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sp0o0kylights · 3 months ago

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“Dustin isn’t coming.”

“What?” Eddie says, all frantic and jovial movements freezing instantly.

His eyes narrow on Lucas--the bearer of bad news. “Why?��

“Family emergency.”

Mike makes a face. “I saw his mom yesterday and she was fine, so is this a…?”

He makes a gesture that is entirely incomprehensible to anyone who isn’t Sinclair and his terrifying girlfriend.

(At least, Eddie thinks Max is Lucas’s girlfriend this week. It got a little hard to keep up after the third break-up-make-up marathon, and he frankly, stopped bothering to try.

It helped that she barely spoke--The only time notable being when Eddie had mockingly asked Sinclair if he needed a cheerleader when she’d first sat in, upon which she’d asked Eddie if he needed new kneecaps with a look in her eye that said she was serious.)

Wheeler Jr.’s gesture however, made her put her book down.

“You think he’s having migraines again?” She not so much asked as demanded, which had Mike shrugging.

“Dunno." Lucas says. "Dustin didn’t say.”

“Gotta be, if he called Dustin.” Mike mutters, Lucas shuffling his papers about as he begins to set up for Hellfire. He was the last in the room, practically late, which Eddie had planned on harassing him for had he not announced Henderson’s absence.

(Fucking freshmen. They just weren’t terrified of Eddie like they used to be.)

“Robin must be sick or something, otherwise he’d call her.” Lucas finishes as he finally sits down.

“Didn’t the Marching Band go on some trip?” Mike turns to address the rest of the table, and gets nods from Jeff and Gareth both.

“Yeah they’re marching in some parade in Indianapolis.” Jeff confirms.

“So his last resort was Dustin?” Max is getting that tone in her voice, the one that makes everyone at Hellfire very uncomfortable. “Typical.”

She pushes away from the table, making a show of gathering up her things before rising easily to her feet.

Eddie trades looks with the elder Hellfire members as she makes her exit--the kind that says they’re all going to be talking about this later.

They knew their freshmen had some weird obsession with the former King, of course, but Mayfield too?

What the hell was up with that guy?

At least Eddie thinks, right before things are once again shot to shit, they can go back to playing the game.

He can make it work this early into things, and if Henderson isn't’ a fan of what he’s about to do to the kid’s character in his absence, well.

Maybe he shouldn’t be fucking absent then.

“So what, Max, you're gonna go over there and make it worse?” Mike snorts.

Fatal mistake.

Eddie almost strangles him for it, if only because it prolongs this entire unnecessary conversation.

Max performs a military perfect heel turn, coming straight back for Wheeler Jr., which makes him right about fall out of his seat in panic.

“What was that, Wheeler?”

“I’m just saying--!”

“We don’t know Steve’s having migraines.” Lucas reiterates, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Maybe it’s something else.”

“Does Steve get migraines a lot?” Grant asks, because despite all appearances he’s a terrible gossip and gets sucked in far too easily.

Eddie throws a pencil at him for it.

“Hel-looo, we have a game!?” He thunders, but unfortunately for him, precious Stevie-Weavies headache now has everyone’s attention.

“Yeah, though he’s really good at pretending he doesn’t.” Lucas answers with a put upon sigh.

“There’s a whole pattern--he ignores it until it gets super bad, then he has to call Robin or Dustin to come get him when he inevitably gets stranded at work or the like, grocery store.”

“Well who else do you think he’d call?” Mike scoffs again. He does a lot of that, when discussing Harrington. “It’s not like his parents are--Ow, Max!”

“Close your mouth before I close it for you.” She hisses and Mike, shockingly, does just that.

To Eddie, she says;

“Your ass isn’t any better, or did you forget I live across from you?”

Eddie--who had an insult primed and ready--promptly shuts his mouth.

(Fucking! Asshole! Freshmen!)

“Maybe I should go too.” Lucas says, hedging a look between his girlfriend and his DM.

“No.” She snaps, pointing a finger at him.

“If you go, then this idiot,” she flicks her finger to Mike, “will go and then we really will make it worse. Stay here before your bichon frise has a fit about all his sheep abandoning him.”

Then she’s turning on her heel again, storming out.

“What the hell’s a bichon frisé?” Gareth asks in the aftermath, frowning.

“It’s a type of ahhhh--” Jeff clearly thinks better of the explanation, eyes sliding to Eddie.

Who’s scowling.

“I know what a bichon frisé is, Jeff.” He snaps.

“I don’t.” Grant loudly complains.

Jeff attempts to both calm Eddie and explain while Mike and Lucas spend far too many minutes looking after Max.

“Enough!” Eddie howls, temper finally getting the best of him. “Are we playing or do you also need to go sit by the King’s bedside?”

“Thank you,” Mike says, like he wasn’t a third of the entire problem. “Let’s play!”

They make it about ten entire minutes before getting knocked off track again.

In fairness, not that Eddie would ever admit it--the second meltdown is his own fault.

xXx

Hellfire is Eddie’s domain.

It’s one of the few places where he could relax without getting harassed or hounded, and having his freshmen--his!--abandon him for King Fucking Steve had set him off.

So he’d made a few comments about it.

Maybe introduced an NPC who sounded suspiciously similar to Harrington, only to instantly kill him off.

Made another couple of nasty comments.

Who cares? It worked him through his snit rather nicely, and his boys all knew to leave him be.

Except, apparently, for Lucas.

“Dude, would you lay off?” The kid finally snaps, pencil slamming down on the table.

Which is the most backbone-like thing anyone has ever heard Sinclair say, and he gets far more whistles for it than he should.

Eddie pins him in place with a glare.

“What was that Sinclair?” He snarls, voice as menacing as he can make it.

(It’s pretty terrifying, he’s practiced quite a bit with it.)

Sinclair flinches, but doesn’t back down.

“I said lay off. Steve has migraines because of--” He stops, before seeming to come to a decision. “Because of me. He took a hit for me, and I owe him a life debt for it.”

To Eddie, he says; “You get what those are, right?”

Mike rolls his eyes. “It wasn’t just for you--”

“That time with Billy was!” Lucas is quick to snarl. “But you know what Mike, you’re right. It wasn’t just for me. He T-boned a car for all of us!”

Sinclaire is on his feet now, which is the unfortunate moment that Eddie realizes he has once again lost control of the room.

A situation he firmly blames on Steve Harrington, because he’s petty.

“Or did you forget that part? That’s you, me, Will, Nancy and Jonathan right there! Nevermind the tunnel. Or the junkyard!

“We had the junkyard handled--”

Lucas scoffs.

“We absolutely did not.”

“I don’t get why you’re all making such a big deal out of this. He’s the fighter. That’s what he does. That’s why we brought him to the tunnel.”

“You recall what happened at Starcourt, right?” Lucas challenges, furious. “You did see him after, right?”

This, finally, seems to shut Mike up.

“Shouldn’t you be mad at him for that?” He says after a moment, and the rest of Hellfire has completely put aside all actual gaming to watch this play out with a morbid sort of fascination.

Eddie allows it, only because he’s trying to breathe the way Wayne taught him to before he loses it entirely and throws both of the idiot kids out of the drama room.

“He pulled your sister into it.”

“Have you met Erica!? You can’t pull her into shit!” Lucas spits furiously. “That wasn’t D&D, Mike. It was the Upsi--real life.”

Lucas is quick to correct himself, even in the heat of the moment--as all the kids are, like the entire school hasn’t clocked that they have some weird ass secret they’re terrible at hiding.

“And if we’re playing those games, then who pulled him into the tunnels? Who made him come to the junkyard?”

“Dustin.” Mike says snidely.

“You don’t get to blame Dustin when Steve was the only person around.”

“There were people around! They just weren’t people who--weren’t--who couldn’t--”

“Finish that sentence.” Lucas demands

“Be trusted.” Mike spits out, like it hurts him.

“Exactly.”

“El went through way more than Steve ever has! El--”

“El was using her po--doing mage things! And also, she shouldn’t have had to go through all this shit either! We can’t rely on her to save the day every single time, Mike--and look at how hurt she gets!”

“She--”

“She hides it from you, you know. How bad she hurts. Cause she wants to put your feelings first.”

“I--”

“Will does too.” Is Lucas’s parting shot. His backpack is in his hands in a blink, papers and character figure shoved wildly into it, before he’s storming out the door in a poor mimicry of Mayfield.

“Harrington T-Boned a car?” Grant says, in the resounding silence.

“That BMW of his hasn’t had a scratch on it--” Jeff says, with an inquisitive tilt to his head.

“He didn’t use the Beamer.” Mike interrupts, angry and sulking. “Are we playing or not?”

“I’m gonna say not, given we are down two players.’ Eddie tells him through clenched teeth.

“I’m going to be so mad if Steve doesn’t have a migraine.” Mike grumbles, as he begins packing up his stuff.

The rest of Hellfire follow his lead, after one look at Eddie’s face convince the lot of them that it’s best to flee now, before Eddie unleashes all his pent up rage.

“Not as mad as I’ll be, Wheeler.” Eddie promises darkly.

And it is a promise--because now, he’s going to follow all his stupid (sans Mike, who isn’t in his good graces either but at least stayed) freshmen--and go visit one fallen King.

If Harrington doesn’t have a headache now, he will when Eddie’s done with him.

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earlgreydream · 5 months ago

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Throne. || god!Loki x reader

this lovely anon message spoke to me, you know my favorite thing is being loki's little slut: all i can think of is i would love to be lokis little throne pet... i want him to threaten me everyday to freeze me like he did heimdall if i act up or defend thor - oh to be a loki boot licker

Loki wasn't paying attention. Great festivities were happening before him, celebrating the young prince, yet he couldn't bring himself to care.

He was far too busy entertaining himself with you, his little pet kneeling between his legs. You were at the base of his throne where you belonged, your hand gently palming the growing tent in his leather pants. Loki shifted his weight, leaning back to give you better access to an Adonis body.

"Come here," he reached down, wrapping a large hand around your bicep and hauling you upwards to straddle his lap.

You looked over your shoulder to see Thor approaching, the reason that Loki had moved you. He was extremely possessive, known to take the sight of anyone who dared to even look at you in way that angered him. Dark jealousy flashed across Loki's features and he grabbed your jaw to turn you back to him. He was well aware of his brother’s lust for you, a motivation to kill Thor if it weren’t for their father.

"Don't look at him."

"Yes, master," you conceded softly, parting your lips as his thumb ran across them.

Your fingertips trailed over the defined muscles of his chest, his skin smooth and hard under your touch. You gazed at Loki from beneath your lashes, silently asking for more. He was eager to indulge you both, simmering with annoyance at the interruption. Normally, he’d just let the festivities continue while you worshipped his cock. However, there was no way in all nine realms that Loki would allow his brother to enjoy your vulgar performance.

"Brother, it's a celebration! Won't you share your toys?" Thor shouted drunkenly, the stupid jovial smile infuriating Loki.

He stumbled onto the throne’s platform, an offense no one else would survive. While you trusted Loki, the rapid approach of Thor startled you. You leaned into Loki, close enough to hear the heavy breathing of the angry god.

Loki caught Thor's wrist when he reached out to touch you, fury burning in his gaze. The possessive god would never allow Thor — or anyone else to touch you. He had made it clear that you were to be as loyal — lest you wanted to suffer the same frozen fate as Heimdall. Threats weren’t necessary to maintain your devotion, and Loki knew this, knowing you would follow him into Hel.

"What do you think, pet? Will you service my brother?" Loki's head tilted to the side as he studied your expression.

"I only serve you, Loki," you shook your head.

Loki threw Thor back, the older god slamming against the golden walls of Asgard’s palace. The guests howled with laughter, quickly drawing all of the attention back to Thor. The two of you were quickly forgotten, the breath you held escaping in a relieved sigh.

“Very obedient,” Loki praised, sitting up to kiss you.

His mouth was warm against yours, tasting of whiskey and familiarity. Your fingers threaded into onyx tresses of his long hair, pulling yourself ever closer to him.

“You’re mine,” he hissed against your lips, earning a soft whine of agreement as you sat back.

“I will only ever be yours, master,” you promised, glowing under Loki’s approval.

He leaned back, slowly rubbing a hand up your thigh. The light from behind made you look ethereal, and his party was once again forgotten as he admired you. Loki gently stroked your cheek, his eyes softening as you leaned into the touch.

“Please,” you murmured softly, aching for him.

Normally, someone in your position would never express need out of turn, but Loki held a soft spot for you. It aroused him when you begged, and truth be told, though you were his pet, he was happy to spoil you.

#loki #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #loki marvel #loki odinson #loki x reader #loki x you #loki smut #loki x reader smut #tom hiddleston #avengers!loki #avengers #marvel #marvel fanfic

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themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 2 days ago

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Ludos Imperiales III

Summary: Saving your mates may cost more than you bargain for, but how far are you willing to go to save them?

