#(and explosion magic isn’t a particularly common magic type anyways so he’d rather no one else know)

[h-didanart]

Hello everyone I have arrived with the next installment of ‘Be gay do crimes’

This one is an oc, though his world aligns more with Urban Fantasy than with the Fantasy of the world of the first oc of mine you’ve met

Here we have Old Man Arson (Disclaimer: he’s not actually old, he’s like in his forties lmao)

He’s chill for the most part, his likings including gardening and reading. He’s tad sarcastic and a bit arrogant, but if you’re someone he likes he’ll joke around with you and invite you over for some drinks. If you’re not someone he likes though, and you mess with him or someone he likes, he has absolutely no problem with being a complete ass, a jerk, an absolute nuisance. He can be very reckless sometimes, often not thinking through his actions and getting something blown up, that is not an exaggeration, he has semi-unstable explosion magic. Moreover he knows what he wants and he knows what he stands for, he will not back down if you challenge him, and people have often found that their biggest mistake when meeting him is underestimating his capabilities.

His criminal life is one that would not be expected if you see his daily life. Sure, he is a rather curious individual, and yes he lives in that creepy haunted mansion and gets along with the ghosts haunting said mansion, but nothing about him says that’s he’s an avid demonologist. But not just any kind of demonologist, no, he wants to truly understand his fellow beings.

He wants to know their capabilities, their societal rules, their myths, their features, their dislikes. He wants to know them personally, as the beings they are. Because the society he lives at has done everything in its power to paint them as horrible creatures, they have gone from respected and feared godlike beings to feared and persecuted terrible creatures. But they’re just like zombies, or centaurs, fae, shapeshifters, ghosts. They’re other beings.

And he’s gonna do everything in his power to free those beings who have been imprisoned in the land of the living just for the crime of being brought there and not knowing how to go back.

And his best, and favorite, way to do that is by going to the local demon hunting agencies and absolutely wrecking everything they have. And freeing any demons locked in there. He’s quite infamous for all the explosions and fires he causes, and for being extremely cocky while fleeing. He’s very reckless, and he looks cool with it.

If he gives you Dimentio Super Paper Mario vibes… yeah. Yeah. He used to be a combination of Dimentio and The Boss from JSaB, but then kinda became his own thing.

Oh and yes, he threw himself off a building in that drawing, he can teleport, he’s fine.

[liminalchaos]

FULL NAME.  Ethan Rayne MEANING. Ethan is derived from the Hebrew אֵיתָן ('Eitan), meaning enduring, and Rayne is likely from the Germanic name element ragin, meaning advice or counsel. (thanks, behindthename.com!) NICKNAME.  Hasn’t got any that stuck, though he’d answer to most derivatives of his actual name GENDER.  Male HEIGHT.  6′1″ AGE.  In his 40s, during the show. (In his early 20s when all the Eyghon backstory goes down.) ZODIAC. Gemini, in the worst possible way SPOKEN LANGUAGES.  Bits and pieces of dozens, both human and otherwise, but pretty knows enough to order food, ask for directions, and flirt shamelessly. Can read most of them better than he speaks, and can read Aramaic, Ancient Greek, and Sumerian for magic purposes. Actually fluent in English, Latin, and French.

𝐩𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬 !

