#fic: son of hell
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2af-afterdark · 22 days ago
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Son of Hell - Chapter 1
Fandom: What in Hell is Bad? Characters: Satan, Mammon, Leviathan, Beelzebub, Minheyok, MC, Original Child Character(s) Content: Post-canon, omegaverse Word Count: 1,334 A/N: This series is technically set in the omegaverse. For simplicity's sake: all kings are alphas, Minheyok is a beta, and Ra-on is an omega. The terms "Mama" and "Papa" are gender-neutral in this world, as they simply refer to the person who gave birth and the person who is presumed to be the other parent. aka, male omega can be a "Mama" and female alpha can be a "Papa".
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Satan clicked his tongue. “Why are you all following me?”
“You're going to see our master, are you not?” Mammon asked. “It would be rude of us not to greet them as well.”
“It's just like when we were kids.” Beelzebub leaned on Leviathan’s shoulder. “It brings back memories.”
Leviathan said nothing as his coffin manifested from thin air. White tentacles lashed out from inside, aiming straight for the king of gluttony's head.
Beelzebub burst into thousands of tiny flies, avoiding Leviathan’s attack entirely.
Satan ground his teeth. “No one invited you.”
The flies reconstituted themselves back into Beelzebub. “We invited ourselves.”
“If it bothers you, you can go back,” Leviathan said.
“YOU-”
Leviathan ignored Satan's outburst. “Conceal your horns before you create a panic in the human realm.”
Mammon laughed at the fact that Satan’s anger did little to dissuade the others from joining him on his venture to the human realm.
After getting past Kox, the four of them easily made their way to the human realm.
The human realm was, at least in the king's opinions, okay. It wasn't nearly as beautiful as their Hell, but it was a fine place for humans to spend their lives.
They weren't here to see the sights of Earth, however. Satan and his unwanted entourage had come for one reason and one reason only: to find Ra-on.
It had been a little over a month since Ra-on had completed their deal and freed the 72 and kings of their old contracts to Solomon and left Hell. The war wasn't over, but it was certainly easier now that the strongest devils were finally at full power again.
Satan first tried Minhyeok's house, knowing that Ra-on had always been there in the past. When no one answered, though, he tried to kick the door. Mammon had to raise a golden hand to stop the impact, reminding Satan that Ra-on would be upset if they caused such damage before even greeting them. 
Beelzebub laughed. “Ra-on's not here anyway.” He couldn’t smell them or anyone else inside the house.
“Then where are they?” Satan asked between gritted teeth.
“Hmmm…” Beelzebub sniffed the air then began to walk. “This way.”
The other kings followed behind him, though few were happy about allowing him to take the lead. Still, he guided them toward the place that smelled the most of Ra-on.
It was a large swath of grass, where many humans were gathered and running around. However, the familiar sight of someone with lilac hair standing at the edge of the large area was unmistakable. Their back was turned to the kings, but each of them still knew who that figure belonged to.
“Ra-on,” Satan called to the human who was barely paying attention to anything other than what they were apparently staring at in the distance.
Their lilac hair fluttered in the wind as they looked back upon hearing their name. Their eyes blew open wide as they took in the sight of four of the kings of hell walking toward them in broad daylight.
The person who looked back at them was clearly the Ra-on they remembered, still wearing the collar around their neck to keep themselves from being claimed by some stray alpha, but a little older in years. What had been about only a month in Hell for the devils had clearly been around three or four in the human realm and it showed on Ra-on's face.
“Satan? What are you doing here?” They asked with a mixture of surprise, excitement, and concern.
Leviathan glared at them. “Is he the only one you see?”
Their heart hammered in their chest, feeling Leviathan’s displeasure at not being addressed.
“I'm sorry. Of course I'm glad to see everyone else too.”
Leviathan squinted, his anger clearly growing.
“You seem to be doing well,” Mammon helpfully interrupted.
“Yeah.” Their reply was brief and their eyes darted to the side, looking off somewhere in the distance. “I would love to catch up with you all later, but now isn't a good time. Maybe we can talk tomorrow?”
Satan pursed his lips together as his attitude quickly shifted from excitement to annoyance. “You can spend time with us now.”
“I really can't. Not right now. I promise that I really want to catch up with everyone but-”
“Ra-on, are these friends of yours?” 
They broke out into a nervous sweat as Minheyok walked up to them and interrupted the conversation.
Every single king of Hell glared at the man who they knew was important to Ra-on. It had been a few years since Satan had brought the man back from the dead and he had grown a little more mature, but he was still recognizable. The others remembered him from their brief meeting on one Halloween, even if they knew he wouldn't recognize them in return. And, with their horns hidden as Leviathan had reminded them, it was unlikely that Minheyok would be able to identify them as devils.
More than that, though, was the sight of the toddler hanging off of Minhyeok's hip. Their little eyes shone brightly as they laid eyes on Ra-on, then they broke out into a wide smile.
“Mama,” they called jubilantly as they reached out to Ra-on.
Ra-on looked at the kings of Hell with guilt in their eyes before reaching out for the child and taking them from Minhyeok.
To say the kings were shocked would be an understatement. Each of them stared at the three humans in disbelief.
“Hey baby,” Ra-on coo'd at the child with a smile. “Did you and Papa have fun?”
“He and me chase the woof dog.”
“Oh, that sounds like so much fun!” Ra-on beamed. “Are you ready for lunch yet?”
“I wan dinosaurs!”
“Dinosaurs and carrots.”
The child pouted. “No. Only dinosaur.”
“Then don't expect an ice pop. No dessert unless you eat your veggies.”
The child looked upset as they turned to Minheyok. “Papa?”
“You heard Mama. No dessert unless you finish your veggies.”
The child frowned, but seemed to accept defeat.
Ra-on refused to look the kings in the eyes. “I'll catch up with you all later, okay?”
They didn't wait for an answer before walking away as quickly as they could with the child on their hip and Minheyok at their side.
“Ra-on's child looks like them” Leviathan was the first to speak, jealousy leaking out of his words like a broken faucet.
“The kid definitely smells like Ra-on,” Beelzebub added, as if to confirm there was no doubt that the child was indeed born of them.
“Tch.” Satan ground his teeth.
Mammon was the only one who didn't have a comment. After all, if everything in the world was his, then that included Ra-on's child, regardless of who the father was. He would have to remember to give his child a grand gift to celebrate their birth, their 100 days, and each holiday he missed. 
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Later that night, Ra-on and Minheyok were laying Seo-jūn down to rest. The child was stubbornly kicking off their covers and screaming that they didn't want to go to sleep. They wanted to stay up to play robots and watch princesses.
