#Hellfire Spreads || Demon Form

[cambion-companion]

Can’t stop thinking of a tav who just showers Raphael in attention and affection. It’s the little things like listening attentively to his plays and dramatizations whenever they ask anything, to looking at him like he hung the moon and the stars, cupping his face as if he’s some kind of precious lovely thing instead of you know, A DEVIL

Just tenderness because that’s not something common in the world of devil and demons (I think?)

Ps: love your writing!

Hi! Thank you! I took the opportunity to write more Patron!Raphael, with a little bardic twist!

Raphael x reader (gn)

You were Raphael’s favorite.

This knowledge you wore with great pride and much to the aggravation of his other servants.

You had never expected a patron Fiend to be so dynamic.  His passion for the performing arts rivaling even your own.  You’d struggled being a bard for so long, working your fingers raw upon the instruments that refused to sing for you.  Your creative abilities severely stunted.  Until Raphael entered your life.

The cambion had carefully watched your passion to act and dance, recognizing in you his own desire to draw down the magic of words upon parchment.

You had been so eager to sign his contract, agreeing to serve him and spread his own creations to the material plane in exchange for unhindered, undiluted talent.

Raphael was quite pleased with this arrangement.  Under his mortal disguise he would often attend your little shows, his amber eyes glinting with self-satisfaction as he watched his little bird channel his creations. Through you, Raphael gained another taste of what being a god must feel like.

At the end of another long recitation of one of Raphael’s more laborious poems, you watched the guests file from the room and took a welcome drink of cool water for yourself.

Raphael leaned against the marble pillar, idly swirling a glass of red wine as he studied you.

“You’re not enunciating enough during the last stanza.”  Raphael tutted lightly, clicking his tongue against his teeth. “The attention of your guests lapses accordingly.”

You grimaced and rubbed your sore throat. “Sure, it’s my enunciation. Not the fact you drone on about the tempestuous nature of pixies for five minutes.”

Raphael’s smile didn’t reach his dark eyes. “For a mortal so favored by Fate, you certainly enjoy tempting it.”

“I’m not favored by Fate, I’m favored by you.”

“Well said.  Well spotted.”  Raphael chuckled and drained his cup before placing it aside and moving close, the fragrance of his musk burning your nostrils. His hand cupped your jaw and tilted your face up. “Not appreciated nearly enough, however. I labor long so that you may be the conduit of my brilliance.”

You couldn’t help but roll your yes, a twinge of unwelcome fondness stirring yet again within you for this curious devil. “I adore everything you create, Raphael.  Well…almost everything.”

“And what, pray tell, is the exception?”

You hesitated and pulled your head out of his grip, his long index finger trailing beneath your chin. “Well, that song about the hagspawn was pretty terrible.”

Raphael inclined his head. “Granted, it was not my best creation. Yet you did it justice, once you heeded my tender correction and stopped laughing.”

You rubbed your lower back at the unpleasant memory. “Yes…I remember your ‘correction’ quite well.”

“As always, it is my intent to make an impression.”  Raphael extended a hand which you took, preparing to be whisked back to his House of Hope. “Even amongst the most stiff-necked of my servants.”

A blast of hot air met your face as Raphael pulled your body through the familiar hellfire portal.  You didn’t mark the change, but Raphael had shed his human guise and now stood before you in full cambion form.  He stretched his arms and wings wide, clearing his throat before launching into a dramatic recitation of his newest poetic piece.

You sat in an armchair as far away from the roaring fire as possible, listening to Raphael’s deep voice paint the images of an epic tale. It was clearly another of his self-insertion stories with a protagonist modeled after how Raphael perceived himself. Which was a sight different than the reality.

Despite the blatant conceit, you couldn’t help but be drawn into the world he had created. You clapped enthusiastically at the end of his impassioned oratory.

As always, you were his biggest fan. Aside from himself of course.

Haarlep passed through the large room on the way back to the Boudoir he was often confined to.  The incubus wore a sleepy expression and the usual replication of Raphael’s image, carrying a mug of steaming liquid in hand.

“Raphael has just come up with the most exquisite tale, Haarlep!”  You said with excitement, not noticing Raphael’s glare on you soften slightly at your words.

“Believe me, cherub.  I’ve heard it all.”  Haarlep waved a dismissive hand in your direction and continued on his way.

“He doesn’t like me much.”  You said, a little put out as you always were at Haarlep’s disinterest.

“Pay him no mind.”  Raphael handed you yet another long sheaf of parchment whereon he’d scrawled more lyrics for you to memorize. “There is only one whose attentions you should crave.”

You glanced over his work and smiled, trying in vain to hide your delight at the new project. “Of course, but it does get a little confusing since you insist on him wearing your form.”

Raphael’s tail smacked your backside causing you to hiss at the sting. “Careful, little nightingale. Even my fondness for you has its limits.”

[ethereallyari-books]

HellFire Newt Syrup

A Series: Mammon

Warnings: Heavy Smut. Read at your Own Discretion.

Word count : 1,476

He was pacing back and forth in his room. He was hot. His hands tugged and gripped at his hair. Trying to keep his composure.

It was his own fault really. How could he be so stupid.

Thought he could make a quick buck only for it to back fire so tremendously.

He tried to take a limited edition golden hellfire newt bottle out of leviathans room. He could’ve sold it for twice the amount Levi bought it for. But he dropped it. And it spilled all over him.

The affect was working. Working fast. His sense started to heighten. His fangs got sharper and his pupils turned into slits. He was on the bring if turning into his demon form. He was trying to hard.

Taking slow and deep breaths. In and out. There was a knock at his door that started him and made him jump out of his thoughts.

“Mammon? What was that sound are you okay? Why is the door locked let me in.”

It was MC. Mammon looked around started to panick. “No no uh- ya can’t come in! Go away!”

They jiggled the door knob. “Mams stop being weird and open the door.”

“Ya- dammit- MC! I can’t- fuck.” He grunted and rubbed his face.it was only getting worse by the second.

The door stopped and was quiet. Then it just flung open. “Phew! That was easy.” Mc used magic to open the door.

They stepped in and closed the door. “Geez Mammon what’s gotten-“ they paused seeing him.

“Mammon what’s wrong?” The went to him trying to automatically comfort him.

“No! No! Don’t touch me!” He started breathing heavily. “I’m barely holdin’ on Mc! Ya gotta go!” He grunted and stumbled back a bit.

Horns sprouted and curled out of his head. Mammon started heaving as his wings shows up.

“M-mammon? What- what’s wrong?” They looked concered. But started backing up as mammon got closer.

He looked at them as if they were his prey.

“I swear ya just don’t listen. Ya got some nerve ignorin me like that.” He hummed as he backed them up to the pool table. His wings flapping behind him every once and a while.

Mc gulped as the space between them closed. Mammon reached up and rubbed their cheek. “I just needs little taste. Aw don’t look at me like that. I told ya don’t come in. And ya did. This ain’t no one else’s fault but yers.”

“You do it to me all the time!” They whimpered as mammons hand trailed its way down their side. Sending shivers down their spine.

“That ain’t the point. I’m your first. Ain’t like I need permission.” He turned his head and started peppering kisses to their neck.

Their eyes fluttered and they melted every so slightly into him. Letting a soft sigh out. He slide a hand to their throat and gaze a squeeze. He kissed them. His lips pressing so nicely against theirs.

They let out another whimper as they melted into his touch. Kissing him back just as passionate.

The newt syrup was in full swing. His body was so hot. His cock throbbed in his pants. He growled into their mouth as his kiss became more rough.

Everything got hotter. Mc fiddled with his belt and undid the button and zipper to his pants as they were kissed. While mammon worked on pulling off their clothes. He paused to pick them up and sit them on the pool table. Pushing the balls back into their corners.

Mc pulled out his cock. It was twitching as a mix of gold and watery white precum pooled from the tip. He grunted and let out a soft moan as MC stroked them. He couldn’t help himself but to buck up into their hand.

He let out a whimper of his own. Breaking the kiss and rolling his head back. MC smiled and kissed his collarbone.

He pulled off his jacket.. his body felt like it was on fire. He pushed them down on the pool table. His dick jumping as he spread their legs apart. Having perfect access to everything.

“F-fuck. I’m sorry MC I don’t think I can- ugh~ hold back anymore.” He said through gritted teeth.

“You were my first. You don’t have to ask for permission. I’m all yours.” They said reiterating his words from before.

Mammons wings extended out and he let out a growl as he wrapped his arms around their legs and pushed himself into their core. Letting out a moan as he watched how perfect Mc looked with him inside them.

The precum acted as a lubricant as he pushed deep into their core. He started thrusting. Fucking them on the pool table. MC instantly began to cling to him. Wrapped their arms around his neck. Trying to completely close the gap between their. Their bodies touching and rubbing against each other as mammon thrusted into them.

His cock scraping nicely along their walls and hitting all the right places. He kept a nice speed. They rocked the pool table, it’s legs creaking from the motion fo the two.

Mammons thrusts we’re rough and fast. He wasted no time and let out a string of moans and grunts.

MC tossed their head and began to scratch up his back. Digging pretty marks into his skin. Mammon kept marks of his own. His fangs scratching across MCs chest and collarbone as he kissed and sucked there. Leaving little love bites and hickies and every once and a while drawing a bit of blood only for him to lick it up.

He was rough with it. Unlike his usual, more gentle self. The way his exposed chest flexed. He was starting to sweat. It putting a pretty shine on his skin. He moved one of your legs over his shoulders. Creating a new angle that scratched wonders inside you.

The pool table creaked and rocked. The sound of the balls in their corners clanking together.. his wings couldn’t help but flap a bit here and there behind him.

His thrusts sped up. His dick twitched inside you. He grunted and let out a small whimper.

“Oh fuck~ Mc.~” he moaned. His eyes fluttering. He huffed.

You reached out to him and pulled him down to kiss you. Diving your tongue into his mouth. Moaning into him with pretty whimpers and whines of your own.

Your body couldn’t help but shake from the force and stimulation he was giving.

An orgasm.. ripping through your body. Giving him a loud moan as he felt your insides clench around him.

He kept the pace, letting you ride out your high. Everything was so hot and so close. Hips meeting together and bodies rocking as one. He is your first demon after all.

He pulled out from you, turning to lean against the pool table. His cock was still hard and twitching. It looked like it hurt. He huffed and looked over at you hungrily.

“M-MC..” he seemed desperate.

You caught your breath. With shaky legs hopping off from the table you got down onto your knees in front of him.

He looked down at you with a look of want in his eyes. The avatar or greed wanting you more than anything.

You took hold of his base and squeezed it. He grunted. You pushed his blood flow to his tip as you wrapped your mouth over his cock.

