#hel performance

[hiding-under-the-willow]

AUGH I loved the new fic :3 very good eating it up. Question for you: is this Helsknight the same as RnS Helsknight? Obv they’re different interpretations of the same origin, but are they separate from each other? Could they meet, even

I feel like every fic I write with Helsknight I end up with a slightly different interpretation of him, there's like 10 different variations of him living rent free in my brain at any given time. On that note, I do not feel like I could do RnS Helsknight justice, Skye's version of Helsknight is just a completely different beast than my own even if we occasionally run up against similar themes and ideas. Love that guy I'd love to put him in situations but I do not think I could write him correctly 🙏

I was actually thinking of Evildoers Helsknight as being much closer to LaHoF Helsknight, i wanted to play a little bit with the idea of broken code that I introduced in that fic, what it might be like if that problem had been worse for Hels, and that early days anger after the cloning machine, and a thing i never got to about the universe playing jokes on players, commiting to bits they speak into existence (hence the cloning machine functioning when Beef specifically built it not to and functing in ways that aligned with the /way/ it was used etc etc there was maybe gonna be a throwaway line cub says that was vaguely watcher reference-y). That isn't to say Evildoers Helsknight /is/ LaHoF Hels, I wrote him fairly differently there than I think I would've if I'd specifically set out to write him as I did in lahof. He's kind of halfway between lahof hels and a different version for a fic idea I've got floating around atm. Bc my ass can not resist writing helsknight fics apparently

But anyways the 'could they meet' question is so funny to me we should just put as many different alternate universe versions of helsknight in a room as possible and let them loose to see what happens. I think half of them would kill each other with the hour.

[jizzlords]

on my 6,666th time of listening to house of asmodeus, i love that Ozzie doesn't ever touch Blitzø. he knows about the shit Fizz went through with Blitzø, how Fizz feels about him, and when they realize he's in the room - Ozzie lets Fizz go at it and do the verbal obliteration for Blitzø lmao.

INSTEAD, Ozzie calls out Stolas. even though he's above Stolas, they're equals compared to everyone else in the room :') Ozzie really said get his ass, babe, I got the other one. I love them.

[hel-phoenyx]

I was thinking about it and my villainous ocs/antagonists seem to fall into two archetypes

The broken child that commited atrocities, lacked terribly love while growing up and just wants someone who will understand them and put them back on the right path, showing them there is something besides hate, fear and suffering

And the absolute asshole with no redeeming qualities but DAMN THE SHOWMANSHIP

[eclipsecrowned]

i keep saying that my hel is androgynous, hel is not immediately clockable in terms of gender if she isn't performing high femininity in her mainverse, and i don't think some of y'all get the picture.

there are verses where they actually factually pass for a man without having any access to shapeshifting or illusions. there are verses where she so overlaps with a canon man that if you put her in his clothes people genuinely think that's a cis man. her fc is a very good idea of what she looks like but just decrease the feminine slider significantly, sharpen up some features, broaden that jawline --

[helielune]

there is nothing diagnosably wrong with me but i have logged into a single job application upwards of 10 times across five days because it keeps timing me out and i keep . allowing myself . to get sidetracked. before i submit it. rinse and repeat.

[northgazaupdates]

**EMERGENCY**

Saba, the infant daughter of a friend of mine, is critically ill in Gaza. She was born during the ongoing invasion, and has been plagued with health problems from birth. She is malnourished, and has been suffering from severe, constant diarrhea and vomiting for many weeks. My friend was able to take her to see a specialist in Gaza, who has performed special tests to be able to diagnose her. The tests are not complete yet, as testing capabilities in Gaza are minimal right now. And unfortunately, the diagnosis will probably be of limited use, as there are few to treat the condition due to the occupation’s sabotage of Gaza’s medical infrastructure.

For Saba to survive, she requires medication for her stomach problems, as well as a special diet. The cost of these things is exorbitant in Gaza due to the occupation, and Saba’s family requires direct support in order to afford the necessities that are keeping Saba alive. They have a GoFundMe to provide for their family’s needs, but it has received very little support.

Please help this baby girl survive genocide!!!

[sp0o0kylights]

“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.

[all-with-angel]

Stress test // Superhero!Sukuna

➤ Superhero!Sukuna x Gearmaker!Reader

➤ Deadlines are nipping at your heels and you haven't found yourself a willing test subject for your projects. As your last Hail Mary, you waltz into the training area and borrow the first person you see; Not knowing who exactly you had just made your test subject. Not like it matters to you.

➤ gn!reader, Sukuna being sukuna, cocky Sukuna humbled by reader, both are 20+, light injury, sfw, NOT PROOFREAD and I couldve probably done a better job but wtv we die like gojo

You haven’t slept in thirty hours.

You haven’t eaten anything other than energy bars and instant coffee in fourteen, and the last time you took a break was when a rogue drone had exploded and knocked you out for 16 minutes. Those were a good 16 minutes.

You’d love to take a rest, sleep until the world exploded even, but deadlines were looming over your head like a death knell, red marker on your calendar telling you ‘You’re screwed.’

You had ideas- God, you had way too many ideas. Building them was one thing, but that was the easiest part really. You could do that in your sleep, and frankly, probably had once or twice. No, the problem was testing them.

You needed raw data. Field stress levels, user performance under duress, energy thresholds when pushed to their uppermost limit. Simulated tests could only go so far. The board wanted grit. They wanted the real deal. The kind that said, “Yes, this will absolutely survive a villain launching a bus at your face.” or “Yes, this will hold up against the strength of Infinity.” (Like that's even possible)

And you couldn’t give that. How could you? You didn’t have teams of testers like the more known gadget makers, no, you had yourself and A.I. test dummies that started flirting with you if they weren’t reset every other week.

You were a genius. But what good is a genius without results?

You put on your best unwrinkled lab coat, shoved your tablet under one arm, slapped a fresh stim patch onto your neck, and marched your overworked ass down to the training floors of the facility. Academy, as the higher ups would say, but it was anything but that really.

You didn’t learn much here other than that most of your coworkers were stupid.

Today’s plan? 

Find the strongest idiot. Throw gadgets at them. Hope for the best.

Yeah. 

Yeah, that sounded good. You really were a genius. Or sleep deprived. You couldn’t tell.

The facility, of course, was always active. Training rooms were booked 24/7 by heroes, cadets, and the occasional egomaniac. As you stepped into the third hall, the sound of explosions- actual explosions- echoed down the corridor, followed by some deeply maniacal laughter.

