butterstickk

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#countlucio #prettylittlebaby #euamotantoele #illneverbenormalabouthim

some Count Lucio doodles

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[butterstickk]

[butterstickk]

Simon x Reader whose already work with TF 141 for a pretty long time. And one day, there's a traitor around the base, leaking their information. All of the proof are leading to reader but reader always deny it! And they interrogated reader, and reader always deny it! And he's (with other 141 members, of course, but it mostly him) do their torture methods to get information out of reader. They keep doing it until someday, the real traitor finally captured!

And make the reader traumatized, pls. Like, she would have trust issues, trauma, and others. She wouldn't forgive them, tho.

ooooo the angst. had to sit on this one for a few days before I wrote something, but here goes nothing.

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

when you blink open your eyes, the room is dimly lit. it’s silent save for the sounds of your labored breathing.

you must’ve passed out. one second johnny— a man you’d known for years—was slicing into your skin with a knife. the next, you’re staring into an empty room.

your hands jerk up involuntarily. still bound. the rope holding them to the arms of the chair have rubbed them raw. the skin is bright red and bloody. it makes you grit your teeth.

you look down at your lap, taking inventory of the parts of your body you can see. large gashes break up the fabric of your tac pants. the blood surrounding the deep wounds is dry and crusty.

one of the cuts looks like it’s getting infected. you swear you can see bone.

you’d taken this kind of suffering before. been capture by enemies, held and tortured and pushed to the brink of death. this was different. this was being done by your team. men you’d bled with. cried with. laughed with.

one you’d even slept with. the same one you loved. the one you called yours.

the door to the room swung open, hitting the wall with a metal thud. your head slowly lifts, eyes squinting to see him. by his stature, you know it’s simon.

he doesn’t bother shutting the door behind him. instead, he walks towards you slowly. as he comes closer, can make out his eyes in the sea of dark paint he smears around them. the same paint you’d helped him apply a time or two.

“back for more?” you say, and it’s meant to sound sarcastic, but all it sounds like is pitiful. your voice cracks, and pain seeps into your tone.

the first rule they’d taught you about scenarios like this was to never let the enemy know it’s working. never let them know that they’re hurting you— that they’re slowly wearing down your defenses.

well, you’d just broken that rule, and you hadn’t even meant to.

you didn’t know how long you’d been tied up, subjected to torture by men you had once called your family. all because a fucking liar whispered your name into their ears. all because they fucking believed it.

apparently the years meant nothing to them. to him, least of all, considering he’d done more damage to you than the rest of them.

simon comes to a stop in front of you. his hands are empty by his sides, but that’s not reassuring. there’s a table full of weapons off to the side. he would have his pick of the litter.

“ready to talk yet?” he says, and his voice is gruff. his tone is hollow. he’s speaking to you the same way he’d spoken to countless enemies. it makes you sick.

“fuck you, simon,” you spit out.

the betrayal of john, gaz, and johnny had hurt. but simon’s betrayal? that was enough to almost put you in the ground.

you’d stopped pleading with them the second they tied you to the chair. now, you were angry. furious. rage filled your veins, and if you weren’t beaten to all hell, you’d find a way out of these fucking restraints and strangle the man in front of you to death.

the man you loved. you’d thought you meant something to him, but apparently not— because who tortures someone they love?

“if you talk,” he ignores your outburst. “it’ll be easier. quick.”

“fuck. you.” you enunciate the words, your jaw impossibly tight as you grit your teeth. “im not the fucking rat.”

“all the evidence,” he starts as he disappears from your vision. you know he’s going to pick his weapon of the hour. you force yourself not to shudder.

“points to you.”

“take that bullshit evidence and shove it up your ass, riley,” you seethe, ropes pulling taut as you lean forward in the chair.

he’s back in your line of sight now, brandishing a large knife.

“you’re only making it harder on yourself, love,” he tuts, and then he’s swinging the knife down, right onto one of your fingers.

you scream as the blade cuts right through skin and bone. your teeth dig into your lip, drawing blood as you refuse to give him more of a reaction. it fucking hurts, but you’ll be damned if you let yourself cry.

“feel like talking now?” he asks, watching as half of your left pinky finger falls to the floor.

“or should we take off another?”

you look up at him, hoping he can see the hatred in your eyes as you speak your next words. “you could take the fucking hand off and I’d still have nothing to tell you.”

“let’s see how true that is then, eh?” he replies, and raises the knife again. he’s about to swing, when someone comes running into the room.

“ghost!”

it’s johnny. he’s obviously winded as he stops beside simon, dropping his hands to his knees as he struggles for breath.

“what, mactavish? im busy.”

“they’re—” he gasps. “they’re not— the— rat.” he says between breaths.

the room goes impossibly still. so quiet you swear you could hear the men’s heartbeats (or maybe that pounding in your ears was your own).

“you sure?” simon’s voice is softer as he lowers the knife and turns to johnny. the younger man nods, his eyes trained on you. you can see the regret in them, the sorrow.