Content Warnings: Branding; Mentions of Slavery/Abuse; Vomiting

Pt 1 / Pt 2

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Fables had largely been forbidden in the Empire, starting in the early reign of my Great Grandfather Hybern II. Fables and fairytales had no use in the practicality of his Empire. Stories and fables gave people ideas, it made them hope and dream of better worlds than this one. The Empire could not thrive on the backs of dreamers. And so books burned in the streets, and the oral traditions of many people died in the following years. Schools taught with books written by Imperial Scholars, all edited and fact checked by the Emperor himself. The world became what he saw fit to shape it as.

To him, the fairytale idea of mates was a weakness. He declared all mated pairs cursed by the Mother. A bond was a manifestation of a weak will. If you could not thrive on your own without needing another to carry you, then you were not fit to be in the Empire. He removed all mated pairs from service, both within the palace walls and in military service. Mated pairs were not allowed to own land within the Empire, Temples were not legally allowed to recognize or perform a marriage ceremony. They were shunned as lepers and regarded as subpar beings. The bond made them loyal to each other first and foremost, and that was an allegiance torn in his mind. He made sure everyone else saw it that way too.

Father would not have such an obvious weakness. In his earlier years, he’d scoured the Empire, searching every village he ravaged and town he conquered for signs of that supposed weakness. He’d felt a pull, to a small ocean village in Elfhaven, and that pull had led him to a healer’s cottage, tucked into the ocean cliffs. He’d stood on the threshold of her doorway, cursing the Mother, cursing whatever weak will he had managed to leave unchecked, and then, he’d tossed her into the sea. His father had thrown a city wide celebration in his honor. Finally, a son who could master himself and his weaknesses. He used to tell me that story at bedtime, when my Mother tucked me in. Love was for children. Mates were for lesser beings. Mother had never argued with him about it either, this was simply a fact in their marriage. Theirs was of convenience, a mutually beneficial contract, and I often wondered if that story was also a means to remind her that she too could be disposed of if a weakness revealed itself.

But, I had been a lonely, and curious child and would often sit with the Nymphs that lived in the bubbling brooks and streams around the River House, and would ask them all the questions I was afraid to ask my Father. They whispered their own tales of mates between the bubbling rocks and rolling waves and I’d latched onto their ideas of a bond so strong it could bridge a soul together. Perhaps it was my loneliness, my need for affection I couldn’t easily find at home, but I clung to that little piece of what everyone else swore was fiction like my life depended on it. It became my lifeline. I’d pray to the Goddess every night for something like that; for someone who could love me beyond reason.

A dream that slips through my fingers as I step into that cell.

Cassian, chained against the wall with a gorsian collar around his throat, spits at my feet as I enter. I’ve seen hatred enough in my lifetime to understand the fire that blazes in those hazel eyes.

All the air in my lungs leaves in a rush, as if he’d thrown a fist directly into my stomach. He hates me. Hates me for what I’ve done to him; hates me for what I allowed to happen in that arena. Hel, judging by the way he sizes me up next to Father, he hates me purely because I look like him in the eyes.

My chest aches like it just might crack open and spill my heart out onto the floor.

For the slight, one of the guards slams the butt of his spear directly into Cassian’s gut, knocking him to the floor.

Despite the obvious malice, I have to physically lock my knees to keep myself from moving towards him; have to bite the inside of my cheek to not tell them to leave him alone. Maybe it’s not his fault he hates me. Maybe I deserve it.

“Charming as ever, Cassian,” Father says.

Cassian glares through the locks of sweat slicked hair falling over his forehead, “Fuck you!”

The butt of the spear slams into his temple and it takes every ounce of training not to let the dark, obsidian power trying to unfurl from my clenched fists turn the guard to ash. It would be so easy, a mere flick of the wrist and the only evidence that he’d ever lived a bit of dust left to mingle in the dirt coating the floor. I want to. Damn me, I want to splatter all of them across the dingy walls; hear the last, sharp intake of breath gurgle out of their chests for putting their hands on my mate. There’s a possessive, ugly thing that rises in my chest, threatening to choke the life out of me if I don’t move, act, on this base instinct. The bond rattles against my rib cage, a beast in its own right. It demands action, swift and immediate. It demands blood.

“You sure you can handle this beast, daughter?” Father sneers.

Cassian regards me with the disdain of someone who stepped in shit while wearing new boots.

“I’m sure,” I say with more confidence than I feel, but I’m too much of a coward to look him in the eyes when I say it. My gaze flicks to the others instead, hoping against reason that I will not see the same hatred on their features.

Azriel remains tucked in the corner, where he can use his body to shelter his broken wings. There isn’t the same malice in his own hazel eyes, but there is a cold indifference that cracks me open just the same. His earlier appraisal must have told him enough, because there is no lingering curiosity, only apathy. I am not asking him to throw himself into my arms; hell, I don’t even need him to smile, I just need something, any hint that my name alone hasn’t ruined this before it even starts! But there is nothing.

I try to keep my shoulders back, try to stop my body from curling in on itself. I want to curl up on the floor and wait until the old stones absorb me.

“I am curious,” Rhysand says, the s slurred like he bit his tongue when he hit the wall. “Why keep us alive?”

“Why let you be a martyr?” Father counters.

Rhysand studies me, violet eyes--glassy from what’s certainly a head injury, especially with the blood still flowing freely from an inch wide gash across his temple--rove over me slowly, starting at my hairline and working down. His head tilts quizzically when his gaze reaches my cheek. He shouldn’t be able to see anything in this light, but I find myself shifting my stance just enough to block the view all the same.

He frowns as his study goes lower, to the singe across my skirts, and the dirt stains from my stumble down the stairs.

“I’d rather be dead than dragged around like a dog!” Cassian spits.

Rhysand won’t stop looking me over, like he’s calculating something. Not exactly the acknowledgment I want, but I will take the intrigue of his study over apathy and hatred as if it is. Curiosity is better than nothing.

“You will honor your word, and send aid to my people?” He asks.

“If anyone is stupid enough to bet on you,” Father counters. “And if it makes it past the highwaymen and looters that have been waylaying my caravans. Your people might have more food if they weren’t attacking supply lines.”

My stomach twists. So Rhysand hadn’t been lying then, things have truly become that bad? Or have they always been that bad, and the sheltered nature of my upbringing had kept me from truly seeing it?

“Do you have supply lines that run through Illyria?” Rhys counters, not rising to the bait. “I can’t recall.”

“You will be branded,” Father says, jaw ticking as he doesn’t get the results he wants. “You will remain in chains and fight when called to fight. Any attempts at escape, and I will drag your people into the arena in droves. They can’t all be as adept at fighting wargs and Giants as you.”

Azriel’s gaze darkens at the threat.

Cassian’s lips pull back in a sneer, teeth flashing.

But Rhysand nods, gaze still on me, like he’s deciding something. I can’t, for the life of me, figure out what.

“Keep your end of the bargain, Highness, and we will keep ours.” He says.

“Rhys!” Cassian seethes.

“Quiet,” Rhysand returns. Briefly, his gaze leaves me to go to Azriel, and the other male nods, just barely.

“How noble,” Father sneers.

“We will do what we must to save our people.”

Father waves the guard at the door in. Another follows, holding a glowing hot branding iron in his gloved hands.

“On your knees!” The doorman barks.

The contents of my stomach rise in my throat. I can’t let this happen! I can’t let them do this to them!

Rhysand kneels first, well technically, Cassian’s still down from the blow to the stomach; Azriel follows, grimacing against the pressure it puts on his wings.

I cannot beg for them. I will give myself away. I will doom all of us.

I can’t let this happen either. I can’t stand here uselessly!

“You’ll do it,” Father says to me and my panicked train of thought slams to a screeching halt. What?!

The guard holding the iron snorts out a chuckle. “Doubt she can hold the damn thing.”

Father turns to fully look at me and I do my best to keep my chin up. I have to keep the mask up; I cannot let him see.

“You wanted this. You’ll do it.” He doesn’t think I have it in me; that much is obvious. He thinks me weak and spineless and meek, unable to do what is necessary. I have always known it, but I have never felt it so clearly as I do now.

And maybe he is right. How can I do this, even for the sake of protecting them? How can I raise a hand to my mates?

I swallow the lump in my throat. If I reach out to take that iron, my hands will shake and give me away. If I stand here and refuse, I give myself away. There is no winning; how did I think I could play a game like this? He wins; he always wins.

Not today, a voice whispers in the back of my mind. My body moves without my consent, as if I’m a puppet on a set of strings, being moved by an invisible hand. When I reach out for the iron, my hand doesn’t shake, even though it feels like every part of my body is trembling. The iron is heavy and warm in my hands, I have to use both to lift it, and though I should struggle to keep a grip on it, the invisible grip on me holds it steady.

Two guards move to grip Rhysand by the shoulders, pinning him in place, even though he offers his right arm willingly. His right arm that’s shredded from elbow to wrist from the wargs, blood still trickling onto the floor. The wound is deepest on the outside of his forearm, with enough space above the inside of his wrist to mark. This is cruel enough as is, but to add further to the injury…

One of the guards grabs the torch to reheat the rapidly cooling metal and my stomach is once again back in my throat. I can’t do this to him!

Don’t let him win, the voice whispers again.

My body is still not my own, still moving despite my best efforts to not. It feels like I’m watching myself from outside my body as the iron is pressed to his skin. I can’t even gag against the horrible smell of burning flesh, like someone locked the ability to react behind a wall of adamant.

Rhysand, to his credit, doesn’t even wince, just draws a sharp breath in through his nose. He holds eye contact with my Father the whole time in another silent challenge and I cannot decide if he is the bravest or stupidest male I’ve ever met.

The guards reheat the iron as my body moves away from him, and I’m sure they make some sort of snide comment, but it sounds like I’m hearing it from underwater as I take in what I’ve done to him. The blistering skin forms a perfect circle, with the Imperial emblem stamped in the center. It will be a crude scar and hard to hide. My heart clenches painfully in my chest. What have I done?

The guards move to hold Azriel next, and if I was unsettled before, I’m downright ready to throw myself on a blade now. The apathy has left his eyes, replaced now with barely concealed panic. He pinches his lips together, trying not to make a sound as I approach, but his chest rises and falls rapidly, scarred hands clenching and unclenching in front of him. Shit those are burns on his hands and I’ve got something on fire held out to him.

“What’s the matter?” One of the guards leans down to hiss in his ear. “Scared of a little fire?”

“You motherfucker!” Cassian shouts, trying to stand to get to Azriel. He’s quickly knocked back to the floor with the butt of a spear again.

“Do it!” Azriel hisses at me.

My body is still not my own as it moves to comply. The whole cell reeks of burnt flesh and it is by the sheer force of whatever will moves my limbs that I haven’t heaved up the contents of my stomach on the floor. What kind of mate am I?

Gods I am as bad as my Father! Cassian knows it too; when it’s finally his turn, the look he gives me is one I’ve seen thrown at the Emperor a thousand times. There is nothing but venom and hatred there and the bond in my chest feels raw and thin, like it has been scraped and worn down to a single, solitary thread. And yet my legs still move and my hands still hold the iron steady.

He won’t ever forgive me for this. Even if I can get them out of the Empire, even if I can save them from dying in the arena, it will never be enough. I’ve ruined my chance before it even had a chance to start.

Cassian growls when the brand touches his skin, but he doesn’t scream. None of them did. This displeases my Father, who frowns, even when it’s done. At least he is not proud of me; that would be the final nail in the coffin.

The invisible hand still won’t let go of me, I feel it holding me upright, like it knows, given the chance I’ll crumple to the floor and never get up again. How could I have done this?

Father turns to the guard closest to the door, “Go ahead of her to the River House, make sure the place is secure. Post extra guards.”

The elven male bows with an exaggerated flourish and disappears. I suppose I should feel relieved that we are almost out of this godsdamned arena, but dread settles in my stomach. It is not like my Father to make this quick, not for a convicted rebel, and not for anything I’ve shown an interest in. Taking them home now feels too good to be true and I am not inclined to believe luck or mercy have ever been on my side.

“The arena will have to be fixed before we can proceed with the Games,” Father muses. “I expect you to bring your new toys with you to entertain our guests at Amarantha’s celebration tomorrow.”

They’re throwing her a whole parade for her exports over Illyria, of course she’d want them there to see it. I doubt they’ll be the only Illyrians in attendance.

Cassian growls at that. I’m inclined to share the sentiment.

“As you wish,” I say instead. Hopefully, if I can manage to not let the guilt clawing its way up my insides to consume me, I can remain upright long enough to find us all passage out of here by the morning. This will all be a terrible dream. Even if we have to part--the bond roars in my ears at the thought--at least I will have saved them. It might be the only thing I have to give them.