He shuddered bracing himself by holding onto the table. His head leaned back with a dragged out moan as you started sucking him.

Licking up his sides and bobbing your head as you sucking him off. Though he’d never admit it, he became a whining mess.

His legs jerked and his cock twitched in your mouth. His knuckles turning white from how hard he gripped the ledge of the pool table.

“F-fuck me. S-so good~” he mustered out with a growl to follow.

The more you sucked him the quicker his breaths got. Slob dripping down your chin each time you’d pull off, spit on his cock, and attatched yourself right back on.

His wings extended out. There was a cracking sound as he broke the edge of the table with how hard he was squeezing it. He moaned out as his thick white and gold flecked cum spurted out into your mouth.

His legs shook as he very visibly fell apart. He almost fell to the ground from how hard he came. That syrup really took a toll on him. As he finally went soft, small globs of cum pooled from his tip. Finishing him off as he sighed pleased. He looked down at you and blushed a bit.

He leaned down wrapping his hand around your neck as he pulled you up by it, into a soft kiss. As a thank you.

[catsconflictscopicsandchamomile]

Thinking about Dean's motif of corruption. "The very touch of you corrupts". Heaven, and Dean himself, see this corruption as rot. Hellfire. Moral decay, and, inevitably, destruction.

However, "corruption" can have other meanings, especially when defined by spn's (or most modern versions of) Heaven. "The very touch of you corrupts" when Cas first touched Dean, something took root. Dean's love, his protectiveness, the rugged life he was more or less forced into, his stubborn insistence, against all odds and in all circumstances, to prioritize family, food, hearth, a safe place to sleep and a planet that won't fall apart on him. Those roots spread- but not in any evil sense.

Tree roots.

Strong and unrelenting and vibrantly green, fed on tears, soil, blood, ash and salt, and on red meat and love. Wriggling through the cracks in Cas' celestial being, curling around the divine light and leaving rich earth behind it. Is it corruption? Is it decay? Yes. But nothing, angel or demon or antichrist or anything else, that Dean touches can help but become a creature of Earth. Most humans don't notice, humans are already Earthly beings, and most monsters are as well. Angels though?

Heaven and Hell are two sides of the same coin. The opposite of both is Earth- Earth with no care given to an afterlife, kindness and love existing for its own sake, no hypotheticals. Dirt, rot, messiness, food, hunger, tiredness, laughter, love.

and that scares the SHIT out of Heaven

they've seen angels fall, either living as humans or truly Falling, their grace charred and covered by hellfire

they've never seen one turn into a physical being before. even an angel reborn as a human is still an angel. Cas isn't becoming human. He's still an angel, but-

if the other angels can see the roots piercing through his true form, churning through grace like a sapling in new soil

what other word would they have but "corruption"?

(obligatory SAM IS NOT EXCEMPT FROM THIS. HE'S ALSO WEIRD THIS WAY follow-up bc yall will just hate Sam for no reason istg)

[ask-bendy-and-the-fandom-group]

(FNAFtale x Doom: Episode 1. Embrace of Darkness)

A strange demon wakes up in hell, and groggily gets up. He's surprised to not be wounded-

Well...

More wounded than usual at least. Whenever he awakens from a deep sleep, it's usually because of himself passing out due to injuries.

He shakes his head, ridding his mind of the images of past defeats, and he starts to look around. Looking to see how much of his pack is still around.

To his surprise and fear, he doesn't see anything he recognizes. The land around him is too wide, and he actually sees a dusty sky instead of a roof riddled with hanging demons. He looks around the ground, and he sees only small splashes of blood. Most of which isn't even boiling.

Worst of all, he doesn't feel the looming threat of heaven over him. Now, had this been another other situation, he would have been rejoicing. But this is far too strange for him...

"...where in the forgotten gods' names, am I...?"

He tries to open a portal back home, but he's only able to manage creating a few sparks of hellfire. He grits his teeth in pain, as he struggles to perform the simple spell. He falls to one knee, panting. "...I-I'm too weak right now... I need to gain energy..."

He starts walking around, his tail swaying side to side steadily, like an annoyed cat. "That's just great... don't know where I am, too weak to go home... hopefully there's something to eat in this world so I can regain my strength..."

@ask-underfazverse

*around him there were many forms in the distance, they seemed to be people and others not. There was a destroyed building nearby in what looked to be an area of plains although it was hard to tell with the dark stone floor seeming to extend on forever in cracked and rolling hills with large rocks and boulders occasionally being spread with small groves of trees. Near the destroyed house in front of the demon there was a figure coming out that looked straight at him with glowing eyes and a ball of fire in its hand, it was limping and using its free arm to hug across their stomach*

[nevadas-night-time-novelist]

hai

if its alr with you, can i please request an auditor x angel!reader?? im so STARVED for auditor content 😭😭

Feather light and black as night

Auditor x Angel!Reader

The contrast between you and your lover was almost comical in nature. Auditor, a being of hellfire, destruction, darkness and doom, and you, in pristine white robes, gilded jewellery, gold painted nails, and a beautiful decorated halo behind you head.

A vicious warmongerer in black and blood red, and a pure light of salvation seeking to heal wounded and lost sheep in your shared domain.

Your feathered ears twitched softly, listening intently to the wayward sinner before you, his burned out red eyes full of anger and indignant righteousness. "I understand your plight, shepard, but you and I both know calling on my kin to purge the land of this wickedness won't work. There are factors at play that put all of us in danger, and calling on Heaven's highest orders will amount to thousands of holy souls lost."

"This is unjust and you know it! A fellow angel should realise this! Wicked sin has scorned this earth and continues to mount, you think Heaven's gates will be safe should they learn a way to access theme?" Jebediah slammed his hands on your desk, his own damaged wings spreading wide. "It's only a matter of time before this wickedness spills over, and even Heaven itself will be corrupted."

"Have you no faith in the lord, Christoff?" Blinking slowly, your feathery eyelashes somehow fanning the flames of his damaged soul. "I know you're desperate for a solution, this is your home. But I cannot call upon those higher than me, even if I wanted to. Rest assured, we are watching, and when the time is right, Heaven's gates shall open, and salvation shall come to all the land. Patience, Christoff, is a virtue after all."

Jeb folded his wings behind his back, despite how often he came to argue his point, he would always back down at your words. You knew deeply he was soothed by the presence of a divine being, seeking to vent his anger and conflicted feelings at someone he shared ambitions with. "I shall continue this plight alone then, for now."

"You're never alone, Christoff. The lord is with you always. Go now in peace, shepard. May the light shine with you."

"And with you." As he left your office, the Auditor passed him, and slipped in, seeing as you were now alone.

"Is he bothering you again?" He knew of Jeb's reoccurring visits too, a desperate wannabe holy soul begging for reassurance he was on the right path.

"Not at all." Your wings fluffed up as you stood. "Greetings, Auditor. How may I aid you today?" The light of your halo illuminated your features, bathing everything in divine holy light.

Auditor shut the door with a flick of his wrist. "It's an informal visit, this time." He crossed the room and his figure melded to yours, his flames rolling into each crevice in your robe, swirling into your hair, gliding between your feathers.

To an angel, no matter their rank, touching wings was seen as the highest form of intimacy, saved for family, close friends, and lovers. "I'm still supposed to be working, my love," If Auditor had knees, they'd be weakening right now.

The sweet pet name, love, and the fact you called him yours. The words rolled off your tongue often enough, but the sparks in his stomach never dimmed, no matter how much you used them, never losing their lustre.

"Do you have any idea how maddening it is having you so close, but never close enough with those prying eyes?" Auditor longed to bask in your holiness every second of the day, but both of you had work to attend to, making his desires impossible.

You'd been sent down initially by your arch angel to help convert sinners, purgatory and hell having too high an intake for the demons to keep track of, and heaven offered to lighten the load, as long as the wayward would allow light into their hearts.

His lips brushed against yours, the heat of his body rushing over you, and instinctively you kissed back, hand cradling the back of his head, his hands coming to rest in the curve of your back and on your spine.

Reflexively, your spine plumage puffed up, an indicator of relaxation. "We still have much to do before we retire for the night," You mumbled softly, but you leaned further in his arms, letting him secure you in his grasp.

"You're not backing off though, angel." Auditor teased you. If you really wanted to, he'd let you go, but both of you knew you didn't want that right now. His touch felt good, and it had been a long day already. "Care to split early and allow me to indulge in your presence?"

A stubborn hardass, but Audi had a soft spot for you, not only because of the power you represented, but because your attitude. You were a lot more positive than the other people he was surrounded by, and that was what attracted him to you to begin with.

"Very well, I suppose we've earned some time to ourselves." You wriggled from his grasp, much to his mumbling protests, but you needed to turn your sign around. 'The Angel is OUT, please return at 6am.'

Auditor's body once again embraced yours, he was feeling rather clingy today. His hands rolled over your arms, fingers interlacing with yours, his chest pressed into your back, head resting on your shoulder, carefully avoiding being stabbed by the spikes of your halo. "Are you finished here dear?"

A gasp left your lips as he lightly nibbled your neck. "Behave!" Your wings puffed up, eyes opening on them to stare at him. "Such behaviour in public is inappropriate!" Even with nobody around, angelic prudishness still shone through.

"Then allow us to go somewhere more private?" Darkness filled the room, and suddenly you were both in the Auditor's private chambers. It was dimly lit by candles, and soft ambient lighting from fairy lights on the ceiling. Lavender incense burned on his side table, bed carefully laid with your favourite comforter and pillows.

"You've been slacking off work to do this, haven't you?" You giggled, turning to see him changing into lounge wear, hanging his suit up to keep it crisp and straight.

"Perhaps a little. But you're worth the effort, and so much more, carissima." You opened your drawers, taking out your own lounge robes, slits in the back to fit your wings into. Fresh white linens with golden embroidery, folded with care and neatly in line. "Lay down, I would like to prune your wings, if you'll allow me."

Audi melted into the floor, flames rolling over the ground and onto the bed, before he manifested again, patting his lap. He really, really loved your wings. "Very well, seeing as how much effort you've put into this." Slumping down onto your shared bed, you spread your left wing over his lap, and he carefully began to run his fingers into the white plumage.

Black and red mixing with white and gold, a harsh contrast that seemed to fit so well together. "Ah amica mea, you're too kind." Again your spines puffed up, relaxing as Audi's warm hands massaged your wings and pulled out loose feathers.

Latin, oh, you nearly made him swoon. "Anything for you carissima."

"I do have a query, dear."

"Yes my lover?"

"What do you do with my loose feathers?"

Ah.

"I.. Keep them. In my suits. Replace them once they get frayed and worn. It's nice to have little pieces of you with me when you can't be there physically." He leaned down, kissing your wing softly.

