#verses::demonically inclined

[consigleire]

i feel like in any verse where magic / powers exist, vincenzo is painfully and arrogantly human. i just cannot see him as someone wielding any magic or powers, he’s just that good <3

#except for his vicious verse but i still need to figure out his ability #but it won't be like . super flashy or anything #he's just teh human trope thats good as hell at what he does #as for like . supernatural aspects? i feel i'd be inclined to some kinda demon thing but #probably human #𝑽.𝑪. ‹ brainrot ›

[flamingpudding]

Part 15 of Ghost Kid in Gotham

>>Masterpost >>AO3

<<1 Previous Next

Green and Red Emotions, similar but not

Jason leaned against the wall, arms crossed, as he waited. He checked the time one more time and then listened for the sounds in the hallway. The bandage against his arm was causing an itch he ignored skilfully. If there was one thing the little shit was apparently good at in his feral stage it was fucking biting, though it was nothing to be proud at. Well unless you were well versed in the art of fighting dirty.

Eitherway the kid had a sharp set of chompers and apparently some sort of homing sense, considering Jason was only sporting three visible bite marks all on the same forearm and all nearly in the same area. The kid always aimed for that specific spot to bite. Maybe Jason should start considering keeping that arm out of sight for the little shit so he wouldn't latch onto it. But the following worst case would be the kid deciding on a new spot to bite on.

Footsteps caught Jason's attention and he inclined his head slightly. Light with purpose loud enough to make sure people knew they were coming.

So he knew and was not going to avoid him today.

Good, Jason wasn't going to allow his brother to make that choice today anyway. He had waited long enough. His patience lasted long enough for his brother to step into the room fully and flick the lights on, before Jason closed the door behind him. Considering Dick was only simply turning around with a tired smile, confirmed his thoughts that his brother knew this was coming.

"Got enough of avoiding me already? Thought it would take me a week." He could help the teasing dig.

"Jason."

"Safe it Dickbird." He shook his head. "You're good. I don't think the 'kids' noticed anything. No bets on Cass though. She can read any of us like an open book."

He watched how his elder brother sighed, put his hands on his hips and still smiled at him. "What gave it away?"

Eyes traveling over the wary form of his elder brother he considered answering the question honestly. Dick was good at hiding certain emotions, but even he slipped up in the smallest of moments. Moments you wouldn't catch easily if one wasn't looking for them, small tells Jason had gotten familiar with over the years. He could be honest but then his elder brother would attempt to cover these tells in the future so he wouldn't 'worry' them and put even more on his shoulder unnecessarily.

"During that Dinner you stuck close to Demon Brat, little shit and me." It wasn't a lie, but neither the full truth. It was the first thing that tipped him off along with what Dick had said. "Besides that I have my own sources ans suspicions. The little shit has a pit, one that is different from mine."

"Is that going to be your nickname for Teethling, that's not a very nice little Wing?" Dick joked but Jason's expression didn't change as he watched the other. After a moment Dick once more let out a sigh and comped through his hair with one hand.

"If this is about what we found out about Danny's past. We didn't hide anything there. We have found an entire paper trail of his schooling. You know he could use some help with English." The light heartedness of Dick's voice did not carry as Jason didn't take the bait, but instead heard something else out of it.

"So what did you and the old man hide?"

"Jason." He tensed at the seriousness that entered his brother's voice. So it was bad, really bad. He wanted to curse Bruce but he didn't really know for what exactly, it was just one of his go to mechanisms whenever the old man kept something from them.

"Keep talking Dickbird or I will go to Barbie instead." Dick flinched, he refrained from arching an eyebrow but couldn't help the small lift to his lips. It was just a thrown out thread, implying that he would have Barbie hack into the Batcomputer if necessary to get the information it wanted but looking at that reaction. She was involved, and most likely not happy with their handling of the information they had.

As the silence stretched on he got impatient again.

"Chop chop pretty boy. Spill or do I really need to see Barbie?" Was it fair to use Barbara as some sort of weapon here? Probably not, but did he care? Nope, he didn't. He was going to get information on what was going on with the little shit and how much of that fucked up green juice was involved. Though he was pretty sure for the kid to get dragged it must have been a shit ton of it.

Neither of them moved for a while again, and Jason really thought that he might have to go to Barbara for real until Dick once more commed through his hair seemingly finally having come to a decision himself. Turning on his heel the elder went over to his desk and pulled out a laptop, not any laptop but the one with direct connection to the Batcomp Servers.

Jason caused heavily under his breath as he walked over and watched Dick power it up before logging in to access files. Fuck, it must be really bad if they went that far which meant Bruce had intended to keep all of them out of these files should they attempt it directly over the Batcomputer.

Which meant Demon Brat would have no chance of seeing these unless he uses one of the special access ways. The moment Dick pulled up the first image, Jason only half heartedly listened to his brother's explanation as his eyes turned green.

"These fuckers!" Oh he would need to go out on Crime Alley tonight, otherwise he wouldn't know where to put this shit ton of rage. His head sharply turned towards his elder brother for the first time he realized just how much of his own emotions Dick had been hiding from them reflected in the others eyes.

"The bits and pieces of the reports we recovered are even worse." He watched how Dick closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again and focusing them solely on Jason. The rage he had just seen no longer reflected in his eyes but at the same time his brother halted like he saw something else that stopped him for a brief moment before he continued. "It's more speculation based on the bits and pieces we have discovered. Are you sure you really want in on this information Jason? It will not be pretty, and Danny…"

"Will still be a little shit that fucking bites me like I am his personal chew toy." Making direct eye contact Jason attempted to earnestly convey his stand on the situation. Besides now that he had seen a glimps of what was most likely truly going on, he was not going to leave that fucked up shit alone.

Jason only later learned through Dick's admission that his eyes had glowed green throughout the entire explanation of what they had dug up so far as well as what they were suspecting and only turned back once Dick was done and had closed the laptop. If he punched a couple of criminals in close combat just a tad bit harder than necessary in response that night, that was no one's but his own business.

Meanwhile in a Area hidden between Illinois and Gotham

Dan sat on the little hill of unconscious bodies he had created in his ghost form. Originally he was going to go for the headquarters of the League of Assassins. Thing was, having a merged ghost core of two different ghosts, as well as a newly created human side (thanks to his clone body), did intact impact his 'Danny' memories slightly. Which meant he sort of forgot where it was again, but hey instead he remembered where some of the sub hide outs where. Like this one that happened to be close to Illinois.

He kicked the guy squished under the one he was sitting on, enticing a pained groan out of them. They weren't dead, Jazz, Ellie and the twerp had spent a lot of time resocializing him. He was not about to fuck that up by taking a live. Besides, the twerp as well as his human half never really had been able to take a life.

Still he was stuck, now. He had thought that they had been involved. Danny had disappeared without an explanation. Of course there could alway have been the chance that the GIW as well as the twerps former parents had lied in some way. That instead of disappearing, the twerp just got transferred to some other place they didn't know about.

But Dan had remembered when he had seen the world map. He had remembered them. People capable of making people disappear without a trace. Be it permanently or for their body to turn up at a later point as a warning. He wouldn't have put it past them if they had been behind it.

If the old sack of bones had learned of the twerps powers, his tone most likely would have changed. His eyes flashed for a moment just a bit brighter in a muddled red at that thought.

In a way it surprised Dan that he was able to think this way about these people. But then again. He had left his human side behind and merged his core with Plasimus. He did not hold any sympathy for these people anymore. Well maybe only for one of them, the rest could go screw off as far as he cared. And if he knew his former self the way he did then he knew that the only ones the twerp would really care for would be his mother and twin. Which was fine with Dan only to a certain extent, he would only care for one of them and which one it was was pretty obvious in his opinion. Damian held the same value to him that Jazz did.

Talia was a different matter. Without his human half and probably a bit of the influence of Plasimus' core, Dan had a more objective opinion on his shared memories with Danny in regards to her.

Kicking another unfortunate soul on the human pile to give his frustration way, he growled as he sensed a new presence coming closer. When the growl didn't work as warning enough and the presence did not deter in their approach, he turned, flaring his hair and snarled towards the shadows.

His eyes glowed stronger and dangerously warning red as they narrowed at the person that stepped out of the shadows. Observing him and the pile of unconscious bodies stacked under him.

"This is quite the surprise. I did not expect your appearance."

"Where is he?" Dan snarled gloved fingers turning into claws, figures she knew about his existence somehow.

"Won't you at least greet me, Habibi?"

His hackles rose and held out his claws threateningly, preparing for the fight that was most likely to come. "I am no son of yours! Now, where the fuck is he?"

#danny fenton #danny phantom #dp x dc #dpxdc #crossover #dcxdp #dick grayson #jason todd #dan phantom #talia al ghul #de aged danny #feral danny #danny and damian are twins #demon twin au #Jason wants Infromation #Infromation Dick has #Dick was not going to avoid Jason any longer #Meanwhile Dan #Talia sees him as son #doesn't matter if Dan likes it or not #Emotions are high #and eyes are glowing #unedited #no beta we die like danny #ghost kid in gotham

[netherfeildren]

Forfeiting My Mystique

Pairing: Ezra x F!Reader

Summary: You're a girl made of golden gossamer, a work of art come to life, and Ezra, well he's dedicated his life to collecting beautiful things.

-OR-

An Ezra Art Collector AU

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: voyeurism; kind of objectifying? (not sure how to tag the strange shit going on here); ezra’s weird; mommy issues; references to past childhood abuse; touch aversion/touch starved (at the same time); sugar daddy vibes; size difference; oral sex (f! receiving); butt stuff lite; dom/sub undertones; power dynamics; self esteem issues x2; panty thieving; masturbation; obsessive behavior; possessive behavior; brief mention of recreational drug use; brief discussion of parent death

A/N: This is extremely self indulgent - basically I wrote it for me, but you guys can read it too. I know I took some liberties with Ezra's characterization but whatever.

Inspo (and some of the dialogue) pulled from Lenny Kravitz’s Paris town house Vogue tour, Jeremy Strong’s favorite things GQ interview, and “Marianne” from Delta of Venus by Anaïs Nin.

Title is from the poem by the same name by Kaveh Akbar.

Word Count: 12K

Read on AO3

Ezra has always loved beautiful things. Since he was a child, his mother taught him to instill an appreciation for beauty into all facets of his world. She herself, a gorgeously beautiful creature, was well versed in such a life. But beautiful as she was, she was also cruel, selfish, capricious to her very core, and she’d turned him into a strange amalgamation of a man by proxy. At once also cruel and selfish and capricious, but hurt and soft and gnarled, as well, so that he was also made gentle and aware and hopeful. That above all else, his greatest weakness, always hopeful. Perhaps, to the point of naivety, the point of peril. For he looked for beauty in all things, and to do that, he was forced to bestow his hopeful eye upon even the ugly and harsh things of the world. 

And so he’d dedicated his life to finding those beautiful things. An art collector by virtue, they called him. A vulture, a scavenger, a treasure hunter. A man full of greed and pride, demons and too much money. All he thought of himself as, was hungry. So yes, perhaps a scavenger, a morsel of greed within the marrow of his bones, always looking for the next sublime artifact, painting, statue – person. But he also liked to think of himself as a protector of those beautiful things, of historic things. Things that changed the very face of humanity, shifted the tide of the world. A collector – always in search of the next life changing sight. Always certain the world was filled with endless possibilities for beauty, for loveliness, for sensuality, for something to captivate, to overwhelm him.

-

The first thing he sees are your feet. Standing in the gallery over from the one you’re inhabiting, people he doesnt know or give a fuck about talking at him, schmoozing and preening and prostrating themselves. Probably hoping he’ll cough up a couple million euro for whatever cause they’re pretending to crusade behind at the moment. He can see only the quarter bottom half of the famed performance artist he’d heard so much about. The entire exhibit tonight had been built around you, and it had the whole of Paris raving and ravenous for a piece of the lovely morsel they so claimed you posed as. Shallow and vain creatures that the peers of his echelon were, they were easily amused and easily bored by the smallest passing fads. At once desperate to be the first to see or speak of a thing, and consequently, the first to discard it as dépassé. 

He’d made the trek all the way to the Left Bank from his townhouse in the 16th arrondissement, to see the performance of the woman whom his associate, Oruf, had said would change the way he thought of a living creature forevermore. Big words from a little man, Ezra had no real inclination to believe. 

The angle of the wall blocks most of you from his view – granting him the sight of only your knees down. Your feet are small, he can see the tiny square shape of your nails, the gleam of them under the soft warm overhead light – lying on your side, one slotted above the other. The fine architecture of your ankles – delicate, the blue hued veins crawling like vines up the top of your foot, lost to the pale of your skin. The smooth, glossy slope of your calf, up to the flat round of your patella. It’s all he can admire from where he stands. Pretty legs, but nothing to lose one’s head over so far. 

The person talking at him is interminably long winded. Ezra would like nothing more than to beg them to shut the fuck up and be on his way. He wants another drink. He wants to see you in full. He’d heard so much about the woman sitting for the live art exhibit. You’d been heralded into a creature of myth by the wagging tongues of Paris. He wanted to discern for himself the level of sanctity you deserved. He wanted to see your face. 

Finally, he’s able to demure from the conversation, the promise of ten million euro for the charity of the sycophant’s choice, promised off-handedly – any amount of money would’ve been too little to get the gaping, begging maw to quit it’s yapping. 

He slinks along the shadows of the walls, a vulture in its natural habitat. The lights brought down to a low warm hue, meant to shape itself along the contours of your skin, bring out the soft gleam within you. Surely the oldest trick in the book, that of light and shadows. He moves further into the room slowly, your back to him. The plush round of your bottom comes into view, two little dimples gracing the low of your back, the notches of your spine, up, up, to the heavy mantle of your hair. You’re resting on your hip, your torso twisted so your chest is pressed to the chaise you lounge on, your head laying cradled in the circle of your bent arms. There is a tiny, delicate outline of a sparrow tattooed at your shoulder. He watches the slow rise and fall of your back, the shadow of your ribs – he’d feed you more if you were his. The thought comes unbidden – a little shocking – a lovely bottom, beautiful, long hair, but for a man like Ezra – one who so wholly avoided any sort of ownership by another or over another, the thought of such intimacy, something to cause revulsion, not desire, coming from his own psyche, it’s almost distressing to acknowledge as his own. 

The crown of your head gleams like a halo in the soft overhead gallery light. The room is muted, voices hushed, and the patrons rove around your unmoving body, the rhythm of your breath the only discernible sign of life on your form from back here. Oruf had claimed that you did not move a single millimeter during the entirety of the three hour long performance. He sure as fuck didn’t believe that. He was having a quite, self proclaimed, contrary and bitter season, by his own choosing, and was prone to bouts of obstinance and general disagreement at anything and everything that presented itself to him. He was choosing, as of now, to not believe in your myth.

He moves further around the center where you lay in repose. He needs to see your face. That will give him the answer he’s come here for. 

There’s a large group standing right in front of you – rudely pointing, whispering, and he feels a surge of annoyance at the sight of them. You were here to be observed, appreciated, not fucking ogled like some cheap attraction, and he was here to see you – they needed to get the fuck out of his way. 

Finally, they shuffle off, leaving the space directly in front of you open. He makes the final round above your head, comes to stand before you. Oruf had said the only part of you that moved were your eyes.

They fall on Ezra now. 

It could have been as if, in that moment, you’d gotten up, naked as Venus, to shriek directly in his face. That powerful was the force behind your gaze – a punch to the gut, his mothers handbag swinging unexpectedly, purposefully into his stomach as he scurried meekly behind her as a child. 

He pulls his Jacques Marie Mage frames from his nose. He needs to look away from the searing power of your attention. He needs a moment to collect himself, taking deep breaths as he studies the glasses, runs the tip of his finger over the bridge. He’s held frozen in place by the feel of your gaze still upon him. 

He decides in that very instant he has to have you. 

When he looks back at you, your eyes flit away. He is dismissed – made ravenous. On the verge of tears, perhaps. Look back at me, look back at me, look back at me. What sort of reaction is this to a woman whose name he doesn’t even know? Nonsensical. Perhaps it’s the sleep deprivation – the edibles he’d downed before coming, maybe he’s having a bad reaction. 

But the gift of your slow, lazy gaze roves around the space he inhabits now, everywhere but directly at him, almost like a punishment for having looked away from you first – even for a second. 

He’s never considered the prospect of trying to buy a person. The moral question or dilemma of it. He decides he doesn’t necessarily care. Whatever he has to do to get you to leave this place with him, he’ll do. What he’ll be able to bring himself to let happen after that,  if he’ll even be able to touch you, be brave enough to let you touch him, remains to be seen. Inconsequential too, he finds. 

He circles the gallery for close to an hour before he can no longer help himself, can no longer feign casualness. The rest of the art here is pale and dull in the light of your luminescence. He finally comes to a stop in a corner diagonal from where you face, in the shadow of the sculpture of Paolo e Virginia. At this moment, he feels certain Puttinati prophecised your existence, to so depict the vision of reverence he’s feeling for you in this moment. 

The performance is three hours long. In that time you don’t move your body at all, Oruf was right – lying with the stillness of marble. The only thing that moves are your eyes, and you watch the patrons closely, examine them. Your gaze is part of the art, part of the power of it. 

The visage of you is shocking, not for your nudity, but because in a lifetime filled with unimaginably lovely things, you are, by far, the most magnificently gorgeous creature Ezra has ever laid eyes on. It is like a recurring bullet to the temple over and over again for the visceral shock you pull out of him. 

Finally, finally, your gaze falls on him again. The meeting of your eyes, like the strike of lightning against the earth. He can feel his cock thicken, grow heavy, just at the touch of your gaze. It’s voyeuristic – unexpected – he can’t remember the last time he got hard. He feels almost perverted, sporting an erection at the mere sight of you, surrounded by all these people in this crowded gallery.

He can’t see your breasts entirely, pressed to the chaise as they are, only the full, pale sides. He wonders desperately at the color of your nipples, the shade, the hue. He’d like to imprint it in his mind. Know the taste of them, as well, of all your skin – wonders if the color there matches that of the skin between your legs. The thought causes hunger to climb like fire up his chest into his throat, saliva pooling heavy in his mouth at the mere suggestion of your cunt in his mind.

His eyes leave you for a moment, to cast the wide net of his gaze around the room, at the other men. He wonders if they’re hard too, if only your naked skin, lying still in repose, has the power to make their blood rush, their muscles thicken. He is not pleased by the thought of that. And when he comes back to you, you’re still on him. Gaze roaming down his body, taking in the fine cashmere sweater, his perfectly tailored suit, built to hang in a precisely designed loose cut over his shoulders, down his long legs, the incongruous sneakers, back, back up to his face, the spot of blonde at the front of his hair. A single delicate eyebrow crooks in a minute arch at him. It is all the answer he needs

You are looking back at him. It’s all he needs to know. 

As the three hour mark comes to a head the lights dim even further until only a singular overhead spotlight falls upon your form. Your skin glows, seems to flare brighter for a single moment, and then a golden sheet of gossamer begins to slowly fall from the ceiling, and right before it lands upon your body, you finally move. Your body stretches, toes pointing and curling, long arms stretched in an arc over your head. The fine lines and slopes of your body coming into startling clarity for one moment, and then you turn over, away from him, where he can’t see your face anymore, and curl in on yourself. The golden gusset falls upon your coiled form, as if you’ve finally been put to rest. The lights dim until all that’s visible is the luminous gleam of the shroud over your curled body. 