Sounds like the strongest idiot to me.

You took a step into the viewing area, peering into the highly reinforced glass and observed. There was smoke everywhere, but it quickly dispersed to reveal your maybe test subject.

He looked pretty familiar. HawkTuna-something?

He stood there in a scorched tank top, hands on his hips, surrounded by sparking debris. Pink hair and red eyes, face tattoos. He looked more like a gangster than a hero.

You jogged your memory, as fucked as it was- and remembered some news broadcasting about a Hero that had more than half of his fights end with a building or two collapsing. You snapped your fingers when you remembered, “The King”. That was his hero name.

You recalled it from an interview, where he refused to be called anything other than that. Right, so he was a cocky fucker. You could work with that. 

A few minutes later, you found yourself at a vending machine right outside the training hall, buying yourself your nth energy drink today. Just as you grabbed the can from the machine, the mechanical doors of the training room opened. Out came walking the King, steps heavy but not rushed.

You straightened your lab coat, holding your tablet to your chest and energy drink in the other as you walked up to him. “Uh, excuse me?” You smiled politely. Holy hell, he was bigger up close.

“What?” He clicked his tongue, red eyes narrowing at you. “You better make this quick. I have things to do.”

“Would it be alright if I borrowed you for a little while? You see I need test subje-”

“Not interested.” He huffed, shoving past you.

Okay, rude. You stumbled to the side, head whipping in his already departing direction. You mentally debated whether pursuing an already bitchy test subject was worth it, before realizing that both your job and education was on the line. You let out a huff of frustration before running after his retreating figure.

“Hey! Wait! Um- Tuna guy? Suzuki, was it?”

He stopped abruptly, leading you to bump into his back face first. He didn’t even budge. Instead, he turned around, a scowl that would leave any sane person shaking in their boots. 

Unfortunately, you were not sane. At least not right now.

“Sukuna. It’s Sukuna.” He hissed at you.

“Oh right, yeah, Sukuna. Anyway-” You took a few steps back, clearing your throat before continuing. “I need to put my projects under stress tests so I need-”

“Don’t they have simulations for that?” He was tapping his foot, crossing his arms as he looked down on you. 

Okay, this guy seriously had to stop interrupting you. “Well uh, those can only go so far. And the board wants actual real life testing,” You answered. “Could you come up to the lab with me and test some of them? It’ll be quick. I promise. I just need to get my reports done before my deadline.”

“Why should I care?”

“Sorry?”

“I said why should I care?” Sukuna repeated. “You’re some nobody asking me for a favor when I’m supposed to be getting dinner. Who do you think you are talking to the future number 1, huh?” He leaned forward, looming over you with a scowl.

“The future number 1 hero?” You mused, staring right back at him. “I highly doubt that.” It hurt your neck to crane your neck this high, but you kept your voice from wavering.

“Tsk. Do you not even know who I am? What I’m capable of, brat?” He clicked his tongue, voice lowering into a growl as he glared, crimson eyes inches away from yours. “I can destroy this facility and everyone in it in seconds.” 

“So?” You blinked.

You could see his eye twitch. “Do you have a death wish you-” His voice raised, almost yelling before you cut him off.

“Dude. Seriously, I can’t care less about what you can do.” You waved him off, “I only care if you can help me. Got it?” 

Sukuna, The King- The so-called prodigy with more potential as a villain than a hero, stood there, dumbstruck at your audacity. You could see the gears turn in his head, the veins starting to pop on his neck.

You sigh in faux defeat, slumping your shoulders. “Unless you’re too much of a pussy to test some measly little gadgets.” You shake your head, turning away from him. “It’s a shame really, the so-called future number 1, scared by some nobody's little inventions.”

“Do I look stupid to you?” He rolled his eyes. “I’m not falling for your taunting.”

“Alright.” You shrug. “But you do sound,” You look him up and down, pointedly ignoring the imprint of his muscles the size of your waist. “-pretty weak to me.”

Sukuna stood there, glowering at you, a support course nerd he’d never even heard of. To be honest, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little bit curious at what you’ve got in store in that lab of yours if you’d really go this far to recruit him. His manager probably would be annoyed that he was late to their dinner meeting again, but what was that idiot gonna do anyway? Yell at him?

He clicks his tongue. “Fine.” 

“Fine?” You raise a brow, a small smirk tugging on your lips.

“Yeah, fine.” He snarled.

“Perfect!” You clapped your hands once, previous ‘disappointed’ demeanor melting away quickly. “Come, come. Follow me.”

You click the handcuffs into place. “Comfortable?”

“No.” Sukuna answered, flexing his hands under the cold steel of the cuffs.

“Good. They’re not supposed to be,” Nodding, you take a few steps back. “Now break out of them.” You look down to your tablet, tapping a few buttons to monitor the stress levels of the cuffs and see how quickly they might break. You two have been at this for a while now, most of the gadgets being destroyed or barely grazing the cocky hero- Who simply grew more arrogant with every failed test. “These are a pair of reinforced handcuffs, they should hold up quite well-”

The handcuffs explode into pieces, scraps of metal littering the floor and edges of the testing area. “Against some robber, maybe.” Sukuna drawled. “Is this it? Are you seriously gonna waste my time with barely put-together chunks of metal?”

You rolled your eyes, crossing the pair of handcuffs off the list and marking it for extra blast reinforcement and maybe power dampening qualities.

“Nope. Next.” You grabbed a gadget from your side table, raising it and aiming at Sukuna. The hero stares at you, the weapon and then back at you. Seemingly unimpressed. “A gun? Really?”

“It's a non-lethal firearm, just as impactful as rubber bullets but not as harmful.” You keep your aim steady, ready to fire.

“I’ve melted bullets in mid-air. Do you really think that would work?” 

“They’re high velocity, so we’ll find out.” You pull the trigger twice, but nothing hits Sukuna. Instead, two very small and unrecognizable puddles of the bullets are a few feet away from him.

“Well, well, well. Looks like your high velocity rounds aren’t much compared to me.” He scoffed.

This time, you felt your eye twitch. He really was starting to get on your nerves. “Yeah, guess so.” You lowered the gun to your side. “Could you get the next gadget? It’s behind you.”

“Tsk. Asking me to do your job now, huh?” Sukuna rolled his eyes, large frame turning around and inspecting the table behind him. Just enough time for him to lower his guard. You raised the gun again, firing at his back- This time, it hits.

“Fuck!” The hero exclaimed, lips pulled into a scowl as he whipped his entire body towards you. “The hell was that?!”

