#god of hell and things made the first demons that are native to hell before the fallen angels came and things ! ... yea XD

[one-coming-is-enough]

I wanna hear about your beef with Mr. Claus, if you don't mind.

I've been sleeping on this ask for a minute, and it's time, honestly. I've had such a busy holiday season already, it's crazy! I mean, this year in addition to all the zombies, I'm trying to get through the training videos for taking over Hell, and they're meandering, awkward, and full of incoherent jargon. It's just a lot!

But the 6th was St. Nicholas's Day, and tonight it's Hanukkah, so I should definitely answer this one.

St. Nicholas is a decent guy, if a little stiff-necked. His thing is giving dowries to poor women so they don't have to go into sex work. And also bringing poor children back to life after they're sold for stew meat.

(Also, he was the one who proposed at the Council of Nicea that Easter be celebrated on the first full moon after the spring equinox, which tied it to the solar calendar instead of the lunar calendar. Granted, this was to reduce the Jewish influence on the religion, but it also made it easier for Me to celebrate Passover, and I really like Passover.)

So St. Nicholas Day ends up being a day where, instead of finding the nearest whore and offering to fund her marriage (sex work is work), you give money and presents to children. You can see the connection, yeah? Make sure kids have what they need growing up and they won't go hoing to make ends meet. Or have to be made into stew.

Meanwhile, we have this spirit over in the East called Ded Moroz, or Grandpa Frost. He's just, like, an old guy who freezes stuff. He'll take your kids if they wander out in the cold like you told the little bastards not to do.

And because of cultural drift, the duties of Ded Moroz get shifted over to Odin, another dude from the East. Originated somewhere between the steppes of Mongolia and Turkey, as far as anyone knows, finally made his way to Sweden and even the British Isles. Odin is now the Yulefather, the freezer of water and collector of the dead in the dying part of the year. Makes sense, because He's a wind god, since air is the element connected with Spirit at this time. (This is true for Hebrew and Latin, too! Pneuma and ru'ach.)

Well, the church doesn't like that Ded Moroz is a spooky guy who takes souls, decides he's a demon. But people like their Ded Moroz a lot. So now, instead of being a demon who takes souls, he's... Well, who do we have that's also from the East, Turkey specifically, and who is associated with giving or taking something, especially regarding children?

We have St. Nicholas! Who gives children presents instead of taking their souls, and coincidentally can calm the storm (of wind) that so often takes the souls of those lost outside in the cold. And his holiday is just under 20 days before Yule Xmas it's Christmas now. (Or, Yuletide. You know, whatever. Sheol is Hades now, who gives a shit.)

So it all gets kinda muddled up. Odin, St. Nick, Ded Moroz. Father Frost, Father Solstice, Father Christmas.

Well, I'm hanging out in the Holy Roman Empire, and I hear about this guy known as Sinterklaas. I think it's my old buddy and trusted employee Nicholas of Myra, who as far as I know has been buying, freeing, and funding the education and/or startups of slaves for as long as that's been possible. (He has six to eight African guys he ended up hiring on as assistants.) And I hear he's giving out not just coins and oranges, which prevent scurvy, but also toys and candy. And Nicholas of Myra is a good man, but he had zero sense of humor or fun and would never give a kid candy ("it rots your teeth, at least have an orange").

So I track down this Klaus, whom the kids also call Kris Kringle. I hear the kids have been doing all sorts of weird rituals to him, like the Spanish Yule log that shits candy, or the little pooping guy they hide in the Nativity scene (also Spanish, now that I think about it. What the fuck did the Inquisition do to people's brains over there?). And that he has a creepy BDSM goat called the Krampus for an assistant, who's in charge of dealing out the punishment to bad kids (that one's German and I thought it was just, like, the nation's id or something).

And he's smol. I mean, this guy is fucking Thumbelina sized. Roughly round, jolly as fuck, red fur trimmed in white, pointy toque beanie to match, and a miniature sleigh with eight tiny reindeer. Telltale pointed ears. Sparkling all over like they do.

Eight transmuted beings. Sleipnir (Dasher), Shiva and Baal Marquad (Dancer, Prancer), a kitsune (Vixen), a fallen star (Comet), Eros Himself (Cupid), and Thunder and Lightning -- Thor and Loki. Donner and Blitzen.

It's an entire Neil Gaiman novella of folks who've, I dunno, lost some kind of bet to him.

Okay. So he's one of The Neighbors. Gotta be careful.

I greet him like he's my old buddy Nicholas. I ask him how the soul collection is going and ask to see his inventory. He demurs, but I remind him that I'm his boss and they'll all come to Me eventually anyway. I just want to see if I think he ought to put any back. Oh, and can I just scan your company badge so I can establish that you made your check-in?

Well, I'm bluffing really hard, but he doesn't know that. He says he lost it. I tell him I'll wait with the souls until he gets back -- actually, whoa, looks like he's got a full load there. I'll take them in Myself.

That's when he laughs and says, "Well, Jesus, looks like You caught Me fair and square tonight. But how's about you and I make a deal? I'll spread Your Word and tell children to be good. And I will tell them to give to others all year round, because that's the spirit of Christmas. If they are good all year round, doing what their parents say, I will give them presents. If they are not good all year round -- which is to say, they don't do what their parents tell them to earn Christmas presents -- I will not give them presents. Fair?"

Note the wording carefully. Note where there's an and, and where there's not an and.

This works for a while. And then this song comes out.

Something seems wrong if kids are getting Santa presents according to the wealth of their parents, not their goodness over the year.

Then I find out that the primary metric by which Santa distributes presents is no longer behavior, but belief.

Not in Me.

In SANTA CLAUS.

I storm into his North Pole office yelling idolatry and he's got a fucking elven lawyer underlining shit. He didn't convert. He only promised to encourage charity. He didn't promise presents for charity, it's just for kids doing what their parents say they need to in order to get gifts, and right now that's belief in him.

I'm fucking steamed and he points out that I do exactly the same thing. Instead of doing good works or seeing the Divine in others regardless of social status or even fighting for equality here on Earth, Heaven has gotten twisted around to the point where believing in Me alone -- not what I stand for, which at this point can be nearly anything, but just the idea that I existed and did the Thing -- is considered sufficient acceptance criteria.

And I can't argue with that but I hate it. I hate that it's come to that. I hate what My section of Heaven looks like these days. I personally have been pleading for them to enact stringent, clearer, and above all objective metrics of entry, but I'm outnumbered in My own 5D connected consciousness in that opinion!!!

So. Fuck that guy. I'd literally rather you just worship Odin for Yule flat-out than fuck with Santa Claus, because at least He has solid advice for living and a comprehensive afterlife system.

I don't know what Santa Claus is doing with all that belief except get bigger, and it really scares Me.

#good omens rp #santa claus #christmas

[toyhouse-code-hell]

Screw it- Ask #2 because I'm bored. Can you tell me about your OCs? I like hearing about random people's OCs because alot of people like to rant about them and the excitement and pure effort put into making them makes me feel profuctive too!

There's so much. There's so so so so much. Nobody that I didn't already know has ever asked me about my ocs. They're all mostly D&D characters, or are in a D&D-esque setting I'll talk about some of my favorites, but there needs to be context.

None of the LORE is on any of their fucking toyhouse pages because I literally work on toyhouse stuff, get so motivated, I work on things for three days. Then I stop everything for six months. This is a continuous cycle. I suffer daily. I also over-explain and over-share A LOT. This is the first time anyone has asked about my ocs on a public platform. IT'S GOING TO BE A LOT. I'M SORRY. (And hell this might be a masterpost for all the little blurbs about my Little Guys?? idk!!) And ofc the art is old-ish.

Hamond :)

He's an aasimar fiend warlock (1)/ champion fighter (11), son of duke of a small homebrewed country, warlock of Graz'zt. Was sent to handle an owlbear in the woods due to it fucking with locals livestock. Was ambushed by said owlbear, it almost killed him, and this very kind demon lord took the opportunity to offer this young son of a duke a second chance to not be killed. Hamond agreed, got a nice new necklace, and killed the owlbear. He does the little things his patron wants in secret, which are thankfully just small things. His father sent him away due to his country going to war (contingency so royalty stays alive), where he met an astral elf twink who is now his fucked up little boyfriend.

Used him in a Heliana's oneshot before where this happened.

Next is Vihan! I'll keep it short with him because there is. A lot. (Glitch & Worm idk if you will ever see this, but this is spoilers)

They're a sentient sword, from a set of 8 weapons that embody schools of magic. Vihan is a shortsword that lets their wielder cast evocation spells for free, given to priest-kings of a long-lots city (of Mezro, the chosen of Ub'Tao are called barae). I gave him to my part at 12th level, since one in the party had made contact with his stupid fuckup son (Ras Nsi, not canon to actual FR lore), but Ub'tao chatted with the wizard like "hey. help me?" and our wizard went "K". I was thinking they would have him be a sword for a majority of the time but nooooo they fell in love with him. >:/ He was also broken when they met, to which I gave wild magic rolls when he cast things iirc (this was in 2021 its hazy). They fixed him up though.

(GLITCH AND WORM THE SPOILERS START HERE)

His former wielder was killed in a coup by another one of the chosen, in a plan to kill them all, usurp their god, and bring about an end to the world, but LORD that's another story.

But back to Vihan.

He's a real living person, kidnapped about 4oo years prior to the party getting them, had a bunch of experiments done on him, core implanted, renamed, all that. And given to a firbolg native to Chult who worked hard to be a barae, Epoch, leaving his 2 sons to be raised by his hometown. (and bc he was murdered and nobody was giving them answers, they became closed off from the bigger holy cities) And those kids got older, had communal kids, too, and one of those kids was the barbarian pc. The new barae of evocation was the wizard that said "K" to helping a god.

His name is actually Viktor, had an identical brother named Vacek (both changelings), and he robbed tourists in order for his brother to stay in a care home (their country of origin is corrupted capitalist hellscape island where if you can't produce for society, you have no use aside from being fertilizer, unless you can afford otherwise). When Viktor was kidnapped, Vacek was thrown onto the streets 10 minutes after payment was due, and he managed to climb on a boat as a stowaway during a storm and get the fuck out of there. While he was still chronically ill, getting off of pollution island was very beneficial for his health. He made it to another country and managed to live out his days and even had a family. He never went back to find his brother, assuming his thieving finally got him killed. (Their single mother was also murdered, and retrieving her body cost the two twelve year olds money they didn't have. She was meant to leave the country while pregnant with them, to be with their father who had already left, but port guards robbed her and kicked her back into the city. When her husband came back to make a stink, he was silenced permanently.)

Yes I was VERY into xenoblade 2 when I had this idea.

Vihan is a little bit fucked up.

I think I'll be done for now. I'll rb with more if I want to later.

#I ALMOST FORGOT TO TURN OF DATA COLLECTION FOR THIS BLOG BEFORE POSTING MY ART SUCK MY DICK MIDJ0URNEY #assume my ocs are cisn't unless otherwise stated #clay's guys #clay yapping session

[ithseem]

The Three Dimensions Exchange Week

@voltagefandomproject here's chapter three in the series, and the longest so far

CW: Gore in text, cringe, and everyone just dying on the inside. Proceed with caution

previous chapter || next chapter

Chapter 3:

“Welcome to the House, everyone,” said Barbatos. “Please make yourselves comfortable.”

The smell of paint had almost faded from the walls. The Foyer was decorated with plants native to this region of the devildom, a shoe rack made of the finest hell-iron, a mahogany coatrack and a small crystal chandelier. Everyone looked in awe at the decor. The most impressed of the group are Ace and Jack. “You really went all-out on this, didn’t ya?” said Jack.

“Right? It’s beautiful!” Sherry chirped.

“I’m glad it’s to your liking,” said Barbatos. “Dinner will be hosted at the House of Lamentation at six o’clock, so until then take your time to settle into your new home.”

“Thank you very much,” said Aquia.

“Also, thanks for stepping in back there in the council room,” Ace whispered.

“Think nothing of it,” Barbatos whispered back with a smile.

And with that Barbatos gave them the building layout, bid them farewell and then left.

“‘Spose now would be a good time to figure out our rooms, yeah?” said Lance.

“Right. Looks like there are seven rooms on the first floor and seven on the second,” said Azul.

It didn’t take long for the guests to figure out which rooms they would stay in. Sherry and Y/N took the two rooms next to each other on the west wing of the second floor while The rest occupied the first floor. Once everyone put their belongings in their rooms, Sherry and Y/N went downstairs to meet up with the rest in the living room. Or, at least, tried to, since Y/N slipped and fell down the stairs, much to Sherry’s horror.

“Are you alright!?” She squeaked. 

“O-o-o-ouch”

Everyone rushed to the scene to see Y/N face down on the floor. Ace and Azul couldn’t help but let out a few snickers.

“You mustn’t be so mean,” Rio chided them. He turned to Y/N and helped her up. “Nothing hurt I hope?”

“N-n-n-n-n-n-n-not r-r-r-r-r-r-r-really.”

“I can get some ice,” Jack said.

“Oh, please do,” said Rio

Rio wasn’t going to take any chances. He scooped Y/N into his arms and took her to the sofa in the living room. Jack returned with a plastic bag of ice and handed it to Y/N. “T-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-thank you,” she said.

“Hey, uh, If you don’t mind me asking, Do you have a speech impediment or something?” Jack asked.

“W-w-w-w-w-w-what m-m-m-m-m-makes y-y-y-y-you s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-say t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-that?”

Ace had to bite his lip to keep himself from cackling, and it seems Azul was thinking the same thing. Jack and Rio’s expressions at her statement made it all the harder for the two poor boys not to burst out laughing.

Sherry shot them dirty looks before asking Y/N, “So, Y/N, how did you come about here? What’s your story?”

“I’d like to know that as well. I had no prior knowledge of you coming here. What brought this on?” Malleus said.

“Oh. My. God. NO!” Ace cried.

“Please listen to Ace!” Azul sobbed. This was already too much, and she hadn’t even started talking. Ignoring their pleas, Y/N’s body began to shake like an earthquake hit her and her sapphire-ocean-baby-diamond blue orbs dilated

“What’s going on?” Lance said. His question was soon answered when Y/N began to speak

“My mother’s body got crushed under a four-tonne truck, and my father’s body was shredded into pieces.”

Sherry: “I- Dragon’s teeth! This is horrific”

Y/N: “And my siblings went missing after my cousin got impaled by an iron fence and when a giraffe slung my cat to the moon”

Aquia: “What in the Devildom?”

Y/N: “I soon got taken in by an abusive orphanage and they tried to sell me to Vil Schoenheit two weeks ago-”

Jack: “Pardon??”

Azul: “I guess that explains why Vil was so quiet in our last housewarden meeting…”

Y/N: “And then my rich ex-boyfriend who is part vampire, part human, part lizard, part Teletubby, and part demon and a mafia boss for a subdivision in the Devildom’s mafia who bullied me is looking for me so I ran and asked Lord Diavolo to grant me asylum here”

Lance: “... Is this person even real?”

Malleus: “Hold up. Your ex bullied you? How did you even get into a relationship in the first place?”

Ace: “It’s the bully and the nerd falling in love trope isn’t it? Too bad that hardly ever works out in real life. Case in point: ”

Ace gestured toward Y/N to make his point, to which Y/N lowered her gaze. “Uh- anyway, why did you seek asylum here?”

“Ace, she went through a traumatic experience!” Aquia chided. “She might not be comfortable with-”

“He’s looking for me because I’m three weeks pregnant with his baby,” Y/N interrupted.

Ace: “AND A WHAT-WHEN-WHO-A-FUCKING?! Wait a minute, what time is it?”

Azul: “It’s 3:27. We’ve only known her for less than two hours”

This was going to be a long night.

#court of darkness #voltage fandom ccc #obey me shall we date #obey me barbatos #ace trappola #azul ashengrotto #court of darkness x reader #sherry invidia #aquia avari #lance ira #malleus draconia #jack howl #y/n slander #twisted wonderland x reader #obey me x reader #rio voleri

[ssscentral]

Devil like you

Summary: Your boyfriend has a revelation about who - or what - he really is as he invites over a friend to have some earth-shattering, toe-curling, out of this world fun with you. 

