#epiphany eve | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

netherfeildren · 5 months

Text

Evermore

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Joel’s your older boyfriend who your parents had a hard time approving of, but you’re engaged now and spending your first Thanksgiving with your family, and well, it’s always fun doing things you know you shouldn’t do under the roof of your childhood home.

-OR-

The Thanksgiving AU

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: No outbreak AU; Thanksgiving AU; Devoted Joel Miller; Established Relationship; Thanksgiving is the most boyfriend holiday and it needs to be discussed; Fucking in your childhood home shenanigans; Pretty soft and sweet; Needy behavior; Older man/Younger woman; Daddy kink; Size Difference; Unprotected PIV; Creampie; Breeding Kink; Oral sex; Fluff and Smut; Praise Kink; Come eating; PWP

A/N: Was thinking yesterday that Thanksgiving is the most boyfriendy holiday, and so this seemed entirely necessary after that epiphany. I’m sick as an old dog right now, and wrote this so quickly and just for fun. Any and all mistakes are property of my NyQuil induced high, apologies and enjoy and happy holidays :]

New Year’s Eve follow up

Word Count: 4.2K

Read on AO3

Ko-fi

“You’re doing so good.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, baby. So, so good. It’s going so well.” You drag your nails slowly up the wide expanse of his strong back, feeling the divots and bumps of his spine, the thick padding of muscles that jump and shiver at your touch. He’d donned the nice green and red plaid button down you’d bought him for tonight, and he’s a little damp at the small of his back, giving away the nerves he’s trying to keep hidden from you, but you can tell anyways, sensed them as if they’d been your own fluttering within you. More attuned to another person than maybe is normal, perhaps, but you know this man, your man, your fiance now. You understand him.

“You think he likes me?” And his voice goes a little gruff, sheepish, words lodging in his throat as he slowly soaps your mother’s special holiday china in the warm sink water. The two of you’d been relegated to clean up duty after you’d finished the beautiful Thanksgiving meal your mother had spent days readying in preparation for your first official visit with Joel as the man you’d soon marry. No longer just the older boyfriend who your father couldn’t stand to hear about, much less bear the sight of. And the come around had been slow going, undoubtedly, tireless work on yours and your mother’s parts trying to get him to relent, to accept the man who you’d chosen to spend the rest of your life with as a good man for his daughter.

“Yes– yes. Absolutely. You made him laugh so many times. And he was so interested when you mentioned the house.”

You feel him suck in a shaky breath and move to wrap your arms around the strong breadth of his waist, resting your cheek against him, listening to the thud, thud of his beating heart. “Christ–” He gives a tremulous laugh that you follow suit warmly, palms splaying out over his belly. “He was, wasn’t he?”

“So interested. Please, don’t worry anymore. My mom loves you, and dad’s on his way there too, I know he is, I promise.”

“He’s just protective,” he says, shutting off the water and pulling the plug on the drain. The both of you stand there in the silence together, listening to the little tornado of water suck away the remnants of the perfect dinner you’d just had with your parents and the man you were going to marry. It really had been perfect, and you’re telling him the truth when you say you really do think your father’s coming around. He’d been apprehensive at first, more than apprehensive, perhaps, with Joel being so much older than you, twenty years to be exact. And with a teenage daughter of his own, Sarah, who was spending the holiday with her mother.

Your mother had always been the easy going one, and she’d taken one look at Joel, the dark, silver threaded curls, the thick shoulders and sparkly, hazel eyes, the too charming smile and had immediately understood. Your father had seen all those same things and seen nothing but trouble immediately deserving of mistrust. Things had been rocky for a time, but when Joel had gotten down on one knee and asked you to spend the rest of your life with him and Sarah, when he’d broken ground on the house he was building you with his bare hands from the dirt up out by the lake, well… your father hadn’t been able to withhold his approval for much longer after that was all said and done.

“And for good reason,” he continues, reaching for the dish towel, drying off his hands before covering yours over his stomach with his wide palms, pulling your arms tighter around him. He brings one of your hands up to his face, cupping his own mouth with it to press a kiss to the tender cove. “The man should take me out back and drag me through the mud,” he mumbles, muffled into your skin, dragging his mouth slowly from side to side, tickling your palm with his whiskers.

You press yourself harder against him, shoving him into the edge of the counter, dizzy with the feel of your heart beating so hard against your sternum it reverberates against the ribs in his back. “No, baby. Why? Never.” You press a kiss right over the slope of his spine.

He gives a soft laugh at the feel of your wriggling against him, trying to find friction anywhere and anyway, not very inconspicuously rubbing your breasts against his back, and he turns slowly in the circle of your arms with that humming laugh still caught in his throat, bending slightly at the knees when he wraps his own arms around your waist to pull you up and into him so that your feet are left to dangle above his own heavy boots. He nuzzles at the warm, fragrant skin beneath the edge of your jaw, a small kiss to the tender spot behind your ear, where he whispers, “‘Cause all I could think about at the goddamn table, sittin’ next to your father, was how pretty your tits look in that dress you wore for me – how much I wish I could kiss that pretty pussy to sleep tonight.”

You whine low, desperate, needy, wrapping your arms behind his neck to press his face tightly to your throat, breath hitching at the feel of his teeth, sharp at your pulse. “Joel–”

He shakes his head slowly, a long stream of sighing breath warm against your collarbone before he says, “I know– I know, baby. I’m telling ya– your father should kill me for the things I wanna do to his little girl. For the things I do to her already.”

The visit had so far been everything you could’ve wished for, and what you’d appreciated more than anything, more than your father’s very approval of your fiance, or your mother’s happiness for you, was that Joel had found the perfect balance between being respectful, ingratiating even, while still remaining uncowed by your father. Walking into your parents home with your hand in his, a deferential kiss to your mother’s cheek, and a strong, self assured handshake for your father while he’d handed him the bottle of his favorite fine aged whiskey and a demure, I’m glad we could make this work for our girl.

Our girl, he’d said, and it had made everything that lived inside of you with his name on it, everything that was perpetually soft and wet for him, go molten. You loved him. You belonged to him. And you’d chosen him for yourself, and he was sure as hell going to make sure everyone the two of you came across knew what that choice entailed, what it meant to him. Your father had been forced into capitulation, all with the whiskey and the self assurance in Joel’s eyes, your own unbridled elation, and your mother’s giggles and blushing smiles like every other woman who’s ever met this man, unable to resist the charm of that Southern twang and the too gorgeous smile, no other recourse had been left to your poor dad.

