#hoo boy this is nasty

[theeveninghour]

All My Dreaming

Summary: You came to the Night Court as a fugitive and quickly became a valued member of the Inner Circle. Azriel’s love for you has burned brightly in his chest for nearly two centuries now, but when an unknown force threatens to take you from him, he must fight to keep you at his side.

Pairing: Azriel x Winter Court!Reader

A/N: I don’t use Y/N here just out of personal preference, but the IC do call reader “Little One” because she’s younger than them by like a century or so. Also, slight timeline deviation? I kind of just made the ACOTAR timeline work for me a little bit but the important bits are there mostly. If it’s not totally accurate, please suspend your disbelief and go with it. I also took some serious liberties with Prythian geography and Azriel’s shadows in this. I had to force myself to stop because I could’ve written five more scenes, so let me know if you all want a part two. I got nasty Azriel thots to spare, baby!��

WC: 16.1k  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

TW: 18+, Minors DNI, violence, death, descriptive gore, lots of time jumps, torture, smut, p in v, fingering, porn with plot, mating, slow burn, angst, friends to lovers, declarations of love, loving sexy times, miscommunications abound, Azriel being a big ole softie, Azriel being a big ole bitch to bad men, Azriel really going tf thru it emotionally, and Azriel being mouthy as fuck. Just girly things. 

Part 2

Azriel hadn’t seen you in four days. Nearly a week had passed since you’d left. Rhys mentioned a mission but no additional details, Cassian avoided the topic, knowing how frustrated his brother got when you were gone, and Feyre was decidedly unhelpful the few times he’d brought you up. His shadows searched aimlessly, they’d found nothing as far south as Winter Court, daring not venture into Autumn, and knowing damn well you’d never step foot into Spring. You were slowly driving him mad; the bond in his chest aching at the loss. Even if you hadn’t recognized the golden thread linking the two of you, he felt it. 

Gods, did he feel it. He’d often lay in his bed at night, eyes tracing the intricate foil patterns of the ceiling tiles. When sleep evaded him, as it frequently did, he’d grasp the thread tightly in his minds eye and tug it experimentally, begging you to see, to notice it was him that loved you with a ferocity that rivaled the sun. Try as he might, the responding tug never answered, his call into the void not returning an echo. 

The second it snapped for him, Azriel had resolved himself as unworthy, not of someone like you. You were powerful, breathtakingly beautiful, intimidatingly intelligent, and you regularly brought men to their knees, both in political circles and on the battlefield. Rhys relied on you as much he did Cassian and Az, you were a core member of his court, a valuable asset, and the love of Azriel’s life. Azriel avoided the latter subject entirely, choosing instead to silently stoke the ember in chest with unyielding affection; his own private paramour. 

When you’d joined the Night Court, you’d been on the run from both Winter and Autumn Courts. Your father was a high fae noble in Winter that had attempted to arrange a marriage to the second youngest Vanserra of Autumn. The family’s brutal reputation was legend and you were terrified. You were young then, barely a century old, and upon your introductory visit to the Autumn Court, Beron sought to make an impression by presenting a welcome gift. That gift? The public torture and execution of a servant he’d deemed traitorous. 

His gleaming eyes remained on yours with each cast of the fire whip he’d conjured using his cruel magic. He’d cracked it again and again until blood splattered and the servant was left flayed beyond recognition, flesh searing, and finger tips twitching from the remaining neurons firing in his brain. Only after his death did Beron announce his crimes. He’d stolen a parcel of food from the royal pantry to feed his wife and small child. Your stomach churned at the thought of the now widow and fatherless child waiting at home for the male that would never return. 

It had all been a test to see if you were worthy of the most violent and petulant of the broody sons, and you’d passed, holding Beron’s stare and keeping your back straight as you faced his wrath head on. You’d cried yourself dry in your room that night though, sobs wracking your form until your chest ached, grief for the male that was lost. Fear settled into your heart, terror of the family you were set to marry into. 

You’d ran at first light, leaving with nothing but the clothes on your back. Your Winter white blonde hair streaking across the red and orange forest as you bolted. Beron sent his dogs after you. You still had the scars lining your calves from where they’d gotten too close, brought you down into the dirt, jaws snapping and tearing at the muscly sinew there. But you’d fought. You’d kicked and clawed like a feral child of the woods, screaming with a sense of self preservation you’d never known you possessed. 

Rhysand had found you half dead, starving and a little savage in the mountainous border between the Day and Night Courts. He’d made a bargain with you then; he’d save you, if you worked for him. Word had already spread of the ousted Winter female and spurned Autumn princeling and Rhysand was impressed you’d lasted in the wilds undetected for so long. The small star flecked tattoo of the Velarian night sky that lived on your wrist since was the only evidence of his deal. 

You’d long moved past such a bargain. Rhys had offered to lift it half a dozen times in your first hundred years within his court, but you hadn’t minded. A reminder, you’d insisted, a mark of your loyalty to the family that didn’t lead you the wolves with such glee. 

You’d settled into a routine in Velaris, training with the Illyrian brothers and charming Amren with your intelligence and wit.  But you’d become the closest with Mor, who felt a kinship in your shared traumas. She’d soothed you in those first years, fiercely protecting her friend when Eris Vanserra had shown up in Hewn City as an emissary to inquire on your new position in the Night Court. It was that same night that Azriel realized how fucked he truly was.

Eris smirked at you and your back straightened, face growing cold. He spoke, “My brother was wondering where you’d scampered off to.” A laugh followed, “You couldn’t stomach our court, but found yourself bound to the Court of Nightmares? My my, what a wicked turn of events.” 

Rhysand had spoken then, wearing his High Lord mask well, “Watch yourself, Eris. You know not what our Little One can do.” Eris laughed, the sound laced with the dark spark of a threat. “Little One? Fugitive and Night Court whore, I must tell your father. I’m sure he’ll be proud to hear of his daughter’s fate.” Azriel’s wings pricked, then fluttered, he would’ve killed Eris right then for you. Your hand came to rest on Rhys’ arm as you stepped around the throne to level your accuser with a look that should’ve turned him to stone. 

“I am no male’s whore and I belong to no court except Night. Report what you wish to my father, to your father, your brother. May you all rot.” You’d spat at his feet then, and the room heated twenty degrees, Eris’ barely kept rage simmering under the surface, fire blooming on the fringes of his figure. 

He stepped forward and Cassian, Azriel, and Mor all shifted, prepared to take out the threat. Eris’ eyes tracked their figures, gauging the situation. He knew better. Any attack here would mean war on his court and his father have his hide for that. You stepped forward to meet him, knowing he could make no move without endangering his position. You kept your spine straight and narrowed your gaze at him with such contempt he would’ve been impressed at the show had you been anyone else. 

“I will say this once Eris Vanserra,” you held up one long manicured finger, and Azriel traced the action with thinly veiled obsession. “Leave my court or I will be the one to kill you. I’ll rip your spine from your body and I’ll do it with the same glee in which your father,” you’d spat that word, the hatred you held for Beron burning your throat as the words exited your mouth, “killed that male for feeding his family.” You took a step closer, summoning a dagger in your left hand, and rolling it your palm. “Trust that we have no tolerance for your family or your bullshit in these lands.” 

Eris had good enough sense to step back then, peering around your form to where Rhysand sat, legs spread, slouched in the throne, smirking at your display of dominance. Azriel to his right looked on in pure male satisfaction, you were a powerful little thing and he was rather fond of you in that moment. Eris spoke up, “Should I note that the Night Court threatens other Courts for sport?” Cassian and Azriel rolled their eyes in synchronous fashion, but it was Mor that spoke with the dark edge of a threat, “Only ones that deserve such brutality.” Her father, Kier, stood in the gathered crowd and sneered at the tone of her voice.

You’d done the unthinkable then, winnowing behind Eris, grasping the male by his red hair and dragging the dagger to his neck, digging in enough to cause the male’s heart to speed, a line of scarlet leaking from the press of your blade. You could feel the heat in his skin, the flame licked at your hand as you released him with a shove. 

You brandished your dagger as if it was an extension of your hand, the tip of the silver blade glinting with red from the now healing cut at Eris’ throat. “Come for me again and I’ll kill you.” It was then that Azriel noted the slight tremble in the hand at your right side and he wished on some distant star that he could reach out to you, soothe you, tell you that he was proud and you defended yourself and your court beautifully. 

As if his wish was granted, he felt his chest give way to a canyon of emotion, heart stuttering as the bond fluttered and snapped, thrumming with affection for the female standing at the center of the room. He had selfishly allowed himself to hope it would be you, in the dark of the night when he was alone and his shadows whispered to him of your whereabouts. Since he’d met you, he fostered that small romantic notion of soulmates. His most private desire. 

Eris whirled on you with a roar, grabbing your throat with hands of fire. Azriel felt the breath leave him, and he took two then three steps forward before he could think, hazel eyes alight with a fierceness you’d not yet witnessed. Your eyes found his and you held up your hand to halt his movements, the one that had trembled seconds earlier, now steady as a stone. You’d looked at Eris then, raising your chin defiantly, a slow smile overtaking your face as you once again spit at the Autumn male before winnowing back to your place in front of the dais. Rhysand raised to his feet then, taking steps down to meet you. His hand grazed your arm this time and his mind reached out, “Very good, Little One, very good.” 

“As the lady said, Eris, come to my court in search of her again, and she’ll be the one to kill you.” Rhys circled Eris, tracking like prey. “But not before I sanction it for laying your hands on a member of my house.” Rhysand spoke with such quiet cunning, it was no wonder he excelled as High Lord. Eris snarled then before winnowing out of the Hewn City and Azriel quickly set his shadows to following him, ensuring he was actually gone. 

You returned to Mor’s side and the shameless pride that set on your face the rest of the night made Azriel want to kiss you. Gods, he was fucked.. 

You’d flirted with him constantly in the first century you’d been in Velaris. You had laid it on thick too, dragging a long nail up his arm, your mouth sliding into a smirk after one too many drinks at Rita’s. Azriel had always feigned friendly indifference though, a mask he slipped on that was equal parts protection as it was self soothing. His only crack coming in the form of a slight tremble in his pinky as he tried to gather himself to avoid closing the space between you, touching, grasping, feeling.

He’d worn black leather gloves around you in your first few decades with them. His hands always held the most insecurity for him, the silver scars and warped skin a brutal reminder of his childhood. It was after training one day, as you all packed your small bags and threw towels into bins that you’d asked about it. 

“I don’t mean to pry, and feel free to tell me to fuck off, but why the gloves?” You asked quietly leaning against a wall less than ten feet from him. He’d stiffened and breathed tightly, “it helps with the work.” That had always been his excuse, wearing gloves when killing helped reduce the touch memories associated with the act, and it was partially true. But he wasn’t on a mission right now, and you called him on that, “are you spying right now?” Your lips quirked, “should I tell Rhys?” Your words were mirthful, but your eyes held nothing but empathy for the Shadowsinger, sometimes Azriel wondered if that was your Cauldron blessed gift. 

You’d reached down then, rolling up the left leg of your training leathers. You’d resumed your full height and rotated your calf outward for his eyes to survey the damage there. Ragged silver keloid scars marked the skin from your ankle to the soft back of your knee— a knee he’d admittedly fantasized about many nights in a row now. He’d selfishly thought about trailing kisses up your leg, pausing to nip playfully at the soft skin at your knee as he made his way north, up your thigh. He breathed deeply banishing those thoughts as he took in the site of your marred skin. Judging by the heavily keratinized markings, the injury had no doubt been painful when incurred originally. Azriel’s fingers twitched again, wanting to touch your face, hold you as he kissed away your grief. 

“From Beron’s dogs,” you breathed, rolling you shoulders, as if shaking the memory from your mind. “They wouldn’t heal when I was out there,” you clicked your tongue, “granted I was starving,” you sighed, “but that’s a story for another day.” You looked at him then, and he had to steady himself at the emotions pooling in your eyes. 

He’d already planned on killing Beron if the opportunity presented for what had happened with Mor, but for you, he’d make it hurt. He’d drag it out and make it slow. He’d torture him for days, flaying skin from bone, taking fingers then limbs and when at last he begged for death, Azriel would set the dogs on him and laugh as they tore him apart. He felt a long repressed need for vengeance creep up his spine, and he hated to acknowledge what its presence meant in regards to you.

“It’s okay, you know,” you’d said, head lolling to the side as you watched him, eyes swimming with a gentle affection, “I’ll never judge you for something like that.” Azriel squeezed his eyes shut as he turned his head from you and breathed in tightly. How did always manage to be so fucking disarming and vulnerable? That must’ve been a gift too.

He pinched the middle finger of the right glove and pulled it from his hand, grasping his now exposed fingers into a fist, knuckles cracking. He extended that arm out, palm up as he let you view his deepest insecurity, the thing he hated most in his appearance. 

You’d stepped forward, looking at his palm. Your hands went to reach but you’d paused, looking to his eyes as you silently asked permission to touch. He nodded stiffly, watching you with the same intensity of an animal being hunted, prey ready to bolt at any moment. 

Your fingers touched his hand, and he felt the connection race up his arm and to his chest, settling in his heart. Your eyes studied, and you rotated his hand, fingers gently tracing from his wrist, to knuckle, to fingernail in reverence. You covered his hand with your own, moving your eyes to his hazel ones. “Are they dead?” You’d asked seriously, and he stuttered a shocked laugh. “Yes, Little One, they are,” he answered, a small smile playing at his mouth. The two of you far too similar it seemed. “Good,” you’d said simply before kissing his knuckles and pulling the glove back on for him. The action was quietly intimate, and Azriel should’ve kissed you then. Mother knows he considered it, eyes watching you with rapt attention as his heart sped up and breathing shallowed. 

“If you two are done flirting, lunch is ready,” Cassian announced from the doorway, breaking the spell you were both under. You’d jumped and laughed freely at the large male smirking at the entrance. You grasped Azriel’s hand tightly in affection before releasing it to turn on your heel to exit the room, passing by Cass with an eye roll, thumping him square in the chest.

Cassian looked to his brother as he walked into the room and his face split into a shit eating grin. “Let’s go, loverboy,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. Azriel glared, scoffing as he followed behind you, praying to whatever Gods were listening that he’d get you alone again soon. 

In your second century with the Night Court, you’d lessened the blatant flirting and settled into loving, easy friendship. You regularly attended balls and galas in Hewn City, fitting into such pomp with practiced ease, but always with a dagger strapped to your thigh, ready to cut a male down in seconds. Those events were almost routine at this point: Azriel would save you a dance, and you’d move together in a slow ritual that you’d both perfected over the years, he’d bow as the violinist played their final note and resume his place on dais at Rhys’ right. His eyes would follow you the rest of the night, as you spoke in an airy manner to various high fae, glaring at any male whose hands ventured too close to his mate. 

Nights when the Court held parties at the House of Wind were different though. You were far less rigid, finding it easy to exist without scrutiny. Those were the nights Azriel’s eyes rarely left your form as he watched obsessively from the corners of the room. 

“You’re staring,” Rhys chimed from his place next to Azriel, eyes not leaving the crowd as he spoke to the Shadowsinger, mouth smirking. Azriel was staring. You’d worn cobalt blue tonight, a lovely color on your skin. His color on your skin. Mother above, the male possessiveness that crawled up his spine was unreal. Mate, mate, mate, his shadows had sang in his ear. He wanted to pluck the eyes from every male in the room for even glancing in your direction. He wanted so much more than that too. Your breathy sighs as he marked you, your moan as he made you come undone, his name crying from your lips as he ate his come from your cunt after. Azriel had a million and one scenarios running through his head. He yearned to make each one of them come to fruition too.

He hadn’t answered Rhysand, so the High Lord tried again, “you really should tell her, but please,” Rhys closed his eyes with a grimace, “quiet your thoughts first, for Cauldron’s sake.” That got Azriel’s attention, his back straightening and mental shield slamming down. His eyes squeezed shut, almost as if he was in pain. “I cannot burden her with that now,” he said, “not with war at our doorstep.” Indeed, the second war with Hybern creeped ever closer, disappearances of other high fae occurring daily. Whatever they were planning across the sea, it was going to bring Prythian to its knees. 

Rhysand sighed then, feeling older than his 500 years. “Be that as it may, we should hold those we love tighter.” Rhysand looked to Feyre at that moment, his eyes meeting his mate’s, as he sent a strum of warm affection down the bond. She smiled and returned it cheerily. He turned back to Azriel, “if it all ends tomorrow, I know my love and she knows me. That’s all we can ask for in this immortal life.” Azriel looked back to you, and your eyes were already on him, tracing the shadows that wound around his chest. You met his eyes and winked, before turning back to Mor and laughing freely.  

“I thank the Cauldron daily it was you that found her in those mountains, Rhys.” Azriel spoke quietly, admitting a small secret he’d not told anyone. Rhysand softened, and clapped his friend on the shoulder, “As I am, brother.” Azriel nodded, letting the conversation die between himself and the High Lord as he drained the drink in his hand and moved down the steps in your direction. 

You’d been in conversation with Mor when he approached. She was telling you of the seamstress she’d been seeing, and how happy she was. Azriel cleared his throat from behind the two of you and you turned to meet him, taking in his appearance with wide eyes. “Ladies,” he started, bowing to you and Mor, who snorted at the silly formality. “And that note, I’ll be taking my leave. I’ve got a lady to see,” she said with a wink and a flourish of her red dress. You laughed and shook your head before turning back to the Shadowsinger. He’d caught you staring earlier and your heart had nearly jumped into your throat, before Mor mocked you lightly, diffusing the tension. 

“Hi Az,” you greeted softly, before dropping your empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray and thanking them. Azriel watched you closely, noting the revealed skin that shifted with each movement, committing every angle and freckle to memory.

“You want to get out of here?” He dared ask, jerking his head toward the private balcony on the House of Wind. You raised a brow, Azriel? Asking you to leave? Together? You heart was back in your throat and you thanked the Mother that you’d taken your time getting ready that evening. Nodding, you grasped his arm as he offered it to you like a proper courtier. He walked the two of you up a round of stairs and away from the eyes he’d threatened earlier in the night. Voices dulled the more space you put between yourselves and them and you couldn’t help but start to sweat a bit at the thought of being alone with Azriel. 

You’d been friends for nearly two centuries, but you’d always felt a connection with the male. Your heart thrummed with a warm, golden affection when he got close. It made keeping a clear head during training hard. It made sitting next to him at dinner difficult. And when he’d looked at you like you hung the moon as you danced earlier in the night, it made you want to take him to bed and ride him until he moaned your name. You breathed deeply. ‘Focus,’ you chided yourself, ‘he is your friend, for Cauldron’s sake.’

He led you out onto to the balcony and stopped at the railing before looking up at the star flecked sky. “This is my favorite part of the House,” he said eyes scanning the sky before looking back to you as you watched him. A blush crept up his neck, before he cleared his throat again. 

“I’ve always wondered what it was like to be able to fly, you know,” you said quietly, removing your hand from his arm, rolling up onto your toes, leaning against the stone railing, and looking out on Velaris before scanning your eyes up to the three stars that shone brightly overhead. “When I was a child, I met a Peregryn from the Dawn Court and thought she had the most beautiful wings I’d ever seen.” You chanced a glance his way, “I’d not met an Illyrian yet.” You reminded with a smirk, bumping his arm with fondness. Gods, he was in trouble.

“I asked her what it was like and she said it was the purest sense of freedom possible.” You glanced down at your feet, “I spent the next year wishing for wings.”  He mulled on your words. He wanted to say something cheesy as Cassian would, like ‘I’ll be your wings’ but he couldn’t, so you continued on. 

“When I was a little older, I witnessed a blue skinned lesser fae’s wings ripped from his body as punishment and it was the most gruesome thing I’d seen at that point.” You took a shuddering breath, “I cried for him that night. The lost freedom. How maddening it must’ve been.” You looked at him then and he watched you with furrowed brows. “How does it feel for you?” You asked softly, eyes tracing the shine of his wing. ‘Magnificent things,’ you thought. You remembered seeing his wings for the first time and thinking the Peregryn had finally moved to second place in your mind. 

Azriel had to gather himself as he spoke, “It’s… everything.” He said quietly adjusting his body to extend a wing. “My ability to fly came in late,” he said, and your eyes widened, you hadn’t known that. “My childhood was… rough and I didn’t learn to fly until I was nearly grown.” He laughed, scuffing the toe of his boot, wings folding in behind him. “It was a lot of crash landings those first months.” You snorted, mental image of a younger Az, landing in a puddle of mud crossing your mind. 

“I was never a proud Illyrian, not like the others,” he continued, “it was hard for me to reconcile my heritage and our traditions.” He looked to the cityscape then, “but the stronger I got, the more I understood why flight was so crucial to my people.” He looked to you, eyes shining, “it’s the closest we can get to the stars.” 

You leaned over the railing again, staring wistfully at the night sky, the moon reflecting on your skin. “Will you take me someday? Flying, I mean.” Did you not know Azriel would give you the world? Of course he’d take you flying. He’d give you the moon, the stars, walk through fire and back, anything. He nodded, “you say the word, and I’ll fly you the the ocean and back.” The smile that broke across your face crippled him, his knees threatened to give way. 

“Yours are my favorite,” you murmured softly, eyes glancing from his wings to his face. Azriel blushed in full, pink speckling his neck and cheeks as he laughed. “Don’t let Cass hear you say that, he’s got an ego,” he said, a smile remaining at his lips. You liked him like this the most. Loose, smiling, free. You reached up then, cupping his reddened cheek, thumb stroking. “I don’t care,” you said smiling, “it’s the truth.” Azriel swallowed roughly, staring at your eyes swimming with an emotion he knew, but was much too stubborn and scared to name.

Just as your hand went to retreat, he grasped it between his own. “You can touch them,” he offered, knowing damn well the implications, “if you want,” he added. Your eyes widened. Mor had mentioned once that Illyrian’s wings were ‘sensitive,’ was the word she’d used. It was a sign of great intimacy and trust to allow another to touch them. You felt the air shift between you two then, as you nodded.

