#Souling Song - All Hallows

[the-october-country]

My interest in the custom of souling comes around on this blog every year, but this version of the old Souling Song is particularly lovely, and it's part of a project called Halloween Carols which I think many of you will appreciate. Enjoy!

[theostrophywife]

devil eyes.

pairing: theodore nott x reader.

song inspiration: devil eyes by hippie sabotage.

author's note: this spicy fic is in collaboration with my darling @writingsbychlo. make sure you check out hide and seek. we've been scheming for weeks and i'm so happy to finally share this fun little story with all of you. keep an eye out for some cheeky cameos 👀

The cardinal rule of Gryffindor House was plain and simple—never ever make a bet with the Weasley twins. 

Anyone stupid enough to do so either found themselves out a pocketful of galleons or worse, owing Fred and George a no questions asked favour that the pesky redheads could cash in at any time. 

Unfortunately, you were a little more than tipsy off of a bottle of firewhisky and bet one of the twins, Fred? George?—you couldn’t remember which ginger you’d sold your soul to—that you could easily outfly him on the pitch during a quidditch after party. After a violent hangover, the annoying git actually showed up outside of your dorm with a Firebolt in each hand. 

“Let’s see those skills in action then, Y/N.” 

On a normal day, you might’ve managed it. You were smaller and lighter than Fred, which gave you an advantage in flight, but as your head pounded and your stomach churned, you knew there was no way you were getting on that bloody broom. Though your house motto was all about being bold and brave, you weren’t reckless enough to risk it. 

Instead, you settled for a favour. 

In hindsight, you probably should’ve just stuck to death by eating shit on the quidditch pitch. It would’ve been a hell of a lot better than trying to squeeze yourself into a stupid tiny little costume that bordered on exotic dancer more than scary witch, but it’s not like you had much of a choice. You had a debt to settle. Fred made sure to remind you of that.

While the rest of your housemates headed to the Forbidden Forest, you were busy preparing for the vital role that your ginger overlords had assigned to you for the night. Since it was Fred and George’s last year, the twins were determined to solidify their status as Hogwarts legends. What better way to leave their mark than throwing a huge rager in the forest? Thus, the All Hallow’s Eve Fest was born. 

As far as your professors knew, it would be a small festival to celebrate the season complete with carnival games, enchanted rides, and cornfield mazes. All harmless fun. But the student body knew that the Weasley twins had something far more devious up their sleeves. 

From what Fred told you, the night would be full of secret passages, elaborate tricks, and actors and actresses who would add to the whole allure. You were to be one of them. Tonight, you were playing the part of a seductive sorceress who ripped out the hearts of unsuspecting men. 

You were practically made for the role, Fred joked. 

You threatened to resort to method acting and grabbed at the front of his shirt with every intent to rip his heart out of his chest. Luckily for him, George came to his rescue and tore his twin from your grasp before you could inflict damage. 

“See you at the Forbidden Forest at seven sharp,” Fred called as he tossed the costume at you. “Don’t be late, Y/N!” 

At half past six, you almost considered skipping the event altogether, but that would mean owing the twins yet another favour. It was best to get this over with as quickly as possible. Sighing, you tugged on some fishnet tights and slipped into a pair of high-heeled boots that laced all the way up to your thighs. You placed a hand on your hip, frowning at your reflection in the mirror of the prefect’s bathroom. 

“Are you trying to scare the masses or seduce them?” 

You turned around to find your friend Chloe perched up against the sink, smirking as she raised a brow at you. 

“I’m supposed to be a bloodthirsty sorceress,” you said as you snatched her tube of lipstick and painted your lips with a fiery red shade. “Know any men who wouldn’t mind having their hearts ripped out?” 

She chuckled, swinging her legs in the air. “A few. The boys will be in skull makeup tonight, so aim for them first. Save the curly one for me, though.” 

“You’ve sent Riddle out on that wild goose chase of yours, then?” 

Chloe smirked and blew on her freshly painted nails. “He’s got until midnight to find me.” 

“What happens when the clock strikes twelve?” 

“Let’s just say that I’m fully prepared to live up to my house’s name and let him slither in.” 

“At least one of us is having fun tonight.” 

“Who says you can’t? You may owe Fred a favour, but that doesn’t mean you can’t cause a little trouble.” 

You smirked in the mirror as you put on the final piece of the costume. The gold mask fit perfectly over your eyes and truly completed the sinister seductive sorceress part that Fred cast you as tonight. 

“I like the way you think.” 

The promise of mischief and chaos helped to put a little pep in your step as you and Chloe parted ways. You didn’t even recognize the Forbidden Forest as you stepped foot into the haunted woods. There were colourful tents set up all around the clearing, some containing mirrored mazes and others promised fortunes readings. The combination of red lights and creepy fog gave the demented looking carnival an eerie feel. As much as you hated to admit it, the twins have really outdone themselves tonight. 

After running through the spell that conjured a hyper realistic heart that you’d be ripping out of unsuspecting victims all night, Fred directed you towards the east side of the forest. 

“Remember, it’s not a good night unless someone’s pissed themselves out of fear,” Fred reminded you for the thousandth time. 

“You’re a sadist, Forge.” 

Fred placed a hand over his heart. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Y/N.” 

“Piss off, yeah?” 

He chuckled. “I’d tell you to act scary, but you’ve got that down pat.” Fred cocked his head, examining your costume. “Although, would it kill you to show a little more leg?” 

“It won’t kill me, but I might kill you.” 

Fortunately for Fred, George plucked his twin away from your murderous clutches to start greeting their guests. By the time it was half past seven, the clearing was full of your fellow students. Despite your initial reluctance, scaring the absolute piss out of people was actually a lot of fun. As Fred predicted, you had a natural talent for it. 

The first group that wandered into your neck of the woods consisted of your fellow housemates. Dean and Seamus led the pack while Ron and Harry followed close behind. The Chosen One was as pale as Peeves. Weasley, on the other hand, looked as though he might vomit at any moment. Leading the rear, Hermione shook her head and marched forward. Neville matched her pace as he nervously darted through the twisted roots choking up the forest floor. 

You waited until their group passed through the twisted willow tree before jumping out. Dean screamed in surprise while Seamus scrambled away from you. Thanks to Fred’s little trick, your hand went right through Finnigan’s shirt which caused him to shriek in terror. With a twisted smile, you yanked the hyper realistic heart out of his chest and cackled in delight. 

At the sight of the beating organ in your hands, Neville nearly passed out. Dean hauled Seamus to his feet while Ron and Harry hightailed it out of there. Hermione chuckled, shaking her head at the boys. 

“Well, they lasted longer than I thought they would,” she said. “Stuck out here for the night, Y/N?” 

“Unfortunately,” you replied as you vanished the dry blood with a quick spell. “Anyone you want me to scare the absolute wits out of tonight, Mione?” 

She chuckled, shaking her head. “No, I don’t have any scores to settle.” You nodded, wishing her a good rest of the night. 

Hermione bid you the same and started to follow the direction that the boys fled to. Before she disappeared through the thicket, a familiar, drawling voice called her back. 

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the golden girl.” 

Draco Malfoy appeared in the clearing. There was skull makeup on his face, but the shock of platinum blonde hair gave away his identity almost instantly. He stalked towards Hermione with that arrogant aristocratic smirk, completely oblivious that you were lurking in the dark. 

“All alone in the woods, little lion?”

Hermione’s gaze flickered towards you. A smile curved against her lips as her honey eyes glimmered with mischief. “On second thought…” 

The golden girl hadn’t even finished the rest of her sentence before you yanked Draco by the wrist and pushed him up against the weeping willow. The blonde blinked, his silver eyes full of surprise and terror as you raked your nails along the column of his throat. The red varnish looked like blood against his pale skin.

“All alone in the woods, little serpent?” 

Draco steeled himself. “And who are you supposed to be?” 

You smirked. “I’ll be whoever you want, darling.” Malfoy shivered as you pressed a palm against his chest. He leaned into your touch, his heart beating erratically underneath your fingertips. For Godric’s sake, he was truly making this way too easy. “As long as you give me your heart.” 

Never in his life had Draco Malfoy looked so terrified. The colour drained from his face as you reached through his perfectly tailored button down shirt, fingers slipping through the expensive silk material. You laughed maniacally and caressed his cheek. 

“Brace yourself, sweetheart. This might hurt a bit.” 

Without warning, you yanked his heart out of his chest. Draco stared in utter horror as blood dripped from your fingertips. The tell-tale heart pounded in your palm,  the mess of flesh and tissue covering your arm with carnage. To Malfoy’s credit, he didn’t scream or flee like your housemates. Instead, the Slytherin appeared rather impressed. 

“The spell work’s not bad.” Draco said with a smirk. He lifted your palm and examined the heart. “A word of advice, though. I would’ve turned the heart black. It would’ve been more realistic.” 

Just as you rolled your eyes, a deep, husky voice pulled your attention away from the blonde. 

“Who even knew Draco Malfoy had a heart?” 

You turned to find a gathering of serpents in the clearing. They were all wearing matching skull makeup, but you could clearly tell who each male was. The gang of Slytherins were pretty infamous and easily recognizable. The curly headed one had to be Mattheo Riddle. His gaze darted through the trees as though he expected someone to appear out of the thick fog. You had to hand it to her, Chloe had the Slytherin eating right out of her hand. 

The one beside him stood a little bit taller and though his face was smeared in the same white and black paint, there was no mistaking Enzo Berkshire’s lopsided grin and soft hazel eyes. Flanking either side of him was Blaize Zabini and Pansy Parkinson, the it-couple of your year, which only left one other serpent to account for. The male that had spoken earlier had to be none other than Theodore Nott. 

You turned your attention back to him, squinting in the faint light as he prowled towards you. Theodore was considerably taller than the rest of his friends, but not in the awkward scrawny way that most boys his age were. He was slim yet strong, sculpted by years of playing quidditch. The makeup only accentuated his high cheekbones and his ridiculously sharp jawline, but it was his eyes—those dead, cold eyes that had half the school swooning over him that gave you pause. 

Theodore grinned as you released your hold on Draco. He cocked his head, arrogance and swagger radiating off of him in waves as his eyes roamed your body. There was something unsettling about his gaze—Theodore’s eyes were neither green nor blue, but rather some undiscovered shade that reminded you of watercolours bleeding into each other. 

The manner in which he ogled you was shameless. He drank in your tight corset, the fishnet tights, and the thigh high boots like you were a painting on the walls of a gallery, pinned up for his viewing pleasure. You held your head high, completely undeterred by his stare. Besides, two could play that game. 

You schooled your features into indifference. “Who are you supposed to be? The Pumpkin King?” 

Theodore flashed you a charming smile that you had no doubt made the rest of the student population swoon. “I’ll be your Jack if you agree to be my Sally, sweetheart.” 

As slowly as possible, you dragged your gaze from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet. Theodore smirked as you surveyed him just as he had done to you a few moments ago. Staying true to his Slytherin roots, Theodore wore a black suit and matching freshly pressed trousers, but the silk shirt underneath was maroon—Gryffindor colours. Your house colours. 

“Brave of you to wear rival colours.” 

“I thought you’d be happy,” Theodore drawled. “Better to hide the blood when you rip my heart out, darling.” 

“You think I care about making a mess?” you said with a smirk. “That’s half of the fun.” 

Theodore flashed you a smile that spelled nothing but trouble. “Oh, I think you’re just my kind of witch.” 

“Oi, Notty boy! If you’re done flirting, we’re heading to the mirror maze.”

Blaise was regarded with a wave of dismissal. “I’ll catch up with you guys later.” 

Hermione lingered by the edge of the clearing. She raised a brow in a silent question. You merely shrugged. Theodore Nott wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle. 

“Give Longbottom my apologies, Mione. And a calming draught,” you added as an afterthought. “The poor bloke will need it.”

Your friend smiled. “Sure thing. Shall I tell the twins that you’re…indisposed?” 

“No, let my wardens sweat it out a bit.”

Hermione chuckled and waved you off. The rest of the Slytherins followed shortly after, leaving you alone with Theodore. You locked eyes for a moment before you spun on your heel and walked off in the opposite direction. The brunette stared after you in stunned silence before you looked over your shoulder and smirked at him. 

“Well, are you coming or not, Theodore?” 

The sounds of the leaves crunching below his boots indicated that Theodore had snapped out of his stupor and was catching up to you. He did so rather quickly, thanks to those long legs of his. One of his strides was equal to three of yours. It took little to no effort on his part before the two of you were walking side by side. 

“You know who I am, then?”

You shrugged. “It’s not hard to tell you and your cronies apart.” 

Theodore grinned lazily and cocked his head at you. He squinted against the faint light, no doubt trying to ascertain a hint of your identity from underneath the gold mask. 

“It hardly seems fair. You know who I am, but I have no idea who you are.”

You smirked at him. “I’m Sally, remember?” 

“Does that mean I’m your Jack?” 

“For the night, at least.”

He seemed content with that answer. “Where are we headed now, little witch?”

“The Graveyard.”

Theodore appeared slightly baffled, but brooked no argument as you led him through a thicket of trees. You chuckled at the sight of him following you blindly. “A strange girl just told you she was leading you to a graveyard and you didn’t even bat an eyelash. I thought you Slytherins were all about self-preservation?”

“I have no intention of preserving myself tonight,” Theodore drawled. “Feel free to ruin me, Sally.”

“I suppose you think you’re rather charming, don’t you Jack?”

“I don’t think, darling. I know.” 

You rolled your eyes and walked toward the lone tombstone in between the weeping willows. Theodore watched as you waved your wand and muttered an incantation. The ground rumbled beneath your feet, clearing the leaves until an ominous set of stairs appeared in front of the grave. 

Theodore peered over your shoulder. “I suppose you won’t be telling me what’s down there, will you Sally?” 

“Don’t worry, Jack. I’ll hold your hand in case you get scared.” 

It was meant to be a joke, but Theodore took the jest to heart and slipped his hand into yours. You smirked as you intertwined your fingers. If he thought a little hand holding would bother you, then Theodore had no idea what he was in for tonight. 

“Lead the way, love.”

You led him down the steps, plunging into darkness the lower you went. Theodore took the opportunity to press up behind you and kept a hand on your waist as the two of you descended. He was so close that the scent of his expensive cologne mixed with cigarette smoke assaulted your senses.  

A red hazy light flashed up ahead. The pounding music and excited chatter of your fellow classmates grew louder as you and Theodore were transported into the speakeasy. The bar was stocked with alcohol, shots and cocktails floating mid-air with themed drinks like Merlin’s Mourge-a-rita, Witches’ Brew, and Cauldron Colada. You hailed Parvati down who was apparently serving as the bartender tonight along with her twin sister. 

“We’ll take two El Diablos.” 

Theodore raised a brow, but didn’t protest as Parvati presented the shots in front of you. Your fellow housemate also floated a salt shaker and a bowl of limes on the counter. You sprinkled salt on the back of your hand and grabbed a lime wedge in preparation. Theodore did the same, minus the lime. 

“Bottoms up, Jack.” 

“Cheers, Sally.”

After licking the salt off of your hand, you clinked your glass against Theodore’s and knocked the drink back. The El Diablo certainly lived up to its name. The drink was a combination of tequila mixed with pepperup potion and topped off with a hint of cayenne. Needless to say, it had a bit of a kick. 

With a slight grimace, you bit down on the lime, which helped with the unpleasant aftertaste. Theodore caught your wrist and held your gaze as he directed your hand up to his mouth. He mimicked your move and sucked hard on the lime, his lips brushing your fingers as he licked the juice from where it had dribbled onto your palm. 

A shiver snaked down your spine. You may be a shameless flirt, but Theodore was definitely matching your energy. 

“I can’t believe the twins built a speakeasy down here,” Theodore said. He leaned in close so you could hear him over the music. “I’m almost impressed.” 

“I’ll tell my wardens you said that.” 

“You keep calling them that,” Theodore said, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “You wouldn’t mean that one of the weasels is your ball and chain in a literal sense, right?”

“Are you jealous, Jack?” 

He smirked. “I just want to know which twin I’m sending to the infirmary tonight.”

You chuckled. “I’m not dating Fred or George. I just owe them a favour. Speaking of which, I’ve got some men to scare. Be a good boy and wait for me here.”

Theodore shook his head. “Oh, I’m not letting you out of my sight. I’m yours for the night, remember?” He toyed with the laces on your corset and pulled you towards him, your breasts pressing against the hard muscles of his chest. “I have a proposition for you, little witch.”

You quirked a brow, which made Theodore chuckle darkly. “Not that kind of proposition, principessa.” He twirled the lace between his fingers. “I say we terrorise the student body together.” 

“You want to help me do my job?”

Theodore shrugged. “Why not? We can be partners in crime.” 

You cocked your head. It certainly would be more fun to have someone else partake in your chore. Curling your fingers around his maroon tie, you pulled Theodore down to your level. His gaze flickered to your mouth and you couldn’t help the thrill that buzzed in your veins as you watched him swallow thickly. 

“You’ve got a deal, Jack.” 

As it turns out, Theodore was an excellent partner in crime. The two of you concocted a rather effective formula to inflict fear upon your classmates. The Red Room soon became your hunting grounds. In the creepy blood soaked maze, Theodore chased groups through the enchanted room while you lurked in the shadows. As soon as they thought they were safe from skull face, the groups were then led right into your trap. 

You could hardly count the amount of people you scared shitless tonight. 

Eventually the two of you returned to the bar for more drinks. You ordered another round of shots, which Theodore accepted without question. By the time you were six shots deep, the tequila had annihilated any sense of personal space between you. Theodore leaned down to take a sip of your drink. 

“Trying to get me drunk, love?”

“That depends,” you quipped back. “How many drinks do I need to plie you with until you agree to dance?” 

“With you? I’d say yes while stone cold sober.”

You grinned. “Come on, then.”

Theodore allowed you to guide him away from the bar and into the throng of your fellow classmates. It was total debauchery out on the dance floor. The music pulsed seductively as bodies writhed to the hypnotic beat and the red light bathed the crowd in a sinister glow as the alcohol loosened both limbs and lips. 

The warmth of the tequila made you feel flushed, but it was nothing compared to the heat of Theodore’s hands on your waist. With your back pressed against his chest, you swayed your hips to the beat of the music. You rocked side to side and grinded against him, which caused his grip to tighten. Theodore’s fingers dug into your sides as you wrapped an arm around his neck and arched your back against his chest. 

His dark lashes fluttered as your lips brushed against the column of his throat. Theodore shuddered when you nipped at his skin. A low groan escaped his mouth as he tried to chase your lips, but you dropped low to the floor and left him in a daze. 

Theodore caught your wrist and pressed you flush against him. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that it’s not polite to tease?’ 

“Do I look like someone who gives a shit about being polite?” You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and toyed with the curls at the nape of his neck. “You should know that I have a terrible habit of playing with my food.” 

Theodore smirked and fisted your hair between his fingers. “And you should know that I have no qualms about being toyed with. As long as you promise to devour me later, little witch.”

You brushed up against him and felt his hardness rub against you. “Cross my heart and hope to die. I’ll get my taste of you tonight.” He inhaled sharply as you tugged him down to you. His eyes fluttered, fully expecting a kiss. “But before that, would you be a dear and get me another drink? I’m absolutely parched.”

A pained expression dawned on his handsome features. Theodore was fully aware of the little cat and mouse game you were playing, but he seemed keen to play along. If only to please you. 

“You’re killing me, bella,” Theodore said with a sigh. He leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss on your cheek, a promise of what was to come. “I’ll be right back. Stay here, yeah?” 

“Don’t take too long,” you said with a wink. “I might get impatient.”

With that, Theodore hustled back to the bar. You chuckled at the sight. Your amusement only grew as Chloe approached. As soon as she was within reach, you tugged your friend onto the dancefloor. She happily obliged, the moves flowing naturally. The two of you were known to bring the whole house down at countless parties. 

“I take it Riddle hasn’t found you yet?” 

“No, but he’s close.” Chloe shouted over the music, motioning to the bar where her boyfriend was currently standing. Mattheo, Theo, and Draco were talking in hushed whispers, looking rather serious. 

“Gettin’ colder, he and Draco are heading toward the exit.”

The poor Slytherin was chasing after some unsuspecting blonde girl who looked a lot like Chloe from behind. A mischievous grin curved against her lips as she watched Theodore weave his way back to you, toting a drink in each hand. 

“Is that Theodore Nott you’re flirting with?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” you replied with a coy smile. “He doesn't know it’s me, though, so if he asks you, you have no idea who I am tonight.”

“My lips are sealed.” 

With a wink, Chloe slipped away just as Theodore returned. He handed you a drink and watched as you sipped it slowly. Theodore downed his cocktail in less than a minute and tossed his cup into the nearest trash can. 

“Impatient, aren’t we?” 

“You promised a taste.” 

You smirked, chugging the rest of your drink and wiping the corner of your mouth with your thumb. Theodore watched intently as you set the empty cup down. “Come and get it, then.”

The words had barely left your lips before Theodore kissed you. There wasn’t a hint of timidness in the way that his lips crashed against yours, a soft moan escaping his mouth as he tilted your chin up to gently bite down on your lower lip. You gasped when he nipped at you, leaving your mouth open for his tongue to slide into. 

The taste of him was intoxicating as he massaged your tongue against his, licking the roof of your mouth before he kissed you sloppily, open-mouthed and positively obscene despite the crowd dancing around you. What started out as a kiss turned into a full blown make out session in the middle of the dance floor. Neither one of you felt a hint of shame as you shared another filthy kiss. With a groan, Theodore’s hands roamed along your back and squeezed when he reached your ass. 

“Fuck, you have no idea what you’re doing to me right now.” 

You smirked, already equipped with a salacious response when your gaze caught on the clock behind the bar. It was nearly midnight and the twins had instructed all the actors and actresses to gather in the main entrance for the grand finale. Fred and George would have a fit if they found out you had abandoned your post. The twats would probably demand another favour out of you. There was no way you were going to shackle yourself to the Weasleys a second time. 

“Shit,” you hissed under your breath. “It’s almost midnight. I have to get back.”

“I thought you were my Sally,” Theodore drawled. He looked slightly dazed, his curly hair dishevelled and his lips swollen from your kisses. “Not Cinderella.”