HAIR COLOUR. Dark brown, graying EYE COLOUR.  Dark brown normally, but stained black when he’s been going to hard on the magics. SKIN TONE. Fair, tans easily if he spends much time outdoors BODY TYPE.  Gangly. There’s more muscle to him than one would guess, but mostly obscured by the fact that he’s like 70% limb ACCENT.  The sort of British accent you’d expect from a terribly overdone storybook villain. Get him drunk and it veers much closer to his natural cockney VOICE. Deep and fairly pleasant—he can sound very soothing if he tries. The semi-permanent mocking note tends to ruin that, though. DOMINANT HAND.  Right. POSTURE.  Slouched, with his hands in his pockets or folded across his chest. It’s purposefully done to make him look thinner and less threatening. SCARS.  Plenty. The ones on his palms from blood magic, those are the easiest to see. Your standard-issue ‘oops my experiment exploded’ scars on his arms and chest are old and faded. A burn across his ribs from a DIY tattoo-removal is newer, and there’s another acid scar on his arm from when he tried to burn the Mark of Eyghon off. After his stint in the Initiative, his arms are peppered with needlemarks from their experiments—though he’ll cheerfully tell anyone who asks that those scars are from drug use. TATTOOS.  Even more plentiful than the scars. Aside from the Mark of Eyghon, he’s got dozens across his back and upper arms—all magic-related, of course. They’re more for function than aesthetic. MOST NOTICEABLE FEATURE(S).   He’s t a l l.

𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝 !

PLACE OF BIRTH. Tower Hamlets, London. HOMETOWN.  London. BIRTH WEIGHT.  Nobody bothered to note it. BIRTH HEIGHT.  Tbh, was probably a long baby too. MANNER OF BIRTH.  Nothing particularly exciting. FIRST WORDS.  “Look!” SIBLINGS.  None PARENTS.  His mum, Elsie. Presumably there was a father somewhere along the way, but Elsie never mentioned him and Ethan took his mother’s surname. PARENT INVOLVEMENT. Elsie did her best by him, but she died when Ethan was still a child.

𝐚𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 !

OCCUPATION. Dumpster fire. Sorcerer for hire, dealer in questionable magics and artifacts CURRENT RESIDENCE.  Hasn’t got one. Wherever he finds a motel room for the night. CLOSE FRIENDS.  None, anymore. Ripper and the gang, back in the day, but they all went their separate ways. RELATIONSHIP STATUS.  Single FINANCIAL STATUS.  Depends on whether he’s been paid recently—the payout for his jobs is usually significant, but he’s also got a bad tendency to spend all his earnings in a week flat. DRIVER’S LICENSE. Multiple fake ones, because he couldn’t be bothered to get a proper ID done up and also hasn’t got the necessary paperwork. Prefers not to drive anyway. CRIMINAL RECORD. A smattering of low-grade charges from his youth—trespassing, breaking and entering, the usual. He’s gotten better as he’s gotten older, so they look to have tapered out around the 80s.  VICES.  His whole personality, choice of work, and approach to life?

𝐬𝐞𝐱 & 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 !

SEXUAL ORIENTATION. Bisexual. ROMANTIC ORIENTATION.  Still bi, just quite a bit less likely to be interested. Emotions don’t really come easily to him.  PREFERRED EMOTIONAL ROLE.  submissive       |        dominant      |       switch PREFERRED SEXUAL ROLE.  submissive       |       dominant       |       switch LIBIDO.  Depends. Like, really really depends. He’s a flirt and hardly opposed to casual hookups, but if he’s more interested in his latest project he’s more likely to use someone for a bookrest. Or as Experimental Subject B. TURN ON’S. People who can keep up an interesting conversation, on any topic. Power, especially magic power. TURN OFF’S.  Pointless violence or cruelty. Liars. People who think they know what best for others. RELATIONSHIP TENDENCIES.  Is “no” an option? He’s not really prone to relationships, and his friendliness is primarily superficial—he’s really slow to open up emotionally to anyone. If he does manage to puzzle through caring about someone, he’s devoted, though. Stalk someone for 20+ years levels of devoted, whoops.  

𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐨𝐮𝐬 !

