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malleleothreesome · 4 months

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Under the Mistletoe with Malleus

❤️ summary: Malleus' latest hyperfixation is mistletoe ༶༶༶ 💚 warnings: gender neutral reader, SFW, fluff, romance, Christmas centric but not religious ༶༶༶ ❤️ word count: 4k ༶༶༶ 💚 inspired by: this ask thank you! ♡✧*:･ﾟ

Malleus listens intently to all the tales you have to tell, all the little pieces of your world, of yourself—all the little snippets that come rushing out from the recesses of your memories, painting a picture of your humanity and the universe you'd once inhabited. All the intricacies and details of how your family would spend Christmas, the foods, the gifts, the songs—he loves hearing all about your unique traditions and experiences. Malleus is endlessly grateful for each of these recollections that you decide to entrust him with—small moments of personal history that hold so much weight in shaping who you are. Your mind runs wild as your thoughts run rampant, a blur of vivid recollections that overwhelm you. Then, he sees the tears brimming on your lash line and the tremble of your lower lip, his heart sinking instantly when the painful weight of homesickness visibly crashes down upon you. His own emotions, his yearning, his gratitude are all clogged up in his throat. When the tears finally drip past your lashes and down your cheeks, you're swaddled in strong, firm arms that cradle you. Malleus doesn't bother with words as he shushes your sobs, only offering his comfort with the secure tuck of your frame against his larger form, and the gentle tracing of his elegant, gloved fingertips along the curve of your back in soothing circles. His soft humming is melodious against the crook of your shoulder, warm and welcoming as he surrounds you completely.

Wanting to make the Christmas season extra special for you, his dearest friend, Malleus spends copious hours poring over the plethora of holiday books he could acquire from the school library—reading and studying each festive tale, tradition, and legend until the pages are wrinkled with the oils from his fingertips. Each chapter carefully absorbed and ingrained into his psyche, his eyes sparkling alight with delight and fascination, relishing in the lightness and warmth of the holidays as he familiarized himself with this magical and jovial festivity. When Christmas rolls around the corner, Malleus ensures the front entrance to Ramshackle dorm is lit up and decked to the nines in brightly glowing lights strung all over the framework—an aura of luminescence and color enveloping the dilapidated architecture with festive spirit. The rest of the exterior of the Dorm was covered with glittering golden tinsel, wreaths, garlands and pinecones—whatever he had deemed as festive in his extensive research.

Malleus was determined to honor this strange holiday—a special and important part of your childhood—but unfortunately, none of the decorations, lights, or Christmas cheer were quite as meaningful and special as what he wanted it all to symbolize. When he heard about the tradition involving a parasitic plant, he was naturally intrigued by the idea that a plant would wilt away and die if not united with a particular organism—it could only flourish and thrive when entwined with its complementary other half. In return, the mistletoe would provide both beautiful flowers and ripe fruit, enhancing the lives of the forest around them and fostering harmony within the ecosystem. However, it was the usage of that plant during a kiss that truly made him delighted by its macabre nature and its value to this sacred human festivity. It seemed befitting somehow that the now dead mistletoe, the melancholy parasite that thrives in connection with others, could bring a measure of life and happiness to all who cross its path through a kiss under its eternal, desiccated embrace. Perhaps, this tradition could serve as his best effort to explain that this gesture was intended as a token of appreciation for the kindness you have extended to him—the pleasure and privilege of having you, such a splendid and bright star, in his dark and dreary world—his reward to you for making him feel alive with such an overwhelming sense of happiness that he didn't even know the sensation could exist until you entered into his life. For Malleus, you were the one to awaken him, to pull him from a long slumber and into your embrace, allowing him the privilege of knowing warmth, love, and joy once more. A ghost of a smile appears on his lips, unbidden, as he imagines the roots of the mistletoe spreading through both your lungs, finding nourishment in each other's energy, a complete symbiosis.

Malleus desired so much that your connection would be reciprocal, as intimate and profound as the magic of this holiday would allow. Though your relationship up until this point has remained platonic, he hopes the magic of this custom might give him permission to love and cherish you as so much more. From the moment he first laid his eyes on you, his heart had already made his decision. That fiery intensity of emotion for you has only been compounded with each meeting the two of you have shared—the yearning that only grows stronger with each moment he spends at your side. His feelings for you have reached a saturation point; the deep well of passion and affection that burns ever stronger within the confines of his chest will not be extinguished unless the source of all his turmoil is revealed and answered in due kind. At long last, he wastes no time in preparing the customary kiss. His heart yearns so dearly for it that even the constant tug of his usual shyness and trepidation could never possibly bring him to halt in his advances. Malleus promised himself that the delicate, thriving thing you and he were developing would not fall prey to the same pitiful demise as the mistletoe if left untouched and unwatered. If you did indeed feel similarly about him, he could only imagine the beauty and majesty that would blossom between your intertwined souls, a union of great and unstoppable potency, a lifetime of adoration and devotion.

Therefore, he procured a large branch of mistletoe, so ripe and abundant with sprigs that its small, white berries shimmered and shone. The hanging plant seemed to call out, in a sing-song tinkle of fairy bell laughs, for his beloved to walk underneath, so he could ensnare you in its clutches and give you an obligatory kiss you couldn’t refuse—or so he hoped. Malleus wrapped the strand with some festive red ribbon, decorated with twirling glittery snowflakes, making it shimmer under the twinkling rays of Christmas light. Then, he carefully balanced the mistletoe at the highest point above the doorsill and stepped back, admiring the way the golden glow of the lights would reflect off the glossy white berries, casting them in an ethereal iridescent glow that made them pop, dancing across its branches as though possessed by some Christmas spirit. They sang for you, just waiting for you to take Malleus up on their unspoken promise of his unrequited, hidden desires for your lips.

With that, Malleus knocked on your door. Though, despite his determination and his willpower—so vast and endless that his ambition was virtually limitless—Malleus couldn't help but be flustered, his hands trembling and sweat forming along his brow, heart rate beginning to rise like a swelling wave until he could hear it beating in his pointed ears. The silence that engulfed him was deafening as his mind replayed the myriad ways you might respond to his advances—sharing his sentiments, returning his affections, giving him the opportunity to finally love and kiss you the way he so desperately, hopelessly yearned. Or—perhaps, his advances could have an unwanted negative reaction, creating friction or even destroying your friendship—if not the very love he sought—completely. Undeterred by the looming anxiety that threatens to drown him like a tempest-wrought sea, his heart manages to remain valiant and brave, the steady rhythm keeping him tethered, ensuring him the courage to risk the possibility of breaking apart and dissipating with the winter wind that sieves through his lithe fingers.

As he hears the creaking footsteps along the old staircase inside, the adrenaline kicks in, giving him the fight or flight impulse he has been lacking, his legs stiffening, threatening to buckle from his immense nerves, knees trembling so harshly that he almost loses his balance. He shuts his eyes, trying to brace himself for whatever comes next, not allowing himself to breathe again until the knob finally gives way and the door is thrown open. At last, Malleus gazes upon your dazzling appearance, flooding his vision with an image he's dreamed about for weeks: you stand before him, bathed in the bright, effervescent light, glittering hues of gold and green like a present wrapped up just for him. Before he even allows you a moment to compose yourself and register his presence, Malleus can't help himself, the need to let his words rush out overwhelming him until his syllables practically stumble over each other.

"I wish to partake in the traditional parasite with you," he tells you quickly, trying to sound confident despite the urgent desperation to speak leaking through in his strained vocal chords, struggling to hide the shakiness that attempts to invade and taint the voice he wanted to convey his longing for you with. His words are filled with hope and trepidation, his emerald eyes wide with vulnerability as the mistletoe glistens under the shimmer of lights he personally strung up, bathing the two of you and your surroundings in a magnificent luminance that casts a perfect spellbinding glow upon the scene. Your mouth falls slightly ajar as your eyelids flutter in confusion before registering his intention, noticing the way his expectant eyes dart between your lips and the hanging plant above your door frame, his intense gaze giving you the most telling implication. The sudden realization of his motive renders your whole being paralyzed. Your face heats up from the sheer impossibility of the moment and your brain fizzles into a complete and utter daze, unsure how to comprehend the enormity of the offer he's extending.

An eternity seemed to pass as the seconds ticked on, his dark brows knitting together as the mist and tension seemed to wrap around the both of you. The sting of the cold wind whistled past the space that seemed to shrink between the two of you in unbearable torment. A curtain of lacy snow was falling around, shrouding everything in a dull glow. The night itself seemed to be in a strange sort of serenity and apprehension—watching his eyes lock onto you so intently and feeling his breath, hot and heavy, mingling in the frost between the two of you. The foggy mist of the cool evening air floats through your hair, tiny particles of frozen water suspended around you and shimmering brilliantly as the beams of multicolored lights shine past and illuminate each crystalline droplet in a celestial aura.

Despite it all, your focus was on him alone.

Finally, he was able to collect the breath stolen from his lungs and continue his confession, taking your floundering silence as an invitation for his explanation. "I had wished to spend some time with you under a mistletoe, even though this is something that humans usually do with their partners or loved ones..." he admits sheepishly. You couldn't stop the gasp that escaped your lips when you saw how glassy and emotive his eyes were, the sparkling lights catching the yellow flecks in his viridescent stare.

A shadowy flush washes over his pale complexion as he allows the words he had tried so long to repress to come flowing freely from his lips. "I've noticed how sad you seemed since you were removed from your world, and I wanted to bring you a little of the Christmas cheer you're accustomed to. I wanted to ensure we'd have a pleasant Christmas, especially with how often you've shown me such loving kindness," a sigh escaped his throat, "you've gone to such great lengths, I wanted you to know just how much you mean to me..." His fingers thread together anxiously as he continues his ramblings. "I was so excited to learn the Christmas tales, legends, and histories behind all the traditions... There is so much joy and good-will involved. It seemed a befitting way to honor our time together. As my beloved friend—," his tone holds a subtle note of reluctance to his last statement as he lingers on the term a bit too long. "I wanted to ensure your time in Twisted Wonderland wasn't depressing, and that you experienced Christmas as best you could under your circumstances." The more his sentences seem to elongate, the further he's pulled into himself and begins to overthink every minuscule aspect of his interaction.

The wind picks up slightly, blowing his silky, ebony locks away from his forehead, revealing the shiny scales that cascade up the top half of his head as his horns poke out through the billowing strands. His long, heavy cloak trails behind him, sweeping up the fresh piles of glittery snowfall, shimmering under the auras of the decorative lights he painstakingly strung for you. Malleus was so imposing in the darkness of the night—there's an ineffable beauty to it as his skin seems to emit its own soft glow. Yet, despite his frightening appearance, he appears so docile and timid standing before you with his head bowed, one foot dragging the toe of his boot along the white slush and ice, kicking clumps of snowy wisps, attempting to abate his mounting anxiety.

"...Are you aware, child of man, of the nature and symbolism of the mistletoe?" He pauses and peers into your eyes, emerald pools pleading for mercy as a crack opens within him, revealing his fluttering soul for your scrutiny, allowing you to glimpse his emotional state in a rare display. "Mistletoe requires the partnership and nourishment of another to keep it flourishing—without its partner, it will wither and die a gruesome death, gasping, desperate, starving..." The strain on his tone is audible, words full of unspeakable yearning as he pines so desperately, the loneliness of centuries seeming to distill within a single, all-encompassing desire for your acceptance and love. His Adam's apple bobs with a hard gulp of apprehension as he seeks the approval he longs for deep within your gaze, hoping he has finally found the love of which he has searched for since the first heartbeat he has taken.

"No matter where it falls, or how strong its stem or seed, it will perish without another plant to sustain and nurture it," his explanation was grave and yet somehow poetic, holding you entranced with rapt attention. Each sentence was meant to mimic his struggle—the endless waiting, and the desperate need for companionship that has weighed so heavy on his aching heart for so long. The solemn confession of a hopeless romantic, yearning desperately for the chance to take root, plant his soul and spread until all the ache was gone, replaced by the warmth and fulfillment of life only a partner could give him.

"And yet, if the two plants come into symbiosis with each other, the result is breathtaking—one would not expect something so simple would possess such transcendent beauty and vibrance," his melodic tenor takes on an ethereal quality, as the wondrous facts he learned are once again brought to the surface, replacing the melancholy in the air. "Mistletoe is capable of blossoming to life; producing flowers and bearing fruits when combined with its host, providing an environment for both plants to flourish and thrive," his heart picks up its pace at the subtle meaning and implication behind his words. "Once a healthy mistletoe becomes entangled with its beloved, the pair remain connected and thrive, ultimately strengthened by the bonds forged in interdependency, blooming brightly against the frigid temperatures of winter." Malleus' soul is brimming and bubbling over with the hope and anticipation of a relationship with you and, in an instant, Malleus understands what it truly means to be alive.

"Since you first crossed my path, the mistletoe within my chest grew with such ravenous appetite, longing to reach out to your heart and find harmony, sharing in warmth and nurturing life. You, my lovely starlight, are a plant of the utmost virtue," he gently caresses your cheek as you fall deeper under his enchantment. His words have rendered you completely immobilized, the smooth silk of his voice ensnaring you, unable to escape its sweet whispers and dulcet tone. "For the first time in all of my years, the bud inside me began to bear fruit and opened my eyes to a paradise I never thought possible. Through a simple act of your kindness, you have breathed life into my tired and aching heart and granted me new purpose." Malleus cups your face so delicately, long, tapered fingers stroking the curve of your cheekbones in loving affection. He gazes at you with glowing, adoring eyes, staring deep into the infinite possibilities of your future together. The soft plumes of the falling snowflakes softly embrace you as his feather-light touch communicates all his longing and unspoken passions. You allow yourself to bask in the tender and raw vulnerability of his heart as the glimmering lights and stars in the sky shine with the promise of a brighter tomorrow for you both.