“it’s fucking shepard.”

it’s not funny, but at the news, you burst into laughter. the men stare at you in confusion, but you can’t stop.

you’re laughing so hard you’re crying, and they’re just standing there.

“are you alrigh’?” johnny’s asking as he moves towards you. he’s fully recovered his breath now, and he drops to a crouch to be eye level with you.

you don’t answer— you can’t. you keep laughing. distantly, you hear the knife simon was holding clatter to the ground. can just make out the sound of more footsteps out in the hallway, coming towards the room.

you pass out.

when you wake up again, you’re in the infirmary. your eyes open slowly, adjusting to the bright fluorescent lights.

“easy, love,” a voice to your right drawls.

your eyes are fully open now. you look down at yourself, noticing the lack of bindings. noticing the iv taped to your arm, the stitched cuts, the black and blue bruises, the missing fingernails and missing finger.

the person sitting next to you clears his throat. that’s when you look up and meet the eyes of your captain.

your captain. the man who was supposed to lead you, to keep you safe. what a fucking joke. he’d started the damn witch hunt.

“how d’you feel?” he asks, his words soft, like he’s trying not to scare off a timid animal.

you stare at him for a beat. then two. then you’re moving, pulling the iv from your arm and shakily pushing yourself up in the bed. price is telling you to stop, reaching out to push you back down, but you slap at his hands.

“get the fuck off me!” you shout, and that takes him aback. he stops, frozen, as he watches you shift in the bed. you throw your legs over the side of it and prepare yourself to stand.

“you really shouldn’t—” he begins after he’s regained his senses, but you pay him no mind. you place your feet on the ground and start to stand. your legs wobble, almost give out, but you’re able to stand. barely.

“shut up,” you growl, stumbling forward and towards the exit. he’s moving to cut you off, and you slide him a gaze that’s sharper than a knife. “and leave me the fuck alone.”

he halts again. he seems almost scared of you— but that can’t be right. even on your best days, he would still beat you in hand-to-hand combat.

he’s not scared of your threats or your frail body. he’s scared of what he’s done to you.

just then, johnny and gaz come through the infirmary doors.

“cap, y’alright? we heard yellin’—” johnny begins, but his mouth snaps shut at the sight of you out of bed.

you’re heaving from your spot next to the bed. your legs are shaking violently, threatening to give out any second. you feel nauseous and numb.

“let’s get you back into bed,” gaz says, and he starts towards you, but you stop him as your gaze snaps to his.

“don’t come any fucking closer. any of you.”

“bonnie,” johnny murmurs. he sounds miserable, but you don’t care. don’t give a fuck about how any of them feel.

“don’t. im leaving,” you grunt out, moving a foot forward slowly. you’d be damned if you fell in front of them.

“you can’t, love. you’re in no shape to be walking.” john says, and you snarl.

“and whose fault is that?”

the men stay silent as they watch you slowly shuffle towards the foot of the bed. you’re bracing yourself to walk on your own when simon walks in.

“get back in bed,” his tone is blunt. you ignore him.

you remove your hand from the bed, move to take a step forward without support, and you begin to crumple to the floor.

simon moves forward, quick as a cat, and catches you. he lifts you into his arms bridal style, and you’re screaming hysterically. your limbs are flailing the best they can in such a battered state. you’re in fight-or-flight mode, your body betraying your desire to put up a steely front.

your palms slap against simon’s upper body and his masked face. he gives no reaction. he doesn’t say anything. the others are watching the exchange silently. the room is buzzing with tension.

“get off me!” you screech, landing a slap to simon’s cheek. “let me— let me go! let me go!” you’re gasping for breath, tears streaming down your cheeks. you’re panicking. your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest.

“put me down! get— get— off me! stop—” you sob.

the doctor rushes into the room then, yelling at the men for allowing you out of bed. you can’t make out what she’s saying over the rush of blood in your ears. you feel light-headed. you can’t breathe.

“put them down, now!” the doctor yells at simon. “they’re having a panic attack— I thought I told you four to stay away from them? they’re too vulnerable right now—” the doctor is chastising them as simon places you back in the bed.

spots are dancing in your vision. you don’t even feel it when the doctor sticks another needle into your arm. the words being exchanged above your head are muffled. it’s like you’re underwater.

john’s face comes into view, then johnny’s, then gaz’s. as your eyes start to close, you notice the only face you don’t see again is simon’s.

when you wake up again, it’s been two weeks.

the doctor had put you into a medically induced coma to allow your more serious wounds time to heal, without risking another episode. unbeknownst to you, the members of your team had stayed by your bedside almost the entire time— minus simon. he hadn’t come within ten feet of the infirmary since the day of your panic attack.

there’s fresh flowers on the bedside table. a steady beeping of the heart monitor. a fuzzy feeling in your head.

it feels like a dream, all of it does. none of it feels real as you settle into your body again. but then the hurt starts, and you remember the truth.

your family betrayed you. your lover betrayed you. they locked you up and tortured you. they didn’t believe you.

when the doctor came to your side to check your iv, she smiled.