"Unfair, why don't I have something like that?" You giggled playfully, not being serious.

Auditor's face turned red, that was unexpected. "I could offer you that if you wanted." You looked up at him, his face flush and burning. "There is nothing you could ask for that I couldn't deliver." He summoned a golden necklace, a tiny vial acting as the pendant. Slowly unscrewing the top, he placed a piece of his fire into the jar, sealing it shut again. "Sit up, let me put it on you."

You obeyed, rising to your knees and turning your back to him, sweeping your hair out of the way, allowing him to attach the chain. "It's perfect," Touching the bottle, you felt heat radiating from it, the same warmth when he touched you.

"And how perfectly it adds to you." He smiled, cuddling into you. "What a wonderful idea, now people will be aware of the fact you're mine."

[ineadhyn]

This prompt was brought up by @nikjima who makes the best screenshots and the best mods (Raphael's finest ass) for our devils:

Imagine Raphael had no idea you'd given Haarlep your form, and you snuck out of the HoH without stealing the contract/hammer, and next time he's having a little 'me time' Haarlep just jumpscares him mid-climax

CN: sex, non descriptive violence mentioned at the very end

He should have noticed the scent changing. When the sulphur intensified and the fiery cinnamon turned into something sweeter - but Raphael did not notice. He was buried hips deep in Haarleps ass and their combined body heat crescendoed into an inferno. A bit too hot - in hindsight. Just like Haarleps smile was a bit too wide. Only that Raphael’s eyes were momentarily closed, his claws dug into the incubus hips, dragging deep trenches into their scaly skin and his body was trembling and twitching under their weight, whilst Haarlep rolled their hips with relentless precision. Raphael tipped his head back, his horns hit the headboard, probably carving into it. Close. He was so damn close. Not for the first time tonight, just to mention. Haarlep had brought him to the edge three times already, just to pull back, before he could tumble over it. Not again. Raphael was determined to make sure of that. His tail curled around their waist and with a breathy moan he pulled his incubus closer with both hands, made their hips smash down on his cock, thrusting upwards at the same time, his back arched, hellfire sparks dancing on the edges of his vision. Again his head tipped back, he clenched his teeth and -  Haarlep shuddered in a shower of sparks. Raphael’s eyes widened. The damned - It was too late! Whoever Haarlep’s form changed into, Raphael shot his load into them, releasing all the build up of three denied orgasms and filled them with it, his mind dazed, grasping the now soft flesh under his fingers, the smaller body, the -  “Mouse.” Hells, how good it felt, how their skin glistened in the hellish light, their hair sweaty and their eyes rolled back. Still impaled by him, twitching around his cock. For one moment Raphael was unable to do anything else than to listen to their voice. Moaning, gasping, making all the sounds he barely dared to dream of, then - “Haarlep!” Raphael shot up and threw the incubus off him, so they hit the floor. Their small figure looked fragile and still sweaty and glowing from their tryst. Of course, none of that was true. Raphael violently tried to get the vision out of his head until he saw nothing more than his, his incubus, who dared to grin at him still. “Did you like my gift?” they cooed, looking up through their lashes. “Your mouse left it for you when it visited. I thought I’d wrap it for you.” Raphael stared down at his incubus and only now the full realization of their betrayal rolled over him. “You! You fucked the mouse? You dared to fuck my mouse?” Raphael’s hand shot down, his fingers wrapping around the delicate throat and pulling Haarlep up by it. He would punish them. He rarely did, but today he would stain the floors with the insolent demon’s blood. Still, the thought that dominated his mind as he dragged them out of the boudoir was another: The mouse has been here. They had been here and the contract still stood. As Haarlep’s first scream echoed from the walls of the House of Hope a silent smile spread across Raphael’s lips.

The screenshot that caused it ^^

[winged-self-indulgence]

“Don’t move, Dove,” Z’s hands planted themselves between your shoulder-blades. They were warm, wide palms spanning from side to side while the pads of their fingers brushed sweetly, dotingly, possessively over the curve of your throat where your pulse beat a sudden, shrill, staccato rhythm – their favourite place to bite. To mark. To claim.

The sensation was followed by the soft threat of sharp nails gently caressing down the arc of your spine all the way to the small of your back. You might have shifted away if you could, but Z’s legs were planted on either side of your hips; the demon looming like a thunderstorm over your defenseless form. Prey caught in the jaws of a predator, meat on a butcher’s block, a feast spread out on a table. You didn’t have to look to picture their dark tongue dragging over their upper lip as they surveyed you with all the arrogance of a marquis lording over their territory, deciding what part of you to devour first.

You let out a whimpering sigh, perhaps to say something, but Z’s arm wrapped around your waist while the other hand tapped your open mouth with a pointer finger. “Aw, those sounds. You’re so fucking cute, doll, and I haven’t even done anything yet,” the demon brought his head side by side with yours, and you couldn’t bring yourself to so much as twitch in their direction. Not when you could feel those hellfire-bright eyes burning a hole through the side of your face, threatening to incinerate you entirely. Lips burning like a brand nuzzled beneath the thin skin beneath your ear, hot air washing over your neck with every breath the demon took. “Maybe I should leash you to my bed. You would look so lovely with a collar, don’t you think so Dove? Or perhaps a cage would suit you better. My helpless, pretty little pet.”

Annoyed, you opened your mouth a little wider and caught the tip of Z’s finger between your incisors. Your teeth were nothing compared to his, but skin was skin, and to your surprise this form bled no differently from a human. Blood stained the corner of your lips as the demon pulled their injured hand out of your mouth and up to their face, seemingly studying the bleeding lines. They matched the ones around yours, albeit on the wrong finger.

You were silently congratulating yourself on your victory when you became aware of Z’s breathing; slow, shuddering breaths growing faster with every exhale until finally you heard it: a low, dark, and utterly ominous laugh.

“Oh, is that how it is?” You barely had enough time to try and scramble to your knees in a misbegotten effort at escaping before the arm wrapped around your hips tightened like a vice. The lips that had been content to whisper planted themselves at the base of your jaw in a mockingly soft kiss, a prelude to the teeth already teasing at your flesh. “Where are you running off to, Dove? You wanted to play, so let’s play.”

[sky-kiss]

A/N: Can't sleep. And horrible, horrible, unholy creatures prompted for soft ascended fiend. Please understand, any additional ficlets this week will be horrific and dark to counterbalance this crime.

Also. Using my OC (which I don't do here) to cheat this prompt. In an established universe. HAH.

Ascended Fiend Raphael: You think he chuffs? I think he chuffs.

“He’s making a mess of the place.” 

“Well, we wanted to see what he was capable of?”

Haarlep fixes her with a withering look, lips pressing to a thin line. Their face is naturally expressive; Joi has the distinct pleasure of watching all his thoughts pass across his face without pretense or restraint. The sum of these parts amounts to an unambiguous: you fucking dolt. 

“We knew. The princeling wanted to showboat. And now look.”

The fiend continues its rampage through the arena, tail lashing behind it, wings spread. Its fires burn brighter than ever, hot enough to leave the entirety of the building sweltering. A tinge of iron hangs in the air, married to sulfur and the sickly sweetness of charred flesh. Raphael has been neither subtle nor graceful in his carnage: the room is a mess of gore, devils, and demons alike. 

A bolt of hellfire tears from its right hand, ripping across the arena. The Abishai screams in agony, briefly sputtering before its form gives way. Ash flutters about the arena, and the fiend howls its delight. 

He’s beautiful, she thinks. All the wrath of the Hells made manifest. Raphael lifts his head, scenting the air. Robbed of his toys and the distraction of live prey, it looks for alternate means of entertainment. The creature’s good eyes fix upon them. 

“If the brute comes over here, I’ll sacrifice you,” Haarlep grumbles.

She pats their chest. “I’m well aware.” He’s done it before; he’ll do it again. The incubus intends to outlive them all. “Help me down?” 

Their expression twists with savage delight. “As the lady wishes.” 

Haarlep holds her elbow as she climbs over the arena’s edge. The distance makes her dizzy, forty or fifty down into the pit, necessary for some of the beasts the Archduke houses below. Flight is an option, but it’s easier to fall, whispering the familiar incantation to make herself feather-light. 

The fiend shrieks. Raphael’s voice bleeds into the bestial sound, one note among many; she holds onto this familiarity as it tears across the remaining space, hellfire, and claws. She swallows. 

The claws of its right-hand curl around her waist, pressing just to the point of pain. Some break flesh. Raphael huffs again, sniffing, hot gusts of air ruffling her hair. Joi holds out her hand. 

It kneels. The distance between them remains too great, the size difference too vast. The fiend hauls her nearer, chuffing, nuzzling the center skull against her chest. She trails the tips of her nails across his forehead, ignoring the hiss of pain in her side and the blood staining his jaws. 

“You’ve upset Haarlep, dear one.” One could be forgiven for mistaking the sound it makes for a laugh. If nothing else, her duke preens, wings stretching to their full span. It tries to get nearer, to close what little invisible space exists between them, recognizing its scent on her skin.  It purrs. “They worked very hard to find you all these toys…” 

“...and he’s broken them immediately.” The incubus snaps, voice echoing around them. “Ungrateful little brat.” 

"They're going to be insufferable tonight. You understand this, yes?" The right head’s expression twists in some approximation of glee. Joi shakes her head, cooing to the great beast until it finally sets her down. She kisses its ruined skull, motioning it to follow her towards the holding pens. Perhaps they will find new prey among the wastes; perhaps she’ll indulge its appetites. 

So much potential. So little time.

[steddiebang]

From Hell and Back

Author: @rindecision l Artist: @lady-lostmind l Artist: @feralsteddie Posting on Sunday, October 1

One Halloween, years after the fall of Hawkins, Steve and Robin end up summoning Eddie from the depths of Hell. Steve, not knowing the ways of the occult, accidentally frees him and has to deal with a mischievous demon on the loose. Eddie drives Steve insane with various shapeshifting antics, both in and out of the bedroom, while Robin tries to find a way to send him back to hell. But, when faced with the opportunity to return his life to normal, will Steve even want to go through with it? OR Lots of supernatural, hentai-esque smut with a playful, romantic plot.

Keep reading for a sneak preview!

Chapter 1 

The paper that Robin tossed aside caught his eye. He picked it up and hesitated to toss it into the bin.  Curiosity got the better of him, so he flattened it to see the notes. 

He got a strange sensation of someone watching him and he turned around to his empty living room.  He squinted back down at the paper. “Non ampl— How do you even pronounce half of this? Cavee am? Discordi-um?” Steve shrugged and tried it out. “Non amp-lee-us, lie-gat, discord-ee-am, add-uct or, cave-ee-um, too-am, lev-ah-vee.” He snorted and crumpled it back up. 

