#for the sake of people he doesn't even like most of the time

[kerosene-in-a-blender]

One of the things that gets me about Bells Hells unilaterally deciding to reorder the world based on what they think is the best third option (and for the sake of argument right now let's assume it actually is) of having the gods turn mortal to hide from Predathos, is I don't have any confidence that most of the party is going to be willing to knuckle down and do with the work of dealing with the political specifics of mortal gods. How will religious institutions handle this in the day to day? How will we deal with the fact that the Betrayers are now going to be on the mortal side of the Divine Gate with armies at their command? How are we going to manage the practicals of constantly reincarnating mortal gods?

Bells Hells are notorious as an adventuring party for constantly dragging their feet about actually going to go save the world, with Laudna in particular constantly fielding the idea that they could just ripcord out at any time and leave this all behind. With the threat passed, would she be willing to stick around and help deal with the particulars? Imogen seems like she would be willing to work on these things, and indeed would have to as the Vessel, but she would be doing it, as she has all campaign, with Laudna whispering in her ear that she could just leave it all behind to go live in a cabin in the woods if she doesn't like the pressure. How long could her resolve hold out, especially since she is also restraining the god-eater? Would Ashton, a nihilistic punk who didn't believe they'd live this long have enough vision for the future to help sketch it out once things have burned? Would Fearne, who just wants to explore the Material Plane and have fun with her friends, be able to deal with the monotony of politics? Would Chetney, who is most interested in creating a legacy through his craft, be willing to give up spending whatever remaining time he has honing it to manage institutions?

Honestly, of Bells Hells, I can only see Braius, Orym, and (due to some personal breakthroughs he made last episode) Dorian actually willingly taking up a role in the managing of a reorganized world. Braius, devoted as he is to Asmodeus, would probably take it upon himself to help his lord adjust to mortality and continue expressing his will on the Mortal Plane. Orym is dutiful, incredibly so, and since he started all this he would see it through, whatever that demanded of him. And Dorian, having recently reconciled himself with the fact that he is royalty, and that with Cyrus's death leadership will be demanded of him, will have to tend to the people of the Silken Squall, especially since the Squall's representation in the Exandrian Accord indicates it's going to be less isolationist going forward than it once was. These three I can see doing the work, but they're also a minority of the party, the others seem like they'd set the gods up as mortals, and then just leave it at that. Even though that is just step one of making a new Exandria.

[lvxiferianemblem]

Lvxi SMC character analysis (SMC isn't one dimensional)

As promised, I'm putting down all my thoughts regarding SMC, including general analysis and personal interpretation. This is just an amalgam of all my recent thoughts, but I'll do my best to make it as coherent as possible.

There's no such thing as 'evil for the sake of it.' Despite what most cartoon villains tell you, there will always be a reason for why someone does things, even if those reasons are as shallow as brief entertainment. In this case, however, I don't think SMC fits either of those bills.

Going back to the origin of SMC himself, we have to understand what exactly his story is trying to convey---or at least to the best of our ability.

It's common knowledge that before everything, the apostles of evil were embodiments of virtues, and SMC's virtue, in particular, was knowledge, before he spiraled into the power of 'deceit.' However, I think it's important that we look deeper into this and what his symbolism is trying to convey.

In the Beast Yeast storyline, we see that PV describes SMC as having lived an isolated path previous to becoming what he is now and that being the figure of truth is a damning one. His statue is regal and important, bearing the appearance of a monarch rather than anything like the jester we're familiar with, and it stands tall like an idol of worship.

This statue is old. And it's quite clear that within an amount of time, something drastic has occurred to SMC that caused him to make that shift, so the question is, what exactly was it? In CRK, we know that SMC essentially fell victim to corruption of sorts, and details around it are cloudy at best and vague at worst, but we have background information to assist with that.

As Dark Enchantress Cookie's story tells us, the heaviest burden that will drive one insane is the truth of everything and the knowledge of the purpose of their creation. SMC, being the apostle of knowledge and truth, would no doubt harbor this knowledge.

But how do you tell an entire society this truth? In a world where no one wants to hear you and nobody is willing to follow you in the first place, how do you convince them of something they don't want to hear? You beg and plead for them to listen, but they only call you a liar. They call you a deceiver and a traitor, and they turn their backs on you. So what else can you do but fulfill their wish?

After all, in the court, the jester is the only role that can mock the king without judgment, because no one takes him seriously.

SMC makes it very clear throughout his story that his values are not only his own and that they're more accurately a representation of other people as a whole. He says that people would 'much rather believe a sweet lie' and that the world operates on deceit. He does what he does not only because it's fun but also because that is the only way people will listen to him.

SMC is a liar and sweet talker, but he's also a performer and an entertainer. Everything he does is based on 'audience participation'. It's a social art.

Isolated by his own talents, SMC inevitably falls into corruption through a self-made spiral.

He sets the stage to sing truths hidden in sweetened lies, and his audience only watches to see him dance, but by god, they're finally looking at him, and everything feels less lonely.

As time goes on, SMC becomes a creature of habit and is no longer a last-resort performer. He no longer forces himself to don the mask of a fool to garner listeners, and instead, he cares only for shallow company to fill the void of isolation he is so desperate to always be free from. He loses himself to it and falls into corruption, becoming more and more willing to lie to others and himself just to keep a captive audience. It becomes about his emotional needs rather than his logical ones, and his power over others pushes him to go to further extremes to keep them close, becoming exceedingly cruel as a result.

Everything is easier if he lies. He doesn't have to think about the truth or the horrors of it, and everyone will love him if he does.

Throughout the story, everything SMC does screams LOOK AT ME, yet also insecurity and fear. He mocks people in deflection when he's panicked or confused, he gets extremely aggressive when people threaten his imprisonment again, and he demeans PV when talking about how he took his soul jam. Everything he does is an emotional reaction to what seems to be very deep-rooted fears.

Despite his confident persona, SMC is desperate for everything to go his way, and if they don't, he quickly unravels under it all. He needs to be seen, and he needs to be heard, or he might lose himself altogether.

In his story, he never even attempts to kill PV. Instead, he corrupts him to see the world as he does, desperate that the closest thing to him might understand what is now his own truth and that, in this twisted companionship, he will never truly be alone again.

Unlike the Ancients, the Beasts were not 'tested' for their power. They were created with expectations, not proof of function. They fail because of this.

You give a warrior a sword and they slay your enemies, give a child a sword and they slay everyone without caution or understanding.

Or maybe they're just cookies idk.

[richeeduvie]

✭ UNDOING ✭

PART ONE? // The Sickness That is a Daughter

AN ARCANE FIC: JINX AND SILCO (featuring a Sevika who's actually soft for a hot minute??)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.

WORD COUNT: 6.8K

Powder gets very sick, but not sick enough to believe she can't help with every little thing. In his frustrated attempts to convince his ward otherwise, he scares her. Sometimes, the idea that Silco only wants Zaun's respect feels like a fantasy, a lie so tasteful that he almost forgets he likes to be feared.

But not in that moment. Never with her.

(Based on the headcanon that Silco only started to wear makeup to not scare Jinx when she was little Powder. Sorry blog regulars had to pop this one out...probably not gonna write more Arcane stuff but I HAD this idea and I needed to GET IT OUT I'M SORRY LALO AND ROMAN LOVERS…tell me what y’all think tho)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.

Silco never put much thought into how little Powder would feel about his face. At this point in life, people either ignore it or fear him because of it. Sometimes it's a neutral, sometimes an advantage. He makes do with what Vander gave him. The girl only questioned it once, a couple days after he took her in all those months ago. It'll be...

A year and some already. And how he's weakened so readily. There is no guilt in the way Silco came to accept his feelings for her. His child that has so much fire, sometimes he's so desperate to nurture it, but other times, he just wants to watch it burn. It's alright. He'll never go anywhere.

"...What's with the eye?"

He took it as a moment to be cheeky. It wasn't his first day on earth, he remembers what children become comfortable with. It was just...he didn't know why it came easy, the desire to see her, Powder Blue, almost-daughter of brother betrayal, comfortable with him. But it's how he ended up where he is now. An almost father.

He's not going to deny it for the sake of ego. Like his deepening care for Powder, it's not beneficial for him.

If you are to not consider the blooming of his flamed heart and angry, coiling bones beneficial.

"I fell on my cigar."

Silco played it seriously. Powder stared before she giggled. Her knobby arms splayed out on the table as she rested her chin there.

"Come on, I'm not stupid. No WAY you fell on your cigar. Your eye would stink like shit!"

His lips flattened into the first smile he ever gave her.

"Language."

Silco was already natural in his discipline (although with every downward tilt of Powder's head, he finds every consequence for her actions slipping away), even when the corners of himself flashed Vander over him - through the water, holding him down and down and down. And he didn't feel the need to tell Powder the truth about what happened to him, to hurt Vander's blue-haired...scrawny extension. Looking at her toothy smile meant not even a thought of hurting her like that.

Is this what being a parent is? Having someone you never want hurt in a world of fatal things? Why would he do this to himself? Why doesn't he end up claiming it's so he can hone in on her growing, literally explosive talents? Why is it so obvious that it's growing into a braided bond that's noosed around his neck. He'll accept the hanging.

But now...now she's hurt. Sick, at least. In this moment, with the way he's feeling watching Powder tiny in the bed, sweating -- confused, he almost regrets taking her in at all.

How could he choose to feel like he's going to rot and burn all at once at the first, first sight of her in pain? It feels like his own sickness. Who'd choose to feel like death with your body still upright?

Fathers. Even if Silco doesn't think the word yet.

"Powder, where does it hurt the most?"

Silco doesn't blink as Powder turns her body on her side, somehow curled and stretched all at once. Her little, round and bug-eyed - a face he's become familiar with, twists. The familiarity makes a difference with how he wants this over now. He thinks, at least.

"Everywhere."

"Everywhere. All alright. I suppose we'll work with that. When did you start feeling like this, how long was it before you came into my room and told me you weren't feeling well?"

Powder blinks hard, but up at the ceiling instead of Silco. "I was...my throat was sore in the morning, I thought it was gonna go away. It always used to go away when they could find things to make soup. But then I started to get sweaty...even though its cold. Why is it cold? I wanna pull my hair out."

"Your hair is fine where it is. Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

Why did you wait until you were at your absolute worst to crawl into my bed and make me feel like death is coming onto me instead?

Silco noticed that this morning, or yesterday's morning, the way there was no natural cheekiness or child-like intensity, a searing fire that is Powder. What a terrible thing that is. The years will come to pass and the man wonders if she can twist all the things that she is, all the things that will happen to her into something of normalcy. He doesn't think that ideal, they're - she, they're fine as is.

"I told you, I thought it was gonna go bye-bye, like how everything goes away."

Powder sniffles. Silco does not move for a dragging moment, just until he reaches out his thin, cold palm to press to her forehead.

She's burning from the inside.

"Not everything, little girl."

Powder mms. Is it a whine of pain, or a whine of annoyance at the idea she's being corrected? Silco wouldn't know at this point. Maybe one day, when the whole of her grows into something fiery, invasive, jerking, something so insanely nerved, and something he'll always want to take care of to the point where Sevika will see it pointless to mention how much of a problem the girl is.

Silco sighs, eyes closed, ears pierced at the sound of Powder's pained whimpers.

"We'll find you a doctor."

"...A what?"

Silco opens his eyes, head tilting. What? "A doctor, Powder. Because you cannot go five minutes without throwing up, and I'm afraid you'll sweat off a pound you can't afford to lose."

"I don't know what that is. I don't want one."

That's when the man runs his thumb over the sweat of her forehead, wading in the thought that...this - is this really the world the children of Zaun grow up in? He knows it's a hell he's trying to maintain, trying to change for the better, for all of them - so he very much knows that its people aren't going to have the best access to easy, decent health, but he wouldn't have thought it so far that Powder and others wouldn't know what a doctor is.

Unfortunately, he hopes it's her sickly delirium, making her believe she doesn't know what a doctor is. But if not, this is why he's doing what he does, so Zaun can thrive.

Powder coughs. It's nearly manic, all in her throat. Silco kisses her forehead. He doesn't know what else to do because he's not a doctor and might as well have taken his injector and placed it over his heart with the way he's feeling at the sight of her right now.

"We'll make you soup."

It'll be nothing, he won't put Powder in a life where she has to hope that her guardians are able to find things to heal her. That's not a life this wild thing deserves.

Powder coughs again, it's heavy.

"And you'll see a doctor. Or, a doctor will see you. They can only make you feel better. Unless you try to bite them like you did Sevika when she came to check on you, then they'll put you down."

A false meanness that can only bring her smile, or at the very least, a whine without pain.

Powder jolts upright.

"WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT???"

Silco shushes, it feels like a smile on his tongue.

"I'm fooling you, little girl. But I'm not going to beg you to behave nicely once they come."

"I'll pull their hair out if I can't pull out mine. And don't ever lie again."

Powder's not teasing, it's an order for Silco. And he understands, being lied to is the worst feeling - next to what his heart wears now.

He wouldn't underestimate the child as if she couldn't. Or wouldn't.

"Alright, I'll remind them and myself to be on our best behavior."

Powder, limbs mangled and sickly face hardened, simply ploofs right back into the bed, coughing again. She nuzzles her head into Silco's pillows. It's only him observing how she's coating his bed with her sickness. He's not angry or frustrated, he accepts it like he accepts the noose.

"I'm sleeping here tonight."

Silco can't place the exact moment when his ward stopped asking for things and started to take them. He's just aware he's never put much effort into stopping her.

"Am I allowed to say no?"

"No."

He already knew that. Powder didn't ask to sleep in his bed when she crawled into it a few hours ago, he had to realize there was a tiny body tossing and turning in his bed at the sound of terrible coughs and snotty sniffles. Silco wasn't dreaming, so it wasn't as if she was a bother anyway, but since she's grow into his home and life, Powder has found the habit of sleeping at his side when she feels like it.

It crosses a boundary he didn't know was there, but with her nightmares, the bug-eyed little face that walks in against the Zaun's night light...Silco can't deny her.

"You already know how to wear an aura of impose, hm?"

"Of course I do. You should know that already, silly. Don't be silly."

Powder's voice goes high, still child-like in its scratchiness. Silco wears a genuine smile that, although small, is one he can't afford.

"I'll be whatever I want to be and you'll be just fine by tomorrow, or the next day."

If Janna wants peace in this world, Powder will be healthy very soon. Silco will come to hurt the things in front of him, against logic, against morals if it means he can release the pit of what he feels looking at his sick child. But he's not in the wrong.

That's only if she doesn't get better. And she will.

"Don't be silly, silly, silly-"

Powder hacks, Silco smile drops. The way she's spilling her words, there's nothing intentional about it. There isn't the intensity that grows with her in weight and height, it's just...sickness. Sickness growing with every droplet of sweat and clammy glance at him.

"Silly. I'm not silly either-"

"One of our people has been feeding our information to enforcers."

He would've known Sevika was coming down the hall a mile away if it were any other night. He only turns his head, hand resting on Powder's ankle.

"What?"

"Everything went as planned...except for the fact there were about two dozens of those fuckers swarming where the trade was supposed to take place. Your paying customer was trapped, it was hell trying to get to him and fuck, I think he was holding his breath the entire time."

Silco looks to the wall. He feels a tiny but harsh squeeze to his hand on his knee. Sevika stands straight, hand ready to point and fist in her incoming ramble.

"You said Piltover's goons would be one less thing to deal with in terms of trading and building all of this now that we have Marcus's dick choked. I believe it, but there is no possible way that what I had to deal with today was a result of the topside's peachy genius investigation techniques. They had to have gotten a tip, I don't think Marcus has the balls to go against you for the sake of his morals yet."

Silco doesn't make a movement, something natural in an attempt to not reveal what he's thinking.

But he squeezes the tiny, clammy hand over his.

"You sound right. So be right. You'll find out who it is and bring them to me, and you'll get your due for today."

There is a sudden boiling of rage at the idea someone is betraying him. Again, only this time, it'll be so much easier to bring whoever the rat is to justice. So, he won't put so much of his feeling, said rat doesn't deserve his anger. He won't rage in front of Powder.

"We need your...recognizable personality. Some locals took advantage of the situation and stole twenty cases of Shimmer."

"Are you-" Silco stifles his own words. Still, the ability to control his anger in situations like this for Powder hasn't come naturally just yet. "Twenty? The enforcers were the problem. The rat is the problem, but also the fact you can't stop addict gutter trash from thieving our supply?"

"Not gutter trash, Silco. A mid-level gang, you could almost call them an organization."

"Who are you calling gutter trash-"

"Powder, rest."

Sevika shrugs harshly, she might as well act like a child herself and roll her eyes.

"...I'm not calling them gutter trash, that's the whole damn point, kid-"

"She's sick, Sevika."

"Yeah, no shit. She's sicker than before. Her immune system has made her even more of a problem for you, who knew-"

Silco stands. His movement is a as quick as an impulse and his fist is as tight as the way Powder held him the day he found her.

"Sevika, do you forget yourself? When did it become so easy for you to allow yourself excuses. An organization? Oh my. What are we to do but...oh, b-but shiver and crawl into our favorite hiding spaces?" He rolls his shoulders. "Will you continue to lessen your failures by blowing up the egos of our competitors? Or will you do your job and burn them in flame and duty to get back what our networking customers have paid us?"