“how’re you feeling?”

you look up at her, and it takes a moment for you to speak.

“don’t,” you begin. your mouth feels like it’s full of cotton. “don’t let them…in here. don’t…wanna see them.”

the doctor nods in understanding, and she doesn’t say anything else to you. she turns and walks out of the room.

the door clicks shut behind her. she lets out a sigh before turning around to face the three men.

“they don’t want to see you.” she tells them, and their expressions drop. they don’t protest, and like wounded puppies, they walk off.

no one else comes to check on you for a few hours.

you’re in and out of consciousness— can’t tell what’s real and what’s a dream. flashes of your torture come back to you. flashes of a smile. of a scarred face. of hands on your hips and—

you crack your eyes open, and the room is dark. the only light is the blinking of some of the machines. it illuminates the room enough to allow you to see a large, dark figure slip from the room. the door clicks shut so quietly it’s almost imperceptible.

that’s when you notice fresh flowers on the bedside table.

your eyes start to droop once more, and you chalk up whatever you just saw to a dream, while simon exhales heavily on the other side of the infirmary door.

————————————————

authors note:

I hope this alright! it’s one in the morning (and I’m half asleep writing this) so I apologize for the errors that are most likely present, and the sense this most likely lacks. I feel like I could write a whole book about this idea, but im cutting myself off to sleep lol.

thank you for the ask, I hope I did your idea justice. 🫶

[butterstickk]

Craig's gang deserve more appreciation and content. I love them so much

[butterstickk]

They have slightly different definitions for “taking out”

[butterstickk]

The Discord chat's got me wildin' 😂

Sebastian dressing like scrooge and Ominis dressing for drama and comfort.

[butterstickk]

摸猫猫

[butterstickk]

Precious

[butterstickk]

Amorous Tension

Summary: Poppy is quite sure her best friend has feelings for our favourite heir of Slytherin. MC is quite sure she doesn't, despite abundant evidence to the contrary. When Ominis asks MC to help him study for an upcoming potions exam, she jumps at the chance. TL;DR: Two idiots in love brew amortentia together.

A collab with the lovely @darch7995, who created the audio version of this story. Listen to the first part here and the second here.

Ominis Gaunt x F!MC

Warnings: the mildest of hand kinks, kissing, a surprising amount of schoolwork, stressing about exams, failure to communicate

Word count: 4185

You tapped your quill anxiously on the edge of your parchment, forming an ever-growing blot of ink in the margin. You were re-reading a paragraph in Flesh-Eating Trees of the World on a South American anteater-eating shrub. The words made as little of an impression in your mind as they had the first time.

A hand settled on top of yours, startling you.

“You’re going to put a hole in the table if you keep that up. And I doubt Madam Scribner would be pleased,” Poppy said teasingly.

You sighed, setting down the quill before dropping your head onto the table. “I’m going to fail. I know nothing. Less than nothing, even. Garlick is going to laugh me out of the greenhouse,” you said hopelessly.

Poppy rubbed your back comfortingly. “No, she’s not,” she assured you.

You let out a frustrated groan. “I’m never learning the difference between Jacaranda muscipula and Delonix geogalinivorae. They’re both just bloodthirsty ferns.”

A smooth voice came from behind you. “Jacaranda muscipula is native to South America, and its diet consists largely of deer mice. Delonix geogalinivorae is found in Madagascar and feeds exclusively on tenrecs.”

Your head shot up off the table. “Ominis,” you said in a higher pitch than you’d intended. You twisted in your chair to see your aristocratic classmate standing there looking effortlessly flawless.

“Hello, MC, Poppy,” he said with a pleasant smile. “I take it you’re dreading Garlick’s exam as much as Sebastian is.”

You scrunched your nose. “More, probably,” you said dismally.

“Well, I had come to see if you might be able to help me study for Sharp’s exam on Monday,” he said. “I could help you with herbology after. Of course, I’d be happy to help even if you don’t have time for potions practice.”

You gaped at him. He was asking you for help? Amit and Sebastian both had top grades in potions. You’d taken to it quite well, but the two boys had several more years of experience than you did. Garreth knew every ingredient and recipe inside and out, though he almost never stuck to the instructions – you could see why Ominis wouldn’t have asked him for help.

Your stomach leapt at the idea of spending time at the bench – just you and Ominis, brushing elbows at the cosy workspace. It was always dizzying being in such close proximity – the effect of his expensive cologne, surely.

Poppy would probably argue differently. She’d just been pestering you just that morning about your alleged feelings for the sarcastic Slytherin.

“You’re the biggest flirt I’ve ever met, MC,” Poppy said, rolling her eyes as you walked to the Great Hall.

Garreth had just been talking to you out in the courtyard about needing to acquire Thornback Matriarch venom for a new potion he was working on. You had told him he’d probably be better equipped than you were at charming the ladies into giving him what he wanted.

