#Finch grew up in the what

[sacredglitch]

A A A A

The final scene is what I've bEEN WAITING FOR

I know daMN well they reminisced about her and all the cases they had her on...what she be like on the ones without her...

It's all I ever wanted after Carter's death. Smooches ep 14.

[somedayillbepeterpan]

I made a post about a side by side of Pen and Colin's first and last dance (so far) from S1 and S3 and now I'm drowning in the feels of it.

LOOK AT THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THESE TWO LAST SHOTS

S1E1 - Vauxhall ball dance

Them being such babies. Them jumping around, utterly caught by the energy of the dance. This is the first dance that Pen ever has after she's come out in society and I want to say that this is the first time that she's actually seen Colin as a man after he "rescued her". This is when the rose-coloured tinted glasses are shining brightly on her face as she looks at this boy she grew up with dancing with her in public, laughing and holding her in his arms. This is the first time she was held by another man in her life (I don't think her dad was ever affectionate towards her). Her first physical encounter with a man and it's with Colin no less (Colin really is first in everything where Penelope is concerned).

Even though there is a closeness between her and Colin already at this time, there is always Eloise in the middle. We think that Eloise being away in S3 gave them a chance to be alone together but Pen's 1st season out in society actually also gave the first chance of being alone with Colin (and then Marina came and ruined it all).

I also want to note that Pen is utterly cute in this scene. Ladies aren't supposed to wear their hair out the way Pen has it here. This alone should have told us that she is a rebel but also of how invisible she is.

Last thing to note (and this maybe just because of editing or this very beautiful but challenging height difference these two have blocking wise) is that we don't really see their faces clearly (I checked the actual video and it really is shot like that). We're only meant to feel the amusement these two have over this brief dance and I'm sure Pen went home on Cloud 9, thinking about this dance over and over.

It was her first romantic core memory.

Now we go to this scene:

S3E8 - Dankworth - Finch ball dance (Butterfly dance)

I have so many feelings about this dance. Firstly, their hand size difference!

Their smiles! Them overcoming such a huge obstacle! Colin just blasting every other love confession I've seen on this show! Them accepting each other fully, finally seeing each other for who they are. Them now ready to fully embrace their married life. I could go on and on and I will.

Both looking so ridiculously happy in this slow, intimate dance. Both looking so sexy and powerful, showing their acceptance of their maturity. It took them a while and a whole angsty journey but watching them take each step towards each other spoke to my heart and soul deeply. Their smiles in this dance was such a treat after being subjected to heartbreak.

In comparison with the shot in S1E1, we see both from their heads to their body (heart) but behind other dancers. I'm just thinking that this is the director saying this now will be your POV of Pen and Colin-- at the start of living their lives openly.

(I'm feeling sleepy now but I want to finish this)

It is so rewarding to see the journey that Pen and Colin goes through. I've been rewatching all 3 seasons and catching the growth between these two is so fascinating. The parallels, the clues, the subtle performances that Nic and Luke have been presenting on the table since S1. All so overwhelming at times at how privileged I feel to see their story laid out so beautifully.

What a gift Pen and Colin's love story is. I love their love and I'll stay here just for a little bit.

[ballad-of-birdy-lamb]

heyyaaaaa can i pretty please request for an atticus x reader? maybe atticus grows a little liking for his new neighbor (reader) and has been inviting them over for dinner a little too often and his kids are like “you sure you don’t like them 🤔?” And atticus tries to brush it off but it’s very obvious

You never knew how much I really like you.

Atticus Finch x Gender Neutral! Reader romantic headcanon to (small) fic Summary: Atticus's feelings were beyond noticeable, even to Jem and Scout Warnings: None Word Count: 1.4k ₊˚⊹ᰔಇ.

The first time Jem and Scout see Atticus so red in the face is when they are walking back from returning Dill to his house. Their father was standing by your fence, smiling happily as you talked about your day. His cheeks were red as he admired you. When the two got close enough, they heard him ask you to come over for dinner. You accepted it as any good new neighbor does, said your goodbyes, and went back into the home.

“You’re real red-faced, Atticus,” Scout would point out, squinting to look up at her father. Atticus looked over at them and wiped his face, not realizing how obvious it was. He picked her up carefully and walked down the sidewalk back to their home.

“It’s from the sun,” he justifies casually. They felt it was off, he was in the sun all the time, grew up in the south, and they never saw him sweat or undone. His justification made little sense to them.

Atticus spent the night helping Calpurnia set the dining room up for dinner later that night, setting the table with the fine China the kids barely saw outside of very nice holidays or very nice guests. Each moment made Scout and Jem question him more.

“They’re just a new neighbor, why do they get the good China?” Scout would ask plainly, though her tone carried an odd judgmental characteristic. Atticus shook his head and set another plate in Jem’s usual spot.

“They’re still new to the town, it’s good to show them that they’re welcome,” Atticus answered and gave the girl the forks, motioning for her to help set up too.

The dinner was spent with Atticus (a little too cheerfully by Jem’s idea) asking you questions about your life before coming to Maycomb, what you did for a living, and how you were as a person. Scout and Jem would occasionally pipe in and ask you questions, mostly having to do with how you feel about random things (things they like, the Radleys, etc.).

The dinner would end well… that’s what Jem and Scout would say if they didn’t have to go to bed before you left. While they got ready for the night, they occasionally would hear your laugh with Atticus’s, and the sound of the dishes being put away. Just before you left, they got to their bedroom window, watching you leaving the house with a smile. Atticus was probably smiling too, again, a little too red-faced for Scout and Jem to think it was nothing but the sun.

Weeks would go by and seeing you over in their home wasn’t new at some point. The two would wait, watching the corner for Atticus to come home, getting bored from it, and look around to find him talking to you. You stood by your white fence and spoke with great joy on your face, a similar expression on their father's face. They could only guess what was offered by Atticus once they saw the fine China later that night.

“Do you think adults cannot have normal adult friendships?” Atticus asked, sitting down in the living room chair, the accusations of adoration finally spilled by Scout. The sound of sizzling food in the kitchen filled the home with a warm glow, not only from the smell but also from the warm orange light. Scout stood with a blank face and shook her head.

“No,” she said aimlessly. Atticus smiled slightly at her bluntness.

“You had them over twice last week alone,” Jem chirped as he walked from the dining room. “And all the food Calpurnia keeps making for you both are very nice.”

“I treat my guests well,” Atticus stated simply, picking up his book, and opening one of the pages. “I am nothing more than a friend.”

The dinner was spent again like the weeks before, Atticus getting more comfortable with the talking points, and accepting whatever witty comment you made with a chuckle. Scout would fake a gag if a topic changed to something more romantic than she would want her father to be a part of and Calpurnia would pull her away and give her a talk about being kind to her guests. But you weren’t a guest at this point! You essentially live here!

Atticus couldn’t hate you, neither could Jem and Scout. You were kind, even if their father found you fond in a way beyond friendship, it was slightly understandable. You spent your time telling them interesting stories about your life before Maycomb, odd stories about how you’d live before the simplicity of now.

“Atticus likes them,” Jem would say, sifting through his pyjama drawer. You had arrived that night barely an hour before their usual bedtime, only giving them a small amount of time to chat and ask questions.

“I know,” said Scout honestly.

The dinners get more personal, later in the day, there is more time for you and Atticus to be alone without the children needing entertainment, allowing adult talk. Jem and Scout being gone meant he was left with you, getting your attention more to how he truly acted.

The redness of his cheeks, the smile on his face most of the dinner didn’t just get past you. You have been over so many times there wasn’t a moment when you didn’t notice those things. By the end of the dinner, you found your way to the swing on the porch.

