I feel like when we were growing up, we were told that addicts and alcoholics were these bad people with no real direction in life. We were taught to “Just say no to drugs!” And if you didn’t, you would end up looking like you were 68 instead of 28. They left out the part that worst thing about addiction isn’t losing everything you have but losing yourself.
They didn’t tell us that years later we would be on our hands and knees searching desperately for change so we would have enough money to buy alcohol at the store. They left out the part where being sober feels like the worst thing in the world because you can’t stand another minute without being numb to it all.
They didn’t tell us that addiction is a disease and those of us who suffer from it are sick.
Hiiii! I’m sorry I haven’t posted in a while, summer’s been busy! I hope you guys like this piece!! Depending on the feedback, I might make a multi-part fic out of it!! xx
Below his office, the party was in full swing, both regular and new clients filing in through the wide double doors. Harry watched the crowd move like cresting ocean waves, his eyes blank. New Year’s Eve was to start off with a bang, regardless of the obviously failing Prohibition the country was under, which meant that Harry’s clubs were packed, and his bank account was swelling with money from the alcohol Niall was slyly smuggling in from Ireland. Any night he wanted, Harry could have a bird on each arm, eager to get a taste of the Harry Styles, and the mere whisper of his name sent people scattering out of his way, making his life unbelievably easy. Harry smirked around the butt of the cigarette. This was it; this was why he came to America. The women, the power, and most of all, the money. Money, money, money was all Harry had seen over the last year. Prohibition was the best thing to ever happen to him.
The clock struck eleven fifty, and with a smug grin, Harry lit up another cigarette and grabbed his glass of Irish whiskey from his desk, striding to the office door. Throwing it open, Harry emerged into the small balcony overlooking the bar and dance floor, blood thrumming as cheers went up at the sight of him.
“To Mr. Styles!” One of the performers on stage hollered out, and crystal glasses glittered in the lighting as they raised into the air.
“Mr. Styles!” It was a jumbled roar of his name, and Harry smiled wickedly as he tipped his head and brought up his own glass. He glanced at his pocket watch again. Five minutes till midnight. His eyes went to the door again as it swung open, two young girls stepping into the room. From afar, he could tell they were both gorgeous, but the one on the right….she was a sight.
Hair curled to perfection, eyes sparkling with excitement as she clutched her comrade’s arm, her ruby painted lips splitting into a dazzling smile. A golden fringed dress clung to her body, stopping halfway down her soft-looking thighs, and the small inched heels were the last thing Harry saw before the girls stepped from the stairs, disappearing into the swirling party. The whiskey burnt his throat as he threw back the rest of the glass, turning to retreat back into his office. The New Year was of no importance to him; as long as no laws changed, Harry worried about nothing. He didn’t worry about how the raucous crowd took him back to the trenches, didn’t worry about how his hands shook as he poured another glass of whiskey. The chair creaked as he sat down again, breathing in the smoke of his cigarette and letting his head drop back. Harry’s eyes slipped closed and he sighed, mind going back to the golden-dressed beauty that had just slipped into his speakeasy. She wouldn’t be too hard to find, or too hard to seduce into his bed for the night. Harry had an aching hunger in the pit of his stomach to know how she would moan beneath him.
Two minutes till, Harry stood once again and descended the stairs to the main room, feigning a smile as he pushed his way through the drunken partygoers. Hands grabbed at him as he passed, but he paid no mind as the shimmering of a golden dress swirling across the room caught his eye. Then her friend came into sight, and Harry altered his course to get to her. She was even more beautiful as he neared, her face pretty, but not flawless. A little soft-looking, doughy maybe, around some areas, but a curl of desire yawned deep in his belly; he was tired of the perfect pin-up girls he normally took home. He wanted flawed, perfectly flawed, and this woman was it. She was gorgeous. Harry watched her friend’s eyes lock in on him, an eyebrow raising as she leaned into the girl’s ear, whispering.
Your head twisted around, following your best friend’s gaze to a stunningly beautiful man that the whole crowd seemed to part for. Forest green eyes roamed your body leisurely, his candy pink lips tugging into a smirk when he realized your eyes were on him. The man was dressed in a sharp black suit, a gleaming watch strung across his buttons and disappearing into his waist coat pocket. Broad shoulders, ring decorated large hands, and legs that went on for ages. His curly brown hair was pushed back off of his forehead, the sides a little longer than military style, and the set of his jaw made you think maybe he was indeed coming to flirt with you. The alcohol you’d downed in the half an hour at the club up the road was already fizzling through your blood and making you much more brave than normal, and you sent the man a sultry smile as your eyes met. Nothing but dark, hot promises swirled in his gaze, stoking the crackling fire that blazed in your belly. Tonight, you’d let yourself have fun just once. Every other night of the year you were the good girl you were supposed to be, but tonight…tonight you’d let loose.