You are a girl made of golden myth and gossamer, and he must have you. 

-

“Hello, Sparrow.” He steps into the small, warm space of your dressing room.

You turn to face him, you’ve been waiting for him. “Hello,” you say slowly. “You were watching me.”

“Everyone was watching you.”

“Not like you were–”

“No… not like I was.” His accent is some strange sort of concoction of eclectic European – at once French, but also slightly Germanic, with an inflection of deep American South at the end. The vowels and consonants rolling off his tongue, smooth and hypnotizing like the warm pour of honey, and then, suddenly, inflected with a bout of sharpness. Something that snaps you awake, forces you to come to attention, to pay attention to him. That was all it was really, you could tell, a forceful, demanding grab for attention at all times. He called it to himself, seduced the people around him into ardor. Whether they knowingly chose to be entranced or not, was not up to them.

“Ezra,” he gives an imitation of a little flourished bow. You give him your own name in return. “You were watching me back.” 

“I couldn’t help it.” He had demanded it of you, after all, no need to lie now. 

“I was wondering if you’d have dinner with me.” You turn back to continue packing your bag. 

“I’m not very hungry.” You feel him come closer, hear the subtle hint of pleading desperation in his sensual voice that has pleasure coiling deep in your belly. 

“A drink then.”

You’d like to be on clear ground with this man who you can see, even now, is an enigma not to be trifled with unconscionably. “Where? At your house?” you turn to crook a sardonic brow at him.

“Would you like me to take you to my house?”

“Yes. If that’s what you want too.” You’d already decided, didn’t see the point in prolonging the game. 

-

His security takes you out the back of the gallery, dark Maybach rolling smoothly up as soon as you reach the curb, and you feel the searing phantom  heat of his large palm hovering over the small of your back. 

He hasn’t touched you a single time yet, and everything within you is coiled tight, waiting for that first graze. 

He pulls the car door open for you himself, and then his driver is there, smoothly offering you his hand to help you step into the sleek interior. The leather beneath you is buttery chocolate brown and you press your thighs together. His security had taken your bag from you, and you felt bereft and listless without the protective clutch of it within your hands now. 

He follows after you, sliding gracefully onto the seat across. You can see he’s wearing two gold chains around his neck that rest in the dip of his collarbones, and your mouth waters at the sight. The car pulls quietly away from the curb and then you’re merging into the busy city traffic, ensconced in the quiet of this liminal space he’s stolen you into with him. 

He crosses one knee over the other, one thick arm thrown languidly over the back of the seat. You can see a small gold signet ring gracing his pinky – some sort of crest emblazoned on it. 

Fucking family crest kind of rich. God. You don’t know if you’re prepared for this. 

You cock your head to the side, the muscles in your neck are a little stiff and sore from holding your pose for so long, and you let your neck roll back on the head rest. 

He’s quiet, still observing, as if you’re still existing within the walls of the gallery, and not being spirited away to his home so that he might have his way with you. 

“Are you going to fuck me?” Might as well be blunt, you think, now that you’re here. He was so gorgeous in that room, watching you, circling you like a beast hunting in the wild. There was really no other way this night was destined to end, but with you beneath him, taking him into your cunt. 

“Would you like me to fuck you?”

“Yes.” He doesn’t respond, only gives you a melodic little non-committal hum, continues to look at you from the seat across with those deceptively guileless eyes. You want him to snatch you by the chin and spit in your mouth.

-

The drive ends in front of the grand façade of a pristine Parisian townhouse on a secluded street in the 16th arrondissement – flanked by national embassies, no less. 

You are very, very far from home. In a Paris you’ve not ventured into in all your years of living here. 

He helps you from the car, finally, finally, finally, thick palm wrapping entirely around the thin of your wrist. Everything within you coils and pulses, tight and wet. His skin is warm and dry, you can feel the pull of rough calluses on his palm. You’re sure he can feel the hammering staccato of your pulse through the thin membrane as you stare at the way his fingers overlap completely around the circumference of your limb.

He lets you step into the foyer ahead of him as one of his staff sweeps the door open for the two of you, ready and waiting for their master to return with a respectably quiet, monsieur, mademoiselle, in greeting. There’s a huge Basquiat in the entrance hall, across from the sweeping staircase.

“Lots of his art came my way,” he says at your obvious admiration, shock, desire to tuck tail and run back home. “We weren’t friends, but I was roommates with a guy he’d lived with. His last girlfriend was best friends with my girlfriend at the time, so when he died we had one of the first calls.”

“It’s wonderful–” Your voice is full of awe, eyes taking in a type of home you’ve never seen before up close like this. Something out of a picture book that sits on the coffee table of someone wishing for more. 

“How many bedrooms does it have?”

“Well… they get used for different things – so I’m not sure. Let’s call it eight.”

You huff a small laugh, run your finger along the keys of the opulent crystal Steinway. “Let’s call it eight, sure.”

Now that you’re here, that he hasn’t overtly said he’s brought you here for sex, you don’t really know what it is he wants from you. A bad thought, but an honest one. 

“Drink?”

“Yes, please.”

He leads you into an elegantly lush reception room, hovering hand again at the place above the small of your back. There’s a gargantuan crystal chandelier hanging at the center of the room, two enormous elephant tusks flank the elaborate mantelpiece. The room is a mix of eclectic eccentricities, both neutrally elegant and demure in its obvious wealth, but inflected with touches of vibrant color and idiosyncrasies to bring the room together in a way that you think must reflect the house’s owner. 

He moves to the bar, choosing the green bottle of twenty year Laphroaig and pours a knuckle into two crystal tumblers. He’s quiet, subdued, and the lack of small talk to fill the silence has the backs of your knees itching and sweating. 

There’s a glossy red panther sculpture prowling across a gold and ivory lacquered coffee table. He comes to hand your glass to you. “That’s a museum piece. I can’t remember where I got it, but it’s rare.” You can’t tell if he’s trying to boast, to impress you, or merely share his satisfaction at owning a piece of art worthy of a museum's gallery. You’d already discerned that at the Basquiat’s first glance, shit, at the first sight of the house. It was a veritable museum on its own. You were sure the number of museum pieces in every room were too many to count in a single night, nay week. 

You don’t sit as he goes to do, but start to slowly circle the room. An imitation of his slow roving of you earlier at the gallery. The peat whisky is bold and smoky, a surprising hint of something akin to seawater, but also mellowly sweet. You think that this must be what his skin tastes like, his come – an amalgamation of all the different flavors on the wheel. Saliva pools heavy on your tongue and you take a deeper sip, eyes flitting to him. 

“Three hours is a long time to lay so still,” he says. 

“It is. But I’m used to it by now.”

“You must be tired.”

“Not particularly – perhaps a bit stiff.”

“Have you been doing this for a long time?”

“Not so long, but not so short, either.”

“So just the right amount?”

“Yes.” He’s quiet for a moment then, still watching, watching, watching. His gaze upon you feels like the drag of a specter’s fingers along your skin, goosebumps rising in its wake. You wonder if this is how he felt while you watched him in the low light of the gallery. Hunted. But no, you imagine there isn’t anything that could make a man such as this feel like prey. 

“Can I draw you a bath?” You pause at this – firmer, more familiar ground, finally. This is what you’ve been waiting for. His request for you to get naked for him, to let him into your body. It’s what you want also. He’s not rushing this, and it’s making you feel unstable, unsure of the ground you’re treading here together. 

“Yes, I’d like that.”

-

He leads you upstairs, to one of the guest bedrooms. The en suite, one of his favorites in the house – dark marble tub in the center of the room under a low hanging crystal chandelier. The French windows let in the soft glow of the moon outside, and he draws the bath for you as you peer through the glass. The reflection of your face in the windows, eternally distracting. 

When the water is warm and ready, a splash of Neroli Portofino Body Oil poured under the stream, he turns to you. He’s hesitant – both of himself and you, equally. It’s been a long time since he’s touched a body not his own, and he feels the slight anxious tremor of his hands. Although he can’t be sure if that’s strictly attributed to nerves, or all the blood in his body pooling in his cock at the moment. 

“Can I take your clothes off?” said as gently as possible, so as not to spook you.

Your gaze is as direct as it was while you lay watching him, surrounded by half of Paris. “Yes.”

He starts at the tiny bow holding the front of your soft silk blouse together – the weave so fine, it’s almost translucent, and he can see the outline of your evasive nipples he’s been so desperate to see. He pulls on the string letting the neck of the blouse fall open, then down to the tiny pearl buttons holding the rest of it together. All without touching your skin. 

You’re panting, face already flushed, eyes bright, almost fevered. His balls are tight and heavy, ready to come, just with this. Just at the mere fucking vision of you ready and panting for him. His belly clenches and then he pushes the silk off the fine bones of your shoulders. The wings of your collarbones, the shadow of the dip in them the most tempting image he’s ever beheld in his entire life. He wants to dip his tongue into the tiny pool, fill them with ambrosia and drink directly from your skin. 

He feels his cock begin to leak. 

The zipper at the side of your skirt is next. He watches the rise and fall of your ribs, the tremble of your throat as he pulls it down slowly, revealing the rest of your skin to him. There’s a tiny lace thong around your hips, robin's egg blue. Oh, he will be stealing that for himself. 

He finally lets himself touch your skin as he pushes the scrap of lace down your legs, crouching smoothly to his knees to help you step out of it. He takes in the sight of your small feet up close now. The fine tendons of your musculature entirely too fucking beguiling. He ghosts the tip of a single finger over the top of your foot and you moan for him. So goddamn sweet and wanton. 

He unfolds to his full height and pockets your panties. To be inspected at a later time, pressed to his nose and mouth so that he might drink the scent of you down into himself. He tips his chin at the tub now, holding your wild gaze, breaths coming in short little gasps. Your cheeks are flushed the color of your nipples. The tiny wisps of hair at your neck and temples beginning to curl deliciously in the humidity of the bathroom. He could spill his seed just at the look in your eyes, he’s sure of it. 

“In,” he orders, crowds you towards the edge of the tub and grips the bend of your elbow between his thumb and index finger – as little contact as possible – to help you into the water. “Sit.”

You immediately obey, and that fills him with more pleasure than the sight of your naked skin. The control you’re granting him right now, allowing him the privilege of ordering you for the sake of his own comfort – he’s going to reward you very well for being so good for him.

He bends over the edge of the tub, hovering over your beseeching upturned face. He brushes his thumb softly over your full bottom lip. “Good girl.” Your eyes flutter shut, you look down into the water, a lovely pink blush blossoming over your cheeks. “Relax. Soak for a while.”

He can tell you want him. Badly. The flush of your cheeks down to your breasts, rosy little nipples peaked, your quick breath. That want, compounded doubly by his refusal so far to really touch you — his inability. The more he stays his hand, the more you want him, and the more you want him the harder his cock grows, the more frightened he becomes. He thinks it’s very true, that old adage, the harder you try to push a woman away from a man, the closer she will go to him by virtue of rebellion.

You sit in the warm bath for close to an hour, and he watches rapturously, hypnotized by the slick wet of the water rolling over your skin, from his seat on an ottoman at the center of the room. The weight of his gaze on your skin, almost violent in its intense desire. He wants to lick every single droplet from your body and then bite into the heavy lush weight of your tits until his teeth are imprinted in the soft flesh, bruises sucked into the pale globes. He hopes you’ll let him. He hopes he’ll let himself. 

Your returning look is equally wanton. He watches your gaze trained and hungry on the heft of his cock hiding beneath his trousers. You spread your legs for him beneath the water as you wash yourself, putting on another show, private, just for him. An unjustly jealous wrath stirs within him, coiled and hissing, at the thought of any other human on earth ever getting to see you the way he is now. Largely a passive man, the violence that surges within him has him surprised and not, in equal measures. For he thinks that no being ever having beheld you, could ever possibly be driven to feel any other way than obsessively possessive over such a creature as yourself. You’re like a siren in this moment, languishing in the warm water of his bath, in his house, where you agreed to come with him tonight. A nymph willingly slinking into the depth of Tartarus, knowing she’s in peril of being wholly devoured by the beasts that lay at its depths, and still going anyways. 

He helps you out after a while, tiny little fingers and toes soaked to wrinkles, elbow once again caught between his two fingers, and the heat rolling off your skin sears him. Has a violent tremble running jaggedly down his vertebrae. 

He wraps you in a plush white towel, pulled from the warming rack, helps you dry your long hair. Then goes to his room for one of his shirts to put you in. He pulls one he’d worn a few days ago off the pile from the chair in the corner. He wants to know you’re sleeping in something that’s already been on his skin, that smells like him, that you’re soaking now in his own scent. 

As he pulls the towel from around your body to once again reveal your bare form to him he presses a soft kiss to your naked waist – can’t help himself, the soft slope entirely too beguiling. Overtaking any apprehensions he may have, and his gut clenches with fear and desire. He can feel the weeping of his cock dribble down his thigh as he presses his lips to the warm, fragrant skin. 

You’re quiet, watching him, letting him do with you as he wants. His own little sentient doll, created for his pleasure only. “I have a farm in Brazil,” he says. He rounds your form, starts to braid the long strands of your hair into a single plait. You put up no protest – it feels like water, slipping through his hands.  “We grow organic fruit and vegetables and there’s cows, lots of cows. We never kill them, they just live there, graze.” One of his favorite places in the entire world, but perhaps, second to the place he resides now, staring at you, dressing you, touching your hair. “I love it there, I’ll take you.”

“Okay,” you say easily. “I’d like that,” the gift of the gentle curve of your smile. He wants to lick into your mouth, fuck you with his tongue, slap your pussy and watch the blood rush to the surface, feel the tight clench of your asshole as he fills you with his come. 

“Will you let me watch you play with your cunt?” he asks gently.

“Won’t you do it?”

“I’m scared to touch you yet – to find out if you’re actually real.” He feels an uncharacteristically self conscious blush mar his cheeks. “I–I’m not ready. I want to watch first.” He comes to kneel between your parted thighs that dangle off the high bed. “Pet your cunt for me – show me how you like it, sweet girl. Please.” He is not above begging. Not for this. Not for you – for the sight of you playing with your wet, pink pussy. 

You spread your legs wider, give him the tantalizing peak of your bare sex, your glistening folds. You’re already fucking wet for him. He feels an unrestrained growl claw up his throat like fire. His mouth goes dry, parched. The only way to sate himself, to drink straight from the source of your glossy slick. 

You press your fingers to the pearl of your clit, swollen and needy already, he can see. You start to swirl little circles over your slippery flesh, your wet mouth falling open in a gasp. “That’s it, yeah–” he whispers, bringing his face in closer to the apex of your thighs so he can smell you directly from the source. His eyes flutter as he breathes in the scent of you, the deep amber and citrus from the bath oil, but beneath that, entwined in the rich notes, the musky scent of you. Fucking mouthwatering. He hears himself moan, the sound pulled almost unconsciously from his body. 

“Inside– put your fingers inside. Let me see you fuck yourself.” You press a single finger in, all the way to the last knuckle, and start to rock your hips. He can feel your gaze on his face, the weight of it heavy and pleading.

“Ezra– p–please, please, you do it,” you beg, let your head roll back as you press another finger in and start to rock your clit against the mound of your palm in earnest.

“But you’re doing so well, sweet girl. About to make that little cunt come for me. Look–” He gives you the weight of a single palm on the bend of your knee and you moan deep and ragged at just that compact touch. He can’t help himself – he pulls the edge of the t-shirt up to bare your tits to him and holds it up against the base of your throat where he cradles the delicate column in his hand – the entire large span of him completely engulfing your smallness. “Your thighs are trembling, treasure. You’re going to do it just for me, aren’t you?.”

“Y–Yes, yes–” 

He pushes your knee in his grasp wider, opening you more for the fileting of gaze. “Make yourself come – I want to see it. Fucking come,” it’s a demand you answer, just the sound of it causing the heat of your skin to seemingly ricochet even higher. You start to come – he watches the clenching of the muscles in your stomach as you grind your fingers deep. He can hear how wet you are, the sopping wet squelch of your pulsing cunt, and he worries for one second that he’s about to come in his pants. 

You let out a reed high mewl, like you’re singing just for him. “What a good, good girl you are,” he praises, and your eyes flutter shut, pulling your fingers away so that he’s left to admire the clenching of your stretched hole. He can see the glossy shine of your slick sliding down the crevice of your ass, and he wants to lick through your sticky arousal so fucking badly he bites down on his cheek until he tastes blood. He bends his head to press his brow to the edge of the bed between your spread thighs, tightening his grip around your knee until you whimper in pain. He loosens his hold immediately, thumb brushing soothingly over the bend before he stands, lets out a long breath. He stares down at your panting, flushed form. Wet and sated after your orgasm. Fuck all the art in the world. He’d set fire to every single masterpiece he owns in this very moment if he was granted the gift of getting to watch you come even one single time more. 

He passes his palm over his mouth, feeling the soft bristles of his scruff. He’d like to see the smooth insides of your thighs rubbed raw with it, he’d like to see the stretch of your cunt as he stuffs you full of himself, the milky white of his spend leaking from all your holes. 

“It’s time to put you to bed,” he says instead. 

Your brow creases in the sweetest little frown, red mouth puckering, still panting. “You’re not staying?” 

“No, sweet girl. I think it’s best if you sleep here tonight. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“But–”

“It’s alright. There’s no rush.” He leans over you to press a lingering kiss to your brow, pulls his shirt down to cover your breasts. You give him a little whimper, and he allows your hand to come up to clutch the thick swell of his bicep, the heavy muscle there bunching at the feel of your grip. He moves to help you settle beneath the silk duvet, pleased beyond belief at the sight of you tucked into a bed in his home, wearing his clothes, flushed and wearing the sated look of a recent orgasm. 

“Goodnight, treasure.”

“Goodnight, Ezra.”

-

You find his room later. You can’t help yourself, following the glow of the soft light spilling between the crack of his slightly open door, like he’d left you a bread crumb trail to follow, like he knew you’d come searching. You can’t sleep knowing he’s so close, this dazzling creature come straight from a dream. Twisting and turning in the plush monstrosity of a bed he’d left you in. His shirt, butter soft, the dark, gray blue swimming around your much smaller frame. It smells like him, his cologne – you recognize the scent of Le Labo Another 13. Musky with the softest most subtle hint of jasmine, paired with something earthier – greener, and folded between all that: the soft saltiness of his sweat.  Why would you sleep when a figure from your very fantasies was right here in the flesh. Your cunt clenches, wet and aching, even after he’d watched you make yourself come. You need more, want to feel the press of his cock inside of you, the heavy weight of it. 

He’s sitting up in bed, reading something on an iPad, glasses propped low on his nose. He looks up at your small knock, not waiting for his permission to slip inside. 

“I promise, I’ll be good.” You hold your hands up in surrender. “I won’t touch you. We can put a pillow between us if you like.” You move towards the bed.