“How do you feel about me?” You asked after several seconds of awkward silence. The night had grown quiet, the only sound was the chirps of crickets and cicadas. Atticus sat so close the warmth of your thigh was felt by his own.

“What do you mean?” Atticus asked after clearing his throat. He gently took his glasses from his face and wiped the lenses with a handkerchief. You hesitated momentarily, wondering if you were overreacting and overthinking, or if your ideas were true.

“I mean…,” you trail off, turning your eyes to your hands. “Do you like me?”

Atticus wiped the lenses of his glasses carefully, smiling slightly at the idea. “I do like you,” he admitted, looking away from his glasses for a second to look at you. “You’re very kind, a good neighbor if you will.”

You muse at his answer and shake your head. “No! I mean to have feelings for me. Do you like me like that?” You hastily specify, watching him closely. Atticus moved slowly, taking his time cleaning one of the smudges from the left lens. It was horrific how slow he was moving to answer. “I’ve seen how you look at me.”

“I am glad you can see,” Atticus jokes with a small smile, placing his glasses back on the bridge of his nose. “I have grown a fondness for you… I wouldn’t say it grew as time went on, I thought you were attractive when I first saw you.”

Your eyes stayed on him as he spoke, taking in his words silently. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you at a romantic moment, over a nice dinner or something you would have preferred. But since you asked, I might as well confess,” his words flowed out naturally, like he was in front of a jury, confessing something minute.

“Prove it,” you challenge. It was mostly a joke, very obviously too, but part of you wanted to know he wasn’t just saying those things to get your hopes up. No, Atticus wouldn’t do that. Then again, you only knew so much.

“A kiss then?” He straightened himself and sighed. “I usually wait a bit, but lord only knows how long I’ve got. I might as well kiss you before I can’t.”

Your head went from a slow to a quick nod. Yeah, that is true. Getting a kiss in wouldn’t hurt anyone, definitely not you. Your face was beyond warm and if Atticus dared to touch your face now, he might ask if you’re sick, which wouldn’t be preferred for obvious reasons. “Yeah… yeah, that will do,” you mutter with a smile.

Atticus nodded and moved until your thigh squished against his. It was very obvious he hadn’t done such a thing in a long while, he was beyond rusty with you in his hold, his hands moving from your shoulders to your upper arms. The smell of sandalwood filled your nose as he moved his glasses to his head, letting them sit carefully before leaning in just enough.

His lips were warm, thankfully. You could only hope yours were too since it seemed your spirit left your body at that moment. Atticus was just as gentle when he kissed as when he spoke, keeping it intense enough to be romantic but not too much to be something more. Your hands, almost like instinct, help his lapel, needing to keep him close.

If only he could kiss you forever.

₊˚⊹ᰔಇ.

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[average-mako-enjoyer]

So, I've seen some interesting posts about Spacer Shepard and Colonist Shepard and the struggles they had to face, so I just want to ramble about my favorite Earthborn, why I think it's such a powerful background and what makes it especially heartbreaking.

It's easy to guess why both the Colonist and the Spacer chose to become soldiers. For the Spacer it was the most obvious choice available (and we see a lot of these "dynasties" in the game: Ashley, Kaidan, Tali, Jacob…), for the Colonist it was revenge, but what about the street kid, the Earthborn? What kind of hell was the Earthborn living in that the only way out was to join the fucking military? Were they even 18 when they enlisted? Shepard calls the place they grew up a "war zone," so you can draw your own conclusions.

We kind of get the inside scoop on Shepard's gang days thanks to Finch, and this whole quest really got me thinking: what kind of stuff was the teenage Shepard involved in that Finch (and I don't think he's a stupid guy) really thought he could blackmail the first human Spectre?

Also, how did gang life affect Shepard? Military training must have been hell for them, because it's based on trusting your squadmates, your commanding officer, the whole chain of command, and gang life is pretty much the opposite: trust someone and you're likely to get fucked.

And what about the whole "Take Earth back" thing? There was a very interesting thought in the post about the Colonist, asking why Shepard should care about Earth at all when their own home was destroyed and their parents were killed? And it got me thinking about the Earthborn: why should they care? They saw the absolute worst that this planet can be: they were an orphan in a war zone, forced into the gang just to survive. Someone like Kaidan is fighting for his family, for his orchard and the view over English Bay, and what is Shepard fighting for? For the slums where they grew up?

What I love about this background is how well it fits the Paragade route and how well it explains some of the moments in the game.

Shepard charming the Citadel shopkeepers into giving them a discount? Street kid moment.

Shepard getting really excited about finding the credit chit between the couch cushions? Street kid moment.

Shepard fleecing their own engineers in the sci-fi poker game (after telling said engineers not to be so hard on the rookie)? Street kid moment.

Shepard getting all sarcastic around C-Sec officers? Shepard scolding mercs? Street kid moments.

Shepard checking wall safes and pockets of people they just killed? Still a street kid moment.

And you know exactly why Shep is so good at hacking and lockpicking, and why it takes some devilish concoction to finally get them drunk.

It's also the reason Shepard can't dance, hums or scoffs rather than laughs, and smirks rather than smiles.

I honestly have so many headcanons about the Earthborn that I could ramble on all day. Also, following this topic, there's a point to be made about how Bioware handles the issue of sexism in their own games, but that's definitely for another time. Bye.

[inbarfink]

The deaths of all the Finch kids are really so unbearably tragic. It really speaks to the quality of the writing and storytelling in ‘What Remains’. They’re written as so vivid and human and real, but also so many of them died so young. They were children, it’s so much harder for me to do the whole ‘well, let’s appreciate the life they did have’ thing when the majority of them didn’t even have a chance to become the people they could have become. And yet the image of who they could’ve been if they survived is so vivid in my mind. 

Edith had that line about how she always imagined Molly as a girl she could be good friends with. Obviously if she didn’t die back in 1947 they wouldn’t really be at the same age group, but she’d be one hell of a Cool Aunt. I can only imagine her Weird Girl tendencies would’ve only grown stronger and stronger with age. Considering her fascination with animals, maybe she would’ve gone to study Zoology or Biology when she grew older? And since she was dissecting a sea star just before her canon death…

Sadly, I’m not sure if Barbara would’ve been able to resurrect her acting career. But there’s some subtle hints in her room that in reality she was more willing to move past it compared to her fictionalized version in that horror comic (which can’t be easy when you live in a room your dad themed entirely around your child-star years THANKS SVEN). That ‘horror convention’ seems to be an invention of the comic, Barbara’s actual room has a flier for a ‘Witch’s Ball’ at Orcas Island High School and a dress ready for it. 

Barbara Finch didn’t actually spend her last day on earth hopelessly trying to revive her dead career, she was hoping to have a fun Halloween party like a regular teenager. Maybe the fact that it was hosted by the Orcas Island High School Drama Club implies she still had an interest in acting and theatre. Maybe she could’ve ended up as a classically trained actress with the child-stardom as just a fun quirk of her past? Or maybe she just wanted to take part in the Witches Ball because she likes Spooky Things? And she could have found her way back into the Horror Scene in a different way, like being a writer or costume designer or something?

Maybe Calvin could’ve become an Astronaut like he always wanted? But I think Calvin might’ve been more enthralled with the fantasy of science fiction than the reality of space travel. I’m thinking a lot about how Sam described Clavin in Gregory’s memoriam as ‘lost in his imagination’. Maybe he could’ve become a science fiction writer or something?