Ra-on struggled to lay the child down, even after promising to read them a story to help them sleep.
Minheyok intervened. “Ah, but if you go to bed now, then you'll wake earlier and have more time for robots and princesses. Plus, there will be breakfast.”
The child stilled for a moment. “Pancakes?”
“With strawberry syrup,” he promised.
Seo-jūn pursed his little lips together, but snuggled under the blankets and screwed his eyes shut as if trying to will himself to sleep so morning – and pancakes – would come.
Ra-on looked at Minheyok with gratitude before turning to the child who now lay calmly in bed. They ran their hand through their child's hair, careful to avoid the small, hard nubs hidden in his violet locks, before leaning down to kiss his forehead and wish him a peaceful sleep.
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charcoaledrocks · 11 months ago
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hello Tumblr User @pittdpeaches you ruined my life / j
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sidesteppostinghours · 3 months ago
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ok. question.
ortega ended up hallucinating sidestep after they "died", but sidestep doesnt know about that. they know it got bad, but never the full extent of how their death affected them. so if your sidestep Did learn, if they found out ortega looked for them in every little piece they could, would that change anything for your sidesteps? would their relationship with ortega be any different?
#pulp speaks#Am i thinking of my “ortega sees sidestep posthb” fic again? perhaps#shameless plug btw yall should read it its called 'seen' on ao3 and i still like it#but anyway the important bits: ive been thinking about it with my sidesteps and its really interesting to me how different they are#but theyre all some variation of “i didnt know you /cared/”#caine is. uncomfortable with the idea#i genuinely dont know why but i do know that in the end their feelings on the matter are “whats done is done and im back now” with a small#“ill try not to leave again” mixed in#meanwhile cyrus is a deer in headlights over it#itd be way worse if he learned it when they met again- i feel like if he learned ortega was still that attached he wouldve left and never-#-come back. he would still want to Now but hes too tangled in his relationships and ortega is his /friend/ and leaving would just explode i#-his face‚ god Damnit ortega you son of a bitch‚ he shouldve just run. you werent supposed to drag him into caring about people again.#cecilia would have mixed feelings about it. i think shed resonate with it a lot for reasons she doesnt want to face#but it would also hit her like a goddamn Truck that he chose to move on/replace her rather than try get her back and its easier to get mad-#-about that than question her own feelings. but also maybe she could use this to her advantage? maybe this time he knows theres always a-#-chance hell come back for her next time. maybe. shes hoping there wont be a next time.#cynthias an interesting case because shes in love with ortega. deeply. but ortega /never came for her/ when she /promised/ and cynthia-#-is still furious about it#ortega hallucinated her in death but she couldnt put the pieces together and go looking herself? she cared enough to look for her but-#-not enough to save her?#she would still end up settling on bitterness for abandoning her but the information would shake her to her core#anyway. i think ortega should be used as a squeaky toy 👍#caine lynzal#cyrus becker#cecilia rider#cynthia garcia#ortega#sidestep#fhr
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likesdoodling · 6 months ago
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So. This is a slightly misremembered scene from a lotr fic I read-
By that I mean I reckon I got the chaos but it's not word for word, I just thought it was hilarious. The fic is called 'What the Hell is Happening???' by Leader_In_Red.
Characters here are: Glorfindel, Legolas and Maglor, along with our pov character, Hazel.
Maedhros is also in this scene, but I forgot to draw him till a bit too late and I could not be bothered reworking everything after I'd already finished colouring. Just know that he is somewhere sword in hand with an 'I am disappointed in you Maglor' stare.
I would highly recommend this fic you're a lotr fan btw, (it's got a lot of stuff from the silmarillion, but most of the stuff is explained in the endnotes for those of us *cough -me- *cough who do not remember what actually happens in the silmarillion/couldn't be bothered reading it)
Premise is 'young lady out for a holiday finds elf in backyard- oh wait there's more-'
(I'm paraphrasing, but I feel like that's as good a description as any)
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idk-bruh-20 · 2 years ago
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Irondad fic ideas #139
NWH AU where Tony's been in a coma this whole time. He still is. But the world thinks he's dead.
One day, Rhodey is in some science place (maybe SI, maybe a community college where he was giving a speech?) and he sees this kid tinkering who looks exactly like Tony Stark. The teen Tony Stark from when he first met him at MIT. Even down to the mannerisms. He goes up and has a brief conversation with this stranger, just curious. Then he leaves.
Unbeknownst to the kid, Peter, Rhodey managed to grab something for a DNA test. The kid just looked too much like his best friend. Like seeing a ghost
When they analyze the DNA, they learn that this kid is in fact Tony's biological son
Rhodey goes back to find the kid, this time bringing Happy. Peter gets to have the super fun conversation where two people who should know him but don't tell him that the person he saw as a father was his actual father, only it's too late
They convince Peter to come with them eventually. And Peter gets the shock of his entire life
Over the next little while, at Tony's bedside, Peter gets to know Morgan (who he would've seen as a sister anyway but this is insane). He also gets reacquainted with Rhodey, Happy, and Pepper, who all admittedly find him a bit sus with how much he seems to know.
But...this is Tony's kid. His son. So they let him be there, let him talk to Tony and hold his hand. 
Finally, finally, Tony wakes up.
And it turns out, being in a coma and thought dead by the entire world, including wizards, makes one exempt from certain magic
Bonus:
As he sits by Tony's bedside, Peter has to grapple with a lot of emotions. One of them is the realization that he was never actually related to Uncle Ben, which makes him feel like his uncle and aunt died for nothing
Pepper helps him through it. Even not knowing him the way she once did, she knows plenty about guilt complexes and chosen family. She assures Peter that he's still a Parker, no matter what, and that his aunt and uncle wouldn't have given him up for the world
Another thing Peter deals with is the fear of Tony waking up and not knowing him. It breaks his heart just thinking about it.
Cue THE most relieving hurt/comfort reunion ever imagined
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frankiebirds · 8 months ago
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this scene makes me need to lay down. goddddd.
sometimes i get the sense that reid is more attached to gideon than gideon is to reid. obviously they both serve as surrogates for the family member each is estranged from (gideon is estranged from his son and reid is estranged from his dad) but.
you know. reid clings to gideon, not physically but emotionally, and i think a lot of his wellbeing at the start of the series relies on gideon's presence. gideon almost certainly knows the most about reid out of anyone on the team—i don't think canon ever says that reid has told gideon about diana, but i would imagine he has—and i think reid feels understood by him in a way he doesn't by other people, even compared to the rest of the team who (mostly) try their best. i think he also tends to try to be as good and deserving as possible of gideon's presence, since he definitely at least partially feels like his father left because he wasn't good enough.
on the flipside, while gideon definitely sees reid as a son, he's...not the best dad. i think we see him repeating a lot of the mistakes that drove a wedge between him and stephen with reid, and i think that had mandy patinkin stayed on, we would have gotten a larger parallel there. he holds him at arms length, trying not to get too close, although he definitely cares about him more than he lets on and the mask slips sometimes, like this moment and on the plane after ldsk.
