#No Name (Nomad The Demon)

[spacedace]

Found this old snippet and don't really remember of the context for it outside of being a joking exploration of how weird the Fenton/Phantom family tree would seem to outsiders (not even getting into how relationships might be classified differently between the human side & the ghost side)

Anyway gonna drop it here as a prompt lol

Mind the quick reference to dismemberment, there's no gore or detailed description and no one is actually hurt, it's more there for comedic effect, but still wanted to give the heads up on it 👍

---

Nomad motioned to the towering, vaguely vampire-looking buff dude with literal flaming hair what the fuck, “Dan, this is everyone. Everyone this is Dan. He’s my…” Nomad trailed off and blinked, a look of confused befuddlement on her face as she let the sentence hang for too long.

“Huh…” She said considering, looking up at vampire-dude, Dan apparently, with a confused furrow on her brow. “You know this is the first time I’ve ever had to try and explain our relationship to each other and I’m drawing a blank and what exactly to call you. Uncle? Dad? Brother? Like, I think you could technically be considered all three.”

What the fuck did that mean??? Kon snapped his attention over to meet Tim’s masked gaze, the look of wild confusion Kon was sure was on his own face mirrored there. Around the meeting room confused and worried looks were being shared by the rest of the League. Which like, yeah, what in the Habsburgs was happening here for all of those terms to be applicable?

“Well, you’re Danny’s Mirror, so if you consider him your dad then it stands to reason I’m also your father.” Dan said, hand coming up to his - literally flaming, how did that work? - goatee thoughtfully.

“Yeah but like, I call Danny dad just to piss Vlad off.” Nomad countered, toying with her severed arm with her still attached hand. Kon didn’t think he’d ever get over how casual she was about being literally disarmed and just…not caring. “And I definitely don’t see you as a dad. Uncle?”

The giant of a ghost shook his head with a frown, “Implies that Danny and I are brothers, which could work but gives our relationship kind of a weird vibe. I feel more like his father than anything.”

“Gramps, then?”

“No.”

Nomad laughed, “Fair, wouldn’t want to take the title of Grampa away from CW. Besides we’re both half Vlad, so I think brother works best here.” She frowned, looking thoughtful, “Maybe half brother?”

Dan considered, “Half-brother could work. Though it gives Vlad more credit than he deserves.”

“Oh come on, can you imagine the look on his face if we went in together on suing him for child support?” Nomad asked, fanged grin wicked. Dan’s face lit up at the idea, and Kon felt like they were rapidly heading towards the two ghosts running off to go and go torment whoever this Vlad guy was rather then them help deal with the current demonic problem at hand.

“Can you please explain what any of that means?” Kon asked, more a squeak than anything else. He was starting to get a headache.

[smileysuh]

devil's girl

🌙 starring. Choi Seungcheol x afab!Reader I ft. Mingyu & Wonwoo

🔮 preview. “Three hundred years ago, one of your ancestors promised me a descendant as my prophesied betrothed. A girl of her bloodline who would bear my hybrid offspring, children with the power of demons and witches, bodies unrestricted by the laws of heaven or hell. A witch who would be identified by the mark of the Devil, drawn through with three lines.”

tw/cw. foreplay, fingering, oral (f receiving), Cheol is low-key pussy obsessed, overstimulation, 5-inch long demon tongue, invisible demon bondage magic, the demon magic can also vibrate her clit a little, bdsm themes, slight choking, squirting, wet kink, massive cock cheol, pussy stretching, impreg/breeding/cum kink, dirty talk, service dom Cheol, consent is a must, begging, multiple reader orgasms, unprotected sex, hand job, dream/incubi threesome with Mingyu & Wonwoo, double fingering, degradation, dacryphilia, etc… I pet names: (hers) little/my sweet, pretty girl, good girl, whore/slut (1), baby, little love, etc. (his) sir, daddy.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 7.2k

🍭 aus. king of hell!Cheol, witch descendant!y/n, prophesy, arranged marriage, yandere/possessive themes, slight kidnapping, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. I feel like I need the men I write about every time, but when I tell you I need this man biblically, when I tell you I need him to kidnap me and make me the Queen of Hell and knock me up with demon hybrid babies asap-

Prologue:

It was not a fate that she would have ever wished upon any of her descendants, but there was a price to pay for power, a price to pay for life and a line continued. The old crone signed the contract, bound in blood, with the King of Hell, promising one of her own line as his future intended.

She could not foresee when the prophesied witch would be born, all she could promise The Dark King was that the descendant would bear the mark of the Devil. Somewhere in the world, there would be a girl born with a pentagram birthmark, run through with three lines, and that girl, would bear the task of giving children to the King of Hell himself.

The crone did this to solidify her line would survive the witch trials ravaging the country, the contract would ensure demonic protection from death- none of the King’s loyal followers would allow harm to fall upon any woman who could possibly birth the next Queen of Hell. 

As the trials continued, not one of the crone’s daughters were harmed. Years went by, with the crone checking every new grandaughter and great-granddaughter for marks. When it became clear that the prophesied girl would not be born in her time on Earth, she urged all her descendants to be fruitful and multiply, in the hopes that, with a large family line, the Demon King would have a harder time finding the contracted child.

Upon her death, the old crone’s family took her words to heart. Not only did the daughters multiply after the witch trials had ended, but they split. Some became nomadic, others found places to settle down and have whole swaths of children. Many of these descendants took upon new names, as women always took the last name of their husbands.

In this way, the old crone hoped to cheat the devil himself, and for a very long time, she was successful in her evasion of him.

one

“This better be important,” Seungcheol groans, shifting on his throne to assess the two low level demons in front of him. 

The incubi exchange looks, and finally one steps forward. “Sir, we found her.”

“You found her?” the King repeats. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

“The witch,” the second demon says, fumbling as he also moves forward to address Seungcheol. “The one from the prophecy, with the mark.” 

The Demon King feels a twitch of something electric, it makes his finger tips jolt, and he begins to strum them along the dark marble arm of his throne. “What are your names?”

“I’m Wonwoo,” says the first incubi, “and this is Mingyu.”

“Well, Wonwoo, Mingyu, the two of you better not be wrong.” Seungcheol stands up. “Where is she?”

“We can give you the details, only…” Mingyu casts an anxious look toward Wonwoo, “we’re pretty sure she was wearing a high level demon ward.”

“What?” The word comes out as a growl, and in the lava fields of hell that stretch as far as the eye can see behind him, there’s a tremor that betrays the King’s rage.

“A demon ward,” Wonwoo repeats. “An heirloom. It’s a necklace. We tried to get her to take it off, but even while dreaming, she was pretty protective over it.”

Seungcheol can’t believe what he’s hearing. It’s been over three hundred years since he’d made a contract with the old crone. Three hundred years of waiting for the ability to sire a line with a witch who would be able to withstand the process. He’d almost given up the hope of ever finding his betrothed, only for two sinful incubi to find her in the dream state. The fact that she’s warded is the cherry on top of this whole fucking thing.

“That bitch,” Seungcheol groans. “The old crone has done everything in her power to make sure our contract would never be fulfilled, and she’s even left warding jewlery.” 

If the witch wasn’t in heaven, Seungcheol would pay a visit to her himself to enact his revenge for this final piece of treachery.

You do a service to save an entire line of witches, and this is how they intend to pay back your kindness. 

“It’s not the end though,” Wonwoo offers helpfully. “We just have to convince her to take the necklace off, that will break the ward, and you can summon yourself into her room as soon as it’s off.”

“If the two of you do this for me,” Seungcheol notes, “you will be rewarded.”

“We’re just happy we found her for you,” Mingyu says, voice shaky. “It’s been a very long time.”

Too long, in fact. 

two

You’re lost in a dreamy haze. Two pairs of lips are on your throat, one man pressed to your front, the other at your back. Hands caress your form, and nothing has felt this real. You’re moaning, eager for the fiery touches.

“We need you to do something for us,” the man in front of you whispers, licking past the shell of your ear and making you shiver.

“Anything,” you blurt out, already reaching for his cock.

A hand wraps around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. When you meet the stern man’s gaze, you note the darkness in his eyes. 

“This is a pretty necklace,” he muses, as the person at your back nips at the chain that encircles your throat.

“It’s a-” you swallow back your lust, trying to form words, “an heirloom.”

“How badly do you want to be fucked, naughty girl?” 

“So bad,” you whimper, pressing your thighs together in the hope that you can quench some of your sexual appetite. 

“Then you need to promise us that when you wake up, you’ll take this pretty necklace off, only for a while.”

“Huh?” You’re confused, and the man behind you immediately brings his hand to your core, stroking you through your nightie. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you feel like they’ve asked you to do this before- but your memory is as fuzzy as the vision in front of you, and the men are more than distracting.

“You can do this for us, right?” he presses. “Please?”

“Why do you need me to take my necklace off?” you ask. It had been a parting gift from your mother before you were put up for adoption, and in her note, she’d warned you never to take it off. You can already feel yourself becoming restless at the turn of this dream, what had started so sweet and sexual has turned darker than you’d been ready for.

“It looks like it needs a little… TLC, don’t you think, baby?” One large finger slips into your core, and at the same time, the man in front of you tugs down your dress to access your breast, flicking at the nipple.

“Tell us you’ll do this,” murmurs the one with his mouth on your chest.

Your fingers tangle through his dark curls, keeping him on your breast while he begins to suck on your sensitive bud. It’s practically impossible to say no to them.

“Okay,” you whisper finally, voice shaky. “Just for a little.”

“There’s our good girl,” the one in front growls, adding a hand to his friend’s so he can slip his own finger into your dripping core. They both begin to work you open, and you can’t help the gasps of pleasure that begin to escape you, your grip flying to broad shoulders to keep yourself standing between the two large men.  “Now we all get our reward.”

three

You wake up feeling relaxed but needy. You remember ghosted touches as you head for a morning shower, washing your body and remembering strong hands trailing along the same path. 

As you do your usual skin routine, your necklace catches your eye in the bathroom mirror, and you’re reminded of the promise you’d made in your dream. Upon inspection, you do think the necklace could use a little refurbishment- you’ve been wearing the chain since childhood, where your commitment to never taking it off had been like life and death.

If you’d had a dream about removing it, if even for a little while, maybe that was your subconscious telling you it’s time to let go of the hold your mother has on you. After all, she gave you up- what do you owe her? What’s the point in still wearing this around?

With a sigh, you reach behind yourself, fiddling with the clasp. There have been a few times you’ve been required to take the necklace off, at hospitals, or the dentist, certain airports- it won’t kill you to remove it for a little while today.

You don’t think much of it as you set the heirloom onto your bathroom counter, in fact, you’re already planning out breakfast. You go to the kitchen, humming to yourself while you open the fridge to look at the contents inside. 

As you reach for the orange juice, the hairs on the back of your neck begin to raise, and you feel a powerful energy, as if you’re being watched.

“Goodmorning, sweet girl.” 

The sudden voice makes you jump, heart lurching into your throat as you whip around.

There’s a man standing in your kitchen. He’s dressed in all black, with a long silky jacket over top of dress pants and a matching charcoal shirt. His hair is dark too, and he has a smirk on his handsome face.

It only takes you a moment to assess ‘oh, he’s hot’ and one more to decide to throw your juice directly at him.

The man quickly lifts his hand, flicking two fingers. It’s as if the container of orange juice hits some invisible barrier, and it goes flying directly into your sink.

“Don’t be like that,” he tuts, clicking his tongue. “Is that any way to greet a man like me?”

“Who are you?” you ask, mouth going dry as you cower back against the fridge, feeling suddenly very naked in your tiny shorts and crop top. 

“An angel,” the man says simply, but the all black outfit is a dead give away that he’s lying.

“Yeah?” you let out a small laugh. “What’s your name then, mister Angel?”

He stares at you for a moment, something dark flashing over his features. When he smiles this time, you notice sharp canines. “Satan.” 

Your entire body runs cold. “I don’t…” You lick your lips. “I don’t see any devil horns, or a tail-”

“Would you like to see them?”

“No?” 

The man takes a step toward you. “You’re reacting better than I expected, Devil’s girl.”

“Devil’s girl?” you repeat, pressing your back tighter to the fridge in an effort to get away from him as he approaches closer and closer.

“That’s you,” he nods. “That’s what you are. It’s who you were destined to be.”

“I don’t know much about destiny-”

“Why would you?” he shrugs. “It’s been three hundred years since your family agreed to the dept they owe me. In that time, you witches have made it extra hard for me to keep track of all of you. I’m not surprised you don’t know anything about the prophecy, although, I will admit I’m a little disappointed you clearly haven’t stepped into your powers yet. Part of me had been hoping for a bit of a fight.”

“I can still fight you-” you insist, reaching out to grab a weapon from the knife block, brandishing it at the intruder.

He simply laughs, and with the flick of his fingers the knife goes flying out of your hand, landing in the sink next to the juice. “Silly little girl,” he grins. “Power reacts only to power, and though I can see you have power in your veins, it’s clear that no one has unlocked it for you. Don’t worry, I’ll help you get there.”

“Why would I want your help?” You cower back against the fridge, unable to move from where you’re standing. It feels like your feet are weighed down, and you wonder if this is another one of his magic tricks.

The devil puts his hand on the surface next to your head, blocking you into your fate. “Because, silly girl, at the moment, I’m your fiance, and soon, I’ll be your husband.”

“What?” The word comes out as a croak, your heart going a mile a minute in your chest.

“Three hundred years ago, one of your ancestors promised me a descendant as my prophesied betrothed. A girl of her bloodline who would bear my hybrid offspring, children with the power of demons and witches, bodies unrestricted by the laws of Heaven or Hell. A witch who would be identified by the mark of the Devil, drawn through with three lines.” 

Realization washes over you. The mark on your ass- the peculiar birthmark, the mark you’ve always been insecure about-

“How…” you swallow thickly. “Why now? How did you find me?”

“I had help. Two incubi found you in your dreams. You were wearing an heirloom with a ward against me, but lucky for us, they convinced you to take off the silly little crone necklace. I couldn’t touch you while you had it on, couldn’t be in the same room as you, but now… I can be here with you, and…” he reaches out a hand, dragging a finger along your collarbone, “I can touch you.” 

“And if I say no to all of this?” you ask. “If I say no to marrying a man who’s literally Satan?”

“Then I’ll convince you,” the demon leans close, his hot breath ghosting over your throat. “I can be awfully convincing… also, if it makes you feel better, don’t call me Satan.”

“Then what should I call you?”

“Seungcheol.” There’s a softening in his tone when he says this new name, and as you stare at his handsome face, you realize that is suits him. “And what should I call you, my sweet?”

You whisper your name and Seungcheol repeats it. You can tell he’s enjoying the taste of it on his tongue, and as you share this close proximity with the man who claims you’re his betrothed, you realize your innate attraction to him, despite the circumstance. 