“I’m being serious, Nott. If I’m not back before the clock strikes twelve, I’ll have to owe the twins another favour.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you back in time. Besides, if we’re playing into this whole Cinderella fantasy then let’s skip to the good part and see if it fits and by it I mean me inside of you.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine. Before you knew it, you were dragging Theodore out of the speakeasy. The two of you climbed the steps three at a time, nearly tumbling over one another as you raced up the stairs. The woods were dark and foreboding, but provided plenty of cover for your illicit activities. 

You tugged Theodore along by his tie and he pressed you against an oak tree, the bark biting at your exposed skin. You were kissing again in no time and the sounds the two of you made were downright lewd. Theodore reached for your mask, but you swatted his hand away. 

“The mask stays on.” 

He smirked. “I didn’t think it was possible to get any harder, but you seem to be an overachiever.”

“I aim to please.” 

Theodore smirked against your neck as he hiked you up and wrapped your legs around his waist. His hand wandered underneath your skirt and those deft fingers of his teased along your soaked core. 

“You’re so fucking wet, little witch.” You groaned as he plunged his fingers between your folds. “Such a pretty cunt too. Will you clench this tightly around my cock when I fuck you?”

“There’s only one way to find out,” you whispered huskily. 

A stream of curses fell from Theodore’s lips, but not in a language that you understood. Italian, perhaps. Whatever it was, it sounded sexy as hell. You unbuckled his belt and slipped your hand into his trousers, feeling his hard length twitch in response. A choked groan rumbled through his chest as you pumped him between your fingers. 

You swallowed thickly. Theodore was long and hard, his cock almost too big to fit inside of you. But you always did like a challenge. 

Those watercolour eyes that had been pinned on you all night turned positively dark. The strange blue and green shade that you had grown familiar with was now swallowed by darkness, leaving Theodore with a gaze that would’ve rivalled Medusa’s. You felt it searing into your skin as you sank down on his length, biting your lip as he stretched your walls. 

“Merda,” Theodore cursed. “So fucking tight. C’mon pretty girl, that’s it. I know you can take all of me.” 

You shuddered a breath as he pushed inside. Theodore watched with hungry eyes as you took him inch by inch. It seemed never ending. “Fuck, you’re so big.” 

Tears pricked the back of your eyes. The stretch was an equal measure of pain and pleasure. You could feel every ridge and vein on his cock and your pussy hugged around him as he throbbed inside of you. 

Theodore caressed your cheek. “It’s alright, little witch. I know you can take it. I’m yours, remember? Your partner-in-crime. So use me, dolcezza. You’re in charge tonight. Just set the pace and I’ll follow.”

The reassuring words encouraged you to slowly grind against him. Theodore hissed as you lifted your hips until only his tip was inside of you. His mouth was hot and needy against yours as you grinded down to take all of him again.

“Che cazzo,” Theodore murmured as he bottomed out.

The drag of his cock was delicious. He filled you to the hilt and pressed his hand on your stomach to feel his length buried deep inside of you. The tightness it caused made the both of you groan. You rolled your hips and set a steady pace, lowering onto his cock over and over again while you whimpered.

“Oh, fuck. It feels like you’re splitting me apart.”

Theodore groaned as he sucked and nipped at your neck. The heat of his tongue was everywhere, leaving marks on your skin in his wake. It would be a pain in the ass to cover, but you didn’t care as you continued to ride him.

“Salazar fucking save me, your pussy feels like heaven.”

Theodore chuckled darkly as you clenched around him. He untied the laces of your corset impatiently, freeing your breasts from the constraints. Theodore brushed his thumb over your hard nipples before taking one into his mouth. He watched with eager eyes as you moaned, sucking and swirling his tongue while you picked up the pace. 

“You look so pretty when you fuck me,” Theodore hummed as he flicked his tongue against your stiffened peaks. “Ride me harder, little witch. That’s it. Yeah, roll your hips just like that. Good girl.”

“Gods, I didn’t expect you to have such a filthy mouth,” you said with a low laugh. “You’re always so quiet in class.”

“So we have a class together,” Theodore said as he thrusted upwards to match your pace. “I thought you sounded familiar.” 

“Is that so?” 

“It’s on the tip of my tongue, but I can't quite grasp it. I guess I’ll just have to pay extra attention to all the Gryffindor girls in my classes.”

“I’m a Gryffindor? How do you figure that?”

“Besides your entire personality? You seemed friendly with Granger and though you complain about the twins, I’d wager that you’re mates as well.” 

“Smart and handsome,” you said with a smirk.  “You’re full of surprises aren’t you, Jack?” 

Theodore smirked and thrusted sharply inside of you. “You have no idea, Sally.”

“I thought I was in charge tonight,” you said in a stern voice. 

“You are, but I think you could use a little encouragement. You’re holding back.” 

You circled your hips before lifting them and slamming back down. Theodore’s eyes rolled to the back of his head. 

“Does it feel like I’m holding back?” 

“I’m a patient man, but if you keep toying with me like this I might just have to fuck that attitude right out of you, little witch.” 

You tilted your chin up and smirked. “So do it.” 

All that bravado left your body as Theodore rutted into you. He drove his cock deep within you, stretching your walls until you were clawing at his back. Theodore grunted as you squelched and squeezed around his length. His pace was relentless and punishing, guiding your hips to bounce on his cock while you moaned in pleasure. 

“Oh gods, right there.” You cried out, burying your face into his neck. 

You inhaled his scent greedily and sank your teeth into his flesh. Theodore slowed his pace and chuckled darkly when you whined. 

“What’s the matter, little witch? Can’t take a dose of your own medicine?” 

“Don’t stop,” you whimpered. “Keep going. I’m so close.” 

“Beg me, darling. Tell me how desperate you are. I want to hear those pretty little words.” 

Theodore halted his movements, his tip barely inside of you as he teased along your folds. He held your hips in place so you couldn’t sink down to take more of him. Usually, you were used to taking charge, but the way he put you in your place had you creaming all over him. Needless to say, you weren’t above begging at this point. 

“Please, I need you. Fuck me harder. Give me everything. I can take it. Every fucking inch.”

“Merda, you’re fucking filthy. Begging for my cock like a good little slut. Brace yourself, bella. Remember that you asked for this.”

A whimper fell from your lips as Theodore bucked into your cunt. His cock impaled you, splitting you apart and knocking the very breath from your lungs as he fucked you roughly against the tree. He squeezed your ass, keeping a firm grip to secure you in place as he jackknifed into you. 

“Oh gods,” you sobbed, raking your nails underneath his shirt and dragging red lines all along his back. Theodore hissed as you clawed at him, thrusting so hard that your teeth rattled every time he drove into you. “Fuck, it’s too much.” 

Theodore grabbed your chin harshly. “No, it’s not. You begged to be fucked, now take my cock like the perfect little whore I know that you are, yeah?”

You nodded. Words escaped you at the moment. The filth coming out of Theodore’s mouth aroused you in more ways than one. Who knew that the silent Slytherin fucked like a god?

A stray tear rolled down your cheek. Theodore licked it away and chuckled as you whimpered. “Are you crying, sweetheart? Such pretty little sobs. Don’t worry, you’ll get your reward. You’ve been such a good girl for me and good girls get to cum.”

At that, Theodore rubbed your clit and pushed you over the edge. His fingers were magic against your sensitive bundle of nerves and it wasn’t long before you were clenching around him, making his hips stutter as the orgasm blindsided you. A scream echoed through the woods and it was only when Theodore covered your mouth when you realised that the sound had come from you. 

“Fuck,” Theodore cursed, dropping his forehead to yours. “Merda, I’m not gonna last much longer. Not when that pretty pussy of yours is milking me dry. Oh gods, I’m gonna cum—“

You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist as his body seized underneath you. Theodore bit into your flesh as he came, leaving a bruised purple mark on your collarbone. You had never seen anyone look as beautiful as he did when he lost control, lips parted, cheeks flushed, devil eyes rolling back as the orgasm thoroughly rocked him. 

The stillness that settled over the Forbidden Forest was almost eerie. The two of you looked at one another, dazed and confused as though you weren’t even sure who or where you were at the moment. Through all your romps, no one has ever put your body to the test like Theodore has. You could tell by his intense gaze that he likely felt the same. 

Theodore set you down gently. Compared to how rough he was a few moments ago, the contrast almost made you laugh. You heard the chime of the clock echo a beat later. 

Fuck. That only gave you a minute to sprint through the woods and make it back in time before the twins reached your clearing. You frantically re-tied your corset and straightened the skirts of your dress. Theodore was busy buckling his belt. 

“I have to go,” you said as you shrugged your robe back on. “I’ll see you around, Jack.”

“Wait, you never told me your name!” 

But Theodore was too late. You were already gone by the time he looked up. He sighed and started making his way back to the festivities. The last chime of the clock indicated that it was midnight. He could only hope that you’d gotten back in time. 

Theodore paused as something crunched underneath his feet. He peered down at the forest floor and found something golden peeking out amongst the leaves. With a smile, he picked up the golden mask. 

It looks like his mystery girl left him a clue after all. 

Theodore would find his Sally. 

He’d make sure of it. 

Theodore couldn’t remember the last time he was this excited to attend class. 

After the All Hallow’s Eve party, he’d done everything he could to dig up information on his mystery girl. Theodore had even gone as far as to interrogate the Weasley twins, but as usual, the redheaded menaces were unnecessarily difficult about it. 

“Sorry, mate, but we don’t reveal the identity of our actors and actresses,” George said with a shit-eating grin. 

Fred nodded in agreement. “Confidentiality and all that. We wouldn’t want to go around spilling trade secrets. It’s bad for business.”

The weasels stayed mum even after Theodore offered them a ridiculous amount of money to reveal his mystery girl’s identity. Unfortunately, his desperation only served to intrigue the twins and the sadistic little gits seemed to derive pleasure in seeing Theodore grow more and more frustrated. 

“Best of luck to you, Nott,” Fred said with a little smile. “If you do end up finding her, you’ll need all the fortune you can get. She’s a feisty thing, that one.” 

“I know,” Theodore said with a glare. “That’s exactly why I want to find her.”

George chuckled. “Godric bless your heart.”

If the twats weren’t his main weed suppliers, Theodore would’ve punched their teeth in. Despite Fred and George’s general uselessness, he was in a good mood when Monday rolled around. Equipped with the knowledge that his mystery girl was in one of his classes, he made sure to pay extra attention to every Gryffindor girl. It was only a matter of time before he found her. 

“You’re smiling,” Enzo commented as he caught up to Theodore in the courtyard. “What’s happened? Did my cousin fall down the moving stairs again?”

Theodore snorted. “Even better, Berkshire. I’m going to find my mystery girl today and you’re going to help me.”

“How?” 

“You’re friends with literally everyone. Someone has to know who she is.”

“Hmm, come to think of it Mattheo’s girlfriend is good friends with a lot of the Gryffindor girls. I bet she’d know who it is.” 

“Good, let’s start there. Where is Chloe anyways?” 

“Probably in the Great Hall with Mattheo.”

The two of them headed over to where the rest of the castle was currently having breakfast. Enzo made a beeline for their usual table where Mattheo, Blaise, and Draco were seated, but Thedore didn’t follow. He stopped in his tracks when he spotted Chloe seated with a girl who looked vaguely familiar to him. Theodore was sure that you had Charms together. More than that, you were wearing a red and gold tie. A Gryffindor. 

Theodore inched closer, skirting around the edges to listen in on the conversation. 

“How was your weekend?” 

Theodore froze. He knew that voice. It was husky and seductive and sounded exactly like how his mystery girl had when she’d whispered in his ear. 

It was you. 

It had to be. 

“It was good,” Chloe responded with a grin. “Really good.” 

“Mattheo found you after all, then?” 

“He did and suffice to say he liked the second part of my costume more than the first.” 

You laughed in response. Chloe leaned in and lowered her voice. “What about you? You disappeared from the speakeasy, so I’m assuming I’m not the only one who had an eventful night.”

“It was fine.” 

“Just fine?” 

You flushed, biting your bottom lip. “It was the best lay of my life.” 

Theodore smirked. So it wasn’t just him, then. The sex had truly been something else entirely. He had been confident that you must’ve felt the same way in the moment, but doubt crept in since you’d run off so abruptly. Now he had confirmation and it was satisfying as hell to hear you say it. 

“There you are,” Enzo said from behind him. “I brought Mattheo, so we can ask Chloe about your mystery girl.”

“That little witch of yours really put a spell on you, huh, Nott?” Mattheo teased. “Let’s go, then. Maybe my girl can help.”

Chloe looked up and smiled as Mattheo leaned down to kiss her. You glanced up at the exact moment that Theodore came into view. He clocked the way your cheeks flushed as your gaze landed on him.

“You know my boyfriend,” Chloe said. You nodded at Mattheo who shot you a polite smile back. “That’s Enzo and Theo. Boys, meet Y/N. Y/N, meet the boys.” 

Theodore took your hand and brushed his lips against your knuckles. “Hello, Sally.” 

You smiled back in return. “Hello, Jack.”

Chloe’s eyes widened, immediately taking stock of the situation. Mattheo and Enzo were slower to catch on, but luckily she ushered the boys away. 

“We’ll give you two some privacy.” 

You tried not to laugh as Chloe winked behind Theodore’s back. 

“I found you.” 

“So it seems.” 

“I guess you won’t be needing this anymore,” he said as he pulled out the golden mask from his backpack. Theodore’s intense gaze swept over you, cataloguing your features. 

“You kept it,” you said with a small smile. 

“I would’ve returned it sooner if you hadn’t left in such a haste after we—“

“Fucked in the woods?” 

You were amused to find Theodore blushing. “I was going to say hooked up, but I suppose that’s another way to put it. Anyways, you left in such a hurry. You didn’t even give me your name.”

“Didn’t really think you wanted me to stay.”

“Are you kidding? I haven’t been about to think about anything else since that night. You’ve taken over my thoughts. It’s fucking maddening.” Theodore caressed your cheek and tilted your chin so he could look at you better. “My mystery girl. You’re more beautiful than anything I could’ve ever imagined.” 

“Well, you have the real thing now. It’s your move, Jack.”

Theodore shook his head. “No, not Jack. Theo. That’s the name you’ll be screaming from now on. After I take you out on a proper date.”

You raised a brow. “What makes you think I’ll say yes?”

The devilish grin on his face sent shivers down your spine. “You’re really going to turn down the best lay of your life?” Your eyes widened, which made him smile even wider. “That’s right, sweetheart. You’re not the only one who can sneak up on people. So, what do you say?” 

“Pick me up at eight. Don’t be late, Theo.” 

Theodore winked. “It’s a date, Y/N.”

TAGLIST

@annaisabookworm @marina468 @yaraasthings @the0doreslover @bubybubsters @moony-artemis @natasha887 @lucyysthings @criesinlies @bunnymallowo @niktwazny303 @letmedownslows @siriuslyalovergirl @wordsarelife @clairesjointshurt @daydreamingabthar

[red-riding-wood]

Devil, Devil - Part I

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x F! Reader

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Summary: The seal of your fate, to a man falsely crowned. And to your devil, your soul was bound.

[Inspired by this request for a jazz/vaudevillian performer and the song Devil, Devil - MICK]

Warnings: Dark!Tommy, dubcon/noncon themes, noncon touching, little bit smutty but full smut in future chapters, stalking/unhealthy obsession, manipulation, blackmail, mentions of domestic abuse, blood, mild choking, mention of prostitution

WC: 5277

It was all because of that damned Peaky devil.

You cursed him for the gaudy pearls strung around your neck, for the corset that pinched your stomach so tight it would be a wonder if you’d be able to hit your lower notes. You cursed him for the waver in your stride every night you stepped onstage, for the heat beneath your skin when that frozen gaze seemed to douse you in fire, for the quiver in your tone when you sang – for you sang from your soul, and your soul trembled in the sights of the blue-eyed Devil.

He’d started arriving for your performances every night, attracting the attention of the dancers and the waitresses, the owner and the local hoodlums, but he paid no mind to any of them but you. He always sat in the second row, shadowed by the establishment’s collection of antiques. He’d light a cigarette and blow a halo for a crown, lurking in the darkness but staring at you from eyes like twin beacons, his pinewood throne framed by the black coat he never relinquished and his sharp features hallowed by the candlelit fires of Hell.

“He’s trouble, that one,” the locals had said. “Managed to turn a backwoods razor gang into an enterprise, but make no mistake; he’s got cursed blood in him. Shelby Company Limited, they call themselves now, but the Peaky Blinders they’ll always be. Thomas fuckin’ Shelby comes up from Birmingham, thinks he owns everything he sees. The Devil, some say; if you’ve crossed paths with him twice, them say it’s too late for you, when the Devil’s set his sights on your soul.”

If he’d truly set his sights on your soul, you wondered why he tormented you like this, why he never said a word but only devoured you with those frigid blue eyes, as if you were all his and you possessed not even a fraction of him. Last you’d checked, legend had it the Devil traded for souls, so what could he possibly think to grant you? The man had brought you nothing but misfortune. It was because of him that tonight you were expected to join the dancers, because your act had been slipping beneath that coldfire gaze and smoke-ring crown. Your manager claimed it was by popular customer request, but you knew better. You were a songbird, not a peacock; while the other girls of your troupe flared their feathered skirts and tasseled corsets, you were an instrument in their symphony. You got up on that stage not because you wanted to show off, but because when you sang, your soul came alive, and amidst the velvety sounds of the trombones and saxes and the lurid displays of flashing colours and lights, you were at peace.

Until he came along and ruined everything.

“I do not run a charity,” your manager had said. “I run a business. And this business, it has an image to maintain. Before our contract ends with this club, we need to show these Londoner pricks that we are not just another travelling circus with cheap whores and fake magic tricks. Nobody is questioning your ability to sing, Y/N. We just think you could be bringing a little… more.”

As you stepped onto the stage that night, and immediately felt yourself impaled by the icy hooks of that piercing gaze, you wondered if the Peaky devil also wanted a little “more”. As if you could give him anything more than what he’d already taken: your soul, your peace.

Your breath came shaky against the microphone as the lights illuminated the stage, blacking out all of the club’s customers except for one. One, whose mouth you could swear quirked into the slightest of smiles around his cigarette, whose gaze roved across your new ensemble like you were a piece of meat. Your corset already hitched your breath in your chest, and anger flared within you, frustration eating at the hollowness of your ribs as your voice came airy and light.

But this rage that had flickered to life inside you, warm and whelming like the oil lamps that cast darting shadows across the white tablecloths, it spurred a growl in your tone that surprised yet thrilled you, and as your nails curled around the microphone, your shoulders carried to the bright of the music, the dark of your tone made you feel like you were something dangerous. That perhaps a devil dwelled beneath your breast as it did the man with the eyes of death.

Feathered wings and headdresses whirled around you as the girls began their choreography, and your heart seemed to escape the heavy constriction of the corset to pound in your throat, your skull, joining the chorus of sounds that resonated deep in your bones. You sidled your hips from side to side, slowly, sensually, the way your dancer friend, Sally, had taught you, your heels beginning to click to the beat of the song.

But your flesh was burning up beneath that icy stare, and sweat prickled at your neck, and though you sang with fury, your voice still felt limited, unable to utilise the full breath of your stomach. Irritation clawed at your buzzing flesh, and your lip curled over your teeth as you attempted to belt your notes.

Damn you, Peaky bastard, you nearly breathed, hating the way his eyes seemed to gleam as you moved your body. He had no damn right to look so smug.

You tried to focus on channeling this frustration into the movements of your body and the snarl of your tone, the pearls along your chest clacking together as you twirled, your head growing dizzy as you battled for breath. It wasn’t the hoots and hollers nor the cat calls that spurred you on, but the icy hooks of the Devil’s gaze. No, he did not look at you like a piece of meat. He looked at you like you were a goddess.

Breaths coming shorter, you yanked at the laces of your corset, your irritation reaching new heights and the incense and music and cheer drowning out the voice in your head that usually kept you from doing anything stupid.

As your corset tumbled to the stage, cold air sweeping across your sweat-dappled flesh, your voice sprang free of its cage, notes pulled deep from your belly and your fury masking the tremble in your tone. The pearls pooled between your breasts, the feathers of the pasties still scratching your flesh but no longer grinding so painfully against the fabric of the corset.

The Blinder’s smirk seemed to fall, jaw clenched, bright eyes darkening and drinking you in between minacious glances at the men in the crowd who cheered, kicked at the tables, shouted obscene comments that were only half-drowned out by the smooth shrill of the trombones. Your lips pulled into a wicked grin round your teeth, and you became lost in the music as you danced and sang, not caring anymore that your breaths were short or that you didn’t hit every note just right. The look on his face made it all worth it.

And as the final notes died in your aching chest and the stage was swept by dark, and the saxes unleashed their final, wailing cry, Sally swept a sheer robe round your shoulders and ushered you from the stage and to the dressing room. Her excitement was contagious as blonde curls bounced over her bedazzled headband and she whispered praises to you, but her words seemed to muddle together as you heard, distinctly, the chanting of your name behind you like a sordid prayer.

---

The muffled notes of piano still hummed past the walls of the dressing room as you applied another coat of cherry red lipstick, a coil of smoke rising from the ash tray beside you and clouding your head as you attempted to filter out the excited chatter of the girls. Sheer gown now fitted properly around your arms, your skin had the chance to breathe without existing under the ogling eyes of the rambunctious men who had been chanting your name.

“I still can’t believe what just happened out there!” Sally’s voice cut through the throng of the rest, mostly because she had leaned over to squeal into your ear. “Did you see that gentleman at the front? His jaw practically dropped along with your corset.” She giggled, and you popped your painted lips, chasing away the smile that threatened their corner. You hadn’t noticed any man in that crowd but the blue-eyed Devil. Those twin blues were practically burned into your skull, so much so that –

You stilled, blood turning to ice in your veins and your heart freezing over in your chest. The lipstick clattered to the desk, causing Sally to jump back with a yelp that if not from her, could’ve only come from a Chihuahua.

Blue eyes stared back at you in the smudged mirror.

