#it would make sense he uses assistive devices

[microsofttothemax]

one of my fav hcs for leo

[strixludica]

The unappreciated art of making mecha look inhuman

Something I noticed lately, by browsing lots of lancer homebrew and fanart and comparing it to the official art, is that a lot of third party artists, across levels of artistic competence, made mechs that looked plain to me for a reason I couldn't pin down. Again, this was only weakly correlated with other metrics for artistic quality, like posing, shading, and linework. After comparing them closely with other art that didn't give me that vibe and art from 1st party material, I realized what gave me that feeling: their mechs looked too human; they looked like they could be convincingly portrayed by a person in a costume.

If you look closely at official Lancer art and the best fanart, you will notice there are always details making sure the subject is unequivocably a giant robot and not a person in sci-fi armor.

One strange but effective way this is achieved is the legs: each manufacturer has one or more distinct style of legs, with the only overlap being between SSC and RKF (which makes sense because SSC has close ties tot he Baronies). Let's go through them and see what about them makes sure you know this is a mech:

Smith-Shimano Corpro + Royal Karrakin Foundries: SSC has three kinds of lower limbs: the Horse Leg, which they share with RKF; the Foot Without Heel, and the Anatomically Correct Human Leg With Toes.

The Horse Leg is not only obviously inhuman, but also obviously unnatural, bacause no biped would be able to move properly standing on horse hooves: it would be like contantly doing a ballerina tip-walk using clown shoes; that is something only a mechanical device assisted by top-of-the-line automatic balancing could achieve.

The Heel-less foot, due to being used almost only for their spider-mechs Death's Head and Swallowtail, has little dehumanization work to do, but it does cover that function when used on the Dusk Wink, which *is* in fact a person in power armour, but still the artist took care of reminding us of how mechanical it is, by giving it feet which have little in common with boots or any other footwear. The Toed Leg seems, at first, to be the opposite of dehumanizing: it looks the most like an actual human bodypart, it feeds into SSCs fetishization of the Human Form (phrasing entirely intended). However, that is also the reason why it very clearly shows the Monarch and Mourning Cloak are robots: because no suit of armor would ever look like a naked leg; this level of anatomical fidelity only makes sense for something mechanical, whose skin *is* armor and as such doesn't need to cover itself.

Horus: Horus is mostly the easy one, with how most of the art gives their mechs beastly paws and hooves, gecko-like foot pads, or long, amphibian fingers whose vague semblance to human hands only contrasts with the blatantly monstous shapes of the Pegasus and Gorgon. However, they have four mechs portaryed with human-like legs.

The Hydra has little need to mask its mechanical nature, but the Lich commits the grave sin of being clothed, one of the biggest risk factor in making mechs look like dudes in armor. To counteract this problem, it's feet have two very evident inhuman characteristics: they have only two long, slender toes, and they touch the ground only with their futhest tarsus, in a way that makes it obvious they aren't bearing any actual weight, as if both Lich and Hydra were alway hovering a couple feet above the ground and used their feet only to skip along it, like a venetian boatman might do with their pole.

The other two exceptions are the Calendula, which being an RKF design has their trademark horse legs, and the Kobold, which already looks inarguably like a robot thanks to the barrel shae of its main body, the Horus-patented Pikey Blobs Aesthetic(tm), but still has feet with actual toes, which achieve the same effect as those from SSC.

GMS: For the longest time, GMS did not have art at all, but let's look at the [G] Type Everest from Op. Solstice Rain:

While the Boot with Auxiliary Side-Toes shape of the foot could potentially belong to a suit of armor, if we look up at the knee it's a different story: look at the slabs on either side of the joint which restrict it to one degree of freedom, as opposed to the frontal protection typical of armor for humans; look at the opposite bends of hip and shin, which almost makes the leg look digitgrade. Inequivocably robotic despite the clearly humanistic design. However, the lower parts of mechs are not the only way their design is dehumanized: we come now to Inter Planetary Shipping - Northstar and Harrison Armory, and in a curious inversion they take the opposite approach.

Although some legs of IPS-N mechs use the above principle (the Blackbeard's angular feet whose toes almost look like retractable claws, Drake's heel-less boots, and Lancaster and Kidd's SPOT-like hooves), a lot of their mecha have quite human-looking armoured boots. HA goes a step further, likely due to a deliberate stylistic choice stemming from the anthrochauvinist ideals: Their mechs look very much like armoured warriors, often even with little skirts like the Iskander or Sherman or reinforced *baltei* like Genghis and Tokugawa. With one important exception: their head.

IPS-N has a very distinctive One-Eyed Cylinder with Another Eye on the Top shape for their mecha, it's probably a deliberate par of their brand; it sees some variation like Drake's looking more liek a helmeted facemask and Stortebecker's tricorn, but even Lancaster and Kidd have a sort of vestigial head on the front with a single eye coming out of a slit.

HA's mecha have greater variation, but nevertheless for all that their body is as human-shaped as possible, their heads are always distinctly not: Barbarossa has a flat prism with a this transparent section on top, looking more like the control tower of an aircraft carrier than a head; Genghis, Tokugawa, and Gilgamesh both have canopies recessed into their bodies; Napoleon also has a barely-extruding canopy with a strange shape and covered in Blinkshield emitters that make it look like a bug-eyed little freak; Sherman is quite literally built around having a cannon for a face; and Sunzi has its drum-looking Blinkspace device. The only HA mech that has a "head" region separate from the rest of the body is Saladin, and even then it's a flat cylinder with a rectangular window in the middle: a design which would never work as a helmet but makes sense as a rotatitng cockpit with a canopy.

The observant among you will have notice that I left out four mechs: Nelson, Vlad, Enkidu, and Iskander. That is admittedly because they are those whose design asserts its inhumanity the least.

Of the first two, despite Nelson committing the sin of clothing, it also compensates hard by leaving a gap in its tabard to show the hatch for the pilot, while Vlad unfortunately does not, and with the weirldy human-looking eye, if there wasn't a pilot for scale one might legitimately not know it's a robot without context.

Iskander is the one mech in the entire Compendium which can be cosplayed without altering its proportion: cyclopism aside, this could be a person in future armor.

Enkidu also has a look which could work just as well for a human-scale cyborg, but given that it's a deliberate statement of intent it gets a pass. At the very least it's elongated head and pad-less feet make it obvious that this is not a person in armor.

Conclusion:

Although I cannot prove it without some double-blind polls, I think one of the secrets to a good mech design is making it look not only obviously like a robot, but also giving it pose, proportions, and details such that it would look big not just on a white background with no context, but that if you tried to shrink it and put it in a scene as though it was more or less the size of a person, people would realize that it's supposed to be larger.

[tojjist]

‘1-800-fix it felix !’

in which; When your boyfriend has a problem he knows who to call! Can you fix it? featuring: s.gojo x afab! reader contains: masturbation, face time s3x , reader shows her br3asts over the camera, bathroom masturb@tion, pet names (babe, baby), reader being a tease, gojo being js a little bit subby

Satoru thinks of you all the time. He thinks of the new perfume you bought last week, of the pretty dress you wore to your last date. He thinks about how pretty you look when your hair is done all up, and about how sweet your voice sounds in this voice note you just sent him.

Fuck. He’s hard.

Can you blame him? You just woke up and for some inexplicable reason thought sending him a voice message while he’s at work is a good idea. Do you not notice the way you sigh your half-coherent words? Do you not notice the way you sigh out your words, barely coherent? Satoru swears he can feel his ears tingling at the longing in your voice for him.

You’re not making this at all easy. 

Just as you start to drift back to sleep, there's a buzz somewhere around your head. Curses slip from your lips as you grope around the duvet, trying to locate your device with your half-asleep senses. With your eyes barely open, you try to read the contact name.

Of course it’s Satoru. Of course it’s a facetime call. He can’t settle for a damned text. It’s his brand at this point. You appreciate the attention, of course. But you’re sure you told him you’re going back to sleep in that voice note. 

As soon as your finger swipes the little green icon to answer the call, you begin to speak, “I swear to god Satoru-”

“Hey baby,” he cuts you off. It sounds like he's in a confined space. A toilet stall, maybe? You're too sleepy to dwell on it. “I missed you”

“Mhmm..” You yawn. “‘Missed you too…”

The camera on his end is slightly shaky, and so is his breath. But in this sleepy state you can barely notice it really.

“What's up...?” you ask, flipping over and adjusting the phone, ”is everything okay?”

“Yeah—fuck—” his eyebrows furrow, giving you a moment of confusion. "You're looking so pretty—hah—baby."

“Satoru…” realization dawns on you, excitement stirring within. “Show me.”

The camera trembles as it takes him nearly a minute to respond to your request. Finally, his finger hits the flip camera button, giving you a shaky view of his fist wrapped around his length, stroking himself vigorously. 

Pearly precum oozes from his tip, a thumb moving to spread it slightly before he goes back at it again.

“Oh? Is this all f’me?” You grin, observing his subdued grunts. It would be such a shame if someone were to come into the bathroom right now. “This early in the morning, too? Couldn’t you wait to get home at least?”

“Sh– hah– shut up,” he picks up the pace, starting from the very base, “at least make yourself– useful.”

Your tongue glides across your lower lip, considering your next move. While you love watching Satoru struggle on his own like this, relishing at the revelation that it’s the thought of you that makes him like this, you also think a little assistance wouldn’t harm. 

“What do you wanna see?” You smirk smugly, enjoying this ordeal.

“Fuck– fuck– baby,” he’s quiet resilient with it, strokes increasing in pace little by little. “Sh-show me your tits, baby.”

“Hmm? What if I don’t?” Undeniably, you’re gonna regret this later. You savor the moment nonetheless. There’s a certain sort of zest in the control you have over this moment.

“Fuck you,” his fist tightens around his dick, veins popping out. You love the view. God, you wish you were there to help. Your thighs tighten to squelch the heat growing in your core. “Please, baby, ‘wanna see my girl’s pretty– shit– tits”

That’s enough to convince you. More than enough, actually. Without hesitation, you lift your t-shirt up, showing him a view that nearly makes him faint. He can almost feel the warmth of your skin against his. He feels his climax reaching. You move your fingers, massaging your breast. That was his endgame.

A string of curses begins to slip past his lips, along with a grunted “I’m gonna- fuck- I'm gonna cum-”

Your grin widens, biting your lower lip. “Mhm… so hard for me, ‘Toru..? Wish I was there to help…” Your words come out stretched, all on purpose. It causes a robust groan to thunder through him. The view begins to totter. With a final groan, milky robes seep out of Storu’s shaft, running down his white knuckles and onto his thighs. His breathes even out as he comes down from his high.

“You’re welcome,” you hum, satisfied. You put the phone to your side, pulling your shirt back down. When you picked the phone back up, the call was hung up. You almost feel offended, rushing to text him a ‘what the fuck?’

Before you could text him the half-angry message, your phone vibrates again.

‘sorry babe someone came in’ - 8:46 am  ‘ill call u later’ - 8:46 am ‘love ya’ - 8:47 am

You roll your eyes, definitely planning on bringing this up later. Going back to sleep will be hard with the stain on your underwear. 

Maybe you’re going to be the one to call this time so he could fix it.

[oozedninjas]

Ghost Bridal

Summary: Rumor has it that the mystical jungle spirit will only resurface if a sacrifice is presented. However, Leo is taken aback. A sacrifice bridal wasn't something he would've expected from the people he vowed to protect. But with his mind clouded by the heat of his mating season, he resolves to accept you as oblation.

WARNINGS: NSFW/ 18+ / MDNI/10 years after the 2007 movie, so Leo 27-29/use of the word slut once/light dirty talk/mention of sexual toys/dry humping /oral (fem receiving) /Xenobiology (knot mentions)/somnophilia (if you read between the lines, squinting) / penetrative sex/chafing, bleeding and bruising/ aftercare/mating cycles/ The reader is referred to with she/her pronouns and possesses female anatomy/ Leo being the best boy despite the situation :')

Word count: 4,522

A/N: I now have an Ao3 account! This, along with other pieces, will be there by tomorrow!

—-------

"Quick, it's about to start!" Mikey exclaimed, gesturing with his arm, urging them closer.

Donatello arrived first, arranging the cushions on the couch for Splinter. Just as he finished, Leo assisted him in sitting down, and Raphael placed a bowl of popcorn in his lap.

"I'm glad my sons make time to watch dramas with their father," Splinter commented.

Observing them all seated, his expression softened. Despite their age, they would always be his boys.

"We'll always have time for you, Dad," Mikey returned the smile.

The drama began. Donnie dimmed the lights with a small wrist device. The room fell quiet, illuminated only by the old television. Leo leaned his back on the sofa with a gentle expression before an itch of incompleteness stinged him again, rough, and stomach-twisting.

“There she is,” Splinter voiced, “I bet she will confess her love for Ma-”

The channel changed. On the screen, the afternoon news.

"Michelangelo!" 

Mikey jumped, searching for the remote long lost between the cushions on his side of the couch. Leo got up to help, removing the pillows while vaguely listening to the fast-paced voice of the reporter.

"The inhabitants are desperately sending smoke signals and performing spiritual rituals to summon back the ghost of the jungle, a vigilante spirit who guarded the village ten years ago."

Leo's eyes snapped back to the screen.

"The situation is unsustainable. The factory is damaging the ecosystem. Losing it would signify the beginning of a collapse for humanity," said a doctor with exasperation. He pulled the mic from the news reporter as he approached the camera.

"If somehow you're listening, please come back. The jungle needs you. We need-"

The channel changed back to the drama.

"Found it," Mickey said, waving the remote. 

No one cared anymore. Every pair of eyes was fixated upon Leo, whose heart pounded within his chest, echoing throughout his shell.

"You must go," said Splinter.

He tensed, sensing Raph’s gaze over him.

"We must go,” he said, turning to his brothers. “All of us." 

Donatello sighed. "I'm allergic to mosquito bites."

Mikey grimaced. "Since when?"

"Since now." 

Raphael gave Leo a barely noticeable melancholic smile.

"We aren’t kids anymore. It ain't the end of the world if ya gotta disappear for a bit," he said teasingly.

"Oh, I get it. It's a solo trip," Mikey said, lowering his gaze.

"I won't be far for too long," Leo remarked as if it were a promise.

Donatello scoffed. "We'll survive without you for quite a while. Don't rush to commitment. We know."

At that moment, all he could offer Donnie was a smile. However, as Leo descended from the cargo ship and stepped into the border of the jungle, he finally understood what his brother meant. Taking a deep breath of the fresh, humid air of the greenery, his gaze danced along the flora surrounding him. This was it—the missing piece: nature. The sensation of embracing a certain aspect of himself that could not find fulfillment in the heart of a bustling city.

— – -

It took Leo no more than two months to gradually dismantle the construction site. An appearance here, a couple of blows there, a few noises at night, and a town full of people who convinced the businessmen responsible for the project that the jungle ghost was as tangible as the machinery stripping the trees. And that was it. He could go back after completing the mission.

However, akin to the first time, he stayed. This time not out of fear of not meeting his father’s expectations, but because adulthood had taught him it was okay to take breaks. It was okay for him not to be a leader, an elder brother, or a ninja all the time. It was more than okay to just be Leo.

After another couple of months, plants had claimed the machinery's remains. Some metal pieces still exposed to the sun sparkled, giving it an almost magical touch. The town's inhabitants built a statue resembling an anthropomorphic monk. It wasn't exactly cute, but Leo supposed it was better than revealing his true identity.

Living in the wild brought a new adventure every second, and Leo couldn't stay still. During the day, he collected food and brought it to his old underground hideout, a sort of cenote reflecting sunlight by day and stars at night, with enough space to exist in peace.

With the moon as his guide, he took care of various issues entrusted to him by the community. More than anything, moving heavy objects or patrolling certain areas. Given that most people were elderly, it was understandable.

Feeling free was satisfying. It was nice having a personal sense of purpose, liberated from the weight of carrying a team, and away from the possible repercussions of his decisions. There were no external pressures, no responsibilities beyond those self-imposed, and although there were nights when he missed his brothers, video calls were more than enough, as Donnie had gifted him a high-tech device before he left. Things were far better than alright… until winter wore off.

On the first morning of spring, Leo awoke to a familiar heat rising in his lower belly, prompting a strong urge to relieve the discomfort. He groaned. It only worsened with time. Regardless of the hour of day, he found himself suddenly lost in thoughts about his sexual toys, and all the ways he could be using them. The more he tried to distract himself, the more the memory of the relief they provided infiltrated his every waking moment. 

Leo hummed, pressing a hand down his plastron, over the area that ached the most. It was beginning to get pretty sensitive. Bad sign. 

Perhaps the villagers wouldn't be alarmed if he missed work for just one night, but as the next night came, and the next, and the next, things showed no sign of improvement. Leo began to feel more than just anxious. To make matters worse, at this point, not even fucking his fist was enough. It helped get his mind clear for the day, but the underskin burning never quite faded.

Leo turned over his leaf-makeshift bed, which now seemed ten times more unpleasant, and tried in vain to suppress the urge to go out and figure out how to make it more comfortable for himself and his ma– Leo snorted at the thought. It was horrible to endure instincts conflicting with rational thought. There had never been such a thing as a 'mate' in his life. A couple of partners, sure, but nothing close to someone who saw him like this. The mere thought of being unable to hold back or keep composure twisted his stomach.

“Fuck—” he sighed under his breath.

His hand closed around his shaft, gripping it deliciously as he moved it fast-paced. Small whimpers fell from his lips, heat spreading through his body. The peak of the season was the worst part of it. 

His head fell back as he hissed, hooded eyes locked in the sky as he chased his release. His voice rose more than he'd like as he came loud and long, spilling hot loads all over his plastron.

Leo coughed before catching his breath. He cleansed himself with a rag dampened in cold water, the sensation leaving him slightly dizzy. Every inch of his body ached. As he focused on the soothing coolness, a faint sound of footsteps reached him. He sharpened his hearing; an agitated breath came with it. Someone dared to trespass into his territory. 

The mere thought sent anger coursing through his veins, propelling him hastily toward the origin of the sound. He landed with a resounding thud, causing the scattered branches on the ground to snap beneath his weight. The intruder staggered backward. His katana reached their throat, halting mere inches before the tender flesh.

As the moonlight cast its glow, clarity washed over his vision: a woman, draped in an ethereal white fabric, lay sprawled on the ground. The wind carried her scent to his nose, and he instinctively covered his snout with his forearm before retreating, concealing himself behind a sturdy tree. His pupils dilated, taking her in.