“I think you’re jealous and just need to ask the Gryffindor out, already,” you argued, shooting her a quelling look. “I was just being funny.”

“Mhmm,” she replied sceptically. “Well, I think it’s funny how I’ve seen you flirt with Garreth, Leander, Sebastian, Amit, and even Imelda, but when a certain serpent with stormy eyes and chiselled cheekbones comes around, you turn into a frightened little puffskein. You go all ruddy-faced and start stammering.”

She was poorly suppressing a smirk as she looked at you.

You scoffed. “I do not stammer!”

“Yeah, and I don’t fancy Garreth,” she replied sarcastically. “Admit it, you’ve got a crush on Ominis.”

“That’s ridiculous,” you asserted, glaring at her.

She raised a hand to her lips to stifle a giggle. “Then why’s your face match Garreth’s luscious locks right now?”

“Oh, shut it!” you said, increasing your pace so that Poppy fell behind.

She just laughed at you. “You’re only proving my point, you know!” she called after you.

Poppy elbowed you sharply between your ribs. You’d gone far too long without replying. “Ow!” you hissed at her.

Ominis had a nervous look on his face. “Sorry?” he asked.

“Oh, no, that wasn’t at you,” you said quickly. “I mean, I’d love to study with you.”

His expression immediately brightened. “Wonderful! When are you free?” he said.

“How about now?” you suggested as you began to pack up your things.

“Oh, I don’t want to interrupt,” Ominis said.

“No, it’s fine,” you insisted. You shot Poppy a reproachful look. “I’m suddenly feeling unsafe here in the library.”

Poppy stuck her tongue out at you. “Yes, I need to go help Professor Howin feed the thestrals, anyway. You two have fun,” she said much too giddily.

You sent her one more glare as you slung your bag over your shoulder. “So, shall we use the Room of Requirement?” you asked Ominis.

“That sounds perfect!” he replied brightly.

You led Ominis out of the library and started the long climb up to the 7th floor of the astronomy tower. You were glad to stretch your legs after sitting in the library for so long.

“I don’t know how you can keep those carnivorous trees straight in your head,” you commented as you strode down a long corridor. “They look exactly the same to me when they’re not in bloom.”

“Do they?” he replied, sounding intrigued.

For a moment, you wanted to sink through the floor. Obviously, the fact that the two trees looked alike was of little consequence to him. “Sorry, I wasn’t even thinking.”

Ominis chuckled. “It’s all right,” he said, clearly amused. “It’s strange to think that they seem so similar to you. They feel quite different. The jacaranda tree has very rough bark, and the geogalinivore has waxy leaves. Plus, it has a sweet smell – sort of like oranges.”

“That’s actually very helpful. Thank you,” you said.

He smiled softly at you. You couldn’t help but notice how one of the beauty marks on his left cheek disappeared into his dimple when he smiled. “I’m glad to be of service,” he replied.

You could feel your face flush, though you had no reason to be blushing. You were relieved when you reached the 7th floor and the door to the Room of Requirement appeared. You cleared your throat. “Right, well, we’re h-here,” you said, cringing at yourself for tripping over the words.

Ominis held the door open for you as you entered the Room of Requirement. “I appreciate you helping me practice. Sharp’s class was hard enough when I knew what I’d be expected to brew. Having to prepare to make any one of four potions has been quite stressful.”

“It is a bit ridiculous,” you agreed as you started pulling ingredients out of your cabinet.

“Honestly! It’s hard enough keeping the ingredients for one potion straight – let alone for the Elixir to Induce Euphoria, Draught of Living Death, Veritaserum, and Amortentia,” he said.

“It is a lot,” you said. “Where should we start?”

“Hm…Well, I don’t think I would be very productive after testing potions for sleep or euphoria. We’d best leave those for later,” he replied. “What do you think? Amortentia or Veritaserum?”

“Amortentia’s easy enough to test. We can tell if it’s right just by how it looks and smells. Let’s start with that,” you suggested.

Ominis smirked. “You just don’t want me getting you to spill all your secrets,” he teased.

You chuckled. “You’re right; I don’t,” you agreed honestly. You weren’t exactly a secretive person ever since you didn’t have to hide your ancient magic anymore. However, the thought of not being ableto hide anything if you wanted to was terrifying.

“Amortentia it is, then!” Ominis said. “It’s the one I’m best at, anyway.”

He lit the flame to heat the cauldron before beginning to grind the moonstone with a mortar and pestle.

“So, what does Amortentia smell like to you?” he asked, chatting as he worked.

“I’m not sure,” you admitted as you leaned a hip against the bench.

“What do you mean you’re not sure? Were you holding your breath when we brewed it last week?” he teased. He cracked two ashwinder eggs into the cauldron before adding the powdered moonstone and stirring it together.

“No! I just…Well, I guess it’s that it doesn’t smell like anything to me,” you admitted.

“You must be joking. Surely you smelled something,” he replied incredulously.