CHARACTER’S THEME SONG. Special - Simple Creatures / Grace Kelly - MIKA HOBBIES TO PASS TIME.   You mean outside of chaos-related things? He does genuinely enjoy travel, and when he can be bothered to pay attention to something that isn’t magic has been known to enjoy some trashy romance novels or films with loud explosions. MENTAL ILLNESSES. Not particularly healthy, mentally, no. Functional insomniac, ever since Eyghon. Quite a bit of trauma that he’s been running from rather than dealing with. Could probably be diagnosed with ADHD if anyone bothered to try and if he bothered to cooperate. PHYSICAL ILLNESSES.  Not really. LEFT OR RIGHT BRAINED. It’s a tossup. PHOBIAS. None really. He’s particularly squeamish about corpses and not overfond of deep water or full-on mind control. SELF CONFIDENCE LEVEL.  Higher than it should be, and he knows it. VULNERABILITIES. Plentiful. He’s only human, despite what his attitude and field of work would indicate. Babbles when nervous and gloats when successful and if given half a chance will outline his entire evil plan to you in detail. Will fixate on whatever he’s interested in at the expense of things like common sense or self-preservation, sometimes. An utter coward, when it’s down to the wire.

TAGGED BY:  @magaprima

TAGGING: @ozwolff​, @jennyorjanna​, @technopagaan​, @thatslayer, @youhavemyrespect, anyone else who hasn’t done one of these!

[derrickperegrine]

@snakepitnet halloween challenge: week one - halloween at hogwarts

‘It’s a little foolish, isn’t it?’ Draco answered, an incredulous laugh wedged against the edge of his words, but never erupting from his throat. ‘I mean, what are we celebrating? How terrible magic is? Muggles’ fear of us? Monsters?’ He flipped a page with a huff of dramatic exasperation. ‘I just don’t get it.’

(click ‘keep reading’)

‘I don’t get any of this,’ Draco said as he lounged upon the chaise, pale hair reddish gold with the light of the flames coming out of the fireplace. It seemed at first that Draco could be referring to anything -- the current Charms assignment they were working on, some frustration regarding something his parents had said, or something concerning Potter -- but Blaise knew that he’d meant Halloween.

Chiefly, because Draco had not stopped talking about it for the past few weeks, ever since October rolled around the corner, and September had burned slowly away. The season’s orange seeped into Hogwarts’ halls, and Blaise found Draco being unusually, but not uncharacteristically, bothered by the upcoming holiday. He had never been like this about Halloween before; but then again, it wasn’t unlike Draco to suddenly develop some aversion to Halloween, and then decidedly declare war upon it.

‘What’s the matter?’ asked Theo, ever the responsive one out of them. Blaise looked over to him, reclining in a quilted armchair, his eyes not lifting from the book upon his lap. Blaise watched as his idly elegant fingers turned the page.

‘It’s a little foolish, isn’t it?’ Draco answered, an incredulous laugh wedged against the edge of his words, but never erupting from his throat. ‘I mean, what are we celebrating? How terrible magic is? Muggles’ fear of us? Monsters?’ He flipped a page with a huff of dramatic exasperation. ‘I just don’t get it.’

Pansy pulled the quill from her mouth. ‘Magic barriers are thin around Halloween; all the souls come out, so people celebrate to respect them,’ she explained, ever the history and mythology whiz.

‘But why the costumes?’ asked Draco.

‘It’s a disguise, so people won’t be spirited away,’ Pansy said flatly, as she dipped her quill into her floating inkwell, and jotted down her notes in a neat cursive script.

‘Well, it’s foolish,’ Draco declared, still adamant. But Blaise saw something else in his face -- the soft disappointment of dissatisfaction. It rounded his sharp features, making him seem much like the child he was, as opposed to the miniature Lucius that he had wanted to look like. Blaise sometimes forgot that Draco still had that side to him. The side that wasn’t content in just being superior; the side that didn’t really want to always demonstrate that he was above everything.

Blaise thumbed over to the next page in his Charms book. ‘I beg to differ, Draco.’ He instantly felt Draco’s dark grey eyes bore into him -- rare was the day anyone opposed him. Blaise tried not to smirk too much. ‘It’s important to celebrate Halloween, is it not? As purebloods, isn’t it our duty to uphold the sacred traditions of our society?’ Blaise noticed Theo flinch at that argument, and he felt the sour pangs of regret. Sometimes he forgot that what worked on Draco worked oppositely on Theodore. ‘Besides, it’s a good time to let loose; Merlin knows I’m sick of always working for the past two months.’