"What are you doing here?" Leo rasped.

— – -   

You gasped a couple of times before digesting that what you just saw was not human. 

It’s okay, you said to yourself, It’s him. It's the same voice, steady, gravelly, and with a hint of sparkle. He who had rescued you so many years ago. He, who took care of everyone in the village. He, to whom the elders held respect and affection. Once you caught your breath, you began to recite long-memorized lines.

"Mighty spirit of the wild, protector of the jungle, I— I have been sent as an oblation for you to do as you please. If that brings you back to our aid."

Leo scoffed, disbelief evident in his expression. "They forced you here?" Anger was palpable in his voice. Perhaps he had been protecting the wrong kind of people.

"No!" you quickly clarified. "I offered myself.”

Your scent was intoxicating: sweet with a hint of spice. He focused on breathing through his mouth.

“Why?”

You gave one step closer, cautiously. “Consider it a payback. For your help to everyone in the village.”

"Payback?" he sneered. “I came back of my own free will. You owe me nothing.”

The urge to approach and tap your cheeks was gnawing at him. Fuck, he hated not to be in his freaking right mind. Hold it, Leo chanted in his mind. Hold it just for one more minute.

"I still want to lend you a hand,” you mumbled. “I- I have worked customer service, so I understand that taking care of other's needs constantly drains energy. I just thought you might want an extra hand."

Why was your voice suddenly so alluring? He huffed, exhausted.

"You offered yourself as a sacrifice bridal because you think I'm burnt out?"

You could hear a certain tension in his voice, stitched with a hint of sass—although, he seemed to be speaking through gritted teeth. Was he in pain?

His tone was harsher than he intended, perhaps due to the embarrassment of enduring his heat in the worst possible way. The branches and dirt cracked under your weight as you approached. Leo tensed, gripping his katana tightly.

“I know I may not have all my screws in place, but I wanted to return the favor for all the times you’ve saved us, that’s all. Help around in any way you see fit, whether it's assisting with chores you're too tired to do or whatever else you wish."

Your voice was as soft as a velvety touch wrapping around him, sensually caressing him like the finest silky fabric. It sent a shiver down his spine. He swallowed a gasp when you reached his side. His heart rate surged, echoing through every blood vessel. Leo moved back, the sharp katana once again mere inches away from your face, yet this time, trembling like he wasn't strong enough to hold it.

You raised your hands, palms showing. "But it's up to you. I really don't want to disturb you further."

You observed him wrestling with inner turmoil, his face taut, burdened by indecision. 

"You don’t understand what you’d be getting into." His gaze matched the depth of his voice.

"Tell me."

Leo exhaled heavily, whispering, "I'm burning."

He sounded like he was dying. 

“Are you sick?”

You took a step closer, and his face became much clearer.

He let out a sort of sardonic laugh. “No.”

Then you saw it: desire blazing bright in his eyes. You took a deep breath, considering. He remained as still as if he was another three in the green landscape. It hit you right there.

"Spring is when the reproductive cycle of life forms begins, isn't it?" you were searching for toned-down words so as not to make him uncomfortable. “That's what's happening to you," you stated, half matter-of-factly, half realizing it. 

"Then you understand what it would mean to stay and help me," he said. "So leave. Run back, I'll guard your flank."

You stood your ground, despite your shaky legs. “I'll help.”

“What?” he gasped in disbelief.

“I won't go back as a failure, and I won't let you suffer when you've broken your back to keep us safe. I will help you.” you stated. The resolution in your voice made him shiver.

"You don’t get it," he said, feeling every ounce of self-control slowly dropping off his body. 

Shit, he wanted to just accept. Why was he even holding back? Bet you were such a slut, bet you were thinking how would it feel to have your pretty cunt so fucking stretched by his knot.

“I do. You need reli-” 

"No, you don't," he snapped. The blue mask framed the gravity of his expression. "When I start, I won’t stop. Not even if you beg, not even if you cry. Is that clear?" 

You swallowed hard, your voice carrying a slight tremor as you responded, "Yeah."

"For as long as it lasts, I won't let you leave. You might get hurt... do you understand?"

"Yes," you muttered, finally mustering the courage to slowly push the sword out of the way. He allowed it, his eyes guarded.

You aimed closer, taking one steady step after the other. Your hand reached out until the tips of your fingers finally grazed his plastron. You slid them until the full palm pressed against it. He shivered under your touch, a faint sound escaping his lips. A moan?

There was a different glow in his eyes when he settled them back on you. They shone like he was seeing something beyond. His hand closed around your wrist, pulling you. Your chest crashed against his front, knocking the air out of you. Another mutant hand gripped you tight on the opposite side. His face landed on the crook of your neck. He growled as he took a deep breath before letting out a sigh. You held your breath.

Leo stopped, his agitated breathing inches away from your ear. Raspy, desperate, needy.

"Wait here. I'll come back for you in an hour," he instructed, reluctantly breaking the embrace to hold your face. You moved with him as he seemed to rock you. His forehead was inches away from yours. "This is your chance to flee."

He let go, and as if he were indeed a ghost, he vanished into the shadows of the night.

—--------

You waited until the thin clouds finished traveling the night sky, clearing it entirely, allowing the stars to shine. For a moment, doubt crept in, making you wonder if he would return.

"You stayed," he muttered in disbelief.

You snapped back, scanning for the source of his voice. He landed before you, a smoother descent this time. His demeanor underwent a subtle change, softer and tinted with a hint of nervousness.

"Follow me," he instructed.

You stood up, shook the dirt off the white cloth covering you, and trailed behind him through the vines and bushes. With his sword, Leo skillfully cut through some overly dense branches, making a path for you.

"Where are we going, ghost?"

"To a secluded place," he said. After a brief pause, he added, "My name is Leonardo."

You snorted. He halted, casting a quizzical look over his shoulder.

"Sorry, I was expecting something less... ordinary," you chuckled. "It's a beautiful name; a bit too formal, tho. Can I call you Leo?"

He smirked, resuming his pace. You were easy to talk to, a quality he found comforting. "Sure. So, what's yours?"

You shared your name, and he said it back. “Pretty.”

His voice, along with the praise, made your belly tingle.

He took you to a kind of cenote a couple of meters below. The surroundings stole your breath. Various shades of green foliage reclined on moss, bathed in the glow of a mellow fire dancing near the shore. The light cast the reflection of the water swells upon the walls of earth and rock. 

Beyond the flames of the campfire, there was a makeshift… nest? —more resembling leaves intertwined over the mushy moss— stacked beneath a rock bowl. The scent of flowers lingered heavily. There would likely be more than a couple on the seemingly soft pile. It looked like he had been living there for a while. 

The feeling of his hands on your sides jolted you. You turned. He was looking down at you, his gaze intense, silently conveying a question, hungered for answers. His teeth clamped together, still in pain, it seemed. You placed your hand over his.

"It's okay. I'm not afraid." 

"No?" 

Leo cupped your cheek, his fingers gently tapping. It seemed like something he couldn't suppress any longer. In an attempt to reciprocate, you did the same to him, using both hands.

“No.”

It must have struck a nerve because he yanked you from the spot where you stood, practically tossing you into the heap of leaves. He landed above you, a hand behind your head. It was so sudden that it made you dizzy. You clung to the edge of his plastron as he pressed you against it. 

Leo caught your mouth. His kiss was deep, fervent, demanding, exuding an almost fuel-ignited heat. His tongue interlaced with yours, and he moaned when you kept up with him. 

You gasped for air when he let go. A pang of bolt-like tickles sprouted and spread from your belly through your veins, and they reverberated through every place he explored with open, calloused palms. He dragged his hand across your side, all three fingers groping your breasts ravenously, pinching your nipples above the fabric. You gasped.

Leo carried his kisses to your neck, nibbling at it right over your pulse line, sucking the soft flesh hard enough to make you yelp. That would leave a mark. He grinned over the bruise before finding another spot near it to make another.

You felt his grip over your thighs as one of his hands had somehow found out how to go past that ridiculously long bride-like dress. You embraced him with your legs, pulling him close to your core and arching your back as if you were in heat alike upon feeling his front so tight against your cunt.

He humped over your clothed slit, pushing your legs wider to accommodate himself, after which he thrust again, this time letting out an earnest groan right into your ear. His hot breath against your skin gave you goosebumps. 

You whimpered, seeking a place to anchor yourself. Slipping a hand through the top of his shell, you secured yourself to his broad shoulders as he kept grinding on you frantically. 

You spread your legs wider in an attempt to feel the friction better. The lower part of his plastron was soaked, and the slimy moisture seeped through your clothing smoothly. It felt so good that you started clenching and unclenching to increase the sensation.

His voice quivered as a hot liquid damped you down, sticking to the clothes. You remained there, fixed as he caught his breath. Leo got up on his knees. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. You could then notice every perfectly formed muscle on his body. Below his belly, his cock was glistening with the slick of the previous cum. His size was not as intimidating as the knot at the base, swollen and somewhat red. He looked almost immaculate.

Leo removed the blue bandana in one swift movement, and in the next, he ripped off the ruined dress off your body. He panted, gaze lusting over your nakedness. His predatory gaze sent a shiver down your spine.

"Such a pretty little cunt," he said with a half-grin on his face. "Not wide enough to fit me, tho. Gotta fix that first."

He pushed your labia open with raspy thumbs before leaning down. You breathed in sharply upon sensing his snout so close. Leo licked a stripe over your slit, steady and soft. You gaped, holding his head with trembling fingers. His tongue was thick, mushy-like. You moaned when he circled it over your clit, before sucking on it. Your hips snapped up, offering as much of yourself as he was willing to take.

Leo lingered there, feasting on your puffy nub. You closed your eyes, head falling back. Soft whimpers and sighs echoed through the place as you squirmed between his arms.

He slid back to your entrance and pushed in, moaning at the taste. After a couple of testing thrusts, he began fucking you with his tongue: sleek, hot, and skilled in a way you weren't prepared for. 

You pushed his head deeper into you so your clit would rub against his snout, building an exquisite warmth inside your belly. Leo sensed you tensing under his grip, and he gave until the hot, sweet spasms of your walls told him you were satisfied.

His cock pulsated more with each passing moment, aching to get entirely sucked by your hot insides, and move. But fuck, if Leo retained yet one ounce of self-control, he committed it to ensure he wouldn't harm you that much. 

A fine line of saliva followed him for a fraction of a second when he pulled away, panting. He cleaned his face with his palm to then fist his cock, right above the swollen knot. You lifted your legs by pulling them towards you from behind the thighs, gaze thoroughly hypnotized by the sight of him lining with you. 

Leo let out a breathy moan as he pushed into you, the heat, the softness, and the sight taking away the last drops of his rational thought. 

The stretch stung slightly, but god, other than that, it was heavenly smooth. He bottomed out. Before he even moved, Leo spilled one hot load after the other, brimming you with cum. 

“Fuck—,” he panted. 

His chin rested on the crook of your neck. Your hands flew to his back, and you caressed his shell lovingly. His breathing evened with each controlled exhalation, yet the grip of his fingers over your flesh hadn't relaxed one scrap. It gave you the impression that he was holding back. Despite his feral desires, on the verge of losing his mind to pure instinct, he remained steadfast in his commitment not to harm you. Your heart melted.

“It's okay. I can take it,” you whispered tenderly, leaning your head over his, embracing him further.  

“No, this is— this is enough.” he gritted, voice sore. 

“Hey, I don't like giving half-heartedly. I told you it was alright," you told him, but it didn't seem like it was going through his stubborn head. So you changed the tone to try your luck. "Besides, I like how you feel inside me. I bet you'd fuck me so good."

His breath hitched. 

You grinned, clenching around his cock. “I bet you’re wondering how it’d feel, if you pushed your cute knot inside me.” 

“Stop it.” 

“Why?”

“I can’t— “

“Say you don’t want to.” you pulled his face to make him look at you. Hooded eyes bearing such a delightful dark gaze. He was about to snap, just one more small push. “Say you don’t want to breed me so fucking much it drips off my cunt. Say it, and I’ll shut up and let this to your own devices.”

His pupils dilate entirely. "Say that again." 

"Breed me so good." 

He kissed you at the same time he thrust, setting a frantic pace. His dick felt heavenly. It effortlessly reached the best spot inside you. You kept him pinned in the right place with the clasp of your legs, getting friction over your clit. 

He forced the pulsating nub inward, the stretch sent your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“Ah— shit, yes. Yes.” he gritted, his voice drunken-like.

Irrepressible moaning streamed like a pretty song as his pace quickened. Leo sounded so fucking hot, relishing the instant. His orgasm triggered your own. Your back arched, and he slipped his arms underneath you, bringing you impossibly near to him as his dick pulsated deliciously, spreading the warmth within him through you.

Leo didn't stop after that. He continued to fuck you until your inner thighs bled from the continuous chafing against the edges of his shell, babbling something about pretty babies with your eyes. He was thoroughly unbound, mind spinning, burning as much as his passion for you. 

At some point, reality became a vaporous reflection on tempered glass. You were facing him at one moment, and then next, Leo held you by the hips as he ravished you in doggy style. His groaning, along with the lewd sound of wet skin slapping, anchored you to consciousness just enough to feel him spilling another hot wave of cum.

— – -

You woke up to the soft symphony produced by the combined sounds of the jungle—small animals rustling their wings, the wind whispering through the branches, a distant echo of a bird's song. The sun bathed the water in light, creating small waves that reflected the tranquil movement of the water all around.

Every inch of your body ached so intensely that the mere contemplation of movement welled tears in your eyes. Perhaps it had been too much. When you tried to shift, you felt something wet adhering to the skin of your thighs. Looking down, you found seaweed moistened with a scent that resembled a subtle mix of herbs.

A firm hand caressed your arm, and you tensed. However, the grip was gentle, almost hesitant, as if he were afraid to touch you. Slowly, you turned around. There he lay, gazing at you with bright, guilt-filled eyes.

"Good morning."

“Hello,” you greeted back.

"I'm sorry. It was-"

It's okay," you interrupted, placing a hand over his own. "I signed up for it. I told you I'd tough it out. Don't be too hard on yourself."

His gaze softened.

"Yet, I'm sorry I hurt you."

"You followed his gaze toward the area closed off with herbs. Bruises spread underneath. Then you noticed that, except for those bruises, you were pristine, and so was the place where you slept.

"You cleaned me up?"

"I had to do something for you. Although I know it's not enough, it’s a beginning," he said, fluttering the tips of his fingers near the damaged area.

"Thanks. So, is it over, or…?"

"The worst part is, we should be okay as long as someone keeps her mouth in check," he teased.

You chortled. "Sorry, not sorry."

He shared a laugh with you. Just as it subsided, Leo drew you into a tender embrace, snuggling you in a way that set your heart aflutter.

"I'm gonna keep you safe," he whispered.

You froze, a touch overwhelmed by the unexpected affection. He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. The moment lingered until a rumble from your stomach shattered the magic. Your cheeks burned bright red. Leo chuckled softly.

"What would you like for breakfast?"

[cripplecharacters]

I've read the post about how arm prostheses are often more trouble than they're worth and it makes sense. My special interest fandom doesn't have robotics or magic anyway, so a prosthetic there would more or less amount to a stick with possibly a hook on the end, and I'm not trying to argue in favour of making anything more advanced than that here. What I would like to know is if the same practical considerations apply with someone who's lost BOTH hands or analogous gripping appendages. Is it worth it to go for the lightest and least clunky prosthetic possible or is it still easier to do everything with the mouth and/or feet? Does it vary depending on what one is doing, or how much of the arm is lost?

Hi!

[Please note, we don't currently have mods who are amputees; you can try checking with some of our recommended blogs from our navigation post, but I'm not familiar with any bilateral arm amputees doing writing advice on Tumblr.]

There is a lot of factors that would go into this, and the two you mentioned are absolutely important, but I'd say that age plays the biggest role. What I mean is how old the person was where they had their arms amputated, since that's where I generally see the biggest difference in prosthetic use.

For the following sections I'll presume a scenario where the person is financially able to buy prosthetics that would suit their body in the technical aspect and potential assistive devices to get them on etc. aren't a problem to acquire for them.

If someone loses their arms at 70, they're almost certainly going to be using prosthetics, at least part-time. They spent decades doing everything with their hands and probably have close to zero coordination necessary to do these tasks with their feet now, not to mention being in worse condition in general due to their age. Even if their prosthetics are the simplest hooks, they will probably give them more independence since at an older age and with no practice, using their legs would be out of the question and using stumps could be much harder for someone whose way less flexible and strong. This doesn't mean that all the cons of an arm prosthetic disappear, because they don't - in this scenario, it just means that the possible pros outweigh the cons.

If someone is born without their arms or loses them as a younger child, they're probably gonna wear prosthetics at first because their parents will want them to and will stop just as fast. Have you tried to put a shirt on a toddler? Now imagine trying to put two arms on them that they can't fully control. For someone younger they will just instinctively do things however they can, whether that would be by using residual limbs (more common if it's below the elbow) or feet (more common if above the elbow). There might be some tasks that might be impossible or very difficult to do without a prosthetic, and then the person might get a specialized one - Bebe Vio is a wheelchair fencer who uses an arm prosthetic to hold her foil because you can't really do that without one. Some instruments might also require the use of a prosthetic, but children generally tend to figure to do almost everything out with what they got. There are armless drummers and guitarists who play with their feet.

You can check this video out, it's by Isabelle Weall where she talks about why she chooses to not use prosthetics arms. Jessica Cox is one of the most famous people with no arms and she can do more or less everything - fly a plane, do karate, drive a car. Matt Stutzman is one of the best compound archers in the world and he doesn't use prosthetics either. All these people lost their arms young or were born without them.

Obviously a lot of people will be in the middle. That's where length of residual limbs will play a major role, but also people's lifestyle or what they do on the daily basis. If someone needs the tactile sensation to be able to do their job, they will probably prefer using their arm stumps or feet if the stumps are too short.

But if someone's stumps are too short, and they don't want or can't use their feet (it's not as easy as just starting to do stuff with your toes, it requires a ton of practice, flexibility, and patience) then they might go for prosthetics or a prosthetic, singular. Some people might find it easier to adapt to a body-powered prosthesis because to them the pros of one are more significant than the cons. I mean, not that many people have the flexibility alone needed to write with a pen with your foot, let alone coordination. They could wear a prosthesis when they know they'll be doing a lot of grabbing work because it's awkward for them to try doing it with their residual forearms and take it off to play with their dog because it feels nicer to pet it when you can feel it on your skin.

