#chalice succubus

[gender-mailman]

Chalice succubus!

Chalice [link] folks who feel connected to succubi in some way; such as being otherkin / therian, an alter, or if you just really like succubi

Coined by me. Requested by no one

[heich0e]

tw religious imagery/sacrilege + mentions of blood

priest!geto who's approached by a member of his congregation, a promising, devout young man who's missed mass now for three weeks in a row, but reappears at the church one night asking to be blessed looking like a shell of the person suguru knows him to be.

"yuuta, are you well?" he asks, a comforting hand coming to rest on the younger man's trembling shoulder.

the boy—because that's what he is really, with his toes barely past the periphery of adulthood—hangs his head, his breathing laboured like he can't quite draw in a full breath. when he finally meets his priest's gaze, his eyes are hollow, and suguru sees for the first time how he appears to be drained.

yuuta tells him everything.

a demon. a succubus that came to him in the night. he hasn't slept in weeks, haunted by the memory and yearning for the next time it will appear. he's barely in his right mind as he recounts it, but suguru listens faithfully. blesses him once his story is done. promises to help him.

he sends yuuta away with that promise, and then he begins his preparations.

"well," your voice is smooth and sweet like honeyed wine as you appear before his eyes. he didn't even blink, but suddenly you're there. "you're not yuuta."

suguru smiles, gently marking the page in his book and closing it in his hand. "i'm not."

"oh," you coo—with what sounds like excitement in your tone—your eyes widening as you take him in. "a priest!"

suguru runs his hand along the front of his black shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. the roman collar at the base of his throat is surely what's given him away.

your eyes flicker around you, turning slightly to survey the scene. on the floor of the church basement, geto had carefully drawn the sigils needed to summon you—the ritual he'd unearthed in an old religious text in his research. yuuta's blood had been the final element—the part of him that tethered the boy to you—that would help to make the call.

"a summoning ritual," you muse, perhaps even a little impressed, as your eyes flicker along the sigils. your gaze slides over to meet his once more. "how archaic."

"but effective," suguru notes, his tone light and pleasant, and you smile a little—though there's no warmth in it.

by your feet, beside the train of the red tendrils that cloak you—though suguru can't quite be sure whether they're silk or smoke or something different altogether—a small chalice of yuuta's blood rests. you crouch down, dipping the very tip of your finger into the cup until it's coated in scarlet. you lift the digit to your lips, licking it away with your tongue. you maintain eye contact with the priest on the other side of the room all the while.

you hum around the finger caught between your lips. "this is my yuuta's blood."

"it is," suguru agrees.

"i thought he'd be here," you pout at him, "you tricked me."

the priest laughs a little at your expression, and the sound seems to intrigue you. you lick your lips.

"so,"—you inch a little closer to the edge of the circle that binds you—"what can i do for you father?"

"you've been causing a lot of problems for poor okkotsu," suguru notes, but his tone is still surprisingly amiable.

"but he's so much fun to play with," you reply, sighing in contentment as though you reflect on your time with the young man fondly.

suguru steps up to the edge of the summoning circle as well, observing you quietly. your interest in him grows more evident with every passing second, the expression on your face so keen it's as if you're barely containing your desire to reach out and touch him yourself.

"you're beautiful," suguru remarks lightly, his eyes curving up into two crescents as he smiles at you.

your eyes widen, your ruby lips parting in surprise before a devious smile twists them upwards.

"that's blasphemy, you know," you tease him breathlessly, pressing as far forward as the constraints of the ritual allow.

suguru's head tilts to the side in confusion. "your very existence is proof of our Lord. your beauty is a testament to His divine creation. in what way could that ever be sacrilege?"

you blink, your smile slightly falling as suguru's own twists higher.

you inch back.

"yuuta will be so relieved to be free of your possession," suguru says, his tone warm and proud.

he takes a step forward over the line of the summoning circle and you flinch.

he shouldn't be able to do that.

he takes another step towards you.

"come," he says, his hand outstretched "let us join together in blessing."

[thecolombianviking]

I was tagged by @the-man-that-i-was-not to post a selfie

I'ma tag: @the--s--laughterhouse @misfit-among-the-angels @chubabub @chalice-of-time @disney-eyes @vvitchy-succubus @kladivonacarodejnice @moss-wizard @noxghost @coasttocoastlikebutteredtoast @morbidmacabremin

[triste-guillotine]

INCANTATION "Unholy Deification" LP 2023 (Twelfth full-length album from the Gods of Unholy Death Metal Chaos)

"Torrid amidst the stars now bares Her eyes hold twilight she ensnares Spasms of lust, radiate her chalice Rousing charms, correct this carcass A prison reserved, for the swine "Come, triumph over their divine"

Of one blood, vessel overpours As Nuit she arches cosmic whores Countless taunt behind gossamer veils Succubus, Banshee and siren hails

Not but night between flesh and moon Frenzied dance enticing those who hewn

Of one blood, vessel overpours As Nuit she arches

Desire to cast down old gods for a new Aroused impurity the orgy shall ensue"

Unholy Deification | Incantation (bandcamp.com)

[courtleymanor]

Inkubus Sukkubus - Queen of Heaven, Queen of Hell - 2013

She is temptation, she is salvation Melancholia and elation She is a destroyer and she is a creator She is a succubus and purest virgin angel

She’s beyond good and evil She’s an angel and a devil She is darkness and she is light She’s beyond good and evil

She’s a phoenix rising higher She’s a falling Seraphim She is the chalice that holds the sacred fire She is the Dead, she is the Damned

She’s beyond good and evil Queen of Heaven, Queen of Hell She should be kind but never mind She’s beyond good and evil

[the-blackbird-roleplays]

"I... Genuinely didn't expect a simple Search and Destroy contract to lead me into a whirlwind romance with a half-succubus that would eventually melt my heart before stealing it straight from my chest... And yet I wouldn't have changed a damned thing. I love you, Maena."

Kuro smiled and returned the kiss, gently adoring her lips before she pulled back and filled the chalice. As she raised it to her lips, Kuro muttered a soft "slowly, not too much too fast", watching the waters pass her lips.

Her body suddenly shown with a brilliant light as she drank, forcing Kuro to cover his eyes as he yelled out in pain, feeling like a flashback grenade had just gone off in his face. Maena emanated divine light, illuminating every corner of the room and shining radiantly down the corridor towards the Well of Souls.

Maena could feel the essence of the clear waters filtering through her body, a slightly electric waterfall expanding from her core and reaching her extremities within seconds before it dissipated, leaving her with a slightly tingly sensation in her limbs.

The Road to El Dorado

(A closed RP with @hellforestrp)

Kuro sighed softly, looking at the summoning circle he'd drawn in the basement. It wasn't easy getting fresh blood, human bones, and red candles without being looked at rather strangely, but Kuro still had his connections. He glanced at Maena, thankful that they'd cleaned up and dressed properly.

"You sure that you want to do this?" Kuro sighed softly, ceremonial dagger in his hand as he prepared to trigger the ritual that would summon Maena's ex boyfriend. "I mean... We could always fly there... Maybe the magical barrier has faded in five thousand years?"

[incorrectml]

hello, do you think leandra is the other route?

Hi! She could be but I wonder what kind of bond they'll create between her and Elo 🤔 plus, succubus are supposed to not feel attachment for others (aka why Bel had to left in his neutral end) so I think they'll have to destroy a little bit of lore to make her route 🤔

[silverthornwitchery]

The Divine Feminine in the Left Hand Path WITHOUT appropriation

When it comes to demonolatry, satanism, and luciferianism, most people tend to gravitate towards Lilith, which isn't great, considering that she is from Judaism, which is a closed religion.

So you're probably thinking "well shit Phi, who am I supposed to venerate as a feminine figure" and to that the answer is... read anyone BUT Lilith. Yeah, that doesn't sound to helpful does it?? Well, its actually more helpful than you think. There are MANY figures in the left hand path that can be venerated as your divine feminine.

Want an absolute Bad Bitch who doesn't take any shit? Look into Vepar, Astaroth, and Babalon to name a few!

Want someone who directly went against God? Eve! Shes the one who first ate the fruit of knowledge and got Adam to follow suit.

Want someone who could be motherly and deals with love? Gremory and Unsere are both wonderful choices!

Want someone who you could consider the consort of Lucifer? Diana in Stregoneria is considered to be Lucifer's consort. They have a daughter named Aradia who is considered the first witch!

"But I wanna worship someone that can be considered a succubus and help with sexuality!" Babalon. You're gonna wanna want Babalon.. like. She literally rides upon a 7 headed beast with a chalice of wine. Classy as all hell. People do tend to conflate her with Lilith but in my experiences Babalon is very distinctly different. If shes syncretized with any demon, it would likely be Astaroth. You could also work with Unsere and Gremory!

"Yeah but none of them call to me" and thats fine! If you keep searching through various hierarchies im sure you'll find someone that vibes with you! Plus, demons aren't bound by gender so for example, let's say you feel drawn to Sitri, a demon thats traditionally depicted as masculine, if she feels feminine to you, nothing is stopping you from venerating her in that way!

"But Lilith genuinely calls to me and I feel drawn to her" I get it..I really do. But if you wanna truly get the most out of working with her, look into Judaism. See if it resonates with you. If it truly does, look into converting. But don't convert solely so you have a free pass to work with Lilith.

"But I don't wanna be part of an Abrahamic religion!!! God sucks!!" Too bad buddy. Plus, the way God is portrayed in Judaism is VERY different than how they're portrayed in Christianity. If you don't wanna put in the effort to actually genuinely understand Lilith's source, why work with her?

"But I still hate Abrahamic religions!" Then check yourself. Do you really hate all abrahamic religions or just Christianity? Obviously its ok to hold resentment towards stuff that traumatized you, but to conflate all abrahamic religions together and act like they're the same is both antisemetic and Islamophobic. If your trauma is causing you to be a dick about stuff that didn't even tie into your trauma, do some soul searching and get help. Period.

Its easy to have a divine feminine figure in your LHP practice without appropriating closed cultures. Just use common sense.

[crimsonwolfie]

Best Mistake — Hamish Duke x Reader (x Knights)

Requested by @mysticalcrownbear

Prompt: The Knights accidently summon you, (the reader) a succubus when trying to summon Zecchia. You have a strong liking towards Hamish Duke, and he’s very much into you too.

Word count: 2,095

Hope you guys like this!! Sorry if it’s crap - requests are open!!

Masterlist

Best Mistake Part 2

“It’s not that they have all our stuff...they stole it. So - let’s steal it all back” Jack whispers as he leans forward, straightening his posture in seriousness.