Father leaves first. I don’t let myself look at my mates as I follow. The guards untether them from the wall and push them out after me, keeping a guard in between us, just in case they attempt to attack while my back is turned. I wouldn’t blame them if they tried; I’d attack me too.

I can’t get the smell of their burnt flesh out of my nose. Every time I blink I can see their blistered skin behind my eyelids. I branded my mates.

The way out of the tunnels beneath the arena is a blur, it doesn’t even register that we’re out until the sudden flash of harsh summer light sears my eyes.

There are horses waiting, and a wagon. At least he’s not forcing them to walk behind my horse, as some of the lords and councilmen make their sponsored champions do.

I don’t remember swinging into the saddle. I don’t remember urging the horse forward, or when my caravan of guards split off from my Father’s. We rode together until we didn’t. Starlight, my childhood horse, does all the directing, taking me home on instinct. The house I grew up in, the house I sequestered myself in with the curtains drawn for months and months looks foreign. The staff coming out to greet us swim in and out of my vision. I must answer their questions, because they move things around for our new guests, instructing the guards to take the wagon around to the back of the house, where there’s a guest wing turned into a cell for them. All this sounds like it happens under water.

I hear the wagon roll that direction, and even though I feel eyes on my back, I don’t allow myself to turn. I cannot bear what I will see.

Someone helps me to my rooms, holding me by the elbow, telling me I look pale and sick. I feel like I’ve stepped outside my skin. The tether in my chest feels raw. What have I done?

The sizzle of the iron on skin echoes in my ears. I can’t stop seeing the smoke. Can’t stop thinking about the panic in Azriel’s eyes. I hurt my mates.

I hurt my mates.

Whatever invisible force had been holding me together in the cell gradually releases me. Inch by inch I become aware of my body again. And I make it to the toilet just in time to hurl the contents of my stomach up. It’s the wine first. Then breakfast. And the acidic burn of bile out my throat and nose.

After Mother’s execution I hadn’t been able to stop crying for days. I’d laid in my bed with the covers over me, hiding in the dark where no one could hear the ugly sounds of my wrenching sobs. I’d thought I’d never weep that hard again. I was wrong. This is far worse.

When I no longer have the strength to hold myself up over the edge of the toilet, I curl into a ball on the floor, the tile cool and smooth against my flushed cheeks. The tears won’t stop flowing and the thing in my chest coils and tightens until it feels like a rock. What have I done?

Eventually the tears run out. The thin slit of a window in the wall bathes the room in varying shades of orange, then pink, then purple as time passes by, uncaring to my turmoil. I still can’t bring myself to get up, even as the heat of the day turns to a cool, evening chill. No amount of cold could move me now, a little suffering is what I deserve.

Someone knocks on the bedroom door. I don’t remember closing it behind me.

I shut my eyes against the noise. All this crying has given me a headache, the echo of the door against the tile makes my head throb. Good. I deserve that too.

Another knock, more insistent this time.

Why should I answer it? I should just lay here until the earth swallows me.

Another knock, followed by a muffled, “Highness?” Anise, my maid. Anise had come with my Mother, a gift from her father as she travelled here for the wedding. Mother had freed her from her servitude and Anise had asked to stay as part of the staff. She loved my Mother like she was her own; I have always thought of her like an Aunt.

“Don’t make me kick the door in!” A grumpy Aunt, granted, but her temper is always warranted.

Shakily, I manage to maneuver myself onto my knees. She really will kick the door in and her joints are old and worn, she’ll likely break an ankle, or a hip, trying. It’s for her health that I manage to get up and get to the door, not because I feel well enough to get up.

She pushes her way in as soon as I turn the handle. “You look awful!”

I feel awful. “Thanks.”

“What the hell is all of this?” She demands, waving a hand towards the hallway. She’s half Dryad, her skin like tree bark, her graying hair made of vines and leaves. Though she is old and weathered, her emerald eyes are still bright and shining. “And why are you so distraught over it?”

She paces as she speaks, not letting me get a word in as she wrings her gnarled hands together. “What’s with all the guards? And those… winged males? They are strange and gruff and I don’t like the looks of them. Which reminds me, why the Hels are they asking for you?”

My heart skips a beat in my chest. “What do you mean, Anise?”

She stops her pacing to come take one of my hands, a gesture for a Dryad that is closer to a hug. Her other hand pushes some hair off my cheek to see the yellow tint of a blooming bruise. “Did they hurt you?”

I’m going to be sick again. “No, Anise, they didn’t.”

“You promise?”

“Trust me, if anyone did any damage, it was me.” And I’ll never forgive myself for it.

She nods. “Ok, then, I will tell you.” Dryads, like Ents, are known for their long winded conversations. They never know when to get to the point. I am used to her extra long pauses and rambling tangents.

I am not, however, prepared for her to say, “Well they were brought food and a medic, as the guards ordered, but they refused it.”

Why the hell would they do that?! Was this some kind of hunger strike? By the Mother did they think I was trying to poison them?

“They said they wouldn’t touch it until they’d spoken to you.”

I think the heat has gotten to me. Did she just say they asked to speak to me?

“It’s very strange,” she continues. “Males in that bad of shape usually fight for a chance to see a medic, but they said they wouldn’t let anyone touch them until they’d talked to you alone.”

Alone? They wanted to talk to me alone?

“Are you sure that’s what they said, Anise?”

“They were very adamant about needing to see you. Rude if you ask me. Who demands to see the head of a household like that? They’re trouble, I’m telling you now.”

“They didn’t say why?” I ask.

“No. They wouldn’t say it around the guards either. I don’t like this, Highness. It’s a bad omen if you ask me. The winds have been whispering all day. Bad, very bad things will come of this, mark my words.”

Bad things had already come, couldn’t she see that? They were not the issue; I was the issue. This whole damn Empire was the issue. We ruin everything we touch. They knew that better than anyone, so why ask for me? What did they want? It certainly can't be the bond.

I absently rub my knuckle against my breast bone. The bond feels like a bruise. No, they can’t be asking about the bond. If they know it’s there, they’re not tugging on it. There is no curiosity, only pain. I’ve ruined the chance for anything more, of that I am certain.

This has to be something else, but how can I face them? There is only so much I can bear.

“You’ll make them wait, won’t you?” Anise continues. “You certainly should. It’s improper for a host to be asked for this late into the evening.”

They need medical attention. Their wounds have to heal. And they need to eat. They have to be starving, I doubt they were given a last meal before being thrown into the arena. Raw and damaged as it is, the bond still prompts me to move, even if I’d rather hide from it for the rest of my life.

“No,” I might as well rip the bandaid off. Maybe they need to tell me to my face that they hate me and never want to see me again. It can be arranged for us not to interact, even with me sponsoring them.

If that is their wish, I will honor it. Whatever it is they need, I’ll find a way to make it happen. I owe them that. “I’ll go see them.”

------

Taglist: @sirenpearldust, @saltedcoffeescotch, @littlemissfix-itfic, @waka-babe, @raisam

@anainkandpaper, @rafeecameronsbitch, @whothehelliskayleigh, @lifetobeareader, @blimpintime

@hjgdhghoe, @krowiathemythologynerd

#rhysand x reader #rhys x reader #azriel x reader #Cassian x reader #poly!bat boys x reader #bat boys x reader #gladiator!bat boys #gladiator!bat boys x reader #acotar #acotar au #acotar fic #my writing #my fanfics #bat boys x reader angst

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shadowdaddies · 1 year ago

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Pas de Deux

Azriel x Reader

Summary: As the principal ballerina at Starlight Ballet Theatre, you never expected to enter into a romantic relationship with the Spymaster of the Night Court, or how it would change your life.

Word Count: 2.6k

Based on this ask. 🩶

Warnings: canon-typical violence, mentions of blood

You hissed at the pain of peeling off your pointe shoes, feet bloodied and aching from tonight’s performance. The holiday season leading up to Solstice was always a popular time for the people of Velaris to visit the ballet. As principal dancer of the Starlight Ballet Theatre, you’d been dancing two shows a day during this season, your aching muscles protesting your every step as you bid everyone a good night.

Shoving through the back door, you stumbled into the snowy street. The icy cold against your sore feet sent a jolt of pain through your body, and you stumbled, slipping along the icy cobblestone street. Your feet flew in the air, your back headed for the pavement when strong, warm arms caught you.

You huffed a nervous breath, trying to register what had just happened when you looked up to see the most beautiful male you had ever seen. Hazel eyes focused on you in concern, onyx waves of hair falling in the winged male’s face as he held you.

You blushed under his intense gaze, interrupting the trance the both of you seemed to be in in that moment. Clearing his throat, the male returned your blush as he set you back on your feet.

“Thank you, for that,” you laughed nervously, glancing up through your lashes at the intimidating male before you, his kind eyes at contrast with his guarded demeanor, the dark shadows that seemed to follow him. With a startling realization, you recognized him as the Spymaster of the Night Court.

He cracked a small smile, nodding in acknowledgment. “My name is Azriel. You were wonderful tonight,” he admitted, the blush deepening on his cheeks as he nervously rubbed the back of his neck.

“You watched the show?” you asked, surprised that the famed shadowsinger would visit the ballet.

A small laugh left his lips, a sound more beautiful than any music you had danced to in your life. “I did. I quite enjoy the symphony and the ballet as well.”

Butterflies erupted in your stomach at his words, the thought of commanding Azriel’s attention like this. The thought was apparently too distracting, a gasp escaping you as your feet slipped on the ice once more. Azriel’s arm wrapped comfortably around your waist, holding you up as you regained your footing. Only this time, he didn’t let go.

You allowed Azriel to walk you home, falling into easy conversation as you found his company to be that of a soft breeze, calm and refreshing.

Months passed as you got to know Azriel better, growing more attached and drawn to his presence every day. You enjoyed the excitement and stories he brought from his role as Spymaster, and he enjoyed your calm, relaxed personality, which always brought him peace after a trying day. You looked forward to seeing his face in the crowd at your shows, those hazel eyes keeping you grounded and secure.

Today was the weekend matinee for the Spring show, and you inhaled a shaky breath - your nerves growing as the time until curtain call shrank. Peering around the curtain, you looked to Azriel’s regular seat towards the front in search of his comforting presence, but your eyes locked with a different pair that made your heartbeat stutter.

The violet eyes of High Lord of the Night Court met yours, Rhysand lounged comfortably in his seat next to a tense looking Azriel. Your High Lord gave you a small, encouraging nod that soothed your nerves slightly. With a curtsy, you hid back behind the curtains, wondering what this could mean.

Azriel was yet to introduce you to his family, and now was one Hel of a time to do so. The orchestra struck up their tune, drawing you from your spiraling thoughts as they signaled the beginning of the show.

As the show came to a close, you mentally thanked the Mother that you miraculously made it through the performance without a mistake. What was Azriel thinking, bringing Rhysand here without a warning?

Gritting your teeth as you bandaged your hurting feet, you shrugged on pants and scowled as you stormed out the side door with a huff. Two faces greeted you, once with an amused smile and glittering violet eyes, the other grinding his jaw as Azriel glanced between you and Rhysand, anger and shame written on his face.

“It’s wonderful to finally meet you,” Rhysand purred, pressing a kiss to your knuckles as he watched you with a feline grin. “Azriel said that we are going for dinner now?”

A low growl sounded in Azriel’s throat, the spymaster practically shaking in anger, fists clenched at his sides. “I said that we,” he paused, gesturing between you and himself, “were going to dinner, Rhys.”

Rhys seemed completely unbothered by Azriel’s ire, shrugging as he picked a piece of lint from his jacket. “Well, Azriel, as you know, I have important matters to discuss with your lovely lady here.”

Your eyes widened in shock, swallowing as you turned to Azriel. He simply sighed in defeat, sending you an apologetic look. “I am sorry that I didn’t have the opportunity to tell you earlier. Rhys has something to ask of you. But you can say no.” Azriel ground out the last words with a near-threatening tone, looking at Rhys as he spoke them.

Again, Rhys maintained his casual composure as he led you into a small restaurant. The space might have felt cozy, with its small interior and green and gold decoration, but as you looked around to find yourselves the only ones inside, worry twisted in your stomach.

Rhys looked over your shoulder, flashing an impossibly charming smile at the female behind you. “Hello, Sevenda. Thank you again for allowing us to dine here this evening.”

The woman blushed slightly, nodding as she sang her praises to the High Lord, how grateful she was for the honor to serve him. Plates of food were brought out for all of you, the inviting smell at odds with the unease in your stomach.

Azriel’s hand reached for yours under the table, giving a reassuring squeeze before his focus turned to Rhysand. “Alright Rhys, get on with it. Tell her what you want from her, and we’ll be on our way.”

Rhys breathed out a low chuckle, his posture as casual as ever while he scooped generous helpings of food onto his plate, and yours. He leaned back in his seat, swirling a goblet of wine in his hand, studying you for a brief moment.