“So…” you lick your lips. “What now?”

“Now, little sweet, I take you back to my Kingdom.”

“You mean Hell.”

He grins, and you once again get a view of those sharp teeth. You wonder what they’ll feel like against your skin, and the thought has your body tingling with lust and shame. 

“What if I don’t go with you.”

“Like I said, I’m awfully convincing, but on this one, you don’t have a choice.” He lets out a sigh, playing with a strand of your hair. “There are many religions in this world, little sweet, and in many of them, the King of Hell gets his Persephone. Although, in this case, you have no Demeter to protect you. The witch who promised you to me is long since dead, and your family line got muddled and convoluted in the hopes that it would hide you from me. Unfortunately for them, I’m here to collect, and there’s no one in the world who can stop me.”

“But, I mean-” you search for any way to get out of this. “I have a job-”

“Yeah? Tell me about this job.” 

You can’t believe he’s humouring you, a slight appearance of interest appearing in his features. “I’m a full time baby sitter, an au pair,  the girls are expecting me-”

Seungcheol lets out a low growl from deep in his chest. “So you’re good with children.”

Your mind goes back to what he’d said not minutes ago: ‘A girl of her bloodline who would bear my hybrid offspring, children with the power of demons and witches, bodies unrestricted by the laws of Heaven or Hell.’

Of course the King of Hell has an impreg kink and is turned on by your job as a nanny. 

“I can’t go with you,” you insist.

His hand wraps around your throat, thumb teasing your jaw. “It’s not your choice.”

His eyes flare a fiery red colour, and it feels as if the air is sucked out of your lungs. Your hair ruffles, as if you’re in a wind tunnel, and a moment later, you’re no longer standing in your kitchen.

Seungcheol releases your neck, gesturing to the room you’re now in. “This is your new home,” he announces, giving you a moment to take in the black marble floors, scarce furniture, and large bed in the center of the space. There’s a floor to ceiling window that encompasses a whole wall, and through it, you see what can only be decribed as a literal Hellscape. 

You can’t help it, you approach the window, mind going blank as you stare out at the fire fields. 

Seungcheol is silent as he comes up behind you, pressing two hands to the windowed wall and blocking you in with your back to his chest. You can feel his breath along your throat. “Welcome to Hell, sweet thing. This is all yours now, although, I doubt I’ll let you leave this room too often, not until I know I can trust you.”

It’s funny to hear Satan talking about his ability to trust you- a girl who’s done her best to be good her whole life. 

Seungcheol’s lips brush by your ear. “Should we get started, then?”

“Started on what?”

“You know what.” He presses a shockingly soft kiss to your throat, nose nuzzling by your jaw.

“Please, don’t hurt me.”

“I’ll be honest with you, little one, I’m not a nice man. But… I’ll be good to you, if you’re good for me.” One of his hands slips down from the window to grab at your hip, tugging your back flush to his chest. “The way you were good for Mingyu and Wonwoo in your dreams last night.” 

The names mean nothing to you, as the men in your wet dream had never given them, although, they must be the incubi he was talking about earlier. The fact that Seungcheol knows about your sinful nightly escapades with two other demons has you feeling shy, your skin heating at his words.

“Even so, demons need consent to enter human bodies,” the King of Hell explains. “Which means, if you withdraw your consent, I’ll be forced to stop. Although… something tells me you’ll consent.”

His hand glides from your hip to your exposed abdomen, and he teases you on what path he’s going to take- up to your breasts, or down to your aching core.

“What…” you swallow back a moan, “What makes you so sure?”

“I can smell your arousal, sweet girl, and there are signs I can see too.” His hand smooths up to your breast, and he squeezes your sensitive flesh, thumb brushing over your hardened nipple. “I think you’re well aware that I’m going to fuck you, in a way you’ve never even dreamed of being fucked before.”

Your breath catches, and you bite at your lower lip to stop a whimper from slipping out of you. Your back arches, pushing your chest more into his large palm.

Seungcheol grins against your throat. “I can see how much you want this, little sweet. Do you want to see how much I want you?”

He grinds his front against your ass, and you can feel his hard cock- fuck, he feels big. You shiver at the realization that your betrothed is packing, and Seungcheol laughs at your reaction.

“Tell me you want this,” he commands.

“I-” You bite your tongue.

His hand wraps around your throat, lips moving to your ear. “Tell me you want this.” 

“I want this,” you admit weakly. 

“That’s my good girl,” Seungcheol growls. His hand raises from you neck, fingers finding your jaw again. He prompts you to turn your head, meeting his gaze as he leans over your shoulder, looking down at you with a dark expression. 

You know what’s coming, and you can’t help yourself as he draws your lips to his own. Your eyes flutter shut, mind going blank as you enjoy the feeling of him. He’s warm, but you suppose you should expect that from the King of Hell. 

The kiss deepens all too quickly, and you find yourself turning in his embrace, grabbing at his broad shoulders to pull him even closer. 

Seungcheol lets out a growl when your breasts press against his chest, and he leans down, grabbing at the back of your thighs so he can lift you off the marble floor. He presses you back against the window, tongue tasting your own and dominating you as he kisses you like a man who’s waited a hundred years for this- or, strike that, a man who’s waited three hundred years. 

There’s a rage in the way he kisses you, rage in the fact that he was forced to wait so long, but behind the rage is something like desperation. His fingers dig into your thighs, his mouth unrelenting against your own.

You’re not sure how long the kiss lasts, but soon, he’s carrying you to the bed. He sets you onto the lavish mattress, tearing at your clothes until you’re naked before him. He towers over you, staring down at your body while you catch your breath.

“Beautiful,” he muses, reaching down to massage your breast, which sends sparks of delight through your entire form. “You were made for me. My sweet. My little queen. My lost witch.”

When he says it like this, something about it feels right. 

Something about him feels right, as if your soul has accepted him, even after such a short amount of time. 

Then, in the most shocking twist of events, the King of Hell himself gets onto his knees for you. “Come here, my sweet,” Seungcheol says softly, grabbing at your thighs to tug you down the silk sheets toward his face. “It’s time for me to have a taste.” 

He leans toward your core, taking in a lewd breath before letting it fan across your skin. Your core throbs at the proximity. Seungcheol grins at your reaction, tongue moving to prod his own fang- which is when you realize, his tongue is like his cock: monstrous. 

You suck in a choked gasp, eyes widening. You’d thought he was going easy on you by giving you his mouth first, come to find out his tongue alone is probably as large as most men’s cocks- this must be a Devil thing, but before you can think too hard about it, Seungcheol is licking your slit and your mind goes silent.

A whimper escapes you, your back arching, core pushing closer to his face. Seungcheol lets out a small chuckle, his large hands finding your abdomen to pin you in place. “Stay still and take it, pretty girl,” he warns. “Or there will be… consequences.”

He licks at you again, flicking your clit with as skilled a tongue as you’ve ever had. Your pussy is already throbbing with need, and it takes everything inside of you not to buck toward his face again.

You can feel him watching you when you throw your head back, whimpering at the way he circles your clit. Then he drags his tongue down, dipping it into your wet heat. Your body tenses at the intrusion, mind short cirucuiting as inch after inch of tongue invades you, licking at your walls while Seungcheol groans at your taste.

Fuck- a five inch tongue is definitely a demon thing, but you can’t bring yourself to hate it as he begins to literally tongue fuck you stupid. 

Not only does Cheol have the largest tongue you’ve experienced, and a willingness to use it, he’s got an eagerness in the way he eats you out. It’s as if he’s trying to devour you, holding nothing back as he growls and groans his way through working you up to your orgasm. 

The feeling bubbling in the pit of your stomach is hot and all consuming, your muscles tensing with effort as you get closer and closer to your peak.

“Fuck- Cheol-” you whimper, unable to hold it in any longer as your hips push toward his face, one of your hands moving down to grab at his hair-

It’s as if hot, invisible handcuffs wrap around your wrists, tugging them up and over your head, pinning you to the bed while you squirm with confusion and lust.

“What did I say about consequences if you didn’t behave yourself?” Seungcheol asks, pulling away from your core and licking his wet lips with that tongue of his.

“I-” you push at the invisible binds on your wrists. “I’m sorry- I was just so close-”

“So close that you lost your manners?” He taps his fingers along your abdomen. “That’s not very queenly of you, my sweet.”

“I’m sorry-” you say again, tears begin to form in your eyes as you feel your orgasm dissipating. “Please-”

“Please, what?”

“Your tongue- I was so close-”

“Do you really deserve it?”

“Yes!”

“You’ll be good for me?”

“Of course, I’ll be so good-”

“If you’re not good for me,” he warns, “you don’t get to cum, remember that.”

“Yes, okay, I understand-” you fight the urge to thrash in his embrace, and it feels like forever that he assesses you before finally bringing his face between your thighs again.

Just as his tongue is about to lap at your pussy, he stops. “Actually, I want to hear you beg for this. Beg for me to let you cum.”

You’re practically delirious, muscles still tight in preparation for your orgasm, and you’ll do anything he says right now. “Please, please, Sir- please let me cum!”

Seungcheol lets out a satisfied growl. “Sir, huh?” He clicks his tongue. “I’ll take that for now, but pretty soon, you’ll be calling me daddy.”

You whimper at his words, core dripping with spit and arousal. “Please-”

He buries his face in your pussy again, holding nothing back. His hands move down to your thighs, squeezing and adding a slight pain that has your entire body tingling. Gasps escape you, escalating in pitch as he drags you closer and closer to your orgasm again-

“Cumming,” you whisper, as the most intense orgasm of your life slams into you.

You do your best not to thrash around, but as Seungcheol obscenely tongue fucks you through your high, it’s the most you can do to stay as still as possible. You push up against the invisible binds on your wrists, gasping and whimpering-

“Fuck, my clit- it’s too sensitive-” you try to tell him, only for Seungcheol to focus more on the sensitive bud.

Your toes curl, a strangled sob escaping you at the stimulus. All you can do is lay there and take the pleasure he’s giving you- you’d thought he was being nice when he’d decided to eat you out, but you see now that maybe there was a bit of sadism in it. He’s clearly enjoying making you cum so hard that you’re beginning to cry, your muscles screaming at you from how tense you are-

“Please, please, please-” 

With one final flick at your clit that has you letting out a high pitched squeal, Seungcheol pulls away from your pussy. He blows hot air on your core and you twitch, thighs closing, body shaking in the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“Look at you, crying and I haven’t even given you my cock yet,” Seungcheol muses, standing up and staring down at your body. 

He pulls off his shirt, and even through your tears, you take a good look at his chiseled form. 

Fuck, he’s even more gorgeous with his skin showing. His shoulders are broad, arms all beefy and strong- he’s an absolute unit, but you guess you shouldn’t have expected anything less from the King of Hell. 

Then he goes for his pants, pushing them down to reveal the largest cock you’ve ever seen in person.

Your mouth begins to water, fuzzy mind trying to figure out just how many inches this man is about to bury into your wet, twitching pussy.

“Think you can take it, pretty girl?” he asks, wrapping a hand around the base and pumping his hard length.

“Something tells me you’ll make it fit,” you whisper, your core throbbing at the idea.

Seungcheol grins. “We just met, and you already know me so well. Guess that’s part of the whole destined to be together thing. Makes shit easier.”

Instead of getting on top of you, Seungcheol tugs you closer to the foot of the mattress, then, with one twitch of his fingers, the entire bed raises, positioning you exactly where he needs you to be in order for him to fuck you while standing up.

He grabs at your breast, teasing your nipple while you mewl. Your own hand reaches out for his cock, and he allows you to grab him. You wipe your thumb across the angry red tip, smearing precum along his shaft to add lubrication, making it easier to pump his cock slowly while he continues to tease your nipples. 

His hand begins to decend, and he teases two fingers along your pussy lips. “I guess I can be nice and stretch you out,” he sighs, slipping the digits into your core. 

It’s a kindness you’re not sure you expected from him, and it prompts you to squeeze his cock tighter in your palm while he begins to finger fuck you open, scissoring his digits and testing your inner walls. 

“I can’t fucking wait to ruin your perfect little pussy,” Seungcheol groans, fucking you even harder. “You’re squeezing my fingers so fucking well, gonna be a good girl and squeeze my cock even better.”

“Yes, Sir,” you whimper, abdominal muscles tensing as he begins to stroke your gspot. 

“Should I give you one more before I give you my cock?” Seungcheol asks, thumb finding your clit and making you cry out. “You’re already wet, baby, but I want you dripping when I finally fuck you stupid.”

You pump is cock faster as he pistons his fingers into your gspot, his thumb unrelenting on your sensitive bud. He works you up to another orgasm with deadly precision, your entire body tensing with pleasure before falling over the edge.

“That’s it,” Seungcheol growls, fingers fucking you through your high. “That’s a good girl, squirting all over my fucking hand-”

No man has ever made you squirt before, and the feeling is intense. You’re gasping, crying from how good it feels, like an overwhelming sense of relief washing over you, a warmth spreading out from your core.

The sound of your squirt is obscene too, gushy, spongy noises filling the room with each pump of Seungcheol’s fingers.

“Sir,” you whimper, “need your cock-”

“Yeah? Is my good girl finally ready to please her King?”

You can only nod, letting go of his cock in favor of grabbing the sheets, needing an anchor for what’s about to come next.

“You know what this means, right?” Seungcheol asks, teasing his tip along your wet pussy lips. “You know I’m going to cum so fucking deep inside of you that you’re going to be dripping for days.”

You nod again, whimpering at the idea.

“You want to be bred though, don’t you, pretty girl? You’re practically begging for it now. What happened to the girl who threw juice at me this morning? All it took was a little cock and you’re dick whipped for you King.”

“All it took was a big cock,” you correct him, skin flushing at the words that have just slipped out of him.

Seungcheol laughs, his canines sparkling in the low light of the room. “Biggest cock you’ve ever had,” he agrees. “Biggest cock you ever will have. After this, you’re mine. Completely. Body and soul.” 

In past relationships, you’ve toyed with the idea of forever. It’s been a thought that strikes fear in your heart, but for some reason, looking up at the King of Hell, forever doesn’t scare you anymore.

Something tells you he’s going to take care of you, in a way no one ever has.

It’s clear he’s very protective over you. He believes in soulmates, in destiny, in prophecy- you’re his perfect match, and he’s fully bought into that idea… maybe you’ll buy into it someday too.

“I’m yours,” you agree finally, staring up at the beautiful devil.

He bends over you, pressing his lips to your own. With one hand, he cups your cheek, keeping you close, and with the other, he guides his cock to your pussy again, slowly pushing in.

You gasp against his mouth at the immediate stretch of his cockhead in your tight core, your hands flying to his shoulders.

