, “aren’t we breaking into the Hero’s House?”

“Of course not!” Myth said, perhaps a bit more breezily than he had the right to. “I have partial rights over this house.”

Ages turned to glance at Myth, carefully arching an eyebrow. “You tricked him into signing something, didn’t you.”

Myth’s gaze shifted to one side. “…Why are we standing around here when Mr. Hero’s house is being invaded?”

“Windows, everybody,” Sea said, picking up the Sovereign Blade from where he had leaned it against the wall. Swords was already moving in that direction, anticipating Sea’s order, and a moment later he let out a gasp.

“…Link?”

Myth changed directions from the original window he was headed towards, running over to where Swords stood. “Are you sure? You’ve never met—” He looked out the window, and a gusty sigh of relief whooshed out. “That’s not Link, that’s some other guy.”

“So it is a burglar?” Flame asked with a faint quaver in his voice.

Ages leaned forward to look, smiling and setting a firm hand on Flame’s shoulder as he did. “Even if it is, we have surprise, skill, and numbers. We can handle it.”

He then looked out the window, blinked, and frowned. “…doesn’t he look like you, Swords?”

“That’s what I was trying to say!” Swords’ voice was somewhat strangled with surprise. “He’s my Link. From the war!”

“Wait, really?” Sol leaned forward, once again taking advantage of the fact that he was the tallest. “…you’re kidding me, it is him.”

“What’s he doing here?” Myth yelped, his Sheerow leaping in surprise. “This is nowhere near his timeline!”

“Do you think this could be from the war?” Sea asked, eyebrows furrowing.

“…Maybe.” Swords said slowly. “But he looks… a little different than I remember. Almost… older?”

“Hey,” Lorule said quietly, “The little guy next to him looks a lot like One.”

Everyone’s gaze swung down to stare at their smallest member.

Their stomachs dropped when they saw the near-painful lack of a smirk on his face.

“That’s him.” One said quietly, glancing away to one side. “That’s the Hero of Four.”

Myth’s gaze bounced from Swords, to the Hero of Warriors, to the Hero of Four, and back to One.

Then he threw his hands into the air. “Just what in the love of silver rupees is going on here?”

Sea leaned on the Sovereign Blade, eyes sharp. “Maybe… if we’re going on an adventure across time and space… who’s to say our counterparts aren’t, either?”

There were a few brief moments of silence as the Ravios soaked this in. Some of them were awestruck, their eyes glittering with excitement at the thought of getting the chance to met their counterparts. A couple (Sea and Magic) were looking at One in concern. Ages and Swords, on the other hand, were giving Sol very careful looks.

Sol grinned, though the expression was sharp and not very pleasant at all. “So would you say the hero of Twilight is here?”

#the saga of hilda #linked universe #linked universe au #lu ravio #tellie writes stuff #my fanfics #wip wednesday

[6n4sha]

GUYS TODAY I MAKE AU FOR CAPTAIN UNDERPANTS IS SMG4 AU WILL CALL SHG4 STAND FOR Sonic hedgehogitchy4

HERE ROLE FOR CHARACTER

George as smg4

George because smg4 is golden reiver and energetic and nerd but his personality is different from George he is bisexual so going put him as bisexual boy and i give him scar from it gotta be perfect it gave him trauma from it and his age will be different from canon age his is 15 year old

Harold as smg3

I know that smg3 is like smg4 as arch enemy and like men but i ship Smg34 he like boom and stuff and he tsudere so going change Harold personality to into tsudere to yandere but kind he have arch enemy to George after lawsuit he big fan of george youtube channel and he like boom and adorable stuff don’t undermined him he have scar were youtube arc and have trauma of his past sleve and his age is same George his is 15 have big crush on George but is just au and shortie

Sonic as mario

Well for sonic in au his dumb and foster big brother of George but George is adpot he like chill dog just like mario and he abuse tails on gameshow and doesn’t care for him and he called talis as gay because he like men and his dumb because George usb pod and keep insulting amy and he like joke and game aswell he have healthy relationship to dressy and limey that he and erica were just siblings and scar he have is left eye by revelation arc