He extended a wing toward you. This felt so much like the first time he’d shown you his hands all those years ago. Your hand crept forward and gentle fingers met the red gold membrane that stretched between two metacarpals. Your fingers traced the membrane in smooth circles, then traced up to the crest. Azriel felt his breath gutter out of his mouth in a loud, choppy exhale, and he felt himself harden at the sensation of your fingers against the most sensitive portion of his wings. You gasped and jerked away at the sudden noise, before apologizing. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have gotten carried away.” 

Azriel shook his head, “It’s not that, they’re sensitive.” There was that word again, only it made you think of how they’d been shredded before the King of Hybern, and you opened your mouth to apologize again, but he stopped you short. “I haven’t allowed another to touch them freely since my mother.” The admission floored you, your gut giving way with a breath.

You looked to his eyes then, the air between you had shifted again and you knew this was it. This was the moment you’d waited for, he was going to kiss you. Mother, it felt you’d waited a millennia, and he felt just the same. But that kiss never came. Instead, Azriel went stock still, his eyes now on the House behind you. 

“Azriel?” You questioned. “It’s Rhys,” he said tightly, “he’s summoning me.” You understood then. He looked to you desperately, eyes a little wild and apologetic. “I’m sorry, I have to go to him.” You nodded, you both worked for the High Lord, you’d never get in the way of Azriel’s allegiance to his Court. “Of course,” you said quietly, taking a step back and swallowing down your disappointment. 

Azriel took three steps towards the entrance then stopped. “I’ll take you,” he turned around, backing his way to the arched stone, but keeping his eyes on you for a moment longer. “When I get back, I’ll take you flying,” he offered. Another smile etched its way across your face and Azriel took a long moment to memorize it greedily. “It’s a date,” you said confidently. He beamed then, turning on a heel to pick up into a jog, Rhys no doubt shouting to hurry up. 

That date hadn’t happened though. The second war with Hybern broke out days later and you both barely made it out alive. 

When Feyre had come to Velaris after Amarantha’s defeat, you’d accepted her with easy friendship. You saw Rhysand, your longtime friend, overcome with love for his newly found mate, and you couldn’t help but love her as well. You’d shared your story with her and the two of you bonded deeply over her art. She’d offered to teach you to paint, and you began taking lessons in your off time. Rhys had been Cauldron blessed with her and you reminded him daily. 

Later, when Feyre’s sisters joined their little unit, you’d been the first one to break Nesta’s tough exterior. The female saw parts of herself in you and you’d gotten her to crack a smile when you mocked Rhys’ High Lord voice at dinner one night. Elain had been a tougher sell, but you’d tried, along with Azriel, to bring the female out of her shell. The day she joined you in the library to read, you knew progress had been made, even if you two had only sat in silence a few feet apart, a small smile gracing her features. 

You left her book recommendations with small notes and she began to do the same. Your friendship playing out in the margins of the library’s tomes. You won her over with silent conversation. Nesta noticed, of course, and she looked to you with gratitude as she saw her sister’s eyes brightened and skin began to return to its normal, healthy color. The night Azriel mentioned it as you walked down the hall toward the dining room for the family meal, you’d shrugged. “I met her where she needed me to,” you’d said quietly, glancing to your feet. Azriel smiled, a Cauldron blessed gift indeed. 

Dinners at the House of Wind were by far Azriel’s favorite version of you. You’d laugh with abandon, smile splitting your face, showing every tooth as Mor cracked a joke and leaned against you for support, one too many drinks in her system. The first time he’d seen that smile, it blinded him, and he’d gone a little dazed, staring at you in wonderment. Rhys had interrupted his train of thought with an invasive insertion of “How quickly she reduced you to a puddle, brother.” Azriel had scowled at Rhys then, mental shields firming up, but not before he heard the distinct sound of his High Lord laughing at the Spymaster’s defensiveness. 

Indeed Azriel was gone for you. When Cassian finally confronted him last year about the truth of his feelings, Azriel saw no point to avoid it any longer, not after his brothers had also found their mates. “Our souls are one in the same, she’s my mate,” he’d said pensively, as if he was letting his deepest secret breath in the light for the first time in centuries. Maybe he was. He’d made Cassian promise on his life not to tell anyone, and despite being the biggest gossip in the Inner Circle, he kept his promise. He was thrilled for his brother, knowing you were the perfect match.

Little did Azriel know, everyone else was already more than aware of his affections. Amren had figured it out a century prior when Azriel had tended your needs as you’d recovered from an injury sustained during a mission. He’d fretted around you like a mother hen, buying you flowers, sweets, and books while you were bedridden. The female had watched and hummed with a raised eyebrow as Azriel exited your room for the fifth time in one day, wringing his hands with worry despite Madja’s clean bill of health.

Feyre had figured it out the same year she’d returned from the Spring Court, just before the second war with Hybern. She’d seen the way his eyes had followed you in the war room Rhys had created to host strategy meetings. Saw him lean towards you when you spoke, saw his wings flutter when you finally cast your gaze to him, eager for your attention. More than anything, she’d seen his shadows, desperate little things, sneaking across the floor each night, sidling up your ankles and wrists, begging for your affection. You always laughed and nuzzled them as the wound their way to your hair and Azriel went a little soft at the sight. 

When she told Mor, the blonde had laughed, “They’ve been circling each for two hundred years now, eventually one of them will cave.” Mor leveled a sardonic look at Feyre then, “and when they do, we’ll all have to relocate to the River House for a year lest we be subject to the frenzy.”

This mission should’ve been simple. Rhys had asked you to check out reports of rogue soldiers spotted making their way towards the border of the Night Court from the Day coastline. The intel he’d received had mentioned three to four maximum, all of them drunken ex-Hybern loyalists. It should’ve been a matter of locating them, spying for a day or two, then winnowing in to neutralize any threat. Gods, this was far from simple. 

When you’d arrived in the region, the hairs on your neck rose, the air itself feeling off. As you tracked them, you’d noticed intentional attempts to throw you off course. A carelessly trashed map, crudely laid tracks in the opposite direction, Dawn Court wine bottles that had been emptied and tossed about. They knew you were there, and you quickly realized that a trap had been laid. You backed off them then, staying further than you’d have liked, but trying like hell to make them think you’d given up. 

On your fourth night following them, you’d drifted away to an inn two towns over, desperately seeking a place to bathe and rest, even for a few hours. As you bathed, you felt watched in a way that discomfited you to your core, and your dagger stayed within arms reach the rest of the night. Suddenly, the role you’d played for the last two hundred years had left you entirely ill equipped for whatever was happening here. 

You’d left out before dawn, refusing to lose an ounce of daylight, but as you hit the tree line, readying yourself to winnow out, you’d noticed it. Hanging from a tree, a hundred yards away was a piece of clothing, your clothing. Clothing that should’ve been in the pack at your back. Your breath shuttered out of you as you opened your mind to Rhys, asking for back up. You were in over your head and you knew when to admit it. There was no pride in getting yourself killed. 

As you turned to move back to the inn where you could wait out contact from Rhys in a public location, you were met with a pair of shining blue eyes. You stepped back, keeping your grounding, readying for a fight. “You’ve been following us,” the stranger said calmly, beginning to trek in a slow circle around you. You opened your mind to Rhys again, “Help,” you called. Rhys answered this time, “Where are you?!” It was a frantic response, you never asked for help, Rhys knew this. “Just off the coast, beneath the mountain range, Day court border, 400 hundred paces from the inn” you spoke to Rhys in choppy thoughts, trying to establish a location before all hell broke loose. 

“I have,” you finally answered the stranger, whose lips quirked at your voice. He stopped circling and resumed his stance in front of you, blocking passage to the inn. “Why?” He asked and you tried to keep your mind steady as you answered. “You’re trespassers in these lands” you stated simply, shrugging a shoulder up. He grinned then, “had your lot not gotten in the way of our King’s plans, these would be our lands. We were promised them. I was personally promised the Court of Nightmares.”

“Well,” you shrugged feigning indifference, “that’s not how the war played out, so I will have to ask you to leave,” you offered in your most bored political tone. The same tone you’d used with High Fae that ran off at the mouth in Hewn City. The stranger cocked his head the side then, eyes twinkling, “I don’t think I will.” At that moment, one by one, additional soldiers appeared from the forest line. One, then four, then ten, until near twenty stood around you, looking on with hatred. 

Shit. 

“We’d hoped for the Illyrians, but it seems your High Lord sent us a treat instead,” the stranger said with mirth. You steeled your spine, looking down your nose at the stranger, “They’re going to kill you, you know.” He’d laughed at your threat. “I think not,” he said as as arrow was released from your left, finding purchase in your shoulder. You folded over on yourself at the blow, and looked up baring your teeth, before drawing your dagger and rushing the stranger with a feral sound.

Five more arrows hit you before your blade could find its target. One into your hip, two in your back, a fourth piercing your in your upper thigh, until the last burrowed into the back of your knee, bringing you down in front of him — forcing you to bow to the stranger. The arrows were laced with faebane you realized as you’d begun to feel its effects in your blood. Your power waning quickly, thoughts becoming murky. 

You released another shattered thought to Rhys then, “Tell him, please,” you begged raggedly. Rhysand came back with a rushed and tight, “Hold on, Little One, we’re coming.” You shook your head, there wasn’t time. “Tell Azriel I love him if I don’t make it, Rhys, promise me.” He responded but it muddled out, sounding like words shouted through a pool of water, then your brain fell quiet. The line severed. 

The stranger lifted your head, hand wrapped around your throat, as he bent to meet your crouched form. “I’ll be sure to savor this,” he smiled and the hilt of his sword came in fierce contact with your forehead. 

It was the early morning on your fifth day away when Rhys heard you. “Help,” it had come through so clearly that it startled Rhys awake and set his heart to racing. You’d only asked for help once, during the war when you were overrun and near death. You were in danger.

He’d sat up straight in bed, Feyre still sleeping silently at his side, hand resting on her pregnant stomach. “Where are you?!” He’d asked down the line, a little frantic, remembering the state he and Azriel had found you in last time. Gods, you’d been run through on a Hybern soldier’s sword, the damage was astronomical. Azriel had nearly killed everyone within a mile radius at the sight of you.

You recited your location in short bursts and Rhys focused on the bond of your bargain, using it to locate you with more precision. He reached out to Azriel then, “Get Cassian and meet me downstairs. Be ready to fly.” Azriel responded an affirmative and Rhys rushed around his room, grabbing his dagger lined belt, and using his magic to dress in his leathers quickly. He winnowed to the base of the stairs and was glad to find Cassian and Azriel waiting. 

“Tell him, please” you begged into Rhys’ mind then, words growing ragged. Rhys’ eyes slammed shut with a wince and he attempted to reassure you, “Hold on, Little One, we’re coming.” Rhys opened his eyes and looked to Azriel, who was watching him with anticipation. You responded again, words growing murkier, a little warbled. “Tell Azriel I love him if I don’t make it, Rhys, promise me.” Rhysand felt sick. “We will find you and you will tell him yourself,” he spoke but the bond was dead, silent, foreboding. Rhys thought he might vomit. 

He looked to Azriel again, “It’s her. She’s in trouble. We have to go.” Azriel’s face darkened with a thunderous ferocity. Mother help the males who’d harmed you. “Where?” He asked, voice deep with the threat of murderous violence. “The wilds on the border, off the coast of Day. I’ll winnow us as close as possible.” Azriel nodded his acquiesce and lifted a trembling hand to his hair, running scarred fingers through the strands. Cassian spoke then, “we will get her back,” he’d said softly as Rhysand put his hands to the two of them, preparing for the jump. “And we will kill every last one of them,” Cassian added darkly as blue-black shadows encased them and they disappeared. 

You awoke with a start, gasping like you’d been underwater. Your shoulders ached from your position. You pulled on your hands only to realize you were shackled to a tree somewhere deep in the forest, the same forest you’d been on the outskirts of earlier. You looked up to the sky, trying to find the sun to gauge how much time had passed. The sun had long moved past midday and was sinking towards the evening horizon. Your throat tightened. Where was Rhysand? 

“Nice of you to join us,” a voice spoke. It was the stranger again, he emerged from the camp set two hundred paces to your left, hidden by shrubs and underbrush. You got a good look at him this time. He was tall, leanly muscular in a way that reminded you of Lucien Vanserra. His hair was a dishwater blonde and lacked any sheen, falling in choppy dry waves around his shoulders. His face was gaunt, eyes sunken, bruised with a lack of rest, and his cheekbones were sharp, giving his face an angle that made him look harsh and unforgiving. Though he carried himself with confidence, you noticed a slight, barely there limp in his right leg, an old wound perhaps, one that never healed correctly. You noted that for later, if you ever got out of these shackles. 

You leveled a glare at him that you hoped looked more fearsome than you felt. Mother, your bones ached and your wounds throbbed. “I left the arrows in, but broke off the shaft. Didn’t want to have you healing too quickly.” He spoke with nonchalance, while polishing a dagger, your dagger, you realized as your eyes focused. You pulled at the shackles above your head, and the stranger chuckled at your attempt. 

“What do you want?” Your voice croaked, mouth dry from disuse. The stranger laughed, pointing the blade at you, “I want my fucking court and you’re the key to getting it.” You shook your head then, “I am nothing.” The words sounded foreign on your tongue, a lie on some level, you knew this, but you would be damned before you gave up your family. The stranger clicked his tongue at your response, shaking his head. 

“Surely you don’t believe that? The High Lord doesn’t trust easily, you’ve been seen with his entourage. The Shadowsinger’s whore.” He squatted a few feet from you, eyes tracing from your tied hands down to your face, pausing at your breasts, before trekking down your stomach, thighs, and calves. He was sizing up how much fight you had left.

Your brain had short circuited though, the Shadowsinger’s whore. Mother above, you’d never even kissed. How long had this male watched you and your family? How had none of you seen it? A bitter laugh wretched from your lungs, “sorry to disappoint, but the Shadowsinger isn’t mine.” No matter how desperately I’ve wished it so, you added silently. 

The stranger grinned then, “if you are truly nothing, then I’ll make this a little sweeter.” He took steps towards you, raising the dagger to rest at your chin, the blade pressing to the underside painfully. “You’re far too pretty to be nothing.” He ran the blade along the column of your throat, resting it against your sternum, between your breasts. You pushed yourself further into the tree, back protesting as the arrows burrowed deeper with the movement. You didn’t like the new angle this interaction had taken and your fight or flight instincts were screaming. 

You attempted to reach out to Rhysand, but the bond was dead silent. Your breathing hitched at the realization that you were truly alone in this. The stranger chuckled, dragging the blade down your chest, slicing the leathers, letting the fabric fall open and reveal your undergarments to his greedy view. Your legs moved to kick, but you realized quickly they too were tied. The blade came to rest at your bare stomach, and the stranger dug it in below the navel, causing blood to pool there. You winced, but made no sound. 

“Ah, I was hoping you’d be louder than that,” the stranger smirked, “I’ll have to try harder.” He backed up then and pulled a whip from his back pocket, unfurling it with a crack. Your eyes widened and you brain went silent, fear overtaking your senses. “There it is,” his smile gleamed with violent delight, “there’s the reaction I was hoping for.” He reared an arm back before cracking the whip in your direction. The leather made contact with your torso, a stinging slice appearing along your rib cage. You jerked, but bit your tongue.

He cracked it again and again until you were bloody, slices in your leathers, festering wounds along your breasts, ribs, and stomach. You’d counted to 25 lashes before your brain gave out and your vision blurred from the pain. You looked up to the sky wearily. The sun was gone and the stars were slowly appearing. You smiled at them, remembering Azriel’s words from that night all those years ago. 

You hoped he’d forgive you for not telling him. You hoped he’d understand your fear in revealing that secret, that the bond had snapped for you during the war. When that Hybern soldier’s sword pierced your armor, running through your body to the hilt, and he’d let out a fearsome bellow from across the field at the sight. You felt it then, the golden strumming taking the form of a fated thread linking you two. You been near death when he and Rhys had found you and the only thing you could do was smile. Such an ironic thing it was to die in the arms of your mate. 

Your head lolled to the side as exhaustion threatened to overtake you. “Azriel,” your thoughts ventured, calling down the bond he didn’t even know existed, “I love you.” Darkness swam in the corners of your vision but you swore you felt his responding tug. The Mother was kind for granting that hallucinative mercy in your final hours. Your body gave out, slumping against the shackles and darkness overwhelmed you. 

Azriel was furious. No, furious wasn’t the word, he was a walking time bomb. You were gone. His mate was missing and he was going to explode. As he’d arrived with Rhys and Cassian to the location you’d given them, he could smell you. His eyes searched frantically around the scene before him until they zeroed in on an item hanging from a branch a few dozen paces out. Cloth of some sort? He approached and could detect your scent on it, realizing quickly it was your clothing. A ripped cotton blouse. His fists clenched and he vaguely heard Rhysand speaking to his left. “They must’ve captured her here.” Rhys crouched down to the ground, two fingers swiping the dirt there, before bringing them eye level to examine sample. “Blood,” he muttered, rubbing the hand on the leg of his pants, “she was injured.” Azriel’s heart thundered, he was going to fucking explode. 

He set his shadows work, surveying the forest with rapid precision. They’d cover more ground this way, an army of three operating like a whole infantry. By the time the sun rose to midday, Azriel was ready to begin screaming. They trekked further into the forest, following a line of smoke that was miles deep, originating at a camp somewhere far into the wilds. His shadows murmured to him of a small band of males there, of you, shackled to a fucking tree, arrows buried in your back. He’d nearly lost the contents of his stomach at the information and set to a run alongside Rhysand and Cassian. 

As the three approached the encampment, the sun was nearing dusk. Rhysand had commanded the halt and strategize. There were roughly twenty-five men, all armed. They couldn’t enter this blindly and infuriated, they would lose if they weren’t careful. Azriel hated admitting he was right, his instincts screaming otherwise. Mate, mate, mate, his heart pounded. 

They backed off to a thousand paces out, close enough that they could hear if the troop vacated the premises. As Rhysand and Cassian spoke quietly, Azriel felt his heart thrum. The golden thread there had pulled him closer to you and he could tell you were still alive. Though Rhys couldn’t reach out through your bargain, Azriel’s bond was still alight and warm, he stroked it with gentle affection. You might not feel it, but Gods he would try. 

As the trio retraced their steps to the camp, stars were just beginning to light overhead and Azriel grasped his daggers tightly, knuckles cracking around the hilt. He was going to kill them. Kill them all brutally for taking you, for touching what was his. When they were within a stones throw from the camp he heard it, heard you. “Azriel,” you whispered into his mind. He went stock still, spine ramrod straight, fingers trembling as they gripped his knives. The golden bond vibrated in his chest, and he felt you reaching out through murky waters, against all odds. “I love you,” you said with a soft exhaustion before your side went dark. Azriel’s breathing guttered and he felt high on mirthroot, sick from fae wine, and enraged to the point of explosion all at once. His blue siphons flared brightly from the surge of power. He closed his eyes and reached out to you through the bond, tugging on the thread connecting your souls. He was coming. He was going to save you. 

Rhysand looked to him then, curiosity swimming in his eyes as he took in the Shadowsinger’s sudden stop. Azriel opened eyes, irises alight with fire and shadow, voice grinding with dark threat, “Let’s go.” Rhys nodded and Cassian drew his knives. 

They moved with brutal efficiency, killing male after male until none remained alive. Some had begged, others shouted and scattered their belongings as they set into a run. His shadows had caught them, twisting around their ankles and dragging them back to meet their fate, daggers slicing throats from ear to ear until blood poured like a prized hunt being slaughtered, the Illryian’s hands grasping and snapping necks like twigs. It was a practiced routine for the three of them, who’d trained since they were teens. 

As they stepped through the shrubs to find you, Cassian gasped and Azriel felt his lungs threaten to collapse at the sight. You’d been shackled to a tree at the wrists and ankles and whipped within an inch your life. Wounds glistened with blood along your thighs, soft stomach, ribs, breasts. There had to be thirty lashes. A knife wound was visible at your exposed navel. Your head hung forward unconscious and Azriel’s heart pounded. He wanted to vomit and his hands shook. 

“She said you’d come,” a voice said, emerging from behind the tree you were bound to. The male held a dagger to your throat. This new stranger had to be the leader of this band of idiots. Azriel’s eyes followed the tip of the blade up his arm to the male’s eyes and a growl escaped him as he bared his teeth. The male laughed, “to think she said she was nothing and yet I have both the Shadowsinger and the Lord of Bloodshed before me to save her.”

Azriel’s mind latched on to that piece of information, turning it over in his head. You’d told this male you were nothing? Did you not know Azriel would do anything for you? You were everything. You were his love, light of his life, keeper of his soul, his mate. How alone you must’ve felt, how scared. Azriel’s eyes narrowed, he was going kill him. 

Rhysand spoke then, emerging from behind the two Illyrian brothers, “And may I ask why you’ve abducted a member of my court?” He was in High Lord mode, tone bored, fingers picking at his sleeve. The Hybern male’s smile gleamed at the introduction, “just who I was hoping to see!” 

“Hybern, the old fool, made a few promises in his last days as King,” the male spoke, digging the blade down to your chest, where it rested over your heart. Azriel stared at the blade, eyes tracing to the the hilt. That was your blade, the one he’d given you when you first arrived in Velaris, the one you wielded against Eris, the one you kept strapped to your thigh. Your own knife had been used against you.

“One of which was that I would inherit these lands after your lot were annihilated.” Azriel wanted to laugh at the male’s words, was he serious? “A dead king cannot honor empty promises,” he ground out eyes shifting to the male’s blue eyes. “A dead and headless king cannot gift you shit,” Azriel spat. The male smiled then, a feline grin growing on his lips. “Precisely Shadowsinger, a dead king cannot give me my due, but this little thing can help.” You’d made a noise then, something akin to a whimper as you came to. Eyes wincing then fluttering open as your irises found Azriel’s immediately, some preternatural magnetism existing between the two of you. Then you looked to Cassian and Rhysand, and your eyes swam with apology.

“She awakens!” The male sang, looking to you. Azriel jumped at the opportunity to send his shadows out while the male’s attention was elsewhere. They traced over the ground to you, circling the tree and working at your binds. He sent two others towards the distracted male. “Who knew the Night Court was so attached to a whore,” the male laughed, “I want my lands,” he fixed Rhysand with a glare, “you can have your plaything back in exchange for my seat, High Lord” he sneered. 