A sharp breath filled your lungs as the ice around your heart shattered and it began to beat again, hard, against your ribs, and your head spun from the sudden flood of cigarettes and incense. You could’ve feinted as you stood, whirling on your heel, nails splintering the wooden grain of the desk with how hard they dug in to ground yourself. Your gaze narrowed, and your heart fluttered as you found it was met with the same intensity.

The dressing room fell silent with a hush, and as Thomas Shelby sauntered in, snubbing out his cigarette in the nearest ash tray, a fearful reverence seemed to coagulate in the air, until it became so thick you could scarcely breathe.

A few of the girls darted out behind him as he drew closer to you, smirk playing at his lip and that darkness colliding with the bright of his eyes in a twisted, glittering dance. But he held out a hand before the rest could vanish, even the high-spirited Marla, who seemed dismayed but didn’t challenge him. Though not of a very tall stature, Thomas Shelby was an intimidating man, and it was evident that the name he carried made him untouchable. Your brow furrowed, teeth grinding together as you tried to work out exactly why he didn’t want the girls to leave when it seemed obvious he had come here for you and you alone. And when that icy gaze settled on you again, the bright of it glittering with mischief, and his smirk tugged higher with unmistakable pride and that insufferable smugness, you figured you were beginning to work it out. He wanted to make a statement, and whatever it was he planned, he wanted them to see.

The statement, perhaps, that your soul belonged to him. And only him.

Shoving his hands in the pockets of his trousers, he closed the gap between the two of you with an agonisingly slow stride, as if time revolved around him. The gold chain of his pocket watch glinted in the harsh lights, and you might’ve used the word “dashing” to describe his prim, collared, snow-white shirt, had you not wanted to smear the contents of the ash tray across it out of spite, or perhaps douse his black suit in some of the gold glitter the girls brushed their skin with.

Perhaps, some part of you wanted to print your lipstick along the rose-white flesh of his neck, to match his striking red tie.

Forcing such conflicted, intrusive thoughts from your reeling mind, you cocked your head, glaring at him expectantly. 

“Quite the performance.” His voice was not shrill and grating as you had anticipated, but low, rumbling like thunder over a black horizon yet pooling like soft honey between your thighs. “Tell me, songbird, do you usually win the crowd over with such provocative displays?”

Already amazed by his sheer fucking nerve, you stifled a scoff. As if you hadn’t caught him staring, lurking in the shadows of every performance.

“You tell me, Mr. Shelby,” you purred out your words, but cocked a brow in challenge. “To what do I owe such keen interest?”

The bright of his eyes glinted, and his smirk hooked his lip. “You’ve heard of me.”

“Everyone in this city knows your name. It seems to spread like some sort of plague. I’d prefer it never have crawled from the sickening bowels of the Birmingham streets, but... here it is, on my lips.” You rolled your shoulders upward, leaning against the desk, head tilted to one side.

“And yet, you wear it well.” Thomas’ gaze darted to your parted lips, snaked his tongue between his teeth as if to taste the cherry. “Don’t fret, little bird…” He spoke in a hushed baritone that still managed to reverberate through the diminishing space between you, as if the faint hiss of his whisper would mask his words from everyone but you, like clouds gathering over distant thunder. “… you’ll be saying it more often.”

A burning, whiskey-tinged breath fanned your cheeks, stirring the wisps of hair from your face. Tension mounted in the room, the girls turning into porcelain dolls as they held their breaths, but they didn’t exist outside of the threads that pulled taut between you and the Blinder.

He smelled of gunmetal, of old books. Of charcoal and wood smoke. Like blood and hellfire.

“Will I, now? Think you own these lips, is that it? Think you own my body?” You didn’t even need to take a step to bring your figure to his, your breasts brushing his chest through the sheer fabric of your robe, the chain of his pocket watch tickling your stomach.

He smelled of earth, of sacred rituals. Of frankincense and myrrh. Like dug graves and lost religion.

And like a candle, the bright of his eyes was snuffed out by the dark, and the smirk fell from sharp outlines. “You haven’t heard?” he said. “Some say I own everything the light touches…” His fingers brushed your side, the heat of his blood beneath his skin sending cold shivers along your flesh, and you cursed yourself for wishing in that moment, in which his fingers dragged reverently down the curve of your hip, that his touch would burn away the fabric between you. “Some say I own everything the light is too fearful to touch.” The pressure of his touch increased, thumb tracing your navel, and suddenly, his grasp was anything but gentle – possessive, demanding, as his fingers curled between the parting of your thighs and his nails burned against your skin. A breath hissed from your teeth and you swatted his hand away. You were surprised when he returned his thumb to his pocket, his devious smirk reappearing. Could he hear how fast your heart was beating for him, could he smell the lust that brewed beneath your flesh, could he feel the heat that had pooled like poison between your legs?

Did he know that he haunted your dreams? That you could not drift off to sleep anymore without thinking of those soft lips trailing down your sternum, of his teeth leaving bruises across your flesh?

He made you want to be worshipped, and ruined. 

“Some say you’re nothing but a Gypsy bastard.” Your voice rose, breathy and high, like a falsetto note. “A false king, with no crown.”

“But a king nonetheless.”

“A devil, the witches say. Have you come to bargain for my soul, Mr. Shelby?” Your voice dipped back into your sensual alto as you regained some vestige of control, forcing your words to rise deep from your fluttering stomach.

“Oh, I’m here for more than your soul,” he breathed, closing the sliver of a gap between the two of you again, backing your spine against the wooden desk until you could’ve sworn blood welled beneath the sheer robe. “I’m here to offer a proposal, little bird. You’re going to sing for me, at the Eden Club. I’m sure you’ve heard of it. It’s far more prestigious than this seedy place. Your pay will be tripled, and you will never know a fabric rougher than silk or taste a wine younger than a lifetime.”

Though his offer would be tempting to most anyone, you did not sing for money. Pride, it came easy to you, and you did not appreciate the condescending way in which he spoke to you, looked at you, breathed in your direction.

“I’m under contract.”

“What, this?” He chuckled, pulling the slip of paper you’d signed a year ago from the deep pocket of his trousers. The material crinkled beneath his fingers, so close you could’ve reached out and grabbed it. But you didn’t. You watched, seething, as he lowered the contract to the candle beside your lipstick, an orange tongue lapping at the corner of the ivory paper, the ink of your signature bleeding into the open flame. Out the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of Sally, her shoulders furling inward just as the edge of the paper did before it was swallowed by the flame, the blackened remnants of the contract smudged into the floorboards with the toe of the gang leader’s boot.

“Everyone can be bought with the right price,” he said. “Your boss’s wife, she likes diamonds.”

You shouldn’t have expected any less of your manager. Like most in the entertainment business, he was shrewd, frugal, ruled by greed. The idea of his wife wearing diamonds was laughable; Thomas must have been a bloody saint in her eyes, because the most you had ever seen that man gift her was a silver locket that had been put in lost and found at one of your past gigs. He must’ve sold you out before Thomas could even pull his mafia card. And then milked you for one last performance.

You hated them. You hated them all.

“Well, I will find new work. The crowd seems to love me,” you pointed out, recalling the jealousy you’d seen darken the Devil’s eyes as he’d watched over your performance. Butting shoulders, you moved to stalk past, but a vice grip latched round your forearm and you froze, a puff of startled air escaping your lips as your gaze swung to meet his.

“I haven’t told you my terms,” Thomas said, and if it was out of fear or that devilish itch between your legs that made your body acquiesce, you couldn’t be certain, but damn it all the same. He shoved you back against the desk, fire igniting in his icy eyes as his shoulders pressed to yours, his figure solid against your own, denoting no escape. “So long as you work for me, you will not dance for another man…” He had the courtesy, at least, of releasing those icy hooks from your soul, the sharp line of his jaw brushing a flushed cheek to let his breath pool against your neck as if whispering sweet nothings to a lover. His fingers, ghosting the pulse of your throat. A breath hissed between your teeth and your eyes flared as they dragged down the vulnerable flesh, demonstrating his strength in a squeeze at the base of your throat.

“They so much as look at you, I will personally take their eyes.” A kiss, placed to the crook of your collarbone, like a promise. His lips were as soft as you had imagined, and you half-expected his tongue to be forked like the legends, but it was supple and rounded as it wet your flesh. Your bottom lip caught in your teeth as you stifled a moan, your body betraying you in a slight rut of your hips. A chuckle rumbled against your ear; he knew what he was doing to you, and apparently the feeling was mutual, for the scarcely-clothed heat between your shivering legs brushed against a firmness in his slacks as your hips rolled forward.

“You see…” He paused to inhale your scent, to drink you down like the whiskey on his breath. “I’ve done some research… you like to move around so much because you have a husband, in Sheffield, who very much misses your company.”

The racing tides of heat that rolled beneath your flesh gave way to a cold sweat, and you shuddered, your blood turning once more to ice in your veins. Your heart, stolen from your chest, leaving your lips parted in a gasp. His fingers traced the hollow shell of your ribs, nails digging in where your heart should have been. His, you thought, wretchedly.

When he pulled back to assess your reaction, to witness the fear bloom in your eyes, the smugness was gone from his face, replaced by an intensity, a darkness that seemed to wrap its shadowy tendrils around your soul. His nose brushed yours, and you noticed, for the first time, that his face was freckled. Kisses from God, you’d heard them referred to as once, and if the breath had not been stolen from your lungs, you would’ve chuffed a laugh at the demented irony.

Dark lashes crowned the blue eyes that raked down your chest, his thumb continuing its snaking little path from your heart to the lip of your breast, slipping beneath the fabric of your robe. “A year ago, you spoke with a solicitor about his tendency to… well, overexpress his love.” A jolt rocked your body, accidentally sending your hips back against his, drawing a groan from his chest that managed to be irresistible despite the discomfort of the scar he perfectly traced with his forefinger. Pain exploded beneath the surface of your flesh, as if his fingers was made of glass, like the smashed bottle that had struck your side all those years ago. You shuddered beneath his touch, the alcohol on his breath suddenly foul, and for just a moment, the way the light reflected off his eyes betrayed a sliver of green in seemingly pure blue.

“The solicitor told me that you showed him this – this, that was not his to see. Not his to touch.” Your lashes batted beneath his furious breaths, but you dared not close them, dared not let this man turn into a ghost of your past. To your relief, his fingers retreated from your scar, only to cup your cheek in his palm. “You offered him one night in exchange for freedom, and by morning, he did not honour his word. Do you know what I did to the solicitor?”

Thighs damp with arousal, palms clammy with fear, you trembled, breaking, cracking at your seams. The splinters of the wooden desk pierced your flesh as you sought its support, feeling like your knees might buckle beneath you and somehow knowing that he would catch you, but that that would be worse than falling to the cold ground. Because he wanted you to break, wanted to be the freckled angel who caught you when you fell.

But somewhere, from the shattered remnants of your chest, festered a darkness, a thirst, a satisfaction as you imagined the bloodied face of the man who had tricked you, as you imagined his eyes turned pale, pale as death.

Your pain didn’t break you; it kept you standing, fractured but whole.

“To you, I may be the Devil, but the Devil keeps his bargains.” His thumb swept across the ghost of the kiss he’d left on your skin. “And when you work for me, I will ensure that your darling husband never bothers you again.”

You could not banish the tremble from your limbs, nor the ireful rise and fall of your chest. And when you spoke, your hate, it seemed, was not even for him but for ghosts, “You’re every bit as vile as the rumours say.”

“Oh, I’m worse.” He smiled, almost sweetly. “Much worse.” A clear-blue eye winked, before studying you so intently you wondered if he really could read your thoughts, your sordid desires. Your sins. “But I don’t see disgust in your eyes, little bird. I see intrigue.”

Breathe, you told yourself. Breathe.

You were most at ease when you sang, and in your moment of need, an old melody you’d heard once travelling west came to you, and with it, the curl of your lip into a wicked smirk.

“Cannot buy me, Devil, Devil,” you half-sang, half purred, the notes that found your voice carrying undertones so dark, it almost did not sound like your own.

And in this moment, you found power, in the way his thumb seemed to still against your jaw, in the way his eyes locked to yours, mesmerised, his tongue catching between his teeth. In this moment, at last, he was yours. In this moment, he was just a boy, lured in by a siren song. As the notes died in your throat, his eyes darted to your lips, something softer than lust forming in oceans of melted ice. Your fingers fumbled for the first drawer of the desk, stabilising yourself now on the ivory handle.

And the emotion vanished before you could make sense of it, frozen over by a wall of ice.   

“In life or in death, I will take your soul.” His teeth grazed the lobe of your ear, and his hand drifted to your scalp, sinking into the wild locks of your hair. “I will take everything.” Another hand closed around your waist, squeezing your ribs, bunching the fabric of your gown. “It is your choice, little bird. Because, you see, I made certain your husband knows of your infidelity. It’s a great dishonour, to a man of his station. And what sort of things does a man of his station do when he finds himself with a problem like you, eh?” Your chin was pointed sharply up, suspended by two fingers, your lips a hairsbreadth from his own as he stared you down.

“Now, I don’t think your friends will like to see what I’m going to do to you, little bird.” A growl grated the thunder of his tone, and he bit his lip. “I’m going to be a gentleman, and let you decide if you’d like them to give us privacy.”

And gone was the whiskey of his breath, the fire of his touch, the sharpness of his teeth. Thomas Shelby took a step back, smoothing out his waistcoat as if nothing had happened between the two of you. One of the porcelain dolls came alive, skittering back on her shaky heel to make way, but he paid no mind to her. He only awaited your command, as if trying to give you some false sense of control.

The silence that stretched between you was impossibly thick, like gasoline ready to ignite from one heated breath. You remembered to breathe, in, and out. And you began to sing.

“Clever Devil, Devil…”

His eyes narrowed, fixating so intensely on you that you were convinced nothing else existed in this moment beyond your dark melody, your cherry lips, your siren song.

Trembling, behind your back your fingers pulled gently at the drawer handle.

“How quickly do they sell their souls…”

He blinked, slow, enraptured. Yours.

Your fingers clasped the familiar stock of the 1911, flesh kissed by cold metal.

“… for the feast and the promise of gold.”

Time itself fractured; Thomas barely stirred as he watched your lips, your wrathful eyes, your brow sewn by ruthless will. He did not watch the gun you pulled on him, nor did he seem to hear the rack of the slide that split the quiet of the dressing room. 

“But Devil… that won’t be me.” Your velvety singing turned to words of steel in your throat, and you glared at him down the sights of your weapon. Only now, did he seem to take notice of it, with a fleeting, unconcerned glance at its gaping black maw. He could have turned it on you, but he didn’t. He just smiled, bright blue eyes shining down a silver-moon barrel to meet yours.

Stepping back, leisurely, fists buried in his pockets, he promised, “I’ll be back, to claim what’s mine.”

Your finger loosened from the trigger yet trembled as the sight of Thomas Shelby disappeared past the doorframe, nothing left of him but the soft thud of his dress shoes down the hall and the ghost of his burning touch on your skin, the dampness on your neck from the promise he’d made you. The shameful cling of the sheer robe to your slicked thighs, the cold sweat that sent shivers of winter, death, and all things barren along your flesh.

For one, gut-twisting moment, all eyes were on you. The suffocating festering of fear, the sickening crawl of disgust, the heart-wrenching trace of reproach all culminated in the air around you, cast to the incense and smoke by bright eyes and slacked jaws, crossed arms and furled shoulders.

And the girls began to scurry from the dressing room, skirts and dresses and tassels streaming behind them like streaks of lightning that followed the rumble of the storm, like rivulets of rain chased by the hurricane.

Marla was among the last to leave, her eyes wary and wild and a sneer curling her lip as her eyes traced up and down your trembling form. Only when she left did you lower your gun, sliding the hammer back in place.

That left two. Sally, and the woman who claimed herself a witch.

“I’m sorry…” you breathed, not knowing what to say. “I’m sorry you had to witness that, I – I had no idea that was going to happen.” Shifting your attention fully to your friend, you reached a tentative hand for Sally, as if to ease her anxiety. Poor thing was shaking like a furled leaf and quiet tears streaked the freckles of her heart-shaped face.

She flinched away, and your heart clenched, hand withdrawing. You set aside your gun, hoping that might settle her nerves. “At least, let me give you this back…” you untied the bedazzled choker from your neck. “It looks like this was our last performance together. Thank you, for lending me it.”

But she sprang back like a jackrabbit when the fabric brushed her knuckles, and she shook her head frantically, tears shaking free of her spidery lashes like dew falling from painted webs. “You can keep it,” she spoke, her tiny voice cracking in her chest. “Just stay away from me.”

Something bitter worked its way into the fracture of your chest, the cruel fist of rejection squeezing the remnants of your shattered heart tight. Your fist curled, hard, around the choker, so hard that when you opened it, the jewels had left red impressions on your palm, and your thanks turned to bitter ash on your tongue as the laces of the choker slipped between your fingers.

The witch, Clementine, watched you from dark eyes always shrouded in an enigma, but today, held the slight trace of unease. A foreboding weight sunk her shoulders, and when she spoke, the raspy tones of her voice were those of lost souls, crying from strangled throats to warn you of something truly grave on the horizon,

“You’re marked. You’re marked by the Devil, you are, girl.”

Your brow furrowed, and the chime of her jangling bracelets seemed to mock you like laughter as she pointed a hooked claw to your loins.

Pawing aside the fabric of your robe, your fingers swiped across the nail marks Thomas had left along your inner thigh, wrathful and red and weeping. Your fingers came away with a veneer of blood, pooling in the rings of your skin like a wax seal.

The seal of your fate, to a man falsely crowned.

And to your devil, your soul was bound.

Part II coming soon!

MASTERLIST • REQUEST

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MASTERLIST

Don't Fear The Reaper (Dark!Tommy/ Part One)

Summary: After what was supposed to be a chilled night in with a friend you end up playing a game that unintentionally summons back the dark presence that had haunted you most of your early adulthood. With no way of avoiding the inevitable reunion you are forced to face the otherworldly being and the unfinished business he is set on fulfilling. That unfinished business, you.

Warnings: Language, angst, supernatural themes, dark romance, mentions of blood, stalking, murder, obsessive behaviour, controlling behaviour, dark!tommy (This is a dark series with heavy potentially triggering undertones, please read the warnings before continuing)

Authors note: This series is inspired by the song "Don't Fear The Reaper" by Blue Oyster Cult, one of my all time favourite tracks.

November 1923...

" Today we gather in sorrow. In remembrance, as we lay Y/N Y/L/N to rest. A beloved granddaughter..." the Reverend said as he glanced up from his sermon to your grandfather, his eyes filled with unspent tears, a man of his time desperately trying to conceal the grief he felt at the vicious loss of his only remaining family member as he clutched his fingers around the single red rose in his weathered hands, scared and calloused from the years of manual labour he had endured. "a friend..." he continued as he looked at the many people gathered around the freshly dug grave, heads cast down, tears staining their reddened cheeks nipped by the cool November air of winter slowly approaching. "...and a blossoming love cruelly snatched away before it's time" he finished as he looked up across the casket to a man dressed all in black, his face concealed by the dark shadow cast by his peak cap, his eyes fixed on the muddied grass below him as a gust of bitter wind blew a scattering of dried leaves past his boots tumbling into the six-foot deep hole before him. His name, Thomas Shelby, the infamous keeper of Birmingham. " Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done..." the priest prayed, raising his hands as all those present began to recite the Lord's prayer in unison whilst Tommy pulled his gold pocket watch out, his brows knitting together at the lengthy time the service had already dragged out. He had things to do...places to be. "And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from, evil" the priest finished casting his gaze down in a moment of silence as Tommy's eyes darted up, met with the glaring stare of his Aunt as she held onto the Black Madonna around her neck. Her tear streaked face was visibly shaken from the anger rapidly coursing through her as her nephew dismissively turned his attention above to a hoard of black crows leaving their nest in a nearby tree, the ear-piercing caw of death parting in search of another poor soul of Small Heath to take to the underworld resonating through the gloomy cemetery. " We therefore commit this body to the ground, earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust..." the priest hummed as he walked around the grave to the man whose path had fatefully collided with your own. Presenting him with a small ceramic pot Tommy lifted a handful of dirt from within the jar, tossing it into the grave as he bent down on one knee, rubbing the remaining soil that had scattered on the grass between his gloved fingers.

" Let's give 'em a show eh?" Tommy whispered as he stood up wiping his forefinger across the bottom of his lower lash as he locked eyes with his cousin. His jaw tightening his teeth clenched, Michael was one breath away from doing something he would undoubtedly regret as Tommy, who was amused with the whole situation, sent him a playful wink, his cousin's angry demeanour clearly not enough to stop him from riling him further up.

" Tommy..." Ada sobbed as she clutched onto her brother's arm wiping her tears away at the tragic event that had brought this day about as every attendee proceeded to bid their final farewell whilst the coffin was slowly lowered into the ground.

" What even was the point?" Ada sniffed as she walked beside Tommy down the gravelled path. "An empty casket Tommy..." She said stopping her brother as she looked back to the workmen shovelling heaps of muddied dirt back into the grave. The finest casket made in Birmingham, Tommy made sure of it. But weightless, empty, a disgrace in Ada's eyes that her beloved friends body had not been found, the only thing left in its expected place a small pool of blood and a dishevelled flat.

" To say goodbye Ada" he said as he rubbed a cigarette across his lips squinting into the distance as he watched the numerous mourners part from the cemetery, the same cemetery he seemed to have frequented more than any other place in his lifetime.

" Shit. I'm sorry" she said turning back to face her brother and the solemn expression he had conjured up settling on his face. "How are you?" she sighed, concerned with her brother's wellbeing and the persistent stoic demeanour he refused to let falter, even in times such as these.

"As expected" he said flatly as he blew a cloud of smoke to the greying sky, rubbing his brow with his thumb.

" You can talk to me Tommy. I know you hadn't been together for long, but..." she said crossing her arms as she bit her bottom lip trying to hold back the tears welling in her eyes. "...you loved her and she loved you, any fool could've seen that" she finished as she looked down at the ground, a tear slipping over her cheek as she dug the end of her shoe into the grass whilst Tommy observed his sisters turmoil in the corner of his eye, something be had yet been able to muster up himself. " Fuck, who invited him?" she spat looking to Michael as he got into one of the many Bentleys lined up at the bottom of the path.