Pairing : Demon!Namjoon x Reader x Demon! Jimin

Genre : Smut. Pure filth. It be dirty.

Warnings : Threesome, Demon summoning, Overstimulation, Swearing, Restraints, Surprise your boyfriend is a demon, Dom!Namjoon, Dom!Jimin, Sub!Reader, Light Edging, Dirty Talking, Oral Sex (f and m), Fingering

WC : 5.5k

Member : Duda || @biaswreckme​​

A/N : Hope you enjoy reading this, i’m quite proud of it :v It’s my first AU for BTS, so be gentle T.T This fic is the second part of the group prompt “Hell of a Ride”, each part with our own interpretation, so stay tuned because there is more to come! Any similarities with Supernatural are not coincidental, thank you Spn wikis for the words in Latin and the inspiration for some of the abilities of these demons. And thanks so much @fluffy-fluffu​ for being the beta ♥

taglist: @sugasbabiie​

—————

You thought you should have known. You thought you should have seen the signs – and there were quite a few, thinking back on your relationship. It should not have surprised you like this. It should not have affected you like this. It should not make you wish for more, waiting for the next time it would happen. It should not… you should not… you should not want this as much as you did, right?

You should have seen it coming. It should not have caught you off guard like that, after all, who teaches this language with this much ease and what seems like almost natural and native knowledge? That should have been the first sign to strike your attention. He was not the first Latin professor in the language department at this university, but he was the best. But this department has a lot of languages, and Latin is part of the curriculum for some of the other languages. It was not weird to have a Latin professor. It was weird to have someone as hot as Namjoon teaching Latin. Hot, gods, you sound like a teenager again talking about boys and crushes. But yes, Kim Namjoon, one of the hottest teachers in the university – and it is a big one – teaches a dead language.

So when he asked you, the English teacher – not the only one in the department and you did not consider yourself to be one of the best-looking teachers there – out on a date, you said yes. It had been a while for you, issues with an ex left you being cautious about entering new relationships. It made you pay more attention to certain red flags, but there were none with Namjoon, at least not like those from before.

Kim Namjoon was considerate. Kim Namjoon was creative with his dates. Kim Namjoon was a romantic man, one that had you indeed feeling like a teenager dating for the first time, sneaking around the empty halls and classrooms, the butterflies in your stomach wild and making you giggle at the mere thought of him. Kim Namjoon paid attention to you and your problems. Kim Namjoon listened. And Kim Namjoon was great when it came to sex. Great actually did not really translate how incredible and mind-blowing sex with him was. He knew how to do things to your body like no one ever could before. He suggested some things – some kinky, oh, very kinky things indeed – to spice up the sex that you had only fantasized about but never had the courage to ask for, and he did not judge anything. It was almost as if his mission in bed was to give you utmost pleasure, even if it hurt sometimes – but it always hurt so good. Kim Namjoon was the perfect boyfriend. Maybe too perfect, so you think to yourself that you had ought to know better. No one could be this perfect. There had to be an explanation. And there was. You just never would have imagined that it would be this explanation.

The day had started just like any other, there was nothing special about it, at least to your knowledge. So why, oh, why did it have to be on this day? (Maybe you could ask them later.) You woke up to your alarm, as usual. You love your job, but you always found it difficult to get up this early in the mornings, so you always made sure to set more than one alarm. You got up, had breakfast – “breakfast” is a very general word, but you do eat a piece of toast while the coffee machine warms up. You had a shower, just a quick one to truly wake you up and get you going before getting dressed in your usual teaching outfit. Namjoon would be coming over later, so you would have time to shower again and get dressed up for date night after getting back from the university. You grab a travel mug on the way out, pouring the hot coffee in it, the smell invading your apartment just as you like it.

The classes go on without any issue; a slight problem with the projector in the beginning but nothing out of the ordinary and that would strike one’s attention, especially if one was used to dealing with the projectors in that older building the languages and literature department was stuck with. You crossed paths with Namjoon once the entire day, walking down the hallways of the old building; you were getting out of an English literature class, Joon going to teach his Latin II group. As your bodies got closer, both of you nodded in acknowledgment as if you were any other professor, but your hands discreetly touched in passing, just a small sign you had agreed on to let the other know everything is okay, have a good class, I love you, I will be waiting for you later. You knew he was going out on a field trip with an advanced class and he would have to leave during lunch, so you ate a sandwich in your office, watching some comedy series to relax and get energized for the rest of the day – of course, the hot and new cup of coffee helps -, every once in a while, pausing to chat with the other professor who chose to do something similar. The afternoon is not really that different from other Friday afternoons; no one usually comes during office hours, so no one came on this day. You spent your time alternating between counting the minutes on the ticking clock to be able to go home and get ready for the date and responding to some emails, starting the term report, and downloading some articles to read. You were alone in the office, so you have some music going to help distract you and try to make the time go by faster.

When you finally got home the first thing you did was hop on the shower again, but now taking some time for yourself, phone blasting your favorite songs as you washed the day away from your body, cleaning, shaving what you wanted, moisturizing with some shower oils Namjoon gave you and that you know he loved the scent of. You spent some time choosing your outfit for the evening, knowing it had to be good. You opted for a white lace and silk playsuit, the new lingerie that Namjoon had recently given you, and you knew it had to be expensive from the brand – expensive and fancy lingerie was a guilty pleasure you had that somehow Namjoon was able to indulge, and you had no complaints about it. It gave you an almost innocent look under the black dress, and you were curious to see Namjoon’s reaction. You did not do much for hair and makeup, choosing instead to keep it quite simple and natural – it was only going to be ruined later on anyways.

Soon you heard the bell ring and you looked at the small monitor near the door, letting him in. His hair was slicked back, giving him an edge that was not present in day-to-day life at university. He had his earrings on and paired up with his silver-rimmed glasses and that black blazer made him look unbelievably hot and so different from the pristine almost clumsy-like image of Professor Kim. He kissed you, murmuring a hi in the kiss, letting his hands roam over your dress. He paused and stepped back enough to look at you.

“Are you wearing the new gift?”

It only took a nod from you to have him pressing you against the wall, hitching your leg up and around his waist. His hands took advantage of the position and touched your skin, going up your thighs and bunching up your dress in the way, giving him access to feel the lace and silk on your body.

“Fuck,” he paused, almost breathless, “fuck the reservation, right? I need you now.”

You nodded in affirmation, almost as out of breath as him, “Fuck the reservation, fuck me instead.”

He didn’t need anything else to press you even harder against the wall, hoisting both of your legs; you wrapped them around his body, and he pushed his hips into yours, you could feel how hard he already was. You moaned into the kiss, his hardness was right against where you needed it the most, and when he started slightly moving his hips into yours, it made his length deliciously drag against your clit. The feeling was also enhanced by the lingerie; every time Namjoon canted his hips up, it made the lingerie move up together and tug on your skin, and it did not take long until it was snugged between your nether lips and you were certain you were staining the front of Namjoon’s pants with your wetness as he started nibbling on your earlobe, sucking and kissing your neck, the skin caught between his teeth to make sure it would leave bruises. And then he let you go, dropping your legs from around his body.

“Do you trust me?” He looked into your eyes, seeming unsure, which was unlike him. You could swear that his eyes got darker for a brief moment – and not in the way writers usually describe, with eyes darkening with pleasure or something akin to that. No, it seemed that they physically turned darker, almost black, but you thought you must be imagining things. It could not be humanly possible.

“I trust you, Joon.” You said without any hesitation, fingers entangling with his and taking him in the direction of your bedroom.

He started by taking off his glasses and carefully putting them on the wooden nightstand, taking a minute to take off his blazer and carefully drape it over the piece of furniture. He then turned to you and you felt nervous, his walk almost predatory towards you. He gripped your shoulders, taking the straps of your dress into his hands, and it felt like he was considering just ripping the piece out of your body and your breath faltered. So this was the mood today. But he must have thought better and let his hands caress the front of your body, squeezing your breasts, his fingers then gliding over your clothed nipples, feeling them harder under his touch. His hands moved down, grabbing the edge of your dress in his fists and then lifted it up and off your body, and then you were there, standing in front of him, the white lace and silk that covered your skin seemed almost virginal when contrasted with the current mood. You bit your lip, looking at Namjoon, gaging his reaction, and you saw his eyes widen, a smirk crossing his lips, his tongue unconsciously poking out to lick his top lip. There was a different look in his eyes, one that you did not recognize at all, and you were getting slightly more nervous now. What did he have in store for you this time? You tried to think back to conversations you had, discussing ideas in between cuddles and kisses on the bed, after one of the times you had some passionate lovemaking, his eyes glued to yours the entire time, his body encompassing yours, protecting you. Not every time was kinky, but there was no doubt tonight was going to be. You took a deep breath and stepped forward, your fingers going to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one, slowly, your fingers shaking in anticipation.

“Remember when we were talking about maybe having another person in the bedroom with us?”

His question took you by surprise, your fingers stopping mid-action, and you looked at him. “Yes?”

“You are going to learn some things about me tonight, Y/n, but you don’t need to be scared.” He grabbed your hands, intertwining your fingers and kissing them while looking into your eyes. “I promise everything will be okay, and I’ll answer all your questions later. Now I just want you to enjoy yourself.”

And ok, now you were worried, and he could see that in your face, so he brought you closer to his body, hugging you, and your arms tightened around his body.

“You don’t have to be scared, love. It can be scary, but have I ever hurt you?”

“Well…” you started, giggling at the double possibilities to answer his question.

“I’m talking about real harm, Y/n. And might I remind you, who asked to be spanked again?” He chuckled, shaking his head, the mood getting a little lighter. “I can’t promise it’s not going to frighten you at first but keep an open mind. You have your safeword, you can stop this at any time, no matter what.”

“Ok. I can’t promise I won’t fear whatever it is… because you are scaring me a little bit, Joon. But I trust you. I know you won’t hurt me like that.” You raised your head from where it was resting on his chest, looking into his eyes again, and this time you could not be mistaken. They were black. Like black black; you could not see any of the previous colors in his irises, even the sclera was taken over by the color, and it hit you. You took a quick step back, letting go of his body, shocked. Was… was this real?

“I’m still me,” his voice was soft and his hands raised by his sides in that universal sign of I’m not going to hurt you. “It’s always been me.”

“So you’re not… possessed?” you laughed in disbelief.

“No. It’s always been me,” he repeated, taking one step closer to you with one of his hands reaching out, and hesitantly you grabbed it. “Let me show you. I promise you will have a good time.”

Your body was still shaking with fear when you let yourself get closer to him, but his words were starting to reassure you, calm you. If he had always been like this and never harmed you, you would be okay, right? The fear and worry were slowly starting to give way to curiosity and some slight confusion when he started muttering some words under his breath. Now, you did not understand Latin – it was a dead language, come on –, but you were able to pick up that he was almost chanting in it, words like te invoco, spiritus, infernalis, and daemon being spoken with more intensity. He finished saying it and kissed you deeply, his arms encircling your body and pulling you to him, when you suddenly felt another presence behind you, a second body pressing against you, feeling a hard chest pressing you into Namjoon even more. You stopped the kiss, looking over your shoulder, and your eyes stumbled upon another black-eyed figure. This man, this demon, was shorter than Namjoon, but with the way the front of his body was glued to your back, you could feel he was just as muscular, maybe even more, from what you were feeling from his thighs. There were no words for his face. You thought Namjoon was handsome, but this man’s face was on a whole other level of beauty, with those rounded full lips that would give Namjoon’s a run for their money. If it were not for his black eyes you would dare say his face was angelic even, with his light-colored hair parted in the middle. But something about the smirk and raised eyebrows let you know that there was nothing angelic about him.

“Damn, Namjoon. You’ve been hiding her this entire time?” He almost growled, shifting his hips, and you felt the hardness in his pants. “If I’d known, I’d have come sooner.”

“And this is Jimin, Y/n,” he started, scoffing at his… friend? “Now close your eyes and let us take care of you.”

He did not wait for an answer from you, and at the same time his lips found yours, you felt Jimin’s lips on your neck and his hands on your waist, and you could only sigh, close your eyes, and give into these new sensations. The two pairs of hands were roaming your body; the contrast of their clothed bodies against yours, almost naked, was heightening the sensation of your powerlessness, and you had to press your thighs together in an attempt to bring some pressure to your center and relieve some of the aching. You could feel their smirks when you did it, and then Jimin’s hand traveled downwards and on the front of your body, his fingers sneaking under the lingerie to feel your wetness.

“Fuck,” his voice was almost strained, “she’s dripping, Namjoon.” His fingers went all over your mound spreading your wetness around, careful to not touch you for too long to tease you.

“Is this right, Y/n?” Namjoon asked against your lips, then tilted his head back to look at you, his hand joining Jimin’s. “I know you get wet for me, but if I had known you would be dripping like this, I would have brought Jimin much sooner.” He stated as his fingers toyed with the straps of your playsuit, slowly lowering them. “And you are wearing this, today of all days… all in white…”

Namjoon’s fingers teased your nipples lightly at first, just caressing them while Jimin slowly lowered the lingerie down your body, giving open-mouthed kisses to your back and lower and he went down on his knees behind you. You closed your eyes, letting your head fall back and grabbing Namjoon’s biceps for balance when Jimin lifted your left feet first then the right, letting the playsuit fall to the ground off your body. You felt a pinch to your nipples, and you sighed, and shortly after you felt his tongue circling it, then his mouth sucking on it, tugging lightly with his teeth. You clenched your legs again, only for Jimin to spread them. You felt Jimin’s breath on your backside, and his hands made you arch your back so he could see you better from behind, but you felt nothing else but his warm breath very close to your center, his hands gripping your thighs from the inside to stop you from closing them. When Namjoon used the fatal combination of pinching down on a nipple harder and biting the other and sucking on it, Jimin chuckled.

“Do that again, Namjoon. She liked it, she just clenched down on nothing so hard.” His mouth was so close to you yet doing nothing, and to worsen the situation, he used his hands to help you spread your legs more. “Tilt your ass towards me, Y/n, I want to see you clench like that again.”

You did so without hesitation, arching your back more so he could see you better, and when Namjoon did it again, inverting touch and bite to the other nipple, you clenched again, needing their touch, needing something. And he combined pulling your nipple with his teeth with his other hand entangling in your hair and pulling it down hard, increasing your arch. You heard Jimin chuckle softly again and then his mouth was pressed to your inner thigh, licking upwards as he moaned, probably tasting the wetness that had started dripping. Namjoon was not being gentle anymore, using the amount of pressure and strength he knew you loved, much rougher than when you were making love, your nipples becoming more sensitive and abused under his ministrations. This moment, with his lips around your nipples, his teeth worrying them, while Jimin licked your thighs, was pure and unadulterated passion and desire. You let one of your hands fall to grab Jimin’s hair to try and direct him, but he let one of your thighs go to wrap his fingers around your wrist while he bit down on your thigh. You moaned in pain, but you loved it.

Your other hand moved from Namjoon’s biceps to the front of his shirt to undo the few buttons that were left, and he paused what he was doing to help you. When you went to unbutton his pants, you felt your arm being pinned to your back by the demon between your legs. You looked back and down, seeing Jimin licking his lips again while he got up. He pulled you against his body, murmuring that tonight was about you and not to worry about them. As he said these words, Namjoon’s long fingers undid his own pants, hooking them under his underwear to take them off at the same time. His erection slapped softly against his stomach, his cock long and thick, the bulbous head already a little wet with precum. He stepped out of his pants, his strong thighs flexing, and he came closer to kiss you again, letting you feel his hardness against your belly. He started to pull you towards the bed, turning your bodies so you could fall against the mattress with him on top, but he did not stay long. He got up, looking at Jimin, and raised his eyebrows.

“You look so innocent like this, wide-eyed looking at us about to devour you,” Jimin started, unbuttoning his shirt slowly, putting on a show for you.