Sevika stares. Her silence means Silco's harsh, teething words were successful. Productive. As the way of a boss. Her hand drops.

"That's why I need you. You don't think bloodshed was my first thought? It's easy, it gets the job done, but yeah...they're an organization. We get the Shimmer back with blood on our hands and we have the issue of their surviving crew coming after us."

The woman, brown-skinned and harsh-eyed, takes a step or two closer. Silco does not miss the way her sights flicker behind him at Powder's coughing.

No, not coughing.

Rasping. Rattling.

Silco turns to Powder in the bed, sitting back down as quickly as he stood up. His palm engulfs the skin of her cheek.

"Powder, breathe. Cough and breathe. What is wrong?"

"...My throat," The little blue one blinks hard, as if her vision isn't quite there when she doesn't. "My lungs are being silly."

She giggles herself into more rasping. Silco's mouth parts, worry flared at the nose and in the way his usually slicked-back hair falls over. Of course, he doesn't have it gelled in bed. Powder likes to pull on it sometimes when she has sleepy questions concerning dreams or memories. Things that frustrate him in the night, things that are answered with "Why don't you go to bed and figure it out yourself?"

But Silco wants to strangle the feeling at the pit of his chest, the feeling -- the need to make sure she doesn't fall asleep. Why would he not want to her to rest when she's like this?

That's only if something this sickly would make sure she doesn't wake up again, and the thought eats away at me, as if she isn't just a girl I took in only a year ago, my life would go back to what it was before.

"Powder. How about you look at me, hm? What's wrong? Will you tell Silco what's wrong? Powder."

No. No, it wouldn't.

"...We don't have the image or the name right now. You know that, you know we can't just kill whoever we want and expect Zaun to fear to the point of submission. We need time for that. We need to play the waiting game. You go into their spot, make a deal of long-term trading for the twenty cases. They'll see that's a better investment than twenty cases now. We play the submissive for now, and then...we burn them. We burn them when your name grows with whatever empire you fantasize about."

Whatever Sevika's saying, suggesting - Silco knows she's right. It's why she's his number one in his mission, his dream for Zaun. But her plan isn't colored right in his head, it's washed out by the little one. He feels no guilt or frustration over it.

"Are you even listening to me?"

"Fine. But not tonight."

He can feel Sevika's eyes widen and body shrug up in her own frustration.

"Not tonight? They could scab all the supply by tomorrow!"

"It doesn't matter how many cases we get back, does it?" It's venom on the man's tongue. He won't regret it later. "We'll be selling it back to them in your plan of long-term tradings and dealings. So yes. Not tonight. Sniff out the rat and go. Before I change my mind just to punish your failings of today."

Silco press the back of his palm to Powder's cheek and forehead. If she was a fire just ten minutes ago, there's a hell inside her now.

She whimpers. He shushes.

"When I tell you she's becoming a problem, half of the time, I don't mean that as an insult to her. And you know that."

Silco does, but he won't admit it to the one-armed woman who does mean it as an insult to Powder the other half of the time.

"If her fever's so high to the point where she can't understand what's being said around her, then we should've gotten a doctor hours ago. But you can let her rest. She's not going to die within the three hours you're gone-"

"Sevika. Do not assume what I'm thinking. It isn't smart. Nor needed."

"I can help."

Somehow - and suddenly, Powder's sitting up. She almost falls over, she would've if Silco didn't hold her by the shoulders. He squeezes them, head coming lower.

She can barely hold her own head up, let alone her whole body.

"We can all go. We don't have to wait for a millionnnn years, Sevika. That's stupid. And I do know what's being talked around me. I know because I can tell you that we can just make em' go.....boom."

He didn't think he'd have to deal with Powder's need to be needed tonight. The vomit, the rotting fear, and the coil of seeing her sick, something going wrong with the deal? Yes, he could handle and assume all those things would be things to deal with, but the little girl's so sick that Silco didn't possibly think she'd manage to bring up her extreme desire to be useful, to have anything to do if it means her guardian trusts her.

He doesn't know when he noticed Powder's need to be needed, but it's trickled into the business end of his life. Always the little girl asking for him to bring her bombs along just in case they're needed, and she's always hoping things get dire enough that they will be.

Maybe his feelings will change later on, but there's nothing much he feels comfortable with having her do. To pick her satisfaction over her safety is something Silco has done on more one occasion, but not tonight.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Powder, you have to rest for when the doctor comes. And what has happened tonight...one day,"

It feels natural, need to lower his head more and press his forehead against hers. Blue against black.

"One day, you'll set every fire that is needed. But not tonight. That doesn't mean your work is put to waste...but you need to rest."

"...No. I can go. I can bring the bombs I showed you, I can-"

"No. You can't. I think you're aware of that, child-"

Even though she's a sickly sixty-pounder, Silco finds it difficult to hold her down by the shoulders when she fights against him.

"No! I can help, I promise! Do you think I'm gonna-I'm gonna ruin everything?!"

"No, Powder. I don't doubt that you can be of use, but you're sick, and we're not going tonight anyhow."

His convincing feels genuine, it feels like a second talent, but Powder doesn't take. She squirms - Silco's nearly thankful Sevika doesn't take this moment to mutter or sigh, his frustration boils with every weak fist his child throws at him.

"You're lying! You think I'm gonna ruin everything!"

"I never said that, who's the liar now? Is it still me? You-"

He exhales low when trying to put her down into the bed. "You need rest. You know everything hurts, you know you can barely get out of my bed. You're not stupid, Powder, so stop pretending you are."

"You're only not going tonight because of me! I'm already ruining it! I don't want to! I promise I don't! I can stop being sick-"

She's right about why Silco has no thought of leaving tonight. Sevika might agree with the child for the first time since she's taken home here.

"Powder. Enough."

Her head jolts suddenly, off to side...as if something on the bed has interrupted her breaking tantrum. It happens sometimes, she'll be talking to him, it's a conversation that's not turning to be an enjoyable one, and then...she'll be looking past him, or behind herself - like someone's shouting her name, as if she can see ghosts.

Who doesn't? But if Silco were to turn back to see whatever Powder's looking at, he always thinks he'll see a monster of hell himself. That's how real Powder's tension comes to when she's like this.

"Shut up! Shut up! I know I am! I'm trying not to! That's why I want to go! Aren't you listening to me?!"

She breaks free from Silco's grasp, pushing her body back into the headboard. It sounds harsh. All so harsh and pained for a girl who shouldn't even be sitting upright.

What she's never done when she's like this is talk. Silco doesn't think she's screaming at him.

"Go away! Get away from us!"

This girl is so much more than he could imagine. It's the worst thing. The best thing. He'll see. It doesn't matter anyhow.

But here, it's the worst. It's Powder terrified and rageful at whatever's colored the room, whatever she can only see. He can admit it. He doesn't have the faintest idea of what to do. But he needs to see her stop screaming, stop acting like she's in pain.

His heart can't handle it.

"You know what? I'll call a doctor."

Sevika's off in quick, heavy footsteps. Silco runs his hand through his hair, standing up and over Powder.

"Powder. That's enough. Whatever you're hearing, ignore it. You need rest, it's no use..." He couldn't know now. He'll have to learn, and still, he won't regret this. This girl, even if her insecurities kill him with a heartbreak he would have never had in his lifetime. "Arguing with them. It's pointless."

"Just take me with you! Please." Powder puts her hand over hear ears. "Or at least my bombs? Please!"

"No. I told you. I'm not going. That is final. And do not make this about you and your false ideas of destruction. I choose to stay. You are my responsibility. That is not a fault. It is a fact. I get to decide what I prioritize. Not Sevika. Not you. Do you understand?"

Tears fall from her grey bug eyes. It's only his frustration that allows Silco to not turn into a pond at the sight. He stands tall.

The order gets the girl to look at him, it feels like a stand-off. Not just between him and her.

And she's lost when she flinches, eyes squeezing shut with all the frustration her little body can hold.

"SHUT UP! THEY'RE SAYING YOU'RE LYING! THAT YOU'RE A LIA-"

"THAT'S ENOUGH!"

Silco, in the piercing silence, doesn't realize how close he's gotten to Powder's face in his shout. Their noses nearly touch.

Her eyes are open, only to flinch again when she stare back into his. It's not the air she's yelled into. It's him, it's all him.

He's sure of it when Powder attempts to look him in the eyes - the eye again, only to whimper and turn away, like something horrible will happen if she's to stare at it for too long.

It's a fatal whimper, a fatal avoidance of him and the eye, the monstrosity he's come to embrace at his iris, at his soul...it's fatal. It kills whatever strength he had to distance himself from her.

It's fatal to his strength in general. He's hurt. Janna forbid, Janna who hates his soul so, he's hurt at her fear.

"Powder. Look at me."

There was a point after Vander's betrayal, after his recovery that Silco couldn't dare to look at a mirror. He despised what his brother in arms turned his face into, but no...in a way, he can thank the false friend for what he did. The breaking and poisoning of his eye only revealed what Silco was underneath.

A body to be imposing. Feared. Respected. All for the man who wanted to see Zaun freed from Piltover. But for the first time since, Silco can't handle the thought of being seen a monster.

Not with his little one.

It's grating, the growing panic at the way she won't look at him.

"Will you look at the man who wants to give you everything?"

It's the first time he's admitted it by word and not just by thought. He gets down on one knee, inhaling sharp when Powder flinches under his hand touching her shoulder.

She lies flat on the bed, turning over. They sit in the heavy silence for a bit. Silco, smooth in word as he is, can't do much but curse his panic and hurt.

"I want to give you everything. Will you let me, Powder? Will you let the old man give you everything you want?"

She wants to be needed. Trusted. He'll find a way, not knowing that he's never had the same desire - except with her.

"...A doc's coming. One of the...medicinal kind, if you understand what I'm saying."

Silco closes his eyes when he hears the rasping grow from Powder again.

"Did you hear Sevika? Someone's coming to make sure you feel better. You'll feel better, and you'll stop scaring me so, hm? We'll stop scaring each other."

He sighs when the only response is more rasping, his forehead falls against her back. Her shirt is cold with sweat.

The three of them fail to move until Silco half-heartedly decides it's time to fall away from the girl after a waiting minute or so, give her some time alone before the doctor comes. But it's possible she won't be alone, he doesn't know how to fix that. Except to be the real thing in the room with her.

"Those types of healers, they're vials are expensive."

Silco stands and turns to Sevika, already at the doorway with his arms very, very slightly bend at his sides. "That concerns me how?"

"Kids get sick. It's not the end of the world, she might be better by tomorrow if you knock her out right now."

Silco will not accept the word might when it comes to Powder. Never.

"You can go, if you want."

He puts his hands behind his back. Sevika's brow furrows.

"What?"

"You don't need me, only my word. If you want to be fun with it, play it as if you're going behind my back. I'm sure growing drug empires that happen to be made of gutter trash don't appreciate loyalty as much as I do."

Silco leaves her there, no care the woman's in his personal chambers. He needs to be sure the girl will never come to fear him again, because what happened tonight can never happen again.

There's not enough people in his path to bury the rage in if it does.

For now, it's a wall when he turns the corner. He can't know Sevika keeps herself watching Powder's rattling body curled on his bed.

She sighs, walking over. She could know how the tiny, blue-haired soul of sickness and pale-born tragedy blinks in confusion. She knows the weight creaking on the bed isn't Silco's.

"I know what it's like to be a daughter, kid. Most women do. Sometimes...sometimes daughters are problems. You can't beat it. And it doesn't mean anything to the people who love you most of the time. You'll see." Sevika leans forward, elbows on her knees. "What I'll have to deal with that man in the years to come if he doesn't make the right decision of booting you out of our lives is what you'll see so clearly. You'll be so fucking happy. Peached. Watch."

Sevika looks down. Because fathers never make the right decision. They never care about the problem that is a child that latches onto you and pulls down into the water until your lungs drown. They don't even think to regret it when it becomes their end.

It'd be beautiful if it wasn't so stupid.

"I hope when you get better, you make it so you're less of a problem for me. Hopefully, all this sickness is making you feel for a more grateful approach to what you have."

Sevika gets up, bed creaking under her again.

"You better not tell Silco I sat on his bed."

She leaves in silence, both in lack of word and thought. Powder curls.

"I will."

✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・

Silco sits in his chair, holding up the compact. He can't remember the last time he cared to use this. He stares into the orange flame of his eye, blinking at the mirror.

There's no embarrassment when powdering on the foundation. He simply covers the rot of his eyelid and cheek. If this is what it takes for Powder to not be afraid of him, then so be it. It doesn't even matter if it was only because the situation was a cocktail of anger and already well-born fear. He won't take the chance.

Silco can't waste his time remembering when he'd be so strong to have never cared in the first place. He can't trust little Powder to stay strong at the sight of his scar, but he can let her know he is to be trusted. Always.

He patters it along the skin until it almost looks like...the face of an approachable man. Huh.

"Ta-da."

There's no tone but a lack there of in his voice. He stands up, taking his injector out of his pocket and into the hall.

The doctor, the healer said Powder was infected with a quick-acting virus, nothing too dangerous as long as the needed medicine is regularly given over the course of a few days. Silco didn't take it with smiles and praise. No, not when the little one was out of it for the entire check-up. He trusted the doctor to be right, but it didn't change the fact that seeing her so ill meant a loss of logic on his head and heart.

Silco, on his way to his room, stops at the doorway of Powder's. It's a moment that sits with him.

He opens the door, looking at the colored, messy space that is hers. It's decorated with drawings (the walls and papers all over the floor). There's no chance Vander ever thought to teach her to make a bed. Silco's not sure he could get her to learn now.

But the bombs strewn about the floor are what truly belongs to the girl's mind. With every passing day and chance he takes on her, Silco can see the fire of her brain, what destruction she's able to take on with every creation.

"You, you, you, little girl."

It's a prize. Her mind is prize. There is even no even when it comes to Powder and her mind, there is not fault he can accept with a "despite". No, it's just her that he'll watch grow into something bigger than what he could know now.

He picks up one of her bombs, studies it in the light of Zaun. The room's getting cramped, he'll have to find her a space for her toys.

The one he's picked up is pink, butterflies and monkeys doodled all over what could kill an entire building of people with a pull of its string. What's under his shoe is a drawing.

Of him. Or he thinks. It's obvious her true talent lies in her explosives. But it's a man suited in red and black, one eye bright with orange and hair pushed back.

Silco does not smile, he just picks the drawing up. He folds it into his pocket. He leaves Powder's room, her bomb in one hand and the injector in the other.

"Janna! Silco, sorry."

Sevika's always in a hurry, she's nearly slammed into him on his way out into the hall.

"Gonna get rid of the kid with her own stuff? I never mentioned to be that cruel-"

"I tell you. Do not forget yourself." The woman stills, licking her lips. It's defeat on her face. "You are going?"

"Yeah. I'm going. And I thought about your jab. It works. If I pretend this is me going behind your back, they might feel inclined to not pull this shit again when their dealings gotta be dealt under your nose."

Silco smirks, although half of his face can't give into his knowing amusement. "That is a benefit. Yes. But there's been a change of plans." He hands Sevika the bomb. "You'll play for a moment or two, let them think they're on top. Everyone deserves something like that before they're blown into mist."

Sevika's head jolts in a tilt.

"Wait. No. That's not what we agreed. That goes against everything about what we planned-"

"What you came up with. And it was the best idea of the hour. But I thought on it...you want the name, Sevika? You'd like our image seared into the minds of our enemies, present and eventual?"

Silco closes her palm over Powder's creation.

"You give them a show."

The woman can't bear to look at him. Silco can't bear to care. "We don't need to play waiting games when we have ticking time bombs. Any Zaunite organization with half a brain won't think to do us misjustice after it's shown we’ll blow any wrongdoers to pieces. And if they do end up at the door with all those misjustices...see the previous statement."

Silco's off to his room, there's no argument to be lost on him there. His hand tightens over his injector when he reaches the door.

He does understand wanted to be needed to certain extents. Zaun did not ask for him specifically in their quest for freedom, he put himself in the role of a revolutionary because he had to.

His understanding, his need to see Powder happy is why he turns the injection device over in his hand as he pushes the door open.

He creeps into his own bed, careful not to wake the girl with a bounce and tumble out of it. He leans up against the headboard, hands on his lap with his legs straightened out in his sitting up.

He looks to the sleeping child beside him.

"Powder. I have something for you to do for me."

Silco's aware he's stated that she should be asleep. But assuming a restless little girl is awake instead of off in a dream is the smart thing.

"M' not Powder."

"No? Who are you then?"

Powder, or apparently not-Powder, rolls her head. Maybe she's sleeptalking through her dreams, actually.

"M' a...Jinx. M' Jinx. No Powder."

Silco's head leans back, eyes still on her. "Ah, I see. Or...we'll see about that. Jinx or Powder, I have something for you." He watches her turns over, eyes close, palms rested into a gentle fist.

"Sevika sat on your bed."

Most definitely sleeptalking a dream. He taps her nose. Her eyes blink open. For the sake of his heart, he'll ignore the drying tears.

