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#exorcising and exercising demons

cyb-by-lang · 1 month

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[image description: a fair, black-haired woman with messy dark hair, yellow eyes, and a scar across her face. she's wearing a tank top. end description]

This is the general look Kei's running around with during Exorcising (and Exercising) Demons. Had to leave off on the blood, unfortunately. Aside from the yellow eyes, she just looks kinda traumatized and upset.

What she isn't is "harmless."

#keisuke gekko #exorcising and exercising demons #concept art #catch your breath fanfic #picrew

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langwrites · 1 month

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[image description: a picrew-generated image of a tear-eyed, dark-haired person with yellow eyes and one hand raised as though to grasp an injured shoulder. the shirt is a nondescript gray. end description]

Look at this sad, pathetic creature. There's no way that blood isn't hers!

...Right?

What do you mean she splatted two people.

(this is a less-bloody version of how Kei appeared to the initial responders.)

picrew is here.

#keisuke gekko #exorcising and exercising demons #catch your breath fanfic #concept art #picrew

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heraspeacocks · 2 months

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Greetings from pre-menstrual "everything sucks and I hate it" hell where my symptoms are that I actively want to punch a wall and/or any of several humans, I'm having a fair amount of pain, I'm exhausted, and did I mention I'm not taking phone calls because I might scream at someone I actually like?

Plus side: I know what this is and, bonus plus, it will hopefully get better after I have the hysters ectomied.

Minus side: identifying the problem is not a solution.

#tw chronic illness #tw menstruation #tw menstrual cycle #uterine fibroids #demon uterus is getting exorcised #I would exercise the anger out but I hurt too much to run #ow ow ow

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shares-a-vest · 2 months

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@flufftober Spring Edition Day 3: Spring Cleaning

wc: 518 | Rated: T for Canon-Typical swearing and language | cw: None

Tags: Spring Cleaning, Eddie Munson is a Menace, Steddie Dads, Discarded Toys, Childhood Toys

'Goodbye, Mr. Furby'

Steve opens his daughter’s double-doored closet only to be greeted by her demonic Furby. A formerly beloved and sought-after plushie that also terrorised the family with late-night chirping for far too long until he had worked out how to remove the batteries.

He shudders at the thought of the manual Eddie had managed to track down, filled with faceless Furbys being exorcised and deprogrammed. He reaches forward with giddy glee and plucks the toy from its quiet resting spot.

“We can finally get rid of this thing,” he beams, turning to Eddie who lingers at the door, “Goodbye, Mr. Furby.”

“That’s Abernathy Furby, to you,” Eddie quips, frowning.

He takes a swipe for the toy but misses when Steve swoops his arm out of reach.

Eddie stumbles back in, clutching his proverbial pearls and his eyes glisten with worry. He stands there shellshocked, utterly scandalised by the prospect of cleaning out this mess of an apartment.

Steve knew this wasn’t going to be easy. He had to gently suggest such a task throughout the winter months, exercising pain-staking patience until Eddie and Joanie would at least hear him out.

“Eddie,” Steve begins, pinching his nose with his free hand, “You promised you’d let me do some Spring Cleaning this weekend. Besides, you hate this thing as much as I do.”

He plays keep-away just to be safe, watching his partner intently as he palms around to open the designated donation box he hopes to fill today.

“Adios,” Steve grins, taking one last look into the soulless, mechanical eyes of the plush before he drops it into the dark abyss of the labelled cardboard box.

That cursed thing can be some other parent’s problem...

“What’s happening?” Joanie yells, poking her head in from the hall.

Steve freezes, his arm now midway between reaching back into her closet for another forgotten toy – this time a grey tabby cat that got chewed up by a very real cat mere moments after Nancy had gifted it back when Joanie was two.

He glances at Eddie for backup, only to be met with a raised, judgemental brow. His partner pointedly folds his arms and leans against the doorframe in defiance.

Steve can’t help but roll his eyes at himself because, yeah – of course, his family would put on a united front against him. And he was foolish to think Joanie’s homework obligations would outweigh her infinite curiosity that borders on nosiness.

“Uh…” he hums, floundering immediately as his heart races a mile a minute.

He watches as his daughter walks to the box and peers inside. She gasps and dives in head first, her haste almost tipping her into the box completely.

“Not Abernathy!” she shrieks, holding the demon spawn up as she rocks herself and the box back upright.

The toy chirps and blinks away earning a high-pitched yelp from Eddie.

“St-Steve...” he stutters, whimpering as he points a shaking hand at the sentient being.

Steve grimaces at the toy held firm in his daughter’s grasp, looking like it has risen from a cardboard grave, readying itself for the kill.

#fluffspring2024 #day 3 #stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie dads #steddie as girl-dads #steddie ficlet

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insanescriptist · 7 months

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So Izzy is blaming Umei for this bit of inspiration

There's so many other things Jason should be doing at the moment. Breakfast, dishes, exercise. He's got things to do today: patrol, check-ins with the gang, weapon maintenance in the arsenal stored in that bitch of an attic.

Instead, he writes a line on a piece of paper. Then with a shaky exhale, writes another and sticks it on the fridge.

Two simple sentences.

Thanks for doing the laundry. Do you have a name?

Once upon a time, Jason Todd died. He had a funeral and then six months later, he crawled out of a grave, without even the decency to become a proper zombie.

He probably could have, he mused as he dissemble and reassembled his favorite gun without opening his eyes. He probably could have, if someone hadn't kidnapped him.

What Talia's plan had been at the time, Jason wouldn't care to guess, but she drowned him in a Lazarus Pit and then set him up with League tutors and tossing him at the monks of the All-Caste.

Fuck he'd still been such a stupid teenager. But well, aren't all teenagers?

Most teenagers manage to not land themselves a chronic anger management issue.

Jason kept a handle on it. Most of the time. He hadn't had black-out murder rages in months. His murder and crimes were mostly premeditated.

He kept in contact with his friends, occasionally chatted with his family and was slowly reconciling with them. Some more than others. It was awkward when he started noticing all was not well on the personal front.

