#me now: i sure would like to be closer to certain ppl but the mere smell of it turns on my danger senses so :(((((

[kaleuh]

my sister introducing me to a v delicious non-alcoholic champagne was very very nice of her, and now because i have the day off tomorrow i can sit around drinking it playing grown up like everyone else (bonus points for Being Sad)

[siswritesyanderes]

hii,, trans anon here idk if u got my ask but aaa ty 4 this it made me feel so validated,, I would love to request uh reader coming out to tom? and him punishing ppl who misgender him if thats ok w u!! thank u sm <33

(Aaah, I hope this came out okay! I didn’t want to take so long.)

Your hands and your voice were shaking a small but noticeable amount as you expounded on the truth of yourself. Tom found himself fixating on it; he thought it endearing, at first, that you were so nervous, because it meant that his opinion, his verdict, mattered to you. (As it should.)

But as you elaborated further, and he came to understand the source of your nerves, his mood shifted.

Under normal circumstances, he would have been bothered that you had told your family before telling him, but given the nature of the news and your distressed state, he was instead just furious, enraged, that they had upset you.

“Come here,” he said, and you warily drew closer. He pulled you into an embrace, his eyes staring darkly out the window of the abandoned classroom you were both occupying even as the side of his face nuzzled gently into your hair. 

Comforting you was the immediate priority, because he didn’t like to see you upset, but certain things would have to be corrected once you felt better.

His arms were tight and secure around you, and he was satisfied to feel you ceasing to quiver. Melting into him. Good boy. Very good. With one hand, he stroked your back, up and down your spine in a soothing pattern, and with the other, he raked his fingers through your recently-shorn hair. (He understood, now, why you’d cut it. He would make sure that one of his followers did that for you next time. Such things shouldn’t be your job.) You relaxed even more, all of the tension leaving your muscles, just as you should, in his arms. Mine. My own.

“Will I be calling you something new?” he asked. Even he was feeling calmer, now; the feeling of your heartbeat so close to his own had that effect on him. It didn’t extinguish his rage that someone had bothered you in the first place, but it ensured that he wouldn’t be so swept up in it that he killed them straightaway.

Which was good, because he had other plans for them, and killing them was only the last.

“I thought of a name,” you said into his robes.

“Let’s hear it, then.”

You told him your name. It wasn’t something he would have chosen, as he enjoyed the more opulent, unique pureblood names (and you deserved an opulent name, because you were his), but it fit you well, and he would allow you that choice.

“I’ll see to it that that is the only name you hear from now on,” he assured you, in that matter-of-fact way he had of making services sound like mere tasks, so that he could never be accused of kindness. “And you'll sleep in the boys’ dormitory tonight.”

“Are there enough beds?” you asked, and he laughed aloud:

“Carrow would sleep in the lake if I told him to.”

So, you had a bed in the boys’ dormitory for your first time since starting at Hogwarts. You turned in early, the first night, for fear of being stared at by the other boys, but when you awoke, they were all very friendly (almost fearfully so, as if they thought they’d burst into flames if they failed to say “Good morning” soon enough) and quick to call you by your correct name even when the sentence didn’t call for use of your name at all. No one even called you by your surname, anymore; it was strange…and very pleasant.

Tom lurked closer to you even than before, likely due to a combination of having increased access to you, in the dormitories and the lavatories, and his vigilance about making sure no one said anything untoward.

The first person who “conscientiously objected” to using male pronouns to refer to you vanished from two days’ worth of classes and returned (without explanation of the disappearance) pale, trembling, and unwaveringly polite.

But that was just Tom’s equivalent of sending a warning.

After that, all bets were off.

Every “slip of the tongue”, every thoughtless comment, even instances when people failed to wish you a good afternoon when they greeted everyone else, was followed by a disappearance, and this time they didn’t simply return to class a few days later, shaken up; now, they had to be found, suddenly dangling from the highest point in the owlery a week later, or suddenly in some spider-infested cupboard after two weeks, or suddenly rescued from the Black Lake by a pair of curious mermaids a month later still. Every one of them terribly hoarse, as if they’d been screaming a great deal, for an extended period of time. 

They never could explain how they’d ended up in such places; the most coherent of them could only spout out something about a door suddenly appearing in the middle of an empty wall, and something about being locked in a room for a long time. Every investigation into the matter was inconclusive; most of the victims came from different Houses; the only strange commonality between the cases was the fact that every victim was adamant, upon waking, that the first thing they had to do was apologize to you, but you had an alibi for every single disappearance.

You didn’t voice any suspicions about Tom (or to him), partially because there was no point; he had covered his tracks well, and anyway, his efforts had worked. Most everyone was vigilant, to the point of distraction, about addressing you in the correct ways. 

You slept in the boys’ dormitory, washed in the boys’ showers…you were being treated, for the first time, as exactly who you were.

[miioouu]

bakusquad and maid reader 2

Ok so part 2 of the Bakusquad and maid reader since some ppl asked. Also can i just say that that was the most difficult thing I've ever written! Like it's all over the place I'm sorry it's so bad!!

Warning: smut...

      Of course Kaminari made the first move, no one is surprised. Unwrapping the hand that was holding onto Bakugou for dear life, he took it in his much larger one, pulling you closer to him. Head resting on his chest, you can smell his perfume, citrus and minty, just like you'd expect. His fingers gentle running through your hair as you felt another pair roaming all over your body. Calloused fingers pressing on your exposed soft skin. Throwing your head back you were met with dark eyes, long black hair, Sero. Lustful smile plastered on his face, but you didn't get to stare too long as you felt a third person holding your cheeks, turning your head to the side, the pink girl was quick to mold her lips into yours. Passionate kiss leaving you breathless, as you felt the two young men's hand squeezing and grabbing every inch of your skin.