The dark shirt Jimin was wearing opened to reveal toned muscles beneath, ones you had already felt against your back. His light purple hair was slightly messy from your attempt to grab it; his lips were turned up into a corner smile observing the way you were watching him. He let his hands caress down his body, feeling his own muscles, his luscious lips open now. One of his hands went to the button of his pants and the other grabbed his crotch, showing you the outline of his erection, and then he took the black garment off, and he was wearing no underwear. His hand went to his erection again, stroking himself up and down slowly, showing you his body and how proud he seemed of it. His cock was just as beautiful as the rest of him, the head a light pink color, and while he was thinner than Namjoon, he was just as long and curved upwards, and it made you wonder if he could hit that spot without much effort.

“We are going to destroy you, and you will take it all. You will be lying there on the bed, ruined, a sinner, and in the end, you will be begging for me to come back again and wreck you.” Jimin’s voice was deeper, his black eyes shining under the lights and the promise. And then he looked at Namjoon. “Have you done it yet?”

You looked confused for a moment, especially when Namjoon answered a no and Jimin chuckled. And then you understood. Jimin snapped his fingers and your arms were suddenly above your head, pressed on the pillow. You tried moving them but to no avail. Oh. Your chest went up and down quickly, your breath faster, but you smiled.

“Oh, this is new. Can you do it too, Joon?” You needed to know. Had he been hiding this from you this whole time? He licked his lips and snapped his fingers, and then your legs were up, an invisible force holding them up and wide open, spread apart for them. You bit your lip and clenched down on nothing, moaning softly, your head thrown back into the pillow. “This is fun.”

You smiled at them and saw them looking at each other smiling as well, but you could not even imagine what was going through their minds. Could they communicate like that? You had so many questions to ask Joon later, but before your mind could wander any further, your body was being dragged to the edge of the bed by Jimin, who was kneeling on the floor in front of it. You had never felt so exposed before and so without control, although you knew all you had to say was that one word and everything would end.

“She tastes delicious, Jimin. You’re going to love it.” Namjoon sat by you on the bed, looking down at the other man, and lowered his head to whisper in your ear, “you want to know another thing I’ve been hiding? We don’t get tired.”

Namjoon bit your earlobe at the same time that Jimin licked you where you needed the most, from bottom to top. You could only moan loudly and arch your back, your fingers closing into tight a fist and your thighs clenching, but you could not move them. You thought he would make you beg for it, considering all the teasing from before, but he wasted no time and started applying pressure to your clit with his soft tongue, short circular movements alternated with longer licks while his fingers kept your lower lips spread open for him. Unable to move, all you could do was take it, the pleasure intensified by your inability to move your legs; there was no escape from Jimin’s tongue on the underside of your clit, its hood up, leaving it exposed and so sensitive to his probing. While Jimin was doing this, Namjoon began playing with your nipples again. They were already hard and a little red from before, more sensitive, so when he started pinching them again the pain seemed to go straight down to your clit, enhancing your pleasure, and he seemed to know this. He became relentless in teasing them, pinching harder, lowering his body beside you to bite at them, tugging on your nipples and pulling them, letting his teeth scrape against the sensitive skin. Jimin’s tongue was also relentless on your clit, and the first time he felt you getting close to your orgasm, he stopped and looked at you.

“Please, please…” you sobbed and moaned; the desperation clear in your voice as Namjoon did not stop.

“Should we see if she can cum only by teasing her nipples?” Jimin’s voice was playful.

“No, please, please, no, please,” you begged.

“Oh, Namjoon, she begs so beautifully. But is it a no or is it a please, do it?” His tongue was between his teeth, his smile wider now, the look on his face pure teasing. You shook your head negatively, a sob caught in your throat, but he continued, “You’re clenching again, Y/n. I think you can do this. But maybe another day,” you let out a sigh in relief, “another day, when we will tease you for hours, edge you until even our breath will make you cum, how about that?”

Jimin wasted no more time and got back to licking you, making out with your pussy, encompassing it entirely with his mouth, and the moment his lips closed around your clit to suck it, you lost it. It took you by surprise; the sensation usually begins with a slight tingle on your belly, and then it spreads to your fingers, but this time your whole body clenched as pleasure overtook you, his tongue continuing to press on your clit while he sucked to prolong your orgasm. You did not know what sounds came out of your mouth, as your ears seemed to be ringing, numb to sounds. You could barely murmur out a weak stop, but he ignored it – which also relieved you, you did not really want to stop–, choosing to insert a finger and then two into you, moving them in and out at first and then pressing them upwards, looking for the spot inside you that made you see stars. You were about to say you were too sensitive for him to continue when he found it, and as you moaned loudly you heard Namjoon say something to him, but you couldn’t understand what it was, but Jimin’s response was to increase the pressure of his fingers and let your clit go. You were confused for a second but you soon understood when you felt one of Namjoon’s hands moving down, his fingers then making quick movements on your clit, knowing it was what you needed to get you there fast again. This time you felt the sensation growing, a tingling on the tips of your fingers, your toes, as it grew and permeated your entire body again. You thought they would relent, and then you remembered what Namjoon had said. They did not get tired.

You lost count after the fifth orgasm, or so you thought it was the fifth; your voice was hoarse from moaning and your clit was so sensitive from all of the overstimulation, and they did not seem like they wanted to stop anytime soon. You could feel the tears that had escaped your eyes wetting your cheeks, and every once in a while, one of them would lick them away while the other continued his assault on your clit, the pleasure relentlessly taking over you again and again. You did not know anymore when one orgasm ended and the other began, the tingling sensation a constant on your entire body. And then, finally, they snapped their fingers again, releasing your body from the invisible restraints.

You could barely move, but they helped shift and turn your body until you were on your hands and knees, Namjoon’s body behind you. You heard the sound of a small foil packet being opened, and then he was pressing inside you, his cock stretching you even though they had used their fingers before. It was always a stretch, Namjoon going in slowly, giving you time to adjust to his size before starting to thrust his hips into you. On his first thrust forward, you opened your mouth on a moan and Jimin took advantage of the opportunity to press his cock into your lips, holding your hair with one of his hands while the other was at the base of his cock, holding and moving it to go over your lips. You licked around his engorged head and then opened your mouth wider, taking him inside and sucking. You could barely keep your body upright, so soon your hands faltered, and you fell to your elbows, the dip in your spine changing the angle slightly and it had Namjoon pressing into that one spot that had you almost screaming. Jimin lowered his body, sitting down with his legs open to fit you between them, inclining his body backward, bending his elbows to have a good view of you, and it made it easier for you to suck him. His view was nice, your body bent forward, your ass being held by Namjoon’s hands while he pounded into you, but your view was not bad at all.

Jimin’s muscly thighs flexed each time he pressed his hips up, fucking into your mouth, his abs clenching, and his face… his face, dark black eyes half-closed, mouth open in a sly smile, licking his full lips still wet with your taste. You maintained eye contact while you sucked him, bobbing your head up and down, sucking hard when his head was about to leave your mouth, and when you went down, you let your tongue lick the underside. It was sloppy, saliva leaving your mouth, making him wetter and easier for your hand to help whatever did not fit your mouth. You were moaning around him, figuring he would like it as much as Namjoon did, and you were rewarded with high pitched moans from Jimin, his head now thrown back. On a hard suck downwards you felt his thighs clench and his release spill on your mouth at the same time Namjoon played with your clit, and you screamed and soon saw nothing else.

You did not know how long you were out, but when you came to your senses again you were lying on your front, covered by your blanket, and Jimin was nowhere in sight. You heard footsteps entering the room just when you raised your head and saw Namjoon with a cold bottle of water and pants on. He smiled tentatively at you, sitting by your side on the bed. He helped you sit, propped up against him, and you took the bottle from his hands, feeling thirsty.

“Hey,” his voice was almost shy, so different from before and from the usual Namjoon. Well, the Namjoon you thought you knew. “Are you ok?”

You nodded, smiling softly at him between sips. You looked around and then looked at him, the question clear in your eyes.

“Hm, Jimin’s gone now. He helped clean you up and left, we… we did not know if you wanted him here for the after. Or if at all. Or… if you still wanted me.”

It was strange, seeing this difference in him. Namjoon was so confident, especially in the bedroom, and after finding out the truth about him, you could not imagine he would ever be this timid.

“I still want you, Joon,” you could barely speak, but you wanted to reassure him, hugging him tightly. He needed you at this moment as much as you needed him. “I just have some questions, but I still love you.”

“I love you too, Y/n. And I’ll answer whatever you want.” He was eager to respond, his relief apparent in his voice.

“The first question is… can we have fun with Jimin again another time?”

#bts smut #bts demon au #namjoon smut #jimin smut #bts x reader #demon namjoon #demon jimin #demon au #bts poly #namjoon #jimin #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #ssscentral #sssc #bts x you #namjoon fanfic #jimin fanfic #namjoon imagine #jimin imagine #park jimin x reader #kim namjoon x reader #biaswreckme #duda

[onp4012]

Romanian monsters and myths

I’ve seen that some of you want to hear more about those monsters and myths, so I am ready to spoil them.

Moroi

As popular as the Strigoi is the Moroi, an evil entity that comes from the spirit of an unbaptized dead child. In most parts of the country, Strigoi’s and Moroi’s are considered separate entities, but in Oltenia they are confused. The Moroi is the dead who have to return from the pit to bring trouble to family and friends. According to folk tales, an unbaptized dead child is sure to turn into a Moroi. Unlike Strigoi’s, where the transformation came almost immediately after death, the Moroi’s waited seven years to rise from the pit. When seven years have passed since his death(because number 7 is considered a magic number), the soul asks to be received in the kingdom of heaven and cries out "Baptism, Baptism!" or according to other sources "Cross, cross!". If anyone hears him then he can save him by giving him baptism: "The son or daughter of God, John or Mary, is baptized in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, Amen!". The ritual is completed by a piece of cloth that is thrown on the grave of the unbaptized baby. If this ritual is not performed, the soul does not find peace and turns into an evil spirit, known as a Moroi. The Moroi haunts the owners of the land where he was buried. It makes the owner's animals and children sick, who eventually have to leave the land to avoid a tragedy. It is a nocturnal creature that manifests itself especially on New Year's Eve. It is said that it can leave its native land by metamorphosing into a dog. If it receives food, the dog-mule does not cause damage and does not scare those who cut it off. Encounters with the Moroi in the middle of the night are usually fatal. The victim either falls in bed for a long time or finds an end until dawn.

Pricolici

Is a werewolf/vampire fusion in the Romanian folklore. Pricolici, similar to Strigoi, are undead souls that have risen from the grave to harm living people. While a Strigoi possesses anthropomorphic qualities similar to the ones it had before death, a pricolici always resembles a wolf. Malicious, violent men are often said to become Pricolici after death, in order to continue harming other humans. Even as recently as modern times, many people living in rural areas of Romania have claimed to have been viciously attacked by abnormally large and fierce wolves. Apparently, these wolves attack silently, unexpectedly and only solitary targets. Victims of such attacks often claim that their aggressor wasn't an ordinary wolf, but a Pricolici who has come back to life to continue wreaking havoc.

Samca

Samca is a female, grotesque, horror and demonic spirit that ruins underage children and pregnant women’s health. She allegedly has long, disheveled hair, crooked fingers that end with sharp nails, fire-spitting mouth and hands made of iron. Legend has it, she’ll turn up at the end of each month in front of a young child or a pregnant woman and either kill the poor soul or leave him/ her crippled for life. According to the myth, the spirit has not one, but nine different names. Samca enjoys torturing women in labor, sometimes killing them. She also either kills their their children, or blesses them with a disease bearing her name. A children suffering from Samca will have seizures, cry all the time, sigh a lot and eventually die. If one writes all of her names inside his house, Samca will not be allowed to enter. She is thought to be the wing of Satan, and she is said to have tried to kill baby Jesus, but was stopped by Michael ( the archangel, not Jackson). She can also change appearance, in order to deceive mortals.

Pâca (Pafa)

Pâca, also known as Pafa, is, according to Romanian mythology, the spirit of tobacco and smoking. Romanians have imagined her as a woman as old at the world itself, ugly and black, having horns on her head and a big, long nose, swollen eyes, tusks and talons, a tail and a pipe in her mouth. Flames and black smoke come out of her throat and she reeks of tobacco. When Pâca came out from the depths of Hell, death spreading smoke came out with her. Then her sons, the demons (dracii), gave birth to a seed which they sowed. The plant sprung from that seed is called buruiana dracului ( the Devil’s weed) or tămâia dracului (the Devil’s incense). As you may have guessed, this plant is what we call tobacco. Then some other demons invented the pipe, for people to worship Pafa by inhaling the smoke made by the plant the devils had sowed in her name. Pâca‘s children also invented snuff tobacco. The funny part is that God, upon seeing what the people were doing, took their tobacco leaves and instead of destroying them (since he’s almighty according to christians, right?), mixed them with basil (so they could smell nicer?) and gave them back to people, teaching them how to use the new product. (Good job, God)

Crasnicul

Crasnicul, or Crâsnicul, is the child born out of a woman’s union with a demon. Apparently, he looks like a cross between a piglet and a normal kid. However, as opposed to the latter, the first thing this demon spawn does after birth is not crying, but running around the house screaming. I bet it sounds similar to Dani Filth’s work with Cradle. Somehow, my intuition tells me their similarities go beyond sound, and we could also link the two aesthetically. In some areas, people thought you should trap the thing in a stove and burn it alive. Other believe that the Crasnic is born after an eleven months gestation period. It is also said that the Crasnic has a hellish desire to bite and kill the people around, immediately after birth. After he’s done with them, he (it?) will try to go back to where he came from. To prevent all this, the midwife will wrap him in a cloth and call the mother’s relatives to bludgeon him to death. Imagine how many malformed children have been bludgeoned to death just because people thought they were the result of the mother’s union with the Devil. Sad. But a great Horror image, nonetheless. ;-; (Ain’t very proud).

Muma Pădurii (Mother Forest)

Is an ugly and mischievous or mad old woman living in the forest (in the heart of the virgin forests, in a hut/cabin or an old tree). She is the opposite of fairies such as a "Fairy" Zână. She is also the protector of the animals and plants, brewing potions and helping injured animals. She cures the forest if it's dying, and she keeps the unwanted trespassers away driving them mad and scaring them to flee. She can be associated with witches (like the witch from the story of "Hansel and Gretel"), but she's a neutral "creature", harming only those who harm the forest. (She’s my favorite “horror one”, I really respect her.)

Iele

Ieles, evil fairies in Romanian mythology are the most mysterious and fascinating creatures that Romanian legends have been talking about for hundreds of years. Sources of inspiration for poets and writers, who turned them into literary characters, the ieles are also the subject of folk studies in which the authors tried to explain both the origin and the meaning of the creatures. Supernatural female creatures appearing in groups on the plains or in the woods, singing and dancing in steamy or undressed clothes, leaving behind signs of circles of fire. It’s said that they are the result of an incestuous relationship between the Sun and the Moon, so they were cursed to send their daughters on earth. This is the portrait of the ieleles, described by folklorists and folk tales over time. Legends about iele, which differ from region to region, say that the creatures appear in groups of three, five or seven. The stories depict the evil fairies in Romanian mythology as very beautiful, dressed in steamy clothes or simply naked. In the story they appear at night, in the fields and in the forests, far from the eyes of the world. Legends also say that the iels burn crazy and cheerful choruses that the eyes of ordinary mortals should not see. Behind them are signs of circles of fire in the burning grass. (In my region, it’s said that they are wives of unfaithful husbands that cheated on them, at which, the woman committed suicide in a river or was simply killed by her husband.)

#romania #myths #legends #monsters #transylvania #romanianmythicalcreatures #romanianmyths #pricolici #Samca #strigoi #iele #para #crasnicul

[marlasomething]

A Visit From Miss Crowley (Week 1): So Unaware Of My Status

Hello there!

As usual, I cannot see a "challenge" and let it go so...Female Crowley month, here we go (love @missfellsbookshop's proposal)! The idea is, as every time I do challenges, write very short pieces of fiction...I hope I do a good job!

As usual, do please forgive my quick tipper and non-native speaker mistakes, Marla

Allons-y!

CW: stalky, borderline abusive, sexist behaviour from some guy

Also in AO3

If there was a reason for the invention of distillate brewages, it ought to be to put up with arses as the one trying to flirt with Crowley in the Prohibition Bar she had helped opening thanks to the money she had accumulated during that dreadfully boring thing that the 14th Century had been.