The thing is, when you know you've blackouts before, have lost time and were trained by Batman in being a detective? You notice patterns and changes real fucking quick.

The mob was being more polite. He didn't remember meeting them lately.

His closet ended up with tailored suits. A tailor was on his payroll now. He didn't remember doing that.

He had mystically enhanced ammo and the exhausted fugue state after making it. He didn't remember ordering the equipment to make his own ammo.

His bathtub smelt strange. 12 fucking hours on laundry. His dryer had been used but not the washer. Nothing was damp.

The pits still seethed under his skin.

He did not need more crazy in his head. If he was getting a split personality, he wanted to know. Since clearly other-him was smart enough to spend money and do shit he had no idea how to do. The mystical ammo mocked him with its existence.

Two tense days later, as he checked the note on the fridge he had his answer.

Xanxus, the name read.

Written in bold strokes, the sort of calligraphic handwriting he had never learned. Jason wrote in cursive, but not like that.

That was a statement of a name.

Xanxus.... the name of the pit demon that lived under his skin. Which would explain why Jason still got bouts of Pit Madness. He was possessed.

Jason should be doing so many other things at the moment. Breakfast, dishes, exercise. Getting an exorcist. Seeing if a Pit Demon could be exorcised.

Instead Jason wrote another note.

And started a friendship with the demon under his skin.

#DC #jason todd #KHR #Xanxus

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prowishpriest · 1 month

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How often does Scarab threaten to exercise Prismo per week and was it effective at first?

Another question, does Scarab need those glasses to read and how often does Prismo catch him with them? (Referring to the open ask post)

He didn't exorcise Prismo at first, because Prismo escaped. Scarab has aspirations to be an exorcist but he wasn't trained, so all he knows comes from his own research. He's not trying to exorcise Prismo anymore, he needs him.

He needs the glasses but usually wears contacts. He wears the contacts even more around Prismo because the demon tends to act weird about the glasses.

(Prismo likes them)

#lore #anon

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astercontrol · 8 months

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I did it.

I've damned my soul

The various demons/(daemons?) in my head have WON.

Specially you, Dr. Seuss Subroutine.

You got an actual Doctor/Zuse story.

Hope you're happy.

Hope you're exorcised/(exercised?) enough, now.

Flynn lives. Tron lives. Ram lives. Zuse lives. Castor lives.

JUST THIS ONCE, EVERYBODY LIVES.

Now.... let me be.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/50089666

(AAAAAAA

IT ENDED IN 666

I FEEL LIKE I WON A LOTTERY OR SOMETHING)

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graysongraysoff · 6 months

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writing pattern game

tagged by @boltlightning thank you SO so much 💗💗💗💗💗

Rules: Share the first line of your last ten published works* or as many as you are able and see if there are any patterns!

*gonna exclude co-written works/rp adaptations unless i was the one to write the opening post for obvious reasons hehe

1. red and red and rust-red

bungo stray dogs | soukoku | 328 words | major character death | in the small room/land of inhuman demons spoilers

It was the brilliant burst of red from the bullet hole between Dazai's eyes that brought Chuuya roaring back into control of his conscious mind, and he shot twice more on reflex before the rest of his body caught up.

2. like fire and powder, which as they kiss consume

bungo stray dogs | soukoku | 6.5k words

Chuuya is burning away like a dying star, and he feels fucking fantastic.

3. Your hands are red from holding tight.

jujutsu kaisen | megumi fushiguro & satoru gojo | 885 words | major character death | ch. 212: the ripening pt. 2 spoilers

When Megumi finally spoke — not Sukuna but Megumi — his voice was a sleepy murmur that tugged at Satoru’s heart.

4. maybe i'll call you mine

jujutsu kaisen | satosugu | 3k words

Shoko is so pissed about how the mission went that she's refusing to patch Suguru and Satoru back up with her reversed cursed technique.

5. Shadow Puppets

jujutsu kaisen | megumi fushiguro & tsumiki fushiguro & satoru gojo | 4.5k words

The day Megumi summoned the Divine Dogs for the first time, a storm had knocked out the Fushiguros' power, so Megumi and Tsumiki had piled pillows and blankets on the living room floor while Gojo lit candles and placed them safely out of reach around the room.

6. Three Unspoken Messages and Three Words Left Unsaid

bungo stray dogs | osamu dazai & sakunosuke oda | 2k words | major character death

"Got an early start," Sakunosuke Oda commented, sitting in his usual place beside the young Osamu Dazai, whose empty whiskey glass was being replaced with a fresh one.

7. Exorcise My Mind

jujutsu kaisen | megumi fushiguro & tsumiki fushiguro & satoru gojo | 10k words

"I think we should clean out Mom and Dad's room."

8. Ulterior Motives

bungo stray dogs | soukoku | 261 words

"Is that my shirt?"

9. A stranger whose laugh I would recognize anywhere

jujutsu kaisen | satosugu | 700 words (exactly!)

"I didn't expect you to show," Suguru tells Satoru softly, eyes glinting.

10. December 7, 2007

jujutsu kaisen | megumi fushiguro & tsumiki fushiguro & satoru gojo | 842 words

On the surface, Satoru's 18th birthday wasn't much different than the others he'd celebrated since he started at Jujutsu High.

patterns:

okay so i actually did go back and look at my post from the last time i did a similar exercise, and i'm pleased to report that i am giving a lot more variety these days, lol. one of my reflections was also that i "should try to open with dialogue more," so it's good to see that i took that to heart! i think i manage to do a pretty good job of dropping the reader into situations without the almost formulaic "___ had been ___" style openings i used to do a lot of, too.

i like that a lot of these opening lines manage to introduce not only the setting but also the vibes, like how the characters are feeling/seeming in the moment the reader joins them.

my favorite is definitely "Chuuya is burning away like a dying star, and he feels fucking fantastic." i have been stupid-proud of that sentence since the moment i typed it, lol.

now i shall tag: @antique-romantic and @pyrrhlc, if you are in need of a little tag game!