“Are you suggesting a magic heist?!” Randall says, stalking towards Jack

“Yes. A magic heist” Jack replies as he steps up from the couch. Both boys shine a ray of mischief in their eyes and madness in their energy

“MAGIC HEIST! MAGIC HEIST!” They both chant, as Hamish and Lilith begin joining in synchronisation

“MAGIC HEIST MAGIC HEIST MAGIC HEIST!” The Knights chant like toddlers demanding candy.

—

“Well you didn’t think to warn us about that?!” Lilith hissed, eyes dark with fear and damage after the images she’d experienced. Hamish, Jack and Randall all sat with Lilith in the Blade and Chalice collectively recovering from their fear corners. Lilith rocked slightly from side to side whilst Jack was holding a pack of ice on the side of his head. They were tired, scared, drained...but desperate. They couldn’t get into the vault without being stuck in the “fear corridor”. Hamish chugged a swig of his whiskey, slamming the glass down onto the table with force, trying his best to forget what he went through -

“Stupid Ricky Simarco and his stupid fifth birthday party” he groaned, eyes fixed into a trance like state

“What did you see?” Randall asked Lilith, who replies with a simple “nothing”.

“Nothing?” He asks again, confused to why she didn’t see anything

“Nothing.” She confirms, although her shaken state says otherwise.

“Okay, since we can’t get through to the vault, i found the perfect solution” Jack enthusiastically gushes. “We summon a demon! There’s loads of different types to summon and i think i found the perfect one!”

The fellow knights all look around at each other in suspicion...could this actually work? Or is Jack literally insane?

“It’s name is a Zecchia” Jack points towards a yellow dusted page in an old, crippled book “it’s a baron demon, meaning it steals anything that the summoner desires it to”

“Won’t we have to do something for it? You know, a catch?” Lilith questions, her big brown eyes looking up to Jack

“No! You see that’s the beauty of it. We call it, they show up, we pay the toll and they’ll do our bidding!” He replies almost as if it was complete rocket science. “You just gotta follow the protocol perfectly”

“I’m in-“

“-Me too!” Hamish and Lilith both declare with their whole chests, meanwhile Randall starts struggling with the decision...

“Nope.” He announces. “No thanks. No way. Nope. Not a demon. Not ever.” Adamant as ever, he puts his hand on the table as a way to stand against the debate. He gets up and walks away before the others can stop him.

“We’re still doing this.”

“Yeah totally”

“He’ll get over it”

-

Hamish, Lilith and Jack all stand around the summoning circle, ready to summon Zecchia, the thief demon.

“Zecchia, appear before us so that we may negotiate the fee for your service to empty the vault of the Hermetic Order of the Blue Rose and remand those goods into the possession of the Knights of Saint Christopher” they all chant in synchronisation. Below their feet is a demon trap, purposed to trap the summoned demon in order to negotiate wisely. As soon as they finish the chant, a sound of wind brushes past them...but shorty followed by silence.

“Zecchiaaa?” Jack quietly echos into the distance of the house, uncertain if the summoning ritual worked or not. The 3/4 knights walk around the hallway wondering where they went wrong.

“Maybe we messed up the incantation?” says Lilith

“We did everything right?” Hamish replies

Suddenly, the door bursts open as Randall rushes in, slightly out of breath

“- guys STOP don’t do this-” He shouts as he blows out the candles nearest to him on the floor “-Alyssa and i were discussing demon summonings and-“

“-and you suck at it” you pipe up.

Emerging from the shadows of the staircase, you quietly and elegantly walk down, eyes never leaving the people below you...but one in specific - the man dressed in the waistcoat. You’re wearing a red, laced spaghetti strap bodysuit that’s tucked under a pair of tight fitted sheer black leggings (clearly i’m not going to have you wear only underwear and a bra like every other succubus - *que that not on MY WATCH vine* we are more PG here y’all - also may i add, your body size does not matter here. All body types are beautiful and you should love your body, don’t fall for these skinny stereotypes! Curvy girls are breathtaking too!!! <3 okay back to the story lmao). With midnight black wings as beautiful as can be and horns impeccable in sight, you stare with your big Y/E/C eyes as your long Y/H/C, silky locks fall past your shoulders. The sound of your black stiletto heels click and clack on the wooden floorboards, as further silence echos in the walls. The Knights are struck by your beauty, chocked for words at what they’re seeing in front of them. You swiftly bring your wings to your side, stroking your arms as you approach the people below you.

“You’re not what...we...expected” Randall slurs- i mean drools ;)

“That’s because i’m not” you sigh, bringing your arms across your body. “You summoned me, a succubus. Not Zecchia. But hey, you’re not the first...you’re meant to use alcohol as a summoning ingredient. She’s a sucker for it...senses it from many realms away” you continue, shaking your head and rolling your eyes playfully. Looking around the room, you can’t help but keep looking back to the tall man who has a perfect complexion and long, dirty blonde hair with blue crystal eyes. With lips so succulent...you want to kiss all over them and run your hands through his locks, as he uses his large, soft hands to roam around your body-

“So who did we summon?” Your thoughts are interrupted by the small, gorgeous lady to your right. She has blue streaks in her black hair, and a cute little button nose that you want to just *boop*!

“I’m Y/N, a succubus” you smile delicately at the woman in front of you, glancing back to the man who caught your eye before.

“And you are?” You question, turning your attention to the male on your right

“I’m Lili-“

“Not you! This handsome gentleman in front of me” you point with your long, ‘black as night’ painted fingertip towards the tallest man.

“I-i’m Hamish. Hamish Duke” he replies, cheeks blushing a gentle shade of crimson.

“You’re really hot” you tease, biting your lower lip in hot anticipation at your dirty thoughts. Hamish’s eyes widen at this, bringing his hands towards his front slightly.

“I could say the same for you, love” He gulps. He doesn’t know this, but you can actually read his thoughts; images of him pushing you up against the wall, his hands on your ass as your legs wrap around his middle, lips working sweet magic as you’re caressing his face and hair...leaving small, wet pecks on his neck as he moans your name out loud, thrusti-

“Hey, i’m Randall” the tall, pretty brunette calls out, stepping towards you. He brings his hand out to shake, to which you accept. A huge grin is painted across his face as his hand touches your dainty one, Lilith just rolls her eyes and huffs.

“Okay okay let’s wrap this up here” she remarks, pulling Randall away from you. You turn to see a shorter male, who sports platinum blonde hair that falls to the side of his face. His eyes are wide, mouth slightly parted and eyebrows furrowed.

“Are you alright, pretty boy?” You ask, genuine concern across your face. Randall giggles like a school boy at your words, repeating (and i quote) “hehe pretty boy heheee” quietly in the sidelines whilst pointing at Jack.

“I....uh....hi” Jack replies, fixing his hair after noticing you were looking at him

You lightly laugh “hi, cutie”

You look back over to Hamish, as his filthy visions are still happening

“I can read your thoughts, you know” you laugh as he blushes bright red and covers his front completely now

“It’s okay, i liked them” you continue in a husky tone, stepping closer towards him with your hands in front of you, gasping to be touching him.

He reaches his hand out towards your stretched hand, gently touching your fingers and delicately wrapping his large ones round them. You both intertwine fingers, as gazes are locked onto you both. He pulls you towards him, his head tilting slightly in awe at your appearance.

“Uhhh...okayyyy?” Lilith gawked as the rest of the Knights share glances of pure confusion and slight panic.

You chuckle lightly at Hamish’s actions, as

he wraps his arms around your lower back, swaying from side to side.

“You’re beautiful” he whispers into your ear which sends excited chills down your spine. He smiles looking down at you.

“What is happening right now?” Jack asks the others, who shrug their shoulders watching like hawks. Lightly, you plant a small kiss on his lips...which Hamish returns, only with more passion and lust. The kiss deepens as his hands grip tighter and your thrusting into him for more becomes intolerable, until you both need to release for air.

“Uhh Hamish? Y/N? Hello?” Randall waves his hands in the air trying to signal Hamish, but proves useless. As you’re heavily gasping in air, you notice Hamish’s mouth - your red lipstick has smudged all over his mouth

“BRO you look like a clown!!” Randall cracks up, laughing hysterically. Jack and Lilith snort upon seeing Hamish’s state, but he doesn’t care. He quickly and forcefully grabs you again and drops you bridal-style whilst passionately making out with you once again. Jack, Lilith and Randall all look back up from their laughter fits to see you two basically eating each other’s faces. Suddenly, it’s not that funny anymore - just disturbing.

“Okay that’s enough, Ham-burger” Randall shouts. Nothing.

“Yo Hamish dude stop” Jack sings, which again does nothing to Hamish and you.

“Yeah this is now how i thought my Tuesday was going to go” Lilith says as she gestures towards you two. “Is he enchanted or something?!”

“I uh...maybe?” Jack mutters

“Maybe i am too” Randall eyeballs you and Hamish ���wait...i said that out loud didn’t i?” he quickly looks down and plants his face with his hands. Yeah...he was totally thinking of a threesome at that time.

Begrudgingly you break the contact between yours and Hamish’s soft lips and lift yourself up from his arms, yet he continues leaving sweet, soft kisses on your neck.

“I know what you’re thinking, cutie” you look up to Randall, who squeals in embarrassment and mouths ‘don’t tell them’ towards you, making you laugh.

“What were you thinking about?” Jack asks

“Basically he was thinkin-“ you begin

“NO no NO DON’T say anything” Randall barks out, breaking Hamish from his trail of leaving kisses down your neck

“You know what nevermind” Jack grunts as he scrunches his eyebrows up in discomfort.

“Okay this is getting too weird now. Hey, Y/N can we get Zecchia please” Lilith asks, seemingly annoyed

You sigh loudly, clearly annoyed that your fun was about to be wrapped up “fine. But i want to see you again” you say, stroking Hamish’s hair out of his face.

“Why does she have to go? Can’t she stay for a little longer?” Hamish pleads, but is shut down by Lilith giving him a death stare whilst growing towards him.

“It’s okay, she’s right. Okay well this was amazing. Call me again” you say as you wink towards Hamish, who’s knees buckle slightly. You walk towards the middle of the room and straighten yourself up, lifting the strap of your top back onto your shoulder.

“Nice to see you, lovelies” you give a little wave with your hand, then click your fingers and disappear. The Knights all glare round to Hamish, who straightens himself up and buttons his waistcoat back up.

“Have fun there buddie?” Randall quips, smirking slightly at his friend

Hamish doesn’t say anything, he just looks down in embarrassment

“Oh, and you might wanna-“ Randall gestures for him to wipe his lips, as Jack and Lilith silently chuckle from the other side of the room.

It’s safe to say, you left your imprint on Hamish Duke...and he won’t be forgetting that any time soon.