You hummed in satisfaction, finally setting down the gun and tapping your tablet to record the results. Success. “My finger must’ve slipped, sorry.”

“Like hell it did!”

“Did it hurt?” You smirked.

Sukuna felt a bruise forming on his back, the point of impact throbbing lightly on his back. “No. Of course not.”

“Noted.”

Sukuna growled at you, ready to lunge and rip you a new one before he remembered that if he did maul another of his coworkers, that he’d get suspended. Again. So instead, he huffed and crossed his arms. “Are we done yet? Or do you have more chaos to unleash?”

“Yep, just one more.” You tossed a grenade-shaped contraption up and down your hand. “Though, this one has healing properties. Should help with the pain.”

Sukuna eyed you suspiciously, checking if this was another trick. He didn’t find anything other than quiet amusement in your eyes and anticipation. You were clearly enjoying it with him as your test subject. When you noticed his distrustful glare, you reassured him with a smile. “Don’t worry, if something goes wrong, the agency has your medical bills covered.”

He rolled his eyes, like that made it any better. “So you're saying something can go wrong?”

You shrugged. “Anything could go wrong, really.” You traced your thumb on the metal of your little toy, finger hovering right on the detonation button- It should go off after 5 seconds after pressing it. “But trust me.”

“I don’t trust you.” Sukuna said, voice flat.

“Shame.” You pressed the button, tossing it at his feet and stepping backwards. He didn’t move though, even if he did raise a brow at your sudden withdrawal- It didn’t last long before the healing grenade exploded.

Green slime-like substance coated him and a good portion of the area, luckily nowhere near you. The substance from the grenade seemed to pulse and glow green, especially the chunks that were on and around Sukuna. You quickly noted that down.

Sukuna cringed at the sludge coating his body, he didn’t feel any better than he did 3 seconds ago, maybe even a little worse with how icky the green goo felt. “The hell?” He raised his hand, the slime connecting in strands to the rest of his torso. “Some healing grenade this is.”

You stayed quiet.

He clicked his tongue, glaring at you before looking to the door. “I’m done with this bullshit. Now I gotta take a shower before going anywhe-” Sukuna tried to take a step forward, only to be halted by the slime. He kept trying to pull at his limbs, each action taking more effort than the last as it became apparent that this was no ordinary healing grenade.

It hadn’t even passed any screenings yet. And this was still a work in progress, not an actual thing you had to test at the moment. It was one of your flukes, you knew that. Sukuna, did not. “Oh, right. About this one,” You picked up your tablet, voice painfully nonchalant as you act unaware of the struggle that Sukuna was going through. “I don’t exactly have a dissolvent for the healing cream, and it gets quite sticky.”

“Then what are you waiting for??”  Sukuna screeched, head snapping in your direction as any fire or explosion he tried to use was cancelled by the healing agent. Did you mention that it also doubles as a power-cancelling agent? No? Oops. “Get to work on it then!!”

You shrugged, turning your back to him and towards the exit “Alright.”

“Hey, HEY! Where the hell do you think you’re going?!” 

You turned around, motioning towards the testing area in shambles. “You don’t expect me to work in this mess, do you?” Voice level, like you were pointing out solid facts- trying your damn hardest to not let the smugness bleed into your tone.

“So, what? You're just gonna leave me here??” Sukuna sounded a mix of stunned, confused and angry.

“Thats the plan, yeah.” You start walking away, the door hissing as it automatically opened. “Don’t worry! It’ll probably melt off in an hour if I’m not done by then!” You give him a wave, smirking at him over your shoulder. 

“Probably?? You motherfu-”

He was spewing curses at you now, belittling you and trying his hardest to defend his last remaining drops of dignity. You simply smiled back, polite. “See you, Number one.”

Yeah, you weren’t going to work on that dissolvent.

(open!) tags: @idontwannatalkrn1

[m3mento-m0rii]

hello !! I have a request for Mystery Saja (if that’s okay). I was thinking that when the Saja boys first came to the human world, Mystery would be the one having the hardest time. All of the lights and loud noises prolly getting to the poor fella. And the other Saja boys try to help but it’s really no use.

Until the bright happy-go-lucky sunshine reader comes around and helps Mystery out.(Yk how Myst barked at that fan at the signing ? Yeah that wasn’t the first or the last time he barked at a person he just doesn’t know what else to do) The reader is kind of oblivious but just super nice and empathetic. Mystery needs so love hardcore </3 I can just imagine the rest of the Saja boys I’m shocked that some human girl tamed the beast into some house let

(this request is optional ofc take care !!!)

New Soul—

1.5k words; Mystery Saja x reader Masterlist | Requests open!

It's hard for Mystery to handle being in the daylight again when he's spent so much time accepting the dark. Lucky for him, some merciful being gave him you.

A/N: Thank you so much for requesting, anon! Okay so I tried my best with this but I struggled a little after I got through the first half. Still, I hope you enjoy it. Happy reading!

. . .

Honestly, earth was more hell than the underworld was.

That was something it didn’t take long for Mystery to decide when he and the Saja Boys first surfaced. It was night time. Okay, that was fine. The sky was cloudy, the coolness of the air was foreign to him.

But the light. How could humans enjoy the obnoxious LEDs decorating store fronts? It hurt his eyes, and he immediately tried to avert them. The only problem? Seoul was full of them. 

Which is how he ended up with Jinu’s pink-tinted sunglasses, staring dead at the side-walk, being guided down the street by the other Saja Boys.

They honestly didn’t know what to do. They were just as new as he was, but . . . they didn’t suffer from it the way Mystery did. They tried to help as best as they could, taking quieter paths as Jinu navigated to their dorms, though there was only so much they could do. They didn’t have the proper resources to handle it, but they tried their best.

Mystery couldn’t wait to go to sleep.

Except that was the LAST thing he should have wished for. Because now he had to deal with the sunlight, and he couldn’t tell which was worse; the harsh lights of nighttime Seoul or the colors that came with daylight. He couldn’t even stare at the sidewalk, because the reflection of the sunlight upon it made him flinch.

Already starting off, it was a no good, very bad day.

Then he lost the other Saja Boys in the crowd. Too much was going on. They were supposed to be performing Soda Pop today.

What immaculate timing.

As Mystery attempted to remember the directions Jinu was giving, more and more things started to phase him.

The sun is bright. People are everywhere, people are talking. He can’t make out what anyone is saying. A car honks as it turns the corner he was about to reach. There’s a bell on the door of the shop next to him. It’s playing some horrific, beat up jingle. Footsteps. He stops, because he can’t think. 

