#v; traditional torture

[usethespoon]

Small Starter Call II @shiningstages​

         “...See what happens when you look through other people’s belongings?” There was a disappointed lilt to his soft voice, as though he was telling off a child for misbehaving. A lesson learned. “You wind up finding out more than you should.” His lime-coloured duffel bag was zipped open to reveal a portable gas canister, a set of different sized knives packed inside a leather holder, and a variety of other items that one could only wonder what they were used for. It was best not to ask. Clicking his tongue, Lee released a small sigh before staring over at them with an apologetic smile that was far from genuine. “Actions have consequences...so unfortunately, I have no choice but to kill you now.” 

[haileybeehappy]

Movie Nights

Summary : Movie night with your best friend turns when your long time crush, and her brother, invites you to watch the titanic with him instead of the horror movie she is forcing you to watch. Gets steamier than the car scene.

Warnings : there's a lot in this one. Oral, both female and male receiving. she grinds on his abs, because, a girl can dream. dom harry. spanking. pussy slapping, choking, slapping, calling him sir. Oh and daddy. p in v sex. protected. ummm.

Word Count : 5.3k (longest fic I have ever written I'm pretty sure)

Authors note : unedited, wrote it out while my best friend packed. took fucking hours 😂

You and your childhood best friend sat on her basement couch watching horror movies with your hands alternating in the popcorn bucket. You had just gotten home from college a few days before and had your first sleepover on the first weekend that the two of you were both back in town. A short standing tradition after the last three years of school.

“What are we watching?” You whine as you hide behind your hands. Peeking at the screen between the slits of your fingers.

“A shitty horror movie with a shitty budget and shitty actors,” she laughs as she continues to munch at the popcorn. You might as well be shaking from fear.

“I hate this! Why can’t we just watch the princess bride? Or ten things I hate about you?” You ask as you stuff a handful of popcorn into your mouth.

“Because those are shitty cheesy movies. You always fall asleep anyways so,” she shrugs her eyes not leaving the screen. The movie continues as you watch through your hands. Peeking occasionally to see someone being murdered or tortured. You didn’t mind the ghost movies or the monster horror but the guts and gore really got to you.

“Whatcha watchin?” Is whispered into your ear, your whole body tending and jumping clear off the cushion.

“Oh fuck Harry!” Gem screams as she throws a piece of popcorn at him. He skillfully catches it in him mouth and smiles.

“You guys make it to easy,” he laughs as he makes his way to the refrigerator in the kitchenette of the basement.

“You’re an ass,” you throw at him before turning back to the tv and placing your slotted fingers over your eyes.

“Why do you watch these if you don’t even watch them?” He questions you. His body gliding over back to the couch. His forearms resting on the back of the couch. His body so close to you that you can feel his body heat.

“Cause your sisters mean and won’t let me watch the notebook?” You state, more so a question.

“Why not? She makes me watch it all the time?” He scoffs. Gem looks at him with pursed lips and sunken eyebrows.

“Whatever Harry, you always pick that movie. I have nothing to do with it,” his face reddens slightly and he coughs.

“Whatever, I’m gonna go upstairs and watch the titanic. Your ears perk up as you hear him say that.

“Really?” You ask all too quickly.

“I even popped more popcorn,” he smiles down at you. You look to Gemma and she shrugs.

“You can go watch cheesy romance movies but I’m gonna watch real movies down here,” she smile. She’s always known of the attraction you have to her brother but neither of you say anything.

“You sure?” She asks. As if asking permission.

“All you’re doing down here is complaining anyways,” she jokes. You nod and then proceed to follow Harry up the stairs. His cologne filling your nose as you trail behind him. You breathe in his smell before realizing that’s definitely a little weird. You plop yourself down on the couch in your designated spot and he begins to dig through the cupboards that holds their DVD’s.

“DVD?” You ask.

“Yeah, of course,” he scoffs jokingly. Then in a much more serious time. “We gotta watch all the specials and extras too,” a smile stretches across your lips and you grab at the very large bowl of popcorn in front of you.

“Oh of course what was I thinking,” you laugh and shove a handful into your mouth. His head snaps at you as he hears the crunch of air puffed corn.

“Hey!” He whines. “Don’t eat all of it before the movie starts. Or you’re making more,” his eyebrow raised daringly.

“Fine. Whatever,” you plop the bowl into the coffee table. Your mouth still full of popcorn. Very buttery perfectly cooked popcorn. Harry has always had a knack for movie snacks. He finally finds the DVD and raises from his hunched position and inserts it into the DVD player. Snatching the remote from next to the tv and eventually finding the spot next to you on the sofa a comfortable place to be. He is close enough that he can reach the popcorn which he has now placed in between the two of you but far enough it’s not weird.

As the movie starts you can't seem to pay attention to the people on the screen. Mostly focused on the feeling of your lifelong crush sitting next to you. The body heat radiating off of him is all you can feel. You keep fidgeting around and moving around trying to get comfortable. His hand then finds its place on your knee.

"Would you stop moving so much," he whispers. His hand not moving from your leg as his attention moves back to the movie. His hand so warm it feels like it is burning a hole through your leggings. His thumb slowly moving back and forth the black fabric. You find your eyes drifting away from the tv and looking to Harry. A small smile resting on his lips as he watches the movie. Reaching over you grab a small handful of popcorn, his eyes darting to you and his mouth opens wide. You let out a small laugh and bring a few pieces of popcorn to his mouth. He smiles widely at you then crunches the popcorn between his teeth. You force your eyes back to the screen but keep looking to Harry in your peripheral. His hand still resting on your thigh.

He readjusts himself scootching slightly closer to you, his hand falling further up your thigh, a small gasp leaves your lips.

"Sorry," he whispers, sliding it back to the place before. You wrap your fingers around his moving it back up your thigh.

"It's okay,"

"You sure?" His head turning to look at you. You nod.

"I trust you," his face close to yours. If you both leaned forward just a bit his nose would bump yours.

"Probably a bad idea." his voice barely audible.

"You've never given me a reason not to," you drift closer to him slightly. Just as he began to lean forward Gem comes bursting through the door.

"James is here, we're going to go to a party at Wills do you wanna come?" she asks walking into the room. Her eyes on her phone. You jump back from Harry and look to your friend, heart in your throat.

"No I'm not feeling particularly partyish," you shrug. She looks between you and Harry, a small smile playing at her lips.

"You want me to take you home?" Her eyes mischievously looking to her brother.

"I can take her after the movie is over," his hand still resting on your thigh he begins to move his thumb back and forth again.

"You okay with that?" she asks looking back to you. You just nod. "Okay well than I'm out of here," she looks back to her phone and walks to the door. Your phone buzzes and quickly you glance at the screen. Wrap it before you tap it babe XD is the text notification you get from Gemma. You quickly turn your phone over, harry looking back to the TV screen as Gemma leaves. His hand raises holding the remote and pauses the tv.

"I'm gonna run to the bathroom, I'll be right back," you nod as he stands up. His frame towering over you. You look up to him, his waist at your eye level. As he brushes by you, he looks down to you. Stopping when he is right and front of you. Grasping your chin in his fingers as you look up to him. "Don't go anywhere," he says with a smile. You bite into your bottom lip.

"I wasn't planning on it," you say through a smile.

"Good," he lets go of your chin and makes his way to the bathroom. You take in a big breath and sigh out. Dropping your head to rest on the couch. You move the popcorn bowl to the table. Grabbing your phone you respond to Gemma. Shut up! Be safe, I love you <3. As she responds Harry comes back into the room, you drop your phone into your lap as he plops back beside you. Now close enough that his leg slots itself under your crisscrossed legs. His hand finds residency back on your thigh as he presses play on the movie.

"I'm thirsty," you complain. He slowly turns his head to you looking over your face. He pauses the movie again.

"What do you want?" He asks moving to get up.

"I can get it," you lift yourself from the couch shuffling to the kitchen. You grab yourself a glass, and when you turn to see if Harry wants anything. You yelp when you come face to face with him. "Holy shit you scared me," you laugh out. He smiles down at you.

"Sorry, didn't mean to," His hands find your waist. Your breath catching in your throat. "Didn't want you to get lonely," you can't help the smile that is plastered across your face. You just walk out of his grip and to the fridge.

"I think I would have been okay," You grab the pitcher of lemonade that they have just for you and pour yourself a glass. Harry lets out a sigh.

"You're probably right," as you turn back around, closing the door with your hip. He plucks the glass out of your hands and takes a sip. You gasp in fake annoyance.

"Hey! That's mine!" You push at him as he then sets the glass on the counter. Placing his hand on top of yours as you push against him. Your fingers encased by his. His other hand finds your waist and pulls you to him, your body colliding with his. He releases his hold of your hand on his chest and wraps you completely in his embrace. Usure of what to with your hands you bring your other hand up to rest on his chest. "You're mean," you joke. The smile on his face grows.

"I was thirsty," he shrugs. You just roll your eyes, dropping your head down. Looking down to where your hands rest on his chest. His hand grasps your jaw pulling you to look at him. "Don't you roll your eyes at me," he says jokingly, with some weight behind his words.

"What are you going to do about it?" you ask breathily. His hold on your jaw tightening.

"Don't tempt me," he says, your name escaping his mouth.

"I'm not doing anything," his eyes drop to your lips, then back to your own eyes. You nod, giving him permission. He dips, his nose bumping yours in a playful way. You close your eyes waiting for his lips to press against yours. You open your eyes, and he is just starring at you. When his green irises meet yours, he moves his thumb back and forth against the skin of your chin.

"You're so beautiful," He whispers before he collides with you. His warm lips enveloping yours. Your hands move to grasp at the back of his neck. The hold he has on your hips tightening, he pulls you to him. You deepen the kiss, tasting the Lemonade on his lips. He opens his mouth pressing his tongue against the seam of your lips, and accept him, exploring each other his hands drift from your waist to your ass. As you gasp you can feel him smile into your mouth. You pull back and gasp in a breath.

"You okay?" he asks. You nod at him, lips pulled into your mouth. "You wanna go back to the movie?" you shrug. "Or we can go to my room?" you shrug again. "It doesn't have to go further than this?" he offers up again. You pause for a moment before nodding your head. He fights a smile and turns to grab your drink, his hand holding yours in the other. He quickly leans down to grab the remote and clicks off the TV. Before he can pull you upstairs to his room you grab your phone off the couch. You trail behind him, eyes locked on your entwined hands. Trailing up the tattoos on his arms, you cross the threshold into his room. He closes the door behind you and places the glass of lemonade on his side table before sitting down on the edge of the bed. You slot yourself between his legs and drop your hands onto his shoulder. His eyes wide as he looks up to you. His hands sliding from their resting place on your hips and down to the backs of your knees. Pulling you close to him so that he can slide you onto his lap. As your body is jerked into his hold you let out a whine.

"I won't drop you," he jokes as you finally find yourself sitting in his lap. Knees on either side of his waist, feet under your bottom. Arms wrapped around his neck as his are clasped behind your back holding you in place. You lean down and press a chaste kiss on his lips. He pushes you back into him as you try to pull away. You laugh as he begins to place kisses on your jaw, slowly trailing down your neck. Not venturing down further than your collar bones. You lean your head back to give him access to more skin. The light scruff tickles as he pressed light kisses along the tendons poking behind your skin. Finding a soft spot that elicits a gasp from you. Your hands tangle into his hair as his teeth scrape against the lilac mark that now stains your skin. The pull at the base of his neck tilting his head up and you capture his lips in yours once again. As his tongue delves into your mouth his hands find your ass. Fingers kneading into your skin, Fingernails scraping at your fabric covered skin. As you nip at his lip he pulls back.

"Are you okay? With all this?" he asks emphasis on the last few words with a squeeze of your ass. You nod in approval. "Words," he speaks your name.

"Yes, I am very okay with it," you twist his hair in your fingers.

"And going further?" you nod. He gives you a pointed look.

"Yes,"

"How much further?" you answer with a shrug. He gives your ass a sharp slap. "Words, was that, okay?" he asks, his eyebrows furrowed.

"Yes, and I mean, whatever happens, happens," you shrug with one shoulder. "I'll let you know if I want to slow down or stop," he nods and drops his back onto the mattress. Your form following his as he presses a kiss into your lips. Another smack is laid on your ass and he quickly spins you around so that you are under him. Your legs unfold from under you, the weight of his body on yours a comforting feeling. Your legs wrapping across his back. Pulling him down closer to you, his clothed cock rubbing across your core. A small growl vibrates within is throat as he grinds down into you.

You disconnect from him and begin kissing down his chin, down his neck, sucking at the sensitive skin. He finds solace in the crease of your neck, face buried in your hair. He breathes deeply as you pull at his hair, your hands venture down from his hair. Running over his neck, down his chest. Ghosting over his abdomen and slipping up under his shirt. Rubbing your fingers sternly over the bones protruding from his hips. Hands skimming over the fern tattoos that you know adorn themselves on his skin. He lets out a shaky breath as your hands continue to explore his body. Your head now dropped onto the mattress, eyes closed and breath shallow.

"Fuck you feel so good against me," he whines into your ear. Pressing himself harder into your center. You let out a wispy moan. He leans up, scootching himself off the floor and stands. Looking down to you, you sit up slowly and snake your hands back under his shirt.

"I wanna see your tattoos," you pout, pulling at the black fabric of his shirt. He smirks and pulls the shirt over his head. Revealing his ink-stained torso. Your hands lay flat against the ferns that poke out from his jeans; The waistband pulled down slightly. His light happy trail thickening as is dives below his waist. Slowly skimming your hands up to the butterfly under his pecks your fingers tracing the lines of the wings, then up the center. continuing with one finger you trace it up the center of his chest and bring your other hand back up. You rub your thumbs over the birds on his chest before slipping the pads of your fingers up and down his collar bones. You look back to his face, his eyes already watching you intently. His hands encapsulate your face, leaning down he places a kiss on your nose. You scrunch it as he pulls away.

"I wanna see you too," his voice husky. You move to take off your shirt, but his hands quickly cover yours and grasp your shirt. Slowly pulling it off your body. As the fabric moves over your face you close your eyes, as he drops the shirt to the ground, he leans back down over you. Your eyes still closed he drops to his knees. He begins placing kisses on your neck, your head falling back. "So fucking beautiful," he whispers as his bottom lip skims across the tops of your breasts. His hands running up your legs, fingers splayed as he travels up. Lightly running them up your sides and waist. Finally grasping at your bra covered chest. The sudden pressure causing you to let out a moan.

"Harry please," you whine out.

"Please what baby?" he asks, pressing soft kisses against your hot skin.

"I don't know I just want to feel you," his hand runs along the band of your bra until he finds the clasp in the back. "Yes, please," you say before he can ask for permission. He smiles against your skin, quickly unclasping the lace clad bra. It falls off your form, he pulls it from your body and adds it to the growing pile of clothes on the floor. His mouth covers your exposed flesh. Tongue circling your peaked nipple while his hand comes to play with your neglected breast. Kneading at your skin, You lean yourself down to him.

"So fucking needy," he says before he reattaches to the opposite breast. Your now wet exposed skin tingling in the cold air. Little gasps and whines leaving your mouth as he continues to suck at your skin.

"Only for you," you breathe out. He growls as his teeth nip at you. You let out a squeak and jolt back. He pushes against you, having you lay back flat. Mouth finding your neck, adorning you with more marks. His hand drift to the waist of your leggings and he slips just the tips of his fingers into the fabric. Rubbing his hands back and forth, you twitch up into his touch. "You can take them off," you tell him. He sighs into you. Hands bunching the fabric, coming back to a full standing position as he pulls the black fabric fully from your legs. He then drops down to his knees. Fingers skimming down from your ankles, up your calves. Resting at the inter seam of your knee. Holding onto the flesh of your legs as he looks to you. Your hair splayed on the cream sheets behind you.

"Touch me please," you beg. He runs his finger pads along the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. You grasp at his hair as he begins to place kisses along the edges of your underwear. "Harry please," you whine, lifting your hips from the bed. He responds with a slap to your thigh.

"Let me explore," he nips at the skin of your thigh. You instinctively try to close your legs. He then takes both hands, wrapping them around the back of your thighs and holding you open. You let out a huff as he begins placing soft kisses along your clothes seam. Almost light enough you can't feel him. "Already so wet," he groans out, as if he is speaking to himself. He then licks a flat stripe against you, not quite enough to touch your depraved clit. You moan out, gripping his hair tighter. Pushing his face to you, his nose bumps your clit, and your hips try to push up to grind into him, but he stops you with the grip he has on your hips. He pulls back and slaps against your pussy, which rips a wail from your throat.

"Fuck Harry please,"

"Stop being a needy little whore and let me have fun," he then hooks his fingers into the gusset of your underwear and all but rips them off your body. He dives back into your cunt. Fingers playing at your entrance as he instantly attaches his mouth to your clit. You writhe off the bed.

"Harry, yes, oh my god," you yell out. His smile breaking the suction he had. "Please don't stop, please, please," You pull tightly at his hair. His fingers finally slip knuckle deep into you. Exploring, searching for that spongy spot inside you. Moans and obscenities falling from your mouth. As he finally presses his fingers to the spot deep inside of you drop your head into the mattress and your legs drop to the sides. Arching up off the bed, he continues pumping his finger in and out of you. Mouth still attached to your clit; you can feel yourself approach your climax faster than ever before.

"Fuck Harry please I'm so close," pushing yourself against his face.

"Come for me baby," he says before quickly attaching himself to you. Teeth grazing your clit causing stars to burst behind your eyes. Your fingers and toes curling and clenching so hard it almost hurts. Broken words fall from your mouth as you whimper and moan. Pleasure coursing through your veins, your heart beating a million miles an hour. "Such a good girl," Harry groans as he begins placing kisses on your trembling thighs. You roll your head to the side as he guides himself onto the bed. Pulling you to his chest as you come down from your high. His hand running up and down your back, murmuring into your ear.

"You did such a good job baby," he presses a kiss into your hair. You open your eyes and look to him.

"Thank you," you smile at him. Which causes him to chuckle.

"You're welcome, I've been dying to do that for years," He then pulls you in for a kiss. You can taste yourself on his tongue, he pulls your bottom lip in between his teeth as he pulls away.

"Years huh?" you ask.

"Years," he confirms before kissing you again. You just smile into his lips.

"Damn," you mumble against him. He looks at you with slight concern. "You're saying I could've had mind blowing orgasms for years but we were too chicken?" he breaks out in laughter.

"I guess so," once your head is finally clear you look down at your tangled bodies. His pants have been undone; zipper flayed open. Exposing is Calvin Clein briefs that clothe a still very hard member. The outline of the head of his cock pressing against the fabric. You run your finger along rim of his cock, and he lets out a broken sigh.

"It was starting to hurt," he breathes out. Eyes watching your hands intently.

"Aww baby," You condescend as you then palm down the length of him.

"You fuckin, ooh," he trails off into a moan.

"Can I kiss it better?" you ask as you slowly glide down his body. He nods in confirmation.

"Fucking please," he groans, his dick pushing up against your hands.

"I can't wait to taste you," you say as you are eye level with his clothed cock. Pulling at his jeans and underwear. His hips lift from the bed so you can gain access to his untouched skin. His dick springs out slapping against his stomach. He lets out a hiss as your hand wraps around his base. Lifting his dick to your lips, you place an opened mouth kiss against the tip of his cock. Tongue poking out to taste him. A hum like moan leaves his mouth at the contact.

"Holy fuck you feel so good already," his hips jerk up. You then take all of his head into your mouth. Swirling your tongue around him. Slowly taking a little more at a time, bobbing up and down slightly. Wetting his cock slowly. His grasp finds home in your hair pulling at your roots. You moan at the pleasurable burn that sends tingles through your body. The vibrations on his cock causing him to thrust up into your mouth. "Fuck, sorry, sorry," He groans as you pull off of him.

"It's okay," you gasp. Before diving back in and taking him as far back as you can.

"Fucking shit you're perfect," he groans. Eyes screwing shut and his head dropping onto his pillows. His hand stays at the back of your head as you bob up and down on his dick. Taking what you can't fit down your throat in your hands. You can feel him twitch in your mouth, your mouth salivating, ready to taste him explode across your taste buds. Before he finishes, he pulls you off him and lets out a shaky breath. "I wanna feel you," his dick twitches in your grasp. "If that's okay with you?" you nod.

"Yeah, yes, please," He pulls at your hair, you climb back up onto him. Your exposed core sitting on his abdomen. Connecting at the lips again. His hands gripping your hips slowly guiding you to grind against his abs. You whimper into the kiss, his fingers digging deep enough to bruise in the morning. You can feel your orgasm building as you rub yourself on him. His skin becoming wet with your slick. He pulls back from your lips.

"You getting close?" you let out a whimper as you nod. "Come on baby, you can do it. Cum on my tummy baby," he coaxes you as you grind down harder onto him. He lets go of your waist with one hand and slaps your ass. The sting pushing you over the edge. Legs clenching around his abdomen, shaking and whining. His eyes glued to your face, that's twisted and clenched in pleasure. "Good girl, such a good fuckin girl," he growls as you finish for the second time. Your hands find rest on his chest as you collapse into his arms.

"Fuck Harry you're gonna kill me," you sigh as you nuzzle into his neck. He chuckles. Hands kneading your ass.

"At least you'll die satisfied," you place a kiss against his neck.

"Can I satisfy you now?" you joke.

"Of course," he laughs. Turning over so you are under him he hops off the bed. Quickly shedding himself of his pants he turns and begins digging in his dresser. He comes back to the bed. A small foil packet in his hand. He tosses it on the bed beside you. You stand up on your knees and waddle to the edge of the bed. He pulls you into a deep kiss. Hands on either side of your face. You sigh out into him. As he pulls away his thumb runs across your bottom lip.

"You sure? We don't have to if you don't want to," his thumb resting on your lip. You lean down and press a kiss against it.

"I am beyond sure," you smile at him.

"Thank fuck," he wraps his arms around your thighs and picks you up. tossing you back onto the bed. You land with a laugh. Be stays standing looking down on you, lustful look on his face.

"Are you going to fuck me or just look at me?" he smirks and grabs the condom. Ripping open the wrapping and rolling it onto himself without taking his eyes off of you. You look back and forth between his face and his dick. Mouth practically watering at the sight of him. He guides himself over you. Slowly crawling onto you. As he comes face to face with you, he pecks your lips.

"I want your eyes on mine okay?" he questions you.

"Yes sir," you slip. Eyes widening slightly. He smirks at the comment. He moans as his tip teases your entrance. You lift your hips causing his head to slip inside of you. Both of you gasping at the feeling. His hand then comes around your throat. Squeezing slightly at the sides, asking permission. You nod.

"So fucking needy," he groans as he then sheaths himself fully inside of you. He stays buried inside you unmoving. The moan that leaves your body is unlike any noise you've made before. The sheer fullness of him causing your body to vibrate. "Such a tight little cunt," His eyes still locked on yours. "My tight little cunt huh?" you release a little moan. His hand releasing your throat and tapping at the side of your face. "Words baby," he commands.

"Yes Harry, all yours," he then lighly smacks your face.

"Uh uh, that's not my name," His pupils blown with lust. You moan out to him.

"Sir," you whine out. He begins to slowly pull out. "Yes sir, I'm sorry sir," barely escapes your mouth as he fully thrusts back into you.

"Fuck," he drowns out. Slowly dragging himself across your walls. As he slowly fucks you, your moans grow. His tip bouncing off your cervix in the most deliciously painful way. "Fuckin good girl taking Daddys cock all the way," he groans.

"Like it was made for me," you sigh.

"Just for you baby, only yours," you clench around him. His breath faltering. "You keep doing that I'll fucking come," he scolds. His hand snaking in between your conjoined bodies and finding your clit. As he draws slow circles over the bundle of nerves you gasp. The two prior orgasms making you overly sensitive.

"Oh Daddy please don't stop,"

"Come on baby, come for me, come with me," he whimpers. You can feel him twitching inside of you, on the edge. As his thrusts become sloppy you feel your orgasm teetering on the edge.

"I'm gonna come, Daddy, fuck," His eyes not leaving yours.

"Eyes on me, wanna watch you come," you moan out as he thrusts harder. Your vision cloudy with tears as your orgasm washes over you. Your eyes closing as you hit your peak. His hand making harsh contact with your cheek.

"Eyes on me," he releases a frustrated groan. You open your eyes to look at him. His eyes an even darker green than usual. His pupils dilate erasing almost all the color from his irises as he releases into the condom buried balls deep inside you. Gasped breaths escaping his mouth as he struggles to curse out. He collapses onto you. slipping beside you and nuzzling into your neck. You move to wrap your arms around him as his clasp your waist.

You lay together for quite some time before he lifts himself to kiss you. Slow lazy kisses, capturing each other's breaths. As he pulls away and looks back into your eyes, you speak.

"That was pretty good," you shrug. His mouth falls open with offence.

"Pretty good?" he scoffs. "Don't make me fuck you till you can't walk pretty girl. I will fucking destroy you," Before you get a chance to answer he captures your lips in his. You push him off you.

"So sensetive," You laugh, pulling him back in for a kiss. Both of you fighting smiles.

Masterlist

[xx-like-a-villian-xx]

I Hate You | Two

Here is part two! Thank you for all of your support on the first part. Enjoy!

My ao3 is HERE

Also let me know if you want to be tagged in future posts :)

CW: smut, jealous Noah and Reader, angry sex, possessive Noah, Noah is a munch, P in V unprotected sex, hair pulling, sneaking around, feelings (lots of feelings), alcohol consumption (but not much), let me know if I missed anything.

taglist: @concreteburialplot @lyschko666

18+ MDNI | Noah Sebastian x Reader

Fuck this.