"I had spent many years in unending isolation. Each passing second in your presence was the happiest, most indescribable euphoria. It took a considerable amount of time to discover these feelings and become aware that they are associated with the yearning for intimacy, something which I was denied for a great amount of my lifespan. I've long desired the things I've learned your Christmas legends signify," the words leave him on a wistful sigh, an endless source of elation. "Of family, comfort, love... All that I desire for Christmas is you," he concludes softly. "It was thanks to my research into the mistletoe that I realized how much I needed your lips as though without them I would never draw another breath, so I ask... Do you wish to be mine? Could I have the gift of your lips, of a kiss?" he requests breathlessly as the tip of his tapered thumb ghosts across the flesh of your plush lower lip, sending shivers throughout your whole being.

At last, the confessions of his affections toward you reach their inevitable resolution, allowing the culmination and coalescence of every feeling and emotion within his soul to burst forth like fireworks, shooting off into the midnight air in an explosion of beauty and intensity that would cause any witness to pause and stare in awe of the magic of the night. Like the soft, romantic tones of Christmas music and the enchanted glimmers of holiday lights, Malleus' spell woven in the lyrics of his confession engulfs you in an aurora borealis of ardent devotion. The feeling of his hands against your cheeks radiates warmth and comfort as he cradles your visage close, tender and secure against the soft flurries that flow all around you, surrounding you with an intimate aura of holiday mirth. You find yourself leaning into his touch as your heart and soul yearn to return the depths of his affection, so openly displayed across his handsome, captivating features. With a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins, your knees threatening to buckle from his searing yet unyielding stare, you gather the strength to utter the most wonderful syllables you have ever experienced the pleasure of pronouncing—the sum of every single one of his blessings wrapped up neatly into one succinct phrase.

"I love you, too."

Your voice was shaky, unsteady, cracking under the emotion, but the message was unmistakable. The intensity of the moment rendered Malleus stunned and speechless, tears of delight stinging his emerald eyes, brimming at the waterline with the intensity of his joy. Every single day was spent thinking of the next instance where the two of you might cross paths and now, you'd just given him the most spectacular present in the world. Malleus doesn't think about anything else, he just leans in, lips parted ever so slightly, barely containing the gasping breath that escapes his throat as his nose nudges yours and his entire world collapses upon itself before igniting with an incandescence of pure elation. With all the delicate adoration of his whole, enchanted being, he offers you a sweet brush of his soft, inviting lips against yours. A whimper emanates from his mouth as a trembling sob of disbelief is unleashed, reverberating between the two of you and sending every last vestige of his restrained sentiment into you, engulfing your heart in a fervid embrace that crushes you with all the weight of his desperation—his centuries' worth of desire and craving for an end to his misery.

Despite having never been kissed, his lips moved confident and gentle, as though it were as natural as his very breath, or the thrum of his heart. The sensations were unparalleled—better than his wildest expectations as your flesh entwined with his, mingling the pliant texture and pillowy warmth. A satisfied sigh rolls past his tongue, which teases the seam of your mouth, offering gentle, fleeting sensations as he licks and teases your bottom lip. A series of jolts rock your frame when his fangs accidentally nip at the skin. The sound that leaks from his throat as he swipes his tongue over the wound and laps up the warm, metallic liquid of your blood is guttural and broken with the raw emotion of being deprived of such ecstasy for so long. It was heavenly—to finally be united and experience the taste of love, passion, and the transcendent rapture of the one and only person to ever make him feel such happiness.

He swallows every whimper and moan of your kiss, reveling in the sounds that permeate through your entangled forms and dance on the frosted wind. Your fingers come to thread through his silk-like locks, nails grazing his scalp until a shudder rattles his chest and his tongue can't help but invade the hot, wet cavern of your mouth. There's a subtle pressure placed on the base of your skull, adding a deeper angle, so that he may completely envelope and taste the sweetness of your saliva as you revel in each other. When the chill of the winter winds brings forth the full impact of the cold, and the mistletoe spins aimlessly under its icy breath, swaying above, you are undeterred in the bliss of your newfound love. Your noses smudge as you press yourself further, gaining deeper contact and savoring each brush of his deft, explorative tongue and the tickle of his heated breath fanning against the sensitive surface of your palette. The kiss sparks flames within you that make you forget the bitter chill, warming the deepest crevices of your core, staving off the frigidness of the night and replacing it with the cozy, fluffy heat of your love. You clutch desperately, latching onto the black tailcoat and pressing the muscles and softness of your bodies even closer, desperate for each touch, wanting him as close to your form as you can manage. The fullness of your feelings for each other, and the completeness of his confession, finally come together in a bittersweet, perfect dance of two souls. Forever bound, hearts thudding in unison as you two continue to exchange kisses underneath the mistletoe, filling this merry season with newfound glee and a holiday tradition all your own.

When you two finally make it inside, you sit comfortably with his arms wrapped around you atop a pile of plush blankets, surrounded by mounds of pillows under the twinkling lights of the massive tree he had erected and draped in garland. Next to him, there was nowhere better you'd rather be, snuggling deeper into his warmth, burying yourself in his embrace and cuddled tight under his heavy, weighted cloak as the roaring fire before you burned in a warmth that reflected that of the deep, profound affection the two of you shared for each other. As he held you in his lap, surrounded by the soft music playing in the background and the decorations he'd strung, he looks at you with excitement alight on his beautiful visage, eager to share more fun facts about his latest hyperfixation. With the shimmering lights refracting across the deep emerald pools of his gaze, he starts to ramble, "Did you know, mistletoe is also a sacred symbol of fertility—"

Woah, woah, woah, woah... I just spent all day working on this, its like, 10:30pm and now I'm just now eating mac and cheese for dinner. I really love what I created, I hope you all do too. This was fulfilling a request for my 12 Days of TWSTmas event, so uh, anon, I'm not sure if this is what you expected of me... I think I projected my own newfound mistletoe hyperfixation onto Malleus a bit too hard, but I hope this meets your expectations. I'm desperate to hear all your thoughts on this one, I really want you guys to love this as much as I do! I wish I had more to say here, but my brain is melting. My exhausted brain longs to sign this off like a corporate email. Best, Erica Malleleothreesome

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst malleus draconia #twst malleus #twisted wonderland malleus x reader #malleus draconia #twisted wonderland malleus #malleus x reader #malleyuu #twst imagines #malleus draconia fluff #my writing

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blues824 · 1 year

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Hello again! I don’t know if you remember me but I requested the Black Butler characters x Shinobu! Reader and came back to request another. If isn’t too much may I ask for a Morticia Addams! Reader for Malleus, Lilia, Azul, and the Tweels just imagine them with a Morticia! Reader with them being seductive, elegant, and very motherly. They take care of their carnivorous plants and can see the beauty behind everything.

Hello, again! Did you like the new Wednesday show? Because I loved it so much. Truly a work of art.

Azul Ashengrotto

Somebody’s blushing~ Nah but for real, the first time he saw you he fell hard and fast for you. You were just so elegant and kind, and so unusual compared to the other humans around NRC. You were able to see right through him and help him through his insecurities.

He finds it comforting for you to be there waiting for him after a long day of school and running the Mostro Lounge. You would walk with your arm in his as you looked like you were glowing in the moonlight.

The first time you brought your seductive side out to play, he was super flustered. He’s having trouble breathing, he feels very warm, the tweels are teasing the living heck out of him. He’s very overwhelmed. However, he can’t say that he dislikes it.

Once, when he went to visit you in Ramshackle (which you obviously feel right at home in) he saw you taking care of a few Venus Flytraps. It wasn’t unusual to see someone taking care of plants here, but to see you snatching a fly out of thin air and feeding it to the plant was definitely out of the ordinary.

It’s refreshing to see someone with such a positive outlook on everything. He tends to see things in a more negative light, so you brought a new perspective into his life. He returns the favor by getting you many gifts that remind him of you.

Jade Leech

The Gomez in this situation. When he looks into your eyes, all you can see is pure love and adoration. You both dance the nights away as you enjoy being close with each other. He thinks you’re absolutely beautiful as you both sway together.

It leaves a warm feeling in his heart when he sees you enter the Mostro Lounge and request to be seated in his section. Once you got your food (which he paid for), he would take his 15 minute break to spend time with you.

The first time you brought out your more seductive nature, he reciprocated it immediately. He would do the thing where he starts kissing your hand and slowly moves up. It makes others so envious because they wish they had a relationship (with you) like that.

You both have a green thumb and offer each other tips on how to allow your plants to flourish and thrive. You’ve gifted him a few Satan’s Bolete mushrooms and he’s given you Nightshade seeds. It gives you both a reason to visit each other often.

I would say he’s fairly positive. More so than his twin, at least. Of course, your positive view is more macabre than normal. Once, while you were dancing, a sparrow landed on a nearby branch and you whispered that it would make for a good trinket. He smiled, glad to finally find someone like him.

Floyd Leech

He would most likely call you ‘Dolphin’ because you’re graceful, intelligent, friendly, and most importantly… you have a darker side to you. Another thing he has noticed is that you're loyal to those you love.

Whenever he has to work a late shift at the Lounge, his bad mood is almost immediately lifted when you walk in the door. He will run over and give you a big squeeze, telling you about how much he missed you. You have a very strong pain tolerance, so only you can handle his hugs.

When you first start acting like your seductive self, he is both flustered and entertained. If he sees you being particularly affectionate, he will pull you into his lap where you both will act all lovey-dovey with each other.

As silly as it is, he gets jealous about how much attention you give your beloved plants. He will sit and pout as you whisper positive affirmations towards the Flytraps you love. Of course, once you finish, you turn around and start cooing at him lovingly and he just melts.

We all know that he has intense mood swings. However, whenever he’s with you and you’re giving him attention he remains happy and content. You’re the one he goes to whenever something upsets him, and sometimes you even come to him because you both have an emotional connection with each other.

Lilia Vanrouge

You both make a very playful couple. He immediately warms up to you as you do to him. You remind him of royalty: elegant and graceful, friendly and charming. Even Sebek is happy that the two of you found each other.

He loves trying to scare you because it never works. Instead, you put your hands on the side of his face and pull him in for a kiss. Since you do this every time, he makes it a point to try and ‘scare’ you at least twice a day.

He is mostly amused when you bring out your more seductive side. He smiles as you sit yourself on the arm of his chair and run your finger up his neck and move your face closer to his while whispering how much you absolutely love him. He leans even closer, whispering back. Your lips never meet, but it’s enough to make everyone else jealous.

He loves the concept of being a ‘plant parent’, so he will co-parent with you. You have a lovely bed of Nightshade, some Venus Flytraps, Hemlock, and a couple of Ghost Orchids. The orchids are especially valued as they are as odd as the both of you.

You both tend to be very positive. You even have the same macabre interests that you bring up. A lot of the others see you dancing together out of nowhere. No music, just enjoying the time spent in each other’s arms.

Malleus Draconia

The fact that you 1) aren’t scared of him and 2) are actually quite like him makes him fall so freaking hard for you. The chemistry between the two of you is unfathomable. You can just look into his eyes and he’d look back just lovestruck.

He loves to see you waiting for him to get Ramshackle for your nightly walks. He thinks you look absolutely divine underneath the moon’s pale glow. The things you say are very interesting as well. You have plenty of stories to share about your time with your family, and he has all the time in the world to listen.

Bringing out your seductive side can do one of three things: confuse him, amuse him, or make him flustered, sometimes all 3. If you use human ways of seduction, he will be confused. Thankfully, you had read up on dragon courting rituals. You would wear the emerald that is the heart of his horde as a necklace and would remain close to him at all times. Others would often see you with your arm in his.

He’s glad that you were able to find a hobby that wasn’t destructive. He’s surprised to see that Ramshackle was turned into a sort of greenhouse in itself. He’s also noticed that the plants at the normal greenhouse were thriving more than ever.

His view on the half-empty-half-full cup changes depending on what happens that day. However, when he’s with you, he can only see the half-full cup. You turn him into a puppy and he longs for you whenever you have to be away. The absolute look of adoration in your eyes puts anything to shame. The way you hold his face in your hands and he holds your waist as you both go in for a soft kiss brings a warm feeling to both of your cold hearts.

