♡ ♡ ♡

DISCLAIMER I am aware I am writing about someone's religion and I am doing it with the utmost respect. All that I write is a work of fiction and nothing is to be taken seriously. In any case someone finds it offensive, I ask to please turn around and ignore, I welcome being soft-blocked, blocked or unfollowed; I won't stop writing about it, nor will I change my opinion or world-building around Azusa, so let's do us all a favor and heed these warnings before contacting me about it.

Loa (Lwa) spirits of Haitian Vodou and Louisiana Voodoo. They are intermediaries between Bondye – the Supreme Creator, who is distant from the world – and humanity.
They are each distinct beings with their own personal likes and dislikes, distinct sacred rhythms, songs, dances, ritual symbols, and special modes of service.Petro Loa the Petwo are considered one of the nanchons (nations) of lwa spirits in the religion. Considered to be volatile and hot tempered, exhibiting bitter, aggressive, and forceful characteristics.
Due to their nature, Petwo lwa are treated carefully by Vodouists. They are deemed especially effective at getting things done, particularly when it comes to matters linked to money.
A common offering to the Petwo lwa is rum that has been mixed with coffee, spicy pepper, blood, and gunpowder. The drum rhythms selected for Petwo rites are typified by their rapid and harsh sound. Also involved in Petwo rites are small explosions of gunpowder, cracking whips, and shrieking police whistles

PERSONALITY
He is noted for obscenity, debauchery and aggression, having a particular fondness for tobacco, tequila and raw meat.
Usually a dangerous loa, being one of the newest, unable to control his temper and known for playing with the ones who summon him as an entertainment.
But he is also a benevolent lwa toward children and single parents, known for granting their wishes easily and casting his protection over them until he himself hands them over to Baron Samedi.SUMMONING HIM
To summon him is always a gamble, for he tends to be the playful, yet devoid of grace loa. The favor given will cost depending on the sacrifice or ceremony made in his name; sometimes he is greedy, sometimes he is not. While a cup of warm blood might work sometimes, another he will demand more, like the life of a brute animal or golden decorations around the summoning ground. Favored offerings: beeswax, burnt coffee beans, raw meat, blood and gunpowder.
Favors he can grant: Infinity and beyond; but beware, for he will twist your wishes and demand the favor's weigth twice as heavy.

(WARNINGS: implied child (16) abuse and prostitution, not described; adult prostitution; family abuse)