Rhysand looked from you to the stranger to the shadow now creeping ever closer to the male. “You must be mistaken,” Rhys said then and Azriel’s shadows wrapped around the male’s neck and wrist simultaneously, whispering violence for touching their mate, forcing the dagger from his grasp and air from his lungs. Azriel tightened them until they heard bones crack in the male’s arm and choked sounds exit his throat, face reddening as oxygen was cut off. “I do not make deals with dim witted cunts,” Rhysand said darkness beginning to surround him, High Lord voice encroaching, “I do not entertain terrorists and I do not take kindly to threats on my family.” 

‘Finish him,’ Rhysand said darkly into Azriel’s mind and the Shadowsinger moved with lightening precision, dagger find purchase as the male’s neck was sliced open and his right hand was removed from his body. The male’s body toddled forward with a choked gurgling, before falling to the ground, lifeless, blood pooling.

Azriel’s gaze fell to you and he softened. His shadows finished picking the lock of the shackles that held your arms and they clicked open, allowing your body to fall into his. “Azriel,” you breathed, voice weary with exhaustion, “I didn’t— I—“ you stuttered, pulling a shaking hand to his face. You swallowed, tracing his cheek with trembling fingers, “I didn’t think I’d see you again,” you murmured, your watery eyes searching his face, memorizing the details of his visage.

Azriel picked you up in his arms and unfurled his wings protectively. “I will always come for you,” he said vehemently, eyes watching your face with intensity. You smiled, a weepy trembling smile as you nodded. Rhysand reached the Shadowsinger’s side then and your eyes moved to his violet ones, “Hi Little One, I’m so sorry we’re late.” You let out a single watery laugh before wincing as the sudden expansion of your chest burned the wounds littering your chest and back. 

“The arrows,” you gasped, “at my back,” you twisted in Azriel’s hold, “please get them out.” Rhysand leaned down to inspect the wounds. “Faebane,” he surmised, that’s why his connection to you had been severed. “We need to get her to Madja, now.” Azriel nodded, allowing Rhys and Cassian to move closer so the High Lord could winnow them home. 

Landing back at the House of Wind had been chaotic. Rhysand shouted immediately to get every healer available and the dining room table had been lined with a sheet, turning the warm family room into a medical ward. You were laid facedown on the table and Azriel took to your side, scarred hands touching your face, keeping you awake as Madja worked to remove the six arrows burrowed in your body. 

You’d screamed. The sound would haunt Azriel for centuries. You begged to make it stop and Madja had apologized softly as she worked faster to remove them while minimizing damage. “I’ve got you,” Azriel said softly, “eyes on me, alright?” He rubbed the hollow under your eye with a scarred thumb and you opened your eyes to lock on his. “No gloves,” you said, smiling tightly, before wincing as Madja applied local anesthetic to an arrow wound. Azriel smiled, eyes a little watery. “Not with you,” he whispered shaking his head, “never with you.” You smiled at him and the sight set Azriel’s heart to fluttering.

Later, after the arrows had been removed and wounds bandaged, you’d been given a strong herb tonic for pain that set your head swimming as exhaustion overtook you. Azriel carried you his room, laying you gently onto the mattress and covered you with the duvet. He leaned down then, breathing in your scent as he placed a kiss to your forehead, nuzzling his nose to the Winter white hair there. He would tell you. When you awoke, he would bare his soul to you. 

You woke with a groan. Fucking Gods, your body ached with the effort it took to roll over. “Easy,” a voice came from the corner of the room. Your breath gasped out of you as your eyes raced to the figure there. “Azriel,” you breathed. The male smiled warmly at you and stepped forward to rest at the edge of the mattress. You pushed up in the bed, the wound at your shoulder screaming from the exertion. Once in a sitting position, you rested your back on the headboard as you looked at him. “For taking out a small militia, you seemed to be decently uninjured,” you said smiling tightly, memories of the stranger and his whip haunting your mind. He snorted a small laugh, “Yes well,” he looked down then, thumbs fiddling with each other, chest heating, “I had something worth fighting for.” 

He looked back to you and your cheeks had grown pink, a small pleased smile at your lips. “I heard you, you know,” he said softly, turning enough to rest a hand on your thigh, thumb drawing small, soothing circles there. The heat generated in the touch sent a spark to your belly. Oh, you were fucked. “I heard you in my head, through the bond,” he said eyes watching his thumb as it traced on your bare skin hypnotically. 

“You know then?” You whispered, breath skittering out of you. You were scared to death of the trajectory the conversation was taking, your heart preparing for the best and the worst simultaneously. Azriel’s eyes dragged up your form to your face and a smile broke over his lips, one that caused your heart to ignite. Your Mother had once told you the heart was an organ of fire and you’d laughed, never having cause to believe such a statement. You understood now. 

“I—“ Azriel started, before clearing his throat, turning his body to face you in full, a knee pulled up on the mattress, touching yours. “In the whole time I have known you— two centuries, Little One,” he looked at you pointedly, “you have been my dearest friend, my greatest comfort, my confidant, and the person I admire most in this Gods forsaken world.” He breathed deeply, a whoosh exiting his lips as his hand tightened around your thigh. “The times when you were lost to me have been some of the most painful moments I’ve experienced.” 

Your eyes began to water, and you moved a hand to rest atop his own, thumb circling the scarred skin at his wrist. He took a breath then and the air shifted between you, his mouth opening and closing, as if he was gathering his confidence for what he was about to say next. “I have loved for you so long that I’d given up all hope of reciprocation.” The words shattered through you as all air escaped your lungs, guts swooping down as heat alighted there. “I felt the bond the night Eris came for you,” he continued, eyes watching your entwined hands. Your body went still and a startled laugh exited your mouth. Azriel’s eyes flew to yours questioningly. 

“Sorry,” you chuckled again, “I’m just realizing how fucking stupid we’ve been.” You lolled your to the side, watching him with loving eyes. “I’ve been in love with you for almost two centuries, Azriel,” you smiled, “I thought you wouldn’t want me.” Azriel’s eyes widened, his mouth opening and closing in disbelief, two then three times. You thought for a second to compare him to the guppy fish that swam in schools along the banks of the Sidra but refrained. 

He pushed forward then, hands coming to cup your face, pinky and ring fingers resting in the hollow below your ear, thumbs stroking your cheeks. “How could I not? You’re everything,” he whispered, searching your face, conviction showing in his eyes. You couldn’t stop the smile that overtook your mouth as you spoke, “and you’re my mate.” His eyes moved to your lips, glazing before they moved back to your eyes. “As you are mine,” he spoke confidently. 

Your eyes watched each other for a long second, “I really hope you’ll kiss me this time,” your hand trailed up his arm, fingers teasing. “Mother knows I’ve been dreaming of it for far too long.” He surged forward, lips meeting yours and you thought you might float away. You gasped and his tongue moved in, claiming your mouth, your taste with his own. 

He pulled away minutes later, a little breathless, “Sorry to have kept you waiting, my love,” he spoke, resting his forehead to yours with a smile, watching your dazed expression, pink cheeks, as your lips split into a grin. Your hand moved to the front of his button down, fisting in the material there, giving an experimental tug. “Kiss me like that again and I’ll consider forgiving you.” 

The laugh that came out of him was golden, and you pushed yourself to memorize it. Azriel, Lord of Shadows, Spymaster for the Night Court, Rhysand’s right hand and Illyrian warrior was soft for you. He loved you. He was your mate. You’d be giddy about it for the rest of your life. 

Your healing had been slower than you would’ve liked. The faebane had done serious damage but with Madja’s help, the scarring was minimized. The lashes at your front took two weeks to heal, the arrow wounds took three. Three fucking weeks. Meanwhile all you could think about was your mate. He hadn’t left your side in the interim. Helping you take steps, applying the wound creams that Madja had left in small glass pots, keeping you fed, making you laugh, telling you how much he loved you daily. Mother above, you were going to ruin this male. 

You walked into the kitchen at the end of week three, the only evidence of your wounds now in the slight limp of your right leg and twinge in your left shoulder. The marks at your stomach and chest had diminished into barely there, silver scores. Cassian was sitting at the small table in the corner as you entered. “Hi Cass,” you greeted, “seen my mate around this morning?” It was fun calling him that, a small part of your chest swelling with pride each time. 

Cassian smirked, “He’s been…… out.” Your eyes narrowed, he was being evasive. “Out where?” You asked, grabbing an apple and hopping up on the counter to watch the male. He shrugged, “No idea, Little One.” You smirked, “I know where you sleep Cassian,” you started, “is it really wise to lie to me?” Nesta strode into the kitchen, “What’s he done now?” She asked laughing. “Hey! I’ll have you know I’ve done nothing!” The male exclaimed, “She’s interrogating me on the whereabouts of her maaate.” He dragged out the vowel of the last word mockingly. Nesta took her seat next to Cassian and laughed, “Ah, him.” She looked to you then, “he’ll be around to collect you soon.” 

You looked between the two, suspicion dripping from your features as you took another bite from the apple in your palm. “You two are being weird,” you stated. Nesta shrugged, nudging Cassian who smiled at her. “Just wait,” she said softly, “maybe cook yourself a meal.” Cassian’s mouth quirked with a laugh he restrained. “Right, I’m leaving, cause whatever this is,” you waved a hand at them, “is deeply odd.” You hopped off the counter and strolled to the exit.  You heard them laughing softly once you were out of the room, making you roll your eyes at their antics.

You’d gone to the library after leaving the kitchen and found Elain already there. Her eyes moved to you upon your entrance and she closed her book, middle finger marking her spot. “How are you feeling?” She asked softly, eyes surveying your body for lingering damage. You sighed, falling into the sofa across from her. “I’m better,” you said quietly, “the pain is gone, scars are minimal.” You turned your eyes to her, she looked brighter than the last time you’d seen her. “How are you?” You asked in return. She smiled sweetly. “Better,” she echoed you and you wanted to laugh. “I’ve been exchanging letters with Lucien,” she added and your ears perked up.

“That’s great, Elain,” you rest your chin on a closed fist, watching her. She shifted and sat her book to the side, page forgotten. “I want to tell you something,” she said quietly, fingers twiddling with each other. She looked... nervous? “I’m all ears,” you said softly. 

“I had a vision while you were gone,” she started and took a deep breath. “It was so muddled at first, I couldn’t tell who it was, but then I saw you. Your hair was longer, you stood taller, and your belly was round.” The breath left your body in a powerful exhale. She looked to you again, eyes watching yours, “You were pregnant and happy and in love,” she said quietly, as if the words in themselves were fragile. Your hands trembled and you moved them under your thighs, her eyes didn’t miss the action. 

“I couldn’t understand why the Mother would send me a vision like that, I saw Feyre’s pregnancy, but we’re sisters, you know?” You nodded. “Then I realized I recognized the tattooed arm I’d seen wrap around you, knew it was Azriel.” Your eyes watered, and you hiccuped out a small laugh. “I’ve known for a while you two were fated, but the Mother was telling me for certain. I hope you know how happy we are for you.” She finished and moved to sit next you, small hand touching your knee. 

“When they brought you in that night, I thought the Mother had lied to me, that it was a vision of what could have been, that you wouldn’t make it.” You’d never heard Elain speak at length in this way, and you thought you might stop breathing. “I’ve never been happier to see you than when Azriel brought you in to read days later, my sweet friend.” You surged forward, throwing your arms around the female and she returned the gesture warmly. 

You sat back and looked at her then. “Thank you,” you said, voice small, a little watery. She nodded before turning to resume her original spot at the end of the sofa, picking up her book and opening it to the page she’d left off. 

In the hours that followed, you’d returned to the kitchen, grateful to find Cassian and Nesta had left. You took Nesta’s advice, gathering the ingredients to build a small berry tart. It had just gone in the oven when your mate appeared in the doorway.

“Hello love,” he said casually, leaning against the door jamb. You startled, turning on your heel to find him smiling at you. “Where have you been?” You asked walking towards him and running your hands around his midsection in a hug, head resting against his chest. His arm came around your shoulders as he pressed a kiss to your hair, breathing in your scent. “That, my dearest one, is a surprise.” 

You looked up chin resting against his chest, watching his face. “It’d better be good, I baked for you,” you said, smiling softly at the Spymaster. His eyes moved to the oven then and back to you, irises darkening, as his pupils blew a little wide. “You… baked?” He asked disbelieving, “didn’t know you knew how to bake,” he followed up playfully. You gasped and shoved him, “for that, you can starve, have fun finding another mate to bake for you.” He laughed heartily and caught your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips, eyes swimming with warm affection as he pressed a kiss there. Gods, the action made lust swoop in your stomach, heat spreading. 

“The fool I’d be to turn away such a female,” he said, voice deepening, lips running across your knuckles with each word. “Azriel” you breathed. “Yes?” He offered in return, still smiling, moving your knuckles back and forth against his hot mouth. “Please tell me this surprise involves you bedding me.” A growl creeped out of his throat, the thought of you under him sending lust racing down his spine and to his groin. 

“It might,” he said quietly, lips resuming their exploration, tracking small kisses from your knuckles, to the joint of your thumb, the inside of your wrist where Rhys’ tattoo lingered, up the soft skin of your arm, to your elbow, until he reached the skin of your shoulder. His lips traced over the raised skin there, a small nip above the scar as he traced north to your collarbone. You’d gone to putty in his hands, head rolling to the side to bare your throat. He pressed soft kisses there, pausing at your pulse point to trace the area with his warm tongue, a whimper escaping your mouth. 

“If this is going to become a regular thing, I’ll need you two to relocate to the River House,” a voice came from behind you and you jumped in shock, but your mate, he let out a possessive growl before turning on the intruder. Rhysand laughed airily and folded his arms over his chest. “Easy, brother,” he smiled, causing Azriel to roll his eyes. You blinked a little dazed, and pulled away from the Shadowsinger. “You’re gonna make me burn my fucking tart,” you shoved him with an arm and laughed as you turned to resume your place at the oven. 

Azriel instructed you to dress comfortably and be ready in a hour as he kissed your knuckles one last time and exited the kitchen. Butterflies roamed freely in your stomach at the thought of what he had planned. You’d returned to your quarters after removing the tart from the oven and portioning it into a small travel sized container. You were going to accept the bond, and your nerves were alight with anxious excitement. After you dressed in a lightweight linen dress, you packed a small bag with your remaining creams, and the boxed tart you’d prepared earlier. 

You descended the stairs to find Azriel waiting at the base, his wings standing proudly behind him, shadows skittering around his feet. At the sight of you they raced to meet on the bottom step, running up your legs, around your waist and into your hair. A laugh escaped you as one nuzzled into the space behind your ear. Azriel watched fondly. “They love you,” he said smiling, taking a step to meet you, “ever since the bond snapped, I’ve had the hardest time reining them back from touching you.” 

You reached a hand out to meet his, interlacing your fingers. “They’re cute, but you’re cuter,” you said with gentle affection. A shadow pinched at your waist and Azriel’s cheeks went a little pink as he laughed. 

“Will you tell me what the surprise is?” You asked as he walked you toward the training balcony. “I’m afraid I’m very poorly dressed for training,” you joked. He snorted, “no, we’re not training.” He came to rest at the railing and then turned to you, running a hand up your arm, fingers moving to hold the back of your neck, warm palm heating the skin there, thumb grazing your jawline. “Amongst many things I’ve been terribly late for recently, I realize I owe you a date.” 

Your face went a little puzzled and you looked to his eyes. “A date?” You questioned. He nodded, “I was supposed to take you flying.” Realization dawned on your features and a smile overtook your lips, each tooth shining in the setting sun. “I wanted to kiss you that night too,” you admitted laughing, remembering how desperate you’d been for his touch and attention. He smiled softly, “you have no idea how angry I was with Rhys for calling me away.” Your eyes widened, still in disbelief that this male wanted you return. It seemed both a millennia in the making and still so new and fragile. 

Azriel snuck an arm around your waist and brought you up into the stretch of his firm body. His other hand tracing down your hip, then thigh, to curve under your knees as he picked you up. His wings unfurled and he shot into the air. A shaky laugh startled out of you and you gripped him tighter, your arms winding around his neck. His wings flapped in thunderous bursts, taking you higher, until you could see the entirety of Velaris spread below, the Sidra flowing like a snake through the winding city. Your breath left you in awe. “The Peregryn was right,” you said loud enough for him to hear and he smiled, pressing a kiss to your temple.

The flight was short, but it took you to the rural banks of the Sidra on the outskirts of the city, just before it emptied into the sea. You could see ships sailing into the harbor, moonlight beginning to trickle across the water. This was undeniably special, you thought, no one would see you up here and you felt like this was the edge of the world itself. You turned to Azriel, finding his eyes already watching you. “Thank you,” you said softly, leaning into him, his chin meeting your forehead as you moved your body to rest alongside the length of his. His hand came to rest at the small of your back, pinky stretching to graze the curve of your bottom. Wherever this was going, you were very interested. 

He turned and grasped your hand, pulling you back up the hill and away from the view, towards a field of wildflowers and grasses. There, in the middle, a blanket had been laid out, small candles lit to illuminate the setting. A basket sat in one corner, a bottle of fae wine held within with an assortment of pastries, breads, and cheeses. You realized quickly that your mate, the male you’d loved for damn near two centuries, was courting you. The thought thrilled you. 

He led you to the blanket and motioned for you to sit next him. “I must confess, I never took you for a romantic,” you said looking from the candles, to the basket, and then to him. He was watching you again. He smiled, laughing a bit nervously, “I’m a lot of things,” he said and your eyebrow quirked. “Oh yeah? Like what?” You challenged him and he loved you for it. You made him feel easy to love, you made loving fun and freeing. Azriel had once only thought freedom could be found in fucking and flying, then he’d found you and he knew it was there too. In the smile of your lips, in the thrill of your touch, in the ease of your love. 

“Well,” he started, moving his wings to lean into you, pressing a kiss to your exposed shoulder. The action caused you to shiver. “I’m a spymaster.” You snorted, “no shit.” A laugh rumbled in his chest. “I’m a bit shy as you well know, I’m quite fond of dancing, I’m—” he hummed the last letter, pausing his thoughts and moving his lips up your neck. “I’m in love with you,” he said biting into the flesh at the juncture of your collarbone and throat, cock hardening at the sound that rolled out of your mouth. “I’m going to take you right here, on this blanket, under the stars.” 

You gasped, your hands moved find purchase in the hair at the back of his head, fingers winding through the strands, nails dragging at his scalp. His nose ran the length of your jawline before his lips found yours. He rumbled a small hum the instant his mouth touched your own. At first it was a gentle press, teasing you as he had done today in the kitchen at the House of Wind. The adrenaline racing up your spine made you feel like you might vibrate out of your skin. His hand reached up then, threading broad fingers into your hair as he took the kiss deeper. Tonguing the bottom of your lip until your mouth opened, his tongue stroking your own. Humming with contentment, he tilted your head, deepening the kiss at a new angle that had heat swooping down to your core. 

You brought your left hand to his shoulder, fisting your fingers in the fabric there and pulling him closer. He understood your intention and leaned you back into the blanket, pleasure alighting each nerve as his body pressed into your own. He eased up on your lips and began a slow trek south, pulling the strap of your dress down the curve of your shoulder, leaving a love bite there that had you gasping. He kissed down the bust line of the dress, laving his tongue at the swell of your breast. Your breath was coming in pants and you pressed yourself up on your elbows as he moved further south, fingertips tracing the hem of your dress that had risen to the middle of your thigh. 

He looked back to you and smiled, mischief playing in his eyes as he ran his hands up your thighs, the slow drag pulling the dress with it. “I’ve been thinking about your cunt for centuries,” he said, his lips on your knee, pressing insistently as they moved north. “I’ve been dreaming of making you come on my tongue since I met you.”

Your breath leaves you in one fell swoop as you feel his tongue at the juncture of your hip and thigh. His mouth was insistent at skin there, tonguing the lace of your panties before pulling them down your legs and off entirely. He picked up a foot, placing it to his chest as he traced the long line of your body with hungry eyes. You were panting already, dressed rucked up around your waist, straps fallen down your arms and breasts heaving. His gaze flowed south and landed on your pink cunt, glistening, begging for him. His eyes went back to your face then, and his titled his head to the side, “Will you let me eat your pretty little cunt?” He asked fingertips tracing the scars of your calf with reverence. He brought your foot up, kissing the inside of the ankle, then nosing his way over your scarred calf, suckling at the skin there. “Please,” he added, eyes moving back to yours as his mouth continued his ministrations. 

“Mother above, Azriel,” you breathed and a laughed startled out of you, “you are mouthy.” He chuckled darkly then, nipping at your knee, taking special care to press a gentle kiss at the new scar there. “Is that a no then?” He said softly and your head fell back with a groan, exposing your neck to his view. “As if,” you said, head pulling back up and lolling to the side to rest on your shoulder. “I’ve thought about it too, and if you back out now I will explode.” He laughed again, freely this time, forehead resting on your thigh. 

His eyes find yours again, and he kept them there as he traced his lips north. He nosed the juncture of your cunt and inner thigh, running a tongue along your mound. You gasped and eyes narrowed, watching him with rapt attention. He pressed a kiss to the top of your slit and his hands come up to open you to him, pulling the lips apart and tonguing the collected moisture there. Your head fell back as your elbows gave way, falling flat against the blanket. 

“You taste better than I imagined,” he said before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking. The moan that left you had his hips pushing into the ground to find relief as his cock begged for release. His tongue flicked against your clit as he sucked and hummed. He thought this might become his favorite place in all of Prythian. He thought that every bad thing that had happened in his life seemed insignificant now that he was able to worship freely between your thighs. He traced fingers up and paused to wet them on his tongue, before pushing his middle and ring finger in to the second knuckle, pulling them out and scissoring them back in again. His tongue found your sweet little button for a second time that night and he laved at it, listening to your cries as he pushed you to the brink. Azriel’s life had been a nightmare, but between your thighs, mouth on your cunt, walls fluttering around his fingers, he thought he’d been blessed by the Mother herself. 