There’s a large stack of books sitting on his bedside table, flooded by the warm moss stained light of the antique Tiffany lamp. A single idiosyncrasy of old world charm in a room made stark by its bright modernity. The pile is made up of a book of paintings by Howard Hodgkin, the diaries of Alma Mahler, The Spectator Bird by Wallace Stegner, the fourth volume of In Search of Lost Time – you appreciate his excellent taste – and at the very top, laying open, facedown, as if he’d just put it down a moment ago, My Struggle by Karl Ove Knausgaard. You find it fascinating to see a book that spoke of life in such a granular way — realistic, simple, a normal man in a normal world, speaking in such extensive, caring detail on the small things in his life — on the bedside table of this enigma, this person who seemed to be, by far and large, a different species to all other men you’d ever met before. To see the spine so cracked and worn — as if he’d read it over and over again, in search of the equation for that simplicity, to thus inject into his own existence – a way to embalm his own world in such appreciation for the small but infinitely significant moments. You wonder if it’s taught him much— if he’s been able to find and implement whatever it was he’d searched for through so many reads. 

“Alright,” he says easily, but the look in his eyes is slightly wary. You recognize Glenn Gould’s rendition of the Goldberg Variations playing softly on the surround sound as you crawl into his bed – under the silk smooth sheets, bringing a pillow to blockade you from him, protect him. You don’t want him to be uncomfortable, but you desperately want to be close to him also. The two of you have barely talked tonight – too caught up in the observation of one another, like two animals circling in the wild. You want to talk to him. Want to hear the sound of his deep voice vibrate through your nerve endings. 

“Intimacy is… difficult for me,” he says slowly, swallowing. “It’s hard for me to get close to people… emotionally, physically. I need time to — I suppose, to warm up to them.”

“That’s — that’s okay. I understand,” you say, because you do, because you’re the same in many ways. 

“It’s why I love art,” he continues. “You can be close to something, feel its warmth, beauty – whatever feeling it is the artist intended to pull out of you, from a distance. Untouched – it’s untouchable. That comforts me for some reason.”

“I think – I think I understand that as well. Something, perhaps, about the idea of a thing remaining as it was initially conceived as, for all time, undisturbed by outside influences.”

“Yes – yes, exactly.” His eyes are alive with the fire of being understood.

You look down at his straining erection. You can’t help it. “You’re hard,” you say. You want to touch him so badly it’s a physical ache inside of you. 

“I’ve been hard since I first saw you.”

“Let me help.”

He shakes his head, “Not yet.”

“I was embarrassed that the other patrons would be able to tell how wet my pussy was lying there staring at you.” Shocking words. His eyes flutter shut, fuck, he murmurs under his breath, brings his hand up to rub at his jaw. You’ve noticed he does that a lot – a tell of sorts. He takes several deep breaths, the tension seeming to seep out of his body by sheer force of will. 

You take him in as he settles back into the pillows, relaxing, or at least pretending to. His face, smooth and serene, laying there watching you, despite his heavy erection, but the look in his eyes – it’s also slightly provoking. As if he wants you to challenge him, question him, but also afraid, perhaps, that you’ll force his hand, that he’ll be forced to give in to what you both want before he’s ready. You decide to choose mercy – change the subject. More curious to see how he chooses to play this out.

“Let’s play the question game.”

“The question game?”

“Yes.”

“Very well,” he turns to lay on his side, facing you. Both of your hands are tucked beneath your cheeks. He’s wearing a soft, worn sweater, a tiny hole at the collar, the sleeves stretched and overly long. Oh, this may just be too much for you to handle. 

“We’ll start with something easy – what’s your favorite color?”

“That’s easy?”

“Yes.” You roll your eyes at him, laughing.

“Depends on the day,” he says very seriously. His blinks are slow, his pupils huge and dilated in the warm light of the lamp. You wonder if he’s taken something. Every time he blinks the thick fringe of his lashes fans over his cheeks, the pause of his languor allows you a moment to appreciate them.

“That’s not an answer – you have to give a real answer.” You want to reach your finger out and brush along that thick fringe, through the patchy hair on his face, threaded through with the smallest hint of silver, stick your nose in his hair and smell him right at the source. 

“It’s the only real answer there is – no one’s favorite color stays their favorite color forever.”

“Do you do this a lot?”

“What’s that?”

“Make things purposely difficult.”

A flash of his brilliant white teeth, “Oh, always.” You want very badly for him to bite into your flesh. 

“Okay, fine. What’s your favorite color right now?”

Without hesitation: “The color of your eyes – they’re very strange,” you can tell it’s a compliment, and he finally touches you again. A single finger, just the tip, to the point of your chin, tilting your head back slightly for his inspection, as if you were one of the pieces in his collection. You think you may become one by the end of this. You think you’d like that very much. You can feel the slight edge of his fingernail dig into your soft skin. 

“I already agreed to fuck you. You don’t have to woo me,” you breathe. You realize that, as of yet, he’s not overtly asked you to have sex with him – you throw the words out anyways, hoping to provoke him. This is too much. This man is too much. You don’t know what it is about him, but you want him desperately, like no one you’ve ever wanted before. You want him to overwhelm you – to take you by force. To take all choice and will and autonomy from your hands. You don’t care what will come of this, what will become of you after he’s done with you, if he discards you, forgets you –  none of that matters. All you care about, in this moment, is that he finally decides to take you, that he gives you the opportunity to let go, to relinquish control. To unfold from the pose for just a moment. A slightly deranged spark fizzes in your belly. Your heart pinches a burning little pain at the thought that he hasn’t kissed you yet, that you still don’t know the taste of his mouth. 

“None of my answers satisfy you. And yes, I do need to woo you. I find it very necessary.”

You try and emulate an unaffected scoff, his finger is still on your chin, but you feel your brow unwittingly fold into a confused frown. There is a tight knot of want coiled at the very center of you, burning hot and smoldering, and you need him to pick it apart with these strong fingers. He takes his hand away. The look on his face is very telling. He can read everything going on in your mind, you can tell. He looks like the cat that ate the goddamn canary. You try and take a deep, calming breath. “Alright, now you have to ask me one?” you divert. 

“Me?”

“Yes, you – that’s how the game works. I do one, you do one.”

“Alright,” he’s quiet for a second, contemplating, “Do you have siblings?”

“No, I’m an only child. Do you?”

“I had a brother, Damon. He died when we were younger.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Yes, well– it was a very long time ago. But thank you. His daughter, Cee, is my ward now. ” Not his niece, not someone mentioned in any capacity as his family. The connection, maintained as if at a distance — his ward — cold. But he gives himself away, his tender vulnerability made transparent, with the sudden flash of bright fondness in his eyes at her name, despite his trying to remain aloof. You are not so easily fooled. You see him despite his attempts to deflect from the true core of himself. 

His gaze is so mercurial – at once relaxed, uncaring, and then flaring into something bright hot like a flash fire. But remote, remote always. Like the very center of him, his true gaze is very far away, very deep within him, and this gaze, the one he presents to the world, is merely a farce, a mask. A shroud he pulls over himself to keep others out. His own golden gossamer. You’re shocked that he’s shared this with you. 

“My parents died when I was very young,” you offer, your own morsel of ragged soul in the face of his sudden vulnerability. 

“I’m sorry to hear that, as well.”

“It wasn’t so bad, after the fact. I went to live with my aunt – my mother’s sister. She was a dancer. My childhood was… unconventional, but wonderful.”

“What about it was unconventional?”

You laugh a little, looking up at the coffered ceiling above you, the thick beams a rich, glossy mahogany. You feel his gaze on your face like a brand. He has not stopped looking at you since he first started. In a sea of years being observed, his gaze is singular in the pleasure it brings you.

“She was a dancer. I mean—” you hum, “What wasn’t unconventional about it? We lived in New York for several years, then Budapest for a time, and then she brought us here, to Paris, where we stayed until her death – where I’ve stayed since. Her girlfriends were always around – fellow dancers, costumes and makeup, drinking and men. They taught me how to smoke when I was eight — Gauloises like a fucking chimney, at all hours of the day, after that — I forced myself to stop a few years ago. Now I only have one on special occasions, sometimes.” He looks at you like he knows you’re the sort to make a special occasion out of a trip to the market. “She had many lovers. Parties… disaster everywhere, but the riotous, happy sort – not the tragic kind.”

“No?”

“No. Perhaps, to the outside eye it may have appeared different… I don’t know. No life for a child, I think. But it was wonderful. She always protected me. But– but never like a mother. She was never like a mother – more like – a friend, or an older sister.” You laugh fondly at the memories, but also a little sadly. In the eyes of an adult now, you’d never want such a life for a child of your own, as exciting as it was at the time.

“One time someone told me I ended up as I did, naked for the world to ogle at, as a means to earn money, because of her. Because of how she was. And perhaps they were right, but… but not in the way they meant —  to insult me. She taught me what art was, gave me the means to turn myself into it.” 

“Who the fuck said that to you?” His tone makes you look back at him now. All the mystery in his gaze is gone, only fury burns now – very clearly. If he’d let you, you’d cup his cheek, soothe him. 

You can see he isn’t ready yet, though. So all you say is: no one that really mattered – the truth, but you can see that it does not soothe him. 

 “What about you? What was your mother like?” You can appreciate how easily distracted he pretends to be, the deception of it, merely another shroud. 

Another one of his long pauses, filled with his eyes on you. He gives you the gift of his touch again. Thick fingers picking up a strand of your hair, running it between his grasp. You feel the slight ghost-like tingle of the tug along your scalp, there but also not, and a jerking shiver moves through you. All the hair on your body standing on end. Fuck, this man. 

“She was very beautiful – very cruel,” he says slowly, mesmerized by your hair sliding through his fingers. 

“Cruel to you?”

“To the world.”

“Why?”

“But also me.” Succinct in its truth. The thought is a terrible one – for anyone to have been cruel to this magnificent dream of a man. The backs of your eyes pinch. Another long pause. “Hmm,” he tilts his head side to side, still sliding your hair through his fingers, twisting it gently around his hair. He gives it a tiny tug, and you want to scoot forward, even just the smallest bit, just to be a little closer to him, to feel the brush of his belly against yours with the movement of his breathing. “It’s difficult to say – unhappiness, bitterness, boredom. A great and complicated concoction of things that made her into the eternally complex creature she was.”

“She died?”

“Yes. She killed herself.”

“Ezra– I’m so sorry,” the words leave you choked and breathless. 

He says it so plainly, starkly, like a slap to the face, one not meant to cause pain or harm, but shock. One meant to cause fear, something to say, look at how fucked up I am, stay away or I’ll infect you with it too. You scoot closer now, you can’t help it, and he goes immediately still, frozen – eyes wide, hesitant, but you don’t touch him. Your hair is still clutched in his hand, and his eyes move back and forth between your own and his hold on you. You’re close enough now, though, that you can feel the heat rolling off his body. Your eyes flutter shut, you say again: “I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“She was too vain to grow to old age.” You feel him relax, comforted by the indication that you’re not going to touch him just yet. “I think she felt it was the only recourse for her.”

You open your eyes again, and he’s still staring at you. You so badly want to know what he’s thinking, to feel the press of his mouth against yours, to know the taste of his tongue, the feel of his incisors pressing into your skin. 

You pivot three-sixty again: “Do you want kids?” He lets out a loud barking laugh at that, head thrown back so the tendons in his neck jump out starkly. Your cunt clenches around nothing. Wet and jealous. 

“This is a very difficult game,” he says, giving you a sly look. 

“We don’t have to play anymore, if you don’t want to.” A great lie – you never want to stop playing with him. 

“No, I want to keep going.” He slides his whole hand into your hair now, palm cupping the entire side of your head in its broad expanse, and you can’t help the desperate moan that claws out of your throat. His responding hum is all-knowing.  “I don’t know. But I love being… I like being able to imagine it.”

Your mind has been lost to a daze induced by the heat of his palm. “Children?” you murmur.

“Yes.”

Your fingers are twisted into the front of your shirt, clawing at yourself to maintain respect for his boundaries. “I want them. Lots of them. I hated being an only child. I always felt alone. I want to have lots of babies.” And his eyes flare with heat at that. The first blazing sign of lust in them tonight. Everything else before this, you realize, was merely a low simmering boil. The fist in your hair tightens so that your head tilts back slightly, the line of your throat exposed for his eyes to follow. 

“Lots of them?” You nod your head minutely, wide eyed, equally ensnared by that look in his gaze as you are by his hand. 

“Then you shall have them, Sparrow.” You let out a shuddering breath, turn your face into the pillow, enjoying the slight pull to your sensitive scalp as his hand follows, try to breathe deep, temper your racing heart. You’re so wet, you can feel it seeping out of you in a constant throbbing stream. The conversation serving as a more intense form of foreplay than anything else you’ve ever done with a man. 

“It’s my turn again. When was the last time you fucked someone?” Blunt – thrown at your face to throw you off kilter. Oh, he fucking loves this. A broken little whimper claws out of your throat at that. Your cheeks are flushed, you can feel them burning, and he knows exactly what he’s doing. The smug look in his eyes taunts you, tells you he knows just how soaked you are. But it is also wild, as wanting as you are. 

“Hmm?” he presses.

“Three years ago.” It’s his turn to be shocked now. You see the pause of surprise in that bright light within his gaze. 

“Three years? Why?”

“You’re not the only one who finds it difficult to be close to people.”

“And yet you agreed to come here with me?”

“And yet I agreed to come here with you.” You don’t return the question. You wouldn’t like to know, you don’t think. And you can tell he sees that in your gaze, for he doesn’t offer up the information either. You like the mystique of him. Like some eldritch beast, a deity of old, something amorphous, not to be contained or understood. The unknowable aspect of him is appealing to you for reasons you haven't quite figured out yet, despite this game of questions you’re flirting with. 

You go next: “Are you lonely?”

“Yes, very.” A pause, and then: “You are too.” This is no question. He can see it, recognizes the same scent of it that permeates the air around him, following you. “You seemed it, laying in the center of that crowded room, naked – bared for everyone to see.” It is not said cruelly. He is only telling you that which you already know about yourself, that which is plain for the whole world to see. “And then shrouded in gold, as if you wanted to hide that vein of aloneness that flows through you – it didn’t work very well.”

“Do you think everyone could see it?”

“No.” Good. You only wanted him. 

You take another turn, you can’t help but break the rules with him. “Have you ever been with someone who– who you didn’t really want to be with, but you were– you were so lonely and needed… something… or someone?” All the surety you’d posed your previous questions with is gone now. He’s already discerned so much of you, what’s a little more bared skin? “So you just– you just settled for being with that person even though you knew it was wrong, and the only thing on your mind was the other person you really wanted to be with?”

Without hesitation: “Yes.”

“I think that’s the only type of relationship I’ve ever had. Although, the other person hasn’t really existed – just – just something I’ve thought up in my own head.”

“I accidentally called her by the other person’s name. She never spoke to me again. It was terrible– terrible of me.”

“I want to touch you so badly,” you plead suddenly. Unable to hold it in anymore in the light of all he’s shared with you. Your voice cracking and begging. “I want you to touch me, so badly.”

“I know.” Yes, he does. “You want me to fuck you.” All you can do is let your eyes flutter shut, try to continue to breathe, nod your head. 

“Why was your mother cruel to you? What did she do?” You feel like crying now. 

“Many things… I had terrible night terrors as a child. Scared her half to death. I’d scream and cry and sleep walk. For years. She didn’t know what to make of me. Some sort of demon come from her very womb to possess and haunt her house. She hated me – would lock me in a closet furthest from her bedroom to keep my howling away from her.” 

The blazing heat of anger floods your cheeks, your eyes filled with tears, and he clicks his tongue, smoothes his thumb over the slope of your cheek. “None of that, sweet girl.”

“You were just a little boy – she should have– she should have comforted you. Helped you.”

“It wasn’t in her nature. You cannot fault a thing for not being what it was never made to be. She was a killer of soft things – within herself, within me too, I think. Or she tried, at least. She tried to kill everything soft she came into contact with. But she did love me. In her own way – a wrong way, but she did. That comforts me immensely.”

“That she loved you even if it was the wrong way?”

He nods, “And that I loved her – despite all her flaws.”

“Why?”

“I… I appreciate the idea of being a bad person, and still being able to find someone to love you.”

“You’re a killer.” It is not a question for you already know the answer – you can see it in his eyes, it is his inheritance. You know that either way, it won’t make a difference to you. 

“I am, indeed. But, are you?.” The soft curve of his cunning smile is so incredibly beguiling. The most tempting thing you’ve ever seen in your entire life. You shake your head, you’re not, you never have been. You think it must be very obvious at first glance, for the patronizing look he gives you as he asks anyways. 

“Sometimes I can be very bad,” he whispers slowly, drags the tip of his finger over your shoulder, down the swell of your breast, stopping just shy of your peaked nipple, circling the point. 

“What do you do?” your voice is breathless, beseeching. 

He smooths his thumb over your bottom lip, pushes between to get inside, presses down on the hard edge of your bottom teeth to inspect the wet gleam of your tongue. “I steal beautiful things for myself–” His voice is like smoke – his confession fortuitous, on the verge of disappearing. His mystique enshrouds the both of you. You hope you disappear alongside him. 

“Is that what you’re doing now? Stealing me?”

“Yes.”

“I think I like being stolen.”

-

He wakes, very late into the night, or very early in the morning, the confounding blue hue of the outside world seeping in through the heavy drapes over the tall windows. Shielding the two of you from the real world.

Your body is entirely draped over his own. You’ve invaded him in your sleep, taken over all the space and air and thought he’s ever possessed. The soft weight of your breasts presses into his chest, your head tucked in the hollow of his clavicle so that he can feel each pass of your damp breath wash over his throat and chin. He expects to feel overwhelmed, uncomfortable, perhaps even disgusted, so much skin, so much heat, your legs intertwined with his – but all he can focus on is the fullness of your tits pressed up against him, the hot wet apex of your cunt against his thigh. You’re wet in your sleep for him – he can feel your dampness seeping through the silk of your extra panties. 

One of your hands is curled over his shoulder and he brings it to his mouth, presses a kiss to the soft, small palm. His hand dwarfs yours, swallows it whole. He sucks each one of the tips of your fingers into his mouth, bites down as gently as he can. Your hips start to shift over him, needy cunt trying to unconsciously rub up against his thigh. 

He’s going to fuck you now. His cock is hard, aching, leaking, balls heavy – has been for ages, but finally, finally his mind has caught up. Thank fuck. 

He passes his palm down the smooth line of your back, pushes his t-shirt you’re wearing up your back to get to your skin. This lovely smooth back he’d spent almost an hour staring at in that gallery. He feels a terrible, unfounded curl of jealousy, once again, that anyone else in the world has ever gazed upon the magnificence that is your skin. He wants it to be only for him, he wants you to be only for him – to own you.

His hand moves down to clutch the full swell of your bottom, pushes under your panties to take a handful of your bare flesh. He bends his knee slightly to put more pressure on your core and starts to roll your hips over him. You let out a soft little moan, sleepy, so sweet. 

“It’s time to wake up, Sparrow. I’m going to fuck you now.”

“Ezra–” you murmur, coming to. Your body seems to take stock of the situation before your mind does, little cunt suddenly grinding down more firmly onto his thigh. You let out a moan that goes straight to his cock. He grips your hips and flips you over, settling between the spread of your thighs, slotting his length into your wet cleft, he starts a slow rock that has his head pressing up and into your clit. 

“Tell me how you want to be fucked.”

Your eyes are glassy, dazed and confused. He says again, “Tell me how you want to be fucked, or I will decide for you.”

And then your soft little voice, grabbing him by the balls and showing him that as sleepy or drowsy or small as you may appear, you’re still aware of the power you hold over him: “I think I’d like you to decide for me, please.”