Mystery can’t recognize his surroundings. All the palettes were oversaturated and it made his brain throb. This is purgatory. He’s sorry for what he did to deserve this. He could smell too many different scents at a time. Gimbap. Some woman’s artificially sugary perfume. The stench of a teenage boy who hadn’t discovered deodorant yet. Dizzying. Nauseating.

The last straw was some rando pushing him out of the way.

“Hey! Weirdo, this is the sidewalk. Get stepping or move!”

Mystery snapped.

It was the only thing he could do.

“RARGH ARGH ARGRR—” He barked, his nose scrunching up as he faced the rude individual. Molars gnashing, muscles tight, nails digging into his palms. Everyone in the immediate vicinity stopped.

To stare at him.

“What is he doing?”

“Did . . . did he just bark?”

“What the hell are they putting in the water these days . . .”

“He needs help.”

At least they weren’t in his personal space anymore.

Mystery slinked into the shadows of a nearby alley, dropping to the ground once he was out of view. He took a long, slow breath as his head lolled to the side, trying to adjust his hair to hide the sunlight again.

It’s too much.

He feels the energy shift around him slightly, and he tenses up. Slowly, his head raises from his knees to find more color.

Not bright, eye-catching, abundant color; soft. Effective. Something more tolerable than that tacky sherbet ensemble he saw a moment ago.

Your smile was just as kind to him as your dress. Gentle, welcoming, unaware of the horrors in the world, or rather immune to it. You crouched in front of him, observing him for a moment.

“Hey . . .” you whispered, and Mystery easily decided he liked your voice. It was . . . soothing. You could tell he was a bit overstimulated. “Are you okay?”

Mystery blinked, even if you couldn’t see his eyes. You took off your headphones, offering them to him.

He hesitated, taking the device from you and mimicking the position over his ears. The world seemed to shift back into a manageable focus, and he perked up a little. Your smile brightened, and you stuck your hand out to him.

“That’s better, right? Noise-cancelling headphones. The environment can be a bit much for me, too. My name is (Y/N). What’s yours?”

(Y/N) . . . you certainly had a lot to say. Mystery’s fingers slowly brushed your palm, not in a handshake, just a touch. Your skin was tender, warm. “Mystery.”

“Mystery? That’s cool, I haven’t heard that one before! I like your tattoos,” she pointed at the lightning-like markings on his wrist, and he tensed.

You didn’t seem to notice.

“. . . Thank you.”

“Well, Mystery, I had some shopping to do in the square, if you want to come along.”

So Mystery found himself following you down the street, hand-in-hand, a skip in your step.

You were so . . . happy. Not in a bad way, just in a way he wasn’t used to. Finally, there was something he wanted to get used to.

Before you could get to the square, you came across the other Sajas. They were asking around for Mystery like they had lost their dog (they had), describing his appearance to strangers before Baby wordlessly pointed him out.

He’s oddly chill for the way they saw him last. They eyed you suspiciously, gazes dropping to your entwined hands. You did not have a care in the world.

Mystery knew he had to go. He tried to offer your headphones back, and you only shook your head, pulling out a pair of earbuds. “You need them more than me. I always carry an extra pair just in case.”

Instead, you offered him a blue post-it with about ten digits on it, give or take. “Bye, Mystery!” And then you were gone.

The boys blinked owlishly, Romance in particular disbelief.

“. . . What did I miss?”

»                                                      ⊱◈⊰

Ever since then, you have always been found at Mystery’s side. It was a mutual latch; you taught him about lots of things—food, stories, why things existed, methods and resources to try to help with the noise of the environment—and he listened.

You were the only sunshine he could really tolerate.

Slowly, he came to terms with the surface again. But he didn’t let go of you. He liked having you around for every moment, even the short, quiet ones. Not because he needed you anymore, but because he wanted you. Wanted your smiles and your time, wanted those gentle hands of yours and the way you’d run them through his hair to calm him or trace the patterns on his arms.

You didn’t question him, not the way others did. You let him exist. Didn’t blink twice when the light warped around his skin, or the strange shape of his nails when they grew a little. Not the way his teeth might poke out a bit, or his slightly distorted reflection in the mirror.

He wasn’t even sure if you saw these things. It only made him like you more.

It was another day at the Saja dorms, and Mystery was lying on your lap as you explained the plot to some show. He was listening, he really was, but the feeling of your fingers against his scalp . . .

His eyes drooped a little, and he couldn’t help but melt into you more. You giggled, finding the behavior cute in his own Mystery way.

“You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re part dog,” you decided, poking his cheek softly. Mystery hummed.

“You don’t know any better,” he muttered, a little smile forming. To be fair, he was right. You didn’t know that, though.

Instead, you grinned, going back to yapping about your show.

And Mystery was content with this for a while—simple touches, the fabric of your shirt against his nose. Your voice.

Until Romance and Abby walked through the door, drowning out your words with their chatter and laughter. They hadn’t even noticed you both on the couch, too busy musing about some flash mob they had dealt with. Then Baby was looking for a snack, rustling through loud bags of chips and watching some video, Mystery’s peace was disrupted once more.

He felt a tick in his head. The air around him sparked a little.

But before he could let out more than a sharp snarl (drawing the attention of the others), your hand pressed against his lips gently as you hushed him.

“. . . Mystery, you can’t hiss at people,” you shook your head matter-of-factly. “It’s not nice.”

Much to the boys’ surprise, Mystery . . . stopped?

He huffed, sinking further into your lap with a pout. “That’s the point.”

You pushed your fingers back into his hair to try and cheer him up, leaning back into the couch. “There’s better ways to express your feelings, though.”

Mystery said nothing, curling into you more.

The other Sajas blanked.

He was listening??

 “I guess it has to be the right extrovert to adopt an introvert,” Abby whispered loudly, glancing at Romance. Baby shrugged.

“That’s his handler.”

“Is he . . . purring?”

“Shh. Just leave it alone.”

Mystery nuzzled into the warmth of your palm, letting out a sigh of relief.

Finally. Back to his peace.

»                                                      ⊱◈⊰

A/N: Aaa okay so I finished it! I hope you liked it? See you soon!

—Captain Morii 🌤️

Morii's Business Class: @abby-himbo-truther @kpopmultistans

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

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

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

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

[earlgreydream]

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.

[harvestmoss]

🌹 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.