“I know,” he coos, “I know, but it will feel good in a second, I promise.”

You’re happy he made you squirt, because the wetness coating your pussy makes it easy for him to slowly slide inch after inch into your core. He thrusts shallowly, and the movement helps your body become adjusted to his massive size.

You’re shocked at how big he is- it was one thing to see it, and another thing entirely to feel him- to feel the vein running along the underside of his cock while it drags against your sensitive walls.

Seungcheol’s mouth is hot against your own, his tongue seemingly back to a normal size as he licks at your lips. You think he must be trying to distract you from the intense feeling of being stretched out on his cock, and it’s another kindness you’d never expected from him.

When he’s fully sheathed in your core, you both let out groans of pleasure. 

The King of Hell straightens again, looking down at you while his hands graze your form. “Ready, sweet girl?”

You nod, licking your lips. “Yes, please.”

He grabs your hips, holding you steady so he can begin to rut into you.

Your view of him is insane. How is his body so perfect? He’s chiseled in the best of ways, his chest looks downright biteable, his biceps bulging as he holds you down, his abdominal muscles clenching with each thrust-

You’re absolutely delirious for him, your own hands finding your chest to tease your nipples.

Seungcheol’s gaze shifts to where you’re touching yourself, and a smirk appears on his face. “Fuck, baby, that good, huh?”

You can only nod and let out a needy mewling sound, pinching at your nipples and making your back arch while he rails your pussy.

Each drag of his cock along your sensitive inner walls has you seeing stars, and when his hand flattens over your abdomen, you nearly loose it.

“This is how deep I am,” he tells you. “Bet having-” he groans, “Bet having your guts rearranged by the King of Hell wasn’t on your bingo card this year, was it, little love?”

“No, sir,” you shake your head, whimpering at the feeling of pressure on your stomach from his hand. God- why does this feel so good? You can feel him everywhere, he’s all consuming, and that familiar feeling of an oncoming orgasm is building yet again.

“I can feel you tensing up,” Seungcheol notes with a laugh, his thumb moving down to find your clit. “Gonna cum on my cock, aren’t you?”

“Yes, daddy,” you mewl, the title feeling more than natural on your lips.

Seungcheol’s grip on your hip tightens at the word, his thumb applying more pressure to your clit while he fucks you even harder, impaling you on his massive cock with each rough thrust.

“Beg for daddy to let you cum.”

“Please- please, daddy, fuck- I wanna cum so bad, wanna make you feel good-”

“I’m not cumming with you, not yet,” he warns. “As much as I love this position, there’s only one way I want you when I’m filling you with my seed, and that’s on your hands and knees, face buried in the pillows, crying like my good little whore.”

His words have your pussy fluttering around his cock, and it makes his grin widen.

“You like that, huh? Like the idea of being my perfect little cock slut?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“Made for me,” he grunts, pinching your clit and making you cry out. “You were fucking made for me. Cum on my cock, baby, show me you deserve it.”

You can’t even fight the command, your body short circuiting, muscles clenching as you follow through with what he wants. Your orgasm hits you like a ton of bricks, pussy clamping down on Seungcheol’s large cock.

He doesn’t stop, he only fucks you harder as you squeal and thrash against the bed- when you reach out to grab his arms, the invisible binds appear again, pinning your hands above you.

Seungcheol laughs, but there’s a groan in the sound too, and you know you’re probably squeezing him like a fucking vice. 

“Good girl,” he growls, and it only makes your pussy flutter harder.

The squelching sound returns, and you can’t even find it within yourself to be shy about the way your body is reacting to him, you’re too overwhelmed by the euphoria surging through your being to think cohesively.

“You’re crying again,” Seungcheol notes. “How cute.” His pace slows, and suddenly he’s grabbing at your jaw, hauling you into a sitting position, your face just inches from his own. 

His eyes are dark as he looks at you, then his long tongue is lolling out of his mouth, licking away your tears while you struggle and shiver, his cock buried so deep inside of you that you think you might faint.

“Tell me you’re ready for me to breed you,” Seungcheol growls.

“I’m ready for you to breed me,” you say meekly, core throbbing again at the idea.

The King of Hell presses his lips against your own, kissing your breath away while you claw at his shoulders. Then, as suddenly as he’d kissed you, he pulls away, cock slipping from your core and making you whine. 

“Onto all fours,” he instructs.

The bed slowly lowers to an acceptable height while you fumble on shaky legs to get into doggy position. 

“That’s my good girl,” Seungcheol praises you, the bed dipping as he joins you on his knees behind you. His large hands find your body, skimming along your sides.

Then he grabs the back of your neck, shoving your face down into the mattress. 

“Part of me wants to thank you for making this so easy,” he says. “But another part of me thinks you should be the one thanking me for giving you the opportunity to carry the children of the King of Hell.”

“Thank you,” you murmur.

Seungcheol scoffs. “You can thank me when my cum is dripping out of your used hole and you’re still begging for more.”

He slams his cock back into you, and a cry escapes your lips. God, in this position, he feels even deeper- if that’s possible.

Your toes curl at the sensation, and with every rough thrust, his balls clap against your clit, making you dizzy with pleasure.

His grip on the back of your neck increases, skilled fingers finding the arteries that flow to your brain- soon, you’re not only dizzy with pleasure, but dizzy from air being restricted too. It’s a beautiful, tingling feeling, and it has you clawing at the bed, arching your back as you moan like a desperate whore for him. 

You feel something on your clit, but both of Seungcheol’s hands are still occupied, one on your hip, one on your neck-

That’s when you realize that whatever invisible magic grip he’d used to pin you to the bed, he can use to pleasure you too-

Now, you truly feel him everywhere. 

“Fuck, fuck-” you struggle against the mattress, another orgasm bubbling in the pit of your stomach.

“That’s it, take it.” 

“Are you close?” you ask, and from the silence that you’re met with, you’re pretty sure you’ve caught him off guard. “Please tell me you’re close- I want to be full so bad, want you to breed me, Cheol- please-”

He sucks in a shaky breath, gripping your hip so hard that you’re pretty sure you’re going to bruise. His hand moves away from your neck in favour of grabbing both sides of your waist. He roughly pulls your ass back to meet each hard thrust.

“Keep begging.” 

“Please, daddy, please- fuck, this is what you wanted me for, right? This is what I owe you? Then give it to me- give me everything, breed me-”

“Cum for me first,” Seungcheol commands. “Cum on my cock so I know you deserve it.”

The magic on your clit suddenly feels like a harsh vibration, and it’s enough to tip you over the edge. You grab at the bed sheets, letting out a primal sound of pleasure as your core clamps down on Seungcheol’s length for a second time.

He lets out his own groan, and a moment later you feel his cum shooting deep inside of you, filling you up in ways you never even imagined possible.

He fucks you through your highs, his grip unwavering on your hips. It feels amazing to be used like this, to feel rope upon rope of Seungcheol’s seed invading you and coating your walls.

And the sounds he’s making- rough grunts and groans- you’ve never heard anything like it. You’ve never been this head over heals for someone before, and the notion shocks you.

Maybe you really were meant for each other- it’s hard to say what’s real as you sacrifice yourself to be his little cum dump, taking every last drop until he stills behind you, cock still buried to the hilt.

He’s breathing heavily, his gasps teasing your back. 

Neither of you say anything for a solid minute.

One of his hands leaves your hip, trailing along your spine. “Good girl.” 

You can only whimper in response. 

“I will admit, I’m still disappointed you’re not adept in the art of witchcraft, although, that’s hardly your own fault.” What a topic change. “I’ll find you someone to teach you, you’ll have lots of time to devote to the craft.”

His palm flattens against the small of your back, and he wordlessly prompts you to flatten onto your belly, pressing his own large chest against you like a blanket. His lips find your throat, and he peppers your skin in kisses. 

“Your days will be spent learning how to be a Queen, and your nights will be spent like this, with me.” His nose nuzzles by your cheek. “And tomorrow, I’ll make you my bride, officially.”

“Tomorrow?” you squeak. “Isn’t that a little… too soon?”

“I’ve waited three hundred years for you, little love. At this point, there’s no such thing as too soon.”

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading!

🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here - or become a patron to access monthly bonus content and extensions for fics like this one :) find the Patreon teaser below! 

🔮 preview.  “Trust me, little love, I haven’t cum in you for months, pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to help myself even if I tried.” With a grin, you allow Seungcheol to cup his fingers around the nape of your neck, dragging your lips to his. He kisses you as eagerly as he had the very first time, pushing you backward with his large form until you bump against the window. “I’ve got an idea,” your husband tells you, his mouth moving to your throat. “I wanna fuck you against this, want you to look at your kingdom while I pump our second heir deep into your perfect little pussy.”

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, impreg kink, cum kink, oral (f recieving), fingering, demon magic as a vibrator, fucking against a window, fucking while wearing a dress, quickie, biting/marking/blood licking, breast play, dirty talk, praise, begging,  etc…   I petnames. (hers) baby, little love, little sweet, etc… (his) daddy, sir. 

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.7k I teaser wc. 200

🌙 staring. Seungcheol x afab!reader

bonus

Hell is no place to raise a child, and it’s not a place that is easily accessible to witches either- which is why, soon into your pregnancy, Seungcheol made it his mission to find you a safe haven on Earth that you could call home.

Nestled in a small valley, far from any towns or cities, Seungcheol crafted you a home. It’s a cottage, very different from the Hell palace you’d become accustomed to.

Your days are spent basking in the sunshine with your tutor, a witch of a strong family blood line who had long been acquainted with the King of Hell. Your teacher, a woman named Faeble, also acted as your midwife, ensuring your birth with your first child was as seamless as possible, with the aid of magic of course.

She tends to the wards, teaching you about the ways of the witches, and helps you raise your son- she’s become like the mother you never got to have, and your days are peaceful. 

In the evenings, Seungcheol appears, whisking you and your son away to the safety of Hell. It’s a simple little life you’ve made for yourself, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

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[ask-the-friendly-ink-demon]

Inkwell Hell, Chapter 2- Rebellions, And Destruction

Update, April 4th, 2023: due to some talking with my friend on discord we decided that Chapter 2 won’t be the end of the backstory stuff for Arzaxoth and his kingdom and we felt it more fitting that it would end during the ice age! so, expect an brand new chapter 3 to show up... at some point, idk ;;;; anyways hope you enjoy!   Plot: every story has a beginning, and a end. but how do they all start out? how do they end? From an world that was united as one, to a whole multiverse being created as a result of an war gone wrong, everything has to start somewhere, in this universe though, is where the story truly begins for someone, and a certain little demon. The Past can never truly Go Away. welcome to how it all begins welcome. to the start, of the terrors, of the inky past within Joey Drew Studios. Chapter Summary: Arzaxoth's kingdom slowly beings to become more tough to manage with all the rebellions, and with the mass extinction of nearly all kinds of species on earth due to a battle to the death between his race and the angels, but everything comes to an close when an near extinction level event causes all sides to stop their pointless war as the earth gets destroyed and then rebuild by the cosmic entity as they also began to expand and create more universes to see if the same results happened only survivors begin to question what to do from here, as this only marks the beginning of the demon king's end. Characters overall included within the AU as either cameos or physical appearances in otherwise not related to their own canon oUTSIDE of the backstory stuff belongs to me, @sammys-sanctuary @outcast-shadow @ask-soul-bendy @thesoftbean and i guess the others that i mentioned before within the first chapter GJFDHKFHKFKH- but yeah like i said i wasn’t lying when i said i am going to be posting the next two chapters’s link pretty soon. sO YEAH SORRY FOR ANYONE READING THE CHAPTERT 1 POST OH AND FOR CLARIFICATION, BESTIE @tkvulturez GAVE ME A CHARACTER FROM AN CHARACTER TRADE A LONG TIME AGO, WHOM I NOW NAMED FADED, YOU ALL MAY REMEMBER HIM FROM PROWLER’S REVENGE ARC OR THE UNHOLY WRATH- OR SOMETHING DJHKDHKKDGH again, ENJOY ONCE AGAIN! https://archiveofourown.org/works/33117046/chapters/83922928

[sungbeam]

𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞

demon!ji changmin x reader (no pronouns used, but original fic was f!reader)

love. — what is love if not your steady heartbeat in his ear when he thinks you should be afraid?

4.7k words, established relationship, demon/supernatural creatures au, mild angst, very minor humor, bit of fluff?, mentions of blood, so much intimacy (skinship, cheek/stomach kisses), mentions of insecurities, swearing, use of pet names (love, sweetheart)

read night terrors / peruse the collection post

a/n: this lowkey just became a character study of demon changmin

THERE WEREN'T MANY INSTANCES where you were afraid for Changmin, nor were there many instances where you were afraid of him. You suspected that he strived to avoid either of said instances, especially regarding the latter. After all the two of you had experienced with one another, it seemed important to him that you could trust him and were not scared. 

It was difficult for him to fully accept that he did not frighten you in some way. Part of that reason, you guessed, was simply his awareness of how others viewed his species.

What was he but a mortal's night terror, a creature of evil?

To him, you should have been sleeping with a stake beneath your pillow—or rather, you shouldn't have had enough trust to sleep next to him at all. 

But several months under your relationship's belt was beginning to ease his concerns. The long drives up and down the state, chasing his strange assignments for work, had slowly become something he could look forward to. Sunshine or rain battering the windows, he would glance away from the dense fog outside to see you holding on desperately to the waking world, or feel your fingers curl around his hand when sleep stole you away. 

Most of the time, it wasn't too dangerous and you didn't mind tagging along with him. You'd grown used to the nomad lifestyle, seemingly content with spending a couple weeks in Moonstone Creek from time to time, and the rest of it with him. 

You loved him; you always made that clear. The ring on your right ring finger was proof that he knew that and reciprocated.

There were always, however, doubts. Changmin always had doubts. 

“—And I'll get that blueberry muffin creamer you liked yesterday, too.” 

Changmin broke out of the bubble he'd trapped himself in at the sensation of your lips against his cheek. This mortal body he had flushed at the feeling, his hand swift to stop you from leaving just yet, like an instinct. 

He wrapped an arm around your waist, and his face was level with your stomach from the chair he sat in. The hotels you usually stayed at on your routes always came with a desk and chair, so you could work on Moonstone Creek's finances or he could research. He pressed a kiss to your clothed stomach, his hand squeezing your waist affectionately. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

Your smiling eyes met his and you combed your hand through his hair once, twice. “I'll be back soon. You just keep your head in those books.”

He grumbled something against your stomach—‘I thought college was the last time I'd be pouring over texts’—and your laugh twinkled over his head. He hadn't even been paying attention to the texts he brought; really, his head was elsewhere today. 

“That's your fault for being an anthropology major and for literally chasing down ancient artifacts as your main source of income.”

