#I need chirping Goetia

[randommmthoughts]

Purring imps?

Yes

Chirping Goetia?

YES

[t0rturedangel]

Could you do a Octavia (Helluva Boss) x Bird! Reader? Maybe like them on a date?

〈  𝟎𝟎𝟎.. DATE NIGHT WITH OCTAVIA

ㅤㅤ➯ㅤOCVTAVIA X GN! READER 〈  𝟎𝟎𝟏..ㅤSYNOPSISㅤ·⠀·⠀·ㅤyou and your lovely girlfriend, Octavia, have your first date!

ㅤㅤㅤWARNINGS, apart from being short, none!

〈  𝟎𝟎𝟐..ㅤ✉ ; I haven't done a helluva boss answer yet! so there is the first ever one!

﹒〣ㅤUnless I'm wrong, OCTAVIA probably has never had a relationship prior to yours so dates would be simple. Nothing too extravigant or fancy- something which she would probably love, after all she's been showered with the most expensive things all of her life- she IS a goetia afterall, so the change would be welcomed.

﹒〣ㅤYou'd have to come up with date ideas- since OCTAVIA doesn't havemany ideas except for 'we should watch human fireworks' which was a nice idea, until you two realized that humans only do that on certain days and or celebrations so the idea was scrapped.

﹒〣ㅤInstead, you opted for a simple- classic, movie night date! You had spent a good few hours preparing everything, the pillows and blankets, a sofa, teddies (just in case)- and despite OCTAVIA'S laughs at the need for them, she ended up cuddling one during one of the movies- and LOADS of snacks, which were all gone by the second movie.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ" Come on via! " you smiled, covering your girlfriend's eyes while carefully leading her to the mount of pillows and blankets " Only a few steps more! " " You said that 50 steps ago..." "YOU'VE BEEN COUNTING THEM?! " " Yeah, well- I have to do something while I can't see " " okay okay-" you quickly uncovered OCTAVIA'S eyes to reveal the surprise you withheld from her the entier day, smiling widely as you watched her eyes widen with interest and slight shock. " Wha.. [name] whats this? " "Our first date!" You chirped- feeling a sense of glee at the thought of having an entire night with your girlfirned, " First date? " "Come on Via, we need to start our date!" You quickly held onto her hand and lead her to the sofa- sitting her down before plopping next to her, both of you sharing a similar feeling of fondness " Okay! so- i have everything preped! Snacks, movies, teddies-" "- Teddies? isn't that a bit childish" she mused, staring at you in a teasing confusion, making you gawk at her expression "EXCUSE YOU babe, but teddies are deffinately NOT childish!" crossing your arms, you turned from OCTAVIA "and here I was going to give you a custom teddy of me!" you huffed, ignoring how you felt OCTAVIA's feather's perk up "a teddy of you?" "Yeah!"

OCTAVIA was quick to apologies to you and the teddies after calling them childish- finding the teddy of you adorable. After the whole situation with the stuffed toys, both of your attentions were drawn to the (rather concerningly large) collection of movies you had found. After both agreeing on a movie order, the two of you got comfortable in each other's arms- begining to watch whatever you chose. By the end of the night, STOLAS had walked into his living room to find the two of you holding one another- snoring loudly but seeming to be comfortable and at ease with where you were- a moment he captured with a picture before he quickly left, not wantig to bother the two of you.

Ⓒ𝐓𝟎𝐑𝐓𝐔𝕽Σ𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝕷

[small-duckie]

The Owlet (chapter 2)

Word count: 500

Characters: Octavia Goetia, Stolas Goetia (regressor and caregiver themes, familial relationships, SFW)

Author’s note: and here is chapter 2! Next update will be january 12th! Story beneath cut!

““Via—“ Stolas was stunned to see his daughter, for a split second thinking this was some sort of cruel dream.

“Umm.. hey dad—“ she started, but was quickly cut off as he pulled her into a tight hug.

“Oh Via..” he whispered, “I’m so sorry-“ he spoke, trying to keep his voice steady- but failing.

Octavia could feel tears brim to her own eyes. “N-no.. please.. dad— it’s.. it’s okay-“ she spoke, hugging back just as tightly.

“Why.. are you okay? Did your mother do something?” Stolas had pulled back to look his daughter over.

Giving a weak laugh and sheepish grin, Octavia shook her head.

“No no- I’m okay dad-“ she spoke as Stolas ushered her inside.

“I umm.. I left-“ she explained, fiddling with a piece of hair.

“You— what?!” Stolas was honestly surprised. Sure Octavia was considered a legal adult now at 18, but he’d never expect her to do something like this!

“Yeah umm.. I didn’t.. I missed you-“ Octavia spoke, glancing down at her hands. Quickly shoving them into her pockets, she seemed to relax as her claws brushed up against the treasured pacifer case she kept.

“Oh Via..” Stolas sighed, pulling his daughter in for another hug as he kissed the top of her head.

“Well I’m sure Blitzy won’t mind if you stay here..” he spoke, little did he know- Blitz was out with Loona gathering up stuff for Octavia to stay here with them.

“Yeah.. uh I hope so-“ Octavia nodded, as Stolas pulled away.

“Here here.. sit your items down-“ Stolas spoke as Octavia handed over her guitar and backpack.

“Do you need anything sweetie?” Stolas asked as he realized how quiet Octavia had gone.

“Umm.. no.. thank you though-“ she muttered, resting her head in her free hand. She was struggling not to regresss, everything bad happened so quickly and somewhat smoothly, so it was very unexpected. Which brought forth complicated emotions.

“Via..?” Stolas had crouched down in front of her with a frown.

“You know you can tell me anything right?” Stolas prompted, it was easy to read his daughter- considering he was the one who actively raised her.

“Yeah..” she nodded, shifting slightly as she pulled in a small breath.

“I umm.. do you know what age regression is?” Octavia finally asked, fiddling with the pacifer case once more.

Stolas tilted his head, not really sure of the term.

“I have not- can you explain it to me?” He asked gently, moving to sit beside her on the couch.

“Well umm.. it’s where I act like a small child cause uh.. it makes me feel safer-“ Octavia spoke. “I uh.. found someone online- who ran a blog for it and decided to give it a try, uhh.. it helps- but sometimes I do it without realizing-“ she explained, voice getting smaller in mild embarrassment.

A pang of guilt settled in Stolas’s chest as he gently took ahold of his daughters hands once more.

“Octavia-“ he started, trying to carefully choose his words.

“You can do whatever you want in life, as long as it makes you happy and doesn’t effect your health-“ He spoke, offering his daughter a smile.

While she knew Stolas was much softer then Stella, she couldn’t help but sniffle and wipe at her eyes.

Leaning into Stolas, she couldn’t help but let out a chirp. Hiding against Stolas’s chest as he hushed her and gently gathered her up into his arms.

“Shh it’s alright little one, papa has you-“ he soothed.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

[juiceastronaut]

Writing Commissions Open! (Dm for payment details.)

Hi everyone! Opening commissions for the first time, let's see how this goes! Any fandom is accepted, give me a character description and a dynamic and I'm off to the races. Word count for requested fanfic cannot exceed 5k words (I'm only just starting out and don't want to overload myself until I'm aware of my limits.)

Fandoms I've written for and are provided as some examples below include: Dungeon Meshi, Mob Psycho, Owl House, Helluva Boss, Fate Series, Castlevania.

More info under the read more:

The price will be sliding scale,

1k words: $15

2k words: $25

3k words: $30

4k words: $35

5k words: $40

Will Not Write: Any ship with minors/adults, minors in a sexual context, incest, rape/noncon (can be negotiated if its within the context of a BDSM scene), beastiality, and anything with bigoted language in a sexual context (ie. raceplay).

I reserve the right to refuse a commission if it makes me uncomfortable.

Special Interest Characters That If You Comission Me For I'll Be Super Happy: Kabru (of Utaya), Falin Touden, Laois Touden, Toshiro Nakamoto, Reigen Arataka, Serizawa Katsuya, Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, Lancelot, Saber, Siegfried, Hunter Wittebane.

Some samples of my work (links to the fanfics will be below)

Example One:

He remembered…the first time he had a slice of cake. Standing at about three feet tall at five years old, the servants had fed him extremely basic, nutrition-dense meals, more interested in teaching him proper etiquette with spoon placement than cooking him good food. Then, as a demonstration of how to slice, divvy out, and eat dessert, they brought out a chocolate truffle cake, with coconut sprinkles on top. He had never seen anything like it before, the colors of the cake practically saturated in comparison to the glob he had been used to. And they let him eat it, the wonderful flavors practically melting on his tongue.

He wouldn’t eat his other food after that, throwing an absolute hissy fit on the floor, demanding the cake again, chucking the food back at the servants and sobbing his eyes out. His father actually had to be called for that one, and the chef was instructed to start cooking him more complex meals. “You jump started his palette, it’s to be expected that the Ars Goetia have refined tastes in food.” Only the most wonderful of meals graced his table from that moment forth, and his tantrums stopped, eating happily through his lessons once more. Stolas could not for the life of him figure out how those events produced the same feelings inside him.