“He’s got his eye on you,” your friend whispered, a jealous gleam in her eyes. “You’ll be the only one of us to get a fuck in tonight.” You laughed at her brashness, breaking your stare with the stranger to spin around with the music. He was close now, almost within an arm’s reach. Your dress flared out around you, but you were stopped mid-turn by long fingers wrapping around your arm and tugging you into a solid chest. Warm breath puffed on your neck, lips just centimeters from your skin.
“Yeh dancin’ fo’ me, love?” He wasn’t polite about his desire, his voice low and husky in your ear. His hands moved to your waist, his hips pressing into your back. You could feel him against you, half hard through his trousers. Wetness pooled in your panties.Your best friend had melted into the crowd, leaving you putty in the stranger’s warm, wandering hands. The hem of your dress slid up a little, his touch following shortly after.
“I am now,” you breathed, and you can feel the smile on his lips against the skin behind your ear. His tongue darted out to lick over the shell of your ear. His fingers trailed higher, and you couldn’t bring yourself to care how scandalous it was, having a man slide his hand up your dress in public.
“Do yeh wan’ m’ to fuck yeh?” Your breathing hitched as his thumb brushed the line of your underwear. A low chuckle vibrated against your back. “I’ll take that as a yes. Go straight back, staircase on the right. I’ll be there in a mo’.” Then he was pushing you away, straightening his overcoat as he cordially greeted some senator who definitely was not supposed to be in a speakeasy.
Harry watched you stumble towards his office, his jaw working as his eyes followed the way your dress fell over the swell of your ass. He cleared his throat. “Excuse me, gentlemen, but I’ve got some business I need to take care of.” Harry shook the senator’s hand, turning around and shoving his way across the floor. He took the stairs slowly, mind racing as he neared the door. He couldn’t wait to see how quickly you’d fall apart for him. You were admiring the photographs on his desk when he entered, your eyes snapping up to his.
“Your family?” Harry nodded, clicking the lock into place before shrugging off his overcoat. You watched him swagger over to you, his eyes dark.
“Didn’t invite yeh up here t’ talk about m’family, pet. How d’yeh wan’ it?” He wasn’t a complete beast; Harry loved seeing the way women fell apart because of him. There was something awfully aphrodisiacal about knowing that he was the reason a woman was shaking, moaning, falling over the edge. You blinked at him, stunned for only a moment before composing your unbothered expression.
“Any way you’d give it, honestly.” Harry’s eyebrow quirked. A smug smile pulled at his lips as he walked to you, his fingers dancing up your arms. You swallowed at his sudden closeness. He smelled wonderful, like citrus and cotton sheets and man. Your mouth had practically been watering since the moment you saw him. His hand pushed a piece of hair out of your eyes.
“An’ if I said righ’ here, ov’ m’desk?” You squirmed, mind filling with visions of him fucking you on the dark cherry wood. Before you knew what you were doing, you were perched on said desk, legs crossed and head tilted slightly as you looked at him from under your lashes.
“Don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep, Mr. Styles.” Harry’s pants tightened further at your words, a growl coming from his throat as he stalked to you. His lips met yours, hands cupping your cheeks as you gasped in surprise. He took the opportunity to slip his tongue past the seam of your lips, licking into your mouth eagerly. Your hands fumbled with his belt as he shallowly thrusted his hips, the hard outline of his cock brushing your thigh.
He was quick to shove down his trousers and underwear, his length tapping gently on his stomach. Your mouth watered at the sight of him, flushed, hard, and leaking. Harry smirked at the look on your face, one large hand wrapping around himself and tugging forward once, twice.
“None o’ tha’, angel, no’ tonight. ‘M gonna fuck yeh, yeah? Bend yeh ov’ m’desk and spread tha’ cunt real nice. C’mon, up yeh come.” Your blood sizzled at his words, lust raging through your system. Your panties had no hope; they’d been ruined the minute his suit jacket had come off. Harry helped you up, spinning you so your back was to his chest. Warm lips began to sponge up the side of your neck, greedy hands hiking your dress up slowly but surely. Then he was roughly bending you over, flipping the edge of your dress up over your back enough so he could see your backside. A low growl went through him.
“S’pretty, love, gorgeous. Can’t wait t’ be inside o’ yeh.” Your panties were slid to the side and a long finger ran up your slit, your body jerking at the pleasure. “Bloody soaked. Wan’ me t’ help yeh, pet?” Your cheek was pressed into the cool wood but you nodded, hips pushing back against his finger as he swirled it around your clit.