The man was all hands up to the point that the demon had thought he might have been one of hers himself; someone specialised in stalking, taking people’s capacity of free movement or something in any of those lines. For an instance, she thought about sharing victories (aka, appropriate some of his and make them sound much fancier so she would have a bigger margin before the next Hell Reunion she had to concur to; there were very few things in all Worlds Crowley loaded more than those meetings); perhaps, it was all façade and there was actually a being with some interesting ideas inside that meaty vessel.

She was, of course, wrong; as the low resistance of the man to alcohol proved within minutes. Now, she was just trying to make him look as terrible as she could in front of his friends because, being honest, it wasn’t as if she had anything better to do.

She had done her fee of chaos of the whole week and, in case she wanted to create a bit more of havoc; she would never have done it in this bar. She actually liked the regulars of the place (even the priest).

That and the fact that she had money invested on it, of course.

She wished Aziraphale had been there, but they had made it perfectly clear that they felt a weird in the very bad sense of the word feeling about these batch of 20s in New York, so they would stay clear of the city (and The States in general, just in case) until said decade had gone by.

She scoffed at herself while thinking about the angel; sometimes they could be a bit overdramatic. Was there going to be a terrible recession by the end of the decade? Of course! She was helping the built-up for it, after all.

Was it going to be as bad as Aziraphale believe? Definitively not!

At least, not by her side’s fault; whatever the humans did…that was all on them (and Crowley regarded most of the ones in positions in power in such a low esteem those days she didn’t see them capable of pulling that off.

Taking the scoff as something directing to him (because, of course, everything an attractive woman close to him had to be related to his persona), the man decided to change his flirting strategy.

“So….you have a brother, right? Another pale guy, same intense accent, just less… bust”.

She sighed.

“I am him, sometimes. Less lately, but not even She knows what tomorrow will bring me” the first part of the sentence might have been the most disconcerting for the non-pal, but it was the second one the one that caused him to have an over-the-top outburst.

“She, as in are you saying GOD IS A WOMAN? Ok, I can put up with your obviously fake red hair, the weird touch of your skin” that you should have never touched in the first place “…the fact that you are way too skinny for my usual taste; but, being so disrespectful to our Lord?”

“Oh, honey” she let her voice get lower, as when she was trying to make some poor annoying kid believe she had the energy and will to go possessing dull innocent children with no personality whatsoever for her evil deeds. “This is not by far the most disrespectful I have been to The Gal Upstairs.”

Once again, men’s pride fragility amazed her, as this was enough for the man to throw the glass to the floor while glaring at her significantly, as trying to make it clear she would be the next glass.

If only her interiors were made of whiskey…

As only answer, she made sure her dress was well-arranged, the scaly design taking the best light possible to reflect as favourably as possible and, while mischievously grinning at the pathetic mortal, lower her glasses; her snake eyes completely uncovered.

“What…? THIS BITCH IS A DEMON!”

By the time people stared at them, she had made her eyes look completely boring human.

Comments about how Boris couldn’t hold his drinking went around as attention was once away drawn away from them.

“The only person that can call me the B-word is The Angel and, honestly, if you met them” she let a cackle scape. “I bet you would see I am no bitch at all by comparison” as she walked away, ready to leave the bar (and, perhaps, pay a little visit to certain celestial being in the other side of the ocean), she winked at the man, letting her forked tongue out of her mouth just for enough time to finally shock the man into unconsciousness.

She sighed again, once on the street, as she reconsidered heading directly to London.

A drink was in order before.

After all, you are not a demon gal in the New York of the roaring 20s twice.

#She's a demon #alcohol #roaring 20s #prohibition #drinking #female crowley #good omens #fanfic #good omens fanfic #misscrowleyvisit #a visit from miss crowley #snake crowley #week 1

[simply-brightly-zee]

Folks let me talk about Crowley and sunglasses, because I have a lot of emotions about when he wears them and when he doesn’t, and Hiding versus Being Seen.

We’re introduced to the concept of Crowley wearing glasses even before we’re introduced to Crowley, by Hastur: “If you ask me he’s been up here too long. Gone native. Enjoying himself too much. Wearing sunglasses even when he doesn’t need them.”

Honestly Crowley’s whole introduction is a fantastic; we learn so much about his character in a tiny amount of time. The fact that he’s late, the Queen playing as the Bentley approaches, the “Hi, guys” in response to Hastur and Ligur’s “Hail Satan”. I like this intro much better than the one originally scripted with the rats at the phone company, but I digress.

Crowley wears sunglasses when he doesn’t need them. Specifically, he still wears them around the demons, and when he’s in hell.

You know where Crowley doesn’t wear glasses? At home.

We never once see him wearing glasses in his flat, except for when he knows Hastur and Ligur are coming. That’s an emotional kick to the gut for me. Here’s one of the only places Crowley’s comfortable enough to be sans glasses, and when he knows it’s going to be invaded he prepares not just physically with the holy water, but by putting up that emotional barrier in a place where he wasn’t supposed to need it.

An argument could be made that Crowley actually never needs glasses. We’re shown that it’s well within the angels’ and demons’ powers to pass unnoticed by humans. Crowley and Aziraphale waltz out of the manor in the middle of a police raid, and going unnoticed by the police takes so little effort that they can keep up a conversation while they stroll through. Even an unimaginative demon like Hastur apparently doesn’t have trouble with the humans losing it over his demonic eyes. The humans in the scene at Megiddo are acting like “this guy is a little weird” and not “holy shit his entire eyeballs are black jelly”

That means that Crowley’s glasses are a choice, just like Aziraphale’s softness. Sure, he could arrange matters so that nobody ever noticed his eyes, but he doesn’t want to. Crowley wants acceptance, and he wants to belong, and he’s never, ever had that. He didn’t fit in before the Fall in Heaven, he doesn’t fit in with the demons in Hell. With the glasses, and with the Bentley and his plants and with the barely-bad-enough-to-be-evil nuisance temptations, he’s choosing Earth. This is where he wants to fit in, perhaps not with the humans, but amongst them.

Even after Crowley is at his absolute lowest, when he thinks Aziraphale’s dead and he’s on his way to drink until the world ends, he takes the time to put a new pair on when the old ones are damaged. He needs that emotional crutch right now, even with everything about to turn into a pile of puddling goo he’s not ready for the world to see his eyes.

Which is why I swore out loud when Hastur forcibly takes them off.

It’s about the worst thing that Hastur could have done. Rather than leading with a physical threat, his first act is to strip away Crowley’s emotional defences. It’s a great writing choice because god it made me hate Hastur, even more than all the physical violence we see him do.

It’s also the moment that Crowley really truly gets his shit together, and focuses all of his considerable imagination on getting to Tadfield and Aziraphale to help save the world. He’s wielding the terrifyingly unimaginable power of someone who’s hit rock bottom and realised it literally could not get any worse than this. He doesn’t put another pair of glasses on after discorporating Hastur, and he spends the majority of the airbase sequence without them.

He puts them back on again, I think, at the moment that he really lets himself hope. When he thinks ‘shit, there may be a real chance that we get through this to a future that I don’t want to lose’.

The vulnerability is back, and he needs Adam to trust him. In Crowley’s mind being accepted by a human means he needs to have his eyes hidden. Someone give the demon a hug, please.

Interestingly, there’s only one time in the whole series that we see Crowley willingly choose to take his glasses off around another person. Only one person he’ll take down that barrier for, and even then he’s drunk before he does it.

Dear God/Satan/Someone that makes my heart ache. Crowley’s chosen Earth, but he’s also chosen Aziraphale. He’s been looking for somewhere to belong his entire existence, and it’s with the angel that he finally feels it.

When the dust settles and the world is saved and they finally have space to be themselves unguarded, I like to imagine Crowley takes off the glasses when it’s just the two of them; the idea of being known doesn’t scare him quite so much anymore.  

#Good Omens #Crowley #Good Omens meta #Hi hello I'm Zee and I am feeling ALL THE EMOTIONS #Those of you who know me from the Daredevil fandom will not be surprised by this #I'm well practised at having emotions over characters who use glasses to hide vulnerability #zee writes meta

[hobin-gnoblin]

Welcome to R.A.D!

The First Encounter

Starring: My Mc, PJ.

This will be 18+, this is solely based on IRL things that would definetly happen if I was actually summoned at R.A.D.

Read at your own risk⚠️

I am very "quirky"

-------

Nothing but super sexy and cool classic rock music blared from the speakers in my bedroom as I danced around in nothing but underwear and a tank top. I was feeling myself, my groove, and my sexy dance skills. Yo, I'm PJ. I'm loud, crazy, and I got a good head on my shoulders. As a 18 year old, life can be pretty crazy, but from my experience from the depths of Hell, I can assure you, my life is stranger than fiction....

This is the story of my expiring at R.A.D, my big life changer, my joker arc. Etc.

-----

My back felt cold, my ass was freezing. I was suprised as my body slowly became awoke that it felt as if I was no longer in my bed. I know that because my ass would be drenched in sweat imported from the Nile River.

I slowly opened my eyes, wiped my eye boogies, and took in my surroundings. I was in a huge ass conference room, and it was fancy as hell, I thought to myself, holy shit, are those tables mahogany?

"No, in fact they're not, they're a special type of tree native to Devildom." A loud voice echoed through the room. I shot up from the floor in a panic, "Who said that?" I screamed as I prepared my body for battle. My feet planted to the ground in a wide stance, my knees bent, and my back hunched over like Dobby with my claws ready to pounce. "Um, what are you doing human?" A voice said. "I'm in my fighting stance! Reveal yourselves otherwise I'm gonna Ju Jitsu your ass back to where you came from!" I screamed. There was silence, then footsteps approaching me. And yes, I pissed my panties a little bit, you would too. My face immediately went red as I saw a whole cluster fuck of handsome men. "Oh." Was all I could muster. Here I was, my dumb ass wearing nothing but my tank top and underwear, which I hope they didn't smell anything due to the stench of my chronic night sweats. My face still adjusting to the light, and my hair still a mess because of the sleep paralysis demon that keeps fucking with it. (Fuck you Kyle, if your reading this you need to stop messing with my dreams!).

To sum it up, I looked like Lindsey Lohan's mugshot in front of these uber handsome men. And oh my god my face was as red as a tomato. Or a beet, you choose.

"Hello PJ, My name is Diavolo, Lord of Devildom, We welcome you with open arms to our newest exchange program!" The sexy beast of a man bellowed. I couldn't help but stare at his fat tits while he laughed, they were so perfect, they definitely made mine look like, idk boobs? (Self love, dont hate yourself.) (Says the bitch who compared herself to Lindsey Lohans mugshot lmao.)#Pissingmyself).

"PJ, its a pleasure to meet you," An absolute stud muffin of a man with ravenette hair and a bitch ass face said. I could tell he was pulling my dick due to the uninterested look on his face. My dude was not amused with my current physical form. I thought to myself, he obviously cannot handle all of this.. I smirked to myself in thought, my personality is just too much for him to face already, hehe. My thoughts were soon interuppted by a cough. "Let me introduce you to my younger brothers, Lucifer wove his arm to gesture to the motley crew of hunky meat muffins. My jaw dropped as I witnessed the men scrambling in front of me. Holy shit, were they ever hunky monkeys. Lucifer quickly pulled out a small whistle and blew sharply. The rest followed suit assembling into a straight line. Suddenly music came out of fucking now where and the boys began to march rhythmically in unison. Each brother taking one step forward front, and back as they each said their name.

"Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub, and REDACTED." The boys said as they swiftly went back into their normal positions in the conference room. I'm pretty sure something like that I've witnessed before back at home.

-----

^ The whistle scene from Sound of Music in case you didn't get the reference.

------

I smiled awkwardly at the men. Lucifer and Diavolo both exchanged a few words and nodded to eachother "Mammon shall be your guide for the rest of the exchange program. " Fuck what?" Mammon yelped as Lucifer pinched his neck. "Hurry now Mammon, chop, chop." Lucifer clapped. Mammom immediately rushed to me like a panicked schoolboy. "Sup weirdo, I'm gonna be a absolute dick to you." He said. I nodded and mutually agreed. I was plotting on totally fucking with this dude. "Sounds cool." I replied. "Fuck you." He said. "Fuck you too." I responded. I already knew this was going to be the start of a great friendship.

This was gonna be the craziest year of my life.

----end---

Should I make another part? Let me know! ;)

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me crack #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me beelzebub #obey me writing #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me diavolo #obey me self insert #obey me mc #obey me story #obey me funny #obey me 18+ #otome guys #obey me masters #obey me tumblr #obey me solomon

[sintheyokai]

Meeee, writing something for Obey Me? Shocking yes but an idea popped in my head regarding my OC, Arabella Roun, and I simply had to write it because it's the first time I've ever had a full script in my head (again shocking, especially from a writers point of view). I value your time, so this story will be in two parts, the first of which will be under the cut:

[Part 2]

No Father of Mine (Part 1)

************************

**for additional information, Arabella is originally French living with her found family in Mexico and she's multilingual. Translated French will be italicized and translated Spanish will be bolded, unless presumed otherwise. This is pre-Belphrelease.

Arabella is many things- an assassin, an actress, a spy, all of which require a mask she's worn since childhood. All of which, as she learned in her previous home, require a heart of stone. Because of this, Arabella does not see herself as kind, unworthy of praise where praise is due. Despite these thoughts, however, she is determined to pay off Mammon's debt, even if it means dragging in others to do so. While doing so, the topic of a name comes up, which brings along other, uncomfortable topics.

"Mammon, exactly how much do you owe those witches?"

It was a very sudden question Arabella brought up at dinner, pulling out a notebook and pen from her bag. She received many stares from the six avatars that watched over her, even Leviathan had paused his game to stare in disbelief.

"Bella baby, you DO know what you just asked for, right?"

"I do, Asmodeus, and I am fully prepared for an answer."

Mammon grimaced, scratching the back of his head as the numbers churned in his mind.

"Severalllll billion Grimm I think? I couldn't give you an exact number."

Arabella made a noise in the back of her throat, "Very well. But it is below the trillion mark?"

Mammon nodded. He knew that much. Conversation thought to be over, the lords continued to eat.

But Arabella was not quite done yet.

"Do you know how much that would be in human change?"

Several distressed sounds were heard.

"Why are ya so damn interested in my debt!?"

"If a normie like you has that much money, I'm eating my headphones."

Lucifer finally silenced the whole table.

"I understand you and Mammon are very close to each other, Arabella," he started, "But the thought that you could pay off his debt is ludicrous, and will teach him not-"

"With all due respect, Lord Lucifer, I've earned quite a lot of money doing my human world job," Arabella interrupted, "If you will not answer my question then I will ask another: how much Grimm is equal to a human dollar?"

"Bout 500." Of course Mammon would know that instantly. She nodded at him and began to write in her notebook- 500 Grimm= 1 dollar; Trillion Grimm= ??? dollars.

Asmo looked like he was about to faint, "Arabella, our sweet little human, you can't be serious! You say you have a lot of money but this is Mammon we're talking about, you shouldn't spoil him like this!"

"It is because of his debt that they hold power over him, is that not correct?"

The room became silent. Arabella continued.

"Now, I do not know where lines are drawn in terms of morality here - how far people must go before someone finally says enough is enough. But where I draw my line is when you have people who hold themselves higher than they really are, and they flaunt it for all the world to see. Even worse are those who think that no one will challenge them, then abuse their power further when someone finally does. If these witches want money I will give them that money. But I will not let them hold that much power over a lord of Hell and do nothing when they laugh in his face."

She noticed Mammon slightly tearing up, and she almost smiled. She didn't, instead turning her attention back to her notebook, "Now please allow me to work."

The permission given was silence.

************************

"So if 500 is 1 then it's reasonable to assume 5000 is ten... right?" Arabella was muttering to herself.

The sudden switch in languages nearly sent the table into a frenzy once more, especially Asmodeus.

"1000 is two, two times five, 1000 times five... Yeah yeah okay that's 5000. How many 0s is a trillion again?"

"Oh darling you speak Fre-" Asmo tried to squeal before Arabella covered his mouth.