“The Night Court would like your assistance with an upcoming meeting of the High Lords,” he drawled, carefully watching your reaction. You were frozen in your chair, mind reeling with the possibilities of what place you would have in a High Lords’ meeting.

Rhys continued, setting down his drink as his tone shifted to one more serious. “I will leave it to Azriel’s discretion to fill you in on any details that I decide to leave out of my proposition, but I would like to use your extraordinary talent. You are, arguably, the most talented dancer in Prythian, and I need someone to provide a... distraction, at a gathering soon in the Day Court.”

You nodded, willing your heart to calm as you tried to focus on Rhysand’s words. “A distraction?” you repeated.

The High Lord nodded, taking a sip of his wine. He set it down, swirling his finger along the edge of the glass as he continued. “If you would agree to be the evening’s entertainment for a night, I believe that your talent would captivate our guests while we attend to... other responsibilities.”

That didn’t sound terrible. It would be considered an honor by many to be able to perform for all the High Lords and Ladies, but the unusual request still made you uncertain.

You swirled your own wine glass by the stem, making a show of contemplating his proposal. “And why me? Surely, there are many other possible entertainers, or forms of distraction,” you mused.

Rhys gave you a conspiratorial smirk, eyes shining with approval at your questioning. Leaning back in his seat, the male crossed his arms as he nodded to the Spymaster next to you. “Simple. Azriel trusts you. I have seen your skill, how captivating you can be, and that appeals to the person we need to distract. You are the best option for us to accomplish our goal without rousing suspicion. And you are one of very few whom my spymaster trusts.”

Azriel’s shadows swirled protectively around you, the tension visible in his shoulders as the male merely nodded. Turning to you, Azriel held your hand tightly in his. “Please do not feel pressured at all. You do not need to do anything that you do not want to.”

Azriel’s words and the tenderness with which he spoke them were all you needed to hear. Turning to Rhys, you gave a firm nod. “I’m in.”

Two days later, you found yourself in a private room at the Day Court Palace, slipping on your shoes as Azriel paced anxiously by the door.

“Beron will be seated front and center during your performance. The Autumn Court has an affinity for dance, so he should be especially interested in you.” Azriel practically growled those last words, his temper rising at the mere mention of the High Lord of Autumn.

Hazel eyes turned towards you, long legs striding towards where you sat on the floor. Azriel crouched down, a scarred hand brushing the side of your cheek, his soft touch at odds with the visible tension he carried. “You just need to distract Beron long enough for Eris to leave the room unnoticed so that he can meet Cassian for the exchange.”

You nodded, giving Azriel an encouraging smile as he helped you to your feet. “I will never let anyone harm you,” he swore, his voice sharp enough that he might as well have carved the promise in stone.

You leaned up, kissing him softly as you swore, “I’ll be fine.” A knock sounded on the door, interrupting the moment as Rhysand and Feyre passed through the threshold.

“Are you ready?” Rhys asked, the pure authority in his tone as he addressed you so different from how he’d been the night you met. Smoothing your skirts, you gestured for him to lead the way.

The setup was simple, but the semicircle of chairs in which the High Lords and Ladies were seated so close to you had your heart pumping. Taking your spot on the dance floor in front of them, you gave Beron a shy, alluring smile as you curtsied.

The orchestra began to play, and your body moved effortlessly to the music. Soft wisps of air twirled with you, giving you comfort that Azriel was close by and watching. Your flowing layers of skirts twirled through the air, flaring out like blooming flower petals as you glowed underneath the faelights.

The entire room was enraptured by your grace, the siren call of your dance. The musical crescendo built, and with it so did your movements, tears building in the eyes of many in the room as you embodied the emotions of the music through movement.

You had not even noticed Eris’s departure, a realization that brought a slight smile to your face as the plan seemed to be working. Then the violinist struck a wrong chord, the musicians suddenly in disarray as the melody was lost to the wind.

You continued to push through, dancing in the silence, but as the audience turned to see what was amiss in the orchestra, the air quickly grew thick with tension. Before you could blink, fire encased your ankles, your wrists, your neck, restraining you in place on the floor.

Beron appeared in front of you, a curious look on his face, as the fire grew hotter around your neck. “Would you happen to know where my son is, Little Diversion?”

Tears stung your eyes at the burn only for a moment before a blast of blue light knocked Beron halfway across the room.

“Do not touch my mate,” Azriel growled, siphons glowing as he stalked towards the High Lord. You hardly had time to register Az’s words before an Autumn Court guard stepped out from the side, drawing his sword as it cut through the air towards Azriel.

Finding the slit in your skirt, you drew a throwing knife, piercing directly through the center of the male’s wrist. He dropped his sword with a hiss, the male crumbling to the ground as Azriel turned. The Illyrian’s mouth was ajar as he watched you remove another knife from your thigh holster, flicking it into the throat of another approaching guard.

Hysteria broke out, High Lords and Ladies fighting alongside their allies, Prythian’s political leaders at each others’ throats in front of your eyes. You picked up the sword from the male you’d cut down, standing back to back with Azriel as you battled off the remaining attackers.

As you tried to catch your breath, strong hands spun you around, Azriel’s eyes intense as they searched your blood-stained outfit for any signs of damage. You let the sword drop to the ground - blood splattering as it clinked against the cold floor - and wrapped your arms around Azriel as you pulled him in for a kiss.

He held you there, arms wound tightly around you as Azriel rested his forehead against yours. “When did you learn to fight like that?” he breathed.

Laughing softly against his lips, you gave him an incredulous look. “You think I could spend my life with a Spymaster without learning how to defend myself?”

Azriel gasped at your words, drawing back as his brow narrowed in confusion. “You knew we were mates?”

You shook your head, the peacefulness you felt at odds with the chaos surrounding you. “I didn’t have to know that we were mates, to know that I am yours. Always.”

Azriel’s eyes lined with tears, your mate pulling you in for another heated kiss when the sound of a throat clearing beside you interrupted the moment.

Rhysand stood there with Helion, the two High Lords of Day and Night exuding an intimidating amount of power before you.

“Beron did initiate an attack during an agreed time of peace by his interruption during this meeting, so he will be dealt with accordingly,” Helion announced, granting Azriel a small, reassuring nod.

“Cassian confirmed the missive exchange went smoothly,” Rhys paused, looking around the wreckage of the room. “Well, it went smoothly on their end.” Violet eyes flicked to you, approval and kindness clear within them. Rhys took Feyre’s hand, his other coming to lightly clap your shoulder as he leaned in to whisper, “good night, sister.”

You blushed, bidding Rhys and Feyre good night before turning back to Helion and Azriel. Helion took your hand in his, pressing a lingering kiss to your knuckles, his eyes sparkling. “Azriel knows where my room is, if the two of you find yourselves in need... of anything,” he purred with a wink before striding through the doors.

Azriel groaned, pulling you into his chest. Laying your head there, you allowed yourself to savor his warmth for a moment before taking his hand in yours. With a sly smile, you guided Az out the door. Gesturing to your soiled attire, you winked at Azriel. “I think I could use a bath, if you care to join me, mate.”

In a blink, Azriel had scooped you up bridal style, peppering kisses to your face while he raced to the bath. You laughed, clinging tightly to him as you looked forward to your life with the Spymaster.

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harvestmoss · 4 months ago

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🌹 Love & Sex Magic Basics

Some good knowledge to have in the back of the mind when performing love and sex magic, alone or with others, yourself or for others. Sex and love magic often work together.

As always, I do not want minors on these posts, this is an 18+ only post.

Blog post include...

TIME - The best times to cast love and sex magic.

SPACE - The best places to performance.

TOOLS - Great talismans and objects to have near you when performing.

COLOURS - Best colours to use.

NUMBERS - Numbers use and to invoke.

WATERS - Spell waters to use for enhancements.

OILS - Spell oils best suited for love and sex magic.

BOTANICALS & APHRODISIACS - Flowers, herbs, foods, etc. These are the botanicals to use for love and sex magic, especially the aphrodisiac ones.

NOTES - Extra good knowledge to know when performing love and sex spells.

TIME

🌑 New Moon: The new moon is associated with our shadow self. Due to history and religion, we often associate sex and desires with our shadow self, something kind of unacceptable. It's such a primal human feeling, lust. So sex magic benefits from the New Moon greatly.

🌒 Waxing: The moon is getting bigger and brighter. Creating an ideal phase for magic around growth. Say you're in a relationship already, you'd want it to grow better and stronger, this is an ideal time to add extra passion into your sex life too.

🌕 Full Moon: Everything is full and intense on the Full Moon. Generally, all spells are enhanced during Full Moon, so you may cast sex magic here to enhance them. See what works best for you whenever it is the Full Moon or New Moon.

♀️ Friday: These are the best days for love and sex magic. This day is in honour of Venus. But you may also know it as the day of Aphrodite, Freya, and Oshun. Generally, love spirits are most powerful during Fridays.

🕒 The Clock: Typically, daylight brings abundance, growth, and positive influences. Night brings out the shadow self, intuition and emotional self. You could prepare spells in the daylight and performe them during night. See what works best for you. I wouldn't worry too much about the exact clock.

SPACE

🛏️ The Bedroom: The bedroom is home to the bed, a place we spend roughly ⅓ of our lives in. I believe it oozes with great magical threshold and potential. It's the home to our subconscious mind and desires. A bed is also where we typically perform pleasurable acts. Performaning sex magic in the bedroom is more potent than that of the living room.

🛁 The Bathroom: Not the place we typically have acts of pleasure, but it is a place we're often bare and naked in. we take baths, or get ready and make sure we looks alright, make sure we smell good, some do their makeup here, so on and so forth. I often perform glamour magic in the bathroom, and if you do glamour magic in conjunction with sex magic, your sex magic has a greater chance of success. Glamour magic is about attraction, and sex magic is specifically attracting pleasure. Think of them as collaborative partners occasionally.

TOOLS

🌿 Priapic Wand: A wand with a phallic object attached to the end, usual that of an acorn or pinecone. Mainly used to encourage the growth of Spring and is a symbol of Imbolc and Beltane. You may attache ribbons and bells to it as well.

🌿 Mermaid Wand: Mermaids or sirens are said to have lured sailors into the sea with their beauty and sexual nature. A mermaid wand is simply a piece of driftwood.

🌿 Copper Wand: Copper holds romance and feminine energy, so copper wands are often used in love spells, tope it with a rose quartz to enhance the powers.

🦢 Swan/Rooster Feathers: Swans are often a romantic symbol of grace and beauty, we often see swans in artworks being their iconic heart symbol together, they're also a bird that mates for life. Roosters on the other hand help ward off evil and are a symbol of male energy. I see rooster feathers often used in love magic, perhaps because the rooster is such a lady's man?

🔧 Iron: Representing primal male power. Iron helps invoke sexual desire and remedy lack of libido. Iron is also hard, stiff, and endures a lot. So we're hoping that it's magical properties will tranfer through to the spells. Soaking iron in water and using that water to bath your man, specifically the part that's actually useful about us, will enhance us to perform better.

🕯️ Candles: Candles are already used in every spell there is, I'm mainly placing it here since I've found that when you involve another person and light their name on fire it invoke passion and sexual drive.

💕 Adult Toys: I suggest having literal symbols of sex near you or being used when performing sex magic. Even greater if you have one specifically for the use of these rituals. Similarly, having pornography to stimulate you is favoured, or a partner.

🐎 Horseshoes or Horse Symbols: Horseshoes are often associated with luck and protection. But can also be a powerful love talisman. Horse shoes incorporate iron (as discussed above), the shape of a horse shoe is reminiscens a cresent moon, often associated with female energy, and it may also be associated with the symbol of double horns which is a symbol of the female genitalia (Statues showing off the vulva frightened off ghosts because the vulva is a symbol of life and ghosts are dead). The symbol of a horse adds additonal meaning, especially that of a stallion, being that of powerful virile animals. If you were to hammer a nail through a horseshoe, well, isn't that obvious why?

COLOURS

🍎 Red: A primary colour, red is associated with life and passion in many cultures. Red is connected to the body through health, sex, lust, love, romance, passion, confidence.

🍊 Orange: Symbolising connections in our life. It has associations with power, vitality, energy, growth, success, and ambitions. Great colour to use when you're already in a relationship.

💗 Pink: Often a feminine colour, therefore, it represents those quirks and stereotypes. Unconditional love, playfulness, love, gentleness, beauty, feelings. It's also the lesser colour of red, so if you'd want more intimate sex rather than rough, I recommended pink.

NUMBERS

2️⃣ Two (2): For obvious reasons, it is the number of unity, of harmony.

5️⃣ Five (5): I have heard to invoke the power of Oshun (Orisha of Love), you should use the number five.