“That was so unhelpful.”

Another comb through his hair. He could melt. “Just being honest,” you sang amusedly. “Okay, but I should get a move on. All their pastries are gonna be gone, and their danishes smelled really good yesterday.”

He hummed. “Stay safe.” Another kiss. 

Your hand settled at the nape of his neck. “I will. Love you.”

The words warmed in his chest. Just as you were pulling away, his grip tightened for a moment. “You have Clyde?” He couldn't let anything happen to you. 

“Yes—” you patted your jacket pocket, “—Clyde’s where he's always been. And Bonnie?”

“You know she's not moving,” he said, cocking a brow at you. 

You bit your lip through a small laugh and slowly moved toward the hotel room door, shoving your wallet and the room key into your pockets. “Okay. Happy reading then, love.”

“Unhappy reading,” he groaned into his hand, which was followed by your laugh and the door closing behind you. The corners of his lips lifted into a smile.

He counted a few seconds in case you had forgotten something, then went over to grab his phone from the nightstand. Settling on the edge of the bed, he pulled up the text thread he had between himself and Sangyeon. 

sangyeon: okay so don't freak out [sent an image]

sangyeon: but i found this lying around my house the other day, and i asked lily abt it and she said yn was on the fence abt showing u

Changmin could recognize your handwriting against Lily's in the picture. The image was a clear scan of a piece of paper, who's centerpiece was that of a house. It was a roughly drawn blueprint of a cottage, something small, cozy, homely. The house, as you outlined, wasn't large at all, but with one full floor, an attic, and a porch. There were notes all around the house in your familiar scrawl, writing about the projected cost of each thing—typical of you to think about practicality, even in your fantasy house blueprint—as well as features you'd like installed, like a fireplace and a porch swing.

It reminded him so much of Sena's house in the suburbs in a way… had you thought about this while you were there? A place you could call home, some place to settle down eventually, and finally have a slice of normalcy?

sangyeon: lily said she coaxed it out of yn, which is why yn didn't want to share it and make it seem like she was forcing u into anything u weren't comfortable w

sangyeon: but i think that u love her enough to hear her out

sangyeon: idk… it's ur call ofc whether or not u want to have that conversation yet

Changmin always had doubts. He'd learned during his time on the mortal plane to slow down and feel the weight of another's emotions, and what inevitably came with empathy was insecurity. 

You loved him; that was why his ring was on your finger and you would never bring up the cottage you confided to Lily about. You loved him, and knew that there was an unmistakable itch in him that could only be scratched when he was able to move, to not be chained to one place. But humans were different from demons, and your experiences were different from his. 

He always had doubts that you might never be fully content with this life he led. 

He sighed, massaging his jaw absentmindedly with one hand. Sangyeon had sent him those messages two days ago when you and he were driving to this sleepy town, tucked away at the foot of a mountain range. You'd been asleep when they were received, which was why you didn't see the notifications. Changmin could do as little then as he could now, and he basically replied to Sangyeon that he would think about it and talk to you. 

At some point. 

That was before he realized that it would be all he could think about. There was no word for 'selfish’ or 'selfless’ in demonic culture. It was either you did something to help yourself or harm yourself—usually, those who didn't act for their own benefit were thought of as weaker willed. It was difficult to dismantle methods of thinking like this in order to view the world and his interactions in a different way. 

Changmin abandoned his phone on the nightstand so that he could step over to the window and shove it open. The lever was rusty and squealed as he cranked it counterclockwise to let in the fresh pine morning and the natural white noise. 

Maybe this would help him focus on work or gain the courage to talk to you when you came back.

Changmin barely glanced up in time to see a blurry mass hurtling toward his face. “Shit.” 

He dropped to the floor.

A gleeful and tinny laugh like the rattle inside an aluminum can filled the room. The spike of shock in his heart was replaced very quickly with red, hot annoyance. 

“You have got to be kidding me,” he grunted, clambering to his feet, eyes narrowed on the pixie who had invaded his space. “Don't you fuckers ever knock?”

The pixie was only about a foot and a half tall, its translucent, membranous wings fluttering at the speed of a human eye's blink. This one in particular had a pair of orbs as dark as the lowest circles of Hell for eyes and two racks of jagged teeth lining its gums. The pixie buzzed around the room, careful to remain out of Changmin's reach. 

Fuckass supernatural mosquito….

“You hide your true form, demon,” its voice crackled like tin foil. “Naughty, naughty.”

Changmin's nostrils flared. “What's it to you, imp?”

“The darkness that lies deep within you—I can smell it—hear it.” The pixie zipped around the room over Changmin's head, and he gritted his teeth, attempting to clamp his hands around it. It squealed in delight, black eyes going wider and wider as if it could gaze straight into his soul. “What if we open the door, demon? Ah—I smell a human in this room!”

He stiffened. “You’re only smelling my human form,” he bit out.

“Must you need a reminder? I can smell your true form and I can smell lies.” 

Changmin stumbled back as the pixie flew directly in front of his face, then fluttered out of reach before he could snatch the piece of shit out of the air. The organ in his chest continued to hurtle toward overdrive—the pixie could smell you. The pixie could smell you. “I will rip the wings from your back if you even think about touching my human,” he growled. 

The pixie gasped, clapping its tiny, pale hands. “Oh-ho! The claws become you! Won't you show a little more skin, demon?” 

His eyes turned down to his hands, palms turned upward, the tips of his fingers turned an ash gray. Where his chipped fingernails had been, now sat a full set of dagger-sharp claws. He hadn't even realized he'd transformed them. 

“What color does a pixie bleed?” Changmin lunged for the pixie with his claws outstretched. 

The pixie dove out of the way, the claw just barely missing the edge of its leg. “Does your human taste divine?”

“None of your fucking business.”

“Not very fun are you, demon?” The pixie whizzed past his ear, behind his head—Changmin whirled about on the ball of his foot. 

He slammed his palm forward, claws denting the plaster, nightstand digging into his thighs. As the pixie rose up toward the ceiling to stay out of harm's way, Changmin climbed onto the bed, determination coursing through his veins. 

“Would you like a riddle?”

Changmin swiped his hand, relishing in the splatter of clear liquid that glittered in the air—blood. The pixie's eyes widened, this time in fear. “Why would I want a riddle?”

A tremble marked the pixie's voice. “Twin halves of old, sealed by a third / like matches, they will spark the world to burn—” Its words were cut off as it swooped out of the way, its clear blood trailing behind it as Changmin's breathing grew heavier, eyes narrowing. “To save three—”

A loud crinkle, akin to a dozen small bones being crushed. A shrill shriek, nails on a chalkboard. A demonic smirk as he clutched a fragmented wing in his clawed hand. 

“You were saying?” he taunted, bringing the flailing pixie close to his face. Changmin couldn't deny the rush of deep, animalistic satisfaction that purred in his chest at his caught prey. Whatever this pixie had in mind for you would never come to fruition. 

“You're a fool to not heed my warning—” it spat, its agony spilling in glittery globs, “—such actions are so true to your species, my liege.”

The impact of the title came accompanied by a flurry of something bright yellow and fuzzy thrown right into Changmin's face. Alarmed, he dropped the pixie and scrambled to claw the dust out of his eyes and mouth. He spluttered and spat the substance onto the hotel room floor; upon hands and knees, he tried desperately to get ahold of his bearings. 

What the fuck was this stuff?

He could hear the blood pulsing in his ears, feel the transformation taking place. There was energy going toward places on his body to grow extremities he hadn't seen in years. 

No, no, no—

Changmin gagged on the pixie's dust, its acrid taste a reflection of the bitter effects to show. He screwed his eyes shut—willed his body to take control of itself. When his hands went over his head, he swore at the feeling of the twin horns curling out of his crown. 

Every one of his once-human senses were dialed to eleven. Voices and car motors and leaves crunching bombarded his ears; the intricately disgusting layers of odors in the carpet separated themselves beneath him. The sensations overwhelmed him from disuse. He held his head in his arms, panic weighing down and around his bones. 

When the transformation was complete, he was left in haggard breaths. His arms shook as he pushed himself onto his hands and knees, then to brace against the hotel bed. 

The pixie was gone, naturally, and likely escaped out the window from where it came in. 

Changmin splayed his clawed hands beneath him on the white sheets. 

He shook his head, attempting to clear his mind and reign in the sensations to focus on the most important ones. Everything else could be background for now; all he needed was—was that. 

There—it was faint, but approaching by the second. Humming.

It was a soft, familiar sound that curled around his taut spine with the tenderness of a lover's caress. A heartbeat followed, slow but steady and sure. The pattern was also familiar, accompanied by leisurely footsteps and the smell of dark coffee and pastries. 

If he could just focus on those sensations in particular…

Then the thought hit him like a truck. 

That was you. The voice, the heartbeat, the footsteps.

You would return at any moment and see him in this state. Changmin could practically feel the fear that would roll off you in waves (or was that his own?), and he lunged for the bathroom. 

He stumbled into the dark chamber, fearing the reflection he'd find in the mirror should he turn the light on. The door slammed shut behind him and that darkness enveloped him. 

There was your heartbeat again—ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum—still faint, but becoming clearer. 

Slowly, he raised his head up to face the mirror on the bathroom wall. The dooming sense of acceptance dulled his own reaction. 

Twin horns, onyx in color, curled out from the tufts of his hair, hard and unmistakable. His skin had taken on the grayish tint of his kind from the black blood that now ripped through his veins. There were the claws, of course, and the slim, wiry tail speared at the end with a sharp spade and a mind of its own. Fangs, jagged and like small knives, peaked their points out past his lips, and he snapped his mouth shut to keep the forked tongue from tasting air. His eyes had become that of a predator's, the pupils dark as night and slimmer in shape—all the better for a deeper field of focus. 

In Hell, the consistent lack of bright light made it so that pinpoint eyes were sought after; it was better to see in the dark and pick apart the deep shades of red, black, purple, and blues. And, well, any sudden movement. 

Changmin didn't know why he tried to fool himself into thinking keeping the bathroom lights off would change anything. 

Your heartbeat was coming closer, louder. His breathing was beginning to even out as he matched his own to the sound of air rushing through your trachea, then exhaling through your nose. 

He could get himself back to his human form before you got back. He could do it—he swore he could. 

Focus.

It required so much focus and energy, but… but he could do it. He could do it before you saw him like this, before that calm heartbeat became erratic, and you became afraid—afraid of him. 

His breathing deepened as he sucked in a lungful of oxygen. In… out. 

Going from demonic form to human form in the mortal plane would be easy. 

It should have been easy. 

Seconds passed, and your footsteps approached from down the hall. There came the crinkle of a paper bag, shuffling of cardboard, as you shifted things in your hold to grab the room key from your pocket. The aroma of the pastries and coffee you brought back wafted into his nose, but not with the strength that your scent permeated every one of his senses—

Why couldn't he shift back? 

He curled his hands into fists on the counter, frustration making his fangs scrape against each other. 

Why wasn't he able to shift back? It was supposed to be easy—

The door outside clicked open and fell shut. “Changmin? Hey, I'm back.”

He stilled. The words to call back to you were lodged in his throat, unable to form upon the accursed forked tongue in his mouth. Panic seized him by the ribcage and he suddenly found it suffocating to breathe. 

There was silence on your end, and he could hear your heartbeat slowly begin to quicken. “Are you—are you okay? The wall's dented, and the—and the sheets…” 

Your footsteps arrived before the bathroom door, and at the same time he heard the door handle jiggle, he slammed his hand against it to bar you from coming in. 

Changmin could feel your leap of fright; his shoulders sagged with regret. It probably wasn't the best idea to do that. “Don't—” he cleared his throat from the grittiness there, “—don’t come in.”

Your heartbeat calmed then, after hearing back from him. “I won't,” you promised. “Is everything okay?”

I look like a monster. Some dumb fucking pixie made it so I can't shift forms. And I can't lock the stupid door because my nails are too long. 

But you didn't need to know all of that. 

He hung his head, attempting to feel that tendril of power in him that he could grapple onto to trigger the transformation. Nothing. “I'm… I'm fine,” he choked out. “I—” 

The corded necklace that was hidden beneath his shirt swung out into his view. His half of the pendant was not pulsing with life like yours was; it was connected to your heart, after all. But he curled his fingers around it nonetheless, his ears singling out your pulse. 

Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum...

“... Changmin? Can I do something to help?”

He needed time. Fuck, he just needed to wait this stupid pixie dust out. His first thought was to send you away so you wouldn't see him at all. The next was a counter to the former—he needed your pulse. That was his anchor. 

The energy was slowly seeping from his bodily stores to sustain this form in this realm. Maybe if the pixie dust didn't wear off, he could tire his body into transforming. 

Your voice came out even softer. “Hey, what's going on, love?”

His forehead hit the door, eyes fluttering shut. “I'm not… I don't look like myself right now.” The self you're used to, at least. “A pixie came into the room and—and it threw something at me to force me to transform.”

“Into…?”

There was a light thump sound from the other side of the door as you leaned against it. Your warmth radiated through the wood, and the little monster inside him leaned into it. “My demon form.”

Changmin loathed the silence, your held breath. The acceptance washed over him in a deafening wave like his head was being held underwater. 

“Okay,” you exhaled, finally. “That’s okay… and so you're not able to turn back, is that it?”

His eyes couldn't help but narrow. “You're not scared.” The scent rolling off you wasn't that of fear. 

“Why would I be scared of you?”

Changmin's breath shuddered. There were plenty of reasons for you to be scared once you saw him. This body was made to harm. “I can hear your heartbeat.”

“I'm not scar—”

“I could hear it from the street, Yn.” He didn't know what to do about the leap in your pulse, the way that steady ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum tripped over itself. Something at the back of his mind urged him to continue—to tell you everything and convince you to be scared. “I can feel the heat from your blood and smell the hotel soap on your skin.”

A beat passed. “That doesn't scare me.”

If you were anyone else, he would have laughed in your face. Foolish, foolish human. But you weren't just anyone else, and he couldn't get your terror out of his head. 

When he didn't say anything for a moment, you murmured, “Love, can I come in? Can I see you?”

Changmin swallowed. “I don't want to scare you.”

“I know—but I trust you.” Your hand warmed the door handle on the other side, the soft clink of his ring against the metal echoing through the material to reach him. “Do you trust me?”

(If demons ultimately were motivated to do things that would help them, then he should open the door. To his brethren, a human willingly walking into his clutches was a mark too easy not to lose. But the reason they would want you to come in through the door was nowhere near the same reason he wanted you to. 

If demonic culture didn't have a word for selfish or selfless, then what was this?)

He leaned his weight off the door. 