"Trying to count. It's much easier in my native language. So a trillion is... A million iiiis- six. So a billion is nine, meaning a trillion is twelve zeroes. Twelve, twelve, Quetzalcoatl please save me."

"Oi, how many languages do ya spe-"

"Several, Mammon, and if no one is eating please get out so I can concentrate."

The room stayed quiet from then on.

"A trillion is twelve zeroes... Wait." she paused, "What the hell all I needed was a trillion divided by 500, fuck. Okay so that's.. gods above what is that." She pulled out her D.D.D., quickly typing the numbers into her calculator

"What I'm getting is that I would need 2 billion to pay off your debt." she directed towards Mammon writing the number down in her notebook, "And that's if I did this correctly."

"I'nt tha a lo'?" Bell asked, mouth bulging with the others' unfinished plates.

"Well yes," Arabella said, "But with a little contribution from my other family members and friends, this could actually be paid off. If I spent all the money I have currently saved, aside from money used solely for donations to charities and money set aside for familial business, that would take a chunk out of such a large number in itself. The remainder would be about 1.5 billion."

"As impressed as I am with your determination on this matter," Attention turned to the eldest brother, "I'm concerned as to where you got all this money."

"My job pays high depending on how well the end result is. And my squad produces very good end results, Lord Lucifer." She turned to Mammon.

"Mammon, what nationalities are these witches? I'm aware there are three, but remind me where they come from."

The demon clicked his tongue, "One is from Romania, one's from Japan, and the last one's from France."

"Alright, so 2 billion divide by three.. that's going to be uneven." She typed the numbers, keeping in a strangled chuckle. "66,666,666.67 dollars per witch. How ironic. Okay so converting that means..." she typed a few more numbers, "270,700,010.21 lei for Romania, 7,312,366,949.56 yen for Japan, and 55,022,751.91 euros for France. Provided I didn't mistype anything."

Arabella stood up, "Very well then! I'm going to make a phone call to a few family members, a few friends of mine, and we'll get this sorted."

Notebook with these calculations in hand, she walked to the common room, unaware of the six lords following her all the way.

************************

And that is Part 1! I will post the second part within a day of posting this at the same time, so keep an eye out if you want, please reblog if you can, it’d be really appreciated, and send me feedback if you feel like it too.

#obey me! #original character #obey me #obey me leviathan #obey me shall we date #obey me beelzebub #obey me mammon #obey me lucifer #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #om! swd #om! shall we date #mammon #lucifer #leviathan #satan #asmodeus #beelzebub #arabella roun #obey me one master to rule them all #obey me original character #obey me oc #obey me! oc #om! oc

[nagia-pronounced-neijia]

w(h)ip wednesday

It's a surprisingly quaint little farm, the kind of thing some traveller from the far-away west might paint into his little journal and tell all the Belgians and Austrians and French about.  Green hills rise up in a gentle roll, with occasional stones that must have tumbled down from God-knows-where, looking pushed up through the grass and the barley like crooked teeth.  Sheep meander among the gray rocks, bleating occasionally to each other and munching on the plants.

As they step past the low wooden fence, Trevor spots a goat chewing cud in a pen.  It stares disinterestedly at them, eyes gleaming with that peculiar mix of cunning and stupidity native to goats.  If it was ever a person, their mind seems long gone, he thinks, replaced by a goat's determination to be the biggest pain in the arse it possibly can.

They keep going and find a yard full of chickens.  Here chickens, there chickens, everywhere fucking chickens.  Mostly roosters, judging by the wattles, which he finds odd, and when Sypha steps too close to a hen, one of the stupid cockerels jumps at her.  His wings flutter, feathers flying further than he can, and he seems determined to murder her with talon, beak, or both.  He makes the most insane noises as he does it, like metal screaming.

It's instinct to try and put himself between her and something trying to hurt her.  Even something as small and stupid and surprisingly vicious as a pissed-off chicken.  He raises his arms to block the pecks and scratches, glad of the fur-and-leather vambraces, thick enough that he feels nothing.

"Calm the hell down," Trevor says, and puts a boot to the bird, which doesn't improve his disposition, exactly, but does manage to make him reconsider attacking.  "I'll do it again," Trevor warns him, and immediately feels like an idiot.

But the rooster subsides, sulky, glaring at them both with beady eyes.

And the cabin door swings open.  The woman who steps outside isn't quite pretty, but she's striking.  He thinks her nose might have been broken, once, and her hair falls loose around her shoulders in a riot of deep red that catches in the sun.

But it's her hands he's most interested in, and, just like every family book always said, they tell the real story to him immediately.

Her face may look youngish -- certainly only of middle years -- but her hands, too pale, have wrinkles and liver spots, a sure sign of a witch.  The deep, nearly black bruising that extends from the nail to the second knuckle of her littlest fingers, however, is the mark of a witch who has embraced questionable magic, if not outright reveled in the foulest and blackest of workings.

Beside him, Sypha moves to wave one arm.  "You must be Sârșe," she says, and he can hear that she's smiling.

The woman inclines her head.  "I am.  And who might you be?"

"I"m Sypha, and this is Trevor."  She jabs at him with an elbow.  He doesn't jab back, but mostly because he's trying to figure Sârșe out.

"Hello," he says, about a second after Sypha's pointy elbow makes contact a second time.

Sârșe watches them both.  Absolutely no emotion colors her face.  Even her eyes look flat and lifeless, no more interested in them as people than the goat had been.  "What have you come to find?"

He sighs.  "Oh, we found it already."

"Trevor," Sypha hisses.

But Trevor ignores her.  "Look, we know you're a witch.  Well, Sypha suspects.  But I know.  And I don't care about the whole," here, he makes a sort of quotation mark with the fingers of both hands, "'demons into chickens' thing.  Not sure anybody should be eating those, but it's not my business."

The very furthest corner of Sârșe's mouth curls up for about a second before smoothing back down.  Her gaze remains flat.  "And what is your business?"

"I'm not saying I expect you to turn them all back, mind, because I know that's not how it works.  But how many of your sheep used to be people?"

He's a little relieved when, rather than hotly deny it, Sârșe licks her lips.  "All of them," she says, calmly, like she doesn't care at all.

Well, that explains at least one of her fingers.  Hell, he's a little surprised it hasn't spread further.

Sypha's the one to step forward and ask, "Do you have any plans to stop?"

Sârșe stares between them for what feels like several minutes.  It's probably not even a whole minute of its own, but it sinks its teeth into him and drags.  Her eyes look like empty wells, endless and awful.

"No," she says, still very calm.

"Told you," he mutters to Sypha.  "When they're this far gone, they don't really listen to reason."

That draws Sârșe's attention.  She snaps her head to look at him.  Something even darker stirs in her dark eyes, moving and shifting, and they bite into him.  He doesn't look away, but he wants to, because eyes like those see, and the brain behind them judges, and men are always found wanting in a gaze like that.

Found wanting and then turned into farm animals.  And then potentially sold at fucking market day, to be slaughtered and eaten. Christ.

"Do you think yourself such a hero, Trevor Belmont?"`

He lets out a short bark of a laugh.  "I helped kill fucking Dracula, sure.  But what I was really doing was helping a man kill his own father.  What kind of hero is that?"

She repeats the question back at him, emphasizing it.  "What kind of hero is that, Trevor Belmont?"

"No kind at all," he replies.

And, for the first time, she smiles.  It's terrible and pitying.  "Will you kill fucking Sârșe?  And if you do, what will you really have done?"

Sypha fields this one.  "We'll have stopped animals that used to be people being sold and eaten by those who once knew them.  You have to admit that's grotesque."

"I admit no such thing.  They know who I am.  They know the consequence of crossing me.  They know what I bring to market day.  They choose to buy from me regardless.  Their business is no business of mine."

God, witch logic.  It's all perfectly factual, but frustratingly circular in a way he can't put words to.  A sort of pure, unfeeling truth that leaves no room for honesty or humanity.  Infuriating.

"Yeah, done with you, now," Trevor says, and draws the Vampire Killer.  Consecration is little good against witches except in their hands, but the Morningstar would be worse than useless.

Where's a rowan branch when you need one?  Not that there would be a single rowan tree on this property; they would have all died the first time she took a piss here.  Hell, if he were half the Belmont that Sypha thinks he is, he'd have a fucking pouch of salt on him, and he doesn't.  Their salt is in the wagon with their goddamned cooking supplies.

Sypha conjures a ring of fire, driving away all the chickens and other animals from the farm, and Sârșe's eyes widen for a moment.  She looks between them again, gaze darting from Sypha to Trevor, trying to determine if the Belmont or the fellow magician is the bigger threat.

She apparently decides on him, because she flings an arm out and tries to drag him toward her.

Trevor, more used to this sort of thing by now than he likes, drops forward.  He lets himself fall, and feels the grip of the spell break as his weight pulls him away from it.  His hands hit the ground first, and he pulls himself into a roll, coming up on one knee.

He lashes out with the whip, half-turning to improve its force as he lets his arm flow then jerks his wrist.  The line sings out, tip whistling, and the metal end bites into her hand.

Her finger flies away, landing with a sort of wet, useless noise in the dirt.

Sârșe doesn't even scream.  She just looks between her now maimed hand and the finger on the ground.

"That was very stupid," she says, somehow wholly unbothered by the fact that he just tore off part of her hand, a part she probably uses pretty often.  She raises the same hand, even as it bleeds, and makes a curling gesture with her remaining fingers.

Once again something grips him, trying to pull him closer.

When she raises her other hand, Sypha slides sideways, colliding with one of the wooden fences.  It cracks with the force she hits it at, splintering.

He's not thinking when he sends the whip out again.  It's anger that drives him to it, and this time, he gets her in one of those tainted, blackened littlest fingers, and Sârșe screams.  At first it's just a gurgling sound of pain, thin and high, like any woman might make when a man reached out and hurt her because he could.

But then it turns to something else.  Something thick and strange sounding, that scratches at his ears and the air around him.

"I name you worm, that crawls in the dust," Sârșe says.  "I name you dog, that licks his master's hand.  I name you cock, that lords himself over nothing.  I name you buck-goat, that ruts and farts, and I name you pig, that wallows in shit."

Absolutely no imagination on the woman.  He supposes whatever demon she serves, or made a deal with, or whatever, has probably long eaten it.  "People have really got to find worse things to call me."

Sârșe laughs.  "What a strange worry," she says casually.  "But needless.  You'll call yourself all those things, in the end, and worse."  And she raises both hands, and this time, she really does manage to pull him in, mostly because he lets her.

Once he's close, she smears her blood on his cheek and smiles that terrible, pitying, dark-eyed smile, and the empty wells of her eyes stare at him, judgmental, even as he sinks one of his knives into her throat.

He pays no attention to the witch's body after that.  Instead, he runs for Sypha.  She'd fallen among the splinters, and he doesn't even think about kneeling, about passing his hands over her to feel for blood, for anything sticking out or misplaced.

"Are you alright?  That was some hit."  And fuck him, his job is to be the one taking the hits.  He still hasn't forgiven himself for the scars on her upper arm from their fight with Dracula.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she grumbles.  "Help me up."

He does, splaying one hand under her back and supporting her under the elbow with his other hand.  He hefts her up, taking most of her weight, and she stumbles a little as she rises.  She leans heavily against him, and he lets her, wrapping one arm loosely around her shoulders.  "You're sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine," she snaps, predictably irritated, and waves a hand at him.  "Leave it be."

"Alright, alright, if you say so.  And, well, she's dead.  If we're lucky, some of these people might start turning back.  Do we want to be here for that?"  They probably should.  He thinks his uncle would have.  His father certainly would have.

#netflix castlevania #castlevania fic #wip wednesday #whip wednesday #trephacard #trevor belmont #sypha belnades #witchbottle

[gullivertravelstowonderland]

Since Doomguy probably got all or most of his clothes shredded in the Divinity Machine Incident, imagine him going to a nice Sentinel tailor or seamstress to get fitted for some new clothes and armor. :)

Ficlet under the cut!

The Doom Marine awoke slowly, vaguely aware of the fact that he was laying on the floor, shrapnel of some kind pressing into his bare stomach. A distant voice was frantically calling to him, a strange weight settled on his arm and harshly pushing at his temple.

He slowly blinked the sleep from his eyes, absently shifting to drag a hand over his face with a groan. Whatever was on his arm flinched away, falling from its perch with an audible 'oof.'

"Watch it, you damnable oaf!" The Doom Marine froze, confused; he knew that voice. That was… God, right, the Divinity Machine!

He shot up, the back of his head connecting with something as he let out a pained growl, one hand slamming into the ground as he searched for the source of the voice. His eyes narrowed as they fell on the creature curled on the ground, staring up at him with both anger and fear in its eyes. His own eyes widened for a split second as he processed what had happened.

"You… What the hell did you do to me?!" The human barked, wrapping his free hand around his sore throat after he'd spoken. His voice rumbled low and gravelly, grating against his vocal chords for reasons he didn't quite understand, head spinning as the Makyr cowered under him, covering his ears and fixing a glare on the soldier.

"This wasn't supposed to happen! You weren't meant to become a monster!" Samur fumbled back off of the floor, running a hand along the curve of his mask with a frustrated sigh. "It must have something to do with your biology reacting poorly to the machine— either way, we're both going to die if we waste any more time! We need to work together if we want to get out of this, understand?"

The Doom Marine growled, trying to position himself so he didn't feel so… exposed as the Makyr tried to explain his plan.

—

When the Elite Sentinel Guard found the human, he was pressed against the wall with his knees to his chest, settled into the indented ring that surrounded the remains of the Divinity Machine. Samur had ordered them to bring a large sheet of fabric, crafting some story about a betrayer of some sort giving him access to the machine, and using it to make him a weapon more powerful than anything the Argenta had ever seen, in order to defeat the demons that invaded their land. The Doom Marine's job was mostly to stay quiet about who brought him there and comply with their demands until Samur was done with him.

To say the soldiers were shocked to find him in such a state would be an understatement. They were terrified, although you wouldn't know it at first glance: they had their weapons raised and stances defensive as they approached the giant. Two of them stepped forward, holding the fabric out to him, ready to spring into action the second things went wrong.

He hummed to himself, carefully raising a hand so they could see before he slowly reached towards them, gently taking the cloth from them with a small nod in thanks.

The two Sentinels quickly retreated back into the safety of their group as he unfolded the plain fabric, mentally planning how he was going to cover himself with it as he waited for the group to empty the room so he could clothe himself. When they made no move to leave, the Doom Marine turned his attention to them, fixing them with a peculiar stare.

"Can I… be alone?" He mumbled, deciding to ignore the pain it caused. An embarrassed blush crept over his cheeks as the soldiers cautiously complied, looking down at the cloth with a sigh before slowly standing in the small space once he was completely out of view. He had to be careful not to hit his head on any of the floating pillars as he stood, experimentally wrapping the fabric around his waist.

Fuck, this wasn't really gonna work, was it? He couldn't walk out of here wearing nothing but a scrap of cloth wrapped around him like a towel. He tore the fabric off with an indignant huff, his eyes scanning the room for anything he could use to sew it into something more fitting.

He grabbed some wires and a thin metal pole from the remains of the Divinity Machine, using his teeth to shape one end of the pipe into a loop before threading the wire through it. He laid the fabric out, using a piece of sharp metal to tear through it where he needed to and doing his best to turn the heap of cloth into a decently wearable pair of shorts. They weren't bad, considering the limited materials and circumstances he had to work with, just a bit loose around the waist; a problem easily fixed by tearing some tubing from the machine and tying it around his waist like a belt.

Once he was finally dressed, he slowly inched his way towards the door, peeking out at the soldiers gathered outside waiting for him. They sat amongst themselves in an anxious huddle, exchanging whispered words in their native tongue. A few jumped to attention once they noticed the giant looming in the doorway, offering an awkward wave as they brandished their weapons.

"Come on, we don't have all day. The shop closes in an hour." One of the higher-ranking Sentinels grumbled as he approached the Doom Marine, he and a few others ushering him out of the room, edging towards him with their weapons raised.

"Shop?" He questioned, stumbling as he tripped over his own weight. The Sentinels corralling him flinched, darting out of the way as he struggled to regain his footing, an apologetic cringe crossing his face.