6️⃣ Six (6): To invoke the power of Aphrodite (Lady of Love), use the number six.

8️⃣ Eight (8): To invoke the power of Inanna-Ishtar (Queen of Heaven), use the number eight. Eight is also the number associated with eternity and infinity if you lay it down, so use it to keep a relationship and sex life intact.

🔢 Numerology: Generally, lesser numbers are beginnings and bigger numbers are endings. So use lesser numbers to start a passionate life and bigger numbers to have greater orgasms, etc. See what works best for you.

WATERS

🕊️ Angel's Water: This water began as a complexation remedy in the sixtheenth-century before slowly becoming a love potion. It's name is a reference to the Angels that seduced the daughters of man in the Book of Genesis. It's also known as Aphrodite Water with it's main ingredient being Myrtle, which is said is what Aphrodite was covered in when she emerged from the ocean.

💞 Florida Water: Originally marketed as a cologne. Florida Water has attractive qualities due to it's scent with rosemary and citrus aspects. IT draws in luck, fantastic energies, and happiness.

🌹 Rose Water: Roses are often associated with love and romance, especially the red variant. Rose Water, or any flower water for that matter, are often used in love spells and beauty spells.

🍷 May Wine: Ritual potion for Midsummer’s Eve and Walpurgis Night. Some of my potions require mixing ingredients into a wine, and I choose May Wine, if I don't have that, red wine is fine.

OILS

💖 Love Oil: Used for love and sex spells, as well as being used for attraction.

💘 Come To Me Lover Oil: Consider this a deluxe version of Love Oil. Perfect for sex magic and attraction of people, used mainly for specific purposes, such as drawing in a specific kind of sex life or person.

🐈 Black Cat Oil: Break bad spells and hexes, attract positive attention, especially that of the opposite gender. Depending on what oil base you choose, jojoba or castor oil for protection and almond oil for love spells.

🌿 Cleopatra Oil: Captures the true essence of legendary Egyptian queen, Cleopatra. Used for glamor spells, love and sex magic.

BOTANICALS & APHRODISIACS

💐 Botanicals: Basil, carrots, catnip, chamomile, cardamom, coriander, cubeb, gardenia, grains of paradise, hibiscus, hyacinth, iris, jasmine, lady’s mantle, lavender, lovage, mint, onion, orchid, poppy, rose, rosemary, saint john’s wort, southernwood, strawberries, thyme, tormentil, vervain.

Botanicals associated with romance and sex and/or can enhance your love and sex spells.

🍾 Aphrodisiacs: Caviar, champagne, chocolate, coriander, apricots, peaches, cherries, grapes, figs, pomegranates, garlic, hibiscus tea, honey, hot peppers, mint, onions, radishes, saffron, shellfish, cardamom, cinnamon, cloves, sushi, vanilla, tomato.

Ingredients in which have shown to have aphrodisiac effects, some more than others.

☁️ Myrrh and Frankincense: They may not be obvious, with their religious background and association. However, they were burned in ancient Egypt, and myrrh was associated with Isis, the goddess of fertility, and frankincense with that of Rah. The lunar and sun goddess and god. Burn together with a partner or burn myrrh if you're more fem leaning and frankincense if you're mask leaning. Burn myrrh if you're attracting a woman and burn frankincense if you're attracting a man. What if you're nonbinary or the partner is? Burn both.

NOTES

Some extra good things to note before, during, and after performing love and sex spells.

Bathing your hands in Rose Water to enhance spells before performing - You may also use thyme.

Performing naked for sex magic increases the chances of success. Alternatively, clothing that makes you feel sexy.

Wearing a red ribbon around your waist for sexual seduction enhancement. You may use red string and incorporate knot magic, or a red gather belt, or regular belt. Something red around your waist, essentially.

In sex magic, you'll want to stir counter-clockwise. This is to invoke passion and vigour in your sex life. While clockwise is the opposite and lessens the libido. You may also think of it as counter-clockwise for deviance and clockwise for "vanilla".

Stir near your thighs and genitals to enhance success and better sex.

Stir near your heart for romantic love.

The hair off of someone's head is often used in love spells to draw them near you and make them love you. However, if you acquire their pubic hair, more sexual and aroused feelings will be invoked.

Use your sexual bodily fluids to charge and enchant sigils and other objects.

Use menstrual blood to enhance love spells. Are you someone who do not bleed like me? Worry not! Prick your ring finger, preferably that of the left (unless you're married, then that of the right) and the blood will have a similar effect to that of menstrual blood.

Are your love spells not working on your lover? Acquire a piece of their hair and let gentle water drip on ti it continually and the resistance should wear off. Sometimes your lover may even be cursed with lack of sexual performances, so bathing in iron would help or eating any of the aphrodisiac ingredients would help too.

It helps to be in the mindset when performing love and sex spells, so being aroused and excited for sex spells helps them perform better. Being in a romantic mood helps for love spells, so feed yourself well with cherries, peaches, and chocolate. As well as having your favourite adult toys out when doing sex magic or also warming yourself up and then performing sex magic.

That should be it, go out and have lots of good sex and love!

Excuse grammar mistake and spelling errors, English is not my first language.

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hel-looks · 8 months ago

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Juho, 20

“I’m wearing thrifted leather jacket, zip-up turtleneck and a Peak Performance bag. Shoes are from Rick Owens and the jeans are from NoFaith Studios. I take influences from many sub-cultures in an attempt to create my own style.”

3 February 2024, Fredrikinkatu

#hel looks #helsinki #style #vintage #clothes #vintage clothing #fashion

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silverskye13 · 3 months ago

Text

"There you are, Demon."

Evil X's voice came from everywhere and nowhere, a deep, resonant sound with a mechanical edge. The Demon, standing in his Colosseum box overlooking the sand, startled. His long, dragon-like elytra wings, repaired after his skirmish with Helsknight, shuddered briefly. The Demon forced a smile and uncrossed his arms from behind his back, trying to hide the sting to his pride at being snuck up on. He turned away from the window, searching the empty room for the voice's source. The shadows moved, light bending, and Evil X stepped into sight like the slow render of a distant horizon; all haze and shape and then sudden definition.

"You're playing a dangerous game." The robotic sovereign and admin of hels tilted his head slightly in a look of amusement, the movement punctuated by the wur and click of half a dozen mechanical parts. "Aren't you?"

Evil X was unassuming, as far as evils went. He was shorter than his brother, Evil Beezuma, which made him shorter than the Demon. Where Evil Beezuma was long and thin and axe-sharp, Evil X was broad and solid and square. Human sized, human shaped, but in the uncanny way of one who has sculpted himself to be perfectly so, piece by piece, as though he had to carefully study humanity in all its forms to settle on something that would pass. On first glance, he seemed so terribly normal it was almost inconvenient -- an easily dismissible mundanity. On second glance, once you noticed the intentionality of his design, he implied power so profound, and actions so calculated, it bordered on the god-like.

∆ The Demon couldn't help but be envious, any more than a moth could help its desire for light and heat. ∆

The Demon bowed low, tail curling nimbly around his ankles, an attempt to appear humble. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Majesty?"

"Amusement," Evil X answered simply, ignoring the formality. He hummed tunelessly as he moved to join the Demon by the window. "Curiosity."

Evil X peered down at the sand far below them, the ruby light from his pixelated screen of a mask aligning itself into a bored expression. He braced his hands on the windowsill, the thick, knobbled joints deceptively dextrous as they curled around the edge. All the mechanical pieces that made up Evil X's robotic body were brutal in their display, unyielding and utilitarian. It was the kind of grim mechanics the Demon might expect to see in a factory; dark oil, black hinges and unyielding jaws. There was a heft to Evil X's movements that implied wrought iron and tempered steel, where Evil Beezuma was a creature of lighter metals -- aluminums and titaniums. Still heavy, but in comparison to the sovereign of hels, he was all bird bones.

∆ The Demon could imagine every hinge and servo in Evil X's powerful grip locking around someone's hand and crushing it with simple ease, the same way he might crush an eggshell in his fist. ∆

"You've upset my brother," Evil X said, not looking up at the Demon. There were fighters on the sand far below -- not a Colosseum Match, though the date for the next one was swiftly approaching. They were training, getting ready. The Demon had taken to watching, revelling in the performative struggles in the sand, knowing they were there because of him. "He thinks you've rigged the next match."

"I'm sorry he thinks so," the Demon said, his voice a cautious smile, obeisant. He needed to feel this conversation out, dance with the danger of it, to determine his odds. There was a thrill of fear and adrenaline in his chest, as intense as the pressure in the End. "I was merely trying to craft a compelling show."

"No you weren't," Evil X said flatly, his tone bored. "How many sponsors and show writers did you have to bribe to force the Champion into such a disadvantage?"

The Demon wisely kept his mouth shut, choosing instead to mirror Evil X's bored glare down at the sand. There was a flicker of red in the corner of the Demon's eye, the glimmer of reflected light on the glass as Evil X glanced in his direction.

"No, you would never stoop to bribery," Evil X hummed, as though agreeing with some unspoken statement. It made the Demon's skin crawl, a feeling like his thoughts were being plucked from his head. "Not when so many people owe you favors. Did you cash in terribly many? Seems a bit moot, given it should have only taken one."

The Demon snapped his gaze down to Evil X then, scrutinizing him with narrowed eyes. He said with forced civility, "I'm sure I don't know what you mean, sir."

"I've been downgraded to sir?" Evil X grinned, turning so his back was pressed against the glass, his arms crossed over his chest. "I liked Majesty better, I think."

The Demon smiled graciously -- and only in doing so realized he'd stopped smiling in the first place. He bowed stiffly, "My apologies, Majesty."

"Helsknight owes you a favor," Evil X said, smoothly ignoring both the bow and the title.

∆ A thorn of hurt pride stabbed itself deeper into the Demon's side. ∆

"Couldn't you have simply asked him to throw the match?" Evil X looked down as if to inspect his fingernails. He fidgeted with something on his wrist, tightening some gear with an audible click! "It would certainly be more direct than... whatever this mess is. I suppose you might be excited to show off just how much of hels is in the palm of your hand."

There was another audible click, and the mechanical hand snapped open. Firing redstone glimmered from seams in the plates of his arm, traveling up to the elbow in a series of popping noises. The Demon wrinkled his nose at the sudden biting smell of redstone. It took him a moment to realize Evil X expected an answer.

"The, ahm direct approach wouldn't work," the Demon said at length, crossing his arms behind his back again. "Helsknight isn't what I'm after."

"An example, then?"

"Not exactly."

"Cryptic."

"I feel its in my best interest."

Evil X opened and closed his hand, flexing joints that were suddenly much stiffer than they had been before... whatever he'd done. The fingers opened and closed in stiff, jerking motions -- something that reminded the Demon somewhat squeamishly of a vice. The image of crushing eggshells came back to the forefront of his mind, unbidden.

"Oh relax, Demon. I'm not here to punish you," Evil X chuckled, a deep, resonant sound like the clatter of metal. "I'm simply admiring your work."

"My work?" The Demon asked cautiously.

"I used to love playing these games," Evil X sighed wistfully, turning again so he faced the glass. He straightened each individual digit on his hand, those harsh, snapping motions looking almost painful. "It's... Difficult showing people you mean business when death has so little sting."

Evil X rested a fingertip against the glass, as if he meant to scrub away some imperfection there. The glass wasn't completely clear -- it was very subtly tinted yellow, a color the Demon had chosen intentionally. He had always loved motifs of gold and glamor. It was one of the few things about his Hermit he allowed himself to keep.

"The Universe is cruel," Evil X monologued, his gaze focused on the point where his finger met the glass. "But eight, nine times out of ten, we still respawn as if it weren't. Hels is scarce, but not so scarce that losing something means it's impossible to replace. At least, not for people like you and Helsknight, who have wealth and power, and a healthy amount of fear ascribed to your names."

∆ The Demon found it interesting that Evil X didn't include himself in that statement -- did he not consider himself as someone with wealth, power and fear? Perhaps he did, and was simply aware he was far out of anyone else's league. ∆

"So then, how do you truly threaten someone, when the world is so forgiving?" Evil X asked the glass, gaze still intent on that point his finger rested against. "The direct approach has its merits -- death and maiming are always unpleasant. And even though the body returns whole, the mind takes time to recover."

Unease tiptoed along the Demon's spine. A noise made it to him, a quiet groan of stress, oddly sharp, something straining in its casing. The bite of redstone stung the Demon's nose again.

"Sir?"

"But you're clever. The direct approach is too straightforward and barbaric for people like you. So, you build a web."

The glass fractured, suddenly and without warning. Webbed lines spidered out from Evil X's fingertip, focused on the point of contact. It startled the Demon back a step, half-expecting Evil X's hand to crash the rest of the way through, but it didn't. The fracture stopped after the initial break, four odd nearly-concentric circles streaked by smaller perpendicular breaks, very much like a spider's web. Evil X laughed, quick and sharp, almost surprised.