With his body mostly hidden behind the slab of wood, he carefully cracked the door open, his claws wrapped around the outside, so you would be fed his demonic form gradually. You'd seen the claws before when he'd gouged a siren's eyes out. But your eyes drank in the ashen skin around his features—death incarnate—from the slits of his irises to the spirals of ebony piercing out of his head. 

Your heartbeat took off, galloping wildly as he revealed more and more of himself while you stepped into the bathroom. The thunderous rush of your blood echoed in his own ears; it was a tantalizing sensation. 

There was a nervousness to your movements. Your lips were tight, hands slightly shaky. But above all else, your eyes remained tender and worried, and he might have fallen to his knees if he wasn't clutching the door. 

“Do you want to close the door?” You asked. 

Even now, you wanted to accommodate him. He gave a small nod, but added, “Can you—can you turn around?”

You dipped your head once, then turned your back to him. 

(So much trust… When did he earn all of this? From what did he deserve to have your back to him in this context? He could slit your throat in a blink, but you would throw yourself into Hell if he asked.

If demonic culture didn't have a word for selfish or selfless, then what was this?)

Changmin closed the bathroom door and swallowed everything into darkness once again. He could hear your shallow breathing; you were trying to keep it steady, because you knew he could hear it as clear as a bell, but it wouldn't fool him. 

He took a step closer—then faltered, as he reached a hand out for your shoulder. He retracted his hand to his side. “You can turn around.”

Eyes watched as you slowly turned your body back around. You were fidgeting around with his ring, twisting the dark metal back and forth, as you lifted your eyes up and down his form. 

There was that catch in your breath again. Changmin's shoulders were so tense, he couldn't decide if that was from how high-strung he was or from the energy steadily being spent from his body. He'd probably last about another hour or two before collapsing. 

The bathroom was deafeningly quiet, with only your breaths and heartbeat keeping his insecurities company. He wanted to shrink into the collar of his shirt under your gaze, eyes blown wide as the moon. As you soaked him in, his eyes roved over your face—searching, searching, searching. 

At last, you tried for a soft smile. “You don't scare me.”

“I don't?” But he couldn't smell fear on you, couldn't make out any clear displays of it. He'd looked for them all. Your heartbeat had calmed, but your expression had never lost that something. 

(Was this love?)

You stepped forward once, and then again, until you stood with your toes touching and noses almost brushing. You shook your head and reached up to brush your thumb against his cheekbone. 

So warm… so gentle. 

His fangs gleamed in the dark when his lips parted. “You've been through so much,” he croaked. “Don't I look like them?” Them, the few creatures who had made you go on the run in the first place? Did creatures like him not haunt your waking world and nightmares? How could you bear to sleep next to him at night?

“If you're trying to convince me you're a monster, then it won't work.” Your fingers trailed down the plane of his face and he reached up to grasp onto you before you could retreat. “Does it hurt?”

At that question, he couldn't help the small, raspy laugh that bubbled out of his chest. 

“What?” You asked, the corners of your mouth lifting upward. 

“It's no—” he shook his head, his tongue darting out to slip over his lips. His fingers rearranged around yours and held them close to his chest, his thumb finding the familiar characters of his name wrapped around your digit. “—nothing. I just… you still care.”

Confusion flickered over your face, but was swiftly replaced by something softer. “Of course I still care.”

“I could hurt you.”

“You could have hurt me a long time ago.” But you haven't. 

Changmin swallowed again, relishing in the warmth that radiated from your palm wrapped in his. “No, it doesn't really hurt,” he whispered. “I just can't sustain this form for very long.”

Your eyes shone. “How long?”

“A couple hours at most,” he said, fangs grazing his lip. “I'm trying to wait out the pixie dust—”

“Pixie dust? Aren't you supposed to be flying?” Your grin was flooring, but he managed not to falter. At his deadpan expression, you patted the back of his hand. “Sorry, don't get your horns in a twist.”

“Yn—”

“It was right there; I had to.” 

Even he couldn't suppress the curl of lips for long. He just… Hell, he just loved you. Even if he now had slits for pupils and knives for teeth, nothing could mistake the blatant fondness in his features. His eyes could be pitch black, but he would still find a way to express silently how much he adored you. 

You pursed your lips, the mirth leaving your face for a second. “Do you need blood? How long until the pixie dust wears off?”

“I'm not sure, but I'm not taking your blood.” He sent you a pointed look when you opened your mouth to retaliate. “It's like you have a death wish from the amount of times you've offered me blood. I'm not dying, sweetheart.”

“You could be…”

“Technically, I'm undead—”

You rolled your eyes. “Okay, whatever.” Your nose wrinkled up for a second, and then you were wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing your face against his shirt. “You’re still Changmin to me. You're still the guy I'm in love with.”

His arms came around your form and he tucked his face into the crook of your neck, careful to keep his horns from hitting you. He suffocated himself on the feel of your skin, the subtle bump in your pulse just beneath the surface. Despite everything, you still trusted him enough to put his teeth so close to your scars. You didn't run away from him, from the true him. 

(Was this love?)

He wanted to hold you here forever. His human. “I love you.”

Your body tensed in surprise, and it nearly chased him away until you squeezed him tighter. He felt your lips against the place his human heart would have been. Changmin always had doubts, but you were so good at calming them. “I know.”

And haven't you always known?

Changmin had known, too, even if he'd searched long and hard for the doubt. All this time of sharing your space, your warmth, your company—he knew. 

a/n: pls remember to reblog + comment if u enjoyed!

night terrors fic / collection

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[wuxiaphoenix]

Worldbuilding: Outliving Emperors

There’s a common tendency in a lot of fantastic fiction portraying long-lived races or individuals interacting with shorter-lived types. It often defaults to, “they have a mindset of slow and patient consideration in the face of Problems. After all, they have plenty of time.”

(Until, of course, they don’t, and the Evil Overlord obliterates lots or possibly all of them.)

It’s a valid way to portray a fantasy race, I guess. But I think it misses a critical consideration of sapient life. And that’s pattern recognition.

To boil it down - if you’ve lived a long time, and you pay attention to what’s going on around you, sooner or later you will recognize when things are about to go nastily sideways. The river-folk down there and the mountain-folk up there have had a new generation grow up without bloodshed; sooner or later some young buck out to make a name for himself is going to dig up the old feuds all over again. Or, we’ve had three years of bad harvests in a row, I bet the nomads think we’re weak now, let’s watch for raids. Or (and much worse), this guy is making speeches about a Glorious Past and Restoring the Nation to its Rightful Place in World Affairs... right, time to duck, world war incoming.

If you’ve had time, you’ve seen things happen. If you’ve had enough time, and survived it, and even a little breather afterward, you can sift back through the history leading up to When All The Maps Got Arrowy, and try to see what set the whole mess off. So if you see similar precursors go off again....

Slow and patient consideration might not actually be your preferred plan. Instead, you might opt for, find the bastards and shut them down, fast.

Someone slaps you? Walk out now, no matter what anyone else thinks. Squatters on your land? Find them and toss them out on their ears so hard they bounce. Sabers rattled your direction? Make it absolutely clear there will be heavy weapons firing back - as soon as fired on, not “two years later after we’ve deliberated it to death”.

Because if you’ve lived for a while, and you anticipate living a lot longer - think about it. “I’ll be a slave for a decade, then die,” is bad. “I’ll be a slave for a century, and that’s only if they let me die-”

Yeah. That’s worse.

With a long lifespan, the number of Bad Things that can happen to you automatically increases, just by virtue of your being alive to have them happen. Why would you want to give any avoidable Bad Thing a chance to happen?

 Wouldn’t it be possible that an elf, cultivator, dragon, or other creature who might live centuries, might actually be quicker to act than regular humans?

I have found this in one fantasy setting. In Lejentia, by Flying Buffalo Games, the Aelvan Nations finally beat down and imprisoned the Hyl Sudiar (Hellish Seducer) and the demon who possessed him, and breathed a sigh of relief. Some centuries later, said demon persuaded another person to become the next Hyl Sudiar... and the Aelvan Nations declared war immediately.

Human kingdoms: “Whyfor you do that?”

Human kingdoms a few centuries later, after despite all efforts the Hyl Sudiar’s armies have conquered half the world: “...Oh.”

I have to think about this, given I have a story that has at least one nearly three-hundred-years-old vampire, and a somewhat younger cultivator who has still outlived three emperors and is working on a fourth. (Zhengle, Jiajing, Longqing, and Wanli, if you’re interested.) They’ve seen threats to their people. They know, over and over again, what it is to lose people to the actions of evil men. What it is to live on, while those you love die, and it never stops hurting....

Long life might not mean slow and deliberate action. Just a thought.

[zvtara-was-never-canon]

Some time ago I noticed a row of posts, criticizing writing of Air Nomads in AtLA. Seemingly they had concerns not connected to Zutara in any way, but all were written by big name Zutarians (whom I didn’t have blocked then so they popped up in my general tags). And they all talked about “bad writing” in that we don’t know anything much about Air Nomad that is not from Aang’s memories. And we don’t have any Air Nomad survivors hiding in the mountains. And Fire Nation couldn't possibly kill all the Air Nomads. No way the whole culture could be lost…

And I was like… “but the show is called The Last Airbender!” it is literally the premise! (and yes, it can be subverted, but it doesn't have to be subverted. sometimes the last is the last)” and as for culture… look at this world, and all its lost cultures. The fact that we know so little of air nomads is the feature not a bug, we are suppose to feel and mourn its absence. And no, it doesn’t mean that they all were perfect people, and the show never claimed they were, either.

While I will say it would have been nice to have more episodes going into some cultural aspects of the air-nomads and the water tribes (with the Gaang meeting spirits or figures like the Guru to tell them about it or finding old writings and such), yeah, that kind of criticism of "They're barely in the story/we don't know that much about them" ignores that the whole point of the story is "People and their cultures are being KILLED"

Zutarians loooove ignoring that the show is about war and genocide. That's why they're exasperated that people "demonize" the Fire Nation by acknowledging said genoice, and "idolize" the air-nomads by pointing out that something of value was lost with their death and thus Aang keeping their teachings alive is important.

They don't understand that saying "The air nomads deserved to live and to have their culture respected" is not the same as saying "The air nomads were perfect people from a perfect culture" - which is scary because it comes dangerously close so saying "They weren't perfect, therefore they deserve what they got"

[phoenix-king-ozai]

You gotta wonder what comic Ozai was thinking when his dad just goes up to him and basically says he has to marry some girl he's never met for the sake of the bloodline and have children with her even though he won't get the throne anyway.

I think it depends on certain factors. According to the ATLA comics, Ozai is at least a decade Ursa's senior. It is possible that Ozai already had a lover who was closer to his age and possibly had to abandon that relationship due to the Fire Sage's prophecy and Fire Lord Azulon's demand. Regardless of Ozai’s own wishes and desires regarding his own marriage and love life.

However, the comics try to make Ozai an irredeemable monster and caricature of a villain. So this interpretation is too sympathetic. Even though the original ATLA creators and OG ATLA Wiki on Nickelodeon stated that Ursa was raised as royalty and was the perfect betrothed and possible wife for Fire Prince Ozai.

However, Zuko’s flashbacks showed that Ozai did make an effort to try to be a good father and husband to Ursa and their children. The good memories of the Fire Nation Royal Family on Ember Island hurt Zuko and Azula during the Beach episode. This is why Zuko desired Ozai's love, respect, and admiration from him. If Ozai was only a cruel bastard to his family and son why would Zuko want to go back to his father and homeland to be abused again?

The Search Comics by Yang just took the most stereotypical, uninteresting, and non-complex lazy route regarding the Urzai relationship. Ursa is a good woman! Ozai is a bad man! She must have been kidnapped and physically, mentally, emotionally, and sexually abused! This is why Yang goes out of his way to demonize Ozai and bastardize his characteristics for his own personal fanfic OOC named Ikem. Yang has a horrible habit of adding new uninteresting characters into other established characters' lives. Yang destroyed Urzai with Ikem and also Maiko with Kei Lo.

Even though I don't think Ozai was Prince Charming regarding Ursa initially due to her being the granddaughter of Avatar Roku and possibly being a non-bender. Ursa possibly could have been seen as a blood traitor by the royal court and Fire Nation nobility and royalty due to Avatar Roku attacking and stopping Fire Lord Sozin during his early stages of imperial conquest until he died on Ember Island giving Sozin the chance to end the Avatar Cycle by killing the Air Nomads. However, I do believe that Ozai eventually warmed up to Ursa and bonded with her by the time they had Zuko and Azula. We even see Ozai be quiet and somber regarding her favorite spot by the Turtleduck pond after her banishment and disappearance.

[mononijikayu]

devil by the window ― ryomen sukuna.

Leaning forward, Sukuna inhales the pungent scent of nicotine, his movements purposeful as he presses his lips fervently against my neck. The convergence of sensations, the heady rush of adrenaline, and the intimacy of our connection weave a tapestry of emotions that transcends the ordinary. In his embrace, I find myself caught in the nexus of exhilaration and danger, an exploration of desires that redefine the boundaries of the known.

Genre: Serial Killer AU, No Curse AU;

Warning/s: Depiction of Death, Depiction of Crime, Sadist Behaviour, Mentions of Graphic Violence, Mentions of Blood, Mentions of Alcohol, Sex and Drugs, Depiction of Smoking, Explicit Depiction of Harm, Toxic Relationship, Forceful Touch, Use of Pet Names;

masterlist

listen: devil by the window by txt

IT'S INTERESTING HOW LIFE IS A PUZZLE TO ME. Navigating life without curiosity is a challenge. But like all challenges, it can go in its highs and lows and it can lead me intrigued and it can leave me bored. In this small town, its often a wonder, how long I would last without the excitement of digging through mystery itself.

It's an inherent trait in human nature to explore the mysterious, to grapple with the vastness that life presents, often laying before us enigmatic puzzles that defy simple understanding. My mother observed that my inclination towards the peculiar mirrored that of my father, a man who found solace in the allure of unconventional discoveries.

He, like a nomad of intrigue, perpetually sought out the mysteries that captivated him more than the comforts of family, unraveling the secrets hidden beneath foreign grounds. My mother's words, though not intended as a slight, carried a stark truth – I am undeniably my father's child, a descendent of a wanderer who pursued the unknown.

In essence, I am akin to my father's devil's spawn, a title that, surprisingly, never bore the weight of condemnation. Instead, it acknowledged the relentless curiosity that fueled our existence. This inclination to question, to explore, is, after all, an integral part of the human experience.

My affinity for deciphering the intricacies of those around me often led to accusations of rudeness. People, uncomfortable with the depths I probed, felt exploited. Yet, what if life's truths aren't laid out for everyone to see? What if our existence requires a discerning eye to uncover the subtle nuances that elude the ordinary observer?