"Would you like to help me with my eye?"

Powder blinks again, this time in confusion. "Your eye? It looks..."

The man lets head tilt down at her. "It looks what?"

Cleaner.

Powder sits up. "Nothing. I don' know. What about your eye?"

"You've seen me with this before, yes?" Silco gestures to his injector. She nods. "This is what I use to put medicine into my eye. I need it to lessen the pain. I can do it, but lately I've been struggling. These types of device require steady hands, accurate hands. Would you like to do it for me? For tonight?"

He nearly regrets this whole ordeal when Powder jumps up as if her lungs weren't rattling away a hour ago.

"Powder! Calm yourself, this is not what you do to get you better. Do you remember what the doctor said-"

Powder snatches the injector from Silco, studying it over above her head. "Duh! I can help-" She begins to hack.

Maybe this should've been saved for the morning, just like how he won't tell her about the use of her bomb until then. When she can fully take in the praise and pride of the moment.

"Powder. Breathe. This can wait til tomorro-"

"NO!"

Powder sniffles after her short but powered cry, like even she understand that was an intensity she shouldn't have allowed herself.

"I can do it now and then we can go to bed."

We. Silco's lips thin like he'll smile.

"Alright. Come closer, follow my instructions."

She does, her knees press into his thigh. When he's guiding her tiny, still clammy hand over his eye socket, Silco realizes it isn't the brightest idea to give a small child a needle to inject into his literal eyeball.

But it'll be her satisfaction over his safety now, he supposes.

"You place it right here, just let it rest for a bit. And then you'll push this." The man puts Powder's other hand over the end of the injector. "It works as a syringe, if you've ever seen one."

"I used to find them on the street all the time! Vander almost knocked out when I stepped on one and started to feel funky. Turned out it was just something called a coincidence. It was just dinner from the night before."

Huh. Her mentions of Vander have lessened, but not died not. Silco doesn't know how to feel about that.

"You have a habit of making your guardians take care of your terrible illnessness?"

But he will not deny her the mention at this time.

Powder shrugs.

"I guess. Now. Do I push in?"

Silco prepares himself, breathing in. "When you're ready-"

And maybe the girl's never not ready, because she just needled his eye with no hesitation, but it was precise. Silco grips the sheets as the shimmer bleeds into him. He won't scare Powder in his rage or in his pain. He does not grunt or groan.

After the pain subsides, Silco looks to Powder staring up at him. Waiting. Nervous. Sitting on her calves.

"...Did I do good?"

"You did very well. You're a natural."

He goes to grab his injector from the girl, but she pulls it to her chest. She ploofs on the bed, eyes already closing.

"Goodnight, Silco."

Silco blinks. He didn't think to make it a patterned thing for her, just tonight - to make her feel better after his slew of mistakes and whatever her head put her through.

"I'll need that back at some point."

"No."

Powder doesn't even shift. Silco sighs.

If Sevika wants to go on about problems with Powder, this is the only one, cause he will need it back at some point and the idea to deny her this isn't a strong one.

"There will be days where you won't be able to do it. Nothing wrong with that, but I don't expect you to do it everyday."

"I don't think so. Goodnight."

Her hand tighten around the injector. As tiny as they are, Silco doesn't think he'd be able to take them from her if he tried.

He sighs, putting the deep-red blanket over her.

He kisses the blue of her hair.

"Goodnight, Powder."

Silco goes to lie beside her, a sleep falling on him so quickly and he won't know that's the exhaust of being a father.

He won't know the closed-eyed smile his little one gives besides him, as smirked as his few can be.

[cybershock24601]

A woman who openly dislikes you also being basically the only person who speaks up from you is absolutely brain breaking. Especially bc with Illario it's like, it would be easy to fit in his worldview if she was a conquest or in some way attracted to him or something but she is very much not. Everything about their relationship suggests that the best behavior he can expect from her towards him is bare minimum civility and that is shown in most aspects of their interactions so what's it mean that "bare minimum civility" is treating him better than most of the people in his life.

Rook and Illario's relationship is insane to me because as I've said before my Rook was the one who advised Lucanis to lock Illario up for what at the end of the day were political reasons and absolutely gives him shit when he deserves it but is also the only person in Villa Dellamorte to really have Illario's back in a lot of ways.

Lucanis and Illario's relationship is so defined by Caterina's treatment and abuse of them that Lucanis is never going to be able to speak up for Illario when he can't even speak up for himself and I can see a young child who sees the safety in being the favorite not really wanting to risk losing that favor by stepping out of line and also starts to subconsciously rationalize and internalize Illario's harsh treatment from Caterina as Illario just not being as good as Lucanis. So much of Lucanis and Illario's dynamic was solidified as children and as neither one of them really had anyone close to them aside from each other there was never anything to really shake up their dynamic or cause them to really question it because that's just the way things are.

Enter Rook, especially a Rook who is not a Crow, who through their relationship with Lucanis is drawn into the family and gets to have a real good look at what the fuck is wrong with House Dellamorte. Rook's probably really quick to pick up on how Illario is treated in the family and sure Rook is pissed at him for what he's done to Lucanis and thinks he's an absolute idiot for working with the Venatori like he did, they still extend Illario empathy and some basic human decency which is so much more then Illario is used to.

Sure Illario can be an idiot sometimes but that doesn't make the way Illario is treated by his family right. I also think Rook - or that very least my Rook who has some similar issues of acting like a fool to keep people's expectations low so as to not to disappoint them when she can't live up to said expectations - starts to see through the mask of the carefree philanderer Illario wears and how much of his behavior stems from just playing into the low expectations everyone has of him. Rook, who is generally a pretty kind and empathetic person, would take it upon themselves to start calling out Caterina and Lucanis when they're being overly dismissive of Illario both as a person and an assassin because their behavior towards him can be really uncalled for a lot of the time and that just isn't right and Rook is definitely starting to get why things played out the way they did between Illario and Lucanis. Not that Rook is giving Illario a pass at all but Rook can acknowledge that Illario's actions did not come out of nowhere.

Illario who has grown up never expecting anyone to have his back is floored. Yes, Illario could trust that Lucanis would always back him up on a job but Lucanis would never really intercede on his behalf with Caterina, or at least if Lucanis ever did that was an impulse that was killed long ago probably due to Caterina's cane. So the fact that Rook who clearly isn't a fan of him is speaking up to her is mind blowing and Illario cannot make heads or tails of why Rook would do that. Not just talk back to Caterina because Rook has likely been speaking up for Lucanis' sake already which is an insane thing to do in the first place, but the fact that Rook is willing to do so for Illario just doesn't make any sense no matter how Illario looks at it because Rook just being a kind person is not a motive Illario is capable of considering. Illario spends a lot of late nights puzzling over what 5D chess game Rook is playing and what she must want to be doing all this.

Rook calling out Lucanis is also something that would stump Illario because it is clear Rook is head over heels for Lucanis so why would she potentially cause friction in her own relationship just for Illario's sake. Even stranger is that after several late night conversations behind closed doors between Rook and Lucanis, Lucanis' behavior towards Illario starts to change. It really freaks Illario out because why the fuck is Lucanis being so nice to him, is he dying??? Illario would wonder if he was possessed but he knows Lucanis is and the demon hates Illario's guts so what is going on?? It would probably take Lucanis and Illario some time to find a good equilibrium in their relationship as they start reconciling and unpacking the hurts in their past that lead to everything that happened because what Illario did was wrong and he knows that by now but it's nice to have Lucanis acknowledge just how much constantly being sidelined and considered second best hurt.

I think the real turning point in their relationship would be that the first time Lucanis stands up to Caterina is for Illario's sake. Illario had thought that if anything would get Lucanis to talk back to Caterina it would be Rook so the fact that the first person Lucanis really took an actual stand against Caterina for was Illario is inconceivable to him considering how the entirety of their lives have played out. It also brings up some lingering bitterness with no real target that Lucanis couldn't have done this before everything that happened between them and told Caterina that he didn't want to be First Talon. Things are still complicated between those boys and they always will be but they are getting better and it's pretty clear that Rook was the instigator for a lot of it.

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Devil's Night: Part One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.3k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Summary: Halloween makes its way around again, and you and Spencer are preparing for the best holiday (according to Spencer). He keeps you busy with decorating while he makes arrangements of his own, arrangements that will completely change both of your lives for the better.

Season Six Masterlist

Author's Note: I know Devil's Night is usually the night before Halloween, but for the sake of this rewrite, Devil's Night is the weekend before.

x

"If an injury has to be done to a man, it should be so severe that his vengeance need not be feared." - Niccolo Machiavelli

October is special for two reasons: Spencer's birthday and Halloween. Spencer's birthday was last week but the team was on a case so you really couldn't celebrate. That doesn't mean you didn't sneak out of your hotel room and give Spencer mind-blowing sex that night. Derek and Emily roomed together to allow you and Spencer to be together. You just haven't had time to celebrate outside of that. It's why you're going to plan something for this weekend because next weekend is Halloween.

Spencer did most of the decorating in the apartment, littering it with Halloween decorations, fake spider webs, fake blood stickers, and other creepy shit. Halloween is Spencer's time of the year while yours is Christmas. You can't wait to decorate the apartment for that holiday. You walk into the kitchen, push aside the spiderweb that's hanging on the corner of the doorframe, and head to the coffee machine.

You're in the middle of pouring Spencer's cup of coffee when you feel arms snake around your waist. His lips find the expanse of your neck, and you roll it to the side to give him more access.

"Good morning," he mutters.

"Good morning." You turn and wrap your arms around his neck. "Happy birthday, baby."

"My birthday was last week."

"I know. I just need to say it before our big event this weekend."

"Which is what?"

"Like I'm going to tell you and ruin the surprise." You lean up and kiss him. "So, how does it feel being thirty?"

"I'm twenty-nine."

"Same difference," you giggle.

He kisses you and pushes you against the kitchen island. If you continue, you're going to be late for work and the last time you were, Hotch almost had your heads.

"We can't be late again or else Hotch will kill us."

"It'll be worth it," he mumbles as he kisses down your neck.

"Spencer," you moan. "Come on, we gotta go. I promise we'll have time for this later." He pulls away from you, and you finish with both of your coffees. "So, is your costume ready for next week?"

"Yes. Is yours?"

"Of course. I'm excited. I've never been to a party thrown by Rossi. I hear his house is huge. It should be fun!"

Rossi threw one last year but you weren't able to make it. Everyone on the team is invited including their families and a few other people Rossi knows. You're excited to show off your costumes since you and Spencer are dressing up as Jack and Sally from Nightmare Before Christmas since it's both your favorite holidays rolled into one movie. Even Hotch and Jack are going since afterward, they will go out Trick or Treating with JJ, Will, and Henry.

Before you two can walk into work, Spencer pulls out a transparent mask so he can scare whoever will be his first and only victim. Emily passes by as soon as you walk through the glass doors, and she laughs at the mask instead of fearing it.

"Please don't tell me that's your Halloween mask for next week."

"No, it isn't."

"What are you two doing this weekend?"

"We're going to celebrate Spencer's birthday but that won't take the whole weekend. We'll probably prepare for trick-or-treaters after Rossi's party."

"The cool thing about Halloween is that it's a uniquely American holiday." Spencer takes off his mask and walks with you two to the briefing room. "I mean, despite its obvious origins in the Celtic Festival of Samhain and the Christian All Saints Day, it really is a melting pot of various immigrants' traditions and beliefs." You three walk into the briefing room where Rossi and Derek and they see the look of faux annoyance on Emily's face. "It became a little more commercialized in the 1950s with trick-or-treating, and today it rivals only Christmas in terms of popularity."

"All I asked was what they were doing this weekend," she says and sits down.

"I'm toying with the notion of either going to the Edgar Allan Poe Shadow Puppet T or the reenactment of the 19th century Phantasmagoria."

"I don't want to know," Rossi shakes his head.

"Oh, yeah, you do." You love it when he speaks so passionately about things. "Phantasmagorias are these amazing pre-cinema projected ghost shows invented in France, where the showman attempted to spook the audience using science magic." Penelope walks in with files in her hands. "It just so happens that I have an extra ticket."

"Reserved for me, no doubt," you grin and kiss his cheeks.

"Guys, I wouldn't have to worry about losing my feminine curves if you all paid more attention to all the trees we're consuming around here," Penelope says and passes out the files.

"When did you become an eco-freak?"

"Baby, I was born green."

"You're going to Detroit. Arson investigators have noticed a three-year trend in the week leading up to Halloween. Devil's Night. This unsub is only killing the week before Halloween every year."

"How's he doing it?"

"He's burning his victims alive," Hotch answers. "He's abducting seemingly random people and dumping their bodies in abandoned parts of town. He struck again last night."

"Yeah, Tony Torrell who was forty. He lives in the suburbs but he was found twenty miles away in the Rivertown District," Penelope says.

"He's attacking the city at its most vulnerable time. What does he do during the rest of the year?"

"He's dormant."

"You know, arsonists are typically white males between seventeen and twenty-five who can't stay away from fire. They're addicted to it, there is no rehab, and they target dwellings, not people," Spencer explains.

"So, you're saying he burns his victims alive but he's not an arsonist?"

"Fire is simply his weapon, and Devil's Night gives him the perfect cover to kill."

"Seeing how the week is almost over, he's got forty-eight hours before he disappears again."

"His last victim was athletic. He wouldn't be easy to subdue. The offender must be just as strong or might have an upper hand if he's younger."

"Still, how does he transport his victims across the city and get them inside buildings without being noticed?" Emily asks.

"That's for us to figure out. Wheels up in twenty."

Once everyone is on the plane, the pilot takes off, preparing for the two-hour flight.

"I thought Devil's Night was Halloween Eve," Emily says.

"The moniker 'Devil's Night' is somewhat deceiving. In Detroit, it's actually a week citywide cultural phenomenon complete with masks, chaos, and costumes."

"It sounds like Mardi Gras if it went on longer."

"Yeah, a violent one. Vandals and amateur arsonists literally set hundreds of fires. It's devastating."

"Who burns their own city?" Rossi asks.

"It started as pranks in the 1930s but escalated in the 1970s with disenfranchised youth. Given today's economy, it's a free-for-all. They've got record-breaking unemployment and foreclosures leaving a lot of displaced, desperate people. Every single one of these victims suffered unimaginable pain," Spencer explains.

"I'm sure that's what gets him off, watching them burn."

"It gives him power and control. The top of the list is first responders--firefighters, arson investigators, cops, and paramedics. Civil servants with a hero complex all of whom will be helping us."

"This guy is angry... I don't think I've ever seen a level of burns like this. Have you seen the pictures?"

You hate looking at pictures of burn victims. Those are the ones you can't help. Your abilities are useless when it comes to fire. It burns through everything, including energy. You feel totally and utterly helpless.

"Extreme anger usually manifests from a quick temper but this guy is patient. I'm gonna ask Garcia to notify us the minute that someone's reported missing."

"A victim a day... That's seven victims every year while he plans the rest of it."

"There's a flaw in his plan this year. We know about it. Alright, Prentiss, Y/N, and Morgan go to the crime scene. Dave, Reid, and I will go to the morgue."

"I'd like to go to the morgue if that's okay," you say. "Fire burns through energy. I won't be able to do much at the crime scene. I might be able to get more off the body even though it is burned. It was still a human."

"Okay, Reid, go with Prentiss and Morgan."

You leave the plane with Hotch and Rossi to the Detroit Fire Department headquarters since they are in charge of the operation. The fire chief, Al Garner, waits eagerly for your arrival.

"We're stretched as it is, but we've set up a joint task force with the Detroit PD to catch this guy. I'd say don't profile me, but you're in a roomful of suspects, right?"

"A city full."

"Victims are abducted across every socioeconomic divide. The problem is, we've gotta catch up and we know he's going to be watching this year. We've got three agents on the way to last night's crime scene."

"Great. I'll meet them there. I hope we find something soon. It gets dark early this time of year."

"We're heading to the morgue."

"I hope you have a strong stomach," Al sighs.

A strong stomach isn't enough to have. The body is so badly burned that you can't determine if it was a man or a woman or what color skin the person had. Everything is a charred black. You put gloves on and delicately touch the face, allowing the person's energy to paint a not-so-pretty picture of what happened. Tony, the victim, is dragged through what looks like a warehouse of sorts only to be chained from the ceiling. The unsub throws gasoline onto Tony and lights him on fire without so much as a hint of remorse.

"Was gasoline the accelerant?" Hotch asks.

"Gas vapors collect in a low, enclosed space. When he ignited, those vapors burned down to his bone. We call this a fourth-degree burn."

"There's a fracture on the back of his skull," Rossi notices about Tony. "Was that postmortem?"

"No, it was antemortem bruising. He was struck from behind."

"What's this on his face?" Hotch asks.

"Charred fabric. All of the victims have the same material on them. The fire fused the original garment to his flesh, then burned away, leaving behind these remains."

"He's covering their faces?"

"That's my best guess, yes."

"He doesn't want his victims looking at him even though he wants to watch them die. It could be a sign of guilt or inadequacy," you state.

"Wouldn't a guy like this want to see the terror in their eyes? Instead, he keeps them in the dark."