     Sitting back and watching the show, Bakugou was enjoying this more than he'd like to admit. He never thought that seeing his friends take you like that would make him that hard, in fact, he thought he'd get jealous, livid. Out of the. Corner of his eye, he could see someone who wasn't enjoying themselves as much as him. Shuffling in his place, Kirishima couldn't avert his eyes from the floor, but the tent in his pants showed how he truly felt. "Kirishima, come here..." Deep, dark voice making the redhead tremble, he couldn't but obey the angry blond. As soon as he was standing before him, he was pulled into his lap. Chapped lips pressing on his neck as pearly whites bite and scratched all over his tender skin. The shy demeanor slowly fading as his hands started exploring Katsuki's chest. Hard pecs and abs hidden under his tight fitting shirt. He couldn't help but grind a little, hips rolling and meeting with the ones underneath him. Shaky moan leaving his parted lips, making the other members' head snap in his direction, and slowly making their way next to the two boys.

      Mina was quick to sit right next to your boyfriend and pull you in, having you in the same position as Eijiro. Her delicate hands pinching at your poorly covered ass, as her mouth worked miracles on your neck. Sero behind you couldn't resist, tilting your head back as he started kissing you, tasting you. And Kaminari seated next to you, his hands finally finding your perked nipples, twisting and pulling and every now and then head dipping down to suck at them through the thin material of your costume. In the pleasure of it all, your eyes met with your boyfriend's vermilion ones, dark and lust clouded. Smirk evident on his lips as his hips kept thrusting upwards. His hand moving on its own will, finding purchase around your neck and, breaking the wet kiss you were having with Hanta, he pulled you closer. Mouth mere inches away from your ear "Don't embarrass me in front of my friends mm? Show them how good my maid is." Releasing you with a small push but his hand didn't leave you. Traveling down your body and looking for the zipper, locating it, he was fast to undo it, making the "apron" slide down. Happy with the new exposed skin, the rest of the squad didn't hide their joy. Kaminari finally being able to trace his tongue along the curve of your breasts. Sero leaving light brushes against your hips, making you shiver and squirm around. As Mina was taking care of the nipple that wasn't being sucked by the electric boy. Feeling a new pair of hand running through your locks, too soft to be your boyfriend, you knew it was his best friend. But you spoke too soon. Suddenly, he grabbed a handful of your hair, yanking you back as he pressed his lips to yours in a messy sloppy kiss, saliva running down your neck for Bakugou to lean down and catch it with his wet muscle.

       Having enough with the teasing, you hips were rolling in such speed against Mina's you couldn't help the whine that escaped your lips. "Please guys.... I need more!" Mina was the first to fall for your pleas, lifting you a bit only to take down your lacy thong and then hers following suit, thankful that she wore a skirt today. Glistening under the light, both of you. Rubbing against each other, every time your clit met hers it sent you to another dimension, head rolling back as your tongue lulled out. Taking that opportunity, Sero pushed the both of you to the floor. Standing above you, you could hear the sound of his fly being unzipped and the head of his dick slapping against your cheek, smudging his precum all over your face. Eager you couldn't wait any longer, taking him in your mouth. Eyes rolling back at his taste, hips launching forward to get as much friction against the pink girl. Kaminari giving her begging eyes, she obeyed him. Opening her mouth and letting him slide in. You could see Bakugou still on the couch with Kirishima in his lap, making out. Slowly his hands ran up his shirt, tearing apart as his hot tongue came to leave a wet strip all from his abdomen to his neck, making sure to make eye contact with you. Sending shivers down your spine, a low moan leaving your throat only to be muffled by Hanta's cock.

Finally deciding to join you all, Eijiro lifted himself, knees weak he almost fell if it weren't for the angry blond's arm wrapping around his waist. Feeling steady enough, he made his way to the group on the floor. Pushing Kaminari off a bit, and lifting Mina only to place her in his lap. Seeing her eyes roll back, back arching off of the strong male's chest, high pitched scream leaving her lips, you can only assume that she was being stretched open. The electric boy sliding back in in her gaped mouth. You couldn't help but feel a bit jealous, you wanted to be filled that good, so good you wouldn't be able to breathe, hands trembling as you tried to hold onto anyone, anything. Sending Bakugou a look, he laughed at you. "Take care of them, baby. We'll have our own fun in a little." Seeing that you failed at convincing your boyfriend, not that you thought it would work, but it was worth trying, you focused back on Sero. Relishing in the way he tastes, he feels. Tongue pressing on each of his veins, swirling around the head, letting the pre ooze right in your throat as he glid deeper into your wet cavern, hitting the back of your throat, earning him a few tears and cries. Scooting closer to Mina, mere inches away from her heat, but with every roll of Kirishima's hips, she got closer and closer, till your clits brushed against one another, sending shiver down both of your spines, adding pleasure to it all. Thrusting deeper into her, harder and faster, her walls clenching around Eijiro's, her throat swallowing around Denki's, You really weren't surprised by how fast it was for the three of them to reach orgasm, climax washing over their trembling body. The sight alone sending heat straight to your core, so much you can see your arousal dripping down and creating a little pool underneath you. Moans and groans sending vibrations straight to Sero's dick, with a firm grip around your hair, shaky breath and trembling legs, he pulled you closer to him, making you choke on his shaft as white ropes went straight down your throat forcing you to swallow.