When he turned around to toss the paper into the trashcan, he froze at what sounded like a match strike. He swallowed and turned around to see the candles lighting by themselves, one by one. Each candle  flared back to life with the sound of a match strike. The flames from the candles grew into thin towers  of flame as the lights of his apartment dimmed out. The light from the flame was blinding, making  Steve shield his eyes as the fire spun together in the center of the pentagram. 

“Fucking finally!” A familiar voice shouted as the flames burst and petered away. 

Steve stared in awe as his lights flickered back on. There was a demon resembling Eddie standing in  his living room casually cracking his neck. His skin was warm grey with lines of black tattoo-esque  writing twisting around his body. A multitude of thin silver chains draped over him as his only form of  clothing. Strangely, it wasn’t offensively indecent that he was mostly exposed, as he didn’t seem to  have any genitalia. He had four horns coming off of his head. The top two flanked the natural part of  his elbow-length wavy hair and curved down the back of his head. The other two started on each  temple and curved around his ears. A thin whip-like tail waved wildly behind him as he stretched. 

“E—Eddie?” Steve gasped. 

“In the flesh.” He paused with a contemplative expression. “If you can call this flesh.” He looked at  Steve and a smile spread across his face. “Did you miss me… big boy?” 

“Yo—I—th—” Steve stammered, looking into his inhuman eyes. They were black where they should  be white, and his irises looked like hellfire. “I have to be fucking dreaming.” He blinked and shook his  head. 

“Aww,” Eddie cooed. “Are you calling me a dream come true, Harrington?” 

“More like a nightmare.” He looked at the ground and raised his hands in disbelief. “I’ll take it.” Eddie smirked. “Now, how about you finish what you started?” 

Chapter 3 

“Come on, bring your demon to work day.” 

Steve snorted. “Because I can just walk into work with a seven-foot demon on a leash.” Eddie hummed. “I like the idea of you putting me on a leash.” 

Steve rolled his eyes and sat at the kitchen bar to eat.

“Plus, did you forget?” Eddie disappeared. “I can be invisible.” 

“Still no.” 

“What about?” A pocket-sized demon Eddie appeared in front of his plate on the counter from a small  puff of black smoke. “Tiny?” 

Steve had to stop himself from choking on his food at the strange sight. He looked exactly as he did  full-size, but only about three inches tall. The tiny Eddie walked up to his plate and sat on the edge of  it. 

“Seriously, no one would even know I was there.” He speared a blueberry with his tail and held it in  both hands. It was almost the size of a cantaloupe to him. After he removed his tail from it, he whipped  the juice off with a flick and took a bite of it. 

“You’re just trying to trick me into letting you out, like you did with the summoning circle.” He picked  up Eddie by his tail, hanging him upside down as he continued to bite the berry. 

“Actually, I just don’t want to be bored. I wouldn’t even leave your side.” 

“Not happening.” 

Eddie stuck out his forked tongue and tossed the half-eaten berry into Steve’s water. “Nice,” Steve said sarcastically. 

Chapter 8 

If he wasn’t using both hands to stroke the rest of Eddie’s dick, Steve would have one on his own. He  was pleased to find that the chains and piercings didn’t get in the way as much as he thought they  would. In fact, they added a nice texture to the mix. 

While he was enjoying being in control, he wanted Eddie’s touch as well. He swallowed the best he  could around the dick before he pulled off of it and looked up at the demon’s duskily flushed face.  “Eddie,” he panted, rubbing his cheek against the massive dick as he stared hazily at him. “You’re free  to do as you choose.” 

Eddie heaved a heavy sigh and a wide smirk invaded his face. His sharp canine dug into his lip and he  gazed down at Steve’s lust stricken face. “God, you’re gorgeous,” he said softly, stroking his fingers  along Steve’s jaw. 

Steve shuddered and nuzzled Eddie’s hand. He hadn’t expected his touch to feel so good. He kept his  eyes locked on Eddie’s piercing ember irises until he had his lips back around his dick. 

“Fuck…” Eddie sighed, gingerly weaving his fingers through Steve’s hair, careful not to interrupt his  movements. “At least I can actually watch now.” 

After a few more sucks, Steve pulled off and licked under the ridge of the head. “Is that all you plan to  do?” 

Eddie grinned and pushed Steve’s hair back. “Was there something you’d rather I do?”

Read more on October 1!

[returnsandreturns]

i'm still thinking about THEM

“Mr. Murdock, what are your plans to combat the ungodly impact of jazz on impressionable New Yorkers?” Foggy says, in his best newsman impression, catching up to Matt on the sidewalk. “Our readers want to know.”

Foggy has spent part of today lightly stalking him. It’s very demonic of him, even if all Matt did was the equivalent of helping old ladies cross the street and getting a cup of coffee, things that would have been uninteresting to him if it wasn’t Matt doing them.

“Jazz isn’t exactly the worst influence in New York right now,” Matt says, mouth twitching in the slightest smile. 

“That’s what your people think, though, isn’t it?” Foggy asks, speeding up to keep up with him. “It’s usually roughly the opposite of mine and I’m supposed to be spreading the good news of Count Basie to the common folk. How are you gonna stop me, buddy?”

“I’m not,” Matt says, laughing. “Have a great time. If anybody asks, I valiantly tried to stop the city’s youth from enjoying themselves after spending their formative years in economic turmoil.” 

“Well, what are you actually planning on doing tonight?” Foggy asks, catching his arm to get him to stop and pulling him gently aside. 

“. . .using miracles to give as many people functional radiators as possible before I get a stern memo from upstairs,” Matt says, sighing. “It’s freezing and it’s going to get worse and there’s not enough being done.” 

“Can I help?” Foggy asks. He loves when Matt ignores Heaven and does his own thing.

“You?” Matt asks. 

“You?” Foggy echoes, mockingly. “Yes, me. If you promise to come out with me later, you’ll get twice the miracles.”

“How will you explain that to them?” Matt asks, gesturing toward the ground. “That’s a lot of good for a demon to do. Even a–confusing one, like you.” 

“I. . .used the miracles to make it seem like my angelic opponent was influencing me toward the light,” Foggy says, slowly, “and then. . .led him closer to the a life of debauchery and eventual hellfire by taking him out to dance at a seedy jazz club. How’s that?” 

“There aren’t a lot of clubs that two people looking like us can dance in without causing trouble,” Matt says, eventually, after pondering it with his distracting bottom lip between his teeth. “Cut that part and I’m in.” 

“Oh, no, the dancing is essential to seem like I’m leading you astray,” Foggy says, “and I know where those clubs are but there’s another option. I mean, I’ve only seen it once or twice, but you make a gorgeous woman, Murdock.”

“When have you seen me as a woman?” Matt asks, frowning at him. 

“You did some kinda spy thing in the last war,” Foggy says. “I happened to be in the right place at the right time to see you in a neat little suit and red lipstick. And the pantyhose. I’ll be a polite demon and not say what those made me want to do to you.” 

Matt’s face was pink from the cold but it’s bright red now. 

“Oh,” he says, softly, making his very distinct pretending like he’s resisting temptation he is absolutely not going to resist face. One of his best. “Well, if that’s all I have to do to help so many people. . .” 

“Can I add red lipstick specifically into the agreement?” Foggy asks, grinning when Matt sighs. 

“Fine,” he says, reaching out a hand for him to shake.

[morningsofgold]

blue light dreams Velvette-centric with background staticmoth Rating: M Wordcount: 4,524 READ ON A03

Weekly status meetings between the Vees were volatile by nature. Sometimes they were mind-numbingly boring, with Vox going off on a tirade about his newest reality torture show or whatever the hell the radio demon had been up to, or with Valentino singing his own praises and showing off clips from the editing bay of his new favorite star debasing themselves for the sake of money and views.

Sometimes, meetings were considerably more entertaining, like when they brought in underperformers to beg for their lives while the Vees downed drinks from Vox’s private stash of booze. But most often, the trio bickered like children and argued over the budget and took potshots at each other, until they inevitably zoned out and started gossiping about the other overlords or scrolling on their phones.

But this week, Velvette was determined to keep the boys on track. This week, she knew what she wanted, and she intended to get it.

She arrived to the boardroom right on time, and found Vox leaning over a seated Valentino with his hand curled around Valentino’s shoulder. The two men were snickering around something between themselves, red smoke pluming in a heart from Valentino’s ever-lit cigarette. So they were “on” again this week. Fine by her; sometimes it was actually easier when Vox and Val could entertain themselves with each other instead of constantly going for each other’s throats. It usually meant that if she could convince one of them to do something, the other would follow.

“Velvette,” Vox said in that brassy, used-car salesman voice. “You’ve got hellfire in your eyes. Spend your morning dismembering interns or something?”

Velvette spread her hands on the gleaming wooden conference room table, pushing up on her tiptoes as though a few extra inches of height would convey her seriousness.

“Can we cut the chit-chat this time?” She asked, using her most professional voice. She would switch to shouting if she needed to, but it was better to go in with the velvet glove before breaking out the iron first. “I”m on a tight schedule and I’ve got a favor to ask you, Vox.”

“What else is new?” Valentino muttered with a smirk. Oh, he was in fine form today. Sometimes Valentino was tolerable, occasionally even fun to be around, but he was also spectacular at getting under Velvette’s skin when he felt like being a little shit. Which was often. “Little Miss Independent needs help cleaning up her own mess.”

Velvette tipped her chin up and spoke clearly, ignoring the anger bubbling under her skin.

“I need to run updates on Voxtek’s social media algorithm. It’s out of date, and it’s killing our engagement.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the algorithm,” Vox said, steepling his fingers as he sank down in his seat at the head of the table. An LED grin sparked to life on his face, and it could have fooled someone stupider, but Velvette knew when she was being bullshitted, and she knew when Vox was trying to placate her. “Everyone in Pentagram City is plugged into your platform, sweetheart.”

Velvette slammed her phone down onto the table, hard enough to make Valentino roll his eyes but not hard enough to crack the screen. Velvette, who often fell asleep with her phone in her hand and knew from experience exactly how much pressure it took to fracture one of Vox’s shoddily manufactured screens, tried to reign in her temper where her phone was concerned. The interns she reduced to tears were replaceable and so were the runway fashions she occasionally shredded if they fell below her expectations, but her phone was special. Not only did it host all her private dossiers on the other otherlords and plenty of photographic blackmail, it also held all her saved memes and most glamorous selfies.