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methoughtsphantom · 5 months ago
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plot bunnies about an idea i don’t have enough motivation juice to write. red hood identity reveal variety
smol jason
So, Red Hood reclutantly working alongside the Bat to take down a child trafficking ring when he is hit with a de-aging spell. It even isn’t the first time Batman encountered the end of this particular spell so he already knows the victim would have no recollection of their memories, so he protects the now child (he guessing 11 estimate age) and guides him through the panic of not being able to take off the Red Hood helmet. the one that canonically has a bomb in it (cause older Jason is a dramatic bitchTM) so like, Batman catches the child’s prying fingers and takes them away from the latches because Hood has implied the existence of a bomb and that’s enough for dread to set in his gut. Bruce gently coaxes the child to let him confirm this with a device he takes out of his belt and raises it eye level to the kid’s head. It beeps. And B feels the ground sweep out under him. Because indeed this child has a bomb to his head. (and he’s suddenly hearing another bomb go off in the distance and a warehouse and —)
anyways, B ends up taking (read kidnapping) this twelve year old to the Batcave so they can pry off the helmet and I can only picture the ANGST because this is Jason and Bruce each unaware of who the other is. Jason still lives in the streets in his mind according to him and well, according to B, he’s dead. So they start bonding, kinda awkwardly at first cuz of the helmet’s voice modulator, but Jay at that age (at any rlly) was a spitfire and like he genuinely makes B forget this is a crime lord for a second (kinda difficult to that when the kid is stuck in the helmet) but whatever. I can only see Jason being his cautious self but kinda being at ends here because he kinda does need Batman’s help to get this thing off him, so he can only, just like narrow his eyes when the Bat approaches him for a blood sample. (“Need to check for magic residue, lad.”)
(Jason’s only allows this because he has a knife he found in the clothes he’d was drowning in earlier)
As u can guess, Bruce was obviously lying and wanted to run the blood sample to see if it matched any from his database (as the Red Hood has also implied that they have met before)
Anyways Bruce just gets the alert that the blood reading was finished almost at the same time they can pry the helmet off, and because he got a little attached, he just wants to see the face of this lively if wary teenager that has the same name as his (dead) son. (he managed to pry it from him earlier, how, i dunno) It’s literally Bruce’s martyr and huge guilt-complex that goes like ‘ah yes let me see the face of a child that was failed so throughly by the people who should’ve taken care of him’. So they pry off the helmet and then Bruce feels like he’s been doused by cold water. it’s like he’s staring at the ghost of his dead son again, the image completed with ruffled hair, slightly upturned lips and blue guarded eyes that look up to him with recognition but not recognition.
Bruce immediately hardens, shuts down any hope he can feel rushing in and desperately tries to close the dam and let his confusion and rage turn into anguish. “Who are you?”
The boy—the imposter quickly tracks the 180 demeanor change and immediately goes defensive. A painfully familiar scowl appears in his face.
“I’m Jason, I already told you that, what, your old age catching up to you?”
Batman stalks closer and then the boy’s taking two steps back for every one the Bat takes. He tracks the loose outline of a hand closing in tightly around the hilt of a knife in the boy wearing his son’s face and he can only think how dare he.
“Lies! You’re not my son! Who are you?”
Heart in throat, Jason struggles to keep distance between him and the towering black shadow that’s so angry he can sense it in his very bones. He doesn’t understand.
He doesn’t.
“I-I my name’s Jason. Jason Todd. My father is Willis Todd, not—not, Batman.”
And there’s that for the little snippet. Sorry this is so disjointed😭. After that’s just the mental image of Dick cutting in with Zatanna trailing closely behind him and being all “Hey I got your message about a de-aging spell and—“ and just stopping at the scene.
Because that’s Batman towering over a clearly scared kid. Said kid using the distraction to try and stab Batman. The action clearly enraging Batman—that doesn’t make any sense?! B would never— Dick immediately sprints into action and steps in between the two.
like Dick just giving his back to the kid and not seeing. Batman clearly shaking his head in denial and snarling, treating the kid like his crime lord self and Dick not understanding. Having to receive help from Zatanna to get the kid the hell out of here (but like where would they even take him? The manor??)
Zatanna just takes them to the other side of the cave and takes note of the teenager. How he has a dead grip on a red helmet and his gaze is stuck upon it.
Meanwhile Dick has to physically restrain Batman from going after the kid and he raises his voice just enough to demand what the hell is happening?? Why is there a kid in the Batcave? …Batman??? Report. As he is demanding answers Dick had slowly loosen his grip on his dad only to now found him staring at his gauntlet’s data hologram.
The information displayed? 99.98% Match confirmed to Jason Peter Todd.
So as this is clearly pure angst, I want Jason to lash out, sticking only to Zatanna only to realize she’s the magic user that’ll quote on quote will return him back to normal.
Jason is just like on really uneven ground here, even though he doesn’t think he’s ready to retur. But then Batman is just like “Jaylad” … “Jay…” and taking off his cowl and reaching up to him and looking at him like he knows him, like he’s something fragile and precious. Which is sooo fucking jarring you can understand. Jason internally is all what the fuck
Jason just wants them to back off. Jason is an overwhelmed bean. He looks up to Nightwing for help but the man is also mirroring the Bat, domino off and eyes suspiciously bright.
Zatanna is literally the only person in the room not emotionally compromised. She’s with Jay in the ??? train.
Suddenly she looks down and there’s the little boy whose eyes are pleading in helpless confusion. Eyes practically conveying the question you can return me back to normal right?? he pointedly doesn’t rip his eyes from hers as Zatanna puts a hand on his shoulder, pretending she doesn’t notice how he trembles and wordlessly asks if he’s sure.
cut scene
Bruce interrupts because information overload and he can’t compartmentalize this is too important and he and Dick stop Zatanna to which she too is ?? because that was literally what she was called for here. Dick is no help.
Dick is torn.
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introspectivememories · 10 months ago
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if you're writing a charles fic, it must have some aspect of boyking. he must lean a little on the childgod side. he has to be revered a little bit, adored even. if people aren't talking about him like they wouldn't wash his feet and adorn it with perfume like mary magdalene washed and adorned jesus' feet, you're doing it wrong.
