#Debonair Demon

[sivilvendetta]

How it actually went down

Scene from Spook's Season (Jack x Reader Fic)

[allastoredeer]

Guess who finally decided to start drawing smut (or practicing drawing smut I guess)

Here! Take a completely clothed Lucifer!

[fraugwinska]

Hello lovelies! Even though it's hard to follow Hazel, I hope you will enjoy todays little kinky story too!

Somnophilia is a personal favorite of mine, and reimagining it with RadioApple in mind was less a challenge than it was an experience :D I had to keep myself from writing, and who knows if I won't revisit this specific bit in the future? ;> To keep you from missing all the other juicy bits to cum come, I suggest following those beautiful creatures right here 👇🏼

Coven: @hazelfoureyes@minkdelovely@sugoi-writes@macabr3-barbi3@synamartia (banner by Syn!)

Warnings: Somnophilia, Implied but not explicit consent, Mentions of Insomnia, Depictions of depression and nightmares/night terrors, Blowjob, Hand job - Fun times all around!And as usual: Minors Stay away - 🔞

The king of hell was a lousy sleeper.

From the moment he’d moved into the hotel, Alastor noticed the falling angel creeping through the halls in the middle of the night, thick, dark circles under his eyes and an expression he could only describe as tortured.

Hidden in the familiar shadows, he’d stalk Lucifer out, night after night, and the initial delight changed into morbid curiosity. Such a curiosity in fact, that instead of mocking him, he decided to further his investigations. And what he found - well, was rather peculiar. Lucifer, king of hell and royal head of the realm, was afraid of sleep.

Alastor saw him more than once, from the dark corners in Lucifer’s chambers where he concealed himself, pacing around his room, or more accurately: in front of his wide, luxurious bed, pained and conflicted. In most instances he’d sigh, put on his slippers and morning coat, and flee into the empty halls. But on very rare occasions, Lucifer would, with furrowed brows, slide into his bed. And what followed unwillingly elicited a certain kind of sympathy in the Radio Demon.

It must’ve been scarring nightmares that haunted Lucifer, the way he writhed and whimpered, fighting for air and almost choking before he’d shoot up, panicked and halfway transformed to the demonic angel he became after his fall into the depths of depravation. His blonde hair would stick onto his sweaty forehead, swept away only by his trembling hands, and Lucifer would cry, for hours at times, until dawn would break and he’d mask himself in his usual, debonair demeanor again, facing his daughter and the inhabitants of the hotel with another night of lost sleep on his shoulders.

He could've used it against him - it would’ve been a perfect addition to his arsenal. But Alastor knew torturous nightmares just a little too well. They were one of the reasons he, too, was evading sleep as much as he could allow himself. But while his were just draining, Lucifer's seemed to be outright cruel.

So he thought he had the perfect bargaining chip in hand for a rather harmless, little tit-for-tat. Offer his assistance in relieving the king's nightly terrors, in whichever way needed, in exchange for access to his personal collection of ancient (and most certainly rarely known) spellbooks he'd spotted in his nocturnal stake-outs, sitting in his bookshelf where these dreadful ducks weren't occupying the space, adding with a sly smirk:

"And - let's be honest your highness - you're so much more bearable to be with when you're knocked out and not talking."

First, Lucifer had stuttered incoherently. Then had denied, then had laughed nervously, then had said no before hurriedly fleeing from him. But Alastor didn't have to wait even a fortnight after proposing this unusual arrangement for the naive royal to open a portal in his bayou, barking an "Are you fuckin' coming or not?" while waving a mesopotamian tomb about blood magic for good measure.

And Alastor had followed.

The first night of many.

For a few weeks now, the angel would open his his door when he knocked (the privacy-intrusive portaling forbidden by Alastor), less wary than the night before, offer a drink from his personal supply (Alastor had to admit he had a rather pleasant taste in whiskey) and maybe even engage in borderline friendly conversation before they'd settle on the bed: Lucifer under, Alastor over the pristine bedding.

Every night another book and the same steady, even, peaceful breaths. It seemed that the fallen angel’s loneliness was, at last, soothed when another warm body laid next to him.

Until Lucifer would inevitably start to whine. The first time it happened Alastor stared at the twitching man gripping his sheets, grinding his teeth and whimpering like a child. It wasn't as intense as the ones Alastor had witnessed before, this nightmare, but still enough to rattle Lucifer out of his tranquil rest. A silent tear escaped his shut eyes, and Alastor, as if in trance, kept staring at Lucifer as he reached out his hand and, after a moment of hesitation, rested it on his cheek.

That small gesture seemed to do the trick - the demon's erratic, fearful movements slowed down, a low, blissful hum coming from his throat. The frown melted away and Alastors' breath hitched in his own throat as he leaned closer to observe this phenomenon. The relaxed, even serene expression that appeared on Lucifer's features under the palm of his hand…

He had tamed the devil with barely a touch.

Alastor felt triumph surge in his chest, as well as an unexplained feeling of relief he couldn't explain. When Lucifer awoke that morning, Alastors hand in his hair and ever so slightly, almost gently, scratching his scalp, he didn't say anything, and Alastor was thankful for it. But that night changed something, in both of them - Alastor felt it. Soon, his hand on some part of the angel's body became as much a habit as reading a book while Lucifer slept.

"You seem more tense than usual - what, did one of your frivolous ducks explode?"

Alastor smirked at the grumpy growl he received, already settled and propped onto his usual pillows, a sanskrit book about alchemy in hand, as Lucifer threw off his clothes sans the stupidly ridiculous rubber-duck-boxers he usually slept in and climbed in and under the sheets with a hybrid of a huff and a groan.

"Compared to what I had to endure today, I wish. Had to go to the embassy again."

"I do hope this meeting went more favorable than your last?" Alastor queried, reading over some runes he only partially recognized, remembering fragments of the ancient language from an essay he acquired a few decades ago. The poignant look Lucifer shot him made him lower his book. The king pointed at his exhausted face, brows raised.

"With Michael and the other arch-angels present? Look at my face and tell me how it went."

"Ah well," Alastor grinned at him as he disappeared into a pile of duvet, pillows and sheets as if he wanted to burrow himself alive. "If at first you don't succeed, there's always next time."

His ears twitched when he heard a mournful, quiet "Yeah, that's what makes it worse.". After a long moment of silence between Alastor and the mountain of plush fabric, Lucifer's voice traveled damply through the layers. "Can you... pet my head until I'm asleep?"

Alastor startled at the blunt request, watching Lucifer's embarrassed face pop out from the nest he’d built himself. It was the first time that Lucifer outright asked for what Alastor had given unrequested night after night.

"I clearly remember you telling me I'd make a worse nanny than I'd make a hotelier, now you ask me to pamper you? Oh, how the tides turn."

"God, do you have to be such an ass, Alastor?! I'm fucking lonely, and you know you're..." Lucifer stopped himself, biting his lips. He turned away from him, pulling up his shoulders, disappearing into the pile again. "Forget it."

"Now don't be so insolent. I know what, my king? That I'm...?", Alastor tried, raising a single eyebrow at the sulking pile. Lucifer mumbled a short, vehement and very audible string of curses, to Alastor's great delight and even greater curiosity.

"Can you please stop fucking patronizing me and just scratch my goddamn head?!"

"Alas, since you asked so nicely!" To his never-ceasing astonishment, his touch and gentle ministration at the base of his hairline calmed Lucifers entire body down, relaxing the knot of muscles under the touch almost instantly. When he let out a long, content sigh, the deer demon just snickered. "My, my, such obscene noises from the ruler of the realm just for a simple head scratch. I fear what you'd sound like if I put in a little more effort!"

"Then put in more effort." Lucifer mumbled, already on his way to cross the border between awake and sleep, but his voice had a certain, unmistakable edge - a meaning behind so outrageous it hit Alastor like a ton of bricks. He stills, his hand unmoving in Lucifer's blonde locks, his grin slightly tweaking.

"Hm? I don't think I quite catched that right."

"Makes no sense to listen for words, if you aren't ready to receive the message, bambi."

"Oh," Alastor's wide grin returns when Lucifer, to underline his point, rolls his hips teasingly, "If you are insinuating what I think you are then that's quite the daring offer so close to drifting into sleep, even for the devil himself."

Lucifer's voice was quiet and slurred as his head fell deeper against the pillow, eyes shut and sleep already taking hold of his mind. "'Said it yourself - 'y like me best when 'm knocked out and stop talkin'..." And with that cryptic message, Lucifer left the waking world behind, and in it a - for once - speechless Radio Demon.

Hours passed, all the while Alastor tried to concentrate on the runes in his book, while trying not to listen too closely to the slow, calm breathing. He only tore his eyes away from the text whenever Lucifer's hands flexed and fisted in the duvet, or a small whimper broke free, until the pressure subsided. But eventually, Alastor let the spellbook sink as he mulled over the recent developments of their weird relationship - if it even could be called that. The days were still spent with banter and fights, especially when the matter of authority of either demon was challenged by the other. But their nights were something else, something calm and somewhat peaceful, like a truce in the midst of a cold war, and for some ungodly reason, Alastor hadn't felt this relaxed in ages either, which meant that although bizarre, this arrangement turned out to be mutually beneficial after all. But if Lucifer had indeed insinuated what he thought he had insinuated...

The small figure began to shift, slowly tossing and turning. Another nightmare, Alastor thought and returned to stroking the nape of the fallen angel's delicate neck, only to realize it was covered in cold sweat. With wide eyes, Alastor noticed Lucifer's brows drawn together in his torturous dream, breath erratic and frantic as his horns sprouted and grew in sync with his admittedly beautiful wings.

Against all good judgment, Alastor sprung into action. If a simple touch of his hand could soothe a mild nightmare, he'd just have to, well, put in more effort for a bad one. That was the proposed arrangement, wasn't it? The covers were thrown back, and before he could change his mind, Alastor slid under the blankets and sheets, laying down next to the twitching demon. With a sigh, he put an arm around Lucifer, pressing his front against the winged back, and pulled him closer, resting his chin on the crook of his shoulder, his nose and mouth touching the bare skin of his neck.

The Radio Demon tensed and waited. When Lucifer's body began to relax, his horns and wings started to retract and the cries became quiet whimpers, a smile crept over his features and his claws found the golden hair again. As soon as his fingers began to work his scalp, his whines died down and the angel leaned against him. Alastor's heart did a leap.

The king was so close, and his skin so warm where it connected with his lips. So inviting to bite down, taste a bit of that angelic blood that Alastor had always wanted to sample. But waking Lucifer would mean not adhering to the proposal, and he couldn't have that ending. Not when the fallen angel's tired voice rang so temptingly in his ears.

Tentatively, Alastor let one of his hands wander, from where it rested on Lucifer's slender waist, down further, over his hip and to the inside of his thigh.

His grin widened at the change of tune in Lucifer's whine. 'Let's see how much effort my king can take' the Radio Demon thought, the fingers of his other hand combing through his hair, scraping along his skull. It was a risky plan, to indulge Lucifer's frivolously mumbled innuendo, but then again, what could be a greater entertainment than the thrill of having the king of hell defenseless and weak, writhing at his fingertips? Wasn't he all about entertainment?