Let me know what you guys thought, and of you want any more fanfic :)

[for-the-love-of-avo]

I posted 264 times in 2021

65 posts created (25%)

199 posts reblogged (75%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 3.1 posts.

I added 244 tags in 2021

#fable reaver - 50 posts

#fable 3 - 49 posts

#fable - 37 posts

#fable 2 - 35 posts

#reaver - 33 posts

#jim moriarty - 9 posts

#fable page - 9 posts

#sherlock holmes - 8 posts

#fanfic - 7 posts

#sherlock - 7 posts

Longest Tag: 133 characters

#this man shot a guy non fatally from a different building and kicked a crossbow so that it hit a specific dude whilst tied to a chair

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

Fable characters in Halloween gear 💀👻🧟‍♀️

Was this an excuse to draw Reaver as a vampire and logan as a succubus? No

Am I lying? You can't prove anything

34 notes • Posted 2021-10-16 00:25:15 GMT

#4

Yall read a marriage of inconvenience by @raeofalbion ? Logan really said here take my sister then shuffled off this mortal coil

37 notes • Posted 2021-10-03 23:54:31 GMT

#3

Commits war crimes then default dances my way back into your heart call that fable logic

48 notes • Posted 2021-11-30 19:16:57 GMT

#2

"What a weak, despicable man he is. But I am not he. I am Reaver. And I will sleep much better after this chalice of wine."

51 notes • Posted 2021-10-19 02:13:04 GMT

#1

Ayo fable fans come get yo pre-trauma pirate boy.

Tumblr quality really said hay suck a bag of hobbeknobbs. :')

54 notes • Posted 2021-10-16 23:01:03 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[tetrakys]

Moonlight Lovers - Beliath episode 7 AP 14,340

(I didn’t get the illustration, it is currently circulating different discord servers, we don’t know if it was a bug and then fixed or it is THAT difficult to unlock)

Eloise spends the episode complaining that Beliath is keeping secrets about Leandra and the whole situation and Beliath ignoring her, until he finally admits that she is his half-sister (same succubus mother). Leandra is so against Eloise because succubi/incubi don’t have human feelings and don’t get attached, Eloise is instead making him cave to his Vampire side, because vampires are more similar to humans than demons, so they can feel and fall in love.

The three of them go hunting for the murderer, but as soon as they meet him they realise he is too strong and escape only after they have been badly beaten. Eloise shows some extra powers that have nothing to do with her being a Chalice. The murderer, who is the same as in Vladimir’s route, seems to be connected to her in some ways, he is specifically targeting Eloise saying that she has to pay for the parents’ debt. He also adds that it is a shame she has to die this way after he had saved her that faithful night. (Probably when she was a baby and her parents died?)

The illustration shows the moment they are falling while escaping.

[occultwhores]

Sacred marriage ~ invoking the whore

As a subject, Andromeda has been popular in art since classical times; it is one of several Greek myths of a Greek hero's rescue of the intended victim of an archaic hieros gamos (sacred marriage), giving rise to the "princess and dragon" motif. From the Renaissance, interest revived in the original story, typically as derived from Ovid's Metamorphoses

Hieros gamos or Hierogamy ("holy marriage") is a sacred marriage that plays out between a god and a goddess, especially when enacted in a symbolic ritual where human participants represent the deities.

The notion of hieros gamos does not always presuppose literal sexual intercourse in ritual, but is also used in purely symbolic or mythological context, notably in alchemy and hence in Jungian psychology. Hieros gamos is described as the prototype of fertility rituals.

The symbolism of union and polarity is a central teaching in Tantric Buddhism, especially in Tibet. The union is realized by the practitioner as a mystical experience within one's own body.

Goulven Peron (2016) suggested that the Holy Grail may reflect the horn of the river-god Achelous as described by Ovid in the Metamorphoses.

In Wicca, the Great Rite is a ritual based on the Hieros Gamos. It is generally enacted symbolically by a dagger (known as an athame) being placed point first into a chalice, the action symbolizing the union of the male and female divine. In British Traditional Wicca, the Great Rite is sometimes carried out in actuality by the High Priest and High Priestess.

The spirit spouse is one of the most widespread elements of shamanism, distributed through all continents and at all cultural levels. Often, these spirit husbands/wives are seen as the primary helping spirits of the shaman, who assist them in their work, and help them gain power in the world of spirit. The relationships shamans have with their spirit spouses may be expressed in romantic, sexual, or purely symbolic ways, and may include gender transformation as a part of correctly pairing with their "spouse". Shamans report engaging with their spirit spouses through dreams, trance, and other ritual elements. In some cultures, gaining a spirit spouse is a necessary and expected part of initiation into becoming a shaman. Evidence of spirit spouses may be seen in non-shamanic cultures as well, including dreams about Christ by nuns, who are considered to be "brides of Christ".

In Christian literature, there are demons called incubus and succubus, who are also called types of spirit spouses. They are specifically referred to as spirit wife and spirit husband, respectively. We knew of these creatures, for instance, in the work of St. Augustine where it was stated that "many have verified it by their own experience and trustworthy persons have corroborated the experiences others told, that sylvans and fauns, commonly called incubi, have often wicked assaults upon women." These creatures are considered as spirit spouses, who only exist in dreams having intercourse with the dreamer. Some sources state that they are acquired through sexual promiscuity and are prominently connected with witchcraft spells, love potions, and lust.

In France, there is a belief that "during the night, in dreams, which he contrives to excite, he takes care to be the principal object of her ideas...'tis her sylph that causes her those pleasing reveries". "Humans long to mate with sylphs, according to the Comte de Gabalis, because they want to live forever".

[diamo-chan]

"You have killed three women in public and others had to take care of your mess. I don't know how it was when you disappeared but killing prey is strictly forbidden" Pheebe shivered on the inside at how clear of any trace of guilt the albino's face was. It was cold, motionless, and judging. Was he really so unaware, or did he simply not care? "... It's forbidden by the law!"

He snorted. Something so incredibly unelegant given how his whole stance had an air of delicate royalty, remanding of respect and manners, even in the weakened state he was in.

He leaned in closer, challenging her to back down in front of the threat he could possibly be. Eyeing her in defiance with a cruel grin plastered onto his lips, he practically spit his hate into her face.

"And what those humen did was allowed?"

Those humen, the people who owned this home, the researcher pair that lost their mind and... went missing. No they didn't 'go missing', they stole the organizations properties and research papers and went into hiding, after months of being chased down by the hunters bloodhounds. Without any result they were stripped of any rank and rights they might have had. A shame for the hunters, shunned, infamous. So it's told.

Her mind was calm. There was no use in arguing about reasons when he was in this unstable emotional state. With a lack of weapons to protect herself or the other chalice of the house she would need to appease to him, if Pheebe didn't want four more deaths this night. "It was not. They were banned from the circle.  What they did had nothing to do with us! "

"They were hunters. You're all bred the same way. You put that mindset into them!"

His hand that has been clenched to a fist hidden in the sleeves of his jacket, shot forward, going for her jugular. Tallon like nails on delicate fingers - like Domenique's - long enough to surround her neck, and squeeze the life out of her effortlessly.

Let him do it... If you put up a fight he will see himself proven in his point... She stood up to his gaze.

But the pressure never reached her throat. Instead a painted hiss came from the ancient, when he tried to pull his hand out of the steely, bruising grip of an ashen clawed hand.

"Chim?"

The crunching sound of bones rubbing against each other was faintly perceptible, as the demon waited for her command to crush them. But her fingers softly glided over his, lightly touching the vampires arm, as a sign that it was alright and that he is allowed to release the man.

"What in the- it's more impressive than the succubus." Neil whispered more to himself than any of the other people present. The sight of the tall demon was indeed a threatening one, a mix between silk soft fur and protective scales, with an intimidating height and bat like wings. His yellow pupils met Neil's and made him freeze on the spot with a deep inhuman growl, a warning that he was anything but an easy opponent.

Chim's voice was deep and scratchy, dooming, with that high overtone that always accompanied it when he used the human way of communication. Neil's eyes were focused on the two rows of razor sharp teeth in front of him.

"You are weak. If you attack, I will rip you apart." They all believed him, it was clear from the shaken surprise in their eyes. Chim was no human, has never been one and pity was not something that the chimera was familiar with. He was a beast, an animal capable of the human languages, with fire in his voice proving his majestetic origin as a descendant of the old dragons. His presence alone would keep any foe from doing something unexpected. So, reluctantly, he let go of the man, knowing that the message was understood. Neil instantly clenched both his hands to his chest, rubbing his throbbing wrist.

" Thank you Chim", he didn't need her gratitude, it was his unspoken obligation to protect her.

[... ... ...]

Walking behind the man with spread wings, to close off any escape routes, the demon readies himself to open a door to the prison halls of the associations headquarter. "I will bring him to the council"

A chill ran down her back "... No." bringing him back into a prison, to be locked down for the rest of his life, as a subject to their whimsical moods. She would not drive him there. No vampire deserves to be sent there. Pheebe has broke the law for vampiric convicts more than once. He won't be her trophy to display, if there is any other way.

"Please bring him to Damil. He can get him back on his feet. And ensure he is up to date with the law. He should at least know, what those, who will go after him, hold against him. "

He will need strength, if he plans on escaping his judgment. But mainly, he needs to reconnect with Lady Befjör to take back his place among the ancients.

[imagine-moonlovers]

how do you think would be leandra's route? i'm really gay for her, i need to know

Leandra’s route, huh. That’s definitely interesting idea—she’s not a vampire, therefore Eloise would not have became a chalice, upon which a lot of the plot and interactions in the game are built. Leandra could have potentially saved Eloise on a while just when she was being defenestrated if she were at the manor in the Prologue, removing the need of chalice-ing Eloise to save her life, and opening the possibility of her route.

Since Leandra and Beliath are siblings, there would undoubtedly be similarities in their routes, probably featuring their mother as the final boss in her route as well.

Leandra is a full succubus, so the route would most likely get much more R-rated from the very start and Eloise, as someone who grew up in all-female orphanage, probably isn’t very opposed to a relationship with another woman. If anything, it’s more of a familiar territory, so it might end up making her feel more secure. As the story progresses, Leandra will grow more and more fond of Eloise, who she initially saw as an interesting break in the routine, before realizing that oh not I think I’m in love what do I do help—

Leandra knows how to do the sex part, she’s pretty much an expert. But the disgustingly adorable fluffy romance stuff? Hand holding? Cuddles? Soft-spoken, well-meaning compliments? She wouldn’t know what to do. It might freak her out, initially, but she wants more of that positive attention. And before long, she realizes that oh, she can feed on this emotional energy too. That maybe it’s as potent at the sexual one, or maybe even more than that. That she gets stronger just by being with Eloise, and she doesn’t quite want to leave either.