#LOOK AT HIM#nearly every image of charles has some aspect of religious imagery to it#that one image of the spanish gp 2021 where he has his hands in front of him and he's looking up at the sky.... madonna in prayer#fuckin look at the entire country of italy. do i even have to say anything?#look at the way ferrari loves him. the way they hold him. press kisses onto his helmet. comfort him. reassure him.#look at vanzini naming him 'il predestinato' all the way back in 2012!! maranello's sun/son!!!!#everyone's always like 'oh stockholm syndrome! stockholm syndrome!' babe he's never leaving them.#he's choosing this!!! he loves this!!!! he's in this scuderia ferrari shit for life like the rest of us!!!!#but he returns it all!!!#look at him saying 'if ferrari is a cage then i would like to be kept in that cage my whole life'!!!#'why stay with ferrari?' / "i have always been a tifosi. i have always loved her. that is reason enough.'#even the most recent contract renewal where he said and i quote:#now my own dream remains. a dream that writes itself in red. tifosi the dream continues.#and like red?? like blood? like the blood that dripped down jesus' temples when they place the crown of thorns on his head?#red like the suit? like the car? like the boyking they have made you out to be? the childgod you have become?#when he won in monza i think it was too late for us. i think it rewrote something in us. i think he ascended that day.#the closest the narrative has come to consuming him. when he wins again in monza (and he will win in monza again) it will change us again#i have to stop before it gets me too. who said all that? i need to go lay down.#charles leclerc#cl16#scuderia ferrari#f1#introspective.txt#and obviously you can write you fics however the hell you want. this is just how i like mine.
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landfilloftrash · 1 year ago
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so I finished reading Turnabout Enemies and just about screamed throughout the entire thing— from delight and in baffled confusion in true ace attorney case fashion— so have this from one of the final scenes of the fic (chapter 21 to be specific!) because I am INCREDIBLY predictable
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2af-afterdark · 20 days ago
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Son of Hell - Chapter 2
Fandom: What in Hell is Bad? Characters: Satan, Mammon, Leviathan, Beelzebub, Belphegor, Asmodeus, Beleth, Bimet, Valefor, Paimon, Leraye, Buer Content: Post-canon, omegaverse Word Count: 1,929
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The streets of Gehenna were littered with the corpses of angels. Every step would find a foot separated from the ground by flesh or feather or cloth. And each and every single one of them was felled from the sky by an enraged Satan.
 The generals of Gehenna chose to simply watch in admiration as Satan dropped angel after angel from the sky, leaving their blood running through the streets. Getting in his way wouldn't simply result in a swift kick to the ass, but likely a hole through the chest.
 Paimon sat with Leraye on a nearby rooftop, the same place they had been stationed before Satan returned from the human realm.
 “Why is Satan so maddd?” Paimon asked, his rifle sitting lazily in his lap.
 “Not sure,” Leraye replied. “Maybe he wasn't able to meet Ra-on.”
 “But he was looking forward to seeing themmm.” 
 Leraye's face twisted into a pout. “I wanted to hear how they've been this last month.”
 After all, Hell was still at war. No one had wanted Ra-on to leave, but they had fulfilled their deal with Satan and that meant they could return to their own world and the man waiting there for them.”
 Paimon sighed. “Oh welllll.”
 Now was clearly not the right time to ask.
 Meanwhile, as soon as Mammon returned to Hell, he began to walk the streets of Tartaros and buy everything he could. Considering that Lilith’s disappearance meant that a child hadn’t been born in the last few thousand years, there was little in the way of supplies for one. Still, there was plenty he could shower upon Ra-on and he decided he wanted the items returned by the one tasked to watch them so he could gift them to the human who had so generously been watching his child. 
 His sudden spending was noticed by every citizen. It was lavish, even by his standards. Still, no one would dare to question their king's spending, especially since he seemed so happy each time he exchanged gold for goods.
 The only one who dared to question him was Valefor, who was the unfortunate retainer tasked with helping Mammon carry everything he bought. (Eligos and Bimet were there too, but they refused to help. Eligos was simply there to look adorable and, sometimes, bat his pretty eyes to convince Mammon to get him something or pet his head. Bimet was there to pick up any stray specks of gold that Mammon may have dropped and ensure Mammon did not spend more than necessary. After all, that extra money was better suited to his coffers.)
 “Lord Mammon, is there a special occasion?” Valefor asked.
 Mammon held up a bottle filled with a small amount of the golden water that ran through Tartaros, imagining how the toddler's feet would look dipped in gold.
 He didn't look at Valefor as he responded. “Ra-on had my child.”
 He said it so casually that every citizen that overheard him thought they must have misheard.
 The shop keeper suddenly cheered, “Their Majesty Ra-on has given Lord Mammon a child!”
 Almost immediately, near instantaneously, the news traveled across Tartaros. For the next week, gifts were delivered to the palace, all addressed to Mammon, Ra-on, and the yet unknown child. Some people even tried to create clothing, despite how long it had been since any of them had last seen a child.
 And, of course, Bimet began a fund for the child where he intended to keep a reasonable portion of the funds for himself as a gratuity.
 Across Hell, Leviathan entered his throne room and took his seat above everyone who bowed before him. Any devil that was unfortunate enough to ask how his trip to the human realm went found themselves hung from the ceiling before the full question could leave their mouth.
 He sat with one leg crossed over the other, his elbow leaned against the arm of his throne, and his cheek rested against his fist. His ill temper was clear to all who looked upon him and they dared not raise their heads to draw his ire.
 “Foras,” he finally called. Not a yell, but a simple command.
 “Yes, my most beautiful and glorious king?” The devil dropped his invisibility, revealing that he was kneeling at Leviathan’s feet.
 “The child,” Leviathan began the sentence, but clearly expected Foras to complete it.
 “Is not Minheyok’s.”
 Leviathan glared at Foras for daring to say that name in front of him.
 “Is not that humans,” Foras corrected himself. “He and their majesty Ra-on did not have an intimate relationship before it was revealed they were with child.”
 Which Leviathan had already known. Foras had informed him some time ago that Ra-on had a child. He had meant to see the child earlier, but the war still raging in Hell left him unable to do much more than sending his most trusted informant to keep watch over them. He had simply gone today to see if the child had begun to show any features that proved who the father may be. What he found instead was a child that was clearly Ra’on’s progeny.
 A small part of him was almost relieved that the child looked so much like Ra-on. Another part of him, the much larger part, was seething with envy that that child had an unknown father that, whoever that father may be, had created a child that looked so much like Ra-on. If that child began to develop features resembling another person… the thought alone filled him with jealousy.