"He's covering their faces and setting them on fire. It's an execution."

In the past, there used to be six or seven hundred fires the fire department would have to put out on Devil's Night, but the number has gone down drastically to a little over a hundred. The city is reeling from budget cuts so the Detroit Police Department hasn't always been able to patrol the Rivertown District so they recruit volunteers to man the street for them. That adds about a thousand more names to Penelope's list of suspects. You can't rule anyone out.

There's a reason why the unsub chose the place he did to set his victims on fire. It's completely isolated not only from the rest of the world but from the main road. He can beat, torture, and burn someone without anyone hearing it. It happens to be an old engine factory which is massive and medieval. It pumped out more cars than any place in the world but it's now used as a killing ground for the unsub.

Apart from the place where Tony was hung and burned, there is a char pattern on the ground leading away from the post. It's likely the unsub stood there to watch Tony burn. It's not the best vantage point to watch someone burn since there are parts in the way but it is close to the exit, and the unsub needs an exit plan when dealing with fire. Fire is unpredictable and will kill anything in its path.

The only thing is, the fire alarm went off, and Al's men were there in five minutes. However, the unsub was already gone which means he knows the response times for the fire department. This unsub doesn't leave anything to chance so he knows exactly how long he gets with his victims. He either knows response times personally or he listens for them over trial and error.

Derek, Emily, and Chief Al aren't back yet so you decide it's the best time to grab a. cup of coffee. The break room is in the back corner, isolated from everything else. There are glass walls that people can look through but you're not worried about it. You pour yourself a cup when Spencer walks into the break room.

"Hey, baby."

"Can I talk to you?"

"Yeah, what's up?" Spencer waits for you to set your coffee down to take your hands and turns you to face him. "Is everything okay?"

"Everything is more than okay," he grins.

"Then why are you so nervous? You're making me nervous."

"Listen, I've been... I've been thinking about this for... wow, a while. Well, I.. I only got the courage to do it now. But it's been on my mind a while now..."

The door to the break room opens and Derek pops his head in.

"Reid, Y/N, let's get started."

"Right. We can talk later, right?" you ask.

"Yeah," Spencer stutters.

You leave the break room with your coffee and Derek looks at Spencer in disbelief.

"Were you gonna do it now?"

"Is that wrong?"

"Kid, she deserves something a bit more than a random break room in a random fire department hundreds of miles from your home."

"Right, I'm dumb," Spencer shakes his head.

"No, you're not. You're nervous. She's gonna say yes. Just speak from the heart. Come on."

x

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[madamemiz]

y'know what i find interesting about sun now that hw2 is out?

i've seen various interpretations of him since the game's release with all the new dialogue and scenes we got ranging from "stressed and in bad need of a cigarette and a three year vacation" to "petty bitch" to "caring but pushed to his limit" and like

the thing is, they're all right

he probably played favorites with some of the kids--cassie's testament combined with his general mannerisms certainly make me think so. sun is a little mean to the player character. he insults you, he talks down to you, he treats you like you don't have two brain cells to rub together when you screw up. in the carousel level, he's clearly begrudging that he can't simply do the job himself. he is petty and he is stressed and he is frustrated

you'd think, then, that sun would happily let moon do what he will with the human employees he clearly detests, with the kids that obviously frustrate him. you'd think he'd make good on his threats to turn off the lights himself, to let these people get what they deserve. how many times have we dreamed of petty revenge on the shitty customers and coworkers we've had to deal with in our jobs?

he doesn't. instead, he resigns himself to a life of isolation to keep moon in check, doing whatever he can to keep anyone else from getting hurt or dying. despite all his hot air, sun cares. deeply, selflessly. when we see him during the ruin segments of hw2, he's shaking in fear, hiding in scant light he has access to in his and moon's horrible room, out of easy reach from most, trying in the only way he can to keep more tragedy from occurring. he knows how bad his situation is; he's acutely aware of it in a way most of the other animatronics don't seem to be. his actions speak far louder than his words, and god knows he has plenty to say

sun is a deeply flawed person who tries to do good in spite of it all, and to me, that's fascinating

[sayakxmi]

Saiouma Puella Magi AU, but Kokichi takes Madoka's role and Shuichi takes Homura's.

For one, Kokichi's too naturally distrustful to just hear "I can grant you any wish :)" and not think ok where's the hook. So he just does what no one ever has & essentially interrogates Kyubey, so he knows it all even before he gets to make a contract. So, some of his classmstes are MGs & he won't become one himself BUT he still ends up tagging along to just protect them in his Kokichi ways. (Though I'm entertaining Kokichi lying about being a magical girl, because, well, it's Kokichi).

(I also got a small idea of Gonta being a magical girls and Kokichi originally tagging along him into labyrinths, Gonta also makes him a magic gun from the toy one he had, and at some point witches out & Kokichi manages to kill him with that gun. So he always has that spare Grief Seed on himself, bc it's still his best friend & he can't handle the idea of just giving it away or using it himself (he does anyway in the end).)

Shuichi prolly ends up being a new kid & it isn't like MadoHomu, the ppl who reach him first are Kaede & Kaito, classic. Kokichi's there, too, but he's his usual sus self. He's actually discouraging ppl from making a contract when they find out magic and miracles are real, which absolutely includes Shuichi. He's very vocal abt it, but he won't explain stutf, bc 1) he's a liar, so who'd believe him? and 2) he doesn't want them to witch out upon finding out the truth or, idk, murder everybody Mami-style.

Anyway, fast forward, bad things happen bingo & by the end of the run most charas are dead, there's Walpurgis nachting, and he makes his wish to bring back the ppl who died notably not as magical girls. Contract signed, he fights & fails, rip. I also thought it was similar to how he thought he could end the killing game by himself - he though he could finish Walpurgisnacht by himself, too. And he failed in both times. Whatevs.

Shuichi doesn't actually make his time travel wish for Ouma specifically, he wants to save all his friends. Timelines are messy esp at first bc he either tells then or it backfires or just makes himself look very sus bc he's trying not to tell them. He also realizes why Kokichi hadn't told anybody aby witches at some point, bc, yeah, it messes them a lot, assuming they believe it.

Still, Kokichi ends up one of the few people who are nearly always giving him a chance, not necessarily out of belief, but out of pragmatism - bro can stop time & knows the truth, that's just too useful. So they often work together & Shuichi grows closer to him but still we ain't there yet. But the thing is, Shuichi's time travel still makes Kokichi more & more powerful with each timeline, bc Shuichi usually goes back after Kokichi dies, so the universe figured out this guy's life's important. Anyway, another notable thing is the iconic Homura kills Madoka scene, but it's Saiouma with guest stars of Kaito & Maki. It's Walpy, it's not defeated yet, but the training trio are spent & just kinda accept their fate of turning into witches together. And then, boom, Kokichi appears & steals their Soul Gems for a sec & he's like did u know you can cleanse your Soul Gem with a darkened one? But it's a lie & he quickly tells them so, he just had a spare Grief Seed after cleansing his Soul Gem & he needs them to do some stuff. Shuichi can travel back in time & fix things, and Maki & Kaito are needed to fight Walpy here. He actually questions what happens to the timelines Shuichi leaves behin, and ofc he doesn't know. There's a chance they remain, so Kokichi needs Maki & Kaito to fight Walpy here.

Kaimaki leave, and Shuichi finally looks at Kokichi & realizes sth is Wrong. Kokichi struggles to hide how he's trembling & grimacing, and it's Kokichi, so obviously it must be extremely bad. Shuichi dreadfully realizes something worse, and he weakly asks Kokichi why aren't his wounds healing. And Kokichi just falls, laughing weakly, and Shuichi catches him & searches for his Soul Gem and, God, he knew it. It's nearly completely black. Kokichi laughs & admits he lied abt having two Grief Seeds, he only had one he never wanted to use. But they'll have the second one soon, so no need to worry. He asks Shuichi to maybe destroy his witch form as it's hatching, so he'll have the Grief Seed without any fighting… and he admits that he hates fighting, he hates this magical world and all its violence. He says that Kaito was right in calling him a coward, even here he just can't handle the idea of fighting any longer, he's so sorry. And Shuichi tells him he ISN'T a coward. He was scared, but he always followed everybody, trying to help, and when push came to shove he would always make a contract for the benefit of others rather than himself. He's a lot of things, but a coward isn't one. Kokichi actually tears up hearing that, and Shuichi promises he won't let him fight ever again, and especially he won't let him turn into a witch and hurt anybody, because he knows it's the last thing he's ever wanted. Even now he only accepts turning into a witch to help them fight to keep others safe. So Shuichi won't let him. Kokichi probably apologizes and thanks him and then he dies.

Keeping Kokichi from fighting starts off as a side quest that gains importance with time, bc it's something Shuichi won't compromise on (ah, trauma), which leads him to occassionally neglect others a bit, which makes them more likely to get hurt & ironically Kokichi more likely to make a contract, especially since he gets more powerful & Kyubey is more interested in him with each timeline. And that also makes him witch out super quick. Shuichi's paying more attention to him & over time grows resentful of others for how they're treating him. To Shuichi it's no question that Kokichi cares & is just doing his best to help, but nobody realizes that.

But the biggest obstacle in keeping Kokichi from fighting is actually Kokichi himself, bc he's too smart and nosy, lmao. Even if he knows nothing, he will find out quickly. Doesn't help that Kyubey wants him to make a contract.

Also, obviously Kaito is Sayaka-coded and Maki could be Kyouko-coded, so that's a thing, BUT it's usually Maki that witches out. Kaito is usually pretty close, but Kokichi intervenes & he survives, but Maki later cracks on her own (and since in the new timeline Kokichi isn't there, Kaito's the one to die, so he's still the secretary). So it's Kaito who gets the dramatic sacrifice. I imagine he genuinely hoped you could bring somebody back if you tried Very Hard & Kokichi called him a moron bc obviously it's not possible. If it was there'd be far less witches that there are. But it's Kaito, he doesn't listen to reason. So, Kokichi follows him to the labyrinth. At first Kaito's mad cuz what if Kokichi being there ruins the plan? Maki hates his guts! But eventually he gets hit pretty hard, and Kokichi is near immediately by his side, trying to help him get up, which kinda makes Kaito short circuit a little bc wait Kokichi's trying to help? But witch!Maki attacks them & Kokichi pushes Kaito away & gets caught himself (and choked until unconsciousness, naturally). Anyway, Kaito gets him away, Shuichi catches Kokichi & Kaito makes up his mind about going down with Maki & asks Shuichi to tell Kokichi that he's sorry. He doesn't get him, but he got hurt trying to protect him, so he'll believe in that if nothing else. F.

As for The WishTM, in the last timeline Shuichi lashes out at Kokichi for his willingness to just become part of the system. In no timeline has his wish actually helped, it did NOTHINHG, which OUCH but it also makes Kokichi think out of the box more & he becomes the Law of Cycles. And Shuichi realizes what is happening & freaks out bc Kokichi's doing it bc of what he told him & like Homura they end up having a momentTM in space & Shuichi remembers. He feels a lot of guilt even tho he also questions whether anything was real, but if it was, he pushed somebody he far too realized he loved into erasing himself from existence.

[someobscurereference]

Insane over the awakening trio again. We fought a war together, saved each other multiple times, and I know for a fact I can trust you with my life. We have never learned to socialize normally so we can't interact in a normal environment for five seconds without dunking on each other. I would follow you through time and space and abandon everything with you. You are the living reminder of every awful thing that have ever happened to me. Our traumas make us hurt each other at every turn. We're the only ones who know what lead to each other becoming Like That. Our jobs are barely in the same area and we don't even hang out that much outside of necessities. You are all I have left. I cannot fucking understand you. I am the only one in this entire world who has the ability to even try to.

x

[megroha]

.

[dunmesh]

okay i don't have anything smart to add i just genuinely love that these seemingly trivial jokes are actually an important part of his character. we see it throughout the entire manga, how he pushes aside his own frustration and discomfort to accommodate everyone else's and avoid needless confrontation- another example off the top of my head would be the barometz chapter in which he slowly gets frustrated with izutsumi but still tries his best to talk some sense into her calmly and soundly.

and in contrast, there are very few times he expresses his anger and hurt towards others, and it usually takes a lot for him to finally lose his patience and control.

i mean, even with kabru he tried to be polite despite the circumstances until the guy said the one thing that triggers an immense sense of shame, hurt and rage in laios. and you know, the manga does say it quite clearly early on. when we are introduced to namari and then to shuro, laios acts all friendly and shows his respect and trust in them despite how things ended between them, and everyone else gets frustrated with him for acting so strange- why are you the one who tries so hard to pacify the rest when you should be the angriest?

and they don't understand him. they don't know him well enough to be able to understand, but we as readers get to see during the manga that they aren't wrong to question him- he does, in fact, feel all those ugly emotions. and it's when the winged lion finally confronts him that we see to what extent these feelings he buried so deep go, and suddenly all those funny little moments where he sometimes pretends to be mr nice guy speak volumes about his character. honestly, ryoko kui is a master at using jokes in order to define important character traits and this one doesn't fail to amaze me.

and laios's hatred and rage and deep scars he can't get over aren't shown explicitly during most of these moments i mentioned before, but now you realize there are 26 years of emotional baggage to all of them and they sting. he is angry but he can't say shit, what difference would it make? it won't make his friends choose him instead of themselves when he needed them most, and it won't help his party get any farther. of course, this logic doesn't apply to them- they are absolutely allowed to get angry and it's fine to get mad at him, he can take that.

so after finishing the series it's so clear that he tries his best to avoid clashing with others not just due to the current circumstances and him needing to be a reliable leader but also because he knows that people don't even like him when he tries to show his good sides and hide all the rest, so who the hell would tolerate his rage and despair? who would stay after realizing that he is so deeply flawed he doesn't even like his own being?

but he does get mad. he can't help it, and sometimes it gets out of control and now everyone knows. and it's funny, isn't it? that most of those moments ended up bringing him closer to others. shuro admitting he is envy of him and actually becoming the friend laios thought he was all along, fighting for his sake and waiting for him to come back- believing in him even after he turned into a monster and searching for him the way he couldn't bring himself to do for falin when he learned of what became of her- or kabru being pushed to just let it all out because he couldn't bluff his way out of this one and get to laios any other way, so now they are even. they are both horribly honest with each other and they both choose to stay. a weird way of getting to know each other, but it is what it is.

it's simply... the more laios let himself just be, the deeper his relationships grew. and there's intimacy in being your ugly, weak and furious self around someone and them not leaving you. feeling safe enough to let it be known you are hurt and angry. and he knows that now, too.

[juleswritesstuff]

Holy hands, will they make me a sinner ?

You seem to have a little secret. Regulus figures you out immediately.

regulus black x fem!reader

warnings: smut

“If you bore holes in them I won't be able to finish my essay, Y/n” 

His voice brings you back from the apparent state of trance you had unconsciously fallen into. Blinking rapidly, you regain perception of the walls of your dorm room surrounding you and the myriad of books scattered across your bed.  You shift your gaze to his gray eyes and you find them already set on you.

“Pardon ?” your voice has a confused edge that almost makes him chuckle.

“My hands” he explains, his tone as neutral as ever “You were staring”

Your eyes go a little wide, like you had been caught stealing the last chocolate frog of the stash. You swallow, trying to compose yourself as best as you can.

“I was doing no such thing” you declare, a bit too solemn and defensive to be the truth.

Regulus pins you with an unimpressed look, his left brow arching just enough to tell you that he isn't buying any of your bullshit.

A defeated sigh leaves your lips. 

It is no use hiding something from Regulus Black. He will find out one way or another, and you got caught right with your hands in the jar.

“Ok, fine” you admit, lifting your shoulders to make it seem like the most casual thing ever “I was looking at your hands”

Regulus’ expression doesn't change, but the glint of amusement flashing in his eyes doesn't go unnoticed.

“More like ogling, I would say” even his tone has a playful bite to it.

You like this side of him. The Regulus who is able to relax a bit and let go when he is surrounded by the people he is comfortable with.

But carefree Regulus also means menace Regulus apparently.

“I wasn't ogling” you grumble, rolling your eyes “I was just admiring them” 

His eyebrows furrow.

“Why ?” he seems intrigued as the question leaves his lips.

Why, he has the courage to ask.

Well the answer is that Regulus Black has the prettiest, hottest, most gorgeous hands you have ever laid eyes on.

They are elegant, slender, the little veins underneath the pale skin gracing your eyes with their presence with every movement he makes, every flex of his muscles, producing a delicious design that hypnotizes you. 

They are smooth but decorated by light calluses, undoubtedly caused by Quidditch, that create a divine contrast with his otherwise untainted skin.

His fingers are long, lean, clad in silver rings that make your mouth water with how exquisitely sultry they make him look.

And suddenly, but not surprisingly, you find yourself imagining what it would feel like to have those hands on you, exploring every inch of your body, dancing on your skin like flames dance in the cold hair of the night. The cool metal of his rings being at odds with your scorching hot skin, making you hiss as his skilled fingers create a burning path over your body, traveling everywhere. Your legs, your thighs, your hips, chest, shoulders and stopping right at your neck, wrapping delicately, reverentially around it. Worshipping the sensitive skin, feeling the erratic pulse of your heart and-

“You’re doing it again” his words interrupt your spiraling for the second time that day, sounding dry and apathetic as always, but a hint of teasing twinkles in the otherwise coldness of his eyes.