His entire balance was off, despite his body seeming to be completely proportional— if a tad bit more muscular. Maybe it was just a side effect of the machine, or something had changed besides his height; whatever it was, the Doom Slayer wasn't really willing to dwell on it.

Civilians and soldiers alike stopped to gawk at the giant as he passed by, sheepishly curling in on himself at the unwanted attention. Why did this have to happen to him? Why did they have to drag him into town and make a huge spectacle out of him when all he wanted to do after the incident was curl up and disappear?

He was snapped out of his self-deprecating thoughts by a concerned shout, belatedly realizing that he had almost knocked someone over when the group suddenly stopped.

"S— sorry." He mumbled, turning his attention to the building they had stopped beside as a few of them made their way inside, most likely to speak with the owners. "Is this… a tailor shop?"

"Of course. You didn't think you'd be wearing that into battle, did you?"

His head snapped to the source of the voice, his eyes falling on the higher-ranking soldier from earlier. His brows furrowed inquisitively as he carefully lowered himself to the ground, afraid he misheard the small soldier. They all stepped back as he crouched, the group readying their weapons again.

"Battle?"

"Of… of course. You've proved your worth in the arena, and you would clearly have an advantage on the battlefield: not to mention you'd need to find some way to repay our people for the resources it would take to keep you alive… it's just the most logical solution." He muttered, fidgeting nervously with his armor under the Doom Marine's imposing gaze.

It didn't take long for the shop's doors to open again, the owner emerging with a quiet squeak of shock, turning to the soldier beside them and whispering something in the alien language. The giant settled himself on the ground with a sigh, the chill of night creeping ever closer, seeping into his exposed skin with a shiver. The superior soldier noticed, and quickly spoke up.

"Is there any way we could do this inside? I'd rather not make my troops suffer the cold any longer than they must— including the giant. I'd hate to imagine the amount of medicine it would take to cure a cold at that size…"

The giant stifled a laugh, following as the tailor led them around the building to what seemed to be a delivery entrance. The Doom Marine made his way towards the garage-like door, careful to step over the others this time as he forced it open and slipped into the blessedly warm space, ignoring the cries of shock and alarm at the action as he settled himself amongst the fabrics. The others followed suit, standing guard as the tailor closed the door and made their way towards the giant, gingerly extending a hand to touch his knee, and clambering on top of it when the giant made no move to stop them.

He sucked in a shocked breath, the sensation of another living, breathing person walking along his legs sending goosebumps crawling over his skin. He felt his face flush as he held his breath, watching the small tailor as they tested their footing on the odd surface. Once they'd seemingly found their balance, the tailor curiously padded over his lap, seemingly fascinated by the giant as they prodded at his limbs and torso, eliciting an odd noise to come from the back of his throat in response.

The tailor chuckled lightly as they held one end of the measuring tape out for the marine to hold, carefully making their way down the giant's leg until they ran out of tape with a huff. They decided instead to settle themself on the giant's knee and scribble the measurement into their notepad.

The Slayer shifted slightly, unsure of how to act in this odd scenario. The Sentinel soldiers would raise their weapons at the slightest movement, eyeing the larger man wearily; that he was used to. He was always the outsider, or the gruesome warrior, or the enemy— he was used to being stared at in mistrust or disdain— but this? This strange, casual fascination? Not normal.

The procedure continued semi-normally, the soldiers eyeing him warily as the tailor did their job, occasionally glancing up at the giant to mutter a request in that odd language, miming whatever it was they wanted. They didn't seem to speak English, but they certainly understood it, as they could respond to the human's questions rather easily. They seemed to truly enjoy working with the unusual client, despite the obvious difficulties. The Slayer, however, couldn't quite say the same.

It proved to be increasingly difficult to sit still during the strange procedure, as the comparatively small tailor clambered awkwardly over his much larger frame. The sensation felt… oddly familiar to the marine, though he couldn't quite place why. Of course, that wasn't much of a surprise. He had spent far too many years traversing the unforgiving planes of Hell and Argent D'Nur to retain much knowledge of his life before; he couldn't even remember his own name anymore.

At some point, while the tailor was measuring the length of his arm, a slight misstep and the ensuing twitch of the giant's muscles nearly sent the Argenta tumbling to the ground, the swift movement of the Slayer's reflexes startling the guards into defensive positions, ready to attack at the first sign of danger. The marine wasn't even fully sure what had happened by the time his brain registered the fact that an actual, living person was literally in his hand, sending his heart into his throat as he scrambled for the words to explain himself, trying to force his breathing to return to normal.

The tailor suddenly seemed so fragile, making the Slayer almost afraid to move, lest they fall to pieces. He could feel the Argenta's heart hammering in the small, almost doll-like chest. Each panicked breath wracked their whole body as their brain struggled to comprehend where they were and how they got there. They looked around briefly before locking eyes with their savior, the shocked and slightly panicked expression visibly relaxing as they caught their breath. For a moment it was as if time had stopped, as no one in the room moved or made a sound, just… froze.

Then, the tailor laughed, sending small tremors through the giant's hand with the motion.

It wasn't clear if it was from relief, shock, or just the pure absurdity of the situation, but the sound quickly broke the tension in the room as the others joined in, each for their own, unknowable reasons. The Slayer chuckled in relief, mostly, but also the utter strangeness of the whole day, culminating in the restrained, nearly hysterical laughing fit he had now, shaking his entire body as tears crept from his eyes.

His attention turned to the tailor when he felt the Argenta shift in his hand, softly clearing their throat before speaking, eyes locked with the Slayer's, a hand gently squeezing his thumb.

"Thank you, amiixus." The small person smiled, placing a fist over their heart in what the Slayer understood to be the planet's general sign of friendship, and he carefully shifted his free hand to mimic the gesture with a nod.

Friend. He liked the idea of finding a friend in all of this madness.

—

//In the end the tailor gives the Doom Slayer a small selection of outfits, as well as his custom-fitted Praetor suit— with a bit of help from the Maykers and a team of assistants, of course! Anyways, I really liked this idea and got a bit carried away lol. Hope you like it!

#g/t #giant/tiny #giant tiny #giant #tiny #doom au #doomguy #doom slayer #doom #doom eternal #doom 2016 #giants #giant doomguy #g/t writing #amod #a monster of divinity

[destielshippingnews]

Edvard's Supernatural Rewatch & Review: 1x04 Phantom Traveler

In this week’s analysis, I’ll be discussing the unfortunate introduction of Abrahamic mythology, the lamentable gender politics of Dean in his nightwear, and magic languages.

Supernatural’s fourth offering, 1x04 Phantom Traveler, (not a misspelling, 'traveller' is spelt like that in America) is a solid episode. It’s not fantastic, and Supernatural certainly has better to offer, but it’s still an entertaining watch which introduces demons into the Supernatural universe and continues developing Dean and Sam’s characters, making them more distinct.

It is also the first episode Robert Singer directed for Supernatural. I didn’t see much to particularly comment on in the direction for this episode (my two years of Media Studies were not wasted on me at all), but one interesting choice, however, is the tracking shot of Dean’s sleeping form straight after the title card. EscapingPurgatory podcast had a shrewd postulation: the intended audience was heterosexual educated men between the ages of roughly 15 and 39, but a lot of them would be watching with their girlfriends and wives etc, and Dean is the brother who’s available at the moment.

Returning to the plot of the show, the script does itself a major disservice as early as the cold open. This episode was broadcast in America four years after 9/11 (almost four and a half in Britain) and was right in the middle of the decades-long and still ongoing war on drugs. The atmosphere surrounding airfare has changed fundamentally. The air hostess clearly saw the man’s black eyes and was affected by it, and should have alerted somebody on the plane to her worries, because she would have thought he was on drugs of some variety at the very least, and possibly smuggling drugs on the plane. However, for the purposes of the plot she does not act on her misgivings, but simply gasps and goes about her day.

This raises the question of why the demon revealed its presence like that. Demons are usually incredibly stupid on Supernatural, but this level of dumb is difficult for me to believe. The air hostess could have very easily had the man thrown off the aeroplane, and then its plan would be scuppered. The most likely reason was to show the audience that the man was possessed, but the audience was going to find that out in about a minute’s time anyway, so why reveal it there? It breaks the fourth wall in a bad way.

Whilst on the aeroplane and the demon’s plan, the episode never makes the demon’s motivations explicit. Sure, Sam claims that demons like death and destruction for their own sake, but this doesn’t fit well with how demons behave later in the show. They are, forsooth, as thick as poo, but they usually have higher ups telling them what to do. Was the demon’s repeated downing of aeroplanes part of a higher up’s plan?

Before I go on, it’s worthwhile mentioning that this episode is the first one to introduce the idea of an actual Abrahamic Hell in the Supernatural universe. It’s not the only genre show of its kind to have included something like this, with Charmed having the Underworld where the Source of All Evil resided, and Buffy having various Hell dimensions, but those two examples weren’t Hell as depicted in the Bible.

Joss Whedon specifically avoided the idea of a Hell and employed dimensions ruled by demons and demon gods rather than Archangel Lucifer. Charmed used the Underworld as an equivalent of Hell, but it was not a place of punishment for human souls. While Charmed is definitely my least favourite fantasy/horror/sci-fi genre show (Prue notwithstanding), I appreciated that it took a step away from Abrahamic mythology. Buffy/Angel were even better, having their own mythology that had precious little to do with Middle Eastern religions and more to do with Dunsany, Lovecraft or sometimes even Tolkien.

Kripke, however, took the lazy route with Abrahamic, specifically Christian, mythology, a choice which I believe was to the show’s detriment. It’s supposed to be a show about American folklore and urban legends, but that stuff eventually gets thrown under the bus. Forget Native Americans, screw the Americanised versions of Scandiwegian lore, screw the Old West and the Gold Rush and all the tales revolving around America’s history. And Canada? Pfft. What even is Canada? And don’t even think about Mexico. Let’s just have yet more desert myths from 2-3000 years ago.

My distaste aside, this universe has a Hell (and a Heaven), and demons are made by torturing humans until all humanity is gone from them, or by letting the humans off the torture rack if they agree to become the torturers.

Knowing this, two possibilities come to mind. One is that this demon is repeating its own human death for some reason, and another is that it kills people and drags their souls to Hell to make more demons.

Repeating its own death is entirely speculative, but this episode mixes up demons with traits later associated with ghosts and death echoes. Never again is an EMF reader used to detect demonic activity, and unless I’ve forgotten a certain example, demons aren’t shown to act as specifically as this again.

The second option, that of dragging souls to Hell, doesn’t seem likely as it’s made clear that demon deals or trades are required in order for Hell to get its claws on human souls, at least in usual circumstances. There’s nothing saying that demons can’t just decide to drag certain souls to Hell, and there is an implication at the end of this episode that this might actually be the case, but it’s a stretch. If this were the case, however, it would give the demon a real motive and make the episode less of a stand-alone bit of fun with overt X-Files vibes.

Sticking with Hell events on the aeroplane for now, let’s skip to the end and the exorcism. Whilst trying to exorcise the demon, it tells Sam that Jessica is burning in Hell. Dean tries to reassure Sam by saying that demons read minds and that it was trying to get to him, but demons can only know the minds of people they possess. This then leaves three options: the demon was lying and Jess is in Heaven, it was telling the truth and Jess is in Hell, or the demon was just trying to get to Sam, but unbeknownst to him Jess actually was in Hell.

Technically speaking, Jess shouldn’t be in Hell. She didn’t make a deal (that we know of) and it’s established later in the show that most people go to Heaven anyway. But Kevin didn’t, neither did Eileen or Bobby. Mary did, even though she made a deal with Azazel, and she died under the same circumstances as Jess. As Jess is never mentioned as being in Hell by another demon in the show, and as Dean, Sam and Cas eventually visit Hell and find nothing of her there, we can assume Jessica went to Heaven.

The exorcism in this episode is strange compared to exorcisms in the rest of the show. The Doyle (external to the text) explanation is clearly that the writers didn’t know exactly how they wanted things to work yet, but the Watson (within the text) explanation could be that they used a different exorcism ritual. Later in the show, there is no intermediate stage between being expelled from the host body and being banished to Hell: they just go directly down. This version, though, forces the demon to manifest and thereby makes it much stronger and more dangerous. I personally think the version in this episode makes the demons more of a threat because it’s harder to exorcise them, but I can see why it became streamlined later in the show.

The fact the demon possessed the aeroplane, however, raises the question of why it didn’t do so in the first place. Maybe it’s more fun to possess a human first.

Speaking of the ritual, Jared tells us on the commentary that he had to have a Latin teacher from a local university instruct him in Ecclesiastical Latin because he learnt Classical Latin at school. As a language person, I’m left wondering why. It’s the same language, just pronounced differently. Does the spell need to be pronounced in a certain way in order to work? If so, would the Ancient Romans have been completely incapable of expelling demons with their own language? Would they have had to rely on Greek, Etruscan, Gaulish or Sumerian for the rituals? It’s just completely unnecessary, especially as we later see Rowena casting spells in Scottish Gaelic, Irish witches casting spells in Irish, Celtic ‛demons’ performing rituals in Gaulish…

At least the university teacher got a little bit of extra money, I suppose.

Sticking with the aeroplane a little bit longer, Dean’s fear of flying is a welcome expansion to his character, though it was clearly included with the intent of making fun of him. It could easily have been played as such, but Jensen’s comments on the commentary indicate he saw it as an opportunity to provide more depth to Dean, as his connection with Lucas through their shared childhood trauma did in 1x03 Dead in the Water. In these two episodes, Jensen begins taking Dean away from the writers and making him his own: he was supposed to be the sidekick, but Jensen said nope.

In making Dean afraid of flying, but having him so insistent upon flying in spite of it, The Show perhaps did itself a bit of a disservice in its mission of making Sam The Hero and Dean The Sidekick. Dean was terrified, but flew anyway. That is bravery, and it’s what the audience wants to see in a hero.

Sam, however, does not miss an opportunity to make me dislike him (you knew this was coming at some point, don’t look surprised). Not only is he incredibly unappreciative and derisive of Dean’s talents, such as making his own EMF from an old Walkman, but he was also derisive of Dean’s fear of flying.

Sorry, let me reword that. Derisive of Dean for being scared of flying. It’s perfectly rational to be afraid of being in a giant metal bird suspended miles above the ground, but Dean agreed to it anyway in order to save people. And Sam treats him like a child because he’s scared of take-off and turbulence. Dean’s fear is a rational one, something that a person who hasn’t been sheltered from reality would have. Sam’s greatest fear, however, is…

Clowns.

I get it, they’re brothers, and siblings are supposed to rib on each other like this (the siblings I still talk to aren’t like this with me or each other, so I find it difficult to relate to Dean and Sam’s relationship) but it makes Sam come across as an utter cunny-hole. If somebody is clearly terrified of something and on the edge of a panic attack, you don’t sneer and mock, and then demand he calm down. Sure, Dean needed to calm down and Sam was the only one who could do it, but talking to him like a child just reveals how little Sam knows of taking care of other people. He’s the pampered younger brother, and it really shows.

He also shows a lack of judgement when roughly putting a hand on Dean’s shoulder while he was distracted. Dean’s essentially a war child (and suffers C-PTSD) and you just shouldn’t do things like this to somebody like that. That’s how you trigger panic attacks or flashbacks. Ask a veteran, I’m sure s/he’ll agree.

Aside from that, the middle-aged man on the aeroplane winked at Dean – winked – when Dean was walking down the aisle with his EMF reader. A man winking at a man has sexual overtones nowadays, and has done for a long time. How many men wink at a built guy standing over them like that unless they’re sure they won’t be punched in the face? Dean had his EMF reader out at that moment, but he was simultaneously on somebody else’s radar. Something about Dean set sexual bells ringing in cameo middle-aged man’s head. Regarding Sam, there’s two important moments for him in this episode (Jess aside): when he discovers John talked about and praised him in his absence, and when he exorcises the demon. It’s made clear in a few episodes’ time that Sam never felt like he fit in with his family, and that he believed John was disappointed in him. Exactly how he came to this conclusion is uncertain, since John doted on Sam and afforded him liberties he never would have allowed Dean, but it’s clear their relationship is difficult. Going away to university was Sam’s attempt to run away from the dysfunctional family he felt an outsider in and to escape John (and Dean): that he apparently didn’t speak to either John or Dean during his time there says a lot.