There is of course the situation where regardless of factors, neither option really works for someone. They might have minimal to no ability to actually use prosthetics (weakness, other disability), while their legs might be atrophied from the bedrest caused by the illness that required their arms to be amputated (or anything else that prevents them from using their legs). This person might rely on caregivers instead for a lot of tasks, and these people absolutely do exist. Sometimes it's a situation that happens right after the amputation and they later find something that works for them, but sometimes they might not. This is a possibility as well.

All these factors should be considered for a character, and then of course you have to factor in the character themselves - can they afford prosthetics? Do they have a way to learn how to use them effectively? Get them fixed and adjusted? If the learning process of using a prosthetic is frustrating to them, they might not want to use it at all, and if it comes easily to them they might be more inclined to do actually wear it.

Of course even if the pros-to-cons analysis decides that using prosthetics would be beneficial, the cons are still very much there. They're still heavy, with not the greatest dexterity, sometimes causing skin issues or muscle soreness. It takes a lot of work in occupational therapy to be proficient in using them. As long as you do research on the reality of using bilateral prosthetics (both negative and positive sides, which will be different for different people so you should get as many perspectives as you can) it's definitely okay to include them. There's no point in painting them as either magical tools that are just like regular arms or making them seem like they're completely useless pieces of junk - though they can be that for many, but for others they can also be what helps them live their life more fully, makes bringing groceries in easier, or just allows them to participate in that one hobby they do once a week.

And of course: when in doubt, have a range of disabled characters.

I hope this helps,

mod Sasza

[themattress]

The Shitennou in the 90s anime are fantastic because each one of them is a specialist of some sort and it makes their evil operations distinct from one another, keeping things fresh.

Jadeite - The Illusionist

When it comes to Jadeite, deception is the name of the game. For his energy harvesting schemes he creates fake businesses, has his youma pose as humans, and he himself dons all sorts of disguises: radio DJ, fitness instructor, stage manager, academic professor, shrine assistant, amusement park security guard, and captain of a cruise ship. He will also utilize illusions to intimidate like when he showed a vision of Tokyo in flames, or to trick his enemies like when he had illusionary cops force the Sailor Senshi to transform so that he could learn their true identities. Unfortunately, Jadeite's pride in his capabilities means that he was stubbornly unwilling to adapt and take a more direct approach, leading to his downfall.

Nephrite - The Manipulator

Nephrite is a manipulator in all senses of the word. He manipulates people, objects, events and even the stars themselves in order to achieve his villainous goals. Using the single disguise of Masato Sanjouin, he gets close to victims, then will usually give them an item he curses to amplify their innate negative energy until it matches the energy of the star they were born under, creating a special youma in the process. He eventually singles out a key victim in Naru Osaka, who has a crush on his Sanjouin persona, and manipulates her in plans to destroy the Sailor Senshi or find the Imperium Silver Crystal, and uses a special tool of his own creation known as the Dark Star Crystal. However, his cold heart ends up warmed by Naru's innocence and devotion to love, leading him to his tragic demise defending her.

Zoisite - The Cheat

While Zoisite had aid from Kunzite in strategizing, let's not sell him short when it comes to the moment of truth - Zoisite frequently prevails because he is willing to do absolutely anything to win. No method is too dirty, cheap or cowardly for him to embrace. He'll threaten someone's loved one to coerce them into doing what he wants, he'll sucker-punch his enemies out of nowhere after having previously retreated from them, he'll physically bully whoever is smaller and weaker than him then blind them to make an escape if they prove more formidable than expected, he'll pretend to surrender and then strike, he'll sic a monster on his enemy while taking his prize and running, and when all else fails a good old-fashioned stabbing in the back will suffice. Zoisite got far on dishonesty, but success went to his head and he overreached.

Kunzite - The Trap Master

At first Kunzite was a skilled tactician, but then after Zoisite died the writers made him stupider at crafting strategies without even seeming to realize it. What he remained very consistent on, however, was his brilliant and deadly traps. He engineered a fake hostage situation leading to the Sailor Senshi getting caught in a dark, ever-compressing forcefield, he cut the power in Tokyo to obstruct the Sailor Senshi's efforts and cause Mamoru and Usagi to get stuck in an elevator, he had a great idea for a DNA scanning device to catch Sailor Moon with that his youma sadly screwed up, he held a princess seminar where the target was the overall failures save for in a frisbee-tossing challenge since it reflects Sailor Moon's tiara throwing ability, he had a giant snowy chasm created for his enemies to fall right into and be unable to climb out of, he rigged an ice skating rink temperature control device to blast an obscene amount of icy coldness down on everyone and nearly freeze them to death, he played on Sailor Venus' friendship with another person to almost obtain vital information from her, he turned the Sailor Senshi's own attempt at a trap back on them because he saw right through it, and were it not for the Silver Crystal's interference would have trapped them all in time-space limbo. Of all the Shitennou, he came closest to victory on the most occasions. Additionally, he was a powerful warrior, with his power and pride sadly being his undoing.

[wannaeatramyeon]

Goo Kim x Reader: Dating (feat. Gun)

G/N. Requested. Fluff

"Who is this mysterious sexy man?" Goo chuckles, "It's ME!"

He thrusts the trashy tabloid in Gun's face. That ridiculous headline and Goo's mug plastered on the front page, arm around one of the most sought after K-Pop idols.

Mysterious? Sexy?

Gun peers at the photo and thinks that Goo looks like how he always does.

An idiot.

Lips stretched into an open mouthed grin. Eyes crinkled. Hideously garish suit. Stupid bleached hair.

Some of his meagre charm must be doing something though, because the idol's smile reflects his. A touch more sane, a lot more sincere, and very much besotted if the way they're looking at the blonde is anything to go by.

"They're boring though," Goo leans back, studies the idol's face that he is casually bedding and dismisses them.

One word, cutting and cruel: "Next."

.

.

"Either answer it, or turn it off."

"Nope!"

Gun glares at him. The phone continues to vibrate, buzzing noisily on the table.

It stops.

For now-

One..

Two...

Three...

And like clockwork-

It starts ringing again.

Just like it has done for the last ten minutes.

Fuck this. Gun grabs the device and hurls it onto the floor. It smashes with excessive force, a complete overkill, into the marble tiles.

The screen cracks, flashes, then dies.

"You're doing me a favour," Goo taps his long fingers against the table, unconcerned and disinterested, peering out the window, "They were getting clingy."

They being the supermodel that walked the Paris runway last week. Graced the front cover of the September Issue the week before.

It didn't matter.

His interest putters out like it always does. Goo is done with them.

.

.

"Ewwwww, tasteless!"

Gun catches a glimpse of a suit nestled in a gift box, logos of one of the most expensive and exclusive fashion houses adorn the tissue paper.

"Throw it away! Trash it!" Goo instructs and the HNH assistant scurries away.

"Ugh," The blonde pulls a face, as if the lingering presence of the ugly garment is still offending his delicate sensibilities.

Grabs his phone (new and top of the line) out of his pocket and makes a show of blocking someone.

He throws his arm around Gun's shoulder.

"You'd think a chaebol heir-" Stressing chaebol and heir with a smug waggle of the eyebrows, "-would have better taste. I can't be with someone with such awful style!"

Gun pushes him away, "I don't care. Shut up."

.

.

Goo has a new obsession.

Used to let his phone ring out. Used to ghost people for days, weeks, months, before reaching out again. (If he does reach out, that is.) Relish in playing mind games and gaslighting.

Now he picks up after the second ring. Murmurs, voice cooing and sickly sweet, into his phone.

Excuses himself "I have to take this," and walks out of meetings with Charles Choi and the HNH board.

Is unavailable on weekends and evenings. Snaps "I'm busy," when Gun offers the moneymaker a chance to make more money.

Then the new obsession turns into an ongoing obsession.

.

.

Your name flashes on Goo's phone screen.

Your name is one that Gun has, against his will, grown familiar with.

He has heard more than his fair share of your interests and hobbies. How great you are, how talented, how wonderful. The way your hair gleams in the light, how your eyes sparkle when you laugh. How you always beat Goo in games, "Y/N must be cheating!" he would screech.

And, according to Goo, has the most deliciously mean sense of humour. "You could never be as funny as Y/N." Goo sneers, as if it was a competition. As if Gun ever wanted to be seen as funny. Or to make Goo fucking Kim laugh.

Gun couldn't give a shit. Gun couldn't care less. But since when did Goo care what Gun thinks.

So Goo rambles, voice rushed and excited, telling him everything about you even when Gun tells him to shut the fuck up and tries to uppercut him on the jaw.

.

.

"You're getting too attached." Gun tells him one day. Not that Gun cares, but Goo Kim happy is insufferable.

He expects a glare, an insult. Eyes narrowed behind glasses and venom.

Goo's response surprises him. Gun never expected this.

A shrug and a lopsided smile. Goo is resigned to his fate. "Yeah," he agrees.

He knows he is too attached to you, and he has no intention of ever changing that.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hi, I have a question for you about TWST. Do you think that in terms of medical care and technology our world is more advanced in some ways? I had this one idea that in TWST they don’t know CPR because they have magic. Also do you think that they had a moon landing or a space race?

On the contrary, I think Twisted Wonderland’s medical care and medical technology is more advanced than ours, if not just as advanced. Twisted Wonderland has many of the same inventions as we do (cars, smartphones, social media, etc.) and even magical variants of those (a magical wheel/blastcycle is a magic-powered motorcycle), so it doesn't make sense to me that medicine and healthcare would be the one area where the real world is ahead of TWST's. Twisted Wonderland would be more advanced than us because magic would allow them to enhance their technology to surpass what we are realistically capable of. Technomantic assistive devices integrate elements of both technology and magic to assist those with impairments. Additionally, healing potions (which accelerate the speed of one's recovery) existed as far back as 400 years ago. For those skilled in potionology, they may whip up antidotes on the spot with the right medicinal herbs.

I also don't think that the existence of magic completely negates the need for regular first aid procedures. Non-magical methods and skills must still exist since the majority of the population are non-magical. Among humans, 90% are completely incapable of magic and of the remaining 10%, most of them are not able to produce enough magic to so much as lift a cup. Very few left are competent enough to become skilled mages, and even fewer are competent enough to become medical mages. Why would the entire healthcare system of the world be entirely based in magic when so few people would be capable of administering that kind of care? CPR and first aid exist in the first place so the common everyday average Joe can help others until actual medical personnel can arrive. It wouldn’t make sense to gatekeep these skills or for them to not have been invented simply because magic is A Thing. In fact, magic is not widely accessible and is implied to be kept for the elite and well-off (more on that here and here).

“Not many humans can use magic, so we turn to chemistry for stuff like this,” Trey says in his Silk Adorned vignette when explaining to the group how the colors of fireworks can differ. The existence of regular sciences—devoid of magic—implies the existence of regular medicine as well. Remember too that not all schools teach magic, therefore regular subjects must exist and be widely taught in non-magic schools.

It should also be noted that, even with magic, it's not a perfect solution for every ailment out there. For example, the healing potions in 7-68 do not instantly restore Lilia to full health; he notes that he must still rest and that his magic is still depleted to the point where he cannot fly back in the direction he just came from.

Magic was also not always viewed as a positive either; a few hundred years ago, it was viewed as a frightening thing. Mages were referred to derogatorily as “witches” and “wizards”. Most societies were not structured around magic (and still aren’t to this day, with fae seeming to be the exception). This means that normal medicine and related first aid must have still existed since magical medicine was presumably not widely accepted.

All of that was to say that I’m pretty sure Twisted Wonderland still has CPR, among other means of non-magical medicine and healthcare 😅

Now as for your final questions, I do think that Twisted Wonderland has achieved space travel. Idia was able to launch Ortho into space in Wish Upon a Star, so the technology is definitely there. It should also be noted that spacesuits and astronauts have been mentioned in the 4koma, which implies the existence of space travel. Again, I’d also like to point out that TWST’s general technological advances are about on-par with ours (including modes of transportation), so there’s no reason not to believe they haven’t gone to space as well.

I don’t think there was a Space Race though? That’s an event that happened in our history, and we know that TWST, while borrowing ideas from irl does not cleanly align with reality. For example, the fictional countries we visit have elements from many cultures (Sunset Savanna has onsen eggs, which are Japanese, not African; Harveston has fashion and foods from various Nordic cultures, etc.).

For historical events… I think Twisted Wonderland is more likely to get its inspiration from Disney movies rather than look to actual irl history. It gets into too much muddy political tension otherwise, which I totally understand TWST wanting to keep out. There were probably other circumstances that led to the advent of space travel in Twisted Wonderland.

[obsolescent]

Happy Birthday, Leon

Pairing: Leon S. Kennedy x Reader

Summary: As Leon’s assistant, you help keep everything organized for him. One day while arranging some papers on Leon’s desk, you stumble across his birthday. Noticing that it’s only a few weeks away, you begin to prepare a surprise celebration for him, unbeknownst to you how Leon feels about said day.

Author’s Notes: Hey! This was not planned, but I was like oh, wow, the day I headcannon as Leon’s birthday is April 1st…Should I? And so I did lol. This follows a few HCs I have for Leon! I couldn’t sleep anyways and needed something to take my mind off some real life issues occurring, hope you enjoy! (I cut it close with this one lol).

Content Warnings: Angst, mention of losing parents, grief, gender neutral language used for reader, Leon and the reader have ties to the southern United States, fluff, Leon healing his inner child.

Without you around, Leon would surely be running around like a chicken with its head cut off. 

You think about that metaphor and grimace, realizing how dark it actually is. With a shake, you rid your mind of it and resume your task. Leon had to abruptly leave for an important meeting that was called at the last minute. You could hear him bitching about it the whole time while scrambling for the necessary papers for said meeting, and Leon had left his office in complete shambles.

Your smaller office was connected to his, ‘yeah, an office, if you could call it a room even, more like a shoebox,’ and after throwing the door into the wall with a BANG and a rushed “Meeting, be back whenever,” Leon was gone. After settling your heart rate back to its regular rhythm, you had gotten up and checked the wall for any doorknob shaped dents.

Praying to the Lord that the doorstop still does its job after the one thousandth time of being repeatedly smacked, you glanced into his office and stopped. Typically, about once a month you like to help Leon out with his space, straightening things up for him, but this…

‘I don’t know how this man works like this…I can only imagine what his house is like.’

Back in the present and at the task at hand, you start with the papers thrown about the floor, gathering them together. You begin to sort them by the date, noticing that some even have footprints on them! ‘This man…’ you groan, trying to dust the sheets off, only succeeding in smudging the dirt further.

Stacking the documents off to the side, you begin clearing off the top of Leon’s desk, grabbing dirty mugs with old coffee in them and pouring them out in the sink in the kitchenette. You carry a roll of paper towels, disinfectant spray, and a duster back to his office.

Dusting what little trinkets he had on his desk, you run it over his desktop computer and its keyboard. Trying not to apply too much pressure when you start going over the keys, you manage to bump into the mouse, waking the computer from its sleep.

Glancing at the screen, you notice it didn’t lock. ‘He’s like a secret agent or something, right? Why does he not have this locked? Or…Could it be that he doesn't know how to?” You think back on how God awful he is at working any device, having to sometimes ask multiple times a day for help. You let out a puff of air and grin, already thinking about how you’re going to bring it up once he’s back.

Though, something catches your eye on the screen. His personnel file is pulled up.

He isn’t really secretive about his background, more like you never have an opportunity to ask about it. Leon’s mentioned friends and some semblance of a family, and if you try hard enough you can still make out a southern drawl on the tailend of some of his words.

A small peek wouldn’t hurt. 

You bend over, face just a few inches away from the screen, and begin scanning, finding the first one you’re looking for.

‘The southern lilt makes sense now!’ 

Seeing that he comes from a small town, a smile forms on your face, thinking about the stories he could possibly tell you about it, the yapper he is. You store the location into your brain, planning to do your own research later. 

The next one that catches your eye is his date of birth. ‘April Fool’s Day? Oh, poor guy probably got so much shit for that in school. I bet his parents had a hard time convincing their family that he was actually born that day and it wasn’t a prank. Also an Aries, fitting for him’ 

You laugh at your thoughts but freeze, your gaze moving to the small calendar propper up on his desk. 

‘That’s in 3 weeks! Why didn’t he say anything?’

He may not care about it much? Some people, as they get older, don’t hold as much emphasis on things like that. Regardless, you’ll do something for him, it’ll be small and simple, but hopefully it’ll open him up for more discussions about his past, or at least put one of those rare smiles on his face.

You finish cleaning up his office and put away the supplies, brainstorming ideas for the rest of the day.

-

As his birthday gets closer, you sneak in decorations a little at a time, not wanting him to catch onto what you’re planning. The night before the big day, you tell Leon you’ll be staying later to catch up on some paperwork. None the wiser, he nods, going back to his computer screen.

Once he’s left for the day, your plan is set into motion.

You pull out the items stashed in the back of your desk’s drawers, starting with a banner, each letter a different color painted on burlap, spelling out “HAPPY BIRTHDAY”. You tape it to the front of his desk, then move on to the kitchenette. You pull out a tablecover, white with polka dots the same color as the letters on the banner. You set two party hats down on the table, laying out the candles you’ll be putting in his cake–er pie?

Trying nonchalantly to ask about his favorite desserts, he had mentioned he hadn’t had pecan pie in awhile, that it used to be one of his favorites. Thanking your granny for always making one for almost every holiday, you knew that recipe off the top of your head.

You triple checked that it was still in its container in the fridge. ‘It hasn’t grown legs and walked off.’ You giggle at the thought and shut the door, going through the space to check once more on your handiwork. 

Satisfied, you shut the lights off and lock up, a bounce in your step as you walk to your car.

-

You’re up before your alarm screams at you, too excited about today. You head into the office earlier than usual, getting the pie out from the fridge and setting it on the table, sticking the candles in it.

You feel like your body is literally vibrating from excitement, not knowing why you’re so thrilled. 

I mean, yeah you’re throwing a surprise party for Leon, but there’s something else there. Maybe it’s that you get to do something for him? You do feel a bit giddy whenever he thanks you for tidying up his office, his lopsided smile making your own smile turn into a grin.