Example Two:

This stupid bird. If it had just flown away when Hunter told it to. Found literally any other witch that wasn’t the nephew of the person explicitly hunting creatures like it. The wood of the box slightly darkening as droplets trickled from his face down onto it. He hated this stupid thing, hated how he’d grown to like it being around, its dumb chirps in the morning as it asked for breakfast, the way it listened to him when he talked to it about the books he’d been reading. He didn’t want to lose it.

He found himself already shaking his head.

Example Three:

“Gotta tell you Serizawa, this kind of gave me whiplash. I thought you were gonna list the fact I…well, I thought you were angry.” “I’m not angry. Well…I’m–” Serizawa sighed, the words failing him. “Woah, wait, are you upset? Look, I know it wasn’t the most lucrative pay in the world but it was legit all I can afford. I’m not paying much more to myself than–” Serizawa dipped Reigen, spinning him around, which succeeded in silencing him. He swung him back up again, trying not to notice the flush on his cheeks, “I know, I know…just…” Get it together, we’ll know and do better. “It’s not just–” It just don’t come natural to think…that you’d want me for me. “--This is just what I need to do right now,” Serizawa whispered. Reigen nodded, looking off to the side. I swear, I’m really trying. “No and I…I understand that, like I said…” Reigen looked back at him, smiling, “You don’t have to justify it to me. I knew I couldn’t keep you forever.” Oh I’m sorry, I promise, I’m doing my best. Serizawa looked into Reigen’s face, and felt in his grasp the slight shake of his frame. The song ended and Reigen attempted to push him away. But Serizawa caught the corner of his sleeve, pulling him back. His mouth gaped open and shut like a fish. This is how he knew that Reigen didn’t feel the same way about him, he would’ve been so much better at getting the words out than Serizawa. “I–” I just haven’t learned how to be human as you are yet.

Example Four:

Laois started looking around while Toshiro worked, Kabru going back into their cave to change into fresh clothes, picking up his rock again afterwards, going up to check on Toshiro. He looked up for a moment, then went back to work. Kabru laid down beside him, holding his rock up, watching the light bounce down his arms. He sighed and stretched out, putting the rock down, resting his eyes. “You two seemed to have fun,” Toshiro spoke. Kabru cracked an eye open, speaking through a yawn, “What do you mean?” Toshiro looked at him, then back at his journal, “I…forgive my forwardness, but you two left here fully clothed with armor and then you came back with no armor, half-undressed, and soaking wet.” Kabru held up his rock again, “We found these rocks while we were at the stream.” “I see…” “Why do you ask?” Toshiro shook his head, “No question, just an observation. I’m glad you two had fun.” Kabru tilted his head, feeling his brain trying to click into that, analyzing Toshiro’s response, trying to decipher its meaning. He decided against it, however, curling up on his side and closing his eyes again. “You should–” Kabru yawned, “--speak up more. No one's gonna bite you if you do.” Toshiro paused in his writing, “Oh?”

Example one, two ,three, four, and some more for good measure

Let me know if you're interested!

Edit: First commission finished! Read it here

[botanikos]

Apparently eager to exploit a new victim, a sinner appears at the door of Blitzø's apartment, meeting Stolas there. They ask if he would be willing to sell them his feathers. He is still a Goetia after all, albeit one now broken and disgraced...

"Tail feathers would be best," the sinner bluntly said, glancing down at the plumes behind Stolas' borrowed robe. "I have clients who would be willing to pay a hundred for them each. I'd be willing to buy now for sixty, if you're willing to sell."

Blitz was at work, and Stolas, without thinking, opens the door to find the Sinner sizing him up. Short and dull chirps occur in response, his own gaze flitting over his shoulder. He wasn't necessarily eager to part with any of his feathers, but the banished prince couldn't argue with the fact at hand: he is going to need money. He can't stay with Blitzø for a hundred years, not without some form of contribution, at least. And he would need to buy things for himself at some point. Proper clothing, food, maybe he could find a way to get back on his medication. . .

❝— that hardly seems like a fair transaction. ❞ His own voice snaps back at him, and Stolas recoils. His choice of words was poor. A heavy sigh leaves him as dull eyes close against the painful plucking of two feathers. He holds them out.

❝ I accept. ❞

[abyssalpriest]

13/6/24

I see her eyes above the flat ocean water, but I struggle to look directly at them. They're amphibian-esque, larger than humans, wide-open, pupil-less it seems with a marble-esque crackles pattern of algae frosting white. In the background, creating but undisturbing the waters, her tail writhes to and fro.

So here we are again. The oceanic battlefields alight in the background, ships made of enchanted wood blessed with obscured sigils of guardian gods, explosive cannonballs, the individual animalistic natures brewing beneath the skins of the crews. Her crows fly above - they're chirping fish, strange anomalies flying between the skin layers of the planes - the skies begin to descend, slowly, methodically, machine-sure into red. Still, this is visions… But walk in visions we will.

On ground, her feet are still clawed, toes webbed. Translucent, white-fish-meat skin now cloaked a little with a glazing of human tones. The forest we walk in isn't of trees but antlers-cum-hands reaching from mycellium networks of fish shoal organisms…

There's something unspoken beteen us, a bone-white key in her hands held behind her in my aura as if we were both holding it, her consciousness, my unconsciousness. Her black birds between the sky and the fleet. Her screaming song emanating, filling, in the whole of reality around us. Her consciousness, my unconsciousness.

A dog on her leash, I want to say, but she corrects me. Prized head wolf of her pack, not in the way that I lead, but in that I am the back she rides on, the boat of knife-sharp precision and - (hear the Sky Bird crow, the Sky-Blackening One) - one drop of blood from my wrist would feed the garden she grows. Shackled together, rope-tied, back-to-back, mouths tied with the same muffling fabric -

There's a lot tied to this name, my connection to her through it. Part of me paints over it with the feelings I have towards the boring (of all sins around Leviathan, boring is close to the worst) and spirit-racist system of the Goetia, but part of me needs to shut up. Someone saw her in ways that aren't referenced in the other names of her I know, and just because they spoke that image of her with disgusted language, it doesn't mean they weren't speaking truths.

I'll come back to this.

[mandareeboo]

Title: The weirdest kitchen you've ever seen

Summary: Blitz takes home his brand-new daughter and gives her a job.

Excerpt:

"Good question!" he chirped. "Are you familiar with magic?" Loona shifted back, eyes darting around the room. Loona was, by all accounts, very familiar with magic. She was the only hellhound she knew with access to a human disguise- something she'd made entirely so she could escape into the human world if need be. That made her talented, which made her valuable, which was two things she definitely didn't want strangers knowing. "The fuck?" Blitz grabbed a random drawer- a kitchen drawer, for that matter, implying he'd stored it where he made food- and pulled out the biggest book Loona had ever seen. Littered with fancy gold lettering and a giant red bobble sticking out the side, it easily dwarfed him as he casually showed it off. "I picked up this fucking heavy ass book-" "Grimoire," she corrected absentmindedly, running her nails over the gold. Holy shit, this thing was real. Holy shit, he wasn't crazy. "You seriously fucked a Goetia?"

For a friend! The timeline might end up being a bit wonky, but I don't think so. Blitz doesn't seem to be in a rush with Stolas, implying to me that he's not got Loona at home- meanwhile he mentions it right away to Moxxie. So I think he got the book, got a daughter, then got his first coworker lol.

Commissions Are Open! || Ko-fi

[forgottenstarlightwishes]

Warbie had just finished a delivery to a third story window and was waving his customer goodbye, when he heard a familiar voice calling for him. "Ms. Keenie!" He swooped down and scooped her up with a twirl for a moment before placing her back down on the golden sidewalk.

His head tipped to the left, "Miss my creat--Oh!!!! Was that what you meant earlier??? Haha!" He waved a feather hand and shook his head "Don't worry about it Ms.Keenie! It's fine! It's not all that import--" Keenie cut him off by holding out a stunningly beautiful book.

"The Owl....?" He leaned closer inspecting the emblem that was embossed on the Prussian blue bound book as she explained the origins of the book. The feathers on his arm began to raise and his tail began to spread out as he turned his eyes up at the lamb. Realization finally hit him. The silver sigil. The phases of the moon, the rich night blue cover.

FLOOF!

His wings snapped open with excitement.

"No way! Absolutely no way! R-Really?!!?!" He gripped the book, stars shining bright in his eyes, in awe of the book he was holding in his shaking hands. "Is-Is-Is really an authentic book from Prince Stolas?!" He stammered, "THE Prince Stolas of the Ars Goetia? The Scholar of the Earth's Spires, the Stars and all the prophecies that they hold?!" He let out an excited little trill.