Walter didn’t technically die young, but he still certainly lost most of his years to the Curse. Like, a big thing about the tragedy of Walter to me is realizing his original childhood bedroom was themed after “20,000 Leagues Under the Sea” and trains. 

Lil’ Walter did have an interest in adventure and travel, before his fears took it all away from him. If it wasn’t for the Curse, Walter could’ve actually something with it. Maybe he could’ve traveled around a bit and written about his experiences.

Lewis would’ve probably gone into game design. It’s not just how his fantasies manifest to us the players, but you can actually find books about game design and coding in his room. It seems that the problem was that his crappy job and his depression took away any opportunity he might have had to actually pursue this idea. Maybe if Milton never left, these three Finch siblings could’ve combined their creative skills together to make like, a very cool artsy game.

Speaking of which… man, Edith’s death stings the most because we got to know her far better than anyone else. And it’s not even the fact that she never got to share her all of her thoughts and creativity with the wider world that makes me the saddest. Getting to the end of the game and hearing just how much she was looking forwards to be with her son - even with all the hardships of being a teen mom, she was really looking forwards to it. To meet him, to share her stories with him. But instead, that worn old diary is the only connection between them...

And that’s like… part of what’s so great about WRoEF’s use of its own format. Like, the faux-interactive linearity of the Narrative Exploration/‘Walking Simulator’ is so perfect for selling this tragedy. The way each Death Flashback only moves forwards based on the actions of the Player, but it always moves on the same unchanging doomed path - really highlights both how stupidly preventable so many of these deaths feel and really make the Player wish there was a way to change them. After all, all they need is for Calvin to not swing so hard, for Gregory’s faucet to not turn back on, for Walter to not stand directly on those train tracks and everything would’ve been fine. But at the same time it’s so, so clear to the Player that this is an impossible wish. There is no other way these sequences can go - these deaths have already been written. The most you can you is linger, all you can do is delay the inevitable. 

But it hurts.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

FINCH'S FRENZY (IV)

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

PAIRING: Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 8.7k

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

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

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

The statue had only been there because of the fire. 

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

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

Cameras flash and eyes water.

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

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

“Not quite. Dee-veen-uh.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amber. Meadows. Deathly serious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Only a target and a man holding a gun. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Goosebumps raise the hair on the back of your neck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then he sees it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your face tightens, brows creasing like tin foil. 

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

Kyle shoves himself into the car, slamming the door.

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

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

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

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

You force out through a shaking diaphragm. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’d never seen eyes like yours.

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

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

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

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

No one knows what you’re referring to.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Park. Car. Gaz.

The penknife.

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

A throat lightly clears, and they tense again. 

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

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

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

“...Rog. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Copy, Mate. Keep me updated, yeah?” 

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

He’d had it under control. 

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

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

He hadn’t meant to yell. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How’s it looking?” 

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

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

Why hadn’t the estate gone to the wife? 

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

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

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

He follows, concern growing steadily. 

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

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

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

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

The cat. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

The skin was agitated. Itchy as well. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, not because of you. 

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

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

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

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

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

Your right hand pulses mockingly. 

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

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

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

Nothing of interest. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Innocent people. 

Fuck, they were screaming at you.

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

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

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

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

Quick, loud, knocking starts. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not that you remember. 

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

This house. Your house. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How much blood had you lost?

“I need you to tell me where it—”

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

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

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

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

Your face softens.

When had someone last asked you that? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why would I care about that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was home. 

This was you. 

This would always be you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can’t say I have.” 

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

“You’re insane.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His thumb is holding the end down when he whispers.

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

She’s not them. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TAGS:

@fatunn, @mh073099, @littlegaypng, @untitled69555, @babybooday, @caffeine-anxiety-and-randomfacts, @underrated-youngster, @jupiterredolent, @idocarealot, @karnellius, @latteisaqueen, @petrat97, @jade-jax, @roosterr, @escapefromrealitysm, @renaich, @kysa32, @human-turtle, @aurora-basin, @terumisworld, @violet-phantoms, @xxfeelmylovexx, @neelehksttr, @nezukos-number1fan, @20forty9, @mdjenjen, @marrianena, @angeldaisyy, @alhaizen, @homicidal-slvt, @emerald-valkyrie, @raissadoesthingslmao, @misfne, @hollyhopesworld, @wasteland-babe, @330bpm-whiplash, @anna-banana27, @justherebecausesafarisucks, @sunnynomoar, @doggydale, @thecrispypotatochip, @74478328, @blueoorchid, @das-conk-creet-baybee, @dragonfruit1985, @chestnutsandcurls, @vamqyr3, @lavalleon, @nebula67, @urfavsunkissedleo

[crowpickingss]

Records

monty x gn! record store owner reader

summary: the reader is a record store owner and monty happens to find his way into the readers life

warnings: crying, mention of monty’s death

a/n: Monty fic finally, if your wondering what record he picked up it was folklore

—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—

When you found out that your father was shipping you off to some random place called Port Townsend to open a new record location you were less than appreciative. However over time you grew to love the town you called home.

You had only ever had a few encounters with Esther Finch. She would always buy classical records. Another supernatural customer you had was The Cat King. His music was interesting to say the least. A lot of jazz. It seemed he was more interested in you than the record.

You knew everyone in town’s music taste. In the break room you kept a list with everyone’s favourite genres. What you didn’t expect was having to extended that list.

One day a black haired boy walked into the store. You greeted him like any other customer trying to spark up a conversation but it eventually fell flat.

You went back to the counter and watched him look around for a bit. Passing by a couple different records. You walked to the back room and when you came out he was walking towards the counter “Hey, ready to check out” He nodded “I would hate to be intrusive and assume things, but if you don’t mind me asking are you new too town?”

He placed the record on the counter “I was in a coma for a while” You rung up the record “I’m so sorry, that must’ve been really hard for you” He shrugged “You don’t really feel it” He handed you a couple of bills “Did you want grab lunch together?”

He seemed a bit taken aback but smiled after a bit of thought “Sure, I’m free Tuesday” You slid his record into a bag and handed it too him “Tuesday it is, see you later” He waved and walked out.

After your date you two started going on more dates until you confessed your love for one another. You did everything together until one night.

You were meant to go on a date with Monty. But he never showed. You were very confused and slightly worried. You asked around town begging and pleading for information.

After the only answer you got was no you gave up. You sat on a bench in the pitch black crying. Until someone approached you.

You looked up and noticed Thomas the cat king looming over you. He sat down next to you “What do you want Thomas” He rubbed his hand up and down your back “I know your probably worrying about Monty and I have some news” You lifted your head to face him “What news?”

He swallowed hard “You’re boyfriend kinda died” Hearing those words your body went in too complete shut down mode. You were a crying mess. Thomas tried his hardest to comfort you. Just then a crow landed on the bench, it clawed its way over to your arm. It pecked at your arm until you picked it up.

The crow jumped in circles and played in your hand. You took the crow back to your apartment after you said goodbye to Thomas. Over the next couple days you took care of the crow and you grew quite attached to it. When the news about Esther’s plan had reached you, you were more than shocked.