#tag meme #fanfic #thank you!!!!!!!!!!!!!#jujutsu kaisen #bsd #skk #stsg

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lonelylavenderluke · 2 years

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From the ashes life goes on.

morpheus x platonic!original character, morpheus x son!original character

Warnings: Angst, demon exorcism, mentions of blood, talks of nightmares and hell.

Summary: Hope makes it to the realm of the waking, Morpheus must learn that his son is hurting just as much as him.

part one - son of my father. son of my mother.

Hope stared at the human in front of him. The Waking felt weird. There wasn't the gentle thrum of the Dreaming that brought him the sense of safety he'd gotten so use too. Johanna Constantine was a women he quiet often saw being plagued by the nightmares of her past. He'd asked Lucienne once if there was anything that they could do for the poor women but all he was told was that nightmares are important for humans to learn to handle their own fears and that it would be better to allow those who still did their work to continue on.

He was fascinated watching the woman as she exercised the demon 'Agilieth' from the mortal man. He turned his head when the mortal was ripped apart, despite being known as a fiercely protective being he was quite revolted at the sight of blood. His father stood beside him as they stepped closer as the Demon addressed us, "Lord Morpheus, after all your time away." this seemed to startle the human. "And the young Lord Hope an honour to see you outside of your realm," the demon goaded smirking as Hope shivered slightly the effect of being out of the Dreaming beginning to take over. "though I confess, I almost didn't recognise you without your helm. I wonder where your helm could be." Agilieth tried to pass attention onto the elder of the endless beings. "I presume it is in Hell, with the demon whom it was traded." Morpheus could sense his sons discomfort, taking charge to spare Hope interacting for so long with the creature.

Johanna had obviously gotten tired of the chit chat and began the exorcism again. Hope had never witnessed an exorcism in person, he'd seen a dream or two of priests who had exorcised before but never an actual exorcism. He was startled to hear his father yelled at the woman as the screaming the demon was begging the mortal to listen to Morpheus. When the demon was gone, Hope began clapping slowly shaking his head with a sarcastic smile on his face, "well done Miss Constantine, well fucking done" he turned to his father "These are the people I spent a century serving?". He was tired of being there when they were making no progress words from the last family dinner echoed in his ears from his uncle, mortals were selfish and would rather see the world burn then lend a helping hand.

He left the church spotting the immortal Hettie outside by the steps, "and how goes the young lord today?" she was one of the few human that acknowledged his presence within the dreaming as well as being a friend of his mothers before her death, "how've you been Hettie?" a smile to his voice as he pulled his jacket closer to him. "As good as any immortal can be, how are you finding the waking dear boy?" the woman asked kindly knowing the sheltering that the poor child had had, "cold... mortals are frustrating" he hummed looking back to the church, the old woman laughed shaking her head, "most are little one most are" the woman smiled at the young lord seeing the reflection of his mother in his frown. By now Morpheus had made his way out of the church joining his son and the immortal woman. "You must be proud of your boy, a fine man he's growing into is he not milord" Hope new Hettie was only being polite, those who knew of the boy felt pity for the young Endless's life, she'd watched the change in the child through her visits to the Dreaming saw the pain no child should have to go through. Morpheus took a moment to look over Hope seeing the tinting of his cheeks from the cold the familiarity in the ticked off look on his face after seeing such a look directed his way through the years of his marriage. "He is a testament to his mother" the Endless stepped closer to his son worried that the boy would vanish before his watch. Footsteps approached them as Johanna appeared out of the corner of Hope's eyes as all three immortals attentions were turned to the woman.

"I said the Sandman, and I meant the bleedin' Sandman" Hettie addressed Constantine, "it's good to have you back, milord" the old woman praised Morpheus's return knowing that what was wrong would soon be put right by the Endless, "don't let her mess you about." the warning was directed at both father and son before the immortal left them. Morpheus in turn turned his attention to the mortal, "my gran used to tell me stories of you lot." Constantine looked between the pair her eyes lingering on the youngster more than his father. "I've known your family for centuries" Morpheus responded as Hope stepped a little closer pulling his coat closer to him in search of warmth, "then you know there's not a single one of us that can be trusted." Constantine fired back judging the beings in front of her wanting to understand more as to why now the Endless were appearing again, "what do you want with me?" this time Hope spoke up, "a pouch of sand recently came into your procession we need you to return it to us for the sake of both you world and our realm" the voice he used was one he used on the few subjects that remained in the dreaming one that almost commanded others to listen to him. Constantine looked surprised but smirked at the youngster, "that old thing that i got at an estate auction couldn't even get the drawstrings to bloody open" she was cool in her response seeing how the boys eye's lit up at the mention of it truly coming into her procession. "Miss Constantine I don't think you understand the seriousness of our being here, with out that pouch both your realm and ours will fall into oblivion the likes of which have never been seen before, now do you or do you not have the pouch of sand on you?" the boys voice was raised as he stepped closer looking the woman dead in the eye, "you've already seen what's happening without the sand being with us, no mortal will have anything but nightmares until what is ours is returned to us" a smile was all Hope got from the mortal.

Silence followed as Morpheus watched his son stare down Constantine fascinated by how quickly his son had tried to take control over the matter, “Fine. I’ll help you get your bloody sand back” she conceded humoured by the youngster. “But I’ll do it on my own.” She continued a displeased sound echoed from the duo as she carried on, “and it won’t be tonight. And I mean it when I say on my own” Morpheus was displeased by her terms voicing them in singular words as Hope shook his head in frustration. “I’m not dragging either of you or your little friend all over London” she relented seeing the confused looks before a flash of realisation crossed the younger face.

“Friend?” Morpheus was the one to question as Hope looked to his side spotting the Raven that was obviously missed placed within the area. “That is your Raven right? My Gran always said Dream of the Endless travelled with a Raven” Constantine watched the pair as both slowly moved closer away towards the Raven.

The Raven went by the name Matthew.