“You have nice hands, that’s all” you manage to say without giving away all the less than pure thoughts flooding your mind in that moment. “From an artist point of view, obviously” you add, shrugging, trying to make everything less than obvious.

You really hope Regulus didn't learn to cast a Legilimes in his free time, otherwise you were well and truly screwed.

Bringing up your passion for drawing is futile and you know it. You know he knows the drooling over his hands isn't for the sake of art. You can't fool Regulus Black, not even if you try to.

Which is both extremely annoying and criminally hot in your humble opinion.

But pretending is the only thing you can do to not feel embarrassed, holding onto the hope that maybe he doesn’t have you all figured out.

“So you’re saying that your interest is purely artistic ?” he cocks a brow as his head tilts slightly.

There’s something in his voice, in his eyes, that you can’t quite figure.

Your forehead scrunches in confusion.

“Yes, of course” you answer, trying to hide the stutter of your voice as best you can.

You are pretty sure he knows that you aren’t telling the truth, he somehow always knows. He reads you like an open book, and, for someone who doesn’t engage in showing his emotions too often, he is pretty damn good at reading the ones of others. 

So why that question ? You almost expected him to tell you to cut it out and get back to study because that essay isn’t gonna finish itself.

This is new, unexpected. 

Interesting.

“Would you like to draw them ?”

Your eyes go wide in surprise.

Wait.

What ?

Never, in all the years you have known each other, had he offered to model for you. 

He knew about you having an interest in arts, he even saw a couple of your drawings and paintings and he often asked about them and how they were coming up, but he never asked to be in them.

You never brought up the suggestion either. He is a reserved guy and he loathes having eyes on him, so you figured he would’ve never accepted even if you did.

That never stopped you from sketching him from afar, though. Those gorgeous features deserve to be portrayed.

But why the sudden proposition ?

You aren’t stupid. Regulus might know you like the back of his hand, but you could say the same about him. And this, whatever this might be, is not like him at all. 

Regulus never does anything for nothing, there is always an explanation, a reason to his every move. You think even his breaths are perfectly calculated.

But this time the why gets lost on you, and the harder you try to understand the less it all makes sense.

“I can see the gears in your brain twinsting and turning,” he says, calm and composed as ever.

He is sitting on your bed, the quill he was using to write his Charms paper now abandoned next to him. His back is perfectly straight, leaning on the headbord to support his weight. The raven strands of his hair create soft waves that frame his face in a delicate and enchanting way. His lips are stretched in a rare, playful smile, curling up slightly on the left side.

He is beautiful. Dangerously so.

“It’s just-” you are confused, there is no doubt about that, but most of all you are intrigued “You have never asked me before”

“I know” 

That’s his only answer. Simple, concise. Enigmatic. 

Just like him.

“So why now ?” 

The question escapes your lips before you can stop it. You can’t help it, curiosity is consuming you, and the possibility of learning a new part of him makes your skin tingle with excitement.

“Why not ?” he shrugs “There is a first time for everything, right ? So why not now ?”

There is still that glint of something in his eyes. You don’t know what it is, you don’t think you would be able to give it a name even if you knew, but it's there, and it’s strong.

“I’ll get my supplies then” 

You slowly get up from the bed, feeling your heart in your throat in a mix of anticipation and nervousness, and you retrieve your album and a pencil.

When you sit back down you notice that the books have been neatly stacked in a small pile next to your bed and all the papers, previously scattered all over your sheets, are nowhere to be seen.

“Figured we might need the space” he says, like he read your mind.

“Thank you”, you give him a small smile before opening your album, turning the pages one by one, until you find a blank sheet, ready to be filled.

“Where do you need me ?” 

The way he utters those words with the utmost nonchalance, apparently unaware of the effect they have on you, nearly sends you into cardiac arrest.

Everywhere, you think, before mentally smacking yourself.

You need to get a grip, for Merlin’s sake.

“Right there is fine,” you're able to say without your voice faltering “just angle your hands towards me, so the light is right”

He does as he is told, adjusting his position and moving his hands a bit to the right, veins on full display and rings shining under the warm rays of the sunset seeping through the window.

“That’s good” your mouth is suddenly dry as you gulp at that sight.

He is a bit far, and the light doesn’t hit as perfectly as you had expected, but you’ll work with it. If squinting your eyes a bit is the price to pay to maintain your mental sanity, then so be it.

Then you start drawing. The only sound filling the room is the gentle scraping of your pencil as your eyes focus on the white sheet in front of you, your gaze shifting to his hands ever so often to take a peek at them, like you haven't learnt every detail by heart.

You can feel his eyes on you. You try not to focus on it, but the shivers those pools of the color of a summer storm send down your spine are difficult to ignore.

“You’re straining your eyes” he blurts out of the blue.

Observant as always.

“It’s fine,” you assure him, your gaze never leaving the paper “this distance is good for perspective” 

“But it’s a problem for the lighting”

Those words make you lift your head up, your brows knotted in a frown.

How does he-

“And what would you know about the lighting ?” you eye him suspiciously, a small grin curving your lips.

“I guess all your rambles about that muggle painter weren’t in vain” he says, and there’s a cheekiness in his tone that is completely new to you “Caravaggio, right ?”

Your grin turns into a full smile.

“Right,” you nod, your eyes widening a little “I can’t believe you actually remember”

“I remember a lot of things,” he remarks defensively.

“Only those important enough to you” the teasing in your voice is light, playful, as your pencil glides on the sheet swiftly, adding strokes and shadows here and there.

There’s a beat of silence.

One second. Two. Three. And then-

“Exactly”

Your hand halts every movement, freezing completely. You look up from your paper and you find his gaze already on you.

Suddenly you are lost. Your heart is beating so fast you wouldn’t be surprised if he was actually able to hear it.

The implications of that single word swirl in your brain, creating a hurracane of thoughts that almost gives you whiplash. 

He doesn’t give you the time to even think properly about what he may have just suggested, because he decides to speak again. 

“I can come closer if you need me to” his voice is lower, deeper, oozing with that same something he’s had in his eyes since he caught you staring at his heavenly hands.

You want to scream. You have no idea of what the hell is going on and it’s confusing the shit out of you.

You know he is asking for that forsaken drawing you still have in your lap, but it somehow doesn’t feel like it. The electricity in the room is so high it feels like an open cable sending sparks flying everywhere, setting the air on fire. 

The only coherent thought in your brain is a chorus of yes, please and nothing else.

So you cave.

“You can,” you manage to say, because the necessity to protect your sanity might be strong, but the need to have him close to you is apparently stronger “if you want to”

His gaze is so penetrating you feel it in your soul, consuming you from the inside out and setting your whole body ablaze.

It’s compelling, hypnotizing even. 

“This is not about what I want, Y/n”

Oh, the way those words leave his perfect lips, making shudders erupt all over your body should be studied. 

Your world shifts on its axes and it starts spinning ten times faster. Because he knows. 

He knows. 

“We're not talking about art anymore, are we ?” you ask, swallowing soundly as your breath gets stuck in your throat.

“Were we ever talking about that in the first place ?” his question is rhetorical. He doesn’t need an answer because he already knows it. He figured you out, like he always does.

So what was the point in pretending anymore ?

“No,” you admit “I guess we weren't” your trembling hands move the paper out of the way.

There is a spark in his eyes. It’s foreign, thrilling even, and it makes your skin prickle in the best way.

Suddenly he moves. He shifts his weight forward, approaching you slowly. The veins in his arms and hands bulging from the pressure and knocking the air out of your lungs in the process.

“So tell me” he whispers, crawling to you bit by bit, like a hunter advancing towards his prey. He seems to be calm, poised, totally in control of his body as he comes closer and closer.

It’s his eyes that betray him. 

They have always been the window to his feelings, talking more than his mouth ever did. And right now they are burning, engulfed by a heat that makes your legs weak and your heart roar. The realization hits you, a rush of adrenaline running through your veins.

They are hungry.

“Tell you what ?” you stutter, unable to regain a hold of yourself. You can’t breathe, your palms are sweaty, you feel hot all over and he is close, so damn close.

He stops right in front of you, mere inches between your faces and a tension so heavy you can cut it with a butter knife.

“What you want” the warmth of his breath delicately caresses your skin. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, his eyes following the movement intently almost making you squirm under his gaze.

“You seem to know what I want” you murmur breathlessly, your body heating up in response to his proximity. 

Those hands, protagonists of some of the filthiest dreams you’ve ever had, are right next to you. Close enough to graze the skin of your thighs with his knuckles, but never indulging in the act. Like he is teasing you, waiting for you to beg for it. You shift your gaze to them and you swallow hard, the need to feel them on you growing stronger every second that passes. 

You are about to fucking combust.

His silver eyes are still fixed on you, intense and magnetic, as they follow your line of sight.

“I won't move a muscle unless you tell me to, Y/n” 

Those words, mouthed so close to your lips and mixed with the low, velvet-like husk of his voice, make your legs clench and your stomach churn in the best way possible.

You can’t take it anymore.

You move forward, abandoning your position on the bed to place your legs on each side of his hips, almost straddling him. Your hands are on his shoulders, helping you to keep your balance, feeling the lean muscles underneath the shirt as you hover over him.

His head tilts up, eyes sharp and hot and glued to yours. You hear him suppress a hiss as your thighs brush his hips. His arms are still next to him, hands gripping the sheets so hard his knuckles turn white.

He is restraining himself. From touching you. 

Your thoughts are clouded, your mind hazy and completely out of it. The only thing you want right now is for him to place those perfect fucking hands on you and never stop.

“Do it” your voice is so weak and breathy it’s a miracle he hears you.

“Do what ?” he mouths, so close to your lips it makes your head spin.

You’re needy, desperate even, but you don’t care. You don’t have time to think right now. You want to feel.

“Touch me” you beg.

“Where ?” he sounds just as gone as you are, and you finally crumble.

“Everywhere”

It’s nothing more than a whisper but it shakes the both of you like an earthquake. 

You meet in the middle, your lips colliding and completely knocking the breath out of you.

His mouth is sinful, greedy, chasing yours with a hunger that almost makes you melt on the spot. You get lost in the softness of it, in the ungodly brush of your tongues making you moan breathlessly. You bite and nibble and lick and he follows you, matching the languid pace just as eagerly, as your hands tangle in his hair, pulling at the black strands delicately. The low groan that escapes his throat sends goosebumps all over you.

You are so focused on the filthy dance of your mouths that you almost miss the agonizingly slow graze of his fingers on the exposed flesh of your legs, gently tracing a path on your thighs.

The metal of his rings meets the hotness of your skin and you hiss.

Oh, it’s just as delicious as you imagined.

“Ah- fuck” you pant, millimeters away from him. Your head feels light, dizzy. 

You feel like you’re dreaming, lost in your own fantasies.

But his hands running up and down your thighs feel too fucking good to be just a product of your imagination. They travel slowly, excruciatingly so, making you lose your mind with every new inch of skin they explore. 

Until they sneak under your skirt, reaching your hips to gently knead the supple skin, applying enough force to bring you forward.

“Sit” It feels more like a plea than an order but-

Holy shit.

A gasp escapes your mouth before you can stop it.

Every cell of your body threatens to explode as he pushes your weight on him all the way, making you straddle him completely.

“Fucking finally” he curses, more to himself than to you, like he has been waiting for this moment his whole life.

His eyes are dark, fogged up by lust and need, and it's the lewdest thing you have ever witnessed.

“I have never seen you like this” you whisper directly on his lips, nibbling on the plush flesh.

He smirks, smirks for Salazar's sake, as his fingers move, reprising their mission to make you lose every ounce of control.

“It seems you were busy looking at something else”

His thumbs rub the skin of your inner thigh in a hypnotizing manner, sending bolts of electricity down your spine.

You whimper as they get closer and closer to your core, your grip on the junction between his neck and shoulder tightening in pleasure.

But he must take it as some sort of sign of discomfort because he halts suddenly.

“Want me to stop ?” his eyes search for yours, the veiled concern in them making your heart stutter.

“Don’t you even dare” you say, a mere breath away from him before you dive in, capturing his mouth again.

It's messy and dirty and you get addicted to his taste way too quickly.

His hands move up, massaging your skin at every caress of your tongues, until they reach the hem of your panties.

He moves away from your lips for a quick moment, and he looks at you.

The silent ‘Can I ?’ written in his eyes almost makes you swoon.

You nod your head.

“I need words, chérie” he whispers sensually.

The combination of his right hand so close to your most sensitive spot, his left one traveling up to your hip, holding it tightly, posessivly, and that fucking pet name almost make you cum on the spot.

“Yes” you practically beg.

Only then he resprises his journey of exquisit torture along your body.

“Shit-” you quiver as he kisses your neck, branding the sensitive skin with his lips and teeth. His hands move, fingers skilled and sinful as they reach your heat.

You mewl as they make contact with the light material of your underwear.

“Jesus Christ” hs hisses a groan “you’re soaked”

A series of choked out whimpers leaves your lips as he strokes his fingers over your panties, feeling your wetness through the fabric.

“Fuck- Reg” a moan ripples from your lips when his thumb brushes your clit tentativley, making you gasp. Your hands fly to his hair, lightly pulling the soft strands with trembling fingers.

“Look at you, all horny and needy over my hands” his voice is tantalizing but you can hear the breathlessness, the strain in it. He is affected by this just as much as you are and it makes you go almost feral.

“Please” you breathe. You don’t even know what you’re begging for. Your mind is too hazy, too fogged up by lust and need to have a single coherent thought in it.

But he sure does know, because his digits move your panties to the side, just enough to glide over your slickness, making contact with the tender skin of your folds and spreading your wetness all over.

Finally, finally the hands consuming your every thought are on you, right where you had craved and imagined them the most.

You arch your back in ecstasy, biting your lip.

And it’s when his middle finger eases inside of you, slowly breaching your velvety walls, that you lose it completely.

The air gets knocked out of your lungs, liquid fire engulfs every cell of your body, every nerve and muscle consumed by pleasure.

“Regulus-” it’s the only thing you manage to mewl as he slides in and out of you in a rhythm so sensual and sultry it makes you melt. The cold metal of his ring meets the warm, sensitive skin of your cunt with every prod, creating a delicious contrast.

You never break eye contact, your gazes locked together drinking in every little detail, every wave of bliss swimming in them.

“Is this what you fantasized about, love ?” he pants right on your lips “All the times I caught you staring, is this what you were imagining my hands doing ? Fucking you senseless, feeling how tight and needy you are ?”

His words are as dirty as his eyes as he slides another finger into you, making you inhale sharply and stretching you out so good you could almost cry. 

“Ohmygodyes” you moan as your hips start moving to their own accord, meeting the prodding of his fingers eagerly, riding his hand like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do.

“But this is not the only fantasy you have, right chérie ?” he teases, going faster, harder, pumping mercilessly and leaving you a blubbering mess.

His left hand leaves its place on your hip and moves up, grazing the soft skin of your stomach, the supple and tender flesh of your breasts, the natural dip of your collarbones, worshipping every inch of your skin in their path, until they reach their goal.

“I bet you thought about this too, didn't you ?” 

You were always sure this would remain just one of your daydreams, the kind of dirty thought that should remain in your mind and nowhere else. But Regulus Black was Regulus Black and reading you was one of his favorite hobbies.

It still comes as a surprise, though, when he delicately wraps his hand around your throat, resting it there, feeling every pulse of your heart, every pump of your blood and adorning your neck with the prettiest fucking necklace you could ever ask for.

“Yes” it’s nothing more than a breath, but it sends him into a frenzy. His right thumb rubs your clit relentlessly, adding to the unforgiving pace of his fingers sliding in and out of you with lewd, wet squelches. The whimpers coming out of your mouth are raw, filthy and downright pornographic as you feel your orgasm approaching.

Your head is in the clouds, a hundred thousands miles from earth as the only thing you can focus on is the feeling of his hands on you, fucking you to your release as the one on your neck squeezes the faintest bit, enough to almost send you over the edge.

His left thumb leaves its place right above your jugular, moving upwards to caress your jawline, your cheek and, lastly, your lips.

You can feel the digit caressing the red, bitten flesh, brushing it with reverence, worshiping it with his whole being. His heated gaze is bewitched, entranced by your mouth parting, welcoming him past your lips, and lightly grazing the pad with your teeth before enveloping it wholly.

“Bloody fucking hell, Y/n” he rasps, voice low and dangerously close to pleading as you suck on his thumb like it's the tastiest treat you have ever put in your mouth.

The hand on your cunt speeds its pace, pounding in and out of you like a fucking machine, the vibrations on your little bundle of nerves getting more intense by the second, sending you over the edge in a mess of moans and whimpers.

“Reg, fuck, I'm-”

You reach your release with his name on your lips, back arched and hips rolling to help you ride your orgasm on those unholy fingers of his. 

Your vision is blurred, your brain fuzzy and overwhelmed by bliss as you slowly come back to your senses.