That night The cat king showed up at your apartment holding a book “Look y/n, I think I know how to get Monty back” You furrowed your brow “Monty’s dead, remember” Thomas just laughed while flicking through pages “Yeah he’s not actually dead, he’s your pet crow” You turned to your crow then back at Thomas “That crow is my boyfriend, sure” Thomas found the page and went to approach the crow “Woah, calm down I’ll do it”

Thomas stepped back and let you do all the work. After a couple swift movements your boyfriend who you hadn’t seen in a while was sitting right in front of you. You hugged him so hard in that moment that he almost suffocated. He was finally back, you two were finally back. Your life was better with him in it. Just you and Monty against the world

—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—

[onebizarrekai]

so everyone is begging for lore… so um do we have finch lore 😿🙏🏽

unfortunately I don't have anything specific on him in fatal flaws yet :/

I have no idea if I have any posts about his ds backstory, but I'm not a huge fan of what it turned out to be. it's pretty bare bones, and it feels like one of those "being queer is the only notable element of their tragic backstory" things. which is super ironic, considering his backstory should be full of war trauma. it was meant to shape him as a JR supporter, but it just sort of stopped there. so basically, his backstory was that he came from another 'real world ish" timeline, but in like the 1940s, so his upbringing was chock full of war propaganda. he wanted to join the army, but obviously they wouldn't let him because of his birth sex, and JR had to swoop in and like, 'save him', get him HRT and let him be a soldier in their own military. but the thing is, aside from finch mysteriously losing his eye and testing a prototype prosthetic, there isn't any data.

to be honest, most of this isn't even in my own notes; I think this was all written somewhere in a discord server that got deleted. that aside, there's not much of anything. basically, this guy grew up in WW2 hell as a trans person of color, and that's about it. and none of the story planning even mentioned him being a person of color which would make it even more complicated for him. he probably deserves a lot more detail to his story, he should have a specific story for how he got his injury, why he wanted to join the army in the first place, what gender he tried to present as back then, whether he already knew he wanted to be a man, where he lived, what kind of friends he had. it's just… not on the forefront of my mind. I think I'll take it slow trying to figure it out.

[littlechaoticwitch]

Dead Boy Detectives Swap-AU but a little towards the left

-Edwin and Charles both attended St. Hilarion's at the same time, where they were paired up as roommates. During their second year, Charles saved Edwin from being kidnapped by a group of bullies trying to play a cruel prank, and a few months later, Edwin saved Charles by recusing him from the lake after the same group of bullies threw him in there. When both were sixteen years old, they escaped their horrible home lives and found a cheap flat in London right above an old antique store. They started up their detective agency soon afterwards, using their combined gifts to help solve supernatural cases. They still run away from Death whenever she appears, but more of the fear of what she might do for "taking over her job".

-Edwin grew up in a religious cult where he was targeted by the other members (including his own parents) for being gay and being interested in magical studies, which would eventually lead him into becoming a sorcerer. The cult was led by a maniac named Sal, who was obsessed with dolls and spiders, and he took a particular "liking" to Edwin. According to Edwin, the village where he once lived is "the closest thing to Hell on Earth".

-Charles grew up in an abusive household, as his father had grown up in the "poor" area of the same village as the religious cult but moved out when he went to university. After getting an Indian girl pregnant during a one-night stand, they were quick to get married and he forced her to give up her gifts. But she still taught their son how to wield his magic in secrecy, and over the years, she gave him with enchanted items disguised as normal gifts.

-Both are currently 25 years old, with Edwin working at a bookshop in Soho and Charles works as a professional tattoo artist.

-Crystal is a 18-year-old psychic from the 1980s, whose body had been in possession of a demon she had been in a relationship with. Once the boys exorcise the demon, they manage to free her soul from the prison within her own mind, but the demon took her memories, causing her to be unable to pass on. Ultimately, the boys come to the conclusion that due to her being "involved" with a demon, if Death was ever to come to collect her one day, Crystal would be in real danger of being sent to Hell for her actions, regardless if she was in control or not. Her relationship with Charles is more one-sided on her part; while she has a major crush on him and mistakes him comforting her as him being flirtatious, he is quick to set up boundaries when she tries to kiss him after the lighthouse case.

-Niko is another spirit haunting Port Townsend, though her story goes back to the late 1910s. A grieving 18-year-old girl whose father passed away, she learned that the yōsei could resurrect the dead and decided to go find the bewitching spirits. Unfortunately, this would lead to her being captured, tortured, and killed by the spirits before being trapped in a snow globe; this snow globe would eventually find its way to Port Townsend in the mid-2000s, where she was accidentally freed and decided to act as a benevolent spirit to the young children, almost becoming a guardian angel. Much like in canon, she loves playing matchmaker to the town locals (as her mother was the local nakōdo in their village), but she has a better success rate in bringing together soulmates.

-Monty Finch is another tenant staying in the same apartment complex as Edwin and Charles. A quiet 21-year-old astrology student, he took a break from school after the death of his mother; during this time, he is possessed by a tree spirit to lure new victims to the woods but his unwillingness to leave his room had left it to starve. After the detectives save him (and his hair turns white from the shock), he unofficially joins the group as their fifth member.

-Florence Knight (aka the Night Nurse) is the property manager of the apartment the boys rent out while stuck in Port Townsend. While she is quite strict and practical about everything she does (including her job), she does have a soft spot for children. Niko and Monty work together to set her up on a date with her secret admirer; while the local librarian uses this as a chance to stalk her next victim, it is revealed that Asha was the one sending the letters.

-The Night Butcher (aka Jenny Green) is an executioner for the Lost & Found Department. Desperate for a promotion, she sees the capture of Crystal (who should have already been sent to Hell) and Niko (whose soul could not be detected due to being trapped) as the opportunity of a lifetime. As well, she can also "arrest" Edwin and Charles for basically taking over her job.

-The Crow Queen (aka Esther Finch) is portrayed as a younger woman, but she is practically the same personality-wise. As the queen of Port Townsend's crow population, she takes delight in toying with others and playing both sides, though she has a deep hatred for the local warlock. She tries to court Charles upon their first meeting but after being refused, the Crow Queen forces him to gather 100 feathers from different crows as punishment, forcing him to wear a necklace that keeps him trapped in town. In the end, she does develop some level of affection for Charles, giving him buttercup flowers during their last meeting. She also might have some connection to Dream of the Endless.

-Thomas King (aka the Cat King) is a cat-sìth who uses his powers to silently rule over Port Townsend, as he hunts and devours lost souls to keep himself alive. The son of an accused witch, he took it upon himself to learn everything he could about magic, but over time, his goals became twisted and self-centered; once he learned he could live forever by eating the souls of the dead, he performed a ritual to turn himself into a cat-sìth. He is currently turned himself into a cat six times, and he uses magic on his familiar to help in his plans to destroy the detectives. He takes a particular interest to Niko's soul due to her trauma of being tortured and killed for almost a hundred years.

-Maxine is the familiar of Thomas King, where she was once a mouse kept under his control. As a human, she comes off a cottagecore bookworm with a deep love for history and flower language; all of this is used to help her get closer to Crystal, though she does end up gaining real feelings for the ghost girl (and also helps Crystal overcome the internalized issues with her bisexuality). Her relationship with Thomas is similar to an abusive father, with her being ultimately killed when she refuses to help him anymore.

[kissorkill16]

Toxic Friends: A Hello Neighbor Fanfic

By JJ

Summary: Finch and Delroy going from toxic to real.

(P.S., half inspired by @fazbearedits !)

If there were people you'd least expect to be friends, it'd be Finch and Delroy.

They weren't exactly best friends, they were second best friends, sure. They only got along because of their shared hatred for weirdos like Nicky Roth or Aaron Peterson.

And because Aaron scared them to death most of the time.

They surprisingly got along really well. They talked, sometimes ate lunch together, and they'd meet in some places in town to just hang out when they haven't seen each other in a while. Finch would always bring snacks.

"You got the stuff?", Delroy asked her one time they met at the dog park.

"Pfft, do I have the stuff? Hell yeah I got the stuff.", said Finch.