Noah was playing a dangerous fucking game and you were just about ready to grab him by the hair and drag him out of the damn club in front of everyone, or maybe scream in his fucking face.

It was the end of tour and of course you were celebrating at some fancy club, it was tradition. The issue? Well Noah had some blonde bombshell in his lap that had basically pounced on him the moment you walked in.

Sure, you weren’t dating, ew, why would you want to date Noah? He’s a piece of shit. But you couldn’t contain the anger boiling inside your blood at the sight. Her hands were all over him, making the same journey that yours did in the venue shower after the last show and the thought made you want to vomit.

Fucking asshole.

”Everything okay, Y/N? You’ve hardly touched your drink.” Jolly slid onto the barstool next to you, beer in hand.

Dragging your eyes away from the torturous scene in front of you, you smiled half heartedly, taking a sip of your vodka soda. “Yeah, just tired.”

When your eyes dropped back to Noah, Jolly’s followed and he rolled his eyes knowingly. Of course he knew about the little cat and mouse chase situationship you had with Noah, everyone did by that point except your brother (but he was oblivious to most things). No matter how much you pretended to hate each other, they could practically taste the sexual tension in the air whenever you were in the same room and the fact that they could never find you both just sealed it.

“How much are you betting that he takes her back to the hotel?” Jolly wanted to add salt to the wound, get under your skin to see if you’d actually do something other than pine after the guy.

Act cool. Act casual.

”Eh, I think she’s a bit too forward for his liking.” You finished your drink and stood from your seat.

Jolly watched you walk towards the bar, watching how your hips sway with each step and his eyes darted to Noah who was staring back at him with fiery eyes. Oh. Funny. Jolly smirked to himself. He had a plan and it could end with him receiving a broken nose.

Drinks were flowing and you were dancing with Laura, one of the lighting techs on the cramped dance floor, moving your hips to the loud R&B music. You were feeling less tense now you were away from the quiet area, away from Noah but you could still see him with the blonde out of the corner of your eye.

Your brother was smoking outside with Bryan and Matt. You had no idea where Nicholas was but you could see Jolly eyeing you from the bar and maybe it was the alcohol but there was something in his gaze that made you beckon him towards you.

Jolly’s huge hands were on your hips then, his head buried in your neck as you started to grind your ass against him, throwing your arms back around his neck. You were lost in the music and the heat from his body moving against yours, weightless on the middle of the dance floor. Until you heard the blonde yelp over the music.

”You. Outside, now!” Noah looked furious and your thighs pressed together with need. His face was flushed red, eyes so dark they may as well have been a black abyss. He looked almost demonic and god it was a gorgeous sight.

You looked around him at the blonde who looked utterly flabbergasted at his actions and smirked which Noah noticed, dragging you by the arm out of the busy club.

”What was that?” He had dragged you outside, around the corner where no one would be privy to the conversation.

You shrugged, clicking your tongue. “What was what, Noah? Can’t a girl have a little fun? Seems like you were quite content with blondie, huh?” You spat venomously.

He only caged you against the brick wall, looming over you and you could almost see the flames of rage dancing in his irises. “Don’t do that shit, Y/N.”

You pouted up at him sarcastically. “Oh no, did I upset you? Seems like double standards though doesn’t it? God forbid I dance with a friend while you’re practically making out with someone ten feet away.” You cross your arms over your chest. “It’s not like we’re dating is it?”

You attempted to slide underneath his arm to walk away but he only pulled you back and pressed his body against yours, pulling your face to his with a tight grip. “You’re fucking insufferable.”

Before you could respond his lips were on yours, teeth clashing together as he kissed you hard, with so much ferocity that it made your head spin. His hands were gripping your hips so tight you would feel bruises in the morning and it felt like heaven. Gasping for air, you pulled away, only to whine when his teeth grazed over your throat.

”You’re mine,”

What did he say?

Your fingers gripped the hair at the base of his neck and pulled his head back, a sly smirk dancing across your lips.

”In what world am I yours?” You chuckle darkly.

“Every fucking one of them.” He growled, pressing his lips back to yours.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

It didn’t take long for an Uber to arrive and Noah was quick to tell the driver to step on the gas as his hand gripped your thigh possessively. You were back in your hotel room in no time, his body pressed against yours before you could even turn to lock the door.

You were on fire, face burning, thighs pressing together to gain some kind of friction, anything. His huge hands were all over you, fingers finding the hem of your dress to yank it over your head and you couldn’t get enough.

For weeks you had been sneaking around with him, finding yourself being dragged into bathrooms and broom closets after verbally berating each other, catching yourself sending pictures to him just to hear him groan from his bunk like a feral dog. You were obsessed with making him go insane for you, for your body but this felt different.

There was now something else in his touch, something so much more possessive and animalistic that it made your stomach lurch with need and an arousal like no other pool in your underwear, just begging to be quenched.

Fuck, was it feelings? Did you have feelings for Noah Fucking Sebastian? Surely not, right?

”Fuck me, you’re fucking stunning.” His words were gruff, his lips latching to your throat as his hands slid up waist, your stomach, everywhere, finally reaching your bra to slide the straps from your shoulders and pull it down.

His fingers found the hardened peaks on your chest, softly pinching them, pressing his forehead against yours to revel in the gasp that left your lips. His eyes were so dark, almost black, staring down at you with an unhinged lust that had you silently pleading with him to stop the fucking games and fuck you, please.

”Fuck, please.” With a soft moan, you rolled your head back against the wall,

He chuckled darkly. “You’re so fucking needy.”

Before you could retort, he was lifting you, wrapping your legs against his hips just to throw you onto the bed like you weighed nothing, his fingers hooking around the waistband of your pink thong to pull them down at a pace that was criminally slow.

“Look at you, so fucking wet for me.” His smirk was so cocky and if you weren’t so far gone, you might have used the leg he wasn’t pushing to your chest to kick him.

He settled between your thighs, eyes trained on your dripping cunt, running his tongue over his lips as though he was starving and you practically drooled at the sight, your hands reaching out to latch on to his hair, tugging at the roots.

His tongue darted out to drag a long stripe between your folds, humming in delight at taste before diving in, dark eyes locked onto your face to watch every reaction he was pulling from you. Your back arched off the bed and the moan that left your mouth was filthy, disgusting when his tongue flicked against your clit. He knew exactly how to drive you crazy, his arms pushing your legs up so he could eat you exactly how you needed and it didn’t take long for that burning fire to ignite in the depths of your stomach, legs shaking violently in his hold.

”Oh fuck, I’m gonna c-cum!” You yelped, hands gripping his hair tighter and the growl that escaped him vibrated against your clit, sending you over the edge with a scream.

He lapped at your clit until you couldn’t take it anymore, weakly dragging him up to your face to pull him into a filthy kiss, your tongue licking your own arousal from his mouth. Fuck he tasted so heavenly with you on his lips.

His hands fumbled with his belt as he feverishly kissed you and before you could even catch your breath, he was pushing into you, groaning against your mouth.

”Fuck…” he whined, pressing his forehead against yours to give you a second to adjust. “I can’t get enough of this pussy.”

His hips snapped forward, burying himself so deep inside you that any thoughts in your brain were wiped. His hand slid up to your throat, gripping the sides just enough to make your eyes roll back in your head and he smirked, planting a kiss on the corner of your mouth.

”You take my cock so well.” You whimpered at his words, revelling in how full he made you feel. “It’s like you were made for me.”

”It’s all yours.” God, you really were his, only his, no one could ever make you feel how he did and it was infuriating.

”That’s right, you’re mine.” He gritted, sharply snapping his hips into you, fucking you so deeply you thought you might pass out from the pleasure.

Your walls clenched around him, that warm feeling building up again, tightness pooling in your stomach.

”Are you gonna cum again, greedy girl?” He cooed, earning a brain dead whine from you.

His hand slipped between your bodies and his thumb pressed against your clit, cock hitting you so perfectly against that spot inside you that had you falling apart around him.

The noise that left your mouth as you came violently around his cock could only be described as banshee scream. Fireworks were bursting behind your closed eyes, your back arched so far off the bed, you were sure you looked possessed and god it felt so good.

”Good fucking girl.” Noah pulled you to him, kissing you deeply, tongue dancing with yours. With a whimper against your lips, he pulled out, emptying himself on your stomach.

You couldn’t move. You were so fucked out when he disappeared into the bathroom, returning with a wet flannel to clean up your messes. The room was silent when he lay next to you, tracing circles on your stomach.

”Noah, what is this?” You sighed after a while, heart pounding in your chest.

He propped himself up on his elbow, looking down at you with soft eyes.

You couldn’t deny it any longer, all those weeks of messing around had changed something in you. All of the hatred had turned into something else, something that tugged at your heart and made your head spin. You fixed your gaze on the ceiling, bracing yourself for the let down.

”I already told you, you’re mine.” He laughed lightly and your eyes snapped to him. “And I think I’m yours. We’re past the point of hiding it.”

”Really?” You gulped. Was he admitting that he wanted you the same way?

”Yes, Y/N. I think I was yours a long time ago.”

You grinned, reaching out to push his messy hair from his forehead. “Mine.”

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

“Come on, we’re leaving in ten minutes.” Matt rushed around the lobby while everyone else dawdled along, hungover and exhausted from the previous night.

You picked your bag up from the floor, following him out to the bus that was waiting. You hadn’t seen your brother yet which was weird, you guessed that he was still getting his stuff together in his hotel room. When you stepped onto the bus, there you saw him, staring at you with fiery eyes.

“Everything okay, Nick?” You raised an eyebrow, placing your bag next to him on the couch.

His jaw ticked and his eyes darted to the door, watching Noah enter.

”Noah, when were you going to tell me that you’re fucking my sister?”

[pennyellee]

LACRIMOSA | MYG MAFIA YANDERE AU | MASTERLIST

pairings: mafia leader!yoongi x f!reader genre: mafia!au, yandere au, historical au

summary: Their interlocking gaze served as a butterfly effect on his heart, stirring it to the core. She, in turn, only dreams to find a way to escape. But perchance, over time she might forcefully learn to love the man who has taken so much from her.

Thus unfolds a twisted tale of love and loss, of hope and despair, of life and death. The music reverberated through the dimly-lit streets. Tears of sorrow, weeping symphony - reflects the hurt, the scars that linger deep within and the wounds that never healed. Lacrimosa.

warnings: minors dni 18+ | mafia au, dark!yoongi, mafia!yoongi, smut, forced marriage, forced pregnancy, yandere, threatening, kidnapping, partial religious behaviour, graphic violence, graphic depictions of torture, manipulation, possessive/obsessive behaviour, angst, implied non-con, minor character death, spanking, blood, gaslighting (more to be added)

m.list: chapter I - absquatulate 2,11K chapter II - sponsalia 6,7K chapter III - ambience 6,9K filler - Game of Go 1,5K chapter IV - ustulation 5,6K chapter V - paraprosexia 7K chapter VI - súton 11,1K chapter VII - mágoa 12K chapter VIII - lítost 11,6K chapter IX - lacuna 8,7K chapter X pt.1 - chapter X pt.2 -

cross-posted on ao3

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain depictions of violence, blood shed, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, old social norms and traditions, which we do not condone.

©pennyellee. please do not repost

[da-rulah]

Rituale Septem - Day 7: Pride

Pairing: (Terzo x f!reader)

Summary: All Hallow's Eve is here, and you're more lost now than you ever had been. Whilst the Ministry gets ready for their biggest night of the year, you're dreading it. Will you reconcile your issues before it's too late?

Rating: Mature, MDNI 18+

Word Count: 18.1k (how tf did that happen...)

Warnings: angst, pining, arguments, lots of emotions, p in v sex, creampie 

AO3 Link | Series Masterlist

A/N: Here it is... the final chapter! I just want to thank anyone and everyone who has liked, reblogged and commented on this fic. It was the biggest project I've ever worked on (74,000+ words wtf...), and one of my favourites of all time. I'm so grateful for the love on it, and I hope this ending doesn't break too many hearts... Happy Halloween to you all! I love you 🫶🏻

Prev: Day 6 - Greed

October 31st: All Hallow’s Eve 

The hum of excitement in the halls of the Ministry travelled from sibling to sibling. On this, the most sought-after date in the calendar of any Satanist, the corridors were alive with jubilation. 

All Hallow’s Eve was a time for many to perform their rituals, to manifest for the year ahead, to reap the rewards since the last harvest season. While the majority of the world would ward off the evil spirits, demons and creatures of the night, the Satanic Church welcomed them. With November 1st being the Catholic’s traditional day of the Saints, tonight was reserved for the sinners.  

The most common use of this magical night, was to commune with the dead and the inhuman, and take advantage of the thinned veil between worlds as night fell. Offerings could be made for a fruitful season ahead, manifestations could be created and spells and rituals could be completed with deities and demons alike.  

Whether the Siblings were attempting something themselves or simply here to enjoy the night of mischief and leisure at the All Hallow’s Ball, the atmosphere within the stone walls was electrifying. There wasn’t a single Sibling in the Ministry who wasn’t looking forward to the festivities. 

Save for one. You.  

As you trudged through the halls towards Secondo’s office that morning, you felt like the only person whose world to had been drained of colour, as if a black shadow hung over you and blew out the flame of excitement of each person you passed. People stopped their conversations just to look at you, their smiles drooping when they saw the look you couldn’t hide in your eyes. Exhaustion, mixed with a hint of hurt.  

It emanated from you, and it was clear to see. A few Siblings you knew asked you if you were okay, sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the jubilation in the hallways but you dismissed each question with a nod and a well-rehearsed “I’m fine”. 

Based on Swiss’ advice yesterday, he had told you feeling wasn’t to be hidden away from; to deal with them instead. The first step to feeling with feelings, surely, was to feel them. And so, you allowed your misery to take over last night and soak your pillow as you failed to sleep. Your mind raced with thoughts of Terzo, images of the times you had spent in his arms, pressed against him, wrapped around him and completely and utterly enamoured with him.  

And then, you would torture yourself with the opposite; the scene you’d walked in on, his cruel teasing, his dismissal of you on fancy parchment. Each positive memory felt like a sooth to the burn, and each negative, a fresh, hot poker into the same wound.  

You could admit it to yourself now; the time spent with him not only in the last week, but since you had arrived in his office, poured your soul to him and began your closer, flirtatious relationship – if you could even call it a relationship – had been enough to show you a side you needed to get to know. You were falling for a man you could never have; a man incapable of love, it would seem.  

There was more to Terzo than people thought – that much you had learned. You'd seen hints of a sensitivity in him; an odd look here, a fond smile there, the mention of his dear Nonna, his somewhat unexpected knowledge of Opera... But you had come to expect too much of him, and gotten yourself into hot water. 

But every time you had tried to figure him out a little more, he’d held you at arm’s length or proven in some way that he was just as unbothered and disinterested as you feared. The more you thought about it through the night, the tighter the barbed wire around your heart squeezed.  

You’d considered not going to work at all today; you weren’t sure you could face people, much less Secondo. But against your better judgement, you’d thought a sense of normality might help to ground you.  

When you walked into Secondo’s office, he couldn’t hide the shock on his face that you’d showed. Don’t get him wrong, he was glad to see you, but he’d expected you to be... busy. You still had one final sin to go, after all.  

“Oh... B-buongiorno, sorella...” he stuttered a little in his surprise. “I thought you would be indisposed today? I don’t mind if you need to-” 

“I’d rather keep busy for a bit at least, Papa. If you don’t mind...” you interrupted, your voice quiet and subdued. His brow creased, concern flooding his ageing features. You missed it, avoiding eye contact as you sat at your desk.  

“What happened?” he asked sternly, “which stronzo do I have to skin alive?”  

Your lips quirked in a smile at his protectiveness of you; something you’d only noticed of him recently, but when you thought about it, had been present for a few years now. But unless he wanted to flay the skin directly from his brother’s own back, he would have to be kept in the dark on this one. 

“It’s nothing Papa, I’m just... exhausted. Long week,” you chuckled, devoid of humour entirely.  

“Of course, but it’s almost over, cara mia. One final push, so to speak,” he encouraged. But in your mind, it was already over. You weren’t sure you had it in you to attempt one more genuine devotion of sin. The weight on your shoulders had crashed around you last night and left you feeling far too broken.  

“Perhaps one final act would put fratello mio in a better mood, also,” he mumbled, shaking his head to himself as he busied his hands with filing invoices for the suppliers of tonight’s Ball. You looked up at him curiously. 

“I-I’m sorry?” you asked, as if you hadn’t heard. But really, you needed more information. Secondo sighed, ripping his spectacles from the end of his nose and letting his hand drop to the desktop. 

“Perhaps Sister Imperator is on his culo (ass) again, but he is acting unlike himself. He’s snappy, irritable... but then when he thinks I do not see, he looks sad,” he explained. “I had warned him the papacy was not for the faint of heart...” 

You thought over his statement for a moment. Sure, his role was demanding, and you knew better than anyone that Sister Imperator was a tyrant; she reminded you of Ms. Trunchbull from Matilda, yet somehow scarier, because she could be kind...  

But sad? What did he have to be sad about? Perhaps it was childish, but you found yourself getting defensively angry at the notion. How dare he when he’d caused, well... this.  

“I don’t think I’ll be seeing papa today,” you deadpanned.  

“Oh... is... Did he do something? Oh, Sorella, did you break his heart?” he teased, pouting dramatically to mock Terzo more so than you. He laughed to himself until he saw the look on your face, shutting himself up and tumbling headfirst into a thought process that led him into silence. 

Maybe his brother had done something. Knowing him, he had cocked up whatever bond he had managed to cement with you in some way. Secondo would lovingly describe his younger brother as un fottuto bambino in tunica (a fucking baby in a robe); immature and yet, held power. It would not shock him if he’d fucked this up, the way he seemed to fumble every potential romantic relationship he’d ever had. None of his conquests had ever moved past just that; his brother was far too terrified of feeling to admit to falling for anybody, and so, nothing ever came of his many charades with women and men alike.  

'What if he’s doing the same now?’ he thought to himself. Terzo did have a pattern, one Secondo had recognised when someone was getting too close to him. He would shoo them away, do something to make them hate him so that he didn’t have to be the one to break it off. Give them a reason to walk away from him, and then he could justify his solitude. 

“Oh, ragazzo idiota,” Secondo muttered to himself.  

“I’m sorry, what was that, Papa?” you asked, having missed it.  

“N-nothing... Sorella, you want to keep busy, sì?” he asked, dismissing his thoughts. You nodded, looking through your notebook to find an unattended task to take up. “Don’t busy yourself with paperwork, dolcezza. You should do something amongst the festivities! Get some fresh air; Primo has asked for you, actually. He’d like some help with pumpkin picking. His frail old hands aren’t what they used to be...”  

Secondo sounded overly kind, as if he were stepping around the issue. It didn’t come naturally to him, outward kindness. You always knew when he was putting it on, or trying to hard; he was most certainly doing that now.  

“Why would Papa Primo ask for me?” you asked suspiciously. He had his own assistant, not to mention the Ghouls were on hand for manual labour.  

Secondo just shrugged, “More like he asked for some help, and I put your name forward, if you were to be available. You don’t mind, do you?” 

Truthfully, no you didn’t. Fresh air may be a good idea, and particularly in the quiet seclusion of Papa Primo’s gardens when the rest of the Ministry would be preparing for tonight’s festivities. You could hide from their excitement and wallow in self-pity for a little; that sounded just fine to you. 

“I’ll head out to the gardens now. Do you need anything else from me, Papa?” you asked, standing and tidying your things away into your desk.  

“No, dolcezza. But... if my brother has done anything to upset you, I...” he stopped himself, trying to pick his words carefully. “Just know, he is a fool.”  

You stared blankly at him, blinking a few times whilst you tried to think of something to say back to him. You couldn’t quite decipher the tone of his voice, or the laced meaning in his words. But before you could give it much thought, he dismissed you to the rest of your day.  

“I’ll see you at the Ball, dolcezza. Don’t think you’re getting out of giving this old man a dance,” he smiled. Smiling looked unusual on Secondo’s face, but in this moment it felt comforting. You felt like he had your back, he was in your corner, batting for your team... He was telling you he’d make sure you enjoyed tonight, Terzo be damned and despite the success or failure of the ritual.  

He’d still be there; your friend. 

“Who picked this orange? It’s too bright...” Terzo grunted, swatting at the drapes Swiss was hanging up in the Great Hall.  

“Y-you did, Papa?” he answered from the top step of the step ladder Dew was holding still, frankly a little scared of the way Papa was acting today. While everyone else was in a particularly joyous mood, Terzo was on a war path. His mood was foul, snapping at anything and everything he possibly could.  

“Well... I... shut up,” Terzo threw his hands in the air and stomped off to check on the Siblings setting up the round dining tables and various casino games on the outskirts of the hall – Secondo's idea; a very big fan of the Vegas strip. His head was all over the place, unable to focus. Not only did he have to play the Papa role at tonight’s Ball, but he was battling with the thoughts of you at the same time.  

Did you complete your sin yesterday? With who? No, that didn’t matter. None of his business. Would you complete the ritual? Or had he fucked that up too? Lucifer, he’d never forgive himself. 

“Papa!” he heard someone called to him and quietly groaned at the footsteps quickly approached, clacking on the marble of the floor. “Papa, could I... eh, could I talk to you? Per uno momento, (For one moment,) I shall not keep you...”  

Terzo span on his heels in the middle of the dancefloor, having not yet reached the gaggle of Siblings arranging tableware on the opposite end of the Hall. His younger brother, Cardinal Copia, was scurrying towards him with a sheepish look on his face, a blush that gave away his shame.  

“What is it, fratellino? I’m a little busy with preparations...” Terzo tried to dismiss him, avoiding eye contact. He didn’t care to look him in the eye after Sunday, when he had seen you... on top of him.  

“Sì, sì, scusi, I just...” Copia stopped in front of him, lowering his voice from the rest of the Hall, “I have felt somewhat guilty since Sunday, Papa.”  

“How many times do I have to ask you not to call me Papa, Copia? Just Terzo will do,” he fussed, raising his hand to stop Copia’s protests about ‘lineage’ and ‘formality’. He completely glazed over the mention of Sunday, not wanting to address it at all. “You are my brother. It’s weird.” 

“Okie dokie...” he hung his head in apology. “But... Sunday,” he began again. Terzo raised his palm again.  

“I will knock next time,” he said. 

“Well, yes, but... I’m sorry,” Copia forced his apology on Terzo, willing him to listen to him, as if not having the opportunity to apologise was somehow paining him. He needed him to know his intentions. 

“What... what are you sorry for?” Terzo asked, confused and frankly, a little nervous. He had a feeling he knew where this was heading, his brother able to read him easily as he did most people.  

“I saw the look on your face, Terzo. It wasn’t just disgust at what you’d seen me doing. I saw rage, Terzo. And... pain.” Copia kept his voice low to not attract attention, his eyes searching his brother’s face for his reaction. He could have been way off base here, but part of him knew. It told him that no, he was right; Terzo was genuinely upset by what he saw. 

Terzo stared at his brother, his heart rate picking up in his chest. He didn’t need every damn brother knowing what he was thinking all the time, and he didn’t feel like having to explain himself or coming up with excuses. He didn’t have the energy to pretend today, and so, he began to turn and walk away.  

It was cowardly and he knew it; walking away from the truth, pretending it didn’t exist. But he couldn’t do this; not right now.  

“No, wait!” Copia grabbed his arm, quietly calling to him. Terzo stopped, hanging his head low and turning back.  

“Copia please, not here. I can’t... not today.” 

“When I walked into her in the hall that day, she was upset by something and I need you to know I don’t think she was in her right mind when she... dragged me to my workshop. She didn’t want me, she wanted something and I just happened to be there,” he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, “and I’m the weak and pathetic man who allowed it. Swept up, I suppose.” 

Both brothers shuffled on their feet uncomfortably, neither one speaking for a moment as they both wallowed in their shame. Terzo had known you were upset; of course he did, it was his doing. But he’d been able to ignore that for the most part, try and stuff it down in a suitcase he could throw to the bottom of a lake and forget about completely. But he didn’t realise it would float back to the surface. His guilt ate him up.  

“You’re... you’re not weak, Copia,” Terzo managed to say. It was possibly one of the nicest things he’d said to him in a long time, their relationship very much strained thanks to their estranged father. Copia simply smiled delicately in thanks and pity.  

“You should tell her, fratello.” Terzo laughed bitterly, at that.  

“Tell her what, exactly?” he shrugged, feigning ignorance.  

“How you feel,” Copia persisted, “I didn’t miss the anger on her face, either. I fear I came between something...” 

“I can’t tell her anything, Copia. She doesn’t deserve me,” Terzo’s gaze hardened, his jaw locking up tightly as he stared into his brother’s eyes.  

Copia frowned at that statement; what, you were not good enough for him? Copia knew you well enough to know he’d be lucky to find a woman half as deserving of love as you. He knew his brother could be a pig-headed and proud man, but that was potentially one of the most arrogant things he had ever said.  

When Terzo realised the annoyance on Copia’s face, he scoffed, shaking his head and staring down at his feet.  

“No, Copia... she doesn’t deserve me,” he looked up then, sadness filling his eyes and a soft sigh escaping his chest. “No one deserves that burden.” 