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ratinayellowbandana · 4 months

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Hound "baby boy" of Ill Omen for prompts!

first off, thank you for carrying this whole ship on your back. you are our strongest soldier and we appreciate you.

second, even more thanks for sending this my way! I hope this is something like what you had in mind!

if anyone else sees this and would like to toss a little prompt my way, feel free :)

wc: 934

cw: body horror…kind of? it’s just canonically what the good boy looks like

~~~

Imogen loves Laudna. She does. Quite a lot, in fact.

Because it is a fact.

It may as well be written in stone. In the stars. Recorded on one of those dusty scrolls in elegant script and stuck on a shelf in some stuffy library for the next bored student who may happen across it and learn of two witches who saved the world.

Laudna, it must be noted, is a woman of many quirks.

And Imogen, it must be noted, adores her for them.

They are just as much a part of Laudna as the angle of her nose, the brightness in her eyes. As are her projects, macabre and scrounged as they often are, and so Imogen adores them, too.

(If it takes her a moment to come around, Laudna must never know. Each new creation, presented to Imogen with all the glee of a child in a sweets shop, will only ever be met with enthusiasm. Laudna, she knows, has spent too long squirreling away the odd parts of herself. Imogen is determined to recover them.)

“Come here, darling,” Laudna calls, and the flesh-and-bone creature that scared the everloving fuck out of Imogen the first time he burst from his maker’s chest trots happily to her side, tongue lolling from a fleshless snout.

The hound twines between Laudna’s legs, and she lifts her skirts to allow him through. He leans heavily against the inside of her knee, and Laudna beams. She bends at the waist to wrap the creature in spindly arms. His back arches, and Imogen can hear the vertebrae curving, clacking, as Laudna scratches behind his one intact ear. The ichor-tipped remnant of a tail begins to wag, shaking them both with the force of it.

He spots Imogen several paces away, and his green eyes glow, peering at her curiously.

Laudna has stopped her scritches, and the hound tilts his big head. Laudna looks up, meets Imogen’s fond gaze, and her lips split into a wide grin.

“Go on,” she pats the creature’s sides encouragingly, “say hello if you like.”

The hellhound bounds forward, released from his command.

Imogen recalls the day he learned his tricks.

Laudna had found Imogen lounging beneath a copse of trees one afternoon, just as the sun was beginning to sink, casting the forest in dappled shades of orange and gold. The festering hound loped diligently at her heels. His paws colored the leaf-strewn ground iridescent black in their wake.

“Look!” Laudna had said, chest puffed. She turned to her newest creation and pointed one finger. “You’ve been so obedient all afternoon. I’ll see about giving you something from my collection if your other mom approves of your skills. I should have a deer leg that will suit you nicely.” She contemplated for a moment. “Ready?”

The hound stretched into a bow, muscle snapping over exposed bone, yawned, and shook. Drops of blood and ichor spattered the clearing, but Imogen hardly noticed, too caught up in Laudna’s casual statement.

She had said it nonchalantly, as if she hadn’t just gifted Imogen something extraordinarily precious. As if Imogen’s senses hadn’t suddenly gone askew. As if she hadn’t just sent Imogen’s worldview slip-sliding into something new and dangerous and so welcome that it felt like a homecoming. Her mind spun until she was almost giddy with it. She wondered, then, how something said so simply could feel so significant. If Laudna understood what she had done.

She had appointed Imogen the caretaker of a fragment of her soul. Of a creature that had been born of her, born from her. Crafted from the essence of her with whispered words and a desire to protect.

“Imogen?” Laudna had said then, “Are you ready?”

And Imogen had glanced between Laudna and her hound, who sat on bleeding haunches and looked expectantly at his mother, and it was all she could do to swallow the creak in her throat.

“Let’s see what you can do.”

Now, as the hound nearly bowls her over, Imogen cannot find it within herself to be mad at him. Not even at the dark stains on her dress. They’ll come out with a prestidigitation or two. She knows from experience.

She falls back in the grass and stares down twin emeralds. A broad tongue laps the side of her face, and she laughs, trying to dodge a cold, wet nose against her cheek. Her hands come up to cup the sides of his muzzle.

“Hi, baby boy,” she coos. She rubs at his ears, and he presses harder into her palm, groaning loudly. She can feel the vibration in her chest.

Laudna scolds, “What have I said about knocking people over?” Her hands rest firmly on her hips. “Honestly, Imogen, you could at least discipline him. How will he learn?”

Imogen rolls her eyes, shrugs. “I’m the fun mom. He comes to me because he knows he can’t get away with anything when you’re around.”

Laudna huffs. “I’m sorry that I want our son to be civilized.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” The hound flops to the ground, sprawling over Imogen’s outstretched legs, and she lets out an oomph of surprise. “Are you going to join us down here?”

Laudna sighs and settles beside Imogen, resting her head on Imogen’s shoulder. She runs her hands over the creature’s exposed belly, avoiding the biggest of the perpetually oozing wounds. His jaw unhinges happily. His tail thumps a steady rhythm against her shin.

Imogen presses a kiss to the top of Laudna’s head, and Laudna relaxes into her.

A soft smile spreads across Imogen’s lips.

#this was written in an hour on the highway so please forgive any mistakes #I adore the baby boy #but for real many thanks for letting me take a stab at this #always honored to see you pop up in my notes :)#hope this works!#prompt fill #my fic #imodna #imodna fanfic #critical role #laudna #imogen temult #hound of ill omen #fic #cr3 #critical role fanfiction #ask #horse-immorality

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deathmetalunicorn1 · 5 months

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Hello! Can I request a Morticia reader with Apollo and Leonidas? I don’t remember if you wrote any with these two. Thanks in advance!

-Beautiful, dark, deadly, passionate, loving, unique, all were words used to describe you and all of them were true.

-You were like the moon against the dark night sky, surrounded by pitch black darkness, bright but eerie and quiet.

-You found enjoyment in the dark and macabre, but to you, they were normal, beautiful things, skulls, poisonous flowers, dangerous plants, death, how lovely.

-Many thought you were odd by the way you dressed and carried yourself, always wearing elegant black gowns paired with matching jewelry with spider or coffin motifs. However, sometimes you would wear different colors when it was warmer out, just a slightly lighter shade of black with an umbrella, you didn’t need any unwanted color in your complexion.

-Your tone was always even and deadpan, never showing emotions the way others do, so nobody could ever tell if you were joking or not about feeding someone to your kitty-cat, an actual lion that you kept around who was like a housecat with you and those he knew, but vicious and violent with strangers.

-Many made comments that you would be attractive if you were ‘normal’ but where’s the fun in that? It’s much more fun to keep others guessing- keeping them on your toes.

-Speaking of keeping others on their toes, if anyone was to visit your private greenhouse, they would need to watch where they step or risk losing a few.

-Your garden was notorious for being filled with poisonous and carnivorous plants, and not just little things like little Venus Fly Traps, no you had a giant 4 ½ foot one that would eat people if they got close enough if you hadn’t fed them yet!!

-However, due to their healthy fear of your garden, you didn’t have many visitors, which you liked, less of a risk of your babies getting trampled or damaged.

-Your lover liked you the way you were, you were unapologetically unique, and he loved it, you were so different from other women and that’s what drew him to you.

-At first he did think you were a little odd, intimidating was a word he liked to use, as you weren’t afraid to speak your mind and there was always an air around you, a silent warning, but as time went on, he fell hard for you.

-Apollo- He adored your vibe- as you his opposite, he preferred sunshine and bright colors, while you enjoyed the moon and various shades of black, he was more open while you were reserved, he was honest about his feelings and you… you give the vibe that you’ve probably killed a few people. Apollo adores you, not wanting to change a thing about you, and you admire that he stays true to himself as well- not going to change for you. You accepted him for him, and he accepted you for you- and to him that was the most beautiful type of love. He loved your garden, but does know, now, to keep his distance from certain plants, not wanting to get bitten again. You enjoyed Apollo’s poetry to you, finding it relaxing, as well as his music, while you were so knowledgeable about plants (he doesn’t care that it’s dangerous plants) and he could listen to you for hours. Your relationship with Apollo was one of ‘opposites attract’.

-Leonidas- Seeing the fear in the eyes of those who claim to be powerful warriors was something that always made your day, as the Spartan warriors who had been training near your home had stumbled onto your property, where you dearest kitty cat went to say hello, but they just ran. When you comforted your precious kitty, petting him gently, they were all stunned, seeing you with no fear whatsoever- they had to wonder if you were a witch. Leonidas met you when he had to ‘rescue’ his men from a witch, only finding a darkly beautiful woman instead. Leonidas was taken by your vibe, you were so unique, you found joy in the dark and gloomy, finding happiness in death and morbid things that other would find terrifying. When you commented you loved being looked at with fear, mentioning his men, he couldn’t help but laugh, finding you hysterical. He knew he had fallen for you when you threatened him a gentle but intimidating smile on your lips, when he asked if you would sic your lion on him, “Oh no~ I prefer things to be more personal- I would poison you and watch the light slowly dim in your eyes- dragging out your inevitable death.” Leonidas had never felt such thrill before~

#record of ragnarok #ror x reader #ror apollo #ror leonidas

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jetsetlife138 · 3 months

Text

Imaginary: Reimagined (Alastor-Fem!Reader) - Chapter 2

A Multi-Chapter Story

Previous Chapters: Intro / Chapter 1

Chapter 2: The Introduction

Chapter Rating: Mature

Chapter Warnings: Reader experiences intense feelings of anxiety, discomfort, fear, and unwanted attention from a certain Radio demon.

Startled by the unexpected greeting, you pivoted swiftly in search of the elusive voice. Given the distinct static overlay accompanying the speaker, you initially anticipated seeing an antiquated television or vintage radio. However, to your astonishment, the origin was far more ominous.

The towering, gaunt figure before you exuded a distressing aura, his malevolence etched into every line of his sinister visage. As you examined him further, a labyrinth of unique features unfolded like a tapestry of the macabre, each detail more entrancingly unsettling than the last.

His penetrating leer felt like it could scorch the very depths of your soul, his eyes smoldering with an otherworldly crimson fire. The blood-red sclera lent an eerie depth, complemented by cinober irises that glowed with a supernatural intensity. Thin black pupils, sharp and unwavering, bore mercilessly into whosoever dared to meet his gaze. A burgundy oval-shaped monocle rimmed with sleek black adorned his right eye, adding an air of sophistication to his countenance.

A mischievous, broad smile unfurled across his face, a wicked crescent that exposed a set of teeth colored like sulfurous flames—sharp, pointed, and reminiscent of shards of amber. Each tooth, a gleaming weapon, hinted at a predator's cunning, a testament to the calculated danger that lurked behind the veneer of his baleful grin.

Crowning his head, peculiarity manifested in an unconventional hairstyle—an unruly cascade of fiery strawberry-red, meticulously cropped with a rebellious flair. The tips, dipped in the deepest black, created a striking contrast. Two audacious tufts of hair, tipped in the same jet black, extended defiantly from the apex, creating a distinctive silhouette, adding an almost devilish semblance.

Perched atop this vibrant display were two small, elegant black antlers—a subtle yet distinctive touch that further emphasized his unearthly presence. Together, the hairstyle and the antlers wove a tale of defiance and mystique, marking him as a character who embraced the havoc within, turning it into a crown of eccentricity.

His attire, further validating his enigmatic persona, consisted of a carmine pinstripe coat and dark cherry lapels lined with stark white; the garment exuded an air of both elegance and decay. Torn and ragged along the hem, it hinted at a history filled with battles and untold challenges. Beneath the coat, a bright red dress shirt with a bold ebony cross on the chest hinted at more profound symbolism. A black knotted bowtie with a ruby center adorned his neck, giving the apparel a subtle touch of formality.

His hands, sheathed in sable gloves, each fingertip adorned with a flash of dramatic scarlet, adding a touch of theatrical flair to his gestures as though every movement was part of an elaborate performance. Completing the ensemble, obsidian pointed-toe boots at his feet, their tips dipped in a fiery red, as if the ground itself ignited in his presence.

Maintaining a poised stance with impeccable posture, he stood with shoulders pulled back and chin elevated in a decorous and dignified pose. One arm rested gracefully behind his back, enhancing the implication of formality. At the same time, the other gripped a staff crowned by what looked to be an unusual microphone fixture, hinting at a strange fusion of worlds in his grasp.

This ambiguous figure stood as a walking paradox, a haunting blend of elegance and menace, sophistication and chaos.

Sensing your trepidation, his grin widened even further into a wicked expression that seemed to relish in your stunned reaction as well as the element of surprise. “Tongue-tied already?”

Apologizing nervously, you stumbled over your words and cleared your throat before mustering a hesitant greeting, "Um... hello."

"Delighted to make your acquaintance, sweetheart!" he exclaimed, extending his hand to clasp yours forcefully. The unexpected strength in his grip caught you off guard, smoothly drawing you closer—a bold move that sent a tingling sensation through you as you struggled to reclaim your composure. "Alastor, at your service. An absolute pleasure, I must say!"

A subtle crackle in the air marked a palpable shift, signaling a sudden transformation in his demeanor. In the blink of an eye, his welcoming host facade vanished. In its place emerged the persona of a beguiling gentleman, his intentions now veering towards the less honorable. Undeterred, he continued his greeting; his charismatic glamor, now laced with an undeniable allure, hinted at lurking danger beneath the surface. "And you, my enchanting mystery, what should I call you?" With a subtle yet commanding touch, he pressed a refined and tender kiss to the back of your hand, each second stretching into eternity as his intense gaze remained fixed on yours.

Despite your desire to reclaim your hand, it remained ensnared in his firm grip, rendering your haphazard attempts futile. Staring back at him, completely captivated, you failed to muster even the most straightforward responses, such as your own name. His aura derailed you far more than the demons you had encountered when you first arrived, surpassing even the ones who posed more direct threats.

Incoherent and nonsensical words stumbled out of your mouth, the quiver in your voice reflecting the unease that enveloped you in the magnetic field of his presence.

Growing impatient, the demon interjected, "Surely, you possess a name of your own. Come now, don't be a canceled stamp. What moniker belongs to such a captivating individual as yourself?"

As he continued speaking, you noticed his language unmistakably belonged to a bygone era. The vintage phrases and rapid-fire delivery echoed the dialogue of old black-and-white movies you had encountered over the years, particularly those with brisk and lively commentary.