Letting the fingers that weren't in blonde locks explore, Alastor skirted his talon up the fair and sensible inner thigh, reaching further and further until he found the heated center, finding him semi-hard and tender under the fabric of his boxers. Slowly, he brushed his fingers over it, palming him firmly, earning a sinful moan from the sleeping demon. He listened for any signs of waking and found none as he sliced the offensively hindering piece of clothing open and his thumb began to work his swollen tip.

A flood of goosebumps erupted on his skin as he listened to Lucifer's heaving, irregular breaths, intensifying with every stroke he supplied.

How far could he go with this?

When would Lucifer wake?

He was so open, so sensitive and Alastor found himself enjoying the prospect of putting him at his mercy, teasing him to the edge of consciousness with his every little movement.

As the hand on Lucifer's cock ceased all movement for a moment, the angel breathed out a sound that wasn't a whimper or a moan or a cry - it was something deep and sensual, like an unarticulated plea and his hips bucked weakly into his grip.

Oh, this was fun, so much fun…Alastor could barely stop himself from chuckling, instead deciding on another experimental jerk with his hand. This elicited another noise from Lucifer, more desperate this time and Alastor repeated the action, his tongue trailing from the bottom of his shoulder up to his neck. It tasted salty and slightly sweet and utterly divine. The essence of an angel, and Alastor felt his throat thirsty for more of this heavenly flavor.

Moving swiftly, the deer peeled himself off Lucifer's back, shifting onto his knees and in between the skinny, white legs, eyes fixated on the hard and dripping member he still lazily stroked. The cum glistened in the gloomy light of the room as if it was liquid gold. The need to sample him had him leaning down, his hands pushing Lucifer's thighs further apart, making his hips arch invitingly as he opened his mouth and wrapped his tongue around the wet crown of his erection.The skin here was softer than anything he ever touched before, and oh, the taste!

That indescribable taste he had lusted after was like the perfect morsel on his palate, so divine Alastor feared for a moment he'd go off in flames from the heat that spread through him.

He moaned around the head, sucking on it hungrily as more precome hit his tongue, his ears filled with nothing but ragged and loud breaths. Lucifer was still too far gone into this dream world of bliss to wake, and a thought pierced his mind, one he shouldn't be dwelling on, but one he did, his damned tail swinging wildly from one side to the other:

That he could get addicted to this after all - the feeling of power over the king of hell himself, the taste of the heavenly essence still so prominent in the fallen angel, and the company, even if abrasive and bantering. Lucifer challenged Alastor, and although he'd never tell a soul - unlike so many others, he was at the very least, a worthy sparring partner.

Opening his eyes again and sliding down, taking him all the way, the head touching the back of his throat, he felt a slight stirring above, Lucifer shifting and panting. Just for a few more moments. Alastor pushed a bit deeper, teasing and testing before sliding upwards and setting a steady and firm pace, one hand tightening its hold on Lucifer's hip and the other wandering down, exploring the path over his smooth, tightened balls to the tensed ring of muscle below. Slowly he began circling it, sucking harder and stroking him faster until a noise he had not yet heard pierced his ears. Lucifer, in his dream, moaned his name. And for once, Alastor didn't mind it at all.

Instead, he closed his eyes and just drank in the sound of the sleeping angel moaning like he's dying for him, feeling himself responding to the lewd display of helpless want as his own cock twitches against the strained fabric of his pajama. Without his conscious accord, the tip of his finger entered the hot, willing hole, and his tongue lapped eagerly as he did, searching for another taste and there's nothing - absolutely nothing - better in this whole wretched pandemonium than the sensation of Lucifer arching and curling under him.

"Ngh… Fuck. That's an A for e-effort, if I've e-ever seen one."

Alastors eyes flew open. Lucifer's head was turned to the side, eyes barely open, irises glowing with lust in his hazy gaze. When he tried to retreat, a sudden wave of both disappointment and a weird sense of shame washed over him, Lucifer's immediate grip in his hair was painfully firm, holding him exactly where he was, while a tired smile crept on the kings' lips.

"Don't stop now when you fin-ah... not when y-ou finally gotten the h-hint." 

Lucifer panted and sank back into the pillows, legs falling further apart and hips angling, opening even more while Alastor felt the corners of his mouth twitch in renewed excitement. Noting to himself to renegotiate their agreement come morning, he hummed in accordance to Lucifer's mumbled words as he descended onto the slickened heat of the angel's cock again."Not w-with those pleasant dreams you were giving me."

[sugoi-writes]

Cold. That's all you felt the second Alastor slipped from your core and pulled away from your back. Cold, and empty. A shiver ran up your spine as you sat there on your knees in the center of Alastor's bed, sheets soaked in spit and sweat and semen, your mind trying to catch up with reality. Where did he go?

You didn't have to wonder for long, as Alastor soon returned to your view - hair disheveled, antlers that had tripled in size, and a fine layer of sweat covering his well-toned chest and abs (his chic sense of fashion and debonair attitude was so so SO misleading). You watched him as he moved around you, knocking a couple of pillows that were clinging to the edge of his bed to the floor. It took your conscious mind a couple more seconds to comprehend what he was doing, but once it did, you had to bite your lip as your brain began to conjure such delectably salacious images of what he wanted you to do.

Alastor wanted you to ride him.

"Well, love," he started as he laid before you on his back; one hand tucked behind that magnificently opulent head of red and black hair; the other lazily stroking his still engorged cock - a bead of pre rolling down the length of it and mixing with your combined essences in the space between his shaft and balls.

From the corner of your eye, you barely noticed the stirring of shadows as Alastor stared you down, his signature cocky smirk present and a single brow raised. A soft whine escaped his throat when he tightened his grip and began to pump himself with a little more vigor, drool trickling from the corners of his mouth at the thought of being inside you once more. "It's not going to ride itself."

Fuck, this demon was insatiable!

( I promise, no more teasing after this one~ 😘 Love youuuu~! - ☄️❤️ Smut Santa )

MERRY FUCKING SMUTMAS, ANIMALS!!! SMUT SANTA HAS CUM COME!

First of all, how are you today, ☄️❤️Anon? Because I don't know HOW you crank these out so fast? Are you sleeping? Are you eating? 👀

S-SECOND OF ALL... ugh 😫💦 The cockiness! The demand! This man knows I would slurp him down, top to bottom, leaving no cum crumbs! I wanna R I D E that fucking sleigh, OKAY?!

I look forward to your other iterations, and the presents you continue to bless others with. 🙏 Good tidings for Smutmess, and a Happy Nude Year~

I fucking LOVE YOU, you brilliant, brilliant writer, you!!!

I definitely, for sure, just invented a Triple Hell for all of my Christmas puns. Lucifer is too scared to deal my dumb ass

@hazelfoureyes @minkdelovely I am NOT going to recover from this!!!!

[romirola]

A Work-in-Progress Anyday (9/24)

Hiya, Redacted fandom! I've had the pleasure of being tagged in a few different games lately. Thank you, @pinksparkl, @running-tweezers, @useless-chan-draws, @free-boundsoul , and @cyanbugremix for the tags! I regret to report I have been a tag game delinquent. But I have a good excuse! I have been working on my next Redactedverse fic.

Hint: It's an AU! And it's been such fun figuring out how to blend the Redactedverse into one of my favorite stories. Can you guess what it is? (Answer in the tags.)

If you know me, you know I write at a VERY slow pace and that I don't post on AO3 until the full story is drafted. I only recently started working on this fic, but I did want to post a teaser to for fun and excitement. Please see below the cut for the first released snippet of this fic.

Tagging those listed above, along with @us3rnam3-r3dact3d, @dominimoonbeam, @weightedblanketjoyfriend, @pycth, and anyone else who'd like to join in the fun to post a work-in-progress in any medium. (Please tag me so I can see your wonderful work, friends!)

“That’s right,” Gavin grinned. “You see, when I was a young…” He looped an arm behind Freelancer. “... dashing, debonaire, hotshot incubus, so different than the demon before you today,” he joked, sharing a wink with Freelancer, “I, too, fell prey to M.D.S.. And even though I was too proud to ask for help, my steward came and helped me wait it out. When I was feeling my worst, she read me this book.” Gavin snatched the book from Caelum and waved it in the air. “It’s a special book. And today, I’m gonna read it to you.”

Caelum still looked skeptical. “Is there fun stuff in it?”

“Are you kidding?” Gavin gasped. “Fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, shifters, stealths, vampires, chases, escapes, true love, miracles!” 

“Doesn’t sound too bad,” Caelum considered. “I’ll try it.” 

Freelancer snickered. “A real kind gesture.” 

“Mhmm, yeah, sure,” Gavin huffed. “You say that now. Your vote of confidence is overwhelming.” He relaxed in the chair, materializing matching pillows to help support his and Freelancer’s backs. “Alright,” he sighed, opening the book with a finger flick. “<em>The Prince Shifter</em>, by S. Morgan Kyne. Chapter 1.

“<em> David Shaw was raised on a small farm in the country of Dahlia. He was a wolf shifter, the biggest wolf anyone in the town had ever seen. His favorite pastimes included going on long hunts in the forest, playing cards with his cousin, and tormenting the unempowered farmhand who he had hired to help with chores shortly after his father died. David never called the farmhand by their name, only, 'Troublemaker.'”</em>

Gavin peaked over the top of the book. “Isn’t that a wonderful beginning?”

Caelum gave him a skeptical huff. “Nothing happened yet.”

“You just wait,” Gavin scoffed.

[angie-words]

Talking is for Tomorrow: a smutty Good Omens fanfic

Sometimes you have a silly idea that Crowley would absolutely wear this outfit:

And that somehow becomes a one-shot smutty fic with emotional make-up sex...

CWs/tags: explicit sex, fluff and smut, light angst, emotional sex, porn with feelings, Crowley cries during sex, praise kink, strength kink, top Aziraphale, bottom Crowley

Summary: Aziraphale can't take Heaven or its numbing effects anymore, so returns to Earth, hoping to enlist Crowley's help in saving their world. However, he isn't expecting Crowley to be wearing the most ridiculous and tempting outfit when he greets him…

Excerpt:

“Crowley?” he whispered, fingers gingerly resting against the door.

All of a sudden, the door was flung open with such a force that the vacuum formed by the shift in air pressure nearly knocked Aziraphale to his knees.

Looking at Crowley, and what he was currently wearing, he rather wished it had for he’d then be in a perfect position to worship him.

Aziraphale had always admired Crowley’s sartorial sensibilities, perhaps even envied the way he flitted between one dashing outfit to the next, debonair to the extreme. Yet the demon, his demon, was utterly ridiculous too and perhaps that was what he loved most about his style choices; Crowley wore what he wanted and dear God he made it look incredible every time.

However, the demon had truly outdone himself at that moment because, standing in front of Aziraphale, eyes large and mouth set in a grimace while framed by shoulder-length burgundy locks, was Crowley wearing what the angel could only describe as “a look”: a stone-washed black sleeveless top, with faded pink words printed upon it that declared “I’M NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS ⭐🙂⭐ I’M WORSE”.

Continue on AO3!

Thanks again to my beat readers @rofell, @sakascal and @playdohangel for all their amazing help and suggestions!