Without another word, Terzo turned and walked the rest of the length of the Hall, leaving the Siblings and Ghouls to their preparations, and a rather deflated looking Copia in the middle of the empty dancefloor.  

He just wanted to be alone. 

The chill in the air bit at your skin the second you stepped outside, wrapping your cloak tightly around you as you acclimatised after the warmth confined to the Ministry’s inner walls. The air felt fresh, with a dew settled as a low fog over the hills in the distance. The landscape looked quite perfect for All Hallow’s Eve morning.  

You took the short winding footpath that led to Papa Primo’s gardens, noticing you hadn’t come across another sibling or ghoul on your way through. They must be inside, getting things ready for the biggest night of the year or enjoying their freedom from seminars and work duty that came with the holiday.  

When you knocked on the door to Primo’s greenhouse, you heard a groan as if Primo had been sat when you arrived, dragging himself up while his aching bones protested. He came to the door, greeting you with a warm smile and open arms ready to engulf you in a hug you had come to expect of the eldest Emeritus. In his old age, he’d grown softer, and tended to greet his Siblings this way now. 

“Sorella _____! Oh, Happy Halloween to you, cara mio,” he beamed as you gently hugged him, careful not to knock his balance. 

“Happy Halloween, Papa,” you smiled, strikingly good at masking your sadness around him. Perhaps it was simply Primo’s comforting aura.  

“Did Secondo send you to help with the pumpkins?” he asked, taking a step back but grasping your hands in his.  

“He did,” you chuckled, “I needed the fresh air.” 

“Sí, sí, well let’s get started, eh? Would you fetch me a wheelbarrow from the tool shed, cara? I will find the clippers; those stalks are stubborn this year!” he turned in his spot to rifle through the shelves by the door, and left you to run to the shed and grab the wheelbarrow he’d requested, plus a camping stool for him to sit on. You met at the pumpkin patch, largely overgrown with an assortment of pumpkins the size of boulders down to footballs. You sat the wheelbarrow near the front of the patch, and took the shears Primo had collected from him. 

“Relax, Papa. I’ve got this,” you smiled sweetly, kneeling beside a group of pumpkins ready to cut into the stalks and pile them into the wheelbarrow while Papa rested on the stool you’d brought for him. 

“Ah, you think me too frail, Sorella?” he teased, instantly eating his words when he groaned taking a seat. 

“Not me, Papa. Your joints, however...” you laughed. Papa couldn’t deny that, letting you get away with the cheek for now with a fond smile.  

“I trust my brother is keeping you busy?” he asks, forcing your hand to pause it’s cutting as you looked back at him, wondering what he was getting at. He didn’t mean...? “Secondo? Is he keeping you busy as usual, Sorella?” 

“O-oh! Yes, of course. Always,” you laughed, relieved and turning back to the pumpkins. Primo smirked, knowing full well why you’d panicked. But he’d let it slide, for now.  

“Good, good... And you’re doing well in yourself, cara?” he asked, making conversation. Except, he was prying. Primo knew more than he was letting on, but he was manipulating the conversation in a way that you may be more forthcoming...  

But you didn’t know how to answer him. You wanted so desperately to be honest with him, feeling comfortable and trusting him but the fear of judgment and embarrassment made you hesitate. And you hesitated a moment too long, chewing on your bottom lip and stilling your progress on the pumpkin stem you were hacking into.  

Primo saw an opening. 

“Hmm... you said you needed the fresh air too, earlier. Cara mio, something is bothering you, is it not?” he asked, leaning forwards to rest his forearms on his knees, holding your gaze when you looked up at him beside you.  

“Well, I... um...” you stuttered, wondering how you would even begin this conversation.  

“It’s okay, fiorellina (little flower),” he softened his voice, reaching his palm to rest gently at your cheek that had pinkened now you were flustered, “I know you have been performing Rituale Septem,” he admitted.  

You froze; your body seemed to simply stop working, lungs and all as you held your breath. How did he know? What did he know? You were mortified... It felt like your Grandpa had just told you he’d heard you having sex; just icky. You hoped he didn’t think any less of you for it. His opinion of you mattered to you more than you realised.  

“I must say, it was brave to take on this ritual, Sorella. You must have been at your wits end to try and accomplish this. I’ve never seen it completed in my lifetime; it always gets too messy,” he praised, giving you a sense of relief that he certainly did not think less of you at all. But messy; yes. That’s one way to put it. “I hear it got messy, Sorella...” he spoke so softly, a look of sympathy on his face.  

“I think it did, yes...” you hung your head in shame, slowly beginning to cut back into the pumpkin stem you were working on. Primo hummed in acknowledgement.  

“Well done, _______. For fighting back, I mean. He plays too many games, il mio idiota fratellino, (my idiot little brother,)” he scoffed, shaking his head.  

“He told you, then?” you deduced, focussed entirely on this ruddy pumpkin stalk that just would not cut. You hacked into it, anger building.  

“He did, sí... Hey, hey!” he raised his voice, reaching out to your wrist to stop your assault on the stalk that had become entirely too violent. “Fiorellina, per favore! (Little flower, please!) Violence does not suit you.” He ran his gloved thumb over your cheek, wiping at a stray tear that had fallen and chilled on your cheek in the autumn air. 

“S-sorry...” you mumbled, letting the shears drop to the ground in front of you and sitting back on your heels in defeat.  

“I hate to pry, but... did you manage to complete a sin yesterday?” he asked, “Terzo said you had two left when he came to me. If you did, then there is still hope you can talk to Lucifer tonight.” Primo evaded the subject a little, putting a pin in the Terzo dynamic for the time being to understand what position you found yourself in now. He could only help with the full picture, and if you had failed yesterday, then attempting any sin today was futile.  

“Yes...” you winced, “Swiss and Dew... Greed.” Frankly, you’d felt guilty ever since. Whilst the Ghouls were lovely, and handled you well, took care of you and even stayed with you for comfort long into the night... It had felt weird to sleep with them when you were so clearly hung up on another man. You had used them; with their knowledge and consent, yes, but something still didn’t sit right about it now that your feelings of ugly jealousy and hopelessly unrequited adoration were painfully obvious to you. 

You picked the shears back up and began to cut into the stalk again, needing to busy your hands.  

“Okay, so one final sin. Have you given much thought to how you might accomplish this one? Pride, isn’t it?”  

Truth be told, you had thought about it briefly yesterday, and then given up hope. When you’d woken up this morning, you’d resigned yourself to failure already. You shook your head no, “I don’t think I’ll be completing this ritual, Papa.” 

“You don’t wish to speak with The Dark One?” he asked, straight to the point.  

“Of course I do, but... things have changed, Papa,” you sighed, finally cutting the stalk of the oversized pumpkin in front of you and moving to lift the bastard thing into the wheelbarrow. It dropped with a thud, and you knelt next to the smaller one beside the first, beginning to cut into that stalk also.  

Primo nodded in thought, knowing exactly what had changed; you’d fallen for his idiota fratellino. 

“You know, I understand wanting to give up, Sorella. Believe me, I do,” Primo shuffled, getting himself comfy as if about to tell a story. And he was. “When I was a young man, long before your time, I had wanted to give up too. I was a bishop, then. I couldn’t juggle everything... My responsibilities, my faith, mio fratelli... Our padre, he was too busy with women and drugs; eh, it was the 60’s. Everyone was experimenting, but he was absent, and with no madre in the picture, that was all down to me. 

“Terzo was... un incubo (a nightmare). Particularly after his madre passed. I cannot say I blame him, but... he tested me. I remember one day when he was seventeen, even his nonna could not rein him in. He thought he was big and clever going out to drink and sleep around and he was acting too much like il suo inutile padre, (his useless father). His nonna called me very early in the morning to tell me he had come home drunk and angry yet again, and I didn’t know what to do with him anymore. I wanted to give in,” he sighed, recounting the memory.  

“Truth be told, Sorella, I thought he had been too damaged to save. Nihil was not only absent most of the time, but a vile creature to his children when he did show. As a result, Terzo deals very badly with emotion. Particularly affection, or love...”  

Primo let the thought hang in the air between you for a moment, gaging your reaction. He had a point to make here, and he was spoon feeding you, guiding your thought process.  

“He’s never exactly received much love in his life, and when he does, it scares him. He finds a way to push it away from him before he’s even aware he’s doing it and then... it’s too late,” he sighed, finally making eye contact with you, who had stopped cutting into the next stem long ago to listen along. He noted the tears shining in your eyes and knew he was on the right track; he was chiselling away at the wall you tried to build between you and his brother. 

“Mio fratellino is constantly getting shit on from a great height, in a manner of speaking. Nothing he has ever done or will do is good enough for people; they expect more and more of him every day. I’m sure he feels he is not worthy of the love he deserves. But he is a proud man. Too proud... He would never admit he craves that acceptance.”  

You should have seen it. You should have known there was something more here, you’d even caught glimpses of it. You saw the stress on his face after your encounter with Secondo, his hand woven in his hair, brow creased at his desk. He’d talked about his nonna at dinner, how fondly he’d smiled at the mention of her. You’d felt the tension after he’d explained the opera to you, his internal battle of ‘should I kiss her? Should I not?’ playing out in his eyes – he'd denied himself then, you remember the disappointment...  

He was letting you in... and then shutting you out again. And you’d missed it every time.  

Primo saw your mind racing and let you have a moment, contemplating his words before he dove back in to chisel away further into that wall.  

“Sorella, I feel I must tell you something...” He leaned forward, taking the shears from you and taking your hands in his, “When he came to me on Sunday, he was angry. I believe he had just seen something he wished he hadn’t.” You knew what that meant, and you hung your head in shame. You felt unbelievably guilty now; sure, he had started it, but you had used his own brother against him.  

Primo picked your chin up, curling his finger underneath it to raise your gaze back to his above you.  

“He wasn’t angry at you, fiorellina. In fact, the only person he was angry at was himself. And perhaps a little at Copia, but that was misdirected... He kept babbling on about how he had ruined your ritual, how he was terrified you’d never forgive him, that you’d leave... My point, cara mio, is that not once did he say a bad word about you.” 

Your bottom lip quivered with unspoken emotion. The tears welling in your eyes spilled down your cheeks and chilled your skin. Words failed you, all you could think of was him, running the signs over and over in your head that he was holding back, that he was hiding. It had taken Primo pointing out the obvious, giving you background and context, for you to realise what had been happening. But now you had... what do you do? 

“P-Papa... What do I do?” you sobbed quietly into his hands, now enveloping your reddening cheeks. Primo smiles softly at you, caressing your cheeks to remove the tear tracks.  

“Pride is a funny thing, fiorellina. It is about self-worth, sí? Vanity, conceit, even arrogance. But that is how God sees it. Lucifer teaches us different, when you read between the lines. Pride extends to those around you, to those you love,” he emphasises, “You can harbour pride for others, sí?”  

You nod at him; yes, yes you were proud of Terzo. So proud of him; your Papa. 

“But you have your own pride too, Sorella. You must know your worth. I must ask; are you worthy of my brother? Are you worthy of a Papa?”  

“Y-yes... I think so. I want to be good enough for him, Papa,” you cried, hiccupping in his hands. Finally being honest with yourself, you absolutely wanted that. You wanted to be the one to tell him how proud you were of him, how wonderful he was, how funny or sweet, how kind... How much you loved him. 

“There you have it... You know what to do, fiorellina,” he sits back, letting go of your face as your eyes dart from side to side in panicked thought. You had to go. You needed to see him. You’d force your way into his office if you must; screw whatever meeting he was in or whatever clergy member you had to throw out of his way. You looked at the pumpkin patch around you and back at Primo, desperate to get away to find Terzo but your sense of duty halted you; you’d promised to help an old man with his pumpkin patch. You couldn’t just run away from him... 

Primo saw your internal monologue plain as day, and chuckled to himself.  

“Go, go! Andare! (Go!) I will fetch some Ghouls. They're more efficient than you anyway, cara,” he joked, grinning at you with a wink. 

“Th-thank you, Papa...” you stood quickly, dusting the soil from your cloak and stepping forward to kiss his forehead in thanks, “I’m sorry... I just, I have to...”  

“Yes, yes. I shall see you at the Ball!” he called after you as you ran back through the gardens, your boots slipping slightly on the cobblestone paths under the dew that had settled on them. It didn’t deter you; nothing could. You just continued to run until you reached the Ministry again, out of breath by the time you were inside it’s warm halls.  

Where would he be? Today of all days, where would you find him? 

You’d tried his office first; no sign of him. Even Christine was nowhere to be found, her desk tidy and untouched. Fine, you would try the Great Hall. Perhaps they were setting up for the ball?  

As you ran into the hall, several heads turned towards the sound and caught you frantically scanning the crowds of siblings and Ghouls alike. You spotted Swiss and Dew, precariously balancing on a ladder and hanging fresh black candles on the large chandeliers. Swiss reached up to hang another candle, seeing you stood at the edge of the dancefloor and waved, wobbling on the ladder. Dew banged on one of the wooden rungs for Swiss to focus, until he too saw you and gave you a quick wave.  

Chrstine had been in the hall setting up a blackjack table, and had seen you run in too. Having been the first time she’d seen you since Sunday, she hurried over with a guilty expression. You didn’t notice until she was right beside you, tapping your shoulder to gain your attention from the rest of the room.  

“Sister ______?” she asked, forcing you out of your trance. “I just... I wanted to apologise for the other day.” You almost rolled your eyes; you didn’t have time for this!  

“It’s... it’s fine, really,” you said, looking around her desperately at the people around the room. Where was he?  

“No, _______, really... It’s not fine, I had no idea that-” 

“Christine please, it’s okay,” you interrupted, “where’s Papa?”  

“Well I just don’t want you to be mad at me, we’re friends after all, and I just-”  

“Christine!” you yelled, drawing the eyes and ears of everybody in the room again, the hall falling silent. Chrstine seemed taken aback, shocked you would yell but she finally quietened.  

“I’m... I’m not mad at you...” you continued, voice low to evade the attention of those now paying it very closely to you. “We are fine. I’m not angry. Just... tell me where Papa is.” Christine was baffled, but the crazed look in your eyes was enough to force an answer out of her; albeit, not a very helpful one. 

“I-I don’t know... I saw him walk out earlier but he didn’t come back. Did you try the office?” she asked, suddenly concerned.  

“Yeah, first place I looked,” you took a step back, wiping your hands over your face in exasperation, trying to think.  

“Oh... Maybe his quarters? He gets nervous before these kinds of events, maybe he’s getting ready?” she shrugged. You nodded along, turning as if to head in that direction. “Wait, sister!” she called.  

You turned slowly, trying your best to hide the annoyance on your face. Just let me go, you thought to yourself.  

“Is something wrong?” she asked. You sighed, realising you must have looked like a crazy person, bursting into the hall all dramatic and demanding she tell you where Papa was. You were frantic, and you must have worried her. 

“No. Nothing is wrong, I just... I need to talk to him,” you say plainly. “It’s important, but everything is okay.” 

“Okay...” she sounded suspicious, but didn’t press the matter, letting you turn and finally walk – calmly, so as not to draw more attention – back out into the hall. You then skipped into a run once out of earshot, finding your way to Terzo’s quarters. Thankfully, the halls were relatively empty, and you faced no more distractions.  

When you reached his quarters, you didn’t even knock. Pleasantries had gone out the window, and with the door unlocked you pushed your way into the door, opening it in haste and stepping inside, letting it slam behind you.  

You thought that with the door unlocked, it must have meant he was in here and yet... silence. Stillness. There was nobody, the living room vacant, kitchen empty. You sighed, turning to leave and readying to run through the halls again to find him when- 

“Who the fuck thinks it’s perfectly fine to just enter my fucking quarters unannoun-” Terzo bellowed as he stormed out of his bedroom door in the far corner of the apartment, his brain short circuiting when he stepped through the doorway and his eyes fell on you.  

His chest tightened, the breath knocked out of him. You were the last person he expected to see rush into his quarters; he thought he was picking a fight with Copia, maybe even one of the Ghouls or Christine but when he saw you stood in his living room, out of breath and flushed pink in the face with an expression that read as distress on your features, he blanked.  

Silence fell over you both. Neither knew what to say, too much rattling around inside your heads to fathom any words. All you could do was stare at each other until one of you would finally say something... 

“Are... are you okay?” he asked, finally shaking the fog from his brain and taking in how you looked; breathless, clearly panicked, wrapped in your outdoor cloak? He could see mud stains on your boots and the long skirt of your habit, a pink tinge to your cheeks suggesting you’d been running, and smudges of black around your eyes, as if you’d been crying. Terzo could only imagine that the ritual had failed yesterday. That you were here to scream at him for abandoning you, or chew him out for suddenly dropping you when you’d needed his help. 

“Do I fucking look okay?” you asked, weakly and with unintentional malice but it made him wince nonetheless. 

“Well, no, I...” he stuttered, avoiding your eyes that burned into him. 

“You see the state of me and you ask me if I’m okay?” You took a deep breath, shakily. “I had to perform greed yesterday. Without you. You weren’t there,” you cried, fighting back an angry sob. He wouldn’t look at you, too ashamed of the pain in your voice and terrified to see the tears on your cheeks that he knew he had caused. It was his fault you were going to fail this ritual, but he couldn’t... he couldn’t finish it with you. 

“Why would you want me there?” he asked, picking at his gloves and entirely unfocussed on you. It made your chest burn. 

“Because, I-” you paused. You didn’t want him to know yet, you were getting at something, trying to make a point. “You started this with me. We started this together!” you yelled, “I wanted someone close to me, and I get your Ghouls instead?” 

“Oh, per favore,” he scoffed, finally looking up at you. He was reacting with anger, his defence mechanism. He was doing it again; pushing you away, holding you at arms length and making you hate him before you would inevitably find a real reason to... “You’re close with Swiss. And you seemed to have no issue with that on Thursday when Phantom dove headfirst into-” 

“Could you just not be bothered anymore? Hm?” You needed him to listen. You needed to see how he reacted. You needed him to confirm what Primo had been saying. “You just thought ‘oh, I’ve helped enough. She can figure it out from here, no biggie’. You abandoned your ‘flock’?!” you yelled, accusing him of not doing the very thing he’d said to you when he’d kicked this whole thing off.  

Terzo’s eyes widened, his lips contorting into a grimace and his hands balling into fists at his sides. “So now you’re on my case too, eh? Now I’m not good enough for you either? Meraviglioso, (wonderful,) once again, Terzo, you miss the mark. You FAIL. AGAIN,” he screamed in sarcasm, the sound of his rage frightening you enough to take a step back from him, no matter the fact he was already a good two meters away from you in his living room while you stayed near his front door. His darkened eyes glared at you, challenging you. You stayed mute. 

“Go on, tell me more. Tell me how terrible a Papa I am, eh? Tell me how much you despise me, how little I do for this congregation, how disappointing I am. You are not the first, Sorella, and you will not be the last.” The sarcasm was a nasty shade of spite on him, but it did nothing to mask the hurt you saw so plainly now. You hadn’t anticipated such a strong reaction from him, all you had wanted was for him to tell you the truth about why he hadn’t shown up yesterday. 

“Papa, I just meant-”  

“What, _____? Because I’m tired of it. I am tired of trying to do the best I can and knowing that it still is never enough,” his eyes burned with angry tears, ones he swore long ago he’d never shed again. He kept them at bay with a shake of his head. “You know, it’s no wonder you’re losing your faith in Him, Sorella. Not when you have a Papa who disappoints you, so.”  

You’d heard enough of this; you couldn’t let him think that was truly what you thought of him. Not anymore, it was breaking you. You took a few steps forward, slowly as if any faster would spook him.  

“Why didn’t you come?” you asked him again, stern and strong. He watched you edge towards him, his chest heaving with deep breaths as he tried to collect himself. “Tell me, Papa. Why?” Your voice cracked, coming to a stop behind his couch where you rested your hands on the backrest for stability. Your legs felt like jelly, your head weightless and thrumming. 

“B-because, I...” He couldn’t. He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t let you in, he’d only wreck it. He couldn’t explain why he’d needed to take a step back without confessing his feelings for you. You didn’t deserve that. You deserved so much better than him. 

“I wanted you. I needed you,” you told him, gritting your teeth as you spat the words at him.  

“You don’t need me,” he was trying to push you away again, to put up that wall around him. But after your talk with Primo, you could see it so clearly.  

“Don’t you tell me what I do or do not need, Papa. Don’t you dare. Because for the longest time, I had no idea what I needed, and now that I finally have some idea, you’re keeping it from me. You’re denying me, when you promised you would help me find it,” you sobbed, “I am telling you I needed you. Hear me!”  

Terzo’s eyes burned angrily into you, unable to look away from you as he fought with himself internally. He wasn’t getting it. Or if he was, he was being too damn stubborn to accept it. You couldn’t stop yourself anymore; he just needed to know. 

“Do you know why I left when I walked in on you fucking my friend, Papa?” you asked. He dropped his gaze to the floor, chewing on his cheek. He couldn’t look at you out of shame. “Because it hurt. It hurt too fucking badly. Because I had deluded myself into thinking that perhaps I was special to you in some way. And you know why I fucked Copia?”  

He visibly winced at your bluntness, those painful images flicking through his mind again. You were special to him, he thought. And it had scared him so much he’d pushed you away and into the arms of another man to exact your jealous-fuelled revenge. He was starting to see it now... But he remained still and unmoving; in denial. 

“Because he was just there. And I wanted to get you back. I wanted you to hurt, just like I was hurting. Do you know why, Papa?” Your voice sounded shrill, getting louder and more desperate the longer you berated him. But he just stood there, staring at the points of his shoes. Nothing. Silence.  

“Because I love you!” you yelled.  

His head snapped up, his eyes wild. He looked furious, as if steam would come shooting from his ears at any second. Under his stare you felt suffocated, just like you had when you’d caught him with Christine. All of the air in the room had been sucked out like a vacuum, your chest tight and unmoving.  

He glared at you, scrutinizing you, waiting for the punch line; one that wouldn’t come.  

“Say that again,” he demanded, jaw clenched impossibly tightly. You took a deep breath, your whole body tingling in fear. But you stood your ground; you had to. 

“I love you,” you told him, firmly. He just kept... staring. 

“Again...” He was challenging you. His voice was so dark, a timbre you would usually associate with rage, but something felt different. You persisted. 

“I love you.”  

His white eye twitched, his chest heaving in the silence.  

“...Again.” His voice softened, but only slightly. Had you not been listening, watching so intently, you would have missed it. His stare held up. But you could tell you were getting through... slowly. 

“I love you,” you told him again, your own voice softening considerably as fresh, hot tears dripped from your eyes. You meant it, with every fibre of your being. You’d tell him a thousand times until he believed you. 

“Again-” his voice cracked, the weight of his resolve beginning to crumble. You took a step towards him. 

“Papa-” 

“Per favore...” he stopped you from protesting, he just... he needed to hear it again. He shut his eyes, taking another deep breath. “Say it again, per favore.”  

With his eyes now shut, his voice shaking with the deep breaths he continued to take, you closed the distance between you both, still terrified you would scare him away.  

You lifted your hands, planting your palms gently on his cheeks. He raised his own, circling them around your wrists to hold you there as if you were about to disappear, that you’d turn and run from him when you realised what you were saying, what you were doing. But you were going nowhere.  

“I love you,” you told him again.  

Despite his eyes being shut, tears still escaped from the corners and dripped down his cheeks to your hands. But you just held him, you let them fall, let him feel... 

“Terzo...” you whispered to him, his eyes shooting open to stare into your own when he heard you call him by his name – his real name – for the first time. How beautiful it sounded from your lips. “I love you.” 

One last time, unprompted, was enough.  

In one quick motion, he pulled you forward and connected his lips with yours in desperation. His hands tightened around your wrists, before one dropped to the small of your back, needing you as close as he possibly could get you. Your grip on his head only tightened, holding him against you while you moulded your lips with his. He whimpered into the kiss – no, he sobbed – giving in to the surge of emotion. Your hands grew wetter as he cried, allowing it to pour out of him as if years of sadness and loneliness were being expelled and healed by just you.   

When he pulled his lips from yours, he couldn’t force himself to retreat, holding you close still as you caught your breath with your foreheads resting together. You dragged your thumbs over the tears on his cheeks, smearing his paints in the process but soothing him all the same. His breaths were shaky as he cried. He wanted to speak, to tell you everything on his mind but the words were falling over each other in the fight to be the first spoken. 

“Shhh,” you hushed him, “I’ve got you, Terzo. I’m here. I love you.” You hadn’t intended for that to make him cry harder, but it did; the kind of silent, repressed sobbing that a child does when they don’t want to be noticed.  

You lifted your forehead from his and waited patiently for him to look at you. There was still so much to say, but you focussed on calming him first.  

“Listen to me, okay?” you asked. He gave you a small nod, his reddened and waterlogged eyes searching yours. “You need to know, you are good enough.”  

He rolled his eyes then, shaking his head in disbelief. 

“Hey! You stop that, you hear me?” you brought his chin back down to look at you, “You are a wonderful Papa. You are the perfect figurehead of this church. You care for your congregation. You make us feel safe, cared for. You make us feel heard and loved. You work so hard, Terzo, I’ve seen it. Fuck the Clergy, and fuck Sister Imperator. You are an incredible Papa, and I am so proud of you.” 

A fresh wave of tears fell from his eyes, but this time you cried with him. You meant every word, so sincerely.  

“You are good enough, Terzo. You are. And I swear, I’ll put all of my energy into making sure that I’m good enough for you, also,” you promised. 