“Just the usual musky dungeon,” you joked. “I thought I’d just brewed it wrong at first, but yours didn’t smell like anything to me, either.”

His brows drew together. “That is curious. I know I made mine right, because it…Well, it worked for me,” he said, his cheeks colouring a bit. “Do you just not find anyone attractive, then?” he added casually as he began cutting the thorns off of some rose stems.

“I don’t know. I mean, I used to think I did, but…now I’m not so sure,” you replied. “I don’t know what could be wrong with me to not smell anything if I did like someone.”

“I’m certain there’s nothing wrong with you, MC,” Ominis replied.

You sighed. “I hope not,” you replied before biting your bottom lip anxiously. “I thought maybe everyone was lying about smelling different things, and it’s really just an odourless potion. But I checked three different texts in the library, and they all said the same thing Professor Sharp did about the smell being unique to what each person finds attractive.”

“It’s definitely not odourless,” Ominis replied with a smirk. He shook his head as if to snap himself out of something before clearing his throat. He turned his attention back to the potion.

He added the thorns to the cauldron before beginning on the petals. You watched his hands as he plucked the petals off the stems, stacked them neatly, and rolled them together before slicing them into thin, even strips. He was quite skilled in his technique. Despite sharing a bench in potions all year, you’d never really noticed how fluidly he worked. There was an almost entrancing nature to the graceful movements.

“So, what does it smell like to you?” you inquired as you forced yourself to stop staring at the veins winding over his wrists and across the backs of his hands out to his slender fingers. You had always thought there was something nice about his hands.

“Oh, there is no way I’m admitting that,” he replied.

“But I told you when you asked,” you argued.

He rolled his eyes at you. “Nothing doesn’t count as an answer.”

“But it’s the truth! I can’t help that I didn’t smell anything,” you argued.

“I’m still not telling,” he insisted. He added the rose petals to the potion. His brow furrowed as his fingers skimmed over the fronts of several bottles. “Which is the pearl dust?”

“Third from the right,” you said before letting out a laugh as a realisation struck you.

“What?” he asked a bit defensively. “Did I grab the wrong one?” He shook the sealed bottle by his ear to listen to its contents shift within.

“No, that’s the pearl dust. I just…” You giggled again, and his scowl deepened. “I just realised that’s the last ingredient and the first thing I’ve helped you with. Seems like you barely need me here.”

He relaxed almost instantly, even laughing a bit himself. “Well, it’s much easier to brew here,” he explained. “I know which ingredients are which when they’re in my own containers – and even most of yours at this point – but almost all of Sharp’s bottles are identical. I have to figure out what’s in each one every time I pick it up. Sometimes it takes four or five tries to find what I’m looking for. It wastes so much time.”

“That sounds extremely frustrating,” you said sympathetically.

“It is,” he lamented as he added a spoonful of pearl dust to the cauldron. He stirred it clockwise three times before lowering the flame. “There! It should just need to simmer for a bit, and then we’ll see how it turned out.”

“I’m sure it’s perfect,” you said as you settled into a high-backed chair, kicking your feet up on the ottoman in front of it.

“I appreciate your confidence in me,” he said. “You know, I was even worse at potions when I was younger. I tried summoning the ingredients to myself in the early years, and it was usually a disaster. In first year, we had to brew a burn salve during our exams, and I simply could not find the dittany, even after sifting through all the ingredients on my bench three times. I gave up and summoned it, and it knocked over all the bottles in front of it on its way to me. They rolled all over the bench, and I had nearly plunged my hand straight into my cauldron trying to put them back in order. During another exam, I tried to summon flobberworm mucus, and all the bottles of the stuff came flying towards me at the same time.” He laughed. “It was all over me, my bench, the floor. Amit nearly slipped in it trying to come over and help. Professor Sharp was livid, but I think he felt too badly for me to give me detention.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, as well. “Oh, I’d have died on the spot!” you said.

“I nearly did. It was utterly horrifying,” he said. “I pretended to be sick for three days after that because I couldn’t stand the thought of facing everyone. I even had Sebastian bring me food so that I didn’t have to go out to the Great Hall. But I’ve learned to bounce back from my Blind Boy Moments quite quickly since.”

“Could Sharp not just label the ingredients for you?” you asked.

Ominis scoffed. “No, he insists that every good potions student should be able to identify the ingredients on their own,” he said, exasperated. “He wouldn’t even let me come in beforehand to label them myself because other students might see them. He also won’t let me use my own containers because it’s all got to be ‘standardised’ so it’s fair.”

“Well, that’s quite the opposite of fair! He’s putting you at a disadvantage,” you said. You could feel yourself getting angry on Ominis’s behalf.

“I am perfectly capable of identifying the ingredients. Just because I can’t see them doesn’t mean I’m incompetent,” he said bitterly.