It takes you a few seconds to regain control of your body and mind, but when you do you are graced with a vision you are sure you will never forget.

The ever composed and collected Regulus Black is right in front of you with his expression contorted in pure lust, eyes bleary and unfocused, hair tousled by your hands relentlessly stroking them, lips red and glossy from the heated kisses, tie loose, crooked and shirt crumpled.

He is a mess.

The hottest mess you have ever seen.

You're still not fully out of your head space when he speaks again.

“You're loud” he grins, his tone teasing but still a little raspy.

“You're filthy” you bite back weakly, your voice hoarse and strained. 

“Maybe. But I don’t think I'm the only one” 

The fingers that have been inside of you not even a moment ago are now in front of you, coated and glistening with your essence.

He slowly brings them closer to your mouth, and you don't even think twice before eagerly welcoming them inside it.

The taste of yourself mixes with the metallic tinge of his rings as you suck leisurely, restraining a moan before he takes them out with a wet pop.

“Sale fille” he groans in french, lowly and right on your parted lips, before he dives in an alluring kiss. (Dirty girl)

It's slower than all the others you shared, but it's deeper, sensual and it almost gets you worked up all over again.

His tongue meets yours in a erotic dance and when the taste of your very essence coats his tastebuds a moan rumbles in his throat.

“You're sweet” his voice is nothing more than a whisper as his teeth nibble at your lower lip gently.

“Want me to find out if you're sweet, too ?” You offer with a teasing smile on your lips . His hands might be your biggest fantasy, but they sure as hell are not the only part of him you fantasize about.

“Eager, are we ?” he teases playfully, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear “Not today, chérie”

The little pet name creates butterflies in your stomach and makes your cheeks warm, but doesn't hide your disappointment. 

“Why ?” you ask, your hands going to fiddle with his tie.

“As I told you, this is not about what I want” he explains, his arms circling you in a loose hug “and I don't know if you noticed, but it's pretty late”

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion, and only then you realize that the sun has already set and the room would be totally surrounded by darkness if it wasn't for the few magic candles lighting up automatically when twilight hits.

Your eyes widen.

“How long have we been here for ?” your voice has a panicked hint to it, making Regulus laugh.

“I'm pretty sure dinner is getting served right now” he says nonchalantly, like it's the most normal thing ever to engage in sexual activities with your best friend and miss supper because of it.

“Which might be for the best,” he adds.

“Why ?” you ask in genuine confusion.

“Because I’m the only one lucky enough to hear your dirty little sounds” he says with a shit-eating grin before kissing you again.

Thank you for reading 💖

[pomefioredove]

Imagine the overbloat gang as fathers or like proud/panicking that their s/o is having a child and they don't know what to do

Imagine the gang trying to give their kids a goid life and getting baby fever like who wouldn't because the kid is literally a mixed of him and you and they gush about how much they love their s/o and children like ???????

Overbload gang as fathers and i will start violently sob

I do have a weakness for familial headcanons :) future au time??

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ as fathers

type of post: headcanons characters: riddle, leona, azul, jamil, vil, idia, malleus additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral (no mentions of the child's origins), reader is not specified to be yuu, obviously takes place in the future

I think Riddle is one of the most reluctant to have children

for years he was strictly against them. his excuses were always that children are messy, unruly, his career, his relationship with you... but he was mostly just afraid of turning into his mother

as he gets older and forms his own identity, though, he realizes that it takes a lot of intentional effort to fuck up a child like his mom did, and he changes his mind

I can see him with... maybe two kids

he would never want an only child. after all, the bonds he made with his peers are what kept him going

he is a pretty good parent overall. maybe a little to focused on bedtimes and table manners, but the kids don't seem to mind

Trey and Che'nya babysit often (and it's always disastrous)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

talking Leona into the idea of fatherhood is like diffusing a bomb with a blindfold on. the guy won't even JOKE about it

if you do end up with a kid, it's unplanned, whether that be pregnancy or baby left on the doorstep

but he makes a surprisingly(?) good father. defo a girl dad, he would spoil a daughter rotten. lets her beat the daylights out of Neji because that's his little princess :)

parenting is really not as scary as he thought it was going to be

he has "I'm just resting my eyes" *falls asleep for 8 hours on the reclining chair in the living room* dad energy

the hardest part?

pretending to like vegetables in front of the kid to set a good example

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Azul would actually be an awesome dad idc. IDC!

he has a good relationship with his mom and stepdad (who definitely babysit all the time; they insist on it), so he has good role models

he's not even worried about how it'll affect his career! Azul has a "do it all" personality: businessman, entrepreneur, father, aspiring millionaire...

and he is so overprotective

he'd cover that kid in bubble wrap if you'd let him

but he's really more concerned about their feelings. sending them to school is much harder than closing a business deal

he's a little sensitive, but he knows he'll have to trust them eventually

P.S. the tweels are NOT allowed to babysit. bad influences

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Jamil. ohhh Jamil :(

kids were never on the table for him, even after he met you and fell in love, he just... couldn't imagine it

regardless of whether or not he and his family are in a better place. (for the sake of this story, let's pretend they are. I want him to be happy) he just has so much generational trauma that he knows the child will end up with some, anyway

when, if, he's ready, it will still be a tough process. but worth it

he's such a supportive dad. bragging about his child at any chance, definitely the kind of dad to show everyone the baby pictures without being asked

it gets embarrassing for them as they grow, but he doesn't care

he thinks they're the greatest thing ever, and people should know that!

he is so proud

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Vil had always wanted to play a father on screen, but once he hits that age, he starts thinking about real life, too

he's gotten where he wants to be, after all: he's still young, he's in love, and his career, as successful as it is, is starting to wind down. so, why not?

he is the most supportive partner you could ask for. despite his schedule, he's involved in everything (yes, even the messy stuff)

he's got a customized baby bjorn and everything

I can see him with... one. just one is enough for him. he also has girl dad energy. he's already looking forward to playing princesses and letting her do his makeup (terribly, of course)

he knows his child will grow to have their own wants and thoughts and personality, and he's supportive. besides, if he has another Epel on his hands, he'll know how to handle them

just... gentler, this time

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

for you, anon, I will enterain the idea that Idia may someday reproduce. but there's still a 50% chance that kid is a robot

joking (kind of)

I don't think he'd even really want kids. considering his own unhappy childhood and the whole curse of his bloodline thing. but, like the others, he can be convinced!

I think he'd make a pretty good father, tbh. neurotic, sure, but he's not too clingy, nor too distant

whatever kids he has will be smart, and he trusts them. he likes teaching them nerdy stuff, too (finally, someone he can infodump to!!!)

he probably ends up with more than he'd think. 2 or 3

as long as you never bring up how cringe he was in college, he's rather mature and prepared for anything

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

out of the whole lineup, Malleus is the the only one to have thought your future children while at NRC. daydreamed, really

I know, not surprising. look at the guy. he's practically kicking his legs back and forth while coming up with baby names in game

it was just a fantasy at first, then you became closer, graduated, got older, and...

Lilia began teasing him about getting grandkids, and Malleus took him quite seriously

he knows he's still young (though, at his age, Lilia was already general), but he doesn't want to wait forever. you both have many long talks on the matter

and end up with... as many children as you can handle, basically

Malleus is somewhat of an awkward father (having been raised by Lilia will do that to you)

but he cares. and he tries! very hard. plus, there's always Lilia, Silver, and Sebek around to lend a hand

[docdudo]

Hybrid 141 As Parents - Foster Human Child!Reader

You were not expecting anything from this new placement. You knew better now a days, have been on the system since day 1, and at this point? You know better than to hope.

Usually the houses you ended up in were all mediocre at best. Foster parents that already had their own children were the most neglectful homes, even to their own children. Which also resulted in bad blood between the foster kids and the biological kids.

And worst of all, you were human. Just a simple, small, defenseless human stuck in the foster system. Usually, they try to match human kids with human foster parents. But, humans were not a big part of the population, in fact, different kind of hybrids were the biggest part of the population.

And now, failed attempts after failed attempts, you got transfered to a neighbor city (not for the first time), and this time, to a hybrid pack househood. It wasn't your first time with hybrids, but it was always a little scary. They were strangers, and adult hybrids were SO much bigger than humans. Especially a human your age, with your small size thanks to lack of care throughout the years.

Hybrids were bigger, stronger, scarier... still, you knew it couldn't be worse than some houses you have been in before, or at least, that's what you're telling yourself. Not that your social worker was helping with your anxiety, as the old bear hybrid woman gave you some information about your new foster family.

They were a big pack, which was a concept you already had difficulty to grasp. Pack doesn't always mean the nuclear family, but could also mean family friends, or sometimes, just relatives. As a human, hearing the word "pack", or "hoard", or "coven", or whatever else they could use to name their little groups, always left you a little confused.

They were four hybrid parents, a Dragon, a Werewolf, a Harpy and a Wraith. They were all part of the military, special forces or something, and they had a lot of children already, children that were already adults and had moved out some time ago. They were taking fosters now, and accordingly to your social worker, they were delightful and very nurturing parents.

You don't know what to think of that.

So all you could do was hold tightly to your beated backpack straps as your social worker excitedly introduced you to four hybrid men in their big house, giant hybrid men with so many muscles, and why is everyone so big and buff?? You knew they were military before, but god dammit, they could crush you with one hand. Here to hoping you don't annoy them to that point.

You weren't really making eye contact, keeping your eyes to the ground as you heard your social worker talk to the new fosters, but still, you would peak at them every couple of seconds or so, just to assess how they were reacting to your presence.

The dragon, one of the biggest hybrids you have ever seen, had that kinda of... respectful and mature face, smart eyes that went between you and the social worker as he nodded along to what she was saying. He was standing still, arms crossed lightly, and just one big wing carefully drapped behind his back. He smiled lightly, trying to keep casual and confortable to the new people, avoiding staring at you too much, no matter how much he wanted to.

The harpy, that was standing by the dragon's side, had such a gentle smile on his face that you avoided looking at his face again after the first peak. Gentle eyes, gentle smile, gentle demeanour. His giant, featherly wings, were also carefully tucked behind his back, almost as if to make himself smaller. Tho, it didn't help your anxiety as you saw how his feet looked like... not feet, in fact, talons.

The werewolf, a weird guy with a mohawk for christ sake, didn't even try to hide it how much he was staring. Big eyes on top of you, tail wagging a bit too fast behind him as his wolf ears perked up and moved as the social worker talked. Still, his eyes were just on you, assessing your small and timid demeanour, how truly small a human could be, how defenseless you looked.

The wraith wasn't that different either. Staring at your face with a stoic and passive look, even tho a balaclava with some skull prints covered most of his face besides the eyes, that had some... shadowy thing around them. He looked bigger than the others, but you could still see he was sligthly shorter than the Dragon, he was just buffer, and was also staring directly at you. He almost forgot how pathetic humans could be.

All of them were caught a little of guard, actually.

You were small, already small for a human, but for hybrids? Almost like a little kid. Humans rarely build much muscle throughout their teens too, so you looked like a skinny little thing, differently from how other races' kids worked. You looked like a small, young child, but even their little kids had some kind of protection. Sharp teeths, or shap claws, or sharp talons, or any kind of ability that could defend themselves.

You had nothing of the sort. You didn't have any nails, basically, short as they were in a small and delicate little hand. Feet tucked safely inside your round little sneakers, feet that, of course, wouldn't have any talons, and were delicate enough to have to stay protected by shoes. Your teeth were round and flat, looked so small too, just like your short tongue. You were soft, all soft and small and delicate. Just like a human is compared to hybrids.

Johnny had to control himself not to coo at the sight as you gently licked your uper lip and quietly fidget in place, slightly behind the big bear hybrid that was your social worker. They had a lot of kids, and he was there since all of them were a baby, but since they were all hybrids, seeing a small little thing like you, unprotected and without any kind of abilities... it made something stirr inside of him.

All of the others were in the same boat, to be fair. Parental instincts going into high overdrive just by looking at you. John was just trying his best to pretend he wasn't that effected since he still needed to pay attention to the social worker, and Kyle was making a good job of discreetly nudging Johnny and Simon so they could stop staring so hard at you.

"So, if any trouble arises, you can always call me. Even if it's just questions, anything you might be worried about, i'll help you out. Is that okay?"

"Perfectly fine, ma'am." The dragon immediatly answers, smiling neutrally as he nods.

"Yeah, this isn't our first time doing this." The harpy jokes slightly, charming smile on his face as he makes your social worker laugh a little bit with him.

"I know it isn't, boys, but it is your first time taking care of a human." She points out, a small smile on her face despite the serious tone. "They are not the same as hybrids, you know that."

"Of course. We're going to be very careful with them, don't worry." The dragon immediatly goes to sooth her worries, nodding easily.

"As i hope. Please, call me if you need anything! And, good luck, boys!"

Now, it's just you and your four new foster parents.

Part 2

[genderqueerdykes]

if you are a trans man or masc, masculine nonbinary, genderqueer, genderfluid or other gender non conforming identity, masc gay, a bear, a butch, stud, or boi, or other masculine queer person and don't feel welcome in any queer spaces, you're not alone.

the communities both irl and online have become EXTREMELY hostile toward mascs and men to the point of straight up excluding us and changing their wording to justify their violent exclusion. from renaming nonbinary spaces to "femme & them" and "she+" spaces, to telling men & mascs that they would "Scare" the women and "nonbinary" folks just by being there, as if masculinity and manhood are inherently traumatizing to be around.

masculine and male nonbinary folks have it so hard- most nonbinary spaces are almost definitely women's spaces who also conflate womanhood with nonbinaryhood, and often times just view nonbinary people as confused women. we are not inherently traumatizing to be around: masc enbies need places to go. we are still nonbinary and still trans and still queer for fucks' sake

nonbinary has never and will never mean femme or woman-adjacent inherently. nonbinary means what it means: people who don't or refuse to adhere to the gender binary, regardless of what side it is. masculinity is included in this, femininity is not the only way to be nonbinary.

masc queers do not have to bend over backwards to try to be more feminine and thus "less threatening" in order to have places to go. that's dysphoric and just inaccurate to a lot of queer folks' identity and presentation. it blows my mind because it makes no sense, anyway, even within the gay community, hypermasculinity has been present and even sought after by some people who find it very attractive, twunks, hunks, bears... but between the periods in queer history people started viewing masc gay leathermen and kinksters as the ones who were responsible for spreading AIDS and thus removing them from pride parades,

AND the lesbian separatism moment picking up to remove butches & male & masc lesbians from lesbian spaces identity, paving the way for modern rdical femniism, we've only entered a downhill landslide of hating men and mascs and ultimately trying to erase us from the queer community entirely.

the queer community is not the "women & femmes community". the queer experience is broad and vast, it includes a wide variety of masculine and male experiences, as well as genderfluid, multigender, completely ungendered and other gendered experiences. the lesbian, trans, bisexual, nonbinary, gay and general queer communities aren't the "safe place to hide from men & mascs community" like estranged rdfems and terfpilled trans folk like to tell you they are.

this is the QUEER community and it includes ALL forms of queerness, masc, femme, butch, male, neutral, bigender, neutral, and all. he/shes and he/hims and he/theys and he/its and so on are just as much of a part of this communities as she/hers and they/thems. you can't cast a blanket of "inherently abusive" over all men and mascs and one of "inherently abused/incapable of being abusive" over all women and femmes because that just traps you in a fantasy land that doesn't exist AND it prevents mascs and men from getting the help, resources and community they NEED.

men & mascs are hurt and abused by women & femmes every day and we refuse to speak about them because we live under a white cisheteronormal patriarchy and have complaints about how that functions. the complaints are legitimate but assuming that all men and mascs are oppressing all women and femmes and that women can never be oppressive is a false as hell narrative that actively damages people.

enough is enough. this mindset is hurting people. it's leaving masc and male queers to be estranged, harmed and even dead. i care about you if you're being affected by this mentality and these behaviors. you deserve community, safety, and a sense of belonging, you do belong, even if we struggle to form our own spaces due to unjust hatred. we will do our best to band together and keep each other safe. we must

[alexiroflife]

"phobia"

i literally can't stop writing for this mf, flufffff :(

satoru gojo x reader

Synopsis: you are an incredibly talented sorcerer, but your deadly fear of spiders tends to interfere with your daily life every now and then. it doesn't help when you happen to encounter a curse that looks just like one

to sum it up: satoru is always there for you to kill a spider when you need him to

WC: 2,764

Warning(s): arachnophobia, icky spiders

The burden of a Jujutsu Sorcerer was taxing beyond comprehension, which of course was why it paid so well.

Sorcerers were expected to give their lives each day within the battlefield, watching as their comrades and the people they were expected to protect die left and right at the hands of the morbid amalgamations of human beings’ worst possible fears, anxieties, doubts, and other nasty negative emotions.

To be a sorcerer was to sacrifice oneself, to accept death before it inevitably took its toll on those around you, and then eventually, on you yourself. This was why sorcerers were expected and trained to be strong, fierce, and with perhaps a few screws loose in their heads to allow them to plow full force into danger with no fears and no regrets. 

Sorcerers were meant to be fearless.