You think of this as you make your way on silent tiptoes through your parent’s dark, quiet home. It had been the one concession you’d not garnered from your father, the sleeping arrangements. He’d absolutely refused to allow you and Joel to share a bed under his roof, no questions asked. And no matter how much you’d pleaded and your mother had cooed and cawed and threatened him, he’d not relented. At this point, you were worried he’d not let you sleep in the same bed as Joel even after the two of you’d been married. But what your father didn’t understand, what even you yourself barely understood sometimes was that you needed Joel. You need him. No one, no one except for Joel himself understood how desperately that ran inside of you. He understood you, he always has.

You pause as you reach the closed door of his bedroom, splaying a palm against the fine grained wood to take a settling breath, your heart beating so fast you feel it in your throat, chock full of excitement, lust, desperate yearning. To have him here, in your childhood home, where you’d been a teenager, a girl, grown into a woman, you want him so, so badly, inside of you, around you, beneath you. You can never sleep without him anymore, no comfort to be found in the too small bed of your childhood – you turn the knob and slip inside.

The blue darkness of the guest bedroom paints his form in shadows, big under the pretty quilt your mother has adorning the bed. You can see the heavy mass of his shoulder peeking from beneath the edge of the quilt, the ratty gray t-shirt you know has a faded longhorn stretched across the front; not able to sleep naked and wrapped only in you the way he usually does when under your parents roof. You turn the lock and step carefully on tipped toes, avoiding the creaky bits in the hardwood floor you’re so familiar with after a lifetime living in this house and lift the edge of the quilt to slip into the cocoon of warmth with him. Like a living furnace, you snake your arm over his flank slowly, enjoying the shiver and jerk of his muscles as you stroke him awake. Your palm, passing over thick ridged muscles and soft belly, digging beneath to feel the wispy scratch of hair there.

He makes a deep sound, low in his chest, legs shifting as he comes to wakefulness, and then the gruff murmur of your name being whispered into the dark, his big, callused palm coming to wrap entirely around your fist beneath his t-shirt, keeping you from slipping it inside his sleep pants. “Baby, what’re you doin’?” He slurs, voice full of sleep and slow waking lust.

You press your pelvis into his backside, hitching your knee up and over his hip to wrap yourself around him like vines. “I need you,” you mewl, baby voice trying to get ahead of his polite refusal before he’s able to get it out. He’d told you, before the two of you’d embarked on this weekend at your parents house, that there was to be no funny business on your part. As if he didn’t know that that was your favorite kind of business where he was concerned. You press a kiss above his scapula, then open your jaw to drag your teeth against the skin warmed cotton. You rub against him, clutching and pulling at his chest and stomach, biting and kissing as much of his back as you can reach, your foot somehow finding its way into his lap so that you can feel his quickly hardening cock against the sensitive arch of your foot.

He groans roughly. “You’re gonna get us caught, sweet girl,” he tries to protest, but wraps his hand around the little foot in his lap anyways, pressing the arch of it into that half hard erection, rubbing against it.

“I need you– I can’t sleep without you,” you whine, and he makes a frustrated sound, turning to face you, gripping your knee as he goes to open the cradle of your hips for himself, drawing your leg over his waist so that you’re suddenly chest to chest, sipping on each other’s warm breath. With a fist in your hair he gives you a hardly believable reprimand, little girl, and presses his lips briefly to yours, quick and damp, barely there, like he can’t help himself, like he knows that if he starts he won’t be able to stop, wandering hands already slipping up the hem of your nightgown, squeezing your panty clad ass.

“Your parents…” he tries again, the roll of his hips against yours, coupled with a hitched whine, making his objections a little laughable.

“Don’t you miss me? Don’t you love me? Don’t you want me here with you?”

“Of course– of course I do–” You twist your fingers in his curls, the first real press of your mouths, his damp upper lip slotting between both of yours so that you can give it a little suck. Then the tip of his tongue touching yours, and you’re opening all the way for him, moaning wantonly into his mouth, letting him lick and taste behind the line of your teeth. “‘Course I want you here, baby.”

“I’ll be good. I’ll be quiet,” you promise. “Please, please, Joel. Please, just–” The hand squeezing your ass slides between your legs, finds the damp plaquet of panties. Fuckin’ soaked already, needy girl. “Please, just fuck me. I’ll be so quiet, I promise.”

“Baby…”

Please, please, please. He’s always had something about him that turns you into nothing more than a wet little girl desperate for the big, big man’s attention. The impropriety of your surroundings has no bearing on this, the desperation is as present as ever, heightened even, maybe, because of the wrongness of it, because you could be caught red handed at any second if you’re not careful, not quiet enough.

“‘Course I love you so fuckin’ much. You even need to ask?” He rubs the flat of his palm over your pussy, the tip of his middle finger finding the nub of your clit covered by the soaked wet silk to press lightly on each pass forward.

“No, Daddy. I know,” you breathe soft and secret into his mouth, watch the slight widening of his eyes as you say it. You can picture the flush suffusing his cheeks at hearing you call him so, know the effect the sound of it has on him.

“Fucking Christ,” he murmurs, pulling you tighter against him, tilting your head back by the grip he has on your hair so that he can deepen his kiss, taste you more thoroughly. “Better be quiet while I fuck you.” He pulls back, mock frown and a note of reprimand in his voice as his fingers dip beneath the silk of your panties to find the wet, swollen mess of you already. He moans into your open mouth, your name and I love you and wet fuckin’ pussy as he starts to pet at you slowly. His fingers swirling at your clit and then moving to your opening, dipping inside just a tiny bit, giving you almost nothing, forcing a frustrated whine up your throat. “I said quiet.”

“Please, Daddy. Please,” you beg, but he returns to your clit, ignoring your whining, pinching the bundle of nerves lightly before he’s back to teasing the mouth of your cunt, dipping the tip of a single finger in shallowly to pull your wetness from you and spread it over your mound, slicking you up for him.

“We’re gonna go nice and slow. Gonna take my pretty cunt nice and slow, and you’re gonna be good for me, aren’t you? Gonna be quiet – not get us caught, right? Say yes.”

“Yes, Daddy,” you whisper, pressing kisses all along his face and jaw and throat, needy fingers twisting in his curls, scratching at the back of his neck and the hills of his shoulders. He make an approving groan of a sound, rolling the two of you over so that you’re on your back, splayed out beneath him, and he pulls the vee of your nightgown down, bearing your breasts to him, sucking on each nipple, first hard then soft, then with teeth and tongue, slicking you in his spit, and you try and stay quiet, you really, really do, but it’s so hard not to cry out at the sight of his jaw hinging wide, seemingly trying to take the whole heavy weight of your breast into his mouth in one go.

He always has you like he wants you more than anything else in the whole world, like he’s never wanted anything else in his whole life more than he wants you, and nothing feels better than that, nothing makes you crazier for him than the way he wants you so desperately.