Erica as meggy

A inkling girl from inkpolis city she is fighter and competitive and fight with sonic he annoying her much before she becomes human she care for her crew and she older that George and harold and dressy her age is 22 and she get annoyed by sonic she like noodle and like paint gun just George and harold her scar are in her left arm black scar from her inkling form and inlove dressy and jessica but she shy to came out yet and she tallest of them

Dressy as tari

A shy cyborg from meta runner and in au she have tari personality she is shy and introverted person she like video games and smash brother and she care of everyone and duck and have lesbian for erica and jessica she too scared to came out yet and she have scar from her past she cyborg before after replacing her limb and he cyborg arm can talk her like the episode my goes psycho and she have strength of rejection virtual

Jessica as saiko

I don’t know about saiko and jessica jessica is kinda mean girl and saiko is badass and rock metal lover so change her personality is ok her sophie will put different role so she alone but her sophie one is kaizo and so can rock on her shoe but don’t underrated her she is badass girl and most strong one in world she yet to be tall she form group call k2s

Other sophie as melonly

A lime girl who is tall and she like sleepy and her name is limely and she had boyfriend before you know who is it and she personality is different from canon she like sleepy and childlike she lime girl and have glass scar from deity mask and her father is sonic?! And like chonk plushie

Bo as axol

A inkpolis and axolot and have crush on limey and but die from nile he personality is much different from canon he overprotective for limey and simp for limey he got sacrificed to stop nile to killed everyone and he always remembers by everyone

Melvin as shromy

A scout boy and mashroom is joining group and he do activities of scout boy will do his personality is different from canon series and can get angry if someone keep insult him and have airgun he join anti cast before he recovers now he like bagel and like outdoor and stick

Sophie one as kaizo

Kaizo and her she anime girl from kevin school she like rock and friend with Jessica together with her k2s she help Jessica and crew fight villain now but she got other job and her age is different she is 20 years old and rebel girl

Gooch as boopkins

A fish creature and anime lover is here to your service he like anime and stuff he had little brother and dad he crush on jessica before after she became lesbian and badass he cared for friends he best friends is Stanley peet and scared for he friends die his dad care for him and jubjub

Stanley as bob

A weird robe rapper dude and want more boobie and swear a lot he rapper and his lived on trash and a hobo never knew his parents his best friend is gooch and best good friend to him and not to other he roast them lot and never ask poper for girls

Mr krupp as tv adware/ mr puzzle

A tv villain who gave trauma on crew and sonic enemy in igbpt he one gave George a weird keyboard who possessed him and in western spaghetti he one put everyone in simulated and he everywhere in show

That it i will make classic gang and anti crew ok

#captain underpants #harold hutchins #george beard #melvin sneedly #edith the lunch lady #mr krupp #tetocu #tetocu au #smg4

[rabbitcruiser]

Bixby Bridge, CA (No. 1)

Bixby Bridge, also known as Bixby Creek Bridge, on the Big Sur coast of California, is one of the most photographed bridges in California due to its aesthetic design, "graceful architecture and magnificent setting". It is a reinforced concrete open-spandrel arch bridge. The bridge is 120 miles (190 km) south of San Francisco and 13 miles (21 km) south of Carmel in Monterey County on State Route 1.

Before the opening of the bridge in 1932, residents of the Big Sur area were virtually cut off during winter due to blockages on the often impassable Old Coast Road, which led 11 miles (18 km) inland. The bridge was built under budget for $199,861 (equivalent to $3.64 million in 2023 dollars) and, at 360 feet (110 m), was the longest concrete arch span in the California State Highway System. When it was completed, it was the highest single-span arch bridge in the world,  and it remains one of the tallest.