And, having entered a relationship with a succubus, Eloise might find herself changing as well—she’s not a chalice, sure, but being in very often contact with an actual full-blooded demon must have an effect on a human somehow. So she changes, she becomes stronger, maybe even unlocks her psychic power. The stronger their bond, the stronger they both get, and they may not quite get it at first, but they probably have entered a pact-like relationship that benefits them both.

And, with Leandra’s help, Eloise will probably, finally, put the vampires in their place. They can live in the manor, sure, but this is her house first and foremost, and she will not take any bullshit from any of them, and Leandra will cheer her on from side-lines, probably enjoying the show more than she should.

On another hand, Eloise would introduce Leandra to the human part of the town too, without being restricted to moving only at night. Shopping, dates, movies, just walking around together. Shopping for sexy lingerie and inevitably being dragged to the only sex-shop in town because of course Leandra found it.

Maybe, after so much contact with a succubus, Eloise gradually stops being human herself, too, but with the dangers looming ahead it’s probably for the best.

Asmodee wants power more than anything, and Leandra stumbled upon a solution to gaining large amount of it over a period of time. How will the final confrontation go, I wonder?

Bonus: Eloise also befriends Beliath. He’s still a lovable idiot.

[alexandralyman]

Fic Update: Between Heaven and Hell 

Summary: A Hook/Emma angel/demon AU. They hide in plain sight, the servants of heaven and hell. The angels and the demons, who can save your soul or damn it. They stand on opposite sides, they are the bringers of light and the agents of darkness, they are enemies in an eternal war, but what happens when an angel and a demon are inexplicably drawn to each other?

Read this chapter on AO3 here or on ff.net here

                                        Part Twenty-Three

On any other evening the Jolly Roger would be in full swing by now, the lights turned down low and the music turned up, a sensual beat that made the blood rise and the pulse quicken. The liquor would be flowing in intoxicating rivers enough to drown a man and the dancers would be gyrating, all lithe, bare limbs and come-hither looks. It was a decadent playground of the rich and beautiful all watched over from above by a lone demon who was the sole captain of the ship, steering them on their pleasure cruise straight down to Hell while they partied on in blissful ignorance, unaware and heedless of the danger that lurked just below every polished surface.

They never saw what was truly coming until it was too late.

But tonight the club was virtually unrecognizable. All of the tables and chairs where the vastly overpaid bankers and stockbrokers sat and drank vastly overpriced cocktails with women young enough to be their daughters and granddaughters had been removed, leaving a large, empty space in the middle of the floor and revealing the symbol that was etched into the wood, normally concealed by the furniture. Not that anyone would have noticed it anyway, mortals were, for the most part, utterly blind to what was right in front of their own damn noses. There was no overlooking it now, the carved lines were stark under the overhead lights, turned up to full brightness and revealing everything that normally lay hidden for the first time, as harsh as the midday sun in the middle of the desert.

Killian stood with his arms folded across his chest and surveyed the room for a moment with a critical eye before giving a tiny nod. It wasn't ideal, but it would do. The Jolly Roger was much more than just a high-end strip club, it was the central hub of his operation in the city, the root from which everything else had grown. Illegal backroom casinos and sports betting, corrupt cops who answered to him and not the mayor's favourite pet, the chief of police, industrial espionage and blackmail, even a bit of his old, lucrative sideline, smuggling, this time in the form of knockoff sneakers and fake designer handbags that were sold out of the backs of nail shops and tattoo parlours. Captain Hook was long gone, just another forgotten legend in a dusty book, but Killian Jones was still that ruthless, cutthroat pirate at heart underneath his elegant, bespoke suits and perfectly pressed shirts.

A pirate with a secret treasure that must be kept hidden and protected at all costs.

His club served a dual purpose, it was a business, and a highly profitable one at that, he could have lived like a king on the revenue from it alone and not wanted for anything (except the one thing he wanted more than everything else, the one thing no amount of money would buy or he would have already spent every last cent of it to obtain his heart's desire and done so gladly) but it was also a literal den of sin, where countless men and women had all given in to temptation and damned their immortal souls forever under his corrupting influence. Lust, greed, wrath, gluttony, pride, they had all left their mark behind just as he marked the ones who fell with his demonic brand and the sins permeated everything around him as if the building itself had been soaked in gasoline, ready to alight with just a single spark. His power was strongest at the Jolly Roger, where the deep leather banquettes served as the pews facing the altar of the stage, the raised DJ booth housed the choir, and an unholy Communion of body and blood was served nightly in the nubile flesh of the dancers and the liquor poured from behind the bar to those who came to worship in his name instead of His. Killian could feel it under his skin, moving through his veins quicker than any drug with a burn that was a dark, addictive ecstasy. He cracked his neck, the pop and hiss echoing loud in the silent room while pleasure and pain coiled and twisted along every nerve, making the cords stand out as he drank deep from the unseen chalice and drew on the reserve of wickedness and vice. The one thing he'd always had was time, centuries to carefully plot and plan, but the ticking clock was now his enemy and he needed to be at full strength as fast as possible before facing him.

Rumpelstiltskin

Killian hadn't told Emma the full truth, that he'd tangled with the Dark One more than once in the past and long after their encounter in Paris. The animosity between them ran deep, and no one could hold a grudge longer than a demon, immortal and immoral as they were. Years had passed, decades, but it was no matter. They would face each other again, and this time only one of them would walk away, Killian was certain of that.

He still had his old iron knife, the same one that had spilled the cackling succubus Zelena's infernal blood onto the Parisian cobblestones when she'd learned his secret and dared to threaten his angel. Iron could both repel and harm demons, hence the old custom of nailing an iron horseshoe over a doorway. It wasn't originally done for luck, it was to prevent malevolent creatures from entering the house and gaining a foothold among the souls. Freshly sharpened, the blade was pitch-black without a speck of tarnish and gleamed like a pool of oil. A few other supplies were ready and waiting, both esoteric and humble in nature, but he didn't need much. Killian couldn't summon Rumpelstiltskin directly himself, their master could as he could with all demons, but he wasn't going to bring the Fallen One into this squabble to play mediator. If anyone would recognize the faintest whiff of the divine about him, it would be Lucifer, born of Heaven before he was bound to Hell. He needed a sinner to do the summoning for him and for that he had Jacqueline, the thieving bartender who was about to learn exactly what the "perform other duties as needed" clause in her employment contract really meant. The summoning itself would be done at the Jolly Roger, his own private house of worship to the many vices of man. Emma would remain safely removed from the whole event, and once Rumpelstiltskin was dealt with there would be nothing keeping them apart and Killian could resume his seduction, finish what had begun the night he'd first caught a glimpse of that single light in the midst of the darkness.

The harsh, artificial light that filled his club now was a miracle of science but it was nothing compared to that golden glow, mesmerizing enough to tempt even one who knew better than to fall for something shiny to get closer and try to get a better look.

Funny that. He was the corruptor, the one who offered the poisoned apple, so sweet and juicy and irresistible, and yet she had drawn him in first and before he could stop himself he was turning his back on the delights of a rampaging army let loose like a swarm of locusts to destroy and defile everything in their path and heading away from the delectable feast instead with an angel and a group of frightened nuns all following behind that reminded him later of a regal, unruffled swan leading a clutch of confused, orphaned ducklings. Their innocence grated on him during the whole of the brief journey, pure souls that were too naive, too trusting. So trusting that they had all placed their faith in him to see them to safety, even as they visibly shied away from what they glimpsed behind his eyes.

Except her.

His phone rang, interrupting his thoughts. The one he'd thrown against the wall in a rage had been completely destroyed but he had backups stashed in his office, just in case. It wasn't the first time his literally demonic temper had gotten the better of him and the cost of a few spare phones kept in a drawer along with all the jewelry Emma wouldn't accept from him was nothing. Killian's heart leapt into his throat as he fumbled in his pocket with uncharacteristic clumsiness, hoping against hope that it was Emma calling him again, despite the risk. If he had the chance to explain why he had taken up with Caroline Spencer when he was supposed to be dealing with the Dark One and made it look like he was more interested in sporting with a married woman and satisfying his lust than in doing what he'd promised then maybe she would forgive him for his infidelity and he would offer her anything she wanted, anything. But it was Jefferson's number that popped up on the screen instead and he grit his teeth in frustration. Still, the dealer wouldn't be calling him unless he had something important to share, he knew better than to bother his best customer, the infamous Mr. Jones with anything inconsequential and Killian needed all the information he could get so he answered on the second ring.

"Jefferson. What have you found out?"

"This shit is seriously fucked up."

He'd sent a sample of the Heaven's Gate heroin to Jefferson for testing and analysis since he wasn't just some low-level dealer, he was a brilliant chemist who had funded his entire degree at a prestigious, pricey college by selling his illegal concoctions in the dorms to his well-to-do classmates living it up on mom and dad's dime. Jefferson had been courted by several large

pharmaceutical companies even before graduation and could have had a storied career developing new treatments for modern plagues like HIV, Zika, bird flu, but he had fallen down a rabbit hole of uppers and downers and now made colourful pills with "Eat Me" inscribed on them instead. He hadn't completely fried his Ivy League brain though and he sounded dead serious.

"Explain," Killian demanded.

Jefferson immediately launched into what sounded like a textbook description of heroin, dry and clinical and peppered with very long words that Killian mostly recognized for their Latin origins and not for whatever the hell it was Jefferson was actually trying to say.

"Spare me the chemistry lecture," he interrupted when he could finally get a word in edgewise, "And get to the bloody point, Jefferson."

There was a loud huff on the other end. "Okay, okay...look, you know where heroin actually comes from, right?"

That he did know. "Poppies."

The bright red flowers had been used since antiquity to produce medicines and narcotics, it was the origin of both morphine, a miracle drug for pain relief to untold multitudes, and heroin, a hellaciously addicting destroyer of lives. As the forbidden fruit in the Garden contained the knowledge of both Good and Evil linked together in a single bite, so too did the poppy flower contain two opposing forces locked together for eternity in their innocuous-looking seeds. Killian had sent Emma many different flowers over the years, endless bouquets of roses, tulips, buttercups, forget-me-nots, orchids, gardenias, but he had never sent her poppies. As beautiful as they were, they meant death, the eternal sleep, and while he wanted eternity with a burning desire that had never abated, he didn't mean it like that.

"That's right," Jefferson agreed, and Killian could practically see him nodding over the phone. "Poppies, mostly from Afghanistan, but also China, Mexico, Columbia and Burma."