[astra-ravana]

Death Witchcraft: An Exploration

Death witchcraft is a branch of occult practice deeply connected with the mysteries of life, death, and the transition between the two. It involves working with the energies surrounding death, the afterlife, ancestors, spirits, and the unseen realms that lie beyond physical existence. The practice is often misunderstood due to its association with darkness, fear, and taboo. However, death witchcraft is a deeply transformative and powerful path, one that offers healing, guidance, and a deeper understanding of existence and mortality. It is not necessarily about harming others, but rather engaging with the sacred and mysterious forces of life and death in ways that can lead to empowerment, spiritual growth, and the honoring of those who have passed.

Core Principles of Death Witchcraft

Death witchcraft revolves around several key principles:

• Honor and Respect for Ancestors: Ancestor veneration is an integral aspect of death witchcraft. Practitioners often work with ancestral spirits, seeking guidance, wisdom, and protection from those who came before them. Through rituals, offerings, and prayers, death witches maintain strong connections to their ancestors, ensuring their spirits are honored and respected. This work can help heal generational trauma, discover hidden family wisdom, and preserve the energy of the ancestors within the practitioner’s own lineage.

• Reverence for the Cycle of Life and Death: Death witchcraft embraces the natural cycle of life, acknowledging that death is as much a part of life as birth. It does not seek to control or avoid death, but rather understands and respects its role in the cosmic order. Death witches work with death as a transformative force—whether through spiritual transformation, endings, or transitions. Their practice includes rituals for rebirth and regeneration, as well as rituals to honor the dead and assist them in their journeys to the afterlife.

• Communion with Spirits: Death witches frequently engage in communication with spirits, especially those of the deceased. This can include ancestral spirits, beloved departed, and even spirits who may still be trapped between worlds. Communication is facilitated through divination tools like spirit boards (ouija boards), pendulums, scrying, or simply invoking spirits during meditative or ritual work. Some death witches work as mediums, facilitating communication between the living and the dead.

• Working with the Underworld and Deities of Death: Many death witches also work with deities or spirits associated with death and the underworld. In various cultures, these deities are seen as guides for the dead, as well as rulers of death and the afterlife. Deities such as Hecate (Greek goddess of the underworld), Hel (Norse goddess of the dead), Anubis (Egyptian god of mummification and the afterlife), and Baron Samedi (Haitian Vodou loa of the dead) are frequently invoked in death witchcraft for their wisdom, protection, and assistance in working with death-related energies.

• Rituals and Ceremonies: Death witches often perform rituals and ceremonies to mark and honor death. These may include funeral rites, memorial services, or specific rituals that allow the practitioner to connect with deceased loved ones, guide souls into the afterlife, or work through personal grief. Rituals can be solitary or communal and may take place in sacred spaces such as graveyards, cemeteries, or even the practitioner’s home altar.

Magickal Practices in Death Witchcraft

• Necromancy: A cornerstone of death witchcraft is necromancy, the practice of communicating with and working with the spirits of the dead. Necromancers—often considered to be death witches—may use tools like spirit boards, pendulums, crystals, or scrying mirrors to summon and communicate with spirits. Necromancy can also involve rituals to help spirits move on, protect the living from malevolent spirits, or gain insight into future events by consulting the deceased.

• Spirit Work: Spirit work goes hand in hand with necromancy, though it is not always about divining or commanding spirits. Spirit work in death witchcraft involves developing a deep relationship with the spirits of the dead, listening to their messages, and sometimes offering spiritual assistance. Death witches may dedicate spaces on their altars or in their homes to honor these spirits, offering food, trinkets, or symbolic items to maintain good relationships and receive guidance.

• Psychic Development: Many death witches develop their psychic abilities to perceive spirits, energies, and otherworldly dimensions. This may involve cultivating clairvoyance, clairaudience, or clairsentience (the ability to perceive spiritual energy or communicate with the dead). Through meditation, divination, and dream work, practitioners can enhance their sensitivity to the spirit world and develop the skills necessary to work with death in a more intimate way.

• Death-Related Divination: Death witches often use divination to understand the mysteries of life and death. They may practice tarot, runes, or bone reading, methods in which the symbols or objects used represent the interconnectedness of life and death. For example, certain tarot cards like Death or The Hanged Man symbolize transformations, endings, and rebirths. Practitioners may turn to these tools to gain clarity on matters of life transitions, cycles, and endings.

• Baneful Magick: Some branches of death witchcraft include working with baneful magick—spells meant to harm, curse, or protect against malevolent forces. This can involve using death-related symbols, graveyard dirt, or other elements connected to death. However, these practices should be approached with caution, as they are often considered ethically and spiritually dangerous, carrying consequences that may affect the practitioner.

Death witches can be spiritual guides for those dealing with grief, loss, or personal transformation. In many cultures, they may serve as shamans, healers, or mediators between the living and the dead. They may be called upon to perform rituals for the deceased, help souls find peace, or provide guidance to the living regarding their own mortality or transitions.

They also play an important role in facilitating spiritual healing. Many death witches assist individuals in releasing attachments to loved ones who have passed or help them make peace with death. They may use rituals to help heal grief or even to address fears surrounding death. By acknowledging and embracing death, these practitioners help others live more fully, knowing that death is an inevitable part of existence.

Although death witchcraft can seem mysterious or dark, it is not evil. In fact, it is an inherently respectful practice that seeks to understand, honor, and make peace with the natural world’s cycles. However, as with any form of magick, it is crucial that practitioners approach death witchcraft with respect, responsibility, and reverence for the forces they work with. Working with spirits, especially those of the dead, requires a deep level of discernment, sensitivity, and ethical awareness. Practitioners must be cautious when invoking spirits, ensuring they maintain healthy boundaries and avoid harming others.

Death witchcraft is a deeply transformative and sacred path that connects practitioners with the timeless mysteries of life and death. It is a practice that encourages reverence for the dead, for ancestors, and for the cycle of existence itself. Through communication with spirits, necromantic practices, and rituals focused on transformation, death witches help others understand their relationship with death and the afterlife. The practice offers spiritual growth, healing, and empowerment, guiding both practitioners and their communities to embrace death as a natural part of the human experience—an experience to be honored and respected, not feared.

[azzifudd10]

Silent Strings

Chapter 11: All I Wanted Was You

Ryan didn’t sleep.

He spent the entire night refining his plan — tightening every detail, double-checking every forged signature, every notarized seal he’d paid for.

By sunrise, the fake marriage license and supporting documents sat neatly in a manila folder, indistinguishable from the real thing.

He dressed carefully that morning, choosing a navy suit, a sober tie, and polishing his shoes until they shone.