His manner of speech carried a peculiar mix of disconcerting enticement, seamlessly melded with his overall style and disposition. A fleeting thought crossed your mind, contemplating whether it was a carefully crafted act or if he could indeed be a relic from the 1930s. In your current setting, where boundaries between eras blurred, the possibility of him being a genuine product of the past could be as likely as any other extraordinary occurrence in Hell.

Drawing a deep breath to steady your nerves, you eventually yielded, surrendering your name to the demon. Alastor, as you now knew him, flashed his ever-present grin, the twisted mirth dancing in his eyes as if he had just secured a coveted prize. The lobby's light seemed to flicker in tandem with the sinister satisfaction on his face.

"Why, that's absolutely delightful," he declared, testing the sound of your name on his lips. "It just rolls off the tongue, doesn't it? Splendid! Now, forgive my curiosity, but you don't strike me as a local." It was challenging to focus on his words as Alastor's eyes bore into yours, like embers dancing in the shadows. His impeccable manners and theatrical gestures were a stark contrast to the ominous air that surrounded him.

Collecting yourself, you felt your pulse quicken as you stammered, "W-what gives you that impression?" It was a feeble attempt to challenge his assumptions, but even as the words left your lips, a moment of realization struck, making you feel somewhat foolish. The truth was painfully obvious – you were undeniably human, not a demon. The air around you seemed to tighten with an awkward silence, a palpable acknowledgment of the absurdity that hung in the space between you and Alastor.

"Well, my dear," he said, a glint of amusement in his eyes, "first and foremost, you're alive. There hasn't been a living soul down here in… well, ever, to my knowledge. Your heartbeat practically sings in this abyss of torment!" His tone carried a mix of mischief and genuine fascination as if he had stumbled upon a rare and captivating treasure. "Quite the twist, isn't it?"

Another chill crept up your spine, the realization settling in that Alastor's interest extended far beyond mere pleasantries. Each syllable he uttered bore the weight of a concealed agenda, leaving you to navigate the labyrinth of his enchantment cautiously.

"Secondly," he continued, visibly unfazed by your gawking stare, "You're quite noticeably average. Hell is brimming with anthropomorphic beings. I regret to inform you that you stick out rather drastically. If your intention was to be discreet, it appears you're off your trolley!"

Perplexed, you furrowed your brow. His attempts at communication through outdated terminology failed to resonate and left you even more bewildered. "Sorry, what?"

He laughed heartily in response to your evident confusion, delighting in the disorientation you were experiencing as he playfully tapped the microphone on the top of his staff. "Hello! Is this thing on? Can you read me loud and clear?"

Battered by the relentless onslaught of mayhem and Alastor's nonsensical banter, you felt your sanity teetering on the brink of collapse. The unyielding pandemonium you had continuously endured was reaching its limit, and the existential panic lingering in your mind was now threatening to surface. You felt the unraveling of your composure, desperate for a moment of peace.

Sensing the strain on your waning mental stability, Alastor abruptly ceased his heckling. A sudden stillness replaced the dastardly mirth as he offered assistance, his tone surprisingly gentle. "Forgive me, I've been a bit uncouth. I reckon you've had quite the day with all these novel experiences! What might I fetch for you to aid in a moment of repose? Some giggle water? A gasper, perhaps?"

Once again, the unfamiliar jargon failed to resonate, intensifying your confusion. The unexpected, yet supposedly sincere, offer of abetment from the intimidating demon further disoriented you. The interaction alluded to a hidden layer of complexity within him, contributing to the overall intrigue surrounding his character.

Despite your efforts to remain composed, a heavy sigh escaped you, vocalizing the frustration that had taken place within. Your hands found solace in cradling your head, a physical manifestation of the turmoil that enveloped your thoughts.

"Look, it's Alastor, right?" His nod of confirmation prompted you to proceed as you dropped your hands to a less manic stance. "Okay, Alastor. I'm sensing a disconnect here. I'm not sure if this—" you gestured toward him, observing the quizzical tilt of his head before continuing, "... old-timey persona is your 'shtick' or whatever… But, honestly, I can't deal with this right now. While I appreciate your hospitality, up until earlier today, everything in my life was perfectly normal. Now, I'm trapped in some bizarre cartoon universe filled with humanoid monsters who apparently want me dead, and I'm having a hard time coping. So, could you give me a minute? Please?" The pain in your voice was evident, a desperate request for a moment of calm amidst the surreal madness that had become your reality.

A profound silence settled between you. Alastor's piercing gaze carefully scrutinized you while he pondered your words. While his perpetual smile never faltered, a subtle nuance in how he regarded you conveyed a hint of disappointment. It was as if he feared he had inadvertently damaged his newfound source of entertainment before fully indulging in its potential.

"Dear, I was only–"

"You heard her! Back off!"

You and Alastor swiftly redirected your focus as a commanding voice resonated across the lobby. Emerging from the distance was a feminine figure resembling a moth adorned with long white hair elegantly secured by a vibrant cherry bow. A prominent X marked her left eye, accentuating her distinctive appearance.

As the figure drew closer, you noticed the disapproving scowl etched across her face, which looked pointedly fixed on Alastor. The tension in the air heightened as the unexpected ally intervened, her presence signaling a shift in the unfolding dynamic.

"Vagatha," Alastor greeted with cool nonchalance, an almost dismissive nod accompanying his words. "Right on cue."

"That's not my name," The moth-like woman mumbled under her breath, her narrowed eyes betraying a lingering suspicion. Yet, when her attention turned to you, her demeanor transformed. A warm smile replaced the scowl, and she placed her hands protectively on your shoulders, instantly creating a sense of comfort.

"I'm Vaggie," she introduced herself amicably. "Don't let this guy scare you off. Somehow, he wormed his way into becoming the hotel's Facility Manager, but that's on a probationary period. He's already on thin ice." Vaggie's gaze shot back to Alastor, a glare loaded with unspoken challenges. Alastor, however, seemed to relish in the confrontation, his eyes crinkling in mischievous glee.

"Charlie got held up on an important phone call, so she sent me to help get you settled until she can meet up with us. Come on, we've got a room ready for you upstairs." The promise of sanctuary in the form of a bedroom thrilled you, a welcome reprieve from the brewing storm in the lobby.

"Thank you, that sounds great," you agreed, your response punctuated by a nervous swallow. You were still attempting to stifle any apprehension triggered by Vaggie and Alastor's unique features. Turning back to Alastor, you offered a polite farewell. "It was nice to meet you, Alastor. I guess I'll see you around."

To your astonishment, you recoiled as his teeth seemed to sharpen even further, the unwavering smile on his face widening at your acknowledgment. "Oh, yes, dearest. Sooner than you think," he purred, his words dripping with a subtle menace that left a trail of anticipation in their wake. The air thickened as Alastor's gaze lingered on you, a predator watching its prey, as you turned to follow Vaggie towards the large, creaking staircase.

As you climbed the grand staircase, the glare of the lobby gave way to the soft glow of sconces that adorned the walls, casting flickering shadows along the ornate patterns of the carpet. The plush and intricate designs felt as though they absorbed the echo of your footsteps, creating an atmosphere of subtle refinement.

Vaggie led you through the upper landing, the ambience changing as you ascended. A faint scent of aged wood lingered, intermingled with the distant wails of Hell's tormented souls. It was a disturbing reminder of the realm you found yourself in.

"Your room is just down there," she said, her tone easing into a more casual cadence as she gestured ahead. The subtle tension of the encounter with Alastor seemed to dissipate with each step. "Sorry about that weird thing with Alastor. He's... unique. But don't worry, you're in good hands now."

The hallway unfolded as a corridor of opulence, with ambient lighting casting a vermillion gleam upon the dark, polished wood of the ornate doors that lined either side. Vaggie halted before a particularly imposing door, turning to you with a small, apologetic smile. "This is it. Your new home, at least for the time being." The door's intricate carvings and richly hued finish hinted at the luxury within, offering a glimpse into the mysterious haven that awaited you.

Entering the room, you were met with a surprisingly cozy atmosphere. The large bed dominated the space, adorned in rich crimson and gold bedding. Four beams stood proudly on each corner, supporting a black canopy that added an air of elegance. With their shears drawn, the two giant windows along the wall hinted at consideration for your well-being, shielding you from whatever horrors lurked below. Despite the obscured view, the city's lights cast a warm and inviting glow into the room.

A large, regal dresser stood proudly between the windows, a vast mirror attached on top reflecting the refined atmosphere of the room. Against the opposite wall, an armoire added a touch of vintage charm, and in the corner, a matching vanity whispered of bygone elegance. A door beckoned on the opposite end of the room, leading to your private en-suite bathroom.

Vaggie, her posture casual yet observant, leaned against the wall, her eyes following your every move. "It's not exactly the Ritz, but it's got its own flair."

You turned to face her, the weight of the day's events still etched on your features. "Flair might be an understatement, Vaggie. This place is..." You searched for the right word as you regarded the room. "Impressive."

She chuckled softly, the sound echoing in the quiet space. "Hell has a way of blending horror with splendor, doesn't it? Anyway, make yourself at home." Stepping back to survey the space again, you marveled at how it had met your needs and exceeded them.

Captivated by the allure of your new living space, you nearly missed Charlie's spirited entrance. Bursting through the doorway, her radiant expression illuminated the room like a burst of sunlight, and she greeted you with unbridled enthusiasm. "Welcome!" she exclaimed, extending her arms to accentuate her elation. "I hope that this space will suffice. If you need any other accommodations, I'm sure our gracious Facility Manager will happily assist!"

A derisive snort from Vaggie redirected your attention, her skepticism evident as she shot Charlie a sidelong glance. "Yeah, our 'gracious' Facility Manager has a knack for overstepping boundaries and could learn a thing or two about minding his own damn business. You're better off coming to me or Charlie for anything you need."

Charlie, undeterred by Vaggie's cynicism, chimed in with an eager smile. "Oh, we'd be thrilled to help with whatever you need!" Her eyes sparkled with genuine sincerity as she moved closer to Vaggie, intertwining their fingers as if grounding herself in their shared strength. As she took Vaggie's hand in hers, Charlie's gaze lingered with adoration. "Vaggie has done so much to help get this place up and running. She's not just my right hand; she's my better half."

Vaggie smiled sheepishly, trying to conceal her blush. Charlie planted a delicate kiss on Vaggie's cheek before turning her attention back to you, adopting a more serious tone. "Listen, I know this must all be pretty terrifying, and you must be so scared, but we've got you, I promise."

"Try to keep a low profile," Vaggie encouraged, placing a hand on her hip as she stood confidently. "Keep to yourself, avoid any potentially dangerous situations, and most importantly, stay away from the Shitlord. If you can do that, you should be fine until we can figure out how to get you home."

You blinked, puzzled by the peculiar term. "I'm sorry, the 'Shitlord'?"

"Alastor," she grumbled, ignoring Charlie's subtle scowl. "Our not-so-friendly neighborhood Radio Demon."

"Why should I avoid him?" you inquired, your interest piqued, especially after your earlier encounter. "If he's here helping to redeem sinners, he can't be that bad, right?"

The conflicting responses from Charlie and Vaggie painted a vivid picture of the polarizing figure that was Alastor. Charlie's eyes lit up with loyalty, defending the demon's actions, while Vaggie's glare spoke volumes about her mistrust.

"He's an ass," Vaggie stated bluntly, not mincing her words. It was clear she had little patience for the potentially problematic Radio Demon.

"He's not!" Charlie interjected, her tone almost pleading. "He… has a certain reputation, is all. I can't just assume that every demon that walks through our doors has bad intentions. We've got to give him a chance. He's been nothing but helpful since he's arrived."

Quirking your brow, you glanced back and forth between them as Vaggie rolled her eyes. "Charlie is endearingly optimistic."

As you observed the dynamic between Charlie and Vaggie, you noticed the subtle interplay of emotions – Charlie's infectious optimism and Vaggie's more cautious demeanor. The room's atmosphere shifted, transitioning from the initial excitement to a more serious undertone. The warmth of the welcome clashed with the ominous warning about the unpredictable Radio Demon.

Vaggie's gaze hardened as she met your eyes, a stern expression on her face. "Seriously, it's for your own safety. Alastor might come off as charming, but there's a reason other demons keep their distance. He's one of Hell's most feared Overlords. He's unpredictable, and you never know what he's up to. Just steer clear of him, okay?"

Charlie tried to diffuse the tension with a comforting smile. "We're just looking out for you. The Hotel can be hectic, and we want you to feel at home." Her words carried a gentle reassurance, attempting to balance Vaggie's wariness and her own hopefulness.

Vaggie sighed, a hint of frustration in her voice. "Just trust me on this one. He isn't just a happy face; he's a creep we've reluctantly allowed to help us. And the last thing we need is an innocent, unsuspecting soul falling under his influence."

A momentary flicker of doubt passed over Charlie's expressive eyes, but she swiftly regained her composure. "Alright, let's not dwell on this too much tonight. You must be exhausted," she said, her concern palpable. "We'll talk more tomorrow. If you need anything else, Vaggie and I are just down the hall, last door on the left."

"Got it," you affirmed, inclining your head in gratitude.

"Oh! And don't be alarmed if you cross paths with some of the other hotel staff," Charlie resumed, her enthusiasm returning. "Niffty is our diligent housekeeper, and Husk is our skilled bartender."

"At the moment, we only have two other guests," Vaggie chimed in, her tone more pragmatic. "Sir Pentious is usually occupied with his little minions and shouldn't be too much of a nuisance. Angel Dust is another story. If he bothers you, just ignore him. Or strangle him. Either one works."

"Will do," you chuckled, her attempt at humor injecting a welcome lightness into the atmosphere. "Thank you so much. I don't know what else to say. I'd probably be dead by now if you hadn't found me. It means a lot that you'd go through so much trouble for someone you don't know."

"Happy to help," Charlie replied, her sympathetic smile providing tender reassurance. "Get some rest!"

With those words, the two exited the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts. Eager for a distraction, you sauntered to the windows, drawing back the curtain and peering through the grimy glass.

Hell unfolded its macabre grandeur before your eyes. The twisted, decrepit structures that lined the streets challenged the laws of architecture. Each building, crooked and battered, exuded an eerie magnetism that hinted at the horrors within. The air was tinged with a paranormal quality, a discordant symphony of colors and shadows playing on the blood-splattered streets.