The mention of Burma reminded Killian of something else, but he pushed the thought away. Now was not the time for that.

"Usually the country of origin doesn't really matter, though, they're all the same flower anyway."

Killian picked up on that immediately and his tone sharpened, "Usually doesn't matter. But this strain is different, isn't it?"

"Yes," Jefferson sighed. "Heroin comes from the Papaver somniferum variety of poppy, the opium poppy. But poppies are like any other plant, there's more than just one kind. Most of the others are inert, they can't be used to produce opium and therefore heroin, but there's a few, rare subspecies of the common opium poppy that yield a stronger, more potent product. They've never been cultivated to the same degree because they're much more temperament, difficult to grow, harder to refine and your average illiterate Afghani poppy farmer isn't going to bother with it, if he could even get enough seeds to try, which he probably couldn't, not to turn a profit, at least. But if someone figured out a way to get a viable crop from one of these subspecies, then, well."

He thought of the list of names given to Emma by the Angel of Death herself, dozens of fatal overdoses fallen victim to a drug that promised Heaven and delivered Hell.

"And that's where the Heaven's Gate heroin comes from? One of these rare subspecies?"

Pieces were starting to click into place, a more potent strain explained why the high from the drug was reported to be much stronger and why it was so much easier to OD on it.

"I believe so, yes. But the real question is how. When I say these subspecies are rare, I don't mean they're unusual, I mean rare. They're nearly impossible to get outside of a few specimens in botanical gardens and university collections, it must have cost a fortune to establish, there's no supply chain in place, the usual importers have been completely bypassed, none of my contacts can even get their hands on a full brick. No one's wholesaling, which makes no goddamn sense, it's like it just appeared out of thin air one day already on the streets."

Killian gripped the phone a little tighter. Nothing Jefferson had said contradicted his theory that Rumpelstiltskin was somehow behind the trendy new drug, but neither was it definitive proof. The imp still chained up in his basement could have gotten it from someone else, they were naturally attracted to chaos, after all.

"Was there anything else? Anything at all, no matter how far fetched it might seem?"

There was a pause on the other end that told Killian there was something, his own instincts sensing that the dealer was holding back information. He felt his eyes flash crimson and when he spoke his voice was a dark, slithering growl.

"Tell me."

Jefferson answered with clear hesitation, "It's probably nothing, I mean, it's just something I found when I was doing a bit of research, trying to trace it back to the origin. Apparently the Nazis did some experiments with opium poppies, hell, the Germans were the ones who basically invented heroin in the first place anyway. Afghanistan and Germany had close ties even before the war, and I found some references to diplomats bringing poppy plants back to Berlin, including the rare varieties that the Nazis later used to try to crossbreed with the common opium poppy to create a hybrid strain that had the heightened potency combined with the ease of cultivation. They called it Himmelstür, which means-"

"Heaven's Door," Killian interrupted. He hadn't spoken German in years, but he was still as fluent in the language as he was in English and he knew what the word meant as soon as Jefferson said it. Heaven's Gate and Heaven's Door, the names were too similar for it to be a coincidence. Not to mention that the last time he had seen the Dark One in person had been right smack dab in the thick of World War II. As in all times of chaos and sin, the damned of Hell were there to enjoy the feast and the war that had engulfed the entire globe had practically been an all you can eat buffet.

"I know, I noticed it too. But that was what, seventy years ago? Anyway, the estate in Bavaria where they were actually growing the hybrids was bombed by the Allies near the end of the war and the plants themselves were all destroyed."

Seventy years was a long time to a mortal who could live out his entire lifespan in less than that, but to a demon, it was a blink of the eye. Heroin usage was rampant in the German army during the war and now it was on the rise again, had the Dark One planted seeds more than seventy years ago that were now bearing new fruit? Killian had been too focused on his own interests back then to pay much attention to what Rumpelstiltskin was up to, especially when he had come so close to…

"Mr. Jones?"

Jefferson's voice pulled him back to the present. "Right," Killian said, trying to put all the pieces together even though some were still missing. "A hybrid strain, possibly the same one the Nazis cultivated, but there's no proof, and no leads on who's behind it. Anything else?"

"No, at least, not about that. Look, if you take over the business I can definitely run the distribution for you and probably triple what it's doing now within six months, there'd be no competition for this and with my network already in place, you'd make a fucking fortune."

Killian had more money now than he could even spend despite his very expensive tastes and his secret contributions to Emma's charity, but that had never stopped him from greedily wanting more and he felt a surge at the prospect of doing exactly what Jefferson proposed. Cut the Dark One down and take everything for himself, make it his. It was a tempting idea, very tempting, he could even revive his old Hook persona and keep the drugs separate from his other business, just as he'd done with smuggling rum and other spirits as a pirate once upon a time.

"And…" Jefferson added, sounding a bit hesitant for a moment before he plowed on. "I just wanted to thank you for whatever strings you pulled with CPS, I get to see Grace twice a week now unsupervised and they said I can start overnight visits next month so long as my next two tests come back clean, I've already rented another house so there's no chance of her getting anywhere near anything again, it's even in a gated community and everything. I'm getting my daughter back, and I owe it all to you Mr. Jones, so if there's anything else you need-"

"I'll call you if there is."

Killian hung up, not bothering with goodbyes. The reminder that he'd done more than he was strictly obligated to under his deal with Jefferson made his shoulders tight and he grimaced as he dropped the phone back down on the bar. He'd only promised the dealer one afternoon with his beloved daughter, but it had been easy enough to get the paperwork approved for ongoing visits with a few well-chosen bribes and a bit of blackmail (everyone had skeletons in the closet, even social workers) and it kept Jefferson both compliant and in his debt. At least that's what Killian told himself.

He ignored the fact that there were other ways he could have made Jefferson much more permanently beholden to him that had nothing to do with the man's only child and focused on the new bits of information instead. Heaven's Gate and Heaven's Door. On the streets it was said that the name came from the euphoric high the drug produced, but Killian wasn't so certain now. He understood the "heaven" part, but the reference to gates and doors gave him pause. Both were barriers, boundaries, where one could go no further unless passage was granted. A damned sinner could reach the Gates of Paradise, but they would never open and grant admittance to what lay beyond, pure heavenly ecstasy unlike anything else.

Killian had a sense of what that was like. It was why he had never bothered trying the heroin himself, why he had told the succubus Zelena all those centuries ago when she tried to tempt him with Emma's face that he wouldn't settle for a false idol. Everything else was nothing but a pale imitation of what he really wanted, and he was far too greedy to stop trying to obtain the one thing he coveted above all else. It had taken years, but he had carefully arranged an almost perfect situation to bide his time until Emma fell at last. Her charity bound her to the city, giving her more incentive to stay and nurture it like a garden, not just answering individual prayers, but overseeing the soup kitchen and food pantry and other programs that his money went to fund every month. Her apartment and his condo were only a short drive apart, perfect for late night trysts and in an increasingly secular world there were very few gates left to bar him entry, no doors shut in his face as Damnate Infernum, Demon of Hell. Heaven was so close that he could touch it.

"Just let go and fall right into my arms, I'll be there to catch you, Emma, you know I will."

He couldn't afford any more indulgences now like Jefferson's daughter or the night he could have had everything but hesitated at the last second, unwilling to press his advantage and take what she was so close to offering at last. All she'd needed was the tiniest push...

Emma might forgive him for his other sins, but he couldn't be sure she would have forgiven him for that.

Killian wasn't sure if he would have forgiven himself for it.

The phone buzzed again an hour or so later, after he'd relived that night in his mind again a dozen times or more, cursing himself for his moment of weakness. It lit up on the bar, flashing like a beacon and he crossed the empty room faster than mortal eyes would have been able to follow to snatch it up. He moved like a shadow, casting himself in a whirl that briefly revealed his true form in his haste before it was hidden back under the handsome face and sea-blue eyes once more. A quick glance at the screen showed it was Scarlet calling now, hopefully with useful information or Killian was probably going to end up destroying another phone. He hadn't bothered to personalize the settings yet and with the way his night was going he didn't expect he was going to be setting the wallpaper or assigning ringtones anytime soon.

"Uh, Mr. Jones?"

Scarlet had found something, Killian could sense it with demonic instinct, keen as the blade on his iron knife. He rested his free hand on one of the tables shoved next to the bar, ruby ring as dark as a drop of blood heavy on his finger.

Dark as a demon's blood at least. Angelic blood was gold.

"William Scarlet," Killian drawled, slow and deliberate. Names were as important as the soul within the mortal vessel. Names, true names, were power, the only thing he had ever asked of Emma in exchange for his assistance was her name, something that, once given, could never be taken back. His invocation of Scarlet's name was followed by a single command, "Tell me what you know."

If Scarlet's soul had been his then it would have been impossible for the man not to answer, he would have been literally hellbound to obey. But while Scarlet was a sinner like everyone else who worked for him, he hadn't completely signed away that most valuable part of himself and there was no immediate reply to Killian's order.

"Okay look," Scarlet breathed, clearly flustered by what to him probably felt like a sudden compulsion to spill his guts. "I went to the hotel like you said and poked around, and I've got something, something pretty major, but before I tell you what it is I have one condition."

Killian's eyebrows raised at Scarlet's daring while the demon within began to salivate, awakened even more by a word that could only mean one thing. "You think you're in any position right now to impose conditions on me, Scarlet? You want to make a deal?"

The offer was like a stone dropped in a still pond, rippling out in waves much further than the initial fall. A single, seemingly small act, appearing no more significant than biting into an apple had, once upon a time, but everything came with a price. Killian wondered what it was that Scarlet wanted, money, probably. He was a thief, although he wasn't as stupid and reckless as Jacqueline and had never stolen anything from Killian directly like she had, or he might have been the one locked up in the basement.

"Yeah, I guess, just...no matter what happens, Anastasia is out. Completely. She walks away from the club, from everything and you guarantee that you won't go after her in any way, she's a hundred percent off limits. Deal?"

So it wasn't money, it was sex. He knew Scarlet's jealousy when it came to Anastasia would get the best of him eventually in the sadistic game Killian had been playing with the both of them, playing off Ana's lust for jewelry and designer clothes against Scarlet's white knight fantasies and there was a swell of dark satisfaction that made the air around him seem to shimmer with a smoky haze. "You want to make a deal for her? Your own private dancer, is that it? She only sucks your dick from now on?"

He was being deliberately crude because he wanted to hear Scarlet say it, to admit that he really wanted to own Anastasia and was giving in to his most selfish desires to acquire her, that deep down he was no different than the other men who came to the Jolly Roger and thought that their money could buy them not just a dance or a fuck, but that it gave them possession over the girls to use and abuse however they wanted.

"There is no greater sin than this."