 But jealousy wasn't boiling in everyone's heart.
 When Beelzebub returned to Hell, he immediately indulged himself in drink, food, and pretty male and female omega at his side. Abyssos was more than happy to welcome their king and pour endless booze into his cup.
 “It's always good to have you here, Lord Beelzebub,” the female omega said as she leaned in to press her breasts against his arm.
 The male omega topped off his glass with a smile. “It's been so long since your last visit that we thought you may not return.”
 Beelzebub looked between the two. “When was the last time I was here?” He couldn't seem to recall.
 “About three years ago.” The male omega picked up some chocolate from the table and held it out to Beelzebub. “Would you like some?”
 Beelzebub was not one to reject good food, especially because he could smell the spices hidden in the thick layers of cocoa. He readily ate it out of the omega's hand, purposefully nipping at their fingers as he devoured the confection in one bite.
 “Lord Beelzebub,” the male omega flushed and began to leak pheromones.
 “No fair. You're ignoring me,” the female omega whined as she also began to leak pheromones to try and steal his attention away.
 That was the appeal of this place though; omega who let their pheromones flow freely to rile up their alpha clients until the obvious happened.
 The attempt of the two omega hanging off of him reminded him of something. Or, rather, it made him feel like there was something he should have recalled, but he couldn’t. Oh well.
 Beelzebub wasn't complaining about forgetting it. He liked having two beautiful omega hanging off of him, filling his belly, and willing to spread themselves open for him. And the best part was that he wouldn't have to concern himself with the bill. Although, he could already hear Bael cursing him for that.
 And he wouldn't be the only one hearing from a close confidant.
 Buer listened to Bimet over the phone, getting the latest news from Tartaros. It was mostly the same old news as always, but it was not lost on him that Bimet was clearly hiding something. The kind of something that filled him with arrogance.
 “What is it?” Buer prompted Bimet, knowing that he was waiting to be asked.
 “The whole of Tartaros is celebrating. It seems our Majesty Mammon has had a child.”
 Buer was shocked by the news. So shocked that he presumed that Bimet was suffering from some sort of delusion.
 “And who would the mother of this child be?”
 “Is it not obvious?” Bimet chimed. “The mother is Ra-on.”
 Buer went silent.
 He was now positive that Bimet was having some sort of delusion.
 “I'd like you to come in for an appointment tomorrow. I need to check your head.”
 Bimet made a sound of annoyance. “Our Majesty Mammon said it so it must be.”
 To believe anything else would be to insinuate that Mammon was a liar, which was not in a devil's nature.
 “Of course,” Buer simply agreed. “Tomorrow, around noon. I will see you then.” He hung up before Bimet could protest.
 It would take a few more days for Paradise Lost to realize that the information was not a delusion of Bimet, nor was it an unfounded rumor. It was a half truth; Ra-on did indeed have a child. As for who the father was… that had yet to be proven.
 And the rumor did spread far and wide, though it did change some as it traveled.
 Beleth was the first to hear the rumor of Ra-on's supposed child. He thought about telling Belphegor, but he wasn't sure if his king would have a reaction. It was possible the news would awaken the king of sloth, but it was also possible that it would mean nothing. Still, in the end, he knew he would have to pass on the information that was quickly spreading through the whole of Hell.
 He sighed, took a seat at the foot of the bed where Belphegor lay in deep slumber, lit a cigarette, and steeled his nerves. He took a few drags, held the smoke in his lungs, then exhaled a thick white cloud. 
 “Ra-on went and had a kid.”
 He ripped the band-aid off. There was no point in trying to beat around the bush.
 There was no response from the bed.
 Beleth looked behind him where Belphegor was, only to see him still dozing off. It seemed the news wasn't shocking enough to rouse him.
 “Well, I told ya, so don't go pretendin’ yer surprised when ya hear it from someone else.”
 And it was in the mouths of every devil. Even those at the furthest reaches of Hell, beyond where just gossip should have been.
 Neverending moans and sighs filled the air of Aaddon. Every jail cell clattered with either screams of pleasure or torment, but Asmodeus listened to them all like they were music as he stroked himself to the sound. His kingdom was madness and he welcomed it.
 His latest partner had already passed out in a puddle of their and his cum, but they still twitched like they were experiencing another orgasm.
 “Your Majesty Asmodeus,” someone called from beyond the sealed door of his chambers. “There seems to be a rumor spreading across Hell.”
 Asmodeus stood from his spot, unconcerned with his nudity or his erection as he opened the sliding door to view the jailor face-to-face. The second they made eye contact, the lower devil appeared to go weak in the knees.
 Asmodeus ran his fingers under the jailor's chin, coaxing a moan from deep in their throat. He had just been growing bored of using his own hand, so he thought it kind that one of his citizens offered to continue where the other had left off.
 He could listen to this supposed rumor while fucking away their sanity and showing them pleasures they couldn't even begin to imagine.
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officially-unhinged · 7 months ago
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Freminet is fantasy pagan and worships the Sovereigns and y'all can tear that from my cold dead hands. I mean it I'm not letting this go it brings me SO MUCH joy. It's so fucking funny too in the fic's context.
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soulless-bex · 1 year ago
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the whole forbidden children thing the pjo series has going on gave me massive The Son of Sea Foam vibes
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riseandshinedearie · 4 months ago
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My favorite hotd couple that never was but could have been and if they were Westerosi nobles would have been shaken from their uselessness and players would have had to play harder is Rhea Royce and Daemon Targaryen.
I don’t even watch hotd, I see stuff about it on tumblr.
I guess I tumblr watch it. But alas… I’m so disappointed they never were.
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twicethetrouble · 1 year ago
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I'm going to start a Daily Posting fic. Help me choose what
Explanation. I've gotten out of the habit of writing daily. I do not like this. The best way i know to fix this (for me) is to write a fic that's soul purpose is for me to write a little bit each day and post that little bit immediately.
I plan on trying this again, but posting the little bits here daily and eventually posting it (edited and formatted properly) onto AO3. and since i'm posting it here first, you all get a choice of what this project will be. in the form of a poll. (b/c why not.)
and just to make it interesting, i'm only putting the weird document names (with fandom and basic vibe)
(all of these i have a varying amount of stuff written for them already but I will post that first before going from there)
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Two weeks late, but here's the Carlos and Haunted Hell Hall fic I wrote for Halloween! Also on Ao3.
Carlos really did not like the glint in Mal’s eyes when she showed up on the stoop of Hell Hall, demanding access to the party happening in the rooms behind him.