He makes his way down the length of you with kisses to your breasts, your ribs, your belly, the mound of your pelvic bone, before he’s gathering your knees together and bending them to press against your chest, pulling the lace and silk of your panties over the curve of your bottom and diving nose first into your wet cunt, taking in a deep drag of your scent and then dragging the broad, flat of his tongue from your asshole to your clit in one long, slow swipe. The groan he ends on has you almost coming on his tongue just like that, the sound so hungry it would scare someone who doesn’t want to be wanted as badly by this man as you do. And he eats your cunt like he’s angry, like he’s in love with you, like he doesn’t care if you get caught or not. Tongue plunging into your pussy, sucking on your clit, shaking his head, quick and hard, from side to side so that the obscene sound of your wetness against his mouth is all you can hear over the cacophony sounding in your ears right before you gush for him all wet and sweet and sticky, covering his tongue and beard. His lips wrap around your swollen clit again while it still pulses for him, and you have to shove your fist into your mouth, drooling around it to stifle the sound of your cries for his cock while he sucks you into a second painfully fluttery orgasm, your womb cramping hard and tight around nothing, your cunt clutching desperately at air for the cock it’s about to gladly take. The hum of his movements, of his whines and moans, don’t match his promise for nice and slow. They tell you this is going to be hard and deep and might even hurt, and that you’ll like it all the more for that. This is, after all, what you’d snuck in here for, just exactly this.

He pulls away from your cunt with a loud, wet suck, popping your clit from his puckered mouth like a piece of too ripe, too sweet fruit, before crawling up the length of you, pulling your soaked panties and your nightgown from your body as he goes, shucking his own sweat soaked shirt over his head and kicking his pajama bottoms away. When he takes your mouth again, his face and beard are wet and sticky with your slick, all sweet sugared musk and the angry thrust of his tongue, his fingers, too hard and too tight wrapping around your jaw, grunting into your mouth as he sucks on your tongue. His burning hot cock thrusts between your wet cleft, the sound of your leaking pussy loud enough to be heard over the sound of your mingled panting breaths. You feel him grip himself, stroking once, twice, wide, blunt head bumping against slick soaked skin, before he’s notching at your cunt and shoving in, hard and fast. Not giving you a chance to think about it before he’s bumping at the mouth of your womb, a muted bruise you never tire of; his too big cock that still pinches every time, that presses in just on this side of too deep to always be comfortable, but you don’t care. The proof is in the hurt, and you need constant reminding that he’s real, that this is real. It’s your greatest pleasure, after all, the reassurance of him, of the two of you, and he never tires of giving it to you. You know that giving you the things you need and want from him, turns Joel on more than anything else.

He groans long and low into the crook of your shoulder when he bottoms out and holds there for several drawn out moments, both of you enjoying the pulse and throb of your connection. He’s so deep and you’re so wet for him, taking him so, so well, like he always tells you that you do. You’d felt, from the first moment that you’d laid eyes on him, like you’d been made for him. Put on this earth just for him to find and keep, and doing this, having each other like this, even after all the times you’ve done it, always feels like further proof of it. He grinds against you, hips shifting from side to side, tip bumping against the deepest part of you, before he’s clutching at your ass and flipping the both of you over suddenly, cock never slipping from your tight clutch when he settles you on top of him, buried to the hilt. You feel him in your stomach like this, and you tell him so, little hand coming to rest low on your belly where you’re holding him inside of you, pressing down so that the both of you can feel your connection from the inside out, groaning in tandem all wide and sparkly eyed as you look at each other. And he’s nodding his head at you as you start to shift your hips slowly, feeling the wet slide of his length, the grind of your clit against his pelvis, one hand pressing down on your belly, the other anchoring yourself on his own stomach so that you can rock yourself on him.

He pulls one of your knees up, resting your foot flat on the bed to open you to his gaze, so that he can watch the way the thick root of his cock splits your cunt open for him to fuck up into. The two of you find your rhythm, you rolling your hips down on his upthrust, and he’s still nodding his head at you, mouthing words made of only air at you while you gasp and gulp for breath, I love you and you’re so pretty and yeah, ride that cock, baby. All you can do in return is mumble his name at him over and over again, Joel, Joel, Joel, nonsensical. Your brain doesn't work when he’s got his cock wedged this deep inside of you, it just doesn’t.

There's sweat pooling in the divots of his collarbones, the sun grizzled notch of his throat, and you fold over forward, changing the angle, deepening it, to lick up those little pools of salt, sucking on his neck until he’ll surely have incriminating bruises tomorrow. You don’t care, not even a little bit. He’s so yours in this moment, always really, but right now, Joel feels so, so incredibly yours, and you love him so much, and he’s going to be your husband one day soon and nothing else really matters besides that.

He wraps both arms around your back, squeezes you to himself tight and starts to fuck up into you, fast, brutal, again, nothing nice and slow about it like he’d promised, and you’re forced to dig your teeth into his shoulder so hard you’re scared for a moment you’ll taste blood on your tongue. You can feel your orgasm crawling up your spine, pooling like liquid heat in your pelvis while everything goes tight and fluttery inside of you. “How mad would he be if I knocked you up right now? If I fucked his baby girl full’a my baby under his roof?” He grunts into your ear, and there’s the dip in your restraint. As much as you want to hold off and wait for him, you clench down hard around him with a sharp cry, mouthful of his skin to muffle you only barely. “Huh? What’dya think he’d say?” He continues, changing the angle so that his pelvis bumps against your clit on every punch in, balls slapping wetly against the curve of your ass while he pets at the tight ring of muscle back there, tempting you with more than you think you can take right now. “If you go all pretty and round and soft for me before our wedding.”

You can't speak, you’re nothing but air and sticky, sweet wet in the shape of a girl made just for him. Too tight grip in your hair, and he’s jerking your face towards him, grunting into your mouth as he starts to spill inside of you, burning hot come milked out of his cock and deep into you, and he tells you again how much he loves you, tells you that you’re his pretty little wife because it’s already felt like that for so long. A marrying of your very selves despite the lack of legal nothing that means so little to the both of you when you have all this between you already. Tells you that he can’t wait to see his baby all full of his baby.

When he’s finished pumping you filled to the brim he turns you over again, pulls out slowly so that the both of you can appreciate the sound of his heavy cock slipping wetly from your well used pussy, and when he bends to eat your mingled come out of your puffy cunt, only to then wedge your mouth open so that he can spit your fluids onto your waiting tongue, all here, taste how good we are, the only words left when it comes to this man and this thing you have between the two of you is always simply thank you.

New Year’s Eve follow up

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog!

#vic fic #Joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller/ you #joel miller fanfiction #Joel miller fic #the last of us au #Joel miller smut #joel miller imagine #pedro pascal characters

2K notes · View notes

lillotte17 · 8 months

Text

Also also, since I seem to be incapable of shutting up, and because I haven't actually seen anyone else saying it:

Crowely offering/tempting Aziraphale with the ox ribs...it's a direct parallel to Adam and the creation of Eve. Adam's ribs are used to create his counterpart/lover/partner, and Crowley is doing the same thing. Up until now, he's had his suspicions about Aziraphale not being like the other angels, but in the Job flashback, we really see him testing the waters.