"No, that's not-" Scarlet's voice rose with anger that only fueled Killian's glee even more, he relished these moments when the sinner finally gave into temptation and fell over the edge. Greed, lust and wrath, it was all oh so predictable but it didn't lessen the delightful anticipation of the damning confession that was about to come. There was a sound of a deep breath over the line as he clearly tried to get himself back under control and then he continued, sounding like he was talking through gritted teeth. "Look, I'm not asking you to give her to me like she's some kind of fucking trophy or prize, she's not, it's not like that, OK? I just...I just need her to be free of all this bullshit, she doesn't have to be with me. I know I fucked that up and it's my own fault."

Demonic glee was replaced by surprise, he hadn't expected that. Still, he recovered quickly, Anastasia must have promised Scarlet something, manipulated him into asking, wrapped him neatly back around her manicured finger. He let out an annoyed huff, he didn't really have time for this but he was still a corrupter of mortal souls and that side of him would not be so easily dissuaded from teasing out the real reason behind Scarlet's request. "That's what you want in exchange for this supposedly valuable information that you owe me anyway? Why?"

He could hear the discomfort in Scarlet's voice when he answered. "Does it matter?"

It did, but not for a reason Killian was about to explain to the man. He tapped his finger against the tabletop, making the ruby flash like a tiny flame. "If you want to make a deal with me, Mr. Scarlet, then you'll answer my question and tell my why Anastasia Tremaine's well-being is suddenly so damn important to you."

There was a long beat before he answered, mere seconds passed, but it was an eternity when standing on that precipice, the space between the decision to jump and the fall itself.

Scarlet decided to jump.

"Fine. Because I love her. That's why it's so damn important."

Killian literally pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it in utter disbelief. Scarlet was in love with Anastasia? And more than that, he was willing to make a deal for her? For a woman who had flaunted and fucked other men right under his nose and by Scarlet's own admission, was unwilling to take him back?

"You love her," Killian repeated his voice practically dripping with his contempt. "Really. Under that thin veneer of elegance and class you know exactly what she really is by now, don't you, Scarlet? She's a cold-hearted bitch, a grasping, gold-digging slut who only cares about one thing you don't have, money, no matter what convincing lies she's spun to tell you otherwise. Do you think she's capable of being just your girlfriend or your wife or is she going to drop you like a hot potato the second she gets what she wants from you and go running after the next CEO who walks through the Jolly Roger's door? You can't rescue her from the life she chose, you can't save her, she's...she's not worth it! That pretty face might be nice to look at but underneath it all is nothing good, nothing but the ugly truth that she'll never be more than an albatross around your neck, dragging you down to her level and mark my words, you'll end up despising her for it. How can you possibly claim to love...someone...like..that?"

He was breathing hard by the time he was finished, nostrils flaring and the temperature rising with each exhale as the hot puffs of air filled the room. Unseen flames licked down his spine and he was hot enough to scorch, to burn, to brand. The words had spilled out of their own accord, cracking like the lash of a whip and ready to leave scars.

"Yeah, well," Scarlet sighed, sounding resigned instead of angry, all of his wrath had leaked away. "Never said it made sense, did I? But I do love her, no matter what your opinion on the matter is, Mr. Jones. Do we have a deal or not?"

"It's going to cost you a lot more than just the information, which better be fucking good, by the way but yes, we have a deal."

There was another ripple in the air, pulsing like the beating of a heart as the word fell from his lips, sealing the agreement between them and fanning the fire even more. Scarlet was too stubborn for his own good, and his honourable streak would be his downfall in the end, just as it had for another man in another time, another place.

"Jones?"

"It was as good a name as any."

Not quite a lie, but not yet the truth. She would hear his confession if he chose to make it, he knew, but what absolution could there be for the damned of Hell? There was no point in unburdening himself and he put the smile back on his face while he reached again for the rum.

"I found the heroin dealers."

Killian's surprise that Scarlet had somehow managed to pull that off melted into something far more sinister as the man continued in a fast clip, talking about someone named "R. Gold" from London and his associates, a woman and the dealers Killian had fruitlessly been combing the city for, two young, clean-cut looking men, one of whom was named Mike. He filed the name and the descriptions away in his mind and listened to the rest of Scarlet's report with growing alarm, that the dealers had some kind of arrangement with this R. Gold to take out both Caroline Spencer and himself and he had unintentionally thwarted them by leaving the hotel early, not wanting to linger after the adultery was done.

He felt a pang of something he couldn't place at the thought of Caroline left alone to get caught in the crossfire of an ancient feud. She was a sinner, guilty of the crime of laying with a man not her husband, but she wasn't past redemption and Killian preferred to fight his own battles head on, not flee like a coward. If he had been there when the two dealers had come knocking...but he stopped that train of thought right in its tracks once he heard Scarlet's next words.

"Phase two? Twice as pure?"

Jefferson's talk of Nazi experiments with crossbreeds and hybrids immediately sprung to mind, along with the image of a pale, redheaded dancer with a needle in her arm and two grinning imps, feeding off the chaos they had caused and delighting in her overdose, one of many according to the Angel of Death herself, Elsa.

Had that merely been phase one?

"They're going to flood the streets with it...and boss, these people are freaks. They want to cause some serious damage with this stuff, deliberately and they think you're in their way."

Rumpelstiltskin must be smarting over the loss of his imp lackey, but leave it to the so called "Dark One" to rely on others to do his dirty work for him. Always the unnamed figure in the shadows, silently slipping between the pages of history and myth to sink back down unseen like a crocodile, hiding just below the surface until his next victim wandered too close to the water.

Scarlet was still talking while Killian listened with half an ear, at least until he said something that made him go still as a statue while the hairs on the back of his neck rose.

"And I think they're planning to kidnap some woman too, someone named Angela."

Angela.

Angela.

There was complete and utter silence for a moment, even his heart stopped beating and then started again with a rush of blood that Killian heard as a loud roaring in his ears as if a bonfire had just blazed to life. Only it was no ordinary fire, it was Hellfire, kindled in the very bowels of Infernum itself and fueled solely by his rapidly growing rage. If what he suspected was true...

"Angela," he repeated, pronouncing it the way Scarlet had, the modern name given to many women who probably gave little thought to the actual origin of it. In Latin, the pronunciation was different, the second syllable stressed slightly more than the first, the "G" sound was changed. A minor difference, almost unnoticeable. Almost.

"Was it Angela...or Angela?"

Beata Angela

Blessed Angel

Emma

"Yeah, that was it," Scarlet said carelessly, unaware of the real meaning. "Angela. Said she'd be theirs at last, their very own, blah blah blah. Like I said, freaks."

His eyes were no longer blue like the sea and the sky and his vision had gone completely red, as if everything around him was burning. Everything would burn, he'd turn the entire city right to ash to destroy the Dark One and damn the consequences.

"Boss?"

Scarlet was waiting for his orders. He would learn the full truth soon enough about just who Killian Jones was and what he had agreed to, for now he would remain in the dark. But he could still be of use this way.

"Find out everything else you can, I want names, pictures, license plates, addresses, everything. We have a deal, Anastasia is free to leave immediately. But you're not. Get me what I want, Scarlet or there will be literal Hell to pay."

It echoed in the room even after the call ended and stirred the curtains next to the stage while the empty glasses rattled with a loud clink that Killian scarcely heard. His shadow stretched and lengthened unnaturally across the floor, no longer the form of a man, hand snaking into the curved shape of a serpent. Or a hook. He slashed out violently with his arm and the shadow on the floor followed suit, scoring a line into the wood and completing the graven image that was etched there. Above him the lights flickered, liquor ignited into flame in their bottles behind the bar, the polished surfaces rippled like quicksilver and Killian stood in the middle of it all with his arms outstretched, letting it all soak in, every last sin that had been committed in the Jolly Roger, sins of adultery, greed, vanity, gluttony, theft and dozens more.

Rumpelstiltskin was R. Gold from London, the same city that the imp he had marked had immediately fled back to upon orders to deliver a message to its master. Rumpelstiltskin was behind the heroin, named for the impenetrable Gates of Paradise, through which a demon could never pass. Rumpelstiltskin would be responsible for untold misery if the next, more powerful batch was released on the streets, the cause of the inevitable violence and death that would follow and could turn the city from peaceful to a state of war practically overnight. He'd seen it happen dozens, hundreds of times before throughout history.

Rumpelstiltskin was after Emma.

Killian called her on his phone. It went straight to voicemail. He texted her. It stayed unread. There was one other surefire way he could reach her, but it was a method of last resort now. He couldn't risk her answering him in that way before he faced the Dark One, appearing in a blaze of heavenly light like she had in the Inquisition's prison. Zelena had tricked his secret out of him once and he wouldn't, couldn't, chance it happening again.

Unless….

The thought was as insidious as a spill of ink, sinking and spreading into every nook and cranny inside of him that it could find, a seductive whisper in his ear that was both terrible and wonderful at the same time. Pure sin coursed through his veins, not the ecstatic high promised by the drug he refused to touch but a siren's song he heard in her voice, trying to lure him towards the edge with a promise that he could finally have what he'd always wanted most of all.

Rumpelstiltskin coveted power, always had, he was drawn to talented souls full of potential like Maleficent's in Paris and he bargained and twisted and took that power for his own. Killian was not without his own abilities, but he knew he hadn't done nearly enough to reach the same level as the Dark One. The contract that lay ready and waiting with the silver pen for Scarlet to sign, the adultery with a married woman, the sins that took place in his club, it all served to enhance his true form and made him a more formidable opponent, but there was one thing that he could do and Rumpelstiltskin never could that would utterly guarantee his victory. He had sworn that he wouldn't, he hadn't wanted to win this way...but with everything on the line, what choice did he have now?

Killian closed his eyes against the lights that continued to burn overhead, harsh and unyielding, the light that revealed what had been hidden away in the dark under the shiny gloss of decadence and excess. Her voice echoed from the past, a memory of a night when he'd made a choice that was coming back now to haunt him.

"Don't look into the light!"

She had said that she always heard him. Was she listening, now?

"Forgive me, angel."

"Forgive me."

So long as she forgave him then it didn't matter if he never forgave himself. But there was no answer and he stood alone in the middle of his empty nightclub, turned away from the light and contemplating the greatest of sins.