The party was not one Mal usually frequented—it was more for the less-powerful descendants of the Isle. Those who didn’t belong to one gang or another, who weren’t children of “big” villains, rather those who were the children of sidekicks, loyal henchmen, and unnamed crew members. Those who made ends meet rather than made those meet their end, so to speak. Mal was the opposite of the current crowd. She was the leader of one of the biggest gangs on the Isle, was daughter of the literal Mistress of Evil, and had built a reputation to rival her mother’s.
Because of her mother, of her status, Carlos couldn’t deny her access to his party (his cousin’s party, more like, but still. He was playing host—and in charge of letting people into the party).
But there were two things about Mal as person that set Carlos on edge that night—one, the fact that she only did things for herself, which meant that; two, she wouldn’t respect the rules of Hell Hall that Carlos laid out for her like any other visitor.
Jay turning up a few minutes after Mal had been expected. He was Mal’s loyal guard dog, after all. Where there was one, there was always the other.
Carlos closed the heavy wooden door behind the Arabian boy with a heavy sigh, leaning against the frame and praying that was the last of the unexpected guests. He wasn’t prepared for a big party, hadn’t prepared the House for anything like that.
But people kept arriving, each of them more powerful than those on the original invite list, more influential than he was, and so Carlos was forced to allow them in, one gritted permission and reminder of the rules after another.
Then Evie arrived, a naïve smile gracing her face as she drank in the chaos of the mingling bodies and pulsing drumbeats. And she demanded entrance, as Mal had a mere hour earlier.
Evie, sheltered but genuine Evie, who had braved the cruel world for the first time in ten years just this week. Who had tasted and weathered the harsh realities of the Isle and still chose to hope for kindness. Who had been nothing but a friend to Carlos—she had given him his first and only pillow, after all.
And Carlos felt nothing but dread as he let her in, knowing something was being planned that he would inadvertently play a part in.
It took another hour for anything to happen. And, as he had expected, Carlos was too late to prevent anything.
Mal shoved Evie into Cruella’s fur closet, the closet at the end of the upstairs hallway, with a cackle that echoed through Hell Hall, sending shudders through Carlos’ bones.
There was only one rule about being a visitor to Hell Hall: do not go into the closet.
Carlos felt time sink into stillness. His heartbeat raced in his ears, each breath he drew ragged and sharp. He tried to talk himself through the fear, through the panic, but he just couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember if he’d done the one thing he needed to or not.
Had he fed the House this morning?
________________________________________________________
He had, of course. This was the one chore that Carlos never forgot to do, not even when he was stumbling around like a drunk from another concussion given to him by his Mother, not even when he himself hadn’t eaten in days, not even when the last thing in the world he wanted to do was visit the House and listen to it slurp down its meal with feral glee.
But it didn’t matter that the House had been fed, less than ten hours ago—the House was delighted by the delicacy that it had been offered. What a treat, what a treat!
The closet was the House’s mouth, its only way to feed—behind the row of pristinely preserved fur coats, the walls suddenly spongy and wet, saliva dripping from the ceiling like rain, the floor shuddering like a tongue testing each new flavor on its tastebuds. It swallowed, Evie spilling to her knees as the room drew her backwards, towards the throat, towards her death.
Carlos darted into the closet, jaw set so tightly he was sure his bones would shatter. He knew what the House preferred—the pouch of blood from a royal (Hans, this time) in his pocket; the soul of a fool (as provided by Dr. Facilier) trapped in the flickering green flame Carlos carried like a candle in the palm of his hand; and the flesh of a DeVil, his own knuckles scraped to the bone, the skin still hanging like ribbons (he had done this himself, snarling at Mal and Jay as they cowered from the noises coming from where they had trapped Evie). The only thing these three meal parts had in common was want—Hans for a throne, the soul to return to its body, and Carlos who, well, wanted Evie to live.
Even with the offering of its favorite meal, the House still resisted. It liked Evie, it liked her fear and her desires, the way to be something more than a girl stuck on the Isle, the way she wanted to live.
It had eaten so many beings—well, mostly parts of beings, these days, though the House did appreciate eating regularly instead of whenever some unlucky bastard stumbled into its mouth—so many beings in the past decade that were so pathetic. All their desires focused on survival and base instincts, wanting nothing more than what they could reasonably attain. It missed the days where each meal tasted so sweetly of wanting more than they could ever have. And, well, having a live meal was always so much better than something dead.
It could taste two other meals in the hallway, their fear flavoring them so nicely. Maybe the DeVil boy would be nice and let it feast on all three of these beings tonight…
But no. The boy was determined, brave. It had been a while since the House tasted these emotions on the boy; he was resigned to his fate in a way the House despised. He wouldn’t be good to eat until he wanted again, and well…if he cared about the girl it wanted to eat maybe she would help season the DeVil boy. It was a long game to play, but the House had nothing but time.
Finally, it agreed and took the pre-assembled offerings and the flesh off of Carlos’ hand. But even then, it was touch and go to get Evie from the entry of the stomach to the front of its mouth, the House nipping at their retreating backs with hungry snarls.
Carlos hadn’t been sure he would make it. Of all the times he’d been in and out of the House’s mouth, he had never had to fight with the House so much about its meal. He had expected the House to give up Evie only in exchange for finally eating him, and he braced himself for dying.
But he hadn’t, and he couldn’t confidently say it was because his offering to the House had been a match for what it wanted. He was sure he owed the House something, and he was more than terrified to know what he was expected to provide later.
________________________________________________________
Getting Evie out of the closet alive—and unscathed—was no small feat. It was one Carlos would prefer to never speak of again, generally, except for the three rather unwelcome guests still sitting in the living room when he finally emerged from the bathroom were waiting impatiently for some kind of explanation.
He glared at the remaining guests as he finished tying off the bandage around his knuckles and picked up an abandoned bottle from a party guest, taking a long drink, ignoring the burn of semi-filtered rubbing alcohol running down his throat. As usual, the best thing to come from hosting a party were the leftovers. Food would have been ideal, but alcohol was what was going to keep him from having a breakdown.
He was beyond grateful that Diego truly understood the threat that Hell Hall itself posed to non-DeVils. As soon as Mal had shut the door on Evie, Diego had hustled everyone out of Hell Hall, efficiently shutting down the party with the false cry of “Cruella is coming!”. The House was worse than Cruella in actuality, but unless you experienced it, you didn’t know it was there. Fortunately, all the kids at the party had trusted Diego enough to flee the premises.
Except for the three who, unfortunately, had direct contact with the House.
Mal was sprawled in an armchair, her pose aiming for nonchalance, but her blank stare was as numb as Evie’s vacant expression. She hadn’t said a single word since Carlos had plunged into the closet after Evie, and Carlos was grateful for the lack of snarky or better-than-thou comments.