‘Maybe you have a crush on Leon?”

Oh, it could be that. Dude’s hot, a bit dorky. A flirt, too, even if he doesn’t mean to come off that way. You could see it. You don’t have long to contemplate the thought, hearing his Jeep pull up.

Screaming internally, you rush to grab your party hat and throw it on, turning off the light and moving to stand in the middle of the room.

The door opens with a soft chime. Leon steps into the foyer, muttering, “Why the hell are the lights out?” 

Leon walks into the room and flips the switch, and you scream, “SURPRISE! HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LEON!”

You startled him it seems. Leon jumps back, hand hovering over his side before realizing it’s just you, and his hand drops.

‘Damn, he almost pulled his gun on me, maybe that wasn’t the best idea, next time I definitely won’t–’

“How did you know it was my birthday?”

Snatched from your internal monologue, you stare at him. 

He seems…upset?

“Uh, w-well, back a few weeks ago, I was cleaning your office and saw that your file was pulled up, I happened to glance at your birthdate! Also, it totally makes sense, like, of course you’re an Aries. Athletic, brave, charming, stereotypical and…”

You trail off, your rambling dying off at his hardened expression. 

Leon walks towards you. 

He’s not the tallest man, but with the expression on his face along with his body language, you feel minuscule.

You try to ease the tension in the room, by babbling, of course.

“I made you a pie, pecan! Y-you said you hadn’t had it in awhile, and my family makes a really good one, it’s actually my granny’s recipe–” He holds a hand up to silence you.

He walks back to the front door and locks it, before stalking past you into his office.

“Come in and close the door,” he says cooly.

Dread seeps into you, breathing beginning to pick up. ‘Is he going to fire me?’

You take a deep breath and release, turning and walking into his space, closing the door behind you.

You sit in the loveseat in front of his desk. It seems like the banner stares you down as well, seemingly mocking you in this turn of events.

He sits down in his chair and leans back, chin in his hand while he stares off to the side.

You stare at your lap, hands sweaty as you wring them. 

“You have no idea why I don’t celebrate it.” 

Your eyes dart up to look at him, but he’s still staring off, but his expression looks softer now.

You think he’s talking out loud, so you don’t answer, looking down once more. 

“My parents died when I was younger. After they were gone, no one threw me any parties. No more gifts, no more cakes. I couldn't even tell the other kids because they thought I was lying about the date. So I stopped celebrating it. Kept it to myself, until now.”

Your heart hurts for him. The pain behind his words are evident.

“I’m so sorry, Leon,” you blurt out, unable to hold back the wave of emotions, “You deserve to have a happy birthday, with cakes and gifts and all, surrounded by those who care for and love you. I just wanted it to be a good day for you, I didn’t mean to bring back such awful memories.”

You’re a mess, the horrible feeling of guilt filling you, your eyes red with unshed tears. You rise from your seat and walk around to him, and Leon stands up on instinct.

You don’t even care if this isn’t professional at this point. You wrap your arms around his waist and embrace him, your tear soaked face soaking into his button up.

He says your name, “It’s okay, you didn’t know,” he tries to comfort you as best as he can, going to pat your head and disturbs the streamers around the edges of the party hat you’re still wearing. You gasp and pull back, ripping it off and tossing it to the ground.

You apologize again, making your way towards the desk to pull the banner down. You’re pulling the tape off the corner when Leon’s hand stops you.

“Hey.”

Leon says softly, his fingers grasping your wrist, tugging your hand away. 

“You said I deserve to have a happy birthday, don’t I?” He asks, and you jerk your head in a nod, “Of course, yeah.”

He smiles, “Well, there’s always today, it’s still my big day, ain’t it?” 

He walks over and picks up the hat up off the floor, holding it out to you.

“Let’s start with that pie, I’m starvin’.”

[iminseriousdebt]

GENLOSS RAMBLE

Heyo! This is a little ramble I needed to make before the founders cut comes out!  yipee!

(GENERATION LOSS SPOILERS)

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

/

So we can see in the above images the methods Showfall Media is using to control gl!Sneeg gl!Charlie and gl!Ranboo, they use an already pre-existing technology called an Electroencephalogram (EEG). Now this technology has been in use for decades, and essentially how it works is that it uses electrodes placed onto your scalp combined with a conductive gel to measure the electrical activity in your brain, these electrical signals are usually referred to as “brain waves” and these brainwaves can be subdivided into four categories, Gamma (greater than 30 Hz), Beta (13-30 Hz), Alpha (8-12 Hz), Theta (3.5-7.5 Hz), and Delta (0.1-3.5 Hz)

These different brainwaves are generally assosiated with different emotions, awareness levels, brain activities, etc. Now if Showfall Media has installed these onto sneeg, charlie, and ranboo, that means they have access to their thoughts and feelings, but brainscanning isn’t an absolute precise device, it still takes a lot of human effort and time to properly interpret the brainwaves. If Showfall somehow had a tool to easily interpret the signals they could much more easily operate, say, a live show. Lucky for them there is already a real life solution to this problem, kinda.

Its called Brain Generative Pre-Training Transformer, or BrainGPT for short.  What its goal is, is to act as an assist tool for human neurologists to use in real neuroscience cases and case studies, what it does is it uses a Large Language Model (LLM) full of pre-existing human research papers and other neuroscience knowledge too vast for human comprehension. And whenever a neurologist hands BrainGPT a prompt, (such as anomalous finding or to asses the fields understanding of a certain topic) , “would generate likely data patterns reflecting its current synthesis of the scientific literature”  (braingpt.org)

Now in regards to Generation Loss, what this means is that Showfall Media potentially has acces to this sort of technology, and would be able to use it in the production of their shows, now BrainGPT has a good way to go before its widely avalable. But in the genloss au, it can be far into development at this point, and be available for companies to use in whatever way they see fit.

Now reading and decoding brain signals is one thing, but to mind control someone is far beyond what is capable today, but Showfall Media has somehow developed technology to do so, the way I’m guessing they did it is that they produced certain brainwaves from the electrodes on the actors heads to give them the emotional reactions they needed for the show. I can’t exactly get into the technical stuff cause I’m not a neurologist, but its just a hunch on how I think they did it.

As for the mind controlling devices themselves, I feel there’s a more subtextual reason as to why those objects in particular are chosen as the devices that are central to the show’s operation. Ranboo’s mask has been a heavy emphasis throughout Gen 1 TSE,

Its been a central figure in not only generation loss’ marketing, but also ranboo’s marketing, because when you think of ranboo one of the first things that pops up is the mask, atleast in the wider public’s eye.

But these general associations not only exist with Ranboo, with Slimcicle you usually think of the wide brim glasses, with Sneeg its his backwards cap, and this is with the other cast members too when their introduced on the spinning carousel in episode 2. Furthermore, with Niki it’s that’s she's just so nice, with Austin its that he’s just a gay guy,  and with Vinny and Ethan these associations don’t really exist. So, with Vinny he's just the “hoarder”, and Ethan isn't even introduced. And then there's Jerma, who is relinquished to a goofy character with a weird voice and a strange sense of humour which sort of fits his public image.

But what I wanna mention with Ranboo’s mask specifically is that with the three images shown on the genloss twitter of the control devices, sneeg’s is just a hat, like theres nothing special about it, just a hat with electrodes on it, when you take it off he’s completely in control of himself. But, with charlie’s it’s a good bit harder to just take it off. His glasses are drilled into his skull connected to electrodes which are also implanted in his skull, with an additional feature of a speaker in his jaw. But if you remove the glasses, there would be a lot of bleeding and his vision would be impaired, but he would still be a free man.

But with Ranboo, poor, poor, Ranboo… Like Charlie, they have electrodes implanted on to their brain connected to a switch on the back of their skull (which also may or may not also be connected to their spine, idk its hard to tell). These sprout wires that thread through the mask and lead into their throat, and the mask piece itself is sewn shut onto their SKIN.

Now this makes me wonder, why is Ranboo so heavily guarded when the other are (relatively) easy to set free? Is it because Ranboo is an integral part of the show and therefore high risk? Is it because Showfall needed extra resources for the chat to be able to control them?... Or is it because Ranboo tried to escape so many times before that they were forced to disfigure them to such an extreme degree, and yet somehow, SOMEHOW, they are able to resist, whether it be tapping SOS on their hand when they're on full control mode or shanking a Showfall employee with a dagger, Ranboo, Resists. But Showfall will never let them leave. Or they will? Idk founders cut hasn’t come out yet as of writing this, anyway ramble over. You can leave now.

[whatswrongwithblue]

The Fire in the Sin

Chapter 14 - Welcome to Heaven

Word count: 6,179. Read on AO3. Series Masterlist. <- Previous Chapter.

Summary: (Only slightly takes place during the events of episode 6. The rest is preguel storeline.) Alastor is going into rut but a new arrival in town may threaten what is usually a happy time of year for him and Mina. TWs: Possessive Alastor. Dirty talk. Oral - Alastor receiving. Biting and scratching. P & V. Creampie. Multiple orgasms. Tentacles. Rough sex. Anal play. Use of a vibrator.

Series Summary:

In the 1950's, Alastor met the woman he would eventually marry but unfortunately his Radio Demon persona went for her soul rather than her hand. He has to learn what it means to love, and cherish, without possessing and he does. Their relationship is beautiful, strong, unbreakable . . . but he carries a dark secret through their marriage for decades until eventually he has to face the consequences of that secret and leave her, without warning, for seven years. He returns, finding her at the Hazbin Hotel, and has to convince her to forgive him, while being literally bound to secrecy, unable to tell her any of things he now is desperate to explain to her.

(This is a duel timeline fic, timestamps will be a the top of every chapter.)

Chapter 14 - Welcome to Heaven

Present Day

Mina was really trying to be patient.

Charlie was bouncing off the walls as she awaited her trip to Heaven that was only a day away. It was endearing, in a way Mina wasn’t used to, to see someone so hopeful and excited at the prospect of making a difference. She may not actually want to see redemption succeed, but Mina had to admit, Charlie’s determination to improve their lives and her continued expression of genuine care for everyone at the hotel was finally starting to defrost the cold bitterness in Mina’s heart.  

The meeting was all anyone could talk about. Which was fine. It was very important, Mina did realize that, so she kept her little problem to herself.

Alastor had been gone since the afternoon before and that was also . . . fine. He at least gave her a heads up he would have to be M.I.A., something he could do now, given that she knew about his deal. He just couldn’t tell her the why or the where or exactly how long he would be gone, he could only say that it wouldn’t be for very long.

And yet an entire night had passed, it was late into the next morning, and he was nowhere to be found. It was only a matter of time before one of the other residents mentioned his absence, since he and Niffty were usually the ones to prepare breakfast. And even on the days he didn’t assist her, Alastor always made an appearance by this time of morning.

Mina had been confident he would be back by now, given what day it was. And as each minute went by, she was feeling that old sting of abandonment, and was currently trying very hard to push it down.

Everyone but Charlie and Vaggie were downstairs, drinking coffee and sharing a tray of muffins, while the couple was upstairs going over their itinerary and packing for the millionth time that week.

Not usually one to be glued to an electronic device, Mina kept checking her phone. It didn’t even make sense because Alastor didn’t own one, but she still kept fidgeting with it, looking for some kind of notification from anywhere as to where he was.

She didn’t notice that Angel and Husker were both side-eyeing her, very aware of her irritated state, and given her history of lashing out at others whenever Alastor had upset her, were visibly nervous.

Niffty, however, had also noticed, and had no such reservations about bringing up sore subjects.

“Where’s Alastor?” she asked, after Mina had sighed and set down her phone for the tenth time that hour.

“He’s . . . busy,” Mina answered, trying to appear like she wasn’t bothered by his absence and that she was well aware of where he was. She failed at both.

“Isn’t today your anniversary?” Niffty asked.

Angel and Husk looked nervously at each other while Sir Pentious remained clueless to the sudden tension in the room.

“Really?” he said excitedly. “I didn’t realize you two had tied the knot!”

Everyone in the room stared blankly at him and Pentious sat back, realizing how clueless he had been all along.

“They’ve been married for like . . .” Niffty thought for a moment, and Mina stayed silent, hoping the maid’s math would be wrong. The shorter woman gasped, clapping her hands together, and Mina groaned. “40 years! You two have been married 40 years today!”

“Wait,” Angel interrupted, “I thought you guys said you've been together for 70 years?”

“Took a while to put a ring on it, didn’t he?” Husker laughed, glancing at her over the rim of his coffee mug.

“It was a mutual decision,” Mina snarled back, very uncomfortable with the sudden attention. “We didn’t feel like it was necessary.”

“So, what changed your minds?” Angel asked.

He was being genuine and not invasive, but it still made Mina shrink back on herself a little. While the wedding reception itself had been a public affair, Alastor’s reasoning behind finally tying the knot was personal. No one outside the two of them knew all the details and Mina wanted it to stay that way.

Niffty started giggling.

“Niffty . . .” Mina said, warning the woman to keep quiet.

No one outside the two of them knew all the details . . .but Niffty knew most of them.

“It was because of Kassandra,” Niffty pressed.

Sir Pentious gasped. “Another woman?”

Mina shot him a glare and he slunk back into his seat once more.

“Don’t be stupid, of course there wasn’t.”

“Not like that, anyway,” Niffty said, with a hand on her hip, nearly as defensive. “Kassandra was another Overlord that almost killed Mina.”

“Whoa, what?” Angel and Husker said in unison.

“Please, Niffty. It was a long time ago. And that was not the only reason, okay? And I do not want to talk about this right now.”

“Awww c’mon kittens, this is just getting good!” Angel protested.

Niffty, ignoring Mina’s protest, jumped up on the coffee table and turned towards the others.

“Rosie had been pestering Alastor for forever to propose but he just wouldn’t, I think because it was expected of him at some point and he doesn’t like to be told what to do, but then this lady came to Hell and already had a ton of followers that she brought with her, and tried to get to Alastor through Mina. And Alastor lost his mind, locked him and Mina in his tower for days, and then when he finally came out, Kassandra’s church suddenly went up in flames and her and her people were never seen from again, but you can still hear her screams on his radio station. OOOoooohhh! I bet when he gets back today, he’ll play them for you again! Anyway, they got married less than a month after that, so it’s probably what finally got him to pop the question.”

“Thank you, Niffty, for once again doing as I say,” Mina said.

The three men turned their heads slowly from Niffty to Mina, once again looking a bit nervous. Niffty, however, looked happy as ever.

“You don’t own my soul,” she shrugged, before jumping back down.

“And with that, I think I’ll be in my room if anyone needs me,” Mina said, standing up and making her way up the stairs.

“Damn. Smiles is gonna be in hot water when he shows back up,” Angel said after he was sure Mina was out of earshot.

“Nah, I don’t think so,” Niffty said. “He’s never forgotten an anniversary. Except, I guess, for the last seven. Hmmm, definitely going to have to play those screams for her.”

“Say,” Husker said, “I’ve never even heard of this Kassandra lady. How come, if it was such a big deal, no one ever talks about her?”

“Ooooh,” Niffty laughed, “they doooooo, just not around Alastor. There’s a reason why no one before her, and especially no one after her, ever tried to hurt Mina. Even when Alastor was gone all those years. He wiped Kassandra out like SPLAT!” she clapped her hands together in front of Husker’s face. “Nothing was left!” she cackled but then quickly turned her voice into a hushed whisper. “But that’s not all. What others don’t know is Mina was there, and she made all of the cult members start eating each other while Alastor made Kassandra watch as he hung her upside down from the ceiling. And he was dressed like a nun to scare her even more. Then, on top of all the blood, and guts, and screams, they had sex on Kassandra’s altar while she burned alive above them!” Niffty jumped up on Husker’s lap, grabbed him by his suspenders, and got very close to his face. “Don’t tell them that I know that or they’ll kill us all!”

Niffty leaped down from Husker and danced out of the room, laughing maniacally.

The three men watched her leave in silence, Sir Pentious looking the most bothered and scared.

“What. The fuck?” Angel said.

1984

Alastor had been agitated for weeks.

It was one thing to live with and love someone like him, who really needed space and only became more agitated with affection if he was upset about something. It wasn’t uncommon that Mina went a couple days without even a hug or a kiss from Alastor. Keeping up appearances, staying in charge of the souls he owned, having to deal with other Overlords and occasional royalty, sometimes took its toll on the Radio Demon and often left him in very adverse moods.

Mina understood and respected all of this. She would simply keep herself busy with her own work and make sure she was there for him when his mood changed. He was never cruel to her during these times, just very distracted and distant. She would always know he was coming back around when he would begin initiating touch with her again, usually when he would finally give in to exhaustion and wrap himself around her as he fell asleep next to her in bed.

It was a pattern that, after thirty years, Mina knew the the ins and outs of well, and had become comfortable with.

But the time for Alastor’s rut was approaching and he still seemed very wrapped up in whatever had held his attention from her for so long. She was beginning to worry that he had forgotten, and she was going to have to figure out a way to carefully remind him of it.

She was already seeing the signs of it in him. He was swearing more, sleeping even less, in some state of half dress whenever he was home, and almost constantly talking shit about the other Overlords, even the ones he usually got along with. Increased aggression and competitiveness were always the first signs so she knew that any day now, his rut would be in full swing, and they would have to either lock themselves in his tower or get away for a few days to some more remote part of Pride Ring.

There was a large part of her that was looking forward to it, after having very little physical contact with him for so long, but another part of her that was growing more apprehensive by the day. If he continued to ignore the signs and went into the aroused state of his rut as angry as he was, she wasn’t sure how much of his attention she wanted on her.

And the worst part was she had no idea who or what was bothering him so much. If it was Vox, she was sure she would have been subjected to several rants by this point, but Alastor wasn’t saying anymore about his old friend than he was about any of the other Overlords these days. Mina was truly at a loss but knew she should probably bring it up tonight before it was too late.

As soon as her shift was over at The Pit, she headed home, rather than using the downtime to see her friends like she normally did. Stepping out of her cab, she looked up at the radio tower where she had lived for the last twenty years. Shortly after it became obvious they had found themselves in a serious, committed relationship, he had done something with his Voodoo that she couldn’t comprehend, but allowed the essence of the radio tower to recognize her if she was in close enough proximity to it, and she could teleport herself via shadow into the upper rooms of the building. It had been a learning curve for her at first but after several decades, she was as good at it as he was.