Satisfied by the sight of his exhausted friends laying on his couch, trying to regain their breath, chest heaving as they came down their high. But that wasn't the only view in here. There you were on your knees in the middle of the room. Tears rolling down your cheeks from untainted pleasure, pleading eyes looking into his, chest covered in his peers cum, he couldn't help but lick his lips, as he finally pushed himself off the couch. Chuckling at the way your eyes lit up, hopeful look pooling in them, and innocent smile painted on your face as he approached you. Pushing you onto the floor, chest pressed against the cold ground, eyes looking between all four of his friends, you couldn't help but grind back against him. "Careful there maid, don't be impatient." deep voice making you shake. Slowly, he pushed himself inside you. So big, so good, your eyes rolled back, tongue lulling out as saliva dripped down all the way from your chin to the floor. The eyes following every move, loving everything happening before them, adding to the pleasure. Picking up his pace, going harder and deeper, every vein grazing against your walls, head finding your sweet spot with every in and out of his his hips, pressing so far into you. All the built up pleasure making the knot in your lower stomach tighten more and more. The grip on your waist getting more forceful as he leaned down, his chest pressing on your own back, lips so close to your ear "Cum for me babe, show them how good of a girl you are for me." And who were you to not listen to him. Knot finally breaking, voice getting louder and louder as you screamed his name, body giving up on you as it hit the floor, thankful for Bakugou's strong hold on you to keep you somehow up as he kept pounding into you, until he too, released, painting your inner walls white.

Finally every single one of you, came down from their high. Reality settling in the air as you all just realized what just happened. Looking at each other, yet awkwardness didn't exist, instead it was lust and need, you all wanted to do it over and over again until you forgot to end, but yet none of you dared to say a thing. Until a certain angry blond broke the silence. "So Y/n, you still hadn't show us your cleaning skills hm maid?"

Tags

@acompleteanduttermess

@wasting-away-on-the-internet

[delicrieux]

Hello! May I have a one-shot with Kylo being injured and reader, who is part of the resistance, finds him and takes care of him? Thanks!

idk how this turned out to be 5k words but WHEW i mean if ppl want me to continue it im down so send in sum request of wat u think should happen!! xoxo gossip girl

requests are open! | masterlist | part 2.

Fear. The kind that makes it hard to breathe as if you are kept underwater; the kind that makes your muscles clench and freeze as all senses flow out one by one. Today had been almost too typical — you woke up, you trained, you talked to your comrades and learned battle strategy — and you were certain your evening walk would be just as uneventful. The breeze in your hair was playful; the setting sun provided warm light and set your surroundings in a pleasant, rosy glow. You like the fresh air; you like exploring; you like the freedom that comes with being alone in wilderness. And in turn, it serves as a reminder for why you are fighting in the first place. To preserve this peace, this freedom, that now has been tarnished when you stumble upon a body.

For a heartbeat you think he’s dead — his expression is lifeless and his face, pale as first snow, is bruised, covered in soot and dried blood. Willing your legs to move, you approach cautiously, not breathing, afraid to break the shrill, sudden silence — no birdsong, no wails of wind passing through trees… nothing. Life had, at that moment, stilled completely. But as you draw closer, grass crunching under your feet softly, you intake a breath of both relief and surprise. Dark locks of hair spray on his forehead and obscure the minuscule knit of his brows, his trembling lashes. He’s alive. The thought consumes you and you fall to your knees, skidding beside him, pushing his hair from his face and landing your palm on his forehead.

It’s awfully cold. Chilling. Almost biting at your sensitive flesh, urging you to pull away. It rolls in waves, this sudden cold, sudden sickness, as if it is a virus that spreads and you have caught it with this minimal contact. But you don’t pull away, despite the near overwhelming urge to do so, despite the fear returning with a new blow. Instead you glide your fingers down his jaw and press on his neck, breaking into a small, crooked smile once you feel a slow drum against them. He is alive, but barely. You glance about him, looking around the area. Nothing out the ordinary, no branches broken, no bushes disturbed and no trails left on the grass. How he got here is a mystery that will have to be solved a different time.

You hope he will tell you once he wakes up, if he even wakes up at all.

That, and, his name, too.

Your base is small and tugged away in a dense jungle, the tall trees and heat warding from unwanted visitors — the First Order. The compartments are small; there are barely above a few dozen people here; it serves more as a safe haven for lost wanderers looking for a cause or shelter, or a backup base in case others were destroyed and the rebels had nowhere to go. It is far away enough from war. Everyone here is, to some extent, safe.

You had never been on the front lines. You had never faced a Storm Trooper, had never seen the Force at work — if there even is such a thing, speculations speculations, nothing consistent, merely gossip — and you had never seen a dead body. Perhaps that is why you froze up so terribly at the sight of him. Perhaps that’s why you felt as if a void opened within you, swallowing up the last shred of light, of life, and leaving you hollow.

You should get used to the sight, though. There will be many dead in battle.

He’s the only one occupying a bed in the Medical Wing and he hasn’t woken up for two days now. His vitals are stable — no internal bleeding, no disease detected, nothing out of place as it seemed. But he is lost in deep sleep, constantly dreaming about something that made him tremble and muss and toss and turn, but never wake. It is entirely bizarre how his state is simply there, caused by no injury, no blow, nothing. And the more you take care of him… the more questions you get.

You eat in the cafeteria, a vast enough, pale walled space occupied by few people during lunch time. Next to you sits a blue eyed, blonde haired cherubic woman – she serves as the doctor, the only doctor here. She smiles lightly at you when you catch her gaze. You had always wondered why her name is Vendetta. 