Jay was hovering over Evie like a fretful mother, face twisted with anxiety. He hadn’t stopped moving since Carlos had hauled the girl out of the closet, swinging between snapping at Mal and stalking the perimeter of the room like that would protect the three of them from the House. Figures that the guard dog would have a conscience.
 Evie was sitting in a half collapsed state on the couch, her skin still as unblemished as it had been when she arrived—fully thanks to Carlos’ actions, and they all knew it.
It was almost satisfying to see the three of them so unsettled by what Carlos dealt with daily. No, it wasn’t almost satisfying, it was satisfying. He tried to ignore that part of him, the part that leaned a little too much towards Cruella’s behaviors, but oh, every warning he had given had been ignored and they had paid the price! Carlos was due for a little retribution.
“There is one rule for every guest that is not of DeVil blood at Hell Hall,” Carlos recited the speech for the three of them for the second time that night with tedious familiarity. It was the only family heirloom his Mother had ever given him. “Only one rule. One you break at your own peril. The only place you cannot go is the closet at the end of the upstairs hallway.”
He let that sink in for a moment, noting the grimaces on Jay and Mal’s faces.
“And now you all know why.”
The three of them shuddered in unison, and again, Carlos tried to overlook the flash of pleasure that ran through him at their discomfort, though it warmed his bones in a way nothing else did. His home, the House, was haunted—aggressively and violently. But he had tamed it, as much as he could, and he had survived it, feeding after feeding. He was proud of that.
“Has it always…been like this?”
That was the first full sentence Evie had spoken since she’d been put in the closet. Carlos took it as a good sign. And since they’d already seen what’d they seen, he figured he might as well tell them. The only other person he could talk to about the House was Diego, and Diego was usually too creeped out by it to converse much.
“Always,” Carlos sighed. “I haven’t been able to figure out how it survived the transfer from the Mainland to the Isle, given the ban on malicious magic that was woven into the barrier, but yeah. According to my uncle, Hell Hall’s been possessed since there was a DeVil bloodline. That’s why they called it Hell Hall to begin with.”
“You mean, on top of Cruella,” Jay said in a frantic tone. “You’ve been living with that, too?!”
His gestures toward the closet were unnecessary since there was only one thing Jay could be referring to, but the movement startled Mal out of her stupor.
“You—that—fuck,” was Mal’s only statement about her experiences with the House.
Carlos agreed with that summation.
His first experience with the House had been nothing short of traumatizing, and he had only been two or so. His memories of that visit were hazy and shaped by limited concepts of the world. But he still had nightmares about that specific visit, even though he now considered himself on…neutral, maybe even friendly, terms with the House these days, since he kept it fed in a way its previous owners hadn’t in several centuries.
He saw no need to starve the House when its needs were obvious—he’d been starved by his own Mother plenty, and well. The House wasn’t exactly “sentient”, but Carlos didn’t wish his own fate upon anyone (or anything else). So visiting and feeding the House was something he did once a week. Even though the closet terrified him beyond anything else—even his Mother, which was saying a lot.
“What…did you give to it…so it wouldn’t eat me?” Evie asked, though Carlos could tell she both knew and didn’t want to know the answer.
“The House lives off of the energy of things. Blood, flesh, and soul, usually. Whatever it can take from its victim it transfers into its lifeforce. It would have been happy to eat all of you, but…there is certain offerings it prefers over others. I keep a stockpile of its favorites for emergencies.”
Evie glared at Carlos with a sort of…protectiveness? Or perhaps it was astonishment at how weird his life was.
“Your hand is a preference?”
 “Unfortunately, one of its favorites is DeVil flesh. It prefers the flesh, specifically, because DeVil blood is…commonly spilt in these halls and thusly rather a mundane food choice. Flesh is harder to come by, and the…agreement the House has with the bloodline prevents it from consuming any DeVil souls.”
“Agreement?” Jay’s eyes flashed—in curiosity or perhaps fear. Carlos imagined he was thinking of the djinn contract his father had entered unwittingly, the one that had ended Jafar’s reign of terror and landed him (and eventually his son) in eternal, mortal imprisonment.
Carlos shrugged. He only knew so much, since he couldn’t exactly ask the House what its deal was. Carlos had a lot of theories about the House, though.
 He knew there was some sort of binding agreement, but he’d only figured out the limitations by trial and error. Uncle Cecil had no idea where or what the agreement terms were, and well. Cruella was only coherent enough to acknowledge the House once a year. But that seemed to be enough for the House, so it left Cruella alone for the most part.
Mal huffed sharply and cracked her knuckles—more out of nervous habit than any approaching threat, Carlos gathered, starting from his thoughts.
“So, what? You fed a piece of your ‘flesh’ to some whacked-out entity, and that saved Evie? Gave it some extra blood, tucked it in, kissed it goodnight? Who cares?”
Before tonight, Carlos would have reacted defensively. Snipped back at her, played her game. But tonight Mal had met something that didn’t fear her just because her mother was Maleficent. And that, more than anything else, had shaken Mal to her core. It seemed to have affected the other two as well, based on the indignant faces they both sported.
“I care!” Jay snapped.
Carlos raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t expected any push back from Jay. Neither had Mal, her mouth gaping like a dying fish. But then she snapped it shut, and leveled a glare eerily reminiscent of her mother at the other boy.
“You don’t care about anything but yourself, Jay, and don’t you tell me any different!” Mal retorted harshly.
“No, you’re thinking of yourself, Mal! You’re the one who doesn’t care about anyone but yourself.”
“Well because I have the brains to be a decent villain! Caring is for fools!”
“I care, Mal, because…you never look before you leap! You always expect something to be there to catch you and I just…I can’t always be there to catch you. To clean up your mistakes.”
“My mistakes?!” Mal hissed.
Carlos leaned against the door frame to the hallway, curious to see where this was going. Evie had been watching them like they were a sporting match, eyes bouncing between the two with a speed that told Carlos she truly hadn’t sustained any lasting damage—at least physically. Mentally, she would be affected by tonight for a long, long time.
“Your mistakes!” Evie joined in now, her eyes flashing in the same way Evil Queen’s did when Carlos slurped his soup by accident. “Like trying to feed me to an evil house! Or, maybe, I don’t know! Banishing me for ten years from the pathetic excuse that passes for civilization on the Isle!”
“Yes!” Jay picked up where Evie was going. “Do you even know why your mom quote-unquote BANISHED Evil Queen? It wasn’t because they didn’t invite you to the party! You were literally at Evie’s birthday party, Mal! I was there—and I was older than you, so I still have memories of it! You were there and you and Evie were getting along, as much as toddlers do!