'Will you just do as you're told and watch an innocent man lose everything?'

'Will you notice what I did to the goats?'

'Will you trust me not to hurt the children?'

And then finally with the ribs: 'Are you like me? Do you take pleasure from all the things that humans are capable of creating? Do you see their potential? Aren't we the same?'

And Aziraphale accepts.

Which of course eventually leads to him lying to the other angels and his own epiphany about not quite being like the rest of them.

Naturally, it's not an exact correlation. Aziraphale already had those inclinations, so Crowley isn't really 'creating' him as his counterpart, but he is creating the opportunity for understanding and a chance to see the ways they already resemble one another. He's creating the possibility of their eventual partnership (romantic and/or otherwise).

#good omens #good omens 2 #aziraphale #crowley #crowley x aziraphale #all i ever hear about it is 'it's SO SEXUAL'#which i mean #there's just no controlling Michael Sheen #but that just never really made a lot of sense to me in terms of storyline at all #and also...the thing with adam's ribs making eve is literally brought up like 4 different times in that episode #seems pretty obvious to me

437 notes · View notes

demonanddominion · 9 months

Text

Anyone else had new thoughts on who Crowley was before the ‘fall’ since Season 2 aired…

I know the Raphael theory is still knocking about (actually had a weird epiphany regarding this last night so more of that later) but I think Crowley was an entirely different angel.

From Season 2 we now know he was a very powerful angel indeed (dominion, throne or greater) thanks to his classified document clearance in heaven, but also because of the seriously powerful miracle he and Aziraphale cooked up with very minimal effort.

After an initial idea and since doing some research, I’m leaning towards him being Samael, Angel of Death.

Now I don’t mean Samael as in the one who becomes Lucifer - there are many texts that see these as two separate entities, with Lucifer falling thanks to his pride and Samael… well did he even fall at all?

Samael is one of the Angels of Creation alongside Orifiel, Anael, Zachariah, Raphael, Gabriel and Michael. In Season 2 in episode 1 we see Crowley as an Angel playing a pretty big part in the creation of the cosmos, in collaboration with others.

Samael is the ruler of the Fifth Heaven, which happens to be Earth.

Samael is known as the “Venom of God” and is executioner of death sentences as decreed by God. He is the accuser, seducer and destroyer. As a seducer, Samael tempts humans into committing evil deeds. Through Samael, God tests humanity and the Archangel draws out the sinful and unrepentant, then God judges then and Samael destroys them.

In seducing humanity into acts of evil, Samael is just doing his job. He is both good and evil and is highly loyal to God’s word, doing his bidding without question - he mostly destroys sinners.

Samael is also the one who planted the Tree of Knowledge in the garden of Eden to tempt Adam. God however forbade Adam to touch it and punished Samael by banishing him. In retaliation, Samael took the form of the serpent and tempted Eve to eat the fruit from the tree.

When Abraham’s faith was tested by God and commanded to sacrifice his son Isaac, it was Samael who whispered in his ear to disobey.

So where does Crowley fit into this then? Well Samael hasn’t exactly ‘fallen’ from heaven, his angelic role took him down to Earth, performing deeds considered demonic and evil and his refusal to bow down to God’s creation led to his banishment. You could say he ‘sauntered vaguely down’?

We know from Season 1 that Crowley was the serpent that tempted Eve so he fits into the Samael theory there.

In Season 2 we see that Crowley had a ‘permit’ from God to destroy Job’s children and possessions to test his faith in God.

In Season 1, Crowley talks to God and says “I know you’re testing them, you said you were going to be testing them. But you shouldn’t test them to destruction. Not to the end of the world.”

So whilst Samael is an Angel, he very much has the role and characteristics of a demon and can be described as a fugitive or wanderer.

Regarding Samael planting the Tree of Knowledge, who else do we know with a bit of a plant fetish?!

Some other fun facts: Samael has red hair, and is associated with the planet Mars. He is also associated with the left side, the North and Tuesday.

It’s also said that Samael’s name shouldn’t be spoken aloud so as not to draw his attention - is this why Crowley chose a different name and doesn’t introduce himself to Aziraphale at the Horsehead nebula?

——————————————-

So here’s the slightly scary part and if Crowley actually was/is Samael…

In the Second Coming (as was mentioned as Heavens next focus at the end of season 2) the messiah is supposed to deliver everyone from death and everyone will be resurrected. But he’ll do more than bring life, he’s supposed to bring an end to death itself, including the very concept of it. Without the finality of destruction, the Angel of Death (Samael) serves no purpose and is himself, annihilated. Thus, with death undone, Samael becomes the Anti-Christ.

Could season 3 see Aziraphale finally forced to make a choice between heaven and the one he loves?

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #fallen angel #angel #good omens season 2 #samael #theory #niel gaiman

289 notes · View notes

deathmetalunicorn1 · 8 months

Note

I was thinking about a RoR x toddler reader playing hide and seek with some of the gods and humans.

Like everyone but the reader was found and now they have to find them. So like 3-4 hours had past and the Gods and humans still haven’t found them. Until they yelled out they given up. Which made the reader to come out of their hiding place.

(I did this one time and I climb up a fig tree and my mom couldn’t find me. Which made her go into panic mode which lead her to call the police and it was later on that I climbed down. Which gave my mom some relief. I remember most of it but not all of it.)

-Ares was holding his hair in stress, panicking as Loki ran in, “Have you found her yet?!” Ares turned, hearing him enter, “No- I’ve looked in every bedroom and Hermes checked the attic!”

-What started as a fun game quickly turned into panic as you wanted to play hide and seek, and after not being able to find you after about fifteen minutes, everyone began to panic.

-They knew you would follow the rules, not going out into the front yard, only in the backyard if you were going outside, and no hiding in the dryer… you made that rule yourself after an unexpected tumble dry in the dryer.

-So that meant you were somewhere in the house- but nobody could find you!!

-Originally you were playing with Loki, Buddha, Zerofuku, Ares, Goll, and Kojiro, but after you went MIA, your whole family was now looking high and low for you.

-Lu Bu lifted up the couch to check underneath it while Thor was ready to start breaking down walls, logic leaving everyone as they thought you were hiding in the vents, or under the house, or even in the walls since nobody could find you.

-Eve was panicking, tears in her eyes as Adam held her, “When should we call the police?!” the situation was becoming more and more frantic.

-Loki then froze before he shouted, having an epiphany, “That’s it! Y/N YOU WIN!! COME GET ICE CREAM!!”