She pulled from her bag two boxes of sugar baked cookies and a small pack of soda.

"HELL YEAH!", Delroy shouted in excitement.

As they sat down at a park bench and chatted with each other, the conversation slowly started to turn a little...shaky.

"Dude, I can't keep bringing snacks for you.", said Finch, "If I do, you'll end up on that one show "My 600 Pound Life"."

Delroy looked at her like she just grew a tail, "What's wrong with being fat? Am I not allowed to be proud of who I am?"

"Not if who you are is a fucking whale."

Regardless, Delroy kept eating. But later, he couldn't help but realize that maybe Finch was right. He was getting a little bit too big.

So he started eating only half of his lunch and drink whenever it was time for lunch.

Another thing that Finch found weird about Delroy was that he never hung out with guys. Sure, he had friends who were girls, but not one friend of his was just...a guy.

"Are you gay or something?", she asked him once as they walked home together.

"No.", he said immediately, then he looked at her, confused. "Why?"

"Because for as long as I've known you, you've never had a guy friend.", replied Finch. "You're always hanging out with me and my friends."

Delroy couldn't help but roll his eyes, "So? You hang out with girls all the time, but I don't call you a lesbian."

Now it was Finch's turn to roll her eyes.

"Look, I just find girls easier to get along with. I live with my auntie after all, and we're inseparable.", said Delroy. "Also, I do have a guy friend. He -"

"Dog doesn't count. He's a pet, not a friend."

"He's man's best friend!"

As time continued to pass, their friendship stayed that way.

One time, Delroy found Finch crying by herself on a bench. When he went over to her, she jumped up and backed away.

"Easy, girl. It's just me.", he said. But that didn't calm Finch down.

"What're you doing here, dude?", she asked, a little snappier than usual. "I just saw you crying, so I'm here to comfort you and listen to the reason why you're being such a sad sack."

"None of your freaking business, dude!"

The girl scout got up and walked away, leaving her friend standing at the bench completely baffled.

When he went to go talk to her dad about it, he told him that Finch had been really moody and upset ever since she left Lucy's funeral. Delroy immediately understood.

Since Finch and Lucy were cousins, Delroy understood that she had a right to be upset.

But she'd been dead for over a decade now, and it didn't excuse why she was still more of a bitch than usual.

He thought maybe he needed some time away from her, so when the new girl, Trinity asked him to come along with her and her friend to the abandoned Golden Apple Amusement Park, he immediately agreed.

But when Finch cornered him to ask him about it, all hell could've broken loose in that moment.

"Why're you hanging out with Trinity?", she asked.

"Because I want to.", replied Delroy, "I might hang out with girls a whole bunch, but I can't spend every second with the same ones. I wanna make some friends of my own."

"But why with her?", the girl scout pointed at Trinity, who was getting something from her locker. "She's almost as crazy as Nutty Nicky. Not too long ago, she ran away from the lunch lady after she cut a piece of turkey."

Delroy rolled his eyes, "So? Maybe she's vegan, I don't know."

Finch felt like punching herself or him in the face, "Delroy, what's worse is that she's part of the freaking Inventor's Club! That's a nerd herd right there! You can't be seen hanging out with those geeks, or you'll end up like them."

Before Finch could rant on more, Delroy just turned around and walked away from his friend.

Finch kicked the locker in anger. "God!", she nearly yelled.

As time went by, Finch could only watch as her so-called friend hung out more with the Inventor's Club, with Nutty Nicky. What's worse is that he seemed to be enjoying it.

Even when her friends talked to him at lunch saying that they couldn't hang out with him anymore because he was hanging out with nerds, he couldn't care less.

It really drove the girl scout up the wall.

One night, Finch just got out of the shower, then she got a call on her phone. She dried herself off and quickly answered, and she so badly wished she hadn't when she heard who it was.

"Finch.", Delroy spoke through the phone, "Do you have time to talk?"

"Wouldn't you rather talk to one of your nerd friends?", asked Finch, "Plus, I'm busy. So whatever you have to say, say it fast."

"Dog got run over by a truck."

Finch nearly dropped the phone, but she continued to listen to Delroy rant about his dead dog.

"It's not fair, man!", he cried, "This is some - UGH! HE WAS MY BEST FRIEND!"

Finch rolled her eyes, "Delroy, he was a dog!", she said. "Get over it, you can always get a new dog."

"NO I CAN'T! DOG WAS SPECIAL!"

"Oh my God, you're so freaking impossible sometimes!"

"What is wrong with you?!", Delroy asked through the phone. "I tried comforting you when Lucy died, and you fucking pushed me away. Now that someone I love is dead, you can't show the tiniest bit of sympathy?! I can always get a new dog, but you can't get a new cousin!"

Before he could say more, Finch hung up the phone and threw it on her bed in anger. She got dressed and stormed out of her room, thinking that maybe some fresh air would help her clear her mind.

More time passed, from the newspaper article incident, to the broken camera, then Finch being forced to apologize to Nicky by the Inventor's Club.

Finch's friends told her that she wasn't allowed to be seen with them anymore, and Finch was absolutely destroyed. When Delroy confronted her about it, all hell broke loose at that moment.

"How's it feel to get a taste of your own medicine, hm?", he asked. "Shut up.", said Finch.

"No, Finch. You shut up.", said Delroy. "You're just experiencing how I felt after everything you put me through. And it hurts, doesn't it?"

The girl scout scoffed, "Could you blame me though? You were hanging out with the geek freaks! Especially Nutty Nicky! You don't even like him!"

"He's fun to talk to. Or at least he was until you and everyone else in the school fucked him up for no reason other than to be assholes!"

Finch tugged at her bangs in frustration, "I honestly don't see how you and I have stayed friends for so long without killing each other."

"I wondered that every day of our half friendship.", said Delroy. "And I'm not sure I want to be friends with you anymore. You make fun of my weight, my choice in friends, and you didn't offer me a sliver of comfort when Dog died. I'm done being friends with you, Finch. Have fun being a lonely nobody."

Then he walked away, leaving Finch to herself.

But as more time passed, Nicky had managed to convince Finch to join the Inventor's Club, and to convince the gang to give her another chance to be better. Everyone reluctantly agreed, and Finch had made some good progress.

She was being nicer, and she didn't talk behind anyone's back anymore. What's even better was that she didn't call Nicky "Sick Nick" or "Nutty Nicky" anymore.

Then slowly, her and Delroy's friendship had mended.

They weren't really back to where they were previously before they joined the club, but they tolerated each other enough to where they could talk to each other like real friends. Even lightly teasing each other here and there.

"Didn't think you'd find yourself here of all places, did you?", Delroy asked his girl scout friend as the gang ate their lunch together.

"No.", replied Finch, "But I'm glad I did. And I'm glad we're on good terms now."

"Ha. Yeah, me too, girl scout."

[spacesapphi]

Guys... Can I talk ab the Marnie lore for the main story I'm writing for my interp of Stardew...

Too bad, doin it anyways

Marnie Lore Doc is Here!!!

This mostly goes over her backstory as in what she was like when she was younger, all the basic story points of what happened with her leading up to the parts that I'm writing about in my fanfics (there will be no spoilers here)

CW for some talks of health and death

Everything is below the cut!

Marnie and her sister Mona were born in 1959 (Stardew in my writing takes place around 2010) and grew up in the ranch house in Pelican Town. The farm had been in the family for generations now, the Yoder family taking great pride in their roots as PA Dutch people. The girls’ father instilled the ideals of working hard and taking pride in said work from a young age, having them help out on the ranch when they were as young as 5. 