As you contemplated the surreal spectacle, a question involuntarily danced through your mind—what form would encapsulate your essence in this infernal realm? Would you morph into a whimsical creature, an embodiment of the anarchy that defined Hell, or perhaps manifest as an object reflecting the remnants of your earthly existence? The sheer absurdity of the thought evoked a quiet laughter that bubbled up from deep within, a coping mechanism against the overwhelming horror surrounding you.

"Remarkable, isn't it?"

The unexpected voice, a sinister melody that sliced through the eerie silence, prompted an involuntary yelp. You spun around with a start, almost stumbling over yourself, only to find Alastor standing in your bedroom doorway. The unnerving permanence of his smile rattled you while his eyes, gleaming with an otherworldly intelligence, seemed to leer at you.

"Jesus Christ!" you choked out, a hand instinctively clutching your chest to steady the frantic beat of your heart.

"Hmm… not quite," Alastor replied, his grin deepening, causing his eyes to crease with malevolent cheerfulness. "Forgive me, miss. A gentleman should refrain from intruding upon a lady's private domain. However, our earlier conversation was abruptly cut short, and I am not one to leave matters unresolved," he continued, twirling his staff with a casual flourish. "I would be remiss if I did not take advantage of this rare opportunity. Would you grant me the pleasure of your company, perhaps for a brisk stroll?"

Your eyes narrowed, wrestling with the uncertainty of his intentions. On one hand, curiosity was a shared sentiment; however, Vaggie had explicitly warned against spending any time with Alastor. Additionally, your suspicion that Alastor's interest in you concealed darker motives had only intensified since your previous encounter.

Observing your hesitation, Alastor's low, rumbling chuckle reverberated through the air like an ominous prelude, the static overlay even more prevalent than before. He casually leaned against the doorframe, his dark silhouette swallowing the feeble light in the room.

"No need to be so guarded, sweetheart," Alastor drawled, his voice an unnatural blend of charisma and menace. "I'm merely captivated by the anomaly of a living soul gracing Hell's grounds. You see, it's not every day we welcome a newcomer like yourself." Despite his attempt at reassurance, the room felt suffocating, as if his presence tainted the entire space. "You couldn't have arrived at a more intriguing time," Alastor continued, his eyes glinting with a vicious spark. "It seems fate has a sense of humor, placing a delicate creature like you amidst the chaos of Hell–and so soon after an extermination!"

Your eyebrows furrowed, skepticism etching lines on your face as you shot him a look that bordered on irritation. "Am I supposed to know what an 'extermination' is?"

"Sweet girl, an extermination is a grand spectacle of Hellish proportions! It's a symphony of destruction orchestrated to cleanse and reset the infernal balance," Alastor explained, his words dripping with macabre enthusiasm. The way he spoke made it sound like he reveled in the mayhem. "And you, my unsuspecting guest, have stepped directly into the aftermath."

Your arms crossed tightly over your chest, a mix of defiance and fear lacing your words. "Is this your idea of a sick joke?"

Alastor leaned back, a wicked grin still playing on his lips as if savoring the fear dancing in your eyes. "Who's joking?" he jested, his voice resonating with a chilling levity.

You eyed him warily, the manic in his eyes intensifying. "So, what's your role in all of this? Are you some kind of demonic tour guide or a sadistic host?"

He hummed softly as he mused. "Oh, you could say I wear many hats. But most importantly, for the time being, I'm here to make your stay in Hell as... entertaining as possible."

His words dripped with a malicious promise, each syllable carrying the weight of an unspoken threat. As he spoke, the air around you seemed to thicken with an unsettling energy, and you couldn't shake the feeling that you were just beginning to scratch the surface of the twisted game that Alastor had set before you.

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Chapter End Notes: Okay, I'm seeking honest opinions here... is my writing TOO complex? I feel like I'm using a lot of words that aren't used in everyday conversation, and I worry about any unsuspecting readers whose first language isn't English. It concerns me that they might struggle with comprehension and have it take away from their experience. I don't want to stress anyone out. Does that make sense? I'm an overthinker, so any feedback is appreciated!

#alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #hazin hotel imaginary #fanfiction #hazbinhotel #hazbin hotel fanfiction

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lirational · 8 months

Text

Gazania

Alpha!Coquelicot x Omega!Reader

Warnings: Dark content, Omegaverse, dubious consent, (minor) dehumanization. DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT.

Disclaimer: Written before release with minimal information. OOC abound. You have been warned!

Additional message: I promise I am working on the requests I am sorry RUSJDUDJSHSB

SMUT UNDER THE CUT. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

If, back then, you were told that one day you would be snatched up on the streets while taking a shortcut, you would’ve laughed in their face and tell them to stop watching too many movies.

Now, you would laugh without mirth, for such an event became your reality.

Fearmongers would claim that it was unsafe for an unclaimed Omega to roam freely without suppresants, even in short trips, and you were just an hour late for your next dose. You left your pills at home that day, figuring that the dose you took should give you enough time for the trip home.

A mistake you would come to regret.

When you came to, you were greeted by a woman clad in white, naked with your hands tied up in lace, laid sideways on a plush bed. Were you able to see yourself, you would realize that the ropes binding you created such a beautiful sight, an artful display meant for the woman now sitting on the sofa in front of you.

“Ah, I see you are awake.”

Her movements ooze elegance, from the way her dress wrapped around her lithe, pale body, down to the splotches of ruby jewels that gleamed like stark droplets of blood under the light. Her smile was terrifying, claiming, and as she stepped closer, you caught a whiff of her scent. Sweet, with something metallic hidden underneath that captivated your senses in a dance with the macabre. She was nothing short of beautiful, and you half wondered, in the start of your lust-inflicted haze.

Do your scent affect her even half as much as hers did?

A pointless question, and you gulped as you saw the bulge barely hidden by her short dress, the outline of a piercing visible at the end.

One hand grasped your cheek, the other tilting your chin up, forcing you to look at her ruby pupils that shimmered like blood. Her lips curled into a scimitar smile, and a shiver went down your spine, her touch setting your skin alight as your body started to submit in her presence—

The unmistakable presence of an Alpha.

“An unclaimed Omega, passing in such a secluded place… One would wonder whether you were trying to invite rabid mutts on yourself,” she shook her head, her gaze filled with a mocking compassion, tinged with unmistakable lust as her pheromones started to fill the room, spreading much like black coloring drops in pristine water. Desire was coiling in your body, preparing yourself for a potential mate, and you start to fidget, sweat dampening your skin while moisture gathered down below, likely forming a puddle with each passing second.

Despite that, the Alpha woman caressing you still seemed as if she was unaffected.

“As for my name… call me Coquelicot. Shorten it as you like, I only want to hear you scream it later,” she accentuated her threat with a rough twist on your nipples, drawing a groan that escaped your lips before you could think to even stop it, “My dear flowers have been keeping an eye on you. To think the chance to take you away arrived this soon…”

“Y, you can’t do this,” you reply, your trembling, high-pitched voice undermining any attempts at loading your voice with a semblance of authority, “My roommates will be looking for me if I don’t reach home before ten, and, I attend the—“

“They have been taken care of, my little Omega,” she cut you off, hand reaching for the ribbon on your back. With that, just like unwrapping a present, your bonds unraveled, dropping into strips of ribbons on the bed. She took one end of the ribbon and lifted your wrists up, binding your hands together, then pulled the end of the knot with her teeth, forming a tight seal that did not even allow even the slightest movement.

Her fingers glide down the sides of your body, gripping your waist in a vice-grip strength. In a contrast to your state, as you get messier from sheer desperation with each tick of the seconds, she was the epitome of patience. Her other hand cupped your dripping folds, and in a contrast to her projected grace and beauty, the way she presses on your entrance almost screams out her desire, before slipping the tip of one digit in. In a teasing motion, she wriggled her finger, and it was enough to make your toes curl, the end of a choked moan slipping through pursed lips.

“That’s no good,” she tutted, then slipped a second finger in, curling her digits before she spread them apart, drawing out a high-pitched noise that slipped out before you could stop it.

“I want to hear you.”

Even if what was left of your thoughts could muster a fight, your body had long recognized it was futile. White was creeping at the edges of your vision, while your body bucked in response to any form of stimulation. Coquelicot’s movements conveyed impatience that was not visible from how calm and languid she sounded, delicate fingers massaging your walls and mapping each reaction that spilled from your lips.

Coquelicot smelled of blood and roses, distinct metallic tang fading into sweetness at the end, the scent potent enough that with a whiff, you felt like metallic sweetness had swirled on your tongue and coated your insides. She kept up the scissoring motion of her fingers, undeterred in her quest to split you apart, to truly stake her claim on you. With a shuddering breath and a mockery of an attempt to call out her name, you spilled on her fingers, coating her pale hand with your slick.

Under the throes of your still burning lust, only slightly alleviated by coming once, you beg for her.

“Please… Coque— no, please, more—,” finally, finally a plea slipped from your lips, your earlier hiss and bite all but gone as your whole being yearned, screamed for her. You try to buck your hips, to meet the base of her fingers in hopes of feeling her touch on that sweet, sweet spot once more, yet she was too quick, a confident smirk gracing her face. It was a stark contrast to the twitching member hidden beneath her short dress, its length tenting the white garment enough that if you look just a bit lower, you would have seen everything she has down there.

“Ah, now you are finally begging! Show me, show me then, my little Omega, show me how desperate you are.”

Coquelicot stopped moving her fingers, though she kept them inside you.

“Use those hips of yours, let me hear you call my name, my blooming Gazania, my beautiful Omega. Give me unshakable proof of your loyalty for me.”

You have all but thrown your dignity to the wind, allowing yourself to be consumed by this blood-coated promise of pleasure. Though you were pinned down, restricting your movement, you still obeyed the best you could, rolling your hips in an attempt to meet the base of her fingers.

If only you could see your own expression, wanton with lust and eyes no longer reflecting any coherent thoughts. Your skin shined with sweat, evidence of the furnace burning inside, and yet you still wanted - no, needed - more. Your attempts were futile, and from the amusement dancing in Coquelicot’s gaze, she was fully aware of it.

“What happened, my little Omega? Don’t you want release?”

There was mocking glee in her voice.

“I need— I need you inside me,” you admitted with trembling lips. As an afterthought, you added, “Please.”

To your surprise, she smiled, and with an embarassing, wet sound, she pulled her fingers out, leaving you with a gaping ache bigger than you have expected.

Then, sheshoved her sullied fingers into your mouth.

“Clean this up first, then.”

Her command was accentuated as the pheromones swirling in the room intensified, turning your emptiness into clawing, unending, torturous desire. Evidence of your need had long since dripped onto your inner thighs and sullied the luxurious bed you were on, sheer need driving your thoughts to nothing else but the alpha in front of you.

You obeyed, swirling your tongue on her digits, tasting yourself on her skin.

Satisfied, she pulled her fingers out, then you saw a glimpse, her elegance almost discarded out the window as she pulled down her own panties, ruined and sullied with her own juices. As she pulled her dress aside, you saw her member in all seven inches of its full glory. The gleam of metal gave away its pierced tip and sides, with a short ornament hanging on its very tip, close to the bead of precum already forming. A spiked cock ring could be seen at the base, its look reminiscent of rose thorns.

She did not give you a chance to admire it.

She aligned her pelvis with yours, looking at you with a gaze so loving, so deep in a wave of obsession that threatens to sweep you under. The tip of her cock pressed against your entrance, then it slipped in all too easily, your clenched walls allowing you to feel each bump at the side pressing against you.

Her slow entrance kept you at edge, even as the grip of her fingers tightened on your shoulders, a sign that she, too, was impatient and close to ramming everything inside. As she slid down slowly, savoring the feeling, you felt more complete. Euphoria washed over you as she finally slid everything inside you, her cock now pressing so deep you could feel it threatening to truly, finally split you apart and bind you to her in vines full of thorns and deceit.

“Try to stay awake, dear Gazania,” Coquelicot warned, the mockery made clear with her laugh.

That was not your name, but you could not find it to protest - perhaps, more like you were not given a chance to as her thrusts became faster, more erratic, a sign that she has truly let go of her restraints. Her ruby eyes almost shined with the intensity of it all, and her breaths became ragged, though you only saw that glimpse for a second before she lunged for your exposed skin, kissing marks that would paint your skin in smudged red and dark blue bruises later on. From your shoulders, the column of your neck, to your breasts, she kept you aware and able to feel everything she did, both as she rearranged your insides with each thrust, and the way her tongue swirled patterns on your stiff nipples.

Her groans became more stilted, louder, and so were your moans, spilling unbidden without care of who or what might hear the two of you tangled in twisted, bloodied passion. She pumped faster, caressing that sweet, sweet spot, her movements desperate for her own release, while you saw stars at the edge of your vision as you tipped over the edge, adding to the mess that was already pooling beneath you. Her cock twitched, once, twice inside you, then she came, her girth swelling, filling you up with both the scalding hot proof of your passionate tangle, and her dick that now acted as a plug, keeping you two in each other’s embrace.

You could feel that a little bit almost spilled out, yet it remained there, as if Coquelicot did not want any of it to go to waste.

“Haah, my flower… you are finally mine,” she muttered, warm tongue licking the spot near your neck, her breaths fanning the spot and causing you to shudder, but you were already too full, the craving of your body satisfied, and you wanted nothing more than to curl up, perhaps from the mix of shame and satisfaction. Thankfully, she seemed to understand, and helped shift your position, allowing you to sleep on your side, though still tangled. The last thing you heard, before she drifted off and left you to ponder your fate alone, was her sweet whisper.

“Let’s do it again when you are rested, my dear flower.”

#path to nowhere #path to nowhere x reader #ptn x reader #path to nowhere headcanons #yandere #ptn coquelicot x reader

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unabashegirl · 2 months

Text

Vicious 4 || Harry Styles x Mafia