-Everything was still for a few moments before you ran downstairs, “Ice cream!!” Ares instantly had you in his arms, ugly crying, “You’re okay!!!”

-You were confused, looking around as you were quickly passed around, being smothered in affection by everyone, as you hadn’t realized the panic you had caused.

-Once in his arms, as Loki was pouting, letting you have ice cream, “Where were you? We’ve looked everywhere?” you beamed brightly up at him, “I hid in Shiva’s room- behind his big pillows!”

-They all paused, realizing you were hiding behind the large floor pillows Shiva and his wives kept in their large room, meant for sitting on the floor comfortably.

-Loki added it to your list of hiding places to check first if they couldn’t find you as Ares was trying to think of other games to play with you that wouldn’t give him so much heartburn.

#record of ragnarok #ror x reader #ror loki #ror ares

185 notes · View notes

huariqueje · 4 months

Text

Les Galettes - Claude Monet , 1882.

French , 1840 - 1926

Oil on canvas

#Claude Monet #frech artist #epiphany eve #twelfth nightcakes #still life #yummy

256 notes · View notes

ironbatpaperturtle · 18 days

Note

HEAVEN'S UNSPOKEN ROYAL FAMILY???? (Adam, Micheal and Emily) don't do this to me it's so cute

I think it works so well, like:

The few, if not the one thing, that he ever considered good about his banishment from Eden, was his kids. It was his primary purpose, to bring life into the world, so of course he misses being a parent. He loved his kids to death, even Cain. Even when he bashed the skull of his brother, he forgave him quietly and loved him. That factor made him slightly hesitant to just let Eve go alone because he could raise his kids once again, but he favored a life of leisure more so he let's her go. Doesn't mean that a part of him doesn't wish he left so he could have his children again.

Time goes on an eventually he acends with Micheal. Micheal, while emotionally stunted, does notice Adam's melancholy and somewhere coerces Adam to tell him why. Either because it's a really sensitive spot or maybe Adam doesn't really care, he tells Mike that he wishes to raise a kid. Chocks it down for his original purpose was to father humanity.

Adam has crazy baby fever. It's bad. When Micheal let's Adam peek at earth life, he notices that Adam looks longingly down. At first, Mike thought he regretted leaving Eve alone but then later realizes Adam really was just looking at Eve being a mother and was sadly looking at the children.

Micheal takes that in and let's it marinate in him. At the same time, Emily's existence is being considered. I wanna think that Emily's purpose was to maybe fill in Lucifur's role once he fell, so they worked on her.

Micheal is brought in to help plan her existence. Current angels are made adults almost immediately but when Mike looks down on the plan, he has this epiphany.

Micheal: we should make her into a baby

Sera: What?

Micheal:... I think it would do us good... if we raise her... she could learn her role properly... get tuned to her dominion (I think that was happiness and joy) After all, kids are born very 'happy'. They're the most pure then

Sera: I see your point... but who would raise her Micheal?

Micheal:... Adam

Seras catching on and so do the other angels but they let it slide for Micheals gods fav rn and they love Adam, gods purest being.

So Emily is made and then Micheal brings her to Adam.

When Adam sees her, he latches on. Boy he immediately loved her. Mix of the baby fever and the familiarity of Emily.

In the previous timeline, he might have loved her as his own. Just a bit. But she was already an adult with a duty so the feelings of wanting to parent her were snuffed.

But Adam loved baby Emily immediately and raised her well. With Micheal of course.

Adam takes Emily everywhere and coddles her. Mike, even in heaven, is Adam's gaurdian angel, dedicated to his happiness, by extent becomes Emily's gaurdian as well. He grows to love her like a father, he just doesn't recognize it yet. He'd definitely destroy all of hell though if anything happened to her.

Both don't claim to be her parents, they even deny it sometimes, but the way they both coddles Emily does not help with the allegations

The first angels, know for a fact that Adam and Micheal are not her bio parents, but the newer one just assume bcz they are EVERYWHERE together. But the general census amongst the angels is that, yes, they are a family, if not heavens secret not so secret royal family.

I think this would also make Emily more nuanced to the exterminations. Her father Micheal is a warrior of Justice who is dedicated to the lord so he says his piece about justice being served correctly. Adam would off-handly talk about sinners and how many deserve that fate bcz that's just right. It's never a real conversation, just off handed comments, but it does feeder the idea that the sinners of hell are being given just punishment, no matter what happens to them.

Also they're dynamic this this:

Emily: sunshine child who is a bit spoiled

Adam: surprisingly naggy but doting mom

Micheal: lost father who does not know what's going on half the time but loves both to death and is wrapped around their finger

ANON YOU'RE TOO CREATIVEE

#Adam's Time travel era #michael x adam #hazbin hotel adam #emily hazbin hotel #guitarhero

71 notes · View notes

stairnaheireann · 1 year

Text

Christmas in Ireland

The greeting for ‘Happy Christmas’ in Irish is Nollaig Shona Duit or Nollaig Shona Daoibh (plural), the literal translation of this is ‘Happy Christmas to you’. If ‘Nollaig, Shona, Duit/Daoibh’ was literally translated, word for word, into English, it would be “Christmas, happy, to you”. Christmas is also a time for remembering the dead in Ireland with prayers being offered for deceased at…

View On WordPress

#Christmas Day #Christmas Eve #Christmas in Ireland #Customs #Dublin #Epiphany #Ireland #Little Christmas #Nollaig Shona #Sandycove #St. Stephen&039;s Day #The 40 Foot #Traditions #Wren Day #Wrenboys

15 notes · View notes

carrieblmt · 8 months

Text

The Name Change…🐍

This blindsided my brain yesterday, so of course I had to rewatch several GO clips/episodes to be sure my brain was braining correctly. And now that I know it is, here’s my most recent epiphany. It involves Crowley’s name change.

Here we have the demonic CRAWLEY, with an A…

…fairly fresh from crawling & slithering around Eden & causing the Fall of Man.

He meets angelic Aziraphale…with whom it can be argued he is immediately smitten when he learns that Aziraphale has just given away his flaming sword:

TELL ME this isn’t the face of a demon in love. You look me in the eye and TELL ME!

Oooo, he’s got it bad.

Fast forward a couple thousand years, and our heroes meet again on the eve of The Flood, where Crawley is still Crawley…

…popping up behind Aziraphale & recognizing him immediately. He expresses his regret that kids are going to be killed in the flood, and we start to sense maybe this demon’s not really quite so terrible. It gives Aziraphale something to think about, too.

The next time our duo come face to face, Crawley has been given a permit to destroy the goats, geese, property & children of blameless Job…

BUT…..does he really WANT to? After all, the goats & geese & kids are just as blameless as Job, maybe even moreso.