When he looked in the mirror, he smiled faintly at his own reflection. The perfect grieving husband.

The police station was quiet when he arrived.

He waited patiently at the front desk, clutching the folder and an envelope of photographs — not of the women who’d disappeared, but of her.

Azzi at NYU, Azzi at a medical conference, Azzi walking through the hospital parking lot years ago, her head down and her scrubs wrinkled.

He’d kept them all.

When an officer finally called him up, he put on his best performance:

“My wife… she’s missing. I—I don’t know where she’s gone. She hasn’t been home in days. She won’t return my calls. Please — I just want her home safe.”

The officer — young, sympathetic — nodded and began taking notes.

“Her name, sir?”

“Azzi Fudd,” he said immediately, his voice cracking just enough to sound real.

He handed over the marriage license.

“Here’s… here’s our paperwork. I don’t know what else to do anymore.”

They opened the case. Just like that.

By lunch, he was standing outside the Wings practice facility with a stack of freshly printed MISSING PERSON posters in his hands, featuring her hospital ID photo blown up, with his number at the bottom.

He started handing them out to passersby, his face drawn and pale, voice low and pained.

“Please… if you see her… she’s my wife. Please.”

Players filtered out of the gym one by one, staring awkwardly, some whispering to each other as they accepted the posters out of politeness.

Arike shot him a strange look, but didn’t say anything — just ducked her head and walked off.

By the time Paige stepped outside, he was leaning against a pillar, running a hand down his face like he’d aged ten years overnight.

She stopped dead when she saw the posters.

Her stomach flipped.

She walked over slowly, her expression guarded.

Ryan looked up and flinched, as if her presence hurt him. “Oh,” he murmured, his voice low and heavy. “Paige. You— you know Azzi, don’t you?”

Paige’s jaw clenched.

She forced herself to school her features, even though her pulse was hammering in her ears.

“She… she’s your wife?” Paige asked carefully, her voice as neutral as she could manage.

Ryan let out a bitter little laugh, running his hand through his hair. “Not that you’d know it. She’s been gone for weeks. Wouldn’t even come home. And now? Nothing. It’s like she vanished. And no one’s helping me.”

He shoved a poster into her hands. “If you see her… please. Tell her I just want to talk. Tell her she can come home. I don’t care what happened — I just want her safe.”

Paige stared down at the paper, trying to keep her hands from shaking.

On the outside, she nodded politely. On the inside, her blood boiled.

Later, once Ryan left, Paige stood in the locker room staring at the poster until her vision blurred.

She couldn’t figure out what rattled her more:

The fact that he was bold enough to go to the police. The fact that his story — and paperwork — were good enough to pass. Or the fact that the team — her teammates — seemed to believe him.

The way Arike whispered behind her hand. The way another player murmured, “She’s married? Why didn’t she say anything?”

Paige crumpled the poster in her fist and shoved it in her bag.

She was done letting him write this story.

When she got home that night, she found Azzi curled on the couch with Jazzy, the faint smell of popcorn in the air.

Paige leaned against the doorway, watching them for a moment before finally speaking.

“We need to talk.”

Azzi looked up, immediately tense. “What happened?”

Paige crossed the room and held out the crumpled poster.

Azzi froze as she read it, her fingers trembling.

“He’s… he…” Her voice cracked.

“He went to the police,” Paige finished for her. “And he handed these out at practice. He’s escalating. And it’s working, Azzi. People are starting to wonder.”

Azzi buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking.

Paige crouched down, laying a gentle hand on her knee. “Listen to me. He’s not going to win. But you have to let me help you. No more hiding. No more pretending. Tomorrow I’m taking you to my lawyer, and we’re doubling your security. No more work until this is handled. Okay?”

Azzi sniffed and looked at her, eyes glassy. “Okay,” she whispered.

Paige nodded firmly, her thumb brushing over Azzi’s knuckles.

“Good. He thinks he’s clever. But he doesn’t know who he’s messing with.”

And this time, Paige promised herself — she wouldn’t stop until he was the one disappearing.

Ryan sat alone in his apartment, surrounded by empty takeout containers and half-drunk bottles of bourbon.

The neat stacks of papers and carefully folded posters that once made him feel powerful were now scattered across the floor — torn, crumpled, useless.

It had been over a week since he filed the missing persons report.

And nothing.

No calls. No sightings. No Azzi.

He’d paid his PI triple. Still nothing.

He’d waited outside her old apartment. Still nothing.

He’d even started camping out at the hospital, lurking across the street in his car with binoculars. Still. Nothing.

It didn’t make sense.

She couldn’t just disappear.

Not from him.

He paced the length of his apartment, running a hand through his hair over and over, muttering under his breath.

“She’s mine. She chose me. She just… needs to remember that. She needs me. She’s just scared.”

His chest rose and fell sharply as he slammed a fist against the wall, sending a picture frame crashing to the floor.

If he couldn’t find her… He’d make her come to him.

One way or another.

Meanwhile, across town, Azzi sat curled on Paige’s couch, staring blankly at the TV screen.

A movie played, but she wasn’t watching.

She hated how still everything felt here.

The quiet was deafening — a reminder of how much she’d lost, how small her world had become.

Paige’s apartment was nice — safe — but it wasn’t hers. And no matter how many blankets she buried herself under or how many times Paige made her tea, the walls still felt like they were closing in.

She used to be unstoppable. Now she could barely walk to the window without checking the street first.

That morning, Paige had taken Jazzy out to breakfast, leaving Azzi alone for the first time in days.

When they came back, Jazzy was full of chatter, waving a coloring page in one hand.

Azzi tried to smile for her sake.

But later, when Paige tucked Jazzy into bed, Azzi overheard their conversation from down the hall.

“Mama,” Jazzy whispered. “Is Azzi still scared?”

Paige’s soft voice answered after a beat. “Yes, baby. But we’re helping her. She’ll be okay.”

The next morning, Paige sat Azzi down at the kitchen table and gently laid a hand on hers.

“Hey,” she said softly. “I need you to trust me on this.”

Azzi frowned faintly. “What is it?”

“I’m sending Jazzy to stay with my dad for a little while. Just until we figure everything out. It’ll be safer. For her. For you.”

Azzi blinked at her, startled. “I—I don’t want to uproot her because of me—”

Paige shook her head firmly. “She’s my kid. It’s my job to protect her. Just like it’s my job to protect you. Don’t argue with me.”

Azzi swallowed hard but nodded. “Okay,” she murmured.