‘But isn’t it rather ... tasteless,’ Draco countered, wrinkling his forehead and making his elegant face seem suddenly obnoxious and unpleasant. Blaise frowned. He rather thought the campy nature of Halloween was part of its charm; it was fun-loving and enthusiastic like the festivals and celebrations of Italy and Spain. It saddened him that Draco could not appreciate this type of holiday; however he guessed that Malfoy could not be to blame, being raised a snooty, typical British pureblood by his parents

Pansy shrugged. ‘Everything about Hogwarts is tasteless, Draco. It’s a school, not a party; what did you expect?’ She examined her Charms notes with disinterest. ‘Might as well join the festivities anyway, since there’s not much to do around this school to begin with.’

‘Well, what would our parents think?’ Draco wondered, his voice made blunter and softer with a desperation for approval.

‘Honestly, they could probably care less about what we’re doing,’ Theo said quietly, though it sounded like a jab. Theodore’s father never really paid much attention to him at school, Blaise recalled; all of them received regular letters from their parents, but Theo did not. Perhaps it was for the best -- Theodore never talked much about his family, but from what Blaise could observe, their relationship was frigid at best.

Pansy nodded. ‘We don’t have to go reporting everything we do to our parents, you know.’ She turned back to her homework, and Blaise thought that he glimpsed a smirk curling up her elegant lips.

Draco scowled. ‘Well, you lot can do whatever you like. I for one am not participating in this absurd tomfoolery,’ he sniffed.

Blaise tried not to laugh. ‘Suit yourself, Malfoy.’ He closed his textbook across his lap, and raised his arms towards the ceiling, feeling the stretch settle into his body. ‘I for one am going to have a good time. Anyone else is welcome to join me,’ he offered, and winked at Theodore; who, to Blaise’s delight, ducked his head behind his textbook sheepishly, hoping that no one would see his burning ears.

‘I’m so bored by all this homework, I’m off to have some fun,’ Pansy decided, shoving all her homework beneath the sofa to be finished later. She dusted her robes and sprang up from her seat. Waving a hand at the boys, she said, ‘And I’m not keeping Draco’s misery any company.’

Draco glared at Pansy, but she was already on her way out the common room, towards the girls’ dormitory, presumably where she would find Millicent to accompany her on her adventures.

Theo closed his book as well. ‘I’m done with homework,’ he announced, ‘If there’s nothing you guys are gonna do, I’ll just be in my bed reading, then.’ Blaise felt a dash of panic at being left alone with a sulking Malfoy; but more than that, a surprisingly strong dismay at the thought of Theo leaving. Although Blaise and Draco were rather closer friends, Blaise had found himself enjoying Theodore’s company more and more lately. For certain reasons.

As Theo stood up to leave, Blaise impulsively grasped at Theo’s wrists, stopping him in his steps. ‘Wait!’

Theo turned back towards Blaise, his ears red in what Blaise hoped was more than mere embarrassment. ‘Let’s go find something to do. One should never spend a holiday alone, you know,’ and he winked; and Theo pinked, much to his delight. Draco made an annoyed sound beside Blaise. ‘Unless your name is Malfoy,’ Blaise added, shooting Draco a sharp look that said, Your fault for being a spoilsport.

Without further ceremony, Blaise threw his arm around Theo’s shoulders and sauntered out of the Slytherin common room.

Although Blaise did not particularly enjoy Professor Flitwick’s Charms classes -- he found them rather dull, and that Professor Flitwick was a much better demonstrator and tutor than a lecturer -- every Halloween, he felt enthralled by whatever decorations Professor Flitwick had put up.