And Aziraphale clearly agrees. Not only that, in just the couple interactions he’s had so far with this Fallen Angel, he’s seen Crawley’s ‘soft side.’ AND he remembers the angel Crawley USED to be. So he calls him out on it…

Crawley unflinchingly asserts that he LONGS to strike down the blameless children of blameless Job, leaving Aziraphale to walk away with his head hung low as he questions his character judgement of Crawley. But just moments before he leaves the courtyard, he hears a bleating coming from some crows…and in moments, he’s miracled away the illusion that Crawley had created to disguise Job’s blameless goats.

TELL ME this isn’t the satisfied face of someone whose character judgement has turned out to be correct after all.

Crawley then goes on to help save Job’s children from destruction; and along with the assistance of a lie from Aziraphale, he returns them to Job & Sitis no worse for the wear.

Later, he helps allay Aziraphale’s fears of going to Hell by telling him that *he* won’t tell Hell about Aziraphale’s lie if Aziraphale won’t tell Heaven. And thus, a rather unlikely friendship is born.

NOW we come to the good part.

Ah, who have we here? At their very next meeting following the Job escapade?

Why, it’s Aziraphale and Crawley!

Wait…no. It’s CROWley now…because CRAWLey sounds too slithery.

But is that all? Nay, I say:

CRAWLey dredges up images of him slithering & crawling through Eden tempting Eve and causing Man to Sin.

CROWley, however, brings to mind the scenes of him sparing Job’s goats by turning them into CROWS…and the further moments when he also saved Job’s children.

This big, bad demon wants this glorious angel to REMEMBER THE GOOD IN HIM—and, perhaps, even remind Crowley himself…?—EVERY TIME THE ANGEL SAYS HIS NAME.

CRAWLEY: BAD.

CROWLEY: CAPABLE OF GOOD.

Remember that, Angel.

Headcanon accepted?

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens spoilers #neil gaiman #headcanon #aziraphale #crowley #crawley #inaffable husbands #aziracrow

186 notes · View notes

tessa-liam · 4 months

Text

Turning the Page

Now and Then

- Chapter 9-

Choices, The Royal Romance, AU

Series Premise: As Riley Brooks journeys through life as a single parent in New York City, an epiphany strikes as she contemplates the future for herself and her two-year-old son.

Turning the Page Series Masterlist

Main Pairing: Liam Rys x F!OC Riley Brooks

All characters belong to Pixelberry Studios, except William Brooks (Rys) and Matteo Magro, who belongs to this series.

Category: On-going series, contains angst/fluff/depression. Cross-over fic with Choices, Perfect Match.

Rating: M🔞Warnings - Series will contain crude language, NSFW material – not Beta’d - please excuse all errors.

Words: 2498

Now and Then – 9

Chapter Summary: Riley and William arrive in Cordonia

Title & Music Inspiration:

Now and Then, The Beatles

When You Love Someone, Gretchen Peters, Bryan Adams

Wherever You Will Go, The Calling

A/N1: In this alternate universe, after King Constantine orchestrates two individual scandals to humiliate and entrap Riley Brooks and Olivia Nevrakis in shame, Madeleine Amaranth secures her position as the Queen of Cordonia. Riley, as the King’s mistress and Olivia, in self-imposed exile. Tariq is never found.

A/N2: My submission for @choicesflashfics, Week#67, prompt #1 - “Nothing could ever change how I feel about you.”

A/N3: My submission for @choicesjanuary2024, prompt Day 25 - ‘Remembrance’ #choices monthly challenge @lilyoffandoms #choicesjanuary2024

A/N4: Damien Nazario has been assigned as William’s personal bodyguard.

In Flight, Cordonian Royal Jet, above the Mediterranean Sea

Looking out over the vast expanse of water below her, and under the clear blue skies above the Mediterranean Sea, no clouds were in sight ... not a white cloud, nor a black cloud.

Riley gazed out the large passenger window of the private jet, in solace, with her memories. Everything felt calm; almost too calm. The flight from New York to Cordonia was eight hours in duration, and even though they left early in the morning, they would not arrive at the palace until late in the evening with the change in time zones.

Trying to and not getting any rest, her thoughts returned to the events over the holidays.

...Remembering when Liam arrived at her door, in New York on Christmas Eve, a short week ago. The expression of elation on his face as she opened the door for him...

[‘Hello, my love,’ he tenderly smiled; He was standing there with an exquisite bouquet of long-stemmed red roses, as uniformed delivery drivers from the toy store waited patiently at a distance behind him, as the Royal guard performed a security check.

Liam stepped over the threshold, leaning down to draw her in for a kiss on the cheek, as she accepted his gift. ‘Oh Li, these are gorgeous; thank you so much.’

At Bastien’s prompt, the delivery people entered the brownstone with prewrapped gifts and placed them under the Christmas tree, also filling the extra space in the living room very quickly.

Chuckling, Riley watched as Liam thanked them with a generous tip, as he closed the door after them.

“Our son will be so thrilled at what Santa brought him; wait till he wakes up tomorrow.”

Liam laughed, moving quickly to put his arm around her, pulling her to his side. “Who says all these gifts are just for him? Hmmm?” Riley turned her head towards him, as Liam bent to capture her lips in a passion-fueled kiss.

“Ah yes, your gift is right here.” Liam slipped his hand inside his coat to reveal a small box, wrapped in gold with a red ribbon. “This is for you.”}

Riley breathed out, shaking her head.

...Remembering wanting him so badly that evening ...as he kissed her forehead to say ‘good night’ before turning to the guest room; Leaving her feeling so confused, once again.

...Remembering how excited LiLi was when he saw his father again Christmas morning ... and the look of pure joy in Liam’s expression as he watched his son blissfully playing with his new toys.

...Remembering the look of adoration between Liam and his son; a private and sacred bond established between the two ... a bond only meant for them.

Riley looked down at her phone and smiled fondly at the picture of William. He was proudly standing beside his gingerbread house gift for Liam, alongside Daniel and Matteo, to smile at the camera. Riley marveled at how unequivocally her son loved his father, so quickly. As if two loose puzzle pieces finally clicked into place. There was never a doubt in her mind that William needed to be wherever his father was. The connection between father and son was undeniable.

...and with those thoughts, she agreed to return to Cordonia.

And now, she found herself on the Royal jet headed back, leaving behind her New York world for the place that shattered her ‘happily ever after,’ again.

Liam, being the new, ever-doting father was pointing out to his son the shores of Cordonia through the window. She saw the look of marvel in Liam’s eyes, as he watched his son’s reaction to seeing Cordonia for the very first time. They were sitting in seats across the aisle from her as she glanced over.

Catching Riley’s eye, Liam responded with a wink and a smile.

"Welcome home, love."

Riley smiled in return, as her heart skipped a beat.

Home...