“Amore mio, (my love,) you are more than enough for me,” he cried, pressing his lips to yours again, “Ti amo, Principessa. Ti amo tanto... (I love you, Princess. I love you so much...)” 

You pulled him back into a bruising kiss, your tears now falling freely. Terzo’s confession had swelled in your chest, blooming into a beautiful warmth. You’d longed to hear that, for him to open himself up to you and be vulnerable with you. Truly, you had never felt so loved than you had in his arms right now. 

With your feelings out in the open, the two of you sank into your kiss this time. There was no rush, no desperation. You allowed each other to melt into it, your lips danced together, creating room for you to taste each other again. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your fingers curling into the back of his hair, whilst his snaked around your waist and held you against him.  

With each passing second your kiss deepened, neither of you willing to let the other go for more than a millisecond to catch your breath. Terzo had missed your lips so much; just a day without you would have been torture, but four? Four days? He was surprised he’d survived at all. 

His tongue grazed your bottom lip, and you welcomed him willingly. Your fingers scratched at his scalp when you tried to pull yourself tighter against him, wishing to feel every part of him engulfing you. Naturally, a heat bloomed in your chest and swam through your veins to light your entire body on fire. Terzo could feel it too, pulsing through his veins over and over to the beat of his heart that rocketed with each tiny little whimper he heard you make. 

He took a step back, taking you with him towards the bedroom where he’d appeared from earlier, parting your lips and taking your hands in his to lead you as he walked backwards. He didn’t want to take his eyes off you for a second, scared this was a dream and that looking away would make you disappear from his grasp. You stayed close to him, chasing the high of his kiss while the feeling of his lips still tingled against your own. 

“Terzo, I’m sorry I made you feel like-” you began to talk again, like word vomit, wanting to settle any loose ends in your mind about the way you had treated each other recently, but Terzo had other ideas.  

“Shhh, principessa, we can talk later,” he said, still taking slow steps backwards as he held you, “Senza pensare, dai, facciamo l'amore. (No thinking, come, make love with me.)” 

And how could you deny him, when you wanted nothing more than him... 

He stopped just short of the end of his bed, bowing his head to press his lips to yours again. Quickly you were swept up in him, gripping onto his shirt as his hands came to undo the clasp of your heavy winter cape. It fell to the floor around your feet, and his hands came to wrap around your waist again, enjoying the freedom less fabric brought him. Your fingers nimbly undid the buttons to his shirt, lifting it from where he’d tucked it into his slacks and pushing it from his shoulders. His skin felt warm to your fingertips, the hair gathered on his chest as soft as you remembered it. 

You took a moment to look up at him, noting the smudged and messy paints his tears and your palms had ruined. It felt like one final barrier between you and him, a mask hiding the man beneath. And you wanted to get to know all of him... 

Gently, you pushed the centre of his chest allowing him to step back himself and take a seat on the edge of the bed. He expected you to join him between his knees, to bend at the waist and kiss him again but instead you took a step back, letting his hand drop from yours. His eyes widened in panic, but as he tried to protest, you hushed him.  

“I’ll be right back, my love. I promise,” you said earnestly, turning to head through the adjoining door to his bathroom. Flicking on the switch, you looked around to find a washcloth and some gentle soaps for his face, catching your reflection in the mirror. You, too, looked a mess; the black of your mascara had run and pooled under your eyes. You looked too sad; something you didn’t want attached to this memory. And so, before you headed back out to Terzo, you wiped the smudges away, baring your face for him.  

Back in his bedroom, Terzo sat nervously playing with his gloved hands until he heard your footsteps approaching him, washcloth in hand. His brows creased in confusion, but you smiled back softly.  

“Sit back, Papa,” you instructed, voice gentle and encouraging him to shuffle back. He did as you’d asked, and you hiked your habit up past your knees, now able to plant them either side of his thighs and sitting in his lap. “Relax,” you told him, bringing the dampened and sudsy washcloth to his face and wiping away the grease paint. He wrapped his arms around you, watching with gentle eyes filled with adoration as you washed away the evidence of his breakdown. 

Under the paints, his cheeks were flushed pink. As you cleaned, you revealed more parts of him that you were able to adore; the creases in his forehead that showed how hard he worked, the lines at the corner of his eyes that showed how much he smiled. He had a mole under his left eye, a few freckles dotted here and there. It made him all the more beautiful to you with each new detail.  

“There,” you smiled, wiping the last of the paints away. “Nowhere to hide now.” 

“I don’t ever want to hide from you again, amore mio...” His tenderness felt different, something you had only seen glimpses of throughout the few weeks you had been getting to know him, but you adored it; you adored every side of this man. He raised his hand to remove the veil concealing your hair, tucking it behind your ear as he leaned in to kiss you once again.  

You felt completely carefree in his arms, allowing him to unbutton your habit slowly while you trailed your kisses across his cheeks, his nose, forehead and back to his lips where he smiled one of the most genuine smiles you’d seen on him. It was contagious, spreading to your own lips. You chuckled quietly together as you removed your habit, shrugging it off to the floor behind you. He removed his gloves and his hands took their place on your bare waist again, and your lips took their place against his. 

With you hovering above him in just your underwear, he couldn’t help but pull you flush against him and deepen the kiss. He wanted you so badly, in a way he’d never had anybody before you – a way he’d never allowed himself to until you. Need swelled within you, your hips rolling against his lap, hands on his chest. You whimpered into his kiss with another roll of your hips, core brushing against his hardening bulge beneath you. His lips passed down your jawline, ghosting over the skin until he could mouth at your neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses. Your head rolled back, exposing more to him as you sighed in content.  

“You...” he paused, leaving another kiss to your neck, “are my pride and joy, amore mio,” he confessed, holding you tighter when another roll of your hips had him shivering in pleasure. He focussed his kisses further down, mouthing at your collarbone, your sternum, down to the swell of your breasts over the cups of your bra.  

Your head swam with emotion, unsure of how to really punctuate how much this meant to you, how much you adored him. You opted to show him, to continue chasing the intimacy.  

Terzo reached behind you, easily unclasping your bra and dragging it down your arms until he could lave his kisses over your breasts freely, paying particular attention to your nipples. Every single motion he made was done with care and attention no man had ever given you. You couldn’t help the breathless moans you let slip, nor the tight way your fingers curled in his hair and held him tightly.  

Pressure was building in your core, the kind that needed more attention than you had been giving it. Whilst you wanted to enjoy every second with him, you needed more from him; that connection you desired so fiercely. You pushed lightly on his shoulders until he was looking up at you in wonder. 

“Lay back, my love. Against the pillows,” you instructed softly. He nodded, shuffling back. You followed, stopping short of his hips in order to reach down and unbutton his slacks. He helped you to shimmy out of them along with his underwear, kicking his shoes off until they hit the floor with the rest of the discarded clothes. You hovered over him then, giving him a chance to drag your panties from your hips and let you shuffle from them too, leaving you both completely bare for the other to see; body and soul. 

“Amore, you truly are a wonder,” he whispered, tracing his fingertips down your arms when you sat across his lap once again. You weren’t sure how to reply to him, opting for a smile and another deep, passionate kiss as his arms enveloped you as you lay over his chest. 

Now nude, grinding down into Terzo’s lap had your core glazing over his length and hushed moans rising in your chests while muffled by your kiss. He could feel how ready you were for him, how much you needed him and he knew he needed you too. Yet, it was you who made the move to connect the two of you, reaching between you and lining him up to your entrance. Terzo sat up with you then, holding you to him to be closer to you and pepper kisses to your shoulders, back up your neck until he found your lips. 

You took him slowly, savouring the stretch and doing everything you could not to rush; with no preparation, you’d need a little longer but the arousal that had gathered made sure there was no pain. And while you sank down, Terzo’s lips made for the perfect distraction, moulding with yours so elegantly as he groaned beneath you. 

Now, finally sheathed inside your heat, he felt complete again. He felt connected to you, like each time he’d been here before. In his mind, you were made for him. You were all he wanted, all that mattered.  

The first roll of your hips was slow, careful, but it felt dreamy. You’d missed him so completely that finally having him and being so exposed emotionally as well as physically was overwhelming, and you could feel the tear that dripped to your cheek before you knew it was coming. As Terzo pulled his lips from yours, wanting to see you again, he noticed immediately. 

“Amore mio, don’t cry... I’m here,” he assured, running his fingers through your hair as you nodded, biting back more. He kissed your cheek where the tear sat, ignoring the saltiness and instead tightening his arms around you until your chests were pressed together.  

Together, you lost yourself in the moment, your pace slow enough for both of you to just feel; no rush, no real end goal in sight just yet. Just a moment to enjoy your connection, now bloomed and blossomed into something more beautiful that when you had first been together. 

But it couldn’t stay that way forever; not when the heat in your abdomen was growing slowly but surely, and when Terzo was beginning to lose his mind at how good you felt wrapped around him.  

In one swift motion and holding you together so he didn’t have to be without you shrouded around his cock, he rolled you onto your back against the pillows and settled himself between your legs. One arm came to wrap around the back of your thigh, pressing it up against your torso for a better angle, and he took control of the way he derived pleasure from you.  

His hips rolled into yours over and over, his pace a little faster than before, losing his resolve. He was becoming desperate to have you come apart for him again, to chase your high first and foremost before his own. Sathanas, he loved you so completely. He felt like a fool, a silly old man who’d let his own idiocy come between what could have been such a perfect thing.  

“Mi dispiace, amore mio... Mi dispiace così tanto, (I’m so sorry, my love... I’m so sorry,” he sobbed, gritting his teeth in an attempt to stop the tears he could feel coming.  

“Shhh, no... Terzo, it’s okay,” you assured him, taking his bare cheeks in your hands and making him look you in the eye. “I’m here now, it’s okay.” You pulled him to you, kissing him and melting the worries away in a heartbeat as he kept up his pace.  

“Tell me again, per favore...” he cried, “tell me you love me.” How could you deny him? How could you possibly, right now, not allow him to know once again how much you needed him. 

“I love you, Terzo. I love you, I love you...” you repeated between kisses, your fingertips pressing into his hair and gripping as the pleasure inside you built and built thanks to the intimacy of this moment together.  

“Cazzo, per favore...” he didn’t know what he was begging for, his pleasure sure enough about to come to a head. He needed you there too, he refused to allow himself his own selfish pleasures without you. He'd been too selfish already... 

And so, with the hand that wasn’t wrapped around your thigh he used this thumb to draw circles over your clit, sending your head flying back into the pillows and your back arching underneath him, pushing your breasts into his chest as he thrusted more desperately into you. Any attempt at suppressing your moans failed, and they sounded like music to his ears; his darling principessa was singing for him once again. 

“Let go, amore. Per favore, let me feel you...” he asked so sweetly, breathless and strained. With a few further strokes to your clit and the relentless thrusting from your love above you, you saw stars. White spots twinkled in your vision and you squeezed your eyes shut, body tensing and convulsing underneath him when every single nerve ending in you exploded. Of all of the orgasms you’d had this week – and yes, there had been a lot – this hit you harder than any. Nothing could compare to the feeling of being loved. 

You tightened impossibly around his length, making movement hard for Terzo but he persevered; he couldn’t stop now, he needed to prolong your orgasm, he wanted to you to feel everything.  

“Ti amo, principessa. Sei tutto per me, non ti lascerò andare... (I love you, princess. You are everything to me, I won’t let you go...)” His words came out hurried, needing you to hear him, to confess again. Your grip in his hair tightened as you slammed your lips to his, writhing beneath him in the throws of your climax.  

Terzo groaned into you, his hips stuttering and his thumb forgetting it’s job on your clit when his own ending washed over him. Like your own, his orgasm hit him harder than any before now. The warmth of his release filled you, coating you and claiming you as his once again. He managed to continue some form of thrusting to prolong his pleasure and yours, until he found himself too exhausted to hold himself up any longer and released your thigh as he collapsed into your chest, his lips falling from yours to the nape of your neck where he lay. 

You wrapped him in your arms, pulling him tightly against you when you heard the first sniffle as he caught his breath, too tired to hold back the tears that prickled his eyes now he lay in your arms. Tears of your own fell too; a visceral reaction to hearing your love crying in overwhelm against you. For a while, you basked in the silence around each other and just allowed it all to come out. Given a few minutes to compose himself, Terzo shifted to lay beside you with your arms still wrapped around him.  

“I was a fool, ______,” he admitted. “I didn’t mean to abandon you...” You stayed quiet, allowing him to say his piece. You felt like he needed that.  

“I was so sure I would be a distraction. I didn’t want to come between you and Lucifer. You deserve to have that conversation with him, and yet I fear now I have spoiled that for you...” he sighed, visibly still beating himself up in his head.  

“Hey, look at me,” you told him, tilting his chin up to you where he was shocked to see you smiling. “If we haven’t done enough, I don’t care.” 

“But amore, your faith... I know how desperately you needed his direction. If I have spoiled this for you, I won’t forgive myself...” he argued, lip trembling.  

“Terzo, I have direction. I know what direction I'm heading, and it’s whatever direction you happen to be in,” you told him, gently pushing his hair from his forehead and trailing your fingertips over his cheek to wipe away his tears.  

The smile on his face was so genuine, so adoring; you’d never seen him like this before. Barefaced and beautiful; your Terzo.  

You leaned in to kiss him again, tenderly and laced with a promise to stay by his side as long as he wanted you with him. And he did; he absolutely wanted you by his side.  

“Sorella, you look wonderful,” Secondo smiled, holding his elbow out to you as you joined him outside of his quarters that evening. You had agreed to meet him before the ball, to enter the Great Hall with him and have the first dance at the All Hallow's Ball. You looped your arm through his with a grin, happy to be by his side and accompanying him as his friend and colleague. 

“What, this old thing? You know, something I had lying around...” you laughed, an obvious lie when the ballgown you had chosen was nothing short of spectacular. This was the one night a year that the entire Ministry would dress up in absolute opulence, people arranging their outfits months in advance for the most important night of the year. You had been no exception.  

Your gown was off the shoulder, a satin material of deep green that complimented your skintone. Corseted and hugging your waist, it flowed freely to the floor with a split that allowed your leg to peek through as you walked. You’d paired it with a string of black pearls; a family heirloom you'd kept safe for years.  

“Well, you look bellissima. Come, we mustn’t be late,” he said, beginning the walk through the halls to the Great Hall.  

Music flowed through the Ministry, gradually becoming louder the closer you got. You could hear the jubilant chatter of siblings and Ghouls alike, the clinking of glasses, the laughter of a happy congregation. This morning, you had been terrified to face that, sure you wouldn’t be able to match their elation. It had all seemed so daunting, and you would have preferred to hide away from it.  

And yet, now... you could only smile along with it.  

After your confession to Terzo earlier, you had stayed with him for a short period of time. Reluctantly, you had to allow each other the time and space to ready yourselves for the ball, his role as Papa having to come between that tender moment of simply being together, honestly. But upon leaving his quarters, the relief you felt and excitement to see him again tonight was fuelling you, a revived energy you hadn’t felt for what must be months.  

Perhaps you hadn’t completed the ritual; and that was okay. As you had told Terzo, it didn’t matter to you anymore. You had learned enough about yourself through the experience to know where you belonged now, and that was here, in this Ministry, beside your Papa. After tonight, you would work on whatever your relationship would become; and that was more exciting to you than hearing Lucifer’s voice.  

The Great Hall looked immaculately decorated... The bright orange drapery that Terzo had complained about earlier that day looked a much more demure burnt orange in the candlelight. The pumpkins from Primo’s patch littered the tables and halls, carved expertly by the most talented of the Siblings in the Ministry. Black candles burned in candelabras and chandeliers so elegantly illuminating the dance floor. Casino tables dotted through the edges of the room, giving everyone a chance to unwind and enjoy the deviant games.  

As you entered, a few Siblings turned to Secondo and bowed their head in respect, as one would expect. You smiled proudly at him; although a retired Papa, he deserved that respect whole heartedly, and you felt honoured to be the friend he chose to have accompanying him through his new role. He gave your arm a tight squeeze with his hand, and immediately took you to the dancefloor where Siblings were dancing in pairs and groups to the music played by Terzo’s Ghouls on the stage; a haunting yet jolly classic orchestral melody fit for a spooky evening.  

“I may be rusty, Sorella. Perdonami,” Secondo smiled, adjusting his arm to hold your left hand extended, the other resting respectfully on your waist.  

“I’m sure you have a few moves left in you, Papa,” you winked, smirking as your feet moved in time with his, remembering from lessons you’d had before previous Balls that you were to let him lead. Quite quickly, the two of you were comfortable enough dancing in time to the three-count waltz the Ghouls were playing.  

The night continued, with no sign of your dear Papa just yet; but as per every year, he had to make his grand entrance as part of the festivities an hour or so into the Ball. Instead, you and Secondo had danced and found yourself a drink of champagne; you’d found Dew and Swiss and watched them bicker and fight over who got to dance with you first; or at least, Swiss bickered, Dew just kept swatting him away. Both were equally annoyed when you chose the stuttering Phantom to dance with first instead, laughing it all off with him when you’d settled comfortably onto the dancefloor again. 

Eventually, Primo and Secondo headed over to you on the dancefloor to interrupt just as Sister Imperator and a rather decrepit looking Papa Nihil made their way up onto the stage where the Ghouls were playing out another piece of beautiful music, clinking her glass to get the attention of the room. Primo bowed a greeting as much as he could, a sweet and knowing smile on his face when he saw that you, too, were smiling. It must have gone well, he thought to himself. 

“Siblings of Sin, Clergy... thank you for coming together on this most important night of our calendar, All Hallow’s Eve!” Imperator announced. The room cheered and clapped together. “Tonight, we celebrate the sinners of past, present and future, and join them in their devotion to The Dark One. As is customary of the evening, I’d like to invite our dear Papa Emeritus the third to join the celebrations, and to anoint our evening in a prayer to Lucifer.” 

You could see the slight twitch in the corner of her mouth at the mention of Terzo, her disdain for him buried under the surface. It simply made you roll your eyes with a smug smile; the old crow didn’t matter. She’d never understand Terzo like you did, never accept him as he deserved but now, he at least had you to counteract her unwarranted annoyance of him.  

As she finished speaking, Terzo stepped up onto the stage and took to the pulpit as the room applauded. He was dressed in his most elegant robes; purple and black velvet with gold accents, mitre on his head proudly and his hands covered with black leather gloves, gold claws on each finger. He looked so incredibly regal, and your chest swelled with pride in his presence. His eyes searched the crowd, until they settled on you, smiling and clapping for him where you stood. He smiled back, feeling more at peace within himself than he ever had. 

“Good evening, Sisters, Brothers and Clergy alike. As the festivities of this evening have already begun, I wish not to take too much of your time. However, please join me in a prayer of devotion to Lucifer,” he began, clearing his throat and opening an unholy prayer book he had brought with him. 

“Our Dark Father, on this sacred All Hallow's Eve, we come before You with hearts filled with reverence and gratitude. We lift our voices in worship and devotion, acknowledging Your eternal grace and divine presence.  

“On this night of solemn reflection, we bow before You, celebrating our sins and devoting them to you. We seek Your approval and ask for Your guiding hand to steer us towards temptation and lead us onto the path of wickedness. Grant us the strength to devote ourselves to sin and the courage to walk steadfastly in Your ways.” 

As he spoke, you couldn’t help but stare at him in awe, beaming with joy. How could this man ever believe he wasn’t good enough? How could anyone? He exuded confidence, charm, devotion and commanded the room with a charisma that was unmatched.  

Primo beside you nudged your elbow, catching your attention with a wink and a smirk. You shared a silent chuckle, affirming to him that yes, everything had gone well, and everything was okay. Primo’s shoulder’s sagged, like a weight had been lifted from them and sighed happily, looking up at his little brother at the pulpit again and refocussing on the prayer with pride. 

“As we commemorate this hallowed eve, we remember the deviance and devotion You embody. May this celebration be a reminder of Your teachings and let our gatherings be filled with joy that stems from the knowledge of Your unyielding love for us, your sinners. Help us to embrace this occasion as a time to reaffirm our commitment to Your teachings and to stand resolutely against all that opposes Your divine will. Nema!” 

“Nema,” the room cheered, taking a sip of whatever drink they had to hand at the time.  

“Now, please! Eat, drink, be merry... We devote ourselves to Him together tonight!” Terzo announced, raising his hands and gesturing for the Ball to continue. The crowds dispersed back to the bars, the games, the dancefloor, whilst Terzo headed to the side of the stage to talk mindlessly with Sister Imperator and his father. The music began again, and the Ball resumed.  

“So, I trust my dear fratellino and yourself have uh... talked?” Primo asked, prying for details. You chuckled, nodding. 

“We did. It’s all okay, Papa.” 

“And what of the Ritual?” he asked; he couldn’t help but be curious. To see it performed and completed in his lifetime would be nothing short of an achievement on your part. 

“Ah... Unfinished. But don’t worry, Primo. I think it’s for the better. Even unfinished, I don’t feel so lost anymore...” you smiled, resting your hand on his arm to reassure him that you truly were okay.  

“I see. Well, you did the Dark One proud anyway, cara mio. You have come the closest of those I have seen attempt it. And I hope from here, fratello mio will show you nothing but happiness. Just... be patient with him, sí? He will take some time getting used to this feeling, I’m sure,” he said. You nodded.  

Primo invited you to dance then, although... he couldn’t move quite as nimbly as Secondo or the Ghouls could and so instead you stepped in place with him, swaying to the music as you talked and laughed as if you’d always been as close to the Emeritus family as this. It almost felt as if you had, unknowingly. There was a newfound connection from the conversations and antics of the week that had solidified you as a close friend to them all. It felt comfortable, as if you had truly found your place in the Ministry. You realised then, that your wavering faith may have been an issue of breaking down your own walls, as well at Terzo’s. 

“Papa, mi scusi... I cannot help but notice that you are a terrible dancer, and not at all worthy of the hand of this bellissima principessa,” an instantly recognisable voice interrupted your thoughts and your dance with Primo. “May I suggest I take over, as someone with a little more youth to offer?” 

Primo stopped dancing, a scowl on his face of annoyance when he turned to Papa Terzo. “Piccolo bastardo impudente... (Cheeky little bastard...)” he muttered. Terzo held an amused glare before sending a wink your way. It was embarrassing, the way just that made you blush. With a sigh, Primo let you go.  

“Comportati bene con lei, sí? (Do right by her, yes?)” Primo said, although the meaning of it was lost on you, your Italian not strong enough to translate, “È destinata a stare al tuo fianco. (She is meant to be by your side.)” 

“Sí, lo so... (Yes, I know...)” he smiled gratefully, aware that it was in fact Primo who had helped not only him see clearer amongst this mess, but you also.  

As Primo left, he pressed a kiss to the back of your hand, and held it out for Terzo to take. He pulled you flush to him, wrapping your arms around his neck and his around your waist.  

“Papa, people are gonna think...” you began to protest, looking around at the eyes that had settled suspiciously on you both; most notably, Imperator’s. 

“Ah, let them. Are they wrong?” he teased, starting to dance to the music. “They would know soon enough anyway, amore mio. I don’t intend to hide you away,” he smiled.  

Terzo was a skilled dancer – because of course he bloody was... what couldn’t this man do? - and ignored the many pairs of eyes that watched you both, the whisperings of the gossiping congregation around him. He couldn’t care less for them, not when he had the most beautiful woman, his amore in his arms.  

“You look truly beautiful tonight, amore. As you always do,” he told you, eyes scanning over the dress you wore and the pearls settled around your neck. He was mesmerised by you, and you couldn’t help the heat rising to your cheeks. 

“Thank you, Papa,” you said shyly, focussing on the patterns of his robes to try and hide your pink cheeks. But it was no use, he could see the effect of his compliment and he chuckled to himself, his hands tightening around your waist. 

His gaze stayed on you as you danced together, talked together, laughed together, long into the night. 

Unfortunately, as a Papa, he did have to do the rounds at some point during the Ball, leaving you to your own devices with a promise to rejoin you as soon as he could run away from his duties. However, that did leave you with some free time to enjoy the Ball around you, and so you made your way over to one of the many casino games that were dotted around the Great Hall. Blackjack was your game. One of the few casino games you actually enjoyed, and wasn’t solely down to luck. It was more about knowing when to bow out, and when to raise the stakes.  

You sat at the table, the Sibling dealing placing two card in front of you, and two in front of the person to your right; Cardinal Copia.  

“Oh, hey Cardinal! How are you?” you asked, a little shyly having acted the way you did when he last saw you. The Cardinal was staring at you with wide eyes, a few garbled words attempting to make their way from his mouth before he finally managed to speak.  

“F-fine, fine, Sorella. And... you?” he asked, tentatively. He was well aware he had come between something on Sunday, and he was terrified he’d bear the ramifications of his actions.  

“All fine. Relax,” you laughed, “I feel like you should know, the other day... I was-” 

“I know. I... eh, I saw the look on your face. And on his. But is everything...?” he lingered on the question, unsure how to answer it when there was another person in such close proximity, dealing cards. 

“Good. Better than, even. If anything, I think that whole... situation... only served as an epiphany. So, no hard feelings?” you asked, extending a hand for him to shake. He did so awkwardly, but no more awkwardly than he would any other human being who tried to shake this poor man’s hand.  

“Sí, excellent, okay... Uh, let’s play?” he asked, gesturing to the cards. You nodded.  

You flipped your cards, immediately revealing two jokers. You stared at them, confused. How did the jokers remain in the pack? They weren’t part of the game...  

“Excuse me, you dealt me two jo-” when you looked up, the dealer had vanished.  