Summary: Harry Styles, the cold and calculating son of a powerful mafia don, must consolidate power after his father's passing. He faces challenges from his unpredictable younger brother, Silas, and navigates a complex world of alliances, ruthless decisions, and family loyalty. Amidst the intrigue, the elegant and alluring Y/N Castellano, the daughter of an Italian mafia boss, attends the funeral and finds herself drawn to Harry. As power dynamics shift and the future remains uncertain, the story explores the dark and dangerous allure of the mafia, the weight of family legacies, and the potential for unexpected connections in a world defined by secrecy and ruthlessness.

Author's note: asked to get tagged! Here is my Patreon in case you want to get ahead and get early access to more chapters.

word count: 2.0K

masterlist

The scent of blood permeated not only one's nose but also clung to hair, clothes, and anything one wore. The atmosphere in the chambers was perpetually cold and damp, creating an unsettling ambiance. It was a dark, eerie place, one that instilled fear in young Harry when he was just a boy. Back then, he knew it as the forbidden place where his father would take people to "take care" of them.

It remained off-limits until Harry turned fifteen, and Arthur began to introduce him to the macabre secrets within. The first day proved harrowing; overwhelmed by anxiety and the overwhelming scent of blood, Harry couldn't endure it. He vomited and cried to his mother, vowing never to return. However, that resolution crumbled as his father included him in the sadistic practices of torturing their enemies.

Arthur meticulously groomed him, desensitizing him to the gruesome reality until he could slit someone's throat without flinching. The cold, merciless chambers became a training ground for the heir, shaping him into the unyielding figure he would eventually become.

Harry lingered in the shadows of the chamber, where the man accused of desecrating his father's corpse sat. Bound to a wooden chair in the room's center, the accused man met the somber gazes of the onlooking men. Sympathy tinged their expressions, but a collective understanding resonated - what needed to be done had to be done. Even in death, loyalty to the former boss persisted. Silence enveloped the chamber as Harry contemplated the situation, contemplating the best course of action.

"What did you plan to do with the body?" Harry inquired, his voice cutting through the chamber's heavy air as he methodically made his way from the back to the front. He aimed to confront the accused, locking eyes with him before delivering the punishment that awaited.

"I don't know what you're talking about," the man named Dimitri retorted smugly, a hint of defiance in his demeanor. He understood the perilous situation he was in, yet he remained prepared to face the consequences. Dimitri had been sent on a specific mission, aware of the risks involved in targeting Arthur. What he hadn't anticipated was Harry's foresight in stationing men to guard his father's grave.

Harry cast a brief glance at Lex, and in that moment, the first blow landed on his face, sending him into a quick daze. Dimitri hadn't seen it coming, unaware of Lex standing beside him.

"I'll ask again. What were you planning?" Harry queried, turning his back to walk up to the tools laid out for the impending ordeal.

"You're just like your father. A fuckin' prick," Dimitri spat out, the second hit landing with brutal force, rupturing his eardrum and filling his senses with a piercing ringing. Despite the pain, a twisted laughter escaped Dimitri's lips, echoing through the chamber.

“You don't know who I am? I was there that day. I can still here your mother’s screams” Dimitri taunted in his mother language, revealing to Harry who had sent him, striking at the rawest nerve.

Harry moved swiftly, catching Dimitri off guard. A knife sliced through his leg, triggering screams and shouts that fueled Harry's anger. Dimitri's calculated reference to Harry's mother only intensified the fury within him, leaving no room for remorse.

Harry moved quickly before Dimitri could realize what he was doing. A knife went through his leg. His screams and shouts fueled Harry’s anger. He had brought up his mother which only proved to Harry that he didn’t feel one bit remorseful.

“I will ruin you "Harry whispered back to Dimitri in Russian, his voice cold and resolute as he took hold of one of his hands. The room bore witness to the painful, torturous task ahead as Harry embarked on the painstaking process of pulling off each of Dimitri's nails. The chamber echoed with Dimitri's agonized cries, a symphony of suffering orchestrated by the relentless pursuit of revenge.

Amidst Dimitri's agonized cries, the chamber transformed into a chilling tableau of retribution. Harry, unmoved by the torment he inflicted, continued his methodical descent into sadism. The room's atmosphere thickened with tension as each nail was ruthlessly torn away, leaving Dimitri writhing in unbearable pain.

Harry's movements were deliberate, fueled by a potent mix of anger, vengeance, and the haunting memories Dimitri had sought to exploit. The language of retribution spoke through every tortured scream, a visceral manifestation of the vendetta playing out in the dimly lit chamber.

As the gruesome task unfolded, the weight of Dimitri's betrayal echoed through the room. He had ventured into the territory of the family, a realm where loyalty was sacrosanct, and his actions had triggered a cascade of brutal consequences.

The air was charged with the scent of blood and the cacophony of anguish. Harry, unrelenting, continued his merciless pursuit, driven by a determination to extract the full toll for the transgressions committed against his family. The echoes of Dimitri's cries reverberated through the chamber, marking the relentless march of retribution in the heart of the shadows.

“This fucker” Federico muttered under his breath as he rose from his seat once again. The wait for Harry's return had stretched beyond an hour. "How can he keep us waiting?"

Y/N remained silent, wary of uttering words that might incite her father's anger. Her mind, however, couldn't help but wander, envisioning what Harry was currently engaged in and whose fate he was sealing. Having grown up within the mafia, Y/N was no stranger to the methods employed to handle business. From a young age, she had clandestinely listened to her father discussing the gruesome details of his operations.

"Why are you so quiet?" he asked her in Italian. "You've barely said anything since we came."

"I am fine," Y/N responded, her gaze fixed on the backyard of the estate. "I've just been analyzing everything."

"You have to report everything back to me," Federico declared, his eyes scanning the estate's surroundings. "I must know everything that happens within this house." The motive behind agreeing to Y/N's marriage to Harry became clear—Federico sought intel and marrying her off to Harry was the strategic move to have someone on the inside.

As Federico spoke, Y/N nodded subtly, concealing her inner reservations about the web of alliances and deceit that surrounded her. The weight of her dual role—Harry's wife and her father's informant—pressed upon her, creating a delicate balance she had to maintain.

Federico's watchful eyes turned back to Y/N, a stern expression etched on his face. "Your role is crucial," he emphasized. "We need to know Harry's every move. The success of our family depends on it.”

Y/N nodded again, her gaze flickering toward the entrance as anticipation built. The door creaked open, and Harry stepped into the room. His demeanor was composed, betraying nothing of the tumultuous affairs that had transpired in his absence

"You're still here," Harry pointed out as he strode into his office, taking a seat behind his desk.

"Is everything alright?" Federico inquired, his curiosity evident. He wanted to understand what had caused the delay.

"He won't be a problem anymore," Harry replied succinctly, weariness evident in his voice. "Is there anything else pending?" His desire for a drink and a moment of respite was palpable. The mention of his late mother had taken an emotional toll, a vulnerability that he seldom allowed to surface. She didn’t deserve what had been done to her. She was an angel among all the devils.

Y/N observed the change in Harry's appearance—different suit, bruised knuckles, slightly damp hair, and flattened curls. Something had transpired, and she couldn't help but wonder about the details.

"Just determining where the wedding will take place. I personally think it should be in Italy, at our home," Federico suggested. However, Harry shook his head, instantly dismissing the idea. He wasn't about to lead his men into a foreign country, into the lion's den, even if they were allies. Harry knew better than to underestimate potential risks.

"Here is best. Safer," Harry asserted, leaving no room for debate. The location of his wedding wasn't up for negotiation with Federico. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some business to take care of." With that, Harry signaled the end of the conversation, his focus already shifting to the matters that awaited his attention.

Federico stormed out of the door, visibly irritated by the dismissal of his suggestions. Y/N discreetly rose from her seat, feeling the weight of Harry's intense gaze on her.

Lex wasted no time entering the office once the Italians had departed. "How was that? When are you getting married?" he inquired, adding with a smirk, "She's not ugly."

"In a month," Harry revealed, a sardonic laugh escaping him at the absurdity of Federico's proposal. "Federico wanted us to have it in Italy."

"Fucker," Lex chuckled. "What are we doing with the Russians?"

"I think we should send them back a gift, don't you think?" Harry suggested, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. He looked up at Lex, who nodded in understanding. "Send back what they sent," Harry instructed. Lex acknowledged the order and said, "Take care of that and let me know when the package is ready." The plan was set in motion, the wheels of retribution silently turning in the shadows.

Lex nodded, acknowledging Harry's directive. "Consider it done." he affirmed, a steely determination in his eyes.

Harry lingered in his office for a few more hours, seeking solace amidst the familiar surroundings. Pouring a glass of whiskey and lighting a cigarette, he settled into his seat, attempting to find a moment of respite. The day had been a whirlwind of chaos, and though the desire for rest weighed heavily on him, the pressing tasks ahead refused to be ignored.

The dim glow of the office cast a reflective ambiance as Harry contemplated the intricate web of responsibilities that now rested on his shoulders. Each sip of whiskey brought a momentary warmth, and the tendrils of smoke from his cigarette curled lazily in the air.

With a few more meetings lingering on the horizon, the dimly lit corridors of the English manor buzzed with the hushed conversations of individuals seeking Harry's favor. The air was thick with the weight of their requests, each plea underlined by an unspoken acknowledgment of the shifting dynamics within the English mafia. These were more than routine meetings; they were symbolic gestures of allegiance, a testament to Harry's emerging reign and the challenges that lay ahead.

As the last petitioner departed, their gratitude hanging in the air, Harry emerged from his office. The room behind him held the scent of aged leather and the echoes of decisions made, a silent witness to the myriad responsibilities he bore as the new don.

Intent on locating Charlie to discuss matters of importance, Harry's purposeful stride led him to the foyer. There, amidst the surroundings, he unexpectedly discovered her presence. YN sat on an intricately patterned rug, her form a stark contrast to the grandeur that surrounded her. Two suitcases, well-worn and marked by the passage of time, stood sentinel by her side.

"What are you still doing here?" Harry's voice echoed through the space, genuine surprise etched on his face as he beheld the unexpected scene. His eyes, sharp and discerning, sought answers. "Where is Federico?" The inquiry hung in the air, anticipation threading through the atmosphere like a subtle current, as the layers of loyalty, alliances, and unspoken tensions played out in the grand foyer of the manor.

click here to read chapter 5

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athanasius-symposium-of-writings · 3 months

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Can I req a fic where d.m. gets jealous because he thinks his s/o is flirting with the others (tuberose , gatto and maybe fiona crimson witch) but she's just being polite? Poor girl just wanted to show her appreciation to d.m.'s henchmen but he thinks that she's trying to flirt 😔😔. Thanks!

I dont picture him being the jealous type. He is very secure in his place with you but he is aware others want you in their own way. But lol he has you first

Jealousy is such an ugly emotion all creatures have, all those sentient, Sir Désire Mélodis has felt those emotions before— When he was a child. It was a natural reaction as he had shared his childhood with his beloved brother. It is natural and is addressed accordingly. He knows you have felt jealousy as he is a very loved man by many members of high society. No, not jealousy, you felt as if you were competing between them and the Detectives. He had not intended to make you believe you had to compete with Mr. Inference or Lady Truth, they were ants compared to you.

Beautiful, fascinating you who ensnares his heart with your boundless love and quick wit. You are brave yet shy, cautious yet bold. You are perfect.

“I do love how you styled your hair today, (Name).” The new maid, a witch, compliments you as she places tea down for you. You are currently reading over paperwork for your father, and Désire is happy to provide a quiet space for you to focus.

“Thank you. I had to get help to style it this morning.” Smiling as she plays with one of the hairpins. A snake wrapped around a branch with white dangling jewelry petals.

“The tea is delicious!” You took several sips, “What is it?”

“Oh, nothing special.” The Crimson Witch is idly chatting with you.

Désire watches from a dark corner, he is quite pleased to see you getting along with his associates. The one who likely will never meet is Noir as he is a solitary type. Désire was sure you would never meet Tuberose but circumstances had called for that to change.

The Lord Professor's were exposed in parts and not all were shared, this is to protect you. If something happens to him, he has plans to keep you safe.

“Mon petit gâteau,” Approaching when the witch maid leaves you to your work, “Good afternoon, any headway?” His walk is elegant, and graceful with his cane in hand. You smile big and wide for him, he leans over the chair to kiss your cheek. He stands at his full height as he reads over the paper in your hand.

“Good afternoon, monsieur,” You stretch your back out a bit, “Some. Most are bills and others are invitations.” You yawn.

“Sounds like you need a break, my love.”

You nod a bit, “Maybe. Perhaps a walk?” Tilting your head back to look up at him.

Désire shakes his head slightly, “I have a meeting to attend in the museum. If you wish to take a walk, take Tuberose along.”

You learned early on in the relationship, Désire Mélodis takes his work seriously. It is not to affront you, he just has goals and does what is necessary to achieve them. Plus his assistant is pleasant to be around though you know he is there to protect you.

“One day people are going to think I am having an affair with him.”

The bark of laughter is loud as your beloved laughs at the ridiculousness of that. The Lord professor knows every well Tuberose heart belongs to another but he is charmed by you as well. The man knows better than to attempt to seduce you both out of respect for you but a fear/respect for his colleague. Gatto though, Désire Mélodis knows the man must care for you outside of the professional realm.

A lonely boy who is fascinated by the macabre, he is no threat as you are obvious to the way the man feels.

“Wow.” Rolling your eyes playfully as you organize the paperwork and finish your tea.

“What, you want me to be the jealous lover?” When you stand up crossing behind the chair allowing your one and only to tug you close to him. “Perhaps I should lock you in my room.” Your hands are on his chest as he leans his head over your shoulder and whispers in French the most debauched things into your ear.

“Still fearing the option of the lowly populous?”

“N-no, sir…”

“Sir? Mon petit gâteau, I believe I can spare an hour to indulge.”

#idv #anon ask #reader insert #joseph desaulnier x reader #joseph desaulnier #joesph desaulnier x you #idv photographer #photographer x reader #photographer x you #identity v photographer #idv x you #idv x reader #idv joseph x reader #idv joseph #identity v x reader #identity v #identity v x you #identity v joseph

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jester-lover · 1 year