It was astonishing -- proper Professor Flitwick, who only taught standard spells in class, had an arsenal of decorative charms that he showed off for any holiday or celebration. For Halloween, he’d enchant gold spiders to scutter across the walls and weave glistening glass cobwebs; he’d teach the jack-o-lanterns to sing silly songs; he’d make the white Hogwarts candles burn green and drip black wax; he’d enchant the ceiling to show clouds of chattering bats; and somehow, he’d managed to cast the entire school in an orange light, with severe shadows. Blaise rather liked that -- he thought that it brought out the richness of Theo’s brown eyes, and the sharp lines of his jaw. It was astounding how much magic Professor Flitwick could work in a single night.

The hallways were already bustling with students headed towards the Great Hall, where the Halloween feast was soon to be held; Draco could call it ‘foolish’ however he liked, but Blaise loved the decorations and the autumn food; and of course he liked being able to celebrate and party with his housemates. He loved scaring Astoria and Daphne with horror stories he’s memorised from books in the library; he loved scheming with Pansy to pull a Halloween prank on the Gryffindors; he loved receiving (handmade) candy from Quidditch health nut Lucian Bole for the only night in the year; and he loved just to be around his two best friends, Theodore Nott and Draco Malfoy, at the table.

As they settled around the tables, steaming with roast potatoes and turnips, great hams and ducks and pies, and a dazzling array of puddings, Blaise couldn’t help but realise that Draco had not quietly slid into the seat beside him. Of course the prat grumbled about Halloween every year, but usually he’d appear from the shadows around dinner time and partake in the celebration, if only under the guise of ‘just eating supper’. However, as Dumbledore began to tap his goblet to signal that it was time for the Hogwarts’ ghosts to tell awful and boring stories about their lives -- since it was a holiday to celebrate all departed souls -- Draco Malfoy was still nowhere to be seen. Blaise piled food onto his plate uneasily as the Bloody Baron opened his mouth to prattle on and on about the numerous pixies he’s bested in his life.

As soon as the Fat Friar finished with his story about growing the largest potato ever, with his new growing potion -- whose recipe was soon found to be highly explosive and dangerous, and therefore withdrawn from the market -- the entire Hall began to buzz with the talking of students.

‘Blaise,’ Pansy began, ‘What have you got in mind for this year?’ she asked, referring to their annual Zabini-Parkinson Gryffindor Trap. Blaise had indeed planned something, but now he was both distracted by the very pronounced absence of Draco Malfoy, and the amusing disparity between the manners in which Theodore Nott and Peregrine Derrick were ingesting Bole’s Halloween offerings. Theodore ate them like any pureblood lordling would, patiently and delicately, almost thoughtfully; after all these were a gift from a classmate, who no doubt put great thought into it. Well, at least Lucian always did -- his hobby was, strangely, cooking. On the other hand, Derrick ate very deliberately, in a practised but brusque way, irreverently scarfing it down whilst maintaining eye contact with a horrified Bole the entire time.

‘Blaise,’ Pansy said, snapping Blaise out of his dazed observation of his housemates’ eating habits.

‘Pansy, hold on, I’ll be right back,’ he said, pushing himself away from the table.

‘Where are you headed?’ Theo asked.

‘I’m going to find Draco,’ Blaise admitted. It just didn’t feel right without Draco, who, even though he was a total party-pooper, was one of them. Yet he was alone this night. Blaise thought of his own words; One should never spend a holiday alone, you know.

‘Wait, if you’re going to see him, bring him this,’ Bole said, and tossed Blaise a small bag of sweets for Malfoy.

‘If you fatten him up he won’t catch the Snitch,’ Blaise teased, and Bole scowled.

‘They’re sugar-free!’

But Blaise was already off to find his sulking friend.

The door of the Slytherin dungeon creaked open, and Draco Malfoy felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Who was coming in? Everyone else should be at the feast; they were all celebrating Halloween together. Unless your name is Malfoy.

Of course Blaise didn’t mean it meanly. But it nevertheless touched on something -- he was a Malfoy; a proper pureblood, who didn’t engage in these frivolous celebrations because they were pointless to him. Halloween isn’t going to help him pass all his classes, or catch the Snitch before Potter, or make him into Minister of Magic. It was just stupid. And after Malfoy read the history of Halloween at Hogwarts -- that it had become like this because of the way Muggles celebrated this holiday -- he felt himself in ever more disdain for it.