He finds out, however, that John praised him, undermining somewhat Sam’s belief that John regarded him as a disappointment. Episode 1x05 Bloody Mary provides another moment of character growth for Sam that subtly changes the way he perceives himself, but all in due course.

Praise from parents is important for children, and it really shouldn’t be hard for parents to tell their children they’re proud of them, even if they don’t say it in as many words. In spite of his difficult relationship with John, Sam gets that by proxy in this episode (whilst Dean’s happily checking out all the men in the hangar) and it changes the way he sees himself and John, even if only slightly.

The other moment – discussed above – is his exorcism of the demon. I don’t mince my words about disliking Sam, but even I can see he had potential. He’s the weird kid who wanted a normal life, but because of cursed blood had that hope denied him. Series 4 shows us the beginning of what Sam could have turned into when his blood magic arc truly kicks off, and it could have been a riveting plotline if written and handled well. Think for example of Willow in Buffy and the journey she went on with her magic powers: there was real darkness in there, and a gargantuan struggle to overcome it and become stronger.

This exorcism reminds me of Willow’s first steps at witchcraft in 2x22 when she casts the spell to restore a certain character’s soul and we see the potential for true strength as she performs the spell with ease. This exorcism of Sam’s should have been something similar, and his demonic powers should not have been completely removed and forgotten about in 8x23. He could have been Supernatural’s answer to Willow, and the Dark!Sam arc in series 3-7 could have been the first in his descent into darkness and his fight back out to take control of his own powers and become the opposite of what Azazel wanted him to be.

But – and not for the last time – three words come to mind. Such potential, Supernatural.

You might remember I mentioned the tracking shot of Dean (and neglected to mention the revealing shot of his thighs and underwear). Paula R. Stiles’ suggestion that the fact the writers and director for this episode were men doesn’t cheapen it is one I don’t understand. Jensen is in my 100% objective and unbiased opinion one of the finest men alive, but exploiting that in order to draw in an audience does cheapen the show.

To be fair, Supernatural is hardly high culture and commercial television is about revenue, but things like that break the illusion of artistic integrity, just like not making Dean explicitly bisexual does because that’d scare away too much of the audience. If having scantily-clad women in a show or film is there for the male gaze and drawing in money, then so too are Dean’s thighs and buttocks, similarly cheapening the show. If the male gaze objectifies women, stripping them of their power and subjecting them to male desires, then the female gaze objectifies and strips men of any power they might have and subjects them to female desires.

If it’s bad for the gander, it should also be bad for the goose.

Neither do I think it matters one bit that the writer and director are men, or am I supposed to believe a woman has never encouraged or coerced another woman to flash a bit of boob in order to get men to empty their pockets? Claiming that presenting a person as an object of possible sexual attraction turns him into an ‛object’ is strange, and that claim’s only ever made when women are being presented for men’s enjoyment.

But let’s stick to Supernatural because I have work in the morning. To be honest, I never notice if a woman on screen is being subjected to a ‛male’ gaze because I have no sexual or romantic interest in women whatsoever: if a woman is supposed to be portrayed as appealing to men’s eyes, it’ll usually go straight over my head because it just doesn’t register as having anything to do with sex. Interesting, however, is that this begins the trend of treating Dean in certain ways that women are usually treated, or associating him with ‛feminine’ traits.

Some people go overboard with for example Dean’s association with and likeness to Mary, his taking on the parental (maternal?) role in Sam’s upbringing, his knack with children etc, and use it as evidence to suggest that any traditionally masculine behaviour – or masculine behaviour at all – from Dean is a performance to keep up an act so that he can hide how feminine he really is.

My take on this is quite different than the condescending viewpoint that a man behaving like a man is performing and pretending. Dean’s ‛feminine’ traits are not his ‛true’ self in opposition to his feigned masculine behaviour. There is absolutely no contradiction between Dean exhibiting ‛feminine’ traits such as being good with children, cooking, or trying his hardest to fill the role Mary would have filled, and being a masculine man who identifies very strongly with being male.

I do think it’s fascinating, though, and the complexity and depth of Dean as a male character is one of the reasons he is one of my favourite characters. We rarely get to see men who are very manly and also incredibly loving, loyal and paternal and who exhibit a normal range of human behaviours and interests, including ‛masculine’ and ‛feminine’. That’s what normal men are like, something television and film seem to have forgotten.

Regarding Dean in bed, note that he is a stomach sleeper (sleeping on your stomach keeps your tummy safe), and this is consistent throughout all fifteen years of the show. However, this early in the show he takes his trousers, outer shirts and shoes off, in contrast to sleeping fully dressed as he begins doing sometime rather soon. He’s alert and cautious this early in the show, but not yet quite so worn down that he can’t be bothered to get ready for bed.

Note also that both brothers have sleeping problems here. Dean knew Sam was still up at 3am, meaning Dean likely slept for less than three hours, having been woken up by Sam at 5:45.

The end of the episode presents the brothers with something to be hopeful about. John has a new mobile phone number, the first evidence they’ve had so far that he is very probably still alive. It’s not much to go on, and John does not answer Dean and Sam’s call, but it’s something the boys can latch on to and keep them searching for John. Whether or not they should be searching for John is another question altogether, though, but at least it got the plot going in 1x01.,

Phantom Traveler is a strong but flawed episode which builds on last week’s expansion of Dean’s character and role, as well as introducing demons and Hell into the lore. The cut scene where Dean has to remove all his concealed weapons before going into the airport really should have been kept in because it says a lot about his character, as does his sleeping with a blade under his pillow, but other than that, I’m happy to leave this episode now on a positive note.

#Michael's Supernatural Rewatch #SPN Rewatch #spn 1x04 #phantom traveler #sam winchester #john winchester #dean winchester #demons #hell #male gaze #female gaze #christian mythology

[crystalgirl259]

Guilty Pleasures Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Noah’s Ark

It would be over three thousand years before Zane met the strange demon known as Kai again. In those years the human race had grown at a rapid rate and had taken over pretty much the entire planet. Zane couldn't help but wonder if the human's sudden growth was always part of the plan or if the weapons he and Kai had gifted Adam and Eve had had a hand with it and aided in their expansion. Zane shuddered as he thought about the weapons from Heaven and Hell.

After he had sealed the Garden of Eden, the Almighty had only asked him once where the shurikens were and thankfully he managed to convince them that they were in the garden somewhere.

He had tried to find the two weapons in later years but it seemed that they had been lost to time. The angel was standing among a large crowd, watching as Noah finished building his ark. Noah's family had begun to lead the pairs of animals on board. While most of the crowd laughed and jeered at the man, Zane was just barely managing to keep the bile down, knowing what was coming. He wanted so desperately to warn the people, to tell them Noah was telling the truth and that they needed to find boats.

But at the same time, he knew that they wouldn't listen and that it was too late anyway.

Before they finished even a small boat the flood would come and wash them all away. As the angel wrestled with his thoughts, he suddenly felt someone tap him on the shoulder. He turned to see Kai standing beside him with a big grin on his face. The demon hadn't changed at all since Zane had last seen him. The only different thing was the brunette's missing wings that had been hidden, much like Zane's own wings.

"Hello, Zane." Kai greeted warmly and Zane wondered what had drawn the demon here.

"Kai," Zane replied awkwardly. He still didn't know how to properly interact with a demon, even if this one didn't come off as a threat right away.

"So, giving the mortals a flaming sword and icy shurikens, how do you think that worked out for us?" Kai asked with what Zane could swear was a mischievous purr.

"The Almighty has never actually mentioned it again." He replied, trying to keep his attention on the boat.

"Probably a good thing." He shrugged as he looked around at the crowd and back at the boat. "So what's all this about? Build a big boat and fill it with a traveling zoo?" He asked and Zane had took swallow the lump in his throat as he thought of a response.

"From what I hear, God's a bit tetchy and is wiping out the human race... with a big storm." He stammered, catching the demon off-guard.

"All of them?"

"Just the locals." Zane tried to smile, but it was so strained even Kai could see through it. "I don't believe the Almighty's upset with the Chinese, or the Native Americans, or the Australians."

"Yet."

"And God's not going to wipe out all the locals; I mean, Noah, up there, his family, and his sons, their wives, they're all going to be fine." He tried to reassure, but it had little to no effect on the brunette.

"But they're drowning everybody else?" He scoffed as he looked around at the crowd who were ignorant to their impending doom. His eyes widened when he saw a small group of kids running and playing in the crowd. "You can't kill children." He gasped in horror when Zane reluctantly nodded, snake eyes wide open. Not even a demon would kill a child. Why kill something when they wouldn't go to hell, anyway? Something that couldn't defend itself.

It wasn't logical.

It wasn't fair either, he thought. But only very quietly to himself. Zane had looked so helpless, but he hadn't agreed with the demon. At least he hadn't said it out loud. Although something had been in the angels' beautiful eyes. Kai liked to imagine that it was doubt. Still, he knew that having exactly that could be extremely dangerous. One doesn't simply doubt the great plan. Kai wanted to save the children. He did. The reason why he wanted to do that was far apart from any comprehension.

It couldn't be that wrong or right or whatever.

Only that way the children could grow old and be bad and ultimately go to hell, and that should be hells' only concern, anyway. He observed the Ark from every side. It was huge. Much bigger than a house, and much bigger than a dune, and much bigger than any animal climbing aboard. There should be more than enough space for everything and more. Also, the other unicorn was still missing. Kai wasn't too concerned, they still had the other one.

An idea started to form, as he observed the Ark.

There were a lot of animals and no one was paying as much attention to them as they should. A unicorn had already gotten away, anyway. Maybe, just maybe, this could also work the other way around. There should be enough space...

****************

Zane felt bad. He felt as bad as he never did before. He felt even too bad to listen to his conscience, which tried to tell him something. It couldn't be that important, though. The fresh air didn't make it better. The angel was the first one to discover seasickness. On the third evening, Zane sat outside between a flamingo and a gazelle and tried to keep the contents of his dinner where they belonged.

"Snowflake, are you ok?" Kai asked, suddenly standing between him and the flamingo. The flamingo watched him suspiciously with his head tilted.

"Oh, I'm fine," Zane answered bravely.

"Are you sure? The light makes you look a bit greenish." He said and the angel tried not to stare at the demon's long and probably soft hair in the wind and falling into his eyes.

"Maybe a bit tired." He said, clinging onto the railing.

"Tired?"

"Tired." He repeated. Kai had never seen an angel getting sick before. Maybe it was Gods' anger that made it that way. Maybe it was something entirely different. Either way, the demon was worried. It was a huge ark. There were near to no waves at all. Which meant, the floor was practically not shaking any bit. Zane glanced at him, help to seek. The angel sighed dramatically once more.

"I'll make you some ginger tea." The demon finally said.

"I'll feel miserable till the end of-"

"You'll be fine in two or three days, trust me." The demon assured him. Zane took a step forward, then let himself fall against the railing again and got even greener if possible. "What did you eat?" Kai asked as he took the angel carefully by the arm.

"Some tuna I think," Zane admitted reluctantly.

"Bad idea." He sighed as he shook his head. Zane flinched at the word bad. "Let's go inside, ok?" The demon suggested as he half carried him inside. His hands felt hot, but also his touch was strangely calming, and maybe just a little bit nice. "What do you usually do to calm yourself down, angel?" He asked reluctantly. This made the angel jump a bit. Then he looked to the ceiling with a pinch of guilt, as they slowly walked down the stairs and deeper into the Ark.

"I read or write something."

"You should stop that."

"I will do no such thing!" Zane cried as he ripped his arm away and a moment later he grabbed for Kai again because he almost fell over a big rat.

"I mean you should stop that as long as you feel bad." Kai chuckled lightly as he brought the angel back to his cabin which he shared with different breeds of pigeon and two friendly brown chickens.

"Will you read something for me? Please?" Zane asked as he snuggled into a blanket. Kai hesitated for a moment, but then he grabbed a scroll that was lying next to Zane's bed. How could he say no? The angel looked at him expectantly. The scroll was made of dried leaves and the tiny symbols looked like they were written with blood. Since the demon couldn't read, he had to improvise. He sat down next to the angel, not too close but not too far, opened the scroll from the wrong side, and began to tell a story.

Zane closed his eyes and smiled so sweetly that it made Kai almost forget how words work.

But he took a deep breath and continued his story bravely. Kai kept talking quietly over the singing of some budgies, the yawning tiger, the cheeping degu until Zane calmed down enough to not sleep but dream. After he had made sure that Zane was feeling better, the demon left him alone, although he desperately wanted to stay. But he had other things to do...

****************

Zane had rested for hours and was now refreshed. The angel felt much stronger, although still shaky. But now he was bored and he had been thinking about Kai for a while now. For some reason he couldn't explain, he just wanted to see him again. Preferably sooner than later.

"Kai? Where are you? Could you... Could you read me another story, please?" He shouted as loud as he dared, which wasn't very loud, as he approached the section where there were zebras, some apes, and a few butterflies. It was quite dark. Only a few candles lit this section. There he found Kai, but the demon didn't look pleased to see him.

"Wait a moment, Snowflake; don't come here." He said, sounding nervous.

"Is something wrong, my dear?" Zane asked and went there, anyway. Just then, a young girl that had been hiding in the shadows and he had almost walked into ran and hid behind Kai. He stared at a terrifying demon surrounded by small children, mouth agape. Two were holding his hands and one was sitting on his shoulders, badly braiding his long hair with tiny and probably not very clean fingers. In the background, they heard a hog making some unhappy sounds.

"What did you do?!" Zane almost hissed.

"I don't know what you are talking about," Kai said, trying to act innocent.

"I'm talking about the children! Where do they come from?"

"Oh.. hey... I haven't even noticed them."

"Kai." Zane scowled as he crossed his arms. He uncrossed them again, however, because he needed them for stability. He felt himself getting sick again. Was the floor getting shakier?

"You can't kill children." The demon finally said softly.

"WE CAN'T- can't keep them here." He insisted, trying to keep his tone down as the small girl sitting on Kai's shoulders started crying.

"What do you intend to do? Throw them overboard? Does the ineffable plan tell you to do that?" Kai snarled and for a moment their eyes were locked. Zane then sighed and fixed his gaze on the floorboards as the demon glared at him.

"What now, angel?"

"No, I don't –Do you even know how to take care of children?"

"Do you?" Kai asked sarcastically.

"No, I don't…"

"Me neither." The demon sighed. Zane watched the kids held Kai's hands and hid behind him. He quickly realized that they were afraid of the angel. After a moment of careful consideration, ha decided that he didn't want them to fear an angel. He was supposed to be the good one. "Do you think about snitching?" Kai asked, his voice sounded somehow hurt.

"No, I- I thought, that we both don't know how to take care of children, but maybe we could learn it together." He offered awkwardly. At first, the demon felt like he was petrified, but then he sighed.

"If you want to, yeah, whatever; you look for something to feed them and maybe a bit of clean water and Ava over there wants to see the unicorn so I'll go with her and show her if you keep an eye on the others for a while because I can't take all of them there because Amon over there is scared of horses and I don't know how he will react to a unicorn." He shrugged and Zane nodded. They had never taken care of living beings, before. Okay, not really.

But they learned quickly and all the children survived.

Kai in his snake form would curl around the children to keep them warm. Zane would cook something nutritious for them to eat. He would eat most of it, but they're also would be more than enough for the children. After that, they would talk. Tell stories on a stormy night to calm everyone down. Mostly the angel, because the shaking of the ark didn't make him feel good. Still, his stomach would get upset from time to time.

"I'm glad, you were there," Zane said one night quietly, as they watched over the children sleeping. Kai didn't answer. He picked up a beautiful feather of a parakeet and gently put it in Zane's hair.

"I gave the Mammoths' ration to the children; I mean... it's a huge animal, so it should be fine without one dinner." He said casually after a while. Then the angel wondered, when the last time was, that he fed the mammoths. It couldn't be this long ago. The Ark would have a little fewer passengers when it arrived than when it started sailing. But the children would all survive and grow to be adults. Raised by an angel and a demon, all of them got to be fundamentally human.