@whickberstreetwriters @goodomensafterdark

[timeslugarts]

Second Pass.

Part 2 of my Vera x Vox fic (part 1 is here)

A/N - Oh man, I wrote this ahahahaha I feel like I've been working in this forever! I'm so pleased, though. I hope all of you enjoy it! FINALLY Vox knows her name. No beta, and like tell me how I did? The nerves for posting my writings are always so high with me.💙💖

Nsfw 💖💙

It has been a week, ONE WEEK, and Vox was still scouring the databases for the bitch that took his wallet. She had taken his wallet, for fucks sake. His. Wallet. This was more than just whatever money was inside, but about the principle of the matter. Of he, a great Overlord of Hell couldn't keep sinners in line than what good was he. He had to find her and make her pay.

"Oi, Vox!" Velvette's clipped tone snapped him out of his reverie.

"Not now Velvette darling." Vox spoke smoothly, but unmistakably irritated.

"Oh, are you still trying to find that tasty little thing that played you?" Velvette smirked haughtily at him. "You know if you wanted help, all you had to do was ask?"

Vox turned to glare at Velvette over his shoulder, "do you know something?"

She grinned and leaned on his desk, "I may or may not have gotten my hands on the guest list from Val's secretary."

"Val doesn't know?"

"Of course not! What do you think I am, stupid? And that secretary definitely won't be saying anything anytime soon." Her grin was malicious now.

"Oh Velvette I could kiss you!"

"Ew."

Vox stood up as Velvette handed him the guest list. Handwritten, weird.

"Anyways, I need a favor, Val trashed my fabrics closet after last night's little Angel mishap, so I need a whole new."

"Oh absolutely, anything you need." Vox really wasn't listening, already scanning through the list of names and aliases until one stood out.

Spitfire Demon.

He just knew it had to be her. Quickly going over to one of his many computers he typed the name in, a shifty photo and vague details appeared before his eyes. The photo was unmistakably her, her little blue flames glowing brightly and mucking up the view.

The only note that really stood out to him was added by Val.

NEED.

Vox could only assume he meant as an actress. How long has Val known about this woman and why is Vox just now finding out about her? He was a media empire! He should have more dirt on her than this bullshit. Along with Val's note was a list of presumably bars. Shit like, The Inferno Room, Lucifer's Lounge, and of course The Shit Hole.

This seemed like as good of a place as any to start his search, it was only until the night grew dark that he decided to slip away and zip through the wires until he came to his first stop, The Inferno Room.

Vox dusted off his jacket before entering the bar.

Why is she always hanging out in these disgusting places?

He spotted her almost immediately back pressed against the bar and a man looming dangerously close. He had her arm in a vice and seemed to be pulling her to him. Her little flames fluttered angrily around the guy, maybe trying to push him away, but to no avail.

The jingle of the door gave Vox away, however the only person to look up was her. Recognition flitted across her features and instead of the shock he was hoping for, a coy smile took place on her lips instead.

"Oh dear," she tutted at the man, "I did tell you my boyfriend would be showing up." She gave a brief nod in Vox's direction. The sinner looked over his shoulder and saw for the first time Vox in all his glory.

He had to play this up, he had to be the one to teach her a lesson, not this random asshole. So, for the pure sake of entertainment, he put on his best debonair smile and looked at his little flame.

"Is this man bothering you my dear?" He said cooly, sliding up next to her.

"V-vox, Mr. Vox, uh sir." The sinner was very aware of who he was which made this little play all the more fun for him.

The asshole had thrown her hand down in a panic and took a hesitant step back. Instead of making a break for it, she surprised Vox by pressing herself against him, his arm instinctually wrapping itself around her waist. She smiled gently up at him and he felt his heart stutter. The words she spoke next got him even more excited.

"He absolutely is, sweetheart." She batted her lashes and he squeezed her tighter to him. It almost felt real, they felt insync, like an actual couple. His grin turned manic at her implications, his eye widening, the rings of mind control turned on the poor asshat who just happened to mess with the wrong girl at the wrong time.

"Wait no I-" but it was too late, the sinner had looked into Vox's eye and was trapped. Now he would do anything, eat off the floor, give him his watch, kill himself. Dumb minds were so susceptible to his little power, it's what made being an Overlord so easy here in Hell, everyone was so ready to put their faith in anything. Vox briefly glanced at the woman at his side.

Maybe he'd try this on her later.

For now, a bit of fun wouldn't hurt. "You heard the lady, dog, maybe you should try being less annoying and more entertaining. How about a dance?" And just like that the lowly sinner started to dance, arms flailing about, no sense of rhythm, just hopping up and down. Almost like a monkey.

"Oh, isn't that interesting." She purred at his side, Vox's chest swelled a little with pride at that. "Maybe we should have him take his clothes next?" She grinned, languidly stroking her fingers up and down his back making him shiver.

"You heard the lady." Vox nodded his head to the still dancing man who had begun to sweat. Before the words left his mouth the sinner, without stopping, began undressing in the middle of the bar.

He was attempting to take his pants off while still hopping and dancing about. He had fallen multiple times now, once face flat on the floor breaking his nose. Blood poured freely from his nostrils. He was covered in sweat and blood, tears leaked from his eyes, he was starting to look disgusting, Vox grimaced at the pathetic sight.

On que, as if reading his mind, his spitfire whispered, "This is getting a little boring don't you think? We have other more fun things to do." She grabbed his hand and laced her finger through his. Vox looked down at their hands, thoughts racing through his mind.

Wasn't he supposed to be doing this to her? Why was she so comfortable around him? What was he supposed to do?

With everything racing through his mind he finally landed on, it was just a wallet, and gripped her hand tighter and followed as she began to lead him out of the building.

Vox let himself have one stray look back at the sinner who was breathing so hard now, hyperventilation was probably right around the corner. He looked down at the woman next to him and blinked. The sound of a neck breaking mixed with the jingle of chimes could be heard as they pushed open the door and made their way outside.

"I know a lovely little place, hidden on the outskirts of town. Very quiet, perfect for a little rendezvous." She had walked ahead of him pulling him along.

Vox wasn't sure what he was doing. He really wasn't sure what was going on at all. He just killed someone because she batted her pretty eyes at him. He had no problems killing someone, but doing it so willingly for someone else just because they said please? What was that!?

He had to remember why he was here, this bitch took his wallet! Him! The Vox! One of the Vees!

They were approaching yet another grungy looking bar and Vox couldn't help but chuckle.

"Is something funny?" She twirled around to face him. Eyes bright, little flames dancing gently, an eyebrow arched.

Vox pushed her into the side of the building, caging her in with his arms. "Are you taking me here to rob me blind again? These gross bars seem to be your m/o."

Still she didn't seem startled; she only looked up at him through lidded eyes. Vox had to ignore the heat that went to his crotch.

"On the contrary kitten," she placed her hands on his chest. "I plan on paying you back." She took a finger and lightly traced the edge of his screen. Vox raised his own eyebrow to match.

"Lead the way." He whispered, breath already heavy with want. "This better be good, you stole quite a bit." He resumed his pace next to her.

"Oh hush, you have more than enough to make up for it being the great Vox of Voxtech after all. " She nudged him with her hip.

"So you did your research?" He asked, cocking a brow.

She laughed, it was musical, like bells. "Only after the fact," she grinned, "if it wasn't for your ID I wouldn't have thought otherwise."

"Can I have that back by the way? It's kind of important."

"Hmm," she tapped her chin in mock thought. "Only if you're good."

They pushed through the doors into the new bar, this one was filled with smoke and low music that thrummed in one's chest. She smiled and waved at the bartender who waved back.

Vox rolled his eyes, "is there a skeezy joint in town that you don't know?"

"I only know the good ones, the ones with dark corners for sharing dark secrets." She grinned, pushing him into a small room.

There wasn't time for questions, the wallet was the last thing on Vox's mind as he stumbled on to the small bed.

She locked the door and turned the lights low, her flames brilliantly shining in the dim lights. Her ponytail was the first to go, instead of falling around her shoulders the blue of her hair gently wafted around her, almost like a halo.

Her black dress fell to her ankles and Vox had to stop himself from choking. Her pink flesh was so tantalizing and the lacey black undertakings she wore were just begging to be torn to shreds. If she had used his money to buy them he couldn't even be mad, they looked so good on her.

"Your turn." She whispered as she straddled him, fingers making their way to his bowtie and slowly undoing the knot. Once that had slipped from his neck and onto the ground she began shrugging him out of his jacket which she unceremoniously threw to the floor. The tightness in his pants had started to become uncomfortable, she was moving so slowly. He decided to help, moving his hands to quickly undo the buttons.

She slapped his hands lightly. "Ah ah ah, I told you I was going to pay you back. So just relax." She replaced his hands with her own and began working her way down. With each little bit of his skin that appeared she would kiss it gently.

Vox laid his head back and tried to steady his breathing. Sex with Val was fast and rough, it was almost like a business transaction in it of itself, they only ever fucked if one of them needed relief. To have someone move so slow and touch him so softly was making his heart race.

After removing his shirt she finally, finally, got to the button on his pants. His dick was so hard by now it was embarrassing, the tent in pants was very visible and she licked her lips at the sight.

"It would seem you definitely need someone to take care of you darling."

"I absolutely do not need any-" he groaned as she grabbed at him through the fabric. The pressure finally gave him some relief.

"What were you saying?"

"Fuck-zt you." He panted out. She popped the button on his trousers and paused, raising an eyebrow and looking up at him.

"Shut up!" He blushed, his boxers clearly visible with tiny TVs peppering the fabric.

"I think it's cute." She cooed. Anything Vox was about to say got stuck in his throat as his dick finally sprung free. Rock hard and leaking precum the cold air causing him to his.

She lowered her head and placed a gentle kiss on the tip. Tongue swirling around and lapping up the precum that had spilled. Vox inhaled sharply. Her hand grabbed the base of his cock as she licked a long stripe from the bottom to the top before taking him in her mouth in one fluid motion. Instinctually he bucked up into her mouth. She felt so fucking good, so warm and wet.

He groaned as she tightened her grip and began sucking him off.

Fuck she was really good at this part. The feeling of her tongue moving around him in her mouth, the movement from her hand. Her other hand was wrapped around his hip, keeping him in his place. His claws were on either side of him, tearing at the sheets, as he moaned and panted.

The slurping noises she was making were so lewd and the way she was looking at him, Satan alive he had no control over himself. Before the band could snap she removed herself, Vox whined at the loss.

"Tut tut, no whining here," she climbed on top of him, legs stretched on either side of him, "momma's here to take care of you." A slight snap of her hips had him groaning, the friction was too good.

He looked at her through a hazy of lust, drool dribbled down her chin, Vox lazily lifted his hand and wiped it away with his thumb. She wrapped her hands around his own, pulling his thumb over to her mouth and sucking on the digit.

"God you're so hot." He continued to move his thumb so traced the shape of her plush lips, so black and soft. She leaned into the touch hair spilling over to the side, he reached his claws out to touch the blue fires only to find that it was soft and warm. It didn't hurt at all.

He was so focused on the feel of her hair that when she pushed down on his dick he let out a pathetic choked moan. He could only be embarrassed for a second before she started rolling her hips against him. He could feel himself throbbing inside her, the delicious stretch of her walls around him. He may be stuck in Hell, but he could pretend that Heaven felt like this.