" Polly" Tommy replied taking one last puff of his cigarette before throwing it onto the gravelled path beneath him, stubbing it out with the flat of his boot.

" Well he has no right" Ada said glaring at her cousin as she took a step closer to her brother. "Y/N was scared of him Tommy. She didn't want to worry you but..." Ada sighed as she watched Polly follow her son into the motor vehicle that could undoubtedly feed the whole of Small Heath for the next five years. "She'd convinced herself it was him following her. And she's not alone, me and the girls from the office think it was him too. You need to do something Tommy" Ada added in a hushed voice, despaired that justice hadn't yet been delivered on behalf of her dear friend.

" And I am, alright?" Tommy replied his brows raised in irritation, his sisters relentless questions regarding your presumed untimely demise starting to get on his last nerve, the beloved boyfriend a far cry from the grieving one he had been trying to portray.

" Wait, where are you going?" Ada asked as her brother turned to leave for his car.

" Away" he replied shortly as his sister stepped in front of him, her brows creasing at the sudden patch of blood staining the collar of his freshly laundered white shirt, snagged by the sharp movement of Tommy's head snapping back to her.

" Jesus Tommy, what the fuck happened to you?" she said as she pulled his collar further down, a large cut that had all but been concealed for the entirety of the service suddenly making itself known.

"Must've nicked myself shaving" Tommy said dismissively as he pulled his shirt back up, hissing at the sharp friction of the cloth grazing against the bloodied wound on his neck.

" Nicked? Was you wrangling a wild animal whilst you was shaving?" She scoffed as she folded her arms eyeing up the crimson stain for a second time, the cut resembling more the grooves of human fingernails scratched into flesh than any injury made by the act of male grooming. " Tommy, what...what about the wake?" Ada called out to her brother as he ignored any further remarks on the suspicious gash to his neck making his way down the path.

" I need time to think, alone Ada. In peace" he called back whilst she watched from afar, an exasperated huff leaving her throat before grief overcame her once more and she headed back up to the grave to say her final goodbye in private.

"Fill her up lads, to the top" he said handing a bundle of King George notes to two more gravediggers in passing on the gritted walkway, his black coat blowing open as a gust of wind cut through the cemetery creaking the leafless branches of a weeping ash tree nearby. Lighting a cigarette Tommy looked up to the top of the graveyard, eyeing up the spot he had chosen for your supposed resting place as a devilish smirk formed on his lips, hidden to those nearby by the cloud of smoke pummelling into the crisp Autumn air. Devilish indeed, manipulative, a wicked lie fabricated for those that would never come to learn the truth of what really happened on that fateful night, all but two of course.

Pulling at your restraints you cried out as your wrists scraped along the ropes, the sharp burn of the twine searing your skin as the all too familiar sound of a car driving along the muddied grass haltered your attempts to call for aid. Cowering yourself into the corner of the small vardo you brought your knees up to your chest as the door opened and the sweet smell of tobacco filled the the room.

" Tut, tut" you heard him say as he grabbed your wrists inspecting your pathetic attempts to escape.

The man you had determined to have been following you, stalking you, now inches from you, his breath hot against your cheek as he leant forward gently untying the cloth from around your eyes, slowly pulling it away. He had fooled you into loving him, convinced you he had kept you from harms way, and he was back again to convince you once more into understanding why he did what he had so selflessly done. Albeit with a wicked grin mischievously playing on the corner of his mouth.

"Tommy..."

" Hello darling"

November 2023...

"Fuck, shit...fuck!" You yelled as you pulled your hand from within the file of papers you had decided to spring-clean, a rather late spring-clean of eight months that was. " Fuck..." You resorted one last time just for the thrills of dramatising the injury you had acquired in your attempts to be an orderly person. Said injury, a bloody paper cut. One that seemed to have amassed it's very own heartbeat in the space of a few seconds. Painful, but not the worst injury you had brought upon yourself. The great stubbing of ones toe in the summer of 2022 when you decided on rearranging your whole flat during a existential crisis had yet to be topped. Avoiding the scattering of crap that now adorned your bedroom floor you headed for the bathroom to wrap your bleeding finger in whatever was available. Toilet paper should do the trick you thought to yourself as you grabbed a roll of Andrex Supreme Quilts from your bathroom cupboard, only the finest for your ass. What on earth made you think this was a good idea? You thought to yourself as you looked around your home that had started to ressemble an episode of hoarders when a small box peaking out under a stack of folders caught your eye, its recognisable pattern embellishing the sides of the cardboard making your heart skip a beat. " What the..." You said aloud as a heavy feeling of dread and confusion settled in the pit of your stomach, your eyes wide at seeing the one item that had all but destroyed any attempts you had made to have a normal life. The same item you thought you had thrown out along with all the memories of the years you had spent trying to understand why they chose you, why it was you their voices never left your thoughts in peace. Is that how it all started? Your ability, or as your referred to it, curse. A stupid board game that had single handedly cast you out from not only your childhood friends but your own family. The same family aside from your beloved granddad that had dragged you to every psychiatrist in the county, every priest, every professional that had prescribed you not with help or sympathy but the label of burden, attention seeker. But a child's imaginary friends were not so imaginary. They would seek you out, knowing you were their connection to the living world for years up until your early adult when another deathly presence appeared, one that stayed in the shadows, always watching from afar. He was not like the others, he stayed back, his gaze always hidden by the shadow his peak cap would cast on his face. And unlike the others he scared you, really fucking scared you. Picking the box up you marched into your kitchen throwing it on the table as you reached into a cupboard for a bin bag. You had been rid of him for years and you would be rid of this game too. After all, it was because of him you shut your eyes from the unliving, ignored their whisperings, determined to live a normal life as normally as you could. That was your plan until the doorbell obnoxiously rang five times in a row and your friends voice reverberated through the corridors of your flat building.

" Open up whore, I brought booze! " she giggled loudly as you heard her stumble forward. Bloody hell, was she already drunk?

" Helena.." you smiled as you opened the door to her standing with a bottle of Smirnoff Ice in her hand, hell-bent on recreating her teen years taking shots from the bottle cap. Oh great, she brought friends, you thought to yourself as you rolled your eyes at the two smartly dressed men behind her.

" You are a klutz babe" she lovingly remarked looking down at your makeshift bandage tightly wrapped around your finger with a kiss to your cheek. " Barneby and Hugh" she introduced you to the two men that had already made themselves at home, currently splayed across your sofa as the nauseating smell of their aftershave they had doused themselves in filled the room. You would never comment on the name anyone had been bestowed upon by their dear parents but, my god...had they just walked off the polo pitch? Londoners no doubt, private upper schooling you thought to yourself, your suspicions only confirmed when the tall blonde Hugh stood up from your sofa with his hand out for you to shake his accent quickly making itself known.

" Hugh. We work for Goldman Sachs in London, took a detour to take in the local..." he cleared his throat as he looked back at his friend with a smirk. Idiot. What an opening line, was he about to present you with his business card? "...sights of Birmingham on our way up north when one of our associates introduced us to the lovely Helena" he said sitting down on the arm of your sofa as he eyes roamed over your body. Detour... What did he think Small Heath was? The local petting zoo to gawk at, the same way he was gawking at you? Yes there was your average oddball here and there and the man that walked around town shoeless, regardless as to whether it was pissing it down or scorching hot outside. But it was your town, and you wouldn't have any jumped up city boy put it down.

" Hmm, how is the big smoke?" you quipped back as the perfectly groomed man with a suspiciously tinted beard grin widened.

" She's feisty Hughey, just how you like them" his friend laughed as his grin settled into a cocky smirk. Hughey...give me strength.

" Helena, I thought we was just gonna watch a movie get some takeou.."

" What the heck! No no, you're not throwing that out!" She screeched as she bolted up from the armchair to the Ouija board you had intended to bin. She was unusually chaotic than her normal bubbly self. The Smirnoff had clearly already been tasted, enjoyed and partly consumed, you thought to yourself as you eyed up the bottle missing a good chunk of it's contents. " I've always wanted to have a go with one of these. Why didn't you say you had this naughty game in your possession?" she asked clutching it to her chest.

" I prefer strip poker but this could be a laugh " the other Londoner remarked with a chuckle as he stood up taking the box from your friend. Could you will your curse to him, you thought to yourself as your eyes narrowed in on the game in his hand. They were getting increasingly annoying. Could they just, fuck off?

" How about it Y/N?" Your friend smiled with joy at the idea of exploring the supernatural side of life.

" I, I don't think it's a good idea" you said as you snatched the box away from the man who had started rootling through it, feeling overly protective over something you intended to discard of, a sudden longing to be comforted by your childhood companions, your only companions. Would they come back if you let them? Or had too much time passed since you had shut your eyes to the spirit world, since you had pushed them out of your life?

" Don't be a spoil sport Y/N" the blonde said prying the board from your bear like grip as you began to feel as if someone was taking a part of what made you uniquely you away from your whole being.

" We can't do it here, it's not the right setting" your friend said looking around your place wanting a full immersion into whatever overly exaggerated scene she wanted to recreate from one of the many movies or shows she had watched " Ooh let's go to that passing by the riverside. You know, the one from all the story's about the dark mysterious figure that resides down there as smoke blows from the old wagons chimney" she said grinning from ear to ear recounting the story every resident of Small Heath had heard since childhood.

" Helena, that's private property" you said as she began to drag you with her to the front door, grabbing your jacket on the way out as she linked arms with you.

" It's just a bit of fun, please? " she pleaded as she waited for a response. A bit of fun, you could list a whole page of other activities that sounded funner. The first being getting take out and drinking yourself to sleep, the original plan for tonight. Could you risk delving back into the otherworldly land you had cut off? Had your ability vanished for good? What if they reappeared, what if he appeared the one you had been painstakingly avoiding for near a decade. It had been so long, surely he was gone, right?

"Fine" your reluctant response slipped out not wanting to be the that person as you headed out the door when just like any generic horror movie your friend was desperately trying to duplicate an uneasy feeling suddenly settled in your stomach. You had become the very character you would scream at your TV screen, violently throwing popcorn in its direction to not be a cliché and go into the creepy woods with a Ouija board, one slightly pissed friend and two idiot tag alongs. But yet here you was, about to ignore every fiber of your being telling your to turn back.

" Hello Mr magpie how's your wife and kids" you whispered quietly to yourself watching the black and white bird perched on a large log that had undoubtedly fallen during the storm that had come through last week as you clutched the thinnest jacket your friend could have possibly picked out for you around your body. Fashion over functionality, that was Helena's Moto you thought to yourself feeling your fingers go numb from the cool air of the bitter Autumn night. One for joy, two for a boy, how many was it for death...no fuck, that wasn't it. You mentally hummed to yourself as you looked around for a second magpie having forgotten the silly superstition your grandad had always recited to you in the presence of the blue tailed bird.

" Can warm you up if you like?" Hugh laughed putting his arm around you which you automatically shrugged off. " You're as frigid as this weather" he joked as you stormed ahead of you with an irritated huff, catching up with your friend who was a few feet ahead of you as your eyes darted around the open area surrounded by numerous large oak trees, the soft sound of the riverbank gently colliding with the muddied ground pricking your ears. As peaceful as it looked in the silver moonlight casting array of shadows onto the dewy grass you didn't want to be here, something felt...off. You was sure you had never once entered this area In your whole existence but yet, something felt eerily similar about it. What you wouldn't do to be in front of the comforting fire of your late granddads home, watching him nod off in front of the TV with a bowl of striped humbugs in his lap, his dentures floating in a glass of water beside him...not the most poetic image you could've conjured up as your anxiety started to make itself presence, but it was home, and it was where your heart was. Your thoughts had become so tangled, since he passed, uncomfortably intrusive. You felt lonely, so lonely in a world surrounded by people that life had become one long draining experience day in day out. You was desperate for relief from the crushing weight of the cards you had been dealt in life.

"Ooh perfect" your friend said snapping you out of your thoughts as she walked up to an old wooden picnic table in the middle of the passing, the worn emerald green vardo that had fallen apart like the rest of the upkeep of the area feet from you, silently stuck in times from before. " Right come on then, tell us how it works"

" Guys I don't think this is a good..." You started to say when Brian, Barney, Barneby, whatever his name was rudely interrupted you.

"You know what I think sweetie, I think you're scared" he laughed as he went to sit down, his nose turning up at the rotten wood he was about to place his Tom Ford three-piece suit that's trousers looked two sizes too small. If he was trying to accentuate what he was packing he needn't bother.

" You can sit next to me if you like" Hugh winked as you purposely made a point to sit across from him, covering your exposed cleavage with your jacket from his pervy leering eyes. The quicker you got this over with this the quicker you could distance yourself from these two imbeciles, you thought to yourself as you pulled the box In front of you, your hands tracing over the pieces of your childhood. The game in itself was pretty simple you each placed two fingers on the triangular shaped piece of wood and proceeded to ask questions. That was it, what happened after was open for debate.

"We call upon the spirit world and welcome those into the circle who wish to speak with us" you said aloud, your mouth suddenly going dry at the passage you never thought you'd hear leave your lips as the tall blonde seated in front of you scoffed at the words you could only image he thought were nothing more than absurd ramblings of wishful thinking.

" It's not doing anything" your friend remarked, now fully submerged in the game she wholeheartedly believed was more than something teens would play in abandoned buildings late at night, desperate for her own supernatural experience.

" It can take some tim..." You started to say as the planchette started moving, both idiots opposite you nudging eachother under the table as your friends eyes stayed fixed on the moving piece of wood, your own attention startled by the arrival of a dozen people slowly approaching through the wooded area, their deafening whispers muffling out your friends voice. Your eyes darted between Helena and the two men she had brought along with her, willing them to see what you could see as the small crowd of people closed in surrounding the table as they called out the names of their family. Mother's, sister, brothers, fathers, grandparents, begging you to pass message after message onward to their loved ones. "Stop..please..." you said quietly, closing your eyes as you pressed your hand to your forehead. There was too many of them, it was happening too fast. You wanted it to stop to just stop, just fucking stop...

" Enough!" A loud deep voice boomed through the crisp night air as the dead retreated back and the form of a man leaning against a tree dressed all in black came into your view, a cloud of smoke pummeling above his head, his eyes cast down at the ground as he rolled his cigarette between his fingers. It was him, he was back. " Leave" he commanded to the others as he slowly strode towards you.

They couldn't see him, why couldn't they see him? He was standing right there, right fucking next to you. You thought to yourself as your chest heaved up and down from the sheer panic rapidly coursing through you, your breaths coming in ragged shallow ripples as his black tailored coat grazed along your arm sending a burning shiver down your spine. A dumb game, a stupid dumb game. Why did you agree to this? You had unknowingly invited him back, summoned him after all the years you had painstakingly tried to keep his presence at bay, you panicked as you looked in the corner of your eye to see him rubbing his thumb over his forefinger, enticing you to look up, taunting you to meet the piercing glare you was certain you'd be met with if you dared to look his way. But yet you stayed motionless, frozen as your eyes slowly settled on your hand resting over the intricately detailed planchette as your friend beside you giggled at its erratic movements on the board below it, which either one or both of the idiots she had brought along with her were undoubtedly doing.

" Alright I've had enough, which one of you wankers is moving it?" Your friend Helena demanded to know as you looked across to the prick that had been hounding you since the moment he laid eyes on you, a faint smirk playing on the corner of his mouth when a leather gloved hand crept across the table placing itself over yours, slowly lacing it's fingers between your own. Your whole body trembling, you desperately tried to pull your hand away when the sinister figure standing beside you grip tightened, keeping your from escaping his inevitable presence as the wooden triangle started to move.

" Y/N…" Your friend said looking to you as the planchette stopped, your name having been spelt letter by letter in a gentle dance of toing and froing that swept across the board until all those present eyes widened not only in fear but confusion. If they weren't moving it, who was? Releasing his hand from yours he reached up, brushing away a lone tear resting on the top of your reddened cheek that had settled in the midst of the spine-chilling ordeal. "Babe, what's wrong?" your friend asked, your frightened, shaken demeanor concerning her enough to pull her hand from the game as she placed her arm around your shoulders in attempts to comfort you when you felt the very figure you had been evading for near a decade rest his thumb gently on the end of your chin, the sound of his leather gloves creasing sending a nauseating chill throughout your body as he turned your head to face him. And there he was. The man, the presence you thought you'd never see again, his face masked by the shadow of his peaked cap now visible to your eye, his ghostly pale skin brightened by his piercing blue eyes boring Into you as a smile formed on the edge of his lips…

" Hello darling. I've been waiting for you" he said as your bottom lip began to wobble, a cascade of tears now streaming down your cheeks wetting the leather gloved thumb still resting on your chin as he tenderly gazed into your eyes. " Shhh" he hushed your frightened sobs as his hand moved to your cheek cupping his fingers gently around the side of your neck.

" What's with her?" the man opposite your friend said as your gaze stayed fixed on the presence before you, watching the irritation build on his face at the the tender moment he had played through his mind countless times spoiled by he annoying chattering of the man accompanying you.

" You're shaking gorgeous. Offer's still there hm? Can warm you up in that broken down gypsy thing" Hugh snickered along with his friend as Helena glared at him, an array of insults leaving her lips. " We'd be better off naked though, we'll warm up quicker that way" he laughed obnoxiously when the presence before you head snapped in his direction, the blue hue of eyes quickly replaced by a sinister black as he threw the table over in front of you in one quick deliberate motion. With his hand clenched into a fist he turned to the man who had not only embarrassed you but insulted you shamelessly In front of everyone with the suggestion you were as crude as him, landing a brutally violent single punch to his face.

" What...what the fuck! What was that?" His friend stuttered leaping from the bench as he looked down at his dazed friend, blood dripping from an open gash on his bottom lip as Helena screamed in horror at what had just happened, her brain simultaneously trying to compute how it had happened. " We're getting the hell out of here" he said lifting his friend from the ground that was holding his lip together as the being beside you rested his hand firmly on your shoulder, squeezing his fingers into your flesh in a clear message to not dare move.

" Babe...Y/N we gotta go" your friend cried trying to pull you from the bench as you stayed seated and the dark presences grip on you tightened.

" Leave Helena " you cried not wishing harm to come to anyone else. He wanted you, he had haunted you for all those years. Your friend and the two men accompanying you were a mere inconvenience. And after what had just transpired, you feared what he could and would do next.

" What! No come on..!" She pleaded shaking you from what she thought was a state of shock when the man she had invited let go of his bloodied friend and started pulling her away from you. " Y/N!" she cried, the distant sound of her fighting with him as he dragged her out of the gated area slowly disappearing as you was ultimately left in silence, alone, with him.

" Please...let me go" you wept as you turned your head to face him.

" Let you go? I've only just got you back sweetheart" he said as he released his hand from your shoulder, his fingers now brushing through the locks of hair framing your face. " You invited me back love, and that was one invitation I could not refuse" he said as you stood up taking a step back when he reached out and grabbed your wrist." Now now Y/N, we have unfinished business" he said pulling you back to him, his pale ivory face inches from you, lips drained of blood tauntingly close.

" I came in peace, with no intentions to offend. I say goodbye and bid you farewell" you recited the words you had learnt by heart after any encounter you once had speaking with those from the other realm.

" Oh sweetheart, now who taught you that little rhyme eh? I'm afraid it doesn't work like that love" he chuckled cocking a brow at the idea that your silly little riddle would cause him to simply vanish before you. " My girl" he said as his thumb dragged down to the corner of your mouth, tracing the curve of your trembling lips, staring at you like a lover would gaze at their partner.

"I, I don't know you, I'm not who you're looking for" you sobbed as you looked down at your hands, clutching them together from the drop in temperature his presence demanded.

" Oh but you do know me darling. You know me very well" he said as his lips parted and his eyes drifted down to the soft flesh of your neck, down to the curves your blouse beneath your jacket hugged your body. " I've waited a century for this very moment, for us to finally be reunited. And believe me sweetheart, my patience is starting to wear thin, very thin" Is that what this was...He thought you were his dead lover, a reincarnation of her that he had been waiting a hundred years for, an anomaly where everything that makes something uniquely individual to them, their genes their likes their dislikes repeating itself into a second copy days, years, thousands of decades later, you thought to yourself as your eyes widened at the realisation of what he had been waiting for, what he had been watching you for as you turned to make a swift exit.

" I can't let you leave Y/N" he said as the large metal gate to the opening slammed shut making you abruptly stop in your tracks.

" I want to go home. I'm not her, I don't belong here..." You cried in a panic, turning back to face him as he strode forward to you his with his hand out, calmly waiting for you to take it.

" Then let me show you" he replied intertwining his fingers with yours as he gently cupped your cheek with his other hand, the welcoming chill from his leather gloved hand soothing the heat radiating from your reddened tear stained cheek. "Let me show you who you were, who you were in 1923..."

NEXT PART

Tag list: @mysticalbouquetwolf-posts @prettywhenicry4 @smayhem

[radioisntdead]

Partner in crime

Alastor x gn! reader

Warnings: OOC, death, inaccurate portrayal of getting shot

Song used

You and Alastor had known each other for years, you were close childhood friends at least you thought you were,

You remember your mothers calling the two of you a couple of peas in a pod, or partners in crime,

It was funny, who would've thought the two of you would actually become partners in crime.

Maybe if you didn't have an unhealthy codependency on Alastor you wouldn't had ended up like you did.

When you're gone I feel alone again

You scrubbed away at the floor, cleaning away any remnant of the blood that was spilled that evening, Alastor had gone to bury the remains of the poor man he had slaughtered.

The voices cannot hold my hand

You would lure them in, you were good at lulling others into a false sense of security,

They keep me company at very best

and he'd kill them when they least expected it, sometimes you felt guilty but Alastor would be quick to convince you that your guilt was unnecessary, that the people whose lives the two of you stole away deserved it.

Distract me from my loneliness

They did deserve it right?

Maybe I'm just an anomaly

You continued scrubbing the floor clean, but no matter how hard you scrubbed you could never wash away the fact that someone had died there

Even my demons have their families

You wondered how their families reacted to their loved ones death, were they mournful, were they joyful? Did they not care? Did they even notice?