He stretched out lazily in his chaise, and levitated his Potions book towards him.

‘Malfoy,’ a quiet voice said, and he almost dropped the tome on himself.

‘Who is it?’ he asked perhaps too loudly, with too much of a quaver in his voice.

Someone in the shadows tossed a bag of sweets onto his lap. ‘Lucian wanted me to give these to you,’ the voice explained as its owner walked out of the shadows. Draco let out a sigh of relief. Blaise.

‘I thought you said you were going to leave me alone,’ Draco said, rather deliberately, as he opened the package and popped a chocolate into his mouth.

Blaise shrugged. ‘You’re wrong to think that. You’re my best friend, of course I’m not going to leave me alone.’

‘Well, I thought you had Nott to keep you company. You seem to like him well enough,’ Draco commented.

Blaise smiled sheepishly and Draco suspected there was something more. Call it a serpent’s hunch. ‘You know how I need the attention of all my friends to survive, Draco,’ he said, purposefully preening.

Draco rolled his eyes. ‘Just leave me. I don’t mind. This isn’t even the sort of holiday I should celebrate anyway. It’s terrible, common, and tacky. I can’t even imagine what Father would say if I --’

‘Your father can bugger off,’ Blaise said, and Draco’s head snapped towards him.

‘What did you say?’

‘I said that your father can bugger off,’ Blaise said calmly. ‘What does he think he’s saying? Draco, you’re still a child.’

‘I’m fifteen,’ Draco said adamantly.

Blaise raised an eyebrow. ‘Case in point. You’re only fifteen; you should be doing stupid and fun and pointless things that teenagers do. With us. Draco, we want you to hang out with us. We’re friends. You shouldn’t live like a ghost of your father at Hogwarts.’

Draco looked at him angrily. ‘Don’t talk about my father like that. He’s only doing what’s good for me,’ Draco looked aside into the dimly burning fireplace; he didn’t like looking at people when he talked about his family. For some reason, that felt like something he should defend and keep for himself.

‘Grown-ups aren’t always right,’ Blaise said. He was never one to rebel against authority figures, but his mother had told him that no one was always right in the world. Sometimes those illogical and senseless and spontaneous things are what make us human.

‘Blaise, just leave me,’ Malfoy said tiredly, the voice of someone who was always told he was wrong. He just wanted to live his own truth, because he was not one to live anyone else’s truth; even if his truth was more or less the one his father had imposed upon him, it was still his. He was not willing to let it go and believe it to be false.

Blaise looked at him unconvincedly, his fifteen-year-old self unsure of what words to say to fifteen-year-old Draco Malfoy. When they were older, they both realised that there were many words that could have been said that may have led the evening to end a little differently; but they also understood that nothing could have been said or done differently, on this particular night in Fifth Year. They were only fifteen years old and unaware of all that would befall them.

‘Go back to everyone else,’ Draco waved a hand at Blaise. ‘And thank Bole for the sweets.’

‘Listen, you could come with us, you don’t have to celebrate Halloween, it’s just all of us hanging --’

‘Blaise, it’s alright,’ Malfoy said in a clipped tone.

‘... Alright.’ Blaise tried to hide the resignation in his voice, but only succeeded halfway. Malfoy made a dismissive sound.

The heels of Blaise’s shoes made a hollow sound as he walked away from the Slytherin common room; from Draco Malfoy.

And Draco Malfoy was once again alone. Even though he had so many friends in Slytherin, he couldn’t help but feel like he was different from all of them; and alone all the time because of it. Potter’s words, He’s back! He’s back! echoed in his mind as he sat in an empty common room on Halloween; Father said nothing about it after the Tournament, but Draco knew it to be true.

Draco Malfoy would soon be alone no longer.