The girls were each other's best friends growing up, and they grew extremely close. They knew each other's deepest secrets and biggest dreams, and supported each other wholeheartedly. Mona was the first person to know that Marnie wanted to be a textile artist instead of a rancher. It wasn’t like she didn’t like the animals, she loved them! But life in the valley felt too stagnant for her, and she felt like she could only truly excel if she made something of herself out in the world. Mona supported her wholeheartedly, giving her praises and critiques on her works, and overall being her biggest fan. Her father wasn’t exactly so excited about this, however. He worried that going out into the city would change his daughter too much, make her forget her roots. Not to mention, the ranch needed to be cared for. It took a lot of convincing from Marnie, and Mona assuring him that she’d take over the business for him to finally come to accept that choice.

She worked for the ranch through highschool and into her early 20’s to save up to go to her dream college, a fabulous arts institute in Zuzu City. It was incredibly expensive, but she managed to save every spare cent to pay for her classes. She was so proud of herself, as were her father and Mona. Unfortunately, the year before she was set to go didn’t go as planned for anyone. Their father passed away unexpectedly, leaving Mona as the sole caretaker of the ranch. Marnie offered to stay home, to push off college and help Mona with the work, but she kept insisting she could handle it, telling Marnie to pursue her goals. Reluctantly, she agreed to go forward with college, thanking Mona for being so kind and understanding. 

The first year away at college was interesting to say the least! The valley was so small and tight knit, and it was jarring seeing so many people all crammed into one place like in the city. Marnie felt like a true fish out of water. People in the city commented on her clothes, how she ‘talked funny’, and how her mannerisms were ‘odd’. She started feeling like maybe she made a mistake, and almost went home during orientation week. However, she changed her mind after meeting her roommate, Pamela Finch.

 She was an… odd woman to say the least. Pam dressed in all kinds of bright, funky clothes, wore heavy makeup and had her blonde hair teased to high heaven, the poster child of the 80’s. She didn’t seem to take many things too seriously, just ‘going wherever the wind took her’. College was her dad’s idea, as he wanted her to do something big and important with her life. But Pam? Her dream was being a trucker, driving all across the country with nothing but the open road and the radio to keep her company. Though in many ways they were opposites, Marnie grew to enjoy her company. They were both considered ‘odd’ by people in the city, just in different ways. Pam was her best friend of all time, a fun and rowdy one who got in all sorts of trouble. They were great for each other, though. Pam was able to mellow out a little and Marnie was brought out of her shell through their friendship.

On top of gaining a new friend, Marnie would soon gain another family member! She and Mona made it a point to call each other at least 3 times a week, updating each other on their lives. Marnie typically was the one with the most exciting news to share, as the valley often was not exciting, but Mona actually had something interesting to share. She was going to have a baby, and Marnie was over the moon at the thought of being an aunt. When she asked who Mona was seeing, and when she would meet the lucky man, Mona got standoffish. The man pretty much ghosted her when he found out, and Mona didn't want to talk about it. Marnie got the hint quick and wouldn’t bring it up again.

The next spring, right after the Spring semester let out, Marnie went home to meet the baby for the first time. This baby would be her little nephew Shane, and he was the cutest thing she ever saw… though she was a bit taken aback at his purple hair. The shock wore off quickly, Marnie claiming that such a unique trait was the mark of a future artist like herself! She absolutely adored and spoiled her nephew, and was so pained to leave him and Mona to go back to the city once the Fall rolled around. 

When she got back, she dormed with Pam once again, who proudly announced that she had gotten married over the Summer! The two barely knew each other for two months, but she swore they were in love. He was the man of her dreams, a wild and handsome trucker who promised to take her all over the country with him as soon as she was out of college. Her dad was not happy about this, almost disowning Pam over it, but he eventually came around to it and reluctantly accepted his daughter's choice. (Pam would only come to realize YEARS later that she was dealing with comphet, and realizes she's a lesbian when she moves back to Pelican town)

The next school year was exciting, consisting of many elaborate projects and even gallery showings for Marnie! Mona showed up to every single one she could, always telling her sister she was gonna go far with this. It gave her the motivation to keep pushing herself above and beyond, making more conceptual pieces, always inserting symbols of the culture she grew up in and loved so much. She promised her dad she wouldn’t forget her roots, and stuck by that promise. 

In her Junior year, Marnie found herself getting considered for a grand opportunity, an apprenticeship with one of the greatest artists guilds in the country. The job would almost guarantee herself a spot in the art scene. She was ecstatic, overjoyed! Pam insisted they go to a party that night to celebrate… and Marnie learned quickly that she did not enjoy the party scene, especially after she got stuck with a nasty hangover in the morning. 

She chose to work even harder on her art, improving steadily to prove that she deserved this apprenticeship, and her spot in the art world. Her dreams were coming true before her eyes, and she couldn’t possibly be more excited. Whenever she called Mona, she had the most enthusiastic voice, chattering away about all her plans and projects, everything that kept her so busy. But perhaps she was too busy, at least too busy to realize Mona was progressively beginning to sound more tired and unwell with each call. 

Mona convinced herself she was able to handle the ranch and a child, but it was becoming clear she couldn’t. The stress was taking a toll on her health, and she was already starting to go gray in her twenties. She was getting weaker as time passed, the strain of it all having disastrous effects. She refused to tell Marnie though, knowing she would drop everything to come back home, give up and turn back when she was so close to touching the stars. Marnie noticed when she came back home though, seeing how much older and tired her sister looked. She insisted she was going to stay home, Mona telling her no, and a fight broke out between the two over it. Marnie eventually agreed to go back to school and finish her degree, though she felt uneasy about it. 

Senior year was nerve wracking. All the work she had put into this degree was under intense scrutinization, the apprenticeship on the line. All those sleepless nights and days spent squirreled away in the textiles studio were finally paying off. Marnie was noticeably off her game this year though, her thoughts too preoccupied with Mona's health. She was also afraid she was going to fumble this, make a fool of herself in front of everyone and lose the opportunity. But to her surprise, and relief, she was chosen in the end. Upon graduating she would start the apprenticeship, and join the greats in the art world! This should’ve been the happiest time in her life, and it could’ve been if not for the devastating call she got just after graduation.

She and Pam were clearing out their dorm, talking about the future and all the exciting things they had planned. They had graduated just a few days ago, and the excitement was still buzzing in them (though Marnie couldn't help but feel disappointed that Mona couldn't come).

Pam was talking about starting a family with her husband, so excited about the life she saw ahead for the two of them. And Marnie would be on her way to New York, living the high life in the big city and throwing her life into her work. Pam promised to visit her if her work ever brought her to the state.

Marnie chattered on about her plans once she got to the city, getting interrupted by the phone ringing. It was a call from back home. The town doctor was on the line, informing her Mona was hospitalized, and the outlook wasn’t good. Life ground to a halt immediately. Marnie packed the rest of her things as fast as she could, rushing out the door without saying goodbye to her roommate, speeding home as fast as she could.

She didn’t leave Mona’s side once in her last moments, the two talking about life, regrets, and what the future would be like. Marnie scolded her for not opening up about how bad it actually was, and for insisting she go back to school when the stress was legitimately killing her. Mona told her she just wanted her to follow her dream, but if her dream came at the cost of her sister, her best friend, Marnie didn’t want it. Mona asked her to take care of Shane, and Marnie promised she would. By the next morning, Mona was gone.