“So no, it wasn’t a stupid birthday party! It was your mother’s jealousy, that Evil Queen’s kid was more behaved than her own, okay!”
Now that the three of them had started, it did not seem they were going to stop. All Carlos could do was sigh deeply, knowing why—that was another side effect the House had upon its guests.
The House loved to play with memory, make its victims admit to truths they had long forgotten. Its nourishment was not exactly from “energy” in its raw form—no, the House preferred live energy converted into greed. Sure, there were remnants of greed, of want, desire, yearning, lingering in the pieces of the dead that Calros fed it, but that wasn’t always enough.
It wasn’t enough tonight, which is why it had tried so hard to eat Evie, why Jay and Mal had only made it that much harder for Carlos to pull Evie out—because they were all so full of desire. If it was their own or it was passed down from their parents, neither Carlos nor the House cared. All that mattered was that the three of them wanted.  Wanted for more than they could have on the Isle, for more than their parents had managed to accomplish. And that was what the House liked best.
“Well I’m sorry my mother cared enough to make me someone!” Mal shouted back. “Like your dad has ever cared about you beyond what profit you bring him!”
“Oh, because your mother treats you like a person rather than an overgrown puppet! She loves Diablo more than you, and he’s been a concrete statue for fifteen years!”
“Stop!”
That was Evie again, her hands pressed over her ears. Carlos was pleased to see that she had parsed out the House’s intentions.
Both Jay and Mal froze at her words, their chests heaving as they processed what they were saying. Neither apologized, but several significant glances passed between the two, and they both relaxed their stances. Neither apologized to Evie, Carlos noted. But that was not his problem—he’d gotten what he wanted, which was Evie out of the closet, and it was time to wrap things up.  
“That’s enough,” Carlos said evenly. “The House is still hungry…and arguments like this make it hungrier. So. Get the fuck out, please.”
“Fuck your house,” Mal huffed, standing up stiffly and shuffling towards the door.
Jay and Evie both moved towards the entrance as well, glancing warily at Carlos.
“You’re free to leave. Just know if you visit again, I can’t promise the House will behave,” Carlos offered, as cooly as he was able.  
Mal sneered and grabbed Jay by the shoulder, hauling him out into the dark. Evie lingered a moment, her hands trembling as she smoothed her skirt.
“Thank you,” she murmured, and then darted out of Hell Hall.
He closed the door behind them with a soft sigh and braced himself. The wooden boards of the manor trembled and groaned softly, indicating the House’s appetite had not yet been sated. He wasn’t keen on being alone with the House while it was so hungry.
But that was his life. Beholden to the whims of a mad woman and a possessed manor.
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padfootastic · 2 years ago
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in a turn of events that doesn’t surprise anyone im sure, @impishtubist has caused yet another scene to be stuck in my head until i wrote it down. so, have some sexy, greying sirius; a deeply thirsty, appreciative james who won’t let him dye it; and a very-fed-up-of-his-parents-antics harry for prongsfoot wednesday!
x
Harry entered the house with ‘I’m home!’ on his lips that died an instant death as soon as he registered what he was seeing.
“Er,” he hesitated. Does he really want to���? One more look at the scene in front of him and he decided to bite the bullet. Better to clear the air now than keep stewing on it later.
“Um. Is this a—kink? A fetish? Should I leave and never come back?”
In any other scenario, the way both his parents froze and looked at him with wide eyes would’ve been comical.
If only Dad wasn’t straddling his Papa on the ground, one of his hands holding both of Papa’s above him with disturbing ease.
“Er—“
“It’s not what it looks like, Haz!” Dad yelped, cutting across Papa who’s face and neck were turning a steady pink. “I swear.”
“Then why are you still—like that?” Harry asked, deciding to play it safe and look at the boring grey couch in the living room instead. Nothing scandalous going on there.
He could hear the scrambling of feet, a few thumps, and a mini-yelp, absently wondering about the amount of noise the simple act of getting up could produce.
“Right.” Dad cleared his throat. “So, Harry, would you please tell your Papa that he is, under no circumstances, allowed to dye his hair?”
Harry blinks, turning to his other, exasperated, father in silent question.
“Harry, will you please tell your Dad that this is my hair and I can do with it as I please?”
“Not when you promised yourself to me!” Dad yelps and Harry is hit with an intense wave of regret at instigating this.
“Promised—?”
“Yes! Our wedding, you said, and I quote, ‘I give myself to you, James Potter, mind, body and soul’, don’t tell me you forgot.”
“Of course I didn’t forget,” Papa throws his hands up in the air. “But c’mon James—this is not what I meant when I said body!”
“What, you think I only wanted you for that ars—“
“Dad!” Harry, yelps, mortified. He can feel his cheeks heating in a violent blush. He can feel a similar flush creeping up Papa’s neck. Sadly, his words don’t have the deterring effect he’d intended.
“I mean, it is spectacular, don’t get me wrong, but you’re more than just a beautiful body, Si!”
“James, please, have some mercy for our child, if not me,” Papa says. Thankfully, this seems to register as Dad’s eye widened, part horror and part apology. Harry waves it away tiredly; though he’s no less embarrassed every time it happens, growing up in the Potter household with two extremely affectionate parents has exposed him to much worse. He’s accepted it as his lot in life.
“Er—yeah, anyway,” he coughs, ruffling his hair, “Bottom line—Sirius isn’t allowed to dye his hair.”
“I literally never agreed to that.”
“Too bad because you will,” Dad says, slowly moving towards Papa with a look on his face that Harry is loath to describe as predatory. If only it wasn’t so true.
“Oh?” Papa’s left eyebrow rises extraordinarily high, as it tends to do quite often. He crosses his arms over his chest in challenge. The motion makes his Dad smile.
“Mhm.” The two of them are chest-to-chest by this point, staring into each other’s eyes. Harry could probably conduct a whole rave party right here, right then, and they wouldn’t even notice. That is when he decides it’s high time he should step in—not literally, Merlin, no—before they end up doing something that makes him try to run away (again).
“So I was right—it is a kink,” Harry says dryly, once again regretting starting this entire conversation in the first place. He should’ve just turned back around and gone to the Weasleys instead.
“Harry, no—“
x
Three years later, Harry—who’s almost blissfully forgotten about the entire incident—walks into his parents’ house to an almost identical scene, just with his Papa on top this time. This time, he makes the sensible choice he still regrets not making all those years ago, and walks right back out the door.
Let those two sort it out on their own. Merlin knows his intervention hadn’t helped a bit the last time around.
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