“Please.” It was a broken whimper that sent Harry’s dick throbbing, his eyes gleaming in the dark of the office.
“Shhh, sweetheart, ‘M gonna take care o’ yeh.” Harry wasted no more time before he was sliding inside of you, a delicious burning stretch following. The moan that came from him was almost enough to send you over, low and gravely and pure pleasure. Then Harry was moving, his cock thick and pulsing as it dragged along your walls. You cried out at the feeling, palms slapping to the desk as Harry ran his hands along the curve of your spine, grunting with each thrust. The party downstairs was all but drowned out as the sound of skin against skin filled the room, heavy breathing bouncing off the walls when his hips picked up speed. Your eyes screwed shut as pleasure coursed through you, walls clenching around Harry’s cock.
“Fuck, bloody–” He cut off with a deep moan, fingers dumpling the skin of your ass. Harry’s green eyes lowered to watch himself disappear into your cunt, a pleased smirk tugging at his lips as you writhed beneath him. His hands were everywhere, stroking the soft skin of your thighs, gripping your ass, wrapped in your hair…too much, it was all too much for you to take.
“Gonna cum!” You gasped against the desk, hips pushing back against his as he fucked into you. He was so thick inside of you, pulsing and warm as his tip brushed a spot that had you seeing white. “Harry!” Low moans came from him, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as he felt heat coil tighter in his belly.
“C’mon, pet, cum fo’ me. Need yeh t’ cum,” he panted, reveling in the way your walls squeezed his cock. He’d never felt a cunt so tight and warm and wet. He was in pure bliss. Harry brought a hand to your heat, fingers circling your clit quickly as you called out his name again. Pleasure shot through you, your orgasm speeding towards you, and with a final thrust, Harry pushed you over the edge. He watched your face crumple in satisfaction as you came, cunt tightening wonderfully around his length. It wasn’t long before he followed after you, thick ropes of cum coating your walls. Your thighs shook as you came down, breathing harsh as Harry pulled out of you. It was silent while you both fought to regain your breathing, adjusting clothing and smoothing down hair. Harry’s face was even more beautiful post-orgasm, and he tasted as good as he looked when he pulled you in for a sloppy kiss. His head bobbed to the couch in the corner.
“You can sit there for a mo’ while you calm down. Be sure to shut the door on yeh way out.” Then he was gone, the office empty and cold without his dominating presence. You fell onto the couch with a sigh, a pleasant ache already forming between your thighs. It wasn’t too long before your head was on the arm of the sofa, your eyes drifting shut as you nodded off.
Phantom of the Opera: A speculative fiction about what would happen if Benedict Cumberbatch were a woman and his fans had access to a basement.
Hamilton: The best friend of an ambitious political dissident warns him repeatedly that his actions will end in tragedy. When that doesn’t actually happen, the best friend takes it upon himself to teach a valuable life lesson.
Jesus Christ Superstar: The best friend of an ambitious political dissident warns him repeatedly that his actions will end in tragedy. When that doesn’t actually happen, the best friend takes it upon himself to teach a valuable life lesson.
Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat: Tim Gunn was sick today on Project Runway. Let’s see what happens!
Miss Saigon: White savior done fucked up. No one is surprised.
The Scarlet Pimpernel: Proto-superhero pretends to be gay. Wife is understandably miffed when she discovers she won’t be getting the D. Hilarity ensues.
The Lion King: A Shakespearean look at a pride of liMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASSAAAAAWENYAAAAAAMAAKALAKIIIIIIIIIIIISSHUENOOONOOOOOOO
Chicago: He really did have it coming.
Cabaret: A Conservative Republican’s worst nightmare is set to music.
Cats: Furries provide a fun-filled look into an average night out.
Rent: All these people are going to die the minute you leave the theater.
Avenue Q: Today on Sesame Street, we learn an important lesson about the purpose of the internet. The word of the day is ANAL.
Les Miserables: A man steals a loaf of bread and is chased across France by the most dedicated police officer on the force. Consequently, everyone dies.
My Fair Lady: A valuable life lesson is taught: if you want to make it in life, all you need to do is sacrifice everything, suffer torment from an obsessive linguistics major, and fake an upper-class English accent. Unless you’re a man, and then you just need to explain that you really need money for alcohol. In that case, someone will promptly die and will you their fortune.
How to Succeed In Business Without Really Trying: A young man attempts to push the boundaries of white male privilege. He soon finds there are none.