Fuck– he deepens the pressure of his thrusts so that his tip presses into your opening over your panties. Your jaw is hinged open, panting wet breaths as you moan for him. 

He sits back on his heels then, pulls his t-shirt up over your head and then slides your panties over your hips and down your legs, grips your knees to spread your legs wide for him. 

He was right, your cunt is the same color as your nipples. Beautiful. 

It’s drooling, begging for him, and oh, how that fills him with pleasure – for such a beautiful thing to desire him, as much as he desires it. He ghosts the back of his knuckles over your slit, using his thumbs to spread your lips wide – he bends for a taste, moans deep and long from his chest. 

“Fuck, you’re so sweet. Do you want me to feed your cunt, baby?”

“Ezra, please – yes – I want it so bad.”

“I know, I could see – all night, I could see how hungry you were. I’m going to eat you now.”

Please, please. 

He settles between your thighs. Soft little licks to your swollen clit, then down to thrust his tongue into your hole. He grips the back of one thigh to press it up and back into your chest, uses his other hand to press down low on your pelvis, gives you more pressure as he sucks your clit back into his mouth. He can feel the clench of your pussy around his tongue, the shake in your thighs. Your keening moans move through him, have him grinding his aching cock into the mattress. You’re going to come in his mouth, he can feel it, taste it, your slick running from you, sweet and musky, all for him. 

Your hands clutch at his curls, pulling and tugging hard as you arch your back and start to orgasm. Ezra, Ezra, Ezra. It’s a litany, a benediction. You are a work of art come to life to sing into his ear. 

He gentles his mouth over your quivering sex, laps slowly at your pulsing entrance. He wipes his mouth over the tender slope of your inner thigh and goes back to his knees, licks his palm of your wet as he watches your gaze on him. 

He cradles your small foot in his hold. He likes the thought that he can grasp that which has carried you through your life, in his hand. For some reason, it fills him with immense pleasure, the feel of your soft foot, the thought of you walking through life, walking through the world, towards him, to find him. Always him, only him. 

There is a wound in him, dark, and putrid, overwhelming his existence always. It was only through the cathartic fulfillment of holding a beautiful thing in his hands that he felt reprieved of the terrible thing. He feels that reprieve in this moment, with the delicate weight of your small foot cradled within his palm. 

He brings it to his mouth and digs his thumb harshly into the elegant arch, forcing a moan out of you, deepening the curve of your spine, then drags his teeth along the instep, presses a soft kiss to your first toe. He can see the clench of your little hole at his ministrations, the flush of your skin from the peaks of your breasts to your cheeks. 

Your breath is hitching, breasts quivering with your gasps. He bends to lick into your mouth, thin ankle still held in his grasp, finally, finally taking the taste of your tongue onto his own and you moan, wanton and desperate, your legs wrapping around his waist to bring him closer. 

“I’m going to give you my cock now,” he presses into your skin, open mouthed kisses to your throat, your neck, your breasts. He nips a gentle bite to one swollen little nipple. 

He grasps the base of his cock, passes his hand slowly from root to tip once, twice, and then presses the flushed head to your clit, grinds there for a moment, you jerk, then moves down to your hole, feeds you just the tip. You cant your hips, try and take him deeper, but he holds back, pulls out and moves back up to circle your clit again, and then back down again to press inside. “No, no, no, Ezra, please – I need it so badly – so badly.” He watches a tiny tear, track down your temple and back into your hair, and he gives you the entire thick length of him at that, fucks inside, all the way to the end of you. 

“There? How’s that?” He presses a kiss to your breast, sucks it into his mouth. The taste of you is godly. “Is that better, needy thing?”

“So good – so good,” you sigh. Stretching your arms high above your head, arching your back to let him in deeper. 

“Fuck, yes–” he groans. He sits back on his heels, grips your hips and starts to give it to you hard. The strong swing of his hips causing the soft jiggle of your tits with every thrust. Your eyes are closed, lashes fluttering, soft mouth open and wet. So fucking beautiful. 

“Will you let me fuck your ass too?” Your head is already nodding, all rational thought currently being fucked out of you. “You will, won’t you?”

“Yes, yes – anything you want.”

“Good girl.”

He changes the angle, fucks up into that spongy devastating part of you he plans to own after this is done, and he starts to feel the tight pull of your inner muscles working to suck him deeper. “That’s it, beautiful, just like that. Taking me so wonderfully.” 

“God– I– I’m–” you press your palms to his belly and he brings one of your ankles up to his shoulder, presses a kiss to the bone. 

“God isn’t here right now – just me–” He grits his teeth, gives it to you harder. He can feel his orgasm start to pool, hot and liquid, at the base of his spine, balls drawing up tight. 

“Give me another, Sparrow, one more. Need to feel it around my cock,” spit through clenched teeth. 

“Oh, fuck – that’s so good,” you moan, and then you’re milking him, pulling his come out of him with the tight wet clutch of your muscles. 

“Fucking perfect, yes – just like that.” He lets his head roll back on his neck, hand grasping your ankle as he fills you. 

-

He watches you eat your pain au chocolat. Sitting in the warm morning sun of the observatory. Tiny bites of the flaky sweet bread, dollop of chocolate sitting at the corner of your mouth that he plans to lick off in a second. He is mesmerized. He knows, empirically, he probably looks like a fucking creep, staring you down as he is, but he can also see the subtle preen in your gaze when you glance up at him every so often. You enjoy this part of your play as much as he does, so it seems. The watching. 

“Will you let me take you somewhere today?”

“Yes, I will.”

“Brazil? I’d show you the farm.”

You swallow, the most guileless eyes he’s ever beheld, shining in the light. “Brazil? Really?”

“Of course, treasure. Or anywhere you want. Your happiness is mine to watch over now. I would do anything for you.” As he says it, he can tell, you did not lie when you said you’d like to be stolen. 

#ezra prospect #ezra prospect x reader #ezra prospect fic #ezra prospect x you #ezra prospect fanfiction #prospect 2018 #prospect fic #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #ezra prospect smut

[contritecactite]

Radio Omens time!! Strap in for my subjective personal opinions made by one person about the full-cast radio adaptation of Good Omens.

We're gonna begin with: I am blowing kisses to the scripting/editing/production team. This thing is an impeccable adaptation. Im-pecc-a-ble. The voice talent is fantastic, the energy is stellar, the pacing is excellent, and the sheer amount of atmospheric info they managed to translate into radio-friendly format? Mwah mwah mwah. I think it's the kind of listening format that's not for everyone, but it is SO for me.

Time for some specific highlights! It was a long day so we're a little extra silly this time. It's also long and not in a reasonable order.

(Ok good my page cut is working this time.)

- Good GOD I forgot the primary voices were Like That. I shrieked (happily) as soon as Aziraphale's mouth opened. This is why I travel alone /hj

-- (Incidentally, I said "oh fuck holy shit I can't do this" when Crowley started talking, but I did it anyway *sighs in bisexual*)

- Hheeeennghsh the opening scene in Eden is. The way it's written successfully sets up who Aziraphale and Crowley are, who they're supposed to be to each other, and a hint at who they're going to be to each other later because they are SO delightfully snippy at one another in this scene. Aziraphale's "oh, it's you" and Crowley's "mmhm, yeah, well done on keeping demons away. Bravo" (heavily paraphrased) will be living rent-free in my head until I have time to write a fic about it.

- So, having Aziraphale do the early narration is an excellent way of setting the tone. What I need you to do, if you've only done tv omens (which is so so valid and I think really is another excellent adaptation), is remember Aziraphale's magician persona. And then imagine him being that for the entire story. The pitch, the rate of speech, the slightly frantic energy, the drama: it's all just part of his overarching character in radio omens, and it's SO good for storytelling.

- Radio Crowley knows what's in all of Aziraphale's infamous Bibles so well that he can quote them. I love this detail, I love it as a means of establishing their relationship during their "let's be godfathers" scene, and I love how hard he's ribbing poor Aziraphale about the extra verses in Genesis.

- Radio Crowley is SO like... tender? I mean, all Crowleys are to some extent Soft but something about this one has just a little extra something. I love the way he talks about his temptations and shenanigans. He's so proud. It eases what could feel like needless exposition because he really seems to like explaining his process.

- That's a bit of the same of what I mean about Aziraphale's personality. Since he's very obviously inclined to dramatize a story, exposition just fades neatly into his character rather than grating on the nerves.

- They reference The Arrangement a lot and usually with a great deal of affection. There's one particular time when they even acknowledge something about wanting to protect each other.

- I adore the way Anathema and her ties to Agnes are introduced. It's so concise but meaningful, and it's just the right amount of setup for her character appearing later.

- The baby swap scene in other iterations relies so much on descriptive narrative or visual language, but you know what? The heavily trimmed down version also works surprisingly well.

- Crowley knows about the hellhound way beforehand (and, of course, he tells Aziraphale. They plan their roles for the party years in advance, which is an extremely efficient way of communicating about that scene to the listener).

- At Warlock's party in the book, Crowley gets all suspicious about a gerbil being gifted to him. In the radio drama, Aziraphale wonders aloud if the gerbil might be suspicious and Crowley tells him not to be stupid. Just struck me as a funny thing to shuffle around.

- Adult radio Anathema is everything to me actually.

- Poor Newt's childhood gets skipped over (unless I missed it, which is possible), but I liked his adult introduction as well; it brings in the whole Witchfinder-adjacent cast at once and makes it super clear how they all know each other without lingering.

- Shadwell. Just. The actor's voicework is so evocative of someone who is very gesturally expressive. There's no way he wasn't swinging his hands around in the recording space.

- The Them are all 100% perfect. Shout-out to Adam for that mind-rending scream that I was not expecting to go on for so long. Interestingly, in chapter credits, the Them are not grouped with the humans! This makes sense, but it also made my brain go !!!

- The horsepeople (both original and extra) were also so good, and that chunk of the cast gave the impression of good chemistry, so the scenes were really fun.

- Crowley says Aziraphale's name a lot. A lot a lot. Actually, most people do; probably for simplicity's sake, there's no "Mr. Fell," or "Nanny Ashtoreth," just "Mr. Aziraphale" and "Mr. Crowley."

- Well, Shadwell does say "Mr. A," and there is a Brother Francis.

- One of Nanny's rules for Warlock is "don't talk to the creepy gardener" rkahjdjs Crowley what is wrong with you

- I did in fact let out another sound when the Nanny voice happened. We're not talking about it.

- When applying for the jobs, Aziraphale just straight up calls dibs on gardener and Crowley complains and says something like "can you see me in a skirt?" and Aziraphale just pulls a date at random on which he'd seen Crowley in a skirt. This was probably also in the book, but I noticed it here and didn't there.

- Crowley's idea of something calming to listen to was a radio gardening talk show ;~; and he likes listening to televangelists for the lulz (I have never used that phrase before in my life but I'm keeping it)

- Having him hear Aziraphale possessing the televangelist was absolute genius for keeping the plot cohesive.

- Seance scene continues to be painful ahahaha...

- Hell's emissaries know that Aziraphale was discorporated and they're mean to Crowley about it in a way that implies Hell has long been aware that they're working together. Intriguing...

- There's mention at some point about how no homes in Tadfield have PlayStations or Xboxes, and I think that's a cool bit of writing to establish the time period (along with Newt bricking smartphones, which I think was said at least in breadcrumbs).

- Almost forgot, but Mr. Gaiman and Sir Terry Pratchett being the policemen trying to book Crowley for speeding in the beginning is so cute.

- When Satan is about to show up, Aziraphale worrying about everyone else and Crowley going "and me!" like hello, I am also in danger, that's my boss?? if u even care?? was SO funny in this version to me.

- Look, there were a lot more things, but it's already been several hours since it ended, so I'm sure I'm forgetting many.

- Oh! Pepper's backstory being transformed into her speech to Adam was SO good on so many levels. It really drove home that Adam does love his friends, it deepened their lore gradually, it made Adam's role and decisions very clear, and it also struck me as "Pepper says trans rights" even if that wasn't the intention, so hell yeah.

- The gag reel leads me to believe that Peter Serafinowicz is A) probably the funniest person alive to work with and B) extremely relatable due to the amount of time spent on the struggle bus. Also whoever put the breaking glass sound over all the accidental swears, I love you forever.

#good omens #radio omens #reading notes #cactus chatter #maybe i just need a new tag like “dran being unreasonably feral about good omens for way too many words” #suggestive #maybe?

[jotun-philosopher]

Half meta, half ramble

Not entirely sure where this post is going, tbh... Let's find out, eh?

Sooo... I was browsing the Final Fantasy wiki (as one does) and the article for Tantarian (an optional/missable boss in FF9) caught my attention. Y'see, Tantarian is a demon found in a library, hiding in a possessed book -- and is based on the Great Duke of Hell, Dantalion (or Dantalian, the spelling can be inconsistent). How the ever-loving wossname, I hear you cry, does this relate to Good Omens????

Let's take a closer look! (this got longer than I anticipated, hence the cut)

From the Wikipedia article 'List of demons in the Ars Goetia':

"The Seventy-first Spirit is Dantalion. He is a Duke Great and Mighty, appearing in the Form of a Man with many Countenances, all Men's and Women's Faces; and he hath a Book in his right hand. His Office is to teach all Arts and Sciences unto any; and to declare the Secret Counsel of any one; for he knoweth the Thoughts of all Men and Women, and can change them at his Will. He can cause Love, and show the Similitude of any person, and show the same by a Vision, let them be in what part of the World they Will."

Bolded details:

"Duke Great and Mighty" -- evocative of the whole "Thin Dark Duke" thing <3

" [...] he hath a Book in his right hand." -- pretty obvious GO connection there!

(best 'Azzy+book(s)' gif I could find quickly...although on a second look, this might well be from the body swap bit in S1 XD Mr Sheen, you ludicrously talented chaos gremlin, you <3 )

(Ok, this one's definitely Crowley XD)

Mah point is dolphins they both match up to the book thing!

"His Office is to teach all Arts and Sciences [...]" -- leaning slightly more towards a Crowley parallel here, with the apple thing partly symbolising intellectual curiosity (essential part of arts and sciences!), but Aziraphale giving away the flaming sword would've helped humanity figure things out in that area as well (even if indirectly)

(I want to boop the snek!!!)

"[...] knoweth the Thoughts of all Men and Women, and can change them at his Will [...]" -- mind-reading! Seems to be sliiiiiightly more of a demon thing from what we've seen (e.g. "Nina: It's like you've seen into my secret soul. Crowley: Yeah, it's a knack.", Shax picking at insecurities in the bookshop battle), but both the Ineffables have directly influenced human minds on screen (e.g. Sitis, the Shopkeepers' Ball)

"[...] can cause Love [...]" -- well, they certainly tried! Operation: Shop Lesbians :D

"[...] show the Similitude of any person [...]" -- mostly seen with the body swap bit so far (where A+C are concerned), but given that for angels and demons, size and shape are merely options, and Beelzebub canonically changed their face, it's not outwith the bounds of possibility that the Ineffable Husbands could disguise themselves as people other than each other (if that makes sense)(and assuming they'd *want* to, of course)

Plus, if you go with the 'Dantalion' spelling, the last four letters form the word 'lion', which is a motif the show ties pretty strongly to Aziraphale via the signet ring on his right hand. Fierce protector angel! <3

Plus plus, from what I've been able to gather, Dantalion is supposed to be one of the more benevolently-inclined Goetic demons -- both the Ineffables are pretty dang benevolent!

The point I'm stumbling towards (stone-cold sober, but with about 3,000,000 on the ND Scoville scale) is that Dantalian/Dantalion has some pretty interesting parallels to both the Ineffable Husbands and so, within the GO verse, could be either another alias of Crowley's or a name Aziraphale might take if he Fell (AU fic writers, start your engines!) :D

As a small bonus, I saw the name 'Shax' mentioned in the list of Marquises of Hell!

The characteristics given for the Goetic Shax don't really match up to TV!Shax that I can tell, apart from the stork symbolism and the "hoarse but subtle voice" (and maaaybe 'is thought to be faithful and obedient, but is a great liar"), but given Gneil's wide-ranging mythological knowledge, invincible genre savviness and extreme writing skill, it wouldn't surprise me to see elements of the Goetic description popping up in Shax's S3 arc -- likely in unexpected ways!

Hope you enjoyed reading that ^^ Have fun fic-writing!

#good omens #good omens meta #aziraphale #ars goetia #dantalian #dantalion #goetia #final fantasy 9 #tantarian #shax

[wangxianficfinder]

YilingWei Sect AU

~*~

and having a marvelous time by varnes (E, 108k, WangXian, Sound of Music AU, (i know!!! i know. stay with me on this.), Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Family Feels, spies to lovers???, Protective Siblings, Sometimes You Just Want Your Dads To Admit They're Your Dads, Angst with a Happy Ending)

❤️ Restoration by ritualist (M, 84k, WangXian, Fairy Tale Elements, Non-Linear Narrative, Time Skips, Time Shenanigans, YL WWX, Sentient Burial Mounds, Sunshot Campaign, Politics, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, JGS Is His Own Content Warning, Necromancy, Surgery, Identity Issues, Yílíng Wèi Sect, Love at First Sight, Mutual Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending)

❤️ love, in fire and blood by cicer (E, 360k, WangXian, NieLan, Canon Divergence, YL WWX, Arranged Marriage, political scheming, Gratuitous Domesticity, Mutual Pining, EXTREME SLOWBURN, the inherent eroticism of the forehead ribbon, The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known, neither wwx nor lwj want to be Perceived, bottom lwj in chapter 20 and 27)

💖 Echo, Murmur, Dream, Here by bluerainmist (M, 51k, wangxian, canon divergence, WWX survives, sect leader WWX, yiling wei sect au, slow burn, angst w/ happy ending, getting together, pining, love confessions, reunions, mind all the tags)

❤️ The Yiling Wei Clan Series by scifigeek14 (G, 45k, wangxian, Staying (Podfic) by lalaspodfics)

body and soul by TooSel (E, 41k, wangxian, canon divergence, fix-it, marriage proposal, politics, yiling wei sect au, friends to lovers, angst w/ happy ending)

🧡 Vow by draechaeli (E, 216k, Canon Divergence, BeliefGod!WWX, Adoption but WWX birthed them all, Pregnancy Kink, Mpreg, Mainly Novel with a few CQL and Donghua bits, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Temporary Character Death, WWXs dead for a lot of this, but he’s having fun, Unintentional "Sect leader" WWX)

🧡 #WarPrizeJiSeason by PorcupineGirl (T, 15k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, YL WWX, Warprize LWJ, Yiling Wei Sect, Mistaken Identity, Identity reveal)

Amid the Frost by LtLJ (G, 5k, WangXian, Canon Divergence,CQL Verse, Hurt/Comfort, Comfort/Comfort, Fluff, Different first meeting, Waterborn Abyss, YL WWX)

💖 hot necromancer singles seeking dom daddies in your area by Mikkeneko (M, 19k, wangxian, yiling wei sect au, BDSM scene, dom/sub, brat wwx, rope bondage, caning, aftercare)

Grave dirt by esama (T, 92k, wangxian, canon divergence, yiling wei sect au, demonic cultivation, farming, found family, pre-slash, politics, fix-it of sorts)