She picked up the pace and started to bounce on his lap. He let out a garbled, "close." His breathing was labored, his screen was glitching and small sparks of electricity were flying off of him.

As she continued to move her hips she leaned over and whispered "Alright, now be good for me and cum, don't worry, I can take it all."

That sent Vox so far over the edge. He could feel himself release inside of her, filling her up, her walls clenching around his dick as she came with him. She moaned and he swore it was the most beautiful sound he's ever heard.

They were panting, she was leaning over him breathing into his shoulder the warmth from her breath dancing over him. His claws stroked her sides as also tried to calm himself down. Lifting her leg and tucking her body into his, she snuggled close. Vox wrapped his arm around her as they lay quietly, her fingers tracing nonsensical shapes on his chest. It was nice, peaceful.

A little blue flame danced into his sight, Vox stuck his hand out and it zipped in between his fingers finally hovering lightly over his palm. Just like her hair it was warm and soft, almost like a thick mist.

"What even are these?" He whispered in the dim lighting.

She only yawned in return and snuggled deeper, "I'll tell you about them some other time."

If his head had been with him he would've understood the implications of that statement, but instead all he did was hum in acknowledgement. His eyes were heavy, and his little blue flame was already asleep at his side. He looked down at her sleeping form, her hair gently drifting about her face. Her small fires had died down, only producing a subtle light, as if they too were sleeping. Vox pulled the covers so they were underneath them making sure they were comfortable and snug. Vox grinned to himself as he slowly drifted off next to his little flame.

When he awoke he was almost disappointed to find the bed was empty, but he couldn't say he was surprised.

After finding almost all his clothes he noticed on the bedside table was his wallet, and on his wallet a hastily scribbled note.

Borrowed your jacket, promise I'll give it back next time

XOXO Vera

And underneath that was a phone number. Vox looked hard at the note.

Vera.

He finally knew her name. His little blue flame, his Vera.

[honestlyboringperson]

Team BEST in the Persona 5 AU! Skizz looks like utter dogshit because I can’t draw muscles! Sorry Skizz!

Also yes, Etho’s outfit is partially based on @/spell-struck’s Arcana Swap AU design for Yusuke. Go check it out! Their designs are amazing.

Again, More Information is under the cut.

Southlanders

The Scottage + Gem

Fairy Fort

Magical Mountain + Cub

Bdubs - “Scout” - The Lovers Arcana - Peter Pan/Orobas

A man of short stature and an even shorter fuse, Bdubs is a college student pursuing a degree in architecture and is known for his dubious ability to immediately know what field someone should go into. Be it art, film, or even just mathematics, his judgement is never wrong which led him to be recruited into a local theatre troupe to help with casting members to roles. This causes him to befriend a certain young prodigy actor who specializes in theatrically heroic protagonists and bombastically charismatic villains.

His persona is Peter Pan who is a famous pop culture character. Peter Pan is known for his devil may care attitude and his claims of greatness. His abilities allow himself and others to fly, and in this AU, Bdubs is known for uplifting others with both his scouting abilities and work as a phantom thief. Bdubs is also quite boastful, also fitting with Peter Pan’s character.

His Ultimate Persona is Orobas, a Great Prince of Hell and a Goetic Demon. He is the patron of horses, and gives power and control over others. He also can protect people from evil spirits and is clairvoyant. No wonder Bdubs “Horsegirl Supreme” got this guy as his ultimate persona.

Etho - “Shade” - The Hanged Man Arcana - Arahabaki/Inari-Okami

Etho is a mysterious college student known throughout the campus as being aloof, quiet, and even possibly dangerous. Those close to him know he’s just socially awkward. At a young age, he is known for his inventions in engineering and was presented with several scholarships to several prestigious institutions across the city. Unfortunately, he is horrendously bad at anything that isn’t engineering, with his apartment in shambles and his diet mostly consisting of energy drinks and a wide variety of instant ramen.

Arahabaki is a Japanese god of uncertain origin, with this particular portrayal & the one in the Shin Megami Tensei franchise being mainly inspired by the forgery by Tsugaru Soto-Sangunshi. They are a symbol of treachery, rebellion, and heresy after Emperor Jimmu found his enemy Nagasunehiko worshipped him.

Inari Okami is the kami of foxes, fertility, rice, tea, and general worldly success. They are the reason several shrines in Japan have fox statues and they are known for their ability to shapeshift. Their entourage was made up of pure white kitsune, categorized as “zenko” as opposed to the malicious “yako” kitsune.

Skizz - “Knight” - The Justice Arcana - Templar/Heracles

Skizz is Impulse’s best friend and former police officer. He currently works as a construction worker, but helps Impulse with his smithing business. He was fired after directly opposing the corruption that began to spread throughout the city’s police force, and his name was slandered. Despite these tragedies, he keeps a goofy and cheerful demeanour throughout his days. Despite no longer being in the police force, he will not overlook anything he sees as harmful.

Templar, full name Simon Templar is a Robin Hood figure coined “The Saint”. His calling card consists of a stick figure with a halo, and said calling cards were often given to corrupt politicians, warmongers, and other similar low-lives. He was described as “a buccaneer in the suits of Savile Row, amused, cool, debonair, with hell for leather blue eyes, and a saintly smile.”

Heracles is a famed Roman hero, and is considered the god of strength and heroes. He is most known for his tale of the twelve labours, wherein he completes twelve labours set by King Eurystheus to atone for killing his family after Hera makes him temporarily lose his mind. These tasks were aided by his allies and finished with a combination of strength, trickery, and camaraderie.

Tango - “Blaze” - The Magician Arcana - Guy Fawkes/Nimrod

Tango is a popular novelist and D&D master, known for his works in the fantasy horror novel franchise “Decked Out”. Although the original novels were made to satisfy his own desire to tell a compelling story, he becomes severely creatively blocked and is unable to keep up with the demands of his fans. After joining, he’s trying to start fresh with a new franchise, and is currently looking for inspiration for a new novel with the help of Jimmy.

Guy Fawkes is a key figure behind the infamous & controversial Gunpowder Plot. The Gunpowder Plot was a planned regicide, with several barrels of gunpowder being hidden within or near the House of Parliament, with Guy Fawkes being in charge of the explosives. The plan was to blow up the Parliament with the King James I inside and instate a Catholic monarch to the throne. Despite the motives being questionable, the plan failed and all the offenders, Guy Fawkes include were executed for treason. Today, in celebration of the king’s survival and the failure of the plan or simply enjoying the festivities, Bonfire Night was created, with several bonfires, fireworks, and other similar events taking place.

Nimrod is the architect of the Tower of Babel and is known as a king who rebelled against god themselves. The Tower of Babel was intended to reach towards the heavens, but God struck it down and changed the language of the people so they could no longer understand each other and scatters them across the earth.

[radioiaci]

▲ ALASTOR ▲

▹ The Radio Demon ◃@radioiaci ◃

Non-Exclusive but Selective RP Blog for ALASTOR from HAZBIN HOTEL

Canon-divergent & 18+

Para/Novella/Narrative (Long Posts!)

Multiverse Friendly

| ABOUT | RULES & OOC | HEADCANONS | // Ask Memes // Starter Calls // Art & Images // Thread Tracker // Affiliates: voxtekoverlord ; daddymothxxx ; ducktastic-dad ; cannibalxroses ; sirserpentine ; infernal-blaze ; videokilled

SHIP VERSE TAGS >

verse ;; 🌹 la vie en rose 🌹 - cannibalxroses

verse ;; ⭐ nobody's eyes but mine ⭐ - voxtekoverlord ; daddymothxxx

verse ;; 🔥 the fire in the sin 🔥 - ducktastic-dad

verse ;; 🐍 i'm ready now 🐍 - sirserpentine

verse ;; 🤡 fools and kings 🤡 - circus-frog

verse ;; 📺 crimson nights like these 📺 - videokilled

verse ;; 📶 two birds on a wire 📶- infernal-blaze (vox)

verse ;; 🌖 just too much for you 🌖 - the-devil-less-known

verse ;; 🖤 won't wake up this time 🖤 - electriccapitalist

------------------

IMAGE/ARTWORK TAGS >

Vox - ▽ mediocre video podcast ▽

Lucifer - ◬ path of most resistance ◬

Angel - ⧩ effeminate fellow ⧩

Charlie - ⧋ potential to guide ⧋

Nifty - ⨞ twisted little mind ⨞

Valentino - ⧊ morality in a chokehold ⧊

Rosie - ⟁ delightfully debonair debutante ⟁

Husk - ◭ graduate of bad beats ◭

Sir Pentious - ◥ remember you now ◥

Vaggie - ⨻ re-formed ex-exorcist ⨻

Cherri Bomb - ◺ explosive late entry ◺

------------------ OTHER/BASIC TAGS >

▲ sense of self �� : images & art of alastor

△ on the air △ : in character posts

⨹ tune on in ⨹ : posts containing snippets of the broadcast

⨞ dash commentary ⨞ : commentary on dash happenings

▶ after-hours broadcast ▶ : out of character posts

▲ promotional material ▲ : promo posts

◭ ask memes ◭ : ask memes free for anyone to submit

⟁ starter call ⟁ : posts that can be liked for a starter

⨻ answers ⨻ : answered asks

⧊ hellish headcanon ⧊ : personal headcanons for alastor

⨺ white noise ⨺ : music or inner thoughts

⨨ nsfw ⨨ : nsfw threads or images

⧍ queued ⧍ : posts from the queue

◸ saved ◹ : saved posts

------------------ Credit for Icons/Avatar/Header:

Official Art - Hazbin Hotel Fan Art - @/alloplush

[thestormthatrises]

Y'all, you ever just get assaulted by the idea of how devasting it would be for the rest of the world if SQH actually took care of himself, three meals a day and 8 hours of sleep sorta deal? How minds would be blown?

Because like, I have this headcanon that every peak lord has a different kind of beauty, yeah? Like SQQ has this very cold, ethereal beauty. And LQG has this very sharp, intimidating beauty. YQY has this very warm, confident beauty, beautiful big bro beauty. WQW has this rugged and debonair sort of beauty and so on and so forth.

And SQH, underneath all of the stress and sleepless nights, is the most adorable, endearing, cute person in the world. He's that cute that makes people go feral, like honest to God cute aggression.

So can you guys imagine like, let's say that SQH has a minor but very acute qi deviation because of how hard he works, yeah? It's not SJ level but enough for MQF to put his foot down and whisk his shixiong away to his peak and very politely forcing him to be taken care of So SQH can't do anything but rest, eat well, take some sun for that good vitamin d for his depression and chill.

(MQF has some close calls with SQH, of course. Some disciples that need their Shizun back. Some demons that don't understand they can't just teleport in and Try to steal his shixiong away. But because MQF has had plenty of training with SQQ and LBH, he perseveres)

Queue a couple of weeks later and SQH is getting some weird ass looks and doesn't understand why! Is there something on his face? He looks at his reflection more often His cheeks are rounder and pinkish but they look clean enough. Was it because he put on weight? His clothes aren't hanging off of him anymore... But MQF said it was a good thing.