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Hey, how's it going? I have been following your posts recently and I really enjoyed the writing! So I would like to ask you to write about a Morticia Addams!Reader (An elegant, motherly, masochistic, seductive and intelligent woman) with the Twst boys. Like, you could start with the first boys and so on.

But if you can't, I'll understand, you look like someone busy…

I’ll try to do this request as best as I can, but I will have to take out certain details that make me uncomfortable as a minor. This is still a request I want to do though! Thank you for asking.

First Years with a Morticia-like S/O

Fem! Reader, reader is confidence incarnate, short and sweet, insecurity, makeup (on reader and the boys)

Ace Trappola

He’s definitely soaking up all the attention

Your elegance is deeply intimidating to him, I mean, you’re both first years, but you seem to already have everything figured out

Dancing with him always ends in laughter

He definitely asks you for eyeliner advice, you always know the best makeup

He’s bringing more spontaneous fun into your life, while you bring peace and stability to his

Deuce Spade

This is the most nervous dude on earth

You often take his hands into your own and reassure him that he will always be a gentleman in your heart

His eyes light up whenever he sees you, and he immediately beelines to your direction

He’s always so shy with affection, always asking permission and keeping safe distance, it deeply amuses you

Deuce is definitely excited for the next formal event, as long as you’re going with him

Jack Howl

He’s probably the only one out of the guys not immediately intimidated, I mean, what could you possibly do?

That was until he saw you chopping the roses off of a bouquet, and telling him that you like the thorns, he’s still not intimidated, just curious

(He wonders if you’re fond of cacti)

Congrats! He’s yours and more shy than ever

You probably do his eyeliner, and he’s definitely gonna give you a lil kiss on the cheek

He’s completely in love, even if the two of you are polar opposites

(This is my favorite part)

Epel Felmier

Whoa

Vil was probably interested in you first, but as a model, introducing you to Epel

Epel marched over to you as quickly as he could

A girl!! To prove himself in front of!!

Thinks that his masculine charms will win you over

Makes a complete and utter fool of himself

You find him funny though, and he ends up getting your number

Epel will literally do anything to make you happy

Unpopular opinion, but Epel’s underlying confidence makes him the most compatible ‘Gomez’ to your ‘Morticia’

Epel opens himself up in a way that no one’s ever seen before, he dances the tango and foxtrot with you, a content smile on your faces

Sebek Zigvolt

OH NO!! A THREAT IS APPROACHING!!

A magicless human?? Enchanting everyone around her?? With her charm and wit??

He definitely doesn’t trust you, too powerful, too confident, too elegant, too beautiful-

Oh.

He has a whole revelation, man is stunned

The courting process must begin!

He probably gets you a Victorian era locket with a lock of his hair in it, you enjoy his macabre taste

He’s jumping up and down and running through the halls of Diasomnia when he gets a lock of your’s

Sebek is a rigid gentleman around you, hand in yours, respectful distance, and stern look

You open him up to a more casual affection, and he loves it more than anything

You two have built a relationship on a foundation of trust, and that gives you strength

Thank you for reading!! I’m so sorry for how long this took, I’m working on requests rapidly!

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deadpresidents · 5 months

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Waking Up In Dallas: November 22, 1963.

Two American Presidents woke up in Dallas, Texas, on November 22, 1963. Neither of them were the two men who actually served as President on that tragic day -- John F. Kennedy or Lyndon B. Johnson.

The 37th President of the United States, 50-year-old Richard Nixon, had arrived in Dallas on November 20th for a conference of the American Bottlers of Carbonated Beverages on behalf of Pepsi-Cola, a company that his New York law firm was representing. On November 21st, Nixon sat down with reporters in his room at the Baker Hotel, where he criticized many of the policies of President Kennedy, his 1960 opponent, who would be arriving in Dallas the next day. That night, Nixon and Pepsi executives including actress Joan Crawford, who had been married to Pepsi's chairman, Alfred Steele, until his death in 1959, were entertained at the Statler Hilton.

In the early morning of November 22nd, a car dropped Nixon off, alone, at Love Field, the Dallas airport that would host President and Mrs. Kennedy, Vice President Johnson and Mrs. Johnson, and Texas Governor John Connally and his wife in just a few hours. Nixon later remembered the flags and signs displayed along the motorcade route that Kennedy would soon follow. Nixon approached the American Airlines ticket counter to check-in for his flight to New York City and told the attendant, "It looks like you're going to have a big day today."

Nixon landed several hours later in New York at an airport that would be renamed after John F. Kennedy a month later. He described what happened next in his 1978 autobiography, RN: The Memoirs of Richard Nixon:

Arriving in New York, I hailed a cab home. We drove through Queens toward the 59th Street Bridge, and as we stopped at a traffic light, a man rushed over from the curb and started talking to the driver. I heard him say, "Do you have a radio in your cab? I just heard that Kennedy was shot." We had no radio, and as we continued into Manhattan a hundred thoughts rushed through my mind. The man could have been crazy or a macabre prankster. He could have been mistaken about what he had heard; or perhaps a gunman might have shot at Kennedy but missed or only wounded him. I refused to believe that he could have been killed. As the cab drew up in front of my building, the doorman ran out. Tears were streaming down his cheeks. "Oh, Mr. Nixon, have you heard, sir?" he asked. "It's just terrible. They've killed President Kennedy."

The close 1960 Presidential election changed the relationship between Richard Nixon and John F. Kennedy, but they had once been very close. When they first entered Congress together in 1947, they considered each other personal friends, and when Nixon ran for the Senate from California in 1950, JFK stopped into Nixon's office and dropped off a financial contribution to Nixon's campaign from Kennedy's father. Nixon would later write that he felt as bad on the night of Kennedy's assassination as he had when he lost two brothers to tuberculosis when he was very young. That night, he wrote an emotional letter to Jacqueline Kennedy:

Dear Jackie, In this tragic hour Pat and I want you to know that our thoughts and prayers are with you. While the hand of fate made Jack and me political opponents I always cherished the fact that we were personal friends from the time we came to the Congress together in 1947. That friendship evidenced itself in many ways including the invitation we received to attend your wedding. Nothing I could say now could add to the splendid tributes which have come from throughout the world to him. But I want you to know that the nation will also be forever grateful for your service as First Lady. You brought to the White House charm, beauty and elegance as the official hostess of America, and the mystique of the young in heart which was uniquely yours made an indelible impression on the American consciousness. If in the days ahead we could be helpful in any way we shall be honored to be at your command. Sincerely, Dick Nixon

••• On the morning of November 22, 1963, the 41st President of the United States also woke up in Dallas, Texas. George Herbert Walker Bush was the 39-year-old president of the Zapata Off-Shore Drilling Company and chairman of the Harris County, Texas Republican Party, and had stayed the night of November 21st at the Dallas Sheraton alongside his wife, Barbara. Bush was planning a bid for the U.S. Senate in 1964 and making the rounds to line up support amongst many Texans who considered him far too moderate. One of the groups that was strongest in opposition to Bush was the ultra-right wing John Birch Society, which had recently been lodging vehement protests against President Kennedy's upcoming visit to Dallas.

Conspiracy theorists claim that there were far more sinister motives for George Bush being in Dallas on November 22, 1963. Some claim that Bush was a secret CIA operative involved in planning or even carrying out the assassination of President Kennedy. Some even argue that a grainy photograph of a man resembling Bush taken shortly after the assassination proves that Bush was actually in Dealey Plaza at the time of Kennedy's shooting.

He wasn't. He wasn't even in Dallas. We know where George Herbert Walker Bush was at the time of JFK's assassination -- we have plenty of eyewitnesses who can confirm it. While Lee Harvey Oswald was shooting President Kennedy, George Bush was about 100 miles away from Dallas, in Tyler, Texas, speaking at a Kiwanis Club luncheon. Like Nixon, Bush and his wife, Barbara, had also boarded a plane that morning in Dallas -- a private plane that transported them to Tyler for the Kiwanis Club event. While Bush was speaking, word of the President's assassination reached the luncheon and the local club president, Wendell Cherry, leaned over and gave the news to Bush. Bush quickly notified the crowd, and said, "In view of the President's death, I consider it inappropriate to continue with a political speech at this time." He ended his speech and sat down while the luncheon broke up in stunned silence.

Bush's wife, Barbara, wasn't at the Kiwanis Club luncheon. While her husband was speaking, Barbara Bush went to a beauty parlor in Tyler to get her hair styled. As her hair was being done, Barbara began writing a letter to family and heard the news over the radio that JFK had been shot and then that the President had died. In her 1994 memoir, Barbara included the letter, part of which said:

I am writing this at the Beauty Parlor, and the radio says that the President has been shot. Oh Texas -- my Texas -- my God -- let's hope it's not true. I am sick at heart as we all are. Yes, the story is true and the Governor also. How hateful some people are. Since, the beauty parlor, the President has died. We are once again on a plane. This time a commercial plane. Poppy (George H.W. Bush's family nickname) picked me up at the beauty parlor -- we went right to the airport, flew to Ft. Worth and dropped Mr. Zeppo off (we were on his plane) and flew back to Dallas. We had to circle the field while the second Presidential plane took off. Immediately, Pop got tickets back to Houston, and here we are flying home. We are sick at heart. The tales the radio reporters tell of Jackie Kennedy are the bravest. We are hoping that it is not some far-right nut, but a "commie" nut. You understand that we know they are both nuts, but just hope that it is not a Texan and not an American at all. I am amazed by the rapid-fire thinking and planning that has already been done. LBJ has been the President for some time now -- two hours at least and it is only 4:30. My dearest love to you all, Bar

As Barbara Bush noted in her letter, the Bushes did not stay another night at the Dallas Sheraton on November 22nd, as they had originally planned. They returned to Dallas on the private jet that had transported them to Tyler earlier in the day, and caught a commercial flight home to Houston. The "second Presidential plane" that took off while Bush's plane circled Love Field was the plane that had transported Vice President Lyndon B. Johnson to Dallas earlier that day, Air Force Two. Johnson was already heading back to Washington, now on Air Force One, with the casket of John F. Kennedy.

••• The 37th President of the United States and the 41st President of the United States woke up in Dallas, Texas on the morning of November 22, 1963. The 31st President, 89-year-old Herbert Hoover, was in failing health in the elegant suite he called home at New York's Waldorf-Astoria. Within the next few weeks, he would be visited by the new President, Lyndon Johnson, and President Kennedy's grieving widow, Jackie, and the President's brother, Attorney General Bobby Kennedy. The 33rd President, 79-year-old Harry Truman, learned of JFK's death in Missouri, while the 34th President, 73-year-old Dwight D. Eisenhower, heard of the assassination while attending a meeting at the United Nations in New York. Truman and Eisenhower would squash a long, bitter personal feud that weekend while attending Kennedy's funeral in Washington. The 38th President, 50-year-old Michigan Congressman Gerald Ford, was driving home with his wife Betty after attending a parent conference with their son Jack's teacher when they heard the news on the radio in their car. Two days later, President Johnson would call on Ford to serve on the Warren Commission investigating the assassination.

The 39th President, Jimmy Carter was 39 years old and had just gotten off a tractor near the warehouse of his Plains, Georgia peanut farm when a group of farmers informed him of the news of the shooting. Carter found a quiet area, kneeled down in prayer, and when he heard that Kennedy had died, cried for the first time since his father had died ten years earlier. Ronald Reagan, the 40th President, was 52 years old and preparing for a run as Governor of California. A little more than 17 years later, the now-President Reagan would also be shot by a lone gunman in the middle of the day. While Reagan would survive the attempt on his life, it was very nearly fatal and reminded his wife, Nancy, of November 22, 1963. As she was transported to George Washington Hospital following Reagan's shooting, Nancy would later note, "As my mind raced, I flashed to scenes of Parkland Memorial Hospital in Texas, and the day President Kennedy was shot. I had been driving down San Vicente Boulevard in Los Angeles when a bulletin came over the car radio. Now, more than seventeen years later, I prayed that history would not be repeated, that Washington would not become another Dallas. That my husband would live."

The 41st President, Bill Clinton, and the 43rd President, George W. Bush, were both 17 years old and in school -- Bush at the Phillips Academy in Andover, Massachusetts, and Clinton at Hot Springs High School in Hot Springs, Arkansas. Clinton was in his fourth period calculus class when his teacher was called out of the room and returned to announce that President Kennedy had been killed. Four months earlier, Clinton had traveled to Washington with the Boys Nation program and, during a ceremony in the Rose Garden of the White House, pushed his way to the front of the line and shook President Kennedy's hand. The 44th President, Barack Obama, was a 2-year-old living in Hawaii.

••• The 35th President, 46-year-old John F. Kennedy, would die in Dallas on November 22, 1963. Lyndon B. Johnson, 55, would become the 36th President in Dallas that day. But they woke up that morning in Fort Worth at the Texas Hotel. Kennedy had slept the last night of his life in suite 850 on the eighth floor, now the Presidential suite. LBJ had slept the last night of his Vice Presidency in the much more expensive and elegant Will Rogers Suite on the thirteenth floor. The Secret Service had vetoed the Will Rogers Suite for the President because it was more difficult to secure. It was raining in Fort Worth as they woke up, but the skies had cleared by the time they landed in Dallas. Before breakfast, President Kennedy, Vice President Johnson, and Texas Governor John Connally headed outside and briefly addressed a crowd that had gathered long before the sun had come up in hopes of seeing JFK. Jacqueline Kennedy didn't accompany them outside and President Kennedy joked to the crowd, "Mrs. Kennedy is organizing herself. It takes her a little longer but, of course, she looks better than we do when she does it."

Afterward, they headed inside for breakfast in the Texas Hotel's Grand Ballroom with several hundred guests. The President sent for Mrs. Kennedy to join them, and her late arrival to the breakfast excited the guests in the ballroom. When the President spoke to the group, he joked again, "Two years ago I introduced myself in Paris as the man who had accompanied Mrs. Kennedy to Paris. I'm getting somewhat that same sensation as I travel around Texas." Then he noted, "Nobody wonders what Lyndon and I wear."