Sweeney Todd: A barber and his girlfriend take Jonathan Swift’s “A Modest Proposal” a little too far.
After many questions and a few requests, I think it’s time to make a longer post about this. An enigmatic figure has floated around in witch lore for a very long time. A particular spike in his appearance comes into place during the Early Modern Period. A tall man, comely and swathed in black, adorned with either the horns of a goat or that of a buck, approaches men and women alike to offer them a new life. If they decline, they will go about their life as if it was an illusion. If they accept, they will be granted gifts and wealth (of all kinds) in exchange for loyalty to him. Throughout the centuries, he’s acquired many different names. He’s been called Old Nick, Old Scratch, The Black Goat, Akerbeltz, Black Donald, The Dark Man, and countless other names. Of course, they’ve all been summed up rather quickly with the word ‘Devil’. And is he? Yes and no. The Man in Black is not to be separated from the Christian Devil, but that is not his sum total. He represents much more than that and is an extraordinarily complex figure; so complex that his nature cannot be completely known (a trait that I’ll see to in a bit). He is Lucifer, the Usurper, the Light Bringer, the Torch Bearer, and the Opener of Eyes.
The Man in Black is intimately connected to the topics of the dead, the underworld, fertility, sexuality, and magic. Though the intermingling of life and death might seem befuddling at first, it is important to understand that this is the truest representation of the wilderness. Thus, in total, the Dark Man is, above all, a spirit/deity that represents the Wilderness found both inside humans and outside of them. He also represents ‘The Great Other’. Where there is order, he is Chaos. This too can be said for all things natural. In a world where we live between giant, rectangular towers, he is the storm that makes them shiver. He is the flaw in the bricks. He is the tree that crashes into them. Beyond that, he is the concepts that have been shunned by polite society. Most importantly, sexuality and aggression. These primal instincts are intertwined and deeply misunderstood. Sexuality does not always mean lewdness. Aggression does not always mean butchery. Sexuality is the force through which life is animated. It is the conjoining and drinking of souls. Aggression is competitiveness. It is a will to survive and thrive. In these, we find the origin of him being Satan. Satan is the Lord of Sin, the Liar, and the Roisterer. The Man in Black drinks deeply of Earthly pleasures. He cannot be predictable, for that would make him orderly, where he is chaos. He excites primal passions, of both lust and fury. His Chthonic associations don’t help with this. Beasts that are usually thought to be messengers and walkers-between-worlds are his symbols, like crows, flies, snakes, toads, foxes, deer, and most importantly, goats. This Underworld association also deals with his link to primal emotions and concepts we tend to ‘push deep down’ for the lack of a better term. Death is one of them. This too deals much with his associations with Chaos. Hell is simply the Underworld. Where the Underworld is Chaos, the Heavens are Order. Earth is the marriage of the two. Where there is civilization, there is also wilderness.
He could be considered a trickster, but more appropriately, he is the Trickster. He isn’t an other, he is the Other. Where in Christian mythos, God created Order, the Dark Man usurps control and creates Chaos
His title as the ‘Witch-father” denotes his fondness for, and interest given to, witches. Witches, even separated from the Devil, always have represented the wilderness, or the most wild, primal, and beastly parts of mankind. Naturally, they would be joined with the very spirit/deity that is the embodiment of these qualities. The Man in Black is the embodiment of the thing that witches hold precious, and when they are joined, he teaches and guides them to be the best witches they can be. Many view this as servitude, and while it is true that many witches hold allegiance to the one who pulled them onto the path, it isn’t necessarily true that they are his unwilling servants. The ones who do favors for him are also the ones who are quite affectionate towards him. He isn’t a slave-driver with a whip. Instead, he represents the man who steals the whip from his master’s hand and gains freedom. Similarly, witches are often people in folklore who have gained powers not intended by God to override His own Divine Will. They are selfish and they change the world to suit their means, and for some, that meant bringing kings and queens to their knees. As Lucifer coveted the Throne of Heaven, so these witches would no longer be subservient.
Since ancient times, people have looked to find the wilderness in horned male spirits and deities. They pray to them when they hunt, they pray to them when they wish to have children, they pray to them when they want connection to the wild. Magic practitioners and religious priests wore horns atop their heads as symbols of spiritual importance. Horns were thought to bestow the ability to see, hear, and interact with the spirits. They were, in essence, both crown and key. They were thought to bestow strength and a will to survive, but also a sensitivity to things beyond the perception of most. We find these qualities in the Man in Black.