During childhood, I found adults to be intriguing subjects for my curiosity. However, as the years advanced, their lives often seemed to follow predictable patterns, culminating in the pursuit of common desires – money, fame, and success. The initial spark of curiosity waned as conversations veered toward the mundane.

Yearning for more profound engagements, I sought discussions layered with challenge and mystery. I craved the stimulation of the unknown, a desire to crack the intricate codes that define the human experience. Life, to me, held the promise of better conversations, a tapestry of intrigue waiting to be woven with the threads of challenge and mystery.

I wanted to be stimulated.

To feel alive.

Soon enough, I gave up trying to find that.

I felt like the tie had come to accept my boring fate.

Until Ryomen Sukuna came along.

He had been new in town, and had just arrived a month or two ago. 

He stood there in the window from my view.

He had a demon's shadow, from where I stood.

He was a devil by the window.

I first met him in that class, we were both in the same track for college and so met often in classes. But we never interacted. He was fairly quiet, never talking unless he had been spoken to. He often comes to the professors to insist on working alone on projects which require partners. I don’t think I’ve even seen him in the get-togethers that are spread around the campus map. 

No one knows who he was, where he came from — what he liked and did not like. What he does in his spare time, how he lives. He doesn’t even talk about his family. He didn’t seem to like interacting with any one either. The small town did not pique his interest, and the life within it either. He mostly kept to himself.

He immediately piqued my interest.

I liked what he looked like —  not that I really had a type. But I concluded that he was rather pretty. From the way his hands moved against the push of gravity, to the way his lips quivered into small grins as he found things intriguing him from afar. The color of light pink shrouded his head, it almost reminded me of light pink sunsets.  His eyes were pale red as though burning hot flames in the morning glow. 

His features were untouchable, almost like those ancient marble statues - perfect in their wonder. Everything about him seems fit to worship. It was as though he was their most favorite creation, shrouded by such precious anointment from the powerful above. The beauty of all life was etched into him the moment he was born. Yet somehow, he could not care anymore about such a thing. He did not seem to care for the gods, nor for their gifts. 

He would rather not be glorious or live valiantly.

He would rather be the echoes of flames and chaos.

Ryomen Sukuna was not built for that sort of life.

Looking at it now, I was the only one who saw it first hand.

Because I was just like him.

I can never take being bored.

I finally interacted with him months later — at some fraternity party that I didn’t bother remembering about until it was too late. 

I wondered if it was worth it to even leave.

I yawned, rolling my eyes as I stood up.

I decided to go, last minute.

All I remember was seeing him standing there at the large mahogany doors, eyes like hawks awaiting its prey. Arms crossed, his fists pressed tightly against the hard leather of his jacket. I couldn’t stop staring at him at that boring gathering. When I arrived, I didn’t even want to be here. But he’s here.

That was all I needed to fill through this uneventful night.

The music roared through the speakers. The music wasn't all that good, not even if people tried to excite themselves into it along with the alcohol.  But everyone danced like it was their last, oddly moving through the beat without an inch of propriety. They were beasts, but they were innocent ones through mindlessness. Lights soon went through different shades of moving spotlights, like a circus plowing through with an illusion - hiding the nakedness of this farce.

I lost sight of him that moment. 

So I went to look.

I walked through the crowd of drunken bodies, reeking of disgusting alcohol and sweat. The loud screaming of some piercing my ears, loud enough that perhaps my own ears could possibly bleed. I looked left and right, and upwards to the steps of spiral stairs and towards the opened doors of people walking and passing. 

In the end I could not find him. 

And soon enough, I wished to go home.

I pushed myself through with all of my beings, raging against bodies that were coupled together in embraces. In mindless and sporadic movements that one could not even consider dance. Through the smell of alcohol, sex, and even drugs. 

But by chance, my curiosity to find the way out had led me to him.

The room, once a canvas of ordinary existence, had transformed into a theater of macabre artistry. The oppressive metallic scent of blood mingled with the dampness of the cold air, assaulting my senses as I stepped into the scene. The thumps, once rhythmic in their brutality, now echoed as haunting whispers against the walls, a testament to the violence that had unfolded.

His figure, bathed in the dim light that filtered through the blinds, stood as a chilling silhouette against the canvas of crimson. The air itself seemed to recoil from the horror that clung to every corner, every crevice. I approached cautiously, my steps muffled by the gravity of the moment.

His hands, stained with the visceral truth of the act, cradled the remnants of a life extinguished. He stood above his victim, as though a beast that had devoured its prey. That  person no longer breathed, that was much too obvious. Instead, they lay there in a sea of scarlet pooling from the broken dam of flesh and bone. The bright scarlet dripped through his fingers like a morose symphony, each drop a note in the tragic ballad of the departed. The macabre beauty of the scene held me captive, a voyeur to the secrets unveiled in this clandestine theater. 

The weight of the unspoken truth hung in the air, the room itself a witness to the transgression that had occurred within its confines. As my eyes traced the contours of the tableau, I couldn't help but feel an electric pulse in the stillness, a palpable connection to the enigma that stood before me.

In that moment, curiosity eclipsed fear, and an unspoken understanding passed between us—the observer and the architect of this grim masterpiece. The boundaries of the known had been shattered, and I found myself standing on the precipice of a journey into the shadows, guided by the hands that bore the honesty of the crime.

Then there was silence.

I wasn’t afraid of what I should see.

He stood there, smacking the blood away.

As though what he had done did not matter.

Sukuna's cold demeanor remained unchanged, his eyes locking onto mine as I reveled in the macabre scene before us. The rhythmic pulsating of music and distant screams provided an eerie backdrop to our twisted encounter.

"You saw," he repeated, the weight of his admission hanging in the air.

"What?" I replied, the sounds of chaos outside still piercing through me, rendering me frozen.

"I killed him," he declared plainly.

"I can see that," I finally blinked, snapping back to reality, and took a step closer to him. Without hesitation, I closed the door behind me, shutting out the muffled sounds of the party.

“Who are you?”

I told him my name, I furrowed my brows. “Why do you need to know my name?”

“I’ve seen you around town, but I have never met you.”

“That’s to be expected when you don’t talk to anyone.”

His eyes furrowed at my lack of fear. "You don't seem scared."

A rumble of laughter escaped my chest. "No, no—not at all."

"Most people become scared when they see things like these," he remarked, gesturing to the gruesome scene.

"So?" I shrugged nonchalantly.

"You were frozen for a bit."

"Because I've never seen this before," I smirked, regaining my composure. "And it's a wonderful surprise!"

Sukuna raised a brow at my unconventional reaction. "A wonderful surprise?"

"You finally gave me something interesting," I declared, walking over to him. I paid no mind to the blood staining the floor or the potential mess it was making of my clothes. I let my lips linger near his ear, whispering, "I like that."

His gaze remained intense, but a subtle change in his expression hinted at a fraction of intrigue. We stood together in the aftermath of his gruesome creation, surrounded by the echoes of distant revelry.

"What are you?" I asked, genuinely curious, my eyes locked onto his.

He remained silent for a moment before responding, "A curse."

The revelation sent a shiver down my spine, but instead of fear, I found a strange fascination. "A curse, huh?" I mused, stepping back to survey the carnage. "Well, I've always been drawn to the mysterious and cursed. Beyond that meets the eye in being cursed, after all."

Sukuna's gaze followed me, his stoic exterior beginning to crack under the weight of my unorthodox reactions. The air between us thickened with an unspoken understanding.

"Let's clean up," he suggested, a hint of resignation in his voice.

I nodded, unfazed by the prospect of disposing of the gruesome evidence. As we worked together to erase the traces of his dark artistry, a peculiar camaraderie blossomed—a connection forged in blood, both literal and metaphorical.

Little did I know that my encounter with Ryomen Sukuna would unravel mysteries far beyond the confines of that room, setting the stage for a relationship defined by curiosity, darkness, and the allure of the unknown.

As we meticulously cleaned the room, the atmosphere shifted between us. The silence was broken by the occasional clinks of cleaning supplies and the distant muffled echoes of the ongoing party. The allure of the unknown bound us together, forging an unspoken connection that went beyond the gruesome tableau we were erasing.

Finally breaking the silence, Sukuna spoke, his voice low and measured. "Why are you not afraid of me?  Of what I did?"

I looked up from wiping the blood-stained floor, meeting his intense gaze. "Fear is a natural response, but it's not the only one. Sometimes, fascination outweighs fear."

He seemed to ponder my words, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You're not like most people."

"Is that a problem?" I retorted, a playful smile tugging at the corners of my lips.

He didn't respond immediately, focusing on his task. The rhythmic swaying of the mop seemed almost meditative, a stark contrast to the chaos we had witnessed.

Eventually, he spoke again. "People usually fear curses. They avoid them."

"I've always found that the things people avoid are often the most intriguing," I replied, tossing a blood-soaked cloth into a trash bag.

He glanced at me, an unreadable expression in his eyes. "You're drawn to darkness."

"Maybe I am," I admitted, not flinching from his piercing gaze. "But darkness doesn't have to be feared. It can just be intriguing, don’t you think?”

A rare hint of a smile ghosted across Sukuna's face, a subtle acknowledgment of our shared perspective on the unconventional. The dichotomy of our personalities—his stoic nature and my unyielding curiosity—created an unexpected harmony in that dimly lit room.

As we continued our cleanup, an unspoken agreement settled between us. The mysteries that unfolded that night became the foundation for a unique connection, a bond woven from the threads of the unknown.

Hours later, the room bore no trace of the grim tableau that had unfolded within its walls. We stood side by side, surveying the transformed space. The air felt charged with an energy that surpassed mere curiosity; it hinted at the unexplored depths of our entwined destinies.

Sukuna broke the silence, his voice carrying a rare warmth. "You're different."

"And you're not?" I countered, a playful glint in my eyes.

He snickers back at me. "Perhaps."

The party outside continued its raucous celebration, but in that moment, a quieter understanding passed between us. These people are unaware what just happened, how much of that scarlet red faded and thinned against the water that flowed down the drain, carrying away the remnants of the gruesome tableau we had encountered. The distant music from the party seeped through the walls, a stark contrast to the solemnity that lingered in the air. 

“Do you do this often?” I asked him, leaning against one of the walls. 

He raised a brow. “What do you mean?”

“What we just did.” 

"Perhaps," Sukuna repeated, his gaze distant as if contemplating the intricacies of his own existence.

The darkness outside the room felt like a tangible presence, a silent witness to the enigmatic connection that had taken root between us. I couldn't help but wonder how our lives had become entangled in a web of mysteries, a dance between curiosity and the unseen forces that lurked in the shadows.

As we stepped out into the corridor, the echoes of the party became more pronounced. The laughter and music, now accompanied by the rhythmic footsteps of carefree dancers, seemed worlds apart from the reality we had just left behind.

Sukuna led the way through the maze of dimly lit hallways, each step echoing with the weight of our shared secrets. The air felt charged, not just with the residue of the past, but with an anticipation of the unknown that awaited us.

We emerged into the chaotic sea of the party, where vibrant lights and pulsating music masked the underlying currents of darkness. The revelers, lost in their own world of celebration, were oblivious to the transformative journey Sukuna and I had undergone.

Our eyes met, a silent acknowledgment passing between us. The unspoken understanding lingered, transcending the noise and fervor of the party. As if guided by an unseen force, we moved through the crowd, navigating the maze of bodies with a shared purpose.

Outside, beneath the open sky, a quiet courtyard beckoned. The cool night air offered a respite from the suffocating atmosphere within. We found an isolated bench, away from the prying eyes and the ceaseless revelry.

The night had become a tapestry woven with threads of darkness and curiosity. Sukuna and I, two individuals drawn together by the inexplicable, sat in that secluded corner—our destinies entwined, our fates sealed by the mysteries that lingered in the spaces between us.

Sukuna's gaze held a silent intensity as he finally broke the silence. "There's more to this world than meets the eye. What you've witnessed is just the surface."

A shiver ran down my spine, a mixture of excitement and trepidation. "I want to know more."

He nodded, a tacit agreement passing between us. "Then prepare yourself. The path you've chosen is not for the faint of heart."

“You say that as though I haven’t known that before.” I said to him, grinning at him as I took out a pack of cigarettes from my pockets and put one against my lips. 

“You’re mad.”

A huff of smoke releases from my lips. “Just like you?”

He laughs. “Almost, little pet.”

I raised my brow, intrigued. “Coming up with nicknames for me now, are you?”

I feel the intensity of Sukuna's gaze, a potent mixture of desire and dominance. The air thickens with a primal energy, and my heart quickens its pace as his hands assert their control. The harshness of his touch is electrifying, a paradox of both brutality and a strange tenderness.

He leans in, his breath mingling with mine, and the scent of danger envelops us. The dim moonlight accentuates the predatory gleam in his eyes, mirroring my own defiance. A silent understanding passes between us—a dance between two individuals drawn to the forbidden.

"You're not like the others," he murmurs, his voice a low, guttural growl that resonates through the night.

I meet his gaze unflinchingly, the echo of laughter from the distant party forming a dissonant backdrop to our clandestine encounter. "Why would I want to be?"

Sukuna's lips curl into a predatory smile, and the air crackles with a tension that defies conventional boundaries. He tilts my head back with a force that simultaneously demands submission and challenges my resilience. It's a paradoxical dance of power, a tug-of-war between the allure of surrender and the thrill of resistance.

"You court danger," he observes, his thumb brushing against my jawline.

"Maybe danger courts me," I respond, my voice laced with a provocative edge.

He chuckles, the sound a dark symphony that resonates with the undercurrents of the supernatural. Sukuna's grip tightens, a silent promise that he is both the predator and the prey in this mysterious exchange.

As the night unfolds around us, shadows flicker across Sukuna's face, revealing glimpses of the enigmatic figure that exists beyond the boundaries of the known. The moonlight casts an ethereal glow on his features, heightening the surreal atmosphere of our clandestine meeting.

"What are you seeking?" Sukuna questions, his gaze probing the depths of my soul.

"I seek the unknown, mysteries that defy explanation," I reply, a defiant spark in my eyes. “I do not want to be bored.”

As Sukuna's lips hover dangerously close to mine, a surge of exhilaration courses through my veins, electrifying every nerve in my body. The air crackles with anticipation, and I find myself standing at the precipice of an unknown abyss. The thrill is not just a fleeting emotion; it's a visceral acknowledgment, a recognition of the uncharted path that lies ahead.

In the dimly lit courtyard, shadows dance around us, reflecting the enigmatic dance unfolding between two individuals drawn together by a magnetic force that defies rational explanation. Sukuna's predatory gaze, intensified by the moonlight, holds a promise of both danger and an unspoken connection—an invitation to venture into realms untouched by the ordinary.

My response is not born out of recklessness but stems from a deep-seated desire to explore the mysteries that lie beyond the boundaries of the mundane. The challenge Sukuna presents is met with unwavering determination, a resolve to confront the unknown with open eyes and a fearless heart.