Truly something must be wrong with me

Would anyone notice if you died? Besides Alastor you didn't have many friends, sure you were kinda friends with Mimzy but that was only because of Alastor, and your family, well, let's not talk about that.

You really didn't have anyone but Alastor, and you were alright with that, if you had Alastor the rest of the world could burn for all you cared.

To need you as much as I do

You heard the door open, you hurriedly dropped the towel into the bucket of now cold water, grabbing another rag you wiped away the remaining liquid.

I was never meant to win

You smiled up at Alastor from the ground.

I was never meant to win

"Welcome back Alastor!"

I was never meant to win

Codependency is truly more harmful then people give it credit for.

You'd sacrifice anything, anyone just to remain by Alastor's side, just to see him smile which he did often.

Here's the reigns

You had done this who knows how many times,

Take ahold of me

Lure them in, hand over to Alastor and then clean up the aftermath while he hid the corpse.

Please don't let me go

You didn't change the routine by much, there wasn't much of a mess this time so Alastor asked that you tag along with him this time.

You do the talking

You held the lantern lighting his area as he dug a deep grave, wouldn't want the body resurfacing anytime soon right?

Sew up my mouth if I can't keep it closed

You whispered something to him before he climbed out of the hallow grave getting ready to put the poor soul he had mercilessly killed in it.

There's a dog barking right around the block

He had just gotten done burying the corpse, you were sat comfortably on the ground with the lantern in your lap, he reached out his hand to help you up.

You both froze when you heard the unmistakeable sound of dogs barking.

And a big ol' whistle blow

Alastor looked at you and you looked back at him, you quickly took his hand to pull yourself up, lantern in your free hand.

Run for it

The two of you ran, you could faintly hear the leaves crunching underneath your feet, the cold night wind stinging your face.

I'll keep em occupied for you

The barking got louder, and you tripped over a tree root, lantern falling onto the grass the candle inside falling just at the right angle to extinguish leaving you in the darkness, the only light coming from the moon and stars above.

Alastor kept running, did he know you fell? He wouldn't abandon you right?

Cause I love you, I love you so

You got up, not bothering to dust yourself off you continued running, you couldn't see Alastor.

Left me hangin at the station

You heard shouting.

Where was Alastor? Did he notice you were missing yet?

But you'll be back for me soon

You saw a glimpse of light.

I'm 'bout to die

You didn't even have time to make a noise as a gunshot was fired into your chest, you fell to the ground.

Where was Alastor? Did he get away? Or was he shot down like you were?

Yet the only thing I find i'm worried about is you

You shakily put a hand to the place where the bullet had just entered you, honestly it didn't hurt as much as you thought it would.

Something tells me you aren't coming

Your vision began to become blurry, was it the blood loss? You didn't think you'd die that quickly,

Would you get to see Alastor one last time?

Guess that I'm truly doomed

Alastor didn't notice you were gone did he? Or maybe he did? Did you really think a future cannibal, present serial killer like Alastor would come back for you? You were a liability.

I'm 'bout to die

It was funny, you knew what kind of person he was and you still held out hope that he wouldn't abandon you.

Yet the only thing I find I'm worried about is you

You still held out hope even as your blood covered the forest ground.

Tears swelled up in your eyes as you gazed up at the night sky,

You wondered if Alastor was looking up at the sky too, maybe he had gotten home already?

I'm 'bout to die

It was a good night to die, the last sight you'd see would be the star filled night sky.

Yet the thing on my mind seems to nearly be nothing but you

Alastor let out a string of French words as he turned around to go fetch you, hoping that you weren't too far behind.

I overhear your brain when it's close to mine

Branches and leaves crunched under his shoes as he sped through the woods.

Oh, I know that we're not the same

Your hope that he'd come back for you was slowly dwindling, the voices from before had disappeared, maybe they had fled, maybe they didn't know what they did, or maybe they just didn't care.

My heart's on the line

Alastor stopped by a tree for a moment to catch his breath, the only source of light was the moon and stars above.

I'm just a pawn in your game

To Alastor you were a expendable friend.

Not your partner in crime

In all reality though, To Alastor you were everything, he'd go through hell and back if you asked, he'd take down the most ruthless of people if it'd make you smile.

And you're slowly killing me

You felt tired, you wanted to close your eyes but you fought to keep them open.

You didn't want to die.

Taking your time

Alastor continued running, soon enough he stumbled upon you.

You're slowly killing me, taking your time

With red soaked clothing you laid limp on the ground.

You're slowly killing me

"[Name]? Mon étoile?"

Taking your- I was never meant to win

You smiled as you heard Alastor's voice.

You're slowly killing me

You didn't know if you were imagining it or if he really came back for you,

Maybe it was a last act of comfort given to you before you died.

Taking your- I was never meant to win

Alastor leaned down beside you, he gently put a hand on your cheek.

You're slowly killing me

You smiled at him, just barely being able to mutter an "Alastor."

And yet I don't mind You were never meant to win

You couldn't keep your eyes open anymore.

You're slowly killing me,

The last thing you saw was Alastor, and the last thing you heard was another gunshot.

But please take your time

At least the two of you would be reunited soon enough.

Good evening folks! Originally I was supposed to post the murder Valentino with JoJo Siwa playing in the background fic today but I hit a slump with the ending and plus I think may have eaten something unfortunate because I feel sick so uh, BACK TO BACK ANGST Y'ALL, ALASTOR TODAY, TV MAN TOMORROW!

[farfetchedshow]

Hey I know you guys are making a lyric video for Sesamoid's new song, but until that happens, is there somewhere we can just read the lyrics? I don't speak English very well and it's very difficult to understand the music (the music is incredible)

You brand this curse upon my name

I damn your venom to the flame

One final glance to ghosts of yore

Shall blind our eyes to meet no more

This monster you have made, in turn

Shall see your soul forever burn

Hold your screams, the lights are turning low

A gnashing fever dream of a haunted picture show

Cause you're in for a fright

Guided by the lantern light, so

Please hold your questions, we're raising the curtains

It's high time we started the show

In the dead of night, our hero's waiting

Beneath the mask it lies, the face he's saving

And to his surprise, a well of terror filled his eyes, oh

Wretched and broken, his lies as a token, his creature was ready to go

Oh, what a monster you have made of me

Amusing, I was seen as a pet, just a meal to wet your teeth

And the scene's all in your head, it's red, let's see that the monster is fed

We bled, the dread, your terror is back from the dead

Look at him, standing proud and tall

Composing harmonies in the highest hallowed hall

But his creature of the night lies waiting for a bite

His monster is ravenous, out of the shadows

It's ready to swallow him whole

And now he's face to face, with his creation

All the bone displaced, in his fixation

Try as he might, there was never an end in sight

Creator look nearer, your monster's a mirror, revenge is delicious when cold

Oh, what a prison you had made for me

Refusing to be forced to a cell, crying out in unheard pleas

And it's all just empty threats, regrets, I'm tired of paying your debts

Forget this duet, I'm finally burning the set

Creator look closer, your monster's a mirror

You cast me aside to see yourself clearer

Unmask your deceit, the lie's lost it's shimmer

These roles would have fit if you had been sincerer

I'm not just some scene, you wish you'd shot better

I have my own dreams, I won't let them bitter

You left me in pieces, 'cause you're so damn clever

These wounds can be healed, you'll be broken forever

What does it mean? Where did it come from

Am I even seen? Behind this old bass drum

The world spins around me I can't even fathom

I'm nothing to you, am I just a phantasm

So, you ask how the story ends

Are the sinner and the devil on a path to make amends

Though the curtain falls the story's written on the walls so

It's only Act 1 you're still in for some fun so let's wait and just see where this goes

Why did it have to end this way

I refuse to be the monster you made to fit your charade

Escape the past, be buried, and embrace the slow decay

How the show will go on is only for me to say

[whorety-k]

a song that I really like is bedroom hymns by florence + the machine, which I think would work quite well with lorgar. And even if you don’t write anything with it do listen to her songs cause they’re all utter bangers. I highly recommend them

I'm a simp for Florence + The Machine lovey, don't you worry. I have sang Sky Full Of Song outside in the middle of a storm as the gods intended.

you are SO right about bedroom hymns being perfect for Lorgar, so please let me indulge us all with this one

I hope you intended for this drabble to be NSFW because a song about sex guised as a religious metaphor has me thinking about religious sex. Please enjoy my shaky understanding of structured religion and my attempt at cramming as much blasphemous/religious language as possible.

(my own religion is not very structured so this was actually a fun learning experience)

Pairing: Lorgar Aurelian x wife!Reader

Song Inspiration: Bedroom Hymns - Florence + The Machine [Youtube] [Spotify]

“Sweating out confessions / The undone and the divine / ‘Cause this is his body / This is his love / Such selfish prayers / and I can’t get enough.”

Warnings: NSFW 18+ content, heavy religious tones and language, body worship

Word Count: 462

A feather-light kiss pressed to the inside of your calf causes you to give a full body shudder, and you feel your husband’s broad chest rumble with sweet laughter. 

“So sensitive,” Lorgar whispers, breathless. His amethyst eyes trail over the love bites he’s left between your thighs, full of veneration. Devoted fingertips examine the newest scripture: a crimson bloom situated within the curve of your hip. The way he spreads your pages wide and reveres your texts has you squirming and pleading his name like a mantra. 

A delicate finger runs through your folds, gathering your dripping essence before sinking in sinfully slow. A low moan bubbles in your chest, relieved at finally receiving stimulation after the teasing worship Lorgar has been lavishing your body with.

Lorgar lifts himself from between your legs to hover over you. A free hand tips your chin towards him, smiling when your eyes find his. He kisses away your sacrificial tears as his thumb begins to rub circles in your puffy clit, playing your body the way he knows drives you towards rapture.

Leaving you dripping with tender touches is promise.

Stretching you open on his fingers is liturgy.

Sinking his aching cock into your heat is sacrament. 

Lorgar moans reverence as your cunt parts around him, sucking him in.  “You’re perfect,” he breathes, relishing in the warmth of your smaller body. He aches to press his lips to yours as he worships at your altar, to confess his impure thoughts directly into the ears of his deity, but the size difference is too great. Instead, he finds absolution in the way your hips rock back to meet his languid thrusts, finds grace in each hitched breath or ragged whine. “So good,” Lorgar sighs, “so good…”

The keen that leaves your lips as you reach your peak drives him into religious ecstasy, rutting desperately into you when you clamp down around him. Ragged moans fill your ears, your husband’s thrusts becoming erratic before his hips give a final buck firmly into you– his final offering. Warmth pools within your belly as Lorgar’s cock throbs deep inside. The fluttering of your walls is a blessing as you milk him for all he’s worth, a close to your most sacred of rituals.

Lorgar shifts back to remove himself from you, and you beam up at your husband with a smile, admiring him with heavy eyelids. You’re quick to beckon him back down to cuddle with open arms. The sight causes Lorgar’s heart to swell, and he finds himself completely lost in you once again. His tiny little wife. His world. His stars. A goddess so willing to cleanse his soul and forgive his sins.

How can he be so condemning of himself when you invite him into your hallowed space like that?

[little-diable]

Love's twisted embrace - Tommy Shelby

Y'all voted on this pairing, so I hope y'all like this! I adore writing historic fics (says the historian), I think it worked quite well with Tommy. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader's family is at war, fighting against Tommy's father. But while both are expected to hate one another, to strengthen their families, the two cherish their forbidden love.

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected piv, mentions war (nothing explicit), angsty because of the surrounding topics, set in the middle ages

Pairing: Historic!Tommy Shelby x historic!fem!reader (2.7k words)

Dearest Tommy,

Forgive me for the audacity of my quill as it dares to convey the tumultuous emotions that have become the very essence of my existence. In the darkest recesses of my heart, where secrets and desires intertwine, I find myself entangled in a web of affection, with tendrils as delicate as moonlight, yet as binding as a fateful spell. It is with the utmost trepidation that I dare to commit these thoughts to vellum, knowing full well the consequences that may befall our forbidden love.

As the ink bleeds onto this pristine canvas, I confess, my heart weeps with a sorrow so profound that it resembles the dirge of a soul trapped in purgatory. For you, my dear, have become the cursed temptation that consumes my every waking moment, as I tread the thin line between virtue and forbidden excitement. The mere thought of your visage, graced by the soft glow of candlelight, beckons my spirit towards a realm where darkness and desire entwine.

(Y/n)’s hands were trembling, rushing the words she wanted to perpetuate on the vellum. Her heart was pounding, ears focusing on the noises she could pick up on, the voices echoing through her parent’s home. She was filled with fear, scared that somebody would find her like this, writing a love letter to the man she had been in love with for months, years even. 

Their love was anything but enviable, a secret love, a love they couldn’t tell a living soul about. With their families at war, fighting against one another, (y/n) and Tommy were expected to strengthen their families, not to go behind their backs, to betray them. A foolish act of love Tommy and (y/n) could be killed for. 

Tears welled up in her eyes whenever she thought of Tommy, knowing that she’d leave her home this very evening, riding with her sisters and maids towards her father’s camp, the ruling lord that wanted to get rid of Tommy’s family, wanted to get his hands on their wealth, on their land, on their servants. A greedy man that only cared about himself, about all the riches this very life could offer him. 

In the hallowed halls of my mind, I find solace in the stolen glances and clandestine whispers we exchange, like a nocturnal symphony that resounds in the depths of my very being. Yet, beneath this enchanting facade, there lies a tempest of uncertainty, raging like a stormy sea that threatens to engulf my fragile heart. Does the echo of my affections find its way to your soul, or am I but a specter of fleeting infatuation, doomed to haunt the corridors of your thoughts?

It is the burden of these unspoken desires that weighs heavily upon my conscience, like the damning weight of secrets buried beneath a withering rose garden. In the grand tapestry of society, our love is a blemish, an aberration to be shunned and suppressed. But can the heart truly be tamed by the laws of decorum and propriety? Can it be so easily silenced, like a siren's song, when its melody resonates with the very essence of our souls?

The memory of the day where she had crossed paths with Tommy for the first time was still fresh in her mind, a day as clear as the night sky in winter nights. He had sparked a fire within her burning soul, had forced her to surrender, without having to speak one single word. It had been pathetic, a foolish woman offering her everything to the man she was supposed to hate. A man she had only felt love towards, not daring to move away from him.

He had robbed her of her honour within the first few days of knowing one another, she had begged him to touch her, to leave his marks on her trembling body. Sins the good Lord would make them pay for, souls burning in the fires of purgatory, of the eternal realm they wouldn’t be able to escape from. But she’d rather endure the pain of her sins than having to let go of the man she loved.

“(Y/n)? We leave soon, you need to come out of your chambers.” Her sister’s voice echoed through the hallway, forcing (y/n) to tense, eyes rereading the last sentence she had scribbled down. She felt her heart in her throat, choking on the words she still needed to write, finding solace in the thought of trusting one of her maids with the letter, knowing that she’d be the one to give it to Tommy. 

Alas, my dearest, the love that burns within me, with its ethereal flames and forbidden allure, knows no bounds. It devours my every thought, ravaging my spirit with a relentless hunger. Like a fading star, I find myself yearning for your presence, your touch, your whispered words of passion that echo within my fevered dreams. But I fear that these desires shall remain naught but echoes, mere phantoms of longing that torment my sleepless nights.

I beseech you, dear recipient of my heart's deepest affections, to consider the weight of my words, and to heed the echoes of a love forbidden yet irrepressible. In this world of shadows and secrets, where the flickering candlelight casts eerie silhouettes upon our shared desires, I dare to hope that you too harbour a flame that burns as brightly as mine.

Forever yours, in love's twisted embrace,

(Y/n)

……

Exhaustion clung to her body as (y/n) arrived at her father’s camp. The smell of mud, blood, and ale hung in the air, crawling up her nostrils without a warning, making the young woman choke on every breath she inhaled into her aching lungs. They had been on the road for hours, riding through the pain begging them for a break, needing to feel the ground beneath their feet. A silent plea they hadn’t been able to give into, knowing that it was too dangerous for so many women and only a few guards around to travel through this part of the country. 

“Come, I’m sure father wants to see us.” (Y/n) was dragged through the camp by her sister, clumsily following her with quivering limbs. She struggled to keep up, feet about to sink into the muddy ground, wondering how these warriors managed to survive in these conditions. Her eyes found her father’s from afar, taking in his dark eyes, the towering frame she had always feared, very well aware of the anger thumping through his veins. 

“There you are, just in time! Tomorrow we will win, we will kill Arthur and his foolish sons.” (Y/n)’s breath hitched in her chest, tears threatening to well up in her eyes at the mere thought of losing Tommy. No longer could she concentrate on her father’s taunting words, on the promises he spoke to them and to the Lord listening in on their every conversation. (Y/n) wouldn’t be able to survive without Tommy close, without the body she found in moments of weakness, the fingers stroking up her limbs, the lips speaking wordless promises she clung to. 

“Tonight we will pray. Tonight we will feast. And tomorrow we will kill. Kill in the name of our benevolent God, in the name of our honour, in the name of our family. We will own riches our eyes haven’t yet been able to admire. We will own lands far away from home, protecting our family from those that dare to move closer. And we will find suitable husbands for you to strengthen the name of our family.” Her father’s booming words cut through her skin like blades set to kill her, leaving marks on the body only Tommy was allowed to touch. Her throat tightened up, unable to reply, unable to mimic the joy filling her sister’s features, the excitement the young woman felt. 

“Excuse me, I am in need of some rest.” She spoke the words with a trembling voice, not waiting for her father’s reply, pushing past her sister. The cold air nibbled on her skin, embracing the woman that had to hold back her tears. She’d rather die than lay with a man who wasn’t Tommy, would rather disappear from earth’s ground than give into a loveless marriage. (Y/n) found no excitement in the future laying ahead of her, found no excitement in the thought of entering the bond of matrimony, at least not with a man who wasn’t Tommy. 

(Y/n) found her way to her tent, guided by one of the maids following her. The two women didn’t dare share any words, allowing (y/n) to sort through her racing thoughts. Should she run? Disappear with the night's shadow guiding her, allowing her to blend in with the darkness? Would she make it across the field, finding Tommy before the rising sun could drench the horizon in a colour as bright as the blood pouring out of wounds of fallen knights? 

“My lady,” her maid’s voice ripped (y/n) out of her trance. Her eyes flickered up to take in the features of her most trustworthy friend, the one that had been trusted to find Tommy, to give her letter to him. A small “Leave us” was whispered to the other maids, watching them hurry out of the tent, allowing the two women to exchange their secrets. “I gave him your letter, he misses you dearly. He promised that he’d fight for you, that he’d stay alive for you.” 

Tears rolled down (y/n)’s cold cheeks, hand darting out to grasp her maid’s hand. She wept in silence, clinging to every heavy breath leaving her, speaking silent promises only the howling wind could pick up on.

One prayer after another rolled off her tongue, he couldn’t die, he couldn’t. 

……

“(Y/n)?” She woke from her sleep with a gasp, eyes finding a pair of icy blue ones. A gasp left her, arms finding their way around his neck, pulling Tommy closer. His raspy chuckles echoed in her ears, hands finding her lower back, pulling her even closer.

“What are you doing here? Did anybody see you?” Her whispers were swallowed by the kiss he pressed against her lips, successfully shutting her up. (Y/n) felt her heart picking up its beat, roaring in her chest, hoping that he’d pick up on its call. 

“I had to see you, I won’t be able to fight for my life without knowing you still want me, without touching you one last time.” (Y/n) could only shake her head, murmuring a soft “It won’t be the last time” against his lips. She kissed him again, slowly laying back down on the fur covering the cold ground, pulling Tommy with her. He parted from her to unsheathe his sword, placing the weapon down on the ground. 

Her thin nightgown was pulled from her frame, naked body exposed to his darkening eyes, allowing Tommy to study the forbidden fruit, the body he shouldn’t touch and yet couldn’t stop dreaming of. It was a dangerous game they were playing, and yet neither Tommy nor (y/n) dared to stop. His cold lips kissed their way down her throat, leaving marks on her naked chest, on the breasts he kneaded with skilled fingers. 

“Oh please, promise that you’ll never stop touching me.” Her words were laced with desperation, forcing a few chuckles out of Tommy. It took him a few moments to reply, not daring to let go of her just yet, trying to prolong their hours together. 

“I promise that I’ll fight for you till God calls me from this life. I promise to defend your honour if I have to.” She couldn’t reply, weighed down by the severity of his words, of the promises he spoke before he undressed, showing his naked body to her eyes. (Y/n) had traced his scars numerous times before, listening to the stories they told, the stories filled with pain, anger, and confusion. A deadly mixture that left her heart clenching in her chest. But today her eyes couldn’t help but focus on the new scars gracing his body, the dark purple bruises covering his ribs, and the wounds that were tightly wrapped up. 

An unfamiliar kind of anger flushed through (y/n), anger directed at her father, at her brother, and the men fighting for the two. Tommy’s fingers found her chin, redirecting her gaze to stare into his eyes, getting lost in the bright blue that reminded her of places the bards sang about, places that knew no anger, no pain, no war. 

“I promise to love you till you no longer want me to. I promise to wed you, shall I survive the upcoming battle.” A sob wrecked through (y/n), lips finding his to silently communicate the gratefulness she felt. His skilled fingers disappeared between her thighs, finding her aching cunt, the arousal dripping from her. 

(Y/n) had to bite down on her lower lip, keeping herself from giving into the pleasure driven sounds wanting to escape from her flesh cage. He didn’t give her much time to adjust to his touches, the fingers she hadn’t felt pressed against her skin in weeks, needing to feel her wrapped around his cock. One of his hands found hers, fingers interlaced as he pushed into her, groaning into the crook of her neck. 

His thrusts were driven by their need for one another, by the pleasure filling their every vein, bodies trembling whenever they met. No words left the two, not daring to part their lips in fear they’d be too loud, catching the attention of those sleeping in tents close by. Their eyes spoke to one another, of the fear to part ways, not knowing what was laying ahead of them, of the fear to let go, not knowing if they’d ever be fortunate enough to share their bed again. 

Sweat was pearling on their foreheads, forming beads reminiscent of rosaries, praying to the God that listened to their every thought, to their every demand. Both wouldn’t last long, needing to give into the heat filling them, letting go with pleasure drunken features and trembling bodies. 