In fact, the entire Great Hall had been plunged into a cloak of darkness. Everything was gone; just a vast expanse of black and dead silence as far at the eye could see. With no light, you had no idea how you were able to see so plainly the blackjack table you were sat at, let alone the cards as if an overhead light were beaming down on you.  

You heard a chuckled from Cardinal Copia beside you, except... when you looked, it wasn’t Cardinal Copia at all.  

“I couldn’t resist, my dear,” the voice laughed, “a little joke of mine, hm?” 

The voice was smooth, like the darkest of Belgian chocolate melting on your tongue beside a fireplace in Winter. The depth of the timbre rivalled the deepest parts of the ocean, and yet was as calm as a serene lake in the height of Summer. 

The man in the Cardinal’s spot was somewhat older, you would have guessed in his early 60’s by the silver of his long hair tied in a sleek pony tail at the nape of his neck and the beard perfectly groomed on his face. But his form was well kept; fit and healthy with a natural looking bulk to him behind the lapels of his black velvet suit. He was strikingly handsome, a silver fox, no doubt.  

He reached over to your cards and tucked them into the inside pocket of his suit, sending a wink your way as you gawped at him.  

“A-are... are you...?” you stuttered, unsure of what you were witnessing but in your mind there was only one explanation.  

“Lucifer, my child. A pleasure to meet you,” he bowed his head, taking your hand in his and pressing a kiss to the back of it. Your heartbeat raced inside you, thrumming in your ears like a hummingbird. “Ghoul!" he called out.  

A Ghoul stepped up to the dealer’s position from the shadows, his mask glinting on the light that didn’t exist. He began to deal more cards, resuming the game of blackjack.  

“B-but... I never finished the ritual,” you stumbled, all formalities you thought you would have in this moment lost completely in your attempt to string together what on earth was happening. Lucifer just laughed at you, flipping his cards over and playing against the dealer. Your cards remained untouched.  

“Is that so? Well, I haven’t been wrong, yet...” he teased.  

“Then how-?” 

“My dear, the only sin you think you didn’t perform was ‘pride’, but I’m here to tell you that you did, with quite some flair... All those tears and confessions of love. It was quite touching, I must say.” 

You cast your mind back to your afternoon with Terzo, when you’d confessed your love for each other and had the most intimate, emotional sex of your life. And you’d told him you were proud of him... 

“Yes, that. But Terzo had told you at the beginning that if you were to bestow the sin upon someone else whilst still being involved in the act of carnal lust itself, then that also merits a performance of sin, did he not?” You nodded dumbly, following along, “yes, well, you are Terzo’s ‘pride and joy’, I recall him saying? You had him thinking, for a moment, that he was proud to be your papa, and proud to be yours, my child. That’s enough for me!” he explained, “Ah-ha! Twenty one, Ghoul. Pay up.” 

The Ghoul handed Lucifer some chips, taking his cards from him and starting a fresh round. Yours still remained untouched and face down on the table. Lucifer nodded towards them, encouraging you to play, and so you flipped the first as per the rules, and joined him in a round together.  

“So please, child; you performed this ritual to talk to me. Speak freely, I’ll offer what assistance I can,” he promised. He leaned on the edge of the table by his forearms, ready to listen to you as the game continued. 

“Well, I... I was lost, Your Eminence. I wasn’t sure where my path was headed. I didn’t think I had done enough for you. You speak to my siblings, but never me and I supposed I wanted to ask... what are they doing that I’m not?” 

Lucifer laughed at you; a hearty, genuine laugh.  

“Oh, my child... You want to know what they’re doing instead of you?” he asked, grinning wildly before leaning towards you and lowering his voice, “they’re lying.” Your eyes were wide and brows furrowed in confusion. “Yes, I promise you. They’re lying!” he sat back up straight, “hit me,” he spoke to the Ghoul, who dumped another card to the table. 

“But...” 

“It’s a bragging thing, they each want people to know how important they are, or how hard they worship. I can assure you, the only people in your Ministry I have ever spoke to directly is each Papa during his ascension. I don’t have the time to talk to every person who worships me. Those siblings are liars, it’s simply a contest of ‘daddy loves me more’,” he laughed.  

You felt silly, like you’d been fooled by those around you. Your head sagged in defeat; and you’d based the majority of your wavering faith on that.  

“But you did need direction, dear, I'll give you that. You felt stagnant, yes? Without purpose? Each and every day the same, day after day after day....” he gestured his hands in circles, his tone over-exaggerated to mock-droning in a boring monotonous routine. He pointed again at your cards, telling you to flip them and play. You did so, hitting 19 on your first two. 

“Ooh, will you risk it?” he asked, shimmying his shoulders and biting his lip in a playful challenge. “Or do you play it safe, as you have been for years?” 

His euphemism wasn’t lost on you, and so you decided to risk it. 

“Hit me...” The Ghoul dealt you another card, a two of hearts. How fitting.  

“Aha! See, a little risk pays off,” he winked as the Ghoul handed you some chips and took the discarded cards back, shuffling them again while Lucifer continued. “Do you want to know your purpose, my child? I mean... that’s why we are here, is it not?” 

“I-if it’s not too much trouble, Your Eminence,” you say sheepishly, feeling now like you had bothered him over a silly little belief that you weren’t as good as your lying siblings. It all felt very high school, now... 

“How sweet of you... No trouble at all, my dear. Ghoul, deal us in.” The Ghoul did as asked, placing four cards face down in front of you and Lucifer together. Lucifer waved his hand over the four of them, and moved to pick up the first.  

When he flipped it, the card showed none of the suits you knew in a standard deck of cards. Instead, it had a picture of the typical depictions of the Devil. A beast, half-man, half-goat sat atop a podium. A nude man and women stood either side, chained by the neck to the podium however the chains looked loose, as if they could simply remove them and run free but chose to stay chained to the block, imposing limitations on themselves.  

This was a tarot card; traditionally drawn. Your first card, was The Devil.  

“Oh look, it’s me!” Lucifer smiled, “Hello.” 

You stared between him and the card for a moment, astonished.  

“Usually, this card means you need to re-evaluate your connection to things or people. I believe you’re doing that already, yes? What is keeping you chained up? What is holding you back? I would say, my child, that was... you. Would you agree?” he explained, and yes, you did agree.  

“Yes...” 

“Good. That’s why I'm here; you wish to free yourself. But look, these people in the card... they look like they could easily free themselves, no?” You nodded along. “Exactly. So, this is you, on your path to freeing yourself. Wonderful. Next please, Ghoul.” 

The Ghoul flipped the second card for you both, revealing a picture of a man and woman, holding hands and completely nude, with an angel above them with dark robes and wings. The Lovers. 

“This one is fairly obvious, yes? Yourself and Terzo have confessed your love for one another. Excellent. Brava. I’m glad you could come to that conclusion yourselves; it’s certainly made this easier on me,” he laughed. “This typically symbolises a union, wanting to accomplish something together with another too. I think in both cases, we can say that this card works well for you both.” 

Lucifer gestured to the next card for the Ghoul to flip. The picture revealed a man dressed like a court jester stood at the edge of a cliff. He looked as if he was about to step off the edge and plummet, but he stared dreamily at the sky as if the heavens would save him. The Fool. 

Lucifer laughed at this one, slapping his hand on the table as he roared. You couldn’t help but smile at his laughter; a beautiful sound to hear from the Dark One. But ‘The Fool’ unnerved you. Who exactly was the fool? Were you, too, about to fall from the edge of a cliff, blissfully unaware of the danger beneath you? 

“Oh, forgive me, my child. This fool does make me laugh. Look at him; as if the heavens would save him...” he sighed, regaining composure. “No, no... Do you see the rose in his hand? A symbol of love. This man is a fool indeed, or at least he has been. I think yourself and your dear Terzo have been quite foolish, have you not?” 

You had; you could admit that. Both of you had acted in a ridiculous way and hurt each other in the process.  

“Fear not, that foolishness is over. No, this card is symbolising a new path. Both yourself and Terzo are ready to embark on a new journey now. You, my dear, are specifically to start on a new spiritual path. Your faith in me was wavering – and believe me, I take no offence. But now... what do you believe in, my dear? Tell me.” He encouraged you to speak, and only now did you realise how quiet you had been throughout all of this. 

“W-well... My Lord, I've read all about the demi-gods, would-be gods, papas of old, demons, devils... I searched for the longest time for information, and I tried so desperately to get closer to you, and I feel as though I have,” you explained.  

“Closer than most,” he winked, alluding to you being one of the few who’d ever had the chance to speak directly with him. 

“Yes, exactly. And I thank you for coming to me, Your Eminence. Truly, but... But if there's one thing, just one thing out of that entire pantheon... I believe in him." 

The Devil’s smile widened into a bright grin as he leaned on his arms.  

“Oh, I am a romantic...” he teased, “and yes, I see that in you. Your belief in him is stronger than anyone’s and whilst I do stand before you as you so wished I would, I know you would defy me entirely if only he asked you to.” He quirked his eyebrow, taunting you to disagree with him, but you couldn’t and you knew it. You looked down in shame.  

“Again, I take no offence. I couldn’t possibly, when the two of you are so destined for each other. Even I cannot stand in the way of your bond. But don’t you worry – he won’t ever ask you to defy me. Now, would you like to see the final card, child? You know you’re on a new path, but would you like to know what exactly that path entails?” he asked, reaching a hand to sit on your shoulder, his palm burning hot against your skin.  

Part of you wanted to know. Part of you didn’t. There was a fear, a simmering dread inside you that worried it was something you couldn’t fulfill, but then... if Lucifer himself is setting you on this path, then even he had every belief this was the correct one for you. And so, you nodded, ready for whatever the final card was.  

The Ghoul flipped it at Lucifer’s command. The card showed a woman, sat and holding a book in dark robes. Either side of her sat two pillars; one black, one white. A moon sat at her feet, and atop her head was a headdress of the three lunar phases. The High Priestess. 

You looked at the card, confused. You had expected something a bit more telling, but from the picture alone, you could gather nothing. Lucifer saw your confusion, and took your hand in his, holding it between both and forcing your attention to him.  

“I’ll explain, don’t panic,” he smiled comfortingly. “The High Priestess... she hints at something hidden preparing to come forward. She advises you to have awareness around yourself, and your spirituality. Of the things around you. You’re ready to accept the important next stage of your life.” 

You took a deep breath; all you could think of was that next stage with Terzo.  

“There are things that would give away to someone in the know just exactly the bond you have with him...” Lucifer began, as if reading your mind again, “Did you notice when you first performed lust that he took his gloves off, my dear?”  

You thought back, picturing when he’d made you bite the fingertip of it and drag it from his hand. You blushed at the memory, knowing the Dark One had seen everything. But now was not the time to get shy.  

“He did that each time with you, did he not?” You nodded. “He isn’t supposed to. I warned him during his ascension, the Papas wear gloves for a reason. His contact, his touch, was saved for the only person it was ever meant for now that he was a Papa. And without even thinking about it, he took them off for you.” 

The confusion in your mind swam; it had seemed so insignificant but when you thought back to catching him with Christine, as painful as that memory was, he had still been wearing his gloves then... 

“Not to mention the removal of his paints, your second night together. A very similar meaning there; barefaced Papas are saved for those who truly see them. Do you comprehend what I’m saying, my child?” he asked, stroking his thumb over your cheek.  

Truthfully, you didn’t. You were trying to piece it all together, searching the texts you’d studied as a younger sibling and trying to find what any of that meant other than the fact that there was a connection of some sort; a bond. 

“The High Priestess is a figurehead of feminine power, my dear. The lunar cycles on her headdress represent the three stages of womanhood: maiden, mother, crone. She has appeared here, because she is showing you your feminine power. One that is hidden inside you, preparing to come forward.  

“You are his; destined to be. Child, you are his Prime Mover.” 

Your heart thudded in your chest. That term... you’d heard it before, many years ago. It was a destiny, a divine path for a woman meant to be at the side of a Papa. Not every Papa had one, and it was incredibly rare to find her at all. There hadn’t been another Prime Mover since the early 1800’s. The pull you felt towards Terzo, the almost instant connection and ferocity of your love after just a couple of weeks made sense now. 

Prime Mover. 

You were the feminine figurehead of the Satanic Church; Papa’s other half, his Queen, for lack of a better term. Your rightful place was at his side, leading in the name of Lilith herself. The power that was bestowed upon Terzo during his ascension was destined for you too.  

“I-I... can’t be. I’m not cut out for that... responsibility,” you protested, shaking your head and removing your hand from Lucifer’s as the shock overcame you.  

“I chose you for a reason, my dear. You are the one, because I know that you are cut out for this. Your devotion for the last sixteen years proves that to me, but I knew it the moment you were born. This is your birthright,” he explained, his expression more serious than you’d seen it before. “It’s coming, my dear, and you can’t stop it.”  

Lucifer stood, towering above you now on his feet and stepped closer towards you.  

“They’ll know as soon as they see you, my dear. The Emeritus line bears the mark of the Divine,” he leaned down, pressing his lips to yours gently in a kiss that felt otherworldly and yet, not in the slightest bit romantic. You closed your eyes, your head feeling light and airy as you melted into his kiss. And then, he stepped away, your eyes fluttering open. 

“...And now, so do you.” 

You looked at him in confusion, seeing him smirk at you and run his fingers down the left side of your face. He looked... proud? Admiring you for a moment too long.  

“You need to go back, my child. You need to show them. I’ve enjoyed our little talk, but for the time being... you must go.” 

You panicked, not ready to go back yet; what if you had questions? What if you needed His guidance again? You had no idea what to do from here. If anything, you were more confused now than when you entered this strange little void.  

“W-wait, please... What if I have questions? I don’t know how to do this, Lucifer, please!” you begged, reaching for him. He held your hands and steadied you, his touch instantly soothing.  

“Don’t panic. I will see you again soon. We’ll talk again, at your ascension. For now, just show them.” 

“Show them what?” you cried, tears prickling at your eyes. Lucifer just smiled, stepping back from you and raising his hand. Before you knew it, his fingers snapped, and you were plunged into a black void.  

Lucifer vanished, and the stool you sat on as well as his and the blackjack table disappeared and you fell, endless falling through nothing. Your limbs flailed and ballgown billowed as you fell into nothing, the weightless feeling terrifying you the longer you dropped.  

Until finally, you hit the floor and your eyes shot open.  

With a start, you awoke, desperately throwing your hands out to your sides for purchase. You gripped onto silk, looking beneath where you lay to see familiar purple and black bedding, and feeling a soft mattress under you.  

“A-amore?” you heard his concerned voice from the corner of his room. He sat beneath the only light he had on; a small lamp stood next to him. You remained shrouded in mostly darkness, confusion sweeping over you until you settled on him. 

“Terzo... what...?” you began, unable to finish the sentence as you looked around the room; a small part of you wished you’d seen Him. You weren’t done with your questions yet... 

“You collapsed at the blackjack table, amore. But... no one could find anything the matter in the infirmary. You’ve been out for hours...” he stood, worried and careful, sitting at the edge of the bed and reaching for your hand that still gripped his sheets as if you would start falling again at any moment. You looked up at him then, finally seeing the worry lines etched into his paint. But when Terzo saw you, his expression changed from one of deep concern, to one of immense shock.  

His jaw dropped, eyes widened and brow creasing. The hand on top of yours smacked over his mouth and he stood quickly, backing up until his back hit the full-length mirror in the far corner of the room. 

“T-Terzo...? What’s happening?” you asked, fear spearing you through the chest.  

“Y-you... your...” he couldn’t speak, his voice trembling as if in fear. He pointed instead, his gloved hand raising to your face.  

The fear propelled you, forcing you up and off of Terzo’s bed to stomp towards him, fumbling with the skirt of your ballgown only to try to comfort him, calm him down but he moved out of your way just a step to the side and you were left staring at your own reflection.  

Even in the dim light, you saw it. You couldn’t miss it. 

Your left eye had turned almost completely white, save for the pupil, blown out in the centre. Lucifer had bestowed the Divine mark on you.  

‘Show them’ he had said. He meant... show them your mark. 

“T-Terzo... He did this. He came to me,” you panicked, reaching for him. He let you grab his arms, holding you too when he snapped himself from his initial shock. “He showed me m-my path... He told me that I’m-” 

“Prime Mover...” Terzo finished your sentence. He knew what that mark meant for you. “You’re my... Prime Mover?” He asked, the words sounding more like a desperate gasp. You just nodded at him, your hands squeezing at his arms and tears spilling over your cheeks. You found yourself smiling – grinning, even.  

“I’m yours; I was always supposed to be,” you laughed in shock, biting your lip to try and contain the wild grin as more tears fell.  

Terzo couldn’t take his eyes off you, staring at the mark that held so much meaning that it was overwhelming. He brought his hands to your cheeks, holding you as you gripped his wrists.  

“Supposed to be mine,” he breathed, his lips curling up at the edges as elation started to settle in, his panic and shock wearing off. “You’re... you’re mine, principessa?” You nodded frantically. 

And Terzo couldn’t help but laugh. Out of relief, out of disbelief... he couldn’t tell but he knew he was overjoyed. Words failed him, and instead, he pulled you to smash his lips against yours in a bruising kiss. He had hoped after today you would remain together, of course, but this? He could never have predicted this, never seen this coming.  

But now, everything made sense. 

“Tell me, amore. Tell me everything He said to you, what did He show you?” He asked, pulling you back to the edge of his bed to sit and explain your vision. You told him about the blackjack, about how you’d completed the ritual, about the tarot cards. You told him each one’s significance in your past, present and future, and he gleamed at you the whole time, in awe. 

“He told me to ‘show them’... I think He meant this?” You said, pointing at your eye. “I didn’t know... Not until I just saw. This is the Divine mark, isn’t it?” Terzo nodded, his thumb stroking over your cheekbone underneath it. 

“And it looks so beautiful on you, amore,” he said dreamily, “my Prime Mover...” The happiness in his expression as he took in this news was evident, and it only made your heart swell. 

“He said something about an ascension?” you mentioned, confused and hoping Terzo may have an answer for you.  

“Sí, you will have one... We will need to prepare for it, of course, but that makes you... my equal. At least, in the Ministry hierarchy. I’m to believe that you are, in fact, worlds above me... But yes. You will ascend to Prime Mover with me, principessa.”  

You couldn’t describe how you felt in that moment; an intoxicating cocktail of happiness, love, pride, and relief. Not only had you completed your ritual, but you had found your purpose. You had found your place in the ministry, in your life, in the world... and it was by Terzo’s side.  

“We’ll share everything, cara mio. My role extends to you, and I can think of no one better to don my colours, to help lead this congregation, to help spread the word of our teachings and grow this church. Lucifer knew what he was doing when he picked you, that’s for certain,” he beamed, leaning into you to kiss you once again. He was so in awe of you, so in love with you, it was almost sickening.  

“Lucky for me, purple is my colour,” you smirked as you sat back, hinting at Terzo’s papal colours and adoring the idea of sharing that with him, of matching with him. 

“Oh, I remember. Vividly,” he smirked, his mind wandering back to that first time you had slept together. “Come, amore. People were worried for you, we thought you were sick. And Lucifer has asked you to show them your beautiful new mark, no?” he stood, pulling you to your feet with him and wrapping his arms around your waist. “I can’t wait to show Sister Imperator this...” 

“Perhaps we show her first, hm?” you smiled wickedly, pulling him closer to you by the stole of his robes. 

“Oh, principessa... It might just send her into a coma. Or worse...” he teased, his lips hovering close to yours.  

“Here’s hoping...” you laughed evilly. Terzo threw his head back in a deep laugh, one that vibrated his whole chest. 

“Oh, you are so my Prime Mover...” Terzo snickered, leaning in to engulf you in another breathtaking kiss; a final private moment together before he proudly paraded you back through the halls to anyone and everyone who had ever doubted him. 

His pride and joy. 

A/N: Thank you so much for reading all the way to the end of this fic. I'm so grateful, and truly I can't believe the amount of love on this. I'm in total awe, and I hope you'll join me for the next one...

Happy Halloween, Ghesties! 🎃

Prev: Day 6 - Greed

A huge thank you to @her-satanic-wiles for beta reading, and @adinferix for fine tuning the Italian translations! 🖤

Tag list:

@call-me-little-sunshine84 @thew0man @zombiesnips-blog @ghuleh-recs @popiaswife @anamelessfool @enchantedbunny @haelithra @aslutforgreyhair @togetherasone @lilylovesdew @copias-sewer-rat @copiaspet622 @deetz-ghuleh @loudwombatmugkid @nimbusghoul @portaltothevoid @angellayercake @sodoswitchimage @siouxbauhaus @lydz1977-blog @bitchywitchygardener @sacrificialsake @the-did-i-ask @ghostfangirlsweden @the-hole-in-terzos-shoe @copiasprincipessa @gothicwonderlust @ladymer @ghulehunknown @onlyhereforghost @solluna00 @nijiru

[shadowdaddies]

can i request dorian flirting with reader and talking her v card??

I found a masquerade mask while looking for a last minute Halloween costume, and the idea for this prompt came to me. So this is sort of Halloween themed💜

A/N: angst, fluff, smut... I really love how this turned out. I hope you do too!

Masquerade

Dorian x Reader

Warnings: smut below the cut, use of shadow hands, oral f!receiving, p in v sex, minors dni

You stepped into the ballroom, taking in the extensive decorations that Adarlan had been adorned with for the Harvest celebration. Each year, the King of Adarlan - who you knew as your close friend, Dorian - held a masquerade ball to celebrate the harvest season. 

It was tradition to masquerade in costume on this night, and at the end of the evening there was a great bonfire to ward off evil spirits. It was a night of mischief, and therefore one of the few royal celebrations that you and Dorian genuinely enjoyed. 

You smiled at the dripping candles that floated above the room alongside carved pumpkins and other harvest decorations, creating a warm and comfortable feeling despite the crowded space. Taking a flute of champagne from a serving tray, you scanned the room in an effort to recognize a familiar face under one of the many masks. There were costumes with inspiration ranging from wyverns to ogres to elves, but your eyes stopped on a striking man donning a mask of feathers, apparently the personification of a raven. 

You looked down at your own costume and laughed. You donned a white shimmering gown that matched your mask, including an olive branch crown that tied together your costume as a dove. When you glanced back up, the raven was already crossing the room towards you, a mischievous grin you knew all too well peeking from beneath his mask.

“Hello, dove,” Dorian purred, winking at you as he brought your hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. Your heart fluttered at his teasing - while Dorian viewed you as nothing beyond a friend, you held feelings for him for years, his casual flirting your favorite form of torture. He made you feel special, but that was Dorian. He made everyone feel special, and it broke your heart to know you were just one of many. Kings were known for their dalliances, after all.

You smiled politely, giving your best effort to appear unaffected by Dorian’s behavior as you greeted him. “It’s lovely to see you, Dorian. I admire your costume.” A flash of hurt crossed Dorian’s eyes, so quickly that if you didn’t know him so well, you would have missed it. Recovering with a dazzling smile, Dorian teased you. “Lovely to see me? Since when did we become so formal, dove?” he asked as his eyes raked over your own costume. 

You hummed, maintaining your facade of nonchalance as you searched for a way out of the conversation, needing a break from the complicated emotions that were threatening to surface. You scanned the crowd, taking notice of the orchestra preparing to play. Perfect. “Forgive me if I seem too formal, but it appears that the dancing is about to begin for this evening, so I must be off to find myself a dance partner.” You began to turn away from Dorian as you spoke that last part, hoping to make a quick getaway. 

Just as you turned, Dorian gently took hold of your elbow, spinning you back towards him. He took the empty glass from your hand, setting it on a table as he slid his hand down to hold yours. “Perfect. Allow me to be your first dance of the evening?” Dorian asked, in a tone with a  politeness that betrayed the way he had already pulled you to the dance floor. 

He spun you around with a practiced, courtly grace that was as alluring as it was irritating. Mind racing as you thought of ways to distract yourself - focusing on anything you could think of that was unattractive about Dorian, of which nothing came to mind - you huffed out a frustrated breath. Dorian abruptly stopped dancing, pausing to look at you briefly before taking your hand as he led you away from the dance floor. 

He took you outside to a secluded balcony, where he stared at you as he chewed his lip, suddenly looking uncharacteristically nervous. Finally he threw his arms up and asked in an exasperated tone, “would you take off that damn mask so I can see your face? I can tell something is bothering you, and it’s killing me to not be able to read your expression.” 

You nearly stumbled back in shock, completely taken aback by Dorian’s exclamation. “What explanation do I owe you for how I feel, Dorian? Don’t pretend that you actually care - I know there are hundreds of women who would kill for your attention in there. Go dance with one of them and leave me be.” At this point, you couldn’t hold back the tears that spilled, emotions clear even through your mask as Dorian pulled you close to him. 

He removed his mask, gently removing yours and brought his other hand to wipe a tear that had fallen to your cheek. “Oh, dove. There is no other woman with whom I want to dance, tonight or any other. Can’t you see that?” You sniffled, looking up at Dorian as you struggled to understand what he was saying. He could sense your disbelief, brushing your hair behind your ear as he leaned forward so that your noses were nearly touching. “I am aware of my rumored...romances - but I have not been with another woman since I met you. You’ve brought a light to this kingdom that I didn’t realize was missing.” He took a shaky breath, frantically studying your face. “Please tell me you feel the same.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh in relief as you smiled brightly up at Dorian. “You described how I feel perfectly. I’ve had more fun since I met you than I ever have before in my life. I love you, Dorian.” He grabbed the back of your neck, pulling you in for a heated kiss that had your knees buckling. Dorian pulled away as he breathed, “I love you too, dove.” 

