#charmed I'm sure
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flagonofdragons · 9 months ago
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A dumb edit of that one scene.
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princessasmosprincess · 1 year ago
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Charmed, I'm Sure
Chapter 30
Summary: No human has ever avoided Asmodeus's charm. Except for you. Pairing: Asmodeus x GN Reader/MC Genre: Drama, angst, a bit of fluff. Warnings: None in this chapter. *** Author's note: Sorry for the delay in this chapter, I did that thing where I let a chapter sit for too long and I started to hate it. Writing this was a lot of trusting the process and I was failing that at first... ***
“Pardon me.”
You turned, still pulling against Lucifer, as someone put their hand on your shoulder.
It was Solomon.
“Well, looks like a new song has started. I'd love the chance to dance with MC. Might I cut in?” He asked, looking not at you, but directly at Lucifer.
Lucifer’s ruby gaze narrowed at the sorcerer. “Fine.” And then he turned it back to you, that haughty smirk on his lips, “I get the feeling that you've gotten the message and you understand what I'm telling you MC. I'm glad we got to have this little talk.” He handed you off to Solomon and stalked off into the crowd of demons.
Solomon took your hand gently in his and began leading you in the dance. You flexed the fingers of your injured hand, feeling the circulation returning.
“Thanks for coming to my rescue there.” You said.
“No need to thank me. Think nothing of it.” Solomon gave a reassuring smile, “This is the Devildom. When it comes down to it, you're human, and that makes you different. Never forget that. You may have made pacts with demons, but you still lack the power to command them.”
Solomon’s dancing was less refined than Lucifer's, it was also simpler. But he was easy to follow as he led you through the steps, and this was the perfect tempo to hold a conversation.
“How do you command a demon you've made a pact with?” You asked.
“Good question…” Something flashed in Solomon’s eyes, like he was pleased you asked. “Everyone has some amount of magical power by nature. However, there are some people in which it actually manifests itself, and some people in which it doesn't. And even among those in which it does, some have more of it than others. It varies based on the individual.”
He led you in a quick but gentle turn, nothing too showy, before he settled his arms around you once again. “Seeing how it doesn't even manifest itself in you to begin with, even though you've made pacts with demons, you can't take command of their powers.”
You gave a frustrated sigh. The pacts were practically useless if you couldn't wield them at will, beyond those little commands you'd managed once or twice. Protection was one thing, but your true task was still looming in the background (or really, in the attic of the House of Lamentation).
“Would you like me to lend you my power?” Solomon asked suddenly.
His offer gave you pause. Was something like that possible?
“You can do that?” You searched his face for any sign of teasing, “Why would you?”
“Let's just say I'm curious to know what would happen if I did.” He said, “You're a destabilizing element here in this world. I can't say what might happen if I do this, which is exactly what makes it interesting.”
You thought for a moment. You so wanted to know what it felt like to use magic. And maybe, if you wielded his magic well, Solomon would lend it to you again, for when you truly needed it.
“Ok,” you said finally, “Lend me your power, Solomon.”
Solomon nodded. He switched to an open dance position, taking both of your hands and entwining your fingers with his. He leaned in and pressed his forehead to yours in a similar way to how you’d forged your pacts with the demons, reciting an incantation you couldn't quite hear over the music.
Your hands began to glow with silver light, and warmth snaked up your arms into your chest. Electricity pulsed in your veins and your body felt strange. Stronger, but not with physical strength, there was this sense of energy that felt so different to anything you’d ever experienced before. When the incantation was complete, Solomon took a step back, his hands still clasped around yours.
“There. I've put a spell on you.” He pulled you close to him once more, continuing the dance, “As of this moment, you have use of my powers for the next six hours.” He looked you over, gauging your reaction, “You should experience what it's like to control a demon and use his powers.”
Solomon led your dancing to the edge of the dance floor.
“I’m still not sure why you offered this.” You said, breathing around that bubbly, light feeling in your chest from the borrowed magic.
“We are on a retreat after all. Why waste this opportunity?” He smirked, “So, go. Show me what you can do. I'm counting on you to deliver.”
Without warning, Solomon spun you out directly into another’s arms as the ending of the song melted into the beginning of the next.