She materialized inside the main control room and Alastor was on her within seconds.

Mina had a moment to take in the empty room before her, the view from the large windows of the city below, his neglected workstation, a scattered mess of food and coffee mugs, his jacket, monocle, bow tie, and cane all tossed in a corner. All things that were red flags for a very overstimulated and irate deer demon.

Then he was grabbing her from behind, his hands quickly finding their way under her sweater, his face to her neck, and breathing in her scent loudly.

“I missed you,” he whispered, using his nose to brush away a bit of her hair and then sucking hard on the bit of skin he had succeeded in exposing.

She wasted no time in responding and lifted an arm up and behind her, her hand finding the side of his head and gently grabbed a fistful of hair, as she tilted her neck and encouraged his amorous bites to her skin.

“Mmmm, I’ve missed you too,” she said, reaching even higher behind her and giving a playful flick to the top of one of his ears.

He let his grip on her loosen enough so that she could turn and face him.

Alastor was black eyed, his antlers already increased in size to three points each. He was completely disheveled and wild looking, and Mina knew no talking would happen – at least not well– until she had sated his needs. His rut had begun but it was just the first day. If she satisfied him now, he would calm soon enough, and she could ask him then about her concerns.

He began kissing her nearly before she could process the state of him, only breaking away from her for a second as he pulled her sweater up over her head. His hands roamed over the bare skin of her shoulders, teasing at the straps of her dress, before hungrily going lower and groping her fully clothed breasts.

Honestly, she was fine waiting. It had been two weeks since he’d touched her like this, and she was nearly as desperate for this as he was.

Mina was quick to escalate things and instead of losing time with worrying anymore about their clothes, her hand went to the tent in his pants. She wasn’t surprised to find him already fat and hard beneath her palm and he sucked in a breath against her lips when she grasped him through the fabric.

“I need you,” he said darkly, voice full of static and lust.

She nodded and eagerly returned to kissing him as she undid his zipper and pulled him free, giving his cock several long, slow strokes before she got down on her knees and took him in her mouth.

“Good girl,” he sighed, holding the back of her head with both hands, and encouraging her rhythm as she began sucking him off. “You know just what to do, don’t you?”

She felt the wetness begin to gather in her own panties, a reaction to his words of praise and the musky flavor of his cock on her tongue. Alastor in rut was so different from the lover she normally had in her bed. While she never felt like anything was lacking in their sex life, having him like this was her annual special treat. He said such nasty things to her once he was in full swing, often even degrading. Things he would normally never say, even if she asked him to. And he let her do things to him that were otherwise a rarity. Encouraged them, even. Mina was far from a pillow princess and enjoyed focusing on his pleasure, but she only really got to act out those desires this time of year.

She worked the base of his cock with her hand with short hard strokes as her mouth did the rest and in just a couple minutes he was cumming with a grunt, and she swallowed every bit of his hot seed, reveling in the salty taste of him.

He stayed hard as she licked him clean, his desires far from sated, and she pulled off her panties as she stood.

“No need for that,” he said, and grabbed her. For a second, they disappeared, lost in shadow, but then she was back in the same room, only now they were a few feet away, both naked, and he had her up against the wall.

He cupped her ass and obediently she jumped up, wrapping her legs around his hips. She squirmed a little, impatient for him to line himself up just the right way so that he could begin properly fucking her.

“Are you going to cum inside me this time?” she teased with a wicked smile when he finally had himself at her entrance.

“More than once. And you're going to take it all, aren't you?" he asked, though it sounded like a command, as he thrusted into her, biting down on her collar bone once he was fully buried inside her.

He groaned, pressing his forehead against hers. “God, I love you. You’re so wet for me already,” then paused, pulling back enough to really look into her eyes. “Are you . . . was that enough-“

“Yes,” she said quickly, and kissed him, “please just fuck me already.”

Of course he was still checking in with her. Foreplay was not something he skipped, even when lost to his deepest desires in rut, but the treat of going down on him had been more than enough to get her ready for him.

His smile broadened and he began moving, rocking his hips in the quick, shallow movements that their position allowed for. The angle of his penetration and the weight of her body bearing down on him made the friction just perfect, stimulating her inside and out.

Alastor kissed her hungrily, his tongue wet and forceful against her own.

“I love it when you taste like me,” he said as he broke away, giving her an extra enthusiastic thrust, “when you taste like your mine.”

This is what she had been waiting for and the delayed gratification was pure bliss. After having him so wound up in his work that she was left utterly neglected to suddenly fucking her brains out with little warning, her touch starved body was on edge and ready. She growled as her pleasure grew and she bit down on his shoulder, her large canines sinking into his flesh and drawing blood, and she felt him shudder against her before beginning to pound into her with renewed vigor.

“Oh, you evil little thing,” he panted into her hair, “can’t get enough, can you?”

She was breathing hard too now and let go of his shoulder to throw her head against the wall, exposing her own throat to him and gasping for air in between her moans and sighs.

His antlers were growing even larger now, spreading from four, to five, to six points as she watched them expand above her head. She was so, so close, but he must have been even closer. Mina used the one hand not grasping the back of his neck for support to wander down his back, searching for his tail but finding her access to it blocked by her own legs that were wrapped tightly around him. Crying out in frustration and on the brink of orgasm, she reached up instead, and grabbed hold of one his antlers to force his head back.

She kissed him hard, and he bit back in response, drawing blood from her lips as he came, filling her up to the point she could already feel his seed spilling out of her as his thrusts slowed down and then he finally stilled. 

Desperate for more, she could feel her walls clenching his shaft, her body begging for continued movement. She could feel him soften inside her but only just a little and she smiled against his kiss, blood spilling down her chin, matching the crimson trails coming off his shoulder from her own love mark.

“Don’t stop,” she said, half teasing and half begging.

“Show me how much you want it,” he replied, and pulled them away from the wall and began falling backwards.

They fell, merging as one into shadow, and landed softy on their bed in the next room over, with him beneath, still inside her, and already fully hard again.

Alastor was propped up slightly against their pillows, his antlers retreating back to a more normal size now that he was a bit more in control of himself, but his eyes were still black with desire. He sat up just a little more to reach behind her and slap her ass.

“Ride it,” he demanded, and she did as she was told.

The change in angle stimulated her swollen sex in new ways, and she was quickly back on the edge, bouncing her body in rapid motion on his cock, riding him just as he had commanded her to.

She leaned her body back, resting her palms on his thighs and he took the opportunity to begin rubbing her clit with tight, quick little circles that finally got her the relief she had been seeking.

Mina rode out her orgasm and it was the long lasting, powerful kind that she felt deep in her belly and left her feeling her pulse all the way down deep in her sex.

Alastor sat up as she began to come down from her high, sucking hard on her right breast and digging his claws into the upper curves of her ass, just hard enough to leave impressions in her skin, as he waited for her to pass the point of overstimulation, his member twitching impatiently inside her.

When her cries of pleasure turned back into heavy breathing, he released her red and hardened nipple and pulled her face to his for another deep and needy kiss, licking up the blood that was still seeping from his bite mark, before dragging them both down to the mattress until her chest was flush against his.

Slowly, he began moving again, his hips thrusting up to meet hers.

She let go of the kiss, burying her face into the pillow next to his, and moaned his name into his red and black locks of hair.

“Still want more?” he asked, though he was already beginning to quicken his pace.

“Please,” she whined.

Too impatient to switch positions, he fucked her from beneath, as she did all she could to just hold on, with one hand pressing against the mattress and the other holding vice-like onto a handful of his hair.

“You feel so good,” he sighed when she began kissing a line down from his hairline to his jaw, down his neck, and finishing at the still bleeding bite mark she had left on his shoulder.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” his voice changed to a low growl, and she responded to his words by gently pressing her lips to his wound, soothing the red and angry edges of her teeth marks.

Her pleasure was beginning to rebuild, and she joined in Alastor’s rhythm, bearing more of her weight down on his cock as she moved with him. She was soaking him, between her own wetness and his cum still inside her, and she could feel the combination of their fluids gathering at his base as her swollen lips rubbed against the neatly groomed black curls around his sex.

Alastor groaned loudly as she pumped herself up and down on him, and she could feel the vibration of his lusty filled sound against her lips as she sucked on the tender skin of his pulse point.

She hissed in a breath, a reflex to the sudden but wonderful pain, as his claws raked across her ass, leaving long shallow lines of red across her lower cheeks, and she could feel the tickle of fluid on her skin as some of the cuts began to lightly bleed.

“Are you going to cum for me again?” he asked as his shadows began to sprout from beneath him, tendrils of darkness that lightly traced across the skin of her back before pulling her down, forcing her to be held tight against him.

Mina was enjoying the thorough rough fucking she was getting but she wasn’t close to another orgasm yet, so she squeezed her inner muscles tighter around his thick cock to encourage him to keep moving.

“Don’t worry about me,” she assured him. “Just fill me up, love. Cum in me as much as you need to.”

Her words seemed to do the trick as she felt him beginning to lose sense of rhythm, his thrusts into her becoming more frantic and harder than before.

She cried out in response, feeling the increase of intensity herself, and in between her own wanton moans and whimpers, she whispered to him all the kinds of things he didn’t normally like to hear. How much she wanted him, how good his cock felt inside her, to fuck her harder, to mark her and breed her so that everyone would know she was his.

His hand grasped at the base of her tail, pulling it sideways, and she could feel a cool slender tentacle begin stroking the bottom side of it before dipping lower, playing and teasing at her ass and Mina’s body responded to the added sensation. That tight hot knot began to form again as she felt another orgasmic wave begin to build inside her.

But then she felt the warm rush of more cum being pumped inside her and she let herself relax as Alastor’s body began to still beneath hers. This was just the first few hours of the sex-driven part of his rut, and she knew she would have more orgasms than she could stand in the next two weeks.

Mina felt the shadows slithering away from her body and with the restraints gone, she pushed herself up enough so that her face could hover above his and he responded immediately by kissing her softly. Lips and tongue danced across each other as his post-orgasmic bliss settled his systems. Once she felt his cock begin to soften, Mina pulled herself off him and lay beside him.

Alastor chased her mouth with his as they settled into the new position, her on her back with him half on top, as he continued the long and sensual make-out session. After a minute, his left hand began to wander down her body, cupping her breast, stroking down her rib cage, and then teasing across her lower belly with a ghostly light touch.

“Still close?” he asked, lovingly rubbing his nose against hers.

“It’s okay,” she said sincerely, “consider it saved for later.”

“Not a chance,” he said, and she sighed at his stubbornness. He was such a top, even when he was in rut. “I have a present for you.”

Her brows knitted together in confusion as he sat up and turned away from her, reaching under the bed.

“Consider it an apology for being so . . . unapproachable . . . these last few days,” he said, and he turned back towards her, now holding a rather phallic looking slender device, but Mina was still confused.

“A dildo? Al’” she giggled, “you hardly need one of those.”

His smile spread mischievously, and he twisted the flat bit at one end of the strange sex toy, and it began to buzz. “I can’t make a shadow do this.”

Mina stared at the toy, suddenly intrigued.

“It’s called a vibrator,” Alastor stated.

“How creative,” she deadpanned but it was all for show. She couldn’t deny her heart rate was increasing a bit, even though she wasn’t sure what to expect.

He chucked at her. “Apparently they’ve been around a while but . . . well, I suppose we’re a bit old, aren’t we?”

She laughed a little at that as well but then he was leaning further over her, running the vibrator up the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh, and suddenly there’s was nothing funny about her situation.

“Allow me?” he asked and Mina nodded, her breath caught in her throat as he brought the toy up higher. Then it touched her clit and she flinched upwards a little, sitting up on her elbows.

“Oh, fuck!” she gasped, watching as the device Alastor was holding to her sex began its magic.

Alastor’s smile widened to a near unnatural state and Mina flung herself back on the bed. He followed her down, kissing her deeply and then began moving the vibrator up and down between her lower lips, using the cum seeping out of her as lubricant.

Mina began making the most lewd, senseless noises she thought she had ever made, completely helpless to the wonders the vibrator was working on her cunt.

Alastor began using his mouth on her body, sucking on her neck and then the top upper curve of her left breast, and then finally settled on her nipple, giving it a hard tug and flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud.

It was too much, and Mina came hard and fast, practically screaming beneath him, and then pulled away when the overstimulation took affect seconds later.

How long had she lasted with that devilish device? 15 seconds? Maybe 20?

“Holy shit,” she panted, taking in several rapid, deep gulps of air, and then looking sheepishly at Alastor who was grinning even more like a mad man than usual.

“Well, that was a wonderful performance,” he said, clearly very pleased with himself.

“I think,” he lowered his voice, leaning over her to press a kiss to her forehead, the tenderness a stark contrast to the darkness in his tone, “that you’re going to lose count of how much I make you cum for me tomorrow.”

___

By the time Mina had come out of the bathroom after relieving herself and cleaning up the mess between her legs, Alastor had changed the quilt on the bed that had suffered a rather large wet spot after their ravenous love making and had already started falling asleep.

Although she wasn’t truly tired herself, she crawled in next to him. Barely half awake, he wrapped his arms around her and rested his head on her naked chest. The tips of his long ears occasionally tickled her neck, but his antlers were back to their manageable two-pointed length, and Mina was able to settle in comfortably and read a book, while she absentmindedly ran her fingers through the soft two-toned locks of his hair, keeping her lover soothed and asleep with her purring as he caught up on some much-needed sleep.

After a couple hours, movement at the corner of her eye caught her attention and she watched as his shadow extended across the floor from its resting place beneath their bed, and traced upwards along the opposite wall, a tell-tale sign that Alastor was waking up. Then he began to stir, and Mina heard the little staticky radio buzz click on, so she set her book down, looking down at her love as he slipped off her onto his back beside her. Alastor slowly blinked and yawned, showing off all his sharp yellow teeth.

“Good evening, darling,” she smiled at him as he rubbed at his eyes with his knuckles, returning her smile.

“How long was I out?”

“Not too long,” she assured him. “Probably should be longer considering the state of you.”

He scoffed and she heard the bath water beginning to run in the adjacent room. She rolled her eyes at his stubbornness and proactively got out of bed, knowing he was going to just insist on it anyway.

____

Their bathroom was like their own personal oasis.

Over the years, Alastor had worked on learning how to use his magic for less nefarious and more decorative means. He had learned how to keep plants alive with artificial light sources and create false images that looked like windows. The room was steamy and humid, but never dank or reeking of mildew. It felt like a jungle . . . or swamp in the deep American south. There were vines everywhere and a willow tree grew half within the wall next to the shower, its long leaves reaching across the ceiling and dangling over where their tub sat. Part of the wall was made up of a large glass window that looked over what appeared to be a quiet, serene lakeside view at sunset. Mina could even see deer grazing at the distant edge of the water and an osprey circling overhead. It was all just imagery though; none of it was real. Alastor could and often did change the scenery to fit his moods but this one was one of his personal favorites.

Once they were settled into their large, clawfoot tub, Mina felt he was finally in a calm and pleasant enough mood to voice her worries with him.

Her hair was pulled up into bun, just behind the base of her ears to keep it out of the water, and she leaned against Alastor’s chest, her back to him, as he lazily rubbed her arms, occasionally dipping his hands into the bath water to coat her skin with a fresh layer of warm water and bubbles. He had tied up his own hair as well, though only halfway, and his bangs kept brushing against the side of her face, pleasantly tickling her. It was such a peaceful, intimate moment between them, making her almost hesitate to speak up.

“Will you talk to me?” she asked softly after several minutes. Her tone wasn’t accusatory or demanding. She just wanted him to know she was concerned for him. “About whatever or whoever it is that’s had you so on edge lately?”

Mina felt his chest rise and then fall with a sigh, though his body still felt relaxed beneath hers. She could tell he wasn’t frustrated with her question, just thinking about his reply.

“I take it you haven’t heard then? About this new self-proclaimed Overlord that has arrived in our city?”

Mina gave a small shake of her head. She really didn’t get involved in the politics of Hell and didn’t read the paper every day like Alastor did. So, unless he or Rosie brought it up, she mostly stayed out of the loop on things like that.

“It’s nothing to worry about, really,” he began. “She’s just this awful bitch of a woman who thinks she can already rank with the likes of me because she showed up with quite the following already. I guess she was a cult leader or something while alive. Mass suicide in her name or whatnot. It doesn’t matter. I suppose the timing of things made my inclination to be bothered by such petty behavior stronger than usual. But I promise, the next two weeks are all yours, ma cher.”

He pressed a lingering kiss to the bend of her neck and shoulder and then a smaller one further up on her jugular.

“I’ve neglected you something awful, haven’t I?” he said quietly.

Mina pulled his arm down from the edge of the tub and snuggled lower as she wrapped his limbs around her.

“I haven’t felt . . . neglected,” she said, though it was a little bit of a white lie. “I’ve just been worried about you. And I thought that, maybe, there was a chance you had forgotten what time of year it was.”

“Oh, I could never do that,” he said with a quiet laugh. “Not for the last 30 years, my dear. Your presence makes that impossible to ignore. It’s quite a nuisance.”

“Well, if I’m such a bother, I could use my time off from work for a personal vacation then,” she said, pretending to be offended. “Leave you alone so you can be less distracted.”

She tried to take her mock display of anger further by sitting up as if she were going to get out of the tub, but Alastor wrapped his arms tighter around her naked torso, forcing her quickly back down to him.

“You,” he said with a dangerous tone, “are not going anywhere. Not for several days.”

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, my love,” she replied, “but I do have one quick errand to run in the morning.”

An odd hissing noise came from the corner of the bathroom where his shadow had been lounging and Mina suppressed the urge to tell it to hush up. 

“I’m just getting some books; it’ll just be an hour at most. I think you can manage that. I’m going to have to have something to do besides you while we’re locked up here together,” she teased.

“If you’re not too exhausted,” he replied, his voice still dark with annoyance, but the tension had left his body.

Mina settled herself as well, leaning the back of her head against his shoulder and resting her eyes, and they enjoyed the rest of the evening in peace, both unaware that the morning would bring a permanent change to their eternal lives.

Next Chapter ->

Author's Note: This is the beginning of a sub-plot that I've been the most excited to share with you all! It's going to get DARK from here for the next few chapters, so please mind the TW's at the top. But there will be lots delicious, smutty, romantic of rewards to reap at the end.