The amount of denizens is small here, so small in fact that the only ones serving under this branch is a rag tag team of scavengers, travelers, nobodies that had abandoned their old lives to fight in this war. Rebels, quite literally, with a cause. Many have taken new names. Vendetta, too, had a name before this, a life, a different purpose. Though her odd choice leads you to believe that what ever had happened to drive her here was painful and severe, deserving justice. In front of you sits a tall, bony, brown haired, brow eyed mechanic with a scar running down half of their face – Q. And beside them, July – you had never seen him smiling, had never heard his voice hold a tender note in it. He is always displeased. Always with a frown.

“Seven.” Vendetta calls you, noting your blank stare, the untouched food in your plate. Seven. You chose this because you were the seventh child in your family, and, subsequently, the seventh person to join the Resistance when this base first opened.

“She’s probably thinking about the stranger.” Q mutters, taking a sip, “His origins are…” They glance about, leaning in slightly, “ A hot topic, after all.”

“We get injured wanderers all the time.” Vendetta waves them off, “As if he’s any different.”

“I don’t think we should be so quick to dismiss him, V.” July grumbles, his voice low, the sound of crunching gravel. He sits with his arms crossed over his chest, observing the three of you with something akin to hostility, “You never know who may be working for the Order.”

“You can’t just assume that.” You pipe up, “He might just be another gambler dropped by the Floating Casino because he couldn’t pay his debts.”

“Or he might be a spy.” July stresses, glaring.

“No one knows there is a base here.” You continue, unrelenting, “Half the Resistance doesn’t know it exists, how can someone from the Order?”

“Still, I advice we exercise caution.” Q says calmly, a pleasant smile on their face — if anyone can defuse an argument before it starts, it’s them, “You never know what people are hiding, Seven.”

“Okay,” Vendetta chimes, “I will certainly not disclose this vital information when the man awakes from his comatose state. I shall make sure to confuse and frighten him further by chaining him to his bed.”

“Good.” July says.

“That is not what I had in mind, and you know it.” Q mutters, a tad disappointed, “I was thinking more along the lines of… An interview.”

“Too civil.” July mumbles, “I say we go with Vendetta’s idea.”

“That was not an idea,” She hisses, “it was sarcasm.”

“Fine, interview.” You submit, “Either way, I doubt anyone from the Order would not say they are from there. They are feared. Probably would think he has the upper hand, or something. Plus, our disguise is impeccable. We look like a research facility. Better yet, a shelter if no one wanders up to the main rooms.”

“I also sincerely doubt anyone, Order or not, is so good at lying first thing when they wake up.” Vendetta agrees.

July narrows his eyes at her, “That is an awfully naive observation to make.”

“Really now? It is a known fact that people half-asleep always tell the truth.”

Another hour of this and you feel drained and sore and with a mild headache. As much as their company has helped you, they can be a bit too eager to prove one another wrong. On most occasions you’d enjoy the chatter. Today, however, you feel too distracted to focus on anything. Q makes some good points, July argues, Vendetta and her biting comments pick at your skin. Always the blazing look in her eyes, always a certain gleam of anger hiding within her mellow, sweet tone. You excuse yourself when you finish your meal and they do not keep you from leaving. Perhaps they noticed you being out of it. Perhaps they were too caught up in their new topic – Lo and Chester’s sudden break up. 

It does not take you long to come to the Medical Wing. The door shuts with a silent sweep and your heart drops – the bed is empty. Before you can do much else strong arms wrap around you from behind. With a yelp you feel a hand squeeze your throat and your breath leaves you with a helpless whine, sparks flying in your vision. Your reflexes kick in before you can control them. In a panic, you elbow your attacker in the chest and the grip loosens a bit, enough to allow you to escape and put some distance. Inhaling mouthfuls of air, you turn to the man that had been sleeping since you found him in the wilderness.

You never quite realized how tall he is, or how angry he could be. He’s confused and you see fire in his eyes, a sneer on his face, and he stands unmoving, waiting for you to try something, anything, so that he could grab you and try to kill you again.

You raise your hands, palms up —a fragile, harmless motion to indicate you mean no harm. His guard is still up. He’s heaving and his shoulders are tense, his gaze not once leaving your form, “…Hi,” You wheeze, almost voiceless, “I’m not here to hurt you.” You indicate softly. Cold, again, as if thrown into a bottomless ocean; body heavy, like a stone. You gulp. “Are you alright?” You question gently, afraid to provoke him again. “You must be tired. You’ve been out for a while.”

“Where am I?” His voice is deep and scratchy and it seems to set him off. He trembles from anger, you can almost feel the steady build up of rage in his chest, ”Who are you?”

“I’m Seven.” You introduce, “I found you outside our base. Do you know how you got here?”

He takes a threatening step forward and your arms shoot higher, “I’m not your enemy.” You insist, “You are not a prisoner here. You were dying and I wanted to help you.”

He regards you for a silent moment as if unsure whether to believe you or not. However, you sense that he will not try to hurt you, for now at least. You give him a shaky smile, trying to ease him — you cannot imagine how frightening it is to awake in some room among strangers and not knowing where you are or what had happened. “Do you…know your name?” You continue your questions, your arms slowly falling by your sides. After another pause, he nods curtly, “Good. That’s good.” you step away from his bed, “Please, lie down. You’re still recovering. No shady business, I promise.”

You are a bit surprised that he listens, but you don’t show it. He’s cautious, regarding you as if you were some dangerous animal cornering him, and his walk is sluggish. You can tell it’s hard for him to move, but don’t say anything. You doubt it would do any good. He finally sits down and just stares at you. You try to smile again, “Do you know how you got here? It’s okay if you don’t.”

“How long have I been here for?” He asks instead.

“Two full days in the base.” You say calmly, “But out there?” You vaguely motion with your head to the outside world, “I don’t know.”

Your answer unnerves him. For the first time his frown falls and he stares at you with big eyes and a trembling lip, as if a lost child not knowing what to do. That expression warps suddenly and he looks away, his hands gripping the side of the bed so tightly his knuckles turn white. 