Commonly, he is portrayed with a flame between his two horns. This flame is called the Cunning Fire. Those witches who he has created and initiated are lit by his own flame. He passes the Fire Between the Horns to his witches, and they too have power over the world as he does. How does he do this? He is known as the one who swallows what is and spits out what will be. He eats away the parts of a person that stops them from traversing the witch path. This common theme, even outside of witchcraft, is found in folklore of him, especially in the American South. He puts them through a test of sorts, where they are made to suffer internal and external turmoil. If they pass, they leave changed, new, and somehow improved. For witches, he gives them fire, and in doing so, gives them power. If they don’t pass, they either try to walk away as unscathed as they can, or they leave broken. In some witch myths, he has drawn his initiates to the woods and attacked them. If they survived, he rewarded them. Still, this happens spectrally when some fly. Some account for being attacked, torn apart, and put back together. He didn’t always create the witches, either. Some of them were waiting to have latent skills awoken, and during his testing phase, he spurred them. Those witches who were said to have power asleep inside them would go through this to awaken their talents.
Witches of the past, and even many in the present, initiate under him. During this process, many people believe that a witch is selling her soul for powers and a new life. While it is true that a ‘witch’s sixpence’ is required when asking, it is not the soul that is bargained off (though I’m sure he wouldn’t refuse it if offered). Instead, the witch is bound to the path and the spirits of that path. They become a part of one another. Their soul, though their own, is part of a larger whole then. The witches before then and the spirits who guide the tradition, in this case the Dark Man, become a part of the initiate and vice versa.
He is to be considered the Master of the Hidden Art. Some people interpret this as widely magic in general, while others feel that it is specific to witchcraft. He is often called the First Sorcerer, the Shapeshifter, the Wanderer, the Trickster, and the Horned One. He stole the Fire (the hidden knowledge), the light, from Heaven and gave it to humankind. This theme has repeated throughout history, of a wild God stealing fire and giving it to the world. In this case, that fire is magic and forbidden knowledge. He is the Light-bringer and is called Lucifer. The fallen angels, too, known in some mythos as faeries and in others as gods, impart their Divine Spark to humans as well.
He appears as many things. He does not have one form. He is the great buck, standing tall with a full set of antlers. He is the black wolf that eats it. He is the goat with great horns. He is the fox that enters the peaceful henhouse and eats to his content. He is both hunter and prey, for the two are sometimes one and the same. He is the man wearing a black suit, handsome and tall.
The wild places are his domain. Not just in the woods does he dwell, but back alleys and bus stops late at night. Crossroads lit by moonlight but shaded by fog are his home too. He walks among beasts and humans. He walks the woods quietly and slyly. He walks among the people at midnight in the city.
The Man in Black is an enigma, even to those who know him. He is Chaos, and therefore is eternally shifting shapes. As nature changes over the span of 100 years, so does he change with the world. His nature is to never fully be known, but truly be felt. He is, perhaps above all, feeling. Fear, aggression, lust, excitement, bliss, etc. These are his calling cards.
Working with him isn’t something that someone else usually teaches. Someone might teach you how to call him, but they can’t tell you how to work with him. Like I said, he ever changes. His way of working with each is different.
How would you call him? How was the Devil called in folklore? Almost always at a crossroads or in the woods, but as I stated before, these are not his only domains. Alcohol, money, black hen feathers, antlers and horns, bones, poisonous plants, etc are all things that will draw him close. But the most important ingredient is feeling. Whatever feeling you have while calling him has to be felt fully. Envelop yourself in it. Fear, bliss, or whatever it is, must be sat in. The reek of it will call him.
He is known to appeal to feelings and senses when he arrives. He is not only drawn by them, but he is an embodiment them. He is inside the fear and the bliss. Through that, a connection can come. That connection can be so vivid and profound that it is often found to be either extraordinarily comforting or deeply unsettling. It is to touch the other half.
If no other spirit or deity will remind you that working with him is a relationship, he will. Everything has a price on it, and that goes for his end too. Whatever favor or task performed, he will grant favors in kind. It is always important to remember that he is a trickster, however. His favors are always repaid, but not always in the way you’d expect them to be.
Witches who walk a traditional path will run into him, be it through the pages of a book, a fleeting thought, or a full-blown ritual. It is impossible to avoid him when practicing folkloric craft. He is not, however, required to be worked with. He is beloved by many witches, and will welcome more into his fold, but it is not required that a witch becomes one of his. Instead, it is always important to remember what he stands for as a champion of witches and what kind of qualities he puts forth as a sorcerous spirit. He is a reminder that, in the traditional and folkloric ways, a witch is a wild being; truly, both hunter and hunted, both crown and key, both king and usurper, both natural and supernatural.