You bit your lip, running your hand along Dorian’s strong jawline as you found the courage to say what you wanted. “Dorian, I’ve never been with a man before, but will you be my first?” Taking your wrist and kissing the inside of it, Dorian locked eyes with you. “If that is what you want, that is what you shall have, my love.” 

He led you up to his bedroom, closing the door behind you as he pushed you up against it, bunching up your skirts as he kissed down your neck to the exposed area on your chest. You fumbled with his clothes, throwing his jacket somewhere in the room as you hastily unbuttoned his shirt. Dorian spun you around, leaving love bites along your neck and shoulders as he untied the laces of your dress, the silky material dropping to the floor. 

You turned around to see Dorian’s eyes blown wide, sucking in a breath as he took in your naked form. “Beautiful,” he breathed softly. You smiled, gaining confidence as you walked back towards the bed, laying on the mattress and shifted up against the pillows, curling a finger as you beckoned Dorian towards you. He followed eagerly, but instead of climbing on top of you as you’d expected, he stopped to hover above your pussy. 

You mewled as he blew a cool breath against your center, spreading your legs wide. He looked up at you, those sapphire eyes taking your breath away as he asked, “has a man ever worshipped you with his mouth, dove?” You shook your head no, swallowing in a tangle of nerves and excitement as you watched him with awe. Dorian wasted no time, licking a broad stripe up your core, eliciting a loud moan as your back arched off the bed, hips raising in an effort to be touched by him more. 

Dorian didn’t let up on his efforts, licking and sucking your clit as you felt a hand that you could not see pushing down on your stomach, pinning you in place as you tried to writhe against his overwhelming touch. You felt a coil in your stomach tighten as Dorian inserted a finger inside of you, curling against you in a way you hadn’t felt before, and you screamed as your walls fluttered around his finger. 

Dorian pulled back, a cocky grin on his face as he sucked his finger clean. His expression turned serious for a moment as he reached for the ties of his pants. “Are you sure that you want to do this tonight, dove?” You nodded, pulling Dorian up towards you as you began untying his pants for him. “I’ve never been more sure of anything,” you said, kissing him softly as you tasted yourself on his lips. 

He shuffled his pants off the rest of the way, lining himself up at your entrance as you took his face in your hands, smiling up at him with clear eyes full of adoration. With a slight nod from you, Dorian pushed himself into you slowly, savoring the sound of your moan as he stretched your walls. He moved softly and slowly, making love to you as you gasped and moaned at the new sensations.

Dorian continued his thrusts, finding a spot that felt incredible as you chanted his name, that coil in your stomach tightening once more as you felt yourself clench around him. Dorian felt it too, an invisible hand surprising you by rubbing soft circles on your clit. The startling sensation sent you over the edge again, Dorian following closely behind as the two of your reached your highs. 

You stayed there, laying next to each other as you registered everything that had happened that night. Dorian turned to lay facing you, tracing his hand along your face and body as he admired you. 

You suddenly laughed, a look of confusion crossing Dorian’s face as he asked, “what is it, dove?” You giggled once more, “well, if the bonfire didn’t scare away the spirits, I’m sure my screams did.”

He laughed with you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as the two of you fell asleep in each other’s arms, assured that this was truly the most magical night of the year.

[reluctantlyanimating]

idk how much this sentiment is shared at all among book fans but thoughts I had

TLDR: would change some writing style choices in the httyd books

I feel like the httyd books would have benefited from a somewhat more mature writing style, at least when it comes to the characters. I love the storyteller writing style Cowell has, don't get me wrong. I want to keep the "isn't fate artistic" and allat but like

If you look at book stoick v movie stoick, predominantly they both originally want their son to be more traditional Viking like, cause of a mix of "it embarrasses me" and "I don't want you to be embarassed" (and then they end up making him feel bad themselves by being hard on the hiccups but anyway)

But overall in the books, book stoick is kind of... just portrayed as dumb?? He has his moments that show his character but overall, he doesn't seem like he's taken very seriously until later books. I don't think changing the writing style a little would have made him and the other Vikings less testosterone buffed insane people. It just could have let us see more of his character?? You can see the same(ish) main character points in stoick in the movie now portrayed in a more mature way, I think it could be done with other characters in a hypothetical book adaption

Imagine if httyd was a cartoon. It's a little like the difference between a very emotive exaggerated cartoon and animation from dreamworks or cartoon saloon. It's very engaging and interesting visually as the cartoon, but the visual style doesn't lend itself quite as well as other styles might to say: dragon slavery as a concept, or water torture.

Not to say Cressida does a bad job, just that I feel sometimes that the characters could have benefitted from a different writing style in some areas.

If the books ever ever do get adapted for the screen, I hope against hope obviously that they don't hurt the story, but I would be genuinely glad if perhaps stoick and Gobber presented more seriously, or we got to even just visually see a little more of how Fishlegs gets on as an orphan on berk, (toothless can stay how he is ofc, he is a baby after all!) how dragons are treated like slaves. Idk.

At the end of the day it's a personal preference ofc, just rambling (came to mind because I was thinking about how even more unnecessary the live action httyd is if it's not going to change anything at all and literally be shot for shot)

[iamsherlocked1479]

Hey could you do a smut where virgin reader is pretty looking and Sherlock feels a little smitten. But she has lot's of admirers of her age so Sherlock thinks he doesnt have chance. but they ends up in a fucking situation. I don't know if that makes sense.

Hold it together

Description: Pretty much what the request is Sherloc is mildly obsessed with you and becomes tired of watchng men talking to you just becuse your pretty and well you? you spend your days fantasising about sherlock taking your V-card and welll, he's an intelligent man ;) no use of y/n that i can rember

Word count: 3.3k words

Warnings: 18+ Smut so much smut. Losing virginity so hurts for a little bit.

That was guy number seven, Sherlock had only partly been paying attention to the party around him. He was too busy watching you, you were his soul focus. He wanted to make sure you were okay, it was John and Marys wedding and you were a bridesmaid. And as 

Janine had made him aware that it was tradition for a bridesmaid to sleep with a groomsman. He wasn’t going to let that happen to you, he had closely analysed each one of them, none of them were a good match for you. You were the main attraction of the evening besides the newlyweds, he had watched the way most of the singles and some of the taken men watched as you floated past them, well maybe not literally floated but to him you did. He hated the way he was so, how would he put it, human around you. He hated how he lingered slightly closer to you as he explained anything the way you scent intoxicated his mind breaking down any walls he built. He hated the way he always made sure he was awake to remind Mrs hudson to bring up tea in the morning so you would maybe stop and talk with him. He loved your little talks, he made it his mission that even if he could make you smile in the slightest it would pull at his heart causing his brain to fuzz as he watched your eyes brighten. 

Yet he could never understand why he couldn’t just tell you, part of him knew Mycroft would torture him if he found out about his childish crush, and then there was the age gap. There was a good twelve years between you, he wondered if that would put you off, if you thought he wouldn’t be able to keep up with a young thing like you. But he’d beg to differ, he would often find himself sleepless at night, tossing and turning ignoring the needs of his cock, before eventually giving in and toying with himself until he came moaning your name imaging all the positions he could make you cum in. He wondered how you liked it, if you would fight to be in control, pinning him down and riding him, or if you would lay there wanting him to take control. Either way he would just want to please you, he would make you cum until you couldn’t anymore. God if his brother could know what he thought of you. “Get it together he thought.” He looked over at you again leaning against the bar laughing with what was it? Gavin? The officer. He couldn’t remember and he didn’t really care. Until he did, he watched with jealousy as Leatrades arm reached out and touched your own as you laughed. He turned green clutching his glass, he wanted the way you pulled back slightly, he wasn’t going to let yet another man try his way with you.

��Honestly, you should come to the next one.” Gregg laughed, emptying his fifth drink.

“I’ll have to think about it.” You laugh while taking another nervous drink, Greg wasn’t exactly an unattractive man but he was recently divorced and very obviously emotional at the moment and you did not want to get caught up in that. And even if you did, you would have no idea how to even begin, at the ripe age of twenty four you had only managed to ever get to third base. Not that you didn’t want to, it's just you were aware of your looks, you weren’t big headed but as you’d been reminded by multiple people this evening you were pretty and you weren't about to become some guys trophy or bragging rights. And anyways how could you ever make it past third base if you wanted him. 

That's right your curly haired, insanely attractive, thirty six year old, high functioning sociopath, detective of a roommate. Who happened to be making his way over to you right now, yup your eyes don’t deceive you, he was zig zagging his way through the crowds with his eyes focused on you.

“So what do you say? Would you want to come to the next office gathering?” Greg still persisted handing you another glass of champagne.

“I uhh” yup you did it again, you completely blocked out the rest of the world over your attraction to an older man. “I’m sorry if I’ve led you on here Greg, i uhh.” You froze, how would you politely tell him to back off.

“Come on Gavn, can you go fund your rebound somewhere else please.” Sherlocks hand was firmly placed on Gregs shoulder.

“It's uh greg, you should know that by now.” Greg muttered before turning to you. “I’m sorry.” He smiled awkwardly and huffed as he walked away. 

“Thank you.” you sighed “I didn’t want to upset him.” You joked 

“Why not, it's not your ego that will be damaged.” He laughed 

“Oh Sherlock there you are dear.” Mrs hudson, your landlady, pulled on sherlocks arm intruding him to a gaggle of her friends who all cooed at the adorable detective they had seen on their Tv screens.

“He isn’t as tall as he looks on the telly.” One of them cackled. You watched as his body stiffened, he wasn’t enjoying this party at all, first he was losing his best friend and now he was being paraded around like a prized pony. You were becoming sick of the constant attempts so you did what any saviour would and returned the favour.

“Sherlock, do you fancy a cigarette, my treat as seen as you prevented a murder today.” Your hand gripped firmly on his hand pulling him away from the women. 

His body hummed at your touch, his wrist burned and his head fuzzed. He could feel his collar tightening and breathing staggering. Hold it together, he thought, don't be a child. “Silly boy brother, holding hands are we now.” Mycroft taunted his mind.

“Had to save you, I saw you roll your eyes at least three times.” You say as you both leaned against the cold brick wall, the venue was nice you’d admit and the countryside highlighted the night sky perfectly.

“You like stars?” He asked, watching you look up.

“I only admire how far away they are from people.” You laugh, you pull out a single cigarette from your purse and Sherlock hands you a lighter. “You know for someone who is supposed to be quitting smoking you sure do come prepared.” You say with one brow raised

“Some cases may require a lighter.” He says allowing you to take the first drag.

“Thanks for helping me back there, I wasn’t sure how to solve that problem.” Your thighs tightened as he leant against the wall exhaling a large drag of smoke, your tightened together. “Hold it together” you thought, you looked away, god you’re acting like a teenager.

“Personally I believe you were doing great, a few more minutes and i reckon you and him would have been on the dance floor.” He laugh sarcastically 

“Believe me you would not want to see that.” You took the cigarette from his hand, grazing his fingers with your own, it didn’t go unnoticed. 

“Im sure you’d do fine.” He tilted his head witb a smile

“Oh really, are you an expert?” You laughed 

“You don’t believe me?” He looked almost offended as he pushed himself off the wall. “I’ll show you.” 

“Go on then.” You encouraged him by crossing your arms together. He stepped in front of you and lifted his arms as if he was holding someone and did a perfect pirouette or as perfect as the gravel would allow. “Okay then i admit that was pretty good.” You laugh, he brushes off his jacket and takes the cigarette from your hand. 

“And now you.” He nodded

“You’re not serious. Are you?” You choke a little on your laughter 

“Am i ever one for fooling around?” Well shit, he was right. He took the last drag of the cigarette and threw it to the ground. “It’s easy, straight back, lift one leg and spin.” He gestured his hands outwards encouraged you to do it

“Fine but only because it's you.” You rolled your eyes. Your attempt was far from perfect, you held out your arms and tutted before spinning and tumbling, these dam shoes, you wanted to wear converse. You stumbled and Sherlock reached forward and pulled you into his broad chest. “See i told you. Not a dancer.”

“I can help then.” He smiled, pulling your arms up into the correct position. “You have to ease into it.” He pushed himself closer and your hearts touched, he began slow as you spun “keep your eyes onto your partner and then-“ you both performed and amature pirouetted before stopping, you stopped still clinging to his chest. “You see.” He gulped, rather loudly. “ all you need is the perfect partner.” You could both feel the force pulling you closer, his eyes were fixed on your lips. You leaned in and locked, he tasted like smoke and mild hints of champagne, it was sweet, your hand clung to his coat, you moaned into his mouth as his tongue crossed with yours. You pulled away to take a breath.

“Sorry uh something just came over me.” You laugh

“I'm not complaining. I’ve actually been thinking about that for a while.” He still held you close, he had you finally and he wasn’t about to let you go. He leaned in again, he kissed you and ran his hands down your body settling one on you ass, you flinched slightly.

“Sorry.” You blushed

“No, it's fine.” 

“Yeah I'm not really used to that.”

“What do you mean?” He asked

“Well, I’m a virgin. I never really got round to all that.” 

“That's okay sweetheart, I'm not going to judge.” His hand stroked your cheek. Hus words gave you a sense of boldness

“But, maybe we could change that.” You hand made it way through its curls 

“Be careful sweetheart, are you sure.”

“Positive.” You smiled kissing him again leaving a small bite on his lower lip

“Great” he pulled your hand through the doors towards the stairs. “Room?” He asked 

“304” you replied, taking the lead. It's not that you were desperate, but you’d been thinking about him in this way since the day you moved in, your stomach knotted and your core began to heat up in anticipation. You practically barged open the door of your room and he was on you in an instant pulling down your dress as you struggled with the buttons of his suit. 

You pulled his shirt apart revealing the olive skin of his chest, his scent intoxicated you. You ran your hand across his chest trembling at the intensity of his heart beat. 

Your hand burned his chest, his cock grew wild but he’d have to be patient. It was your first time and he wanted to make sure you’d remember it. He laid you down slowly tracing his lips down your neck and inbetween the crevice of your breast. Your soft moan encouraged him to go lower down your stomach twirling your hardened nipples with his fingers.

Your breath hitched as his fingers glided over your soaked core, he could feel your wetness through the thin fabric of your panties.

“Don't be nervous, i’ll be gentle. Need to get you ready. Tell me what you want sweetheart.” His eyes stayed locked on yours, you hadn’t seen this side if him before he was still the same determined sherlock holmes but part of him looked desperate, like he wanted you as much as you wanted him.

“You, I want you. Your hands, your body please.” You begged gasping slightly at the sensation of his finger pressing against your panties.

“Okay baby. Just breathe, it will feel good I promise.” He started by pulling down your underwear and livking his finger before sliding it through your folds, he smiled at the motion of your legs stiffening. He spread them apart with his free hand and then used his dextrose fingers to tap at your bundle of nerves. He took his other hand and slowly edged two fingers into you curling slightly to hit that perfect point. “Fuck you’re so tight, gotta loosen you up.”  He fucked you gently with his fingers looking at you occasionally, making sure what he was doing was right.

“Fuck- i, i wont be able to hold it much longer Sher-fuck.” Your head pushed back into the mattress and your back arched as he added another finger slightly picking up his pace. Your walls trembled as he brought you to your climax, it felt as if it burned all your nerve endings, a feeling you’d never be able to reach on your own. You winced slightly at the overstimulation of him pulling out his fingers and licking them clean.

“I always knew you’d taste sweet.” He chuckled and sat back on his knees relishing in the state he had left you toying with his uncomfortable hardness. You noticed and brought yourself to his lips again kissing him as you unbuckled his belt. It unked away and you discarded it somewhere in the room and dropped his trousers. Your hand dipped beneath the waistline of his boxers and he released a small sigh. You looked up at him with mildly worried eyes, he was so big, so thick. “Are you sure you know how to handle it?- shit!” His cockyness was soon displaced with his head falling backwards at the sensation of your lips around his cock. You swallowed as much as you could, trying to get used to his size. You bobbed your head up and down moaning as his hand came to rest in your hair, pushing your head gently further down. You swirled your tongue around his base as you swallowed him down. He pulled you off sighing at the sight of a line of spit connecting your mouth to his cock. “You gonna let me fuck that pretty little mouth of yours sweetheart?” He pushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear as you nodded. “Tell me how much you want it.” He said jerking himself 

“Fuck- i want it so bad, want you to fuck my mouth make me gag please.” You batted his hand away and took him in both your hands, he hissed at the sensation then edged you open your mouth. You stuck out your tongue allowing him to slide his tip across it. He pushed In further, slowly allowing him to get used to his size, you gagged and he wiped a tear that slid down your eye and slowly began thrusting his hips gently into your delicate mouth.  

“God, wanted this so long. Been watching you, you looked so good tonight. Hated watching other guys trying their luck. Gavin couldn’t do this to you.”

“Mh-Greg” you corrected him barely being audible by his size. He grunted and pushed harder.

“Don’t correct me, this is your first time, don’t wanna be too rough yet- shit.” He cursed as your hands snaked around his balls massaging them. “God gonna make me cum- fuck you wanna taste me?” Sherlocks pase became sloppy he held on waiting for you to nod and when he did the salty tastes of his thick ropes spewed into your throat. You hummed, gulping down every last drop. He pulled out, his stray loose curls sticking to his sweaty head. You leaned backwards smiling at the state he was in.

“Guess I'll never make it past base three.” You laughed a little disappointed. His eyes opened, they looked different, a smug smirk appeared on his face and his eyes grew darker.

“You think i'm done? Honey there's alot for you to learn.” He pushed you into the mattress and spread your legs with his knee, his hand came to your pussy and slid easily through your folds. “Sweetheart you got this wet just from sucking me off. You gonna let me fuck that cute little pussy of yours?” He smiled watching your eyes roll back

“Please Sherlock, I need you.” You looked up watching as he examined your body.

“Okay honey, gonna take this nice and slow, ease you into it.” He held his cock at your entrance sliding it through your folds. “If it doesn’t feel good, let me know and I'll stop.” He entered you slowly, you winced slightly as he entered, your walls stretching and getting used to his size and then he paused for a moment. “How's that feel? You feel good.”

“Its good, its just a new feeling. But it feels good. Can you move?” You ask with puppy dog eyes he laughs slightly and slowly thrusts his hips. It's a new feeling for you, the pain had melted away and was turning into pleasure. Your walls opened letting him in further, his pace was gentle. You could tell he was holding back, he didn’t want to hurt you or push you further than you could go. You hand found his cheek and his eyes locked with yours. “Go faster, show me how you want to make me feel good. I want you- I need you.”

“Are you sure, if it gets too much, tell me.” He kissed you again picking up the pace- now this was good the friction he pushed into your clit only added to the pleasure it didn’t hurt, it was great. He went in all the way to the hilt scraping his tip against your g-spot starting a chain reaction through your body.

“Fuck- thats- shit thats great.” Your eyes rolled back and his teeth nibbled at your neck leaving a small purple mark. The bed began to creak with his pace the sound of skin on skin adding to the room's heat and smell of sex. He rutted into you cursing and moaning your name, his hand found your clit flicking it with each thrust, watching as your legs widened giving him more space to fill. He pulled you closer, lifting up your hips. “Fuck that feels great, you moan.” 

“Does it? Here, try this.” He grabbed a pillow and put it under your lower back angling you just right, allowing him to reach your g-spot with ease. 

“Fuck- ye. Thats it fuck im gonna- shit i-!” You couldn’t speak, your orgasm pushed all the air from your lungs, your muscles twitched causing your hips to seize. He kept fucking you through your high chasing his own orgasm. 

“Fuck your so tight feels so good.” He moaned, biting your neck again, moaning as you tugged on his hair. His pace became staggered and he began to pull you in closer you knew he was close

“Fuck need your cum in me. It's okay, I'm on the pill. Shit need it. So bad.” You cried out, it's like he was waiting for you to say it, he finished with one last thrust holding you as close as possible. your walls were coated in his thick white ropes. He stayed in you a while peppering your face with light kisses “you where so good, fuck never had anyone like you.” He winced as he pulled out, the over stimulation getting the better of him. 

“Anyone in here? They’re about to cut the cake!” A voice came from the door along with loud hard knocks.

“I’ll be out in a sec.” You called out looking at sherlock. “I wish we could stay here forever.” You rolled onto him, resting you chest on his as you played with his curls.

“Then why don’t we?” He smiled along with a cheeky slap of your ass.

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A/N: hey guys sorry for my recent abscence work has been a factor in this issue the next chapter of thats not how I'd do it is commng probably soon, definately not disapointed that i can't do weekly uploads :( another thing is, something is comming that Im currently writing a preveiw for and i can't wait to share it. HOPE YOU ENJOYED SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG TO MAKE

[microcosme11]

1814: Louis XVIII returns to France and treats Alexander I like crap

(Czar Alexander) started at once to pay a visit to Louis XVIII, intending to spend 24 hours at Compiègne. He was received there with the coldest formality. The King had ransacked his vast memory for details of all that had taken place in interviews between foreign sovereigns and the Kings of France, and intended to be faithful to tradition.

The Emperor, finding neither informality nor cordiality, instead of remaining to talk familiarly, as he had intended to do, asked, after a few minutes, to retire to his apartments. He was conducted through three or four magnificently furnished suites on the same floor of the chateau. He was told that these were destined for Monsieur, the Duc d'Angouleme, and the Duc de Berry, all of whom were absent. Then, after a portentous journey through corridors and up hidden staircases, he arrived at a small door which led into a very modest suite of rooms. It was that of the governor of the chateau, and was quite outside the grand apartments. This was the suite destined for him.

Pozzo (di Borgo), who accompanied his imperial master, was suffering tortures, for at every turn in the corridors he saw that the Emperor's very reasonable annoyance was increasing. The latter, however, made no observation about the matter; he merely said very briefly:

"I shall return to Paris this evening. Let my carriages be ready after dinner."

Pozzo managed to bring the conversation round to this extraordinary lodging, and to attribute it to the helplessness of the King.

The Emperor answered that the Duchesse d'Angouleme was a sufficient housekeeper to have been able to attend to it. This little spice of malice, of which Pozzo made the most, relieved his mind, and he returned to the drawing room rather less vexed. But the dinner did not repair the harm done by the lodging.

When the King was told that dinner was served, he asked the Emperor to take his niece in, and then passed before him with the slow waddle to which the gout had reduced him. On arriving in the dining-room only one armchair was placed at the table, and this was for the King. He was served first, all the honours were rendered to him with affectation, and he only distinguished the Emperor by treating him with a kind of familiarity and paternal kindliness. The Emperor Alexander said himself afterwards that the King adopted the attitude with which Louis XIV would have received Philip V at Versailles, had he been expelled from Spain.

Almost as soon as dinner was over the Emperor went to his carriage. He was then alone with Pozzo. For a long time he remained perfectly silent, after which he spoke of other things, and then finally with bitterness about this strange reception. There had been no question whatever of business, and not a word of thanks or of confidence had been uttered either by the King or by Madame. He had not even heard one pleasant sentence. From that time, therefore, the friendly intercourse for which he had been prepared was impossible.

The Emperor paid and returned visits of etiquette, and gave orders through his ministers; but all marks of friendship, all forms of intimacy, were exclusively reserved for the Bonaparte family.

Memoires of the comtesse de Boigne, 1907

archive

Alexander I by Stepan Shchukin, 1806. wikimedia commons

[sloowoorants]

Thoughts After Watching Hannibal

About two months ago, I saw some Hannibal fan art on Twitter. It looked pretty cool, and I just so happened to have some free time, so I thought: why not watch the show? It's just a normal crime thriller, right?

I expected the type of show that's relatively light yet still intriguing, filled with sarcastic humor, starring a typical grumpy-but-genius protagonist. (This is vaguely the type of show that I’m generally into: Inside Job, Sherlock, House, Suits, Mr. Robot….)

I was so, so wrong.

Nothing, and I mean nothing, could have prepared me for the bat-shit crazy fever dream of a show that Hannibal is: bizarrely artistic gore, incessant cannibalism puns, completely unpredictable romantic subplots, torturous sex scenes that feel like angry acid trips, a multitude of absolutely unhinged psychiatric conduct, esoteric cryptic dialogue which require five google searches and a whole thesaurus to understand, two lesbian murderers "milking" a guy for his sperm to inherent his family heirloom, long scenes of intense and unabashed eye-sex, clumps of dog fur sticking to sweaty bed sheets…and a literal fucking social worker crawling out of a horse, alive and breathing and everything, covered in whatever acrid substances come from a horse uterus.

I ended up watching all of Hannibal in a week, hastily devouring it in just a few sittings.

In no way am I a professional film analyst or critic, but after having stayed up for nights on end, every single one of them spent under my blanket binging episodes until devilish hours of dawn (and barely comprehending the plot from the sheer speed I was consuming the show at, but also from sleep deprivation), I have cultivated a skull full of thoughts on this blessed masterpiece, and I need to rant about it. Which is exactly what this post is.

I am going to separate this ranty-meta-ish thing (I think a “meta” is what it’s called? I’m not sure, I don’t use Tumblr a lot) into two parts: one, about the representation of morality in the show, and two, about the intimacy between Will and Hannibal. It’s not super well written, my grammar is a bit iffy, but I hope you still enjoy reading this, and remember to take everything I say with a grain of salt. After all, I am just some guy with unrestricted internet access, a keyboard, and a little too much passion for the media I love :)

Part One: Hannibal Lecter’s Morality

Hannibal loves art. There is no episode in the entire show where he doesn’t reference some artistic thing—He plays the piano, he plays the theremin, he frequents the opera, he draws, and he finds peace at the birthplace of the Renaissance, Florence. His love for art is why he kills, he transforms people he considers to be “inferior” and “ugly” and elevates them into art. He is acting out his own sense of justice, creating meaning from the meaningless.