And Matthew was becoming Hopes favourite being of the Dreaming par Lucienne.

The air was still cold. Hope wished to have followed Johanna inside, he hated the cold. It was an after effect from wondering the outer reaches the dreaming trying to hold together what he could of his failing realm. "Where did you go?" he turned his head to his father, they'd fallen into silence as soon as the woman had vanished from their sites, "what do you mean?" Morpheus didn't know if he could answer or not the pain of being captured was still raw to him and hearing Johanna speak of it only made things ache more. "Don't do that" Hope snapped knowing exactly what the older Endless was doing, "do what?" Dream was curious as to what Hope would say. "Acting like I'm still a child and only answering in questions... you use to do that when I was a child" Hope hissed unpleased with how his father was acting, if this man truly called himself his father he wanted to understand what happened that meant he couldn't come back to him. "Forgive me the last I spoke with you, you were a child and if I remember correctly you are still a child" that was not what Hope wanted to hear, "sorry to disappoint oh great and noble king of Dreams but the Dreaming didn't need a child, it needed someone to try and keep it from completely being destroyed" the boy turned away from Morpheus.

Hope was hurting. He was starting to remember why he'd practically wiped the man before him from his memory. The first few days of his fathers disappearance were the worst, he'd cried none stop begged Lucienne to call Jessamy back to tell him what had happened to his father. When Jessamy did return he was never told what truly happened and for decades others who sort to twist him to their benefits used that against him offered false hope of telling him what had been his fathers fate. But now facing his father once more made him question his childlike admiration and adoration.

“I only have one true memory of you” he wanted to cause pain, in Hopes mind it would be the only retribution for the pain that had been caused. “One memory… you leaving in a cloud of sand whilst wearing the god forsaken helm of yours” it was a painful memory as most of the memories of his father had been till recent. "My first nightmare was of you wearing that thing... the eyes of it blood red... you were taunting me blaming me for you leaving, for my mother dying for everything that had gone wrong for you since I'd been conceived" it felt like acid was building up in his throat but Hope knew if he didn't get this out of him before they went to Hell then he'd only be playing right into the Morningstar's hand. "I stopped sleeping after that.. and that's when you became nothing but a bad memory... the reason for my home falling out from under me" the words hurt but he needed to speak now or he didn't know if he ever would be able to, "I wanted my father... I pleaded with my aunts and uncle for them to help get you back from where ever it was you'd gone, all of them except Death laughed at me and even she did nothing for me" by now tears were welling in Hope's eyes. That felt like a knife to Morpheus's heart, he despised seeing his children cry, had felt like a failure each time Orpheus had cried as a child but seeing Hope, his sweet innocent Hope, who's memory had been the only thing tethering him to the mortal coil after so many years of torment, crying because of the actions of both him and others it almost made him want to strike down all his family and then ask Death to take him away to the sunless lands.

Reaching out Morpheus took hold of the younger pulling him to him as Hope began to cry, "my Lucas.. my son forgive me" the plea was quiet and muttered into his sons curled hair. Hope shook slightly from the anguish of hearing his father say his name, not even Lucienne called him that anymore. "I would see myself cast before the creator and the Morningstar in the pits of the seven rings of hell then have ever abandon you willingly... my boy my heart is broken at your tears" Morpheus was cradling Hope against him as the boy cried. They stayed close Hope clutching onto his fathers cloak, Morpheus had moved a hand into his hair stroking the baby soft curls at the back of Hope's neck. "Don't leave me again. I don't want to be alone again" the boy begged quietly his voice was too quiet for Morpheus's liking, but then he cursed himself for knowing that this was his doing. The pain was still fresh for his boy and he couldn't help but wish he had done more to those who had done this upon them.

"Never again."

Matthew was brilliant. Well apparently not according to his father but Hope grew very fond, very quickly of the Raven even going as far as to allow the bird to rest upon his shoulder as they traversed the path through hell. Despite lagging behind the Older being Hope knew that his father wouldn't allow for either to be left behind. "Is he always this up tight?" the raven had asked quietly making the youngster smirk, "I'm not sure... the man we're following seems to be but the man I remember was gentler" Hope admitted looking down when he felt Morpheus look at him. "What was he like?" the curious raven asked wondering as to why there was such distance between the father-son duo, "he was caring... loved deeply, dangerously... whatever else the humans did to him during his absence has since changed that" the words seemed easy to say, Hope was quick to realise that in some ways his father still hadn't changed and yet had but that was perhaps due to him having changed. His father was expecting to come home to a young boy and instead found Hope as nearly an adult or as close to being one as he could. Most likely sensing the change in his young master, Matthew let out cooing sound head butting the side of the curly haired boy trying to sooth him. "No being sad mister, Lucienne made me promise I'd keep an eye and make sure you both were okay so that means no getting sad kiddo" The Raven cawed in the boys ear making him laugh before swatting light heartedly at the raven, "watch yourself Matthew you're sounding like a mother hen" the chide was received with a scandalised caw from the bird.

Morpheus kept looking back seeing the smile on his sons face as the boy spoke to the raven. The green monster of jealousy reared its ugly head, why was it the raven could make his son smile but all he seemed to receive were looks of contentment and frustration. Every inch of his being felt like it was on fire at the thought of his own son being in hell, he'd lost a son once to the fires of hell the undeniable fear of losing his only surviving child stewed within him.

"When you say that the Morningstar is expecting us... what were things like the last time you were here" Hope grumbled shivering once again there had been a spike of something, the feelings of hope fluctuated with each lot of souls they passed as those trapped hoped and dreamed of leaving the fire pits for somewhere better. "As civil as one would hope" Morpheus murmured seeing the never ending gates of hell approaching them. "Well, I hope there are no hard feelings for me killing those demon lords a few decades ago then" Hope murmured as they watched blood pour from the gates as they opened, his hand flew to latch onto his fathers sleeve as his stomach churned at the sight of blood. "Stay close" Morpheus warned Hope seeing the slow echoes of fear glowing the boys eyes. "I wont look back" he whispered as the fear of walking into the true depths of hell filled him to the bones.