"I got bored of the web making ages ago, and even if I hadn't, I promised my brother I wouldn't meddle in his business. But I do admire good craftsmanship when I see it." There was a click! somewhere in the mechanical pieces in Evil X's wrist as he pressed harder against the fracture he made. The glass broke further, more cracks spiraling out from the source; a larger web. "I was once quite good at it -- building them, and reading the lines. Care to let me guess at yours, Demon?"

He tilted his head in the Demon's direction, the red light from his eyes reflecting in a dozen different facets of cracked glass. The Demon clenched his fists at his sides, and it was an act of will not to take another wary step back.

"The knight is a sacrifice," Evil X hummed, another crack shooting out from his fingertip to spiral across the golden glass. "It's what they're made for, really. I don't play chess -- do you? I know the knight is a deceptively mobile piece, and a crowd favorite, for how pretty it is, but it's movements are complicated and, all bound up with invisible rules. It will never be the most important piece on the board, but it will content itself with being useful. I'm sure he'll be flattered when he figures out he's a means to an end. Knights like that kind of thing."

Another crack, this one spearing sharply to the far edge of the window pane. The whole window shuddered with its violence.

The Demon lurched forward, all previous attempts to appear calm and unbothered forgotten. He almost grabbed Evil X's shoulder to pull him away -- almost. The heat stopped him. Evil X's machinery, either by convention or design, radiated heat like a burning brand. The sudden fear that touching the metal would scald him drew his hand up short.

"Stop that," the Demon hissed, glaring up at the shattering window, so he wouldn't have to witness Evil X's smirk.

"Stop what? This?" Evil X chuckled, another long crack shattering out to touch the top of the window.

"Yes, that!"

"Why?"

"Because it's--"

"--yours?"

Evil X laughed again, and much to the Demon's relief, he removed his hand from the glass. Evil X bared his wrist, fiddling with whatever knob or screw he'd tightened earlier. One by one, the robotic fingers relaxed again, moving much more like a hand was expected to. Evil X clenched and unclenched his fist experimentally.

"The little thief that's found itself in Helsknight's shadow. That's what you're after," Evil X hummed. "I admit, I only know he exists because I know what my brother knows. I assume he stole something from you?"

"What's it to you?" The Demon growled, his wings ruffling uncomfortably.

"Like I said, I admire your craftsmanship." Evil X reached forward and flicked the broken window with a metal finger. The weakened glass shuddered, one jagged shard popping free of the network of webbed cracks. Evil X caught it deftly. "I got bored of this kind of cloak-and-dagger thing ages ago, but I do still understand the allure."

On the words "cloak-and-dagger", Evil X rolled the glass over his knuckles, the jagged shard flickering in the low light in a way that reminded the Demon of the flash of a drawn blade.

"If you're so... Bored by this nonsense," the Demon gestured to the broken glass, "then why--?"

"This isn't web-weaving," Evil X chuckled. "I prefer the direct approach."

The Demon narrowed his eyes. "Then, directly, tell me why you're here."

∆ He did not say "Your Majesty." He thought if he demeaned himself to Evil X again, he might tempt himself to violence, and Evil X was the sovereign of hels, and there were some fights the Demon knew he could not win. ∆

Evil X smirked. It was in the way the red lights of his eyes narrowed, and the way he dipped his head, amused.

"You have a blind spot, Demon," Evil X said. "This web you're weaving -- you've forgotten something very important."

Nervousness thrilled its way down the Demon's spine again.

"What am I missing?"

"Now, where would all the fun for me be, if I told you all the answers?"

The Demon snorted and crossed his arms. He considered, briefly, making himself look bigger. More intimidating. He didn't think it would work, but it would make him feel better at least. Less bullied.

"You are doing a lot of meddling in the Colosseum," Evil X said, tapping the glass again. The window shook, but no other jagged pieces fell free. One of the cracks widened threateningly. "Walking around like you own the place, leaving messes everywhere."

The Demon bared his teeth in his closest approximation of a smile, "I'm well aware the Colosseum isn't mine. It belongs to you, of course."

Evil X laughed, sharp and biting and scornful. "You're sorely mistaken, Demon. I wouldn't dream of calling the Colosseum mine."

"You're worried the knight will take offense to my meddling?" The Demon huffed. "By my reckoning, he's too busy with his own shortsightedness to bother--"

"Gods above and below," Evil X sighed. He leaned in close to the window, blazing the shattered lines in bloody hues. The Demon watched him warily, and then stepped forward to look down at the sand. Far, far below them, the fighters still trained. One in particular meandered among them, offering advice and correcting form.

"Beware, Demon, as you weave your web." Evil X hummed, his voice so low, so close to the glass, it nearly seemed to shake the shattered panes. "Some wasps eat spiders."

"Your brother?" The Demon said, trying to keep his skepticism from his voice.

"My brother," Evil X agreed, flickering that broken glass over his knuckles again in a flourish, "is quite protective of his Colosseum. And as I said, Demon, I have promised not to meddle in his affairs."

"Aren't you meddling now?"

"No, this is a warning, from someone who appreciates the craftsmanship in a well-spun web." Their gazes met, Evil X radiating heat and smoke like breath. "If he does something to you Demon, I won't intervene. He's the nice one -- but he still has Evil in his name, doesn't he?"

Evil X smiled. He reached out gently to pluck a small piece of glass from where it had fallen on the Demon's shoulder, so small it looked like glitter. The Demon had to force himself not to recoil from the touch, from the scald of hot metal so intense it had its own smell; flint and oil and redstone.

Evil X flicked the piece of glass away, the smooth mask of boredom slipping back over his mechanical features, "I'll be interested to see what you choose to do, in any case. Gods know it gets boring enough in hels. Too many rats, not enough races."

"Then change it," the Demon snapped, his pride and temper bristling in tandem. The implication that he was just one more game for a bored god stung.

∆ He was quite sure it was meant to sting. ∆

"No, I don't think I will." Evil X shrugged, sauntering towards the door that led from the Demon's box to the long hall beyond. "I'm quite content watching events unfold as they want."

He opened the door and grinned back at the Demon, "Once you get so good at these games, they stop being fun. Entertain me though, and I might make you my protege."

"I don't need your patronage," the Demon hissed.

"Sure you don't," Evil X chuckled. He flicked his hand, that shard of glass he'd taken flickering through the room like a knifepoint. It hit the cracked pane of glass, and with a shriek, it shattered. The Demon sprang back from the waterfall of sharpened points, watching the golden cascade tumble across the floor. One of the pieces cut him, but he only knew it by the itching trickle of blood that ran down his arm long minutes later.

"That was unnecessary," EB groused that evening, when Evil X descended the long stairs to his cell. "I don't need you sticking up for me. I don't want you sticking up for me."

"Sticking up for you?" Evil X laughed. "Darling baby brother, I don't stick up for anybody."

He ducked the swat EB aimed in his direction. EB didn't try to hit him again -- yet.

"I was just making sure I still leave an impression." Evil X grinned. "And I still got it. You can bill me for the glass, if you like."

"I will." EB snapped a hand forward, and Evil X let himself be caught. "Stop breaking my Colosseum, X." EB towered, and shoved, and Evil X felt the wall divot behind him from the strength of the push. "You can break everything else in hels, playing around, but this is--"

"Yes yes, it's yours," Evil X conceded, prying EB's hand off his chest. "Lighten up, you're supposed to be the nice one."

EB looked away from him, buzzing a long, unintelligible stream of noise.

"Language."

"You were meddling."

"If I were meddling, there would have been TNT involved." Evil X sobered just a bit. "And I wouldn't be telling you."

"He's impulsive, EX," EB sighed, running a hand down his face. "He's impulsive, and you threatened him."

"And I can't wait to see what he does," Evil X chuckled, rubbing his hands together conspiratorially. "Impulsive people make truly spectacular decisions when they're threatened."

"Not in my Colosseum!"

"And if he does?" Evil X grinned. "I can't wait to see what you do either." He rapped a knuckle against EB's chest, and chuckled at the resonance. "Live up to your name for once. You make me look soft."

He ducked another of EB's swats, cackling, and vanished. It took long minutes for the lights in the room to bleed away the red tinge that seemed to follow in Evil X's wake.

"I liked you better when you were busy with Hermitcraft," EB grumbled to the empty room. "You're a terror when you're bored."

#rns ficlets #redstone and skulk #evil x #evil beezuma #evil xisuma #the demon #hels!impulse #i should be doing literally anything besides this

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vivwritesfics · 8 months ago

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Jester Stole His Thorny Crown

Chapter Ten

He never had a choice in his life. His dreams were nothing more that that. Dreams. But then he met a lounge singer at his brother club and everything changed.

Mafia!Au

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warnings: smut! oral (fem!receiving)! p in v! this chapter is just porn lmao! unprotected

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She couldn't help but feel ridiculous as she looked in the mirror. The pretty green lingerie adorned her body, the small bows in the centre of both pieces making it perfect. To cover that up was a silk robe.

Charles wasn't going to know what hit him.

But she turned away from her mirror before doubt could creep in and make her change. She looked damn sexy, and that was what mattered.

Tying her robe shut, she anxiously waited. Her apartment was so tidy and clean; she'd spent the morning, before her performance, obsessively cleaning for this moment.

And now it was here.

Charles hadn't been at her performance that night. She knew that, he'd let her know ahead of time that he was busy. But he had also promised to make it up to her.

That was why she was waiting, sitting on the arm of her sofa. She felt sick with anxiety as she fiddled with the bottom of her silk robe. Could he please hurry up? Or, at least tell her that he wasn't coming so she could get changed, crawl under her bed covers and never be seen again.

There was a knock at her door.

With her heart in her throat, she walked towards the door. She looked into the peephole and pulled it open.

"Hel-oh my God."

In the doorway, Charles paused. He had flowers in his hands, but they were gone as he looked at her, watching her robe fall open. His eyes roamed until they met her own.

And then he strode forward, kicked the door shut behind him and placed the flowers on the dresser by the door. "You look so fucking good," he said as he strode forward.

He pressed his lips to her own, hands reaching inside of the silk robe. Warm to the touch, his fingers moved over her skin, over her sides, up her back and then down to her ass.

But that wasn't what she was focusing on. No, she was entirely fixed on the way he was kissing her. He walked her back, lips never leaving hers as his tongue touched her bottom lip, tasting her flavoured lip gloss.

"Chérie, was this all for me?" He asked against her lips, pushing the robe to the floor.

When her legs met the back of the sofa she sat, pulling him down with her. "All for you, Charles," she whispered as she laid herself down. His body was on top of her, her arms around his neck, keeping him close. "All for you."

His fingers met the material of her bra and a groan left his lips. Head falling forward, he kissed her chest. "This set is incredibly pretty, but I might have to tear it off."

"Don't you dare!" She cried, reaching back to unclasp her bra.

But Charles stopped her. He caught her hand and held them above her head. Even when he sat back to admire her, she kept her arms above her head. "Fuck," he groaned, and began shedding his own clothes.

Unbuttoning his shirt, he dropped it to the floor and leaned forward to return his lips to her skin. Every touch had her moaning and whining. Every touch had her crying out for him, gasping out his name.

It was music to his ears, but not echoing around her living room. "Come on," he whispered as he took her hand and pulled her up from the sofa. She took on step but didn't make it too far before she was in his arms, legs wrapped around him as he attempted to carry her to the bedroom.

And I say attempted because Charles wasn't looking where he was going. How could he? When he had this sweet thing hanging onto him?

They bumped into a few walls on their way, but neither of them much cared, giggling against each others lips. Finally, Charles walked into her bedroom and dropped her onto the bed.

Even then, seeing her between the sheets, it was something new to admire, had him wanting to reach for his phone, to snap a picture.

He sucked in a breath and dropped to his knees.

She never thought she'd see the day, where Charles Leclerc, one of Monaco's rulers, essentially, got to his knees in front of her. He kissed the inside of her ankle and along her leg, until he met her thigh.

When his teeth met the soft flesh of her thigh, she let out a gasp. It wasn't a proper bite, didn't hurt. But, God, she loved it. Her hands were in his hair, tugging.

"Sure I can't tear these?" He asked, and she stopped her whining long enough to gasp out a "No."

She'd expected him to gently pull them down her legs, to deposit them on the floor. But this was a desperate man. He just had to get his lips on her.

He pushed her underwear to the side. Keeping it on her body, snapping the strap against her hip, he pushed the material to one side and dove in.

"Fuck!" She pitched forward, legs wrapping around his head, keeping him there.

He was like a man starved as he ate her out, licking and sucking at her folds. It was sloppy and messy, and he was loving every second of it. The noises he pulled from her as he payed attention to her clit, he could have listened to them over and over again for the rest of his life.