Your hips rocked up in time with his fingers and you cried as your gut twisted, the coil there tightening. “Az-“ you gasped. “Azriel,” you went a little whiny on the vowels of his name, and your hand reached down to thread your fingers into his hair, nails scratching and tugging the strands. He hummed, the vibration sending shocks up your spine. “Azriel, baby,” you gasped, coming up on an elbow again, rutting your hips into his face as he took you higher. He didn’t let up, suckling at your cunt, fingers finding the spongy spot on the backside of your clit that made the world go blank “Azriel!” you gasped again, hips stuttering out, “Fuck, fuck— oh.” In seconds you were reaching your peak, hips faltering, thighs twitching, toes curling into the hard planes of his back. 

He pulled his mouth off of you, pressing kisses to your pubic bone as he moved north up your stomach. He eyes were alight with desire, the male was pure want and you were his last meal. He pulled his fingers from your cunt and trailed them up to rest at your neck as he slotted his body between your thighs and kissed you. The hedonism of tasting yourself on his mouth made you wetter, cunt pressing into the hard line of his cock, still restricted in his trousers. He moaned at the contact, mouth leaving yours to rest his head against your chin and gather himself. The sound sent a pleasurable shock directly to your core. You grasped the hand at your throat and brought his fingers up and to your mouth, tongue laving at them before taking them to the knuckle, and pulling back slow, hollowing out your cheeks and sucking, keeping your eyes on his. He bared his teeth the sight and ground his hard cock into you, the friction on your clit making your thighs twitch. 

“My sweet little mate,” he cooed. “Love of my life,” he nosed your cheek, his fingers still in your mouth. “All my dreaming has been put to shame it would seem,” he pulled his fingers from your mouth and replaced them with his tongue, his hands flying to his belt. He growled in struggle and you ventured a laugh. His eyes found yours and his jaw ticked, “keep laughing, sweet girl, I’ll fuck your throat next and you won’t come.” Your eyes went a little wide and a feline grin appeared on your face. “Mouthy indeed,” you said with glee as he finally got the buckle undone and pushed the pants down and off. 

His shirt went next and your fingers traced up his exposed arms to his shoulders. “I’ve seen you shirtless a dozen times, and you still take my breath away,” you said softly, a hand resting on his pectoral. He laughed and went a little pink, before he pushed your dress up your body and over your head, leaving you bare. “I’ve always been impressed by your ability to so disarming,” he said, mouth finding the space above your breast as his hands came to cup them, fingers toying with the nipples. “It’s my favorite thing about you, you see me in a way I can’t even see myself,” he followed up. 

Your eyes watered at the admission and your hands found his face, bringing his mouth back to yours as you kissed him again, tongue entwining with his. Your hands grasped his shoulders, as your leg found his hip and you pushed him over, onto his back. Your hands came to rest on his chest as you settled your weight on his lower abdomen. You could feel his manhood standing to attention, insistent at the curve of your ass and you reached around to grasp it, pushing your chest out for his greedy eyes. Taking him in long strokes, you ran your hand up and down, circling your thumb around the head. His eyes screwed shut as his breathing shallowed. 

“Wanna know a secret, baby?” You offered, rocking your hips in time with your strokes. He whined then, the Lord of Shadows keened a little whine for you that had you ready to come right there. “Last time we hosted a gala, that night before Hybern,” you were panting, “all I could think about was taking you to bed.” His eyes opened and hazel was gone blacked out in pure desire. His hands found your hips and his own began to move in time with you. “I thought about riding you,” you said, twisting your hand in a way that had his breath guttering out of him. “I thought you might love me in the way you looked at me.” His eyes softened and he leaned up, hands tracing up your spine as he pressed kisses to your chest. 

“I loved you that night and every night since,” he said before tonguing a nipple and sucking it into his mouth. “That dress you wore, my color, had me hard for a week.” You laughed then removing your hand from his cock and bringing both to his face, so you could kiss him. His hands slipped to your ass then, palming the cheeks as his tongue moved in tandem with yours. When you moved back from him, a string of salvia still connected you two, you reached up to comb fingers through his hair gently.

“I brought you something,” you said quietly, looking to the corner of the quilt where your bag had dropped ages ago. His brow furrowed, confusion showing in his features. “You don’t have to, but I brought some of that tart. If you want,” you offered the statement nervously, as if there was still a chance for rejection. Azriel’s heart went soft and his brain turned to mush.

“You want to accept it?” He questioned, hands sliding up your back and to your waist. You smiled and looked at him incredulously, “Of course I want to accept it, it feels like I’ve waited a millennia for you.” You’d laughed a bit and that feeling of home raced through him again. Gods, he was fucked. 

You leaned off his lap, pulling the strap of your bag to you and unzipped it. There, packaged in a little glass container, lay a small slice of the berry tart you’d fretted over earlier in the day. “Nesta made some stupid comment about ‘cooking’ when I’d asked where you were,” you laughed in hindsight at the female’s leading words. “She knew because Cassian knew, he helped me with the food and candles,” Azriel murmured pushing your hair up and over your shoulder. 

He pulled the container from your grasp then and opened it before picking the pastry up with his fingers, the same fingers that had been inside you minutes ago. Eyes on yours he took the first bite, your heart thrumming as the golden thread of your bond lit up like the sunrise. His eyes never left yours as he consumed the pastry in four bites, swallowing and pulling his fingers into his mouth at the remaining sweetness there. 

The bond between you two was shining, strong and thrumming with love. ‘Hi,’ you tried, your thoughts reaching out to him. He smiled, laughing freely, and his voice came through clearly, ‘Hi, Little One.’ You choked out a laugh, eyes watering as you leaned forward to kiss him, tasting the berries on his tongue. ‘Can I make love to my mate now?’ He questioned down the bond and you laughed again. His hands were already tracing your hips as you leaned forward, hand reaching underneath to guide him into your cunt. Lowering yourself down, you rocked forward once then twice in order to take him to the hilt. 

Mother above, he was big. His cock was thick and filled you wholly, pushing against your cervix making your eyes flutter in pleasure. You thought of the comment Mor had made about wingspan once decades ago and you heard him laugh, “I’m flattered, truly,” he said playfully, reading your thoughts and nipping at your shoulder.

You rose up again and set to riding him slowly, hips moving in long strokes as his hands traced your ass, pulling at the flesh there in time with your movements. You gave a experimental squeeze of your walls, and he keened a loud moan that had you speeding up your flow. “You keep that up, Little One and I won’t last,” he panted at your throat. “That’s rather the point,” you laughed breathlessly, your own hand moving to cup your breast, the other sliding down to circle your clit. His eyes traced the view greedily, moving down to the point where you connected, watching your cunt take him in full, his cock glistening with your shared wetness. He bared his teeth at the sight, a rumble lighting in his chest. 

Just as your walls began to flutter with your impending orgasm, he grasped you and flipped you to your back, pulling your hands from your body and entwining your fingers with his own on each side of your head. He ground his pelvis in deep and your legs hitched higher around his waist. “Azriel, fucking Gods,” you called out at the switch in angle, the tip of his cock grinding into your cervix. He hummed at your throat, teeth marking you there as his hips pulled out and pushed in, grinding each time he bottomed out into you. His wings flared behind him and you thought you’d never seen a more beautiful sight. 

“You take me so well, my love,” he panted, “you were made for me.” You whined then, cunt fluttering around him as he bottomed out deep and held it there, grinding his pubic bone into your clitoris. The pleasure raced up your spine and you thought you’d never be able to leave this place, might have to keep him inside you forever. He growled, reading your thoughts. “You want me to fuck this cunt forever?” He asked aloud leaning up, pulling his hands from yours. 

You whined at the loss, but the sound died as he pulled your legs up his waist to his shoulders, kissing the scarred calf. He drew his cock out, only to slam back in. “Fuck,” you moaned out, voice going up two octaves. “You want me between your thighs for the rest of my days?” He said again, hips moving faster, your hands moving to your tits as they bounced from the impact. His eyes watched the movement and he bared his teeth again, turning his head to bite into the flesh of your calf. 

“Azriel!” You called out again, pleasure zipped up your spine and you felt your stomach tighten. “Az, baby, I’m so close.” He chuckled darkly. “Be a good girl and come on my cock,” he said as his fingers traced down your leg to find your clit, rubbing the bundle in quick, timed circles. “Az- I-,” you barely got the words out before your orgasm overtook you, a long moan exiting your mouth as your cunt tightened around him, he ground into you and worked you through it, before dropping your legs back to his hips and pistoning deeper.

“My sweet mate,” he gasped at the skin of your throat, mouth tracing up to find yours, hands finding purchase on your thighs as he pulled you open, allowing him dive deeper. “My darling love,” he moaned and his tongue moved with yours, your hips pushing up to meet his thrusts, walls fluttering against his velvet length with the remnants of your orgasm. 

You ventured your hand up his shoulder to the base of a wing and traced your fingers up the membrane to the bone. His eyes twisted shut, and he keened a low primal whine that had your cunt ready to come again. At the tightening of your walls, he groaned dark and deep, shadows seeping from him, as he pushed in, grinding against the innermost portion of you. His hips pulled out slightly and then pushed back in as his cock kicked, come spurting against your walls. He panted against your throat as his hands released their hold on your thighs and moved up your body before grasping your throat. He moved up to lean over you and his eyes found your own. He gave an experimental thrust of his hips and your eyes widened. Fucking Cauldron, he was still hard. 

He laughed then, nuzzling at your mouth as he nipped at your bottom lip. “I’m giving you five,” his voice was deeper than you’d ever heard it, “and then I’m eating my come from your cunt and fucking you until the sun comes up.” 

You gasped out a laugh as your arms wrapped around his shoulders. ‘They call it frenzy for a reason,’ you thought, kissing along his cheekbone and to his mouth. Gods, you were fucked. 

[eclipsecrowned]

i have such. controversial tyri0n opinions i want to discuss. so badly.

[crookshanks23]

Season 1, Episode 49: Contact

Favorite moment: Grant and Darryl inch-worming across the ground. It's a beautiful visual moment for an auditory medium.

General thoughts:

Welcome to Jimmy! It is weird to hear someone else start the podcast, though.

So, this is a fun episode, if a bit slow, because it helps establish how all of the characters are going to interact with Jodie.

There are some great hilarious moments, like the dad huddle in the woods, all of Ron's lines and asides, and the funny (yet sad) conversation that Darryl has with Grant. I can just imagine them both inch-worming their way back to the campfire as they both cope with the new situation that is Jodie.

Then we get the joy of Glenn's workout routine and the start of his time at the Meth Bay supermax, which is great. They are totally right - if there was some sort of xp-gaining workout program thingy (which I'm sure exists), I bet a lot of people would hop on that. (I guess Zombies, Run is like that, which is a super fun running app with a story built in. Highly recommend if you're looking for something like that).

Next time... Off to the supermax to break Glenn out.

[slashthrashandcrash]

does your maskless ghostface have a face or is he just a void. (both are based.)

He has a face!! I just love drawing him as a void for extra ~*~mysteriousness~*~

I love all the maskless art of him in his tag though and how we've all collectively agreed he has the sickest complexion and eyebags as black as his hair lmao

[dragonsruby]

I can't wait to get my Spotify Top 100 this year and then have to explain to everyone why extremely specific Cabaret songs are in my top 5.

[bunnybunbun0]

robert chase boyfriend headcanons

look whos writing fro a dead fandom again?! well boo hoo,im nearly done with house,and im experiencing dr chase brain rot,so heres this!

enjoy!

-chase is the type of guy to celebrate monthly anniversaries

"happy three months anniversary baby" and he has a cake and everything

-pays attention to your bad habits in order to prevent them. Like,if he sees youre chewing on your nails hell give you a pen to hold and stim with or a sucker to distract you.

-also,he is a terrible liar,blame catholic guilt fro this one.

-if youre trying to hide your relationship from house and the rest of the team good luck,because this boy cant be sneaky for the life of him.

-we all agree he is a cocky flirt right? that is until you flirt back,then he instantly becomes a blubbering mess os shyness.

-you look sad? he will have none of it,goofy mood is activatd and hell do every silly trick on the book to get a laugh out of you.

-will do anything posible and impossible to cheer you up;pull you in for a dance,tell embarassing stories from his college days,anything!

-it goes without saying that hes very particular about his hair,yet youre still the only one who have the privillege of touching it

-overprotective at his top. hes okay with being mae fun of or treated poorly by patients or the hospital staff,but when you become the target hes ready to show how far the medicine malpractice really goes.

-if youre in a point in the relationship where you share a house be ready to hear the most obnoxious songs being sung at the top of his lungs while he does chores.

-loves loves loves! showing you hes strong; cant open a jar? there he is! yur water bottle cap is on too tight? super chase to the rescue!

-after cameron he gets very insecure,so he needs constant reassurance that you actually does love him!

-small action that shows hes always paying attention to you;like pulling up the lose strap of your summer dress,covering the sharp edge of the tables with his hands so you dont bump on it and hurt yourself,refilling your bottle with cold water when he sees its running out,this type of thing.

-when he has the aux on the car and a romantic song comes on he sings in looking directly at you in a serenade style,bonus if the singer has a deep voice or an accent,then hes doing a full blown impression.

-gives the best massage ever,has your eyes rolling while undoing all the tension knots on your back,and he takes pride on it.

-you two definetely have a spicy playlist and when hes in a specially nasty mood he plays a few of its songs in public to fluster you.

hope yall have liked,i loved this baby girl so much

send an ask if you want headcanons from any other character

[kneelingshadowsalome]

König finding out you read smut ?! 🤭🤭

Ohhhh god this is so good because you know what? König thinks he’s the nasty freak in the relationship while you’re just a sweet innocent woman who had the terrible luck of winding up with a crazy, horny man like him. Like he actively feels sorry for you :/

So for him to find out you’re reading smut? Hoo boy the grin on his face is wide and vile.

He will tease you about it until your ears grow hot. He will hug you fondly from behind and whisper in your ear how he would never have guessed that his cute little kitten likes to read things like that... His voice is warm and low as he asks all kinds of questions that make you squirm. A horny, sweet interrogation because this man wants to hear all about what gets you hot, bothered and wet. Does his little Käztchen want to spice things up in the bedroom? What kind of things were you reading, hmm...? Do you want to try those things with him? ...Would you like it if he put the mask on?

[ronearoundblindly]

Which of the guys would be open to participate in a self care/spa day with you? 🛁🫧💅

This one I separated into categories for who genuinely enjoys, stands it for you, or only allows it when a daughter wants to play (and no, that's not with you, but 'he' just needs worn way down to allow it). No warnings but I bet you'll find some surprises...

Truly Finds Joy In Self-Care

Ransom Drysdale, Johnny Storm, Jake Jensen, and Lloyd Hansen

I think we all know that Ransom and Lloyd are preening, pretty bois, so this should come as no surprise to anyone. Ransom is more private with his beauty regimen, but he's not above paying good money to visit a fancy spa. Lloyd has entirely too much fun showing off how callus/indifferent he is by, ya know, ordering people's death by phone while a clay mask detoxes his pores, etc. He is also heavily critical of what products he will use again (i.e. if grittiness stuck in his mustache or if an exfoliant irritated his fresh shave).

Johnny and Jake are playful about it; Jake likes the process of relaxing more than Johnny. Jake nerds out on the chemical properties of ingredients. Johnny teases you about the frou-frou-ness of it all the whole time, HOWEVER, he is also the one who enjoys a foot massage more than any other character. Falls asleep within two damn minutes. It's bizarre and sort of endearing.

Would Do It To Please You

James Mace, Curtis Everett, and Steve Rogers

Curtis can make do with a bar of soap and a hot bath; that's really the pinnacle of indulgent care to him, but he knows you love the various face masks and lotions. He is highly amused by cucumber slices on his eyes but hates cucumber water (any infusion really, just drink some juice ffs). La Croix is better used to get blood out of this clothes than to drink. He thinks it's nasty.

Like Jake, Mace will dissect what ingredients will actually be beneficial and which products are just snake oil. He takes pride in helping you choose the best things to use or spend your time on. Mace is, unfortunately, the most practical man, and he will flat out refuse to indulge you if he has something else he needs to focus on.

Steve is a bit strange about this one. He love, love, loves for you to pamper yourself, but he will participate very reluctantly. He grew up being fawned over like a delicate doll, received treatment after treatment--often to no effect,--and even resorted to some of those far-fetched, home remedies for various ailments. Yes, his mom was a nurse and a woman of science. Yes, he did follow doctors' advice whenever they offered a useful solution. But also, yes, he was so sick with so many things for so long that he tried everything.

Steve associates a lot of self-care 'treatments' with being ill...which he is not...not anymore. Please, do not get him started on essential oils. You think he lectures as Cap? Hoo boy...

Begrudgingly Is A Daughter's Palette

Jimmy Dobyne, Ari Levinson, and Bucky Barnes

For Jimmy, there's just some stuff you do for your kids simply because they're your kids, and playing with makeup or face mask, nail polish or hair clips, and even every product around the rim of the tub is one of those things.

Ari and Bucky get roped into plaiting practice since they have some length of hair to braid, but these two do not sit still well. They each find sneaky ways to let their girls enjoy spa stuff while they do not have to. Your daughter can get a little manicure while he gets a haircut or shave. That's about the extent of their 'enjoyment.'

As for why they won't participate with you specifically? Jimmy, Ari, and Bucky all consider spa/self-care to be a thing you should do with your girl friends (or your daughters, hint hint). These three place a heavy value on you keeping up those fun relationships with others. They also know that when the ladies do a spa day, the men folk are free to meet up for something else, like sports or drinking or both.

Thank you for asking!

[Main Masterlist; 'Who Would' Ask List; Ko-Fi]

[balioc]

Thoughts on the Barbie Movie

Hoo boy. Here we go.

This is long. Spoilers abound.

I

The movie is not, in any normal sense, a Barbie movie (like this or this or this or whatever). It is not a story of Barbie doing the kinds of things that Barbie does in stories. It is an endlessly postmodern and self-referential movie about Barbie, which is to say, about the Barbie franchise and its role in culture. Which is, at least plausibly, an interesting thing for a movie to be.

You probably knew all that already. But it does give us a baseline of "this movie kind of had to be political and discourse-y, one way or another." Or even, to be more specific: "to some large extent this movie had to be about feminism, explicitly, if it was going to exist at all." How could you talk meaningfully about Barbie's role in culture without touching on that stuff?

II

The evaluative TLDR:

Barbie is very ambitious, and in many places very fun. It is also deeply confused, and fragmented, about what it's trying to say and do. Often it raises genuinely interested problems/scenarios and then totally fails to address them, or else addresses them in ways that are incoherent. The text knows that it's doing this, and on several occasions kind of apologizes for it; a couple of times it more or less looks into the camera and says "sorry, we're not going to deal with this properly;" but, well, that's not a substitute for dealing with things properly.

There is also a streak of genuine political nastiness running through the film, in a place where the story really cannot afford it. It...doesn't match up, tonally or thematically, with some of the surrounding material. I have no background at all in cinematic stratigraphy, but I would be fascinated to learn about Barbie's editorial history, because I have the vague sense that a more-cogent (and more-interesting) story got hacked apart and then Frankensteined together into something much cheaper and worse.

III

The opening sequence of the movie is wild. You've seen most of it -- or you can, if you haven't, and you want to -- because it is the film's first teaser trailer. Girls are playing listlessly with baby dolls; a giant Barbie appears like the monolith from 2001: A Space Odyssey; and then the girls enter a frenzy of destruction, bashing their baby dolls' heads against the ground.

I don't know whether I would have found it as disturbing as I did, if I didn't actually have a baby of my own. But speaking from the standpoint of a parent...yeah, wow, it's more viscerally horrific than most actual horror I've seen recently. The narration says some stuff about Barbie providing a new and more rewarding set of imagination games to play, but the visuals by themselves tell a message loud and clear, which is: Barbie will turn your daughters into infanticidal maenads. It wouldn't need any editing at all to be part of a shock-you-silly Reefer-Madness-y moral panic film.

Which is really good! And really interesting! It starts us off on an undeniable thematic note: there is something primal and powerful and very dangerous about Barbie.

IV

The very best part of the movie is probably the part that comes right after the opening, when we explore the movie's depiction of "Barbieland" by going through Barbie's Typical Day, before we get into any of the notional plot or metaphysics. It's joyful and charming in a consistent way. The gags are (mostly) great. The movie is in love with its base premise, and that love is palpable.

This sequence makes one thing very clear:

Barbie treats Ken like absolute dogshit. She is a bad girlfriend.

And it's taken seriously. I mean, it's played for laughs, almost everything in this movie is played for laughs, but...it's not mean-spirited, not here. It's not, like, "ha ha, Ken, what a contemptible loser." He's Pierrot, asking for very basic forms of affection and attention and respect, and getting the door slammed in his face over and over. It's honestly kind of heartbreaking.

That colors everything that comes later.

The movie doesn't forget this, or fail to acknowledge it. At the end, after everything, Barbie does apologize to Ken for her treatment of him. It's a halfhearted and supremely unsatisfying kind of apology, especially in context, but...it's there, in so many words! I'm not making it up! This thematic foundation was laid down, not-very-subtly, right at the beginning!

V

This movie, which is at least trying to be ambitious, is juggling a million themes. Many of them are dumb at their core, and have no real promise; many of them lack any kind of narrative synergy with the others. But there are at least two which, I believe, (a) are genuinely worthwhile individually and (b) work well together in a story.

One is: What does it mean to be a symbol rather than a person? To exist, not for your own sake, but for the sake of influencing the dreams and culture of entities that you don't know and can't really understand?

The other is: What is the proper ordering of the relationship between Barbie and Ken?