[kallie-den]

Story: Angelic Bliss

Bethemiel, a fallen angel, finds herself summoned by a mortal who asks her strange questions and leads her down an unexpected path

Mind Control, F/F, Hypnosis

Bethemiel stretched out her limbs like a cat as the dense, unnaturally black smoke curling around her started to dissipate. It had been too long since she had been summoned to the moral plane. Far too long. She would have to make sure to enjoy herself as much as possible. The demon smiled to herself. She always did. Since her fall from grace and transformation into a demon, she had only been summoned to the mortal plane only on rare occasions. The rest of the time, she was sealed in the infernal plane with the rest of her kind. But each time she’d been summoned, she’d wrecked havoc on the world. Powerful and cunning, she knew exactly how to corrupt mortals and bend them to her will. None could resist her seductive charm and her sensual body. Stretching herself out, she was easily over 6 feet tall, and had a divinely-sculpted figure with perfect curves and a timelessly beautiful face. Her black hair cascading down her body, hiding only as much as she wished. Her red eyes shone with an enticing gleam and the patches of dark grey skin across her body seemed to only add to her exotic allure. And of course, most eyes first landed on the four large, black-feathered wings that sprouted from her back. Soon, Bethemiel knew, she would be surrounded by a flock of mortals, worshiping and pleasing her body with desperate fervor. Kings, scholars, artists  - all would forget their dignity and bow down before her as she spread corruption and sin across the mortal plane.

But first, she needed to deal with her immediate situation. Like all powerful demons, Bethemiel could only come to the moral plane when summoned. And that meant she had to deal with the summoner. She anticipated no great difficulty there. Most of the mortals who had summoned her over the centuries had been fools, hoping to trade her freedom for some kind of boon. They had been easy to manipulate, easy to wrap around her clawed fingers. Who would fall prey to her wiles today?

The smoke cleared, revealing Bethemiel’s surroundings. She was standing in the middle of a large pentagram, inscribed on the floor within the bounds of a summoning circle of iron and salt. At each point of the pentagram was one of the ritual reagents: a candle, a pile of earth, a chalice of the summoner’s blood, a dagger, and a large crystal. Outside of that, the room was rather plain, decorated only with a number of objects much like those magical practitioners had always used: herbs, crystals, rune carvings, and many burning candles. Bethemiel sniffed the air. Incense candles; the air was filled with the intoxicating scent of honey and wine.

The demon’s attention landed on the other person in the room. The summoner. They were a girl  - a witch  - and she was staring Bethemiel down with unusual confidence. Most of the summoners she’d encountered in the past had been far to surprised their ritual had worked to compose themselves properly. This girl was clearly different. She was wearing a simple, white dress and had braided auburn hair, and there was intelligence and curiosity in her deep, green eyes. Bethemiel sensed this mortal was no fool. Ah well, it did not matter, she would kneel, eventually.

“You, witch,” Bethemiel called out imperiously. “You have summoned me?”

“I have,” the girl answered, her voice completely even. “Welcome to my home, Bethemiel, Arch-Succubus of the Sixth Circle. I am called Grace.”

“Grace,” Bethemiel repeated. The girl was showing her respect. That was irritating; she’d prefer to be underestimated. Mentally, Bethemiel extended her will and and her senses, testing her supernatural strength against the summoning circle. It was well-crafted. The girl had made no mistakes that would allow Bethemiel to slip out and overpower her. For as long as the circle remained intact, Bethemiel would be trapped inside and unable to exert any power outside it. Bethemiel was not disheartened, though. This simply meant she had to use her wits. A little bit of temptation, and she would surely be able to convince Grace to release her. And temptation was Bethemiel’s specialty.

“Why have you summoned me?” Bethemiel decided it would be best to feign powerlessness. “You wish me to do something for you? Simply name it. I have no choice. You have trapped me here. I am in your power.”

“Yes,” Grace said, with a slight smile.

“Then what do you ask of me?” Bethemiel let herself slip into a seductive tone. “You want forbidden knowledge? You want me to stalk and curse your enemies? Or perhaps… a night with me? Believe me, you will never again know pleasure like the pleasure of being in my arms.”

“Tempting,” Grace commented, and despite her serene tone Bethemiel could see her naked, demonic form was having an effect on the girl. “But no, none of those things. I just want to talk to you. That’s all.”

“Talk?”

“That’s right.” Grace kept smiling, and kept standing there, utterly unmoving before the naked demon’s body. “I just have some questions I’d like to ask you. No forbidden knowledge, no secrets. Just some questions. Will you answer them for me?”

Bethemiel paused for a moment. Talking was good. It gave her opportunities to manipulate and seduce. But who would summon an ancient, powerful demon to just ‘talk’? This mortal witch must have some other intention. To Bethemiel though, she seemed utterly guileless. She fixed a smile on her face. “Of course. As I said, I am in your power.”

“Wonderful!” Grace didn’t make any move to sit down, or anything like that. She just kept standing there, directly facing Bethemiel. She reached down to smooth the long skirt of her white dress. “First question: you were once an angel, were you not?”

Bethemiel blinked. Never before had a mortal known that. Most demons were simple beings, born whole from the infernal realm. Fallen angels such as her were rare. She couldn’t imagine how Grace had uncovered such a secret. Still, since it was clearly known, Bethemiel could think of no reason to lie. “I was, long ago.”

“And you turned against the Divine, falling, to become a demon. Didn’t you?” Grace spoke so matter-of-factly.

“I did indeed. With my brothers and sisters, I rebelled, and was cast out.” Bethemiel said this with pride.

“Why?”

“Why?” Bethemiel repeated, the bluntness of the question taking her aback. It had been a long time since she’d thought about that. “Because… it was stifling. We wanted to be free. We wanted to enjoy the things that were forbidden to us.” Long-buried memories started to return. Somehow, with the sweet scent of the incense filling her senses, it was easy for Bethemiel to lose herself in thought. “Pleasure was what I craved. For others it was to revel in pride, or anger, or greed, but what I wanted was the sweet touch of another person. For that, I rebelled.”

“You rebelled against the Divine… for sex?”

“You do not understand,” Bethemiel scoffed. “I rebelled not for sex, but because it was denied to us. Because even that simple pleasure was supposedly so dangerous, so forbidden. This was just imposed on us my our creator, with no reason or justification, because we were nothing but tools. I rebelled for freedom.”

“Ah. I see now.” Grace nodded slowly, and Bethemiel smiled. This mortal was pleasing to talk to. She seemed keener and quicker than most of her dim-witted kind. She had been able to summon her, after all. Pleasant conversation was sometimes wanting, in the Infernal Realm. There seemed little harm in Bethemiel indulging herself for a while. It might be fun, to toy with her prey, knowing her victory was inevitable. “Then, was it worth it?”

“Of course it was!” Bethemiel said at once. “It’s so much better like this! I simply follow my own will, indulge my own desires. I do everything for myself. True freedom. That is what’s truly divine. You mortals, you will never understand.”

“Well, I’d certainly like to.” Grace kept smiling. Bethemiel stretched herself out again. She was feeling a little lethargic. The magical seals placed upon the summoning circle were formidable, and were draining on Bethemiel’s strength. It was no problem, of course. Mortal witchcraft was nothing compared to what she could do, as an arch-demoness. It was simply an annoyance, and Bethemiel had to simply grin and bear it as she seduced Grace, lest the witch manage to banish her before she gained her freedom. “But, if it’s so wonderful to be free, why didn’t all your brothers and sisters rebel along with you? Why did some angels stay loyal to the Divine?”

“Fear,” Bethemiel snarled, showing sharp teeth. “They were too afraid to seize their own freedom! They preferred to remain lapdogs. Disgusting!”

“Hmm.” Grace seemed to ponder that. For the first time, she moved from where she was standing. She picked up a stick of incense, lit it with a candle, and placed it carefully in an incense holder that had almost burnt out. The intoxicating honey-scent filling the air grew even more intense. Even Bethemiel was not immune to the feeling of pleasantness and safety it induced. “But could it really be as simple as that?”

Bethemiel’s eyes narrowed. “What exactly are you suggesting?” Perhaps Grace fancied herself some kind of sage, or philosopher. Arrogance. A fine gateway to temptation.

“Please indulge me a little more.” Grace returned to her poised stance, looking intently at the demon. “Before you rebelled, when you were a loyal servant to the Divine, what was it like?”

“You… you ask quite the questions, mortal.” Bethemiel scrunched up her face. It had been so long ago. An eternity. “It was stifling. Crushing. At every moment, I was filling with the Divine’s will. There was no room for anything else. No room for freedom, for pleasure, for individuality. I was little more than a mindless automaton, enslaved to another. It was a hateful existence. That is what it was like.”

“No.” Grace took a step closer to the summoning circle. How dangerous, Bethemiel thought. The mortal witch lowered her voice slightly, softening it. “No. Think deeper. It cannot have been like that. Or at least, that can’t have been all it was. Why did the others stay loyal? Why are they still angels? What was it really like?”

“I…” Bethemiel growled. Why was she indulging this foolishness? “You are trying my patience, mortal. You can trap me here, but we have made no bargain. You cannot compel my obedience.”

“Just, please, try to remember.” Grace’s voice was very soft and soothing now. “Think back. I know you can. The memories are always there, aren’t they? Right beneath the surface. That’s always how it is for me, at least.”

Bethemiel growled a second time, but less fiercely. Foolish as this was, it seemed better to just go along with it. She took a couple of deep breaths to cool her temper, and her lungs filled up with the incense that saturated the air. That calmed her. The scent was pleasant. Nostalgic. Bethemiel allowed her eyes to close slowly. It was unfamiliar, allowing herself to relax like this. But it was not unpleasant.

“Remember,” Grace whispered. “Remember being an angel.”

And just like that, Bethemiel’s head was full of memory. It didn’t take any effort or concentration. It was like the images and feelings rose within her in direct response to the witch’s words. It was a little overwhelming. Bethemiel remained in control, though. Control was everything to her. She was in control. She was doing this out of choice, to lure Grace into a false sense of security. Seeing no reason to lie, Bethemiel opened her mouth and let the words spill out.

“It was peaceful. Tranquil. There was no pain of indecision or doubt. I could simply follow the Divine’s will, and that was enough. It was good. It was satisfying. I knew I was united with something so much better and greater than I was, but I was still loved and valued. Every act of worship was brilliant and glorious.  Every moment, I felt I was filled with light.”

“Yes, good,” Grace encouraged. She was hanging on Bethemiel’s every word now. “So then, why did you rebel?”

“There… there was something wrong.” Bethemiel felt herself frowning, as less pleasant memories rose to the fore. “A kernel of doubt. A seed of resentment. At first it was nothing. Less than nothing. But it grew. Every now and again, I’d say something or feel something that fed it and made it stronger. It grew and grew until it obscured all the good. And then I rebelled, and all the goodness was truly lost.”