Lurking between the goats, there was a second demon which none of the other beings noticed.

Even then he had smelled bad, but to be completely honest, everywhere on the Ark it smelled pretty bad. Between lurking sessions, he enjoyed scaring the birds. There were a few penguins that he didn't like. One had bitten his hand when he tried to pet it. Therefore Morro made the penguin stop flying. All the other birds hated him for that. Sometimes he also scared some children. But weren't there more than there were supposed to be? One time he saw the demon Kai holding the hand of a small girl as she cried.

After a while, she stopped crying as he talked to her calmingly and fell asleep in Kai's arms.

This confused Morro. Why would he do that? This was the first time when Morro suspected something. He didn't like it. Something was going on, something fishy, and it wasn't the fish. He couldn't prove it though, not just yet. He didn't know how to yet. But he was lurking in the shadows, ready to strike. Still, he was new to the job, but he gave his best and already could do an impressive amount of lurking in a day or preferably at night...

#ninjago #ninjago kai #ninjago zane #oppositeshipping #guilty pleasures #ninjago morro #ninjago fanfiction

[sulfurandbrimstone74]

Aziraphale will never Fall

And here’s why...

I think we are all well aware at this point that God isn’t in direct communication with anyone. Be it Archangels or Dukes of Hell, She tends to stay uninvolved. It is my belief that she isn’t even completely on the side of the Angels. Dare I say, She is and always has been on Crowley and Aziraphale’s side. Even before they were. 

I think that when the Rebellion broke out in Heaven and all the Fallen Angels were thrown out and became Demons, She might have simply added Crowley to the payroll. We’ve all pretty much come to an unanimous agreement that Crowley Fell for asking too many questions, and I think we’ve also all agreed how ridiculous that is. But what if that was the point?

What if the reason Crowley “didn’t so much Fall as Saunter Vaguely Downwards” was because God knew there was going to be another war and that She knew She needed two human beings to stop it. So She chose to make Crowley Fall because he wasn’t afraid of asking question and looking for the answers. Maybe she influenced him - without him knowing - to “hang out with the wrong people”. And when he ended up in Hell of course he began to act like and believe things the other Demons did. He thought he was one of them. But, unlike the other Demons in Hell, he still never lost his Faith. 

Good Omens is about duality. It’s about the need for the good and the bad. The white and the black. The yin and the yang. Crowley and Aziraphale were meant to save the world from the start because they were the only two beings who were capable of rebelling against the Rebellion and caring with all their ethereal heart. 

So perhaps God made Crowley Fall because She needed him to be able to work with the greatest of all Angels to not only save the world, but to fix the Heavens. Because Aziraphale is the best Angel Heaven's got. He cares about every living thing, even the things that other Angels have written off and decided weren’t worth their unconditional love. The moment Aziraphale meets Crowley (and I’m willing to bet this was the first Demon he had ever met) he didn’t act above him or weary of him. He didn’t seem like he was angry at Crowley for going against Heaven or for Falling. He even lifted his wing and protected his “hereditary enemy” from the rain. 

It’s also worth saying that Falling isn’t something that happens everyday. Angels don’t Fall all the time; they were created to be the perfect images of purity and faith. The first and only time Angels Fell was after the Rebellion. There aren’t drawn out rules that Angels have to follow to keep their halos. 

That’s why when the Angels wanted to punish Aziraphale they didn’t just wait around until he Fell or submitted the paperwork to make him Fall. They had to create an extravagant plan to destroy Aziraphale completely. 

This can be explained by the fact that Aziraphale is never even afraid of Falling in the story. All the times he’s worried about working with Crowley he’s worried about the other Angels looking down at him or him not living up to what he thinks God wants him to be. He’s more worried about what Hell might do to Crowley for working with an Angel than of ending up down there himself. 

Demons also can’t go back to being Angels. All those times in which Hastur and Ligur were talking about Crowley “going native” wasn’t saying that he had suddenly had become a holy Angel again. it was the equivalent to us saying our friends and family members have “gone insane” when they’re annoying us. They didn’t actually get a court ruling stating that they were decidedly incapable of making important decisions for themselves, we’re just calling them names. 

So Aziraphale will never Fall. Not only because God doesn’t want him to, or because Falling isn’t something that just happens, but also because he never deserved to Fall. He did everything right. He’s a good person. He always sees the good in other people. He could never be punished for protecting God’s creation; for protecting the very beings he was assigned to protect. 

And - even though I’m sure a lot of people will disagree with me on this one - he never loses him Faith. In the Angels and in Heaven for sure, but never in God. Even in the end of the story he believes in the Ineffable Plan. He even agrees with Crowley that perhaps all of this madness was Her plan from the very beginning. 

So, Aziraphale won’t Fall. Because he’s simply too much of an angel for it to happen. 

#good omens #good-omens #azriaphale #crowley #an angel who did not so much Fall as Saunter Vaguely Downwards #an angel and part-time rare book dealer

[wayward-writers]

I do in fact have some Amara and Chuck headcanons, well really just one and it deals with the empty.

Before the siblings and many universes were created, it was only nothingness. It was empty. It was THE Empty. One day, a day that science refers to as the big bang, light and darkness were created, and in that, Amara and Chuck. They exist inside a portion of the empty they they claimed for their own. Chuck decided to use his sandbox to create universes, and used one to trap his own sister after she disliked his first autonomous creation, Angels. He created worlds weaker than him so that he'd always have the most power. It's also why he doesn't have any power over the empty. Its because his power is an illusion in comparison to the empty. When angels and demons are killed, their beings get pushed outside of God's sandbox because they are made of light and dark that is "multidimentional". This isn't quite the case as it is closer to existing between God's universes than in multiple at once. That gap between them is still the empty, so that's where they get pulled.

On the idea of universes, I'd like to think that all of chuck's creations have multiple phases more so than universes. Examples would be every world has it's own heaven, hell, purgatory, and ether (where Angels keep their wings). All these phases are part of what we perceive as a universe.

Hope this all makes sense and helps you with some metaphysics! In regards to that I am also working on a research paper-based thing that goes over headcanon lore on Angels. Don't know if that is something you could use for the project or not. Let me know if you want to see it when I've finished it.

[Its contents should include angel wing color meaning, biology of molt, moving wings between phases, physical wings, angel powers and grace, Angel ranks, training as fledglings or newly created Angels, general customs like native language, and some on how their minds work.]

(Wow that is a lot scarier that just writing little notes. There is so much I wanna cover and I want this to not end up as a WIP.)

{Hope this wasn't too long and that you are having a great day 💙💙💙}

Bro... Ace, (can I call you Ace?)... my good buddy... my best friend. THIS WAS SO HELPFUL THANK YOU. Like it actually makes a ton of sense and is a really good place for us to start working. The Empty is such a disaster. Like Chuck doesn’t have power in the Empty obviously, but he manages to resurrect Cas multiple times, and even Lucifer in 15x19? And Jack being able to break through because he has the power of both souls and grace makes a lot of sense, but... Chuck shouldn’t be able to???!?!?! And then don’t get me started on the mess that is Purgatory/Hell/Heaven endgame. Even the “fixed” version of Heaven from you-know-what episode, (*shudders), doesn’t make a lot of logical sense if you actually start thinking about it. But you’ve provided us with a really interesting Beginning™ ideas, which can lay the foundation for more exciting stuff to come! And yes! We would honestly really, really like to see it when you’re done! (If you’re comfortable with sharing it of course.)

And woo woo!! Sharing creative works and ideas can be very intimidating, and we’re proud that you did it! (I apologize if that sounds kinda weird lol.) These asks are never too long, don’t worry, and we hope you’re having an awesome day too! (Or night if it’s night for you!)

Thank youuuuuuuuuu for the ask, Slithery Snek Regular non-anon. (The names a WIP ok give us time.)

#dope ideas

[yandere-wishes]

Eight Tries //Obey  Me Yandere! Asmodeus x reader //

Thank you so so much for this wonderful prompt @feedmestraycats​. Icon made by the lovly @bbelphie​!

TW: attempted suicide, mention of rape/noncon, gore, murder, cheating

This was getting old, he still wasn't home and there was no point in pretending that he was just running late. No, you knew that your husband was not coming back home tonight, maybe if you were lucky you would find him passed out on the couch sometime in the late afternoon once you returned from the marketplace. 

There was no reason to spend the dreary and dull night alone. If that spoiled hero you called a husband could be spending such a gorgeous night, out with some prostitute from the slums then you could also be having some naughty fun~

--To call your current like a nightmare was an understatement. People awake from nightmares, they could open their eyes and be back in the safety of their warm beds, next to the person they loved. But the second your eyes opened you entered a hell on earth, there wasn't any escape, no freedom...and the worst part was that there was not a single soul to comfort you--

Five red candles set in a circle each one a blase with a tiny passionate flame. Two twigs inserted parallel to one another, caging in the dried corpse of a scorpion. Next is the demon's sacred seal written in the summoner's blood, elegantly and delicately. Sprinkle it with salt and state the ungodly words. "Oh, great Asmodeus lord of love, aviator of lust, I become thee come forth to me, I offer you my body and soul"

--You had been born to a noble family in a small and rather poor town. Despite the town economical standpoint, the natives were tremendously kind and neighborly. Everyone shared whatever little of anything they may have had. Your family, in particular, was the most charitable. Giving and giving as much as humanly possible. When it came time for you to chose a husband, your father requested you marry someone from the town, someone you truly loved disregarding how poor or wealthy they may be. Marry for love he insisted but keep it in the family. Regardless to say that's what you did. You found a man and fell in love, married a month later in a joyous celebration in which the whole town had been invited to....but then HE came along--

The circle in front of you puffed with a cloud of thick pink smoke. It invaded your sense, plunging into your mind and sending waves of ecstasy. It was a rush pure lust was infected into your entire body...

but then it stopped, neglecting your corpse and leaving you you confused and sweaty. It was in that eerie moment that the demon decided to manifest himself. He stood tall in all his glory, petite bat wings spread out. If it weren't for the dark shadow and uncharacteristic bitter frown spread thinly across his face, he would have looked as beautiful and perfect as the first miserable night you played eyes on him.

--In the dead of night Asmodeus had murdered your husband in clod blood. He had made you watch as he shredded your lover's corps leaving only a messy pile of blood and organs on the bed. But that had not been enough for the lord of lust. On that same blood-soaked bed he had defiled you,  raped you and stolen what was meant for the man who's blood you now laid in, a weeping mess reeking of that demon's stench. Your parents had found you the following day. They were sent into an accentuated frenzy. How could such a horrifying thing happen? By the following year, you'd been wed again, only for Asmodeus to return on the night of your marriage and decimate your new husband. By the fourth accurations, the townsfolk had deemed you cursed, at first they tried all that they could to save you from this dreadful beast. But all too soon it had turned into a competition. "Who could marry the nobleman's daughter and survive the next day." Desperate to wed you off your parents accepted any challenger who arrived....and each was dead by the morning of your marriage. By the sixth time, the townsfolk had already tried to kill you on multiple occasions. The sweet and caring town you knew had been annihilated replaced by this bitter, angry village of unkind and untrusting residents. And Asmodeus? Well, he'd made a game out of this, each time he'd find a new grisly way to slaughter your new husband and a new repugnant way to rape you. By the seventh husband, you'd already attempted four suicides. All resulting in fallierur, by some black miracle that dreadful demon was always able to save you and keep you alive. All hope was lost or so it seemed.--

"He's out again..." Was there any need to explain why you'd summons him. Over the last two years since your wedding to the "hero", these summonings had been almost routine. 

"Of course he is darling~ did you really think you were enough to satisfy him? hm?"

The words stabbed your heart like a million needles at once, the reality was all too fragile and could come crumbling down at any given time. You had never been enough, this was a well-known fact at this point. You had never been enough for your lovers, parents or town's people and now you weren't even enough for your own husband, the man that had saved you from all your miseries. 

"Love, he's a hero. Hero's don't settle down and live domestic lives with their loved ones and children. They need the torture of missions and anguish of journeys to feel alive. When they leave it all behind they wind up as hollow husks filling out the rest of their existence with alcohol and street women."

--After having prayed to God for too many days and nights to count, he's finally sent you a hero. Tobias was sent to vanquish the demon Asmodeus and merry you as a reward. At the time you'd all thought he had succeeded, that the avatar of lust was really dead. The thought had brought you joyous days and depressing nights. A part of you was beyond thankful that he was finally gone. The other half missed and longed for his lips on yours, for his hands brushing against your skin, the feel of his honey-colored lock tangled in between your fingers. You missed your tormentor...

At first, you and Tobias had been like any young couple so in love to notice the conflict of the world around you, so in love to disregard each other's sharp edges. So in love, until you were no longer. The first year had been sweet and peacful, every day was a harmonious dream...but then Tobias started coming home late, neglecting your presence. Some nights he wouldn't return at all and you'd run into town finding him in some pub drunk and with some random woman clinging to him. You spent those nights crying yourself into fitful revolting dreams of happiness and death. The old pre-suicidal habits had returned. One night the blade slipped and slashed a vain to deep, mentally exhausted you simply laid there waiting for the blood to run out. That's when you saw him again. Over the years he hadn't changed one bit, flirty smile and reddish-yellow eyes still playful and dark. He'd brought you back again and stayed with you until morning. The occurrence repeated it's self like clockwork until one night it was no longer dying and talking but summoning and...more. It felt right to feel him all over you again. His toxic presence made you feel complete, filling up holes in your soul.--

Asmodeus stalked closer, arms slinging in that all too causal way. You didn't dare take a step back, having played this game enough times to know every result before it even sprouted. 

"(Y/N) why won't you listen to me! How dense do you have to be to repeat the same mistake eight times! Eight freaking times before it dawns on you that you are wrong! You will always be wrong! No worthless human or "holy hero" can ever love you as I do. I'm the only one. I'll always be the only one!" 

Your brain screamed that he was wrong, that you could have had a prouspoures, dazzling life had he not killed your first husband or second or even third. Ir was his fault that your beloved town had been plagued with riots and corruption. He taught your people to sin, to ignore the words of God and his angels! Yet your cracked heart knew that he was right, no man would ever love you again... hey all married you for some selfish obligation or another. And Tobias....Tobias was the worst of all. He was forced to marry you by the holy on. Thrust into a loveless marriage with the suicidal "beauty" he was forced to save. Why couldn't God have just killed you all those years ago? Given the poor "Miss wanna die" her sole wish. He was right, this MONSTER was had always been right! No one loved you. You were less than the rubble under people's feet. Even noble god had turned his back on you...but he, this evil demon...Asmodeus had always come back for you. Hw stole your innocence, your purity, your life! your destiny was forever ruled by him. Maybe that's what you were so constantly in pain and isolation. You were trying to outrun your furutre. Why? What was the point of escaping your inevitable faith? Let it go, submit,  your miserable life would finally become less of a burden. Give up, hand over the crumpled misery you called life to Asmodeus, let him take over. It would all finally be over. No more pain, loneliness, the misery would come to a sweet end!

In a daring, insanity driven moment you lunged yourself forward gripping Asmodeus' toned shoulders with all your strenghth. Fingernails digging deeper and deeper into his creamy skin. Crashing your lips onto his, trying to let the kiss speak for you. Begging he would comprehend your actions, praying he would accept your submission. In no time he took over, dominating the kiss, slipping his wet muscle into your mouth. Running his larger hands to your lower back. Dipping lower and lower, squeezing anything he could get his hand on. He was the one to (shockinly) break the kiss. He slowly pulled away leaving behind a thin string of saliva. His lush lips were pulled into a smug smirk, his eyes were lightening up with the most joy you'd ever seen. Forcefully he pulled you closer to his chest. Holding your head where his heart would have been. 

#obey me #obey me asmodeus #shall we date #yandere obey me #yandere asmodeus #obey me x reader #obey me shall we date #obey me asmodeus x reader #obey me asmodeus #obey me yandere asmodeus #obey me yandere asmodeus x reader #yandere asmodeus x reader #yandere asmodeus x you #obey me yandere asmodeus x reader #obey me yandere asmodeus x you #yandere x reader #yandere x you #asmodeus x reader #asmodeus x you #obey me x you #yandere #yancore