I've seen a number of Takes in which people say, essentially: Couldn't this have ended with the Barbies and the Kens just being decent to each other and treating each other like humans? Couldn't there have been equality and mutual respect, instead of the weird uncomfortable girlboss-supremacist stuff that we got? And I sympathize with that impulse tremendously, but the honest answer has to be: No. We cannot have simple equality and esteem between Barbie and Ken, not in a movie like this. That would be a lie. Because this is a movie about Barbie-as-symbol, and when you're looking at Barbie through that lens, it is true and unavoidable that Ken is an appendage and an afterthought. You can have toys for boys; you can have dolls for boys (even if you call them "action figures" or whatever); for that matter, you can have dolls of boys for girls, so that girls can tell stories centering on male characters; but that's not what Ken is, and never has been. There are no Ken stories, and no one particularly wants them. Ken exists to be Barbie's boyfriend.

(One of the most painful moments of the movie comes during the resolution wrapup. Ken wails to Barbie that he has no identity outside her. She says, basically, "you have to find one, because I'm leaving you." And he...acts like he's had an epiphany, and does a little silly celebration. But his "insight" is just literally "I'm Ken," there's absolutely nothing there, and of course it's the most hollow and awful thing in the world because he really does have no identity outside her.)

VI

The movie's metaphysics are not even slightly consistent. The nature of Barbieland, and the ways that it affects and is affected by the real world, are completely different in every scene. In large part because the film can't ever pass up a gag, whether or not it's funny, no matter how much damage it does to the narrative and the theming overall.

The worst part is that the movie is not capable of saying anything remotely coherent about the real world, because its version of the "real world" is as weird and fake as its Barbieland. Will Ferrell's CEO of Mattel character is more of an absurd cartoon than any of the Barbies or Kens. Mattel HQ is some kind of surreal labyrinth tower out of The Matrix. A random receptionist can handle herself like James Bond in a car chase, for reasons that are [handwaved in a gag].

VII

So. Yes. There is the sequence in the third act where Ken takes over Barbieland with the power of patriarchy. This is pretty much as bad as it can be. And I say this as someone who thinks that the movie probably did actually need a plot thread doing roughly that kind of thing.

Almost as bad as it can be. The wannabe-patriarch Kens are gleefully goofy in a way that you can't help but love, or at least, I couldn't help but love it. Which has something to do with the writing and something to do with the charisma of all the Ken actors. The main Ken, Ryan Gosling's Ken, really seems to believe that being a successful patriarch has a lot to do with riding majestic horses and wearing a giant fur coat without a shirt, and when he takes over Barbie's Dream House he names it Ken's Mojo Dojo Casa House -- that kind of thing.

But. Apart from that, it's real unfortunate. The justification for Ken's ability to conquer Barbieland with patriarchy, instantly and effortlessly, is -- in almost so many words -- they had no defenses against it, it was like the American Indians encountering smallpox. I...don't think I need to spell out the problems with that.

Worse yet, the whole sequence is soaked in, uh, let's call it "2014-era upper-middle-class social-status-oriented feminism." The real bad behavior on the part of the Kens, the stuff they do when they're not being adorably weird, is: mansplaining their extensive opinions about cars and movies, and wanting to show off how helpful and knowledgeable they are to "damsels" who are having trouble using machines or computers. Apparently that's the real problem at hand, the causus belli of the gender wars. The way that you deprogram a patriarchy-brainwashed Barbie is by...ranting to her about the stereotypical social irritations of upper-middle-class women (e.g. "you have to keep yourself thin but not act like you care about being thin," "you have to be a confident leader but also be nurturing and supportive," etc.) [note that the Barbies of Barbieland have never encountered these irritations, at least not at the hands of men]. And the girlboss victory montage consists of having the Barbies put on deceptive manipulative bimbo acts to stroke the Kens' egos, which sure is one way to depict girlboss feminist victory.

But the most unforgivable thing of all is the depiction of the patriarchy-brainwashed Barbies. They're lad-magazine caricatures, endlessly offering their Kens "brewski beers," dressing up as French maids, gazing on in cow-eyed adoration as their Kens mansplain stuff to them.

Barbie does, in fact, have a problematic history with the patriarchy. And it does not look like that.

VIII

@brazenautomaton:

Barbie isn’t someone who had to fight through the patriarchy to be seen as good enough to be an astronaut even though she’s a woman. Barbie’s a fucking astronaut because she’s fucking Barbie of course she’s good enough to be an astronaut.

That is...one aspect of the deep Barbie lore. It is the Barbie-nature that Mattel was trying to push, as far back as my own childhood; it's certainly the Barbie-nature that Mattel is trying to push in this movie. But there is another side to Barbie, even older and even more fundamental than Senator Astronaut Veterinarian Barbie, and you can't make a postmodern movie-about-Barbie without addressing it.

This is Barbie the fashion doll. The Barbie who is an icon of ultra-consumerist teenage girlhood, whose life is defined by her fancy clothes and her fancy car. The Barbie whose most salient traits are her hourglass figure and her long blonde hair and her feet that are always posed to fit into high heels. The Barbie of "math class is tough!" The Barbie who is kinda vapid and shallow and, yes, boy-crazy.

How can you tell a story about Barbie wrestling with the culture of patriarchy, and not talk about that? How can you depict Barbie falling victim to the patriarchy and have it look nothing like that?

...the movie does bring up the specter of Vapid Consumerist Barbie, briefly. When Margot Robbie's Barbie first comes to the real world and meets with the sullen teenage daughter character, she has a litany of That Thing thrown in her face, and it makes her sad. But nothing is ever done with it, and it goes nowhere.

IX

And it could all have fit together so well. That's the hell of it.

You can imagine the version of the story in which Ken conquers Barbieland with patriarchy, because the Barbies are actually vulnerable to patriarchal narratives, because Vapid Consumerist Barbie is the chthonic serpent that gnaws at the foundations of Senator Astronaut Veterinarian Barbie civilization. He successfully makes them all forget that they're senators and astronauts and veterinarians, and turns them into airheaded teenage fashionistas who think that math class is tough.

And this avails him, and the other Kens, nothing. Even within the "patriarchal" version of Barbieland, Ken is still an afterthought and an appendage. He still gets treated like dogshit, just in a different idiom.

Because the thing that has always been true of Barbie, though every age and every phase of her mythos, is: she is the main character of her own story.

This is what the movie was telling us all the way back in the horrific 2001-pastiche prologue, right? Even when Barbie was just a swimsuit model, the point was that she let girls tell stories about themselves (or idealized/aspirational versions of themselves), not about boys or babies. That is a truer, and more powerful, feminist message about the meaning of Barbie than any message the movie actually bothers conveying.

The gag scene practically writes itself: the brainwashed Barbies are sitting around in a giggly slumber-party huddle talking about how dreamy Ken is, and actual Ken cannot get a word in edgewise, he can't even get them to notice he's there, because even Vapid Consumerist Barbie is fundamentally centered in her own life. Her narrative is not about a boy, it's about the experience of being a girl (mostly engaging with other girls) who likes thinking and talking about boys. Which is very much beside the point, if you started out with the complaint that your girlfriend never paid any attention to you.

Patriarchy hurts men too, indeed.

X

The movie ends, as I've intimated, in a disappointing squidge of thematic confusion. Barbie announces that she never really loved Ken, and leaves him, because...well, because these days the smart-set target audience is allergic to romantic narratives that Produce the Couple, as far as I can tell. Then she goes to the real world and becomes a real girl, a move that means nothing and is nonsensical even by the standards of the Barbie metaphysics, because the storytellers don't know how to end her arc and Becoming a Real Girl is the sort of thing that feels like a meaningful conclusion.

The Kens...sigh...the Kens ask for equal rights in Barbieland, more or less, and get told, "nah, but we'll throw you some bones." And they're happy with this, more or less, because they're dumb and don't really care. The narrator says, approximately, "maybe someday they'll make as much progress as women have in the real world." Haw haw.

It's probably too much to hope for a movie like this to be willing to say something substantive about responsibility and kindness in relationships. It's almost certainly too much to hope for a movie like this to be willing to say something about the nature of love symbols and love narratives. But all the pieces really were there, laid out very conspicuously. The movie could have wrapped up with: Ken doesn't need to be more important than Barbie, he doesn't even need to be as important as Barbie, he just needs to be treated with human decency. And if little girls are going to play with Barbies, and fantasize about having cute guys hanging all over them -- maybe they should have functional models of romance and human connection in which to root their fantasies, and not terrible ones.

[battleline]

The Stella Problem

THE STELLA PROBLEM

AKA

HOW TO MESS UP A POTENTIALLY GREAT ANTAGONIST

Hoo boy, where do we begin with this one? Well, let’s start with the introduction and go from there.

Who is Stella?

Stella’s original design (Helluva Boss (Pilot))

Stella Goetia is the wife of Prince Stolas Goetia, one of the main cast members, who we first meet in the pilot briefly for a few seconds, having been splattered with cake when Blitzo drops in, telling her that he slept with her husband and runs off with the grimoire (being the thing he came for). The fallout from Stolas’ cheating on Stella is one of the major plot points within the show, with it almost always being prevalent in episodes involving Stolas.

Stella’s first appearance in the series proper (Loo Loo Land (S1, E2))

In ‘Loo Loo Land’, the episode starts with a brief flashback, where Stolas is stirred awake by Octavia’s crying for them, and we are given a glimpse of Stella, who had undergone a redesign between the pilot and now, and when Stolas tells her that Octavia is calling for them, Stella simply tells him to take care of her, and you can see her hogging the blankets.

Stella being furious (Loo Loo Land (S1, E2))

Later on, in present day, some times after Stolas and Blitzo’s affair, Stella is furiously shouting at him, going as far as to throw stuff, stating her disbelief that Stolas had slept with ‘an imp’ in their bed, getting more aggravated when Stolas brought up not having time to go to a motel, and after throwing one of their imps at Stolas, she calls him a ‘goddamn embarrassment’ before storming off

As you can tell by now, Stella is not the most pleasant person to be around. Even before the affair, it seems Stolas and Stella’s relationship is not the greatest, and Stolas’ affair seems to only have made things a lot worse. On top of that, she has a pretty nasty temper, throwing stuff around and shouting. On one hand, she has anger issues, but on the other hand, she was cheated on, and if the amount of revenge Reddit stories surrounding cheating that I listened to taught me anything, cheating really pisses people off. Although, it would seem that she was more angry about Stolas’ affair partner being an imp rather than the cheating, suggesting that she has a bit of classism about her.

We would not see Stella again for the rest of the episode (or the next two for that matter), but she would get a brief mention towards the end of the episode, when Octavia runs away from Stolas at Loo Loo Land, having grown sick of Stolas flirting with Blitzo throughout the episode. Stolas would come to find her again in a funhouse, and the two would have the following discussion:

Stolas and Octavia’s heart-to-heart talk (Loo Loo Land (S1, E2))

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

Stolas: I take it you are… not having fun.

Octavia: (crying) I didn’t even want to come here!

Stolas: I’m sorry, sweetie. I… I thought you loved it here.

Octavia: (sniffing) When I was a kid and my parents didn’t hate each other… and my dad didn’t flirt with some… weird red dickhead the entire time.

Stolas: I'm sorry, Via. I'm sorry for... everything... happening right now. I know it's... a lot. I, uh-- I should have listened.

Octavia: (crying) I just want to go home... but home doesn't even feel like home anymore... You ruined it.

Stolas: You need to understand... your mother and I... I just-... I felt-... She's always been... I haven't been- Ha-... We weren't in... I'm sorry, I- I- I don't have the words.

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

This talk illuminated two things: one, Stolas and Stella’s relationship was at a point where they did not hate each other. Now, this could mean many things, but at the very least, things were better. Two, it is implied that they weren’t in love, suggesting that perhaps that they were in an arranged marriage (which would be confirmed in season two, but we will get to that soon). But I do want people to remember the above conversation when we do.

Stella speaking to Striker regarding killing Stolas (Harvest Moon Festival (S1, E5))

We would see Stella again in ‘Harvest Moon Festival’ towards the very end, being revealed to be the one who hired Striker, a cowboy-themed assassin, to kill Stolas. Striker reports that he failed to kill him, but he won’t fail again, and Stella angrily states that he better not, as she quotes:

“I want this cheating prick dead! I don’t care who you have to go through! MAKE IT HAPPEN!!”

Stella

Stolas, Octavia, and Stella at the dining table (Harvest Moon Festival (S1, E5))

We then cut to her pretty much stating this right in front of Stolas and Octavia, but neither seem to take notice, though Stolas does pause for a moment.

It would seem that Stella’s anger towards Stolas for his infidelity had finally reached a breaking point in which she now wants him dead, giving zero regards as to the consequences or the effect it could have on their daughter. Indeed, it would seem she would be an antagonist for I.M.P. and Stolas to overcome in a future episode… but let’s put a pin in that for now.

Unfortunately, this would be the last episode in which Stella has a speaking role in the season, although she would go on to make a silent cameo in ‘Ozzie’s’, when a image of her and Octavia are brought up to shame Stolas during the ‘House of Asmodeus’ song:

Ozzie showing an illusion of Stella to Stolas (OZZIE’S (S1, E7))

“You used to have a smoking wife, a kid, you had it all”

“I hope you didn’t give it up. So, you and him could get it on”

House of Asmodeus

Now, following this line, Stolas would go on to hide behind a menu in shame, most likely because he was ashamed to be dating an imp (thus caused a rift between him and Blitzo), but from the way Ozzie phrased those lines, it could imply that Stolas has regret for his actions, not just because of how he hurt Octavia, but perhaps for how he hurt Stella. Either that, or Ozzie had no idea (which is just as possible).

And that would be all for Season 1, and due to legal issues for ‘Queen Bee’ (which I will probably talk about for another day), we would skip to Season 2 nearly a year later. While what we saw of Stella was really short (amounting to 36 seconds of screen time within the entire first season), it would seem we had a potential for a very intriguing character.

Sure, all we saw of her so far was her telling Stolas to take care of Octavia, her yelling at Stolas over his affair, her yelling at Striker to not fail again, and then a silent cameo. But hey, surely Season 2 would finally give us some much needed development. Maybe we would get a glimpse of how she and Stolas met, a better look at what Stella was like before Blitzo, and maybe see how her relationship with Stolas had deteriorated. And maybe finally see what her and Octavia’s relationship is like. Heck, in February 2022, we learn that she has a brother in Andrealphus (described as Stolas’s shitty brother-in-law):

Andrealphus

So, yeah, it looked like we were in for something very neat… but what we got was…

The Circus (woo…)

After a long hiatus brought upon by an episode being stuck in legal limbo, the season 2 premiere came out, being ‘The Circus’, an episode that would go into Stolas’ past at two points in his life, being his childhood and to right before his affair with Blitzo, as well catching up with him after the events of ‘Ozzie’s’. Naturally, Stella would be in this episode.

The episode opens up on a child Stolas’ birthday, where he meets with his father Paimon, who proceeds to tell him what is expected of him as a Goetia, giving him the grimoire. He would also point out briskly that he is to be married, showing a… well, not so flattering pic of his to-be wife.

Child Stella tormenting two quieves (The Circus (S2, E1))

(Yeah, that’s what they’re called. Vivienne (or someone) made the conscious decision to name a species after a woman’s genital flatulence. Riveting 🙄)

And naturally, child Stolas is not enthused, crying on sight.

Okay, so Stella apparently was a little terror growing up. Okay, not too terrible, I mean, considering what we have seen of her in the first season, it would track that she grew up with anger issues her whole life, and it followed her well into adulthood. But it does confirm that Stolas and Stella were an arranged marriage… so perhaps, this could simply be her lashing out? I mean, Stolas wasn’t thrilled, so I doubt she would too.

Now, despite being shown this pic,  we never do see child Stella in person, this part of the episode being dedicated to Stolas meeting and spending the day with child Blitzo, culminating in him tricking Stolas into helping him rob the palace blind and give the loot to Blitzo’s asshole dad Cash. All of which is a whole nother beast. But let’s save that for another day.

We skip ahead 25 years later in the episode, where we see a grown up Stolas waking up and going about his morning, eventually seeing Stella on the phone:

Stella on the phone (The Circus (S2, E1))

She seems to ignore Stolas as she goes about talking loudly to someone on the phone talking about how being married still is not a big occasion, but apparently, ‘it’s not easy being married to a boring stiff.’, and brushes Stolas off when he tries to greet her. Seconds later, Stolas would frown and ask about a ‘Still Not Divorced Party’ that she is throwing, where she nonchalantly said she likes throwing parties, and it’s true either way, and then said he could come if he wants.

Okay, this is… nothing new. I mean, Stolas and Stella were already on the decline even before Stolas and Blitzo happened, if that flashback at the start of ‘Loo Loo Land’ was any indication, and since we know they were forced to marry, even more of a reason for Stella to not be kind to him. But hey, at least in this scene, she’s not yelling, like in 90% of the screen time she had in season one.

We then cut to the ‘Still Not Divorced’ party where we see Stella chatting with those two owls that Stella (her old design at least) was with in the Pilot and…

Stella with those two owls that were in the Pilot (The Circus (S2, E1))

(seriously, who are these two?)

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

Stella: (laughs loudly) No! Stolas is terrible in bed! I swear to fuck, he just lays there staring at the wall, and I have to do everything! It’s embarrassing! (sighs) I’m glad one egg fell out of me, so I could stop pretending to want to fuck his scrawny twig ass. (it’s shown that she said this right in earshot of Stolas, as the trio walks away, Stella giving a smug grin at him) Stella: What a pathetic fucking man

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

O-kay, this is before Stolas’ affair with Blitzo, right? I mean, we do see Blitzo sneaking around at the start of this part of the episode. If so, why is Stella being such a bitch here? I mean, I get she isn’t a pleasant person, but at least in season one, when we did see her, she had the excuse of Stolas cheating on her. Sure, it doesn’t justify trying to have him killed, but you could at least understand why she might not care for Stolas.

But here? All unprovoked and take note of what she said, because I will get into that soon.

So, after Stella leaves, Stolas and Blitzo reunite and we get a re-enactment of Blitz sneaking out with the grimoire from the Pilot, this time from Stolas’ perspective, and Stella simply shouts at him what the fuck was that, and Stolas smugly shout that it was the SOUND OF A FUCKING DIVORCE… even though in ‘Loo Loo Land’, he was being completely apologetic and said it was a spur of the moment thing and they didn’t have time for a motel, completely contradicting this scene, thus making it another point against this episode. But hey, at least it can’t get worse? Right?

Anyways, we cut to present day, after the events of ‘OZZIE’S’, where a heartbroken Stolas sings a song that’s supposed to be sorrowful, but just comes off as a bit wangsty, and then Stella comes in, wondering what he’s blubbering about, and Stolas asks what Stella is doing here and…

I like tormenting you

I like tormenting you

Tormenting you

Tor. Men. Ting. You.

(Okay, this would make more sense if this was in a video format, but imagine if the audio get lower and slower)

So… yeah, turns out Stella… is a psycho bitch, who just likes to make Stolas suffer because… well, there is no reason. She’s just into that shit.

And if that wasn’t enough, when Stolas calls her out for her cruelty and tells her that they’re getting that divorce… she tries to hit him.

So not only is she a psycho bitch, but she’s also a domestic abuser. Well, that’s a whole nother can of worms right there.

There’s so much to unpack here, but I feel we should at least cover the rest of her appearances in the series so far.

She would not appear again till ‘Western Energy’, but she does have a brief voiced cameo in ‘Seeing Stars’, the following episode (and another stinker at that), where Stolas is arguing with her while overseeing the ‘safe transferal’ of her possessions:

“What? No! I’m not turning her against you!” - Stolas (Seeing Stars (S2, E2))

Now this line could mean two different things. One, Stella is simply trying to start shit by bringing her up. Two, she is genuinely concerned (in her own way) that Stolas would try to turn her against her, which would be a legit concern in a messy divorce (this is coming from a child of such a divorce).

However, we have no way of knowing as Stella and Octavia had never interacted, like at all. Again, we’re gonna get to that, but this is another problem.

Anyways, we get to ‘Western Energy’, which opens up on Stolas, Stella, and…

…I’m sorry, who the fuck is this guy? (Western Energy (S2, E4))

Yeah, so we are joined by Stella’s brother, Andrealphus… and the show just acts like we should know who he is already.

Mind you, he has never made an appearance before this point. The only allusion we get that he existed (in-show) was Stella mentioning his name before she tries to slap Stolas in ‘The Circus’. All we get is that and that he’s apparently ‘arrogant’, according to Stolas.

Remember that tweet from February 2022, that first showed off Andrealphus? Yeah, apparently Viv and the writers thought that the tweet would suffice for an introduction, and they could just slip him into the show as if he’s always been there. This is a problem for so many reasons, the main being Vivienne and co, had already developed a bad rep for hiding lore and contextual details in supplementary media, such as Patreon or Q&A livestreams, as well as making tweets after a episode to explain something that really should had been in the episode to begin with. But not everyone has Twitter (or X as it’s called now), and unless someone showed him to you beforehand, you probably would have been confused as to who he is.

Like god damn, Viv, it’s not like there was a certain ‘Still Not Divorced’ party consisting of Goetias that Andrealphus could had easily been a part of, especially since he’s Stella’s brother, that would had not only introduced him but possibly established his role in the series, but naw, let’s just hope people seen that tweet and know who he is.

But let’s get back to Stella, shall we? Anyways, Stella and Andrealphus called Stolas here to discuss ‘compensation’ for his cheating, which amounts to some name-calling, and is quickly interrupted by Striker, who proceeds to kidnap Stolas (with Stolas catching on that Stella hired him to kill him).

We join them again halfway through the episode where Andrealphus and Stella are having tea at his palace, the two having some cheerful evil sibling banter… but then…

Andrealphus scheming… and Stella’s just sitting there (Western Energy (S2, E4))

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

Andrealphus: You silly minx, you (giggles). Though, you know, if your husband dies it won't turn out well for you.

Stella: He'll be dead; why wouldn't it?

Andrealphus: (somewhat concerned) Because, my dear sister, he's already produced an heir; when he dies, his duties, his possessions, his legions, it'll all pass to.... Via.

(Stella absentmindedly continues to drink without acknowledging him.)

Andrealphus: (annoyed) If you kill him, you would....

Stella: Laugh? Ha-

Andrealphus: (facepalms in anger) No, you stupid cow! You'd get nothing!... You're so lucky that you're attractive.

Stella: Well, what do you propose we do? He won't leave me anything willingly; he hates me almost as much as I hate him.