"I-I-I LOVE IT!!!!!" He exclaimed clutching the book to his chest. "I could only DREAM of a book like this! A gift like this! Never did I ever think I could get anything close to ever reading anything of his! Heaven would NEVER!!" He threw his arms around her and squeezed her tight.

"This is the BEST creation day gift I have ever received, Ms. Keenie! I can't WAIT to read it!" He chirped, he was bubbling with excitement. He could not wait to see what Stolas had learned and written.

With everything that was going on in Heaven, the failing department, the loss of staff, all the favors he had to do, getting attacked, falling into Hell, needing to find a place to stay and set up shop and encountering some vicious demons and hellhounds, and Hell's acid rain-- The stars were still kind and they still worked as a guiding light. They had led him to Keenie.

"You're made of starlight, Ms. Keenie! ❤ I'll treasure this book forever! Thank you! If you ever need anything, please let me know and I'll come as fast as my wings will take me."

Keenie rummages around the few belongings that she kept in her hotel room. "Come on... Where is it." The Angel had just missed her friend's creation date. But this was not just any regular friend, no. This was Reed Warbie. The only Cherub, who stayed in contact with her, after she was fired. "Aha!" She cheered as she pulled out a sleek blue book decorated with a problematic Goetian symbol. @forgottenstarlightwishes

"WARBIIIEEE! WAA-RRBIEE!" She calls to the bird as she skipped through the streets of Hell with his present. When she finds him, Keenie proudly presents the book to him. "Warbie! Look I am sorry I missed your creation date, but I just know this present will make up for it!" The Cherub taps the symbol on the cover and explains, "Did you see that fancy owl prince on TV the other day? Well he wrote this book!" She hands over the book and explains, "I received it from the prince himself! I am sure it will be worth a fortune or even banned some day!""It's all about space and stuff. I think he said something like the effect of the moon on earth's gravity or something?" The lamb shakes her head confused by even her own rambling, "Anyways Warbie, I want you to have it. Happy Birthday!"

[ladyanaconda]

Helluva Boss Vol 2: Loo Loo Land

Striker awoke with a start, panting heavily. His heart pounded so fast that he thought it would burst out of his chest at any moment now. The imp sighed as he ran a hand through his ash white hair.

He had that nightmare again. He didn't cry, as he had no more tears to shed and it wouldn't being her back but the wound was still raw. He'd tell himself that he did what she asked of him: to save their son. However, the guilt was still there.

Striker went to the kitchen for a glass of water. As he looked through the window, he noticed it was raining. There were no thunders tonight but still, he better go check on Jake just in case.

Something pulled on his pants. Speak of the devil! Striker looked down and found the infant next to his leg, his little hand grasping his pants. How Jake managed to crawl all the way down from his nursery was a mystery to Striker.

"What's up, kiddo?" Striker asked, not really expecting an answer. Jake reached out his hands, asking to be picked up. Sighing, he bent down to pick up his son. " Can't sleep either, huh? That makes two of us, my boy," he said gently as he walked up the stairs. "How about we keep each other company for a while? It'll be less lonely that way."

Striker sat on his bed and placed Jake on his lap. He entertained the little one with the rattling of his tail for a while until Jake lost interest and snuggled into his father's chest, yawning. Striker knew what the little one needed. Jake protested via whimpers as he was tucked back into his nearly started to wail if not for the familiar sound of a guitar's strings and his father's voice as the cradle was rocked from side to side.

Come stop your crying

It will be alright

Just take my hand

Hold it tight

I will protect you

From all around you

I will be here

Don't you cry

For one so small

You seem so strong

My arms will hold you

Keep you safe and warm

This bond between us

Can't be broken

I will be here don't you cry

'Cause you'll be in my heart

Yes, you'll be in my heart

From this day on

Now and forevermore

You'll be in my heart

No matter what they say

You'll be here in my heart

Always

Always…

Jake had long been lulled into sleep by the end of the song. Smiling, Striker kissed the little one's forehead.

"Good night."

*HB*

"M and M, J and S, get in here! We're going to Loo Loo Land!"

Striker frowned under his hat, annoyed at having his nap interrupted. "Isn't that the rip-off of Lucifer's far more popular LuLu World?" he inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"That's right, Strike! Stolas is paying us extra cash for making sure he and his daughter are still breathing by the end of the day."

Striker covered his face with his hat again. "Sorry, Blitz, my contract only includes assassination jobs."

"Look at it this way: you're going to 'assassinate' whoever tries to lay a hand on Stolas and his daughter."

The cowboy frowned. "Why us? Doesn't that blueblood have a whole legion of guards at his disposal?"

"Come on, dad! I want to go to Loo Loo Land!" Jake pleaded, taking his father's hat. "I've never been to a theme park!"

"Yeah, Strike, it'll be fun!" Millie wrapped an arm around the cowboy's shoulder. "You won't find a cheaper theme park in all of Hell, plus it's a good opportunity for you and Jake to spend some quality time together!"

Striker would have protested further, but Jake (and Blitzo) were giving him the 'puppy eyes' face. At last, he murmured. "Ugh. Fine."

They picked up the owl Goetias in I.M.P.'s van and went straight to the theme park in the Greed ring. As always, Striker and Jake rode Bombproof to avoid an overcrowding inside the vehicle, especially with two bluebloods inside.

Striker'd seen a few tv commercials about Loo Loo Land, but something he'd learned over the years is that no intentional rip-off of anything was worth wasting money on. He was soon proven right once they arrived at the place. Most of the attractions within Loo Loo Land were either broken, cracked, or disheveled-looking. And judging by the look on Octavia's face, she didn't like it here either. Jake, on the other hand…

"Cool! Look, dad, there's a carousel! Can we go? No, wait, I wanna try the roller coaster first! Whoa, is that a dragon? I must pet it!" the impling was running around the place, awing over the rides and booths with wide eyes.

"Blitz better add another zero to my next paycheck." Striker murmured under his breath.

"Woow! I haven't been to this place since I was a tot! It hasn't changed a bit- oh, LOOK!" Millie pulled Moxxie and Jake into a hug and gestured to an old dinosaur-like animatronic. "It's Big Woobly!"

"That is… deeply upsetting," Moxxie whispered.

"Oh, come on! It's fun! You've never been here?"

"No, theme parks always disturbed me. Especially the mascots."

"I agree with Moxxie." Millie, Jake, and Moxxie himself gave Striker a baffled look. "As incredible as it sounds."

"Well, hey there!" Striker was caught off guard as Moxxie suddenly jumped into his arms with a frightened yelp as a guy in an old cartoonish apple costume appeared out of nowhere. The only reason he didn't drop Moxxie was that he too was disturbed by the awful, smelly costume. "I'm Loo Loo! Welcome to Loo Loo Land! If ya'll get hurt, just try and sue us!"

Striker quickly wrapped his tail around Jake's waist and lifted him up before he could get too close to 'Loo Loo'.

"Hey, dad, let go!" the impling protested.

"Stay away from that predator, kiddo." Striker finally dropped Moxxie to the ground.

"I have a question."

"Well, ask away, little girlie!" the mascot made a poor attempt at goofy laughter.

Octavia sneered. "Is it true this park is just a really shameless spin-off or Lucifer's far more popular Lu Lu World? This place reeks of insecure corporate shame."

Striker held tightly unto Jake until they left the creepy mascot behind. Being new to this place, he decided to follow Millie and Moxxie around for a while.

"You really love this place, huh?" Moxxie asked casually.

Millie nodded eagerly. "I love this place! My parents would bring me and my siblings here when they could swing it. Money-wise."

"Dad, look!" Jake ran towards a gift shop and pressed his face against the window, eyeing a plush dragon like the one on the Petting Zoo. "Can I have one?"

Striker only had to look at the price, 400 souls, to reply. "Absolutely not."

"Whyy?"

"400 souls for a doll you'll end up throwing away? Don't you wanna throw away all of my salary, since you're on it?"

Jake pouted, arms crossed. "Meanie."

"He does have a point. I mean, that much for a novelty cup you use one time?" Moxxie added, pointing at said cup worth 29 souls.

"Cause it's Loo Loo Land!" Millie chirped.

"Listen to your hoe, Mox." Blitzo seemingly had no trouble with loading up on the theme park's merch. "Hey, Strike, how 'bout you and I take the first watch while M and M have a little fun with Jakey?"

"Can I, dad? Please, please, please!"

Striker sighed. "Fine. Just stay close to Millie and Moxxie and listen to whatever they tell-"

"Um, Striker, I have to interrupt your fatherly monologue, but they already left." Blitzo was right. Millie, Moxie, and Jake were gone already.

Striker merely sighed and loaded his rifle.

*HB*

Jake still couldn't understand why his father had never brought him to Loo Loo Land before. This place was incredible! The rides, the junk food, kicking the guy in the Loo Loo costume; for some reason, he couldn't resist the urge every time he saw the apple costume. And of course, Moxie simply had to ruin everything. His wimpy stomach couldn't handle The Lawsuit ride and he ended up vomiting unto the people in the front car, Jake included. They had to get him new clothes in the nearest gift shop.