@inuhalfdemon, @saccharine-nectarine, @whoknowswhoiamtoday

[autistpride]

Autism Acceptance

Prompt day 7: Performer AU

Word count: 2500

@wolfstarmicrofic

Remus was so excited he couldn’t stand it. He bounced on the balls of his feet and his fists shook up and down. 

“I’d say he likes the gift,” Regulus said to Remus' mum with a laugh.

Remus could see them watching him to make sure he stayed safe as he made his way around the room. He was practically vibrating and he squealed.  

“What did you expect? You just waltz in here and announce that you got Remus a way to meet his favourite people and didn’t think he would happy stim?”

“I knew my brother and his friends were his favourite but I didn’t think he would like it that much,” Regulus shot back with a laugh before his hand shot out as if he could stop Remus from across the room. Both Hope and Regulus gasped.

Remus ran into the table and then the doorway but his squealing and movement didn’t slow.

“He’ll feel that when the excitement wears off,” Hope said with a sigh and Regulus nodded.

Regulus left the Lupin home at the end of the day. Regulus had never realised when he became a personal assistant for the Lupin family, that he would meet someone who would become his friend. Remus was not that much taller than him and he used his communication device for speaking, although he did often express himself with facial expressions and the perfect noise to express his sarcastic attitude. Remus was the master of eye rolls, eyebrow raises, smirks, snorts, and scoffs as well as the ba-dum-tsh and wa wa wa noises. 

Remus’ room was decorated in bright colours and his bed had a tent over it. He needed help with many life skills still, but none of that stopped them from becoming like two peas in a pod. Technically it was frowned upon for Regulus to have developed an attachment to a patient, but Hope and Lyall had confided in him that Remus had come out of his shell and made so much more progress with Regulus as his aid than he had with anyone else.

Remus also had a cutting dark sense of humour. The number of jokes about body bags and comments on eyes honestly bordered on concern to anyone who didn’t understand the way Remus thought. That alone was enough. But then Regulus found out that Remus loved music. And not just any music, a very obscure  small group of people who sang children's songs but in different genres. Hope apologised many times when Remus kept humming the songs while swinging in his hammock chair and yelling in frustration when the older disc would skip or scratch but wouldn’t allow anyone to help him. He listened in his headphones to the same cd anytime he was overwhelmed or tired and so he was often never without the discman. One day when Remus was busy playing in the little pool set up out in the back garden, Regulus opened the old discman and was surprised to see his brother’s face smiling up at him.  

Regulus’ relationship with Sirius was strained after all the things they went through growing up, but when he went home that day, he immediately called Sirius up and asked Sirius to meet him and to work through everything. They went to therapy together and over the months things had improved and while they would always have some hard feelings, they were friends again. So when Remus’ birthday came around that year, Regulus didn’t hesitate to ask Sirius if his friend Remus could meet Sirius. Sirius was confused why Regulus had a friend who liked his music, especially one made for children. After Regulus explained that Remus was autistic, Sirius readily agreed. He even asked what things were sensory triggers for Remus and made a list. He sent Regulus to the Lupin residence that day with the good news and ensured Regulus that he would take care of everything.

The days leading up to Remus’ birthday were long and yet too short for Remus. He was so excited the days seemed to drag on, but with every day that ended Remus would ask Regulus how many more days left. Pressing the buttons for “See friends today?” as a greeting. Regulus would laugh and make some sort of comment about how Regulus “could see where he ranked” or “I see how it is, not even a Hi Reggie.” That always made Remus laugh and he would say hello and then ask again. So Regulus helped him make a small calendar and everyday they would add a sticker to it to help count down the days. 

The night before, Remus swung in his hammock and listened to his discman. Anytime Regulus looked at him, Remus would push a button on his AAC that said, “I’m so excited!” Regulus watched while working on the paperwork for the week and would always respond, “I know. I know. Tomorrow Remus.” 

Remus went to sleep as soon as Regulus left at seven, saying that the faster he went to sleep the faster that it would be the day he met his friends. Then it was tomorrow and Regulus was knocking on the door. Remus opened it and his face dropped and he quickly pressed on his AAC, “its you.” he just held up for Regulus to read. Regulus snorted, “Hi Reggie. Morning.” Remus didn’t laugh this time and he frowned and held up his device again. “Yes, it's just me for now. It’s seven in the morning Remus, they will be here at ten. Okay?” Remus pouted but nodded and immediately went to his timer. Regulus took off his shoes and shut the door before crossing the room making sure Remus put three hours into the timer and set it back onto the shelf to count down.

When the timer went off three hours later Remus threw open the door. Regulus was across the room and dashed to Remus. Remus knew it was because Regulus was worried Remus was going to run into the road, but Remus wouldn't. Remus knew it was to ensure he didn’t leave without someone but it still was annoying that they didn’t trust him. Remus peered out the door to the empty front garden. It was ten. He set a timer. Remus glanced at his AAC. It was actually after ten now! 

“I know you’re excited Remus, but they will knock when they get here,” Regulus said softly when he took in Remus’ dejected expression. Remus nodded disappointed and right before Remus closed the door a small blue Volkswagen parked on the curb. Remus gasped and quickly looked at Regulus who grinned, “Ya thats them.” 

Remus clasped his device to his chest and shook while swaying on his feet and then froze, dropping his AAC when Sirius stepped from the car. This was why Regulus had insisted Remus keep the silicone case around it, even if Remus gnawed on it sometimes. 

Remus held his hand out to Regulus so they could go out the door. Regulus knelt down and picked up the device and took Remus’ hand. Remus squealed and pulled Regulus over the grass to the vehicle and stopped right in front of Sirius. Remus stared at Sirius, unblinking before turning to Regulus and snatching his device from Regulus and quickly finding the buttons he wanted before holding it up to Regulus. 

Regulus read it, looked at Sirius, and burst out laughing, “yes they would be perfect in it.” Remus smirked.

“What?” Sirius asked, confused.

“Do you want to tell him or should I?” Regulus asked.

Remus didn’t wait, he pressed play on his communication device and a slightly robotic male voice read out, “I want to add your eyes to my collection.” 

Regulus couldn’t help laughing at the expression of confusion and slight worry on Sirius’ face followed by James’ as he had stepped out of the driver’s side while all of this was going on.

Remus narrowed his eyes at Regulus who stopped. “Okay okay I’ll get them.”

Sirius’ expression was one of visible panic and Regulus held his phone to Sirius’ face and took a close up picture of Sirius’ eye and then showed it to Remus. “This one good?” He asked and Remus nodded, mouthing the word wow over and over.

Remus knew people thought his fascination with eyes was odd. Many people had said so, thinking that just because he used an AAC device and needed help with everyday tasks, that he was stupid. They talked about him in front of him like he wasn’t there or able to understand the things they were saying. All his past personal assistants had and Remus had decided that if they were going to treat him like that he would just be like that. That’s all they thought he would be, so he stopped trying to show them otherwise. They had treated him like a burden. 

That was until Regulus came along and he took the time to listen to Remus, to understand.

Remus carried Regulus’ phone into the lounge, staring at the picture. Sirius and James looked at each other and Regulus snorted. 

“If you guys want to set up in the lounge, that would be great.” Regulus motioned to the fairly small but tidy lounge. 

Sirius gave Regulus a small hug and then carried his guitar in. James carried an electric drum kit and his sticks. It wasn't the best, but worked in a pinch, and he could turn the sound down so it wouldn’t be as loud. Mary and Lily brought in the keyboard. Regulus took up the rear and closed the door behind them all. 

They all arranged themselves in one area of the lounge. Hope tried to stay out of the way but brought out an extension cord with a power strip for them when they needed to get everything plugged in and they couldn’t all use the one outlet. 

Regulus took his phone back from Remus with the assurance he would print the picture out for Remus so Remus sat in his hammock watching everyone setup and get ready. Regulus held out his headphones and Remus put them on as Mary counted them down and began. 

Remus rocked in his hammock as he listened. After a few songs Lily sang a soft version of happy birthday as Lyall carried out slices of cake for everyone. Remus ate his cake while everyone chatted. He wasn’t often included in group conversations because there were so many people and they talked quickly, not leaving room or time for Remus to use his AAC. 

But Sirius wouldn’t have it. He asked Remus questions or for his thoughts on the topic and waited for Remus to respond.

When the cake was finished, Remus slowly edged his way over to Sirius and gently ran his fingers over the guitar. Remus had watched the way Sirius played. He had this look about it, the same look that Remus felt when he listened to their songs or talked about eyes or cold cases.

“Would you like to try?” Sirius asked next to Remus suddenly and Remus froze as if he was going to be yelled at.

Sirius lifted the guitar off the stand and motioned for Remus to come closer. Remus stayed where he was watching Sirius ready the instrument again. Sirius slowly reached out, giving Remus time to pull away, before gently taking Remus’ hand and placing them on the strings. Remus looked at Sirius and Sirius smiled encouragingly and Remus plucked a string. It vibrated and the sound that it created made Remus so excited he squealed and his hands clenched into fists and shook. 

They continued like this for sometime before Mary and Lily started to pack up. Sirius had James take his guitar out to the vehicle. Sirius then asked Regulus if he could stay longer and Regulus told him to ask Remus. So Sirius did and a shocked Remus nodded happily.

Sirius sat talking to Remus the whole rest of the time Regulus was on his shift. Regulus sat nearby watching while filling out the paperwork he had to do for the week. 

Sirius asked Remus questions. What song did he like best? Did he have a favourite show? What about movies? What other things Remus was interested in. And he answered his own questions back for Remus to know the answers to.

He didn’t shame or judge Remus and when he found out about Remus’ fascination with eyes he asked what about them was so interesting. And Remus told him. 

Remus liked the way the colours in the eyes melted together. He liked how the pupil changes shapes depending on the lighting. But mostly, Remus liked how the eyes held so much depth and emotion. How you could almost see someone's soul when looking at them. 

Sirius stared at Remus like he had just said the most profound things and then begged Remus to let him write that down for him, that it was the most beautiful poetry Sirius had heard. Remus flushed with pride.

When seven pm rolled around, the clock sounded and Regulus started to pack up and put on his shoes when Remus darted to his room. Regulus watched from the lounge, making sure Remus went to his room and not out the door to the back garden and when the door slammed closed and Regulus sighed. 

Sirius looked shocked and concerned, “Hey what happened?”

“He likely got upset you’re leaving. Don’t worry. I’ll talk to him.”

Remus laid on his bed with the door to his tent closed and the blanket over his head. Remus heard the knock and ignored it. Sirius opened it and poked his head in. “Hey. I’m going to come in and just sit here okay. Regulus is in the lounge if you want me to get him.”

Remus bit his nails and picked the skin on his lips before eventually unzipping the tent. Remus looked out at Sirius who was sitting on the floor with his legs crossed and Remus’ AAC in his hands. Sirius looked up from his phone and smiled. “Hey, it's okay to be upset, especially when meeting new people and when having a lot of new experiences going on. And because the fun day is over.”

Remus scoffed and rolled his eyes. He knew it was okay, it didn't mean it didn’t suck that the best day of his life was ending and he would never see his new friend again. 

Sirius laughed and held his phone up to Remus’ face, causing Remus to flinch. Sirius took a quick photo and then turned it to show Remus. “I think your eyes are stunning too.” 

Remus smiled. Sirius pressed a few buttons on the AAC before holding it out to Remus. Remus played it, “see friend Sirius tomorrow?” 

Remus beamed and nodded enthusiastically. 

“I'll see you tomorrow Remus,” Sirius said brightly and waved goodbye before leaving the room and the house.

Remus couldn’t wait for tomorrow.

[gurokiitty]

if reqs are open, what would happen if the reader managed to escape strade? i can imagine she did her best to act as if she loved him (like if she developed stockholm syndrome) but when least expected, strade finds out she’s gone??

LOL i love drama like that & i just gotta know how he would react!!

i luv your acc ☆〜（ゝ。∂）!!

a/n: thank you for your kind words! i absolutely adore drama too lmao, so i had fun with this. hope you enjoy :3c

{ strade x f! reader }

warnings/tags: generally SFW, stockholm syndrome, psychological and emotional abuse themes, flashbacks, dependency, reader was held captive before ren (to justify why he isn't in this LOL).

After months of careful deception, you learn to mimic signs of affection and dependency, crafting a façade of compliance. Gradually, you familiarize yourself with Strade’s routine, seizing on his rare moments of carelessness. This observation reveals where he hides his keys and the device needed to disarm the shock collar around your neck.

The day finally comes when he leaves you home alone, overly confident in your supposed submission. As his car vanishes down the driveway, a surge of fear and exhilaration grips you. You quickly disarm the shock collar and slip out barefoot, dressed only in the thin tanktop and shorts he provided.

Once outside, the stark reality sets in. Without belongings, money, or means to communicate, you find yourself overwhelmed by uncertainty. The unfamiliar streets and neighbourhood only heighten your sense of vulnerability.

Your deep-seated fear of what Strade might do to anyone who assists you, prevents you from seeking help. Remembering his threats and knowing his capability for cruelty, you avoid involving others as much as possible, fearing that any attempt they make to help could lead them into grave danger.

Upon discovering your absence, Strade's initial disbelief rapidly spirals into rage and paranoia. Anticipating that you might seek police help, he destroys any evidence of your captivity before starting his search.

Despite his rage and sense of betrayal, he is calculated in his approach, reviewing footage from hidden cameras he installed around the house to trace your last known direction. He predicts your likely paths and potential havens, using his intimate knowledge of your behaviours and fears to narrow down his search.

Meanwhile, he may begin to leave cryptic messages in places he suspects you might visit; each laden with intimate references designed to manipulate and unnerve you.

The longer you're free, the more you recognize how deeply your dependence on Strade has become. Every shadow and unfamiliar face triggers a panic that he might be lurking nearby. Despite your desperation for freedom, there's a twisted comfort in the life you left behind.

You find yourself grappling with survival on the outside—seeking food, shelter, and a semblance of normalcy. The harsh practicalities of life make you question whether you can truly exist without the perverse care Strade provided. Amid these struggles, you feel an overwhelming sense of isolation and disorientation.

After wandering the streets aimlessly, you eventually stumble upon a small, rundown shelter for the homeless; where the dim lights and hushed whispers contrast the nighttime silence you've grown accustomed to in his home. Lying on a worn cot, a memory of sleeping in Strade's bed unexpectedly floods your mind.

It was the first night he invited you upstairs, a night that marked a disturbing progression in your captivity—a sign that you had somehow earned his trust or, perhaps more accurately, successfully played into his delusions. This memory was far removed from the stark and unforgiving confines of the basement where you initially spent your days.

It feels surreal now, as distant and detached as a scene from another person's life. The warmth of his bed and the false sense of security he provided starkly contrast with the thin, scratchy blanket provided by the shelter. You remember how he held you close, his breath steady in the quiet room, making you feel, for just a moment, that you were something more than a captive. It was a night when the boundaries of your grim reality seemed blurred, and you almost allowed yourself to forget the bars of your gilded cage.

Now, lying amid the restless stirrings of others seeking shelter, you feel a stark loneliness. Here, there are no arms to hold you, no illusion of safety. You pull the thin blanket tighter around yourself, trying to stifle the shiver that runs through you, not just from the cold, but from the haunting clarity that here, in this place of refuge, you are utterly alone.

The following morning, as the grey light of dawn filters through the shelter's windows, you gather your sparse courage to face another day. Stepping outside, you draw a deep breath, bracing against the cold. Your breath catches in your throat when your eyes land on Strade's truck ominously idling at the curb. He's leaning against it, smoking a cigarette. He startles you—not just by being there, but by his calmness, as if this morning is merely another routine pickup, not the recapture of an escapee. "Good morning," he says, his voice disturbingly casual, as though the recent events were just a minor disruption. The street is mostly deserted; the few early risers are too wrapped up in their morning routines to notice your tense reunion. He pushes off from the truck and steps towards you, his movements controlled, almost gentle. "Let's go home," he says, his words sounding more like an invitation than a command.

As you climb into the truck, the familiar interior greets you—a stark reminder of your first time in this seat, marked by its distinctive coppery smell and the notable absence of a passenger-side handle. When the shelter recedes into the background, a wave of finality washes over you, and tears begin to stream down your face.

Upon reaching his house, Strade quietly guides you inside. As the door locks behind you, it becomes certain that you will never step foot outside again.

[onlymurdersintheafterparty]

My Predictions for the S4 Finale

Oliver and Charles get worried that Mabel isn’t answering her phone and rush back to The Arconia

Meanwhile Mabel being the fierce character she is refuses to be intimidated by Marshall

There’s a scuffle and then the door bursts open and it’s Eva; Eva came by with another clue and used her 19 use device to pick the lock and save Mabel after she heard the scuffle from outside

She then uses the device again to taze Marshall and they tie him up

Oliver and Charles arrive at the same time as Detective Williams who Mabel called

Charles finally snaps and attacks Marshall but has to be pried off of him because Detective Williams doesn’t want him to get charged for assault

Time skips to the wedding and everyone is nervous because not only is there a bridezilla there’s a groomzilla as well

False sense of security because Marshall has been arrested

The other killer either tries to make a move during the wedding or is caught at the reception by accidentally revealing something while tipsy or making a toast

I really do think the wedding will still go on even if a murder does take place because love conquers all and I feel like they’d both agree not to let anyone ruin their special day or get in the way of their happiness going forward

After the wedding party is over, Oliver and Loretta get ready to go on their honeymoon; When they get into their car (Just Married! written on the back to identify it as theirs 🔎👀), Oliver opens the trunk to put their luggage in and lo and behold it’s the body of the missing dry cleaner mob boss from the news

Oliver snorts/grunts and Loretta faints

Instead of Mabel cursing it’s Charles

Detective Williams who attended as a guest says “You cannot be serious”

End song and credits

I’d really like to see some soft moments at the wedding too though:

Loretta being walked down the aisle by Dickie

Winnie being in the wedding as the ring bearer

Charles being emotional because that’s his bestie and Mabel patting him on the shoulder

Howard being the assistant to the wedding planner because he wants to make sure the wedding goes perfectly for his friend

Will, Mabel, and etc being part of the bridal party would be nice to see as well

Bonus points if we get to see some residents from the previous seasons that disappeared.

[cripplecharacters]

1/3 Hi, my question is about shaving as an amputee. My character is a soldier in the 1940s whose left arm was amputated. After a few months, he's learned to do most things one-handed, but I thought shaving his face might be something he'd have trouble with, since there are areas where you have to stretch the skin with the non-razor hand for a close shave. (The resources I found on shaving one-handed said to use an electric razor; my character would likely only have access to a safety razor.)