Was it his hair? He thought it looked good. With nothing to do for all those weeks, he had thought That he had managed the bird's nest he had been saddled with. MQF and his head disciple had said it looked nice... Were they lying?

Look as he might, he can't find stuff that's too wrong with his face. So why are people staring at him like that?

....

And not just staring. They're acting weird too!

Like! Like! He went to talk to LQG about his peak going over the budget and the man looked like he would kill him. And then! When he finally managed to get his shidi to agree in keeping the costs down, he smiled, thankfully And LQG punched the table between them, breaking it in half! Like WTF, bro!

He thought they were cool now, after SQQ married Bīnghé!

Guess he was wrong...

Speaking of his son! He was weird too!

SQH'S body had decided to betray him after so many years. Just because he had shown weakness.

He couldn't go three hours without food anymore. Real food too! His adored melon seeds did nothing for the growling beast in his stomach.

Such a traitor! Didn't his body know he had a job to do? Aiya!

So imagine his embarrassment! His shame! When waiting for a weird acting Cucumber bro, his stomach growled noisely near LBH! WTF!

SQH looked down, apologetic, cheeks red with shame, and askes to be forgiven by Junshang.

The look LBH gave him was so deadly that he thought his days were numbered. But when Airplane thought LBH was going to give him the final strike, he merely got up and left his Shishu to wait alone.

Normal right?!

But then! When he was talking to SQQ, who was a lot More bitchy than usual, LBH brought snacks for his beloved. Usual, right?! NO!

For the first time in his life, LBH placed some of the plates in front of SQH! And two cups for the same pot of tea! Bīnghé usually made two pots of tea for them, one with the really good stuff for SQQ and one so and so for SQH!

And people might think he was insane! I mean, maybe the table was small, right? He had to place the snacks for Shizun near the other peak lord because there was no room but NO! There was so much room!

And to top it all off, after. While of just drinking tea, LBH asked why wasn't he eating??? WTF!!

He looked helplessly to SQQ but the traitor just arched a brow at him. Was this some sort of game? Was the food poison??

"Eat, shidi"

SQH had lived a... Life, right?

It wasn't the best life but it had been a life. Who knew it would end like this?

SQH ate the food. It was delicious. The soft exterior of the bun melted in his mouth giving way to the savory meat inside. It was the best food he ever had. It was heaven.

Ok.

He could die for this.

But as he happily ate, he must've done something! Because SQQ struck his head with the guard of his fan, waking him up from his bliss.

"What was that for?" He asked, heartbroken.

But Cucumber didn't answer. He merely grumbled about his stupid face and to just eat and shut up.

Weird, right??

And then he had been getting these-- things! They looked like gifts from his martial siblings but-- but that did not make any sense! They never, ever given him anything but work.

And at first he thought they were normal, yeah? He thought, for example, when WQW had given him a Very beautiful and blessed dagger that he wanted more of the ore that made it and told him he would see what he could do. When he managed to find the budget for it and purchase the ore,his shixiong had the nerve to ask him why he bought it!

SQH showed him the dagger and WQW had the gall to laugh at him and told him to keep it. Like it was a gift or something??

WTF??

But worst of all! Worst than all this weird crazy nonsense, was his king!

If MBJ had been needy, demanding, and spoiled before, it was nothing compared to now.

Now, MBJ demanded his full attention when they talked, looking him dead in the eye like he was trying to pick out a lie. Or when they sat, he pulled SQH to his lap like he was going to run away. Or get made when those weird not-gifts started to pile up in his house.

He had the sneaking suspicion that his king broke some of them too.

Aiya!

And because SQH'S body was a traitor now, not only did it need food like all of the time, it needed sleep too! He was now falling asleep on his king's lap all the time. So rude!

He tried to get MQF to deal with this weirdness but his shidi only said that it was normal.

And then patted his head! Like... Like--like he was a kitten or something!

WTF?!

[brainwormcity]

Art for chapter 9 of The Boundless Echoes of Liminal Skies. Excerpt under the cut:

He threw the door open, anxious as he held the cloth shut near his hip, “What has happened? Is the king alright?”

It was a young guard, eyes wide in fear, “Yes, but the Black Knight has entered the castle and he is looking for you!”

Before the angel could inquire further, the guard’s eyes rolled back in his head and he fell to Aziraphale’s feet. Suddenly, leaning cavalierly against the door jamb, stood a tall figure, cloaked with a black hood. From the shadow of the dark hood shined two brass-colored eyes, slitted pupils wide.

“Hey, Angel,” Crowley purred lowering his hood with a crooked smile, “Fancy meeting you here.”

Aziraphale was suddenly overcome with that heady aroma of wood smoke and ozone and nearly swayed on his feet. The demon was absolutely debonair as he leaned into Aziraphale’s room. His copper hair was long, curly, and resplendent, the strong line of his jaw jutted out with self-assurance, and his smirk was wonderfully devilish. Aziraphale wanted to touch him tremendously but he resisted.

It was as the demon’s face began to redden, while he looked Aziraphale over, that the angel remembered his state of undress. Aziraphale squeaked and with a gesture was fully dressed in his tunic and chausses.

[free-for-all-fics]

Phantom of the Opera and Beauty and the Beast Crossover AU Prompt! This was going to be a much, much, much shorter prompt, but then inspiration hit me very hard and it got very long, but it still doesn’t feel quite right for me to call this a full fic or oneshot. If you’re inspired by any ideas presented here, pls tag me and I’d love to read it! 🌹❤️🥀

The faerie hesitated. She knew tradition demanded that she curse the newborn prince for not being invited to the christening, but it wasn't his fault the messenger fell off his horse. She decided to get creative with the wording. Thus, instead of being cursed to die, Erik, the firstborn son to the king of France, was cursed with a deformed face. The prince would become more beautiful with every awful deed he committed, but the curse wouldn’t be broken until he found someone who could love him for his heart and marry him. He was disowned from the royal family and disinherited from the throne, decried as a “demon” or “living corpse”. He grew up with no knowledge of his true lineage and was instead raised by the servants and kept in the walls. The queen was fed lies that Erik died shortly after the christening, and she mourned for her baby boy. She never fully recovered from what she believed to be her firstborn son’s death, but later gave birth to another son, Prince Adam.

The king was known for ruling his kingdom with a cruel iron fist and raised the young prince to be selfish and arrogant, even forbidding the servants from ever questioning or objecting to his ways of raising his son. The prince used to live in the castle with his beloved mother as a sweet child until she died from an illness, which gave his cruel father the opportunity to harden his heart to become a more arrogant but effective ruler of the kingdom. He showed no concern over the loss of the queen, and led his son away from his wife's deathbed without any emotion. Erik became the court composer and exhibited a megalomaniacal personality, convinced he was a genius of music. He considered himself to be great and was never stingy with a compliment for himself. He was lugubrious and had not seemed to share the joys of the castellans and other courtesans. Erik spent much of his time isolating himself in the dark, too busy with concertos and operas of his own composition that he claimed would bring the house down.

“Bravo, bravo! Encore!”

“You approve?”

“Oh, maestro, it's magnificent!”

“Oh, come along. It's merely an opera...to bring the house down! Yes, I know...now, in the midst of my crescendo, I thought I heard merriment outside the window. Have a look see, will you?”

He had a deep hatred towards happiness or, at the very least, happy songs, as he preferred sad, depressing, mournful music. He was extremely superior, cunning, powerful, intelligent, and a bit misanthropic, as he considered humanity to be overrated. Though he was dashingly handsome with a debonair smile on the outside, he considered himself not only an Angel of Music, but a God of Deformity. Despite his face being perfect, he always wore a mask of impassivity when playing music for the public. He was surrounded by beautiful and wealthy women who vied for his attentions, but they were often incredibly shallow or boring, only looking to get into his bed for the night. He longed for more stimulating conversation, full of passion and intellect. The only way to keep himself sane while suffering through idle chat and pleasantries was to escape through his life’s work, treating his music as incomplete masterpieces he was eager to finish.

Following the king’s death, Erik learned of his lineage and the conditions of his curse, but never revealed these truths to Prince Adam. It was better for him to be a best friend and advisor to the prince, rather than a brother and prince himself. He blamed his father for his disfigurement, but he was secretly scared of his corpse and had refused to attend the funeral. As much as he hated the man, maybe his father was right when he used to say that ignorance is bliss.

In another kingdom, the prince fell ill. The widowed king dearly loved his last surviving son and heir, and doctors tried everything but he grew weaker and weaker. They told the king about a mythical rose that witches were rumored to use to cure any illness. The king searched the whole kingdom for the rose to no avail, and his campaign soon became a gruesome witch hunt. His path was lined with the witches he had slain, but the rose was nowhere to be found. Exhausted, bloody, and at his wit's end, the king came to a witch's house on the outskirts of his kingdom. He fell to his knees, begging the witch to help cure his son, and she agreed. The witch explained that the rose held tremendous power that could only very carefully be used for good, and instructed he only use a single petal. Using the whole bloom would only invite death. The prince began to recover, but discontent at the royal line had grown in the kingdom following the king’s bloody campaign. The next day, the king found his son murdered in his bed, and the last light holding his darkness at bay was snuffed out.

Heartbroken, the king turned to the bloom which had promised life, and instead saw it as an escape from his suffering. Lonely and depressed, he felt that all hope was lost after so much tragedy. He was too old to remarry and believed himself to have been cursed. He left his castle with nothing but the rose in hand, and wandered off into the icy wastes of a cruel and bitter winter, hoping to die somewhere his body could never be found and thus end the curse he believed he was put under. Instead, he came across the corpse of a woman who had frozen to death underneath a dead man hanging from a noose. In her arms, he found you, a still living baby girl who became blind due to being out in the elements. In his madness, you bore a remarkable resemblance to his late queen. He believed you to be his daughter and of his blood, so he took you in. The witch, having come to visit the king and the prince, looked at the nightmarish scene in despair. She raised a mountain on top of the king, erecting a dome of rock around the castle to imprison him and prevent him from wreaking further havoc across the land.

You grew up to be a virtuous, graceful beauty, but since you’d been blind since birth, no one had ever told you nor did you know that you were a princess. You lived in a beautiful enclosed garden within the king's castle, secluded from the world, in the care of loyal servants. The king feared you’d be targeted and killed if you were to ever learn you were the princess, so you never learned the truth until you came of age and were betrothed to marry Prince Adam of France. You were raised unaware of the circumstances surrounding the tragedies the king suffered or of his madness. You knew nothing of the witch. As far as you knew, as the daughter of the king, you never expected to inherit anything until a tragic accident caused the deaths of all your brothers and made you his sole legitimate heir. Now he expected you to act as a proper princess after being absent from your whole life.

You were a bright spot of happiness within the castle. You had a lovely singing voice and cared about everyone, living or dead, and everyone loved you in return. Your attendants would bring flowers and sing with you. Your garden was beautiful and full of a wide variety of blossoming wildflowers, except for roses. No matter what color roses were planted in your garden, they all turned out black in the end and smelled like death. Roses had become so rare that they were the most sought after flower in your kingdom, sold at high prices in black markets, under guard in national museums, etc.