(Y/n)’s teary eyes didn’t dare flutter close, not wanting to miss the moments rushing by, the adoration swimming in Tommy’s pupils. A smile tugged on his lips as he met her gaze, staring down on (y/n) as he felt her walls flutter around his cock. He let go of her fingers to sneak his hand between their bodies, circling her clit, pushing her closer and closer to her high. 

“Let go for me, love.” His whispers gave her the final push, letting go with her eyes squeezed shut and her teeth drawing blood from her lower lip. His hips kept snapping against hers, driving his cock deeper into her tightness, set on chasing his own release. Tommy pulled out of her before he could let go, painting her thighs white with his cum, marking her in the most sinful way. 

The two were heavily breathing, eyes searching one another, slowly but surely realising that their time together was now coming to an end. No words were spoken as he cleaned her, no words were spoken as he redressed, tightly clinging to his sword. 

“I will see you again, either tomorrow when we’ve won the battle, or when your time on this earth comes to an end, we will be heaven bound.” One last kiss was shared between the lovers before (y/n) watched Tommy disappear, making her wonder if he had truly had just visited her or if it had been a dream, and nothing more.

[orqheuss]

Between His Teeth - CHAPTER 1

(Human!Alastor x Fem!Reader)

chapter 2

Summary:

Alastor the Radio Demon, Overlord of Pride, was never lonely. But Alastor Benoit, beloved radio host of New Orleans, Louisiana, was. *** Alastor Benoit is a busy man. A radio host by night, an amateur detective for his mother's murder by day, and a prolific serial killer on the odd occasion he had some time in-between. By all means, he was booked solid. So, what will he do when a snarky spitfire of a jazz singer catches his eye…and his heart?

Word count: 1.7k

Chapter 1: We'll Meet Again

The night life of the Pride circle was often boisterous. A day rarely went by without the sound of pulsing electronica music drowning out the death rattle of the poor souls that happened upon something that they shouldn’t have— wrong place, wrong time, and all that. Sinners typically swarmed the streets once the blood moon rose high into the sky, out searching for their next score of the latest drug or desperate for the sinful touch of another. Hell was particularly lonely at night. Even the overlords that prowled the avenues during the day made their way out into the nightlife; be that searching for new, fresh as a daisy souls to make a deal with, or simply enjoying the debauchery of their afterlife, they were well known at a plethora of the clubs lining the dismal streets. 

While enjoying the spoils of the entertainment district was the routine of many unfortunate souls, some tended towards a more simple life. High above Pentagram city, its walls freshly built after the latest Extermination of sinners, was a grand hotel. It was strangely quiet in the hallowed halls of the Hazbin Hotel. All of its patrons had retired to bed long ago, their heads pleasantly foggy and their steps lopsided and hazardous thanks to the smooth drinks served by their favorite cynical bartender. The last dregs of jazz music flitted through the long corridors of the building, a warbling songstress twisting tales of love long gone to an audience of deaf ears. Even in the dead of night, the atmosphere of the building was nostalgic in a sense— imaginary ghosts of each compatriot's life hiding amongst the shadows lining the towering walls. They mingled in their shade, swapping fables of lives lived long ago and worlds that have now blinked out like the stars against Hell’s scarlet sky. Atop the right side was a small radio tower, its antenna scraping against the clouds like a tiny bale-fire against the night sky and magic thrumming within the metallic veins of its structure. The bloody moon rained down against the windows of the station, lighting the air around it in a hazy vermilion hue. A dimmed light blinked from its apex, nothing but a tiny white star against the endless red, but glowing all the same against the muted song that streamed from its center. A soft bluesy tune sang through the night, no voices to follow along the melody, just the warbling melancholia from a lone nickel and dime trumpet. This song was different from the others that were constantly broadcasted across the land of sin— more rusty around the edges than the pristine quality of the Radio Demon’s other musical choices. This one sounded scratchy, like a home recording that got damaged by the wiles of time— a memory of something long forgotten. 

A figure could be seen through one of the many wall to wall windows lining the circular tower, his form tall and imposing to those brave enough to cast their gaze upwards. There was only one person it could be; no one else was allowed in the mythical radio tower at the top of the hill other than its owner. 

Everything about the Radio Demon was sharp corners— from his ears and antlers at the top of his head to the wing tips of his oxfords. Razor claws gripped at the wooden desk he was leaning against, fingernails making indents in the mahogany finish that would surely never be buffed out, even by the nimble fingers of the hotel’s resident maid. His lithe figure had changed exponentially in his transition from living to dead. Gone was his carefully groomed brown hair, amber eyes, and tanned sienna skin; all was replaced by startling shades of black, red, and grey. Where there was once blunted nails were now claws sharp enough to disembowel a man with one swipe. Where there was once human feet were now the hooves of a deer. A truly cruel prank from the universe, if he said so himself, turning him into the thing that he hunted most in life. The one constant was his smile. Oh, that smile. A gaudy thing that never left his angular visage. How his thin lips stretched to egregious amounts across his cheeks— indistinguishable from where his grin starts and the rest of his face ends. Those yellow, deadly sharp teeth on display for all of the realms to see if they so much as stumbled upon him in the street. It would not be amiss to find stray pieces of viscera tangled between his canines, or a splattering of blood staining the corners of his mouth, for it was his nature to devour. There was a reason he was called the cannibal killer, after all. When he was alive, many would describe his smile as charismatic, maybe even mischievous if they were feeling the fancy. Those times were long gone, though. Gone were the truly happy laughs and soft smiles for a select few people; all replaced now by the sulfuric smell of pure power and those terrifying teeth. If any resident of Hell were to ask around, they would be told one thing about the mysterious Radio Demon: he was truly a monster of astronomical proportions. 

That night was no different from any of the others. At least it seemed like it to any onlooker below. There he stood in his high tower, stature looming over the screaming denizens of Pride and that ever-present smile stretched across his face. His ruby eyes danced from street to street, observing the sinners below go about their nightly activities— murders, mayhem, and constant malice. The screams they released— he reveled in the screams. That was his favorite thing to broadcast. He was never lacking in new screams for his radio show, thanks to the scum that swam along the alleyways. 

Smiling evermore, sadistic glee twinkling in his blood red irises, his ears twitched against his head as a new, fairly foreign sound made its way through his never-ending windows. A laugh. Someone was laughing. Genuine, joyful laughter. What a rare sight, indeed. His eyes scanned the crowd, searching for the speck of happiness amongst the chaos. The Radio Demon leaned closer to his windows, a hand pressed against the glass and nails impatiently tapping a familiar rhythm— ba-bum, ba-bum, ba-bum. Spotting where the noise came from, his grin faltered at the corners at the sight of two wayward souls laughing together, their arms linked as they strolled down the street, peacefully ignoring the cacophony of sounds coming from every alleyway. 

Laughter was not uncommon, per say, in his little circle of hell; many souls found joy in the beauty of death. But, true happiness was a rarity— one he hadn’t felt in some time. An odd feeling stirred in his chest, his heart suddenly feeling significantly heavier than it did moments before and his smile much more strained. The emotion was unpleasant— scratching against his ribs as it yearned to be released, leaving only a dull ache in its wake. What was this? He pondered. Jealousy? Anger? No, he knew those emotions better than he knew himself. He didn’t know the name of this mysterious feeling yet, and if there was one thing the Radio Demon hated more than anything, it was not knowing things. A familiar feeling of rage swelled in his gut, twisting his organs into a comfortable knot as he clenched his hands against the invisible chains that fettered the souls that he owned to his own, green magic hissing from his fingers and swirling around his murderous clutches. Yet, the unknown feeling persisted. With a sigh, he waved the mist away and turned from the window, eyes down-turned and ears pressed to the back of his head as he slumped across the room and into his chair. Hearing the laughter of the happy couple once again, now more of an annoying buzz in his ear than something assaulting his senses, the pain blossoming in his chest bloomed into a garden. Loneliness. 

He laughed with someone like that, once, a voice hissed in his mind.

He growled low in his throat, lips twisted into a smiling snarl as he willed away the bittersweet thoughts. He couldn’t possibly be lonely. He didn’t need anyone anymore— he was a king among these lowly sinners.

Alastor the Radio Demon, Overlord of Pride, was never lonely. But Alastor Benoit, beloved radio host of New Orleans, Louisiana, was.  

With another growl— no one was around to hear him, after all— he ran his hands down his face in exasperation. A simple couple was enough to get him out of sorts, now? Satan, he was losing it. Reaching his hand into the pocket of his waistcoat, he thumbed at the pocket watch resting there. The metal was cold to the touch, edges of the hinge and the rotating bezel starting to tarnish from age. His nail brushed against the inscription decorating the watch face, looping letters etched into the metal in the most permanent declaration of love. Mon Coeur, it said. My Heart. Alastor sighed wistfully, an unusual sound coming from him. He missed home— his tiny corner of the bayou that only a select few people knew about. His home was filled with so much love, but also so much grief. Everything it touched bled with melancholy. He craved its familiarity, but valued that he was away from the trials and tribulations of 1920’s society. Here, in Hell, he was an Overlord— someone to be feared. Admired. Hailed. Hell was his Heaven, as much of an oxymoron as that was. He wouldn’t trade that for anything, not even all the souls he could eat. 

Well, almost anything. 

Images of flaxen hair and eyes the color of the sea after a storm sang at the corners of his mind— a voice like wind chimes on a southern spring night calling his name into the vast unknown. With another long sigh, the weight of his sins resting heavy on his shoulders and the soundtrack of his once bountiful life singing through the stereo, Alastor let himself sink deeper into his sickeningly sweet memories of times long gone.

We’ll meet again,

Don’t know where,

Don’t know when.

But, I know we’ll meet again

Some sunny day.

[carefulfears]

https://www.tumblr.com/waiting-for-the-day/724638324438024192/taking-her-to-the-liberty-bell-after-she

well you have to talk about the way mulder loves now!! it can be very subtle but also so intense (thinking about the way he looks at scully, wants to know what she thinks, when he gives her his undivided attention...)

(x) (xx) well, yes! where scully's love is very contradictory, mulder's is contemplative, i think. he's a lot more aware than people realize. but you have to get it. like you have to get what it all means. blink and you'll miss it.

a superstars of the superbowl VHS tape, an apollo 11 keychain, creepy dolls, whatever the hell was in that christmas present. everything means something. it’s like that incrementum line:

Beside him on the couch, she rips into hers with abandon - Mulder's rare gifts are always puzzling, always a challenge, more of an experience than a thing in itself. They're extensions of him and all of his complexity, like little pieces of his soul.

everything means something, and scully loves to figure it out.

he says “i didn’t know it was your birthday, scully!” with a wrapped gift in his pocket, a sparkler and song in front of her. he says “i stole these from a guy with a broken leg down the hall, he won’t be able to catch me” about flowers we watched him come through the front doors holding, always prepared with a smile and an excuse. (they both really love to adore each other, when they can get away with it).

he notices everything. he remembers everything. he’s interested, he asks questions. have you ever been to san diego? have you ever seen the liberty bell? are you gonna see that guy again? how was the wedding? if you could take out 5 people from beyond the grave, who would they be? if you could be someone else for a day, who would you be?

he can quote her senior thesis verbatim, years after reading it. references it for decades. he always wants her input, values it. it’s that moment in ice when hodge (whose partner says she feels treated like his “assistant”) yells at scully that she’s wrong, and mulder just comes and asks what she found. when they find the parasite, the first thing he does is move away from the microscope and tell scully to look.

there’s an essay in deny all knowledge about this (what do you think? by rhonda wilcox and j.p. williams); in the x-files, love is respect, and respect is curiosity. valuing what someone has to say. to her peers and superiors, she’s “mrs. spooky.” to him, she’ll be head of the bureau someday.

(and always. he tells her not to take on his flagrant plans because he doesn’t want her to jeopardize her career, have a note in her file. he fucks off to alaska alone so that she won’t risk anything. he tells her to “go be a doctor.” seven years in, both of them teary in a motel room, he tells her that there is so much more for her in her life. “there is so much more than this.” she was never just an asset to “his” quest: she’s valuable to anything, whatever she wants, whatever she sets her mind to.)

i’ve talked about this before but i think the biggest misconception when it comes to mulder and love is that nothing comes before the crusade, but the crusade is love. it’s love for samantha, yes, but the only difference between samantha’s experience and scully’s is that scully lived. it’s for samantha. it’s for scully. it’s for everyone who came before and after them both. but by nature of having survived, having returned, having come back: there’s something hallowed and fragile about scully’s spot. he would walk away from all of the rest.

when she’s gone, he signs it all away. standing on a bridge, he would trade everything. when he holds every answer that he has ever sought, he gives it up, for no deeper reason than that scully would be able to see her sister one last time. (scully by missy’s bed, crying that her sister will never know that she’s sorry. mulder whispering “oh, she knows. she knows.” and leaning up from his spot on the floor to hold her. there is no deeper conversation than that, because what matters more than that?)

when he walks into a room that holds everything that’s ever been taken from him, everything that he’s lost, everything that he’s tried to find salvation in: he keeps walking. all that he needs is one vial marked with one name.

it’s ahab and starbuck, it’s a mad captain and a devoted follower, sure: but mostly it’s a cycle. mostly it’s a snake eating its own tail.

he can’t say “no” to her for anything. he’s world’s best baby daddy because she pouted at him (because she believes he could be). complete with presents wrapped in baby paper and going to birthing classes with her and tips he learned watching oprah. bugging her about finding out the sex 😭😭 he’s worse than her mother. (“this isn't about the x-files, scully. it is only about you.“)

she feels that she failed him for the rest of her life, he never stops meeting her with absolution. he barely speaks in ghouli except to say “you have nothing to apologize for” and hug her. the original line in the the truth script, before she says that she felt he would never forgive her, is “i’m so sorry about william. i can’t imagine what you must’ve gone through. i missed you so much.”

(she spent months afraid that he would never forgive her, that she would lose everything, and then the moment comes. and all he can do is hold her, and say “i am so sorry. you have been through so much. i have missed you so much.”)

he can “feel” her thinking. he tells her that he’ll curse god for awhile, so that she can sleep. he does not believe in god. it doesn’t matter, nothing is her burden alone. (“i might not believe in god, but i believe in you. i speak to him through you.”)

he “never saw [her] as a mother” until she spoke of herself that way. when she showed up at his door in her underwear the day they met, he wrapped her up and gave her the bed, sat on the floor. matched her vulnerability. seven years later, when she invited herself into his room, he took her shoes off and slept over the sheets.

he spends his life begging to be believed, but never at the cost of her integrity, or even her peace. when she asks what her ex’s stopped watch means, he tells her “it means whatever you want it to mean.” he tells her to believe only in what’s true, what’s true to her, even when she just wants him to be “pleased.” he tells her that he won’t hold it against her if she wants to go work with someone else (even if it’s someone who’s always degrading him).

he constantly lowers himself beneath her when it’s vulnerable. if she’s standing, he sits. if she’s sitting, he kneels. he looks up to her. (and a woman who salutes her father does not know how to look down to a man, but she has to learn).

he touches her very purposefully. it’s learned, it’s earned, it’s to communicate. a gentle hand on her shoulder to say: it’s not personal, we’re friends. a light touch to her back to say: i’m here, i’ve got you.

he says “dana” so softly and deliberately. “mulder” and “scully” are terms of endearment, it’s their secret language, it’s who she became next to him. but he says “dana” to speak to who she is beneath it all. in their annoyingly austenian email love letters, it’s “dearest dana,” but it has been “dearest dana” since the very first time.

he really really likes her. even before he trusts her, when they first met, he invites her out on his run. he doesn’t go anywhere without checking if she’d like to come too. she’s his best friend. they joke about porn and go out to eat barbecue. he gets so wide-eyed and awe-struck every time she talks about literally anything, just falls dead quiet listening to her. she’s the smartest person in the world.

but the hardest thing for mulder to learn is that it’s okay to come off the cross, that it’s okay to experience something other than punishment. so they maintain so much silence, and that snake eating its tail becomes a cycle of inadvertent denial. the best way that mulder ever loved scully is trading that impossible selflessness for movie nights and popcorn. being able to just be still, to sit with her, to be present. she used to cry every time. eventually, she’s giggling over sushi.

that quote i was on about on twitter earlier? “he had the awkward tenderness of someone who has never been loved and is forced to improvise.” (isabel allende).

that’s mulder. awkward tenderness, improvisation; something that you aren’t familiar with, but never giving up on trying.

[soupdeewoop]

why (in my mind) down bad is Remus Lupin's song

[Verse 1]

Did you really beam me up In a cloud of sparkling dust i like to think that this part is when like (based on atyd) when Dumbledore comes and enrolls remus at hogwarts, and takes him to this place that is so new and sparkling to him.

Just to do experiments on? Tell me I was the chosen one so this is also about Dumbledore. i mean if you've been in the fandom long enough we know that Dumbledore isn't exactly a great person like he's deemed to be. i like how this line includes "chosen one" bc harry (obviously). it just goes to show how Dumbledore has done the same bads things for two generations of people.

Showed me that this world is bigger than us Then sent me back where I came from going back to atyd (i haven't finished atyd and not everything i say here is gonna be about it btw), remus being exposed to hogwarts and being (somewhat) happy i what i connect this line to. he came from a place of loneliness, to hogwarts, and then the war, and back to not having anyone around.

[Pre-Chorus]

For a moment, I knew cosmic love hogwarts. the marauders. sirius. yeah.

[Chorus]

Now I'm down bad, cryin' at the gym lol fuck my man probably doesn't go the gym but it does make sense for him to cry at the most random places yk? he's lost the people he loves

Everything comes out teenage petulance i feel like a lot of people would definitely become petty and like "ugh whatever" kinda attitude. after losing so many people, i mean, is there even a point to even think rationally? it might not be correct, but does it matter?

"Fuck it if I can't have him" "I might just die, it would make no difference" remus has felt this way throughout so much, i mean, should we be supreised? cause i think not. i feel like the "him" is sirius, cause he did have him back but then he DIED, so remus is just like "wtf wtf wtf why cant i just HAVE HIM you gave him to me BACK! ykw, i might just die it would make no difference"

Down bad, wakin' up in blood Starin' at the sky, come back and pick me up I'm sorry but he is a werewolf sadly. he wakes up in blood. ALONE THO. it makes sense for him to stare at the sky (maybe looking it the sirius start mayhaps?) and being like "PICK ME UP PLEASE"

Fuck it if I can't have us I might just not get up, I might stay

[Post-Chorus]

Down bad Fuck it if I can't have him Down bad Fuck it if I can't have him i (don't like) to think how he would just be on the floor after his transformation, down bad on the floor, "fuck it if i cant have him here next to me, helping me" "i could just stay here, there's no point in getting up"

[Verse 2]

Did you take all my old clothes Just to leave me here, naked and alone i mean, sirius stealing moonys sweaters and clothes is one of my favorite things, but in this context, he dint only steal that. he stole everything. his clothes, his sense of belonging, his whole fucking soul basically. and then he left him forever.

In a field in my same old town That somehow seems so hollow now? i mean this town can literally mean HIS TOWN or maybe even hogwarts? imagine how bad it must have been for him when he went to hogwarts as a teacher, the hallowness in his heart there without everybody he's known and loved for years.

They'll say I'm nuts if I talk about The existence of you um well sirius is in azkabhan. yeah.

[Pre-Chorus]

For a moment, I was heavenstruck he was heavenstruck, sirius was moonystruck

[Chorus]

Now I'm down bad, cryin' at the gym (Cryin' at the gym) Everything comes out teenage petulance "Fuck it if I can't have him" (Fuck it if I can't have him) "I might just die, it would make no difference" Down bad, wakin' up in blood (Wakin' up in blood) Starin' at the sky, come back and pick me up Fuck it if I can't have us I might just not get up, I might stay

[Post-Chorus]

Down bad (Like I lost my twin) i like how this one says "like i lost my twin" cause i feel like wolfstar are soulmates argue to the fucking wall. in my mind they're not opposite but not exactly the same. kinda like two sides on the same coin yk?

Fuck it if I can't have him (Down bad) Down bad (Wavin' at the ship) Fuck it if I can't have him

[Bridge]

I loved your hostile takeovers Encounters closer and closer after sirius escaping, maybe they did try to get back together? their encounters, where sirus gets "closer and closer". slowly but surely.

All your indecent exposures How dare you say that it's— their "indecent exposures" being at hogwarts. the love and affection. maybe sometimes being indecently exposed (sorry james [not sorry] peter)

I'll build you a fort on some planet Where they can all understand it remus would. he would whisk them both away to somewhere where no one can find them both.

How dare you think it's romantic Leaving me safe and stranded now, back to the petulance. obviously he knows this isn't sirus's fault, but sometimes pettiness takes over.

'Cause fuck it, I was in love So fuck you if I can't have us 'Cause fuck it, I was in love let him be. my man was in love with sirius black. his soulmate. he can be upset.

[Chorus]

Now I'm down bad, cryin' at the gym (Cryin' at the gym) Everything comes out teenage petulance "Fuck it if I can't have him" (Can't have him) "I might just die, it would make no difference" Down bad, wakin' up in blood (Wakin' up in blood) Starin' at the sky, come back and pick me up Fuck it if I can't have us I might just not get up, I might stay

[Post-Chorus]

Down bad (Like I lost my twin) Fuck it if I can't have him (I'm down bad) Down bad (Wavin' at the ship) Fuck it if I can't have him

[Outro]

Like I lost my twin Fuck it if I can't have him Down bad (Wavin' at the ship) Fuck it if I can't have him

and yeah. that why this song is so remus coded.

[dailydemonspotlight]

David - Day 26

Race: Fiend

Alignment: Neutral

April 25th, 2024

The Danse Macabre is one of the most famous pieces of classical music- a winding tale of death and a beautiful dance unto one's own end, with its own folklore surrounding it. On All Hallow's Eve, one is said to be able to spot skeletons rise from their graves and play the song of death, dancing until the sun rises, whereupon they collapse yet again. One of the subjects of this dance, David, belies himself as the demon of the day- a fiend who dances until sunrise, and then some, when the moon is highest on Halloween night.