And in many ways, you truly were. You were a first grade sorcerer, more than capable of handling yourself in the face of adversity. You were proficient, quick on your feet, merciless when you had to be, and above all, you were confident in your abilities, which was just as important of a trait to have as a sorcerer as courageousness. 

You were a proud woman, content that you could put your skills to good use by aiding those who were weak and helpless, by saving as many lives as you could alongside your colleagues at Jujutsu Tech. 

You were a damn good sorcerer too, only, there remained a small matter that often seemed to creep up on you at the worst of times. Something you had tried desperately to overcome through years of training, therapy, private meetings with Yaga, and more. Something that had been clinging to you since the very moment you were born, and something you were still somehow unable to completely escape well into your twenty-sixth year of life. 

And that was your deathly fear of spiders.

You admitted that it was silly, that to have made it this far within the world of sorcery after having encountered more horrors than most people could imagine, a little fear of spiders was completely absurd. You knew it didn’t make any sense, that this fear of yours was beneath you, but that didn’t stop you from shrieking horribly and seeking shelter each time you saw a spider crawling along the wall of your apartment. 

You knew that you should have had more patience with yourself, for there was no way of conquering a fear if you refused to acknowledge it as valid, but come on. You were a grade 1 sorcerer for god’s sake, a professor at Jujutsu High teaching students to cast their fears aside to focus their emotions and energies into properly honing in on their techniques, yet you still couldn’t get over being squeamish any time you saw those little demons hurdling their way over the earth. 

In your mind, they were far worse than curses, a source of terror that must have been executed. 

Nevertheless, you kept your fears to yourself for the sake of your occupation and reputation. The only person who knew anything about this vulnerability of yours was your boyfriend, Satoru, and even he found it funny at times to tease you about such a small thing in a world plagued by monsters and curse-users. He had seen you slice open a curse all the way down the middle of its body with a blank face, blood spattering in all directions, but spiders were what got you. 

While he poked fun, he still harbored an understanding that beneath the hardened exterior sorcerers were forced to put up, you were all born of flesh and blood just as any other living being on this planet. 

Satoru was quick to rush to your apartment whenever you called him screaming, standing atop your bed and jumping up and down on your cushions in fear upon catching sight of one of those nasty things. He would throw your door open, catch you in your rather comical position, and hold back a fit of laughter upon seeing you.

“SATORU, SHUT UP AND JUST KILL IT! PLEASE!”

“Calm down, pretty, it’s not gonna hurt you,” he would say, a sickening smirk gracing his gorgeous features. “You’ve faced much worse things than this.”

“I don’t care!” you’d sob. “Just kill it please!”

And once he was finished picking on you, he’d hurry to your aid, approaching the bug in the corner and flicking his finger, rendering the creature dead. 

Then afterwards, he’d always hold out his arms for you to jump down into them once you determined it was safe, cooing into your ear as you threw your arms and legs around him, his hand holding your head. 

“You were so brave, baby. Good job, you got through it.”

It was humbling, to say the least, for the strongest to witness you in such a weak state, but despite Satoru’s teasing, he still took you very seriously. He didn’t diminish your strengths or your worths because of a simple fear. Hell, he had fears that he had buried deep within his gut that only you could drag out of him, and that was okay. Satoru poked fun, but he never judged his precious girl for feeling. 

After all, he enjoyed the fact that you were comfortable enough to let him see you in such a light after long days of having to be strong, just like him. He liked that he could help you with this one thing, even if it meant teleporting into your room at two in the morning on a work day. As long as he was taking care of you, he didn’t care less what you needed. When you needed him, he would be at your aid within a heartbeat. 

And in this moment, you really, really did need him.

Yaga had sent you on a quick solo mission to eradicate a few low grade curses at a nearby summer camp facility while most of the other sorcerers were busy with training or on leave for other missions. It was a quick and easy task for you, granted that your grade was much higher than those of the curses you would be exorcizing.

Only, what Yaga failed to inform you, and likely did not know or care about, was that one of these particular curses was unlike the rest. While you easily winded through the three other creatures, the very last one at the end of the corridor caught you by surprise. 

Your face was hardened as you whipped your head around, sensing the presence of the last curse within the space. Once your eyes landed on the source of the cursed energy, however, your face dropped and your eyes shrank in terror.

There before you cowered a three foot tall dark purple curse which took an arachnoid shape, with an array of beady red eyes atop its head and eight hair legs digging into the wood of the floorboards. Your heart dropped and your mouth ran dry, your body freezing in its tracks. You couldn’t move, you couldn’t think, you couldn’t do anything. Of all the first grade curses you had come across in your lifetime, this grade 3 creature would be the very first thing that stood between you and seeing the light of day.

The curse hissed, chattering its chelicerae-like mouth as its legs tapped restlessly against the floor, sending a horrid shiver up your spine. You were stronger than this, braver than this, you knew you were, but your legs had gone to jelly and your heart was pounding in your ears. Perhaps if you had been given a warning ahead of time. you would have been able to approach this threat differently, but instead, much to your shame, you took off in the opposite direction once your legs willed you to move. 

You could hear it crawling after you down the hall, screeching out nonsensical sounds as it rounded the corner to follow you. You were quick to duck into the first room you saw, slamming the door shut behind you and pressing your back against the surface. You searched the room in a panic, which you discovered to be a dorm, and ran to take cover in a closet in the corner.

You trembled, sinking down to the bottom of the platform as heavy, panicked breaths wracked your body. This was pathetic. This was humiliating. You were better than this, but god, this fear, those damned spiders would always get the best of you, despite how hard you tried to help it. 

You were trembling, squeezing your eyes shut as whimpers spilled from your quivering lips. That thing was so big, bigger than any spider you had encountered, and while you understood it was a curse, it looked far too real. 

You didn’t know what to do. You had to finish this mission, and the principal wouldn’t accept a sorry excuse about you being too afraid to exorcize a curse because it looked like a spider for an answer as to why you would come running back to the school. It sounded ridiculous! Especially for someone with your skill. 

You could hear the creature running up and down the halls erratically, its gross legs clicking against the walls. You pressed your lips together tightly, wrapping your arms around yourself. You wanted this to stop.

Hesitantly, you reached into the pocket of your uniform to shakily pull out your phone. You breathed out heavily, on the verge of a panic attack, trembling fingers dialing your boyfriend’s number with his. You lifted the phone to your ear and listened to it ring.

Then it clicked.

“Hello? Baby?” Satoru’s comforting voice spoke into the phone, a sigh of relief escaping you. “What’s up? You done with that little mission yet?”

“S-Satoru?” you whispered, voice trembling harshly. Immediately, the sorcerer on the other line knew something was off.

“(Y/n)? What’s wrong?” his tone dropped with urgency. “What happened? Are you okay?”

You pursed your lips again, muffling a pathetic sob that was prepared to break past your mouth. You scrunched your eyes closed, the confined space doing very little to ease your nerves. Satoru could only hear the choked whines that left you, and he was on his feet, captured with instant worry. 

“Baby, talk to me. I need to know you’re okay. Tell me what happened. Where are you?”

“T-The…” you stammered, struggling to get it out.

“Deep breaths, pretty. Breathe.”

You gulped, knocking your head back against the wood, taking a moment to release a few sharp breaths. “The camp,” you managed to whimper. 

“You’re still there?” he asked, almost incredulously. “Did something happen? Were the curses higher grades than you were told? I’m on my way right now.”

“No, i-it’s,” you shook, pressing your phone to your forehead. “It’s- a s-spider…”

There was a pause as Satoru processed what you were saying. “A spider?” he repeated. “What do you mean?”

“The last curse,” you exhaled. “It’s a spider, Toru, it looks like a damn big ass spider,” you rambled. “I’m so scared, I'm sorry, please come help me.”

“Oh, baby,” he sighed. “I’m coming, don’t worry. Stay where you are, I’ll find you.”

You nodded rapidly, scrunching your face as tears pricked your eyes. “M-kay.”

You tucked your phone away and within exactly two seconds, you heard a whooshing sound from outside, followed by the screech of the curse. You heard its legs clatter along the walls once more before another tormented, animalistic cry, and then there was nothing. 

You waited silently, hugging your knees to your chest as footsteps ascended. “(Y/n)?!” you heard Satoru’s voice through the walls, and your shoulders slumped with alleviation. You heard the door to the room open and you slowly reached up to the closet door handle, creaking it open to peer outside.

There, you saw your boyfriend standing in the doorway, gaze finally landing on you beneath his blindfold. The moment he saw you, he dropped his arms, pained by the sight of you curled up in hiding out of fear. “(Y/n),” his gentle voice breathed out as he stepped further into the room, extending his arms in that same manner he always did when comforting you.

The second you saw the motion, you were breaking. The reality of your weakness came crashing down on you, and your lips wobbled as you climbed out of the closet and fell into his warm embrace. You shook against him, embarrassed, petrified. You were the partner of the strongest sorcerer of the modern age, and this was what you were. Powerless at the will of a low grade curse.

“It’s alright, baby, I’m here. Please don’t cry, pretty. It’s okay, I got you,” he murmured against your temple, pressing his soft lips to it then to the crown of your head as you buried your face in his chest. 

“Satoru,” you sniffled into him, clinging to the fabric of his black suit as he wrapped you into his warmth.

“Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay.” 

“I-Is it gone?”

“Yeah, baby. I got rid of it. It’s all gone, don’t worry,” he whispered. He hated seeing you like this. Normally when you faced spiders, the interaction was far more lighthearted. You would screech, sure, but you had always recovered fairly quickly after he had killed one. Granted, you had never encountered a spider as big as the one that you just saw, but Satoru was aching upon  witnessing how rattled you were by this thing. “You got the rest of them, baby. You did so good, you know that? My strong girl.”

He was so loving with his praise as he eased you down from your high, rubbing your hair and pressing his palm to your waist, letting you know that you were safe with him. 

“M’sorry,” you mumbled into him and he looked down, pulling away slightly to hear you better and to get a look at your face. He tilted your chin up so that you could look at him, your eyes glossy and your brows pinched.

“What are you sorry for, pretty?” he asked you genuinely, heart clenching as he smoothed his thumb over your flushed cheek. 

“Cause,” you sniffed again. “I should’ve been able to handle this. It’s so stupid. I dragged you here to get rid of something so small.”

“Hey,” he said with firm tenderness, holding your cheek so that your eyes stayed on his. “Don’t do that.”

“B-But, I should be able to-”

“Stop. I won’t listen to you beat on yourself for being afraid,” he shook his head. “You’re so strong, (Y/n). You always have been, but we all have our weaknesses and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Says you,” you muttered, guilt catching your eyes. “You’re the strongest.”

“And you know better than anyone that that’s just a title,” Satoru said earnestly. “Yes there’s truth to it, but none of that takes away from the things that keep me up at night. Just like your grade doesn’t take away your fears.”

He traced the curve of your jaw softly, lifting his free hand to remove his blindfold and tuck it into his pocket. You watched as his white hair fell over his face and his sapphire eyes washed over you, displaying his loving, concerned, understanding gaze. 

“But that doesn’t mean we’re not strong. It’s okay to be scared as long as you know I’m here to help you, and as long as I know you’re here to help me.”

You could feel a lump building in your throat as he gazed at you and he curled his brows, jutting out his bottom lip slightly. 

“Don’t look at me like that, princess, you’ll make me cry,” he said, catching your face in both of his large palms as your hands moved to delicately hold his wrists. “C’mere, baby,” he whispered, drawing your forehead to his lips. The sorcerer then kissed the bridge of your nose and the edge of your brow before letting you fall back into him, wrapping your arms tightly around his torso as he held you close.

You melted into him and closed your eyes. “Love you, Satoru,” you murmured into him.

He kissed your head again, resting his cheek atop you. “I love you, too, (Y/n). Let’s get you home and all cleaned up, yeah?”

You nodded against him, thankful to the universe that the man you loved made being vulnerable feel like a gentle, welcoming, consuming form of unconditional love. 

But, fuck, did you hate spiders.

[distantdarlings]

HAVE ME // t. nott

RATING: R / 4.8K WORDS

Theodore Nott x Fem Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - *Requested, based on this* When you are paired with Cormac McClaggen for a mid-semester project, he takes it as an opportunity to shoot his shot. However, despite your numerous rejections, he doesn't seem to want to let up. That is until Theo gets involved.

+ WARNINGS - SMUT, depictions of violence (a small fight, specifically), blood described very briefly, Cormac is hitting on reader and won't leave them alone, language, oral sex (perf. on reader), kissing, dom!Theo, fem reader, not proof-read

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

Hotel - Montell Fish

---

The chatter around the classroom slowly dwindled as Professor Snape silently slipped through the door of his office. Everyone was waiting patiently for the results of his decision from yesterday. He mentioned that the mid-semester project would be partnered rather than solo. To you, that was bad news, but to others in the class, it was good. You worked best when you didn’t have to sort out the ideas getting bounced around aloud. But if you had to work with a partner, please let it be someone halfway decent.

“So,” Snape starts, “I have here the list of partners for the mid-semester project. As a reminder, you will be handling very toxic materials, so for the sake of all of our time, be careful with them.” His expression hinted at boredom, despite the unfortunate things he was referencing. Last year, someone nearly lost a hand with this project, and—to be quite honest—that was one of the reasons you were so excited about it. You liked the challenge and, even better, overcoming it. But you couldn’t do that with a shitty partner. Your fingers crossed beneath your open notebook.

“Malfoy with Weasley, Berkshire with Granger,” he began listing the names. Your hips shifted uncomfortably. He was pairing everyone with the opposite house. Surely he’d grant you some mercy with how well you’d been doing in this class?

“—Nott with Finnigan—” Your thoughts were briefly interrupted as Theodore’s name was called. That was an interesting pairing; however, you knew that Potions was one of Theo’s strong suits, and, granted they worked well together, the both of them would successfully keep their eyebrows intact. 

Your eyes found the older boy, tracing over every line on his face. You were friends, pretty good friends. His whole group of Slytherins were friendly with you, really. But there was something about him that had shocked you to your core from the first night you’d met him and started chatting at the Sorting ceremony when the both of you were eleven. He was quite literally one of the most attractive people you’d ever seen, and it seemed like he knew it too. The way he held himself down to the way he communicated with people, he just knew he was alarmingly alluring. 

He had a way of staring right into your eyes when you spoke to him, almost to the point it felt as if he was reading your mind. No matter what, he’d give you his full attention, even more so than his other friends, it seemed. Maybe you had always imagined it, but if you called his name, he was there. He would be waiting with his ear next to your lips, eager to hear what you had to say, no matter how you were feeling. Perhaps it was cliche, but you felt as though you could tell him anything, and you did. 

His eyes found yours suddenly. His lips parted into a crooked smile, his dazzling white teeth peeking through slightly. You returned the action, raising your eyebrows in an amused fashion at his partner for the project. He shrugged, the smile never leaving his face. He pointed at you and mouthed, ‘You’re coming up.’ You rolled your eyes and laughed silently as you brushed him off. You were laughing, but, in all seriousness, this wasn’t a comedic matter. Your Potions grade was potentially on the chopping block here, and you were getting nervous. Snape didn’t grade depending on who did what; he simply graded on the project's legitimacy. You could do this by yourself, but if whomever your partner ended up being fucks it up, you both were screwed. And, on top of it all, you would have to work with a Gryffindor, someone you likely barely knew. Perfect. 

Your name perked your ears as Snape paused for a moment, trying to decipher his own handwriting. Merlin, was he trying to tease you? You glanced around, wondering who hadn’t been selected yet. You hadn’t been paying attention. “Ah! With McClaggen.”

Your heart sank. You turned to glance over your shoulder at the showy Gryffindor sitting in the back corner of the classroom. He sent a wink and a small smirk your way, to which you replied by quickly turning back around. Did the universe hate you? It must. That was the only answer. Shit.

“Get to work,” he instructed, returning to his office and firmly shutting the door behind him. You weighed out the options in your head on how angry Snape would be if you asked to switch partners. You were sure he picked them for a reason…or maybe he didn’t? Merlin, help. Should you even bother with this? Maybe you could convince McClaggen to let you do all the work. He could sit patiently by and be quiet.

The classroom bustled gently as students were standing and finding their partners. Small groans echoed as everyone paired up. Apparently, you weren’t the only one that disliked your partner. Usually, you wouldn’t have expected Professor Snape to have paired Gryffindors with Slytherins. Who knew? Maybe he was trying something new.

You hid a wince and got to your feet. You collected your notebook and school bag and made your way over to the smirking boy. His hands were placed cockily behind his head, and one leg rested, crossed over the other. He maximalized every bit of space he took up, like a peacock. You repressed a groan and sat down in the seat next to him, neatly spreading your things out. 

“Well, hello,” he cooed. “I don’t think I’ve spoken with you before.”

“I don’t think so either,” you chuckled nervously, eyes finding the back of Theo’s head. He sat towards the front of the classroom, partnered with the clumsy Gryffindor. You wondered if he was having the same doubts you were. As if on beat, his head turned and made eye contact with you. He hid a smile at your current predicament and gave you a small wave with his fingers. You rolled your eyes and, with the hand farthest from McClaggen, pretended to choke yourself with it. Theo laughed aloud before turning back around when his partner tapped his shoulder.