2/3 I thought it might be sweet to have his lover help him with shaving, and I wrote a scene where he reflects on how, although he prefers to be independent, he really enjoys the intimacy of having his partner do this for him, and it’s something they both look forward to. My questions are: A. Is it realistic that my character would not be able to shave his face well with a safety razor? (I mention him getting nicks and uneven spots in hard-to-get areas).

3/3 B. Does the scenario I described, with him enjoying having his partner shave him, seem unrealistic or offensive in any way? C. If it’s not realistic for him to still struggle with shaving about 4 months out from shaving, would it still make sense to have the partner shave him sometimes because they discovered how much they both liked it when he did need help? Thank you so much! I’ve learned a lot from following this blog, and I really appreciate all that you do.

As a disclaimer, currently none of us mods are amputees.

To answer your questions:

A. Yes, this does seem fairly realistic. It can be pretty difficult to shave many parts of your body without a second hand to stabilize, and the face especially has a lot of different planes that can make it even more difficult. If he had a remaining stump that he could bring up to his face to stretch the skin with, it would likely make it easier. But of course this depends on where his arm was amputated and how much mobility he has remaining in it.

B. This scenario doesn't seem unrealistic or offensive to me. It seems pretty sweet – your character has a lot of independence, but needs extra help for some things, ans his partner does it because he loves him. This is pretty common when it comes to a lot of disabilities, including amputation. Sometimes the extra help comes from a person, sometimes from assistive devices.

C. Again, it can definitely be realistic, but it also can make sense to have the partner shave his face sometimes (or all the time, or almost all the time) because they have discovered they both enjoy this as a form of love, care, and/or intimacy. Helping your partner with grooming or personal care things is something even non-disabled people do for each other. My partner and I like to brush each other's hair, and neither of us have any conditions that make it hard for us to do it ourselves. It's just a nice moment of togetherness and we're helping each other.

In summary: it makes sense for your character's partner to help him with something that is more difficult for him, even if your character is capable of doing it. It can be sweet and intimate for the both of them, and it is reasonable for the partner of your disabled character to do something for him as long as they're both okay with it. It can definitely be a way of showing that they both love each other and are okay with being vulnerable with each other.

Hope this helps!

– mod sparrow

[xcerizex]

"raise your arms, strike a pose. your mask must be perfect, as perfect as a rose."

In which a simple stage play has more than just curtains hiding secrets.

(fem!summoner, gender neutral!polaris, sirius, angst, othello, character study(?), shenanigans, 7.4k words, lazy at the end)

"Tell me again why am I here?"

Spica narrows his eyes in clear disapproval. "If you are unsatisfied with the current arrangements, I can make it so that the one onstage is you instead."

"Yeah, not happening."

Alpheratz shakes his head in mild frustration and leans back with his arms crossed. The whole Guide Committee is currently stationed inside Contell's auditorium, assisting several other sorcerers for an upcoming play. Both Vega and Arcturus are off somewhere else helping with the props, while Spica reviews the paperwork in his hand.

Pollux? He's sleeping on the front row, probably tired from practicing his lines. Comically, there is a stack of items balancing atop of his head thanks to Alpheratz's magic–and boredom, creating an impressive show of magical dexterity. It's only at times like this does he ever use his magic for anything skillful, but Alpheratz himself begs to differ.

"It's not like they need all of us, roping in the whole committee is way too much and too unnecessary." The frown on his face is clear, speaking loudly of his disapproval–even if his mouth doesn't.

Spica continues his work heedless of Alpheratz's complaints, "The sorcerers are relying on us for their safety, it never hurts to take caution. Especially after recent events."

At those words, Alpheratz directs his stare to the girl on Pollux's left, silently reciting her lines in her head. She has taken the role of Othello's wife and diligently memorizes the dialogue of the whole play, not wanting to miss a single thing. It's only when she senses his gaze boring into her does she break free from her immersion, and finally glances up from the script she has been revising over the past hour.

"Don't look at me like that." She may not be a renowned multitasker, but she could still hear everything despite the razor focus on her lines–including Alpheratz's thoughts–and gives him a flat stare in return. "If you've got a problem, sleep it off."

He whistles at the dark bags under her eyes, she is clearly more cranky than usual. "Maybe I will, if only Spica would let me off early. I'm not sleeping with him here."

"Not a chance."

Spica's answer comes quick.

"I'm not even doing anything!"

That's true. Alpheratz and Spica were supposed to be in charge of the safety measures surrounding the stage, only for Spica to end up doing most of the work, leaving Alpheratz to his own devices.

The tower above Pollux's head sways as dangerously as ever.

Spica ignores him and returns to his work, but the Summoner is only a tad bit more sympathetic and gives him a troubled smile before returning to her lines. She would usually be more willing to help him out but her days of sleepless practice has gotten to her, leaving her in no mood to assist him and his lazy habits. Alpheratz thinks it's slightly unfair.

"Besides, you're working too hard." He tries his chance to get a way out of here. "Don't you think it's about time you took a break?"

"Nah."

At times like this, the Summoner resembles Spica's quick wit a little too much.

Alpheratz gives up immediately and slumps on his seat, "I didn't think you'd be so enthusiastic about this play. Did not expect that at all." He says this offhandedly, not expecting her to respond, but it's when he takes a closer at her, does he sees her staring at the stage.

Sirius is on that stage.

Out of the whole Guide Committee, only three of them have taken roles in the play. The Summoner as Othello's wife, Pollux as the Iago's wife, and Sirius...

Sirius is playing the role of Othello himself.

When the cast was announcement, nobody was surprised at Sirius' involvement. He was known for his love of theater, and even more so for his capricious attitude. No one batted an eye when it was announced he got the main role, and all Spica did was remind him to not neglect his duties.

Inspired, Pollux applied for the second round of auditions, and ended up getting stuck with one of the more unpopular roles. After some encouragement from Arcturus, Pollux accepted the role as Iago's wife, and consistently practices with a long skirt so that he won't fall down when the time comes he has to go onstage.

The play was mainly held as a way of uplifting the students' spirits after the various accidents that has happened over the last few weeks, starting off with that incident at the garden, to the entire fiasco at the gala.

What the entire Guide Committee hadn't expected however, is that the source of the chaos herself had also volunteered to act onstage. And as Desdemona no less.

"Well." After some time, the Summoner finally responds to Alpheratz's statement. "I was a theater kid before I came here. And while I would usually prefer becoming a part of the musical staff, I don't think it's too bad to change it up every once in a while."

She's still watching the stage.

"I'm very surprised though." Closing her script, she takes another good look at the cover. "I didn't expect the work of Othello to be here of all places."

Intrigued, Spica finally shows interest in something else that aren't the papers in his hand. "Did they have this in Mid Earthiem?"

"The story? Yes."

A soft snore interrupts them and they all watch with trepidation as Pollux stirs a little, the tower on his head wobbling precariously. The Summoner breathes an inward sigh of relief as Pollux goes back to sleep, and the tower becomes stable once more.

"It's a very upsetting story."

"I guess you're right."

The Summoner can't blame the frown on Alpheratz's face on his usual grumpiness - the story is indeed not a very happy one - and she returns back to staring at Sirius onstage.

"Don't you feel uncomfortable on having to perform with him of all people?"

The Summoner shrugs her shoulders, "Not really. Sirius may be a weirdo, but he's a great actor."

"That's not what I meant."

She knows it's not, but pretends not to know anyway.

Alpheratz finally decides to add another item to the tower on Pollux's head, and carefully levitates the script in Pollux's arms to balance it at the very top. It stays, and Spica silently marvels at the ability of bored, and the things they'd do to quell said boredom.

"May I suggest to you, Alpheratz, that you have yet to check the anti-combustion procedures for the curtains?"

Alpheratz starts to grumble, but the Summoner has already immersed herself in Sirius's rehearsal. She watches him grip the area over his heart - as if in agony - while lamenting about his wife's unfaithfulness. When a person is on stage, most can't see the expressions of the actors, which is why they have to resort to looking at their body language and right now, his shoulders are drawn tight and his stance tense, looking as if he might lunge at someone viciously should they draw his ire.

'I wonder how he got so good at acting.'

Both Spica and Alpheratz are still quarrelling, and in an attempt to get them to stop, she comes up with a rather intrusive thought. She faces Alpheratz with a look more serious than ever and regards the trembling tower on Pollux's head.

"What if I just toppled the thing myself?"

It's as they say, if you can't beat them, join them.

"You wouldn't f******* dare."

Everyone is promptly interrupted, as Pollux finally wakes up from his nap and tries to sit upright. The last thing they hear is Spica click his tongue, when the sudden disturbance of balance leaves the whole tower toppling over itself, giving Pollux a brutal wake-up call.

The sound of rushing water fills the kitchen as Sirius washes the dishes in the sink with an unusual atmosphere of homeliness. It's dark out, but the sight of the city past the windows is as bright as ever. Even at this time of the day, people are still moving about.

Finishing up, he places the last dish inside the cabinet, closing it with a small click. He takes his time surveying the rest of kitchen in hunt for any more things to clean up after, a habit he had formed ever since he started living here.

Once he's sure there aren't any undetected messes, he makes his way out from kitchen and walks into the living room. There is a little bit of impatience in his steps, as he walks a pace slightly faster than he usually would–if only to make his way back to his master sooner.

Entering the living room, he sees them holding an object in their hands with their back turned to him.

"What are you holding, Polaris?"

Sirius is curious about the book in his master's hands. Hearing him, Polaris turns around and regards him with a smile.

"It's a book from Mid Earthiem, having found its way through the wormholes no doubt. Would you like to read it together?"

"Um..."

Around this time, Sirius should be about 13-14 years old and is still considered young. He is at the age where spending time with one's guardian like this would be considered embarrassing among his peers, but he was never one to care about such things. The only reason he hesitates is because he's unsure if he would be able to enjoy the otherworldly story at all.

But time spent with his master is a rare thing, that's all it takes for him to agree.

"Yes, please."

The both of them seat themselves on the couch and Polaris begins to recite the story the way one would tell a bedtime tale to their child. Sirius is slightly embarrassed by being treated as such, but he doesn't mind it. His master's voice is soothing and calm, having the ability to soothe a child's tantrum, quell the chaos of masses, or just read a book. In this small world where only he and his master exists, he doesn't mind having to put up with the way Polaris treats him. Still, the story is interesting in its own way, and Sirius can't help but marvel at the literacy diversity between Bound Arlyn and Mid Earthiem.

However as the story continues on, the previously cozy and familial atmosphere between them turns into something more somber, as the story reaches its fevered climax. Desdemona's death.

"He did what now?!"

Sirius stands up in righteous anger. Polaris is neither startled nor disapproving of his outburst however, and simply regards him with a curious look in their eyes.

"Does it upset you that badly?"

Sirius is still quivering with rage, "I..."

He falls silent. Realizing how angry and loud he'd been, he quietly sits back down the couch.

"I'm sorry, Polaris."

All they do is simply chuckle. "Don't be. It's good to have such strong sense of morality, I'm quite happy about that actually." And they mean it, Sirius has mostly done nothing but follow Polaris' line of thinking ever since they took him in and rarely ever rebels. Having his own opinion meant that he was growing up well.

Sirius shakes his head. "It's not that Polaris." His gaze scatters across the room like fickle light.

"I just think that...if Othello had truly loved his wife, he wouldn't have killed her, much less hurt her at all."

Maybe he is a romanticist.

Polaris reaches out to ruffle his hair, and all Sirius can do is groan endearingly. His master continues to treat him like a dog, patting and smoothing his hair in pride, but Sirius does not mind the extra affection.

"That's a good mindset to have."

Polaris praises him, but the praise only leaves Sirius confused.

"What kind of mindset would that be, master?"

The Tower of Babilli looms outside the windows of their home. Ominous, oppressive, and promises a premonition of tragedy.

The hand that rests on his head is as warm as ever.

"The kind that would never hurt anyone they care for."

Sirius remembers the day Polaris announced that they would recommend Othello to be written down officially as a work of literature in Bound Arlyn. He remembers asking his master why, only to receive a cheeky, non-assuming answer in return.

"Because you liked it."

Sirius begged to differ at that time, but he didn't care enough to say anything.

Several years later in commemoration of Polaris' passing, they constructed a play based on the story of Othello, wishing to honour every and all of their contributions. The story has withstood the erosion of time even till now, becoming something that even sorcerers can enjoy casually should they find themselves in the fancy to go to the theater down town.

How disgusting, how flippant. When he sees the happy smiles on their faces, he feels as if he could kill them, kill himself.

A loud crash resounds across the room, as a vase falls off the nightstand and Sirius bangs his fists against the floor repeatedly. The broken shards have pierced the skin of his hand, but even as blood trickles down his palms and splatter across the floorboard, he does not care. This pain is nothing compared to the pain in his heart.

He lifts his head up to gaze at the Tower of Babilli through his window, and only the mirror will ever the see the pure look of despair, anger, and sorrow etched on his face like hard marble.

He has just lost the one important person in his life.

But Sirius refuses to believe that this is the end. No matter what it takes, even if he must become the devil himself, he will do whatever it takes to bring them back.

No matter what.

Rising unsteadily on to his feet, he faces in front of his mirror in what must have been ages for the first time. He sees the light coat of dust over the surface of the mirror, and his tear-stricken face.

He sees someone incredibly weak.

'That won't do.'

He stares at his reflection, asking what would it take, what must he do, and how he would have to change to achieve it. The pressure in which he looks at himself may crack the mirror, before it cracks himself. After a long, long time, he finds his answer. And when he does, he realizes that he's still staring at himself.

He tries smiling.

It looks fake.

His face immediately reverts back into a frustrated frown, before he forces himself to smile again.

Be more cunning.

It looks too forced, try again.

Be more natural.

Sirius tries thinking about his happier times, maybe the smile will look less fake.

Be less kind.

He puts a stop to that quickly, and tries again. Only this time, he makes sure not to make it look too sincere, in case people see him as a good person.

Be the villain.

He will play the role of the villain, if it means the hero can take the stage once more.

They do.

That night, the night after that, and many other countless nights, he will try again, again, and again to smile the way he needs to.

Later, his smile is just the way he wanted it to be.

But he can never smile the way he used to. To smile a smile filled with pure, unadulterated joy. No more, he can't. Not even if he wanted to.

In his eyes, it is a small price to pay.

But when he sees the girl step on that stage for the first time, Sirius can't help but feel his smile is more fake than ever.

'You were wrong, Polaris.'

He has already hurt her.

"Did they have the make the dress this fancy!?"

The Summoner covers her mouth to prevent herself from bursting out into the laughter. It helps only slightly, the broken huffs of warbled laughter only getting louder and louder the longer Pollux twirls around with his fancy new costume in agitation.

Fitted in a velvet dress, Pollux looks positively feminine. His usually short pink hair has grown longer–thanks to a potion brewed by the theater club–giving him the look of an elegant lady. Unfortunately, no magic found in any corner of Bound Arlyn could ever hope to cure his innate clumsiness, so all they can do is pray and hope he won't set anything on fire on set as he flails about.

"Stop moving so much."

The laces on the back swing frantically as Pollux moves about with similar energy and Vega comes up behind him in an attempt to grab him still by the shoulders. The sight makes the Summoner lose her composure unfortunately, and she starts guffawing.

"Is everyone ready?" A sorcerer from the theater club pokes his head into the dressing room to check on them. Seeing Pollux restrained by the arms judo style by Vega, she has to control the impulse to run away.

"Not yet, I still have to tie my hair up." The Summoner quickly resumes her preparations, but the sorcerer is understanding and simply nods her head.

"Alright, then. Once your ready quickly head backstage." Pollux is finally free from Vega's death grip, and straightens up to tidy his extensions before scrambling away.

"What am I, some kid's toy!?"

They hear Pollux shout at them as he runs out of the room and promptly disappears, probably to get ready for the stage. The Summoner stops laughing and turns her head towards Vega.

"Why'd you do that Vega?"

He shakes his head in exasperation, "He could've knocked something over something had he continued to panic. You know how prone he is to accidents."

The Summoner can't help but agree in her head.

Despite the fact that Sirius is nowhere to be found, no one is worried. Sure he comes and goes at unexpected intervals, has a severe lack of decorum, and tends to drop most of his duties at the drop of a hat, but they know that Sirius wouldn't miss out on the chance to enjoy himself, especially if it involves theater.

Which is why even as the clock ticks by, no sorcerers are worried enough to come looking for him, and if they did, it wouldn't be out of concern for him. Except for the Summoner herself.

He disappears often, yes. But she's still worried.

The Summoner is still struggling with her hair–not having had enough practice with old fashioned hair styles–and considers abandoning the entire updo to look for Sirius instead, until she hears a knock on the door.

"Oh? You're still here?"

Speak of the devil.

She secretly feels relieved at his appearance."Yeah. I just can't seem to..." She tugs at the end of the ribbon in an attempt to tighten her bun, only for it to all come undone miserably in one fell swoop.

"...get this right."

Silence fills the room and the Summoner silently curses at herself. Of all the things she had to be unprepared for, it was her hair.

"Don't worry too much about it. I'll get it, eventually." She raises her arms to the back of her head, ready to try again. The soreness of her arms from holding them up for so long–plus the combination of slight panic and frustration as the seconds pass by–clouds her senses, the reason why the sound of Sirius' footsteps coming closer does not register in her mind.

Which is why when she feels a cold hand grazing her wrists, she nearly yelps in surprise.

"The Summoner is quite careless, and not at all aware of her surroundings. What if someone wanted to kill you?"

His words are antagonistic, but his touch is somewhat gentle, elegant as he takes the ribbon from her and his fingers travel down to edge of her nape where her hair rests. Gathering a bunch of strands in his hands, he gets set to work.

"Your lucky it was me. So why not let me do your hair instead?"

She gives him a deadpan stare through the mirror, "You're already doing it anyways though, aren't you?"

He merely chuckles, and she heaves a sigh.

"Next time, I would prefer it if you'd asked me for my permission first before touching me." The Summoner's voice drips heavy with exasperation, but she doesn't oppose his touch and lets him carry on with him touching up her up-do.