"You're so lucky my dad wasn't here or he would have fed you to that," Jake pointed at the dragon peeking over the Petting zoo fence.

"Okay, guys, how about we take a look around the smaller rides?" Millie suggested.

"You mean the kids area? That's where the Petting Zoo is! Can we go there to see the dragon?"

"I don't care as long as I don't have to get on top of it," Moxxie murmured, his hand still clutching his stomach. Jake squealed happily.

There were lots of animals at the Petting Zoo. Jake recognized some from Wrath, most notably some Hellhorses with green fire to reflect Greed. He had seen how Bombproof's fire color change from orange to red each time they entered Pride, and it had changed to a minty green when they entered Greed. There were other animals he had only seen in books too, but his attention was entirely focused on the giant red, black and white wyvern. Known as Hellvern, it is native to Greed and is often used as a 'guardian dog' of sorts by Overlords.

Jake felt a shiver down his spine as the giant dragon stared down at him curiously. Taking a deep breath, he stroked the animal's snout. Once he realized his hand was attached to his body, Jake began to laugh and jump.

"I touched the dragon, I touched the dragon!" he cried out happily. "Just wait until I tell dad!"

"Oh, I bet he'll be very proud of you!" Millie smirked, ruffling the impling's hair. "

Afterward, they took a break from the rides and wandered around the snack and game booths. Jake and Millie ate big cones of ice cream bugs and fried butter sticks. Moxxie chose not to consume any 'junk food of questionable origin'.

"This place is amazing! Man, I wish I'd come here sooner!" Jake said happily as he looked around the game booths.

"So Striker has never brought here? He would have loved the rides for sure!" Millie pointed out.

"Nah, dad's never been too fond of machines. He'd rather do things the old-fashioned way."

Moxxie scoffed. "Yeah, why would he come to work on a horse otherwise?"

"Well, at least we don't waste time on looking for a parking spot."

"Touché, kid."

"Hey, now that we're on it, I don't think we've ever met your mom."

Jake stopped in his tracks. His… mom? It's the first time someone's brought that up. Dad has never talked about her and there are no photos of her in the house. But surely he had one, right? Everyone has one.

"Hello, hello! Step right up and win a thing!"

Millie's excited cry distracted Jake from his thoughts. "Oh, look, Moxxie! A thing!" The 'thing' in question was a purple stuffed penguin-like creature with imp horns and pink overalls.

"Oh, you like that thing?"

"Yesss! I don't really know what that thing is but I want that thing!"

Moxxie smirked. "Finally, something I can handle." he placed a soul bill on the counter. "Okay! One game, please!"

Unsurprisingly, the cork but the target. To Jake's surprise, however, the target barely moved. Moxxie didn't seem to mind since he had hit the bullseye.

"Strike one, little man!"

Moxie's smugness faded instantly. "But I hit it!"

"Hmm, I don't know what to tell ya, buddy. The target, see?" the vendor pointed at said target "It didn't go down, so yeah, no go, bro."

Growling, Moxie placed another bill on the counter and fired another cork at the bullseye, but again it didn't move. Annoyed, Moxxie slapped the pistol. "The Heaven's wrong with this thing?!"

"Oh. Man, a real shame, I tell ya." the carnie made crying gestures in a mocking manner, prompting Moxxie to slam yet another bill on the counter.

*HB*

As incredible as it may sound, Striker envied his son. Jake was probably having a great time at the admittedly cool-looking rides while he is stuck babysitting a blueblood. He couldn't say he was completely bored, though. Turns out the pervert was right when he said there'd be lots of people going after him. Striker even ended up making a bet with Blitzo over who could shoot more people by the end of the day. Up to now, Striker was winning.

The cowboy casually spotted Octavia, who by then looked like she'd snap at any second now. He couldn't blame her, the show's musical number was rather bizarre.

"How come that pervert hasn't noticed his daughter is not enjoying himself at all?" he asked Blitzo casually.

"Not our business, Strike. We're their bodyguards, not their family therapists. Speaking of which," Blitzo shot an assassin in the back before he could stab Stolas. Blitzo smirked. "That makes it four on my count, Striker."

"Let's save that for later, Blitz. Looks like the mare's finally kicked." Striker motioned to Octavia as she fled the tent, Stolas following closely behind.

"You should find Jakey. It's Millie and Moxxie's watch, anyway, they can go keep an eye on Stolas."

Striker nodded gratefully and left the circus tent. Surprisingly, it didn't take him too long to find Jake, Moxxie, and Millie. They were at a shooting game booth. Judging by the enraged look in Moxxie's face and the 600 souls in the vendor's hands, the wimp just got scammed.

"Hey, dad! You won't believe what I did, I petted a dragon!"

Striker chuckled and petted the boy's head. "I'm glad you had a great time, kiddo."

"Hey, you, cowboy! You look like ye might be better at shooting this sad little fella."

Striker frowned. He knew from experience that these booths were rigged to scam customers out of their money at the vendor's leisure. He had a better idea. Smirking, Striker pulled out his pistol and handed it to Jake.

"Show them what you got, kiddo."

The impling's face lit up. He pointed the barrel of the weapon at the carnie to give him a fright before shooting all of the targets with flawless precision in quick succession. The bullets went right through the targets, leaving big holes. The carne was reduced to a trembling, frightened mess.

"H-Hey, take it easy, p-pal…" he stuttered nervously as Jake pointed the gun at him again.

"That's my boy!" Striker laughed, patting Jake's shoulder.

"Now I think," Moxxie sneered as he leaned unto the counter. "That you owe us a thing."

Something crashed through the roof of the shooting gallery and on top of the carnie. The group leaned in to take a look.

"Sir?" Moxxie asked.

Striker sighed once he turned around and found the theme park literally on fire. "Really, Blitz? I leave you alone for a second and you screw the damn place up?"

"Oh, hey guys!" Blitzo seemingly didn't hear him as he drew his pistol. "You should probably go, uh, make sure Stolas is okay. I got some… unfinished business to take care of."

The group dispersed, with Millie quickly grabbing her plush thing. Strike quickly picked Jake up and moved out of the way as Blitzo fired at the burning robot; the thing caught the bullet in its mouth and curled up to roll towards Blitzo in a fiery charge. Blitzo jumped out of the way just as the robot hit the booth and it exploded in an inferno of green flames.

"Um, Dad, should we lend Blitzo a hand?"

"I suppose so lest he ends up blowing the whole place up with us inside."

Jake smirked as he spotted the dragon from before on the loose. "I got an idea!"

Striker knew what the boy was thinking. He wasn't sure if it was such a good idea, though; he's dealt with wild hogs, hellhorses, and many fauna, but never a fully-grown Hellvern. Then again, he's always liked challenges. He had Jake climbed onto his back and cling to his neck.

"Hang on tight, my boy, this will be one hell of a ride!"

Grabbing a discarded rope and tying it into a lasso, Striker expertly threw it over the dragon's neck and pulled, tightening around its neck. When the animal reared back and spread its wings, Striker took advantage of the momentum to pull himself onto the Hellvern's back.

"Easy, there! I'm your new master now!" the cowboy shouted over the Hellvern's angry shrieks, pulling the ropes tightly in the manner of reins. It wasn't that hard, as the Hellvern had already been tamed. Otherwise, it was like riding a giant version of Bombproof.

"Woohoo! Can we keep the Hellvern, dad?!"

"I already got enough with a Hellhorse, kiddo!"

Striker led the animal through the green inferno, eyeing the crazy robot going after Blitzo. Millie and Moxxie were shooting it, but it was far too fast for bullets. Striker couldn't contain an excited 'yeehaw' cry as he whipped the Hellvern forward and it snatched Robo Fizz right before it could run Blitzo over; the animal threw Robo Fizz into the air before eating it whole.

"Got a new mount, Striker?! Can I keep Bombproof?!"

"In your dreams, Blitz!"

They barely made it out of Loo Loo Land before it was consumed by flames, then made a run for it before anyone could identify them as the people who destroyed the place. Mammon would look for heads to roll before the day's end, after all.

*HB*

"Best… Day… Ever…" Jake laughed in-between exhausted pants as they got home that night.

Striker fell on top of the couch, groaning in exhaustion. "We're taking the rest of the week off, kiddo. If Blitz calls, tell him Bombproof has a cold or something like that, but I'm not moving from this couch."

Jake joined his father and snuggled against him. "Thanks for taking me to Loo Loo Land, daddy."

"I'd say 'anytime' if the park hadn't been reduced to ashes." Striker chuckled, eyes closed as he wrapped an arm around his son.

As Jake snuggled into his father's arm, he thought about what Millie had said back at Loo Loo Land about.. "Hey, dad?"

"Mmm?"

"Can I ask you something? "

"What?"