You were taken aback as his ire turned toward you. “I wasn’t trying to imply that you are, Ominis, I swear!” you said earnestly. “It just seems unreasonable that he won’t accommodate you at all. It’s so frustrating. I have an uncle who’s blind. He wasn’t born that way – he had an accident. And he’s a Muggle. So…it’s a bit different, obviously. But he’s worked in kitchens all his life. When he first went blind, he couldn’t cook anymore. But his boss’s wife, Marjorie, was blind, too. She taught him how to navigate the kitchen again without being able to see. They made adjustments to things so he could keep working there.”

“You have a blind uncle?” he asked, seeming shocked.

“Almost all my life. He married my aunt when I was just a baby,” you explained. “He cooks even better than a house-elf, too! Don’t tell Feenky I said that, though. Or Deek, for that matter.”

“I can’t believe you have a blind uncle,” Ominis said, still stunned.

“Really?” you asked. “Why not?”

He shrugged. “I’ve never met another blind person,” he said.

“Never?” you said, surprised.

“Not once,” he confirmed. “My parents weren’t exactly looking to find me a support group. It’s exceptionally rare in the wizarding world, anyway. So, they sort of just kept me hidden away until school. They hadn’t even expected I’d get a letter even though I clearly had magic. It wasn’t until I figured out how to navigate by wand that they stopped treating me like a doll instead of a child. Even my Aunt Noctua was rather overbearing. No one ever believed I could do something myself until I showed them I could.”

“I can’t imagine how difficult it was going through all of that on your own,” you said.

Ominis gave a haughty huff. “Yes, well, I think I’ve done all right for myself,” he said firmly, crossing his arms protectively over his chest.

“You’ve done more than all right, I’d say,” you argued. “Which reminds me, you still have to tutor me in herbology after this.”

He chuckled. “Don’t worry; I haven’t forgotten,” he said.

“You’d better not have,” you said sternly. Your severe expression didn’t last, though. You couldn’t help but smile around him. “Wait, so, if you didn’t have anyone to help you figure things out, did you invent the spell that lets you read books?”

“Ah, well, I suppose I wasn’t entirely on my own. Sebastian found that spell in an old tome in the library. Some languorous 17th-century scholar grew weary of having to keep his eyes open whilst reading,” he replied. “It worked quite well in my favour.”

“If there’s one thing Sebastian excels at, it’s research,” you replied.

“Yes, and it’s been both a blessing and a curse in my life,” he said irritably.

“I feel the same,” you said wearily.

Ominis spun back toward the potions station. “It smells like the potion’s ready,” he announced.

You got up and walked over to inspect it. “Mother-of-pearl sheen. Perfect spirals of steam. Excellent work, indeed, Ominis.”

He blushed at your praise. “Any essence of musky dungeon emanating from it?” he joked.

You laughed. You leaned over the cauldron and breathed in deeply to play along. “Oh,” you said, caught off guard by the smell. “Yeah, actually. It…” You took in another breath. It was masked beneath the cologne Ominis was wearing, but you could distinctly smell the cool, earthy scent that permeated the lower levels of the castle. “It does.”

“Merlin, MC! You don’t have a crush on Professor Sharp, do you?” he asked, aghast.

“Gods, no!” you replied immediately. “It’s not the dungeons, anyway. It’s different. But…familiar.”

You tried to smell it again, but it was still too hard to tell. You hadn’t realised earlier just how strong Ominis’s cologne was that day. Usually, you found the scent rather pleasant, but, currently, it was making it extremely difficult to smell anything else. You grabbed a phial and poured some of the potion into it. “I can’t tell what it is. I need to smell it in fresh air.”

“Are you trying to tell me that I smell foul?” Ominis demanded as you walked away from him.

“No, not at all,” you said before taking another sniff of the potion. “It’s just that your–”

Your voice died in your throat as two realisations struck you simultaneously. The first was that the earthy scent you had identified was the exact smell of the Undercroft. The second was that you still smelled Ominis’s cologne just as strongly even though you were on the opposite side of the room from him. The phial slipped from your hand and shattered on the wood floor.

“Are you all right?” Ominis asked, rushing over to you in a panic. “Did the potion burn you? I heard glass break. Did you get cut?”

He took both of your hands in his to feel for any injuries. The tips of his fingers brushed gently over your skin, and it sent a shiver up your spine.

“Sorry, no, I’m fine. I just–I hadn’t realised…something,” you said. You heart felt like it was beating out of your chest. Poppy had been right. You did fancy Ominis.

Ominis released one of your hands to raise his to your cheek. “Are you certain that you’re okay, MC?” he asked.

Your skin burned hot under his touch. “Y-yes, of course. I was just surprised when I placed the smell,” you said.

He tilted his head in interest. “Oh? What is it?” he asked.

You bit into your lower lip, keeping yourself silent as you wavered on whether to confess. He did seem to be rather doting at the moment. You wondered if he might return your affections.

“Perhaps I should’ve brewed the Veritaserum first, after all,” Ominis joked. “Maybe then I could finally get you to tell me what you smell.”