Paige squeezed her hand, then stood to start packing Jazzy’s little overnight bag, her expression unreadable.

That afternoon, Paige drove Jazzy out to her dad Bob’s house, hugging her tightly before letting her run inside.

Bob shot her a knowing look as she got back in the car.

“Everything okay?” he asked quietly.

Paige didn’t meet his eyes. “Working on it,” she murmured.

That night, back at the apartment, Paige found Azzi sitting on the balcony, knees drawn to her chest, staring at the stars.

She joined her quietly, offering her a blanket.

Azzi’s voice was soft, almost too quiet to hear. “Do you think… I’ll ever get to feel normal again?”

Paige looked at her for a long moment before answering.

“I think you’re already stronger than most people ever have to be,” she said simply. “And no matter what he does, you’re still you. He can’t take that.”

For the first time in days, Azzi allowed herself to believe that might be true.

Even if Ryan was still out there — spiraling.

Even if he was already drafting his next move.

It was supposed to be just another Tuesday morning.

Azzi was curled on the couch at Paige’s apartment, dressed in one of Paige’s oversized hoodies, her legs tucked under her as she absently scrolled through her phone.

The Wings press conference was playing quietly on the TV in the background — something about the upcoming playoff push, injury updates, community events.

She wasn’t paying attention.

Not until she heard her name.

“Before we take more questions,” the PR rep announced awkwardly, “our new assistant coach, Ryan Callahan, asked to make a brief statement.”

Azzi’s head shot up instantly.

On the screen, Ryan stepped to the podium in his tailored suit, clutching the same manila folder he was carrying weeks ago.

His face was pale, his eyes glassy — but his hands were steady as he adjusted the microphone.

“My name is Ryan Callahan,” he began, his voice low but firm, “and I’m here today because my wife, Azzi Fudd, has been missing for weeks.”

The reporters in the room murmured, some of them glancing at each other in surprise.

Ryan continued, pulling out a stack of the same MISSING PERSON posters he’d passed around at practice.

“She disappeared without a word. I’ve filed all the appropriate reports. I’ve begged the police for help. I love her, and I just… if anyone out there sees her, please — just tell her to come home.”

He swallowed hard and lifted his gaze — straight into the camera.

It felt like a gunshot.

Azzi’s breath caught in her throat.

It was irrational — she knew he couldn’t see her — but the way his eyes bored into the lens made her feel naked, exposed.

Like he already knew she was sitting there, watching him.

Like he could reach through the screen and drag her back.

Her hands began to shake violently as her chest constricted, the air thick and heavy in her lungs.

She stumbled to her feet, the room spinning.

Paige was at the gym. Jazzy was at Bob’s.

No one was here to see her fall apart.

She staggered to the bedroom and grabbed the first duffel bag she could find, yanking open drawers and shoving clothes inside with trembling hands.

A sob escaped her throat as she stripped the hoodie off and tossed it in too, grabbing her passport from her purse, her scrubs, her sneakers.

If she stayed, she’d ruin everything.

Paige’s career. The team’s reputation. Even Jazzy’s life.

Ryan wouldn’t stop until he found her — and she couldn’t let him hurt anyone else.

She’d done this before.

She could do it again.

New city. New name. New everything.

Maybe even a new country this time.

Her hands flew over the zipper of the bag as she fumbled with her phone, pulling up flights — LAX, JFK, Toronto, anywhere — her vision blurred with tears.

She couldn’t let Paige see her like this. Couldn’t let her talk her out of it.

This was the only way to keep them safe.

On the TV, Ryan’s voice still droned on.

“…and if you’re watching this, Azzi — please. Come home. We can fix this. I forgive you. I’ll always forgive you.”

Azzi choked on a bitter laugh that broke into a sob.

He didn’t forgive.

He owned.

And she refused to let him own her again.

She yanked the zipper closed on her bag, grabbed her passport, and started to leave the faint sound of Ryan’s voice still echoing in the room she left behind.

The sound of the zipper was what gave her away.

Paige had come home early — something in her chest had told her to — and the moment she opened the door, she heard the frantic rustle of fabric, the clatter of a bag hitting the floor.

Her heart stopped.

She rounded the corner into the living room and froze.

Azzi was standing by the door, her duffel bag slung over her shoulder, passport clutched in one trembling hand.

Her cheeks were wet, her breath shallow and sharp.

Like she was already halfway gone.

“Azz…” Paige said softly, her voice cracking.

Azzi flinched and spun toward her, her wide, tear-streaked eyes full of panic. “I—” she croaked. “I just… I have to go.”

“No,” Paige said firmly, stepping closer.

Azzi shook her head frantically. “You don’t understand—he’s never going to stop! And now he’s—he’s looking at me through the TV, Paige, like he knows. I can feel him! Everywhere! I can’t—”

Her words dissolved into broken sobs as she tried to shove past Paige toward the door.

But Paige’s hand shot out and caught her wrist.

“Azzi. Stop.”

Azzi froze under her touch, her body trembling.

Paige gently but insistently pulled the bag from her shoulder, set it down on the floor, and guided her toward the couch.

“Sit,” she said quietly.

When Azzi didn’t move, Paige knelt in front of her, her hands bracing either side of her face.

“Breathe with me. Right now. Just breathe, baby.”

Azzi’s lips quivered, her breath still ragged, but she finally sank onto the couch, covering her face with her hands.

Paige sat beside her, wrapping an arm around her shaking shoulders, her own chest tight with fear and fury.

“I know you’re scared,” Paige murmured against her hair. “God, I know. But this? Running? Disappearing? That’s exactly what he wants. That’s what he’s been trying to force you to do this whole time.”

Azzi shook her head. “You don’t understand,” she whispered hoarsely. “He’ll ruin you. He’ll ruin the team. He’ll hurt you—he always—”

“No,” Paige cut in, her voice steely now. “No more. He’s already taken too much from you. He doesn’t get to take you away from me too.”

Azzi’s breath hitched, and she finally looked up at her, eyes wide and pleading. “What if he—what if he finds me?”

Paige cupped her cheek, her thumb brushing away a tear. “Then he finds me. Not you. He has to go through me first. And I promise you — he won’t win.”

Azzi closed her eyes, tears slipping down her cheeks, her body finally sagging against Paige’s.

Paige held her tight, one hand stroking her back, murmuring over and over, “You’re safe. You’re safe. You’re not alone anymore.”

When Azzi’s breathing finally evened out, Paige gently pulled the duffel bag from the floor, zipped it shut, and set it back in the closet.