When the breakfast ended, the Kennedys headed upstairs and had an hour or so to wait before heading to the airport for the short flight to Dallas. It was during this time that Jackie Kennedy saw a hateful ad placed in that morning's Dallas Morning News accusing President Kennedy of collusion with Communists and treasnous activity. Trying to calm Jackie down, the President joked, "Oh, we're heading into nut country today." But a few minutes later, Jackie overheard Kennedy telling his aide, Ken O'Donnell, "It would not be a very difficult job to shoot the President of the United States. All you'd have to do is get up in a high building with a high-powered rifle with a telescopic sight, and there's nothing anybody can do."

••• Even though the trip from Fort Worth's Carswell Air Force Base to Dallas's Love Field would only take thirteen minutes by air, the trip to Texas was first-and-foremost a political trip -- a kickoff of sorts to JFK's 1964 re-election campaign -- and a grand entrance was needed. So, JFK and Jackie boarded the plane usually used as Air Force One, LBJ and Lady Bird Johnson boarded the plane usually used by the Vice President, Air Force Two, and the huge Presidential party took to the skies, covering thirty miles in thirteen minutes, in order to get the big Dallas welcome that they were hoping for. They landed in Dallas at 11:40 AM, and President Kennedy looked out the window of his plane, saw a big, happy crowd, and told Ken O'Donnell, "This trip is turning out to be terrific. Here we are in Dallas, and it looks like everything in Texas is going to be fine for us."

At 2:47 PM -- just three hours and seven minutes later -- everyone was back on Air Force One as the plane climbed off of the Love Field runway and into the Dallas sky. John F. Kennedy, the 35th President, was in a casket wedged into a space in the rear of Air Force One where two rows of seats had been removed so that it would be fit. Lyndon B. Johnson had officially been sworn in as the 36th President about ten minutes earlier on the plane by federal judge Sarah T. Hughes. On one side of Johnson while he took the oath was his wife, Lady Bird, and on the other side, the widowed former First Lady, Jackie Kennedy, still wearing a pink dress splattered with her husband's blood and brain matter.

Two American Presidents woke up in Dallas on November 22, 1963 -- Richard Nixon and George H.W. Bush -- but they weren't in town when John F. Kennedy was assassinated, no matter how many ways conspiracy theorists try to twist the story. The President who died in Dallas that day, John F. Kennedy, and the man who became President in Dallas that day, Lyndon B. Johnson, woke up in Fort Worth on the morning of November 22, 1963. But they'll be forever linked with Dallas -- and the world that woke up the next morning would never be the same again.

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south-of-heaven · 6 months

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Poly!HOB x Fem!Reader where they meet her and she totally matches the groups vibes and they all have eyes for her?

Macabre || House of Black x Reader

Summary: The members of the house of black seem to have eyes for you.

Your first night in AEW was filled with anticipation and excitement. You had recently left WWE and were ready for a fresh start. But it wasn't just a new company; it was also a chance to showcase a different side of yourself. You had always been drawn to the darker, more gothic elements of the world, and you couldn't wait to explore this newfound freedom.

Backstage, you met the enigmatic House of Black, led by none other than Malakai Black himself. They were like a magnet, their aura pulling you in. The group's mysterious, cult-like presence intrigued you, and they seemed to mirror the dark elements you'd always been drawn to. Each member of the faction had a unique presence that captivated you.

Malakai, with his captivating intensity, was the first to approach you. His piercing eyes seemed to bore into your soul. "I sense darkness within you," he said, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine.

As he spoke, Buddy Matthews and Brody King, members of the House of Black, watched you with interest. Buddy's mischievous smile hinted at secrets yet to be uncovered, while Brody's towering presence and inked skin only added to the intrigue.

And then there was Julia Hart, who was part of the faction, yet she brought a different kind of darkness. With her elegant, almost Victorian appearance and a love for the macabre, she was a perfect fit for the House of Black. But it wasn't just her style that drew you in. There was something about her, an air of mystery and elegance that was enchanting.

As you spent more time with the House of Black, you felt like you had found your tribe. Their appreciation for the darker side of wrestling, the gothic elements, and the sense of belonging drew you in. You didn't expect the attention they showed you, but it was a welcome surprise. Perhaps there was more to your AEW journey than just a fresh start; it was a chance to embrace the darkness and explore new horizons with the House of Black by your side.

#aew collision #aew fanfiction #aew imagine #aew dynamite #all elite wrestling #house of black x reader #the house of black #julia hart x reader #julia hart #malakai black x reader #malakai black #buddy matthews x reader #buddy matthews #brody king #brody king x reader #house of black

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deathmetalunicorn1 · 6 months

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Mihawk, Katakuri, Sanji (Gomez) and Shanks with a Morticia Reader?

-Beautiful but deadly, like a poisonous rose- that’s how many would describe you, it was also your Devil Fruit ability, growing poisonous roses that you could control, but that was besides the point!

-You were so lovely- looking like the moon against the night sky, but you were dark- almost evil looking, but you were only evil to those who perceived you as evil- mainly marines who saw your abilities as evil- as your roses killed people!

-That’s not true…fully. You could grow normal roses at will, and the poisonous aspect was something you could control, but to keep those who would do you harm out- you had to do what you needed to do to protect yourself.

-That is~ until you met (Love). He was almost instantly taken by you- you were stunning and seeing your elegance, your power- you were the perfect woman!

-This man was different compared to the other men that chased after you- but then again he wasn’t a marine, he was a pirate, as you were.

-However, you did grow to adore him, despite his odd behaviors, but to him they were normal behaviors, just like how everything you did was normal to you.

-Mihawk- Found you wandering around his island, holding an umbrella over your head despite it being nighttime. You were… stunning! Mihawk had never seen such a beautiful woman before- he paid little attention to women before, mainly because he knew they were all after his power, wealth, and reputation. You were different, you were much like him, morbid and dark, as you were all smiles when he showed you around his home, warming his heart with your compliments. He treated you like a delicate rose, but he knew that you were extremely dangerous and for some reason- that warmed his heart- knowing you could easily kill him. How exciting!

-Katakuri- Originally he didn’t know what to make of you- you were…odd, even for the Charlotte Family. He could tell that you were very dangerous if you wanted to be- but there was no malice to do him or any of his siblings any harm, at the moment. Mama adored you and your abilities and welcomed you, but some of your habits were a bit odd- you usually remained inside during the day and took moonlit strolls, enjoying the moonlight rather than the sunlight, and you found such beauty in the macabre. Katakuri never really bothered with women before you, but there was something about you- he felt like a fly flirting with a Venus fly trap, but he wanted to be eaten. Anything to spend more time by your side.

-Sanji- He initially threw you off with his affections and attention, especially after you saw that he did this for all women. However, ever since you joined the Straw Hats- just like with Nami and Robin, he always came back, coming out to worship the ground at your feet. He adores everything about you- from your dark wardrobe, your morbid sense of humor, and your ability with your babies- he looks at you like you are the most beautiful rose. He was quick to worm his way into your heart and surprisingly, once you accepted him, he stopped going after other girls, devoting his love to you and you alone, and when you return his affection- he could die a happy man if the last thing he saw was your lips coming to kiss his own.

-Shanks- If asked to describe Shanks, to put it simple you compared him to a dog- rushing to meet you when you came back to the ship, greeting you brightly. If he had a tail it would be wagging. He melts under your affection- you could just scratch the underside of his chin and he would be putty in your hands- this was something Benn totally used to his advantage. However, if Shanks feels if you have been disrespected, he turned into a demon- he would leave no survivors- commanding respect for you. Benn, Lucky, and the others were quite brutal with their teasing of Shanks, calling him whipped- and Shanks would always run to you, where you would kiss him all over his face, leaving numerous kiss marks- so technically he was the winner!

#one piece #mihawk #katakuri #sanji #shanks

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gatheredfates · 16 days

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ELANDERVIER AUCLAIR

Nicknames: El. Age: Mid-to-late forties. I tend to play fast and loose with character ages unless specifics in the story necessitate it. Nameday: First Sun of the First Astral Moon (once again, you can see I care a lot™ about the birthdays of my characters). Race: Duskwight Elezen. Gender: Cis female. Orientation: You're implying El cares enough to think about it. She's probably somewhere in the sex-positive grey ace/demisexual camp, but let her own lack of consideration speak volumes as to its authenticity. Profession: Bog-Witch of the Northern Wilds, heretic and retainer to Firelight Trading Company. I imagine there's some kind of mythos around her as being a daemon that eats babies, but I'm hesitant to subscribe any real-world language to it.

PHYSICAL ASPECTS

Hair: Long, wavy and jet black. Eyes: Amaranthine, though her consort with the void has warped the iris. it is possible to make out some kind of sigil when standing close enough. Skin: Silvery with pale undertones. Tattoos/Scars: Ink-dark tattoos permeate every inch of skin aside from her face, though it's hard to know if they were done by a needle or magic. Gothic in nature, their elegance hides a number of symbols that imbue her with power.

FAMILY

Parents: Lord and Lady Auclair were of middling importance and their deaths did not leave an imprint upon Ishgardian society. Elandervier rarely, if ever, speaks of them. She considers her father a spineless coward and her mother a reprobate and a narcissist. Knowing they were left destitute after her actions brought her a macabre sense of glee considering they were willing to forsake her for their own comforts. Siblings: Her mother claimed she cursed her womb. El replied the insinuation gave her comfort and walked away clawed at the cheek. Grandparents: Unimportant. The only connection she has to her lineage is down the line to old Gelmorra where she believes her family had prestige. Others: Elandervier used to be in control of a cabal of voidsent accumulated from her various bargains, deals and trades. One of the few pacts kept after her assimilation to Firelight Trading Company was a voidsent by the name of Gobnip. Gobnip presents himself as an opinionated baby Ahriman who is 'contractually obligated to say all the things Elandervier won't'. Do not be fooled, however. With the right amount of aether, he can reveal his true nature.

While the witch is on retainer to Firelight Trading Company, she holds no allegiance to them proper. The only person she actively obeys is its patriarch, Rexonus; one of the first people she met on her defection from The Holy See, and one of the first people willingly abandoned when her confliction emotions around him and her birth-city came to a head. They kept in touch via occasional letters as she set up shop in the Forelands, and he rushed to her side when the blasphemy's rampage through Etheirys put her life and soul at risk. She made a pact with him, the closest language to love she understands, and uses her pragmatics and knowledge of dark magic whenever it is called upon.

She's not ignorant to the fact he has multiple lovers, she simply does not care. El holds all of them at arms reach, respectable and cooperative when she has to work collaboratively, but otherwise holds no great desire to get to know them. She's friendliest with @riftdancing's Blink due to their similar traits, but even so wouldn't necessarily call her a friend.

The person she has the most complicated feelings towards is Alaice. I won't go too in-depth into why, because it could be a whole post on its own, but it's something about being a mirror and an antithesis for her; of being so similar and diverting so extremely. Alaice is everything El abhorrers and wishes she could be, she hates her and loves her in turn, she finds her futilely weak and unfathomably strong — and she doesn't know where to put those emotions. I always write the two with an undertone of homoeroticism because I can, but also because 'love is consumption' underpins a lot of El's characterisation and it's TASTY to explore. Aka, cannibalism as a metaphor for sapphic love, vampiric 'penetration' being inherently queer, so on and so forth.

SKILLS

Abilities: Mastery over dark magic including thaumaturgy, summoning (voidsent), communion, possession, warding, etc. Midwifery. El's mother trained her as part of their family traditions and the hope her skills would elevate her as a trusted member of Ishgard high society. Even when defected, desperate women would make the long trek to Anyx Trine for fear of retribution from the Church/High Houses, and she would perform these services despite her hatred of Ishgard/Ishgardians. This is where a lot of the 'baby eater' rumours/myths originate from, as El would also perform abortions where suitable. Mostly this entailed the transference of aether from a non-viable foetus to a viable one — something the men of the gentry did not complain about when it benefited their sons (how odd)! However, El would always defer to what the women wanted over the demands of their husbands, even if this was done in secret. Hobbies: Studying the history of Gelmorra and it's traditions; foraging for herbs, mushrooms, moss and other things for potions and spells; simmering in pools of water and occasionally turning into slime.

TRAITS

Most positive trait: Elandervier is pragmatic. Above all else, she will contemplate and weigh her choices against any and all outcomes and select the most advantageous result. This may not be the easiest path, either. She is not afraid of tough decisions and hard work. Worst negative trait: She's spiteful. She's petty. She wants to make people suffer as she has suffered. Her moral compass is misaligned at best, deadly at worst, and she doesn't care for consequence. She's not a good person despite doing a few good things and she doesn't want to be.

LIKES

Colours: Black, green, purple and red. Smells: Anything earthy. Peat moss, freshy-turned earth and the scent of rain. The rust of blood. That smell you get when you get too close to a fire and you swear it's singeing your nose hairs. Textures: El is at home with anything that other people find revolting; slimy, spiny, soggy, etc. Drinks: Though partial to a red, El will drink anything. She can't afford to be picky when out in the middle of nowhere.

OTHER DETAILS

Smokes: When in Firelight Trading Company, yes. Tobacco is hard to come by otherwise, so she ends up quitting by proxy. Drinks: When she can. Guests often elected to bring her 'offerings' when in need of their services. She wasn't one to complain. Drugs: This one is tricky. I feel like things like hallucinogenic mushrooms and the like were probably an occasional indulgence, and she's a potions/medicine master of some renown. However, drugs as this sheet implies? No. Mount Issuance: If Gobnip is big enough she will ride him. :) Been Arrested: Good luck! Many have tried and failed!

Tagged by: @lilbittymonster — at least for this one! I'm going to try and do one character per tag. Tagging: @humblemooncat, @chainsofaether, @blackestnight, @mmorpg-escapism, @cadrenebula, @ascendedhypothesis, @ishgard & @allyennah! If you'd like a chance of being tagged, you can like my permanent interaction call here!

#｡･ﾟﾟ･ — sea speaks #｡･ﾟﾟ･ — sea answers things #｡･ﾟﾟ･ — character answers / memes #｡･ﾟﾟ･ — 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 : elandervier #you got one elezen YOU GET THE OTHER

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