In that charged moment, the unspoken agreement between us solidifies. It's a pact forged in the crucible of darkness and desire, where the line between fear and fascination blurs. The mysteries that beckon us are not merely external; they echo within the recesses of our souls, intertwining destinies in a tapestry woven from threads of uncertainty.

As Sukuna's thumb continued to brush against my jawline, I couldn’t help but release a moan as the smoke poured out like toxic air. His touch is both commanding and intimate, almost sensual, almost a manifestation of wonder.

It's a tactile manifestation of the uncharted terrain we are about to explore together—a journey into the depths of the supernatural where danger and allure coalesce. Finally, the beast in front of me had found someone to play with.

"The unknown can be treacherous terrain. Are you prepared to navigate its thorns, little pet?"

An electrifying thrill surges through my veins, a visceral recognition of the unexplored journey awaiting us. Sukuna's challenge is met with resolute determination on my part, a commitment to venture into realms unknown.

In this moment, I experience a vitality I've never felt before, a vivid aliveness ignited by his touch and the revelations of this night. It's as if we both share a fervor for existence, a mutual excitement for the unpredictable.

Leaning forward, Sukuna inhales the pungent scent of nicotine, his movements purposeful as he presses his lips fervently against my neck. The convergence of sensations, the heady rush of adrenaline, and the intimacy of our connection weave a tapestry of emotions that transcends the ordinary.

In his embrace, I find myself caught in the nexus of exhilaration and danger, an exploration of desires that redefine the boundaries of the known.

"I'm ready for whatever comes my way," I declare, sealing our unspoken pact beneath the watchful eyes of the moonlit night. I leap on my tip toes, near his ear and whispered. “Let me thread the excitement with you, master.”

Sukuna's dark eyes bore into mine, an inscrutable intensity that sent shivers down my spine. In the dim glow of the moon, a wicked smile curved his lips, acknowledging the unspoken understanding between us. The night held a promise of unknown pleasures, and I had willingly stepped into its embrace. His fingers traced a delicate line along my jaw, a gesture that felt both possessive and seductive.

"You're playing with fire," he murmured, his voice a low growl that reverberated through the quiet courtyard.

A mischievous grin played on my lips as I met his gaze head-on. "Fire is just another form of excitement, isn't it?"

Sukuna's laughter rumbled, a deep and resonant sound that seemed to echo the secrets of the night. "You're more intriguing than I anticipated."

The wide expanse of the secluded area seemed to transform under the gentle glow of the moon, casting an ethereal aura upon the space between them. Shadows danced and intertwined, weaving a tapestry of mystery and desire. In this clandestine playground, Sukuna's touch became a force of both command and electricity, igniting dormant desires that had lingered in the recesses of my curiosity.

As we delved deeper into the unknown, the night revealed its hidden secrets with a conspiratorial whisper. I willingly surrendered to the intoxicating dance with darkness, embracing the enigma that was Sukuna. The moon, a silent witness, bathed us in its luminescence, casting a celestial glow upon the connection forged in the crucible of curiosity and the allure of the uncharted.

The odyssey of what we could do together had only just commenced, and in that moment, beneath the celestial canopy, I found myself enthralled by the devil's seductive caress.

It was a descent into uncharted realms, orchestrated by the enigmatic presence of Sukuna. Standing on the precipice, I eagerly embraced a thrilling odyssey that vowed to reshape the boundaries between the familiar and the unexplored, lured by the temptations of the diabolical. 

I once saw the devil by the window.

And here I was, taking his hand in my own.

I smiled, the bright red of devil’s eyes glistening.

Ryomen Sukuna returned it, almost monstrously.

There was no going back when the devil has touched.

[butmakeitgayblog]

Always, Lexa has loved her. 

In every lifetime. In every iteration of her.

Forged in the fires of hell and phosphorus embers of perdition, Lexa, a demon, walks among them. From the dawn of man crawling from their caves on bended knee, to the concrete skylines of the new world, she watched them flourish, thrive, and crumble. Smelled the smoke of their burning Eden while sipping their sin like the finest opulent wine.

"Kiss me harder," Lexa whimpers against the heat of Clarke's milk and honeyed mouth as hands work their will below.

In every lifetime she is different. A different face. A different name. Golden blonde bleeding to silver, burnt amber to black. A village healer who seeks to comfort. A coven leader who works her incantations in vain. A conjurer, a shawoman, a witch by so many shifting names. From the days when beasts roamed free and she, only a nomad protecting her clan through a veil of ancient mystics, to Clarke Griffin of the new age, the midwife with a strange knack for saving lives already thought lost to this realm.

"Fuck, Lex," Clarke sighs, rolling her hips into the thrust of Lexa's fingers hard enough to rattle the bones.

From the beginning, Lexa has watched her hone her craft, over decades and centuries and long lost millennia. Has watched her conjure and harness death in the smoke of fire-stoked chants, as her beating heart burned at the stake. Has kissed the choked, 'May we meet again' from the blue of her lips, felt the cold of her skin as she drowns on the riverbanks by their righteous hands in the never ending cycle of loving her, and losing her, and patiently waiting for that someday when she is reborn again.

"I've missed you." Lexa feels her tears turn to ash in the chalice of Clarke's kiss; quenching and searching and chasing after so many years without. 

Hell doesn't burn quite so lovingly in the lifetimes when she loves her back, returning Lexa's kisses and aching for her touch with equally wicked smiles. When she breathes her passion and pleasure against the warmth of Lexa's lips and lays her body among the ruins of their blasphemy. Back arched and legs spread as she pants for Lexa to fill her more, to take her rougher. To pour her sinister lust into her. The lifetimes where Lexa gets to hold her, taste and touch her, to feel her wrapped tight and wet around her fingers… Those are lifetimes that bring color to the grey of Lexa's damnation. When power seeps from her like a sieve of midnight fury, tasting of blood and summer sweet dandelions on Lexa's tongue. 

Clarke gasps in pants and sacred salt, hands breaking the circle upon such consecrated ground. "Don't let me forget, baby. Don't let me forget you."

Beyond her earthly bindings, the truth of her remains. The unwavering essence that calls to Lexa from the four corners of the Earth whenever she returns to her. 

Her soul remains true in every lifetime, in every iteration

And always, Lexa has loved her. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Or, Demon Lexa falling for every reincarnation of Witchy Clarke over the expanse of eternity, but mostly I'm just here for the aesthetics 🎃

[jollmaster]

how did King David and Agrat met?

And what was Ygertiel and Agrat's mom relationship like?

hello ✌️

• Agrat doesn't specify how she met king David, because there must be a mystery in every woman :D

• actually there was no mystery, Agrat just saw him during one of night visits to mortal world while he was praying, and decided out of interest to try to seduce him

• Asmodeus as a result was just an accident

• as for Ygertiel, he met her mother (half-egyptian, half-jewish) during her wanderings in northern Africa; her name was Mahallat, and she led a nomadic life and practiced sorcery a bit

• he liked her at first sight

• Mahallat was afraid of him, but soon realized that Ygertiel wouldn't harm her; he protected her and told interesting things about deserts and demons

• she went to the underworld with him when she was pregnant

• Ygertiel never had full-human form, so Mahallat almost always saw the real him

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Shamura meeting a spider s.o who isn't really apart of the cult and lives the life of a traveler but visits from time to time and members consider her to be a 'big sister' and people love to come to her for advice...

like she'll be pulling pieces of debris, leaves, twigs, pieces of mushroom, etc. from the lambs wool (which she had lectured him about a few minutes prior like "Lamb, you got this in your wool AGAIN?? I will not allow you to continue to talk to people when you basically have a FOREST in your wool, sit down and let me help you.") and Shamura is there and I feel like they have real deep conversations, maybe s.o telling him their story after a while, how they think that they might be from the Silk Cradle but aren't sure because they were taken when they were young and raised in the mountains ... just a little thing i thought abt haha

"I-I can assure you, [y/n]..I don't need-"

"Oh no, you absolutely do need this." You tutted as you made Lamb sit down on a tree stump, picking bits of mushrooms and leaves out of their wool.

They winced as you harshly tugged on a twig that was especially embedded in it, casting it aside once it was plucked free. "I need to do my morning sermon," they grumbled. "Can this wait until-?"

"There's still a few more hours till noon. I will not have you walk up to that podium with your wool being a literal Anurian forest! How do you keep letting it get this bad anyways?"

"I-"

"Actually..don't answer that."

"But...!!! Ugh, fine." With a pout, the Lamb sat with their cheeks puffed out, remembering that they couldn't order you around...as you weren't one of their followers. So you didn't have to abide by any of their rules.

You were a nomadic spider who traveled all across the Old Faith. Your heart desired adventure, but every once in a while it would lead you back to these temple grounds, and you'd witness Lamb's cult growing steadily with each visit.

When they weren't around, their followers would flock to you, having grown accustomed to your frequent appearances. You carried a lot of knowledge during your travels, so you'd share stories of your recent journeys and offer advice to those who asked for it.

Whether it's about something personal or just how to navigate through a domain safely, you had plenty of answers for most of them. Some followers even looked up to you as a sister, which made you happy.

The most important part of your visit, however, was ensuring Lamb looked their best before they went to preach in the temple. You always caught them after they return from crusades, finding them covered in earthly debris without a care in the world.

If this new "god" of the lands wanted to be taken more seriously...they had to look presentable to their followers.

But even so, they were quite the fussy one; stubborn like a child: Bleating constantly, kicking their hooves, and sometimes even demonically hissing if you suggest they removed their crown for a moment.

They only acted that way because Narinder saw you preening their wool once and mocked his former vessel until your glare shooed him away.

Fortunately, Lamb chose not to argue with you any further, making your job easier to finish.

It took a few more minutes, but their wool finally looked a lot better, so you sent them on their way to preach the Red Crown's gospel after bidding them farewell.

Whatever debris you plucked out of them went into a bag of silk you've crafted for yourself. Surely you can do something with the twigs, leaves, mushroom stems, and pumpkin seeds they carried back to the cult grounds--you couldn't let any of that go to waste.

"Greetings, traveler. Back so soon?"

The familiar voice made you perk up, looking to see Shamura standing there with a book in their hands. It seemed to be one from Silk Cradle, detailing trap layouts and designs.

You smiled. "Hello, Lord Shamura. And yes. I like to come and go as I please."

".....forgive me, but your name slips past me.."

"It's [y/n]."

"..ah yes, yes...Sister [Y/n]. Welcome back." They bowed their head politely. "I do have a question, if you have the time."

"Of course." You nodded, before frowning as you noticed the somewhat troubled look on their face. "What ails you?"

"...hm?" They blinked. "Do I look sick?"

"Oh, no. I mean..your expression. I've seen it on other followers, and it's usually because something's weighing heavily on their mind-"

"Why call me "lord" if you have not served under me?" Shamura abruptly interrupted, confused as their gaze went to the open book in their hands. "I have seen many spiders in Silk Cradle...but none quite like yourself. If only I could remember..were you a servant? A warrior? A merchant...?"

The more they struggled to recall, the more ichor began leaking through their bandages. And you could see it was physically paining them, too.

It made you wonder how they ever survived losing the Purple Crown, but then again it probably took a miracle from the Lamb to give them a fighting chance--a second chance.

Even so, you felt bad for Shamura. Their memory gaps kept widening despite their desperation to remember things and continue reading.

"Oh dear..allow me to hold that for you." You gently took the book away from them before the liquid could splatter all over the cover, closing it up. "I didn't grow up in Silk Cradle, but I'm sure I was born there. I only remember being taken up to the mountains..perhaps my family became deserters who disliked the violence."

"Hm...under my ruling, deserters would have been swiftly found and jailed."

"I see-"

"No, no..that's not it...they...would have been swiftly found, tried in my court, and publicly executed." They corrected themselves, huffing. "My apologies."

"...oh. Then I guess I'm glad we weren't ever found out." You awkwardly chuckled, having much preferred what they said before. "It seems your memory has been improving since the last time we met."

"Yes, indeed...indeed it is.." Shamura nodded, before you both heard the tolls of the temple bell, signaling that it was time for the sermon. "The Lamb calls..they are speaking now." They looked to you. "Shall we go together, [y/n]?"

"Sure." With a smile, you linked arms with them. "But as a fair warning, I tend to hang around the back and just listen."

"As do I, my friend...as do I." A tiny smile formed between their fangs. "I hope Lamb's wool isn't covered in earthly vermin anymore."

"It's clean as a whistle." You reassured, smiling back at them, before you two headed towards the temple.

Perhaps you'll stay here in the cult for the rest of the day. Just to spend a little more time with Shamura.

You enjoyed the company of a fellow arachnid.

[aspiringtrashpanda]

✨spoopy✨ Find the prompt list HERE.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

DAY 24 Prompt: Graveyard What happens to a demon's soul after death?

When a demon dies, the process is about as one would expect. Those close to the deceased retrieve the body, select a plot in one of the graveyards, and hold a funeral by the light of the moon. As in most communities, status is relevant, those of noble birth laid to rest within the grounds of The Royal Tomb, while lesser demons scrounge for space in the cramped public fields. Needless to say, burning bodies upon a pyre and enchanting the ashes into sentimental items was becoming more popular by the century.  

It is worth noting, however, that in many human traditions, traditional funerals are designed to aid the soul to the after life. Considering that a demon’s soul remains hidden, outside of their corporeal form, then one must ask: What occurs to a demon’s soul when they pass on?

Barbatos still remembers the first death of a demon. He had been…Perhaps two thousand and three years old? Certainly young enough to enjoy a nomadic lifestyle, while old enough to have birthed the Fountain of Knowledge. 

“Hey, Barbatos?” Candy had poked her head into the kitchen. Well, kitchen-in-progress. The Reaper’s Cave, at this point in time, consisted of a cluster of half-empty rooms branching off from the core spring through which his wisdom flowed. If he recalled correctly, they had built a kitchen, a bathroom, a sitting area, and four bedrooms, an unexpected home expanding before Barbatos’s very eyes. 

He had never anticipated their little community–the recovering sorcerer, the reaper, her younger sister, and him–though he was beginning to experience a warmth in his chest whenever he laid eyes on one of the members. He had known he would be summoned by a dying Solomon, had known all of the possible outcomes, and had decided that he saw the most potential in his current timeline. He had thought it best for the future of the universe, nothing more. However, time seemed to warp the longer he remained sheltered with the two reapers. There were times it felt slow, honey-thick, and times that it felt fizzy and rushed. The passage of time was steadily becoming more bearable. Maybe he had been lonelier than he had thought. 

Regardless, Barbatos had glanced up from the dough he was kneading atop a flour-spotted counter to fix Candy with a curious gaze. 