Turnabout and Start Again by runningondreams (T, 34k, wangxian, temporary character death, role reversal, soulmates, blood & injury, suicide, imprisonment, violence, gore, pining, identity issues, getting together, happy ending, WIP)

Cradle by Dragonesque (T, 195k, WIP, Canon Divergenc, Adopted children, Yiling Wei Sect, BAMF WWX)

the impracticality of zithers as weapons by sushicorps (Inclinant) (E, 56k, wangxian, LXC/JGY, canon divergence, yiling wei sect au, slow burn, pining, fluff, angst w/ happy ending, hurt/comfort, established relationship, fix-it of sorts, forgiveness, found family, marriage)

The road to our happiness by lanondolce (M, 25k, wangxian, canon divergence, LWJ pov, role swap, angst, YLLZ WWX, WIP, Abandoned)

Arrivals in Yiling by Crystelia (G, 5k, Wangxian,Canon Divergence, yiling wei sect, YL WWX, Demonic Cultivation, farmers, Reconciliation, Sect Leader WWX, Light Angst)

Sunshower in Yiling Series by Aki_no_hikari (T/G, 24k, WangXian, Canon Divergence wwx is a genius and don't let anyone tell you otherwise, Light Angst, Introspection, Pining, Family Fluff, Battle Couple, Yílíng Wèi Sect, Teacher WWX, Family Drama)

The Murder of Crows by cerbykerby (M, 101k, wangxian, slow burn, pining, yiling wei sect au, fluff & angst, dark, romance, WIP)

a star called sun by thelastdboy (E, 76k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Heavy Angst, Self-Worth issues, Amputation, Situational Mutism, Slow burn, Angst with a happy ending)

a sentimental illness by butchgoth (GremlinGirl) (E, 9k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Yílíng Wèi Sect, YL WWX, Fuck Or Die, Mutual Pining, Shifu WWX, Minor Original Character(s), Cultivation Discussion Conferences, Love, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Light Angst, Happy Ending)

pitiful destiny, point your finger at me by sassybluee (E, 66k, WangXian, Royalty, Yílíng Wèi Sect, Burial Mounds, Arranged Marriage, Pining while fucking, Childhood Friends to Lovers, Secret Identity, Under-negotiated Kink, wangixan's canonical lack of lube, Donghua YLLZ, CQL LWJ, Top/Bottom Versatile | Switch WangXian, Identity Porn, Porn with Plot, Resentacles, YL WWX, Additional Warnings In Author's Notes, Breathplay, Breeding Kink, Semi-Public Sex, Mpreg)

Due Process by Kytrin, Mslead (E, 279k, WangXian, XiChengSang, Poly Junior Quartet, Modern AU, Foxxian, dragonji, Genderfluid WWX, WWX identifies as male, Organized Crime, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, mentions of child abuse, Angst with a Happy Ending, Found Family, Reincarnation)

The Yiling Laozu is Crashing the Cultivation Conference! by Basingstoke (G, 5k, WangXian, yiling wei sect, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence)

Crush and Conquer by Papriqua (E, 4k, wangxian, different first meetings, humor, rough sex, rape/non-con elements, dubious consent, breeding kink, yiling wei sect, for like 5 mins but still!)

The Trouble With Politics: a Treatise on Jiang Sect Deputies Gone Rogue by Sect Leader Wei Wuxian by stiltonbasket (G, 40k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence,Yílíng Wèi Sect, or: the one where yu zhenhong is a wild card, Smitten LWJ, Domestic Fluff, Politics, Happy Ending, Sect Leader WWX, Fix-It of Sorts, JZX still dies though)

💖 Grey Area by pearliegloom (M, 31k, wangxian, yiling wei sect au, sect leader WWX, LWJ stays at Burial Mounds, found family, secret marriage, angst, eloping, reconciliation, fix-it)

Bury My Heart on the Lonely Mountain by MidnightInTheGardenWithGhosts (TrappedInCabinets) & TrappedInCabinets (E, 74k, wangxian, dark au, fix-it of sorts, getting together, dark a-yuan, yiling wei au, mean WWX, not everyone dies au, hurt/comfort, angst w/ happy ending, misunderstandings, 1st part, finished, 2nd part WIP)

black milk of daybreak, drunk at sundown by stiltonbasket (G, 3k, nielan, wangxian, fix-it of sorts, war trauma, not everyone dies au, yiling wei sect)

💖 Magical Marriage Ribbons series by starandrea (M, 906k, WIP, wangxian, ongoing, animal transformations, weddings) Yiling Wei sect from part 24 onwards.

Communication AU series by Dgcakes (ficsnfun) (T, 41k, wangxian, fix-it of sorts, angst w/ happy ending, fluff, slow burn, trust, family, WIP)

I dreamt I was missing by Vientchat_Kanaryo (T, 42k, wangxian, canon divergence, eventual romance, slow burn, mental health issues, hurt/comfort, adopted sibling relationships, WIP) Yiling Wei Sect WWX’s disciples, including MXY, XY, and AQ, take part in the Mo Manor and Dafan Mountain investigations.

An Outsider's Guide to Demonic Cultivation by caessura (T, 53k, WIP, YL WWX, Yílíng Wèi Sect, Canon Divergence, Demonic Cultivator LSZ, LSZ is a Wèi, Isolated Yílíng Wèi Sect, Demonic Cultivation, expanded demonic cultivation abilities, some discussion of trauma and ptsd, mute character, Burial mounds: the next generation, OC POV, jyl is alive,OC driven)

graveyard whistling Series by ryneisaterriblefan (T/G, 12k, WangXian, BAMF! WWX, Angst and Humor, Identity Reveal, Canon Divergence, Pretend death, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Crying, Protective LWJ, Protective WWX, Oblivious Couple)

lost in the lights by vastlyunknown (M, 32k, WangXian, ChengQing, NieLan, (past), enemies to lovers, but only in name, Morally Grey Characters, questions of purity politics and fanatism, modern with magic, AU Hurt/Comfort, Wound Tending, fluff and angst in almost equal measure but mostly fluff and plot, long lost confessions)

~*~

#Wangxian Fic Rec #The Untamed #wangxian #MDZS #wangxianficfinder compilation post #long post #yilingwei #yiling wei #yiling wei sect au #yilingwei sect au

[inquisitor13]

Hi. I haven't been writing headcanons for a long time, but now I have some ideas in my head that I've been trying to refine for a long time. At the moment, I'm working on some fanfiction for which I need inspiration, and in order for me to have it, I decided to revive my small column with headcanons on The Arcana.

Quaestor Valdemar x Pontifex Vulgora headcanons

I am more than sure that Vulgora occupies the "main" position in this relationship. They initiate many key moments, starting with dates and ending with kisses with other more intimate things. But this is not because Valdemar are passive or they are not interested in this relationship. More about this in the next paragraph.

Valdemar is not the kind of being who is well or even moderately versed in romance and in building a loving relationship with anyone. They are not passive, but they are also not inclined to take the first steps too often, however, if Valdemar still decide to take the initiative, then this exceeds all expectations, at least in relation to those with whom they are close. And this place in their heart in this case is occupied only by Vulgora. For their sake, Valdemar is more than capable of learning to understand the essence of building a romantic relationship, but it still won't look the way people do it. Valdemar have their own language of love, which they learn to show towards Vulgora, learning more and more about it.

However, Vulgora is also loved in its own way. And that's what makes these two look like each other. Both are immortal beings, whose age is either approaching a thousand, or has long crossed this boundary. But to be more precise, in my head Vulgora is younger than Valdemar, but not by much, to call it an impressive age difference.

Valdemar is by no means a passive partner in this relationship, despite having less initiative. With the development of these relationships, their dominant personality side is quite capable of revealing itself in some moments. It's not as fervent and passionate as Vulgora's, but more harsh and cold-blooded, but since Valdemar knows the measure and knows how to try on this quality when it's appropriate, it drives the younger demon crazy.

And the first thing Valdemar does after one of the nights together is hear something like this from Vulgora in the early morning: "DAMN IT, WHY DID YOU HIDE IT BEFORE?! IT WAS FUCKING AWESOME!"

Vulgora is definitely the defender in this relationship most of the time, and Valdemar are the ones who are protected. Vulgora are ready to literally gut with their bare hands anyone who dares to look at Valdemar the wrong way or leave a comment. For the latter, by the way, Vulgora will not hesitate to rip out this unfortunate person's tongue.

However, when it comes to really serious things, rather than simple showdowns with people, Valdemar stands up. Their defense techniques are more subtle and sophisticated. And this is applied only in the most extreme cases. They know that Vulgora will fight to the last for the chance to protect both themselves and their partner, so Valdemar will not take away this chance from them if there is no real danger on the horizon, because of which Vulgora can theoretically suffer due to their own inattention or overconfidence. Valdemar will simply turn a creature that dared to cause trouble for Vulgora into a pile of dismembered minced meat and a mug of blood.

Of course, there are a lot of rumors about the relationship between these two at court, because neither Valdemar nor Vulgora see any point in following universal rules and declaring each other partners in front of everyone. This becomes obvious over time and no one in the couple tries to hide it, just as they advertise it. They just most often appear together at common events or somewhere else, sometimes holding hands and showing signs of attention towards each other. However, Vulgora is more prone to publicity than Valdemar and at the first time of a love relationship, they do not hesitate to yell at someone who will allow themselves to stare at Valdemar. It would be something like, "WHERE ARE YOU LOOKING, YOU MISERABLE PEASANT?! TURN YOUR EYES AWAY, IT'S MINE!"

Valdemar, as a rule, react very calmly to the manifestation of Vulgora's possessive nature and accept it without trying to change them. They are more than satisfied with this, because they still have no goal to build a close relationship with someone else.

Among other things, Valdemar is not at all worried about the physical manifestations of affection on the part of Vulgora. These are, of course, love bites, and everywhere, wherever their sharp greedy teeth can reach. Despite the fact that Valdemar's body is always hidden under clothes, Vulgora find a way to mark them so that absolutely everyone can see it. For example, hickeys on the cheeks, sometimes very bright.

In bed, Valdemar often puts power in the hands of Vulgora, allowing them to act in the main role. But it's not that simple. Valdemar can take the role of a hidden leader, allowing Vulgora to think that they are in charge of the process. They just like to see their beloved red beetle having fun in full.

Valdemar, taking a position "from below", can easily turn Vulgora into a trembling puddle of tenderness, just by telling them the right words. And they know how to get to the very heart of Vulgora. It works flawlessly.

That's all for today. But I know for sure that I will soon write the second part of the headcanons with this amazing couple. I just need to formulate the rest of my thoughts on this topic. And I do not exclude that I will even write headcanons related to NSFW in more detail. If that happens, it will be my favorite part.

#the arcana #the arcane game #nix hyrda #the arcana courtiers #quaestor valdemar #valdemar #pontifex vulgora #vulgora #arcana #quaestor valdemar the arcana game #valdemar headcanons #vulgora the arcana

[omegalomania]

i keep trying and failing to articulate what heartbreak feels so good feels like. but i guess the best way the say it is that the lyricism feels, to me, like a discussion of catharsis through the act of creation. and it sounds SO happy but it genuinely feels a bit sad to me? it might just be me. i swear to god i know i was just like "i dont really do lyrical analysis so much except in little snippets" but this song has me so intrigued and i have no idea if anyone else got those kinds of vibes from this.

but basically. right from the start, we have hope mixed with cynicism. the first line of the first verse is a compelling, optimistic hook: it's about how the future is up for grabs, and you have the power to shape it. and the second line adds in, no matter what they sell you, followed by that reference to the 2022 jordan peele film, "nope." i have not seen this film (yet) so i could not expand on the themes of it, but i did rb a really good analysis of that particular line there and i thought that was super compelling, especially given my read on the rest of the song. one thing that the analysis there says that REALLY got my brain going was how the movie nope comments on how the "bad miracle" is the spectacle of the complacency in watching something self-destruct. and op phrased it better than i did, but it's VERY applicable to the way fall out boy's whole legacy was shaped - through the commodification of the band, and of course primarily of pete, and the deification/demonization of his pain, his intimate details, the invasions of his privacy.

given what the rest of the song says, i thought that was super super applicable, especially paired with the prefix of no matter what they sell you. commodification is already a theme here.

nobody said the road was endless, followed by could we please pretend this won't end?

the road will end. you will eventually overcome that hardship. but crucially, the song doesn't want to overcome hardship. it wants the hardship to never end. it wants it to always be there.

and of course the line between those two - no one said the climb was friendless - because they've always been a band of brothers. they've always climbed this road together. again, that little kernel of hope sandwiched between those subtly saddening implications. nobody said the road was endless - and the road is not a good thing, as the prechorus will indicate to us. the fact that they're not alone is the only consolation they have in this.

It was an uphill battle but they didn’t know we were gonna use the roads as a ramp to take off

naturally, there's commentary on determination and persistence in the face of overwhelming adversity. but i love the way it's not just "we push through despite all that" it's "we succeed BECAUSE of that" - the roads are ramps! you take your pain and turn it into something that will launch you into the fucking stratosphere! but rather critically, you don't get anywhere without the uphill climb. a flat road is just a road. it's only with a steep incline that you can actually use your momentum to head skyward.

and that's the point, isn't it? heartbreak feels so good - not because it actually, legitimately feels good, but because it's only through heartbreak that you can make something profitable. heartbreak feels good because if you are broken, if you are not fixable, you can guarantee that you will remain a fixture in the industry. your pain is compelling. the second verse really cements that for me.

we said we'd never grow up It’s open season on blue moods

because obviously everyone writes about heartbreak. again, blue moods are big themes in music. if you're heartbroken, then as far as the world is concerned you're producing good art. likewise with the idea of "never growing up," since well especially with fob and the way they've been perceived, there's a general preconception that they're at their "best" when they've been kind of frozen in a state where they don't get to grow, change, or learn. if you're at your most prolific creatively at your saddest, then maybe the fans, the world, the industry likes you better like that. never growing up. never getting better.

taking a look back at the chorus, there's the whole interplay of crying and dancing, and that is what really makes my brain go brrrrr

We could cry a little Cry a lot But don’t stop dancing Don’t dare stop

the "don't stop dancing" part reminds me a bit of the song of the same name from bojack horseman. and if you're unfamiliar with bojack horseman, the cliff notes summary is that it's about a washed-up actor who was on a famous 90s sitcom and all the ways he is fucked up and hurts himself and hurts the people around him and how he struggles through it. it is RIFE with commentary on celebrity culture and it's an excellent show but also a genuinely hard watch. it is a show that i know that pete is at the very least familiar with, and thematically i can see why it would interest him.

anyway, the song "don't stop dancing" is sung twice in the show. the first time is while bojack is having a tremendous mental breakdown and he hallucinates/dreams his co-star singing to him so she can mock his self-pity and comment on the inherent absurdity of celebrity culture - the line that stands out for me here is why not sell your sadness as a brand? the second time, it is sung by a mental construct of his former co-star (who died an unnecessary, tragic death for which bojack was directly responsible) while bojack is drowning in a pool. the reprise is about the inevitability of death and what your legacy leaves behind - because bojack is dying in that moment, and the character singing the song here is dead and her death has cast a permanent shadow over the entire remainder of the show.

all this is to say that the "don't stop dancing, don't dare stop" bit feels genuinely kind of...like it sounds joyous, it's delivered as such, but it's also got that darker undercurrent to it? the thing is that the heartbreak is inevitable - the whole song is about how heartbreak is inevitable and it is gonna happen anyway. and you can cry all you fucking want about it, but you are not allowed to stop dancing. you are not allowed to stop turning your pain into art. because your pain is the most profitable thing about you.

We’ll cry later or cry now You know it’s heartbreak

cry later, cry now. cry a little, cry a lot. it doesn't matter when or how much you fucking cry about it as long as you keep dancing - keep creating. keep making something, making your fucking pain and misery and heartbreak worth it. because that is what the people love. that is what the people want to see. that is what sells records.

heartbreak feels so good precisely because it means you can make something out of it.

but then, that last bit of the chorus...oh. oh, my heart.

We could dance our tears away Emancipate ourselves

that last line. emancipate ourselves. i am reasonably confident that this is a direct reference to "redemption song" by bob marley. pete is familiar with marley's body of work and the phrasing is too specific, too deliberate. that line in "redemption song," emancipate ourselves from mental slavery, is in and of itself a reference to a speech made by marcus gavey, a jamaican activist. and there is legitimately so much in that alone. the fact that both the song and the speech are about slavery. the fact that marley wrote this song in '79 while he was already dying of cancer, and confronting his own mortality through his art. i wish i could articulate all that there is in that but i don't think i'm the right person to. but the fact that the chorus ends on that note, punctuating it with one last refrain of we'll cry later or cry now / but baby, heartbreak feels so good, that is what makes the song for me. that's what gives it that little zing. that's what elevates it to something much more hopeful. because again, the song sounds happy but says some pretty saddening/harrowing stuff. but the parting note is on that. emancipate ourselves.

"We are going to emancipate ourselves from mental slavery because whilst others might free the body, none but ourselves can free the mind."

and to have that happen in conjunction with "we could dance our tears away" is like.......you can survive free of whatever pain might plague your legacy - in more ways than one. we could dance our tears away - because while we are required to never stop dancing, never stop creating, it still helps, doesn't it, to make something beautiful from all that has hurt you? and there will always be people who want package that, sell it, make it into something that can be bought and advertised. but you can make yourself free of that, if you have the inclination. and i think the upbeat nature of the song is what supports that. it sounds jubilant but it also sounds...free. for all the ways that you might be weighed down by the onlookers, the people who want to profit off your pain, the people who prefer you broken, your ability to find catharsis and freedom through your craft is yours, and yours alone. and despite everything else, you can still find a release in that.

thats what gets me about this one. i cant stop rotating this song in my head and thats all

#fall out boy #heartbreak feels so good #*making poasts #*meta #i know i literally just said. i dont rly do lyrical analyses. but this song made me go BRRRR #i dont wanna say like this is the most important revolutionary meaningful song ever or that this is an objective analysis or anything #but its my take on it and it really Gets to me in that way

[vendettapandav]

The Cult of the Second Death, FAITH's Characters, and Demons

Note: This is just my own interpretation of the cult, the characters, and the demons. These descriptions are the premise I use for my own writing. It's derived mostly from the canon but my own research and headcanons do a lot of heavy lifting. This isn't a comprehensive list of my thoughts and I'm sure that as time goes on, I'll be adding more to. Special thank you to @simply-jason , Alastor is his own original character and this whole idea was collaboratively built with his help. It's actually part of a larger verse we have together, but for now, I'm just gonna focus on what's relevant to the Readings of the Damned fics! Please enjoy!

The Cult of the Second Death is a Satanic cult based in New Haven, Connecticut. The organization’s primary residence is a large apartment building situated close to a local prenatal care clinic, both of which are owned and operated by the cult’s leader, Gary A. Murphy Miller.