Marnie of course had to turn down the apprenticeship, moving right back into her childhood home instead of that flashy apartment in the city she had looked forward to. Getting back into the rhythm of ranch life, and adjusting to life with a toddler was difficult, to say the least. The guilt of knowing this is just how Mona felt for so long weighed on her heart, and she promised herself she would do her best to make up for that. As time went on, life began to get easier, though it was never the same. Having no support system, no close friends or any family here was so hard. But she had her nephew, and knowing that he needed her kept her going. 

About two years later, a very familiar woman moved into town, trailer hitched to the back of a pickup truck. When Marnie realized it was Pam of all people, she was overjoyed. Finally, she had a close friend, a familiar face back in the valley with her! She had a baby of her own too, a little girl named Penny that she just adored. Pam explained how her husband had walked out on them recently, and she decided to settle back here for a simpler pace. She was going to take over the bus driving job as well, a position that had very recently opened up! The two talked about the past few years, exchanging stories of the highs and lows of it all. Neither of them expected to be here in Pelican Town, living such similar lifestyles after having such lofty goals and dreams. Pam seemed to find the humor in it though, and expressed that she hoped Penny and Shane would grow up to be good friends. (They would not </3 )

The next few years were a whirlwind. The ranch was a lot of work of course, but there was so much more too! She’d been invited to an aerobics group with all the other ladies in town, won the valley fair quite a few times, had a short, fleeting romance with the man running the saloon, her nephew came out to her as trans (Marnie was actually the one to pick out the name Shane!), the old farmer next door had struck a wonderful business deal with her, and she surprisingly found herself happy in this spot in life. 

This life wasn’t the one she had planned, that was for sure. There were still many things that she regretted, so many things she wished she could’ve done and achieved. She still grieved too, grieving the loss of her opportunity and her sister. But despite it all, and through all the future troubles and misfortunes that would befall her family, she couldn’t help but keep a glimmer of hope that everything would be okay in the end. And with time, it would be.

Pam and Marnie YEARS in the future, almost 30 years after college, will come to realize they have feelings for each other. Pam fell first but Marnie fell harder when she came to realize she also likes women. The two are married and living their best life on the ranch, very much in love

[assassinsnek]

Baizhu bf hcs

As your boyfriend, Baizhu DEFINITELY makes sure your health is in tip top shape.

I feel like Changsheng would either love you, or hate you. She would love you by sitting on your shoulders like she does with Baizhu, and hate you by slithering off Baizhu and refusing to be around him if you are. She knows when to say nothing.

I can see you and Baizhu sitting on the bed in the back room(Baizhu’s room), after the pharmacy closes Qiqi still hanging around, probably cleaning up, Baizhu leaning on you, or laying in your lap after a long day.

He 100% knows how to style hair, short or long, if you asked him to, he would style your hair however you wanted, I mean, he gives himself a traditional bun, and an extremely long braid.

He would definitely ask you to do self care with him all the time, taking a bath, he’ll ask to join you! Skin care? Sign him up! He’d also probably greatly appreciate it if you learned how to do his hair.

He’s not that big on PDA, i.e. kissing or holding you close. He believes that kind of behavior belongs in a more intimate situation, only truly appreciated when isolated. He will have a hand on the small of your back as you walk around Liyue harbor though.

Please, for the love of all archons, brush his hair for him! He will practically melt where he’s standing/sitting, you swear he could fall asleep.

I definitely see him growing medicinal herbs and incense, he would 1,000% find it endearing if you also grew or took care of plants, either it be a sweet flower, mint, or to valberries, it’s all the same.

You probably have to pull him from his desk at night. When living at your workplace, it can be difficult to identify when work ends, thus it can be easy for him to get sucked into his paperwork and medicine orders.

I see Baizhu being a slightly heavy sleeper and Changsheng being a light sleeper. You can get up and get you a glass of water, but changsheng followed you wondering what you’re doing, she’s too cute.

Totally a side sleeper, so if you decide to cuddle, y’all are spoons!! He’ll never admit it but he likes to be the little spoon, just the way you hold him so securely puts him right to sleep.

I can easily see Changsheng making lovingly sassy remarks towards you. She may sound and seem mean but you and Baizhu both know it’s in a loving way. She even probably will sit on your shoulders instead of you help out with the pharmacy.

You are automatically Qiqi’s no1 babysitter, sitting around and bird watching. For her birthday you got her a bird feeder, and bird seed that, according to Zhongli, would attract finches, that day you saw the most expressive face you’ve seen on her. Baizhu only loved you more after that.

I have no idea why but I think Changsheng would love to gossip but Baizhu dislikes it, so in the time it’s just you two and no Baizhu, y’all probably gossip, and gossip, and gossip.

A/N

My first hc post, most of these were lil’ scenarios that’ve been lingering in my head a little too long. If you notice any typos, spelling, or grammar mistakes, please tell me in the comments of msg me <3

I am very open to requests so please send them if you have any, more information is on my Masterlist

[lowkeyrobin]

Could you maybe do a platonic Monty x reader please where she’s Esther’s daughter and is SUPER protective of Monty and sees him as a little brother?🫶

yeah sure!! ; also I literally forget to put (they/them / gn readers only) on every announcement begging for requests I cannot anymore I'm sorry ; but dw I kept the gender stuff pretty discrete and obv just used "sibling" and terms like that lmfao ; thanks for requesting, hope you enjoy!

MONTY FINCH ; lil bro

summary ; as montys older sibling, you're very protective of him

warnings ; language, mentions of kidnapping

word count ; 506

masterlist

when you came downstairs to see a random teenage boy in the kitchen with your mom, you honestly thought she kidnapped him for the snake

"look, baby. its monty" your mother smiles with a snicker

"your bird?"

her face turns to one of disappointment as she sighs. "yes, the bird"

"so... why's he human?"

"hes going to help me trap those dead boys and the psychic prick, since you won't"

"okay"

you quickly grew on him though

you didn't care for him much as a bird, considering your mom kept him locked up most the time and he was very noisy

but your mom pushed him up the stairs to get him dressed in anything but boxers

so you introduced him to your wide array of clothing in your room

"what do you want me to wear?"

"you can wear whatever you want, I don't care"

he grabs a sweater and some jeans, looking to you for validation that he could wear them

you nod and allow him to change, checking on some stuff on your phone before he turns around

"you look good"

you don't really know how you became so protective over him overnight

but he was like your new little brother

something in you just activated and you had to take care of him

so while he was out developing a crush on edwin and getting closer to the dbd, you were there, making sure he was safe

"i was being nice, right?"

"I apologize- uh, he's a little shy on physical contact. he doesn't like touching people. bit of a germaphobe"

meanwhile he's talking to edwin about astrology

"who are you, again?"

"montys older sibling. sorry"

"please stay close to me. I don't want something happening to you"

"I'm fine"

"You're about to help disintegrate your crush with an elemental and banish him to Hell. what are you talking about?"

there was a lot of pulling him out of traffic when you first took him out...

there was a lot of sticking up for him as well

he blends in well, but there's some things that humans don't do that he doesn't understand at first

he's also not a pro at hiding emotions so a lot of times you have to help him hide them

"I didn't ask to be a human... with all these emotions"

"mom!"

you rush to him but are unable to reach him before she pulls him apart, turning him into a crow again

"mom, what the fuck?!"

"he's a bird. get over it"

you literally went through the five stages of grief over him bro

seeing him again that night as a ghost was nice though

what want nice was being locked in a cage after trying to help his ghost self break free from esthers soul-sucking machine

let's just say having to be tied up next to charles wasn't fun while you were grieving but also trying to apologize for literally everything

there was a lot of asking where monty would've been

probably lost and found

[dearheartdont]

For the DBD ask game: 12, 15, 20 and any others you fancy!