It had been a while since she had felt this way about Cordonia. Another lifetime; so much has changed, and yet remained the same.

***

Damien Nazario, the Interpol agent who was now permanently assigned to be William Rys's personal bodyguard, was reviewing the Crown prince's dossier, and his duties to the Cordonian crown, his new employer. Bastien took a seat beside the young agent to answer any questions he may have, as head of the Royal guard, at the rear of the plane's cabin.

"So, Damien, any questions for me?"

"No, sir. I believe I have a handle on the situation.”

"Good, because you are now the official head of the security detail for Prince William, the future king of Cordonia."

"Understood, sir.” Damien was well aware of the complexity of a constitutional monarchy.

"Now, there's one more thing I need to discuss with you,” Bastien eyed the young agent.

"Yes, sir?"

"Madeleine Amaranth, the former queen of Cordonia. I have forwarded her updated dossier to you."

"Yes, I've read it through.” Damien paused, waiting for more information.

"Good, because she has expressed malicious intent towards Prince William and Lady Riley, should they return to Cordonia."

"Understood. I'll ensure her movements are tracked and reported inside and out of the country, sir."

"Thank you, Damien.”

"My pleasure, sir.”

Bastien, looking pleased, leaned back in his chair, checking the time on his watch, as he felt the plane begin its descent.

Cordonia, Capital

The jet touched down smoothly on the tarmac, as the engines powered down. The cabin door opened, and the stairs were lowered.

Riley could feel the warm breeze blow past her as she stepped off the plane.

Taking a deep breath, Riley looked around. The air was different here. It was fresh and clean. She closed her eyes and let the wind brush her cheeks.

Liam followed, with William sleeping in his arms.

"Is everything alright, love?" Liam’s brows were raised in concern, noticing her hesitation.

"Yes, I'm just taking it all in." Riley, looked down, unable to keep eye contact.

"Are you sure, Riley? You've been very quiet throughout the entire flight home."

"I'm fine, Liam. It is just a lot to process. I'm just a little overwhelmed."

"All right, I understand. Let us get to the palace, so you and William can get settled and rest ... okay?"

"Yes, thank you, Liam."

Liam glanced over at Riley with concern as he personally buckled his son into the car seat. It was quite easy for him to see and feel the apprehension in her mood. She could not hide her emotions from him as well as she always thought she could.

Riley had remained noticeably quiet during the ride to the palace as well, looking out at the passing countryside. Liam could not help but wonder if she was having second thoughts about returning to Cordonia, and/or to him.

As they pulled up to the palace gates, Liam looked over at Riley, noticing a small smile on her face.

"What is it, love?" Liam spoke softly, reaching for her hand.

Riley returned his touch with a squeeze. "This place...it's beautiful."

"Thank you, that, it is. Welcome home."

“William will be so excited when he wakes up.” Riley glanced at a still sleeping William as the SUV slowed to a stop.

"I can't begin to tell you how much it means to me.... to have you both here." Liam confessed.

"You're welcome, Liam. It's the least I can do."

Liam's heart sank at her words. He hated the distance between them. He wanted to take her in his arms and make everything right, but, for right now, he knew that was not the best strategy.

He had to accept that things had changed, and their relationship was different now. He had to be patient and give Riley the space she needed.

But he also had to make her see how important she was to him. He had to show her how much he had missed her ... that he wanted a future with her and William in Cordonia.

As the SUV door opened for her, Riley felt a sense of Deja vu. This was where she had started her journey with Liam in Cordonia all those years ago. And now, here she was, back again.

"Do you want me to take you and William to the guest wing, or do you want to stay in my chambers?"

"I would like to stay with you, if that's okay."

"Of course, Riley. I would love that."

It was surreal for Riley as she walked the pristine palace halls towards the Royal Chambers. Liam carried William, who was fast asleep in his arms beside her.

The memories of the past times she was here flooded her mind and her heart ached as she pushed the painful memories aside. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves.

As they reached the large double doors of the entrance to the Royal east wing, the guards opened the doors for Liam and Riley to enter.

Riley stepped inside; the same chambers where she had spent so much time before. The familiar scent of Liam's cologne filled the air, sending a wave of longing for a past time through her mind.

Walking into her room ... it was exactly as she remembered it. Everything was in its place, from the elegant chandelier hanging above the bed, to the intricate paintings adorning the walls.

Riley took a deep breath and sat down on the edge of the bed. She looked around the room, taking in every detail.

She felt a pang of sadness as she remembered those past times.

After tucking William into his bed in the adjacent room, Liam came in and sat down next to her. He gently placed his hand on hers, and she looked up at him, their eyes meeting.

"What are you thinking about Riley?"

"I'm okay, Liam. I was just thinking about how much things have changed since I was here last."

He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and held her close. "I know it's a lot, but I'm here for you, and I'll help you in any way I can," Liam whispered.

"Thank you, Liam."

He pulled away and cupped her face in his hands, staring into her eyes intently. "You're welcome, Riley. Always. Nothing could ever change how I feel about you.”

He moved in to press his lips to hers, and she melted into his kiss.

It was soft and gentle, and full of longing.

He broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers, breathing heavily. "God, Riley, I've missed you."

"I've missed you, Li."

He leaned down and kissed her again, deeper this time.

His tongue swept across her bottom lip, and she opened her mouth to him.

Their tongues tangled together in a dance that was familiar and yet new.

They were no longer the same people they were when they had last been together. They were both older and wiser, and the passion between them burned even brighter.

Riley pulled away and put her hand on his chest, feeling his heart beating beneath her palm.

"Liam, I..."

"Shhh."

He placed a finger over her lips. "Don't say anything, Riley. Just feel."

His lips found hers again, and the world disappeared. There was nothing but the two of them, lost in each other.

She kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his neck.

She moaned into his mouth as he slid his hands down her back and pulled her closer.

He broke the kiss and buried his face in her neck, inhaling her scent.

"Riley," he breathed. "God, I want you so much."

“Liam, I ...”

Liam pulled back and looked into her eyes, “stay with me tonight.”