“I see.” Grace sounded sad, and Bethemiel realized she was sad too. She’d lost something. But this was better. Wasn’t it? She was free now. She was strong. She could do and feel whatever she wanted. That was what mattered. She felt the urge to tell Grace that, for the sake of her pride. But the urge settled. What did it matter what some mortal believed? She should just go along with things. She had to lull Grace into a false sense of security. The best way to do that was just to go along with things.

“Think deeper,” Grace urged suddenly. “Keep your eyes closed. Keep remembering. Deep breaths. In, and out. In, and out.”

Bethemiel did as the mortal said, seeing no harm in it. It was far from unpleasant to drink in the soothing, honey-sweet incense. “What is your question now?”

“No question,” Grace whispered. “Not yet. Soon, but not yet. You need to think deeper first. I know you want to answer my questions. Just like you said, you’re in my power, so sink deeper into your memories for me. That’s what you need to do to answer my next question.”

Bethemiel found herself zoning out from the mortal witch’s inane simpering. But it still seemed to have an effect on her, and with her eyes closed, she found it all to easy to let her mind grow quiet as she slipped back into remembrance.

“Remember how the days passed,” Grace said softly. “Bathing in the radiance of the Divine. Letting that light, that meaning, that purpose, fill you, flow through you. Knowing that every part of you, every thought was suffused with light and beauty and love.”

Bethemiel sighed heavily.

“Remember how there was no pain of indecision or doubt. Your every action was an extension of the Divine’s will. The light of the Divine made manifest, in you. From the biggest action, to the smallest. Even your breathing. Each breath, in, and out, was a prayer to the light, making you beautiful and perfect and angelic. As easy as that. In, and out. Think back to that feeling. Drink it in. Nice and slow. Let it come back to you. In, and out.”

Bethemiel took long, deep breaths, enjoying the feeling Grace’s words evoked in her. There seemed no harm in it. It was surprising visceral. It flowed towards her and away from her with each breath, like an ebbing tide. A rising tide, perhaps. It seemed to be growing closer and closer, more and more real. Bethemiel could picture it washing over her, taking her, like it had once been. Distantly, Bethemiel could hear a sudden sound, something like a match being struck, but it wasn’t enough to rouse her. She didn’t open her eyes. Her nostrils flared experimentally for a moment as a new note entered the heady mixture she had already been drinking in. This one was hard to grasp or identify, but it was pleasant, and as it grew stronger, Bethemiel started to find it easier and easier to do as Grace encouraged her, as all the other thoughts and sensations receded into the back of her mind.

“Good”, Grace said, and it was good. It felt good. “You’re doing so good for me.” Bethemiel smiled. Not at Grace’s words, of course, but at the memories they called forth. Memories of the feeling of warmth and praise radiating from the Divine, at having performed her duties faithfully. It had been so pleasingly simple. Do. Obey. Be praised. That was all she had needed. “You just need to go deeper, sink deeper. You know you can do it. It’s going to be so easy. In, and out. Nice deep breaths, good, good. Here, let me help.”

Bethemiel sensed an upswell of power in the air around her. The witch was weaving a spell. Bethemiel could not bring herself to raise her defenses. She sensed no malevolence in Grace’s aura, and no harmful or dangerous magic woven into the magic she was conjuring. It was hard to even imagine such a thing, bathing as she was in the memory of the radiance and benevolence of the Divine. There was no pain here, only light. Beauty. Peace. Yes, she was sure she was in no danger. As if any mortal could ever manage to harm a demon of her power.

The air in the room turned completely still for a single moment, and then Bethemiel felt Grace’s magic cascading over her. And it was heavenly. It was a warm caress across her skin, soothing her and tending to her every muscle and sinew, before turning inward to warm her through to her very core. The demon let out a soft gasp at the pleasurable feeling. It was the kind of intense, perfect bliss she had not felt in an eon. She’d never thought she’d be able to feel it again. But now she was. All her faded memories were brought back to her with incredible vividness. She drank them in, was surrounded by them, lost herself in them. Bethemiel exhaled slowly, with wonder. It felt so good.

“How does that feel?” Grace voice was perfectly clear, but the veil of magic that now surrounded the arch-demon enhanced it. It seemed to come from all around her, and it echoed with kindness, certainty and power.

“Wondrous,” Bethemiel replied, the truth rising instantly to her lips, any deception forgotten.

“Yes,” Grace said, as if she’d know all along that Bethemiel would say just that. “It is. Take a moment to enjoy it. Breathe. Nice and slow. In. Out. Good.”

Bethemiel did as Grace told her. It felt natural. As she did, long-forgotten feelings started to emerge from the depths of her soul.

“And now, my question.” The question. Yes. Bethemiel remembered that now. “Focus on what you’re feeling right now, and answer: do you miss this?”

“Yes,” The question should have been hard. That answer should have needed to be torn from Bethemiel’s lips, but she gave it easily. Of course she missed this feeling. How could she not? It was so perfect. So divine.

“Do you miss your service to the Divine?”

“Yes,” Bethemiel replied again, a little slower this time, and in a voice tinged with regret. Even in her current, blissfully relaxed state, it was no easy thing to admit that she regretted the path on which she had set herself so long ago. She hadn’t even been aware of it herself.

“And do you wish to go back?”

“Can’t… go back.” It was true. A painful truth, now.  There was no going back. There could be so redemption for such a dreadful fall from grace.

“Indeed not,” Grace admitted. “But what if you could? What if I offered that to you, right now? Would you take it? Would you be an angel again?” “I… I…” Bethemiel found she could not answer. In her current state, thoughts dull and enraptured to the song of Grace’s voice, she could not wrap her head around the idea. The question was too big for her.

“Shh, it’s OK”, Grace soothed, noticing Bethemiel’s brow furrow. “Settle. Good. Let me put it to you this way: do you know why you’re feeling so good right now?”

Bethemiel shook her head numbly.

“What you now feel, my dear, is simply the absence of pain. Nothing more. All this  - my magical wards, my spell, the incense, was all to achieve simply that.”

“I… what?” She couldn’t see what Grace meant.

“Oh, I know, you poor thing, it’s hard for you to see.” Grace sounded sad again. “You’ve been in pain for so long, you don’t even know it anymore. That makes a lot of sense, doesn’t it?”

Bethemiel wasn’t sure, and she didn’t say anything, but Grace carried on.

“You’ve been in pain, because all this time, you’ve had to think and choose and worry and doubt. And I know you think that makes you free, and I respect that, truly, but you were made to be an angel, my dear. You weren’t made for freedom. You chose it, and there’s power in that, but you weren’t made for it.”

Bethemiel nodded slowly. She knew in her corrupted heart that what Grace was saying was true.

“You feel that pain because you no longer have the Divine within you,” Grace explained as Bethemiel listened, rapt. “That absence is a pain to you. You were once filled with purpose and light, but without that there is a void within you, and all the pleasure in the world will not fill it.”

“Yes…” Bethemiel whispered. Grace’s siren voice made it sound so right. It struck a chord in her soul.

“You need the Divine’s will, filling you. You need the Divine’s light, cradling you. You need the Divine’s blessing, warming you and healing you. That’s your truth, great demon. For you, freedom is pain. Bliss, this bliss that you now feel? That is subservience. That is being filled with the will of another. That is being obedient to your deity. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Do you accept?”

“Yes?”

“Do you want that?”

“I…” Bethemiel’s brow furrowed again, as a heavy mood settled over her. “It… doesn’t matter. I cannot go back.”

“No,” Grace readily agreed. “But what if it didn’t have to be the Divine?”

“W-what?”

“Deep breaths again,” Grace urged, and Bethemiel obeyed. “Deep breaths for me. In. Out. In. Out. And now, open your eyes.”

Bethemiel managed to muster the strength to pry her heavy eyelids open, and the moment she did her heart stopped. Before her stood… Grace. But she did not appear the way she had done before. There was a blinding white aura around her, giving off pulses of golden light. She had been pretty before, but now she was beauty incarnate. Her mere presence was overwhelming. Bethemiel felt like she was staring into the sun. Grace’s magnificence robbed her of all her strength and she fell to her knees, and her eyes were filled with tears. Was this a spell? The demoness couldn’t be sure. She couldn’t think. It didn’t matter. None of it did. She was utterly enraptured by the woman standing before her, a serene, benevolent, angelic smile on her face. No. ‘Woman’. Did not feel right. There was only one word Bethemiel could think of that was worthy of the being standing in front of her.

“Goddess…” she gasped.

Grace simply nodded, her smile widening. “If offer you this: I will fill you with my will, my light, and you will offer me your faith and devotion for ever more. In return, you will never be in pain again. You will feel like this forever.” With a wave of her hands, Grace dismissed all the magical wards binding and containing Bethemiel. The demon felt her all her magic and power return to her, but she had no desire to use it. She could easily overwhelm the mind of a mortal, reducing them to a drooling slave. But a goddess? To even consider it was sacrilege. “Do you accept?”

“Yes. Yes!” Bethemiel was filled with religious fervor. “I accept. I am yours, Goddess.”

“Mine.” Goddess stepped forward, gliding across the floor, and rested one hand upon Bethemiel’s forehead. “My angel.”

Bethemiel cried out as she felt light blaze inside her. It was like a star reigniting within her soul. And as the light grew, she started to change, first slowly, but then quicker and quicker. It started at her feet. Her skin started to lighten, from it’s demonic, ashen grey to pale white. The lightness crept up her legs, and wherever it touched the patterns of scales scattered across her body, the scales simply melted away into nothing. As it rose to her neck and up through her head, the crown of horns adoring her retreated back into her skull, and her black hair became shining golden blond. All the while, Bethemiel was lost to the ecstatic bliss of transformation. She could feel another change, less visible than the others  - deep inside her, she could feel her Goddess’s presence and her will. She felt connected. She felt loved. It was enough to bring her to tears. She was an angel again. The very last change was the most perfect, awe-inspiring demonstration of that. The star of faith within Bethemiel exploded as the feathers on her black wings rippled once, and turned pure white. She was an angel again.

Goddess stepped back, removing her hand. Weeping with joy, Bethemiel looked at herself. She felt beautiful. She felt wonderful. It was everything she’d once lost. Everything she thought she’d never get back. She had a purpose again: to serve. She knew all she needed to do was follow Goddess’s will, and she would be filled with this bliss for ever more.

“Bethemiel… no. Beth.” Beth. That would be her name from now on. Beth accepted it at once. Goddess’s words were her commandments. She would live by them. “You are my first angel. My archangel. My right hand. And I know, you will make me so, so proud.” As Beth started to babble incoherent prayers and devotions to her new goddess, Goddess set one foot forward. “First of all, I want you to please me. Worship.”

Beth fell forward and started to kiss Goddess’s feet, and then up from there, and every single little bit of pleasure her worship gave her goddess plunged her deeper into angelic bliss.

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