The land north and south of the bridge was privately owned until 1988 and 2001. A logging company obtained approval to harvest redwood on the former Bixby Ranch to the north in 1986, and in 2000 a developer obtained approval to subdivide the former Brazil Ranch to the south. Local residents and conservationists fought their plans, and both pieces of land were eventually acquired by local and federal government agencies. A $20 million seismic retrofit was completed in 1996, although its 24-foot (7.3 m) width does not meet modern standards requiring bridges to be 32 feet (9.8 m) wide.

The bridge is "one of the most photographed features on the West Coast" and in the world. It has been featured on "postcards, TV ads, everywhere," according to Debra Geiler, project manager for the Trust for Public Land. The bridge's location on the scenic Central Coast of California, the parabolic shape of the arch, the tall spandrel columns, and the architectural piers contribute to an "intense aesthetic experience." "It's the gateway to Big Sur and the interior has never been logged. The land is pristine." Zad Leavy, former executive director of the Big Sur Land Trust, described the land as "...the most spectacular meeting of ocean and land in the entire United States."

Source: Wikipedia

#Bixby Creek Bridge #Bixby Bridge Vista Point #Bixby Bridge #Little Sur River Beach #Monterey County #California State Route 1 #Highway 1 #Pacific Coast Highway #National Scenic Byway #Big Sur #Pacific Ocean #travel #original photography #vacation #tourist attraction #landmark #landscape #seascape #countryside #street scene #road trip #summer 2022 #California #West Coast #Big Sur Coast Highway #nature #flora #grass #USA #blue sky

[memecucker]

I’ve been glancing at World of Sports wrestling from 70s and 80s which was when UK wrestling was at its peak and something I noticed that’s kinda funny is how a lot of the talent would be considered smaller than average by traditional WWF standards (usually being under six feet) and tended to be technicians or sometimes high flyers which makes sense since a lot of them were put in Cruiserweight divisions when they went to the US.

Except for the two by far most popular British wrestlers during that time period, the beloved national icon Big Daddy who was 6’6 and 375lbs and his arch enemy the evil Giant Haystacks who were 6’11 and 685lbs and the two of them were basically by far the largest and tallest main eventers in the UK

[shoechoe]

ive never watched invader zim but i will say that he does seem old to me. like 35. imagine being 35 and having a spy vs spy dynamic with a 12 year old

Yeah, Zim's actual age isn't ever mentioned in the show and he spends a lot of his time disguising as an elementary schooler, which led to the popular fanon misconception that he's actually a child- this, however, isn't true. It becomes pretty obvious that he's meant to be an adult based on the fact that he refers to children as "children" as though he isn't one (see the Christmas episode where he looks at a group of kids and goes something along the lines of "ugh, look at all those children" in utter disgust) and also the fact that he has, like... a job as an Invader (or used to). The reason why he looks small is just that he's short, which he gets picked on for by other Irkens. Jhonen Vasquez has also stated himself that he's an adult and not actually a kid.

In one episode, we see a flashback to fifty years ago with Zim and he looked pretty much the same, which would mean he's been an adult for over fifty years. In one of the unfinished episodes before the show was cancelled, we see that he's about the same age as the Tallests (his leaders) as he went to school with them- we also get concept art of what he looked like as an actual child:

We know Irkens live a lot longer than humans- I believe Jhonen's also said that Zim is older than any human being alive, which would make him well over 100. (This spawned the weird "Zim is >100 years old but that's actually equivalent to a child for his species" stuff that's also completely unfounded).

This is indeed all part of the joke with Zim: he's this grown alien that comes from an insanely advanced society and has the tech to easily end/conquer the world if he wants to, but he instead spends his time in elementary school with his arch nemesis being a literal twelve year old because he somehow thinks that's the optimal usage of his time. (The Wettening is one of my favorite episodes because it highlights this dynamic in a really stupid and funny way- Dib and Zim get into a water balloon fight and it ends with Zim using his alien technology to essentially flood the planet.)