#morpheus #original character #the sandman #tom sturridge #the sandman netflix #netflix sandman #morpheus x reader #male original character #morpheus x platonic!reader

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wheatfieldspoet · 13 hours

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live wire finds rest

my mom always said i was wired differently different or weird she said there was no need for a doctor to tell her what she already knew plus maybe it’s just exercise i need to exorcise the demons that keep me up ‘til after midnight so we leave my electrified brain undecoded for decades until i find others like me either already in tune or familiar with this circuitry how there can be no rest until we’ve reached our absolute limit of brain power per hour ‘til we’ve hit the crest of our daily self-defined usefulness to make up for idle unworked hands shocking! to find live wires just like me so now i am not so unique after all and what a relief to be able to hold hands with another mind firing on all cylinders until it’s safe to unplug and we can breathe as we sit in our fumes

— Jade A.

escapril day 27: the absolute limit

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anotherhumanpet · 22 days

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@kaiju-crimson-storyandask replied to your post “If you exorcise the sleep paralysis demon maybe...”:

Envy: “I’d like to not be exercised, thank you.”

#kaijucrimsonstoryandask #kaijucrimsonstoryandask; Envy

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ineffablyyours · 2 years

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Shadwell: The time has come for you to exorcise your first demon, laddie. You know what to do.

One hour later...

Newton: Well, that was refreshing.

Shadwell: Was it now?

Newton: I'd say so. Tiring but rewarding.

Shadwell: Aye, just as I thought. Finally sent that wily devil back to his maker.

Newton: Pardon? Crowley and I went for a nice jog around St. James' Park.

Shadwell: ...

Newton: You did ask me to exercise him, right?

Shadwell: I should have been more specific.

#good omens #crowley #newton pulsifer #sergeant shadwell #incorrect good omens quotes #good omemes #good omens memes

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caffeinatedgoddess · 1 year

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When You Name Your Demons....

**TW.....abuse**

This perfectly sums up this little writing exercise. Sometimes, you need to name your demon to exorcise it.

My demon? My abusive ex.

Just when I think I've healed from what he put me through, it comes back to haunt me. And sometimes, I summon that demon myself in a desire to see that he's getting what punishment I hope is coming to him for what he stripped me of (because karma's a bitch). Not my proudest moment, but sometimes the urge to know outweighs common sense. My hope is that asking some of the questions I never got to ask him will complete my healing. Because 10 years is long enough, for fuck's sake, and I don't want to waste another thought on him. And, maybe it's time to fully focus on my self-care. I readily provide Reiki healing to others but don't spend much time channeling it to myself. Maybe that's because I didn't want to fully heal until I was able to put these questions out into the ether. Maybe now that they are spoken, I can work on the true healing that I need.

Did you ever tell them that you were the one who wouldn't let me speak to them? Did you tell them that I actually called, but you told me the only way I could talk to them was if I came back to you? Did you know the reason I changed my phone number and dropped off the face of your earth is because you would leave me a voice message almost daily? Begging me to come back and then in the very same breath call me the worst names and threaten me?

Have you told your friends, new and old, why it is that I left? Have you told them that for 15 years, you gaslit me, eroded my self-confidence, blamed me for everything that went wrong, and physically abused me? That despite your Christian faith, you treated me in a way that would make most people feel dirty and ashamed? Or do they only know the story where I ran off with another man who had brainwashed me? Did you leave out the part where you abused me for 15 years? Does it make you feel better that they don't know? If they knew, would you lose all the sympathy you've gotten?

Did you ever consider that the reason I left your faith was because you emotionally and mentally abused me on a daily basis, all while you professed your Christian faith? That maybe, just maybe, I questioned where God and Jesus were while I sat crying for help year after year, and it never came? Where was your God while I contemplated ending everything? Did you ever think that maybe I felt like I had to answer my own prayers because no one else was?

Have you ever given one second of thought to how badly you damaged me? How the constant control you exerted over me made me feel like I was in a prison? How my body never felt like my own (you even tried to control how I styled my hair and used the bathroom, for fuck's sake)? How the constant blame you put on me for the misfortune in your life wore me down? How I never once did anything to deserve the physical and mental abuse you put me through, yet every day I questioned what I did wrong in God's eyes to deserve what you dished out? Or have the past 10 years been all about you and how you were wronged in all of this (and don't even bring them into it - that is a whole different conversation between me and them if they ever choose)?

I walked away because you made me hate you. Your touch made me cringe because I never knew when it was going to turn into a mean-spirited pinch or worse. You made me not want anything to do with you or anything your life touched. I couldn't trust you to take care of my soul, because you made it clear your goal was to crush it. The only person who ever abused me in my life was you....and only you. According to your Christianity, you were supposed to protect me. Oh, you did a good job of protecting me from others. But no one was left to protect me from you. When I first left you, I turned to our Christian brothers and sisters for help. Guess what. Only one stepped forward to support me, but even her support was limited since her husband was friends with you. Not even the preacher offered help.

I'm stronger now. I'm a force to be reckoned with. I've learned how to replace putting up walls with creating clear boundaries. I've learned compassion for others and allow them to come to me with their troubles, all while maintaining my healthy boundaries. I've become 10 times the woman I once was because I have someone who loves me unconditionally and allows me to be me. Not the version of me that they wish I were. You wouldn't like this version of me because you wouldn't be able to control her. Hell, I don't think you could handle her. She'd be too much for you. Yes, you had a hand in building her, but that's only because she had to put back together the pieces that you shattered all by herself. And when she put those pieces back together, she didn't use glue. She filled the cracks with the purest of gold. Now that I'm finally done with you, it's time to polish away the tarnish and allow that gold to shine.

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vaguekiwi · 2 years

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Hello! 3 of diamonds please! Peter is an Angel or some kind of winged creature! A wingfic! I love your work!

♦️3 of Tiles / Diamonds: “Alternate Universe — Magical Creature"

Send me a prompt!