His hand was on his hip, the other coming to touch her. One finger at first, gently breaching her. He kept his lips on her clit as he thrust that single finger, testing her.

And then he added a second. Her moans, whines and cries only grew as he pushed his fingers inside of her. His name leaving her lips over and over again. She moved her head from side to side as he worked his magic.

When her legs began shaking around his head, Charles pulled away. He lifted his fingers to his lips, tasting her. "Fuck, chérie," he whispered, eyes shutting.

As he stood straighter, her legs came to wrap around her middle, refusing to let him go. He leaned over her and held his fingers to her lips, letting her taste herself. She couldn't stop herself from moaning.

"Charles," she cried, legs tightening around him. "Wanna suck you off."

He grinned, finally wrapping his fingers around the strap of her underwear, pulling them down from her hips. "Later, chérie, let me have you, first."

She couldn't much argue with that, could she?

Charles pulled her underwear down and dropped it to the floor. She pulled off her own bra and reached out, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him towards her. "I'm gonna give you such good head in Italy," she said with a grin, tongue poking between her teeth.

Naked beneath him, Charles admired her for the third time that night. He realised in that moment that he'd never stop admiring her, not if he could help it.

And then, as he cradled her head and pressed his lips against her own, he pushed inside of her.

There is something you have to understand about Charles Leclerc. He had never loved someone like this before. He'd had sex, but it was fast, to get the job done.

This, though? This was slow, sweet. He was hyper aware of her beneath him. She clawed at his back, and every rake of her nails down his skin had him moaning. He'd never been this vocal in sex before, attributing it to her and her alone.

The way she felt around him, the way she clenched around her, dragging him back in with every thrust. It wasn't fast, wasn't rushed, every thrust full of purpose.

His hands were beneath her breasts, thumbs running over her nipples. Her moans were no longer his name, incoherent. But Charles had her. And he wasn't going to let her go.

Her breath was short, cunt squeezing her cock. She was so close, he knew. And, when he finally pushed her over the edge, her body stopped.

Legs stopped shaking, body tights as she came. Her nails dug into his shoulder, but he didn't mind as he pushed her through it, helping her to ride it out. "I'm nearly there, chérie," he whispered as his forehead met hers.

She attached her lips to his own, with desperation that was bruising. He only sped up slightly as he got closer. Closer still until he was still, spilling inside of her.

For a moment he just kissed her, holding himself up on shaking arms as he kissed her with his cock still inside of her. No words were exchanged as he pulled out, watched himself dribble out of her cunt. He couldn't stop himself as he dragged his finger through the mess and stuffed it back in, but her pained, oversensitive cries.

"Okay, I'm sorry," he whispered, forehead against her own.

He scooped her into his arms, giving her a moment before he took her into the bathroom to get cleaned up. "Charles?" She squeaked against his chest as her fingers moved over his skin. He let out a hum, lips against her hair. "'m gonna make you see stars in Italy."

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usnatarchives · 10 months ago

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The WAVES of Change: Women's Valiant Service in World War II 🌊

When the tides of World War II swelled, an unprecedented wave of women stepped forward to serve their country, becoming an integral part of the U.S. Navy through the Women Accepted for Volunteer Emergency Service (WAVES) program. This initiative not only marked a pivotal moment in military history but also set the stage for the transformation of women's roles in the armed forces and society at large. The WAVES program, initiated in 1942, was a beacon of change, showcasing the strength, skill, and patriotism of American women during a time of global turmoil.

The inception of WAVES was a response to the urgent need for additional military personnel during World War II. With many American men deployed overseas, the United States faced a shortage of skilled workers to support naval operations on the home front. The WAVES program was spearheaded by figures such as Lieutenant Commander Mildred H. McAfee, the first woman commissioned as an officer in the U.S. Navy. Under her leadership, WAVES members were trained in various specialties, including communications, intelligence, supply, medicine, and logistics, proving that women could perform with as much competence and dedication as their male counterparts.

The impact of the WAVES program extended far beyond the war effort. Throughout their service, WAVES members faced and overcame significant societal and institutional challenges. At the time, the idea of women serving in the military was met with skepticism and resistance; however, the exemplary service of the WAVES shattered stereotypes and demonstrated the invaluable contributions women could make in traditionally male-dominated fields. Their work during the war not only contributed significantly to the Allies' victory but also laid the groundwork for the integration of women into the regular armed forces.

The legacy of the WAVES program is a testament to the courage and determination of the women who served. Their contributions went largely unrecognized for many years, but the program's impact on military and gender norms has been profound. The WAVES paved the way for future generations of women in the military, demonstrating that service and sacrifice know no gender. Today, women serve in all branches of the U.S. military, in roles ranging from combat positions to high-ranking officers, thanks in no small part to the trail blazed by the WAVES.

The WAVES program was more than just a wartime necessity; it was a watershed moment in the history of women's rights and military service. The women of WAVES not only supported the United States during a critical period but also propelled forward the conversation about gender equality in the armed forces and beyond. Their legacy is a reminder of the strength and resilience of women who rise to the challenge, breaking barriers and making waves in pursuit of a better world.

Read more: https://prologue.blogs.archives.gov/2023/11/06/historic-staff-spotlight-eunice-whyte-navy-veteran-of-both-world-wars/

#WAVES #Women’s History Month #Veterans #Women’s History #Military #U.S. Military #World War II

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bontentrio · 3 months ago

Text

ATEEZ AS TAYLOR SWIFT SONGS

[HYUNG LINE] (part 2 with maknae line will be uploaded soon!)

tw: fluff + suggestive in yunho’s part (+ possible spelling mistakes since english is not my first language)

a/n: i didn’t expect for my first post to get several reblogs and +100 likes so thank you! it motivated me to write this. i promise i’ll post maknae line soon<3 feel free to give me feedback (inbox open)

HONGJOONG - MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE

hongjoong truly loves touring, flying out from one city to another, finding new places and making new memories. he loves it. he also loves performing with his members in front of thousands of fans and seeing new faces every time he steps on a stage. nothing compares to that thrill he feels each time. but also, sometimes he finds himself longing for someone back home, someone who he cannot call “his” yet.

hongjoong knows you aren’t there. you are probably back home, either studying or going to work, or simply sitting in your comfortable hello kitty pjs he gifted you once for your birthday, probably watching a silly show you got recommended on tiktok. just by thinking about that scenario, he smiles, only for it to slowly fade moments later. he knows you aren’t there, yet he still searches for your face in the crowd. he searches for you when he goes around sightseeing in whatever city he is in. he searches for you when he’s back at the hotel, maybe you’re checking in. he knows you are not there, yet he always expects it to be you when someone knocks on his door.

hongjoong feels silly when these feelings hit, since you aren’t even “his” to call. how can he miss someone so much? you text every day, and facetime each time you are both available. yet he still longs for you, he misses the way you would slightly lean on him when you laugh at a joke he made, he misses the way you would huff in annoyance when something doesn’t go your way, he misses the way you would steal his clothes when you’re cold and the way you would always leave them nicely folded when you leave, despite him desperately wanting you to take a part of him with you.

hongjoong debated many times on whether he should tell you about his feelings or not. truth is, he is terrified, terrified to reach for you and be left hanging because you don’t reciprocate his feelings. so, he did the things he knows best: he wrote you a song. for now, he will put every single part of his soul into the lyrics, letting himself wander into different scenarios where he is the one that you dream about and also the one who’s the reason you can’t sleep at night.

hongjoong doesn’t know whether he will show you the song or not, but if he ever gets the courage to do so, he hopes the feelings get to you.

SEONGHWA - ENCHANTED

seonghwa found himself staring boringly at the people around him: people from different groups, managers and event staff. some were finding their seats at the venue, others were still posing for photographs and the staff were moving around back and forth to get the final touches ready for when the awards show aired. meanwhile, ateez was waiting by the door for someone to guide them to their seats. he enjoyed these events, really, but tonight he was feeling a little bit more introverted, wanting to spend the night in his pjs and build the new star wars lego setup he bought recently, probably on live for atiny to see. so definitely not at an awards show with hundreds of cameras that followed his every move, filled with fake people and their fake smiles.

seonghwa heard a stern voice behind him, probably from one of the staff members: “wait here, you’ll be guided to your seats after them”, the voice instructed. he wasn’t even going to turn around to check what group was behind them, he simply didn’t feel like making socials tonight. that was, until he heard something that caught him off guard: “is it too late to leave, manager?”, the voice said, giggling by the end of the phrase as to signal that it was, obviously, a joke.

seonghwa couldn’t help but turn around. he saw you, smiling at your manager with mischief covering your face, while also emanating the most beautiful aura he has ever seen. don’t ask him to explain, but he just knew at that very first second, that you were definitely something else. i mean, he wasn’t even sure he believed in auras, yet he was convinced he saw you shine beautifully, and it wasn’t because of the sparkly outfit you were wearing.

seonghwa caught your manager looking at him nervously and tapped your shoulder lightly: “y/n don’t joke like that! someone will think you are serious” they said. you proceeded to follow your manager’s eyes, then interlocked your eyes with seonghwa and smiled. and he swore his heart stopped for a second. “but i am serious manager!” you exclaimed, turning back to them. your manager sighed in defeat, muttering something along the lines of “please behave” with a faint smile. they were probably used to your playfulness.

seonghwa didn’t know what possessed him next: “you’re not the only one” he said, chuckling slightly. you laughed, turning back to your manager, “see?” you asked, causing them to roll their eyes and go back to check on the rest of the members of your group. your eyes interlocked again, and he felt his heartbeat accelerate. “have we met before?” he asked suddenly. “i don’t think so, this is our first awards show since our debut” you replied, followed by a “that’s why i want to leave, i’m too nervous”.

seonghwa realized that you were very easy and fun to talk to, and that time went by too fast: the staff member came back and asked ateez to follow him to their seats. “i’ll see you around?” he asked, turning his head back at you, waiting for a response. you nodded, a faint blush covering your cheeks. “cool, pleasure to meet you”, he said, biting his lip to suppress a smile, and turning around to follow his members.

seonghwa was glad he came to the awards show, he got to meet you after all. you got seated on the opposite side of ateez, much to his disadvantage, yet he still managed to interlock eyes with you throughout the night. by the end of it, he just knew his thoughts will echo your name for a while, at least until he sees you again.

YUNHO - GUILTY AS SIN?

yunho was sure he was going insane, or maybe he was already insane and only now took notice of it. either way, he was sure of one thing: he could not get you out of his mind. no matter what he did, scenarios of you plagued his mind, scenarios that in fact, did not happen. sure, he had seen you earlier that day when you met him at a new cat cafe that opened nearby, and the conversations you had were friendly and pleasant. definitely didn’t go along the lines of the visions that kept appearing inside his mind.

yunho was entranced by the way your lips moved while talking, occasionally biting your lower one when caught thinking about something. he also took notice of the way your lipstick went fading every time you took a sip of your coffee, and how the stain mark on the cup grew more prominent each time. and now he could not stop thinking about it. specifically kept picturing the way your lipstick would stain his skin, from his lips all the way to his neck and collarbones. he believes the color would definitely suit him. he kept imagining the way your lips would move against his own, and how he would wrap his hands around your thighs to pull you up, caging you between the wall and himself.

yunho couldn’t help but feel extremely sinful, especially when neither of you acted in a flirtatious way earlier that day. maybe he was going bad, or mad, or maybe even wise, because even though nothing ever happened, he still felt something going on between you two. was it a sin to desire you the way he did? he craved for you, not only physically, but also emotionally. nobody understood him like you did, nobody mirrored him the way you did. were you also in your room, thinking about him? with your bedhseets ablaze like his? screaming his name like he imagined you to do so?

yunho knew there was no turning back now, he fell into a pit of longing and desire he could not crawl back from. he wanted you in every way possible: physically, emotionally, spiritually. scratch that, he needed you, all of you. he needed you close, fuck you while he kissed away your tear stained cheeks and then hold you as close as he could, whispering sweet nothings while caressing your back as you both slowly drifted to sleep. he needed to wake up next to you and see how the soft rays of sunlight hit your beautiful face, making him wonder what he did to deserve such an angel.

yunho would choose you and him, anyday, anytime, anywhere, religiously, simply because of the way you have haunted his mind ever since he met you all those years before. and he was certain that even if your relationship changed, he would still crave you the way he did now. he was certain you would forever haunt him.