"Well…" Jake took a deep breath. "Do I have a mom? I mean, Millie has one, Moxie too, Blitzo… Even Stolas's daughter has a mom. I've never seen any pictures and you've never told me about her…"

Jake trailed off as he heard snoring. Dad had already fallen asleep. He must be really exhausted, Jake thought. I can ask him some other time. I'll let him rest for now.

…

Striker didn't open his eyes until he was certain that Jake had fallen asleep; then he carefully cradled his son in his arms and carried him upstairs all the way to his room. He carefully tucked Jake in as quietly as possible; Jake shifted a bit, but otherwise didn't look like he'd wake up anytime soon. Striker smiled as he stroked his son's hair.

It's not that he didn't want Jake to know about his mother. He wanted to tell his son about the wild-spirited, strong-willed woman that stole his heart. He really did. But he just couldn't find the words to explain what had happened to her. Just even remembering her was like adding lemon and salt to an open wound. Striker would tell Jake about his mother eventually, just not now.

The cowboy carefully placed the stuffed dragon he had grabbed from the shooting gallery in Jake's grasp, carefully leaning in to kiss the boy's head.

"Good night."

*HB*

Well, seems there's been a hint about Jake's mother. What do you think happened to her? I might go into details later on.

[hopeled]

76 REASONS TO KISS -- not accepting

 @volontedacier​ SAID: 33. kiss in a dream

     as of late, they’ve usually been the same. the same moments, repeating in a harsh cycle. more akin to nightmares than a dream, but....dreams wake her in quietness. nightmares wake her in a panic. and these dreams always leave her lying awake in silence until the only noise wasn’t the thunderous beating of her heart. so maybe it was some sort of messed up hybrid of the two. whatever the case, they always came the same and play out the same. it was...truly cruel. how she could do nothing but stand in a sea of blackness and watch, unable to do anything. 

                        really, she hated it.

       she can almost feel the cold as ice quickly encroached over the hangar, covering everything in ice and frost. Kirei’s words ring out and pain begins to fill her as she knows what is coming, but again, she can’t do anything. she can’t do anything as his hand pierces Da Vinci’s chest, as blood splatters against the frozen ground. ( she flinches. once again, it feels like someone tore a chunk right out of her heart. ) just as Ritsuka meets the ever dear Caster’s gaze, that same determined yet sad smile gracing her features...something dark cuts through it, shattering it all into jagged pieces as if it was a mirror. that...shouldn’t have happened. it doesn’t go like this, why was it--

              “ Master. “

     that voice. she turns so fast that if this wasn’t a dream, she would have gotten dizzy on the spot. right behind her was none other than Avenger-- The Count of Monte Cristo. why...why was he here? this wasn’t like that time with the prison or those few nights where she lingered in a darkness deep within her soul where he believed she didn’t belong that seemed most like a nightmare. there was no reason for the Count to make an appearance in her dream. but, like dreams do, some moments never truly make sense. her gaze moves away from the Servant, back to where just moments ago, an injured and dying Da Vinci had been. but now, there was nothing but the pieces of the image strewn about, shattered by his own hands. minutes pass before she looks back, the confusion no doubt being written all over her face. and he gives an answer to the unspoken question, one she heard not too long ago.

            “Do not wallow in your misery… for I shall lead you to a better tomorrow. “

    “....” Ritsuka isn’t exactly sure what possessed her in that moment. she raises her hand, fingers wrapping around the fabric of his cape to tug downwards. not too forcefully, but just enough for him to at least be closer to her height. a second is all it takes for her to lean up to press her lips against his. it isn’t a long kiss, lingering for only a few seconds before she’s releasing him and pulling back. the tiniest of a grateful smile manages to make its way forward.  

             “ Thank you. “

  she doesn’t know if any of this is real or not. probably not, but even so, she at least wanted to say that. he didn’t need to help her, but he did. he didn’t need to stay after Goetia had been defeated, but he did. and he certainly didn’t need to re-contract with her in this strange place, but again-- he did. 

          before anything else could happen, the dream came to an abrupt halt as her phone alarm blares loudly. eyes snap open to find the ceiling instead of the Count. she can hear birds chirping outside her window and a gentle breeze blows through the cracked open window., further rousing her from sleep. for awhile, Ritsuka simply lays there before deciding to get up. she doesn’t know...why her dream ended that way. nor why he showed up in it. 

              .....but at least this one had a better ending.

[goetianovel]

Chapter 2: Something In The Water

It had been several hours since Peter's dream, of the woman he knew as Bune, and yet the trepidation coursing through his veins had not passed. What normally could have been easily dismissed as a dream felt to close, too real, for the feline to simply dismiss it out of hand. He had practically seen the contours of the sidewalk, practically felt the woman's breath against him as his dream-view had gone in close... and for the love of all that was holy, he wasn't sure if the feelings that welled up inside of him were terror... or an odd, hard to describe arousal at the memories of that feeling, which just spooked the poor man even more.

His roommate had disappeared with the morning, off to some job that Peter had never particularly bothered to ask about. Something to do with computers and, to quote the man, “enough code to make Bill Gates' head spin”. And so he was alone in the apartment, seated at his laptop and looking up just where the name “Bune” had come from.

From what he could tell, Bune was a demon described in the Ars Goetia, sealed away by the king Solomon, a dragon with three heads, all different species. Which, of course, raised the question of why he was so damnably certain the young woman from his dream was, in fact, the Bune. After all, she had resembled for all the world your average young woman with a fondness for earrings and form-covering waterproof outfits. Not exactly something that goes tempting mortals or doing battle with the forces of good.

It also raised the question of how he was so certain of this woman's name. Before the dream, he had never seen her before in his life, not even after going through ancient school yearbooks and checking the various friends-he-never-spoke-to on his assorted social media accounts. And here he was, not only being certain of her name, but also feeling an odd, unspoken closeness to this young woman.

He was about to give up, grab a cold drink and pray that he really had just dreamed the whole thing... until, suddenly, he received a message on his IM app of choice. It was from a contact he didn't know... which rendered him rather disconcerted that not only was this account contacting him, they had somehow wound up on his Friends list. The only hint he had to their identity was their Avatar, a depiction of a closed eye, and their username “ACEDIA” in all caps.

ACEDIA was a remarkably fast typer, and before Peter could even consider responding, they had practically sent him an entire paragraph of text, spaced out over five or so messages.

[7:50 AM] ACEDIA: “PETER BECKMAN. YOU ARE BEING WATCHED. YOU DO NOT KNOW ME, BUT I KNOW YOU. BUT I DO NOT MEAN YOU HARM, CHILD OF THE MORNING STAR. I INTEND TO ASSIST YOU. YOU SHALL BE APPROACHED BY AN INDIVIDUAL. THE ONE YOU KNOW AS BUNE. LISTEN TO HER, AND DO AS SHE ASKS. OTHERWISE, YOU SHALL SURELY COME TO RUIN. THE ENVIOUS ONE COMES FOR YOU AS WE SPEAK.”

Peter hesitated. This person knew Bune as well... this may be his only chance to get more information...

[7:51 AM] Peter B: “Why are you telling me this? Who is Bune?”

[7:51 AM] ACEDIA: “BUNE IS AN ALLY. THEY MEAN GOOD THINGS FOR YOU.”

[7:51 AM] ACEDIA: “AND I AM ACEDIA. I WATCH. I WAIT.”

[7:52 AM] Peter B: “How do I know I can trust you?”

[7:52 AM] ACEDIA: “YOU DON'T.”

[7:52 AM] ACEDIA: “FOR NOW, YOU MUST SIMPLY LEAVE IT TO FAITH.”

Peter stared at his laptop, wondering if, perhaps, he had simply suddenly lost his mind. First, a dream of a woman he didn't know, and yet felt as if he'd known for years, and now mysterious online people claiming to know the same person he knew AND claiming his life was apparently in danger. And also refused to share any information on if they were trustworthy or not.

[7:53 AM]Peter B: “Is this a prank? Am... am I being punked? Is Bune just going to turn out to be Johnny Knoxville in a remarkably professional costume?”

[7:53 AM] ACEDIA: “VERY FUNNY. YOUR ATTEMPT AT COMEDY IS NOTED FOR LATER MOCKERY.”

[7:53 AM] ACEDIA: “AWAIT BUNE. STAY AWAY FROM SOURCES OF WATER. DRINK IT BOTTLED IF YOU MUST.”

[7:53 AM] ACEDIA: “AND FINALLY, RESEARCH “KING BA'AL” AND “DEMON PRINCE LEVIATHAN”. THAT IS ALL THE AID I SHALL RENDER FOR NOW.”

[7:53 AM] ACEDIA: “GOOD LUCK.”

With that, ACEDIA seemingly went offline... or at least, they refused to respond to any of Peter's progressively frustrated messages. When it turned out obscenities and rude names weren't catching his mysterious benefactor's attention, he closed his laptop in frustration... then re-opened it and began the research he had been assigned. Perhaps it would help...