She held a book in her hand, a nondescript thing with plain leather binding. “Did you leave this in my room?”

He frowned, pausing his gentle push and pull of the dough to wipe his hands, to flip through the pages when she tossed it in his direction. 

“Interesting,” Barbatos hummed, eyes flicking this way and that as he absorbed the large sections of text, the diagrams and illustrations. It read like a deeply personal autobiography. Not one written to be consumed, but one written to record. 

“Yes?” Candy’s foot tapped impatiently in the doorway, a certain gleam in her stare that told Barbatos far more than she had intended to share. “Are you going to tell me what’s interesting about it?”

“You say that like you haven’t already noticed,” He responded, snapping the book shut. “If you’re seeking confirmation, you need only ask.”

“It’s a grimoire, right?”

“Indeed.”

“But,” She hesitated, and Barbatos found himself hoping that she had noticed the same little detail that had caught himself off guard. “Grimoires have a cover. A rune and infernal script detailing the demon’s name. This one is just…blank.”

There it was. That warmth again. Was this how it felt to be proud of someone?

Barbatos brought the book closer to the candle flame flickering on the small table they often used for meals. In the warm light, it became clear that the binding was sleek, flawless, as if the cover was brand new. Bizarre, as the papers within were stained with age. 

This demon had clearly lived a while–Oh. Heart picking up speed in his chest, his mind already whirring to fit the answers into the missing pieces of their jigsaw, Barbatos flipped to the back of the book. 

“The demon perished,” and despite his surprise, he managed to sound relatively confident.  

It was quiet for a moment, Candy turning his words over in her head before countering, “I didn’t realize demons could die.”

“Immortality does not always save those from acts of malevolence,” Barbatos reasoned, finger tracing over the cause of death penned on the last page. “It is possible we may still fall victim to illness and injury.” 

“You haven’t seen this in the future?” 

Barbatos exhaled slowly. Candy loved to pepper him with questions about the timelines. Really, he should have expected such an ask. Just as she should have expected his repeated answer,  “Imagine, for a moment, that you could visit any time, any moment that exists in the past and future of our universe. Imagine that–”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, yes. It’s overwhelming. Yada yada yada.”

“Precisely.” Yet, the familiar manner in which she waved him off only endeared him further. “I learned long ago to exist in the present as much as I possibly can, lest lose my sanity.” 

With a nod, Candy snatched the book from his hands, idly flipping through it as she jerked her head back the way she came. “Thus the Fountain of Knowledge.” 

“I’m pleased to hear you have been listening.” 

“Of course I have! It’s my sister who’s the troublemaker.” She stuck her tongue out, and Barbatos couldn’t help but notice the family resemblance. Pausing at the last paragraph, Candy frowned. “So…This is what happens when a demon dies? Their grimoire remains tangible?”

Barbatos considered her words, the memory of the book’s weight in his hand, the pages detailing the life of a being no longer on this plane of existence. “I believe we’ll need to build another room.”

And now, some millennia later, Barbatos stands before shelves upon shelves of grimoires bearing blank covers, filed in alphabetical order using the name penned within the binding. Countless lives lost to the Great Celestial War, to subsequent fall out, to famine, and plague, and summonings gone wrong. Their spirits live on within the halls of the Reaper’s Cave, just outside the Fountain of Knowledge. Why the grimoires chose such a home, Barbatos isn’t sure. Regardless, he feels he’s responsible for ensuring their safety post-mortem. 

It isn’t the first time he considers expanding. Thirteen has been pestering him about adding a new room for the deceased, as well as another lab for her experiments. The traps are evolving, becoming grander than he can even fathom, and he is sure that she hopes to accidentally maim Solomon eventually. 

He isn’t sure if he should prevent that, or simply make himself available to nurse the sorcerer back to health. Perhaps a jab at his ego is necessary, these days. However, Thirteen's tinkering is not what prompted his visit to the Other World. No, he’s come to pay his respects.

A willowy woman passes in his peripheral. Barbatos does not bother spinning on his heel. He already knows she will be long gone. Thirteen claims they keep her company, that the Reaper’s Cave doesn’t long for Solomon and Barbatos in the slightest. Solomon tells him that she’s lying. She can’t sleep at night, the thousands of invisible eyes longing for her flesh and blood. If anyone is jealous, it’s them.

Barbatos feels static dance upon the back of his neck, an ominous chill sweeping through the massive graveyard among the shelves. The candle in his hand flickers, but the light is not snuffed out. 

“Can I help you?” He keeps his voice calm, polite. 

There is no audible answer, though the grimoires shudder in their rows, the eyes of Candy’s old portrait following Barbatos as he approaches the bookcase. A gloved finger traces that blank leather binding, old and weathered, nestled in the very first spot to the left of the top row. 

“I am going to get you some more space soon,” He whispers. 

Another blast of cold air. This time, the candle’s flame is extinguished. Barbatos laughs, “And a space heater.”

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

OBEY ME! MONTH MASTERLIST

[asmrrpaddict]

I may be a hopeless romantic overthinker, but do you guys ever think about the pet names?

I’m out of creative ideas due to attempting to write a pirate script, so we’re talking pet names.

Here are some of my favorites that I can remember from some of my favorite VAs. I know it may be cringe, but I don’t care. These are just ones that make me smile, melt, or laugh.

Notice: while I love nicknames like Yuurivoice’s Cass/Casper, Scythe Audio’s Demon Girl, or Escaped Audio’s Denny’s, this will be pet names and nothing that specific.

Redacted Audio

Darlin’, Treasure, Lovely, Angel, Starlight, Sunshine

Redacted Bonus:

Terror & Menace

Nomad:

Little One & Babe (Caleb)

Reverie Audios:

Sweets, Dove, Bunny

Reverie Bonus:

Terror

Captain Matt:

(Don’t you make fun of me! 🫵🤣)

(My) Darlin’, Love & thanks to listening to an older audio, My girl.

Obsidian Lantern:

Bug

MasterMissy:

Sweetheart

Good Boy Audio:

Paradise, Darling, Baby (Magrius)

Yuurivoice:

Sugar & Boo

Aural Arcana:

Baby

Everyone who does Aizawa from My Hero Academia says:

Kitten

AJ Audio:

My everything, My Love, Pearl (Siren’s Son character, but on AJ’s series)

One name 3 VAs: Wolf Z Row, KC Audio, and Phasmid ASMR.

(Little) Rabbit

Others that I don’t remember exactly where I heard them.

Sweetness, Ladybug, Sunflower, Pebble, Starshine.

I’m sure I’m missing some. Honestly if I ever get into a relationship, I hope that he will use one of these. ❤️ I would fall so hard!

[dailydemonspotlight]

Mokoi - Day 80

Race: Night

Arcana: Death

Alignment: Neutral-Chaos

July 26th, 2024

During my research about this topic, I found myself finding out about an ongoing health crisis relating to the yolngu people, and this post is dedicated to spreading awareness. Please remember to treat all of these topics with respect.

Aboriginal folklore is very separated from itself, oddly enough- In spite of Australia being the smallest continent, several beliefs are spread throughout in specific areas, making for a colorful tapestry where you can never be sure what the next area will believe in, in spite of the general overarching themes of Dreamtime. Case in point, the Yolngu people residing in northeastern Arnhem Land, an aboriginal tribe living in the Northern Territory who believe in systems of kinship and a nomadic hunter-gatherer lifestyle. Important to this culture as well is conceptions of magic, and, more importantly, what to avoid- the deep, dark underbelly of said world of magic. If one is to partake in the dark arts, after all, they would meet with a fate most undeserving- to be cursed by today's Demon of the Day, Mokoi.

As with a lot of Aboriginal folklore, Mokoi are relatively obscure in many respects. Most of the time, sources only state a line or two going over this monster, whose name literally translates to 'Evil Spirit,' describing it as a monster who would eat naughty children and devour sorcerers who dared to step into the realm of the dark. This is strange, though, as Mokoi appear to be an incredibly important fixture in Yolngu tradition, being described as the main source of death throughout the people-group... so today's gonna be another deep dive. And so soon after Arahabaki, too... ah, well. Thank you again to @eirikrjs for providing a very good rundown on this demon in this post. How do you keep coming through for me in the most random ways? Whatever, let's get into this.

As attested to in the 1970 article Myth as Language in Aboriginal Arnhem Land, the book Mortuary customs of northeast Arnhem Land, as well as... an Australian tonic blog, no I'm not kidding, an ancient tradition of the Yolngu people states that there are two different parts of the soul- one of the good, another of the bad. These parts of the soul are referred to as Birrimbirr and Mokuy, and when someone within the tribe passes away, their soul may take either of these forms based on their actions in life. However, while a birrimbirr will typically head back to its place of origin and pass peacefully, a mokuy will stick around, generally being a nuisance with asocial and unpredictable behaviors while haunting the deceased's belongings. This plays into a common tradition in Yolngu folklore, that being of the avoidance of uttering the deceased's name- not only will saying the name of a dead person possibly bring more grief to their family members and friends, but it may also bring their spirit back restlessly into the form of none other than a Mokoi, which appears to be an alternate spelling of Mokuy.

The Mokoi are dangerous spirits that appear frequently as a sort of boogeyman, attacking those who don't go out of their way to avoid them. It's to the point that the Yolngu people frequently make sculptures of the Mokoi, likely to alleviate the threat of them getting upset with them (or maybe they just wanted to sculpt them, I dunno). These spirits attack any who defile their graves, or even get too close to said graves, and those who do so or invoke the name of the dead long after their death may risk a sort of 'Spiritual Pollution' wherein they and their family suffer illness and eventual death. The consequences of speaking the names of the dead will lead to eventual death of oneself, after all. It's said, though I can't find a direct source for it so take this with a pinch of salt, that more people in Yolngu culture die of a Mokoi's attack than old age.

The importance of the mokuy and the birrimbirr cannot go understated, as well as the love and respect the Yolngu people feel for the dead. It's to the point that mentioning the name of a deceased person, even if one isn't afraid of an attack by the mokuy, is still frowned upon, and honestly, I find that beautiful. The amount of love and importance these people put on their ancestors is incredibly high and the love and respect everyone in their community shows that they are still people, deserving of love and respect. With that, though, how does a Japanese franchise portray a being from a completely different and closed-off tribe? Well, it's mixed.

Mokoi doesn't seem to take much inspiration from the Mokuy sculptures that typically depict it, though I can see them being hard to adapt.

Instead, it seems to primarily base itself off of the patterning of the sculptures, looking more like a green being loosely based on them carved out of wood and carrying with it a kylie to likely tie it even more with Australia, given that, well, boomerangs are the Australian stereotype. It's a bit stereotypical as a result of that, but I still do enjoy how it looks, being a funky and iconic design for a demon that still seems to carry some weight behind it.

However, through my research I came to learn that a lot of the yolngu people are in need of help, and I'd like to take a moment to rectify a mistake I made in my lwa analysis and actually speak on this. I don't have much room to actually speak on a still thriving community of people that I'm not a part of, but the yolngu people are currently going through a health crisis and I'd like to use this post as a way to spread awareness about this. As a still living people-group who are experiencing damages, and had their areas of worship ruined by various policy changes in Australia, I'd like to ask you to try and help them in any way that you can. While I'm not sure if this one has been vetted, please try to use any charity possible to assist these people in need, as they have gone through a lot.

[daaifu]

Angel not Angel

Bird Angel Demon 6669 has entered the chat

Jokes aside This character/species has been jumping around in my head for quite some time. They are sort of a demon, but that look like an angel (especially in their dormant state)

I wanted the people of Lureed (the name of the world) to use their appearance as a blueprint for how they image Angels to be, featherish with a black halo and double horns. I think the reason for this is that they look different enough from a demon that they thought they were another species entirely (and maybe they saw one killing another demon so they thought "wow they are here to save us") It also helps that the members of this species are few and typical nomads. And even if they attack someone who is not a demon, they usually do a good job not to leave witnesses (but they rarely ambush large groups or settlements since they realistically need to off maybe 1/2 people a week)

I also find quite funny that this creature lives in the same world as Luta and Cesh, they could meet if someone is lucky... or unlucky

I made another version without the red

[sepublic]

            On another note, and these are random ideas based on stuff I’ve seen and read. But this post brought an interesting idea about Christianity being hailed as the religion of reason, of domestication, a place of safe haven from the wild mysticism of the unknown. After all, many revered scientists, such as Gregor Mendel or Isaac Newton, were Christians who saw their work as contributing to a closer understanding of God and his creations. I had a professor who explained how many native cultures have criticized Western science and rationale as an attempt to control and limit nature, as is the effort to quantify everything.

         So with that in mind, I really wonder if this was intentional in Philip’s characterization, how his journal especially sets him up as a scientific explorer with diagrams, ‘figuring out’ the New World to master it. His diary is rife with all sorts of sketches and formulas. And the documentation, the categorization of science might even be compared to Belos’ covens, and their seemingly arbitrary distinctions…

         By contrast, Luz is more willing to engage with the magic of the Titan on his own terms, trusting him and what’s different and unknown. She’s communicating with nature, following the advice of Eda, who espouses how magic IS wild and that this is a good thing; She enrolls at the University of Wild Magic at the end of the show. ‘Wild’ is obviously a term meant to demonize witches as savage and barbaric, which has its connections to colonizers who dismiss nomadic cultures, people who live off the land, as more ‘primitive’.

         People more knowledgeable than me on mysticism have also made posts about Luz’s relationship with magic, such as her acknowledging the power of names by saying Camila’s in the climax of Yesterday’s Lie, summoning a cube with a direct link to her. Names are a big thing in magic from what I understand, hence the creation of middle names; People couldn’t just refuse to give their name to a fae for fear of being deemed rude and punished, but giving your name gives them leverage. So have a REAL name to protect, while your first name is more of an alias.

         For the record, I don’t think TOH is taking an anti-science approach or anything; Keep in mind Keeping Up A-Fear-ances, and how it calls out alternative medicine as a dangerous hoax in its A-plot. The cast is composed of unapologetic nerds who are validated for their nerdery, wanting to learn things for their own sake; Lilith’s history hyperfixation is celebrated.

         Plus, Season 1A encourages Luz to critically question what she’s told, even from Eda; There’s a whole character thread where Luz feels the need to draw her own conclusions, and Eda realizes she can’t just dogmatically order Luz to trust her on authority alone, because she knows firsthand how harmful that logic is in the long run. So she allows Luz to attend Hexside and figure things out for herself, how SHE feels about them; Eda answers Luz’s questioning and admits her mistakes.

        In the end, I think it’s simply about respect; Respect for different cultures and ways of thinking, which also ties into the themes of neurodivergence. People see the world in different ways, and they don’t want you to abandon your own to embrace only theirs, they just want to be allowed to exist and live in actual harmony.