📌All fics & edits: @ao719 @txemrn @queenmiarys @sfb123 @twinkleallnight @alj4890 @differenttyphoonwerewolf @harleybeaumont @busywoman @karahalloway @kingliam2019 @imjusthereforliam @lovingchoices14 @kyra75 @tinkie1973 @emkay512 @malblk21 @kristinamae093 @charlotteg234

📌Liam x Riley, OC: @emersyn-in-cordonia @mainstreetreader @belencha77 @walkerdrakewalker @iluaaa @mysticalfangirl @queenwalton @bascmve01 @umccall71 @choicesfrog @amandablink @ownworldresident

📌Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @choicesflashfics @choicesjanuary2024

#tessa liam writes #liam rys #the royal romance #riley brooks #trr #king liam #trr fanfic #king liam rys #trr liam x OC #choices fandom #choices the royal romance #choices fic writers creations #choices flashfics #@choicesjanuary2024 #choices monthly challenge #turning the page

76 notes · View notes

fafnir19 · 4 months

Text

Twelfthtide

My reflection in the mirror revealed a man who had weathered life's hardships. My weary eyes held the weight of my struggles, and my once-dark hair now showed signs of thinning. The lines etched on my face were testament to my difficult path. Despite the weariness, a flicker of determination still burned in my eyes, a trace of resilience in the face of adversity. I strode through the bustling corridors of the office, a facade of confidence masking the unease simmering within me. Despite my efforts, I found myself ensnared in the sticky web of office politics, with no escape in sight. My direct manager at least seemed to value the dedication I poured into my work, but the looming shadow of the company owner’s, Montgomery Kolthard, disapproval hung over me like a shroud. As the days inched closer to the third Advent, I received a summons from my manager to his office. I tightened my grip on the strap of my briefcase, a sense of foreboding settling in the pit of my stomach. The words that followed shattered what little hope I clung to: the Weynsteen deal had collapsed, and with it, my employment. My protests fell on deaf ears, as the decision to let me go was handed down directly from Mr. Kolthard himself. Dejected, I wandered through the festively adorned streets, my thoughts a maelstrom of despair, when suddenly, a sharp impact sent me reeling into darkness. A speeding car changed everything.

I awoke in a hospital room, only to realize that I couldn't move anything below my neck. The doctor's words delivered the crushing blow—I was paralyzed. Despair settled over me like a suffocating blanket, and I couldn't see a way out of the darkness. The stale air of the hospital room did little to lift my spirits as I lay there, imprisoned by my own motionless form. It was on the night of St. Thomas, the longest and darkest night of the year, that my world twisted into something beyond comprehension. A figure emerged from the shadows, introducing himself as Zamiel. His presence sent shivers down my immobile frame, and I struggled against the urge to flee, though my limbs refused to respond. Zamiel's voice, smooth as silk but tainted with a sinister edge, shattered the silence as he made his proposition. "Do not fear," Zamiel's voice echoed through the room, "for I bring an offer that will unbind you from the shackles of your condition. I can restore your mobility, but in return, you must serve me for a few days every year." I struggled to comprehend his words, the weight of his proposal pressing down on me. "Serve you? How?" I managed to croak, my voice strained with disbelief. Zamiel's eyes gleamed with an otherworldly light as he explained, "I conduct business with mortals, granting them their heart's desires in exchange for their souls. Your task will be to facilitate these transactions on my behalf. And fear not, for your own soul is not part of this bargain." Zamiel explaining that humans without souls did not make good bargains and hence, my soul was not part of the deal.

A wary skepticism gnawed at my thoughts, but desperation grasped at the threads of my resolve. With a mixture of dread and fleeting hope, I accepted his terms, and Zamiel handed me a quill and a piece of parchment. "How shall I sign the parchment? I cannot even move!" I protested. Zamiel's chuckle sent a chill down my spine. "Ah, but you can move well enough to sign your name. The ability will be restored to you, should you agree." Suddenly I felt the sensation return to my hands. With trembling fingers, I pricked my thumb, and my blood dripped onto the parchment. With newfound strength, I signed the contract. Zamiel summarized the deal: "When the gates between worlds close on the Feast of Epiphany, you will no longer be paralyzed. In return, you will work for me every year from Holy Eve to the Epiphany!" The next morning, I thought that it was just a dream. The days blurred together, and soon it was Christmas Eve. While others reveled in festivities, I could only brood in my hospital bed, feeling like a mere shadow of my former self. The cheer around me only served to highlight the cavernous void within me.

On the morning of the Epiphany, I awoke to a new reality. I found myself in a vast, opulent bedroom adorned with dark, luxurious furnishings. The air was heavy with the scent of aged wood and incense, and the grandiose setting reflected a level of luxury I had never known. As I stumbled across the room to a lavish, ornate mirror, I caught sight of my reflection and I was struck by the transformation that had taken place. No longer the 47-year-old man worn down by life's tribulations, I was now a youthful, athletic figure with an air of sophistication far beyond my years. The room itself exuded an aura of grandeur, with intricate tapestries adorning the walls and an expansive view that stretched out onto the sprawling city below. On the nightstand lay a piece of parchment, aged and weathered, bearing the peculiar mark of a crimson wax seal. As I examined the parchment, the words etched upon it seemed to dance before my eyes: "Your former boss Montgomery Kolthard cannot bear children, but has desperately desired an heir for his business. I, Zamiel, have granted this wish. You are no longer Christian, but Lucius Kolthard, Montgomery's son. Remember our deal: from the Holy Night onward, you must perform your service." Armed with the knowledge of my newfound identity as Lucius Kolthard, Montgomery's long-awaited heir my days were filled with schmoozing at elite gatherings, draped in the finest attire, and basking in Montgomery's adoration.

Everything I had longed for was within my grasp, yet beneath the facade of grandeur, an unsettling unease festered, a constant reminder of the pact I had struck with Zamiel. As the days turned into weeks, I found myself entangled in the web of Montgomery's business affairs, receiving an insider's glimpse into the inner workings of his empire. It was a heady experience, to say the least. Montgomery, often cold and distant, doted on me with an almost doting affection, treating me like the son he had always yearned for. However, the more he idolized me, the more I felt the weight of the unspoken expectations resting on my shoulders. The grandeur of Christmas Eve arrived, and as the festivities ebbed away, I retreated to my opulent chamber.

It was there that an inexplicable urge drew me to the ornate mirror adorning the wall. Stepping through the ornate mirror, I found myself in Zamiel's realm — a breathtaking place adorned with marble and gold, a stark contrast from the opulence to which I had grown accustomed. Zamiel stood before me, his presence commanding yet strangely comforting. "Lucius," he intoned, his voice resonating through the chamber, "what a striking devil you've become. Those tight pants and cloak suit you well." Zamiel's eyes sparked with amusement as he added, "I must say, I quite like the horns." I watched as his gaze lingered on the horns that had materialized on my head, a sign of the Faustian bargain.

With a sardonic smile, he gestured for me to follow, promising to teach me the art of striking bargains and the alluring nature of collecting souls. Despite initial qualms, I found delight in crafting contracts that would cost my clients their souls. My negotiations became increasingly cunning, and I relished my service to Zamiel. Additionally, I enjoyed the company of the incubus demons. As I stepped back into the mortal realm on Twelfth Night, I looked forward to the events of the coming year, such as my graduation and a planned sailing trip. Yet, I also anticipated my next service to Zamiel from the Holy Night onwards.

#male tf #male transformation #old to young #magic tf #devil #christmas #age regression #twelfth night

115 notes · View notes