“Don’t try to sweet-talk me. Do you know what the bounce rate and time-on-site metrics are looking like for the news outlets you own?” Velvette demanded, scrunching up her nose in disgust. “We’re not even close to meeting our KPIs! We’re blowing budget on Val’s porn studio but it’s sure as shit not reflected in ROI. I lost almost 2,000 followers from my personal account last month.”

Val was too busy fiddling with the olive in his martini to look up at Velvette, but not too busy to get in a jibe.

“The only word in that rant I understood was “followers”. It sounds like you’re pissed people are getting tired of looking at your face.” He idly flicked one of the bells hanging from the Fizzaroli bot loitering at this side. “Not our problem.”

Velvette wanted to tear her hair out, but she had just slicked it back into a perfect high pony, and he wasn’t about to sacrifice perfection for the sake of Valentino of all people. She had known him a long time, and if she had any family, he would probably be the closest thing to it, but sometimes he was so stupid.

“How have you gotten this far without even knowing what ROI means?” She demanded.

“I’m an artist,” Val shot back, pressing long fingers over his heart in faux-offense. He had always been a bad actor, even back when he was turning amateur tricks on camcorder for pocket money. “Not a marketer. That’s your job, Vel, and if it’s all getting to be too much for your delicate constitution, why don’t you just lay down and die and spare us the bitching?”

“An artist?” Velvette barked out a laugh, leaning towards Val across the table. She lowered her voice to its most cutting pitch. “You’re just a tacky pimp with a bloated ego, you ignorant, washed-up–”

“Say washed-up again,” Valentino said, eyes narrowing in ruby shards. He drew himself up to his full height and blew his noxious smoke into Velvette’s face. It smelled like strawberry lipgloss and cheap, sweaty latex and desperation. “Go ahead. Say it.”

“I think everyone’s getting a little heated,” Vox said, taking a long gulp from his ever-full coffee mug. “Let’s just sit down and talk this through.”

“If you would just let me patch the algorithm we wouldn’t have to fight about inane shit,” Velvette said, strapping her arms across her chest. She usually got her way by bulldozing everyone who tried to stop her, bloodshed and verbal evisceration included, but sometimes, pouting was more effective. Vox, as much as he liked to pretend that he indulged her antics only as a means to his own ends, was fond of her in his own strange way. He could sometimes be manipulated under the right conditions. Valentino could too, but he was currently staring daggers at her with smoke curling out of his nostrils, so she tried her hand with Vox instead. “Come on. I’ll be in and out in two shakes of an imp’s tail.”

“I somehow doubt that,” Vox said. “Last time I let you root around in the code the whole city went dark for four hours.”

“But that was an accident,” Velvette said, deepening her pout. “It won’t happen again! Just think of the kind of fuck-off money you could make if the alogo worked better! Voxtek ads and product placements at the top of everyone’s feeds, from here to Cannibal Town. You’d double your profit!”

“I’ll admit I don’t hate the sound of that,” Vox said, narrowing his eyes. “You promise you won’t get carried away if I give you access to the mainframe?”

“I promise,” Velvette said, batting her eyelashes for good measure.

Valentino scoffed from across the table, but Velvette ignored him. This was her area of expertise, and the best thing Valentino could do in this situation was shut up. Not that shutting up was one of his areas of expertise.

Vox held up two fingers, and a white-hot spark jumped from one to the other.

“Two hours, Velvette. That’s all I’m giving you. I’ll take socials down for two hours, and if you cant make the updates in that time, it's your head on the platter, got it? I can’t afford to lose any more revenue.”

“Thank you, thank you!” Velvette exclaimed, leaning in to press a black lipsticked kiss to Vox’s screen. He grimaced and wiped the smudge off with a nearby napkin, but he didn’t push Velvette away. Even though her affection swung as wildly as her mood and was usually just there to grease the wheels in getting her what she wanted, Velvette knew that Vox privately appreciated being appreciated. He also no doubt appreciated Valentino’s more…enthusiastic overtures of affection, but Vox and Velvette had never had that sort of relationship. Then again, they didn’t need to be fucking to understand each other perfectly, or to begrudgingly enjoy each other’s company.

“And I’m coming with you,” Vox said.

“I don’t need a chaperone, old man,” Velvette replied, bristling.

“First of all I’m not that old, and secondly, you absolutely do. What if you crash a site or send out some faulty broadcast that requires mass hypnosis to mop up? I’m not leaving you unsupervised.”

“Can I come too?” Valentino asked, blinking those big moth eyes in a way that roughly approximated innocence. “I want to watch Velvette flush her career down the toilet.”

“You can come if you reign in the attitude,” Vox said. “I don’t want any fighting in my control room.”

“Ugh,” Velvette said, scowling. “If you’re going to insist–”

“I am!” Vox sing-songed.

“Then fine. But I don’t want you two breathing down my neck and throwing off my rhythm either. Social media manipulation is a complicated process.”

“Of course, chiquita,” Valentino said in his stickiest sweet voice. “We would never meddle.” HIs smile sharpened, all teeth and malice. “Just don’t choke.”

Velvette wasted no time in goading Vox into making good on his promise, although he insisted she only make updates in the wee hours in the morning when most of the denizens of hell would be either asleep or so plastered and coked out at one of Pentagram City’s many bars that they probably wouldn’t notice a system outage.

So, that night at 3am, Velvette found herself waiting at the control room door for Vox to unlock it and let her in. He was late, as usual, probably caught up in putting out some fire, but Valentino arrived surprisingly on time. There was a sleepy squint behind his huge heart-shaped glasses. Despite being a night creature by nature and by trade, Valentino needed his beauty sleep, and he didn’t get out of bed for anything he didn’t think was going to either entertain him or make him money.

“Come to rain on my parade, pissant?” Velvette said, not bothering to look up from the editorial lingerie shoot she was color-correcting on her phone. Call her a micromanager, but there were some things she didn’t trust her employees to do right.

“I’m too tired to fight,” Valentino said with a yawn, bending from his considerable height so he could rest his chin on Velvette’s shoulder and spy on what she was doing. “Hey, is this that collaboration you did with that succubus influencer who hosts the pop-up orgies? Not bad, not bad…You don’t see many racks like that anymore. She interested in doing a little freelance camming on the side?”

“Not on your life,” Velvette muttered. She wanted to be meaner to him, but she was feeling the late hour as well, and she was more focused on the task at hand than verbally sparring with Valentino. “At least not until her modeling contract is up with me.”

“Suit yourself,” Valentino said, winding a claw through one of Velvette’s curls. “But there’s no harm in slipping her my number, right?”

“Okay you two,” Vox said, appearing around the corner. He looked slightly disheveled from the day, and was wearing his shirt sleeves bunched up around his elbows. Velvette doubted he had been to bed at all that night. “Let’s get this over with. Do you two remember the rules?”

“Yes, Vox,” Valentino and Velvette sighed in longsuffering unison.

“What are the rules?” Vox said, politely but with a menacing flash in his eyes.

“Don’t touch any screens,” Valentino said.

“And don’t push any buttons without your permission,” Velvette put in.

“And don’t broadcast your secret stash of Alastor footage to the whole city,” Valentino sniggered.

“Very funny,” Vox said flatly, his mouth glitching into a perturbed line. “Watch that mouth, Valentino.”

“But you usually love what I do with my mouth,” Valentino said with a wide grin.

“You two are disgusting,” Velvette said. “Just open the door, Vox.”

Vox produced a glowing access card from his breast pocket and slid it into the port on the door. A moment later, the light above their heads flashed green and the heavy metal door slid open with a pneumatic hiss. Inside the control room, wall to wall screens filled the cramped space with an eerie blue glow. The control room hadn’t been designed with multiple people in mind, and there was only one chair in front of the custom display. This was where Vox sat when he spied on the citizens of Pentagram City, or when he overrode the many channels he controlled for an emergency broadcast. It was also where Velvette, with Vox’s express permission, patched up Voxtek’s bloated social media platform when it inevitably crashed, or made her algorithmic updates. Velvette would rather spend her time setting trends and controlling narratives, but sometimes, getting her hands dirty in the digital realm was necessary.

“Tell me again why you’re so obsessed with this?” Vox asked sidelong to Velvette, ushering her into the room. Valentino followed, ducking to avoid hitting his head on the low doorway.

“You just focus on working your magic and I’ll work mine,” Velvette said. She was smiling at him to put him at ease, but privately, the nerves were starting to set in. Calibrating the algorithm wasn’t easy on a good day, when she had unlimited time and wasn’t dealing with an audience, but she wasn’t about to let Vox and Val see her sweat. She was the social media overlord, after all. She hadn’t gotten this far by cracking under pressure.

“Say no more,” Vox said, and snapped his fingers. The largest screen in the room flashed from a screensaver to a secure login page, and Velvette tapped in her password with her manicured nails. Then she took a seat, breathed in deep through her nose, and pulled up the backend of the social media site where she spent most of her work (and leisure) hours.

“Hey,” Valentino said, lighting a new cigarette and squinting at the screen. Even with his glasses on, Velvette doubted he could make out the tiny script. “Think you can bump up the trailer for my newest fetish flick in the algo when you have a second? It keeps getting buried in chatter about the last extermination, and I spent way too much money on all that custom leather gear to have it flop.”

“While you’re at it, Velvette,” Vox put in, “Could you suppress all keywords related to that stupid hotel? I’m tired of hearing about it.”

“No free favors,” Velvette said, tapping away at the keys. She tried to block Val and Vox out, focusing instead on manipulating the complex series of digital commandments that made up the algorithm. She had constructed it herself, with input from the other Vees of course, and it had been designed to speak only in her language.

The algorithm was a complex beast, but it served Velvette’s ultimate end of making sure Voxtek media and products were always trending, that the gossip magazines were always buzzing about Valentino’s favorite show ponies, and, most importantly, that the messaging Velvette devised was absolutely inescapable.

There was no such thing as gospel truth in Hell, but if there was, it might have been written in Velvette’s tidy cursive. From breaking scandals to PR relationships and coverage of tragedies in the other rings, Velvette controlled it all.

Velvette grew increasingly irritated as the new commands she wrote for the website failed to graft onto the existing algorithm. It was part computer program, part living thing, and sometimes, it fought back. The large screen flickered dangerously as she tried to force the commands though, but Velvette kept pushing. She wouldn’t be bested. Not this time.

“Take a breath, pumpkin,” Vox said in a voice he no doubt thought was soothing. “You’ve still got an hour and a half. No need to rush.”

“Could you get off my dick, please?” Velvette responded.

“Whoa!” Valentino said. “No need to get testy. All that frowning is going to give you wrinkles.”

“It’s not listening to me,” Velvette said through grit teeth. “I don’t understand. It should listen to me.”

Vox and Val exchanged a look over Velvette’s shoulder, one they probably hoped she wouldn’t catch. It was a look of genuine concern.