The beliefs of the cult center around a rejection of authority and inhibition. The cult looks to the story of Satan becoming a fallen angel and establishing Hell to begin another rebellion against God in heaven. From this, they believe that God is a tyrannical authority figure, and all established religions serve as enforcers of his oppressive ideals (sin, guilty before birth, lifelong penance, seeking forgiveness, etc.). They think that what the devout and pious see as sin - unholy and in need of casting out in order for mankind to becom divine again like Adam and Eve before the fall - is actually inhibition; natural desires and part of human nature that the ruling authority has warped mankind into seeing as wrong, guilty, undesirable, and in need of cutting out. However, rather than focus on atonement or penance, the cult teaches that these desires should be healthily indulged in and accepted rather than used as guilt-fodder. Their tenants are as follows: 

Healthy indulgence instead of abstinence

Vital existence instead of spiritual pipe dreams

Undefiled wisdom instead of hypocritical self-deceit

Kindness to those who deserve it instead of love wasted on ingrates

Vengeance instead of turning the other cheek

Responsibility to the responsible, consequence to the irresponsible

Man is just another animal and should not be elevated from such

So-called sins are natural desires for emotional, physical, and spiritual gratification sought from existing

The cult embrace their desires as natural inclinations and engage with them in ways that prevent guilt and shame. In this way, they see themselves as free. They are unshackled by inhibition as others are. They see authority (spiritual or otherwise) as corrupt, unjust, and oppressive, and they seek to destroy the systems in place that hold up the notions of fear, shame, and guilt as tools of control. It is for this reason that the end goal of the cult is stated to be “to free everyone from the fear they’ve been told to live under”. While the idea itself sounds admirable in theory, the means by which they practice this are sometimes far less noble. 

The cult is led by Gary - known secretly as the demon Astaroth, the Great Duke of Hell. Gary was sent from Hell by Lucifer himself in order to prepare the world for the arrival of the Antichrist. He was informed that, when then time came, the Antichrist would join him on the surface and lead the legions of Hell onto Earth, for which Astaroth would oversee the fight. Demons would spill forth, latching themselves onto humans, binding with their souls and replacing them, and setting them free of their inhibitions and false-faith. In doing so, they would be taking all of God’s creations from him (an act of revenge for Satan’s initial banishment and in order to finish what he started with Eve as the serpent), freeing them from his influence, and turning the world into a second kingdom of Hell which would be ruled by Asmodeus, the Prince of Hell. The Earth, as God and his followers knew it, would be “destroyed”. Mankind would never be able to become divine as they once were. The Antichrist would bring about a great change;  their souls would taken and replaced by demons. They would never die, never fight, never know hunger or poverty or inhibition - and therefore never enter the kingdom of Heaven. Instead, they would become the subjects of Asmodeus under his kingdom, bonded to their demons and living as non-mortals on a new, better Earth. 

Such a task would take much time, resources, and sacrifice. Many, many sacrifices. But the Great Duke was more than willing, and he was assigned the UNSPEAKABLE as his assistant. Gary was brought into the world by a small crop of Satanists in the form of an infant offered through a portal to Hell. At the end of their lives, he took over the cult and began to grow it with charm and wit. He gathered a devoted following of lost souls, rebels, and desperate folk seeking hope from the ashes of their faith which had scorned them. Gary took them under his wing, telling them of freedom and liberation. But no great thing comes without sacrifice. He built a closed, secretive community, where he introduced his cult to the ceremonies and rituals slowly. He used his dark power to fulfill their wishes. He summoned demons for them to engage with and behold in order to dispel their initial hesitations. And with these small gestures, he earned a captive, loyal following. They built the labyrinth and the temple, and they began offering sacrifices to help summon more demons to help prepare the world for the Antichrist. First he bought the apartment complex to provide his followers a main base and housing. Initially, the group’s human sacrifices were the homeless living in the local “Candy Tunnels” and a few odd teenagers who went out into the woods alone. Their souls helped someone several demons. However, it attracted more negative attention than Gary wanted. So, a few of his followers helped him secure a job at the clinic in order to help continue harvesting souls without drawing so much suspicion. This new source of souls allowed Gary to perform the Second Death ritual more frequently, though it was more time consuming as infant’s souls are very small compared to older souls.The new portals allowed more demons to come through. And with the arrival of Amy as their chosen vessel for the Antichrist to arrive in, everything is falling into place.

Beyond being harbingers of the Antichrist and his army of demons, the cult has its more mundane side as well. On the surface, it appears as a sacrirficial killing machine. And to some degee, this is true. (Though cultists mostly kill in self-defense or to defend their secrets.) However, at its core, Gary’s family has not forgotten its goal of being an anti-authority, self-sustaining community. The members of the cult are binded by their shared beliefs against established institutions of power. They are very friendly towards one another and work together to complete tasks and perform ceremonies. They grow their own food in large gardens. They produce their own supplies and build their own structures, and gather resources on their own via sustainable methods. They solve-problems as a group and don’t shy away from healthy conflict and communication to resolve issues. They are also not afraid to mobilize and rebel publicly against perceived unfair authoritarian moves by government and religious heads. On the inside, their organization is very idyllic and peaceful. You don’t have to worry about much so long as you attend you weekly meetings and pay your tithes.

Everyone in the cult knows what they’re doing. They know what the end goal of the cult is and they welcome it openly. They are excited to meet the demon that will be bound to them and, in essence, become a replacement for their souls. They are excited to live in a world where no one is inhibited by shame or guilt from oppressive authority, and where healthy expession of one’s primal self will be the norm. They are inspired by this idea and truly believe the world will be better because of it. They are also incredibly loyal to Gary and their family as a whole. If threatened, they will take all necessary action to defend them. 

Key Members

Alastor Rosales 

Alastor is something of a strange outlier when it comes to demons and the cult. He was not summoned by anyone. Rather, he seemed to find his way to the cult on his own. According to him, both of his parents were demons residing on Earth already, though that doesn’t make his own existence any less mysterious. He’s an incubus that blends in with humans and tries to live a normal life just like they do. He works a job as a pornstar and moved into the apartment complex seeking a new, more affordable home. He was startled to see how revered he was by the cultist but was slowly introduced to it all by Alu, who was more than happy to show him the benefits of being worshiped. Over time, Al has come to accept his place in the cult as one of the more relaxed demons. He’s not involved in very many ceremonies, but he’s still friendly and supportive to the community’s members. His open and affable nature has earned him the title of The Heart. 

Alejandro Garcia 

Having been captured by the cult during an attempt to save John, Garcia witnessed firsthand the power of Gary’s influence and the ability of the demons he was trying to fight. He watched John’s corruption and was forced to watch him denounce God and embrace Gary and the cult. In that moment, his cross fell from his hands and he realized that, if one as determined and devoted as even John could be broken, then there truly was no hope. There was no way that he alone could defeat the UNSPEAKABLE and the cult, and going to the church was impossible. He submitted to the cult and was indoctrinated by Miriam, who had initially captured him. It was her who carried out his Conviction Ceremony and broke him. By the end of it, Garcia found himself strangely enamored with the Mother of Demons and pursued her, eventually becoming bound to her. It took a lot time for him to grow accustomed to the teachings and methods of the cult. Eventually though, he settled in as a quiet, reserved paternal figure in the cult’s ranks. Occasionally, he even serves as its protector and helps enforce some of the rules to those who stray too far for John to lead back. He’s known among the cult as The Defender.

Alu 

Alu is an archdemon who was summoned due to an improper completion of the Second Death ritual as performed by Tiffany. He was pulled to Earth with the promise of having Lisa as a vessel. However, for obvious reasons, this didn’t work out. As a result, he began slaughtering cultists in order to take their souls and remain here on Earth until a suitable vessel could be found for him. He has no real reason to be topside. He’s just sticking around for the fun of it to cause chaos. He’s bound to the soul of Lisa Pearson.

Amy Martin 

Amy worked at the clinic run by Gary and his cult. She struggled with family issues at home, including a mother who refused to seek help for her untreated postpartum psychosis and subsequent postpartum bipolar disorder after miscarrying her twin brothers. Her father, meanwhile, was away overseas serving in the armed forces. Amy’s refusal to encourage her mother’s delusions and hallucinations led to her being neglected and mistreated by her. To try and get away from home, she took up a job at the local clinic. This led to intense friction between her and her mother, which came to head when they got into a fight after her father returned home and unilaterally decided she would no longer be working at the clinic. Hearing about her situation, Gary extended an invitation towards Amy to join them one last time via a “get-together at the clinic.” There, he told Amy about the cult and its goals, and offered to help her escape her controlling family. Amy was hesitant at first, but wanting to rebel against her family who refused to change and who had threatened to disown her and throw her out if she kept working at the clinic anyways, she figured it would be better for her to just leave first. She agreed to the terms and underwent the Second Death ceremony, becoming possessed by a demon in the process and returning home. Her parents suspected something was wrong and called a priest after she began pushing back hard against both of her parents for refusing to get help and get over the twins. Obviously, we know how that went. After the failed exorcism and the death of her family, Amy went back to Gary’s cult to stay and become the Profane Trinity; the chosen vessel for the Antichrist. Her and her demon are bound together, and they get along fairly well for the most part. She’s revered in the cult and pulls her weight to make things work. She’s also very stubborn and doesn’t want to leave. The cult refers to her as The Fallen Star.

Gary Miller 

The leader of the cult and the demon Astaroth. In demonology, he’s known as the Great Duke of Hell and part of the Evil Trinity alongside Lucifer and Beelzebub. He’s said to command 40 legions of demons. On Earth, he’s a charismatic mastermind with a soft spot for history and sweet snacks. Intelligent and cunning, Gary knows exactly how manipulate people into doing whatever he wishes of them. Beyond his sharp tongue is the powerful form of a demon capable of incredible feats. Ranging from spellcasting to demon summoning, flight to invisibility, Gary is a jack of all trades and a master at carrying out Lucifer’s will. And he will stop at nothing to complete his goals. (Though he may occasionally take breaks and find time for those closest to him.) He’s bound to the soul of his partner, John. Aside from being their leader, Gary is also referred to as The Chalice.

Jefferey (Elevator Demon) 

A demon summoned by Gary, he he came to the mortal realm after being offered the soul of the previous landlords of the apartment building who began prying into the cult’s business a little too much. He inhabits the elevator, and because of this, he befriended little Timmy who lives on the ninth floor of the apartment complex. He’s generally pretty indifferent towards others. But he will get aggressive towards anyone threatening Timmy or messing with the buttons on the elevator too much. He tends to be on the more curious side and will occasionally leave the elevator to climb on the walls and watch the cultists go about their day. It’s best to just ignore him.

John Ward 

A young priest who found himself in a downward spiral since the death of his mother, John hoped to find peace by aiding in the exorcism of Amy Martin. However, things did not go as planned. In an attempt to save her and her supposed siblings, John uncovers the elaborate plans of the cult and attempts to put a stop to them with the help of Father Garcia. Unfortunately, he is captured and defeated by Gary after wandering too far into the cult’s territory. Being confronted with the reality that he is a pawn in a game of control, he converts to the cult with Gary’s help and ends up becoming his partner. Through time and tenacity, John also ends up becoming a symbol of the cult’s strength and prosperity, and comes to serve as one of its post important pillars in its community. He’s known as The Shepherd. He convenes with other cultists and talks to them when they feel conflicted in order to alleviate them of their inhibitions, much like a priest accepts confessions of sinners so they may leave the church unburdened. He also helps assure them in their tasks, reminding people that Gary loves them and that they are carrying out the will of the UNSPEAKABLE. With him, no one goes astray. 

Lisa Pearson 

John’s childhood friend, Lisa works as a veterinarian at the local vet office in New Haven. She originally became entwined in the cult’s plans when Tiffany, her friend and neighbor, marked her as a vessel for the demon Alu in the Second Death ritual. Lisa ended up being possessed by Alu, but because the ritual was not performed properly, she was able to be successfully exorcised, though some part of her soul was still bound to Alu. After John converted, Lisa initially showed concern for him. However, over time, John was able to convince her of what Gary was doing and insisted that she join them so that the two of them could be together finally. Lisa was very hesitant after everything she’d been through with the demon. She didn’t agree with a lot of the things that Gary did. But, she loved John and thought that the goal of the cult was, on the surface, something to agree with. Plus, she was in turmoil of her own and seeking any sense of peace, comfort, and control over her life. So, she joined to be with John. Though she’s by far one of the most uninvolved spiritually, she’s a pillar of the communal spirit when it comes to interpersonal bonding and community-building. She’s known among the cult as The Bloom for her healing spirit and kind, supportive nature.

Malphas (The Profane Sabbath Demon)

Summoned by Gary to help oversee the completion of the Profane Sabbath, Malphas is a messenger demon that helps prepare and officiate many rituals in the cult. He’s fairly avoidant of most cultists, minds his own business, and only really engages when its necessary. Other than that, he’s a fairly tame and unassuming demon. It’s not clear whose soul was used to summon him to Earth. According to Gary, Malphas’ arrival was the result of approximately fifty-five babies that were harvested from the clinic. He’s referred to by the cult as The Bird.

Michael Davies 

A young boy born with albinism, his superstitious parents became concerned that his altered appearance was the work of a demonic possession. They brought him to Father Garcia in order to seek an exorcism and Garcia took on the task gladly. He spent months trying to free the boys soul. Those months in his basement led to Michael developing multiple deficiencies, malnourishment, and rickets. Eventually, he managed to escape and was pursued by Garcia through the woods before being lost entirely. He ended up being found by Miriam and nursed back to (moderate) health by her and other members of the cult, including Amy. He and her share a close relationship, having trauma-bonded over their neglectful families and their traumatic experiences with priests. 

Miriam Bell 

Originally serving as a nun for several decades, Miriam grew to resent the church after being taken advantage of by a priest in the congregation. She turned from God and joined a cult which performed the Second Death ritual on her where she was possessed by the UNSPEAKABLE. From this, Gary was brought into the world. Miriam remained on Earth after that, her soul now bound to the UNSPEAKABLE, and continued on in the role of a nun. She was transferred to an orphanage to help take care of the children in a newly-renovated church - the same church her ceremony had been performed in and abandoned. She connected the church basement to the cult labyrinth and “died.” (See: disappeared to run the cult with Gary.) Over time, children began disappearing (being adopted by members of the cult to grow their numbers early on). The Vatican sent a priest to investigate why and was told to ask Sister Bell. The priest stayed the night in the church trying to find the “dead” woman’s spirit, following the sound of her mad cackling, and eventually disappeared just like the children had. In his case however, he was sacrificed. Miriam serves as the maternal figure of the cult. She tends to her human and demon children alike with a kind and loving hand. And she deals with intruders and interlopers with a much firmer one. The cult often refers to her as Mother Moon. Her soul is intertwined with Alejandro’s.

Roger (Candy Tunnel Demon) 

One of the first demons to be summoned, Roger was summoned to earth using the soul of a homeless man who had been living in the tunnels- one of the cult’s primary entries and exits to their lair. He acts as something of a guard to the cult. He scares off intruders and interlopers, he helps keep nosy folks away when there are rituals going on, and he helps organize ceremonial sacrifices. When he’s not needed as a guard, he tends to wander around. He’s a very curious demon by nature. Gary advises that if he approaches to just stay still and avoid running. (Though that’s advice he offers for every demon. Running only triggers their hunting instinct and makes them want to chase someone.) As long as one doesn’t panic, it’s okay to disregard him. Some do engage with him and it usually ends without consequence. If you can keep your nerve, Roger can appear friendly. He will even leave small gifts for cultists that play nice with him on occasion.

Tiffany Robinson

Known among the cult as The Rejected Vessel, Tiffany was Gary’s right hand man and thought herself to be the perfect vessel for the Antichrist. She was diligent, refined, loyal, and stood by Gary throughout all his rituals and ceremonies. Even so, she was deemed inadequate a vessel. She became angry and jealous when Gary chose Amy as the prospective harbinger for the Antichrist. So much so that she went rogue and performed the Second Death ceremony on herself, using Lisa as a prospective offering in the ceremony. Because the entire ritual was done incorrectly and there were no proper sacrifices done, Tiffany herself ended up becoming possessed by a demon. It binded itself to her soul and fed off of her wrath and her jealousy in order to possess her. She’s still somewhere in the cult’s territory. Gary just hasn’t bothered to find her. He’s got more important things to worry about. Though some cultists worry about how the Rejected Vessel might retaliate against them all.

The UNSPEAKABLE

Gary’s little helper, the UNSPEAKABLE was sent by Lucifer with the task to assist Gary in arriving on Earth and preparing the world for the Antichrist. In order to do this, it latched on to the soul of Sister Miriam Bell when she had the Second Death ritual performed on her. It helped open the portal for Gary to pass through to get to Earth. Afterwards, it lingered with Miriam and helped her deceive her way back into the church, instructing her on how to connect the church she was eventually transferred to back to the labyrinth created by the cult. Afterwards, it guided her to take the orphaned children and bring them to the cult where they would be adopted, as well helped her get rid of Father Clark. From then on, it’s had a hand in every sacrifice and ritual to date, serving at the cult’s symbol and mascot, and the main connection between Earth and Hell. Both it and Gary chose Amy to be the perfect vessel, and it has been assisting in preparing the world for the Antichrist. The cultists look to it with awe and reverence. Its power is unknowable, its mere presence overwhelming, and it loves interacting with cult members. Specifically, the children who like grabbing onto its hands and holding on while it gently swings them around. It is bound to the soul of Miriam Bell.

Roles

Tier I Acolytes

Tier I acolytes are new indoctrinates. Most come willingly into the cult, often brought in by friends, family, or neighbors. They express a desire to join the commune and be part of the community. They are monitored heavily, offered plenty of praise and welcome in order to warm them up to the more spiritual idea of the cult. This is done by having them attend meetings. Those that comply at this stage can advance further. Those that try to escape are quickly weeded out and expelled. If they’re in too deep however, they’re taken for sacrifice. 

Tier II Acolytes

Tier II are advanced indoctrinates who have showed an affinity for the spiritual aspect of the cult. They show a measure of compliance with ritual preparation, attend their weekly meetings, and make the sacrifices necessary to be considered a proper member of the cult. At this point, demons will begin revealing themselves to them in small ways. They will find sigils in their homes, see shadowy figures and silhouettes, and be more driven and dedicated to the cause. They’ll also need to practice better hygiene and learn more efficient hunting tactics in order to gather sacrifices. Things become a little more challenging in order to prove they are worthy of truly being part of Gary’s family. Those that cannot meet the increased demand already know too much. If they fail to maintain themselves, they will be sacrificed.

Tier III Acolytes

Tier III acolytes have overcome the challenges presented to them in Tier II and are almost fully indoctrinated. They are completely devoted to the cause and beliefs of the cult. They are almost impossible to pry from the community. Often, their family and friends have already forgotten them. They are ready and willing to be chosen at any time to become a vessel for the Second Death. Almost nothing can save them now.

Tier IV Acolytes

Tier IV acolytes are the highest rank of the cult’s thralls. They are beyond any salvation. They are committed in body, mind, and soul, to Gary and his cause. They do not just wait for the Second Death. They are in line to receive it. A demon has already been selected to be bound to them. All that remains to be done is a ceremony uniting them to said demon through the Second Death. They are Gary’s chosen few below all others. 

Chosen Vessels

Chosen vessels are anyone within the cult that has been selected to receive the Second Death and have their soul and body bound to a demon. They could be followers of any level, though most commonly they are Tier IV acolytes. Amy is the only real exception to this. 

Impure Vessels

Impure vessels are vessels that chosen outside of the cult, or members of the cult who have not been chosen by Gary but have undertaken the task to perform the ceremony on themselves anyway, such as Tiffany.

Ceremonies

January

1st - New Moon’s Grace: New Year’s Day. It’s celebrated by the cult staying up till midnight to see the shift, a small potluck, a lot of dancing and drinking, and just general merriment and celebration on behalf of the cult members.