As it turned out, this little homework assignment had proved... equally as useful as the research into Bune. Ba'al was supposedly a King of Hell who could transform into a Cat, a Toad, or a Human, or some strange amalgamate of all three. Meanwhile, Leviathan was considered a Prince of Hell, the seabound Demon responsible for the Sin of Envy and, according to some sources, around even before the creation of the Universe, swimming through the darkness of an unborn world as if in the ocean's depths.

Which, surprise surprise, didn't exactly help Peter much or assuage his mounting paranoia and stress. Which led the feline to the kind of therapy he preferred in lieu of... well, actually therapy. Stripping down right there in the living room, he headed for the shower. Really, “Stay away from sources of water”, what nonsense. Next Acedia was going to tell him oxygen was actually poison or something.

Underneath the flow of hot water, he could feel his problems fading, ever so slightly. Not to say they were gone, he just felt less stressed about it, as he scrubbed himself down and luxuriated in the feeling of isolation. In fact, he felt so calm that he didn't notice the way the drain cover lowered itself, or the sudden pooling of water around his ankles. In fact, by the time he noticed something was strange, it was too late, a hand grasping him by the foot and dragging him into deep water that certainly hadn't been there before.

Peter let out a shocked gasp as he was suddenly surrounded by deep, ice cold water, all but the slightest light from above gone. Water flooded his mouth, and rather than the warm, metallic tap water he expected, his mouth and lungs filled with harsh, painfully cold salt water. He kicked fruitlessly at the figure grasping at him, dragging him deeper and deeper. He had no idea what had him, but he could see the light fading, knowing that he grew further and further away from anything resembling survival with each passing second.

The cat wondered dimly if, perhaps, this was simply some unspeakably horrid nightmare, his consciousness beginning to waver with oxygen deprivation. Surely, it was. A man wasn't suddenly pulled into the depths of the ocean in his shower. He'd wake up in a moment, gasping for air, but alive and well.

As the pain in his lungs intensified, and the cold of the water begun to bring a dull, numbing ache to his body, Peter began to feel panic overtake him as he realized that your average nightmare would have woken him up around the time he started feeling actual pain.

Suddenly, there was a hand around his wrist, a grip like iron shaking him briefly from his dizziness, yanking him upwards, pulling against the grasp of the unseen creature gripping his ankle. Peter felt his vision fading, what limited oxygen he had fading from his lungs. He felt himself moving upward just as the last vestiges of consciousness passed...

Peter awoke to the surprisingly pleasant sensation of a pair of lips wrapped around his, blowing air into his lungs, the taste of bubblegum hitting his senses... and then the lips withdrew, and he was treated to the much less pleasant sensation of small yet strong hands pressing down on his chest repeatedly hard enough that he was pretty sure he'd wind up with a bruised rib. Coughing, he sat up, more saltwater escaping his mouth and lungs with each deep, retching cough.

He looked around, and his eyes immediately locked with a pair of striking blue eyes.  An extremely familiar pair of striking blue eyes. Familiar eyes that suddenly made him regret his current nudity, if only because he felt it wasn't exactly proper to be naked around the literal girl of his dreams.

“Howdy. You must be Peter.” Bune said, smiling warmly as if she hadn't just saved him from being drowned in his shower. “My name is Magdalene. Or, Bune, I suppose. And the thing that just tried to kill you is Leviathan. You, uh, need a few minutes to get dressed?”

Peter supposed now would have been the time to say something witty and charming. Something to show how unfazed and cool he was in the face of near death. Something that would make Bune swoon and make him feel less awkward about the odd feelings he had for this girl. Instead of that, though, he fainted dead away.

Distantly, in the living room, there came a chirp from Peter's laptop. A new message.

[8:02 AM] ACEDIA: “HAS BUNE ARRIVED, PETER? I TRUST YOU'VE BEEN AVOIDING WATER LIKE I SAID.”

[8:10 AM] ACEDIA: “...PETER?”

[8:10 AM] ACEDIA: “...GOD DAMNIT, EVERY TIME.”

[sending-the-message]

Furfur by Ilunibi

Going to college was hard on both me and Dead Coyote. Of course he was proud of me--he’d watched me juggle exorcisms and calculus the entire time I was in high school--but we’d grown comfortable with one another’s presence. Dependent, I guess is a less nice way to put it in my case. He could take care of himself a bit more than I could take care of me, and I didn’t realize it until I was standing in my dorm with my scant few belongings that I honestly had no idea what the hell I was going to do with myself.

Eighteen. Free. Lucky enough to get a room to myself. Yet, there I was, standing dead in the center of a bare-bones room staring at the full-length mirror on the back of the door, confused and scared and honestly wishing that I could just throw my acceptance letter in the face of the dean and go back home. Home, of course, being Dead Coyote’s couch. I know it smelled like skunk and Camel cigarettes, but it was also warm and cozy and familiar.

And welcoming. I didn’t exactly feel wanted in college.

Most people who practice my particular craft don’t advertise it because it’s a pretty isolating way of living, even with other believers. I found out after trying to join the pagan alliance on campus that the little Wiccan do-gooders who preached about white magic and crystals didn’t fancy the idea of including a newcomer whose entire magical history revolved around the Ars Goetia and necromancy. They heard “left-hand path” and assumed that I was some misguided, edgy freshman or some poor, lost soul who was destined to live a dark and miserable life brought upon me by vengeful demons and restless raccoon ghosts. I told myself they were just intimidated by the fact that I had nearly a decade of experience and actually got results, that they were all fad-witches who’d give it up once it stopped making them feel like manic pixie dream girls, though I knew honestly that I was just bitter and lonely.

I talked pretty frequently to Dead Coyote, though, and that was my respite. Where most college kids would call their mom to ask how to do their laundry or cook a meal that wasn’t ramen and Kraft dinner, I’d call and ask about whether candle color mattered for casual non-Goetic invocations, how to get wax out of carpeting, and how to keep a smoke alarm from going off. The latter he had a few different answers to for several different reasons, and I appreciated his expertise. It probably saved me a fine or two.

One week became two weeks became a month, and I really hadn’t made any friends or done anything beyond my basic, nightly rituals and piles upon piles of homework. Fortunately, by the time August ended and September began, I found that I was perfectly capable of operating like an adult and even found a couple of casual acquaintances who’d wave at me in public. It still wasn’t the same, though. Going back to an empty dorm was a blessing and a curse because, while I didn’t have to worry about somebody asking me why I had satchels of grass drying in my window and candles stockpiled in my closet like I was preparing for Armageddon, I also didn’t have anyone to sit around and shoot the shit with. And honestly, years of being part of a team made magic on my own feel painfully lonely and much less powerful.

“Princess, you are just forty-five minutes away,” Dead Coyote groaned into the phone when I called him, crying.

“I don’t have a car, DC.”

“Yeah, but you know who does? Me. Do you wanna hang this weekend or what?”

I told him that it would be a waste of gas to drive me back and forth. He told me it would be worth the trip. While he’d enjoyed the calm in my absence for the first few days, the quiet was starting to grate on his nerves. And, if I felt so strongly about him spending his cash on gas, he’d just stop by and visit me to cut down on fuel. If I wanted him to stay the whole weekend, hell, he’d just sleep in his car. He’d slept in worse places, he said, though I told him I’d rather him not elaborate. I didn’t want to know what was more disgusting than the backseat of his Grand Prix.

When he arrived, my RA--who just so happened to be one of the leaders of the pagan alliance--eyeballed him suspiciously in the lobby as she tapped her pen against the clipboard with the visitor registry. I can still remember the look of disbelief on her face, tucking her chin down and glaring up at me over her glasses. All she would have needed was a wad of gum smacking in her mouth and she’d look like an extra in an ‘80s movie.

“So, is he your--?”

I told her that he was my older brother which, in retrospect, was a dumb idea. I’m pretty sure that if somebody was asked to draw the polar opposite of me in every way, they would have had a quick sketch of Dead Coyote. She shifted her gaze between us and offered us the tightest, most unconvincing smile I’ve ever seen a person manage.

“I’ll just put down he’s your… uh, boyfriend.”

Dead Coyote laughed a little harder than he should have.

If he felt awkward stomping around a crowded building full of awkward college girls, he didn’t show it. They definitely felt that he was out of place, though, gawking and whispering as I just kept chirping at the side of his head about local gossip while he listed off my neighbors and classmates who’d gotten knocked up, arrested, and knocked up then arrested. It was satisfying to hear that, after I was off to college to make something of myself, Jessica Schneider had found her final form as a white-trash party girl who had been locked up after being found with cocaine in her possession. I shouldn’t have laughed, but I was petty enough to still hate her.