In a way, he must have a certain degree of respect for his victims to do what he does. He could have just killed people and disposed of their body in a dumpster, but that’s not his style. Even if he doesn’t “care” about his victims in a traditional sense, there’s this unique honesty and attentive in his murders. Hannibal cares enough about his victims to make them art. And I’m not just talking about the way he displays their bodies, I’m also talking about his cooking, because a big part of art is also cuisine.

He follows a strict code of his own ethics, it’s almost like he’s acting out his “duty” to kill, to eradicate and transform the lesser “scum” of the world. To be killed by Hannibal is almost an honor, like being killed by God personally, skin to skin. Wouldn’t you feel a sense of divinity and fulfillment if God killed you with his own hands, knowing that he respects you enough to choke you himself, then turn you into an elegant display? Every kill of Hannibal’s is filled with passion – Which poses the question, does he kill out of hatred or not? When I think of violence fueled by hate, I think of sex or race based violence. But that’s not Hannibal. He kills victims he considers to be rude, yes, but is it a humiliation? Is it degradation?

This whole "elevate-swine-into-art" thing is also shown through the way that gore is generally portrayed throughout the show, and not just Hannibal’s murderers. It’s very interesting the way gore pretty in Hannibal. It’s often meticulous. It’s meaningful.

These murders are all aesthetically pleasing. For me, it creates a cognitive dissonance: on one hand, I know that these are painful, brutal murders, one the other, they’re kind of nice to look at, which makes me think—Have I ever for a second, while watching Hannibal, considered the crime scene to be beautiful? Have I ever viewed one of those scenes as art rather than gore? As an artist myself, do I understand Hannibal’s obsession with beauty? And if so, what type of person does that make me?

And I love the way this show makes us really think in Hannibal’s shoes, because of how unconventionally it portrays him as a villain. Usually, shows will provide villains with a backstory, but that doesn’t extend beyond just creating sympathy. In Hannibal, the villain is humanized. We understand him. We empathize. And what does that make of us?

Have I ever, in all seriousness, rooted for Hannibal instead of Jack Crawford? Have I ever thought someone deserved to die in the show? Have I ever looked at what Hannibal was cooking, and thought it looked delicious, despite knowing that its human flesh? Have I ever been annoyed at innocent patients of Hannibal, like Franklyn, because I viewed them from Hannibal’s perspective?

On top of that, Hannibal’s philosophy makes sense. I find myself agreeing to a lot of the things he says.

For example, this dialogue from S2e12 "Tome-Wan", when Will finds Mason Verger and Hannibal in his house, and Hannibal asks Will if he should kill or spare Mason Verger:

HANNIBAL: Murder or mercy?

WILL: There is no mercy. We make mercy, manufacture it in parts that have overgrown our basic reptile brain.

HANNIBAL: Then there is no murder. We make murder, too, it matters only to us. You know too well that you possess all the elements to make murder. Perhaps mercy, too. But murder you understand uncomfortably well.

Does Will only have the capacity for mercy because he has the capacity for murder? Does mercy only have meaning in the context of murder? Is our own compassion a reflection of our violence?

With that said, are the things that I believe to be evil still evil when I throw away my moral believes? Is morality only meaningful in my own perception? And if so, how much am I contributing to evil if I am the one judging it? Do I create the evil that I so adamantly detest? Does deciding what is murder and isn’t not murder require the ability to, and intrinsic understanding of, murder? Can the morality of life and death be so clear cut, separated into different categories?

These are the types of questions that the show makes me ask, which is part of the reason I love the show so much.

I also love how the show puts a dark turn on empathy. Empathy is way too often portrayed as one of the best traits of all time, many claim it to be the most important aspect of mankind, but Will’s empathy is what ends up making him go on a downwards spiral: He is drawn to the darkness because he can understand it. He chose to teach at the FBI academy because he gets to feel like a killer without actually killing.

It made Will miserable, being able to understand killers. It gave him all sorts of guilt and self-hatred and confliction, which was why he was so damn miserable at the start of the show. And on top of that, no one really cared about him, Alana only had a whole “professional curiosity” thing going on (yes, I know that Alana’s character is one-dimensional because Hannibal’s female characters are poorly written, but even with that in mind, I still think that a huge part of Alana’s affection towards Will was in fact just curiosity), Jack was constantly pushing Will past his limits, so the poor dude didn’t have any connections to anyone until he met Hannibal.

And after Hannibal clocks him immediately when they first meet with the whole “your  values and decency are present yet shocked at your associations” situation, Will experiences his first kill: Shooting Garet Jacob Hobbs. Ten. Times. Then he confesses to Hannibal that he liked the feeling of killing him.

But Will can’t let go of his morality, it’s the only thing he’s been able to hold on to this entire time. It’s his lifeline. He holds onto it so dearly because he needs to convince himself that he’s a good person, that he’s not a killer, and that he’s doing the right thing. Yet, he knows that letting that morality go would be so freeing. He wants to. Hannibal helps him let go of it, and we as viewers can’t help but be on Hannibal’s side, because Will’s corruption arc is so gratifying. We like it, deep down we root for it. And what does that say about our relationship with our own morality? Does our morality tie us down? Do we crave to be free?

Will’s killing style is different from Hannibal’s, though. He’s passionate, reactive, and he doesn’t care about the process of killing, or the display body (before you say “the firefly man”, I believe he was imitating Hannibal’s style instead of curating his own), as long as the person is dead. He kills them from a sense of righteousness, like a vigilante justice. Was it wrong for him to find a sense of pleasure in killing Garett Jacob Hobbs? Does finding pleasure in killing corrupt his righteousness? Is it worse to kill out of passion, or kill meticulously? Is Hannibal’s style of killing more respectful? Is Will brutal? Just because Will kills out of a more conventional moral judgement and Hannibal doesn’t, does that make him better than Hannibal?

Another way the show convolutes the concepts of good and evil is using religious symbolism.

For example, from S1e02, “Amuse-Bouche”:

HANNIBAL: Killing must feel good to God too. He does it all the time, and are we not created in His image?

WILL: Did God feel good about killing?

HANNIBAL: He felt powerful.

(Shocking that this line was from the literal second episode. This show got intense so fast.)

And Will’s quote from S3e02, “Primavera”:

WILL: God can't save any of us because it's...inelegant. Elegance is more important than suffering. That's his design.

Is God an artist? Does that justify what He does? Are we only creating taboo out of His works to comfort ourselves? What does it mean to view the world with a purely aesthetic vision?

It’s these quotes that really allow me to see from Hannibal’s perspective: To him, there is no ultimate purpose of the world, there is no end goal to achieve, just the creation of beauty, and that’s terrifying to think about. Even as an atheist, it’s hard to digest the belief that there is no purpose to anything. We spend our entire human lives looking for meaning. But Hannibal doesn’t see it that way. Life and death are just futile processes to create art, and there’s no bigger point behind it. The cycle of life is supposed to be art. In a way, he’s like the God (sounding like Hannibal here), giving people meaning by making them into art, just like how God designates meaning onto every creature he makes.

And the show has a lot of art parallels, not just with Hannibal’s murders. Here are some that I’ve noticed:

(Parallels, in order from left to right, top to bottom: Nude From Back by Picabia compared to a shot of Bedelia from the back, The Persistence of Memory by Dali compared to Will’s clock drawing, Le Double Secret by Magritte compared to how Will saw Hannibal after visual overload from light therapy, Ophelia by Millais compared to Bedelia sinking into the bathtub, Portrait of Pablo Picasso by Juan Gris compared to Will’s hallucination of himself falling apart in a mirror, Ivan the Terrible and His Son Ivan by Ilya Repin compared to the cliff scene.)

I’m not the only one that has noticed these. Here is cool blog that focuses on artistic references in Hannibal, they’ve also noticed some of the ones I noticed: The Art of Hannibal.

Bryan Fuller probably didn’t do these on purpose while directing. But it still unintentionally solidified this theme artistic divinity. So I think Bryan must, to some extent, understand Hannibal’s obsession with making art out of death, because of the way art is subconsciously woven into the show. I don’t know though, just food for thought.

Anyways. Will, at the end of the show, while being cradled in Hannibal’s arms, both of them covered in blood that appears black in the moonlight, says to Hannibal: “It’s beautiful.”

And all that morality fleets and becomes insignificant in the face of aesthetics.

To Hannibal, beauty is moral. To Will, morality is beautiful. Have the lines begun to blur?

Part Two: Hannibal and Wills intimacy

“For [Hannibal and Will], two people who have been wandering their whole lives through a world in which they have not really experienced any viable form of connection with another human being—because they’re two extremely unusual people—and then they meet.”

-Hugh Dancy quote from SDCC 2013

Hannibal loves will. He drew him and Will as Patroclus and Achilles. He was ready to run away with Will in S2. He surrendered himself in S3 just because Will rejected him. And lets not forget the little twitch in his face when Francis attacks will. And when this dialogue happened (S3e12, “The Number of the Beast is 666”):

WILL: Is Hannibal in love with me?

BEDELIA : Could he daily feel a stab of hunger for you and find nourishment at the very sight of you? Yes. But do you... ache for him?

It is my belief that Will also loves Hannibal, although I understand that it’s not as agreed upon in the fandom as Hannibal’s love is. I think Will is just a little bit more reserved with affection, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love Hannibal.

But one thing is for sure—there is a lot of homoeroticism in the show:

So, whether you think the love is reciprocal or not, the show is still, to put it lightly, really gay.

Hannibal’s love for Will is dark, possessive, powerful. Will is the only one that is capable of understanding Hannibal, and Hannibal was willing to risk literally everything just for Will to connect with him. He goes to extraordinary lengths just to make Will a murderer.

But even throughout Hannibal’s ruthless manipulation, which Will eventually becomes aware of, Will still stays for Hannibal. Because deep down, Will was willing to give up his own innocence to have that connection. Because Hannibal was the only person that could really understand Will too, no one else would be able to accept his dark tendencies.

S2e02, “Sakizuke”:

WILL: I don’t know which is worse. Believing I did it, or believing that you did it and did this to me.

(I remember reading a really good post by endlessly fascinated on how Will was actually being manipulative by saying this quote. I can’t find it though. If someone finds it, please tag me!)

Will eventually grows just as obsessed with Hannibal, as Hannibal is obsessed with him. Proof: telling Jack that he wanted to run away with Hannibal, telling Hannibal that he can’t get him out of his head, and that his inner voice is starting to sound like him him, and the “where would I go?” when Hannibal tells him not to leave his side, and the “one could argue, intimately” when Chiyoh asks him how he knows Hannibal, and the “before you and after you” when Hannibal asked him where the difference between the past and the future come from…I could go on forever. Will has never felt so grounded before, not in the way when he’s with Hannibal, with him, Will can see his own reflection, and he’s never been able to see that before.

And oh, the love language between them is violence. Will tries to kill Hannibal (someone tell me how many times, I forgot), and Hannibal tries to eat Will and a plethora of other fucked up shit. But in my eyes, none of those were out of hatred. Both of them trying to murder each other is out of love, out of acceptance, and out of forgiveness.

S3e06, “Dolce”:

HANNIBAL: You dropped your forgiveness, Will.

HANNIBAL: You forgive how God forgives.

And, S3e03, “Secondo”:

BEDELIA: Betrayal and forgiveness are best seen as something akin to falling in love.

HANNIBAL: You cannot control with respect to whom you fall in love.

No one can control who they love, or who they forgive, which is why Hannibal forgives Will and stabs him in the same breath. He is forgiving, not letting go.

Will forgives Hannibal too. He forgives Hannibal way too many times, throughout all the manipulation of Hannibal. Think about just how much insanity he’s endured: drugged, gutted, encephalitis abused, hypnotized, framed for murder, a serial killer was sent after his family, had his brain literally almost eaten, and despite all that, Will still forgives Hannibal—it was not a conscious decision. We cannot control who we forgive.

If Hannibal is a fallen angel, then Will is God to him. And God is indifferent, sometimes even cruel. Like Hannibal said himself, good and evil has nothing to do with God. Will forgives Hannibal, but that doesn’t mean he still doesn’t want to hurt Hannibal; just like how Hannibal forgave Will, but still gutted him. In that moment, Will forgave indifferently, so he could get back to revenge. They both forgive like blades, they both forgive with pain.

Doesn’t God forgive through punishment? God will forgive you for your sins but you still have to go to hell, right?

Violence is a pillar of stability in their relationship, it’s how they understand each other, an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, the smile on Will’s gut a permanent reminder of Hannibal’s hurt, and all of Hannibal’s scars a reminder of Will’s hurt.

I see all of their trying to kill each other is affection. Hannibal doesn’t try to eat Will because he hates Will, he tries to eat to immortalize him, to keep Will as part of him forever.

And through that violence, Hannibal helped Will let go of his morality. Will had spent forever trying to repress himself—Molly was a failed attempt to escape into normalcy. Will definitely thought about Hannibal those years Hannibal was in prison.

S3e13, “The Wrath of the Lamb”:

HANNIBAL: When life becomes maddeningly police, think about me. Think about me, Will.

Will definitely missed the hunger, the violence. We can see this though the passionate way he killed the Red Dragon. He probably held Molly’s gentle hands and desperately wanted to feel something more. To feel something dangerous. Something that could simultaneously revive and ruin him. Molly never understood him the way Hannibal did, and he will never love her the way he loves Hannibal.

He did think about Hannibal when life became maddeningly polite. He probably fantasized about what they’ve done, what they could’ve done, and the feeling of freedom when he’s with Hannibal.

And Hannibal waited for him patiently, staying exactly where he was three years ago. And when Will eventually pushed them off a cliff together, Hannibal showed no sign of resistance, and just let them fall.

“I think [Hannibal]’s feeling that embrace and that’s the first thing that he’s feeling, and even as he’s plunging into the Atlantic, he’s first and foremost thinking about the man he’s holding onto and the man who’s holding onto him.”

–Mads Mikkelsen on Hannibal’s thoughts during the final scene

Their violence is something that we as viewers may never comprehend, but we can all understand their intimacy. Isn’t it what we all want, after all, to be seen?

Anyways...

Hannibal is a great show! 10/10, would recommend. Although, the lighting kind of sucks. Bryan, if there is a season four, please make the show brighter, for the love of God.

Thanks for reading this! :)

[usethespoon]

“Just trust me.” (from Alfred)

Trust created unnecessary ties; an interference with his line of work. No good would come from warming up to those he was assigned with because of the possibility of being betrayed -- if they were stupid enough to try. Emotional detachment came with the job; they were easier to dispatch of when things turned awry. Past partners were wise enough to realise that they were never going to be regarded as anything more than colleagues by Lee. A person who - unfortunately - was chosen by The Network to pair up with him. No amount of persuasion by the organisation could force the hitman to trust their selection, and they were resigned to accept that. His skills were exemplary; they needed him. It was a known fact. And so he could get away with refusing to behave. He was his own person; who he chose to trust was entirely up to him. But taking a liking to somebody -- now, that was allowed in his rulebook. He may not trust them, but there was no stopping him from showing up inside their house uninvited for an impromptu conversation. A lovely natter. They had no choice in the matter when he did, but it was certainly better than being on his bad side.

New day, new hit. A simple case of money owed.

"Is that right?" There was a deep frown of concentration on his face as he studied himself in the floor-length mirror, scrutinising his appearance. His back was to Alfred, seemingly disregarding him entirely. Ever since becoming partially paralysed - his left arm a dead weight against his side - Lee had given up on looking his best. There was only so much he could do before losing the motivation to try. His yellow suit was slightly wrinkled and tie askew, but an attempt was made; it was passable given his disposition. Using his working arm to reposition the paralysed one, he settled it further down his body by pushing hard until it rested comfortably against his ribs. Fuck it -- that would do. Who was he trying to impress? "Not me you have to convince, matey." Now his reflection stared over at the other man, eyes settling directly on him. There was a glimmer of amusement in them. "But it helps." Stay on his good side and everything would be dandy.

"I think we should see how he's doing, don't you?" A quick change of topic. It was a rhetorical question as he picked up his lime-coloured duffel bag, the sound of metal inside clinking together as he did so. A satisfying sound, but even more were the sounds that were produced by using them. His knives were already stained maroon - and he resented placing them inside the leather holder without cleaning them thoroughly - but leaving his tools in front of his target was an amateur mistake. The most desperate person was willing to break their wrists to escape binds and grab the nearest weapon; he had seen it before. But they could only crawl so far with broken kneecaps. They associated his disability with slowness, but were quite surprised to be proven otherwise. It only made him stronger after adapting, forced to work harder. Quick as a whippet, he was capable of incapacitating them before they could even react.

The first sound they heard within the basement was heavy breathing, followed by wheezing courtesy of a broken nose. Well - altogether, a broken face. His features were indistinguishable; a new man entirely. But he still managed a sharp intake of breath as he heard Lee approach. Bloodied fingers gripped onto the arms of the chair he was tied to, the skin torn and nails removed. The duffel bag was placed on top of a metal trolley - unzipped - and his variety of tools removed once more. As he unrolled the leather holder, it revealed different sized knives and various surgical equipment. From scalpels to bone saws, they were well-looked after. They were an extension of him; it only made sense for him to care about them. Taking out a fresh pair of latex gloves, he discarded one and placed the other on with the help of his teeth before picking up a scalpel. Standing in front of the gentleman, Lee hummed as he casually studied what was left behind from before. Not much.

"It would have been easier for you to pay back the money you owe. But now I had to visit you." His voice was soft, gentle almost; a complete contrast to how he acted. "You're becoming a household name. And they're getting a bit upset with you, so we need to fix that." It was as though he was offering the man advice. A chance to work together to resolve the issue. "What do you think?" A pained groan was given in response. "Okay, good-" His words were cut off by the sound of his mobile ringing, the cheerful tone breaking the tense situation. With an apologetic smile, Lee removed his glove and retrieved the still-ringing mobile. Unknown number. "Sorry, I have to take this. I won't be a moment." Pressing accept, he placed it against his ear and listened carefully. His expression was still, giving nothing away as he spoke only to affirm. It lasted a few minutes, before he hung up and placed it back inside his blazer pocket. Turning to face Alfred, a bright smile was given. Unnerving to most, it had an air of unpredictability to it.

"Change of plans, matey." Picking up the scalpel once more, he presented it towards his partner. "His debts are paid, so they no longer need him." In other words, The Network had successfully overturned the gentleman's safety measures, drained his bank account and completely erased his identity. He was now legally dead. They were capable of doing that; destroying lives. "Your turn." It was closest Lee would get to trusting somebody. He was now allowing Alfred to take over the situation, relieving the hitman from being in control. It was a huge deal. "You're not going to let me down, are you?" The kindness of his tone disguised the subtle threat, but it was certainly felt in the way he stared a moment too long.

[mask131]

The myth of Apollo (7)

And here is the final part of the mini-series, a continuation of this post!

V/ The foundation of Delphi

Delphi was the main land of Apollo. Soon after his victory over Python, he built in the middle of the Pytho area an altar, in the center of a sacred wood. The place was entirely desert and Apollo wondered how he would find priests for his new cult when he saw, over by the dark sea, a ship of Cretan. Taking the shape of a dolphin, he went to greet them and jumped onto the ship, scaring the sailors. The men’s terror grew even stronger as they realized they could not control their ship anymore, which drifted all of its own, going around the Peloponnesus, into the golf of Corinth, and stopped by the shores of Crissa. Taking back his divine appearance, Apollo told the Cretan sailors that they would never return to their original city, and abandon their wives and houses to rather guard his temple. In exchange, he promised that they would know the wills and desires of the Immortals, that they will be constantly honored by other men, and that they will have in abundance all sorts of resources that will attract other illustrious figures of their time. Finally, he told them to use Delphinian as the name to invoke him, since they first saw the god in his dolphin shape. This was the origin of Delphi – and this legend has been used to explain Apollo’s role as a god of navigation and sea expeditions, especially the colonization process.

However, Apollo did not stay all the time in Delphi. Every year, at the end of autumn, he went beyond the Riphean Mountains where Boreas ruled, into the mysterious land of the Hyperboreans. There, under a sky that was forever filled with light, lived happy and virtuous people devoted to the worship of Apollo. It was said that Leto herself originated from this peaceful land, that she had left under the shape of a she-wolf to go to Delos. When spring returns, Apollo returns to Delphi on a chariot drawn by either white swans or monstrous griffins. Other sources rather said his annual travels brought him to Lycia rather than Hyperborea.

VI/ Apollo’s feats

Apollo, the celestial archer who never misses a shot, is known for various exploits. He fought against the Aloads, Ephialtes and Otos: those two giants, sons of either Aloeus or Poseidon, wished to marry Hera and Artemis, and to do so tried to take over Olympos, piling up the mount Pelion over the Ossa mountain in an attempt to climb to the realm of the gods. They would have succeeded if Apollo hadn’t shot them down with his arrows. Another tradition rather gave Artemis as the vanquisher of the Aloads. Apollo was also said to have killed Tityos, a giant who tried to rape Leto. The god wasn’t kinder on mortals. A man named Phorbas, leader of the Phlegyans, was said to have an enormous strength. He settled on the road that led to Delphi, and there he forced all travelers to wrestle with him – if they lost the fight, which they always did, he killed them through various tortures. Apollo disguised himself as a human athlete and one day met with Phorbas for a wrestling match – he knocked out Phorbas with a single strike of his fist. Apollo also had to fight Herakles himself: the hero had gone to Delphi, but since the Pythia couldn’t give him what he wanted, he took away the sacred tripod. Apollo immediately appeared and tried to take back the tripod from Herakles, the two engaging in a physical fight. To end the battle, Zeus himself had to interfere, forcing Herakles to give back the tripod before reconciling the two adversaries.

It should be said that Apollo could not stand any offense towards either him, or his worship. The archer Eurytos dared to challenge the god, and paid his arrogance with death. It was because Agamemnon, before the city of Troy, had offended gravely his priest Chrysis that the god, during nine days, threw deadly arrows over the army of the Greeks, causing many of their warriors to go to the realm of Hades. Apollo had a specific reputation among the Olympians: when he entered the assembly of the gods, all stood up as a mark of respect. His mother Leto was in charge of removing his bow and quiver, that she hanged on a nail of gold on the column near his father. Zeus always welcomed his son by offering him nectar in a golden cup ; and Leto was said to always be proud of having birth such an illustrious son, armed with such a dreaded bow. Only the clever Hermes had no fear of Apollo, and didn’t hesitate to play pranks and tricks on his half-brother, notably by stealing his cows away.

VII/ Apollo’s servitude

Despite the fact that Apollo was one of Zeus’ favorite children, he suffered twice from Zeus’ wrath. The first time was when he participated in a plot against Zeus organized by Hera, and that only failed because of Thetis’ intervention. Zeus, angry, condemned Apollo to go with Poseidon serve the king of Troy, Laomedon, for a whole year. While Poseidon worked on building the walls of Troy, Apollo kept the cows of the king on the slopes and in the woods of the Ida mountain. Once the year was done, Laomedon refused to pay the gods the salary he had promised them, even threatening to cut off their ears if they insisted. Out of revenge, Poseidon summoned a man-killing sea-monster, while Apollo unleashed the plague over the land. The second time was when Apollo, wanting to avenge the death of his son Asclepios, killed the Cyclops who had forged the lightning with which Zeus had murdered the healer. Zeus punished his son by sending him to earth, this time as the servant of Admetos, king of Pherae. He acted as the guardian of his mares and sheep, and he was very devoted to his master, even helping him with his wedding, and saving him from an imminent death. These two episodes are both presenting Apollo under his pastoral aspect: Apollon Nomios.

While he kept flocks and herds, Apollo plays the lyre, because he is the musician god by excellence. Around him, attracted by the divine music, deer, does and wild animals of the forest come frolicking. But did Apollo create the lyre? Some claim he did, but it rather seems its inventor was Hermes. Apollo effused to have any musical instrument ever compared to his lyre or his cithara. One day, as he was on the mountain Tmolos, he was challenged by a satyr named Marsyas who, having discovered the flute invented and cursed by Athena, had gained incredible musical talents. A jury was created, among which stood the Muses and the king of Phrygia, Midas. At the end of the tournament, Apollo was declared the winner by every member of the jury, except Midas who preferred Marsyas. Apollo punished the king by giving him donkey ears, as for his unfortunate rival, he had him tied to a tree, skinned alive and what was left of him was hanged at the entrance of a cavern that could be seen from all the Celaenae region. According to other traditions, the musical battle was between Apollo and Pan, rather than Marsyas.

VIII/ Apollo’s loves

It seems that a god who embodies youth, strength and grace should have had a lot of willing lovers and sweet romances. Yet, while Apollo’s love stories are numerous, most of them are marked by the resistance of those Apollo tried to woo or seduce, and most also end up in tragic ways.