***
Asmo’s hand found your waist automatically, even he was surprised when he took your hand in his and swept you back onto the dance floor.
You stumbled for a few steps as you fell into the changing rhythm. And once you found your footing, you looked into the face of your new partner.
Asmo looked away as soon as your eyes met his. He kept his gaze trained over your shoulder, sighing, disinterested. As if he would rather be anywhere else.
The awkwardness was unbearable, and after more than a minute of silence, other than the lilting instrumental music and the light buzz of the party crowd. You knew you needed to say something. The very something that had been bothering you all day.
You took a breath, building up the courage to break the silence. And then you spoke, “Asmo, I’m sorry about earlier. I shouldn't have said what I said the way I did.”
He finally looked back at you, eyebrows raised.
“I was frustrated with you and overtired,” You admitted, “But that’s no excuse for… threatening to control you.” Your cheeks burned in shame.
Asmo blinked.
“I really do want to make a pact with you, but not like that.”
Asmo couldn't remember the last time he’d been apologized to that hadn't been part of bedroom role play or the half-hearted apologies Mammon stammered out, at Lucifer’s persuasion, after being caught stealing Asmo’s things.
This was sincere.
“I see.” He said, but Asmo wanted to know more. “And why is it that you want a pact with me so badly, darling? I know I’m the most irresistible demon in all of the Devildom, but surely there’s more to it than that.”
You nodded, “There is.”
And for some reason Asmo was relieved to hear you say that.
“I want to make a pact with you because…” You dropped your gaze to his collar, searching for the right words, “There’s something I need to do and I need your power to do it.” Your brow furrowed, you looked almost desperate.
Need. The word rang inside his head. Needing was different than wanting. Most people wanted him, but you…
“Is that why you made pacts with my brothers?” He asked.
You looked away.
Asmo pressed further, taking your silence for an answer, “And do they know what it is you want to do?”
You remained silent.
Asmo sighed, “Very well, you don’t have to tell me right now.” He was content to leave it be until he decided to make a pact with you.
If he decided to make a pact with you, he emphasized to himself.
Over the music he caught Mammon’s complaining voice, something about it not being fair. That he was your first and he still hadn’t gotten to dance with you. Asmo pulled you in closer.
His fingertips brushed your skin through the cutout at the small of your back.
Asmo found it interesting that Lisette had left the cutouts in the outfit she’d given you, especially since it was something so easily changed with her tailoring magic.
The cutouts were meant to accommodate beings with wings. Otherwise it could be altered to fit beings with tails, and there was even a version for beings with neither. It was very important to Asmo that anyone, regardless of their size or number of appendages, could wear his designs. One of his core philosophies was that everyone deserved to be fabulous.
He’d left Lisette with his preferred method of alteration in the original sketch. Of course, being the owner of Majolish and the one sponsoring his design, she could make the changes she saw fit. But Lisette had always respected Asmo’s design choices, and the rare times she had made a change, she’d informed him of it right away. They’d, admittedly, been mostly small accessories thus far, but Asmo didn’t think Lisette would change her policy when it came to full ensembles. She'd approved his design so readily.
“Where did you get this outfit, dear?” Asmo asked you, breaking the tension that was still heavy in the air around you both.
You smiled, happy with the change of subject. “Lisette lent it to me the last time I went to Majolish.”
Had she given you the prototype? The one he had paid Levi in signed Sucre Frenzy photo cards to sew for him, sworn to secrecy by penalty of death or revealing his waifu list to all of RAD if he told anyone about it, all while Asmo hand embroidered the sleeves so everything would be perfect? The one Asmo had worn during the photo shoot? That one would have been stored in Lisette’s vault until it would be returned to him once the collection debuted. It was precious.
“Really? I don’t believe I’ve seen that design before,” He dipped you, his face inches from yours, his eyes sparkling with his little secret, his bat wings flitting behind him.
“It’s from a new collection that’s supposed to come out next month,” You said, unfazed by the closeness. But then your eyes widened. “I didn’t even think to ask her if it was ok to wear before the debut. I hope it’s alright.”
Asmo righted you and continued dancing.
“You could always ask her now,” He inclined his head to the banquet tables across the room.