Tony had been a hunter a long time.

He’d run nearly the entire gamut of the supernatural. He’d staked vampires to their beds, exorcised demons from misshapen bodies, and ripped the heart from a werewolf. He’d sold griffins to wealthy bidders, wrangled chimeras for invaluable pelts, and pinched pixies between his fingers to delicately extract their dust. He’d soared on the backs of flailing dragons, ushered unicorns into paddocks for dubious breeders, and tangled mermaids in titanium mesh, carting them off for meat or marriage or whatever-the-latest-merpeople-fad was.

Few creatures had avoided Tony in his storied career, and most of those were intentional.

Sirens, for example, were a challenge Tony wanted nothing to do with. A good hunter knew their own weaknesses, and Tony’s penchant for heavy drink and beautiful trysts was exactly the type of mind sirens most liked to prey on. Tony was no spring chicken, but he was never quite sure that he’d come out of a siren’s nest alive. So he made it a point to avoid them. Leave them to younger hearts with stronger willpower.

Phoenixes were tricky too. They were utterly beautiful — nearly as gorgeous as ever-coveted angels — with traces of red and orange and gold baked into their skin and hair and eyes.

But phoenixes were better left alone. Not because they were fearsome — in fact they were some of the most peaceful creatures in the world — but because they were, in Tony’s opinion, melodramatic. The slightest disturbance sent phoenixes fluttering to nests on rocky crags, limbs erupting into wings of flame. If they didn’t set everything around them ablaze, and if a hunter did manage to find them tucked within their aerie, phoenixes had a tendency to immediately dissolve into tears, wailing and screeching in fear, and then melt to ash. They always cursed their enemy when they did it — which Tony guessed made sense. He’d be very disgruntled if he constantly had to go through the process of hatching and growing and learning to walk and talk again with every new threat that came about.

Regardless, within a month of facing a phoenix, hunters and breeders and researchers and kings alike had a funny habit of dying under unusual circumstances.

So Tony avoided phoenixes. He’d pick up the odd feather here or there — he’d do the same for a siren — but he had no intention of facing the real thing.

There were a few other exceptions: an adolescent accident with a cyclops, a limp courtesy of a centaur’s arrow. But for the most part Tony considered himself an accomplished hunter, one of the best. He was happy to accept most offers that came his way, and he always had a referral for those he passed on. In nearly fifty years of hunting, he’d assembled a collection emperors would envy, and every day proved another exciting opportunity for adventure and laughter and exercise and cold beer.

Only one creature had ever eluded Tony’s record. But that was okay. Angels were something seen once in a lifetime, so he had no intention of wasting his opportunity when it came.

They were echelons of divinity incarnate, soaked in the purity of light and the raw strength of the sun’s heat. Free of scars, wrinkles, and blemishes; it could be hard to spot an angel, because they might look like any other person walking down the street. But their demeanour was friendlier, their eyes swam in crystalline iridescence, their skin was smooth to the touch, unharmed by age nor wind nor sun.

To say nothing of their wings.

He’d held an angel’s feather once, marveling at a silk so soft that it healed years of cracked age in his palm. He’d breathed in clear oxygen fluttering off its wind, and felt the ache of decades shear off his shoulders.

All from a single white feather.

Everyone knew the legends were true: angels granted eternal life. Charles the Great with his captured prize and centuries of oversight of the Roman Empire was proof. But angels were exceedingly rare to encounter, let alone capture. They needed to be grounded and smuggled and chained, lest they fly off at the barest hint of opportunity.

Charlegmagne’s angel had rather infamously flung itself from a balcony only to discover that years without flying meant her wings were useless and could carry her nowhere. Her spine broke on the streets of Rome, and only a scant few angels had been captured since.

A politician in the 1700s, one of the Rockefellers who’d the world discovered to be changing his identity over the years, plus a few individuals who led long, quiet lives and kept themselves and their angels out of the spotlight.

In all his years and all his expertise, Tony had never faced an angel. That’s how he was so certain there was now one before him.

It was male, with skin bronzed from summer sun and brown eyes flickering with strands of golden sunlight, undoubtedly able to pierce through dark shrouds of night when the need arose. Its smile was bright and demure, nails filed so neatly — not unlike talons — and even the edges of its hair seemed red with sun when the dappled light struck it.

It lit up the entire boutique, the sales clerk clearly charmed speechless and unable to tell why. Across the store, an older man was glaring at them and he adjusted a gaelic knot sewed onto his jacket — as if making it more visible would make it work better.

But the man was wrong, and that’s why it wasn’t working. The creature in the chic little store in SoHo wasn’t a fairy beguiling with spells and charms. The old magic ward was useless.

No… this was an angel. It had to be.

Tony had waited too long for it not to be.

“I am not really a fan of black,” The angel blushed, pushing the offered clothes away. The clerk nodded along and it continued, “Maybe yellow? Or light blue?”

The colours of dawn and sky.

Fitting, given the angel’s pale yellow Converse and light denim jacket. Its jeans were ripped and white, snug against a lithe, avian frame.

Tony flicked through two more band tees on the rack and then shuffled around the store, trying to get a better view of the angel’s back. The jacket was baggy, suitably so since it was trying to hide its wings. Tony imagined slipping his hand underneath the hem, twisting in the flowy white shirt and grabbing tight to the delicate feathers buried beneath. Angels were sensitive on the wings and the spine — more so where the two spaces met.

Tony certainly didn’t want to kill the poor thing, or even maim it — lest that ruin its beauty or propensity to get along with him ever after. But a little pain could be forgiven. Especially since it was bound to take a while — a decade or two — for the angel to not hate Tony anymore once it was grounded.

But what was twenty or even a hundred years in a lifetime of millenia? Tony wouldn’t torture the poor thing; he’d take care of it, take what he needed from it, and otherwise let it be. It could watch birds from the garden, one shackle around its ankle just in case.