You often declared your sadness, and your vague sense that you were missing something important that other people could experience. Your father insisted that you mustn’t discover your blindness and that your betrothed wasn’t to find out about this until after you were married. Your father had you and Prince Adam married by proxy before you had even met. A further ceremonial wedding and festivities followed by the ritual bedding would come later.

Your family had passed down a heirloom for generations: A hand mirror of medium size, framed in pure silver with ornate vine scrollwork. It was tradition that, upon their wedding day, each inheritor must look into the mirror at least once. It was said to be an enchanted mirror that could show you your soulmate, but your reflection never changed when it was your turn to look. However, ever since you’d looked into the mirror, you’d been haunted by a pale and faceless man that only you could see when you closed your eyes. He was there, behind your eyelids and inside your mind. The man moved in slow motion and, when you slept at night, you didn’t dream.

Your new husband, Prince Adam, arrived at the court with his best friend, Erik. The prince and Erik were warned by your loyal servants not to speak of light, colors, or anything of the sort with you. Wanting to bring you a wedding gift, the king arrived with a famed Persian physician who stated that you could be cured, but the physical cure would only work if you were psychologically prepared by being made aware of your own blindness. You appreciated the thought, but you had no will to see as others did and refused your father’s gift. You were born this way and loved yourself as you were. You believed you could see, you just saw things differently or saw so much more. The king supported your decision and refused the treatment, fearing for your happiness if the cure should fail after you’d learned what you were missing.

Erik found the entrance to your secret garden, ignoring the sign which threatened death to anyone who entered. He stumbled upon you singing without realizing who you were and instantly fell in love. Prince Adam, astounded by his friend’s behavior, was convinced you were a sorceress who had bewitched Erik. Prince Adam ordered him to leave but Erik was too entranced, so he departed with the promise he’d be back to save him.

“I am Maestro Erik, court composer and your most humble servant.”

You sang a magnificent duet together. Erik, who asked you to give him a certain flower as a keepsake, realized you were blind when you twice offered him different flowers with similar scents. You wished more than anything for a rose, but only black roses grew here and you didn’t know why. You had no concept of light, vision, or blindness. You fell in love with Erik after he explained light and color to you, believing him to be the faceless man from the mirror and your soulmate. When Prince Adam returned with your father, Erik admitted to seeing the warning sign at the garden entrance. The furious king threatened to execute Erik for revealing the truth to you, but spared him after Prince Adam realized you were his wife. He spoke for Erik, vouching for his character. The king relented, and let Erik return to France with you and your new husband.

Though Erik reciprocated your love, he felt conflicted and unworthy of you because of his curse and his deformities. He exclusively wore masks that covered his entire face. He only told you the color of his eyes, but nothing more. You loved him anyway, but you were born to privilege and with that came specific obligations. You were forced by your father to marry Prince Adam and, although you were spared the brunt of his cruelty, you still had to live year after year witnessing how monstrous your new husband was. From mistreating the castle servants to taxing the townspeople too high while doing nothing to help ease their hardships and burdens, you regretted your arranged marriage.

Despite being a princess, you were still a woman in a man’s world and could do nothing to free yourself from this loveless and miserable union. You and Prince Adam may have consummated your marriage out of duty, but you never shared his bed after that night and kept to separate rooms. If you had to keep Erik in secret and only love him in the dark, then that was enough for you. It had to be enough for you. Even if you longed for more. A life without love was no life at all, so you and Erik had no other choice. No matter how much you loved Erik, you could only love him at night and he had to depart before the lark sang. Every morning you’d have your kitchen maid procure a special tea for you to ensure you didn’t come to be with child. This was your fate and you’d accepted it, but Erik hadn’t. He’d brought up fantastical ideas of running away and eloping, but you wouldn’t hear of it.

“My father forbids me to end my marriage to the prince, Erik. Doing so, especially for a man like you, an untitled bachelor without family who hides his face behind a mask and accrues his wealth from dubious means, would ruin me. It’d cause a scandal so great I could never recover from it. I had to marry a man of substance, father said. A certain wealthy prince. In the eyes of the royal court, you won’t amount to anything but, in my eyes, you’re worth the whole lot of them put together. I fear I would’ve killed myself by now, were it not for the unbearable thought of leaving you behind. My heart can’t bear to inflict such cruelty onto you. You don’t deserve that. But I can’t run away with you, no matter how much I may want to. The wants and desires of a woman, even a princess, are irrelevant.”

As much as he hated it, he understood and reluctantly respected your decision. You and Erik were so in love. You saved him from his solitude, you were the light in the darkness of his existence, but you seemed to be kept apart by forces beyond your control. Still, the maestro gave you, his Angel of Music, a bundle of red roses with a fake one nestled inside, and told you that you'd be with him until the last one withered.

One winter’s night, an old beggar woman came to the castle and offered a single rose in return for shelter from the bitter cold. You, the mistress of the castle, showed kindness to the old woman as she let you feel the petals. They were so soft, softer than any flower you held before, and it smelled sweet, far sweeter than any other rose. You simply asked what color the rose was since you couldn’t see. When she told you it was red, you were amazed. Erik had told you about red when he gave you your first bouquet of roses, how it symbolized love and passion. He described it as the color of the sun or fire, bringing warmth to the hearts of men. Your kingdom had been cursed to only grow black roses that reeked of death, so to have a rose of such a vibrant color in full bloom, especially in the depths of this freezing winter, seemed like magic. You were about to let her inside and have a servant show her to a spare bedroom for the night so she could warm up and settle in, but your husband stopped you, cruelly snatching the rose from your hand and pulling you away from the old woman.

Repulsed by her haggard appearance, the prince sneered at the gift and turned the old woman away. But she warned him not to be deceived by appearances, for beauty is found within. And when he dismissed her again, the old woman's ugliness melted away to reveal a beautiful enchantress. The prince tried to apologize, but it was too late, for she had seen that there was no love in his heart, and as punishment, she transformed him into a hideous beast and placed a powerful spell on the castle, and all who lived there - even you, the princess who showed her compassion. She spared you as much as she could, not wanting your kindness to go unrewarded, but the prince and everyone else in the castle had to learn a lesson. She let you keep your human form, but erased your and Prince Adam’s memories of each other after your marriage so that you’d both have the chance to find true love in the future. However, by doing this, she inadvertently erased your memories of Erik since you only met and started your love affair after you and the prince were married. The enchantress had good intentions and thought she was doing you a great kindness, but her gift was a curse.

After the enchantress placed her curse upon the castle, turning Prince Adam into a beast and everyone else into household objects, he thought that you'd learn to love him since you were still blind and couldn’t see him. He thought you were disgusted with him because of his beastly appearance. In turn, you called him out on this, saying the real reason had to do with his arrogance and cruelty. You still despised him anyway because he was cruel, selfish, and unkind, with no love in his heart. Ever since then, the Beast showed nothing but shame for his actions and hated his cruel father for raising him to be a tyrant, even tearing up a portrait of himself out of anger. Even the servants themselves were in full regret of their reluctance to speak out against the king, implying that they truly despised him for his cruel nature. To you and Beast, you had never married and were only betrothed. Your fathers were both dead by this point, so you didn’t see any reason to go through with the wedding. You left him, claiming that people don't hate him because of his appearance, but because of how he acts, and that he's not some terrifying beast or powerful prince, but a pathetic human named Adam.

After you left, enchantment was the only good thing that happened to Erik. He was turned into a pipe organ and could use music to move nearby objects, but couldn’t move himself, as his new form was far too large and bolted to the wall. But he found himself more useful to his master as a composer and was willing to do everything in his power to stay in that new form. He developed powerful abilities, which he could release through his own music, and became obsessed with it. He wanted more. To possess this forbidden magic, Erik had to sacrifice a memory of equal value. His thoughts about you might’ve given him pause in the past, but you were gone and it didn’t seem like you were ever coming back. He no longer cared about losing his memories for a spell. Falling in love with you while you were married to his brother was painful enough, but his nights with you offered him some respite. He took solace in knowing neither you nor Adam were aware of this family secret, though this comfort was cold and tainted with bitterness. Your miserable marriage to his brother combined with your memory erasure and leaving was too much for Erik to bear, so he erased all his memories of you in exchange for these dark powers. His father was right after all! Ignorance was bliss.

The Beast considered him much more valuable as an advisor and confidant, and found his depressing arrangements of notable classical music somehow made him feel better. It was said that music soothes the savage beast, and they couldn't be more correct. Erik kept the Beast isolated from everyone else in the castle, and close to himself in order to prevent the spell from breaking, which had remained for 10 long years. Erik was a good talker, as he was able to captivate the spirits, to insinuate his hypnotic music, to convince everybody with honeyed words and a soft voice. He appeared to the Beast as his "best friend", but he was actually manipulating him because he wanted to remain as a pipe organ forever and sought some attention. However, this attitude was only displayed because he was quite afraid to fade in the background, afraid that he’d be forgotten. He wasn’t appreciated by anyone as the inhabitants of the castle seemed to ignore him at the least, except for the Beast. The Beast came to him often to hear his soothing music, which would ease his tormented soul.

“Your music is the only thing that helps me forget.”

“Don't worry, old friend. I'm here for you, just as I have been, just as I always will be.”

The more magic Erik used, the more he deviated from being human, not just in body but in mind as well. Moreover, the type of magic he used influenced the changes that occurred within him. He slowly became corrupted by his own desperate desire to be loved. Without you by his side, Erik became arrogant, evil, sarcastic, manipulative, acrimonious, obstreperous, and somewhat paranoid. Under the curse, he composed tirelessly his next opera, “Don Juan Triumphant”, whose sole purpose was to make the castle collapse.

“Erik! Stop the noise!”

“Noise? Noise?! This is my masterpiece.”

You’d lived in castles and palaces among the richest people of any age. But never, never had you stood in greater luxury than when you moved into this quaint little town and lived the life of a simple peasant, surrounded by townspeople who didn’t know who you once were. You loved the hustle and bustle of running errands and doing daily chores, you loved being part of a community and helping others, you loved wearing much simpler dresses, you loved getting dirty and feeling tired in a good way from a hard day’s work. You befriended a lovely woman named Belle, who was about your age, and her father, Maurice. Though they both seemed to be the talk of the town and considered “odd”, you came to love them like family.

Maurice was a musician who was traveling to a music festival to perform. But since the curse, the world had lost its music and melody. All composers in town became superstitious, believing in a “Curse of the 9th Symphony”, its origins unknown. Maurice was a skeptic and, having premiered his 8th symphony last night on stage, a mysterious hooded figure handed him a letter after the performance. “After your 9th,” it said, “I will return. He has a job for you.” Maurice then went missing while on his way home, shortly after his 9th symphony. Philippe returned alone. When Belle went in search of her missing father, you insisted on going with her, not wanting her to get lost in the woods like Maurice might’ve. These woods were dangerous, especially at night when the wolves came out. When you came up to the tall iron gates and Belle found Maurice’s hat, you cursed to yourself. Of course you’d be brought back here. Escape was an illusion, it seemed. Oh, cruel fate, would this nightmare ever end?