Hello!

12. uncommon lgbtq+ headcanon for a character /[character]

For the Charles/Edwin dynamic: Hmm, not sure if this is uncommon but Edwin wouldn't neccesarily be a shrinking violet when it comes to physical affection etc with Charles. Charles would need to kiss him first, but I think as soon as Edwin knew his feelings were reciprocated all bets would be off. Yes, he grew up in a time where the risk of showing his interest in men was high - and therefore something to be pushed down and not looked at because there wasn't anyone worth examining it for - but he's sure of what he wants now and who he wants it with, and I think that certainty (and the love) would make a difference.

(I have this image of Charles giving Edwin a formal declaration of love and the lightest peck on the cheek, and Edwin just being like, "Good to know, I'm going to ravish you now." And yeah, he may not be the best kisser. But Edwin is nothing if not thorough and a quick learner. And Charles is shocked then delighted, because after all this time they can still surprise each other.

The ghost postman turns up at the worst possible time.

Charles is mortified.

Edwin says, "Well, perhaps that will teach him to knock at the door like everyone else.").

15. A character you want brought in from the comics

I haven't read the DBD comics (yet!). From the wider Sandman comics/universe Charles meeting Desire would be interesting. Charles is someone who hides what he wants and is so used to doing things to please others. Having Charles interact with someone who will make him think about what he truly wants/needs would be so good. Also, good potential for contrast against Edwin's link with Despair.

20. something in the show that made you laugh

Esther Finch in general, but this in particular. God, she’s such a good villain.

Also, this interaction between Charles and Edwin.

This is pretty long already, but I may come back at a later point for the 'any other questions I fancy'. Thank you!

Dead Boy Detectives Ask Game (leaving the link here for anyone else who wants to reblog/send an ask).

[1alchemistart]

hi! i love your art so so much it's so beautiful and expressive! do you have any tips for someone looking to start drawing? i really want to but it's so overwhelming and i don't wear to start 😭 it'd be amazing if i could draw anything like you! you're my favorite artist on tumblr (probably one of my favs in general)!! sorry im rambling 😭 any tips and advice would be great tysm!

thank you very much!!!!!

well hmmmm i'd say it depends on what you want to draw?? if you're aiming for like, illustrative character drawings like me, then i can recommend people online who i know offer good knowledge when beginning

mark crilley is the main one i grew up watching

sinix has very informative stuff of course

proko and david finch are not people i've properly kept track of but their vids have proven useful regardless

and those are kinda the only names in my head rn KLDSFKL but i think they're a good starting point!

as for personal advice, i'd say don't aim to draw a lot, aim to learn a lot. i can draw 5000 arms but if i only learned something when drawing two of those arms, then the other 4998 arms were not that necessary!

i also don't think making yourself only draw one thing until it's "mastered" is something i'd advise either, not just bc it's inefficient but also bc it's just not fun DSKFKSD fun should be an integral part of it in my opinion! draw what you wanna draw when you wanna draw it, don't hold yourself back by telling yourself you can't draw X and Y yet bc you're not "good enough". drawing the stuff you wanna draw IS ultimately how you get good at it in the first place!!

also use refereeeeence references are so damn important

also the most pro of tips: take breaks don't be like me WSDFSD breaks are important 😭breaks are important. . . .

hope any of these are helpful!!! good luck, friend :DDD

[odetarifunk]

GUS FINCH HCS

•His full name is "Gustus Smith Finch".

•His favorite song was Banned in D.C by Bad Brain.

•Often wore leather jackets and ripped jeans to make Sam mad.

•He has freckles on his back that resemble a butterfly (2 on both sides,one on top and the other below it. One freckle on his spine)

•Did youth boxing,until he got laid out and a concussion.

•Felt betrayed by his mom because she left him with Sam.

•Had that 'everyone would be better without me' mindset.

•If he had his own room,it would absolutely be filled with punk and rock decor.

•Never really had any crushes,so he got annoyed when he was asked.

•Hit puberty pretty fast,he's an early bloomer.

•Was never a really physical person,so he often showed affection (towards his family) through words instead.

•Used to be a mama's boy,still is secretly.

•Played an electric guitar solo once,absolutely killed it.

•He hates button ups,always compliant that it's 'too tight' around his neck and arms.

•Failed 8th grade,what brought him down was math and ELA.

•Never really had a favorite genre of movies or TV shows,just watched whatever was on.

•He hated all holidays,but if he had to choose,he'd pick Halloween to be his favorite.

•Would ride his skateboard down to Odin Finch National Park often (fell down 200 times from riding his skateboard.).

•Was gifted his kite on his 6th birthday by Sam,flew it ever since.

•Was pretty athletic due to Sam making him work extra hard. Did well in gym because of it.

•Knew too much about WW1 and WW2.

•He was going to be named after Calvin at first.

•Was around 5'4,though tried to lie about being 5'6-5'7 when he was wearing shoes.

•Had a strange obsession with lava lamps. He liked to see the bubbles reach the bottom,it was satisfying to him.

•Would wear converse with leg warmers. No reason behind it besides fashion purposes.

•Was sent off to an extremely strict bootcamp once,which is the reason to why the sides of his hair are buzzed. He grew out his mohawk again when he got out of bootcamp.

•Whenever he would hear a song by Tears For Fears,he instantly wanted to bang his head against the nearest wall.

•When he says that he isn't ticklish,he means it. He kicked Sam in the face once for trying to tickle him.

•For some reason is really good in Choir,and could play most musical instruments.

•Used to draw that one cool S on the side of his homework.

•Got sick easily,as he was outside 23/7 during all seasons.

•He keeps a paper that Gregory scribbled on inside his backpack. Calls it a 'masterpiece'.

•In afterlife,he doesn't know if he'd even still be alive if he didn't pass on Sam's remarriage.

•Had bad depression and introverted behavior due to constantly being ignored.

•Despite often giving the finger,he surprisingly didn't cuss much. Only here and there,like Dawn.

•"Hates" Dawn,but will protect her if she is bullied in any way.

•He had bright blue eyes as a baby,but they turned into a dark brown when he got older.

•Often either painted his nails black,or red. Sometimes both.

•Was born with hypermobility.

•Whenever Kay called to check up on the kids,Gus would instantly take the phone over.

•Extremely quiet,but judgemental. He stares straight at you in silence until you walk away.

•Loved the summer,since he could fly his kite,and (tackle his sister then tell Sam they were just playing) ride his skateboard.

•Has a cleft lip scar. Gets defensive when someone mentions it. His mom used to call it a 'beautiful sprouting flower' to cheer him up.

•He was the one kid in school that you really wanted to punch one day,then the next day you're cool with.

•His resting face always made him looked mad or annoyed,which is why people avoided him (they thought he had an attitude).

•When he was little,he was extremely blunt. He would randomly tell somebody that he has divorced parents,and they'll be like 'oh..ok..'.

•Either had the 'weird kid' or 'bully' stereotype in school.

•Would always ask what highschool was like when Dawn started 9th grade.

•Whenever he and Sam got into arguments,Gus would headbutt him in the stomach to get away before he got hit.

•Slept like a log. Would not get up during thunder storms.

•However,he often got sleep paralysis because he didn't drink much water after doing Sam's workout routine.

•Drew on his desk a lot during classes.

•Would fake having a wheezing fit whenever Sam was smoking so that he would stop. (Sam always fell for it)

•Because of Sam's graphic conversations about his experience in war,and half of his family being dead,Gus never was really afraid of death or the afterlife in general.

•Since he blasts his music often through his headphones,he often got headaches.