“Well, if there is…anything you need…” You start mildly, “You can call upon me. Or Vendetta. She’s the doctor here, so if you feel any pain or sickness, you should tell her. She’s sweet.” You smile, “And she will help. But right now, just try to rest…I’ll…leave you to it.”

You bolt past him to the door but– “You don’t know who I am, do you?”

You turn back to him, shaking your head lightly, “No. But it doesn’t matter. A lot of adventures come through here, lost and injured. You aren’t the first one. Now rest, please.”

He’s volatile, is what you learn upon the first days of his resurrection. His mood can change in a flip of a coin and he goes from placid to enraged in a blink of an eye. Tantrums, yelling — all signatures of a spoiled child not knowing what he has but simply wanting to break it. He’s nobility, or so your peers gossip. You hear snippets of all sorts of things, each more outrageous than the one before. The one that he is a prince kicked out of home for adultery seems to be the most popular one.

And he’s egotistical. He had not been, besides the attempted murder, that hostile and untamed towards you — the choking you told no one about as you concluded he simply felt threatened and scared. Though his other tantrums you are not so quick to chalk up as self-defense. Vendetta, exasperated, one evening told you that she somehow offended him — ”All I said is stop pouting because you need my help!” — and he, with a bruised ego, so high and mighty promptly jumped out of bed. Whatever he was trying to do backfired — perhaps he was trying to leave, or trying to grab something and to hit her with — but he slipped and fell and hit his head into the sharp corner of table. “And I said to him, oh I said: look what you’ve done now! Off to bed, quickly!” Vendetta finished bitterly, stabbing her fork idly into her food, possibly imagining his face there. His nose, much to V’s displeasure, was not broken, but an ugly gash and a dark bruise split his skin in half and he laid in bed sulking for at least a day.

As the week passed, he seemed to favor your company the most. It is not that he smiled and joked and laughed in your presence, and you were not exchanging secrets or hugging or even calling each other friends. He simply seemed to be more mellow around you, possibly because you oddly knew what to say and what to keep silent. It is as if you sensed the subtle shift of his moods; could read his expressions in a way no one could, perhaps no one tried. And you would come and visit him as often as you could when relieved of your duties — you felt responsible for him in a way, and you wondered if you would still feel this weight on your shoulders when he eventually left this place. After all it was you that had found him lying in the grass; it was you that had insisted to help him; and now, it is you that brings him food and tries to provide some comfort in a form of conversation. You don’t pry into his past, don’t even ask for his name, because you know he does not want to give it, and you won’t risk questioning in fear of another explosion of his temper. You talk about inconsequential things: what’s happening around the base, what sort of plants grow around here, what bugs could kill him before he took two steps. He especially enjoys hearing the rumors about him, even if he is too prideful to admit that they amuse him greatly.

“And what if I am?” He questions one evening, something akin to a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips. His eyes, a kind hazel color that could be beautiful if not for the persistent angry spark within them that is now, seemingly, vacant, watch you closely.

You frown softly, “Are what?” You question, “A prince?” He nods. You snort, “Well then, your majesty, I shall make sure to inform the others. What will be your first decree?” 

He pretends to think, “No more slacking around.” He says sternly, “This is supposed to be a military base, isn’t it?” He ends on a cheeky note. You gulp. Ah, yes, you might have let it slip that he’s in one of the Resistance’s safe houses, though you did not disclose the coordinates.

“On a mission to make fun illegal, are you?” You ask with a raised brow. 

He frowns, “Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“Are too!”

Childish, really, though you suppose it is better than arguing with July.

You feel it before you hear it— rain and thunder. The merciless patter on the roof and on your window. In night the sound is almost deafening — a loud roar of an engine, followed by cracks of lightning and flashes in the dark sky. You would have slept through it if not for the pins and needles washing your skin behind the warm sheets thrown on your body. You stir. Thunder roars and a flash of bright white light illuminates your room and seeps through the cracks of your lashes. Cold, again, as if standing in the middle of a storm.

You finally sit up, rubbing your face and then looking around to see if your friends are playing some sort of joke on you. You were almost certain they had dragged you outside and left you to get drenched. But you are alone in your room and you frown and shiver from the biting cold. Groggily you throw the sheets away and leave your bed, not entirely certain where you are going but there is a pull in your gut and half-asleep you follow it. You think you might still be dreaming —the rain on your dry skin feels real, though all dreams feel real until you awake. You leave the dormitories and take the elevator to the first floor. The base is silent, save for the shrill of machinery. Finally, still in your pajamas and almost fully awake, you step past the main entrance and stop.

It’s pouring, a curtain of rain obscuring the confusing contours of trees and leaves and bushes. The darkness does not help. A bleak light pulses to life once you pass the sensor and your surroundings illuminate. Thunder, lighting, more rain. You stand safe and dry under the roof, and he stands at the very edge of it, half soaking, his face kissed and washed by the rain.

You are not sure what to think. He seems lonely standing there surrounded by darkness and water. It’s whispers, or something akin to that, that urge and beseech that he does not want to be alone. You hear them somewhere in the back of your mind. If he noticed you, and he should have with the light suddenly on, he does not show it. You approach him slowly, your footsteps concealed over the heavy drum of rain.

“Not used to it, are you?” You ask, your voice followed by a bolt of thunder. He stirs, head tilting in your direction. Your heart skips a beat when your eyes meet — there is no hostility in them, no anger, just a distant sadness. You give him a soft smile, “I can tell you don’t see it often. I didn’t, either, at first. I grew up surrounded by deserts and I had not seen a drop of rain for at least eighteen years. But, here… Well, there’s no shortage of it. We have storms at least once a week. You’ll grow sick of it before you leave, trust me.”