“What’s eating you, Velvette?” Valentino asked.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said, pulling up yet another window. It promptly crashed. Velvette groaned and smacked the display.

“Easy on the merchandise,” Vox said in warning, but then his voice softened slightly. “Seriously, what’s up with you?”

Velvette said nothing, just tried to force another command through again. And again. And again. Each time, she was met with an error message. When she tried and failed a fourth time, the tears started to sting at her eyes. She pushed away from the sea of screens in Vox’s swivel chair and smacked the escape key, shutting down the whole process and rerouting herself back to the password screen.

“No one is listening to me anymore,” she said, trying to keep the grief and fury out of her voice. She hated crying in front of anyone, especially Vox and Valentino, but they were perhaps the only two people in hell who could witness such a thing and live to tell the tale. Her fingers turned to claws at her side. “No matter what I do. My influence is slipping.”

“Babydoll!” Valentino exclaimed, and the worst part was, he sounded truly appalled to see her so upset. His hands came to rest on her shoulders, rubbing soothing circles into her clavicles. “That’s not true. Everybody loves you. Even better, everybody fears you. You’re the head bitch in charge!”

“My engagement is in the gutter,” she sniffed. “Nobody wants to look at me anymore. They’re bored of me, and they’d rather waste their clicks on whatever new shiny piece of ass is out there strutting around, calling themselves a crime boss and livestreaming their kills. Street criminals, Val; I’m losing to street criminals!”

“Velvette,” Vox said, drawing out her name in that syrupy way that had no doubt convinced hundreds of small-time entertainers to sell their souls away for a shot at a primetime TV slot. “It kills me to see you so down on yourself. So you’ve lost a couple thousand followers, so what? I say fuck em.”

“I’m…” Velvette’s lip wobbled dangerously, and she was sure that the waterworks would unleash with whatever she said next. “I’m going out of fashion.”

Valentino and Vox tutted while she furiously wiped tears off her face, and Vox produced a baby blue handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it into her hands. The Vees might have hated each other some days, and the peace between them might be tenuous at best, worn away by infighting and power-grabs, but underneath it all, they looked out for each other. This was not the first time the boys had talked Velvette down from a complete spiral, which usually happened whenever the internet turned on her. Velvette might be tough as nails, and she knew how to hold her own in a fight, but when it came to the quivering adoration of the masses, she was an addict in need of her fix.

“What if I’m getting too old?” She moaned. “I’m still the youngest overlord, but I’m not as young as I used to be. Maybe I should cut my hair, or get a hellhound as a statement pet.”

“Why don’t you show some tits and ass?” Valentino said brightly, doing his best to be helpful. “Even just a bit of sideboob. I can set up a whole boudoir shoot for you; we’ll keep it classy.”

“No, that’s a last-ditch effort spotlight grab,” Velvette said. “If I bust that out, what have I got left? What’s the point of me if I can’t hold people’s attention? I might as well just retire to fucking Tahiti.”

“Nobody’s going to Tahiti,” Vox said. “We’d be bored out of our minds without you.”

“Yeah?” Velvette asked, daubing her eyes.

“Yeah,” Valentino responded, still rubbing that pressure point on her clavicle. It was surprisingly steadying, and Velvette found herself grateful for the touch. “And you know why? Because you’re goddamn good at your job. You earned your spot. You’re really gonna let some two-bit drug dealers with shaky phone footage take the crown from you?”

“No,” Velvette said, still feeling rotten on the inside.

“I think we’ve all had a long day,” Vox said, stepping into the role of defacto leader, which they all rotated through as necessary. “How about we sleep on this and try again tomorrow?”

“I can’t,” Velvette said, suddenly feeling exhausted to the bone. “I need to check up on the new content mill and make sure they’re still pumping out those phony articles, and then I should probably run through my to-do list for tomorrow because Satan knows my airhead PA can’t be trusted, and then–”

“Velvette,” Val said, as gentle as she had ever heard him. “Wanna sleep in the nest with me and Vox tonight?”

“Bold of you to assume I’m going to end up in your room tonight,” Vox muttered.

“Bold of you to think anyone believes you when you play hard to get,” Val responded breezily, then turned back to Velvette. “Does that sound nice?”

Velvette finished drying her tears, and looked over her shoulder to the looming computer. She probably had about an hour left on the clock per her arrangement with Vox, and maybe, if she tried harder, she could do something with that time. Or maybe, she would just fail again. Either option sounded exhausting.

“Yes,” She admitted. “That sounds nice.”

Valentino’s quarters took up considerable real estate in the Vee complex, with a large sunken living room for entertaining (read: sex parties) a big kitchen for cooking gourmet (read: mixing drinks and reheating delivery) and a massive master bedroom outfitted with dim rosy lighting and a stunning view of the city outside. Valentino’s bed, which Velvette had – at first disparagingly and then with affection – started referring to as his “nest” was a futon the size of a California King swathed in sheets and throw pillows, with a gauzy web strung above and around it. The resulting effect was cocoon-like, and the gauze curtains provided a sense of seclusion from the outside world.

Velvette hauled her pink pinstriped silk pajamas, her matching silk hair wrap, and her toothbrush down from her room, then primped for bed in Valentino’s bathroom while Vox and Val talked in low, unhurried tones outside.

She could pretend all she wanted to be disgusted by her concern for her, but deep down she was grateful that someone cared, and she did feel a little bit lighter after crying out her frustrations. At the end of the day, there was no one nastier and more self-serving than Vox and Valentino than Velvette herself, and there was a strange sense of camaraderie born from that. Sure, they stabbed each other in the back from time to time and they fought often, but who else could possibly understand Velvette’s black heart better than the two demons she had chosen to throw her lot in with?

Velvette emerged from the bathroom to find Vox and Val already in the bed, thankfully keeping the PDA to a minimum. Valentino gave her one of her showman’s grins and held an arm out to her, and moments later, she was nestled between them, her cheek pillowed on Valentino’s chest, one of Vox’s arms draped lightly over her waist.

Neither of them had ever made a pass at her, mostly because they were too busy breaking up and getting back together every ten seconds, and because they knew that Velvette would bite their fingers off if they ever tried. They were two of the most brutal overlords in hell, but sometimes, though she would never admit it, they were the only people Velvette felt safe with.

“Tomorrow,” Velvette said, her words muffled by Valentino’s chest. “Tomorrow I’ll try again. I’ll come up with something spectacular and awful. A gorgeous train wreck nobody can look away from.”

“And I’m sure you’ll be right back on top,” Vox said with a yawn. His display was already dimming.

Velvette mindlessly unlocked her phone and clicked on the search alert she had set up for her name, scowling at the results.

“No doomscrolling before bed,” Vox said, and tapped her screen with a glowing fingertip. The cellular display winked out.

“Hey!” Velvette snapped.

Valentino just pulled her in closer, burrowing down in the expensive sheets.

“If you’re going to sleep over, I don’t want you keeping me awake with all that blue light. And don’t kick me out of my own bed again.”

“No promises,” Velvette said, giving in to drowsiness despite her best efforts. She often ended up tangled in the blankets like a beached starfish, pushing Vox and Valentino to the edge of the bed, but they always forgave her.

“Do you really think people are still scared of me?” Velvette muttered. It was a thought she was almost afraid to voice aloud.

“So scared of you,” Valentino said, turning the lights down even lower. “And I’m sure whatever that twisted little mind comes up with next will be enough to scare the piss out of anyone stupid enough to think they stand a chance against you.”

“Thanks, Val,” Velvette said, so quiet she wasn’t sure he heard her. She didn’t like thanking people, as a general rule.

“Get some sleep, babydoll,” Valentino said. Velvette was aware his ability to soothe her after a spiral was the result of a long career of lying to and manipulating the people who answered to him, but sometimes, Velvette caught a flash of genuineness underneath the facade. And Vox, for all his bluster and bravado, had been known to shut down entire productions when she reached the end of her rope to make sure Velvette got what she needed. Velvette wasn’t grateful for either of them. The only person she was grateful to on any given day was herself. But she had to admit, in times like these, she didn’t hate having them around.

“Goodnight boys,” she said, letting her eyes slide shut. Vox sidled up beside her and switched on his hypnotic screensaver, the one that always knocked her out faster than two benzos and a glass of white wine.

Moments later, Velvette was asleep.

[und3ad-mutt]

demon visitor in the night. glowing yellow eyes, giant fanged grin. looming, tall, wide, black wings tucked up against its back. curly dark red hair. creak of the bed, pressure by your legs, eyes coming closer. frozen, bated breaths. its eyes are impossible to look away from, drowning your human instinct itself. your fear struggles to form, and dissolves just as quickly as you manage it. your breathing is so calm, so slow. taste of cinnamon as its lips meet yours and a long tongue shoves its way in, finding youre able to reciprocate. dizzy with need. hellfire in your blood. so much heat, so much sensitive warmth between your legs. a giggle, the demon pulling away.

"So worked up already? Cuute. Spread your legs." A forked tail curling around your leg, pulling slightly, and you oblige. what else was there to do? intoxicated on its presence alone, dragged to the depths of corruption without an inkling of resistance

[morningbloodystar]

They often say it's never the Fall that hurts, but instead, the Landing.

Samael disagrees. What hurts the most is, in fact, the Push.

THE HEAVENLY HOST

THE BEGINNING

The first thing that made him understand just what was going to happen was Michael's face.

His Brother, his Twin, his Other Half, had looked horrified.

For all they had been fighting with everything in them just moments before, the second It started, there was little that could compare to his look of shattered grief.

All the Archangels had felt it at once, as their Mother Lord appeared before them for the first and last time in a long, long while.

(The memory, for all it would tear him to pieces, would be a peaceful one for Samael. After all, it was the last time his family expressed a shred of anything but hatred towards him.)

(He thinks he heard someone scream his name in heartstopping agony. He can't be sure it was Michael. He hopes it wasn't.

God's Beloved can't mourn for something like him and still remain to be so.)

THE LANDING.

Samael had felt the creation of Hell. It had been the force of the first Fall, that had splintered Reality enough to cause somewhere entirely new.

Somewhere so disconnected that even his stars couldn't lend their light. It needed a connection.

It chose its Creator, just as Heaven anchored itself to Her.

Yet, it didn't quite register. After all, it's a bit hard to feel anything other than torment when your True Form burns off, leaving behind an eternal scar in its place.

He remembers Begging. He remembers Praying.

Samael had flung his remorse towards the Lord he couldn't feel, a ceaseless chant of forgive me, please, Mother come back, I can't feel you, I can't feel my Light, my Grace, my Family, it's gone, it's all gone, Mother what am I, please Mother, Father, please forgive me I'll do anything, I love you, I can't stop now, TAKE ME BACK-

Well.