According to the poem that inspired the famous classical piece, Danse Macabre, when it turns to midnight on Halloween, Death will rise. However, he's not interested in claiming souls- instead, he shall play the fiddle, calling forth the dead from their graves to dance for him, causing a night of an ecstatic dance until the cockerel crows the day anew. It's then that the skeletons shall return to their graves, waiting for the next year to come.

This famous French legend is what the Danse Macabre is primarily based upon, and is also where David originates; in this case, David represents Death in the story, calling upon his fellow fiends to dance a dance of death that continues until dawn. Heeded with the playing of his violin, he guides the living to the realm of the dead to play and dance alongside the legions of the revived skeletons. David is a unique invention, though, and his name seems to be based on the instrument he plays, that being the Davidoff Stradivarius violin.

David's design is clearly inspired by classical depictions of bards, as is his ability described in the compendium- according to most descriptions of him throughout the series, he plays songs on his enchanted violin that drive people to madness, dancing unto their death. This may be a bit of a reach on my part, but I personally hypothesize that this may also be inspired by the infamous case of mass hysteria, the Dancing Plague of 1518. Maybe, in the SMT world, David was the one who caused so many people to dance to their literal deaths in such a frenzied fervor. Another possible connection lies in the famous tale of the Pied Piper, what with his ability to control people through dance, though this is admittedly also a bit of a stretch.

David is typically one of the first fiends faced in the series, owing to his non-intimidating appearance and the fact that the most he does is play the fiddle, and he mostly serves as a useful early-game debuffer and magic attacker. He's a nice introduction to the fiend race, serving as a quick and easy guide to a game over, though nothing too special.

However, in spite of his lack of backstory and middling stats, David has certainly won my heart with his fun design and mix of inspirations, and I hope that we can all spot him next Halloween night playing the dance of death for years to come.

[bawdy-booster]

Interruptions

Ever since you were brought under Blaise’s payroll, you’ve found thoughts of the slimy fixer interrupting your work again and again. Still, it could be worse. He could actually be interrupting your investigations.

…

(3.7K Words)

It had been weeks since he’d started seeing you, and already you felt like he was becoming all you could think about.

Your song and dance with Blaise had become routine by this point.  Every Friday, the slimy fixer would show up to ensure your silence.  He’d bind you up in his slick, scarlet body as he checked in on you and your work, and when he was done combing through your files, he’d turn his full attention to you:  Coating you with his pleasing slime, riling you up with sweet nothings in your ear, showing just how thorough he could be when he—

“Detective?”

You blinked, coming down from Cloud Nine and back to your dark office.  Before you sat an old elf, tightly wound in his demeanor, his hair grayed with age and suit worn with experience.  He had come to you in your office with little besides a cane, a newspaper, and a handbag full of cash. Beneath his thick, bushy brows sat a pair of beady green eyes, eyeing you with concern.  “Are you… well, Detective?”  He asked.

“Yes, Mister Hallows,” You said, pulling yourself back together, “You were just saying about the uh… the…”

“My son, Alaric, and his err… condition.”

“Of course,” you sighed,  “I’m sorry, Sir, I’m just… how does your son’s ailment relate to the Break-In at your Store?”

“I want you to find them for me, Detective, so I can give them a piece of my mind!”  Mister Hallows scowled.  “These burglars break into my store, smash up the place, scare my only kin to shambles, and worse of all, they have the nerve to not steal anything from me?  They didn’t even touch the register!”

You sighed, holding your head in exhaustion.  “He’s your last client of the day,”  You thought to yourself, “Send him on his way, then get ready for Blaise and you can forget this whole thing even happened.”

“Look, Mister Hallows,” you explained, “I understand your frustration, but I don’t think there’s anything I can work with here.  Your son said he didn’t see or hear any of the burglars break in.  It’s like the whole thing was done by… well… by phantoms.”

Mister Hallows perked up.  “Could they be phantoms?”

“Phantoms don’t leave fur scattered about your store, Mister Hallows.”

“Maybe so,” Mister Hallows mused, “but these here phantoms… they could’ve possessed someone with fur so that they take the blame!”

As Mister Hallows rambled on about the fabrication of evidence by the souls of the hereafter, you felt a chill shiver down your spine.  Your attention turned from the elderly elf to the front door to your building opening, its hallmark bell chime followed by a slimy, gurgling sound creeping towards your office.  A slick, red figure appeared through the frosted glass of your office door.

Blaise was here, and he was here early.

“…and if we find ourselves an exorcist, Detective,” Mister Hallows finished, “I’m sure we can track down the specter behind this ordeal.”

You sprang forth from your seat as the doorknob turned, jumping past Mister Hallows to try and slam the door shut, though to no avail.  An inch was all Blaise needed to squeeze his way into the room.  He spilled through the air and landed directly into your desk chair.  You turned around and found him eyeing you up, already formed again into his usual, handsome self.

“You’re early,”  You gulped.

Blaise smirked, “And you need a vacation~”

“You.  are.  Early.”  You hissed through gritted teeth, motioning to your client sitting in front of your desk.

The slime shrugged.  “What can I say?  I wanted to surprise you.  I figured, what with how boring this afternoon’s been, I’d show up early and make tonight a bit longer for us both.”  He gave a playful wink, slipping his tongue out between his lips and darting it forward.  You flinched at the sight of it, thinking of how good it would feel in your mouth.

“Excuse me, Detective” came a voice.  The two of you turned back to Mister Hallows, staring somewhat aghast at the great red figure sitting where you once were.  “But… who is this, err… slime person?”

You gulped, realizing you hadn’t come up with a good explanation.  You’d been fortunate enough that no one had spotted you and Blaise together before, but now things were out of hand.  Blaise had placed himself with you in front of a client, one who was an elderly elf.  And knowing elves, he wasn’t about to forget about this ordeal quickly, let alone keep it secret.

“This is…” You began, only for Blaise to interrupt you.

“Roy,”  Blaise interrupted,  “Roy Brooke.  I’m a Consultant here our Detective Friend hired to help out with a case or two.”  The slime extended a friendly handshake over to Mister Hallows, and you felt yourself shrivel inside as the old man firmly grasped the slime’s hand.

“Good.”  Mister Hallows grinned.  “Archibald Hallows.  You can help us find this burglar specter of mine.”  He returned his hand, sniffing the sweet touch that had been left in his hand.  “Strawberries?”

“What can I say?  I like to keep things sweet around here.”

“That’s wonderful, Roy,” you mused, stepping back to your desk, “But could you, perhaps, leave me to my client?  We can ‘consult’ on our case later.”

You eyed the slime and that smug, self-assured look on his face.  You loved the sight of him, but heavens above, he could be a handful.

…actually, it might be best not to think of ‘Blaise’ and ‘Handfuls’ at the moment.

“Oh?”  The slime gave a feigned look of shock.  “Surely I could be of use to you, Detective.  I’m sure Mister Hallows here wouldn’t be against such an idea.”

Mister Hallows mused to himself.  “I suppose there’s no harm in it.”

You rolled your eyes and stifled a sigh.  “Alright, let’s get you up to speed.”

After coaxing Blaise out of your seat and into the empty chair next to Mister Hallows, you sat down together with the two gentlemen, recounting the story so far as you pour them each a cup of coffee.

“Monday morning,” you began thoughtfully, “Mister Hallows here leaves the Grand Metropolis to visit his younger brothers in the countryside.  Before he leaves, he entrusts his son Alaric to watch over his shop and storefront until his return in two weeks' time.”

You hand a cup of coffee to Mister Hallows, who takes it and nods.  “It was going to be a splendid time.  It’d been so long since I’d had a chance to unwind with my family.  I wanted to bring Alaric along, but…” he trailed off, murmuring to himself as he sipped on the hot drink.

“After three nights in the country,” you continue, “A telegram comes in from Alaric, urging him to come home as soon as possible.  Mister Hallows boards the midnight train back to the Grand Metropolis late last night and arrives home this morning to find his shop broken into and his son Alaric fast asleep as if nothing’s happened.”

“Intriguing,” Blaise remarks, a slimy tendril wrapping around your hand as he pulls the cup of coffee from your fingers.  “Most intriguing, Detective.”

You shiver at the sensation of Blaise wrapped around you, his tendril taking its sweet time unraveling from your arm.  You collect yourself and turn back to the facts of the case.

“Nothing from the shop is missing.  Despite Alaric’s objections, Mister Hallows files a report with Grand Metro PD.  But, as they’re up to their necks in reports, they send him over to the local PI, Yours Truly.”  You gulp down the coffee, and turn your focus back to the men before you, “So, I ask you this, gentlemen… Who breaks into a store to not steal anything?”

“A Phantom.”  Mister Hallows shivers.  “A specter of the hereafter, back to settle unfinished business.”

“An interesting tale, but unlikely.”  You take a seat in your chair and stifle a moan.  Something sticky grasps at your rear through your clothes, gently caressing your thighs.  You turn your attention to Blaise, glaring at him as if to silently say “Now Is Not The Time For This.”  He gives you a playful wink as he sips his coffee.

Thankfully, Mister Hallows remains oblivious to the silent tension between the two of you.  “Unlikely… how?”  He asks.

“Well…” You ponder, pulling from a case a while back involving two Phantoms seeking retribution against one another.  “Phantoms are an… anomaly.  A soul per–persists after death, seeking to… to reso—”

You steady yourself, your thoughts wandering as Blaise’s shifting touch constricts your thoughts… but not as much as your groin.

“To Resolve unfinished business!”  You finish, fidgeting the slime off of you.  You feel naked without his touch and side-eye Blaise.  The red menace seems as casual as ever, but his eyes dare you to finish without his touch on your skin.  “I don’t see how breaking into your shop to steal nothing from you would resolve any quarrel it would have with you.”

“Maybe he wants to toy with me,”  Mister Hallows murmured.  “Drive me mad from beyond the grave, setting up scapegoats so his larger scheme can go undetected until the moment he wants to—”

“No, no,” Blaise interrupted, “It’s too complicated.  If this Phantom wanted to toy with you, they’d do it through you directly or a loved one.”

You stand as you feel a slimy tendril coil around your leg.  “Which brings me to our first major clue,” you shout aloud, producing a small glass case showcasing a bit of animal fur.  “The fur.”

Mister Hallows blinks.  “The fur?”

“The fur.”  You continued.  “I recognize this texture and smell — canine in nature — not to mention some of the marks in your floorboard showcasing pawprints in the wood.”

“So a pack of dogmen broke into my shop!”  The elderly elf spluttered.  “I should have known!  It was those Mutts on 21st Street!”

“Not quite, Mister Hallows,” You explain, trying to calm the stirred elder.  “I’ve reason to believe only one canine was in your store last night.  Now, I believe that—”

You paused, a moment of clarity dawning upon your mind.

“One more thing, actually…” You chuckled sheepishly.  “I hate to ask, but you mentioned your son Alaric has an ailing condition.  It wouldn’t be…”

“Lycanthropy,” the elf states matter-of-factly, practically ordering you to choose your next words carefully.  “Came down with it almost a month ago after a run-in with some strikebreakers.  But I’ve been treating it with a prescription of Wolfsbane—”

“A prescription you filed under your name?”

“Alaric’s exhausted day in and day out.  He doesn’t have the time to—”

“But he has the time to watch your shop while you’re in the country?”

“He said he’d be fine while I was gone—”

“There was a Full Moon last night, Mister Hallows!”

The elf’s beady eyes twisted into a raging scowl.  “If you mean to say that my son, me own flesh and blood, ransacked me own shop, Detective, you must be—”

A torrent of red descended upon Mister Hallows, flowing over him and his chair and binding him down before he could lash out at you.  Blaise’s head formed next to his own, a slimy red hand holding the elf’s head still.

“Relax, Archie~”  Blaise soothed, “The Detective knows what they’re talking about.”  Blaise turned back to you, and you shook your head, yourself in disbelief at what you believed to have occurred.

“Mister Hallows,” you began slowly, “I do not believe that your son acted in ill will, but I do believe in this.”

You paced behind your desk, formulating the events in your mind.  Blaise watched with interest.

“One month ago,” You began, “You signed a prescription in your name for Wolfsbane to treat your son’s ailment following an attack by a werewolf.  Weeks later, you and your son are invited to visit your relatives in the country.  Being a prideful elf, as you’ve so evidently shown, you can’t stomach the idea of anyone knowing your son has this condition.  You close your shop for the week on Monday and leave Alaric to watch over it in your absence.”

You stop, turning on your heel.  “But, the prescription is finished sooner than you expected, and Alaric, unable to refill it himself, writes urgently to you to quickly come back for a day and refill it — Only you’re not quick enough.  Last night, with no Wolfsbane to halt the effects of the moonlight, Alaric transforms.  Under the influence of the Full Moon, he stumbles through your shop in a fit of confusion, unused to the proper effects of lycanthropy.  He breaks this and that all through the night until morning comes.  Upon which, he exhaustedly scrambles to his bed and falls asleep.  You arrive home in aghast at the ordeal, and you approach me today, seeking to find another reason for these events.”

You turn back to the elf bound to his chair in red slime.  “Mister Hallows, no crime has been committed here.  It was, simply put, an accident.”

The elf makes no response.

“Mister Hallows?”

A gurgling moan spills from Mister Hallows’ lips, his eyes half-lidded in euphoria from the sensations of Blaise’s slimy embrace.  You gawk at the sight of the old man coming undone in binds of red slime, ribbons of scarlet flowing over him and caressing him with wanton affection.  A part of you was in dismay at the sight, though deep within you felt jealous of the elf.

“Blaise,” you said pointedly, “What are you doing to Mister Hallows?”

The slime waves away your concern.  “The poor old man’s been so taught over this ordeal.  I figured I ought to help him unwind a bit while you explain it all away.  I must say, you are a Master of Deduction.  I’m impressed by what your mind does when you aren’t obsessing over me~”

“He’s a client!  He’s my client!  You can’t just fondle and grope my clients at your pleas—”

You gag as a band of slime shoots out and wraps around your throat.  You gag, pleasure overwhelming your senses as the tight hold leaves you gasping for breath.  Blaise slinks over to you with a toying look in his eye.

“Speaking of which…” He cooed, “I believe, as my client,  I bought your silence, Detective.  So, please… Your work is over.  Why don’t you relax like our good friend Mister Hallows and let me do my work~”

The elf murmured incoherently from the chair, the need in his voice begging for more of Blaise’s attention.

You wince as the slimy collar grips you.  Your eyes roll in your head, your mind succumbing to Blaise’s touch much quicker than you anticipated.  You’d have thought your routine visits with him would’ve numbed you to his presence, but as waves of red begin to envelop you, you can’t deny how good it feels to let him work his magic.

Blaise cups your chin in a slimy tendril, his pink eyes staring you down hungrily as a long tongue slithers from his lips.  You wanted him to quit teasing and plunge it directly down your throat.  You needed his sweet, syrupy taste in your mouth more than ever.  His tongue stretches out towards you, winding itself up to pounce.  The slime around your neck retreats, granting you room to breathe and babble incoherently at the thought of it.

The slime squeezes around your throat again, and you gag as it rises to gag your mouth.  Blaise’s tongue licks over your cheek, and the slime moves to whisper in your ear.

“You’re so eager, Detective~” Blaise teases, “But you’ll have to make do with your ‘client’ before you’re ready for me.”

Your eyes dart as Blaise’s slime lifts you, moving you to the other side of the room where Mister Hallows quivers in his binds.  Blaise sets to multitasking, combing through your files and cases as his slime sets to pleasuring you and the elf.  The two of you erupt into muffled moans as the gooey hold surrounding you ripples, sending waves of pleasure through your bodies.  Your mind raced with thoughts of how badly you needed this.

A slimy mass pushes against your crotch and your vision blurs as it pulses between your thighs.  You throw your head back, the slime slipping from your mouth to let Blaise hear you moan.  You cry out in ecstasy at the slime overwhelming your senses, and your head hangs limply as it continues its conquest of your body.

A brief thought enters your mind as your dazed eyes turn back to the elf opposite you.  It never occurred to you, but you never realized how handsome Mister Hallows was.  The elf had aged well, you could admit, but seeing him bound up alongside you made him appear to you like a vision from above.  Ensnared in lengths of scarlet, mewling incoherently as his naked body was left slick and pliant from Blaise’s touch — it was like you had sipped a fine wine beyond compare.

But most beautiful of all were his eyes.

The elf had a wonderful set of green eyes.  You knew this for a fact.  But here in Blaise’s touch, those eyes were nowhere to be seen.  Beneath his bushy brows, his eyes had glazed over with a shade of rich, rosy pink not unlike Blaise’s eyes.  They were intoxicating to look at and made you feel as if you were looking into the slime’s eyes themself.

It was these eyes that drew you to him.

It was these eyes that made you think of your own eyes, and how you’d never thought of how pretty they looked glazed in Blaise’s own.

It was these eyes that made you thrash closer to him, eager to plant your lips on him and taste the sweet syrup that glistened over both of your bodies.

And as the slime brought you closer together, you realized those same, needy thoughts were laying waste to Mister Hallows’ mind.

You descended upon the elf with a consuming hunger, your bodies moving in sync as they ground against one another.  Bliss flowed between the two of you, connected through your lips rolled over your bodies’ wonderful tastes, the silent gasps and groans accompanying your dance of delight, and the flowing caresses of your hands and the slime around you both.

As you lay with the elf, your body feeling like one together with his, Blaise continued his studies.  He scoured through file after file, pouring over notes and taking in your recent work.  At last, he stops, his eyes settled on a familiar file.

“Someone is still interested in our missing Botanist, Detective,” he tutted, looking over the case.  “You’ve done well to ignore them, but I think a more direct message may be necessary if they persist in seeing you.”  He pocketed the file into his gooey form, then turned his attention back to you.

He grinned at the sight of you descending upon Mister Hallows, the old elf’s senses coming undone as you mouthed breathlessly into his lips.

“Now then…” He smirked.

You and the elf gasped as slime wound between your bodies and pulled you apart, your tongues lulling needily as they were torn from the other’s lips.  Mister Hallows groaned as his lips were left deprived of your touch.  You panted for breath, still wanting more of that syrupy taste on your lips.

“I hope you’re finished with your appetizer, Detective,”  Blaise whispered, wrapping you tight within himself, “Because it’s time for your main course~”

A giggle leaks from your mouth as you writhe giddily in his slimy grasp, waves of crimson tormenting you as they pulse and caress you with wanton desire.  Your mind begs for him, cries out in silent mewls for him to drown you in heavenly, euphoric

Bliss~

Your mind stills as something long and red slips into your mouth.  The sickly sweet taste of strawberries silences every sensation in your body as Blaise kisses you deeply, his lips rolling over your own and pushing you deeper into his embrace.  You tremble in his touch as you feel your mind melting, everything soaked in pure pleasure.  Your fingers claw desperately for something to grip, finding their only hold in his gooey form as he binds your hands in his tendrils and spreads you out.  Your legs quiver and jolt as he blankets your body.

Every part of your body drowns in the sensation of slime.  Nothing — Nothing — is left untouched.  No inch of you is left unstained.  No muscle was left without a caress.  All you feel is Blaise.  All you know is Blaise.  All around you is Blaise.

The long, slimy tongue down your throat retreats for a moment, granting you a brief reprieve to pant and gasp for breath, only for it to push sinfully back in to give you a deeper taste.  Back and forth it comes and goes, in and out of your throat.  You gulp down 

You hardly know how long you’ve been here with him in his touch.

You hardly know your own name.

All you know is when his slime finally, lazily, pulls itself off of you, you’re still hungry for more.

Blaise shushes you as you reach out for him, and for a brief moment, he holds you still, admiring the pink in your half-lidded eyes.

“You’ve done so well tonight, Detective,” he said warmly, “Rest well, and in the morning — after you’ve received your payment for your blind eye — remember what you’ve pieced together on Mister Hallows’ case.”

Your senses succumb to the gentle pull of sleep, and Blaise carries you gently up to your bed upstairs.  Upon his return, he turned his attention to the old elf, still bound in his slime and babbling incoherently in sweet delight.

“Now, Mister Hallows,” he said with a devious grin, “I’m afraid I cannot allow you to remember some of the details from your meeting with the Detective today.  Fortunately for us, that requires us to get to know each other much more… intimately~”

Mister Hallows stilled as Blaise cupped his head in his slimy hands, caressing the old elf’s cheek.  He murmured in a shaky voice about needing something.

“Don’t worry,” Blaise soothed, rubbing his slime over the elf’s temples, “The Detective will close this case with you and your son tomorrow over lunch.  But for now, relax, and let me fix everything in your addled mind.  I know just what you need to feel so much better~”

[simonsquest]

A playlist of tracks inspired by Simon's first siege on Castlevania. :) It's significantly shorter than my last playlist, but I hope you enjoy it all the same. Like last time, I highlighted pertinent lyrics under the cut and included a link to each song on YouTube.

Genres: Power metal, symphonic metal, metalcore

Please be advised the lyrics can be quite graphic.

DRACULA X! - MARC HUDSON, JACKY VINCENT, ADRIENNE COWAN (warning: flashing images in the video) Alive under the blackened skies The hunter waits in disguise For the evil one's in sight tonight And the time is right Behind veils of a masquerade Descend brave and nameless heroes We will strike tonight, protect what's right Beneath the cover of moonlight For the sake of mankind, we must lead the blind And vanquish all the demons Across the devil's red sand, through thе archways grand A neverending mazе See the angels of light ever falling Voices on high ever calling "Now is the time to make a stand!" We strike, fighting through hordes of undead Searching the chambers unending For our one desire, the great vampire And banishing his soul with fire See the angels of light ever falling Voices on high ever calling "You will die now and leave this world!" In the castle walls Where the demons crawl We will end this reign of endless night As the palace burns Justice shall return And lift the shadows that once eclipsed the earth Until the day you rise again When the sun shines again over the promised land Forever enshrined upon our hands, the fate of every man See the sunlight fade away, behold the night again and witness The rising dust, call for blood, breaking the minds of men Yet the fear inside falls away tonight For our destiny awaits us As the prophecies spoke through the ages told The sun will shine again Leave behind all of life's fleeting stories Come forth tonight into glory Raise your swords high and storm the gates!