He says nothing, still looking at you. The light sniffs out. Both of you stand unmoving.

“Why are you here?” He asks, a note of genuine confusion slipping past his calm tone.

“I… don’t know.” You admit. A frown pulls on your brows and you bite your lower lip, staring into the heavy curtain of rain, “I…I really don’t know.” You turn to him, “Why are you here?”

He doesn’t answer for a moment, savoring the silence. Then, “I got bored laying in bed.” Somehow you feel that anxiety has more to do with his sudden nightly venture, rather than actual boredom. Though, you suppose it is quite tedious doing nothing all day. You imagine he is active, judging by his built. He has a strong character and he knows what he wants (most of the time), or rather has a distinct sense of what he doesn’t want. You imagine he’d be a good commander, or leader, with his deep voice and unrelenting stare, if only he wasn’t so sensitive. He’s too unpredictable. Too uncontrollable. His emotions get the better of him too quickly for him to be unbiased. For that reason alone you deem him unfit to be a spy, or a soldier, or a figure of military power. He’d burn all he would build if that were the case. No, him being of noble birth and being stranded here as some sort of twisted punishment sounds believable enough.

“What are you thinking?” He questions, drawing you out of your thoughts. You hum, ponder whether you should be honest with him or not. “Don’t lie to me.” He says suddenly and you jolt, heart drumming painfully in your chest. For a frightening moment you figured he could read your mind. Then again, you have been spending a lot of time together. He must have noticed how gentle you are with him, how carefully you pick your words. His signature frown is back, you see it for a second when lightning strikes.

“I was thinking about your life.” You admit, “Your work. Whether you really are a royal as most of my crew mates seem to think.”

Flash. You see half a smile blooming on his lips.

“But I know you won’t tell me. Don’t worry, I get it. Ladies love a mystery.”

“What?”

It’s your turn to grin, “Oh, please, it’s almost all I hear about. Seven brought a brooding stranger with a secret past into the base. Lo…Michel… Two of your rapid admirers. I already told you that your arrival has sparked many speculations.”

“I…I haven’t…” He sounds uncertain, flustered almost, as if embarrassed, but there is no way he is, you refuse to believe it. He stumbles upon his words and lastly says nothing. You snicker silently. Another flash of lightning and you see the same confused, puppy-like look on his face you have had the pleasure of seeing once or twice. He does not shield it this time, this moment of vulnerability. He probably doesn’t see the point because darkness obscures everything again.

You extend your hand to him as a silent offering. How many things have you offered him now? Life, health, your company. He regards it, ponders a bit, lastly gently clasps his hand over yours. You jerk. Electricity courses through you and your eyes go wide, tingles rushing all over your body. Lightning strikes. You see wonder on his face, a mimic of your own surprised expression.

“Come on,” You stutter, tugging him, “you’ll catch a cold.” He follows after you. The light blinks on. You don’t know what is happening. Couldn’t have been the thunder, the feeling is not as intense. It felt more like a build up of energy; like you accidentally touched a circuit and it zapped you.

Impossible, you hear something alike his voice but not quite — it’s quiet, distant, muddy.

“Hm?”

“What?”

Once inside, the door sweeps shut behind you, “What did you say?”

“I didn’t say anything.” He sounds a bit ticked now, and you decide to drop it.

“Oh,” You mutter, “must’ve imagined it, then.”

His hand is cold in yours and you squeeze it just a bit, hoping he won’t notice and hoping that you will warm it. When you reach the Medical Wing, you tilt your head and say, “Wait here. I’ll get you dry clothes from the storage.”

But as you turn to leave he doesn’t let go, though doesn’t say anything either. He’s choked up — either he doesn’t know how to say it or doesn’t want to say it at all. He doesn’t want to be alone. Those whispers come again, ringing in your ears so quietly you aren’t sure they’re even there. You give him a soft smile, catching his gaze, “Okay, we can go together. You’ll probably stay here for at least another week, so, it’s best you know where the storage is anyway.” There’s no rush in your words, no annoyance, just simple acceptance. It eases him, relieves him of saying and admitting things he’s not willing to bring to light.

The walk is quiet and you still hold hands. His is much bigger than yours, rough, though not unpleasant. They are hands of a man that uses them often — for better, or for worse — and a twinge in your heart, a sudden thud of uncertainty, informs you that your previous speculations might have not been correct at all. His hand doesn’t feel like that of a prince (not that you would know what that would feel like), no, it feels like a hand of a soldier. But that inching of something amiss is swept away by warmth, silent happiness, a certain deliriousness that starts blooming within you and spreading all around. You feel him, somehow; feel a connection. You can’t put it into words exactly, you doubt you could ever explain it to anyone. It’s fragile. And beautiful. And maddening that such a devout emotion is sprung by something as innocent as holding hands

You wonder if he feels it. You somehow know he does.

The storage room is not big. Your hand slips from his as he chooses to stand by the doorway and you rummage to get his things. You feel braver. Perhaps it’s the tiredness that leaves you so open and bold, but searching you can’t help but ask, “So tell me…” You start, handing him some towels, “What were you actually doing? Besides being melodramatic.” You add, your lips quirking upwards.

He regards you with lively eyes and you see a grin lift his cheeks. He’s smiling, actually smiling, and you know this action is precious and rare and you can’t help but beam at him in return, “You think I was being melodramatic?” He questions.

You laugh a little, a breathless bell-like “Yes” falling from your lips as you fetch him dry clothes from the upper shelf, “All you needed was a cape to swing around.”