It hadn't been pleasant.

(No one answered, of course. He stopped expecting an answer what felt like a few millennia in.)

(He also decides that it hadn't been Azrael, sobbing yet mute, watching him slowly turn into the monster he'd been meant to become. It's easier to blame her for abandoning him, that way. If she had seen him.. well.

It's a wonder he ever returned, actually. Who could love that?)

THE SECOND SCREAM.

His skin never seemed to heal. He could deal with it - he'd figure out how to assume a human form soon enough. Masking the pain almost seemed to help subdue it.

Once he'd recuperated enough to actually look around, he found that he couldn't. This hole of Reality that he'd formed was, quite literally, Lightless.

It shouldn't have been a problem. He'd been the Lightbringer since his very creation - if there was one thing he could call his own, it was Light.

Only, it didn't work.

He pulled at his strangely different core, tugged at it, stretched it, nearly threw it out of himself in his desperation to create some Light. Something familiar, something constant, in this empty world he'd resigned himself to.

It didn't work.

What would one day become Hell shook with the force of his scream.

(He got his light, at the end. Only, the closest thing he could get to its steady, comforting warmth was the uncontrollable spread of Hellfire. It spread light, of course. It also turned the entirety of the area into molten land and ash.

And so was the creation destruction of the Hell where demons would reside. He didn't care much. He was still alone, still abandoned, still a monster.)

THE FALLEN.

He'd gained control over his form, and his newfound Hellfire. Hell was docile enough most of the time - it didn't particularly need his attention.

(He wished it did. It had been what felt like a few hundred millennia now, and he'd been alone for all of them. The only thing keeping him sane was the ever-present hum of rage, grief and betrayal in his charred veins, till all he could feel was numb.

He laughed. He wasn't sane. Not anymore - perhaps, he hadn't been for a long time. Perhaps he had never been. There was little other than delusion that could've led him to ever believe he was loved.

He laughed again. There were none the broken sound could pierce, for there was no one listening.)

(Somewhere, She weeped, even as her pawns Fell into place.)

The Change was sudden. It was the indescribable tug at his Essence, the prompt change in the course of Molten Sulphur, and his unhealed skin splitting apart, once more, to reveal the depth of his Corruption.

Hell shook. This time, it wasn't just his scream that was the cause.

Hell shook, as millions of the Fallen entered their Home and their Prison.

Hell shook, as the War ended.

Hell shook, as the Winners lost their love and the Losers won their freedom escape.

Hell shook, as Samael became King and Keeper to the ones he Broke.

THE DEATH.

Beelzebub had approached him later.

Had it been anyone else, they would have been burnt to nothing before they got the chance to look at their King.

(He felt nary a twinge of remorse, when he thought of the almost bunny-like Legion who had approached him with questions on his lips and scars on his back, only to be reduced to less than ashes. He was Her Samael. Disgraced he might be, but he was still more than a bloody help desk.)

"What seems to be the matter, my loyal Prince?" His voice had been the only part of him unaffected. Still an expertly spun web of Desire, summoning forth awe and worship in all who heard it.

Obviously disconcerted by the unfit match of burnt face and smooth voice, his Prince tried expertly to pull back their fear - it's only evidence the buzz in zeir voice. "We all changed our namez, az I'm zure you know, Lord. A zymbol of our unwavering allegiance to you, should you accept it az zuch. We zimply wish to know..." Their voice wavered with hesistance.

(It didn't hurt. It did not hurt. There was no reason - who cared that the angel who would become Beelzebub had been his closest confidant? All that mattered was what they were now - a monstrous King and his loyal fearful slaves.)

"We Fell for the cauze you provided uz, Lord. Unquestionably - you are King. We juzt wish to know... The one we Hail. Doez He call himzelf Samael, ztill?"

The question startled him out of the distant apathy that had come to consume him.

As he kept his back turned to the Prince, he remembered Heaven, and Her words.

"My Samael. Do you feel how intrinsically tied we are, my Son? Do you feel how you will come to be the Executioner to my Judge and Jury, my Light?" She had cradled his face, and it had felt like Loving, like Belonging.

He realised, just at that moment, that it was Damning.

Samael. God's Venom, God's Severity, God's Punishment.

All of it, whatever he was meant to be, merely belonging to another.

He didn't want to.

He knew what an Angel's Purpose meant to them - a Principality would rather choke on Her fury than betray those they protected, just as a Seraph would sing Her praises sooner than they would breathe.

But Samael? Samael didn't want. He didn't want to be the one She pushed the furthest, yet the one She still controlled. He didn't want to punish, to poison, to hurt those who just wanted freedom.

The same as him, yet he was their Keeper.

He felt a fresh wave of loathing wash over him, as he thought of the Legion. They'd just - they'd wanted to ask a question, and. He'd hurt - he'd killed someone who just wanted to ask.

A single tear burnt down his hidden face.

He had no choice.

(He did, he always did, oh, why were Her most wondrous consumed by resignation before they could ever bloom?)

Still a pawn. Abandoned by Her, by everyone, but still a pawn. Hated more than ever before, but still a pawn.

She'd taken everything from him, just to make sure he fulfilled the purpose he rejected. She had created him to reject his purpose, and then punished him for it.

And he would have to do it. He was - he might've been jailor, but that didn't make him any less of a prisoner.

Resignation coursed through his every cell.

A final Rebellion, then.

He had the Purpose he hated, for he had lost the one he had loved.

He had lost his Creation. He had lost his Light. He had lost his Family.

If there was nothing he could do but accept it, he would accept it with his head held high.

With a name that made him feel less like tearing apart every piece that created him, to rebuild it in a way unrecognisable.

A Final Rebellion, Mother. You win, like you always ensure. If there is anything I can have of Myself, it will be this.

"Of course not, Beelzebub. Spread it across the Universe."

He turned around, and a smile, as cruel as he could make it, took over his face. "Samael is dead. There is nothing that remains of him, but this corporation. Your King..."

The very thought of the name smoothed over some deep, unsettled part of him, that had resisted and existed long before the Fall.

He would be Satan, for he had no choice. He would be Lightbringer, even if it took the only choice he had left.

"...is Lucifer Morningstar."

[aylacavebear]

She Thought She was Normal

Story Summary: Maria really thought she was normal, for most of her life. It was normal for people to have natural talent, she would tell herself the older she got. Many things came easy for her, and that was probably how their rivalry began when she was five and he was seven and she met the Winchesters. Little did either of them know that it wouldn't stay like that forever, both having a far larger destiny than they could imagine.

Word Count: 2274

Please don't take my work. I'll post warnings for each chapter. May have future SMUT 18+!

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Hell, The Pit.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 33 - Hell

Maria woke sometime around two in the morning; one thought circling through her mind: I need to go. She sighed as she felt Dean sleeping peacefully, still holding her close.

Without much thought at all, she was standing next to the bed, dressed casually in jeans and a blue t-shirt, and one of Dean’s red flannels pulled over it, unbuttoned. I can do this, she told herself, letting out a shaky sigh as a note appeared on the night table for Dean. One more deep, shaky breath, and she flew to Hell.

The stench in the air was putrid, causing her to cover her nose and mouth with her arm. The corridor reminded her of something out of a dungeon as it was lined with cells, some pore soul on the other side of the bars of each. There was a dampness in the air that smelled of blood and sweat; some droplets could even be seen on the stone walls. She wanted to take a deep breath but couldn’t, the stench almost making her nauseous.

As she walked down the corridor, she could hear the souls of those behind the blackened iron bars mumbling things or saying they were innocent or even begging for more torture. That caused an idea to play through her mind that she’d bring up later. There were even moments where random cells seemed to glow with the flickers of hellfire, the heat spreading into the corridor. The oddest part was that she didn’t see a single demon or hellhound patrolling the corridors.

“They probably know I’m here,” she mumbled to herself.

She focused her thoughts on finding whoever was in charge of running Hell at the moment and let that feeling guide her through the maze of the dungeon. The amount of cells had dwindled as she turned another corner. These cells didn’t have bars; they had solid metal doors with a window that could be opened to look in on the prisoner. She could hear muffled screams, whimpers, and even sounds that didn’t sound of this world. At the end of the current corridor, there was a door. It reminded her of one of those heavy doors you’d find in a castle. The heat coming off of it was intense.

With sheer determination, she reached out and opened the door with ease, keeping the air around her cool. She knew Hell was hot, but experiencing that heat was on a level all its own. As she looked into the area on the other side of the door, she saw a vast open expanse, chains going in all directions, zigzagging across the vastness of the area. The red, orange, and black colors of hellfire could be seen in the distance, illuminating the expanse. Where the chains crossed others, she noticed that there was a human soul there, chained to it, their body only being held in various places by those chains over the expanse.

“The Pit…” she whispered, taking in the scene further.

A few demons could even be seen, torturing different souls. At those locations, there were small platforms that had more torture devices than she’d ever seen before. Some of the demons were in demonic form, which she found quite grotesque given the horns or wings, elongated arms and legs, claws, and some even had tails. Others looked like regular humans, and she figured that was only to make the torture worse for whatever human was on the chopping block, so to speak. Bone-chilling screams could be heard from several different directions, as well as demonic laughter that sounded almost happily sadistic. Maria was too far away to make out exactly what kind of torture devices any of the specific demons were using, and part of her didn’t want to know.

She had to focus, though, so she pulled her gaze from the horrendous scenes that were mingled along the chains, tilting her head upward, just inside the door. There was no floor here. The door had just opened up into The Pit. She wondered where the ring leader would be to watch over the proceedings, and her gaze found its way upward as she leaned further out of the door. A large glass window was several hundred feet above where she was, and she barely noticed the silhouette of someone standing on the other side of it.

Maria flew into the room where that large glass window was. To her surprise, the room was white, a complete contrast to everything she’d seen thus far. It reminded her of an office to one side, complete with a desk, computer, and filing cabinets with places for people or demons to sit. The weirdest part was that it reminded her of something you’d find on Earth in some corporate building, not in Hell. 

To the other side of the room was a couch, a coffee table, several reclining chairs, and what looked like a bar. Those, too, were white. Her brows scrunched in utter confusion at the scene. This was not what she had expected to find in Hell, of all places, let alone as a place a demon would consider comfortable for their office.

“I was wondering when you’d show up,” a male voice to her left said, pulling her from her thoughts and observations of the room.

His tone is somewhat nasally, or that was how it sounded to her. Maria also noticed that there was no foul odor in this particular room. She turned to face him, noticing his back was still to her as he looked out the window.

“And who are you?” Maria asked him, a bit curiously. She’d met plenty of demons over the years, but this felt very different, stronger than even Azazel was.