While in the castle, Maurice had come across a silver music box. The music box was empty, the cords cut yet, somehow, a song started playing when he opened it. How was this accomplished? He fiddled with the music box and wound it up, making the princess figurine spin in a dance. Unbeknownst to him, it was something never seen in at least a decade. It had been a wedding present for you but, after the curse was cast, the Beast’s heart stayed dark from that moment on. Its melody brought back the Beast’s bad memories; all his mistakes, all his regrets, and all his pain. For the master of the castle, it was a Pandora’s Box that contained many horrors. Each note of that lovely melody seemed to deepen the Beast’s anguish. He couldn't bear to hear it. When Maurice opened it, the Beast could hear it from the West Wing and flew into a rage. He picked up Maurice, carried him out of the room and slammed the door, plunging the den into darkness. For daring to trespass and open your music box, Maurice was Beast’s prisoner, sentenced to rot in the dungeons forever.

When Belle took her father’s place as the Beast’s prisoner, you insisted on staying with her and the Beast let you, giving you your old room back. While the Beast had destroyed his own room, yours remained untouched and was just as you left it 10 years ago. You didn’t tell Belle about the curse nor your complicated history with the Beast because, as much as you may not have seen eye to eye in your past turbulent relationship, you still believed he could change. He deserved that chance to love and be loved in return. You worried that Beast's psychological state would become increasingly feral the longer he was under the curse, such that he would eventually lose his last vestiges of humanity and become completely wild if the spell couldn’t be broken. You wanted the spell to be broken, if not for his sake, then for everyone else in the castle. Everyone, even you, played against Erik, trying to provoke love between Belle and the Beast to break the spell. But Erik wouldn’t be deterred so easily, and continued plotting and scheming in the shadows of the West Wing.

“Trust me. Humanity is entirely overrated. Before the enchantment, there was no need for my particular brand of genius. But now, the master needs my melodies to feed his tormented soul. I am his confidant and his best friend...and I won't let some peasant girl ruin it for me! I will see to it that this blossoming love withers on the vine.”

Neither you nor Erik could remember each other, but you both had this indescribable feeling that wouldn’t go away. You weren’t sure what it was exactly. Even before you officially met again, it almost felt like a pull, a thought trying to break out from the back of your minds, or a strange sense of Deja Vu. Erik hated it with a passion and played his music loudly to drown it out, while you were just confused. While exploring the castle and reacquainting yourself with everything, You could’ve sworn you heard a man’s voice hypnotizing you, seducing you, urging you to enter the West Wing. The Beast’s room. But you couldn’t possibly! It was forbidden! The Beast had warned both you and Belle! And yet…

“Yes, my dear. Come to me.”

You felt like you’d been in this room before. A strange sense of familiarity washed over you as you felt around the walls to guide yourself, but for some indiscernible reason, you hated this room and everything in it. Avoiding broken furniture and other obstacles in your way, you felt fresh air coming from an open window and approached the balcony. You felt around a small table until your hand brushed against something cold and made of glass. A bell jar. When you touched it, you felt warmth and light emanating from underneath it. Next to it, you picked up something cold and heavy. You felt the engravings and markings decorating the frame and handle, and your fingers tapped against the glass of its face. Your handheld mirror that your father once gave you. But it was glowing just like the bell jar and you could hear strange crackling noises coming from it, almost like lightning. What had the enchantress done to it?

You were about to inspect it further, but you could hear music coming from an adjacent room. The door was left ajar and, when Erik noticed you were looking at him, he immediately doused his candles and fell silent. Wandering over to the organ, you spotted a half-finished set of sheet music set aside, complete with inkwell and quill. Curious, you sat down at the organ and began reading it.

“Don’t touch that!” Erik’s voice snapped, seemingly coming from nowhere and scaring you half to death as you were chased away from the organ. You looked around frantically and reached out your hands, confused when you felt no one around you. You thought maybe it was a ghost or ventriloquism, until you realized it was the pipe organ itself that was talking to you, towering over you with a scrutinizing glare that you couldn’t see but could feel. Right. Enchanted castle. You’d never gotten used to it back then, and you still wouldn’t. Not now, not ever. But you felt a strange sense of longing when you heard his voice. He scoffed in disgust whenever you mentioned love or breaking the spell.

“A daring woman, cursed with such beauty but never able to see it, a pity even. A beauty such as yourself, meets beasts in dark hallways and forbidden rooms? An act of love or lust, so you say? Beasts know nothing of the sort. Empty your heart, cast it aside, I say. Dreadful beasts we are, no less? Beauty may fool a blind man, but no beast!”

Months passed. The enchanted rose continued to wilt. Christmas was coming. The Beast, wanting to get a present for Belle, ordered Erik to compose a song for her, much to Erik’s disgust. The girl was evil. She held the master from Erik’s grasp. She filled his head with dreams of love and hope! Yech!

“I want you to compose a song. It's a present…for Belle. And make it happy!”

“Oh, but happiness is so depressing! What's next? Love songs?! Wedding marches?! It's all that girl's fault.”

He had fabricated another curse, a false one to orchestrate distrust within the nearby villages so that the townspeople would either ban music and/or turn on each other. If he instilled fear and superstition so there was no competition, then he’d definitely be the best musician in the world! His plot to get Maurice killed had failed, but he could still go after his daughter. She was a threat to his plans. He twisted Belle’s words and emotionally manipulated her so she’d want to get a Christmas tree in the Black Forest beyond a frozen lake. He lured her away from the castle, and did everything in his power so she’d never come back. While she was away, Erik told the Beast that Belle had abandoned him, thus stoking Beast's anger. He then tried to goad the Beast into destroying the enchanted rose, the symbol of the curse, but the Beast ultimately decided not to when a rose petal landed on the storybook from Belle, thus allowing him to regain his senses. Erik’s plan to drive Belle and the Beast apart almost worked, but was ultimately foiled by the Beast.

“So, Beast gets girl, and it's a happy ending for everyone. Enchantment lifted...and Erik fades into the background. No longer important...no longer needed…I THINK NOT!”

Enraged at the failure of his plan to break up Belle and the Beast's relationship, Erik lost what was left of his sanity and gave into his destructive and suicidal thoughts that had plagued his mind for years. He had no regard for his own life as he was willing to take everyone's lives in the castle along with his own to ensure that the spell remained intact. With the Beast having broken free of his hypnotic control, Erik believed he had nothing else to live for and attempted to bring the castle down with his loud music, playing “Don Juan Triumphant” more intensely to rupture the walls and shatter the windows. He shook the walls to pieces, debris fell, the floors began to separate and created perilous chasms.

“Maestro, stop! What do you think you're doing?”

“Don't you see? They can't fall in love if they're DEAD! You could've joined me, but I see my triumph is a solo act! We can remain as we are, FOREVER AND EVER!”

“ERIK! ENOUGH!”

Erik was finally defeated when the Beast ripped out his keyboard from him, which ceased his contact with his pipes. In a blind rage, Erik tore himself free of the wall and began to collapse, effectively killing himself as he crashed to the ground, destroyed. Despite Erik’s true colors being exposed and his diabolical plans foiled, the Beast mourned Erik’s demise, as he still considered him to be his closest friend.

After the curse was broken, everyone was turned back into humans, and yours and Prince Adam’s memories were restored. You both remembered that you were technically still married and thus had extramarital affairs - you before the curse, and he during the curse. But this realization wasn’t awkward. What was there to forgive? You and Adam were forced into marriage by your fathers and each fell in love with another, it happens. You just considered yourselves even. It took lots of paperwork, but with his signature here, and your signature there, you and Prince Adam officially dissolved your marriage, much to both yours and his relief. You let bygones be bygones after your divorce and considered yourselves friends, no hard feelings. The prince assured you that you’d always be welcome here in his castle, and it was your choice whether you wanted to stay, return to your kingdom, or go elsewhere.

While everyone was downstairs celebrating in the ballroom, you went back to the West Wing, to the prince’s room where Erik was. You remembered him. Oh, your poor darling! Your dear Erik had suffered so much sadness and so much pain, surrounded by people yet completely alone in the castle for all those years. He was human again but he laid deathly still, face down on the floor. You took out the music box and it played that familiar melody, your song. The enchantress appeared one last time and used her magic to resurrect Erik. She couldn’t condone his abuse of forbidden and evil magic, but she’d seen for herself he’d been punished enough. She asked for your forgiveness. She only ever wanted to give you a chance to find true love and happiness, but she didn’t realize you already had it. Consider this parting gift from her her repentance for inadvertently cursing you. She wouldn’t bend or break the laws of life and death for just anyone, but true love was the most magical gift of all, so she did it once for Belle and Adam, and again for you and Erik. She would no longer interfere with either yours and Erik’s or Belle and Adam’s happy endings. You needn’t do anything to repay her, just go on and live happily ever after.

When Erik woke up, his memories of you were restored. You were discovered by the prince, and he was so relieved and ecstatic to see his best friend alive. Erik finally pledged his love for you in front of the prince, not caring that you were blind and married, unaware you had already ended your marriage contract moments before. The prince gave you to Erik with his blessing, not that you ever needed it, but you and Erik appreciated it. Erik moved into your bedchamber where he would often awaken to the sun streaming through the curtains and the lark singing, just like he had always dreamed. No more hiding under the cloak of night, no more sneaking through secret passageways. He relished in finally sharing your bed, but he had a difficult time adjusting to being human again. He still experienced trauma from the curse, and was plagued by nightmares at night. He confided in you his guilt and regrets, his fears and anxieties, and all his insecurities while you gently rubbed his back, drew patterns on his chest, or held his hand. He felt like he maybe didn’t deserve to be this happy after all he had done.

“It's just...it was different when we were all cursed objects. When we could move around freely and act however we wanted to. When I could just play my music. When I knew exactly how to get the master to smile and relax with my music. Even if it meant we'd be cursed forever, I was happier as a pipe organ." 

“And it’s going to take time, my love, but we can learn to be happy again, as humans. As husband and wife, if you’ll still have me. I’m sorry for all that I’ve put you through. I’m sorry for making you wait so long.”

“Now that I finally have you in my arms again, ten years didn’t feel long at all. I would wait a thousand years more and still take you to be my bride.”

The four of you eventually held a double wedding in the castle. As soon as the rings were exchanged and Erik kissed his bride, the curse placed upon him at birth was finally broken. But when the bright light encompassing him had dissipated, instead of a handsome man, his face was still that of a living corpse. His eyes were so deep that one could hardly see the fixed pupils, just two big black holes, as in a dead man's skull. His skin, which was stretched across his bones like a drumhead, wasn’t white, but a nasty yellow. His nose was so little worth talking about that one couldn’t see it side-face; and the absence of that nose was a horrible thing to look at. All the hair he had was three or four long dark locks on his forehead and behind his ears. But you saw nothing ugly in your husband at all, he was absolutely perfect. He was beauty itself, and you didn’t need your eyesight to see that.

“My love, are you okay?”

“Well, yes. But I don’t understand. I’m supposed to be beautiful.”

“Oh, Erik, but you are beautiful.”

The double wedding was a grander celebration than the one that was held after the curse was lifted. The festivities lasted an entire week, and you all sang together of the magical new world now visible to you as the court and townspeople rejoiced.