Andrealphus: Hmm. Well, this kind of situation is extremely unique; a Goetia has never behaved like this before. *stands up from his chair and walks behind Stella* But, with him alive, we have options. Opportunities. An eternity's a long time, my dear; I say we bide our time, and wait for our chance to... GAIN the upper hand.

Stella: (begins to pout and whine) Oohhhhhh, but I want him dead so badly!

Andrealphus: And he will be, in time, my fiery vixen. But, patience first; now, *hands her his customized phone* call off your mangy stray.

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

…Okay, so not only is she a psycho bitch, a domestic abuser…

Pictured above: a air-headed bimbo (Western Energy (S2, E4))

A DUMBASS.

I know I said Stella wanted Stolas dead, be damned the consequences, but they make her so narrow-minded that she does not realize that she would definitely get nothing, Andrealphus having to spell it out for her. In fact, that’s pretty much was the point of Andrealphus’ being in this episode: to tell Stella to tell Striker to not kill Stolas. You could have easily removed him and had Stella come to this conclusion herself… or better yet, since Striker would lose to Moxxie and Millie, just remove the scene altogether and have it be just another failure.

I could have bought that this narrow-mindedness was a product of her anger issues, because that has been established… but here? It’s because she’s dumb and she needs her big brother to tell her no. Not only does it already make her already wallowing character worse, but she is practically now playing second fiddle to her brother, making her less of a threat, and not helping Viv in beating the allegations of her female characters only be props to males. Also,  what is that incestuous vibe they got going there? Is that something that’s going to be important or be forgotten with the rest of the hanging plot threads?

And that’s pretty much all we see of her up to this point. It is possible that she will appear in the season finale (if the leaks from January 2023 are anything to go by), but considering there’s 5 episodes left in the season, and what we did get of her so far was… it’s bad. Bad, bad, bad.

So… what went wrong here?

Well, to put it in layman’s terms, they took a character with a lot of potential, a wife scorned by her unfaithful husband to the point of wanting him dead… and turned her into a one-note baddie whose sole purpose is to make Stolas miserable and nothing else… plus she’s stupid.

That’s pretty much the way to put it. And many people had voiced their dismay at this… and all the defenders and stans came out and tried to argue (or harass) people for voicing their displeasure with how this character was handled. So, I will try to voice why I feel that the writers here royally fucked up.

Point #1: Was this always fated to be? Was this a retcon? I don’t know, I barely know the lady!

So, one of the most common arguments that came up regarding Stella when ‘The Circus’ came out and messed everything up was:

“This was always how she was meant to be.”

“She was always a bad person.”

“Stella simps be mad, lol.”

I’m paraphrasing of course, but yeah, the consensus among the defenders and stans was that this was all part of Vivienne’s big plan, and she was always going to be this evil psycho bitch.

On the flip side, I had heard many fans (including the simps) complain that this was a retcon, that they had decided partway through production to just go full ‘I’m an evil piece of shit who strangles puppies and drinks childrens’ tears’ with her.

As for me, I personally disagree with the retcon… but not because it isn’t. It’s for the simple fact that for a retcon to occur,  there would have to be something to retcon to begin with!

This must bear reminding, she only had 36 seconds of screen-time in the entirety of season one. 36 seconds, little over half a minute. And it’s spread across these three scenes in two episodes (excluded the cameo in Ozzie's):

Loo Loo Land (Scene 1): she didn’t want to get up with Stolas to tend to Octavia, and she hogs the blankets.

Loo Loo Land (Scene 2): She’s pissed at Stolas for cheating on her with an imp, throwing imps and stuff around

Harvest Moon Festival (Scene 3): She wants Stolas dead for cheating on her, hiring Striker

In my opinion, the only scene that could undeniably be considered evil in this scenario is her hiring Striker to kill Stolas, but even then, it’s fueled by her wanting revenge for his infidelity (or rather, cheating with an imp). The other two were subjective, and could be interpreted many ways. All that could really be established before ‘The Circus’ was her and Stolas’ relationship was already on the decline and the affair really pissed Stella to the point that she wanted him dead. Everything else has been pretty up to interpretation, and that’s the problem.

On top of there only being 36 seconds of Stella, this was all over the course of a season, which lasted a year (excluding the delayed ‘Queen Bee’ which aired nearly two years later), and it would be around nine months before she and the series returned in ‘The Circus’. With what little there was of her, people had to use their imagination to determine what kind of character she would be:

Would she be a psychotic elitist racist, driven mad by the humiliation and rage of being cheated on with an imp? Or is someone fueled by the human desire to keep up appearances, beaten into her by a draconic hierarchy of Goetias who frowns upon the first sight of weakness? Does she see her daughter as a chess piece, intending to use her to further her agenda, or mold her into a replica of herself? Or does she truly love her daughter, which factors into why she loathes Stolas for ‘shattering’ their family? Hell, were she and Stolas friends at one point, or at least acquaintances? And was she capable of speaking like a normal person instead of screaming almost all her lines?

There were so many ways Stella’s character could have been utilized, some of which I had seen done in several fanfictions and fan comics over the course of the series. With such possibilities created expectations and hype that probably got a bit too high, but surely, if at the very least, after a very decent season one, they wouldn’t mess this up?

Well, they did.

Of all the ways they could had gone with Stella, they settled for what I believe to be the lowest denominator of a personality which is simply:

‘I am evil… maniacal laugh’

Now, I can already hear someone saying:

‘Oh, you’re just mad that Stella didn’t turn out the way you wanted.’

Granted, that is a fair argument. Again, with how little we got of her and how long the wait between episodes are, it is possible that people had set their expectations too high and they got themselves overhyped. But counterpoint: this argument only works if the character still turned out good and you just weren’t happy with the end results.

Emphasis on ‘if the character still turned out good’.

This ‘characterization’ Stella got in ‘The Circus’ amounts to ‘She was evil from the day she was born, and she hates Stolas. She hates Stolas very much.’ That’s it. That’s the rub. And following that episode, we could also add that ‘she’s dumb and narrow-minded, with her brother being a bit too infatuated with her’.

One of the big problems with this character we got is that it’s so flat. Like cardboard cutout-flat. This is infuriating because this is the same show that gave us characters that are layered and complex: you got a foul-mouth crazy clown in Blitzo who harbors a lot of guilt and self-hatred. You got a perverted demon prince in Stolas who might want something more with his impish plaything. You have a neurotic straight man in Moxxie, struggling with his own self-image. Hell, even Loona has some sort of a heart under that cold surly front. There’s also Millie, but that’s another issue for another day.

The point is, all these characters had depth and nuances to them… and Stella does not. I am not saying Stella being irredeemably evil is bad. There are several villains designed like this that are loved and applauded. In fact, later that year, we would get a villain like Stella, but done a lot better.

Jack Horner (Puss In Boots: The Last Wish (2022))

Meet Jack Horner. He is one of the three antagonists from ‘Puss In Boots: The Last Wish’. Compared to the far more sympathetic Goldilock and the Three Bears and the force of nature that is Death, Jack Horner is as evil as you can get, intending to use the Wishing Star to hoard all the magic to himself, callously treating his men as expendable till it comes down to just him, and is willing to do anything, going as far as to shoot a puppy (in the face by the way, why you ask), that even his ‘conscience’ (the Ethical Bug that’s clearly supposed to be Jiminy Cricket) outrights calls him a ‘irredeemable monster’. His response?

“Woah, woah. What took you so long, idiot?”

However, despite this, Jack is considered one of the best parts of the film, many finding him hilarious and hammy, yet somehow managing to be a menacing threat. But what made him stand out was at the time, there was this belief that irredeemable villains (or rather ‘evil for the sake of being evil’), examples being like the villains from the older Disney movies or from Saturday morning cartoons, were considered boring, less interesting than other villain archetypes, such as tragic villains or twist villains (which was Disney’s go-to for villains when not using generational trauma). Jack was considered a breath of fresh air, managing to be a memorable villain without needing any complexity or sympathetic qualities.

Now, where did Jack succeed and Stella fail?

To begin, it’s hard to make a fair comparison, as Stella is an antagonist from an indie animated adult series while Jack is from a film made by Dreamworks, and a part of a famous franchise that is Shrek. Be that as it may, I do strongly believe that Jack Horner is a good example of how to do a villain like Stella properly.

Now, Jack only has five and a half minutes of screen time and by god, does he make every scene he appears in count. Whether it’s John Mulaney’s voice-acting, the comedic timing, or just how he owns how evil he is. And he is given a backstory, where he was overshadowed by Pinocchio of all people, but the movie makes no attempt to try and make him sympathetic. They even lampshades this in a scene where he said he didn’t have much… and then proceeded to describe a very well-off lifestyle.

I do believe that why ‘I like tormenting you’ Stella doesn’t hit the same marks is that we initially had no clear indication that Stella is this horrid, irredeemable monster that hated Stolas just for breathing in season one. Sure, she wanted him dead for cheating, but this takes place in Hell, where murder and destruction happens on a daily basis. Aside from that, we had no idea how Stella treated Stolas before Blitzo came along, or how she is when she isn’t being pissed off.

Even then, all of Stella’s evilness in Season Two pretty much revolved around just hating on Stolas for no reason and wanting him dead. That’s it. It’s the same ‘Stolas is (insult)’ in the little time she has that would get old if it had time to get old. In fact, literally all but one scene with her revolves around Stolas of some sorts. The one scene that didn’t was her and Andrealphus interacting in ‘Western Energy’, and I would say that, aside from Stella being portrayed as stupid, her banter with Andrealphus was one of her better scenes and that’s a very low bar to set.

It is possible that this kind of characterization would have worked if Stella was just given more time in season one to establish this ‘I like tormenting you’ mentality. I’m not saying add her in every episode willy-nilly, but if she had even a minute or two more of screen time they could have at least made her characterization in The Circus easier to digest and nip all the hype and rampant interpretations in the bud. Another idea, though harder to pull off, would have been to just remove her from the season altogether. She was already barely in the show to begin with, and maybe with some tweaking, she could have made her debut in season two, since that’s when she became more prominent. That way, people aren’t left waiting nearly two years speculating what kind of person Stella is only to be disappointed.

Even then though, there’s no guarantee that doing this would had salvaged canon Stella, as there’s a very glaring problem that would be:

Point #2: Screams of Silence: The Story of Stolas G.

Trigger Warning: Domestic Abuse and Implied Rape

In ‘The Circus’, there are two scenes here that carry some very heavy implications. In the ‘Still Not Divorced’ party scene, as you may recall above, she says this line here:

Stella: (laughs loudly) No! Stolas is terrible in bed! I swear to fuck, he just lays there staring at the wall, and I have to do everything! It’s embarrassing! (sighs) I’m glad one egg fell out of me, so I could stop pretending to want to fuck his scrawny twig ass.

And at the very end of the episode, when Stolas said they were getting the divorce…

Yeah, so it is pretty much shown that Stella is abusive to Stolas, both mentally and physically, and judging from Stella’s line at the party, it’s possible that Stella had also raped Stolas till they had conceived Octavia.

Now, this is a very dark and possibly interesting turn for the series: it is very rare to see a woman abusing a man in media, and considering how Stolas has homosexual leanings, that and the possible ‘rape’ could make for commentary regarding the awful things the LGBTQ+ community faced.

Honestly, it would have made for a good story… if this wasn’t Helluva Boss, a series that was supposed to be a comedy. A COMEDY. And here Viv and the writers go and drop both domestic abuse and rape in a show that would go on to have scenes like this:

Dicks in the wall (Exes and Oohs (S2, E3))

And this:

Not heard: Fizzarolli describing Ozzie’s dick (Oops (S2, E6))

Before people go and complain, I am aware that there have been dark scenes in otherwise light-hearted shows, and Helluva Boss is a black comedy, so dark stuff is to be expected. But there’s a very fine line you have to be careful of when inserting stuff, lest you have scenes like the attempted rape scene in Beethoven’s 2nd.

No. I am not making that up. In Beethoven’s 2nd, a family film mind you, there is a scene where a guy attempted to rape the eldest daughter. Nothing physical happens, just him locking her in the room with him, and Beethoven ends up saving her, but yeah, imagine finding something like that in a film aimed at kids.

Up to this point, Helluva Boss had been a show that didn’t take itself too seriously. Sure, there were some dramatic scenes here and there, especially when it came down to ‘Truth Seekers’ and ‘OZZIE’S’, especially regarding Blitzo and Stolas. But even then, it was mostly relationship drama, which is par for the course for most comedy series.

But the two things that are very dangerous to handle in a comedy series, if not done tactfully, is domestic abuse or rape, and now, Helluva Boss had pulled that pin on the proverbial grenade.

There are several problems with this and I will try to tackle them. First off, let’s address the ‘possible’ rape allegation.

Note how I have been saying ‘possible’ for the past few paragraphs? Well, here’s the thing: like Stella herself season one, it’s all up to interpretation. Yes, it’s possible to see where people drew the conclusion that Stella did what she did to Stolas, but it is also very possible that Stolas simply was not attracted and therefore saw no point in trying to enjoy it. Whether this is because he was gay (fun fact: Stolas has not been officially confirmed to be gay. Look it up. I mean, it’s obvious he’s not straight, but it’s possible he could still be bi (or pan). So if you wanna ship girls with Stolas, go nuts), or were simply not into Stella in particular, no one can say for certain.

Also,  there’s a line that I feel people either hadn’t noticed or ignored in Stella’s conversation:

“I’m glad one egg fell out of me, so I could stop pretending to want to fuck his scrawny twig ass.”

Unlike Stolas being bad in bed, this line pretty much spelt it out that Stella didn’t want to have sex with Stolas either. But since an heir is what was expected of them, they pretty much had to, with Stella probably being the one who had to make the effort. A fellow critic, Schjiro, explained it to me as ‘Emotionless Fornication’, where neither party had any feeling whatsoever when engaging in intercourse. So, as far as we know, neither party wanted to do it, but had to in order to produce a precautionary heir, with Stella being the one to make the effort. Again, it is possible to see how one drew the horrid conclusion, but one thing to remember is that implication does not mean facts. Not to mention if Stella really did ‘rape’ Stolas, this would in turn mean that Octavia was a product of rape, and that is a new level of dark that I feel Helluva Boss is very ill-equipped to tackle. And even then, why is no one paying attention to the fact that Stella herself didn’t want to have sex with Stolas? That I will cover in the next point.

Now, for the domestic abuse aspect of the relationship.

Unlike the rape, there’s less room for implications, as canon Stella really took no prisoners when it comes to laying out the verbal abuse. And with it comes mental abuse. That part is covered. However, when it comes to physical abuse… that is where things get a bit wonky.

Aside from throwing objects at him in ‘Loo Loo Land’, this is the only instance in the series where Stella had physically attacked Stolas directly. Many fans/stans had taken how Stolas caught her hand so easily as her having done this many times in their marriage and Stolas had gotten so used to the physical abuse to expect it. While a plausible theory, one of the issues I have with this is if you recall that image from before...

Stella’s slap could have been seen a mile away. Now, arguably, Stolas could have just taken it, having grown accustomed to the abuse, but it’s just as plausible that Stolas caught it because it was so easily choreographed. Even then, there’s another issue I have with this.

Can Stella even physically hurt Stolas? No, I’m serious here. Can Stella actually hurt Stolas and make him bleed and stuff? It is something I have seen in many fanarts depicting the abuse, but the thing is, it was established in ‘Harvest Moon Festival’ that demon royalty can only be killed by blessed weapons. However, the show never establishes if the same rule applies to being hurt.

What I mean is, there has never been an in-show occurrence where Stolas was hurt by anything that wasn’t a blessed weapon. The only time we ever see Stolas being hurt by something at all is in this Instagram post here (after ‘Truth Seekers’):

Stolas apparently needed his arm bandaged due to a bear trap. Now, this would have made Stella being a physical abuser work… but the thing is: the instagram posts aren’t exactly canon. They do allude to things that do happen in the series proper but I believe Viv went on record to say that they were mostly for fun and weren’t to be taken seriously. So that’s a bust. But even if Stolas was able to be hurt by normal means, there’s another problem: look at ‘Western Energy’:

Striker using a ‘blessed’ weapon (Western Energy (S2, E4))

Striker here was using a blessed weapon to torture Stolas, and was gonna use it to kill him (until Stella called off the hit). And because of it, Stolas was in pretty bad shape. Now, it could be argued that Striker made his dagger ‘blessed’ so that when torturing Stolas, it would hurt more, inflicting maximum pain before going for the kill. But the thing is…

Stolas, tortured to an inch of his life by blessed weapons, was completely and utterly fine within a week as of 'Oops'. And yes, it has been a week. Earlier in ‘Oops’, Striker flat out states that he had a ‘royal on the ropes just last week’ (being Stolas). Like god damn, if Stolas could easily shrug off injuries inflicted by blessed weapons, what does that say for anything Stella could do? It’s not like Stella’s hands are made of blessed metal. And Stella has not been shown to have any sort of powers or abilities that could be considered harmful.

Now, I’m not saying that men can’t be abused by women, clearly they can. And there has been a couple of times in media it has happened. But the problem I am having is Stolas time and time again is proven to be a powerful demon prince capable of fucking shit up, yet we are expected to believe that Stella could ever lay a hand on Stolas.

In fact, it wouldn’t be far-fetched to say Stella abusing Stolas would be like if Lois Lane was abusive to Superman. Like, be a total piece of shit all you want to this person, the only reason you’re still kicking is because the other guy is too polite, too chicken-shit, or just doesn't care enough to raze you into the ground.

The only edge Stella would have on Stolas is the fact that she is more social and being a woman, she could easily play the wounded gazelle and manipulate the Ars Goetia family into turning on Stolas, not to mention there’s Octavia to consider, arguably Stolas’ biggest Kryptonite by far. However, even then, that’s debatable, on the fact that Stolas by all accounts should outrank Stella.

If Stolas and Stella’s marriage failed, it would more than likely be blamed on Stella more than anything, and as Andrealphus pointed out, she would end up with nothing. And to be frank, it’s not like Stolas had been facing any actual legal repercussions for his affair with Blitzo. As it stands, Stella is only a threat to Stolas… because the writers want her to be.  Never mind that Stolas is stronger, has more importance and the fact that Stella is pretty much a joke next to her, which makes the fact that we’re supposed to fear her as this domestic abuser even more laughable. And on that side note, if Stolas is a battered spouse who suffered under Stella for so long, why the hell did he agree to meet her and Andrealphus at that cafe? You would think that a victim of abuse, even if they had gathered the courage to leave, would think twice before agreeing to meet a person that physically and verbally abuses you. Especially if it leads to an assassin kidnapping you and torturing you.

Even then, that barely scratches the surface of why this domestic abuse angle doesn't work.

Now, as it had been established, canon Stella as of now has little personality beyond hating Stolas and being a psycho bitch. The line ‘I like tormenting you’ sold that pretty well. But here’s the thing though:

The face of an awful domestic abuser… apparently

Am I expected to believe that this woman is a heartless abuser, let alone take her seriously?

Remember, this series was meant to be a comedy, and Stella, in every other scene except the one at the end of ‘The Circus’, had been established as a loud-mouthed, crass, entitled, bratty bully. You know, the kind of antagonist you expect out of a comedy. Yet, here they are, trying to shoehorn in a domestic abuse plotline that’s supposed to be taken as serious. If this was in a series like Bojack Horseman, or hell, even a younger-focused series like Avatar: The Last Airbender,  where drama and serious storytelling take priority over funny moments, this might have worked.

But the thing is, there’s a reason abusive women characters worked. Case in point:

Lady Tremaine & Mother Gothel

These two are probably some of the first characters that come to mind when you think of abusive characters. And they share a lot of similarities to Stella herself. Granted, their abuse was more aimed at children rather than a spouse, but they are good templates for what makes a good ‘abusive’ character.

Lady Tremaine (otherwise known as The Stepmother) is a status-focused woman who carries herself with a sense of superiority and smugness (not unlike Stella) strongly mistreated her stepdaughter Cinderella, forcing her to serve her and her biological daughters as a servant. While we don’t see this abuse on-screen (as this was a Disney movie for kids), every time she was on screen, you worry for Cinderella, especially in scenes like when she is talking to Cinderella from her bed in the bedroom, when she raises her voice. Her scenes are pretty much devoid of the light-heartedness and comedy you expect out of a film with talking mice, and despite never raising a hand towards Cinderella, she’s god-damn scary, and is considered one of Disney’s better villains, up there with the likes of Maleficent (who by the way, would be voiced by the same voice actress years later). And like Stella, she isn’t given a sympathetic backstory (though the live action remake many decades later would try to humanize her), and while nowadays, she might not be as compelling, she’s the poster child for the Wicked Stepmother archetype.

Mother Gothel is portrayed in a way more akin to how abusers would act in real life. When we first meet her, it’s established that she’s a selfish vain woman obsessed with maintaining her youth, hoarding a magical flower for herself to do so. And when this flower was taken and used to cure the ailing queen, Gothel goes as far as kidnapping the queen’s baby Rapunzel, who retained the flower’s power, when she couldn’t simply take her hair. Since then, Mother Gothel raised Rapunzel as if she was her own and pretty much emotionally and psychologically manipulates her into staying within the tower, her roots taking hold so deep that Rapunzel herself dare not defy her, out of fear of being a bad daughter to her, and Gothel does all this with such a saccharine demeanor. However, there are moments where the mask slips, like at the end of her song ‘Mother Knows Best’ where she flat out told her never to ask to leave the tower again, or towards the climax of the film, where she willingly put Rapunzel in danger with the Stabbington Brothers just to prove her point and scare her into coming back with her. But the mask is pretty much off when Rapunzel wises up to her manipulations and she flat out willing to force her into servitude to her just so she can maintain her youth forever. Oh, and side note, in the animated series, she abandoned her own biological daughter so she could steal and hide Rapunzel. Real mother of the year there. I’m not a psych expert, so I can’t go into all how Mother Gothel is a stellar example of an abusive villain, but someone that Stella wishes she could be.