His expression abruptly falls and the temperature drops with it.

“Right, no cape.” You mumble, a tad disappointed, handing him his clothes.

As you make your way back, you can’t help but saying, “I just thought it would suit you, is all.”

“What else do you think would suit me?”

You raise a brow, trying to keep up with his drastic shift in moods: again, hes smiling, then he’s pensive, now he seems lighthearted, genuinely curious. “You like to ask a lot of questions.” You conclude.

He shrugs, “I’m just trying to figure out what you think of me.”

“And why are you curious?”

“Now you are the one asking a lot of questions.” He points out. You snort.

“You started it.”

“Did not.”

“Did too!”

This again, followed by quiet chuckles. You don’t turn to the Medical Wing now, instead stopping by the elevator and pressing the red button. The doors slide open. You glance at him.

“So…” You mumble, “This is not how I imagined my night going, but…” You aren’t quite sure how to finish, how to vocalize the strange swirl of emotions in your chest, “Well, goodnight.”

You step into the elevator, going to push the button—“Ben.” He says suddenly, making you flinch and turn to him. He’s not looking at you, instead staring at the floor, “My name. It’s Ben.”

Again, that same energy, that same shock you felt when you first touched his hand ignites your body with something closely akin to happiness. Trust. Bond. He trusts you. The connection you felt was not an exaggeration. He would not have given you his name otherwise.

“Goodnight, Ben.” You say softly, fighting a smile that’s trying to rise on your face, “Sweet dreams.”

“…Goodnight, Seven.”

As the elevator doors shut, you think you hear him say “Thank you”, but that might have just been your imagination.

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hope you liked it! xxx

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[eyes-ore]

Summoning Vassago

just doin some reasearch on ppls experiences w ritual magic and invoking the demon vassago and found some cool forum posts, gonna collect em here just in case the sources delete!! 

Vassago summoning. May 26, 2015 For my first summoning, I think Vassago is a really good spirit and one of the frendliest one! And probably I musn't summon Paimon for the first time of summoning. He is very friendly (Vassago) and the frendliest maybe to humans demon. Anyway, I am looking for a simple way to summon him, could you please tell me one? Re: Vassago summonig. May 27, 2015 If you are working with the goetia, it is bet to stick with the sysytem as laid out until you know what you are doing, can identify the specifics and create your own system. The best rendition of the goetia out there is Stephen Skinners "The Goetia of Dr Rudd" coming in at a close second is Poke Runyon's book of Solomon's magic. I must also state if you o not have the basics of magic, and I am talking ritual magic, down you will get either no result, or pityful results. The other danger is calling up something you simply can't get rid of. You need to be able to go into trance, to be able to receive visions via scrying. Be comfortable with banishing and invocation, not merely evocation. You need a circle which is inscribed divine names important to you, or used from the goetia which you understand. You need a triangle in which the spirit can manifest. The circle should be 9ft in diameter, the triangle 3ft each side. In the triangle should be a scrying medium, prefarably a black mirror flanked by two candles and incense going over the face. But incense will be sufficient, incense produced by herbs (sacred to the spirit) and burnt on charcoal would be sufficient. There are many things you need. Another thing people never seem to realise is that you need to be invoking the help of the shem angel corresponding to the spirit. People who do not realise that are using the Mathers/Crowley translation of the goetia which is outdated and incorrect. In short, you need to research, you need to read. You need to make sure you know what you are doing. It is my opinion that you do not- and so you are not ready for evocation. It is fair enough if you wish to ask specific questions, but to ask for a whole technique shows you have not done enough research. This type of magic isn't for beginners, people need to learn to walk before they can run. Re: Vassago summonig. May 27, 2015 First off, I'm happy to know that there are people interested in Solomon Magic. Secondly, there is no EASY way, whatsoever, to summon a goetia spirit like Vassago or Paimon. You need to know the magic circles of solomon. Second, you need to know what the rank is of Vassago (i.e. his office) and then the time of day required for that office to be invoked. Thirdly, you must bring an offering or sacrifice for the specific diety as well as have his symbol drawn and an enchanted ring. Fourthly, you must have your body without impurities for up to 4 days. And I believe lastly, you must recite almost an essay long incantation, and another almost essay long incantation afterwards. If you want to message me, I can give you links for information you need to know. These are just some basic things, but ritual magic, especially involving beings like that, is something that could take months if not years and years of studying and work. It's not something you just pick up and do. Re: Vassago summonig. May 27, 2015 what i've searched until now is that goetia spirit realm are nearer to our world which makes it easier to summon them and also they are willing to help humans which is their very basic nature but it's hard to describe in little words since it'll take quite a lot of explaining . Whereas for their nature it could be known from their ranks for eg.demon ranked as an earl is always very blunt in his works(like bloodshed),it is ranked as footman that's lowest of all and whereas duke and prince ranked ones are kind and understanding and can know what your heart wants. Re: Vassago summonig. May 27, 2015 It is not in their basic nature to help humans, at least not across the board. That contradicts the system as it was created an is used. You are correct about them being closer to us, in the scheme of things, they are classed as being below us, or at least ina lower portion of the sphere we reside. As such it gives the magician 'divine authority' to evoke them if the magician performs certain invocations beforehand.