5th - 31st - Recens Satus: Taking place all month long starting on the 5th, Recens Satus translates directly to Fresh Start. In order to begin the new year on a good foot, all leftovers are sacrirficed to the demons and the focus is shifted to cleanin house. Old things that serve no purpose anymore are thrown away or donated depending on condition. This helps keep the cult’s image up and also allows for a neat, healthy, happy home for the community. Gary in particular tends to be exceptionally neurotic about cleaning.

February

1 - Rubra Luna: Celebrated as he birthday of Lucifer, Rubra Luna is spent praising his name and giving thanks to Him with various sacrifices and a long evening Mass. This day also marks the beginning of what some members call “The Month of Sin.” Demons visit throughout the weeks of February and there are several notable ceremonies that happen during this time.

4th - Vessel’s Grace: A ceremony in which one member of the cult is specially chosen to be baptised in a pool of blood and graced with the privilege of being wilfully possessed by a demon. The demon wil inhabit their body for the month, bringing vitality, blessing, and good fortune to the cult. At the end of the month, the will leave the Vessel’s body and return to Hell to report back on the status of the cult.

8th - 13th  - Seduction’s Eve: Traditionally, these are the days before the beginning of the Rite of Amor Tentura. People in relationships will sit down and discuss their relationship for the following year. Those seeking to enter a relationship will begin courting their desired partner in hopes of wooing them and taking the rite with them.

14th - 21st - Rite of Amor Tentura: The cult equivalent of Valentine’s Day, this celebration lasts for about a week and is an early celebration of Spring. The major symbol of the holiday is the Baphomet, which symbolizes fertility, love, and lust. The ceremony is an annual tradition where members of the cult find partners. They then share a rite with them to spend the entire year together. The boundaries of partnership are open and flexible. Anything goes so long as the bonding is consensual and uncoerced between any and all parties involved. This means that a person can share their vow with the same person for many years in the cult, or, if both parties feel like things aren’t working out, then they’ll be able to break it off and select a new partner to be with during the ceremony for the next year. They may even have multiple partners if everyone is in agreement to do so, or have partners of the same sex. The key part of the ceremony includes consummating the new partnerships formed for the coming year, and while traditionally, this is a public event performed under the Baphomet for all the cult to witness and pray for, Gary is lenient about making an exhibit of it. As long as you fuck under/in front of the Baphomet in your private apartments, you’re fine.

28th - Demonae Reditus - Literally meaning demon’s return, it’s a small ceremonial sendoff to the demon that possessed the vessel during Vessel’s Grace.

March 

17th Witch’s Sabbath: A day adapted in Spring led by Gary. Previously, Tiffany hosted it with the one chosen vessel. The festival involves a sacrifice, though not always a killed one. Sometimes they take new indoctrinates and bless them, offering their souls to the dark lord in exchange for a good year full of luck and life.

20th - 22nd - Vere Umbra: Taking place on the spring equinox, this a rite in which cult members go out and collect a major sacrifice to be offered up live to the UNSPEAKABLE. They take their offerings to the altar where they chant and bang on ceremonial drums, lining up one by one and bringing their live specimens to be eviscerated over the altar while bathing their hands in the blood of their kill. The purpose of the ritual is to ensure that their faith in Lucifer is not lost with the coming of a new year and to be blessed with good luck, magic, and power to face the new year and any obstacles it may bring. Gary always goes first and does a sermon throughout the ceremony as people go one by one killing animals (or other things…) they picked up while out and about. Afterward, they celebrate the equinox by eating, drinking, indulging, sinning, etc.

April

1st - Synchophanta Aurora: The cult equivalent to April Fool’s Day. A minor holiday highlighted by mostly lighthearted tricks and jokes. Everyone makes lots of small snacks and sweets to trade, and they give thanks to demons who specialize in trickery and playful magick for keeping their spirits high. 

First Sunday of the Month: Ash Sunday: A minor ceremony where the cult gathers in the church at sundown and takes turns covering their hands in hot ash and pressing their palms against the altar in reverence of Lucifer.

Second Friday of the Month: Fresh Friday - The cult has a large garden where they grow fruit, vegetables, herbs, spices, and roots. This is their designated day where everyone goes and pitches in with the harvest of crops planted during the winter and summer previous. 

15th - Income taxes due: Exactly what it says on the tin.

17th   Hunter Sunday: The cult equivalent of Easter. The adults in the cult decorate and hide small capsules and toys around the apartment and the garden for the younger members of the cult to find. There’s a lot of chocolate and mashamllows involved. The winner of the hunt gets a prize in the form of lots of sweets and a visit from a very gentle, friendly demon to keep them company for the rest of the year. (Gary has an obsession with the Marshmallow Peeps.)

30th - Walpurgisnacht: Celebrated the night of April 30th and the day of May 1st. The cult praises Saint Walpurga for battling pests, rabies, and other illnesses. Unlike Christians however, they praise the Saint for allowing witchcraft and black magic to flourish and give them power.

May

4th - May the Fourth Be With You: The cult has a lot of Star Wars fans…

5th - Cinco de Mayo: Members of the cult of Mexican descent celebrate this holiday. It is the anniversary of Mexico's victory over the Second French Empire at the Battle of Puebla in 1862

Second Sunday of May - Mother’s Day: This cult places a special importance on mothers. Expect to see a lot of celebrations of moms. Miriam tends to make an appearance, pinching cheeks and giving gifts and calling dedicated members sweet names. Gary cannot escape the smothering she gives him.

Friday the 13th: On the years where it happens, this is celebrated as a minor holiday with lots of snacks, pranks, and dancing. It’s considered a day of good fortune and luck. 

30th - Memorial Day:This is a minor holiday where the cult takes time to mourn and remember all of its members that is has lost due to varying circumstances. It’s quiet, sorrowful, and a way to express lingering pain and grief while honoring the happy moments members had with their loved ones.

June

Third Sunday - Father’s Day: Much like Mother’s Day, the cult values fathers as well. Expect a lot of gift giving, feasting, and partying to celebrate dads. Especially the father Lucifer, 

20th - 22nd - Aestate Umbra: This particular holiday is celebrated on the Summer solstice and is believed by the cult to be when the fires of hell are closest to the surface. They celebrate by decorating the halls quite a bit and lighting candles. Prayers to the UNSPEAKBLE are almost nightly occurrences through the months of June, and masses are held in the basement often. Sacrifices must be made frequently and consistently, as the chance of demons coming to visit sharply increases. Aside from the increase in responsibility, partying is a very common occurrence. Feasting, drinking, and other recreational and procreational activities are encouraged. The event is also recognized as an excess of magic being poured out from the underworld, allowing members of the cult to feel rejuvenated and invigorated. Those that collect crystals often spend a lot of time tuning them in order to absorb the excess magic. Curses, hexes, and spells are cast in group settings to increase their power. Those that do not have a way to collect the magic often spend all day doing as much as they can to reap the benefit of its increased presence, hence the partying that happens. Gary in particular gets very neurotic about cleaning.

July 

7th - Candlewalk: This night is celebrated by the cultists lighting everywhere with only candles and walking in total darkness to invite any demons of mercy to scare off inhibitions or potential blocks in their faith. This is also an invitation to be healed by the hands of Lucifer against any ailments or struggles that a cultist might be facing. Cultists often seal themselves in their rooms for a night and commune with visiting demons about things they have hidden from their fellow brothers and sisters in order to lighten the load on their minds. They are able to trust in these demons and will be healed and forgiven by them at the price of a bit of blood being drawn.

22nd - Sloth Day: A minor holiday spent lounging about and relaxing. Often with food and drink. It’s a good day for everyone to unwind for a bit and go out to the beach or movies if they’re not napping in.

August

20th - 22nd Folium Umbra: This ceremony takes place during the Autumn equinox. It is done to say farewell to all visiting demons who are returning back to hell as the weather cools, though some may occasionally linger in the shadows until winter. Sacrifices slow down in preparation for holidays, and prayer sessions are less frequent as the last of the magic of summer fades away. It’s more of a relaxed social event where others from out of town come to visit and are offered room with others in the apartments and the temple. It’s considered a family bonding ceremony more than anything. There’s a lot of drinking, but there’s an even bigger uptick in support for those who suffer of Seasonal Affective Disorder.

September

26th - Black Sabbath: A day in which the cult offers up vessels to visiting demons and uses them in a ceremony for a bountiful Halloween season. 

October

31st - Halloween: Though the origins of the tradition are mixed for them, they generally observe it as a day of merriment and empowerment and use it for rituals and for celebrations. In some Pagan traditions, Halloween is a night in which spirits from beyond are allowed to return and wander amongst the living. For them, it means demons visiting from Lucifer’s realm. The cult usually decorate to make their apartments seem inviting to spirits and demons passing by in hopes of having good fortune result from their passing. They leave out food and small trinkets in order to entertain their “guests” and keep them please through the rest of the year.

November

1st-2nd - Dia de los Muertos: Predominantly celebrated by the Mexican members of the cult, Gary’s adapted it for everyone to join in. Everyone sets up altars and shrines in their homes with pictures and spaces for offerings. These offerings are visited by spirits of friends and family who are guided and protected by the demons through the event until it’s over. 

11th - Veterans Day: A day spent celebrating those members that have served. Usually with a barbecue and drinks. 

4th week of November - Hebdomada Veniae: Taking place the week of Thanksgiving, the Week of Indulgence is a period of seven days where each day is spent indulging in one of the seven deadly sins. Sunday begins with Pride, Monday is Wrath, Tuesday is Envy, Wednesday is Greed, Thursday is Gluttony, Friday is Sloth, and Saturday is Lust.

Sparesday: Happening shortly after the Week of Sin, this is a designated day where all leftovers and collected sacrifices are given to the demons as thanks for allowing the cultists penance for a week to indulge in their pleasures. It’s also seen as a tax for one day inheriting Lucifer’s Kingdom by feeding his subjects: the demons.

December

20th - 22nd - Hiems Umbra: Occurring on the winter equinox, this ceremony is performed by the cultists each cutting their hands with a ceremonial dagger and offering a blood sacrifice into a grand cauldron full of hot coals. After everyone has offered themselves up, they all chant as the coals are set on fire and then dance in circles around the blaze, holding hands with visiting demons as they do. The purpose of the ritual is to show devotion and receive Lucifer’s favor and mercy for a relatively easy winter. This is followed by a period of fasting and non-stop prayer until the Grand High Climax.

24th - The Grand High Climax: A major holiday celebrated on December 24th. It is celebrated with the Black Mass, a major worshipping ceremony that Gary leads, and is followed by an excess of drinking, eating, sex, and merriment. Though it’s not acknowledged by all Satanic groups, Gary’s loves it. They host a huge potluck where everyone brings something and sits at a big table together passing around their plates, having toasts, and getting be seated beside a bunch of attending demons while they all spend time together.

25th to 31st - Yule: Essentially Christmas for them. Lasting from Christmas to New Year’s Eve and originally hailing from Pagan origin, Yule is celebrated with a decorated pine tree, a lot of singing, a lot of drinking, and a lot of eating. The cult will go out and cut down trees, burn the biggest log they have, and celebrate Lucifer and the good fortune they’ve received this past year. They make straw goats and a julebukk stuffed with sweets and, after praying to it for days, allow a demon to do the honor of destroying it and scattering the treats for them to collect. This time is also spent giving gifts to one another. 

31st - New Year’s Eve: Often called New Moon’s Eve, this event is celebrated the same way as regular New Year’s Eve for almsot everyone else. 

Other Ceremonies 

Birthdays: Birthdays are a big deal in the cult and everyone bands together to make sure a member’s special day is unforgettable. There are lots of presents, lots of food, lots of support, lots of drinking, and it’s generally a very big, cool party. Sometimes demons join in and toss the special birthday person around, but for once, they take very great care not to hurt anyone. Gary can’t promise that your cake won’t be untouched though. A lot of demons like cake. (Especially Alu.)

Black Matrimony: The cult equivalent of a wedding ceremony. It’s treated as a big event. Everyone helps pitch in to decorate and cook. The church in the temple is set up with decoration and everyone attends in formal attire for the event. The ceremony is officiated by a demon and a ring-bearing tradition. Praise is given to the UNSPEAKABLE for the union and the entire night is spent partying and rejoicing.

Dark Blessing: This is essentially the cult’s equivalent of communion and confirmation. Younger or newer indoctrinates undergo two (or three, if they’re born into the cult) of these rites in their life. The first is to signify that they have completed their indoctrination and are accepted by the cult. For new initiates, this is when all of the cult is in agreement that they are faithful and trustworthy. For born initiates, this happens on the day of their birth. The second rite happens when initiates have come of age - aka, reached 18. The third rite is given when they have committed the act of bringing either their first newcomer or their first sacrificial vessel into the cult, solidifying their place among the ranks. 

Blood Sanction: This ritual is performed whenever a new initiate is born. They are essentially blessed by darkness: marked with runes of blood, they are visited by their first demon so that they are ensured protection by the dark lord before being handed over to their mother for assurance that they will always be safe in His shadow.

Ceremony of Conviction: This rare ceremony is performed when it is found that someone is growing suspicious and intruding in the cult’s matters. They are taken by cult members, locked in the basement, and tortured for a fortnight. If the figure in question is a religious figure, such as a priest, missionary, or reverend, the torture is extended for two whole months, or longer. The cult invites demons to watch and cackle as they torment the prisoner in UNSPEAKABLE ways, aiming to break their faith. The end result is either conversion or a slow, torturous death as demons devour them morsel by morsel. Cultists observe the whole thing and chant, as the energy of the demons feeding off of a live meal can often invigorate the souls of initiates who are so lucky as to witness the sight. Those directly responsible for capturing the target are rewarded handsomely by Lucifer and his demons.

Final Respite: Funeral ceremony for fallen cult members. It’s a ceremony where the body (or whatever is left) is prepared with balms and salves, locked into a black wood coffin, and held in the temple church. The cult gathers to sing and pray in tribute to the member’s life, before the coffin is set ablaze and submerged in a fountain of blood where they will descend into Lucifer’s kingdom and join him in death.

Nox Amoris: If you’re a couple looking to conceive while indoctrinated in the cult, it’s critical that you go through this ritual and gain both Gary and the UNSPEAKABLE’s approval. These rituals are only available during the Spring and early Summer and must be performed at night. If Gary approves of the conception, he’ll go to the basement to draw up a summoning circle and briefly commune with the demons about the initiate’s intentions. The ritual consists of bringing a sacrifice to the altar, eviscerating it, bringing something you hold dearest to you, putting it inside the sacrifice, closing it back up, and then leaving it for the demons to collect under a powerful seal. If the demons accept, they will visit and return the item you sacrificed while you sleep. If they do not approve, the seal and the item will disappear. The reason it is important for the demons to accept the conception is because children with their approval are marked as Children of Lucifer by default and will go unharmed by visiting demons. If a child is born in the cult and it is not approved by the demons, there is a strong chance they may target the parents after it is born, and nothing will stop the newborn from being used as part of the Second Death ritual. (For this reason, Gary encourages birth control among cult members and, if necessary, will schedule abortions at the clinic for errors.)

Second Death - A ritual performed on a chosen vessel. A special mask is placed over the vessel’s face as a guide and stained with their blood as a glass ritual knife is used to carve out the face of the victim. This creates a portal to Hell. From there, seven living newborns must be passed through in order to receive a response. Usually, this takes the form of a demon binding itself to the victim’s soul, possessing the body, and pushing its hand through the cavernous face. When not actively being inhabited, the victims face will return and they will regain control of themselves. However, the demon will still be bound to them and able to take control at any given time. After a certain point, the demon will completely emerge from the vessel’s face and walk alongside them on Earth. 

Walk of Judas: The cult performs a re-enactment of the Last Supper and Judas’ betrayal to commemorate the branching off of members from the cult to new roots. They usually don’t move far, but whenever cultists end up moving out of the apartment complex after years of dedicated service, this ceremony is held by Gary and his cult to commemorate them leaving in the hopes that they will spread the knowledge of what they have learned and continue their practices. And they’re very authentic about it. They dress the part, make bountiful feasts, and turn the whole apartment complex into basically a walkthrough theater where the departing person plays the role of Judas to affirm that they will carry on the ways of the cult long after they’ve left.

Weekly Meetings - Taking place Wednesdays and Sundays (unless there’s a holiday). These are gatherings in the temple chapel where Gary holds a short service to remind everyone of upcoming events and dates. It’s also taken as an opportunity to praise diligent members and warn of potential dangers both inside and outside of the cult.

Demons

The relationship between demons and souls are complicated. A soul is what allows a mortal creature to live and walk on Earth. Earth can only be possessed and tread upon by creatures with souls. Demons (and angels) do not have souls and so are confined to Hell. There are just two ways to get around this, and it is why they want souls in order to be able to walk on Earth. 

When a soul is sacrificed (meaning offered from a dead person) to them, it is not absorbed into them, nor does it exist within them the way it does for a human. They’re still very much non-mortal and do not become mortal by having a soul. Rather, human souls act as ticket to Earth and a source of power to keep them on Earth. Demons want them in order to wander Earth and in order to become strong and feel vitalized. 

The other way a demon can come to earth using a soul is throught a vessel. A vessel is a living person who has been prepared to have their soul borrowed or bound to a demon. Borrowed for demons temporarily visiting, bound for demon who are permanently staying with them. They prefer willing vessels, but any vessel will do as long as it has a soul. They can possess this vessel at any time and use their bodies any way they like. 

If a demon is called by its name while it is in the mortal realm, one of two things can happen. If it is bound to/possessing a vessel, it will manifest itself by taking control of the body to respond to the one who has addressed them. If it is not bound to/possessing a vessel, the demon will appear before the one who called its name. How it responds varies wildly based on the temperament and nature of the demon.

While it is generally considered ill fortune to call a demon by its name, if it is not already summoned into the mortal realm, there’s really nothing it can do. 

Demons generally do not share their true names. It is only by salvaged record that most of them are known. The primary reason for this is because if you know their name, you have the power to summon them by invoking their name. This means that, to some degree, you can control them by way of making deals at any time or interrupting their work at will.

There is a difference between possession and being bound. Possession is of the flesh. Binding is of the soul/spirit. 

Any demon can possess a person, and any demon that possesses someone can be banished with an exorcism. It already has a soul (usually from someone who’s already dead) allowing it to walk on Earth. Therefore, its hold on the person’s flesh is weak and temporary. (Such as Alu temporarily possessing John.)

A demon that is bound to someone’s soul is tethered to that person forever. Its very essence is now merged with the person’s. Exorcism can temporarily remove it from their body if it’s possessing them, but it won’t free their soul and the demon will try to get their person to run away. The person and the demon are intricately intertwined. (Such as Amy and her demon, or Miriam and the UNSPEAKABLE.)

A demon can only be bound to a mortal’s soul through ritual, like the Second Death. With a demon bound to them, the mortal will never age or die of natural causes, and some may even be granted special abilities as a result of their soul being bound to a demon. (These abilities depend wholly on what the demon is capable of.) However, because of this tether, if either the mortal or demon is hurt/killed, then the other will suffer the same fate. Kill the person, the demon dies. Exorcise the demon, the person dies. 

Multiple demons can bind to one soul. It’s incredibly rare though. Most demons don’t like to share.