Her late husband being a former student council member and demon nobility, Lisette attended most RAD events by invitation directly from the crown. She was there at the dance, looking absolutely stunning in a form fitting gown of deep amethyst as she conversed amiably with Lord Diavolo.
“But I think you’re fine, hon. She wouldn’t have given it to you if she didn’t want you to wear it.”
Asmo released your waist with a gentle push, spinning you out before pulling you back as the music flourished, the fabric of your outfit billowing exquisitely around your figure. Your delicious, human scent wafted toward him as you returned to his arms, totally breathless. He barely registered your cute laugh as he caught something else in the air. It was very faint, something only he could detect due to his proximity to you.
Cupiditas. The very perfume he’d worn the day of the photo shoot.
And Asmo knew there was no way you could coincidentally have a bottle of Cupiditas in your possession. It was a scent only found in the Devildom, discontinued a thousand years ago because it drove some lower level demons wild beyond control. Asmo only had it because he’d charmed the perfumer into giving him one of the last bottles in existence.
He only ever used it on special occasions. Like when he modeled something of his own design for Devil Style magazine.
You were definitely wearing the prototype, the warmth of your body heating the last bit of perfume remaining on the clothing. Lisette had magically tailored it to your size, but there was no mistaking that it was his. How had he not noticed it until now?
Here you were, in his arms, wearing his clothes. Not just clothes he’d designed but clothes he’d worn on his own body. This all felt strangely intimate.
“Well, it looks ravishing on you, dear.” He found himself saying. It was the truth.
You ducked your head shyly. “Thanks, I really like it too. I’ll be sad when I have to return it.”
“Live in the moment, darling. You’ll regret it if you don't take the time to enjoy it while you can.”
“You’re right.” You agreed.
The music swelled in a crescendo. You gave a coy smile and took the chance to twirl him this time.
Asmo felt his heart flutter at your boldness and a giggle escaped his lips as he turned in time with the music.
Just as he was about to return to your grasp, his eyes caught Solomon through the flurry of dancers, watching the two of you intently.
Asmo’s heart clamped firmly shut. Now was not the time to get sentimental.
He met your gaze warily as he slipped his arms around your waist once again.
“You know, Asmo,” You said, “Your eyes really do look like the sunset.”
That was it.
He’d had enough of dancing for the night.
***
Cross-posted on AO3
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writingsofwesteros · 8 months ago
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Charmed HOTD !!! Alicent is so witch coded. Alicent , Alys & Rhaenyra being in a coven
That coven is the HOTTEST !!
Alys being the one that leans towards the dark and Rhaenyra is in the middle with Alicent hardly moving from light magic
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postmortiem · 5 months ago
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:)))
Kiki Bingo (accepting)
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         ❝  We  can  work  on  the  masochist  part.  I  am  all  for  introducing  new  pleasant  experiences™.  With   &   without  narcotics. ❞    Amazing,  Kiki.  That's  the  reason  why  you  are  still  single.
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laurellala-comics · 4 months ago
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What if the characters in Ace Attorney all texted each other. Because they're friends. <3
(My alt text descriptions were a little long so I've added the individual text exchanges below, btw if there's any way I can improve my alt text please let me know!)
[id: drawing one shows text history between Maya Fey and Phoenix Wright on Nick's phone, starting with older texts at the top
Maya: ramen? (Nick has given this a thumbs up)
now we see texts from today at 11:37
Maya: Burgers?
Nick: sorry, not today, big case :(
Maya: Aww Nick
Maya: I'll pick it up and bring it over!
Maya: ... can i use your credit card (she punctuates the sentence with a big smiling face emoji) /end id]
[id: drawing two shows text history between Phoenix Wright and Miles Edgeworth on Miles's phone, starting with older texts at the top
Edgeworth: This was a riveting article, I thought it might interest you.
now we see texts from today
Nick sends a screenshot of a twitter post that reads: Lawyers help people get through the worst day of their life. They're good at it because they have experience getting through their own worst day, which just so happens to be every waking day of their existence
Miles: Ha.
Nick: Just one "ha"?
Miles: Not your best work.