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Vassago: An Impish Spirit? By James Donahue When evoked in a remote viewing session a few years ago, the Goetia Spirit Vassago appeared as an alien with a large eye peering from behind an invisible partition. It was as if the edge of a mirror sliced the image in half never allowing it to be seen as complete. Drawings by others who have evoked this third spirit in the list of 72 demons of the Goetia depict Vassago as a rather frightening and complex creature. There may have been good reason for its unwillingness to appear as it really looks when its portrait was being made. .... Still another description was that Vassago appears as “a blood-red dragon, extending one slithe (30) feet long.” This creature was observed as having large, red wings. It walked on four legs, had green eyes and white fangs. Thus it appears that Vassago enjoys changing form and playing games with the people who summon him. Over the years he has gained a reputation as a relatively benign or even friendly spirit who can tell of future events, find lost or hidden treasures, and reveal things of the past. Vassago has been called a Prince of Prophecy. But beware when dealing with this fellow. He also bears the title Prince of Hell and rules over 26 legions of demons. There is no telling just what mischief this entity can conjure up.

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“Have you tried to open his sigil? A divination method should help you to comunicate with him. Vassago is very nice“ “nice? I dunno. I'd rather say quite cool (not hot/wild) he certainly ain't a teddy bear though“

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An eye opening experience with Vassago This was done after I had awoke from a dead sleep using a spur of the moment method where I traced a circle around myself, and then a triangle that I pushed (through visualization) outside my traced circle. Using no prior invocations, calling quarters, nor lengthily conjurations, I simply chanted Vassago's name as a sort of mantra "VAH-SAH-GO" until I heard a clear as day "I am here" within my mind. Q. What of leaving things out when calling on spirits? A. "A fool omits from tradition for the sake of it" It was then that my mind was flooded with a voiceless explanation: Trying to simplify for the sake of simplification is foolish, but simplifying for the sake of accommodation is acceptable, however one should strive for quality above all else. This answer alone made me self reflect, confronting me with my own motives for trying to find "simple" evocation methods. While It's true that I certainly cannot afford the entire traditional set up or anywhere near that for that matter, many methods that I have attempted so far have been set ups where I "felt" with all my being that I could have, and should have done more, but didn't for the sake of simplicity out of laziness, rather than accommodation. I followed the question up with one asking for a method to call on other spirits that accommodated, and wasn't overly elaborate. I was shown in my minds eye a partial set up. It's clear that Vassago wasn't going to do "all" the work for me. Now the set up is going to take me some time to procure, but should be well within my budget from what I was shown (Vassago's the man ) I'll go into more detail once I have given what I was shown a go, though that may take some time if only because I don't quite trust online sellers when it comes to fragile objects due to previous experience. Also worth mentioning, Vassago never mentioned wanting anything in return for his knowledge. Perhaps he knew I'd boast about him anyway?

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“Chances are Vassago did show up you just don't have the ability to sense him. Vassago is not a cooperative spirit to those that don't have the wits or ability to deal with him. In my first workings with Vassago he wouldn't do anything but sit there. A couple of magician friends and I called him again and though we had to coerce him, Vassago gave up information. Quite simply he likes the pomp of the traditional ritual. It proves to him that you are worthy of his time. Once you have established a relationship with Vassago (or any spirit) it is easier to call him.”

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“When people say he is "good natured," its that he doesn't take advantage of people who try to summon him or even do it accidentally. When my friend told me his name and his channeling material I summoned him in seconds. His presence was felt immediately, its brooding and dominating in the silence. Greetings don't work. He'll stare back at you with a discouraged frown. He is very easy to release, you must simply ask him a "yes or no" type of question. He likes to share information and he generally likes humans, but he does not like his time to be wasted so do not delay your question. Do not throw a fit if the answer isn't satisfactory. He will reveal as much or as little as he likes.”

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The entity summoned for questioning par excellence is one that has been a favourite among witches from time immemorial, and is known by the name "Vassago." He is numbered among the seventy-two demonic intelligences in that medieval grimoire, the Lemegeton, or Lesser Key of Solomon; and Wierus, Cornelius Agrippa's pupil, also mentions him in his Pseudomonarchia Demonorum.

1. The wand

2. Seeing stone within the triangle

... Vassago, a mighty prince, of the nature of Agares, who declareth things past, present and to come and discovereth that which hath been lost or hidden. He is good by nature, and governeth twenty-six legions of Spirits ... But knowledge of his existence dates back long before this, even to before earliest Babylonian times. He was one of the Nephelim, and in Eastern fable, he is accounted one of the seventy-two Lords of the Djinn.

Your experiment should be performed during clear weather, when the moon is two, four, six, eight, ten, twelve, or fourteen days old, and thereby, of course, always on the increase. So great is the power of Vassago, however (he is a "prince" in the hierarchy), that he is not bound by any sidereal or solar rules of time, and therefore may be summoned at any hour of the day or night. 

He is to be called only in matters of extreme perplexity, when all lesser methods of divination have availed you naught. Although he is "good by nature," it is extremely important to remember that he is one of the seventy-two from of old, a being formed out of primordial fire eons before man evolved into his present shape, of an intelligence at this present time far superior to that of most men alive, and in the humiliating position of being susceptible to conjuration by apelike clay-formed Homo sapiens, by means of a faculty as yet mostly underdeveloped within said simian creatures. So approach his conjuration with extreme respect at all times; it is no idle operation.

Having selected your day of operation, you must choose a companion to act as a scribe or recorder of the visions. Lock yourselves in your secluded place of working, having gathered together your paraphernalia and such other close companions as are immediately concerned with the divination.

Your paraphernalia should consist of: Your altar table with its triangle sign covering, pointing east; chairs in the west, facing east across the table, should you wish to remain seated during the scrying; Your Athame, cord, thurible, cup, workbook, square of Mercury, and pen and ink of art, a supply of Mercurial incense, and a box of incense consonant with Vassago's nature (see end of this chapter, "Herbs and Incenses").

All or any of these things may be held by your assistants throughout the operation. ((continued - https://www.witchcraftmag.us/witches-warlocks/the-conjuration-of-vassago.html ))

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