Age 16, New Orleans.
The Heat brothel, 6:00 PM.It all starts to go south when their father falls to his knees in front of their mother, begging her to change her mind ; this is not necessary, dear. They are— they are just children, he says. Gets inexplicably worse when the tall woman touches their father’s chin with her pointy shoe and coos at him.“But my love, don’t you know? This is how our clock works.” She says.Their father has a spurt of energy, spurred on by his need to protect his children, pushing past the matriarch’s powerful pheromones— but female hyenas will always be more than males, it is how they were created, after all. That’s their hierarchy.With terrified eyes, Azusa sees his father lunge at the woman, teeth bared and claws out … and he never gets far, not when other females are already tugging him down, gagging the older man and taking him away gods know where.“…such a pitiful sight, isn’t it, my dears?” The woman, Bianca Chandresh, stands tall in her skin-tight dress ; for a moment, she gifts them with the heavenly feeling of her ignorance— of course, her bright golden eyes find them again. “Choose, then,” Ah, that voice. Always sickeningly sweet. “It’s real easy, darlings. We all have things to do, have we not? If one of us slacks off, then what would be the point? This house works like a clock, my dears, if one or two gears stop working,” Her manicured nails tap each of them on the forehead ; never kind, but never too hard to leave a mark. “The whole clock will stop, no? You get fed, you get sent to school — I pay everything for you, but you are growing up … so it is time to welcome you to the family business. Who will it be~?”The small hand under his own is clammy and quivering, cold. He has been trying to rub some warmth with his thumb for the past half hour but clearly, it is not working. He does not even need to look at his sister to know how terrified she looks. They are big kids compared to others their age, but at the moment, she looks like the smallest girl he has ever seen. She is twelve, he is sixteen— some part of his mind provides : she shouldn’t even be here.“Well? Hm? We have wasted enough time and the couple is waiting, my loves. Who… will it be?” This time, her voice does not sound as honeyed, equally poisonous for sure, but lacking the feigned gentleness she had used mere seconds ago.Azusa Chandresh swallows thickly, his tongue like lead and throat closing around nothing but air. His own hands are wet with cold sweat, but with a squeeze around his sister’s hand, which he hopes is as comforting for her as it is for him, he gives one small step forward. He got this.Puberty hasn’t hit him yet, but his mother is always telling him what a pretty boy he’s grown to be. Before their mother can start telling the same things to his sister, he has to do something … and putting distractions in the way seems to work sometimes. He has to create one now, too.Smiling widely and arching an eyebrow, the boy releases his sister’s hand ; the cold that comes quite immediately makes a pit open in his stomach, but he swallows down a lump and purrs out, materializing bravery out of nowhere. “Oi, of course I’ll do it, mum! Losing my v cards? I’m ready!”His mother claps enthusiastically, the countless bracelets around her wrists producing striding noises that make Azusa’s grin drop a little.“That’s my good boy! Go take a shower and clean up good, you’ve gotta smell great for our guests, my dear.”Azusa nods, trying to match his mother’s enthusiasm. When he turns around, he does not look at his sister, whose eyes are clouded with tears. Maybe it’s because he can’t, his own eyes are blurry, but he tries to hide it all under the shower.When he swallows down the pills his mother gives him, she caresses his cheek, cooing and looking at him like a jam behind glass. It’s alright, he supposes … so long as he does what his mother wants him to, his sister will be alright.By the time he’s standing in front of an old couple, naked as the day he was born, the pills have already caused their effect on him ; he pants, teeth gritted, hands balled into fists in front of his lap, trying to cover himself.The couple does not stop looking at him. The man is the kindest, he supposes, trying to soothe his nerves with gentle touches down his back. The woman is another story altogether… but what one destroys, the other tries to fix.How to tell them they fixed nothing and destroyed everything?♡♡Six years later, The Heat brothel“…another one?” His voice is raspy, throat sore. There are new cigarette marks running down his right arm from the last client, hot red and scarring slowly. Yet again, his whole arm is fucked up, seems like the bitch has been telling all those fuckers that they can mark him up— but only if it’s his right arm. “I reached my quota! I’m… I’m done… for… today…”But his mother does not budge, she just looks at him with bored eyes.
That is, until her expression seems to lighten up, bright-red lips quirking up into a grin. That's never a good sign.“My dear boy, are you saying you want me to go get your sister for this one? Oh! She will be delighted to lose her virginity to this pig!” Her hand reaches out for the phone, Azusa feels a tremor running down his back.“…wait, wait… n-non…” He tries, he really tries to force a smile. By the look on his mother’s eyes, he is doing a piss poor job pretending. “…it’s okay. I was completely joking! Hah, I wouldn’t— I wouldn’t let this chance pass me by. I’m—” Azusa looks up, to those venomous, emotionless eyes. The practiced praise gets stuck on his throat, even after all these years. How to explain part of his light dies each time he says these words? Not like she cares. “… I’m… I’m the best whore you have, after all.”“Hm. Atta boy.”Minutes later, he is beneath the man, on his hands and knees and with warm lips at the nape of his collared neck. He is sore, he cannot help the tremors of his whole body, but the man seems to like it anyway.This doesn’t bother him anymore, it’s good. But it’s tiring.A stranger’s warmth is all he has at the moment and he soaks it all up like a sponge, moaning when it is required of him, throwing his body back when the man hits a particularly good spot— it comes with ease.That night, he will lay on his dirty bed after a shower— and crave the touches again, their warmth.Is it the lack of a blanket in cold nights? Or is it because he likes it? Who knows… he definitely doesn’t want to know.