So why does Stella not work like these two? Well, a major factor to consider is: domestic abuse is not a joking matter. Lady Tremaine and Mother Gothel are characters that are often written in a way that they are treated as serious threats, with their horrible actions never played for laughs. Sure, Gothel does have a few funny moments, but it never takes away from the horrible things she did in the film. This is often applied to almost every abusive character in media, from cartoons to movies. When done properly, the abusive characters are almost never played for laughs, and their abusive actions, be it towards spouses or children, are never taken lightly. If abuse is ever treated as a joke, it is usually done in poor taste… or you’re South Park or someone into edgy humor.

Stella doesn’t work because she is a supposed abuser in a show that plays physical abuse for laughs. In other words, she is:

Jeffrey Fecalman (Family Guy, Screams of Silence: The Story of Brenda Q. (S10, E3))

Jeffrey Fecalman, or just Jeff, is a minor one-shot character that appeared in ‘Screams of Silence: The Story of Brenda Q.’ (he did actually appear a few seasons earlier in a scene in ‘Jerome’s The New Black’) in the season ten episode of Family Guy, and hoo boy, this episode is considered one of Family Guy’s worst episodes for its very poor handling of the subject matter.

The problems were numerous: one, the abuse victim Brenda is the sister of Quagmire, who is infamous for his sexual exploits that would not fly today in the current tv environment, taking advantage of women just like his sister. Two, the way the main cast handled the situation is so awful, from victim blaming, to Joe the cop not arresting Jeff when he flat out is abusing her right in front of him, to deciding to kill Jeff on the belief that abusers never change, getting so much about domestic abuse wrong.

And lastly… well, Jeff is characterized as an unsympathetic piece of shit who beats Brenda over the littlest things, yet for some reason, Brenda refuses to leave him, and has no personality beyond that. Sounds familiar? Jeff is pretty much Stella, but over ten years earlier. And like Stella, Jeff is portrayed in such a ham-fisted way that he is impossible to take seriously as a domestic abuser. And that should be a warning that you have done something severely wrong.

Now, I should state this, because I recall a conversation on Twitter I had when talking about Stella a year ago,  when I criticized just how too cartoony Stella was to be a domestic abuser. A person did call me out, saying that they knew someone just like Stella, down to her demeanor. I am by no means trying to say that people who behave just like Stella or Jeff can’t exist. After all, reality is stranger than fiction. And I am sorry that you had to put up with someone like that and I hope you’re doing well.

That being said, it does not take away from the fact that Jeff and Stella are terrible as abusive villains, not just because they act in such a way that’s impossible to take seriously, but because of the world/series they live in.

Jeff is a serious domestic abuser in Family Guy, a show that is infamous for all sorts of abuse that is always played for laughs, especially towards Butt Monkey poster child Meg Griffin. Hell, this episode is immediately after another infamous episode where Meg called out her family for their abuse… but then proceeds to stay and take the abuse so they wouldn’t lash out at each other. Needless to say, it’s no surprise that Family Guy got lambasted for this episode.

But what about Stella? Well, on top of Blitzo treating Moxxie like crap and disrespecting him time and time again, we get lovely scenes like this in the very next episode of Helluva Boss.

Shown: Loona kicking Blitzo in the balls (Seeing Stars (S2, E2))

In this also very divisive episode, Loona treats Blitzo, her adoptive father, like absolute dogshit, beating him up in the first image for offering constructive criticism over her job as a receptionist (which we never seen her do since the pilot), letting Octavia slip in and steal the book (probably out of spite for Blitz), disregarding Blitz’s orders to find Octavia until she had a ‘change of heart’ when Blitz and Stolas are taken to the studios, and lastly, Blitz, feeling sudden remorse for threatening to replace her (even though she dared him to do it) tries to apologize… only to get kicked in the balls. And mind you, this is right after a touching scene with Octavia, where Loona told her to cut her dad some slack (someone who she had zero interactions with beforehand) because they screwed up… when Blitz really hadn’t screwed up at all in the series that we had seen. It all comes off as very hollow.

And not once is Loona’s abuse and disrespect of Blitzo treated with a modicum of seriousness. Hell, I’ve seen many people rush to Loona’s defense, arguing that Loona was justified because of her past and that she didn’t like being touched. Hell, one person tries arguing that Blitzo used micro-aggression. I got the whole ‘media literacy is dead’ for speaking up about Loona’s behavior. It’s all something that we are supposed to just laugh and find amusing…

One question though… WHERE THE FUCK WAS ANY OF THIS DEFENSE FOR STELLA?!

This is the very reason domestic abuse is not something you can just drop in a show, let alone a comedy that uses physical slapstick as a joke. Because if you drop in a domestic abuse story and play it straight for an episode, but then turn around and do an episode where another person do the same shit for the funnies, it causes a massive tone inconsistency (something Helluva Boss is infamous for now) and confusion, making people wonder if they are supposed to laugh or take things seriously. Even then, doing the abuse for the funnies gets old real quick, which is a problem Family Guy constantly combats with to this day.

Simply put, if you’re going to make a villain an abuser, you best be prepared to handle them seriously, and make sure it doesn’t go against the kind of show you’re running. Otherwise, don’t get mad when people get upset.

That being said, now is the time to tackle the last problem about Stella:

Point #3: Making Stella look bad so Stolas looks good

A very common complaint that people had concerning Stella following ‘The Circus’ was that Stella was written the way she was so that Stolas, her husband and one of the main characters, would appear better in terms of morality. And hoo boy, there is so much truth to this statement than you realize.

But before we get ahead of ourselves, let’s get familiar with Stolas.

Stolas Goetia is a prince from the Ars Goetia family, based on the demon of the same name. He is Stella’s husband, and the father of Octavia, and his affair with Blitzo is a major plot point within the series.

He’s a very divisive character in the fandom: either you love him and would die for him… or you think he’s the worst thing ever and should go die in the ditch. Regardless, his character in season one was one of intrigue: he is similar in some ways to Stella, treating imps, Blitzo included, as lesser races, and constantly flirts (to a very uncomfortable degree) and condescends Blitzo on several occasions. In fact, some fans goes as far as to say he’s sexually coercing Blitz, if the nature of their deal is anything to go by (to make a long story short, in ‘Murder Family’, he proposed the infamous full moon deal where he and Blitz must have sex for the book… while Blitz is running for his life from Satanist cannibals). Yeah, not a very good look.

Not to say he was without good points, as he loves his daughter Octavia dearly, but Stolas is a very flawed individual whose affair and behavior had an effect on the people around him, Stella and Octavia included, and it was for these flaws that he and Blitz were called out in ‘House of Asmodeus’ and Stolas ends up creating a rift between him and Blitz as a result of it. While Stolas may be divisive, his character was complex and intriguing, and hey, it’s not everyday that you see a flawed queer character in media. The keyword being ‘was’. Yeah, Stella wasn’t the only victim of ‘The Circus’.

Pictured: A very sad boi (The CIrcus (S2, E1))

So, as mentioned in Point #1, ‘The Circus’ served as the backstory of Stolas, revealing how he was arranged to marry to Stella at a young age, and to get him to cease his ‘bitch crying’ from his less than stellar father, he took him to the eponymous ‘circus’, where Stolas meets Blitzo as a kid (that’s an issue for another day), Paimon ‘buys’ Blitzo for a day and Blitzo’s dad have him rob the place with no consequences and serve no purpose other to maybe let Blitzo know that Stolas had a grimoire?

25 years later, we find out Stella is always a P.O.S. and Blitzo comes back into his life, and rather than it being a sordid affair that happened all the sudden… it is now Stolas really misread the situation and thought Blitz was coming onto him and Blitz only fucked him out of pity (another issue for another day). We then cut to the next morning, where we get a recap of the pilot scene with Stella, except Stolas proudly brag that it was the ‘sound of a fucking divorce’, which contrasts how apologetic he was in ‘Loo Loo Land’ (Vivienne said it was a ‘high’ Stolas was experiencing at the moment but eh…).

Then we cut to the present day, and the scene above. Stolas is sad, takes antidepressants, and begins to ‘lament’ about his love life. Except, he’s not lamenting how badly he hurt Blitz or anything… he lamenting how he misread Blitzo not being in love with him. I mean, that is a problem, but not the right one to be focusing on.

Anyways, the song ends with Stella’s interruption, and we get the infamous ‘I like tormenting you’ scene, but there’s a line here that bears reading:

“I know what I did. I would feel bad if I hurt you, but we both know I didn’t do that. You and I were arranged for one reason; to birth a precautionary heir to the Goetia family, nothing more. I tried so many years to make it comfortable for us; to have this family, but it was never enough. The only reason I have endured your constant insults and cruelty was for that girl to have a normal life… I cannot do this anymore. I want you out. Now.”

Stolas

So… yeah, you may notice how unbelievably ‘sad’ Stolas was portrayed in this episode. Well, I hope you enjoy this sad gay owl because this is Stolas’ character now. That’s right, gone is the complex, morally dubious owl who arranged a deal with this random imp to fuck him for his book, whose affair that strained his relationship with his daughter and made his wife want to kill him. Here now is a wangsty owl who’s sad that the imp he knew only for a day, who robbed him and then try to rob him again of his grimoire only to fuck him out of pity, and is a poor, poor victim of his evil wife who he was forced to marry and couldn’t divorce for some reason for his daughter.

And this here marks one of the major reasons I did not like the direction they took with Stella. By making Stella a flat evil gay husband beater of a wife, they’re absolving Stolas of his affair with Blitzo. If you think I’m overexaggerating, just take a look at this line in ‘Western Energy’

“Andrealphus, cheating implies there was a betrayal. This woman never gave two shits about me or our very much arranged marriage. As far as I’m concerned, this divorce is far overdue.”

Stolas

Like I said, absolving him of cheating. I’m not going to get into the argument of whether or not it’s morally correct to cheat on someone who treats you like crap. However, I’m of the belief that two wrongs don’t make a right. His cheating may or may not have hurt Stella, but it certainly hurt Octavia, and I find it weird that he apologizes to Octavia for his affair (that he continued to have) but not the woman he cheated on. Not to mention, as of time of writing, he isn’t brought to task on any of his other wrongdoings so far in season two.

He doesn’t reflect on his elitism and racism towards imps, he doesn’t reflect on how his cheating had hurt his family, or how kinda messed up his deal with Blitzo is. He’s just sad that Blitz doesn’t share his feelings. Hell, they never even had that conversation about their falling out after Ozzie’s, unless you count the text messages at the end of ‘Western Energy’. I mean, it could change with ‘Full Moon’, the very next episode to be released, but I’m not feeling hopeful.

Back to Stella, it speaks volumes how at the same time Stolas is made to be this poor sad perpetual victim, Stella is made to be this psychotic abuser. Which really sucks because Vivienne said that Stolas and Stella was supposed to be this whole thing where not one person was in the complete right. Yet, here we are, with Stolas being good and Stella being  evil, with no nuance, complexity, or all that jazz. It definitely doesn’t help that Stella only had 36 seconds of screen time while Stolas had way more, making the imbalance even worse.

Not to mention that in ‘Loo Loo Land’, Octavia flat out mentioned that they didn’t used to hate each other. Yet from what we saw in ‘The Circus’, Stella… always hated Stolas. This could mean one of three things: one, Stolas somehow managed to hide the fact that Stella hates and possibly abuses him for 17 years. Two, Octavia is so sheltered and god-damn oblivious (or stupid) that she could not see her mom obviously hating on her father. Or three, this line was completely forgotten by Vivienne and her writers and should be disregarded. Any of these three does not scream good writing in my eyes.

While a simple black and white dynamic isn’t the worst thing, that was not what was set up. Stolas was flawed. Stella was flawed. They were both shitty people who handled their dysfunctional relationship poorly and it hurt their daughter. To simply change that into where the closeted gay owl is in the right while the evil straight swan woman is in the wrong just comes off as boring.

Another issue I have with this is… why is Stolas getting the preferential treatment? Yes, Stolas is the one being abused and insulted by the woman she was forced to marry… but that doesn’t quite change the fact that Stella herself was forced into the same arranged marriage. She was forced to produce a precautionary heir with Stolas. As TV Tropes put it, she’s drowning in the same pool as Stolas, and there’s that whole incestuous vibe going on with Andrealphus going on, implying not so good things. Yet, Stella is given no sympathy, not from the writers, not from a lot of the fans, nothing. I’m not saying Stella is justified in her horrible actions, she’s not, but the fact is a lot of fans just write her off because the writers chose to depict her as this flat villain. There are examples of many villains that would go on to do horrible things but have sad and/or tragic backgrounds that while does not justify their actions, it allows you to understand how they got to be the way they are.

Examples include a lot of the rogues’ gallery from Batman or Spiderman, Azula from ‘The Last Airbender’, Goro Akechi from ‘Persona 5’, Tai Lung from ‘Kung Fu Panda’ or Lord Shen from the sequel, Homelander or Soldier Boy from ‘The Boys’. Hell, Jack Horner from earlier would count. The list goes on and on. There are villains who go on to do the most heinous things, in spite of their backstories, yet they would all go on to have fans who like them.

Which brings to another point that irks me: the treatment the fans of Stella get. If you had been in the Helluva Boss or Hazbin Hotel fandom long enough, you would find that it is not a friendly place. I won’t get too much into it, but let’s just say criticism, good faith or not, was a big no-no, and questioning the questionable choices Viv and her writers make will get you harassed or labeled a misogynist or a homophobe.

When ‘The Circus’ came out, anyone who voiced their liking for Stella got it pretty bad, as fans/stans took anyone who liked her as a problematic person who supports her horrible actions and hates gays like Stolas or something to that effect. While it could be possible that some people do think that, others certainly don’t. And it really sucks because Stella fans get it the worse, especially compared to other abusive characters’ fans, such as Crimson (a homophobic mob boss who flat out hits his son on screen and murdered his wife) and Valentino (a pimp who rapes Angel Dust, a fan favorite). It was ostracizing to many fans who just wanted to enjoy their favorite character.

And I feel as the series goes on, it will probably get worse.

Closing words

So, where does that leave us now?

Well, unless someone from the development side of things speaks up, we will never know for sure what decisions were made that lead to the characters we are given today, but what we do know for certain is Stella got shafted. And shafted good.

An abysmally low screentime of 36 seconds in season one alone. Many ways that her story could have developed, only to go with the most barebone and arguably laziest direction imaginable. Even then, her character archetype was done better by villains such as Jack Horner. Her being an abuser and a possible rapist clashes with the tone of the show, as well as her given character, and again is done much better by other characters.And worse of all, her fans get shat on by other fans of the show.

As of today, she is a one note flat villain who serves no purpose but to make Stolas more sympathetic in spite of all of his problems that are still unaddressed and to now play second fiddle to her brother who literally was dropped into the show with no fanfare but a tweet from over a year earlier. We still have no idea what her relationship is to her daughter, but it is safe to assume that it will probably not be good (or if it is good, it would be because Octavia cannot see how obviously evil Stella or her brother is) and that’s even if it gets touched upon at all.

While there are other issues plaguing Helluva Boss (such as the treatment of female characters, especially Millie and Loona, or the fact that a show about imps running a murder business has hardly any imps running a murder business), Stella stands out as a shining example of how to botch a possibly compelling antagonist, and serves as a bitter reminder of what we could had versus what we have now.

Now, I should state that a lot of this is introspection and opinions on my part, and I’m sure if I were to show this to people on Twitter, they would rip it apart and call me a media illiterate fool who knows jack-shit about anything, and that’s if they don’t try to harass and dox me for talking at lengths about Stella of all people. Who knows with this fandom nowadays,

If you do not agree with any of this, I am more than willing to hear you out, but I won’t promise that I will change my stance. It’s all about having an open dialogue.

As for why I did all this? I cannot say for certain, but I guess I just wanted to share my two cents on why Stella failed so hard as a character for me, and how I wished she could have been so much better than what we ended up getting. That and possibly out of spite to all the people who insulted me for having opinions about this show and how Viv lets all of that bullshit go unchecked.

Well, I guess that is all for now. I guess I will see you all the next time I decide to try and do something like this again. If I ever try to do something like this again. Who knows. Thanks for reading and hearing me out. Also, I do want to apologize if all of this looks wonky to you, first time posting an actual blog and due to the image limit, I had to fix a few things so it would make sense. If there's any issues, let me know.

[buccig4ng]

Hii I was wondering if I could get a mista x reader lemon and he gives lots of praise cuz why not 🤪 anyway ty for taking the time to read have a good one 😌

oh my god this is such a good ask! i added a little bit of plot as well, i hope you don't mind!

summary: mista and you are out on a mission, and he starts acting like a needy bitch. you accept his offer after a bit of persuation, and hoo boy, do you not regret it at all.

word-count: 1039

warnings: 18+ content, afab reader, pet names (baby, darling, sweets, etc.), language, a lot of praise, semi-public sex, softdom!mista, just a long blowjob really.

!! nsfw under the cut, minors dni !!

You didn't know how it escalated to this. The last thing you remembered was you and Mista going on a mission together. Nothing too crazy; you just had to take out a couple of people. You both had arrived earlier than necessary, as Bucciarati had instructed you two to do so incase the targets arrived early. You suspected that Mista had had a crush on you for quite a while. Sure, he had always been a touchy bastard, but today more so than ever. Probably because of all the waiting you had to do; Mista had many qualities but patience was definitely not one of them. You had tried telling him off multiple times to stop doing that, reminding him that you were in the middle of a mission, but it seemed like he had no intentions to budge. "(Y/N)~" he whined, "The targets aren't going to arrive for another hour or so. What do you say about having some fun?" Mista winked cockily at the end of that sentence, making you cringe a little bit. Okay, maybe he was attractive as hell and you yourself had a teeny-tiny crush on him, but come on; Bucciarati would murder you both on the spot if he found out that you both had done the nasty on a job. "Mista. No." You replied sternly, hoping he would back down. Spoiler alert: he did not.

For the next 15 minutes or so, all you heard was Mista pouting and complaining, and your own agitated voice telling him to shut the fuck up. Finally, when he leaned down seductively and whispered in your ear, "C'mon (Y/N), I promise you won't regret it," did you widen your eyes and slowly pulled him closer to you, whispering back, "Okay, fine. But we better make this quick."

And THAT'S how it escalated to you being pinned against the heavily vandalised wall of the dark alley you were waiting in, all hot, flushed and sweaty. Mista was kissing you with a fervent amount of passion, and you reciprocated it to the best of your abilities. You felt his hands roam around your entire body, before dipping down to your hips and holding your body as close to his as was humanly possible. Your own hands rose up to his face, holding it tightly as you pulled away for a minute in order to catch your breath. Mista smirked at you, before nipping at your soft earlobe, eliciting a surprised gasp from you. He stopped, and spoke in a quiet, raspy voice, "(Y/N), you have no idea how long I've wanted to do this," He nipped at your ear once again before continuing, "You'll be a real good girl for me, won't you?"

You felt your panties getting soaked at his words. The effect his words had on you was surreal. "Mista," you whined, "I'll be as good as you want me to be." "Now, that's what I like to hear, darling." Mista chuckled, before pulling at your top, signalling you to take it off. Hurriedly, you rid yourself of your top and unhooked your bra, leaving the sight of your bare chest for Mista to take in and relish. "Holy shit," Mista exhaled, "You're so pretty, (Y/N). You're so fucking pretty." Feeling yourself blush at his words, you couldn't help but let a small smile form on your lips. Mista grabbed one of your breasts and licked its nipple, before taking it in his mouth and sucking it gently. You began to let out small whimpers and gasps; Mista was godly with his tongue. He switched his attention to your other nipple, sucking it a little harder now.

Is this what heaven felt like? You sure thought so. Just then, Mista stopped sucking on your nipples and said, "Playtime's over, baby. Shall we begin the show now?" You nodded, maybe a little too eagerly, and dropped down on your knees. "Damn," Mista cocked an eyebrow as you unbuckled his belt, "You're so eager to make me feel good, aren't you? Going to please me well, darling?" You nodded, once again, with the same amount of excitement. Once you stripped him of his pants, you could see his clothed erection, standing proud. You widened your eyes a little bit, and rushed to pull down his boxers. There it was, his cock in all its glory, red and huge and throbbing. You kitten licked the tip of his cock a few times and licked a stripe from its base to tip, making Mista grunt softly.  You managed to take most of him in your mouth, and used your hands for the little portion that still remained. You started moving your mouth, resisting the urge to gag as his dick went further and further down your throat. "Fuuuuuuck, baby," Mista groaned loudly, "Feels too good, never felt this good before. You're doing such a good fucking job, making me so happy." Mista ran his hands through your soft, silky (h/c) hair, with a look of pleasure on his face that you made sure to burn into your head. You wanted to remember this moment forever. You felt his cock twitch a little bit, before it unloaded a sizeable amount of cum into your mouth. You swallowed every little drop of it; it tasted a bit salty, but it definitely wasn't unpleasant.

Mista pulled his dick out of your mouth, and looked at you with a loving gaze in his eyes. "You did so well, baby. I'm so proud of you." You smiled a bright, genuine smile at him; Mista praising you made you feel butterflies in your stomach. He took one look at his watch, his eyes widening. "Fuck," he exclaimed, a bit of panic in his voice, "They'll be here any minute now." You stood up quickly, putting on your bra and your top. "Sorry about that, sweets," he said, a bit sheepishly, "I couldn't do much for you. Can you wait till this mission is over? I'll make you feel so good that my name will be falling from your mouth like a prayer." You chuckled, "How could I say no to something like that? Of course I'll wait, Mista."

Boy did he live up to his promise.

[betweenlands]

[[Psst! Hey you! If you are here without context, go vote for the Well in the MCYT Prisons Contest!]] (and also for the Ghost's Vault, too)

“You tubed which Lying!?” Avid’s patron sputters.

Avid winces at the loud feedback screech accompanying their outburst, resisting the urge to clap his hands over his ears – instead, he looks directly over towards the most recently occupied tube, giving its new resident a quick once-over for identifying features. Fox ears, kind of runny mascara (the tube isn’t doing it any favors), raven wings, big floppy hat with a wide brim and a pointy tip.

He snaps his fingers. “Witch Lying! Yeah, that’s the one.”