You laughed. “That’s not necessary. I just…Well, I’m pretty sure it’s, um…the Undercroft,” you said. Your nerves increased with every word, but you felt a flood of relief after getting them all out.

“Oh,” Ominis said uncomfortably. His whole body went rigid before his hands dropped away from you. “I…I see.”

“Ominis, I…” you started, trying and failing to figure out how to take the words back. You imagined the mortification you were experiencing was similar to how he had felt standing covered in flobberworm mucus in front of his peers.

“Well, I suppose I should still tell you what I smell, since you told me what you do,” he said sombrely. “Though, I can’t imagine it will be all that surprising.” He took a steadying breath. “It smells like old parchment, like those dusty pages Professor Weasley had you collecting last year. And I smell the mallowsweet you always carry around with you. And your shampoo. I always smell it when you hug me or fall asleep with your head on my shoulder.” He cleared his throat. “So…there you have it.”

“Are you upset about this?” you asked, bewildered by his tense reaction.

He forced a laugh. “What? No, of course not!” he insisted, but it wasn’t quite convincing. “I’m happy for you.”

“Happy for me?” you repeated, even more confused.

“Both of you, I mean,” he clarified, giving you a pained smile. “Although I’ve never asked Sebastian about his feelings toward you, with the way he flirts with you, I’m sure he reciprocates.”

“You think I fancy Sebastian?” you asked.

“Well, he’s the one who showed you the Undercroft,” he replied simply.

“Ominis, you’re the one he learned about it from. You’re the one I hang out with there. It’s rosewood and jasmine from your cologne that I smell in that bloody potion!” you said.

His brows knit together in confusion. “I thought you just smelled the Undercroft?” he said.

“Well, that’s what I thought when I was standing next to you – and in class last week,” you said. “You were right there, so I didn’t realise the smell of you was coming from the cauldron instead of…you know…you.”

His features went slack. “Oh…” he said awkwardly.

“Yeah…” you replied similarly.

“I’m a massive idiot,” he said, shaking his head at himself.

You smiled. “Yeah,” you said. “We kind of both are, aren’t we?”

“It would appear so,” he agreed. He laughed as he stepped closer and wrapped his arms around your waist. “Well, this has certainly been an illuminating study session.”

You melted into him instantly. “Indeed, it has.”

“You smell wonderful, you know,” he said as he nuzzled his nose against yours.

You giggled in response. “You smell quite nice, as well,” you replied.

“I taste even better,” he said cheekily.

Your gaze immediately dropped to his lips. “Is that so?” you asked, your voice coming out husky.

“I can prove it if you’d like,” he said. His breath fanned over your lips as he spoke.

“Yes, I think you should,” you replied. “For…educational purposes.”

Ominis’s lips brushed against yours almost tentatively before he leaned in to interlock them. His heat sank into your body as he held you firmly against his chest. You snaked your arms up behind his neck as you kissed him back. Being held by Ominis – and kissed by him – felt right. You wanted to stay wrapped in his arms forever. If you could’ve, you would have fused into him so you never had to be apart again.

You didn’t know how long it was before Ominis broke the kiss, but you knew it was too soon. “I still have to return the favour for you helping me with potions,” he said.

“Yes, right. The herbology,” you replied, still breathless from the kiss. You had forgotten about those bloody shrubs altogether.

“Actually, I was thinking we should work on divination, instead,” he said innocently, but there was a hint of a smirk on his lips.

You arched a brow at him. “Oh?” you asked. “Are you even taking divination?”

“No. I can’t exactly read tea leaves or look in a crystal ball,” he stated. The smirk spread on his lips. “But if I could, I’d see me in your future.”

You laughed. “You’ve been spending too much time with Sebastian,” you chided. “His terrible jokes are rubbing off on you.”

“You’re absolutely right, darling!” he said with a false gravity to the words. “I’d like to fix that as soon as possible by spending more time with you, instead.”

“I’d like that,” you said, unable to stop beaming at him.

“Me, too. Especially if it involves kissing you again,” he said.

You blushed. “I think that could be arranged,” you replied.

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His patience was wearing thin😅 Original video

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some old arcana art! 💗

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i’m both

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Senshi would be so proud of you, Gale

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I’ve seen people suggest putting Dragon Age and Baldur’s Gate characters into the same room. But what would happen if you put these two mfs into the same room?

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Drabbles of MC reflecting M6's love language or doing things for their beloved that their beloved does for them?

So like, carving wood figures for Muriel and getting him new tools when his wear down too much, getting Nadia thoughtful gifts that she would appreciate, spending time with Portia and Asra, and I think Julian and Lucio would love big dramatic displays of love

The Arcana HCs: Reflecting M6's love languages

Julian

Oh. Oh my. Be still, his rapidly beating heart (he really needs to cut back on the caffeine, but at least half of this is genuinely because of you) You're giving him affection?? In the best possible way???

You're fussing over his physical wellbeing when he's had a long day and helping him wind down?