While we chatted, I noticed Dead Coyote growing more and more distracted the further we went down the hall. My room was situated at the very end next to a dead light but his eyes kept drifting around like he was looking for something--or someone--in particular. By the time we were at the middle of the corridor, he was casting worried glances over his shoulder, and at the end, he was walking completely backwards. The girl who lived across from me cursed at him when he nearly mowed her down, but he didn’t seem to notice she existed. His brows were furrowed, his lip raised in a mix of disgust and bewilderment, but try as I might I could not figure out what he was looking at.

Residents? A chip in the wall? A bug? Somebody’s gaudy door decoration? Given who it was, he honestly could have been distracted by anything. Even after getting clean-ish, his attention span was as bad as his memory.

When I opened the door, he gently bumped me inside with his hip and ducked in after me like getting to my room was a stealth operation. It shut with a bang that echoed like a gunshot and I realized that I hadn’t even had a chance to get my key out of the lock. I stared at him, he stared at me. After a moment of me drawling like an idiot while I tried to decide whether to ask him what his problem was or if I could get my key, he plopped down on my bed and nodded his head toward the door.

“Who’s in room 14B?”

I didn’t know. When I told him, his confusion turned to concern and he immediately began to ransack my desk. Ignoring anything scandalous he found, he dragged out a pad of yellow legal paper and the fattest marker he could find, scribbling a magic triangle dead in the center with a single word of wisdom bolded and underlined directly beneath it.

STOP.

And with that, he was out the door. I followed him through a smattering of freshman girls as he explained, a bit too loudly, that something was very, very wrong in room 14B. I flinched as a few of them tittered when he started into the metaphysics, preaching darkness and bad vibes and demonology. Yet, more than the embarrassment of being exposed to a few nonbelievers, I was intrigued because I couldn’t really wrap my mind around not being the only practitioner on campus who dabbled in anything heavier than aromatherapy and meditating under trees. Hell, I was almost hopeful.

The stuff he told me was admittedly pretty grim, though. There was power coming from that room, like electricity, and he had no idea how I hadn’t noticed before. He thought he’d taught me better than that. Whatever it was, he said he could feel that the air was so charged that it was nearly painful. The kind of static that makes your hair stand on end and your arms break out in goose skin and makes your head pulse and your teeth hurt.

“They’re up to something and they suck at it, and it’s gonna backfire like a sonuvabitch,,” he explained in front of me and a curious blonde clutching a bowl of Captain Crunch. He stopped in front of 14B, glowered at the tacky cork board hanging on the door, and unceremoniously unpinned a happy little note written in glittery purple pen. It was quickly replaced with his warning, a warning he then had to explain to Cereal Girl after she asked with a full mouth what the fancy triangle was for.

The rest of the day went pretty smoothly, thankfully. Dead Coyote taught me a few new invocations, he helped me with some spells I’d been tinkering with, we threw rocks at cars, and I got to eat actual food that wasn’t the prison-slop the dining hall shelled out. It’s hard to imagine that there was ever a day where an A&W burger would make anyone feel like they were sitting at a banquet in the halls of Valhalla, but you do not understand how special it felt to be eating food that wasn’t university pizza.

After he returned me to my humble abode and picked a parking lot to camp in, I found the RA office empty and the lobby strangely quiet. I tromped up to my floor and started down the hall, taking a quick glance at 14B to see if the message had been received. I half expected it to still be there, but it was gone, ripped off so violently that I could see a shred of lined paper still clinging to the cork board. It was concerning, but I decided I wasn’t the person to fight Dead Coyote’s battles for him.

“Miranda wasn’t happy.”

A voice stopped me and I turned, curious, to see the girl with the bowl of cereal from earlier. This time she had a Hot Pocket, munching as nonchalantly as she had been before. If Dead Coyote ever had a spirit animal, I’m pretty sure it would be Cereal Girl.

I asked who Miranda was and Cereal Girl looked back at room 14B and pursed her sauce-stained lips.

“Miranda? The RA? You really don’t know who she is?”

The RA? That was a shock. I remembered back to my very brief attempt at interacting with the pagan alliance and how she had been so fucking bitter when I told her what it was I did in my spare time. Her, with her pretty auburn curls and her button nose and bohemian earrings and weird, sepia-tinted Instagram selfies. She was the kind of person to shop at Whole Foods and refuse to wear a bra because they were against the will of Mother Gaia. She was not exactly the type of girl I pegged as being capable of setting off all of Dead Coyote’s alarms.

But, I didn’t tell Cereal Girl this. I just told her that, aside from some brief interactions here and there, I wasn’t really familiar with her. I didn’t even know that was her room. I hadn’t even known her name.

“Huh. Weird. ‘Cause she knew exactly who left her that note. I didn’t even have to tell her.”

She gestured at my room at the end of the hall and told me she’d returned the favor. A cold fear filled my stomach and it dropped like a rock straight through the rest of me. While I doubted that somebody on the fast road to fucking up basic ceremonial magic could do much to threaten me, she was still somebody who was on the fast road to fucking up basic ceremonial magic and that was dangerous in and of itself. And if she had it out for me? Hoo, boy, she may not hit me, but with how tedious and detail-oriented it all is, I could imagine what she could do to herself or somebody else.

When I reached my door, though, all that was taped to it was a flowery piece of stationery with a single crest on it: Glasyalabolas. No pentacles, no Sigillum Dei, nothing. Just the crest of Glasylabolas, drawn incorrectly in that same purple gel pen as the note Dead Coyote unpinned from her door. Honestly, it was kind of amusing, but I knew enough to take it as a threat. Even if she was horribly inept, she still had the audacity to try to summon the patron demon of manslaughter in my dorm room. I briefly wondered what she would think if she knew I’d danced with that dog before.

“Okay, what does that mean?” Cereal Girl asked. I untaped the paper, took a pencil out of my bag, and wrote Miss Miranda a note on the back. My new friend trailed me as I walked back to 14B but I never said a word. I just left my new nemesis a friendly little bit of advice for her to find the next morning.

That’s not how this works. Stop it.

As soon as I woke up the following day, I was out at Dead Coyote’s camping spot and climbing in the passenger’s seat of his car. I resolved that I would just spend a lazy Sunday outside of my dorm so I wouldn’t have to think too hard about Miranda and her hypocrisy. We wound up near some nature trail just outside of town and the entire day was spent talking about life and our ambitions and getting back to the basics of him teaching me Spanish profanity and me telling him about my days at school.

We only decided to head back to civilization when the sun started hanging low in the sky, Dead Coyote pitching his last cigarette and sighing, “Well, princess, let’s get you home.”

We only made it partway.

There’s a stretch of road just down the hill from my old dorm that was typically lit up like Vegas at night. I guess enough pedestrians complained that drivers nearly killed them and enough drivers complained about the people-shaped deer that the city council decided it was a good idea to make sure daytime never ended in that one spot. I didn’t immediately get worried when, for the first time in ever, we cruised up the street in pitch-black nothingness, but the closer we got to my final destination for the night I began to feel a prickling across my skin, like static. Side-eying Dead Coyote proved he wasn’t really reacting to it, but the tingle became a burn and that burn became a sharp prick of pain. I flinched in my seat, then smashed into the dashboard as Dead Coyote slammed the brakes.

I would have cussed, but when I looked up, Dead Coyote was staring dead ahead like an alien spacecraft had landed in front of his car. Nose bleeding, I peeked over the edge of the dashboard and struggled to focus my eyes. For a second, all I saw was color and movement: swaying and pale gray. It hurt to look at and the sharp prick of pain grew into a throbbing, stabbing warmth that roiled in my belly and tried to tear its way out of my skin.

“Oh. Shit.”

Dead Coyote’s voice was low, level, but his eyes were pure panic. I saw why when my double vision finally melded together and there, standing in the middle of the road, was a pallid deer with bright, blazing eyes. They were the same color as lightning, hot and white but, for whatever reason, my brain interpreted it as blue.

“Oh… shit,” I echoed, watching as the deer--with strangely human confidence--raised its antlered head high and sauntered across the road. Dead Coyote watched quietly, poked his head out of the car window, and mumbled under his breath as it vanished into the trees. Even outside of the glare of his headlights, it still seemed to give off its own ghastly glow.

He pulled over immediately, dug through the trash in his floorboard for his emergency cigarettes, then jumped across me to grab a flashlight from his glove box. And some chalk. And every leftover salt packet he had collected from every fast food restaurant he’d been to in the past twelve months, which he ripped open and dumped into the chest pocket on his flannel jacket.

“Get out of the car, princess. You know what that was.”

He didn’t have to tell me twice. We both knew what and who had just traipsed past us and the fact that he was just wandering around freely like a stray dog did not bode well for anyone or anything in his path.

Furfur.

You can go ahead and giggle at the name--it’s kind of stupid--but if you ignore the name and look to the meat of the matter, Furfur is not the kind of demon you’d want to square off with. Grimoire entries about him are vague and make him seem non-threatening--a mischievous deer who compulsively lies and likes shiny rocks and playing Cupid--but the problem with those entries is that they’re so vague because controlling him is an absolute bitch that nobody wants to bother with. Only under very specific circumstances will he work with a conjurer and, even then, you have to have every failsafe in check to keep him honest. If he’s dishonest, he will waste no time in trying to talk you down the most self-destructive path he can manage.