YEOSANG - I’M ONLY ME WHEN I’M WITH YOU

yeosang watched you from across the room, you were drying your hair while wearing one of his shirts, freshly out of the shower. you caught his eyes from your spot in front of the mirror, put down the hair dryer and walked towards him with a small smile. he was sitting on the bed, with the tv remote on his hand, waiting you to finish so you both could start movie night. the bed dipped a bit from your weight as you got closer to him, kissed him and then went back to your spot to continue drying your hair. no words exchanged, you just knew he wanted to kiss you.

yeosang knew everything about you, from the way you liked your coffee in the mornings to the position you felt most comfortable to sleep in. he knew you like the back of his hand, as much as he knew himself. “do you think we are together in every universe?” you had asked him one time, while you both looked at the city lights from the top floor of the hotel you were staying at. he immediately replied “of course”, while pulling you closer to him. that’s the moment he realized he could not picture a life without you, and it didn’t matter how successful he would become, he would not want any of that if you weren’t there. “i think so too, yeo” you muttered before kissing his cheek.

yeosang always knew that all kinds of relationships were not sunshines and rainbows, sometimes it rained too. you didn’t fight often, but when you did, it often escalated to shouting and loud banging of doors. the good thing is that fights never last long since usually one of you would give in, not being able to take putting the other in pain. for yeosang specifically, he would feel like the worst person on earth the second he sees a tear fall down your cheek. he would immediately rush to your side, hold your face close to his and close his eyes, muttering a low apology. other times he would just hug you and let you cry your eyes out on his chest, while feeling his heart break slowly. “you drive me crazy” he would confess. you would glance up to him, and say “you drive me crazy, too”. “i know”.

yeosang knew better than to hide his feelings, secrets and fears from you. you knew exactly when something was up, and would not back down until he told you his worries. you would take his hand and walk him to your shared bed, laying down and pulling him to lay his head on your chest. you would brush his hair with your fingers, and down the back of his neck to his waist. something only you knew would comfort him. “today was hard” he would start, earning a low hum from you, signalling that you were paying attention to his words. he would tell you all about his exhausting day and about how mentally draining it is sometimes to have to interact with a lot of people, not being able to make a single mistake.

yeosang knew you were his safe place, someone he could run to for anything, no matter the situation. you were his partner, his best friend, his soulmate. “sometimes i feel like i’m who i wanna be when i’m with you, like i’m the truest version of myself when we’re together” you had told him once. and he knew, right then and there, that you felt the same way as he did.

#ateez x reader #ateez headcanons #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong imagines #hongjoong scenarios #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa imagines #seonghwa scenarios #yunho x reader #yunho imagines #yunho scenarios #yeosang x reader #yeosang imagines #yeosang scenarios

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harleehazbinfics · 11 months ago

Text

Home is where my heart is.

Chapter 5: Happy Hotel Table of Contents | Profile

Word Count: 2032

“—so ladies and gentlemen, I’m opening the first of his kind! A hotel that rehabilitates sinners!”

I give an amused hum looking at the TV then commenting, “Well, isn’t that something, hun?”

“Indeed so. How about we introduce ourselves later, sweetheart?” he mentions somewhat mysteriously holding the small of my back.

“Wow, look at you, perking up all of a sudden,” I said looking at him surprised, but he just raises an eyebrow at me, I shrugged and continued, “Well, you know. You just seem so disinterested in these matters concerning others, especially angels before.”

He laughs and replies, “Well, over the years of toppling overlords, angels seem to be the most troublesome bunch for now. Not to say I’d lose to those pesky flies from heaven.”

I nodded my head finding reason in his explanation. “That’s fair enough. Though, things have changed since you’ve been gone, Al. Even I’m attending those annoying meetings for you,” I complained.

“I apologize, my dear,” he coddled, “I know how fussy you get when you go for long without me.”

I gasped dramatically hand over my chest, “Me? Fussy? Should I mention that you would literally drag down a person that was just talking to me?”

“Oh, please. He was very clearly trying to hit on you, and you’re too nice to even turn them down, sweetheart,” he rebuts rolling his eyes.

“I could’ve handled it myself,” I harrumphed cheekily turning my cheek at him.

“Of course you would have, my darling,” he dismisses me playfully.

I scrunched my face at him which he only responded with a pinch on my nose playfully with a genuine smile on his face. I turn to face some demons who were charging at us, no doubt some of Mammon’s goons who accepted the job for some drugs, I sighed and waved my hand over their figures and watched as water appears and jets them off to the side. Tightening my hands into a fist encasing them in water to drown in, leaving them there.

“See. Very powerful,” I told my husband gesturing at the drowning fools that stopped releasing water bubbles from their mouth.

“Seems like you’ve also been busy for these 7 years apart,” he mentions.

“I’d rather not talk about it,” I glared off the side annoyed.

We appeared on the hill where this hotel that the princess of hell advertised earlier. My heart clenched when I hear her trying to call her mom wondering if Abby did as much when I disappeared so suddenly. She goes inside without noticing us.

Al, being the gentleman he was, knocked on the door first.

“Hel—” slam “—oh” slam

“Pff, you scared the poor thing,” I laughed at him crossing my arms. He pinches my cheek then turns back to the door.

“May I speak now?”

“You may,” she elongates crossing her arms trying to be authoritative making me chuckle at how cute she was.

“Alastor! Pleasure to be meeting you, sweetheart! Quite the pleasure. This is my wife, Miledy,” he introduced the both of us while he walks right in through the door, and continues rapidly, “Excuse our sudden visit but we saw your fiasco at the picture show, and I just couldn’t resist! What a performance! My I haven’t been that entertained since the stock market crash of 1929! Hahaha! So many orphans...”

I raise my eyebrow at him, then realizing he really doesn’t care much for other people’s well-beings if it was our family. I’m pretty sure he misses Abigail to this day.

“Hi, I’m Miledy. Aren’t you the cutest?” I cooed pinching her cheek dotingly. She awkwardly laughs at my actions and waits for me to pull away from which I did, seeing how polite the daughter of hell is. “Sorry about him.”

“Stop. Right. There!” a spear pointed at Alastor making both Charlie and I’s eyes widen at the aggression. “I know your game. I’m not gonna let you hurt anyone here! You pompous, cheesy, talk show shit-lord!”

He laughs drily and moves the spear away, “Dear, I wanted to hurt anyone here... I would have done so already.”

They back away frightened at Alastor’s intimidation the room changing, symbols and shadows flickering in the room while his eyes turned into their infamous stare.

“No! I’m here because I wanted to help!” he exclaimed.

“Say what now?” “Huh?”

“Help!”

I let him do his theatrics while I moved around looking at pictures framed on the wall finding many paintings of the Morningstar family, some probably with their close friends, and many posters of Lilith’s shows.

“So, who’s fish breath over here?”

“I beg your pardon?” I turned to the voice and met eyes with a pink spider sinner adapting a very... voluminous form.

“What’s the deal between you and smiles over there?” he asked jabbing his thumb at Al’s direction.

I just smiled at him and said nothing while the little lady asks, “Wait, you’ve never heard of them before? You’ve been here longer than me.” He shrugs making her continue, “The Radio Demon, The Siren? Two of the most powerful being’s hell has ever seen?”

“Eh, not big on politics,” he gives up slumping back on the couch where I sat next to him, much to his comfort.

“Hmm, I’d like to know how the masses see us,” I mused placing my chin on my hand curiously.

She bites back a groan and explains, “Decades ago, Alastor manifested in Hell, seemingly overnight. He began to topple Overlords who have been dominant for centuries. He and the Siren always worked together, always one without the other. She had the voice that only second to Lilith herself. That kind of raw power had never been harnessed by a mortal soul before. Then, he broadcast their carnage all throughout Hell just so everyone could witness their ability. Sinners started calling him "The Radio Demon" (as lazy as that is). Many have speculated what unimaginable force enabled him to rival our world's most ancient and destructive evils. But one thing's for sure: They’re an unpredictable source of danger, a wicked spirit of mystery, and a violent monster of chaos, the likes of which we can't risk getting involved with unless we want to end up erased!”

“Interesting,” I commented with a grin grazing my eyes over at Alastor.

“You done? He looks like a strawberry pimp,” he laughs looking back the pair.

She huffs then crosses her arms and answers, “Well, I don’t trust him!”

“To be fair, do you trust any man? Any men? Men?” he chides then laughing making the woman glare at her while I just stared at the both of them, my head resting on both my hands now finding their exchange fun.

I appeared beside Al as he waited for Charlie to decide, “Why are you suddenly invested in the princess?”

He shrugs and gives me a lazy grin and answers, “Well, it seems like fun.”

“Rightt,” I drawled out not asking him further, he may be like this in public, but I know he doesn’t do anything unless it favors him.

“Okay, so, Al. You're sketchy as fuck and you clearly see what I'm trying to do here as a joke.” She pauses, “But, I don't. I think everyone deserves a chance to prove they can be better. So, I'm taking your offer to help. On the condition that there be no... tricks or voodoo strings attached.”

“So, it's a deal, then?” he offers holding out his hand to take as the room glowed green and wind blowing past us.

“Nope! No shaking! No deals! I... hmm... As princess of Hell and heir to the throne, I, uh, hereby order that you help with this hotel. For as long as you desire,” she orders politely as Alastor fixes up his hair, “Sound fair?”

“Hmm... Fair enough!” He hums as he inspects the room.

“Smile, my dear! You know you're never fully dressed without one!” he teases Vaggie wiggling his finger under her chin to annoy her. “So where is your hotel staff?”

“Uh, well-.”

“Ohohoho, you're going to need more than that,” he remarks walking towards the pink spider, “And what can you do, my effeminate fellow?”

“I can suck your dick!” he offers enthusiastically.

“HAH! No,” Al denies immediately while I gave the spider a harsh glare, a few of my water demons popping out of the ground menacingly making him whimper.

“You know what? I changed my mind!” he states awkwardly trying to save his skin.

“Well, this just won't do!” Al yells summoning his staff, “I suppose I can cash in a few favors to liven things up.”

He conjures up a nice fireplace and lifts up a black blob with a big eye, dropping it to the ground.

“Hi, I'm Niffty! It's nice to meet you! It's been a while since I've made new friends!” he introduces, “Why're you all women? Are there any men here?! I'm sorry, that's rude. Oooh, man! This place is filthy! It really needs a lady's touch! Which is weird because you're all ladies, no offense. Oh, my gosh! This is awful! Nope! Nope! Nope! Nope! Nope!”

When Nifty walks past me I give her a pet on the head with a smile which she enjoyed, as Husker arrives along with a casino table.

“Ah, Husker, my good friend! Glad you could make it!”

“Don't you "Husker" me, you son of a bitch! I was about to win the whole damn pot!” he yells and facepalms when the money disappears.

“Good to see you too!” he replies clearly enjoying annoying Husk.

“What the hell do you want with me this time...?” he sighs defeated.

“My friend, I am doing some charity work, so I took it upon myself to volunteer your services! I hope that's okay!”

“Are you shittin' me?!”

“Hmm... No, I don't think so!”

“You thought it'd be some kind of big fucking riot just to pull me out of nowhere?! You think I'm some kind of fucking clown?!”

“Maybe!”

“I ain't doing no fucking charity job.”

“Well, I figured you would be the perfect face to man the front desk of this fine establishment!” he says summoning a bar, “With your charming smile and welcoming energy, this job was made for you! Don't worry my friend. I can make this more welcoming! ...If you wish.”

Husk stares at the bottle of cheap booze that Al summoned for him and exclaims, “What? You think you can buy me with a wink and some cheap booze?! ...Well, you can!”

Vaggie starts yelling while gesturing at the bar, “Hey, hey! Hey, hey, hey! No! No bar, no alcohol! This is supposed to be a place that discourages sin! Not some kind of mouth…brothel…man cave!”

Angel lunges at her effectively cutting her of and yells “SHUT UP! SHUT! UP! We are keeping this!”

“So, whaddaya think?” Al asks Charlie.

“This is amazing!” she answers happily rubbing her cheeks.

“It's... okay,” vaggie answers less enthusiastically while her arms crossed.

“Hahaha! This is going to be very entertaining!” Al pulls the three of us in and starts his little parody of the song Charlie sang that we listened to earlier.

“Hah! Well, well, well. Look who it is harboring the striped freak! We meet yet again, Alastor!” Sir Pentious greets valiantly making me smile.

Alastor only responds with, “Do I know you?”

He visibly deflates like a balloon and retaliates, “Oh, yes you do! And this time, I have the element of- SURPRISE! Ahaha! I'm so evil!”

With the power in Alastor’s hand he immediately shuts down Sir Pentious’ little parade. Summoning a portal of his black tendrils and smashing the blimp into bits. We watched as it was broken apart and him being thrashed around, making me feel bad for the poor guy.

“...Well, I'm starved! Who wants some Jambalaya? My mother once showed me a wonderful recipe for Jambalaya. In fact, it nearly killed her! Hahaha! You could say the kick was right out of Hell! Ohoho, I'm on a roll! Yes, sir! This is the start of some real changes down here! The game is set! Now... Stay tuned…”

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin angel dust #hazbin charlie #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin husk #hazbin lucifer #alastor x reader #hazbin vaggie #alastor x oc #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor

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