#mutuals (epic) #sorry you got me rambling #asks #invader zim #one of my favorite IZ scenes is the one in Megadoomer where zim is walking home and following some random kid and ranting about dib #zim is like ''and then DIB said... UGH... the teacher called on ME NOT HIM!!! STUPID DIB AND HIS SUTPID FACE I HATE HIM SO MUCH!!!'' #while the kid just keeps going ''who are you??? i don't even go to your school???'' #zim very funny goofy guy

[osha-janitor]

There is a clicking of claws against the floor, as a giant ashen-purple gargoyle approaches Kishar. While he is not the tallest they would have ever met, Ash is still big; his large wings and their arching horns certainly help make them appear larger. Somehow, as he continues walking towards them(probably to ask for directions), Kishar cannot help but be reminded of Dust as the light shines off his metal gloves. Ash's voice certainly doesn't match Dust's, sounding like an ancient thing unaccustomed to human speech. "Excuse me, would you be able to lead me somewhere? I've been searching for a city I recall being here a few millenia ago."

-@godsoftheshadowedflame, ash

KISHAR: Uh. Depends On The City.

*They have... no idea how they should be responding, a little distracted by the similarities this stranger has to Dust...*

KISHAR: If You Are Talking About Oshia, Pretty Sure They Cut All Contact With The Outside World A While Back. So You Will Not Get A Good Response If You Try And Head In

#janitor speaks #godsoftheshadowedflame #ask #truth bug #janitors log

[visit-new-york]

View of the Chrysler Building

The Chrysler Building is an Art Deco skyscraper on the East Side of Manhattan in New York City, at the intersection of 42nd Street and Lexington Avenue in Midtown Manhattan.

The Chrysler Building's overall shape and composition put it into a distinctive local tradition of skyscraper design.

The Chrysler Building is a classic example of Art Deco architecture and considered by many contemporary architects to be one of the finest buildings in New York City.

The Chrysler Building is a landmark building that holds the record for being the first building to surpass 1000 feet in height.

From 1930 to 1931 the Chrysler Building was the tallest building in the world.

Can you visit the Chrysler Building in New York? The Chrysler Building lobby is open to the public from 8 a.m. to 6 p.m. Monday through Friday (excluding federal holidays). You do not need tickets to enter the lobby. There is no access beyond the lobby for visitors to the Chrysler Building. There are no tours through the building.

Read also - One Bryant Park

Influence Beyond Borders

Global Influence: The impact of the Chrysler Building extends beyond the United States, shaping the design of skyscrapers and buildings worldwide with its timeless Art Deco elegance.

Eagle Gargoyles: The captivating eagle gargoyles perched high on the 61st floor of the Chrysler Building's crown evokes a sense of freedom and aspiration, embodying the essence of its design inspiration.

Terraced Crown Design: The design of the Chrysler Building's crown, characterized by its terraced arches, adds a touch of intricate sophistication to the building's already majestic silhouette.

Preservation of Details: Ongoing preservation efforts ensure that the Chrysler Building's intricate details and architectural integrity continue to shine, even in the face of changing times.

Terraced Crown Vision: The terraced crown of the Chrysler Building, once envisioned as an indoor observation deck, remains a testament to the dynamic and imaginative thinking of its creators.

Iconic Representation

Dynamic Lighting: The vibrant lighting displays on the Chrysler Building's crown not only mark special occasions but also celebrate the building's enduring role in the heart of New York City.

Architectural Collaboration: The Chrysler Building's construction showcased the remarkable collaboration between architects and engineers, highlighting the successful fusion of innovative design and structural stability.

Elegant Harmony: The dynamic interplay between sleek lines and ornate details in the Chrysler Building's design creates a visual harmony that captures the essence of Art Deco elegance.

Crown's Complexity: The crown of the Chrysler Building, with its intricate setbacks and decorative elements, embodies the complexity and ambition of its era, transcending the constraints of traditional architecture.

Cultural Icon: As an architectural masterpiece and cultural icon, the Chrysler Building stands as a testament to the artistic vision, engineering prowess, and cultural significance that shape the built environment and capture the imagination of generations.