“What’s so funny?” your partner asked, quirking an eyebrow. 

“Nothing,” you smiled, “how about we get started?”

Most of the class period was spent discussing the potion the two of you wanted to brew. The assignment was to pick one of the most difficult potions to brew and to make and document the experience successfully. All of the potions you were to choose from were in the very last chapter of your textbook, and the two of you flipped through the pages, unsure. 

Every so often, Cormac (you’d learned his first name was) would point at something on one of the pages and scoot ever so closer to you. He was so close now you could smell the peppermint candy he swished around his mouth. His arm rested alongside the back of your chair, and you were…immensely uncomfortable. Your back straightened so as not to come into contact with his arm. 

Throughout this whole experience, you’d glance Theo looking back at the two of you every so often and wonder if you could signal him to distract the boy. It wasn’t that you felt threatened; you just wish he’d back the hell up. If you had a personal bubble, it had long since combusted. His face was so close to yours, and no matter how far you leaned away, he’d get closer. Finally, you’d had enough.

“Cormac,” you laughed nervously. You placed one hand on his chest and slowly pushed him back toward his own seat. 

“What is it?” he asked. No matter what you did, that stupid smirk never failed.

“You are very close to me,” you explained, trying to remain as polite as possible. He shrugged and chuckled a bit, gaining on some of the space you’d placed between the two of you. 

“Well, that’s because I want to get closer to you,” he said. 

“Uh, no,” you tittered, “that’s okay. Let’s just do the project.” You tapped the textbook and pretended to immerse yourself back in the information, hoping he’d let it lie. He didn’t. His arm wrapped back around your chair, and your eyes slipped close in exasperation. 

“Cormac, please—”

“What? Don’t you want to get to know each other before we do a project together?” he asked, scooting closer yet again.

“No, I really don’t. I just want to get this done.” His face resumed its previous proximity to yours. He smirked at the closeness and you sighed, turning your face away from his, begging Theo to glance back again.

“Oh, I see…is he your boyfriend?” Cormac asked. Your face shot back to his.

“What? No! He’s just a friend,” you said.

“That was a very quick, rushed answer,” he laughed, “but if you say so, that’s even better for me—”

“Please, let’s just do the assignment,” you pleaded, “I’m really not interested.”

“Not even for a trip to Hogsmeade?”

“No, not really, you’re not my type.” You glanced back at Theo. He was finally looking back. Only this time, his eyes were locked on the boy beside you, with his face so close to yours. His eyes gleamed blood red, and his jaw clenched tightly. Your eyebrows furrowed, begging him to intervene somehow. If Cormac wasn’t too embarrassed to shoot his shot in the middle of class, surrounded by his peers, you were almost positive he’d continue to harass you outside of the classroom. Maybe even when the two of you were alone, and he might not let up at that point.

“What is your type?” he asked. “Brooding assholes in Slytherin?” He said this part a bit louder, making direct eye contact with Theo. You could feel the tension building slightly, and did your best to diffuse the situation. You partially blocked their gaze of each other.

“Please don’t say that about him.”

“I thought you said he wasn’t your boyfriend. Why are you defending him?”

“He’s not my boyfriend, but he is my friend, and I’d like you not to call him names,” you spoke sternly, eyes hardening on the boy. He was plucking the last strings of your patience. 

“Fine, I will—” you nodded at his promise “—if you let me take you to dinner.”

The bell signalling the end of class interrupted the conversation. Thank Merlin. You quickly gathered your things together and shoved them into your bag, praying he’d just drop the subject and let you move on with your day. You’d figure out a way to deal with him later. For right now, you just wanted to get your free period started as soon as possible. He stood right when you did. You ignored him and made for the exit, walking as quickly as looked natural.

You were the first out of the classroom and down the hall, trying your best to get away from him without completely abandoning Theo. A hand grabbed your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks. It roughly spun you around, yanking a yelp from your throat. You stood before Cormac, who had a sinister look on his face. 

“You never answered me,” he said. “Let me take you to dinner…”

“No, Cormac, I don’t want to go,” you said, attempting to wrestle yourself out of his iron grip. What about your thousand answers was he not grasping? 

“Let go of me.” His hand did not release you, and it did not seem like he intended to, either. You slipped your hand between his and your shoulder, trying to edge it off. He made a sound of endearment before attempting to slide a hand around your hips. You squealed and squirmed away from him, trying to prevent him from wrapping his arms farther around you.

“Hey!” A voice shouted. The both of you began to turn, but before Cormac could get his head fully pivoted, a hand appeared on his shoulder and yanked him away from you. It was Theo, and he appeared to be fuming. His jaw was tightly clenched, and his eyes were wild.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing, McClaggen?” he demanded. “She said no, you dick!”

“I don’t see how it’s any of your business. She said you weren’t her boyfriend,” the younger laughed meanly, poking him roughly in the chest. You winced at the contact. 

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he hissed, pushing the boy back from him. Cormac stumbled a few steps before regaining his footing. It appeared he was as surprised as everyone else was at the sudden hostility. Cormac laughed cockily. 

He raised a hand and swung his fist at Theo as hard as he could, getting a good hit in. Theo’s head jerked to the side from the force of the punch, and you gasped sharply, hands shooting to cover your mouth in shock. Natural instincts told you to jump back, but you rushed toward Theo, who pushed you back gently behind him, squeezing your arm firmly. It didn’t hurt, but you knew it meant to stay put. 

“Come on, Slytherin!” Cormac shouted. “Show me what your reject house is made of!”

A crowd of other students had begun to gather around the two boys, curious to see what all of the commotion was. Adrenaline pumped through your veins like ice water as you watched Theo approach the other boy, cocking his arms and wringing any stiffness out of them. 

Before you could feel the exhalation of breath leave your body, Theo swung his arm at the boy, cracking him hard across the jaw. As if in slow motion, Cormac fell back and hit the ground with a hard thud. You imagined his tailbone would be quite bruised tomorrow morning. 

Theo fell down on top of the boy, legs resting on either side of his hips, and wailed on him. Fist after fist hit the boy’s face, pushing more and more blood out of him. You screamed in shock as you realized Theo had no intention of stopping. Around the same time you did, everyone else did too. They began throwing shouts of concern and pressing in on the two boys. Everybody loved a good fight now and then but nobody wanted to see someone get killed. 

Yet, nobody put their hands on Theo for fear of being in the same predicament as Cormac currently was. That was, until Enzo and Mattheo ran up behind the crowd. You heard them ask if that was Theo.

“Enzo!” you shouted his name, waving over the crowd. His eyes quickly found yours and in seeing the distress on your face, began weaving through the crowd. Mattheo quickly followed suit. 

When they breached the barrier of the crowd, their eyes widened, and they made for their friend. They grabbed his shoulders and pulled him away from the poor boy, his face a mangled mess. You looked away quickly, not wanting to see the damage that had been done in your favor.

Once pulled away, a gathering of students ran over to Cormac and covered him with a wall of their protection, trying to see if they could help him somehow. You turned to Theo, who was breathing heavily, a single dripping of blood pouring from his nose. You turned to the bottom of your uniform shirt, found the edge of the seam, and tore a small section of it. You could get a replacement sometime later.

You approached the boy with a murderous gaze and gently pressed the piece of shirt beneath his nose. He flinched slightly but never looked away from Cormac. Maybe that hadn’t been for you, and he’d just wanted to beat Cormac’s ass—which is understandable, but still. You weren’t totally sure why he did it.

“Theo?” you spoke gently. His glare didn’t waver. The fingers pressing the material against his bloodied nose tilted his face carefully to look at you. His eyes found yours, softening slightly. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, his chest heaving. “I couldn’t stand him touching you like that.”

“It’s okay,” you reassured. He didn’t seem convinced. How he looked at you with such concern and worry made you wonder if he thought you were mad at him. You shook your head at the question running through your mind. Obviously, he didn’t know what you had been thinking, but you hoped he’d understand somehow. 

You helped Enzo and Mattheo pull him to his feet and escort him away from the crowd before any of the professors showed up. Speaking of which, they likely should have been out here by now. 

As you helped the boys guide Theo toward the Slytherin common room, you were careful to avoid any obvious eyes that raced past them to see what the aftermath of the commotion was. Hopefully, nobody would notice them and they could deal with the whole situation later. The group turned the corner and stopped before the entrance to the dorm room. Enzo announced the password, and the lot of you headed inside, pulling Theo up the stairs and into the boys’ dorm room. He pulled away from them suddenly and sat on his bed.

“Alright, alright, I’m okay!” he declared. “I just got a sock to the jaw; my legs weren’t broken.”

“They’re just trying to help, Teddy,” you whispered, trying to place the cloth back on his nose that had started up its intermittent spurting again. He sighed and gently grabbed your wrist, holding it away from his face. He was never rough with you, despite how angry he was.

“I’m fine, I’m just wound up, I don’t need any of you to—”

“Nonsense,” you interrupted him. “Mattheo, Enzo, would the two of you mind running down to the hospital wing and asking Madam Pomfrey if she has anything to stop the bleeding. It’s not excessive, but it’s messy.”

“Is there not a spell or something like that?” Mattheo asked, clearly concerned for his friend.

“Not one that I know off the top of my head. Would you just go ask her, please?” you repeated yourself. The two boys seemed to hesitate but eventually worked their way out of the room with their destination in mind. Once they were gone, your eyes turned back to Theo’s. An amused glint lay suspended in his eyes.

“‘Nothing that comes to mind?’” he smirks. “If a spell comes to my mind and not yours, the world must be upside down.” You conceal a laugh. You knew a spell. You knew multiple healing spells, but you wanted Mattheo and Enzo out of the room for a second. You just wanted to speak with Theo about what had happened. 

“I’m sorry I lied to your friends,” you said. “But I really wanted to talk with you privately, and I didn’t want to wait.” His eyes keep a tight hold on yours. You swallow thickly. 

“Okay, what is it?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Anxiety pools in your stomach as you realize you hadn’t really planned anything to say. You wanted to know why Theo had done what he did and if it was for or because of you. Cormac had been bothering you, yes, but it could have just been that Theo really disliked him and wanted to intervene. 

“Why did you do that?” you ask. Probably the worst way you could have asked that, but it was what came out. You might as well own it at this point. 

“Do what?” he mused.

“Why did you stop Cormac?”

“That feels like a dumb question. He was laying his hands on you without your permission.”

“Would you have done that for anyone, though?” you stuttered through your interrogation.

“I suppose not….why do you ask?” he asked, the smirk never leaving his face. Your eyes fell down to his lips suddenly, noticing that there was a small amount of dried blood stained across them. A small gasp left your lips as you reached your hand out. You didn’t think through any of the following movements; you just allowed your body to do as it pleased. Your fingers gently cradled his jaw, and your thumb swiped slowly over his lips, collecting the bit of staining as it crossed. Your eyes found him again, and you realized he was intently watching you. His eyes were softened by hunger. The way they traveled down to your lips, his lips parting as he found yours, his hands clenching by his side. It sent a chill down your spine. 

“Theo,” you breathed. You could not pull your eyes away from his swollen lips. You wanted so badly to learn their taste and memorize it for eternity. Just one kiss and you could be satisfied for the rest of your days. 

“I kicked Cormac’s ass because he was laying his hands on you, and I have been desperate to do that for years…,” he whispered. “The difference between him and I, though? I ask permission.” A glimpse of a chuckle spreads over his lips, and you feel your stomach blush with heat. As if he could feel it happen to you, his nose bumped softly against yours, igniting the heat and transforming it into a flame. 

“I want you so bad,” he whispered, the air skimming your lips. “Please let me have you.”

“Have me, Teddy.” Your response was final. His hands gripped each side of your face firmly and pressed your lips together. Heat and light and everything in between exploded into your stomach, sending shocks of love into your heart. You could have melted on the spot, and you nearly did, if it weren’t for Theo wrapping one arm tightly around your waist and holding you up.

His tongue slid over your bottom lip, begging for entrance. You granted him access to every part of you with no push-back. All you wanted was to feel him everywhere and never to lose that feeling ever again. 

The both of his hands pushed around the back of your thighs and pulled them to either side of his bent knees. He settled you neatly onto his lap, you straddling his thighs against the bed. The action sent a lightning bolt of pleasure directly to your core as the space between his thighs urged gently against you. You sighed against his mouth, entangling your fingers into his hair. 

Everything about him was overwhelming. His smell, his taste, and his touch had you gasping for air. You had never realized how much you truly wanted him until this very moment. Without so much as a breath, he cradled your back with one hand and stood from his bed, lifting the two of you into the air. You squeaked from the sudden movement but relaxed instantly when he settled you against his bed. 

His lips detached from yours and quickly made alliance with your jaw and then your neck. His head worked down the frame of your body, pressing open-mouthed kisses to every sliver of skin he could find. When he reached the waistline of your uniform skirt, he tapped his finger twice against the spot where your shirt was tucked in. You nodded so quickly, it was almost pathetic. He smirked and slipped his hands between the materials. He tugged your shirt out and began laying the same types of kisses over your bare stomach. You groaned at the feeling, noticing the ardor he placed into each press of his lips. You felt worshipped and it was addicting.

His eyes flicked up to find yours as he slowly pushed himself farther down, placing himself just in front of your core. Without question, your legs began to spread for him, allowing him access to anything he wanted. You just needed to feel him; you didn’t care what he did. 

Your eyes found his face once more and scanned over the entirety of it. A deep, sinister glance rested in his eyes, holstering a lust so dark, it almost frightened you. His lips were slightly parted in a teasing, smirking way, just waiting to place themselves against you once more. And his nose had…oh, it had begun to bleed again. You reached down and swiped your thumb beneath it, pushing the excess discharge away. A small twinge of guilt hit you again at the thought of Theo getting himself hurt for you.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, frowning at the sight before you.

“You never have to apologize to me,” he breathed, “you are perfect.” And with that, he’d flipped the edge of your skirt over your legs and sunk his face between them. His tongue found your core before you could even get a word out. A breathless moan spilled from your lips as your spine arched off the bed. Your hands immediately pushed down to wrap themselves in his curls, savoring every single swipe of his tongue. 

“So fucking good,” he moaned against you, the vibrations sending messages up to your very brain. You quaked beneath the feeling, your thighs shaking against the boy’s hold on them. It was nearly becoming too much. You weren’t going to last much longer. If he wanted to do something, he’d better get to it.

“Theo, I’m…c—”

“Not yet, baby,” he whispered, pressing two chaste kisses to the inside of your thighs. You could feel the wetness spread across his lips and chin smear against your flesh. You shuddered at the sensation. It definitely should not have turned you on as much as it just did. “I want it on my tongue.”

He separates himself from you and slides his hands beneath the crook of your knees. With a firm grip, he yanks you to the edge of the bed, where your hips are lying just over the curve. His hands find your hips and flip you over onto your stomach, careful to avoid hurting you in any way. Ever so gentle.

You could hear him kneel down again behind you. Your thighs shook in anticipation just before he pressed his lips back to you. His tongue swirled across you in the most delicate of motions, drawing every sound possible from your lips. Your fingers gripped the sheets as each of his movements drew you closer to the edge. You might finish any second. 

“Hey-o!” Mattheo’s voice came from just outside the door. You jumped up and glanced back at Theo as the both of you separated as fast as possible. Theo came up to sit beside you on the bed and made quick work of wiping his mouth off on his sleeve. You pulled your skirt back over your legs and stood at attention, waiting for the two boys to enter. Damn it. You had been so close. 

The two boys walked in, clutching a small vial of liquid. Mattheo raised it to show the two of them, both of whom quickly nodded, smiling innocently. Surely, they wouldn’t suspect anything of the two of you. You’d never really expressed any feelings toward the other before now. At least not publicly.

“Where do you want this?” Mattheo asked.

“If you would just take it to the bathroom, we’re headed in there so they can help me clean up the rest of the way.” Both of the other boys nodded and headed back out the way they came, moving toward the group bathroom. 

Just as they left, Theo slipped his hand beneath your skirt and traced his fingers along you, allowing one to insert itself to its hilt. You gasped sharply, trying your best to mute the sound. His hand began to pump against you, slowly rising in speed as he hit that perfect spot each time with ease. The sounds spilling from your lips became less and less controlled as he pushed you towards the edge, keeping you standing tall and refusing to let you lay back down on the bed.

“Come like this, baby,” he whispered. “Quickly, before they get back.” His finger pressed deeply up into you one last time, bruising the soft spot and forcing a rushing finish down on you. Your lips parted in a shocked moan as the proof of your end slipped down around Theo’s fingers. He worked you through the entirety of it, never tiring and never halting. He could do this all day. 

The sound of his friends heading back toward the dorm room pushed the two of you apart once again. Only this time, Theo had a telling, lustful expression imprinted on his face, and the remains of your ecstasy were still painted across his fingers. You swiped a hand between your thighs in an attempt to clean yourself off and brushed any concerns from Mattheo or Enzo off. The ‘Are you okay?’ and the ‘You guys look weird’ had nothing on the steel resolve the both of you kept planted on your faces. If Theo could fight someone for you, you could fight the urge to tell his friends he’d just let you fuck his face while they were out running an errand. Oh well, such is life. You laughed to yourself.