[butmakeitgayblog]

Which Lexa is obsessed with Harry Potter and dress up like a professor/witch for Halloween

Well none lol. No Lexas support the terf overlord's work, period

If she were to have to go to some HP themed thing for work or something, then Elbow Patches would be the one to take painstaking care to buy all the material needed to make everything herself so as not one red ass cent went to that franchise.

None of the others woukd even entertain it tbh. Demon Lexa prefers just letting her wings out and calling it a costume 🥴. CoA Lexa prefers more debonair costumes. Like being a swashbuckling pirate or a plastic pistol toting cowgirl. A warrior or an old style gangster in a pinstripe suit or a rather attractively dainty Robin Hood in overly tight tights. That kind of thing. CI Lexa barely ever celebrates Halloween and when she does, it's an excuse to wear something sexy. She prefers couples outfits as well, so whatever she lands on its with the full understanding that Clarke is gonna be saddled with the theme as well. And MBFW just wouldn't ever. She's not one for celebrating Halloween as it is because her grandparents never took her trick or treating or bought her anything to dress up in for school Halloween days, so any costumes in her life at all are ones that Clarke has handpicked just for her

[officialpenisenvy]

James Bond dies. Because he's killed so many people, lied, etc., he goes to hell. On the other hand, he doesn't deserve a hell at the level of most bad people — he's saved the world so much. He's used and thrown away women like kleenex... so he will never have another woman. On the other hand, he's so dashing, debonair, and heroic that he DOES deserve some kind of compensation... so he'll have a boyfriend who LOOKS like a girl. (Most male Patalliro fans want a direct physical examination before they'll believe Maraich IS male.) Finally, he's still cool and debonair, but now he's assigned as a bodyguard to a sadistic little demon (Patalliro). Patalliro is the story of James Bond in Hell.

user Sea Wasp in the rec.arts.anime forum, april 1996

[valerie-cosplay]

Cosplay makeup league of legends

- Winterblessed Diana

- Debonair LeBlanc

- Star Nemesis Morgana

- Street Demon Zyra

- Orbeeanna (Bee Orianna)

- Spirit Blossom Cassiopeia

- Heartache Vi

[rcreveal]

The Trouble with a Keen Manager

A canon typical story set in the early 1990s just barely pre-Anti Christ S1 where Crowley loses most of his powers and needs help from new friends and old while he fights to regain his old power and autonomy...and just not to get discorporated! Banter, humor, drama, pining. Ch 1 of 22: This one is finished, so I won't leave you hanging, too long. Psst-Crowley in a kilt most of the story...

Chapter 1:

Aziraphale puttered about his bookshop dusting the stacks and looking over at the door from time to time. Drifting past his desk, he glanced at a book seller’s catalog laying open with colored ribbons marking his new purchases. Humming to himself happily, the angel’s fingers hovered over one of his most anticipated new selections.  Then he shook his head and set himself off to reorganize the Jane Austen.  Every time a new movie or television adaptation came out he had to guard his first editions from the depredations of the book buyers!

Oh he just couldn't wait!

Recently…

Crowley toyed with a self-addressed order postcard of the kind that might be “blown in” to a magazine or journal.  The kind of postcard that was an advert for double glazing, questionable self-care products, guaranteed cubic zirconia jewelry, and books not yet available in local shops.   They’d fall like raining frogs out of the magazine of the poor soul that just wanted to pilfer a little look at an article without buying the whole magazine AND they were each little temptations!  It’d been wicked fun suggesting ‘blow ins’ to the advertising blokes.  The little irritation to millions of people forced to wrestle with scooping up the pieces of paper or being inveigled to litter was a bonus for his reports.  Sometimes he’d sit across from a magazine stand just to watch it.  

Crowley had been sitting on a bench across from a magazine stand smiling to himself as the blow ins fluttered down, seeing the familiar crease between the brows and shuffled stooping and swatting for the little cards.  They even got away from people purchasing a magazine.  Littering thus tarnishing an otherwise upright citizen.  The rather excitable university student with the baggy jumper over baggy non-descript pants hadn’t noticed the card falling out when she’d stuffed the magazine into her bag.  From over the road it looked like she was taking home a deadly dry scientific journal of some sort.  During a lull in shoppers, Crowley had poured himself up from the bench and sauntered over to see what adverts had added to the litter on the city street, grinning to himself as he riffled the debris with his pointy toed shoe.  It was another bad day for double glazing!   Leaning over to see what sort of advert could possibly be in that dry old magazine, his fingers closed over the little bit of cardstock he’d marked falling from the student’s bag.

Flipping the little card over, he’d let out a ‘huh’ as he read the advertisement over the top of his sunglasses to better see the colored picture, looking more like a middle aged man who’d eschewed his readers than a debonair demon.  Pocketing the card, he wondered if he might just find a copy there…where had they moved now?  Oh, right, Carlton House Terrace, he turned to cross St James Park.  He could do with a brandy and they still had a clubroom there, surely.

Well that was a disappointment.

The tea room choices weren’t exactly what he’d remembered from the Royal Society, but the zip and tingle of all the thinking going on in the building was headier than most vintages as he meandered through the public exhibits.

“Pardon me, but would you carry this book?” Crowley asked the young man at the Royal Society book shop, flipping the card in front of his nose.

The fellow peered at the little card in Crowley’s hand and a smile broke over his face.  “Oh, I am so excited to see this one, sir!  Can’t wait to get my hands on it!”

“So, you don’t have a copy here?” drawled Crowley.

“Nooo, sir, that’s an American publication.  I don't know when we’ll get a copy.  You could ask your local bookseller to order one for you, if you don't want to wait,” the young fellow added helpfully.

A slight grimace on his face, Crowley pocketed the card again, “Thanks anyway,” waving a couple of fingers at the building,  “Like what you’ve done with the place,” Crowley sauntered away affecting nonchalance.

But the demon was thinking, ‘Yeah, he might, but…nah, not worth the risk.’ Crowley had rarely asked for anything from him outside the bounds of the Arrangement, and the business with the holy water made him even less likely to expose himself like that again even on a much smaller scale. Definitely not right now.  There were other ways.

The advert marred the perfect black austerity of Crowley’s huge desk.  It was a temptation, so that should be alright, plausible deniability and the like.  Pity Crowley was currently the focus of the temptation.  Worse, he could feel the laconic eye of the Pit on him more often these days.  Someone seemed to be going through a keen phase, so he’d been toeing the line more than he liked lately.  Made more difficult by some of the recent administrative changes.

Running his thin fingers over the address side of the card, Crowley pushed the card away and strove not to look at it.  Failing that, grumbling in the back of his throat, Crowley flipped the card over and let his eyes rangehungrily over the advert.  Holding the card up to eye level he looked at a red and yellow swirl on a deep black background and ground his teeth.  

A fruitless day of calling booksellers found that no one was planning on getting a copy of the book he wanted anytime soon.  Most had asked if he had inquired at the Royal Society.  

As he worked through the Book Sellers listed in the Yellow Pages from A to Zed (skipping the first shop listed under A, of course) some of the older shop owners started to offer ‘helpful’ suggestions.

“If it’s an unusual book that you’re after, you should check out A. Z. Fell’s in Soho.”

“You know, that Mr Fell gets books from across the pond pretty frequently,” another offered. 

“Mr Fell has connections for discerning patrons like yourself.  I can give you his number, if you like.”

After a few more exchanges like this, Crowley’s frustration was rising, as was his speculation that ‘Mr. Fell’ might not have always been entirely above board with his book collection.  With rising spirits, Crowley imagined the ‘dangerous’ ideas hidden in books and pamphlets banned over the years now lying in wait in the dusty corners of the book-hoarder’s shop to spring upon some unsuspecting mind.

Finally accepting that no bookseller in London was getting the book any time soon, he dialed the angel’s phone number by memory.  But he still had to figure out a way to get the book without letting his traditional adversary know it was for him.

***

Aziraphale strolled into St James park with interest piqued, just stopping to pick up a bag of breadcrumbs before making his way to the lean figure of Crowley who stood over by the pond with hands deep in pockets staring at the ducks.  Walking up to the duck pond some way away from the demon, Aziraphale started feeding the ducks and by pure happenstance, I assure you! drifted down to stand next to Crowley.

Without looking at him, Aziraphale murmured, “It’s been a while!  How’ve you been keeping?” politely, but a little cooly.  The angel had not cared for finding his home city surrounded by the dread sigil odegra.  Aziraphale didn’t much care for motorways in the first place, (too fast) but he suspected that Crowley might have had something to do with the M25 turning into an evil prayer wheel.

Making a sour face, Crowley replied, “Nnggh, gotta new manager.  Keen.”

“Really?  Keen how?” Aziraphale asked blandly.

Crowley grunted, “Some actual new ideas!” he said, sarcastically, “Memos requesting line item audits of miracles performed and how each upheld the glorious Great Plan for Satan’s supremacy.”

“Oh, that’s a blow,” Aziraphale replied solicitously.  “Home Office did that to me once.”

“You? Why?” Crowley replied, surprised.

“Said I’d made too many ‘frivolous’ miracles.” Aziraphale explained.

“Yeah?  Why would they say that?” Crowley replied with a little sarcastic smile, reminded of all the little restaurants and cafes the angel enjoyed.  Remembered rescuing Aziraphale from the Bastille when his miracles had been cut off.

Aziraphale hmmphed a little, turning to cast breadcrumbs in front of the demon, and noted the unaccustomed shabby look of Crowley’s clothing and his shaggy, tousled hair, it couldn’t be said to be a style (which wasn’t actually true, Kurt Cobain fans would have considered Crowley’s hair the height of fashion, except that they didn’t do high fashion).  That was odd.  Crowley kept his wardrobe pristine and took more care with his coiffure than Aziraphale.  

“Did they, ah,” Aziraphale inquired delicately, “‘Tighten the purse strings’ on you?”

After blowing out an expressive snort, Crowley slouched further, turning this way and that, “I’ve had to maintain clothing!  Do you have any idea how difficult it is to maintain silk while performing assignments in a rainy environment!?”

Raising his eyebrows and rolling his eyes to the side, Aziraphale smiled a tiny smile and said, “Well yes, dear boy, I do have some little facility in that department,” which the demon knew very well.  They’d had endless little disagreements about why Aziraphale kept his clothing fresh and tidy the human way and Crowley constantly cheated with miracles.  So, something was definitely amiss, but what?  “Why don’t you come by later and I can give you some tips.”

“Dunno.  It’s like someone’s staring at my back all the time!” 

So they would have to be extra cautious, “I’ve just gotten a new wine in from the New World, supposed to be rather special?”

“Mmmm,” Crowley wasn’t going to risk Hell’s new attention for a Pinot Noir.

“And a Scottish single malt.”

“MMmmm, yeah, alright,” Crowley acceded.  Risking Hell’s attention for whiskey was another matter.  The angel only drank that particular type of ‘demon drink’ with him.

“Well I’ll be off then,” Aziraphale said airily, passing just in front of Crowley as he walked purposefully out of the park.

Turning back to the ducks after the angel’s abrupt departure, Crowley looked down, only then noticing that Aziraphale had tucked the half empty bag of breadcrumbs into his pocket.

Shaking his head with a warmer smile on his lips, Crowley took out the bag and enjoyed feeding the ducks.