“You,” the Nameless King says, and then mutters something completely unintelligible. “Avid. You have priorities. You are supposed to stop people from falling into the Void. This sort of diversion is–”

“I thought of that, actually!” Avid says brightly, leaning back against the stasis chamber. “Actually, they were like, a pretty high priority target once I realized I had access to other worlds through this whole… prison bracket… thingy.”

“I’m still not sure how that works, to be honest,” the Nameless King sighs.

“It’s really not that complicated! See, the other Avid is busy being possessed by some weird dark entity called the Old One or whatever, who I assume is like a rival of yours so I’m not going to linger on that because I certainly wouldn’t want to be asked about my exes, but anyway – he’s busy, I’m not –”

“–You have a job–”

“– and so I figured, what the heck, might as well just kinda sneak in there and see if there’s anyone that’s being particularly unsafe! And hoo boy, buddy, you are gonna be glad I did that.”

A pause, then more discontented grumbling from the other side of the line. “You had better have a good reason for taking your eyes off our biggest issues. Marmalade’s still at large, and that Fool could be–”

Avid snickers, rapping his knuckles against the tube despite the sign he’d put up next to it clearly reading DO NOT TAP ON GLASS. “Okay, so here’s the deal. It turns out this sucker right here, the Witch, they’re like – immortal immortal.”

“Most people are somewhat immortal. Respawn exists.”

“Yeah, I don’t think they’ve taken a respawn in a couple centuries,” Avid says, stretching and moving over to the readout of the tubed figure’s genetics chart. “From an old modded generation – they’ve got some sort of immortality machine somewhere. Couldn’t figure out how to disable that but I did my research and, oh boy, you are gonna be glad to hear about this one.”

“Again. This had better be good.”

“Man, you are tetchy today.” Avid sighs. “I’ll make it quick. Immortality machine runs on death protection poppets. Death protection poppets block void damage. Void deals void damage. People go into Limbo if the Void can’t kill ‘em. You want people not in Limbo. Ergo, pickled Witch in the Woods.”

A long silence.

“Did I oversimplify?”

“No.” They sigh deeply. “Frankly, I’m stunned that you managed to create and follow a totally logical train of thought to completion. If what you’re saying is true, you actually have saved us both a great deal of hassle.”

“Aw. That’s sweet of you.” Avid leans back against the tube again, grinning.

“Don’t get used to it. But… well done.”

Avid grins widely, almost to the point where he has to cover his own face to hide how much he’s smiling. He’s done a good job! He did it! He’s getting a good grade in tubing people, something both normal to want and possible to achieve!

“I asked you a question, Avid,” the Nameless King says. Oops.

“Yep! Definitely heard you the first time, but, could you maybe just… rephrase that in full for a reason that is totally unrelated to me not hearing you?”

A long-suffering sigh. “I asked how you got them in the first place. Didn’t you lose the last round?”

“Eheh.” Avid’s grin turns almost uncharacteristically nasty. “See, that’s the thing. I did. I’ve been picking off the losers for the most part, so everyone’s been worrying about little ol’ me. I mean, who would even bother going after the immortal that won this round? If anything, they’re a suspect.” He waves one hand. “It’ll take people a little while to realize anything’s up – in fact, I can probably pick off a few more people in the quarterfinals before anyone figures out that the Witch is missing.”

“Make your pitch,” Avid’s patron says. “Quickly.”

“You got it.” Avid rummages in his inventory and pulls out a hand-drawn map of the upcoming tournament and a ballpoint pen that was probably Trog’s before they got tubed. He clicks it a few times, tapping it against his chin. “So, this round the Well looks like it might get bodied. Last round got something like a thousand votes – really close call, this place called the Desert versus these things called ‘where is’ blogs.”

“Please tell me you didn’t take out Ross,” the Nameless King says. “I don’t have the time or resources to deal with the Red Sun, and neither do you.”

“I may be dumb,” Avid says, “but I’m not stupid. I didn’t mess with that round. It was too high-profile, and keeping the Desert guys at large means they’re another prime suspect for the disappearances. Which brings me to the winners of that round.”

“Which was…?”

“The where is blogs. Apparently they put people in situations and it’s very popular. But, if they win, I’m thinking I could call in a little request for their next location.”

“Hm.” Avid gets the distinct sensation that the Nameless King is tapping their fingers against something. “Yes, that could work. If they let their guard down after winning like the Witch did, you could sweep in and get a lot of people at the same time – define where they are, as it were.”

Avid twirls the pen around his fingers a couple times before scribbling something down in the margins of his notes. “See, this is why we make such a good team! That is exactly what I was thinking we could do.”

“Excellent. Then make sure they win the next round – and don’t let me down.”

Avid nods, and then realizes that his patron can’t see him doing that, and then decides that he doesn’t really have anything to add. Awkward silence fills the air for several seconds.

“One more thing,” the Nameless King finally says. “You said you were picking off the losers, didn’t you?” Their voice is dryly annoyed again – so much for being happy with Avid’s job performance. “I would love to hear who else you’ve wasted our time on.”

“Not a waste of time!” Avid says brightly, hopping over the top floor railing and down to a lower floor. “So, there’s this really cute version of Viking that I would, just, love to talk with over drinks sometime, seems like a really fun dude, has this beautiful vault –”

“Avid. Focus.”

“Uh. Right. Probably won’t be able to talk to him face-to-face unless he gets into the finals, so I’m gonna have to work really hard to see if I can–”

“Avid.”

“Sorry, sorry!” Avid waves a hand as he checks over the occupant of the next tube. “Anyway, the guy he beat was really distracted and kind of stormed off muttering about how people should’ve had new perspectives or something? He was alone, so I bopped him over the head and tossed him in a stasis chamber.”

Avid looks over the catboy in the tube appraisingly. He’s wearing all-black with green and yellow highlights – he kind of looks like an emo version of Viking, if Viking actually wore hoodies. And had brown hair. And didn’t really look like Viking other than the heterochromia. “I don’t know his name, but apparently he’s Canadian? Whatever that means, I don’t think Canada canonically exists in–”

“You’re not serious.”

“I am! We cannot confirm Canada to be like, a canonically existing thing, that’ll break suspension of disbelief! Or at least that’s probably what Anathra would say.”

“I don’t care about the relative canonicity of Canada. You’re telling me you captured Kenadian? The person known for breaking into and out of places faster than anyone else? The prison escapist?”

“Ohhh,” Avid says. “He’s not Canadian, his name’s Kenadian. You know what, that makes so much more sense.”

[bebx]

Random Art the Clown Headcanons

POV: you’re friends with Art

he’s spice intolerant, which makes him physically/anatomically incapable of eating/digesting anything spicy.

so don’t feed him anything spicy. he’ll get rash and itchy mouth.

and then he’ll get moody.

and Art unalives people when he is moody, to get him back to being his old happy and giggly self again. (or he’ll just start acting annoyingly childish, pouting and moping around, until the discomfort goes away.)

random af gifts. Art is a gift giver. that’s how he shows affection to the people he cares about (if there’s someone he cares about) — the gift varies from a dead animal to a human’s heart.

he doesn’t need a ‘special occasion’ to gift someone. Art loves surprises, aka when you least expect it.

he’s a clingy mf.

like a giant teddy bear who follows you around until you give him attention

Art doesn’t know what a personal space is, but he doesn’t like the sound of it. so… don’t expect it.

unless it’s his personal space that he wants, then he knows exactly what it means, and hoo boy, you better not cross the boundary when he is angry and wants to be left alone.

contrary to popular belief, Art is actually a decent driver (shocking. I know). sure, he likes running a kid over for shit and giggles. but if he’s going somewhere, he’ll concentrate on the road. not for the safety of other people but rather because he wants to get to the destination without a distraction. and because he doesn’t want to deal with unwanted attention from the authority (unless he feels like unaliving them when he’s pulled over, then he’ll drive like a maniac that he is on purpose. but if Art has somewhere he needs to be, he’ll just focus on getting there. and yeah… dude’s a pretty decent driver, actually.)

he doesn’t get sick often. but when he does come down with something, it’s a nasty flu that leaves him being bedridden for days.

Art is, without a doubt, THEE worst patient.

like… ever.

also, just like a cat, Art hates water.

he… has his own way of keeping himself clean and he does like a nice, warm bath after a bloodbath (no pun intended). he just doesn’t like getting wetted unexpectedly.

like walking down the street at night, stalking a potential next victim, and the rain unexpectedly pours down on him.

that will ruin his mood. not good.

Art has to be the one in control. always.

he doesn’t take no for an answer.

he’s super stubborn, too.

he never. ever. let anyone see him without the face paint. him without his face paint is his most vulnerable state.

if he ever willingly let someone be around him when he has no clown makeup on (without the intention of killing them later), it means they’re extremely special to him and he trusts them wholeheartedly.

that’s just… something no one knows if Art’s really capable of, trusting someone and letting himself be vulnerable around them.

love may be too strong a word for someone like Art. but if he likes someone, he’s super possessive — because they are his property — so if anyone messes with his property… let’s just say their body will be very hard to identify after Art’s done with them.

and like a cat, he purrs. obviously, he doesn’t speak or make noises, but he does purr softly from his throat. and if you have your head under his chin, you can feel his skin vibrate a little, too.

he secretly loves being cuddled.

basically, he’s a big cat.

let me know if you want more of these xx

[gallusrostromegalus]

Bleach is full of characters who cannot fucking stand people they ostensibly work alongside. In AEIWAM, who holds the deepest, most caustic grudge(s) in Hueco Mundo and/or Soul Society?

BOY FUCKIN' HOWDY there are some deeply caustic and fucked up relationships and I dumped battery acid on the existing ones, then made up more for AEIWAM. Pick Who you want to hear about first:

Yamamoto and his Ex-Wife (OC).

Yamamoto and every single major and minor noble house, the Shiba clan, the Urahara clan, the central 46, the Punishment squad, Every Single Provincial Governor, and One Monkey Specifically.

Mayuri in General but things are particularly fucked between him and Nemu, Jizo (his zanpaktou), Captain Unohana, Kon, Kisuke Urahara, and The Actual King Of Hell.

The mans done fuckt up.

Gin is another strong contender for Worst Coworker Of All Time, esp in regards to Matsumoto and Kira, but definitely his most bizarre relationships are with Aizen and Urahara.

Speaking of Urahara, the man is a magnet for Drama, and is currently on the Shit List of... yeah, it's actually shorter to list the people Kisuke has NOT seriously pissed off at this point.

As in, among his theoretical immediate coworkers, the only people without a *specific* axe to grind with him are Matsumoto and Zaraki, and that is soley because they have not had the opportunity to work with him directly.

Yet.

If you asked Urahara to name his greatest nemesis though, he'd probably pick Don Kanonji.

In a dark horse of Drama, Retsu Unohana has recently made a discovery that's put her already-kinda-tense relationship with her medical mentor Tenjiro Kirinji in an awful new light and that is brewing into a nasty fucking brawl.

And she's only Kirinji's Second biggest Hater :)

None of the Arrancar really get along with each other, mostly because carnivores tend to be solitary and need a lot of personal space but fucking nobody likes Nnoitra.

Aizen, who hired Nnoitra, does not like Nnoitra.

You'd think his biggest hater among the arrancar would be Harribel on account of the Misogyny, but it's actually Aaroniero and Arruruerie.

...because they're not quite what they appear to be :)

Beyond the arrancar, Zaraki Kenpachi has beef with nnoitra that transcends lifetimes

Ironically, self-described self-centered asshole Grimmjow is the most social of the Arrancar, with his gang of Adjuchas followers and his extremely one-sided homoerotic rivalry with Ulquiorra and heck, he even has borderline-normal conversations with Coyote Starrk, when Coyote is awake.

Zommari and Sayzel would each beat him to death with a chiar if give half a chance, and for the same reason: Cat Hair.

Later in the Series, Grimmjow manages to move himself to the top of Yoruichi Shihon's "To Kill" list by attending the Seireitei Flower Festival.

Barragan is generally not well-liked but his most utterly seething hatred is reserved for a Roadrunner.

Speaking of Hollow-adjacent Persons, the Visoreds get along pretty well with each other, and of them Kensei and Mashiro are probably the closest, but there is Just One Thing you cannot mention around them because it will stir up a century-old and extremely bloody argument.

I'm still forming up what's going on with Yhwach and the Sternritter but DEAR GOD there is so much fucked up shit in there. Like. It's a cult there was no way this was coming out well but HOO BOY.

Lillie barro's #1 Nemesis in the Court Guards is Yachiru Kusajishi tho. She thinks he's mildly funny.

Lots of people die but the worst death so far is probably PePe Waccabrada at the hands of Retsu Unohana. He has it coming though.

Unless you count what happens to Giselle but the issue there is really that she does not die.

Definitely the most fucked up Quincy is Kanae Ishida, whose rage not even death can stop.

And of course,

Ichigo and Isshin Kurosaki

[questionablecuttlefish]

Some Headcanons 2/3 Jinx. Hoo boy, Jinx, here we go - some TW/s for mental illness, suicidal ideation, self-harm, she's a mess, our girl...

In Ill-Omen's Light, Jinx vanished for a year after firing her Super Mega Death Rocket at the Piltover council.

Her disappearance coincided with the outbreak of the Piltover/Zaun independence war triggered by her attack on the Council.

During this period, Jinx used the chaos of the war raging around her and her own intimate knowledge of the labyrinths of Zaun to slip in and out of the conflict, killing and stealing whenever she wanted to keep herself alive and rub out anyone chasing her, including vengeful Enforcers, Silco's emboldened rivals, and anyone seeking her out for the copious bounty on her head.

By the time the war resolved itself, Jinx had become something of an urban myth, a living cryptid and figure of legend and terror lurking in the Underground and spoken of in whispers or in jest.

Jinx was NOT in a good mental space during this period, keeping almost entirely her own company, falling deeper into her hallucinations and internal spaces, developing even deadlier weaponry, and surviving mostly on loneliness and spite.

The one exception was Ziggs, whom she met early in the civil war and formed a fast - if volatile - friendship based on a mutual love of explosions and the fact she mistook him for a figment of her imagination and kidnapped him for a month to serve as her 'conscience'.

Ziggs tagged along on several of Jinx's adventures, mostly to try to minimalize casualties. Despite a bit of ongoing trauma from having been kidnapped by a mostly feral Jinx and witnessing a lot of her atrocities firsthand, Ziggs has a deep affection and concern for his friend and worries for her when she isn't looking after herself.

Due to the age and species gap, Ziggs sees himself as a kind of 'cool uncle' figure to Jinx ( and is pretty mortified when Jinx later hits him with the TMI about her budding relationship with Lux.)

After a month or two of friendship, Jinx found her intrusive thoughts - her 'scratchies' - telling her to hurt or kill Ziggs more and more often and pushed him away.

The rest of Jinx's time was spent sinking further and further into her, er, 'Gollum arc', sometimes dissociating for days alone in her lairs, before, over time, slowly pulling herself out of it on sheer willpower, spite - and the underestimated power of her boredom.

Eventually, Jinx's volatile thoughts resolved into a new plan; call Vi out to one final fight, see her one last time, and finish things once and for all, going out together the way they came in.

In preparation for this, she interred the dummies representing Mylo and Claggor and prepared to face her last hurrah... ...whereupon her path crossed unexpectedly with a runaway Demacian, in Ill-Omen's Light.

Jinx has a lot of skills an aptitudes, as we've seen in League and Arcane; Genius inventor, skilled at close quarters combat with a nimble, unpredictable, almost inhumanly flexible fighting style now greater enhanced by her Shimmer infusion.

Singed's experiment to save Jinx's life used a rare Shimmer variant that had the unexpected outcome of permanently infusing itself itself into her system; she doesn't have the brute super strength of the more hulk-like Shimmer mutants, but she does have enough to lift Vi's gauntlets unaided and she's extremely fast and agile. Her senses are heightened, particularly hearing and smell, and she can see in pitch darkness. She also recovers quickly from all but the most serious injuries (she's annoyed that she doesn't scar easily anymore because scars are cool).

Her blood, as shown in Ill Omen's series, does have healing properties similar to the potion used in Vi in Act 2 of Arcane; however, as it's a potent Shimmer variant, it has nasty side effects if taken in any quantity.

Jinx is very sensory and smells, particularly human smells, are partly how she confirms her reality; if she can touch or smell someone they might be more real than her hallucinations.

Jinx is very touchy-feely, partly as above to confirm her reality, but also because she loves poking, prodding, climbing on people and getting in their spaces because it unnerves them and throws them off guard.

Sex and romance aren't things she really understands, though; Jinx falls somewhere on the gray-ace spectrum in terms of her sexuality, being mostly disinterested in sex (she's seen things, she grew up down the street from a brothel, but she mostly thinks it's weird and funny) but having very visceral, pleasurable reactions to gunfire and explosions that straddle the line between spiritual and sexual in nature for her.

She does, in some way, see Lux as a 'living explosion' personifying the beauty she sees in destructive power, partially explaining her physical attraction to Lux, which Jinx herself is still figuring out.

Jinx is just as inexperienced as Lux is, having had few opportunities and little interest in exploring relationships - in no small part to Silco being a loving but overprotective (and terrifying) parental figure. As Jinx herself puts it, nobody in his circles would touch her with a barge pole out of fear of both Silco and Jinx herself....

Not unjustified fear.

Lightcannon are both just dorks figuring themselves out, really.

[the-soliloquies-of-sadists]

#349

“You look surprised to see us in your home.  C’mon in we have things to discuss.  If you are looking for a place to run, Bubba behind you will make sure you don’t do that.  You should feel free to come into your own home.  Get in.  Bubba close the door….

“You seem too calm for this.  It’s like you expected three strange men to be in your trailer home out here in the middle of nowhere.  Do you know why we are here?  Yeah, you do.  You raped a fourteen-year-old girl, and then due to a technicality got off. 

“We have no idea who this little girl is, nor who her family are.  We don’t even know who the friend of the family is who contacted someone who contacted someone who contacted us.  We were provided your pic, your address, and who in town still cares for you.  Nobody.  We were sent here to make sure you never do it again. 

“Bubba.  Hold him.  You ain’t going anywhere.  Here, this collar will help with that.  Zeke hand me the lock….  And… it’s on.  Bubba let him go. 

“Ok Shithead.  I will give you one second to run, if you can get free then you are free.  One, two,… three. 

“Ha! Ha!  Your one second didn’t even get you to the door before that shock collar knocked you on your ass.  That delivered a punch, hunh?  Keep in mind that was on setting one.  There are five.  Each of us have a remote, and we can up it to any setting we feel like.  A few things about that collar, first it isn’t just an animal collar; it was designed by some very twisted men in Berlin.  There are three terminals, so that at least one will be in touch with your neck.  There are sensors that will monitor if you should want to put a barrier between the contacts and your skin.  There are other sensors in place should you want to cut it off.  Basically, you’re fucked.

“…Well, figuratively fucked.  The literal fucking will happen as soon as you get up….  Get up bitch….  There you go.  Now strip for us.  We want to see what we get to play with.  You heard me.  And take your time.  We are going to enjoy you putting on a show for us. 

“Shirt first.  Look at those pecs!  Nice abs too.  Your chest hair is kinda weird, like it’s all in one spot between you nips.

“What you don’t know about us three is that we prefer men.  I know I am getting a chubby.  How about you guys? 

“Now shoes and socks….  Pants and undies!...  Well lookie there….  You go commando.  More men should do that.  Average dick.  Zeke! Look at those balls.  They are huge! 

“Zeke likes balls….  Bitch, don’t you pull away.  We are going to be doing some nasty stuff to you.  We have every right to access every part of your body.  You don’t have any say in that.  You got that? 

“Now turn around and show us your asshole….  Damn! That’s one bubble butt.  Boys, I think we hit the jackpot with that.  Oh man….  Now show us that hole.  That’s it, bend over and pull your cheeks apart.  Damn!  That’s a virgin hole for sure.  Bitch, you a virgin back there?...  Hot damn!  We get to smash yet another cherry.  Hoo-wee!  Face us and get on your knees…. 

“Guys show him your remotes….  See them Bitch?  That’s so you don’t forget what non-compliance looks like.  Nod if you understand….  Good!

“Now which of us three do you want to rape you first?...  What the fuck?...  Pleading now?  None of us care about you other than being our cumdump pain freak.  So, you have three seconds before you experience shock level two.  Who do you want to take your cherry?  One… Two…

“Me?  Wow.  I haven’t been selected in a long time.  Our victims usually go for Bubba or Zeke, foolishly thinking that the quiet ones aren’t as much of an asshole.  OK bitch, crawl over to me and take my cock out of my pants.

“There you go.  Reach up and feel my bulge.  It’s big hunh?  All three of us are.  Unzip me and take me out.  I too go commando.  Look at my dickhead.  Just think that’s going to be shoved in deep in just about a minute.  Right now, your job is to get as much spit on it as you can.  Throat slime would be better.  That’s the only lube I will use when I smash your cherry.

“If you want a lot of slime on it, try to touch your chin with your tongue.  Like that.  Here let me do this.  Your throat opens up nicely with that.  Choke and gag on this dick!  I can feel the slime coating my cock.  Remember this trick.

“Keep going.  You’ll want to get your hole to relax.  We are going to be using it all day.  All three of us are multiple cummers.  But we are going to do other things too.  My arm will eventually go in your cunt.  Zeke will be destroying your balls.  And Bubba will sit on your face for a deep tongue cleaning.

“We are here until around midnight.  We don’t want to be seen leaving with you secured in our truck.  And when Bubba torches this place, we want to have it burn completely to the ground before the fire department comes out.  Yeah, you are not going back to the shambles of your previous life.  You are going to disappear into the underground where you will be sold into a much different existence.  No one will care that you are gone.

“Guys, there it is; the realization has hit him.  Get him bent over his couch…  Hold him down.  Let him struggle futilely as he grasps the last moment of being a man.

“Bitch, we were paid to rape you and make sure you never do it again.  And if you are wondering how we will prevent you from doing it again, let me just say that Zeke grew up on a farm and he knows how to castrate bulls.  Your balls are the only verification the person who hired us wants.

“Hot damn!  Here it goes.  Scream fucker!  Scream!  Goddamn!  I love smashing virgin cunt!”