POWER OF WILL - DYNAZTY I'm here to burn down the past I rise to build something to last I shall refuse to ever bend Through the storm that has no end I'm gonna make the wrong be right No matter what I stand before I'll be afraid no more I am here, I'm awake 'Cause this world is mine to take Through the power of will I'll find my still again I will take the pain and let it make me strong 'cause I believe There's a force no pain can kill The power of will I've seen the bridge over all grief It's the power of belief I'm gonna cross it all with ease I'm gonna bend realities I know the way out of the dark I hold the compass in my heart, yes I'll tear down the past, build something to last I'll walk through the towering shadows been cast Through power of will I'll shatter the still Turn every stone till all the lies have been killed I'll bend, never break, I'll earn what I make I'll stand up for what I believe is at stake My will's made of stone, it's infused to the bone It's a fire-lit force with the potency of a cyclone

CALL OF THE WILD (FEAT. HANSI KURSCH) - POWERWOLF When in the night at the altar we're standing Staring at the icon on the wall When we unite for the sermon pretending The holy word by our blood we're defending Wear the crown of thorns to praise the fall Stand up, tonight we raise the call We bring the call of the wild to the sign of the sacristy Rest in the eye of our sanctity Before the dawn we are hallowed and praying Another night, all the sermon obeying Breaking down the altar and the verse Preaching all the night to break the curse

INCENSE & IRON - POWERWOLF Follow the dead in the dark of damnation Pious in head and a demon at heart Sworn to the night, an evangelist nation born Under the sign of the dark Gather the wild from the horde of the brave men Brothers allied, fight the storm of this curse Combat ahead and the night calls for heroes Ready for fire command Revel in red come and wake up to bring no remorse Stand up as force Rise over the dead, bring us ahead, incense and iron Fight all of the night, banners up high to the top of the land Right into the red, all you can get, incense and iron Stand, follow the fight, doing the right as we come to defend

LET’S BURY THE HATCHET… IN YOUR HEAD - ICE NINE KILLS You sold our souls, so burn in Hell You fucking did this to yourself again Now, bow your head You suffocated us for the last time We paid the price for your pathetic vice So now we're taking back what's ours: Our name, our blood, our life, our cause! Oh! So, wake up Here's a mirror so you can see This crooked, spineless, disgusting man That's become your legacy Here and now I'm pulling all my strings I have with God I'm hoping to find a better way I pray the only thing I need is time To rid the world of your lunacy You're as faithful as a false prophet So, here's a prophecy for you: Yeah, you'll remember me (remember me, remember me!) When you're struggling to breathe! Can't you see what a monster you've become? I couldn't watch the world through your eyes Salvation for you's in the hands of God So save your prayers and just beg for life I'm fucking done with you

THE PLOT SICKENS - ICE NINE KILLS We’ll make it out alive Lord hear our prayer across the air Is God’s intent final decent or just a test of our faith? If we have to crawl out, in spite of this hell We’ll find a way out, we’ll find a way out Left behind by God or the devil himself To find a way, find a way, to make it out alive The sight at hand, gruesome and grand, cannot be rectified Searching for signs of life in wreckage we can’t recognize We cry out for those who can’t be saved One foot on sacred ground and one foot in the grave Steady we climb, ready to die To look salvation in the eye If we have to crawl out, in spite of this hell We’ll find a way, find away, to make it out alive

FEED THE FLAME - THAUROROD Fire from the heart Master it while you are Searching for truth Of our lives You are the light Walk through the fire To enter the light Banish the eternal night Stand tall and proud Let your heart feed the flame Things will never again Be the same This much is true Heaven or hell It starts with you Change begins with yourself Reach for the light In our lives Fight the good fight

EAGLEHEART - STRATOVARIUS All through the night he is lying awake Wondering how much more can he take Watching the walls where the shadows dance Drifting away into a trance And his eyes are blazing with fire Dreams burnt to ashes so many times Highest of mountains, still he climbs Ready to fly 'cause he just can't stay Flame burning brighter with every day And his eyes are blazing with fire Longing for the deepest desire Fever is burning in his veins Determined with courage, breaking the chains Back against the wall, under blood red skies Prepared to fight until he dies

[mischiefandmedicine]

Very Full - Chapter 16: The Night We Met

Summary: Melara returns home and reflects on her life.

Word Count: 3,244 words.

Chapter Warnings: Angst, sadness, talk of pain.

Soundtrack Link

This Chapter's Music Inspiration:

The Night We Met by Lord Huron

Very Full MASTERLIST

Previous Chapter

A/N: Reminder that I do not own the rights to the lyrics. Yes, I connect the story a lot to songs. I enjoy the idea of a life soundtrack.

Let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist!

In the shadowed corners of the Avengers compound, amidst the hum of ceaseless vigilance, there lingered a softer, more human melody. It was in these hallowed halls that Saoirse, young and wide-eyed, watched her Melara grapple with an existence that was at once both radiant and ravaging. Even at her tender age, Saoirse sensed the undercurrent of sorrow that threaded through her mother’s days, a silent partner to the chronic pain that never quite receded into the background. And her argument with Loki only seemed to make matters worse.

Melara, whose spirit was as vibrant as the music she conjured from the depths of her being, carried her affliction with a grace that belied the tears Saoirse often caught glistening in her eyes. The pain, a cruel tax levied upon her mother’s every breath, seemed to fuel a creative fire that blazed through the notes and lyrics of her songs. To the world, Melara’s music had soared, a phoenix rising with wings unfurled from the ashes of her suffering, gaining adoration and acclaim as it climbed the charts.

Yet, for Saoirse, the music was a double-edged sword. It was the lullaby that had rocked her to sleep, the anthem of her childhood. But it was also the siren song that heralded the slow unraveling of her mother. Melara’s melodies were spun from the threads of her agony, and they shimmered with a beauty that was heartrending. The more Melara’s fame grew, the more her songs resonated with souls across the globe, the heavier the toll it seemed to take on her.

Saoirse, though only seven, bore the heavy mantle of the silent observer from the comfort of their space within the compound. She had neither the words nor the means to articulate the helplessness that gnawed at her small heart. She could only watch, her violet eyes a mirror to the torment and triumph that warred within her mother.

The days melded one into the other, each marked by Melara’s fierce determination to rise to the demands of her flourishing career despite her condition. Her mother would smile, would perform, would shine under the spotlight – only to return to their quarters with a pallor that makeup no longer concealed and a weariness that sleep could not cure. Saoirse would listen to the soft sobs that escaped from behind the bathroom door, the sound muffled by the rush of water and the walls that stood between them. Occasionally, Saoirse could swear she even heard her father’s name escape from her mother’s lips in her sleep, a fever dream she had every night, no matter how good the day.

Saoirse understood, in her own way, that her mother was fighting a battle that went beyond the physical. Melara was striving to leave a legacy, to carve out a piece of eternity through her art, perhaps to defy the impermanence that her illness whispered of in the dark hours.

Yet, for all her mother’s strength, there was an ever-present shadow that lurked behind the smiles and the curtain calls – a specter that grew bolder with each passing day. It was a shadow that Saoirse, young as she was, recognized as the harbinger of loss. Try as she might, Saoirse’s magic was not strong enough to summon her own father to rescue her mother from the torment.

The compound, with its heroes and its healers, became the stage upon which Melara’s dual life played out. And in the midst of it all was Clint, the quiet sentinel who watched over both mother and daughter. His presence was a constant, a reminder of the life that continued beyond the confines of fame and pain.

In those days, the compound was more than a refuge; it was a witness to the cost of greatness to the price of a mother’s love, and to the silent understanding of a child who saw too much too soon. It was a place where Saoirse learned the language of unshed tears and unspoken fears, where she came to understand the resonance of her mother’s music, and where she first glimpsed the inexorable approach of an ending that seemed written in the stars.

In the wake of her tempestuous farewell to Loki, Melara found herself adrift in the quiet aftermath, her emotions as raw as an open wound. The Avengers compound, once a bastion of strength and solace, now echoed with the hollow remnants of her shattered connection. It was there, following a shared song with Clint, whose empathetic ear and gentle strumming offered a semblance of peace amidst the silent chorus of her own heartbreak.

But the respite was fleeting. The next day, the call to return home to Wisconsin, to the roots and the reality of her life before the grandeur of stages and the acclaim of crowds, loomed over her. It was a homecoming tinged with disquiet, a journey back to the origins of her dreams, now colored by the fatigue that clung to her like a shadow. She would return to the place where she met Loki, the place where Saoirse was born, and above all, the place where she had fallen in love with the disjointed family that they had created.

The flight back to Wisconsin, though, was a quiet affair, Melara’s gaze often drifting to the clouds beyond the window of their private jet, lost in the thoughts she could not voice. Saoirse, ever perceptive, nestled close to her mother, sensing the unease that vibrated through her. With a tenderness that reversed their roles, Melara soothed her daughter, her gentle caresses and whispered assurances painting a veneer of normalcy over the canvas of her anxiety as Saoirse laid her head in Melara’s lap.

Evelyn, the matriarch whose wisdom and love had shaped Melara into the force of nature she was, awaited them at the airport. Her keen eyes, missed nothing, noting the telltale signs of her daughter’s weariness. With Saoirse in tow, she offered a warm embrace, her words for her granddaughter laced with a knowing that spoke volumes.

“She looks tired, doesn’t she?” Evelyn whispered to Saoirse, careful to keep her observations from reaching Melara’s ears. It was a dance they had perfected over time, a way to acknowledge the struggle without adding to its weight.

Saoirse, nestled against her grandmother, merely nodded looking up at her, her young heart aching with the understanding that her mother’s vibrancy was dimming, the flame that had once burned so brightly now flickering uncertainly.

The return to Wisconsin was bittersweet. Melara’s smile, as she breathed in the familiar air, was genuine, but it was a joy tempered by the knowledge of what – and who – she had left behind. In her mother’s house, surrounded by the artifacts of her past, including the one picture anyone had of her with Loki and Saoirse, Melara seemed to walk the line between gratitude for her roots and the restlessness of a soul that had tasted the stars.

As night fell, Melara tucked Saoirse into bed, her voice soft and soothing as she sang Saoirse’s Asgardian lullaby for what seemed like the millionth time. It remained a part of their bedtime routine as a mother’s promise to her child that, no matter the storms that raged, her love would remain an unshakable fortress.

Evelyn watched from the doorway, her heart heavy with the silent knowledge that her daughter was battling more than just the exhaustion of travel and the demands of fame. There was a deeper weariness in Melara’s eyes, one that spoke of battles fought in the depths of her soul, of love lost and the relentless march of time.

As Melara kissed Saoirse goodnight, her touch lingered, a silent prayer that the dawn would bring renewed strength and clarity. And in the quiet of the house, as the echoes of Melara’s lullaby faded into the night, the three generations of strong women found solace in the shared sanctuary of family, a bond that time, distance, and even the gods themselves could not sever.

Melara and Evelyn retreated from the sanctity of Saoirse’s room, heading for the living room that was steeped in the soft glow of evening. They settled into the well-worn couch, an island in the midst of family photos and mementos of a life rich with memories. Evelyn’s gaze, filled with the weight of unspoken concern, found her daughter’s weary face.

“Love, you’re pushing yourself too hard,” Evelyn began, the words wrapped in the warmth of maternal care, yet firm with the insistence of one who knows the toll of overextension. “As a widow who raised two kids by herself, I can tell when someone is overdoing it. Why not stay here for a while after the concert? The compound isn’t going anywhere.”

Melara’s laugh was a shadow of its usual mirth, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of a cushion. The layers of makeup did little to mask the tell-tale signs of fatigue that her mother’s keen eyes so easily discerned. “Mom, I’m fine,” she lied, a practiced smile dancing on her lips. But Evelyn was not to be dissuaded.

 “I can see it, Melara. The way you move, the hollowness in your eyes. Something’s not right, and I think you know it too,” Evelyn pressed, her voice a tender yet unyielding force. “Do those fancy Avengers doctors even know what they’re doing?”

The dam within Melara cracked, her defenses waning in the face of her mother’s astute observation. She could not fight with her mother. “I’ve been feeling drained, mom. The pain is never-ending now and even sleep has become a stranger to me,” she confessed, the veneer of strength crumbling.

Evelyn reached out, her hand enveloping Melara’s. “Singing shouldn’t be a crutch, love. It’s your gift, but it should not be done at the expense of your health.”

Melara’s eyes, so often a wellspring of determination, now glistened with the sheen of vulnerability. “It’s the only thing besides Saoirse that’s keeping me going. If not for the music, I’d have nothing to counter this…this endless ache.”

They sat in silence, the generational divide bridged by a shared understanding of suffering and the solace found in art. Evelyn, her heart heavy with a mother’s love, sought the words that might anchor her daughter to the shores of rest and recovery.

“Think of it this way: you need to be with family. We can take care of you too, Melara. Let Saoirse spend time with her cousins, let her feel the roots that ground us all. The world can wait, but this,” Evelyn gestured to the walls that contained the essence of their family, “this is where you can heal.”

The conviction in her mother’s voice was the balm Melara hadn’t known she needed. It was a permission of sorts, an affirmation that stepping back from the limelight was not a retreat but a necessary respite. After moments that stretched like lifelines, Melara nodded, acquiescing to the wisdom her mother offered.

 “Alright, Mom. We’ll stay a while,” she agreed, her voice a murmur that carried the weight of her world.

Evelyn pulled her into an embrace, one that spoke of homecoming and the quiet strength that the bonds of family provided. Melara allowed herself to be held, to be comforted in the arms that had always been her sanctuary.

As the night deepened around them, the two women remained in the living room, their conversation a delicate dance of hope and healing. And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Melara allowed herself to imagine a life not dictated by the demands of burgeoning powers, but by the simple rhythms of home.

With the stillness of Evelyn’s Wisconsin home, under the watchful gaze of family history, Melara and Evelyn forged a new understanding, an agreement that anchored Melara to the present, to the promise of days filled with familial love and the gentle respite of her mother’s house. It was a promise of tomorrow, a vow to face the uncertainties not alone, but with the strength of generations that flowed through their veins.

After much talking, the comforting words and the warmth of the embrace from her mother, Melara excused herself under the pretext of needing fresh air, but the truth was, she sought solitude with the night. The porch, bathed in the soft glow of the moon, became her refuge, the guitar her only companion as she settled into the wicker chair that had known many such nights.

Her fingers strayed over the strings, a familiar song bubbling to the surface, one that spoke of love, loss, and the bitter sweetness in between – a song that Loki had once said captured the essence of the stars. As she began to play, the melody filled the silent expanse around her, the notes a poignant echo of the life she had built and the love that still lingered in the recesses of her heart.

I am not the only traveler, Who has not repaid his debt. I’ve been searching for a trail to follow again, Take me back to the night we met. And then I can tell myself, What the hell am I supposed to do? And then I can tell myself, Not to ride along with you. I had all and then most of you, Some and now none of you. Take me back to the night we met. Haunted by the ghost of you, Oh, take me back to the night we met. When the night was full of terrors, And your eyes were filled with tears. When you had not touched me yet, Oh, take me back to the night we met. I had all and then most of you, Some and now none of you. Take me back to the night we met. Haunted by the ghost of you, Oh, take me back to the night we met. But as the song progressed to the last notes, thinking of Loki and their epic story, a sudden sharp twang cut through the melody. Melara paused, looking down in the dim light to see a string snapped, its frayed end the result of the tension that had built unnoticed. A wry teary smile touched her lips – the guitar had its limits, it seemed. Her fingers brushed against the broken string, and she flinched; the metal was unexpectedly hot to the touch, as though her own inner turmoil had transferred to the instrument.

The broken string, the heat from her touch – they were more than just physical occurrences. They were metaphors for her life, for the path she had walked upon, where the fire within her threatened to consume not just her own peace but also the things, and the people she cherished. She was losing control.

A wave of emotions crashed over her, the memories of Loki’s face against the backdrop of stars upon his throne, the sound of his voice, their last conversation – it all rushed back with a vengeance. The song she played, once a calm to her soul, now felt like a dirge for something she feared was slipping away. The heat from her fingers, a cruel reminder of her condition, and the fire that burned within her – sometimes a beacon, sometimes an uncontrollable inferno.

With a sigh, she set the guitar aside, the silence more fitting company to her thoughts. She wrapped her arms around herself, the night air cool against her skin, a stark contrast to the warmth that still radiated from her fingertips. In the quiet of the night, with the broken guitar string a tangible representation of her fractured reality, Melara looked up at the sky, allowing herself to grieve – for what was and what could no longer be.

In the stillness of the night in her hometown, on the porch of the house where she had grown up, Melara made a silent vow. A vow to fight, to hold on, not just for Saoirse or for the music that defined her, but for herself. Because even with a broken string, the song was not over; the melody remained, waiting to be reborn from the ashes of the moment.

As she rose to return inside, the porch seemed to hold her for a moment longer, the night whispering its own silent song of resilience. Tomorrow, she would face her mother, her daughter, and the world. But tonight, she faced herself, her own heart, and the haunting melody of a love that refused to be quelled by distance, duty, or the ravages of time.

***

Loki, his features softened by the cosmic dimness that surrounded them, turned towards Saoirse, a question in his eyes, mirroring the brightness of the stars above. “Why,” he began, his voice carrying the stories he wished to tell of Melara, “did you find yourself drawn to the shadows, listening in on your mother’s solitary moments?”

Saoirse, reflecting the resilience she had inherited, met his gaze with an unflinching honesty. “The shadows were where the unspoken truths lay hidden,” she replied, her voice steady. “In the light, Mom was invincible, the star that outshone the darkness. But in the shadows, she was human, vulnerable. I needed to understand her, all of her, not just the brilliant façade she showed the world.”

Loki considered her words, a flicker of understanding crossing his features. “And what did you find in those shadows, daughter?” he asked, the title ‘daughter’ hanging between them like a bridge over the vast chasm of time they had lost.

“I found strength, even in her tears,” Saoirse said. “I found that the same fire that burned in her music burned in her spirit – it hurt her, but it also made her Melara Grace Brandt…my mother. I eavesdropped not to uncover secrets, but to know her heart. To hear the lullabies of her soul that weren’t captured in her songs.”

Loki’s expression softened, the mask of the god slipping to reveal the father beneath. “You carry her fire,” he observed, the pride evident in his tone. “And her heart. You are as much a part of her story as she is of yours.”

Saoirse nodded, a silent acknowledgment of the bond they shared through Melara. “Her music was her legacy, but her struggles, her quiet moments, they were her gifts to me. They taught me that even stars feel the cold of space, that even the brightest light can falter. I needed to see her humanity to accept my own.”

The god of mischief, known for his silver tongue and grand tales, found himself at a loss for words, once again, at the hands of his beloved daughter. In his daughter’s revelations, he saw the reflection of Melara’s essence, the very things that had drawn him to her in the cosmic dance of their lives.

 “Then you have seen what many fail to see in a lifetime,” Loki finally said, his voice carrying a reverence that was rare and true. “You have witnessed the entirety of a person, the light, and the shadows, and loved them all the same. I hope that someday you will see the same in me.”

Saoirse, with the wisdom of one who has been beyond the veil of illusion, simply nodded. They sat together, father and daughter, united in their understanding of the woman who had changed their worlds forever. In the silence, filled with the music of the cosmos, they found solidarity, a moment of peace in the tumultuous narrative of their lives. For they both knew what came next.

---

Taglist: @mischief2sarawr

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Unveiling the Spellbinding Origins of Halloween Shaina Tranquilino October 30, 2023

As orange leaves flutter to the ground and jack-o'-lanterns flicker in the night, it's undeniable that Halloween has become a beloved, spine-tingling celebration worldwide. But have you ever wondered about the bewitching origins hiding behind this enchanting holiday? Join us on a captivating journey as we unravel the mysterious history of Halloween.

Ancient Roots: The roots of Halloween can be traced back over 2,000 years to an ancient Celtic festival called Samhain (pronounced sow-in). Celebrated by the Celts in Ireland, Scotland, and parts of Britain, Samhain marked the end of summer and welcomed the harvest season. On October 31st, they believed that the boundary between the living and dead blurred, allowing spirits to roam freely among them.

Trick-or-Treating Takes Shape: During Samhain festivities, people would dress in costumes made from animal hides, attempting to ward off evil spirits or disguise themselves from mischievous entities. They also lit bonfires as a form of protection against malevolent forces—a tradition that still echoes today with our glowing Jack-o'-lanterns.

Christian Influence: In the 9th century A.D., Christianity began spreading throughout Celtic lands. Pope Gregory III designated November 1st as All Saints' Day or All Hallows' Day to honour saints and martyrs who didn't have their own feast day yet. To integrate pagan traditions into Christian practices and discourage Celtic rituals during Samhain, November 1st became known as All Hallows' Eve—the precursor to modern-day Halloween.

Ghostly Evolutions: As time progressed, various customs blended together to shape Halloween into its present form. In Medieval England, "souling" emerged when beggars went door-to-door offering prayers for departed souls in exchange for food or money—a practice that later inspired modern-day trick-or-treating. Similarly, in Scotland and Ireland, "guising" appeared, with people dressing up in costumes to perform songs, poems, or tricks for treats.

The Immigrant Influence: Halloween as we know it today found its way to North America through Irish and Scottish immigrants during the 19th century. In the United States, these traditions merged with Indigenous harvest celebrations and other European customs. The result was a uniquely "American Halloween"—a time of community gatherings, parties, parades, and spooky festivities that captured hearts across the nation.

Modern-Day Celebrations: In recent decades, Halloween has gained immense popularity worldwide. It has evolved into a holiday celebrated by people of all ages—both young and old. Festivities range from creatively carved pumpkins to haunted houses, costume parties to horror movie marathons—all embraced as part of this spirited celebration.

As darkness descends on All Hallows' Eve each year, we're reminded of the fascinating history behind Halloween's enduring magic. From ancient Celtic rituals to religious adaptations and cultural exchanges, this captivating holiday has grown into an enchanting blend of tradition and fun.

So whether you find yourself mesmerized by ghostly tales around a bonfire or joining the chorus of tiny witches and superheroes chanting "trick-or-treat," remember that Halloween is more than just costumes and candy—it's a bewitching journey through time connecting us to centuries-old customs and shared human experiences.