The Chrysler Building's enduring allure transcends time, representing not just a magnificent skyscraper but also an embodiment of artistic expression, architectural innovation, and the indomitable spirit of New York City. As we conclude our exploration of the most fascinating facts about this iconic structure, we celebrate its ongoing legacy and the profound impact it has had on the world of architecture and design.

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#chrysler building #art deco #east side #manhattan #New York City #new york #newyork #New-York #nyc #ny #urban #city #visit-new-york.tumblr.com

[hessdalen-globe]

The Cazkanian Wall

You might have noticed me mention this topic once or twice before. It's a term I came up with to describe Cazkania's near-impenetrable borders. There isn't an actual wall surrounding the entirety of the mega-state, but instead (with the exception of one) it’s made up of extreme natural barriers that form the perfect defensive perimeter for the paranoid totalitarian state.

Here, I'll go over the sections of the wall, those being the natural features that act as barriers, and also some of the "gates", meaning the passable weak spots that allow entry into the Cazkanian sphere of influence.

Sections of the wall

Red: Cazkania or Cazkanian Satellite State

Blue: Trans-Continental Alliance Member State

Orange: Ivrensian Satellite State

Akessnean Hills (Cazkania-Ecosiar): An expanse of steep highlands covered in dense, untouched taiga. The region is also littered with bogs in the lowlands.

Rhobor River (Transrhobor-Ecosiar: Hessdalen's longest river is very wide at the point of contact between the vassal of Transrhobor and Ecosiar, making it impractical to cross in an invasion.

Illira (Transrhobor-Soaratia): "No one attacks Illira, and Illira attacks no one." An old saying leftover from the days of the Knights of Troidon. Illira was seen as the home of the Troidonites, and if any nation touched it, all of the clans around the world would rise up to defend it. The fear of such a disaster kept all nations from attacking Illira, and this unspoken rule remains in the modern age. So the Cazkanians use the country as a buffer with Soaratia.

Pelgriece Canyon & River (Transrhobor, Mohvesto, South Aspenia-Roloughnia, Aspenia): The deep and wide chasm that is the Pelgriece Canyon cuts through the Inpent Desert. Since the early age it has been common knowledge that the Pelgriece is impossible to cross except at one point, the Arch of Turrice.

Cethok Mountains (South Aspenia, Syrum-Montethé): A mountain range home to Hessdalen's tallest peaks. These jagged mountains often poke above the clouds.

Rhobor River (Cazkania-Gurngeshia): The Rhobor makes up another section of the wall in the East, this time with Gurngeshia. Though much narrower than in the West, it still serves as a clear divider that has proven difficult to cross. Gurngeshia and Lokanse make up Cazkania's points of contact with its chief enemy, the Ivrensian Empire.

Virio Marshlands (Cazkania-Lokanse): Lokanse, literally meaning Lake Lands, is a swampy area full of hundreds of bodies of water. Large vehicles cannot pass through the border region easily and would sink into the muck if they tried.

Some of the Gates

These weak points are heavily fortified by the Cazkanian army, ensuring that nothing can get through.

Arch of Turrice: The only crossing point of the Pelgriece Canyon. A natural bridge that joins the two halves of the desert, the Arch of Turrice has always been an import trade corridor. Now it is devoid of all traffic as it has been closed by the Cazkanians. It is suspected that they have laid explosives across its length in case of an attack.

Soaratian-Transrhoborian direct border: The only point where Transrhobor and Soaratia are not separated by Illira. While a short border, it would be easy to send an invading force across as there are no natural defences.

Mégathamur Pass: Numerous paths lead through the Cethoks, but they are dangerous and not suitable for tanks. However, Mégethamur Pass is the only opening in the mountains that large vehicles could move through.

Dirt and largely unserviced roads lead through the Akessnean Hills in the direction of Cazkania, but can quickly become unreliable in unfavorable weather.

Much of the border with Gurngeshia is non-dramatic hills that are easily passable. Military activity in this area is high, for both Cazkania and Ivranse.