He licked his lips. The sales clerk hummed along and threaded more options into the angel’s hands. It was a polite little thing, thanking her for every coat hanger she passed. Its jaw was soft and when it turned its lips and eyes shimmered crimson and amber. Like fire catching.

Clarity.

Divinity.

Tony had to wrench his gaze away, the world ever dimmer without the angel in it. But he reassured himself that it wouldn’t be for long. He bought a keychain from the checkout line while he waited, musing that maybe he’d keep the key to his angel’s chains on it.

He didn’t want to cause a scene in the store, much less in Manhattan. Angels were rare enough as it was, he’d attract the attention of every hunter and dealer in the Northern Hemisphere if it was caught on camera. But possibly worse than that was the new movement in New York and San Francisco and fellow ‘blue’ cities toward creature rights.

Don’t attack them. Don’t hurt them. Don’t kill them. Don’t imprison them. Myths are people too. The foolish campaign signs and stupid slogans made Tony choke back bile. At least in other parts of the world people still saw magical creatures for what they were — fearsome, dangerous, lucrative, exploitable if not avoided out of deference for their strength. The closest Tony had ever come to believing that vitriol was in regards to a talented witch he used to trade with. She holed herself up inside, minding her own business, tending to her garden, and hawking off potions and talismans. Tony had decided she was relatively harmless, and maybe if all magical beings were like her then he’d be out of a job.

Of course, that was before he and a posse had been tipped off about the experiments in her basement.

Those memories of a new moon and burning flesh peeling off bone still made Tony’s top lip curl.

He lit a cigarette while waiting for the angel to finish shopping. He didn’t mind standing out on the sidewalk and watching the city go by. After all, if today went to plan then Tony had an untold amount of time ahead.

“Excuse me, sir?”

Tony turned, immediately tucking the cigarette into his right hand. He hadn’t expected the angel to approach him — had thought he’d need to tail it for a few hours — but that voice exhaled in a calming warmth, with all the comfort of hot chocolate and warmed honey.

“May I have one?”

Tony raised an eyebrow, not realising what the angel meant until it pointed to his hand. He dumbly held up the cigarette and spluttered,

“You want a light?”

Its formality didn’t break — too pure for something so crass as I’m asking if I can bum one.

“If it is okay, may I have one? I do not want to inconvenience you, though, sir. Apologies.”

Christ. It was adorable. It was enticing. Its smile was shy as its long eyelashes turned to the ground. It was clutching a dainty little paper bag in one hand and had started to turn away.

“Hey, of course, don’t worry about it.”

Tony produced a cigarette and his lighter. The angel’s lips closed easily around his first inhale, and Tony wondered if angels were not as pure and clean as he’d once thought. Cigarettes weren’t angelic, but there was something enthralling about the sight nonetheless.

Maybe it would spread its legs more readily than aversion to sin might imply.

“What’s your name?”

“Peter.”

Saint. Apostle. Disciple.

“I’m Tony.”

“It is nice to meet you. Thank you, Tony.”

Tony cleared his throat. The angel bobbed on its feet, a blush of colour still on its cheeks. Maybe it was always flushed like that? Always running hot in its perfection, always warmed with humility — that was a virtue, wasn’t it?

Could it cancel out Tony’s vices?

“On the hunt for anything in particular?” Tony had to clear his throat to get the question out. The angel followed his gaze down to its shopping bag — the boutique had a little save the bees logo in the corner of its bag.

“I am just looking.” Peter said, “It is a beautiful day.”

Indeed it was. Not too hot, though the angel seemed to radiate warmth. It lifted the cigarette to its lips again, as if breathing in the fire. Could it cleanse the tobacco and nicotine and tar? Leave nothing but flame and clean air and white smoke behind?

“Gonna be looking all day?” Tony tilted his head. He smiled down at the angel, “Surely a young man like you has friends to meet or appointments to keep.”

The blush traveled to its forehead and down its chest. Tony’s fingers prickled. His lips parted, but he held himself in check.

Not here. Not in the middle of the day on a crowded sidewalk.

“I do — I, umm, do not…” The angel fidgeted and twisted its head away. “I should go now, though, sir — Mr. Tony — sir…”

“At least let me take you where you’re going?” Tony suggested. He dipped his hand into his pocket for his car keys. The black Audi on the street hummed to life in a flash of blue and white light. It drew Peter’s attention. The angel’s eyebrows lifted and its lips formed a circle of wonder.

“Home?” Tony suggested, “Lunch? A friend’s place?”

Some creatures found cars fascinating. Flying was mundane to an angel, but driving? Hitting such high speeds so close to the ground? Tony almost pitied the thing for never having a human mother to warn it against such an obvious manipulation.

If he’d stopped any girl on this street and offered to drive her home? He’d be very sore between the legs and would probably need to explain himself to a cop or two.

“It is your car?” Peter breathed. It fluttered forward, lifted onto its toes with delight. As if this close to taking flight. If not for the shirt and jacket, perhaps it would. The angel circled around to the front and put its hand on the hood, a smile brightening the daylight around them as it took in the hum of the engine.

It sensed Tony’s gaze, and the blush came back with a nervous look away.

“I am sorry.” It uttered. “I must appear odd—”

“No.” Tony reassured it immediately, “It’s okay. Nice to meet someone who appreciates the finer things in life.” He tilted his head to the car again, “You wanna get in?”

He fought to keep the purr from his voice — a few young people were looking their way and whispering. He’d be damned if he let a bunch of liberal college students ruin his chance at eternal life.

“Oh, may I?” The angel nearly leapt off its feet and hurried to the passenger side door. It jumped inside the car. Tony breathed a sigh of relief and walked around to the driver’s seat.

What next? Luring the angel was one challenge. Containing it would be quite another, especially once it realised that Tony had no intention of letting it out of the car without a rope around its neck.

Peter’s fingers skimmed along the leather interior of the car. It giggled and its eyes glimmered when it looked at Tony,

“It is cold!” It gushed, and reached for the climate control.