Nick sends a frowny face :( /end id]
[id: drawing three shows text history between Miles Edgeworth and Maya Fey on Maya's phone. The text bubbles from Maya here are green as a result of her, an iPhone user texting Miles, a google pixel user. Maya has also sprinkled several emojis into Miles's contact name, the libra scales, the angry face emoji, the shouting emoji, and the clashing swords emoji. They're mid conversation and Miles has sent a text bubble so big we can't read the whole thing.
Miles: -completely unnecessary. Doing a Steel Samurai reboot so soon after the series ended is a foolish decision, everyone will be directly comparing the two from the moment the first episode drops. I don't believe they even have a fresh direction for the show, the only difference will be the cgi. God forbid we rock the boat and follow a new character! It's abundantly clear to me that the studio executives are cowards.
Maya: Oh my gosh, and did you see the new outfits? Maya includes a sobbing emoji
Miles: Oh, don't get me started.
we see three dots at the bottom of the screen indicating that Miles is still typing. /end id]
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readtilyoudie · 2 years ago
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Franny tilted her head to the side to peer up at him. “Is everything all right, Rodrick? You seem a bit distracted this evening.” 
I love you, that’s all. I know you only see me as a friend, but I’m desperately in love and terrified of spending a lifetime pining. Shall I fetch you some punch?
- Charmed by Chance by Maggie Dallen
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shanastoryteller · 2 months ago
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let the beltane fires burn
The Halliwells are descended from Melinda Warren, are the branch in which the greatest power resides, the line that would birth the most powerful witches to walk the earth.
It's not the only line.
Deanna knows about hunters, knows what they don’t know and don’t understand and that they killed her family. But Samuel didn’t kill her family. Samuel’s a good man who saves innocents, the same way she was raised to, if not how she was raised to do it.
She’s all alone. It’s not safe to be a witch.
The day before her wedding, she binds her powers.
When Mary is a year and a day, she does the same to her. It’s safer this way. Better. The world is so unkind to witches, even ones like them, born into it, with their power baked into their blood. Better to fight evil with bullets and knives than the strange terrible thing she’s destined to give her daughter, that her daughter is destined to pass along to her own daughters.
She never tells Samuel. There’s no reason to.
When Mary is old enough, when she’s talking of running and rebelling and all those things Samuel thinks will never come to pass and Deanna knows almost certainly will – running and rebelling is in her blood as surely as the magic, but there’s no binding potion for that – she tells her daughter what they are. What she’ll have to do to keep her future daughters safe, if she has them. It’s the only potion she ever teaches Mary how to brew, the only one she’ll ever need.
The day after Dean’s first birthday, Marry brews the potion and feeds it to him. He cries more after, doesn’t settle as quickly, and John worries and Mary reassures him and tells herself she’s done the right thing. Whatever it is that Dean feels he’s lost, he’s better off without it. She’s going to be normal. Her children are going to be normal.
She intends to do the same for Sammy, but she burns above his crib when he’s six months old.
~
John sees Sammy levitate a toy towards him when he’s two years old and shouts so loudly that he drops it, tears running down his face and wailing in the face of his father’s anger. Dean comes running from the other room and reaches for Sammy, letting his brother’s chubby fingers tangle in his shirt. “What’s wrong?” he asks, eyes wide.
He doesn’t answer, rubbing his hand over his face and heart pounding in his chest.
What did that demon do to his son?
What did it turn him into?
Is Sammy even human anymore?
He doesn’t react to salt, to holy water, to silver. John loses his temper every time something moves inexplicably and eventually it stops, by the time Sam’s in kindergarten he’s just like all the other kids.
John watches, fear and suspicion and something uglier caught up inside of him.
What is his son?
~
Sam figures out young that he’s a freak.
Dad and Dean just think he’s weak, just think he has nightmares, and he lets them. He only practices the telekinesis when he’s alone and every time he almost gathers the courage to tell his brother or father about it, to finally come clean, he’s viciously reminded how much they hate the things they hunt, how they’d never accept it, accept him, and as soon as he tells them what he is, he’ll lose them.
He doesn’t know what he is, really. Only that he’s not normal.
Eventually he stops seeing things in his sleep, instead getting them when he’s awake, more vivid and real than the monsters that plague his dreams. He sees people being hurt, people who need help, and it goes against everything he’s been taught to leave them to their fate.
But how can he explain it to his family? He can’t.