Multiple souls can also bind to one demon. The more souls a demon has bound to it, the more powerful it becomes. 

When a demon falls in love with a mortal, it means they truly care for that individual. They will become very diligent, dedicated, and protective of them. They will do anything to make them happy and keep them safe. In return, they hope to be bound to the mortal. This has been the heel of many fallen demons.

The offspring of a demon and a human is known as a Demifiend. They are incredibly unique creatures. They often inherit some of the abilities of their demon parentage that will grow stronger with age. Because humans need souls to exist and a soul cannot exist in a demon’s body, Demifiends’ souls often take the form of a shapeshifting animal companion - a daemon. Much like the bond between their parents, Demifiends’ soul are an extension of themselves. They will not die of natural causes, but can be killed if their Daemon is.

Every demon has its own unique abilities and powers. This depends on their rank, how many souls they have, and their own personal forte. Some are masters of charisma, others specialize in trickery. Most demons have multiple abilities. All demons have the ability to appear at will or turn invisible in order to protect themselves.

Every demon has a different and unique temperament. For the most part, they all get along or are at least civil towards one another. Even still, they are all unique individuals with their own personalities. Some are mischievous and relish in chaos and suffering. Others are more even-tempered, neutral, and to themselves. Still others are very friendly, gentle, and outgoing. No two demons are completely alike. Not even twins.

#i've done it #i feel like squidward just completing his masterpiece #please enjoy this long ass meta post #i hope y'all enjoy it #faith the game #father garcia #faith chapter 3 #faith game #faith airdorf #faith the unholy trinity #john ward #lisa pearson #tiffany robinson #gary miller #amy martin #michael davies #miriam bell #friends oc: alastor rosales #simplyjason ❤️

[suffcring]

Aether headcanons:

Outside of his glamour, he resembles an orc. Purple-gray skin, jack-o-lantern colored eyes. Big, big teeth -- even in his partially glamoured form, his teeth look too big to fit in his mouth. In his fully demon form, they don't.

Semi glamoured form includes purple toned skin, orange-yellow eyes, light brown hair in a more greaser-like style but with big ol sideburns. A tummy.

Amicable, flirty -- he's not opposed to flings, but if something more develops, he can become quite jealous and possessive

has a weird thing with Papa IV's Prime Movers or lovers. I can't exactly describe it, but it is a desire and also a disdain

loves sleeping and eating, though neither are required for ghouls

bites.

tries to be the "adult, mature" one and will sometimes try to wrangle the other ghouls, but also can be guilty of petty rulebreaking and doing as he likes just as often as the others

what has he been up to since Phantom has made an appearance? IDK, it's verse specific. We'll have to chat it out

I don't adhere to the fandom idea that Quintessence ghouls are medically inclined. Aether doesn't know how to bandage your booboo anymore than your dad does. If he remembers to wash a wound on a human, we're doing good.

#Aether [ HEADCANON ]

[bullshit-blazing-activate]

Imagine post-game Bonnie trying to explain to her classmates/teachers why she missed 148489030982 assignments like "sorry I got kidnapped and turned into boyfriend friday night funkin"

What I did during my summer vacation: I got isekai'd into the Fnf-verse and transformed into a 7 foot tall simping musically inclined twink with blue hair and pronouns™ who simps for demon ladies

#fnf #friday night funkin #friday night funkin' #boyfriend friday night funkin #friday night funkin boyfriend #boyfriend fnf #fnf boyfriend #bf friday night funkin #friday night funkin bf #fnf bf #bf fnf #just a regular fnf mod #bonnie freeman #ask #asks #shitposting #shitpost

[autisticempathydaemon]

Hello. I hope your matchups are still open. I have been curious about them for a while. I tried to keep my answers as succinct as possible but I am a very verbose individual, and I do not apologize for it. But do take all the time you need to read it through, I do not mind the wait. - Polaris

What song are you fixated on at the moment? What lyric or verse, and why? "Take Me to Church" by Hozier. I love his music. My favourite lyric is: "No masters or kings when the ritual begins, there is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin. In the madness and soil, of that sad earthly scene, only then I am human. Only then I am clean." It's raw, it's dark and vivid, and it has a level of inhumanity in the words I relate to a lot. There is power in the lyrics, and an implication of love that is not romantic, nor familial, nor platonic, but something more queerplatonic. Which I love and relate to very deeply, as someone not inclined towards romance, sexuality, family, etc. It's rare to see, and Hozier is the KING of that kind of lyricism. Also, the accompaniment is just beautiful and Hozier's singing voice is stunning.

What is your Enneagram type? 4w5.

Do you love gargantuan YouTube video essays, and if so, which is your favourite and why? I live for them. My current favourite is Plagiarism and You(Tube) by HBomberguy. I love all his work, as it's so well-researched, witty, and incredibly entertaining. Whether it's about things I know so much about or nothing about, I always love what he does. And that newest video was such a rabbit hole, and very informative.

Tell me about your childhood imaginary friend. I have had many, and to an extent still do. They take the form of characters I like and relate to. I would take a piece of myself that was similar to that character and isolate it, giving me someone who both understood me, and still differed enough to chat with me, debate, give advice, and so forth. I didn't really have imaginary friends until the age of around 11, and they've been a constant ever since, and there are quite a lot of them.

What is your go-to way to fall asleep? With my window open I can hear the sound of rain or snow or rustling wind and watch fog or water drops fly into my room, under a weighted blanket with it bunched up around me like a large hug or spoon. It makes me feel safe.

If you had to change your name, what would it be, and why? (In tandem, if you have changed your name, why did you pick that one?) I have changed my name to Yuri, for a few reasons. One is the connection to my birth country and culture. I may not feel the most connected to it socially but it's still an important part of me. I also quite like the phonetic sound of it. And I may have unintentionally been inspired by several pieces of media I like. This name is common in many cultures, and several of my favourite characters when I was younger shared the name.

What is your favourite of Redacted’s audios, and why? Taking a Chance With a Sadistic Demon. The lore in that video is incredibly satisfying to chew on, Vega's voice is comforting to listen to, his characterization in that video in particular is incredibly dense and nuanced, and so much more. I could talk about Vega all day.

What Redacted boy holds no appeal to you, and why? Like, not the one you hate but the one who you don’t get the hype for. Guy. Guy is a bit too... much for my taste. Too much chaos, too much energy, too much explicitness which I can only handle in VERY specific cases. He seems like a great guy but I got off on the wrong foot with him from his first video and have had no inclination to listen to his series ever since.

Tell me about that one book/movie/TV show you know all the words to. I don't often find myself memorising large chunks of media but I have many singular quotes from different media. A few from The Song of Achilles, from Critical Role's 'Mighty Nein' campaign, and a LOT of songs from musicals. Some of my current favourites are Epic the Musical, Heathers, and Six. 

Which Redacted boy are you platonically attracted to? Avior. I love his insights into the world, his curiosity, his carefulness, his care and so forth. I actually liked him more before the romance reveal, though I still find him an amazing character who I would love to befriend. Also, the lore from his series made me love it again.

Do you have a go-to thing you ramble about when you’re tired, and if so, what is it? Not really. I can ramble about any of my interests at any level of energy or time of day.

Tell me your go-to gas station and drink combo. Spicy or Salt and Vinegar chips, fruit mentos, and any sour Ice Sparkling Water.

Tell me about your favourite playlist at the moment.  If you mean music, I don't really... do those. But as for Redacted... it's so hard to pick. Sadism's Hold and Invisiboi are both horrifying in the most visceral ways and are always a treat to watch those times that I do. All the lore-heavy ones (Balance, Sovereign State, Project Meridian, Carpe Deus, etc) feed my hunger for lore. Project Meridian was my first series and holds a special place in my heart. Carpe Deus and Kody's playlists are my go-to relaxing playlists because I love their voices, so I listen to them the most often. I cannot give a precise answer.

What’s your guilty pleasure media, and why? I do not have any. I do not see any media I like as 'guilty pleasure' media. I like it, and that's that. I am cringe and I am free.

And whatever else you think tells me about who you are!

My favourite colours are brown, black and blue. I'm a digital artist, in University for it, and I do a bit of writing on the side though I have not posted any of it yet. I'm a fan of the night. Of storms. Of clouds blotting out the sun. Of pouring rain and winter's snow, and bike rides down foggy roads. I love learning in general, but especially about art, society and people, and all the subjects related to that. Also, I alluded to it before but I do not feel human. I may be a person, but I am not human, at least socially speaking. I find more connection with the inhuman, like robots, vampires, demons, monsters, or just villains. And I am not unhappy with the separation between myself and the rest of humanity. I have my small set of interests, morals, thoughts and feelings which I may never full be able to articulate or share with others, but I still like to socialize with them regardless. They're lovely, even if confusing and sometimes tiresome.

Interesting. So Type 4w5s are characterized as contemplative, thoughtful, typically introverted people, and it seems like you’d like someone of the same temperament. With that in mind, I think Camelopardalis would be a good match for you.

I’m really intrigued by your feelings of being disconnected to humanity and the fact you don’t seem bothered by that. I like Cam for you because he’d relate to that the most. Like, I can see him feeling your contentment with that fact and vibing with it, shrugging with a little smile and being like “I’m not really human; we can be whatever we are together” you know? Also, when you said you didn’t like Guy’s explicit nature, I was trying to come up with his opposite in that respect, and Cam is who immediately came to mind.

Another reason I think Cam works well for you is that I feel his immortality will lend him a sort of�� unrushed, unbothered attitude toward relationships. I can see him not needing to label what y’all have as romantic or platonic and just wanting to spend quality time with you, and it’d be such wonderfully quality time. Cam would be such a supportive partner while you pursue your degree, bringing you water or tea while you work. When you’re not studying, the two of you go on walks at night, Cam pointing out familiar constellations.

Song:

Watch the sunrise along the coast/ As we're both getting old/ I can't describe what I'm feeling/ And all I know is we're going home/ So please don't let me go, oh/ Don't let me go, oh-oh-oh/ And if it's right/ I don't care how long it takes/ As long as I'm with you/ I've got a smile on my face

It took me a bit, but this is almost exactly the kind of vibe that I was thinking about. Like, it’s a little sad, because I think loving d(a)emons can be a little sad, but it’s mostly loving. It’s mostly about appreciating the little moments together and smiling about the time you’ve had versus crying when it’s over.

Runner-ups:

I like Anton as a runner-up because he had that same mild temperament that Cam does; if you had expressed displeasure at feeling separate from human nature, he would have just nudged forward in front of the serenity daemon. Sam is a good runner-up because he’d be a great night walk companion. I also think he’d commiserate, feeling separate from the human he once was, though he’d be leaning more negatively against it.

note: thank you for waiting and sending in a submission 💚

Read this post and send me an ask if you’d like a match-up of your own! 💌

#redactedasmr #redactedverse #redacted asmr #redactedaudio #redacted audio #redacted #busybee matches

[mortau]

LILITH-001 bio and tag dump

Name: LILITH-001

Alias: Lilith

Verse: Main Story only

Race/Species: Artificial succubus

Age: Complicated in the same way the other splices are complicated

Sexuality: Bisexual, with a romantic inclination towards women

Gender/Pronouns: female, she/her

Eye color: Yellow

Hair: Blonde

Height: 5'7"

Weight: 133

Body type: Curvy

Skin color: Slightly tan

Background: tw: sex trafficking

disclaimer: her former profession and her species are not an open invitation for smut

She was a demon created in a test tube with a mixture of Yekaterina and Konstantin's DNA. When her body first emerged, it had no soul... And after weeks and weeks of no progress, she was given a soul nucleus... A soul nucleus made of love and desire for a certain woman, which gave her her nature as a succubus.

Her creator, Sakura, was an amateur, however. Finding no value in her penchant for pacifism, she deemed LILITH-001 a failure. Since she is a succubus, Sakura figured that she could use her body for funding and sold her services as a full-service prostitute.

Despite this blatant disregard for her personal autonomy, she tried not to lose her optimism.

After the death of her creator, the one who provided her soul - Henri - took her in to live in his laboratory underneath a lake to allow her time and space to heal.

After the entire operation between Henri and his collaborators began to fail, she was released into the world to be her own person.

#verse || main story #lilith-001 || ic #lilith-001 || isms #lilith-001 || image #lilith-001 || aesthetic #sex trafficking tw

[gctchell]

My Stella, canon divergent to the end.

My take on Stella has become completely canon divergent since the airing of Season 2, but now also with the exclusion of the contract from Season 1. It always felt like an awkward fit with my Stella, but now I have a verse for it where it makes sense. She is not a young adult, she is a couple centuries old and her marriage to Stolas has at least a century or two to it.

My Stella is a woman who comes from a brutal, strict upbringing where emotions are unimportant for all matters, put it to the side - you don't need such silly things to follow through with your responsibilities as a member of the Ars Goetia. While her brother Andrealphus came out of it more expressive, Stella became a mind that functioned on responsibility and the lethality that comes with it, only tapped into the emotional range of wrath that powers incredibly vicious snow storms. Her "love" for her parents and brother is obligational, and pointed.

When it comes to relationships outside of the family, Stella has immense difficulty in connecting to other demons. For the impressionable part of her young life, she was incredibly withdrawn and could not connect to anyone or anything - it was a foreign experience that felt impossible to encroach upon. She would have been a loner if it were not for her arranged marriage, which ironically, and fatefully, was the only way she experienced love of both a platonic and romantic nature. Stolas was her best friend who had actually managed to introduce warmth into Stella's life, something so strange, but so strangely captivating.

With time and further socializing, and Stolas's unknowing guidance, Stella grew less stiff around social crowds and took it upon herself to form a personality that was more inclined to 'blend in' with the crowd. To form connections was important, this much she was taught but could never successfully proceed in unlike her brother who shot off like a beam. Now she could, and she wielded it to the best of her ability with a very tight knit circle of chosen folk.

The anticipation of having a child was filled to the brim with anxiety. She and Stolas were content in their current phase that a child finally seemed like a good idea to the both of them, Stella being so withholding as she was unsure if the travel into motherhood was a journey that seemed wise. An heir was ideal, but changed, Stella worried, and worried still during her pregnancy.

Octavia would be born to a very warm father and a mother who, while she could seem so quiet and withdrawn, was undoubtedly loving as well. They were two different flavors of parenthood, and honestly, it was a good balance for Octavia. It was good childhood, and it was only until the owlet's mid-teens that everything shattered.

A cheating scandal, a breach of trust, an ugly falling out between a couple that the rest of the Ars Goetia had been convinced were solid gold. The house disrupted, the peace shaken, and the eventual process of a very hideous divorce.

Octavia is split custody between Stella & Stolas, Stella now residing in a palace of her own in the more wintry sector of Pride within Andrealphus's area.

While I main this verse, I also have a "happily married" verse and am content to play with it if the interest is there.

As a mother, she has always done her best by Octavia. Stella has not been the most warm of personality to anyone, and as mentioned, she experienced a great concern during and after conception of the little owlet. "I'm not motherly material, what if I am too brash? What if I am insensitive?" these sorts of worries from someone with her frigid and serious, strict personality. Her own upbringing was not the warmest, and with all these years by Stolas's side, she came to realize that she did not want to raise any owlets of their own the way that she was, and dropped traditions.

Once deciding to finally have a child, Stella and Stolas worked closely as a team. He was always the more gentle one of the two, and he, for all this time, softened her edges just enough for parenthood. As a mother, while somewhat reserved, there was no denying that she loved Octavia, and Octavia knew it. Her mother was more stern than her father, but she melted for her daughter. Stella taught Octavia how to ice skate from a young age, one of Stella's most favorite of activities. There is also the teaching of Goetian winter magic that she is eager to pass down.

Stella is not a brainless, 2D Saturday morning villain. She is intellectual, she is strict, and in some social settings that are outside of her normal (family & chosen circle), awkward. She can be abrasive, confrontational, and aggressive, but she is also withdrawn and contemplative. She ruminates in silence and snow, and finds her comfort and peace of mind amongst her snow globes.

#[ stella; headcanons. ]

[distopea]

How much would it take for Mads to ask for help with his ptsd? Who would he turn to in a crisis? Or who does he turn to?

@nezumivc103221

It would take quite a long time for Mads to over ask for help during his PTSD episodes. 

First, he's a man who asked for a helping hand in the first place. He deals with his own issues quietly, and he always believes that it would only bother or burden people surrounding him. He's secretive regarding his own demons because he doesn't want to hear anyone suggesting going to see a therapist. God, he knows already that he should, but he has also never taken care of himself. He's an eternal martyr in that matter; he's a rock to anyone in need, mature and logical, but he doesn't know how to lower his guard in order to gain help in return. 

So far, well... The best answer is Mika when it comes to the person he can open up to. Mads trusts his brother more than anyone else in the world, because they have shared the same traumatic experience. Mika is not soft either, and Mads knows it. Despite his brother being more a goof and an apparently carefree man, he's also profoundly moved and shattered by what their father did to them both. They understand each other without talking about the elephant in the room, and that's probably what's helping Mads the most. When he doesn't need to express his emotions or what he's going through. 

In terms of developed ships, I would say that Mads would be inclined to trust Nezumi (in the circus verse and probably the 50s too). Perhaps he might open up to Raum later after the war in their verse too, but they have those inner codes and attitudes that make him feel... understood. Without having to reveal what he thinks either. 

#; nezumivc103221 #⌇dialing the void ( 𝘼𝙨𝙠 ) #⌇headcanon ( 𝙈𝙖𝙙𝙨 ) #⌇character study ( 𝙈𝙖𝙙𝙨 ) #; getting myself back in the mood of writing with those hcs! #; aaaa Mads... if only he could open up and talk right? #; I think he just needs to be with people understanding his silences #; and that's what helping the most!

[bustyasianbeautiespod]

Hello again! You guys mentioned that you think that angels and demons have free will but just don't believe that they do. Do you think that Crowley and Aziraphale believe that they have free will or agency in general?

most days, i think both of them are aware that they have free will but also have reasons to tell themselves that they don't. but also, i'm not even entirely sure how the two of them define free will at all... i suppose in the gomens verse, it's about if you can do things that go against the great plan or if you have a fixed nature created by god that causes you to do certain things all according to keikaku.

i think that aziraphale is aware he has free will but falls on the great plan stuff when he feels guilty about something (the other ask about god didn't strike me down for giving away the sword or saving job's kids -> god wanted me to do it -> i can now feel better) or uncertain. as for crowley, today, i am considering other possibilities. she's the one who asks in 1.06 if god planned for armageddon to never go through and (in the deleted lines) mentions god always having a knowing smile on her face, but they're also the one who goes "great pustulent mangled bollocks to the great blasted plan" in 1.03 and is so eager to cast off heaven and hell and make his own decisions w aziraphale by their side... I'm inclined to read his lines in 1.06 being more like "do you think god hoped it would turn out like this" which doesn't preclude free will, it's more just a small expression of faith. but i am also quite entranced by crowley in "demonology and the triphasic model of trauma" who DOES think the great plan caused most of his major life events (and has a whole breakdown over his therapist taking that to the logical conclusion of "She made you, so you would fall.")... i think it is interesting to read crowley trying to convince aziraphale that he has free will as crowley actually trying to convince aziraphale to ADMIT he has free will while also actually trying to convince herself that she actually HAS free will. but also idk! most days i think crowley believes he has free will too

- Crystal :)

#asks