Tony’s tongue curled when the angel blasted the heat and sighed in relief — it was July, after all. But its tiny frame and thin bone structure kept it cooler, and as long as it looked content with its fingers splayed toward the vents then Tony decided he could put up with it.

He put the car into drive and pulled into the road. Immediately ahead of them, cars were honking at each other or pedestrians — it was Manhattan — and it made the angel jump in its seat.

“You like it?” Tony glanced acros the console. Peter was still basking in the heat it had turned on, but it kept gawking at the steering wheel and glancing toward Tony’s feet on the pedals.

“It is wonderful, Tony, sir, thank you. I am — I am very grateful.” It ducked its head. Tony imagined birds hiding their faces inside their wings to sleep. A slim smile hovered along his lips.

Peter seemed to have forgotten the original invitation to go home. It didn’t direct Tony as he took a left turn and meandered west. It kept turning its head left to right, perhaps surprised they couldn’t feel the wind outside the car rushing past them. Its hand fluttered at the window controls but didn’t touch them. Tony watched closely, sweat glistening on his palms and sliding along the back of his neck. Hot as it was in the car, he wasn’t going to risk lowering the window for the little thing.

Peter caught Tony’s gaze and flashed a placating smile, dazzling and bright and perfect. The paper bag from the boutique crinkled in its hands.

“Turned the heat all the way up, you can take your jacket off if you’d be more comfortable.” Tony suggested mildly. A mortal would clock this as disconcerting, and Tony wondered if he’d misplayed when the angel just folded its hands in its lap and toyed with the cuffs of the denim jacket.

“I am okay, thank you.”

Well, it had to have some survival instincts, right? Protecting its wings would be at the top of the list.

Tony rolled his shoulders, breathing in the acrid roll of sweat and thick summer heat. He glanced in his rearview mirrors and then turned into an alley with a yellow No Outlet sign.

Peter’s chin jerked up when the sunlight faded behind tall and cramped the buildings. It craned its neck to try and see the sky and swallowed hard when Tony put the car in park at the end of the street.

“Th- thank you for the drive, Tony, sir… I will… your car is very nice.” The angel’s voice wavered and it fiddled with the door handle. But the car was locked and Peter didn’t know how to unlock it. When it realised this, it shifted in its seat and tried to look less like it had been scrambling to get out and more like it had just been fidgeting.

“I’ll always take pretty boys for a joy ride,” Tony smiled and he reached across the console, grasping Peter’s thigh. His hand almost completely covered the little thing’s leg, and he admired the flushed heat radiating through those snug white jeans.

And then the angel knew something was wrong. Peter’s eyes shyly lifted from its lap to look at Tony. Fear made Peter’s throat bob when it swallowed. Its own hand clutched delicately around Tony’s on its leg. It tightened its grip, fingernails digging tight but frail against Tony’s skin.

“Tony, may I leave… sir?”

Its breath misted in front of them, making Tony raise an eyebrow. Somehow its inner temperature was warmer than the hot air it had already released inside the car? God there was so much to learn from this delightful creature. So much information to extract and sell.

And he was about to have all the time in the world to do it.

“Not yet, Peter.”

Tony shifted closer, he moved his hand from Peter’s thigh to the collar of its jacket. He tugged, pulling the denim down.

“Go on,” Tony cooed, “Take it off.”

When Peter didn’t move, just continued to stare at him, Tony crossed his arms to open the glove box.

Peter elicited a squeak at the sight of the pistol and handcuffs. Tony dangled the golden cuffs from one finger as he unlatched the safety of the gun.

“Gold alloy and silver bullets, baby.” Tony smiled, “You gonna put these on yourself or do I get to see what colour you bleed?”

Peter blinked rapidly, its tears misted away before they could fall. It sniffed sharply.

“Sir, p-please…”

“This doesn’t have to get ugly. I don’t want to hurt you.”

It squeaked out, “You are hurting me.”

Tony tugged on the jacket again and Peter jerked. It yanked away, the jacket half coming off, and reached for the car door again. Its blush had climbed bright and hot to its face, beads of sweat trickled in the heat between them.

“Let me out!” Peter demanded. It tried to twist from Tony’s grip but Tony reached with his other hand and grabbed its arm, dragging it back.

“You’re not going anywhere!” Tony hissed, aware that he was probably bruising the delicates skin under those clothes. But bruises could heal.

“I’ve waited my whole damn life for this!” Tony growled, and he reached awkwardly to grab the angel’s other hand and wrest them both into its lap. Peter thrashed and cried as Tony clicked the handcuffs into place and then folded the angel over itself, baring its back to him. He pulled a knife from his pocket, too impatient now to see his prize.

“What are you d-doing!” Peter sniffed as Tony cut into the jacket.

Tony smirked, “Getting a look at those wings, angel.”

Peter twisted its face to the side, peering up at Tony through dark lashes, its tears glistened like liquid gold on the edge of its cheeks.

Peter’s voice trembled, “B-but I’m not an angel!”

It lifted one palm upward, heat and red skin now burning in the small space. Tony hesitated and pulled his hands away. They both watched the handcuffs melt. The denim jacket and white t-shirt smouldered away with it, drifting to ash on the passenger seat.

Peter’s eyes turned to Tony, liquid gold now burning with fire. Its arm flexed and a pattern of red and orange feathers erupted along its arm — its wings weren’t on its back, they were emerging from its own body.

Tony met Peter’s eyes. He thought of the cigarette and car heater and the threads of fire and ember woven through every inch of Peter’s skin.

Not an angel.

Tony’s greatest fears spiralled to life and he whispered, “A phoenix.”

He realised his mistake only a moment before Peter’s flame engulfed them.

#starker #tony stark x peter parker #wingfic #magical creature au #grace answers #anon #fandom card deck #grace writes a little #no but this one was so so so fun #so the sequel that I'm not going to write is:#Tony wakes up in the hospital #horribly disfigured by burns #and of course cursed because of the whole phoenix thing #what's the one thing that has enough healing property to fix phoenix burns?#their tears #and there's one phoenix in the world that Tony would be more than happy to make cry

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