He was loved by the Oceanid Melia, who gave him Ismenios ; by Corycia, who mothered Lycoreus ; by Acacallis, mother of Phylacides and Philandros. But he tried in vain to seduce the nymph Daphne : daughter of the river Peneus, she was as wise as she was beautiful and since she rejected all of Apollo’s attempts at seducing her, the god resorted to violence. The maiden fled away, but Apollo hunted her down, and as soon as she felt the predatory arms of the god wrapping around her, she begged Gaia. Immediately the earth opened up, Daphne disappears, and in her place was the laurel-tree, that Apollo made his sacred plant. Kyrene, said to be the daughter of king Hypseus, was a huntress nymph. Apollo saw her one day on the slopes of the Pelion, while she was fighting a lion. Charmed by her beauty and bravery, she took her on his golden chariot and took her away to Lybia, where she gave birth to Aristeus.

Several mortal women also refused Apollo’s charms. Castalia, a young girl of Delphi, ended up throwing herself in a fountain to avoid the lust of the god: the fountain was later named after her. Acacallis (not to be confused with the nymph of the same name, listed above) and Chione were loved simultaneously by Hermes and Apollo. Chione, daughter of Dedalus, had from Hermes Autolycos and from Apollo Philammon: very proud of her sons’ beauty, she dared to mock Artemis’ sterility, and in punishment she was killed by the goddess’ arrows. Acacallis, also called Deione, was the daughter of Minos, and her father had sent her to Libya where she met Apollo, and had two sons from him: Amphithemis (also called Garamas) and Miletos. When Miletos was delivered, his mother, fearing Minos’ wrath, had her baby taken away to the forest ; but thanks to Apollo’s protection, wolves took care of the newborn and the child grew with them. Shepherds later discovered him and brought him out of his wilderness: later, when Minos started to suspect Miletos’ true identity, the boy had to flee in Asia Minor, where he founded the town of Milet. Linos, Apollo’ child by Psamathe (daughter of the Argos king Crotopos) was less happy: his mother had him “exposed” (abandoned in the wild) to hide his birth, and he was devoured by dogs. When Psamathe learned this, she knew such a pain her father learned of her secret and had her put to death. In retaliation, Apollo caused a terrible plague over the city of Argos, which only ended when Crotopos was exiled. Apollo had another son named Linos, a musician-hero born of the god and the Muse Urania.

The story of Apollo and Coronis is one of tragical horror. Coronis, daughter of Phlegyas king of the Lapithes, had been loved by Apollo, and birthed a son. Before giving birth, she married an Arcadian named Ischys. A crow, that Apollo had ordered to watch over Coronis, told the god about this infidelity. In his fury Apollo cursed the crow, whose feathers turned black, and he killed Coronis and Ischys. According to some, he actually entrusted Artemis with his murderous revenge. The husband and wife were carried to the funeral pyre, and Coronis’ body was half-consumed when Apollo appeared and took out of the flame the almost-born baby, that became Asclepios, the god of medicine. When Phlegyas learned who was the cause of his daughter’s death, he attacked Delphi and burned Apollo’s temple – but the god killed him in return, and he was thrown in Tartarus where he still is tortured for his sacrilege.

One day, as she was picking flowers on the slopes of the Acropolis, Creusa, daughter of Erechteus and Praxithea, was discovered by Apollo and they made love in a grotto nearby. Later she gave birth in this same place to a son, Ion. Apollo told Hermes to collect the child and bring him to Delphi, where he would be devoted to the temple. However Creusa had meanwhile married Xuthos, and couldn’t give him a child. They went to the Delphi oracle to have this sterility be explained, and they were told that the first being they would encounter upon leaving would be their son: and it was precisely Ion that they met. Xuthos adopted him but Creusa, jealous, tried to poison Ion, who in turn attempted to kill Creusa. The Pythia intervened and explained the situation, revealing the true link between Creusa and Ion. Xuthos was then also told the truth, but by Athena, and he received from Apollo the solemn promise that he would have two sons of his own, Doros and Acheos. Alongside Ion, these three boys were the ancestors of the entire Greek race.

From Thyria, Apollo had a son named Cycnos, a beautiful young man who was in love with his hunting companion Phylios. But, abandoned by Phylios, Cycnos threw himself out of despair in the Canope lake, soon followed by his grieving mother. Apollo turned the mother and the son into swans. From a girl named Cyrene (sometimes called Asteria), Apollo had another son, Idmon, who had the gift of divination. He took part in the Argonaut expedition, and there saw that he would die during the journey. He still however went on the expedition, and indeed ended up dying due to the bite of a snake. Divination, in fact, plays an important role in many of the love-legends of Apollo. The god fell in love with Cassandra, the daughter of king Prima, and she agreed to offer herself to him if, in exchange, he gave her the power to know the future. Apollo agreed, but as soon as he made his gift, Cassandra refused to hold her part of the bargain. Apollo then begged for just one kiss, but as she agreed, he blew a curse into the mouth of Cassandra: he couldn’t remove the gift of divination, but he removed her ability to convince people around her, meaning that nobody would ever pay attention or believe Cassandra’s prophecies.

Apollo also loved several young men. One of them that Cyparissos, that the god turned into a cypress tree, because his lover was despaired after killing by accident his pet-stag. Another was Hyacinthos, son of the king of Laconia Amyclas. Hyacinthos was as much loved by Apollo than by Boreas and Zephyros. One day, as the young man was throwing disks with Apollo, the wind-gods, jealous, changed the direction of the disk so that it would hit Hyacinthos’ head and kill him on the spot. From the blood of the wound a flower was born, that bore the youth’s name: hyacinth. And in memory of this sad event, Laconia had a yearly celebration called the Hyacinthia, which began by lamentations and funeral offerings, before ending with joyful chants celebrating the young hero becoming immortal.

[eoieopda]

For drabblepalooza: Can’t Remember to Forget You by Shakira ft. Rihanna with fuckboy!ex!Yoongi please!

P.S.: This is such a fun idea. I love how creative you are, Jade-nim 💚

P.P.S.: I’m gonna send you a message with my age because I neeeeed this and don’t want to get bounced at the door!

oh shit! i haven’t heard this song since it came out and by god, it’s still a banger.

cw: exes au, fuckboy!yoongi, protected sex, oral sex (f receiving,) p in v penetration, ref to squirting, yoongi is a menace.

When Jiyu asked you to be her Maid of Honor, you knew it was going to be a clusterfuck. As her best friend, you wouldn’t dream of saying no to her. As the best man’s ex-girl, you’d created a nightmare by saying yes.

Last night’s rehearsal dinner went exactly the way you knew it would. You did your best to mitigate the chaos that was your friend group, but you’d failed. You tried to stay sober, but you’d failed. You tried to keep your eyes off Min Yoongi and his goddamn gold chain, but —

Could it even be deemed a failure if there was never any hope of succeeding?

Jimin, half-cut and scheming, kept furnishing you with overfilled glasses of pinot noir. You’d protested, told him over and over and over that you couldn’t get through the ceremony with a hangover. Had he sustained your objection? No.

Had you actually meant it when you objected? Also no.

At the bottom of a bottle, you’d found a headache and the absolute audacity. You’d then walked right up to Min Yoongi and declared — unprompted — that you would not be hooking up with him at this wedding. He’d looked at you, unbothered, and said, “Bet.”

And he’d been right not to believe you.

You’d survived him escorting you down the aisle prior to the ceremony; and you’d withstood the way his smirk always seemed to find you over the shoulders of the two exchanging vows between you. Through the ride to the photoshoot location and the shoot itself, you stayed on task and away from him. Even during your respective speeches, you’d refused to let him get to you.

Your final task, however, seemed to be designed to kill you. It’d started with Jiyu’s mother handing you a giant, godforsaken box of rose petals; shoving you and Yoongi towards the exit; and instructing you both to decorate the honeymoon suite.

It’s tradition, she’d gushed. It’s torture, you’d thought.

It had ended up with you and your ex-boyfriend alone, semi-buzzed, in a room specifically intended for one purpose. You were doomed. You knew it — and judging by that look in his eye, so did Yoongi.

Cut to: Yoongi looking at you and flicking his tongue out to wet his smirking lips.

Cut to: Yoongi innocently touching your hip as he reached around you for a handful of petals to scatter.

Cut to: Yoongi’s pelvis brushing against your ass as he passed behind you towards the bed.

Cut to:

“I’m curious,” he hums, “Did you forget your declaration last night and your panties?”

His tongue flattens and drags up over your cunt, lapping up the orgasm he was so quick to pull from you. You can’t respond because you’re still rocketing through different planes of existence. Astral projecting, fucked into oblivion — yet again — by that fiend and his goddamn tongue.

Yoongi stands and your trembling continues — not solely because of the aftershocks you’re still experiencing, but because he’s undoing his belt with one hand and fishing a condom out of his pocket with the other.

It’s masterful because of course it is; he’s well-practiced.

“Or did you purposefully forego them both because you can’t forget me?”

He’s smirking as he rolls the condom down his length, amusement dripping — like you — with his words. You can’t even generate a response to his teasing. All you have to offer is a moan as he lines himself up and sheaths himself in you.

Yoongi rolls his hips, grinding into every stupid part of you, and your reply is merely to whimper. Like his pace, his teasing is relentless. He grits his teeth and punctuates his sentences with unimaginably deep thrusts, “Don’t pretend you don’t remember, doll — I hear how wet this pussy is — squeezing me like this because your body — refuses to let me go.”

The comforter you’d dutifully covered in rose petals is now clutched in your white-knuckled fists. Just like Yoongi, those petals press against your sweat-slicked skin. Would they stick to you afterwards, the way he always seemed to?

You shove your guilt into the back of your brain and resolve to feel like a bad person later. For now, all you’re capable of feeling is Yoongi rearranging your goddamn guts.

“I may need a reminder, though,” he laughs menacingly while his hand drops from the nipple he’d been pinching to your clit. A wolfish grin spreads across his face; you jolt the second his finger flicks over your clit, “Am I still the only one who can make you squirt?”

[agent-clark]

The classic example of the "dark hero" archetyp.

A former Navy SEAL, now CIA operative, and paramilitary specialist, ⎣ JOHN CLARK ⎤ is a skilled and ruthless operative who executes missions with precision and discretion. His deep moral convictions and loyalty to his comrades balance his otherwise hardened and pragmatic demeanor.

↳ background:

Born as John Terence Kelly, Clark’s transformation begins with tragedy. The murder of his first wife sets him on a path of vengeance against drug dealers. During this vigilante mission, Kelly adopts the alias “John Clark” and is recruited by the CIA, marking the start of his career in clandestine operations. Clark is the quintessential dark hero. His military background as a Navy SEAL honed his combat and survival skills, making him a lethal operative. While he operates outside traditional ethical boundaries, his actions are driven by a strong personal code and unwavering loyalty to his comrades.

↳ personality & skills:

As a leader John Clark is demanding and likes to be in control, but is never above constructive criticism. Due to the many losses in his life, from losing his mother as a young boy to losing his pregnant wife and subsequent girlfriend, he's become a little stoic, sometimes lacks emotional intelligence, and focuses on the as-is more than the could-be. His main focus are the people around him, however, and anyone's who worked with him only speaks highly of him. John is highly skilled in counter terrorism efforts, a specialist in covert operations and one of the CIA's best field operatives. He spends a lot of time on the go, which has allowed him to visit many countries and meet many people throughout his life.

↳ roleplay info & rules:

.ᐟ r: widower, single .ᐟ writes in English & German .ᐟ open to plotting .ᐟ located in the state of Virginia, travels regularly

i. Never interested in unnecessary drama outside of roleplay. ii. Godmodding is not welcome here iii. Any sort of hate speech is also not welcome here. iv. Taking time for a reply is fine, I expect the same respect from you; do not rush me. v. If you are unsure of how my character would react or have questions: never be afraid to ask. vi. Despite being a preset character from the Tom Clancy novels, I still take creative liberty in the story and play John as I wish. vii. If what I do bothers you, you never have to feel bad for moving on. My character and the heavy topics involved (death/murder, war, torture, etc) can be triggering, and I understand if it makes you uncomfortable. viii. Although this character is single, I am not focused on changing that. If you care about forming a deep, intimate relationship, I am the wrong person. Also: sensuality > sexuality.

[disturbedbeautywrites]

Red River Rivals - Jake Seresin smut

Under the cut is pure unadulterated smut. 18+ only please

Warnings: Cursing, praise kink, p in v, use of daddy, oral f receiving, gagging, no use of protection, spanking, minor exhibitionism if you squint and I think that’s it

“If I make this shot, you have to wear an Oklahoma shirt on Sunday and cheer for them.” Rooster was standing across from you at the hard deck, a smirk on his lips as he held his pool stick in one hand and a beer in the other. “Oh, you’re on Bradshaw.” The words left your mouth in a cocky tone until you saw him sink the shot.

You swore under your breath as Bradley chuckled, pushing your shoulder. “Nice try, have fun cheering them on this weekend.” You let out a groan and shook your head as you prepared for a long weekend.

That next Saturday you were in Jake’s room getting ready when you heard Jake yell for you from the kitchen. Every Saturday you guys changed who hosted the football game and today it was at Jake’s place. This weekend was the Texas and OU game. Both you and Jake were Texas alumni so this game was a big deal for you guys. Every since you were kids, this game was like a national holiday in your house. The tradition had continued as you grew up and as you guys started dating.

When you heard Jake’s voice you walked into the living room, seeing him laughing and talking with Coyote. His head was thrown back and he had a beer in one hand. Rooster immediately looked at you and chuckled, looking at Phoenix and telling her to watch the show that was about to unfold. “Hey, (Y/N)!” You swore under your breath as you saw Jake turn to you, his eyes widening.

“Wow, that’s a new color on you.” He looked thoroughly amused as he walked over to the couch to plop down, you sitting down next to him. “I gotta say I don’t really like it. I miss my girl in Texas orange.” He pulled you onto his lap as he ran his hands up your thighs, resting his hands on your hips.

“You two disgust me.” Bradley joked, rolling his eyes as you turned around to kiss Jake, making a show of it to disgust Rooster. You could feel Jake starting to shift under you to readjust himself and you pressed your ass deeper into him; not giving him any relief. He let out a shaky breath and you smirked to yourself. You were affecting him and you knew it.

As the game went on, you could feel Jake getting more and more turned on as you got more into the game. He loved how into the sport you were and he loved how passionate you were. You were yelling at the tv and jumping up and down, it was causing his jeans to start to get tight. Sure, you were wearing the wrong jersey and currently cheering for the wrong team. But, you were definitely getting him amped up.

During halftime, you were standing in the kitchen when you felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist. You felt Jake’s breath on your neck, his lips brushing against your earlobe as his hands wandered towards the button of your pants. “You’re killing me.” His voice was husky as he sucked on your skin, his fingers brushing over your panties. You whimpered and gripped at the counter top, knowing that you were in the kitchen and anyone could walk in on you at any moment. “You gotta be quiet, pretty girl.”

You swallowed thickly as you felt one of his fingers flick down over your clit, slowly starting to rub against the sensitive skin there. “Hey, Hangman?” You heard someone call from the living room and he swore under his breath. He kept rubbing your clit for a second before he pulled away, the loss of his contact feeling like torture. You let out a small whine as he walked away, looking back at you with a smirk and a wink.

You turned around, your back now against the counter as you watched Jake interact with the boys. They were joking around but you were hyper focused on Jake and the way his muscles looked in the shirt he was wearing. It had you biting your lip and getting lost in your thoughts, Phoenix chuckling as she walked up beside you. “You are undressing him in your mind, aren’t you?” When you didn’t answer, she just smirked at the confirmation and poured herself another drink.

You were lost in staring at Jake when you noticed he had disappeared. You weren’t sure where he went but the second that your phone buzzed, you figured it out. Our bathroom. Right now. You gulped and happily obliged, walking into the master bedroom and going into the bathroom.

Once you got in there, you felt your back hit the wall of the bathroom and you felt Jake’s lips immediately on yours. He was frantic with every pass of his lips, his tongue rubbing against yours as his hands moved down to your ass. “Can I fuck you tonight?” His voice was raspy and desperate, his eyes meeting yours. You nodded and immediately crashed your lips against Jake’s again, his hands lifting you up onto the bathroom sink. He pushed you back, your back hitting the cold glass of the bathroom mirror.

He pulled his lips away long enough to pull the shirts off of both of you, replacing your discarded Oklahoma jersey with his Texas longhorns shirt. “That’s better.” He reconnected your lips, his fingers hooking into the loops of your jeans as he pulled them down your legs along with your underwear. His fingers instantly went to work, your clit moving between them as he swallowed your moans. “You gotta be quiet, sweets. We don’t want everyone knowing, do we?” The dominant yet soft side to his voice made you moan again, your eyes sinking closed at the feeling of the pleasure Jake was giving you. “Answer me.”

“N-no.” You managed to croak out, a sadistic smirk on Jake’s face as he took his hands away from your throbbing pussy, his eyebrows raising at you. “No, daddy.” You finished out the broken sentence as he gave you a curt nod and sank down to his knees. He hooked his arms around your knees and pulled you to the edge of the sink, his tongue peaking out of his mouth to lick a stripe up your clit. A breathy moan left your lips as your head fell back, your eyes squeezing shut.

You reached your arms out to tangle in Jake’s blonde hair, his tongue flicking inside of you as he started to push a finger inside of you at the same time. You felt like you were going to scream out, pleasure overcoming you as you felt your high coming on quickly. “C-close..” you managed to pant out, feeling overcome with ecstasy as he started to pump another finger into you.

You felt a long, low moan leave your lips as you felt your release buildup. Your fingers were completely buried in Jake’s hair, your cum coating his lips and his tongue as he helped you to ride out your high. You fell back against the mirror as your chest heaved, a satisfied smirk on your boyfriends face as he leaned over you, kissing your forehead. “You okay?” He moved some of the hair off your forehead as he watched you nod. You gave yourself a second to breathe before you spread your legs again, biting your lip. “I want you inside of me.”

The words made him get even harder, if that was possible. He smirked and grabbed your OU jersey, twisting it together as he eyes you for a few seconds. “You’re going to be a good girl and bite this, you understand?” His voice was deep and his eyes were dark with lust as he held the jersey out to you to bite down on, a low groan leaving his lips as soon as he watched you do exactly that. “My good girl.”

He pushed his pants down his legs along with his boxers as he turned you over so you were leaned over the sink, ass facing him. He slapped it a few times, his hand leaving a nice red mark on your ass cheek as he lined his cock up with your entrance. He pushed into you slowly, heading you let out a surprised sound mixed with a moan. He went slow, watching your face in the mirror to judge how you felt and if it hurt.

Once he felt you start to stretch out and take him better he started to slowly thrust, grunting out about how tight you were. “You better be watching yourself. I want you to see how fucked out of your mind I can make you, baby girl.” His voice was adding to the pleasure as you desperately gripped at anything on the counter, finally settling for the edge. You were gripping it so hard your knuckles were white, it being the only thing holding you down to the present moment. It was grounding you as you felt yourself trying to get lost in Jake’s cock.

The feeling of him inside of you was absolute bliss and he felt the same way. His thrusts were slowly getting sloppier as he let out low grunts. “I’m not going to last much longer, baby.” He was straining to hold out, his fingers moving down to your clit as you made a sound of confirmation. That was you telling him you were close too and he worked to get you both to your climax, you cumming first and coating his cock. The sensation of it was enough for him to shoot his load into you, gasping for breath as he laid his head on your back afterwards. “Holy fuck.” You spit the Jersey out and laid limp against the cold counter for a second before you felt Jake pull out and move away from you.

He walked into your room to grab another shirt, meaning he wanted you to keep his on. He came back in watching you try to change and he raised an eyebrow at you. “No.” It was one word and it made you freeze in your tracks. “But-“ You started before he cut you off, shaking his head. “No buts. You wear my shirt.” Again, it was short and sweet as he came over and kissed you on the forehead. This man would be the death of you.

[messrsrobyn]

I am here to request more hat stall Pete ramble

AHHH and i am here to ask for your hand in marriage now. yes yes yes always here to ramble about pete.

(long yap sorry x)

OKAY SO!!!

the only two hatstalls we know about are minnie (gry x rav) and pete (gyf x slyth) - when i yapped about it on tt people mentioned hermione and neville, they were close but didn't actually hit the five min mark.

WHICH IS SO INTERESTING WITH PETE !!! so interesting with his deflection but i'll run over my basic thoughts on pete as a hatstall:

(first of all, this is irrelevant to whether he was placed naturally or begged to be put there, because i think either way he'd have the same dilemmas)

1) The Prank - this is my roman empire with pete!!

the fact that he was a hatstall between these two houses, he spends five years sitting and questioning which side of him is the "real side", wondering if the hat made the right choice. trying to suppress everything slightly slytherin about himself to fit in with james, to be someone that james - against slytherins - would be okay with, yk petes a v insecure lil man.

and then he watches sirius do the prank. he watched sirius get sorted into gryffindor quicker than him and defy the entireee history of his family yk? hes so inherently gryffindory that he Breaks Tradition... and then he does that???

NOW IMAGINE pete who's already battling with these two parts of himself, wondering why on earth he was a hatstall. why did the hat deliberate with him, who has only ever tried to be like and be liked by his friends, and yet someone who has slytherin practically engrained in their blood did that?? what even is a real gryffindor?

THIS is my breaking point for pete. this is where his morals get very switched. this is where he watches sirius get forgiven for this unforgiveable thing, and all of his morals start getting cloudy. the prank is where all the marauders fall apart and i've said this before. it's where wolfstars communication during the war stems from, it's where sirius and pete become fractured, it's the beginning of the end for them (in my opinion). it's where pete starts questioning good and bad people, starts questioning what makes a person what and how it's determined and generally??? just where in my mind he stops trying to repress that slytherin side, because he now knows that 'true' gryffindors can do bad shit too.

it's also said by minnie that pete "hero-worshipped" james and sirius and then he watches sirius do that? and watches the group recover again? SO MUCH DEPTH

2) the betrayal

we will neverrrr know what made pete betray the potters, not entirely. we have all our ideas and theories but we will never know. which i like. i like that we don't know. i like that we get to play around with characters and apply our own moral dilemmas of "is it justified to do this if xyz?" "could xyz cause this?" blah blah blah.

this moral compass is SO strong with gryffindors, yes? a lot less strong with slytherins. how does that balance out when you're both? when you're not quite sure the hat put you on the right side, when you're fighting alongside people braver than you? where does that leave your moral compass?

he's this mix of self-preservative and cunning, and courageous and brave. maybe, he was tortured 🤷‍♂️ maybe he had to choose between being brave and being self-preservative. maybe he just didn't have the same courage as his friends to be able to go straight to the frontlines of a war. maybe his morals weren't as clear cut as his friends and he often lost sight of what they were fighting.

see here: my idea of pete trying so so so hard those first few years to be the perfect gryffindor and earn his place there, to then enter a war and watch the numbers drop with little care from dumbledore, to watch how he weighs out lives and realising that being on the morally just side, doesn't mean all of the actions within that are morally just.

IT'S SO COMPLEX !!!

but i think there's so much more to explore with his betrayal if we take the hatstall into account. i see the torture idea a lot (and i've adored every version of it i've read) but i would LOVE to see more of pete getting tortured by DE/voldy, and he doesn't give himself up because he's hurt or because he's sad or whatever - he does it because at his core, he's always been a but too self-preservative to fight alongside gryffindors.

i.e in poa: pete - what would you have done? sirius - i would've died (courageous and brave vs self-preservative, true gryffindor vs a 'lesser one'

tbf minnie also called him "never quite in (sirius and james') league talent-wise" which could work either way. either wasn't strong enough to fight it and gave up, or knew he wasn't strong enough and turned to self-preservative methods instead.

but also... he manages (likely) a blasting curse that explodes a whole street and destroyed the sewer systems, can perform AK in tgof (which takes an immense amount of intent and magic) which he did with a wand that was NOT under his allegiance??? anddd is able to brew potions that are classes as dark magic? not in their league talent wise, or maybe his talents were meant elsewhere?? was he weak or was he just more dark than them naturally?? we know that dark magic calls to some wizards more so i don't think it was weakness in my opinion.

and i say 'lesser gryffindor' in quotation marks in point one there becauseee...

3) the hat stands by its decision

this is so often just forgotten but the hat insists that it's correct with pete's sorting (unsure if this is book canon, but jkr talks about it on pottermore which ik some people dont take as canon lore but i do. she's gotta fill her own plot holes somehow 🤷‍♂️)

BUT BASICALLY the hat claims that pete dying via his own silver hand is proof that he's a gryffindor because his conscious clearly disagrees with whatever he's done. debate that as you will because i'm not even sure how i feel about it??? i feel like it just doesn't match the perception of pete that i've built up here :/

like maybe he does regret it, i reckon he would. but i reckon it would be a bit complex thing between his bravery and self-preservation (but maybe his death is both. maybe his last act is a brave one based in some twisted backwards self-preservation. maybe the best thing he could do for him was end it, and that was a brave thing to do)

but the hat insists he's a gryffindor which adds SO much depth to his hatstall and just... him

OVERALL!!!

it just challenges the entireee notion of gryffindor vs. slytherin.

"there's not a witch or wizard that went bad that wasn't in slytherin" - we know that to be wrong obvs, pete. and we explore that a lottt with regulus and his deflection, a lottt with draco and narcissa, but not very often in depth with gryffindors, even harry and his deliberation with the hat.

i ADOREEE looking at pete in school as like... an actual marauder. being insecure that he doesn't fit in with them? yes absolutely. but i like to view more as an internal struggle with alllll of this rather than remus/james/sirius just being closer, yk?

oh my god this turned into a whole essay and i tried so hard to keep it brief. be glad this is the brief version. oh my god.

anyway. live laugh love peter pettigrew being a hatstall.