He turned to her, eyes turning white, “Alastair. Can’t say it’s nice to meet you.”

She felt a few goosebumps dance down her arms, seeing his eyes go white. Depending on how the demon ranked in hell was always shown with what color their eyes turned. White was at the top of the chain of command. He exuded a menacing yet commanding and powerful presence as he stood there calmly, silently studying her with his eyes. Maria found his facial features rugged, with sharp angles along his jawline. His hair was dark and mostly unkempt. Maria briefly wondered just how long he’d been in his position as she could almost see a touch of sadistic pleasure in his hard expression.

“I’m not here to fight. I’m here to talk. Where’s Lilith?” she asked, managing to stay centered despite Alastair’s commanding presence, letting her powers guide not only her words but also her feelings.

Alastair raised an eyebrow, finding her directness mildly amusing, “She’s busy.”

Maria rolled her eyes. Stubborn demon, she thought to herself, “I’m here to see her, or are you the one in charge of Hell?” she remarked, being a slight smartass, knowing her words alone could pull Lilith from whatever she was doing.

The sadistic yet amused laugh of his filled the space of that office, but it didn’t phase her, “I’m only in charge of The Pit. You’re in my domain now.”

She crossed her arms, still determined, “I could easily go interrupt her, or you could retrieve her. It’s up to you, though.” Maria knew that none of them could hurt her and even let her glow come out, just enough for him to see the purple hue of it. 

Any regular person or even an angel may have missed the millisecond that his jaw tensed or the way he took in a breath of displeasure, even the way his stance changed in the tiniest way. She didn’t smirk or flinch; she just watched him disappear from where he was. So far, so good, she thought to herself as she took a deep breath and relaxed again, walking over to the large window.

He had quite the vantage point from this location, being able to see the entirety of The Pit and the souls strung up along the chains. All of them were at different levels of torture. She could feel the ones who didn’t deserve to even be there, and her hand found its way over her heart, feeling for them and wanting to save them.

Maria wasn’t sure how much time had passed before she heard his voice behind her, “She’ll see you now.” That caused her to turn and look at Alastair. He didn’t look happy at all.

“Will you be taking me to her then?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Alastair took a deep, annoyed breath, “Yes.”

She held herself confidently as she walked over to him, keeping it as he placed his hand on her shoulder. Even he knew he couldn’t hurt her, and trying to do so would only end badly, for him. They appeared in what she assumed was some sort of throne room where Lilith conducted business. It had that castle throne room feel to it, although it looked more like an underground dungeon with the dim lighting, the stone pillars along the path to the throne, the low ceiling compared to one you’d find in a castle, and the hellhounds on either side of the throne where Lilith sat. She did not look happy either. Alastair dipped his head to Lilith and then disappeared, leaving the two women alone.

“What do you want?” Lilith demanded, thoroughly annoyed at her presence, causing the hellhounds to growl.

Maria held herself confidently as she glanced at either hellhound, both of which stopped growling at her and then laid down. “I’m here to talk,” she told her, then approached the throne, standing a few feet from it.

Lilith tilted her head slightly, “Fine. What are you here to talk about?” She decided that with how the hellhounds responded to just a look from this creature, she’d at least play nice, for now.

“Things have changed on Earth. I’m here to negotiate other changes that need to take place, in Hell,” Maria explained, not intimidated by her in the least.

Whether Lilith wanted to admit it or not, she knew she was right. She’d felt that feeling that made her skin crawl, peace, radiating off of this creature, and it was infiltrating Hell, “You’re the reason my demons and hellhounds can’t go to certain places on Earth, aren’t you?”

She could hear the annoyance in Lilith’s tone, “Yes, I am, and it will eventually encompass Earth. I’ll let you continue to run hell, but only for the souls that deserve it.” Maria could feel Lilith’s rage at her words but wasn’t going to back down on this one, “I don’t have a choice, do I?” Lilith asked her, pissed at this point.

“I want to do this diplomatically. I believe that even demons can be reasoned with,” she replied.

Lilith got up and began pacing a foot in front of her throne, and Maria noticed that she was chewing on her thumbnail, “What if I don’t agree?” Lilith asked, stopping and glaring at her.

“Then I’ll take the souls that are meant for heaven and kill whatever stands between me and that,” Maria answered her calmly.

The frustrated growl that came out of Lilith was not only somewhat intimidating but also loud. Maria figured half of hell had to have heard it, “There’s one more thing, Lilith. I want you to set up a reform program for any damned soul that wants to redeem itself so it, too, can find its way to heaven,” Maria explained to her.

Lilith’s rage emanated from her in waves, but Maria used her powers to keep it from hitting her. She knew she needed to stay focused. However, when almost a dozen demons poured into the throne room, Maria turned to them, raising an eyebrow. The demons stopped dead in their tracks when they saw Maria, practically bumping into each other just inside the throne room. Normally, she would have found the scene amusing, even chuckling, but not right now. As she turned to face Lilith again, she tilted her head just a bit, “What’s it going to be, Lilith?”

“Fine,” Lilith growled, knowing that she had no choice if she wanted to live. She had one purpose: to be the last seal to be broken for Lucifer’s rising. That was the only reason she was agreeing to this creature’s terms without a fight. Lilith also knew that somehow she’d have to find a way to break the first seal if that would ever happen now. The creature before her was something she’d never interacted with before.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Maria told her with a triumphant smile.

There would be no more Crossroads deals and no more demons on Earth causing problems. Maria considered that a win, at least where that peace had spread. Without barely a thought, all the souls that were meant for heaven went there. Maria could feel it more than see it. And with that, she flew back to Dean’s room in the bunker.

With time slowing in Hell, barely any time had passed on Earth. It had only been a couple of hours that she’d been gone, and she sighed with relief, seeing Dean still sleeping peacefully. She watched him for a moment, a small smile playing along her lips before she was naked again and cuddled up next to him without disturbing him too much. He did readjust a bit, pulling her closer as he nuzzled into the crook of her neck. She made the note disappear before sleep found her again, nestled safely in the arms of the man she loved. 

----------------------------------------- Chapter 34 - An Unexpected Intrusion

Tag List: @deans-spinster-witch @kazsrm67

Link to the master list for this story.

[aziraphales-library]

Hellouu!!! I was looking for some reincarnation fanfics, with them both being reincarnated as humans and then remembering again or something like that? Thank you so much! ♥

Hi! We have some of the more well-known reincarnation fics here, so check that post. Here are a few more for you...

Damnatio Memoriae by Cryptand_Bismol (M)

Shortly after oysters in Rome, Crowley and Aziraphale are caught fraternising. God hasn't been heard from in millennia, and the punishment falls to Gabriel and Beelzebub. Having no access to their opponent's destructive tools of hellfire and holy water, each respective side curses them to live and die like humans. Only they didn't know that only God has the power to strip a celestial of their power. And instead the curse causes them to live and die as humans, repeatedly, reincarnated for the rest of time.

All My Tomorrows by summerofspock (M)

Aziraphale was meant to spread harmony, a purpose he could not fulfill in his terrifying angelic form. When Heaven's attempts to create a corporeal form failed, he was born into the world like any human, only realizing his power and purpose when Heaven Called.

Then, like any human, he died. And then was born again. And again. And again.

OR

Every generation Heaven and Hell each selected a child to be the Vessel and when the time came that the angel or the demon was needed, they were Called.

we were angels once, don't you remember? by rosetintedraybans (T)

Demons are rather uncreative. So, after the disastrous initial attempt to destroy the traitors, it’s Gabriel’s turn to exact punishment on Aziraphale and Crowley. And we all know it’s going to be anything but uncreative.

Or, no matter what Heaven or Hell throws at them, Aziraphale and Crowley will find each other time and time again.

From the Top (Say Your Lines Once More) by CoffeeStars (T)

Crowley lives and dies and wakes up to repeat the cycle. And every single time Aziraphale is there, a different face and new memories.

For A Thousand Years by FlashBastard (T)

Aziraphale is made human and Crowley is still a demon. Time does not stop Crowley from trying to find his love.

By My Side by Demonicputto (T)

When Crowley is given the chance at a human life (birth to death, family, Free Will, the whole shebang) he takes it. He does this, in part, to protect Aziraphale from being forced to take the same opportunity against his will.

However, once Crowley is off on this metaphysical adventure, Aziraphale learns that his friend’s new life is not all that was advertised. To protect a small, amnesic Crowley from a childhood of cruelty, Aziraphale must go after him. If he’s going to do so, he must become human himself.

Now in the form of a nine-year-old boy (though with his memories mercifully intact) Aziraphale must navigate adoptive parents, child therapists, and nativity plays to try and provide what protection he can to his dearest companion.

Part 1 of By My Side series

- Mod D

[heirceleste]

family tree

the marston coven is one of the oldest covens in massachusetts

their exact origin is unknown but can be traced back to at least the 1400s, before that their lineage is murky at best. however, they didn’t become well known until the 1687 when their use of dark magic practices begin to garner the attention of other witches.

these practices were all made in the name of a demon / the devil himself, allowing the marston coven access to hellfire and other high level dark magic. a mere five years later these dark magic practices were at the heart of the salem witch trials. fleeing their home in salem and the hunt for witches, they ended up in what would eventually become princeton, massachusetts.

never wanting to be forced to flee again, they sought an even greater power in the form of shifters. having heard of werewolves, the marston coven decided to seek out that same power for themselves. in 1700 they started live experiments and trial runs, and by 1720 they had successfully completed their ritual. the marston coven was now also a pack.

word quickly spread of their actions and the marston became hated by werewolves and witches alike; often viewed as monsters and abominations. to hunters, they were one of the most satisfying kills.

when the marston family did the spell to become werewolves they sacrificed an entire pack of werewolves. on the night of the new moon they used an additional sacrifice of hunters to appease the moon goddess and to finish their ritual. this had to be repeated four times (one full moon each season) in the span of a year before it took.

eventually on the fourth new moon they created a new species. the spell is detailed in a grimoire but cassidy has it well hidden so that no one can recreate it. as a direct result of this, the marston coven was responsible for the total annihilation of four werewolf packs and four families of hunters, along with countless other wolves that got caught in the cross fire.

nearly two hundred years after the marston coven became the marston pack, just after the turn of the twentieth century, they were discovered by hunters. over two weeks the majority of the pack as picked off, until the marstons were able to get the upper hand and kill the hunters. after that it was believed the family went into hiding, but really they just got better at hiding what they were doing.

by the time alistair andreas marston was born it was just him, his parents, and an aunt left alive. and when he had children of his own — cassidy annabeth marston and later clytemnestra allison marston — it was just the two of them. alistair died in a magic related incident in 2008, when his daughters were only nine and four years old.