His hands are surprisingly skilled, efficiently looping and weaving the fancy ribbon around her hair, gathering it up into an elegantly braided bun within minutes. The proximity between them makes her nervous though, and when his fingers lightly brush against her ears, she suppresses a shiver.

Her ears are very hot, Sirius thinks intrusively.

Soon, he is done. And the Summoner can't help but feel envious of his skills as she admires the product of his handiwork in the mirror.

"Maybe you should have been a hair stylist instead." She curls a stray lock of hair around her finger. "I'm sure you would have done well."

The Summoner hears him laugh. "Why thank you, Summoner. A strange compliment, but a compliment I'll take nonetheless. Ah, and one more thing."

Sirius pulls out a hairpin in the shape of a six pointed star adorned in aquamarine and silver from the lapels if his costume. It is elegantly crafted, with swirling patters and chiffon ruffles enhancing it's worth. Looking at it, the Summoner surmises that it must be very expensive.

It takes her too long to realize that Sirius has moved in even closer than before, and feels the stray locks if his hair brushing against her ears as he fixes the hairpin to the side of her bun. She bites down a scream, resisting the impulse to yell at the Constellations because who else could have possibly manifested this situation in a scenario much like some low-grade novel?

The Summoner thinks that this is about the most patience she has ever practiced within one day, believing she's the only one nervous here.

What should have been a mere few seconds feels like an eternity finally coming to an end when Sirius finally pulls back to admire his handiwork.

"Can I move now?" The Summoner wiggles her feet in impatience.

"No? I haven't stared at my genius for long enough in my opinion."

"Hahahaha." Her laughter is practically dripping with sarcasm.

He holds his hand out to her as she turns around anyway to give him a glare, and sees the ever-so-slight flicker of adoration in his eyes.

She thinks what she sees is but a mere phantom.

"Well then, shall we head on out my dear wife?"

The Summoner scrunches her face up, but plays along anyways and takes his hand, "Yes, we shall."

Perhaps if he'd called her "Desdemona" instead, she wouldn't have made that face.

Being near her like this–he thinks as he grasps her hand–all feels very unfamiliar. All very unlike him, his quips softer than usual, not as sharp or mocking, and the gaze that scans the entire audience in front of him filled with less spite. He thinks he's changing.

He's not sure if he likes it.

Finally ready, the both of them leave the dressing room and walk hand-in-hand in a fashion reminiscent to that of their roles–a general and his elegant wife–and leave the dressing room to the area directly behind the stage hidden by the swaths of curtains. Shortly after arriving, they see Pollux panting heavily in anxiety as Arcturus diligently does his best to calm him down by providing gentle blows of wind from his wand. It does not help much at all, but Pollux is too busy trapped in his thoughts to care. And when Arcturus sees the two of them approach, he brightens and calls out to them.

"There you guys are! The play was about to start so everyone was getting a bit worried."

"The only one truly worried here..." They notice Vega–who had been standing inconspicuously beside Arcturus throughout the whole time–indicate his head towards Pollux. "...is him. And the play doesn't start in about 15 minutes, sorcerer Arcturus."

The actors have gathered themselves in one spot, donned in costumes of glamor and glow, ready to take on the masks of a life unfamiliar to them with pride on the stage. Even Pollux, though nervous a minute ago, straightens his back to prepare himself for the performance in steady anticipation. Upon further inspection though, someone notices his feather hat askew and rushes forward to straighten it before the play starts.

Everyone is bustling with excitement, delighted at the chance on having to perform a story introduced by Polaris, and eagerly await the curtains to rise, not paying any attention to Pollux profusely apologizing to the sorcerer who had tried to straighten his hat, and who now sports a red nose.

Sirius feels the girl beside let go of his arm as the lights dim, and routinely stamps down the urge to reach back out to her. He clenches his fist, and loosens it before anyone else can see.

"Everyone take your positions!"

(Act 1, Scene 3) The confirmation of Desdemona's love:

The spotlight is bright, vastly different from the same types that the Summoner usually sees in Mid Earthiem. They are enchanting, mimicking shimmering starlight, making the whole play on stage look more captivating than ever. The glow of it all however, is not enough to have the actors themselves lie and deceive their own thoughts and feelings.

"But you tell us, Othello." A sorcerer dressed in formal garb inquires the man in front of him. "Did you poison this girl's feelings with devious and improper ways? Or did such a union between you both be happened upon free and appropriate ways among two people?

Sirius laughs a little bit on the inside, a place where nobody else can see. Asking himself secretly, "Which is it?"

What is his relationship with the Summoner?

Othello then raises his head high in self-confidence, with an assurance that one would consider mocking that of the man's words. "I beg of you, senator. Send someone for the lady and have her express herself in her words in front of her father. Should there be any indication of my foul practices, then feel free to not only to take away the trust in my position and title, but my life."

The character he plays speaks lines worthy of his noble character. Unlike his usual persona, Sirius displays a dignified general in image indeed. All his snarky aura and volatile demeanour have been carefully tucked away beneath his current mask like a bound rope.

Standing behind the curtains watching him - ready for her cue - the Summoner can't help but marvel at the accessories of deception in which he adorns himself with.

The sorcerer playing the role of the Duke gives a slight nod, perceptively conveying his desire for the truth. "Bring Desdemona here."

The bit-part actors on stage shuffle away to where the Summoner is. But both Othello and the sorcerer still have a few more lines to recite before she takes the stage. So as the actors linger about around her getting ready for the next part, she counts her breath by two beats in an attempt to calm herself down.

Even if it's not her first time performing in front of the audience, she still gets nervous.

"Desdemona loved listening too."

The lines are still rolling.

"Even if the frequency in which her household duties would drag her away, she came back as quickly as she could and listened with fervour. Upon seeing so, I picked a convenient time in which I could talk to her and begged me so to tell her the parts of the story she had missed."

"So I agreed."

Sirius thinks that Othello was weaker than him.

"Once I had told her about the distressing episodes of my youth, she responded with a world of sighs. She thought and claimed a strange story. A very strange story, and a very sad one."

Sirius doesn't need to look inside the Summoner's head to know she thinks of something similar whenever she sees him.

She may not know him at all, but that didn't matter.

She still sees him.

"She wished she hadn't heard it, but regardless, wished she had been a man so that she could have had such adventures. She gave me thanks, and told me that if I had a friend who was in love with her, I should teach him to tell my story in order to win her heart. And on that hint, I spoke out."

"She loved me for the dangers I have experienced, and I loved her back for the pity in which she holds for them."

"This is the only witchcraft I have used."

These words make him uncomfortable, because he thinks they might be true.

The Summoner takes her cue, takes a deep breath, and straightens her posture as the bit-part actors push open the fake door leading on to the main stage. Right now, she is Desdemona. An elegant lady in love with a general.

That general being the persona Sirius has put on, as he sits there gazing at her with an unfamiliar gaze. One that he had put up for the play itself no doubt, and yet, it makes her anxious. But the Summoner keeps her posture refined and precise as she makes her way forward.

"There she is." The sorcerer playing as Iago leads her to stand in front of the Duke. "Let her tell you herself."

After Desdemona was waved to be seated, the Duke turned to Desdemona's father. "I do think that such a story would win over my own daughter. Good sir, why don't you make the best of this? Broken weapons are always better that bare hands in the battlefield after all."

Desdemona's father shakes his head. "Please, listen to her. Should she claim to take half of the blame, only then shall I accept this." He draws himself closer to Desdemona and takes her hand. "Come here, my dear. Can you see the person in which you owe the most obedience to?"

The Summoner plays her role well, as Desdemona gently slips her hand away from her father's. "My noble father, I have divided loyalty. I am thankful for the life and education you have provided me, both of which has taught me to respect you. I am still your daughter, and I will always have a duty to you."

She stands up and makes her way towards Othello - towards Sirius - and the closing proximity between them makes her heart speed up.

Especially as she holds his hand. Unlike earlier, she realises how cold it is.

"But this is my husband."

And this is just a show. A fake one. But Sirius feels his heart squeezing tighter as the Summoner turns around and gives him a loving smile under the pretext of being Desdemona.

Oh how he foolishly longs for it to be real. And these dangerous thoughts, he wishes he could just kill them.

But the show must go on, without consideration of how this whole situation feels like a bad joke.

(Backstage) Preparation for Act 5, Scene 2:

The stage crew shuffled around the waiting room in frenzy, setting up props, yelling at each other, and preparing for what is arguably the most anticipated scene of the entire show; Desdemona's death.

The Summoner took a deep breath, and reached her arms behind her to retrieve the hairpin that Sirius had pinned to her hair.

Even now, she's not sure where he got it from, why he bought it, or why he let her use it at all.

She ruminates for a few seconds while looking at the beautiful star-shaped hairpin, rotating it around slowly, the lights around her making it look as if it were twinkling. Like a star in the night sky.

But she doesn't have much time for this, so she quickly snaps out of her reverie to release the ribbon that held her hair-do together letting her hair fall down on her shoulders, the familiar sensation making her relax, most of the tension having been released.

Most of it, she's still nervous.

"Summoner, you're up for a wardrobe change!"

A female sorcerer approaches her a garment in hand. The next scene involves an unknowing Desdemona sleeping on her bed, so as the Summoner takes the new set of costume from the sorcerer's arms, she holds it up to reveal an old-fashioned nightgown.

"I'll be ready as soon as possible."

She places the brooch aside as she says this.

Nodding her head, the sorcerer leaves the Summoner alone so that she could get changed. But her hands shake as she unzips the back of the nightgown, the clock ticking behind her ominously, making her feel even more anxious for her next scene on stage. No matter how many times she has done this, the nervousness of having to perform on stage in front of a large audience will always be there.

Once she's done changing into the nightgown, she takes one more glance at the brooch on the dressing table, thinks for a few seconds, and quickly makes up her mind so as to not waste anymore time. She swipes the brooch off the table and gently, carefully, hides it in her pocket.

She's not sure why, maybe's she's afraid of losing it.

Maybe she thinks it'll provide her comfort.

"Are you ready?"

The sorcerer knocks on her door, and the Summoner notices that her tone has become considerably more tense and rushed. The clock seems to tick even louder, and the Summoner quickly answers her.

"Yes! I'm ready, I'll be out in a second."

Everyone is nervous, she has to do this properly.

She opens the door and sees the sorcerer give her a relieved smile, but that smile quickly turns into a serious expression as the Summoner is hurriedly ushered away to the back of the stage for her next scene.

"We have to hurry, there's not much time left."

Yes, she knows. The Summoner feels her veins thrum in nervous energy and her steps hasten in response.

But as they're walking past the wooden corridor that leads directly to the area behind the curtains, they hear someone shout out to them in warning.

"Watch out!"

"!"

On normal occasions, the Summoner thinks as she watches a heavy set of curtains fall down on her, she would have reacted properly. Maybe dodge, cry for help, or take cover and duck.

But her body is still stiff and frozen from her accumulated anxiety, she can't move. Even as the impending shadow blankets her sight, mind, and senses.

"Get down!"

But the sorcerer next to her is still sharp somewhat, and pushes the Summoner forward with her body to prevent her from getting smothered by the heavy weight of the old, velvet curtains.

But that could only do so much.

"!"

The Summoner feels a sharp pain in her ankle, and can only vaguely hear the sounds of raised, worried voices around her, as the pain blinds her from everything. She can't move or do anything in this state.

It hurts.

It hurts so much.

She must have sprained her ankle.

"Summoner!"

The Summoner looks up to see Pollux rushing forward in worry towards her. The familiar and friendly face is what gets her to finally start talking, after having stayed silent in shock.

"P-Pollux, do you...know any healing magic?"

She hears her own voice water in pain, so she stamps it down, holds in her tears. She can't ruin her makeup and she most certainly can't worry the others now, especially when Pollux looks as if he's about to cry for her himself.

From here, she can hear the actors speaking on stage, and she feels her entire body tremble more violently with each passing second, as the time comes for her turn to go up on stage draws nearer.

She has to go up on that stage, even if her ankle feels like it's about to tear apart, even if it might make it worse. So she asks him for help, anything can work at this rate.

But Pollux fidgets uncomfortably at her request. "Of course I can! But there's no way I can heal it in one go, I'm not as talented as Alpheratz or Spica..."

His voice is trailing off in doubt, but when she spots Sirius at the other end of the stage, hidden behind the curtains from the audience, staring at her direction, she tugs on Pollux's sleeve.

"Anything will do."

She emphasises her words, conveying her determination, and desperation.

"It's fine if you can just heal it a bit. You've learned the Tranquilizer Spell haven't you? The one used to immobilise foes."

The Summoner gestures to her ankle.

"You can cast it here. Use a weaker version of it, enough so I can still move. So long as I can't feel the pain, I can still perform."

"But-!"

Pollux tries to protest, but the words die down on his throat as he sees the expression on her face, looking as if she were ready to charge through hellfire. Slowly, he nods, like a pitiful, apologetic kitten.

"Alright, then."

She can still make this work. She just needs to do her very best.

She doesn't notice the look Sirius wears, as he sees her get back up on her feet again. He's too far away, as always.

(Act 4, Scene 2) Othello kills Desdemona:

He's not sure what he should do anymore.

He glances down at Desdemona-the Summoner-watching her chest rise and fall as she lays down on the bed prop, mocking sleep. Up close like this, he's the only one who can see what the audience can't.

The pained twitch of her eyebrows.

"This is the reason, my love."

He has no choice but to recite his lines.

"The heavens would scorn me, should I utter the mention of it but yes, that is the reason. Yet, neither shall I shed her blood, nor leave a mark any darker than the colour of snow."

"But she must die."

Would it make things easier?

"Or else, she may betray other men. Put out the light first, and then take hers away. Should I put out the candle, I can relight it once again."

The way he has done countless times, rewinding time and time and time again.

For the sake of someone long gone.

"But should I take away your light, you deceptive existence of beauty and wonder..."

He crouches down beside to lift a strand of her hair, up to his lips, kissing it ever so softly.

"...never again can this light be relighted. To pluck a rose from it's stem, it shall surely wither. So while I am still here, let me stay."

He bends over his sleeping beauty and kissed her forehead, as per the script.

"Such a sweet scent, should surely change my mind. To bear to let this all go, I cannot."

Sirius brushes the Summoner's bangs aside, and kissed the corner of here forehead.

"Should you remain as beautiful dead, then I shall kill you and keep on loving you."

He believes that. Sirius thinks he may do that.

"Something so sweet, something never so fatal. These tears remain on my cheeks, but they are cruel tears indeed."

That is the cue, and the sheets rustle against the nightgown ever so slightly, as Desdemona wakes up.

"Ah, she is awake!"

Desdemona wakes up drowsily, and casts her sleepy eyes towards him, as he watches a small, loving smile blooms on her face like a dainty flower.

"Othello."

"Desdemona."

Othello gazes at her with a face filled with sorrow.

"Have you done your prayers tonight, Desdemona?"

"Yes I have, my lord." Desdemona reaches out a slender arm towards him, as if to lull him to bed.

"Will you not come to sleep?"

Othello ignores her, and says instead, "If you can think of any crime that you haven’t reconciled with heaven, pray for that immediately."

Desdemona rises with trepidation. "What could you mean with that?"

"Do it, quickly." He urges her. "I shan't kill you and your unprepared soul. Heavens forbid, I do not want to kill your soul at all."

"Are you...talking about killing me?"

She sounds scared, pained, and Sirius again has to resist the urge to reach out to her.

"Yes."

Yet, his facade remains still.

"N-No!"

Desdemona withdrew away from him as fast as lightning. "By the constellations, have mercy on me! I have not done anything!"

"And Amen, with all my heart."

Desdemona looks at him with fearful eyes. "I am afraid. Because you are murderous when your eyes roll like that. I don’t know why I should be afraid because I don’t feel guilty about anything. But I am afraid nonetheless."

"Think about your sins."

As he recites this, Sirius thinks about his.

"The only sin I have ever committed, is that of my love for you."

To that, if he dares to, Sirius agrees.

"Yes, and it is for that, you are dying."

"My beloved."

He adds that in himself.

He shouts at her, replicating his rehearsal on that day, mimicking Othello's rage at his wife for his unfaithfulness. He conveys as much betrayal and feelings of hurt he can muster, to dredge up the old memories in hopes of delivering a successful, convincing performance. The way he has done all this while.

It is with this, he knows that he is the one laid bare before the Summoner.

And the Summoner herself in turn, responds to his acting with her own. Counter his fake emotions with her own.

"Is it what I fear? Is he dead?"

She laments for the death of Cassio. The one Othello had accused of Desdemona being unfaithful to.

"If all his hairs had been lives my great revenge would have had stomach for them all."

"Alas then, he has been betrayed, and I’ve been undone.’"

Desdemona weeps. And Othello is enraged.

"If he truly loved her, he wouldn't have wanted to kill her at all."

Things are not so simple, nothing ever is. But this is the one thing Sirius still believes in even now.

Still, he also believes that if he could hurt the Summoner enough, scared her enough, she'd finally leave Bound Arlyn. Stay out of his life, his plans...

And stay safe.

"How dare you weep for him in front of me! Down!"

He pushes her down on the bed, his hands on her throat. And sensing the time of her death approaching, she pleads with him.

"Kill me tomorrow! I beg of you, my Lord please-!"

"No-"

"Just one more hour please!"

Her voice cracks, and Sirius see the Summoner shed tears as if she were in pain.

Who is he kidding, of course she's in pain. Cleverly using it for her performance, using a method completely different from his.

She struggles frantically against his strength, flailing and begging for him to let her live longer, for one more hour, one more minute, one more second. She cries and weeps in despair as he continues to grip her throat, cutting off her oxygen.

The Summoner is a good actor, he thinks. Her cries of pain feel real, piercing his heart, and he thinks he wants to die. Thinks he may cry for her as he spots a small wound of blood appear at the side of her nightgown and he wants to scream in pain.

But he's too far gone. His mask is already too perfect.

"My Lord please-!"

He hates the fact that he wants to cry for her but he can't. Her body goes limp under him, her breathing slowing down, and the Summoner dies in his arms as beautiful as the day he first saw her.

He realizes then he's destined to hurt the people he cares for, even when he doesn't want to. But he himself has twisted his own nature into the monster he wanted to be. It makes sense, that he can't even gift her a simple brooch without hurting her.

All he wants to do is dance the night away with her, as innocently as he did before.

But he can't do that oh no.

He just can't.

The most anticipated scene of the show has been executed brilliantly, and the audience erupts into a wild show of applause.