You're playing music for him or telling him a story from your past?

By far your best stunt was when you decided to visit his clinic while it was closing to surprise him with a picnic dinner date

The front door was locked when you got there, so you decided to go through the back instead with the spare key he put in your bag a while back and completely forgot about ...

On your way through the back room, you spotted some of the spare uniforms and decided to throw on one of the coats and masks (as one does) to better surprise him

The surprised fumble, dramatic "en guarde!", and theatrical flourish with his own doctor's coat that you got when you surprised him was so typical of your first meeting that you fell apart laughing

The picnic on the docks afterwards where you reminisced on your (very successful) relationship so far was delightful

Asra

Oh, they're not used to this, and it's making them feel safe and loved and grounded in ways they don't know how to handle

You're offering constant reassuring physical touch, but leaving it up to him to accept it/only going ahead if he says yes first?

You're going out of your way to make safe, comfy spaces for them to take quick catnaps and breaks from the world and bringing them tea when they're deep in thought?

You're constantly bringing home things that reminded you of him and finding new niche experiences to treat him to?

They are turning into a puddle. They are melting through the floor. If this keeps up there will be water in their eyes and there is never water in their eyes -

It's not that he's incapable of accepting love, it's that he's become accustomed to carrying so incredibly much of it for you and expecting nothing in return, finding his reward in your happiness

But now it's like you're turning it all back on them and the connection they already feel with you is vibrant and alive in ways they never dreamed of experiencing

He can't help it, he is returning every single gesture no matter what

Nadia

This is a little hard to pull off, at first, given how much of Nadia's love language shows up in the way she uses her vast resources to pamper you and make you feel special and important

Unlike her, you have about as much money as you need to live comfortably in the apartment above your shop. You don't have enough to commission seven gold owls in her honor

However, what's quickly obvious about her gifts isn't how much money she put into them, it's how closely she noticed your little wants and went out of her way to meet them

And now you can do the same

Keeping a small heating surface and teapot in her suite so you can have her favorite brew hot and fresh when she wakes up

Stitching a pouch of soothing, memory and focus boosting herbs onto a decorative scarf for her to use between meetings

Tending to Chandra for a little while every day so she doesn't have to worry about her familiar going neglected for very long

Introducing her to the glorious (though not very fashionable) concept of long underwear for the chillier Vesuvian months

You doing this without making her feel small is what she loves

Muriel

... help

This is so, so strange to him, he has no point of reference for this and therefore little to no means to control how he reacts

You noticed how he likes to take care of the charms around the hut and repaired one for him when it was starting to fall apart?

You spent hours sitting next to him quietly until he found the words for his troubles, and then listened to him??

You even learned how to embroider so you could start putting together a new tapestry of the life you're building with him???

What nearly breaks him is when you start to cook dinners for him when he already has a habit of cooking breakfast

Sure, having a life where food is consistent is something he doesn't take for granted, and he's held onto the value of it long enough to make sure anyone who stays a while gets something (eggs)

But now it's a whole new level of safety and care where he can trust that neither of you are going to bed on an empty stomach, and he doesn't even have to worry about there being enough

If you start carving little companions for the wooden animals he's made and set them up like they're snuggling he'll implode

Portia

Is she used to receiving affection? Yes. She's a fairly well-adjusted adult with unmatched people skills, her friend group and social network are vast and she rarely goes forgotten

Is she used to being somebody's first affection recipient? ... not so much, no. She's the person who gets called up after her important people have called up their most important people

So to be your most important person ... that's new

She's hearing something from you before you've told anyone else?

You're not deciding on whether to attend an event until you know if she's going? She's the person you look at when you find something beautiful or funny because you want to see her reaction first?

And let's not even get in to the ways you praise the efforts that usually go unnoticed or the work you've put into knowing her

Not only do you check in on how she's feeling, you don't even need her to tell you half the time. You can read it on her face

And you don't act like it's below you to support her when she's so used to supporting others. You even bring her lunch so she eats!

There's always plenty of affection when she's around, but to be noticed and known and important - that matters to her most

Lucio

Just. Be proud of him? (yes, he's grown enough to know that that's a big ask, depending on the situation -)

His instinctive way to show you how much he loves you is to make a big deal out of you and what you mean to him. Bragging about what a good person you are, what a happy life you have, etc

But if you do the same for him? After years of knowing (even though he wouldn't admit it) that he wasn't necessarily someone whose fondness people would be especially proud of?

Man, you make being a good person sound amazing

If you brag about his swordmanship and survival instincts to other journeymen in a tavern after a finished job, he'll stare at you with stars in his eyes. If you call him handsome, he'll melt

Don't even get started on the massive boost to his security if you show him off. You ask him to give you a flourish while he's trying on a new red cape and compliment it to the vendor?

He'll be thinking about it all day (he might walk into a tree)

He remembers being a source of social discomfort for his ex-wife (and worse, his mother's shame for raising him poorly) but the moment you loudly call him yours it gets just a little bit lighter