Dead Coyote, in his younger days, found that out the hard way.

More concerning though was that he was physically there, skin, bones, antlers, and all. Now, even though a lot of these stories I’ve told you would make you think that ceremonial magic is flash, pizazz, and physical interaction, you have to remember that the stories I pick out are ones that are unique and interesting. Most people into ceremonial magic never see anything overtly odd in their entire lives, and even those of us who have experience intense feelings more than we actually get a gander at the big guys. Even if you do see them up-close and personal, they’re normally bound. They can’t really leave where they were summoned, at least if you’re doing it right.

But somebody wasn’t doing it right.

I don’t even think we checked to see if anyone was coming before we bolted across the road--Dead Coyote scrambling over the hood of the car in his panic--and we ran a pretty fair distance before either of us thought to turn on the flashlight. Stumbling, hissing, spitting, we tore through the underbrush even as it threatened to tear through us, blackberry briars and switch-worthy shrubs grabbing at our clothes and lashing across our faces. I felt blood dripping down my forehead and my arms and saw Dead Coyote with briar-covered vines wrapped around his jeans and twigs stuck in his hair. The entire time, he was grumbling and groaning like a teenager bitching about doing his chores.

“Stupid goddamn 14B bitch thinks she knows what she’s doin’ but she don’t know, princess, she has no goddamned idea what she’s doin’ and she’s lucky as fuck that I’m here because I actually read more than one goddamned motherfucking piece of shit book on the subject unlike her dumbass and I fucking swear, princess, she better hope I don’t find her ‘cause--”

This went on for a while. One continuous sentence without so much as a pause that lasted all the way to a clearing among the trees that eventually faded into what looked like a local farm. Overgrown wild grass was separated from trimmed grazing ground by a rickety wooden fence, the entire expanse illuminated by the moon. And there, standing proudly like he was waiting for us, was the deer.

Dead Coyote reached for the salt in his pocket. Through some chance miracle, our stomping around in the underbrush between the street and the clearing hadn’t ripped a hole in it. I expressed concern pretty much immediately about how effective salt would be against a bona fide Goetic power, but he just glowered at me and huffed a tangled strand of hair out of his face.

“Princess, the only thing better than salt is holy water, and I ain’t packin’ that today. I do have, like, what? Half a cup of Burger King salt? We make do, a’ight?”

Slowly, we crept toward the deer. Looking back, I’m not quite sure why, as Furfur was watching us the whole time, painfully aware of what we were doing, rigid and strong and unwavering. He didn’t really believe we would do anything to him, or that we could even if we tried. Part of me wants to believe it was out of habit--deer are normally so easily spooked--but I know that I was absolutely petrified. I had never encountered anything so strong that was unbound, and I could still remember that feeling of electricity and pain in my stomach when we nearly hit it with the car. I didn’t want to be near Furfur but I knew in the bottom of my heart that the only person qualified to get rid of him in the area was Dead Coyote, and armed only with salt packets? Well, he sure as shit couldn’t do it alone.

We were almost within salt-throwing distance when Furfur turned to me and smiled. Human teeth in a deer mouth, stretched as wide as it could, grinning at me with a glint of curiosity and maliciousness in its eyes. That tearing feeling in my abdomen came back and every nerve in my skin flared to life like a thousand white-hot pins were being jammed into me. Dead Coyote opened his mouth to speak, but his voice trailed off when I keeled over.

“Lonely. Empty.”

Furfur’s voice was an echoing, monotone whisper. His mouth moved in a way far too human to be anything but horrifying.

“Come to harm me. I can help you.”

I still don’t know why I remember everything he said. Maybe it’s because of the fact he was so powerful and supernatural that he just willed his little speech to burn itself into my mind. Maybe I did it myself, seeing as trauma can be a bitch. But, while I was rolling on the ground, clutching my stomach, vision blurry and nerve endings screaming, he spoke to me. Slow, rhythmic, almost taunting, and every word made my heart squeeze like it would burst.

He told me how disgusting I was. He told me how I made my mother miserable, how much she wished that she had aborted me. He told me that my father had forgotten I existed and was glad to be in prison, away from me. He harped about how I would one day die alone, forgotten and unloved, in the same shithole apartments I grew up in and that it would be just like Cheryl. I’d choke on my own vomit and nobody would find me for days, the victim of a low and savage upbringing. And about Cheryl? Oh, he talked on and on about Cheryl, smiling and speaking in a melodious, almost sing-song pattern that was somehow still as flat as its words before.

“You hated her, did you not?”

I choked that I didn’t.

“No. You did. You were jealous. She was stealing him, yes? You are glad she is dead.”

Dead Coyote’s lips were a tight line, his muscles taut. It was as though he was frozen in time, though I know it was just the mention of Cheryl that choked him up. There was something furious in him, a fire I could almost feel. I was afraid, so fucking afraid, that he hated me because of everything that fucking deer was spewing out of its mouth. Tears welled up in my eyes and I sobbed, loudly, that I didn’t want Cheryl dead.

“No. No. You wish for something else. Tell me what it is… princess.”

He snapped. It had been a long time since I had seen Dead Coyote lose his absolute shit, but he exploded toward Furfur like he was launched out of a cannon, salt balled up in his fist like he was planning on punching a deer in the face. Furfur only tilted his head and chuckled, perfectly still even as Dead Coyote began to bark dispelling incantations at him and shovel handfuls of salt in his face.

When the salt-well ran dry, he pulled a folding knife out of his pants pocket and took it to his arm. I didn’t see what he carved. I found out much later on that he now has a nice, jagged, but rather impressive scar in the shape of a magic triangle hiding amongst his tattoos. It’s the one seal that can control Furfur, the one that can make him play nice and go home.

But I missed the excitement afterward, being curled into a ball on the grass and heaving sobs into my knees until I heard Dead Coyote stop screaming. I hardly even noticed the pain receding over Furfur’s voice still ringing in my head, only snapping out of my trance when I felt something thud to the ground next to me.

A deer skull, with half-finished carvings riddling the bone that were redone with smudged paint marker. Furfur’s crest was right smack in the middle of its forehead, in metallic silver. A smaller, almost insignificant Seal of Solomon was beneath it, perfectly centered and meticulously drawn. I sniffled as I cursed Miranda the RA for being too stupid to realize that placement and sizing in sigils were more important than aesthetics. You don’t make the demon more powerful than the controller, and you better use the right damn pentacle. No wonder her pet was running wild.

I think the most pain I ever suffered was still aching from Furfur’s aura and trekking back to the car, and I almost begged Dead Coyote to let me just sleep it off in the clearing. It was worth it to go back to campus--me hobbling in and clutching my everything while he strolled in behind me holding his trophy by the antlers--to watch as he walked straight to the RA’s office, found little Miranda sitting at the desk watching Youtube videos, and slammed the skull so hard into the ground that the bone splintered and shattered in a dozen different directions. Miranda screamed and jumped out of her seat.

Dead Coyote snarled.

“If you don’t know how to walk the left-hand path, stay on your own goddamn road. And if I ever hear you have tried to summon some bullshit again, or if you think about hexing my girl, I will throw out every single goddamn reservation I have about doing harm unto others. Do you understand?”

She didn’t call campus police, for whatever reason. Maybe because she knew she fucked up. Either way, when aspirin and Tylenol did nothing to make me stop jittering and groaning, I decided to skip my dorm for the night and head down to Dead Coyote’s camp site at the parking lot down the road. We sat up for hours upon hours, blazing through a secret stash of dashboard weed despite his insistence that I not touch the stuff. It was the only thing that made me stop hurting, though, and that was all he cared about in the end.

I apologized, again and again, bawling in a cloud of smoke about all of the things Furfur said, everything about Cheryl. He watched me, eyebrow raised, before handing me a napkin from the center console.

“Ah, princess. C’mon. It’s Furfur. He lies about everything if he ain’t sealed properly. I know you didn’t hate Cher. You cried as much as I did when she died.”

He took a drag off his joint.

“You were jealous, though.”

When the weed was gone and he’d given me one of his patented, stoned-out-of-his-mind, how-are-you-this-goddamn-wise-when-you-can’t-even-remember-your-phone-number pep talks, he dropped me back off at my dorm. Miranda was gone, the RA’s office empty, and the lobby deserted. When I got to the hall, only Cereal Girl remained, staring at my door with half a Twix sticking out of her mouth like a cigar. Our eyes met, but she didn’t have to say a word. She just smirked and laughed, crumbs splattering across the ground and, probably because I was high as fuck, I couldn’t help but laugh, too.

Taped to my door was another crest of Glasyalabolas.

Yet again, Miranda had drawn it wrong.