#worldbuilding #fantasy world #fictional world #writeblr #fiction #lore #Cazkania #hessdalen

[skxrbrand]

Ulthuan, N'kari's Palace, Mortal Realm

Kha'xanzyr had heard the susurrus of flapping wings. He had seen the cloud of furies in the distance, heading towards him, and his own pinions flexed and twitched. But flying wasn't a good idea, not right now, when even walking was proving a challenge. Instead he watched and paced, standing on the tallest of the Arch-Tempter's towers as the fury swarm came ever closer.

Against the pale and ornate palace the Bloodthirster was a haphazard bloodstain, easily sussed out by the incoming Furies. Most of them scattered; only the Alpha landed before the Architect, though notably further away. Just out of his reach, or so she had believed. Furies were disgusting little creatures; scavengers that wore their fear for everyone to see. Normally, the Alpha dared to get a bit closer to him than that.

Bad news. It must be.

And it was. The Fury had hissed the outcome of their battle: Victory, but a costly one. The enemy was broken, but Bloodfire falls had taken a beating as well. Qhi'zhek had survived and that had surprised him. Perhaps the old bird wasn't as weak as initially anticipated. Or, the Bloodthirster sent to fight him hadn't been up to snuff himself. There was no way to tell and only the result mattered: The Knowledge Keeper had stood and his enemy had fallen.

But not just him.

" The Feathered Lord spoke of Vhiarn, the illustrious Lady of Hounds." The Fury went on, a note of bemusement in it sibilant voice. Kha'xanzyr's snout wrinkled briefly. He had heard the tone and disapproved of it, but in that moment he was more interested in information than murder.

" What of her?"

" She was slain, my lord, it saddens me to say."

Slain. Kha'xanzyr stared at the fury, blinking, processing. Vhiarn, who had first served Khorsen and slipped oh so easily into his own service. Who had prospered beneath his leadership; he had even seen to it she was rewarded for her efficiency, and made her a Juggernaut. Who had brought him the skull of the traitor, Xharn. Who he was certain would be uplifted by the Blood God's own hand, eventually, into the Deathbringer ranks herself.

And she was gone. First Khazaan, and now her. Both of them taken, destroyed on Khorne's orders. But the Exile was off, gallivanting around the world with his whore. Where were the Blood Hosts running Skarbrand down, ripping away what little he cared for in this immortal life?

Out the corner of his eyes, he caught the reaction of the Fury to his carefully hidden grief. A grin on bestial features, purring in the Alpha's throat as it fed on his suffering. Kha'xanzyr hadn't given away his intentions with a roar or a snarl as another Bloodthirster might've. He had just moved, had just struck, like a thunderbolt. Suddenly and without warning. The Nurgh-mace he had been gifted was brought down upon the impetuous little Chaos Fury, serving it the very death it had been hoping to avoid.

The scent of blood snaked into the Bloodthirster's nostrils and his eyes lit up, his sharp, tightly bound rage unspooling into a berserker fury. He roared, at the heavens, and the depth of his loss summoned black storm clouds above the tallest of the towers. They rumbled with a roar to rival the daemon's own, belching forth red lightning and boiling crimson rain. The sky came alive with the wails of pained Furies, their supple, pastel skin scorched by blood-rain and electricity. They fell in droves into the ocean, taken beneath the swirling waves.

Dying while Kha'xanzyr roared himself hoarse. It was all he could do. All he could do not to explode himself into a shower of gore...

#plot point #KHA'XANZYR (THE ARCHITECT);

[bunny--manders]

Most beloved American national monuments

Statue some French guy made of his mistress with his mom's face

Big bell (doesn't work)

World's tallest obelisk

White guys' faces we carved into indigenous people's sacred mountain for no particular reason

War is hell (shiny)

Arch reminding you to get the hell out of St. Louis

Rock some guys stepped on

Great big Abe Lincoln (slightly taller than real life Abe Lincoln)