“You’re staying,” she said firmly. “Not just for me. Not just for Jazzy. But for you. You deserve better than to keep running from him.”

Azzi nodded faintly, her voice barely audible. “Okay.”Paige pressed a soft kiss to her temple and whispered, “Good. Because I’m not letting you go.”

[hiding-under-the-willow]

This is too short to justify posting on Ao3 but I think it's silly so. Here's a little impulsive scene I wrote based on a bit from Joe's video today where he commented on the fact Helsknight cards keep ending up in booster packs despite the randomizer

*****

"I think your machine's haunted." Joe says one day, unprompted, pressing buttons on the card randomizer to throw together a booster pack, restock the machines upstairs.

Etho looks up from the line of redstone he's plucking away at, brows furrowed.

"What?"

"Or maybe Beef's game," He shrugs nonchalantly, "One or the other, though."

Etho puts down his tools, turns his attention fully to Joe from his place on the floor as the green haired man wanders across the room to the spot where the newly made booster pack had been deposited.

"Why do you say that?" He asks, head tilted to the side as the poet lifts open the lid of the shulker, a look of discontent settling on his face.

Joe reaches into the box, begins to fish something out, "Because I keep pulling Helsknight cards." He says, tone all matter-of-fact annoyance, as, with a flourish of his hand, he produces a card depicting the knight from the box, holds it up for Etho to see.

Etho frowns, the edges of his mask pulling downward, "Helsknight’s not dead. He can't exactly do much haunting without being a ghost in the first place."

Joe places the card back in its place in the shulker, "Hey now, you don't have to be dead to haunt things." He states, closing the box and tucking it away in his inventory, "Ghost is more a state of mind than a state of being, and I would know." He wiggles a few fingers in front of himself performatively as he walks back across the room to hit more buttons, and for a brief moment his hand is translucent and blue, almost glowing.

And then he wanders over and punches the hermits card button, hand looking as human as it had before.

"I don't think that's exactly how it works for most people, Joe." Etho laughs nervously, picks at the edge of his gloves, tries to suppress the chill that threatens to run up his spine.

"Well, I'm pulling Helsknight cards more often than not either way." He says with a huff, walking over to the next button, "and I know there's not any more of those than there are any other cards, cause I made the damn things."

Etho shrugs, "True randomness doesn't always look random to the human eye." He flashes Joe a mischievous look as the man wanders by him towards the next button, "Hey, maybe he's made his own cards, stacked the system with them solely to annoy you." He teases.

Joe scoffs, "I could care less if he was so intent on haunting the narrative, to each their own and such. I'm just worried about the other hermits getting annoyed when they keep pulling him in their packs." He punches the button, hesitates as it makes its various beeps and dings, "Besides," He says sheepishly, glancing back over his shoulder at the engineer, "I checked for that already. Perfectly normal number of cards in there."

Etho rolls his eyes, "Of course you did."

"Diligence is the mother of good fortune." He says brightly, skipping a step as he bounds towards the next randomizer, "Anyways, like I said, haunted. Your machine or the game."

He pauses, hums thoughtfully.

"Maybe just Beef in general, actually."

"What, just cause it's his game?" Etho asks, picking his tools back up to return to his work on the redstone, realizing this wasn't a conversation that would be over with quickly.

"Well, I mean, yeah, the game was his creation, and, I mean, if you wanna get technical with it, so was Helsknight." Joe moves across the room, "Did you see his starter deck was a PVP type? Hels is in there, too."

Etho rolls his eyes, "You sent those out." He says, tactfully choosing to ignore the first half of the statement.

"Randomly." Joe reminds him, walking up to the next newly created booster pack, "Don't make this out to be my fault."

"Yeah, just as randomly as those booster packs are being created." Etho snorts, tinkering with a new wire.

"I'm gonna choose to take that as you complimenting my randomization ability and not you insulting your own redstone." Joe pulls open the box, "and anyways, believe whatever you'd like, but," He leans down into the box, pulls out another card, and tosses it towards Etho with practiced precision.

Etho fumbles with his tools to free up a hand to catch the card as it flies towards him, and when he does manage to snatch it out of the air, see who's on the front, he frowns.

"Obviously, something or someone's getting haunted."

"Hm." He stares down at the freshly pulled Helsknight card, "Not sure how fond I am of ghosts.”

[c0rvidfagg0try]

MadHel Headcanons Pt.2!!!

-Saw someone say they thought Helen was raised by her grandmother while her parents were off working and I can totally see that

-Helen has a sister that’s 10 years older than her, and they have a very strained relationship

-She basically grew up as an only child during her later years since they never planned on having Helen and left her with her grandma a lot of the time, until it became permanent when she was 8

-A lot of the reason why she has an inferiority complex is because her parents and sister treated her as a burden

-Madeline was a middle child that got no attention unless she succeeded or acted out

-Madeline’s parents always showered her older siblings with a bunch of praise (comes from a family of doctors/lawyers and she’s a theater kid sooooo…)

-Her older sister always looked down on any of Mad’d accomplishments

-Mad and Hel like fighting because it makes the other pay attention to them, due to their pasts of being ignored/neglected

-Madeline is one of the girls who’d make out with girls at a college party for fun and not realize she actually really into it

-They’re both lesbians

-Mad has TERRIBLE comphet and despite having sexual relationships with multiple women, she doesn’t realize until Helen confesses to her

-Madeline is definitely famous, but she’s more gay famous rather than overall famous (like Lady Gaga is famous, but gay ppl are more obsessed with him than the normal person, or Liza Minelli) (this kinda canon)

-Madeline is a VERY touchy person

-Despite being told not to be in the public eye, Madeline does a terrible job following that, she is constantly rumored not to be dead and after a good while, starts to perform again

-She’s rumored to be Madeline’s secret affair child which Helen thinks is HILARIOUS

-While i do think neither of them can cook, Madeline gets really into baking when she dies and becomes pretty good at it (Helen tries all her failures and pretends to like them)

-Helen writes fanfic

-Both verses, but Helen prefers to top (likes to have control for once) and Madeline prefers to bottom (one of the few aspects where she can allow herself to give up control)

-Madeline loves eating girls out tho

-I’ve seen some people say that Mad is a cat person but controversially, I think she’s a dog person (no shade to others just my HC)

-She’s very touchy so she likes to have a big cuddly dog (I imagine she gets a great dane of some kind since they are relatively low maintenance compared to other large breeds)

-Helen is a cat person, they match her introverted freak