He’s thirteen the first time he sneaks out and saves a woman from one of his visions, finding her in the dark alley he’d seen her die in. He puts a bullet in the man’s chest, but it barely stops him, and then she and him both are getting a fireball thrown at them.
Sam shoves his hand in front of him, pushing back against the heat, refusing to die the same way his mother died.
The fireball returns to the man, catching him in the chest and he screams, disappearing into the fire until he’s nothing more than a smudge on the ground.
“Wow,” the woman breathes. Sam turns to her, trying to come up with some sort of explanation, when she continues, “I’ve never met a witch with active powers before.”
“I’m not a witch,” he says automatically, thinking of bargains made with demons, of hex bags and rotting meat and blood sacrificed.
She looks between him and the smudge on the ground incredulously. “Are you sure about that?”
Yes. No.
He doesn’t know what he is.
She leads him back to her apartment, stacks books into hix arms, and then makes him a sandwich when his stomach rumbles. His age worries her, his ignorance worries her even more, and everything she’s saying sounds like kooky new age bullshit except for the way that it explains everything he’s never been able to.
There are witches and demons and monsters nothing like anything his father’s ever talked about.
~
It’s easy to research, at least, because his dad thinks there’s a kernel of truth in every piece of supernatural bullshit. Dean makes fun of him for digging into girly, feel-good crap rather than the harder stuff, but his dad just seems relieved he’s taking an interest all. Sam starts taking notes, keeps them all in a folder until Dad buys him a journal, patting his back when he hands it over like it’s a rite of passage.
To Dad, it’s his first hunting journal.
Sam runs his hand down the soft leather spine and knows he’s starting his book of shadows.
The visions don’t stop. He saves more innocents, some witches and some mortal, and keeps the record of all the creatures he’s killed in Latin to discourage Dad and Dean from snooping. He uses his telekinesis on hunts only when there’s no other option, only when there’s someone’s life on the line, and he’s as careful as he can be not to get caught.
It should be a relief, to find out there are other people like him, to know that he’s a force for good in the world.
There’s no way he can explain the existence of a different type of witches to his father without putting a target on their backs.
Some witches have been targeted by hunters, ones who were trying to help but got caught in the crossfire, ones that had turned evil and needed to be stopped, but it’s not often he finds a witch that regards hunters with anything but fear. At least when his family are the ones sniffing around, he can give them a heads up, can tell them how to avoid their attention.
He’s had a lot of practice, after all.
~
Sam is sixteen when he’s a little too slow.
The innocent is safe and the demon is killed, but his chest is torn open and he’s bleeding out on the pavement.
“Oh no, oh no,” the woman he’d saved chants, pressing her hands against him, even though it’s pointless, even though it just sends a bolt of pain through him. Fuck. He doesn’t want to die. Dean is going to devastated. “Paige! Help me! Paige!”
There’s a bright light in the corner of his eyes and an woman around his dad’s age with bright hair red hair is leaning over him.
Then she touches him, but her touch doesn’t hurt.
He looks down and the wound on his chest closes, skin clear and unharmed, pain retreating to only a memory.
“He saved me,” the woman says. “He can move things!”
The redhead’s eyebrows rise. “You have active powers?”
They’re always so surprised by that. Sam’s more impressed with the fact that she just healed him. “I get premonitions too. What are you?”
“You get,” she starts then cuts herself off. “Where’s your whitelighter?”
He stares. “My what?”
She raises a hand to her head and groans. “Oh, someone’s really messed up somewhere. Leo!”
~
Guardian angels are real, called whitelighters, and apparently witches with active powers who go around saving innocents are supposed to have them to help keep them from getting themselves killed in the process.
Leo, who’s something called an elder with a kind face, says an unconventional witch deserves an unconventional whitelighter.
Chris Halliwell is his age, half witch, and also has telekinesis.
Oh, and he’s apparently his cousin. His very, very, very distant cousin.
“Are all witches related?” he asks incredulously.
“No,” Chris says, long dark hair and hazel eyes doing more to aid his claim of family than the spell his mother had cast. He and Chris look more related than him and Dean do. “We’d thought all the other branches of the Warren line had died out. You’re a surprise.”
Great. He’s a freak even among witches.
~
It’s so much easier now that he’s not desperately trying to piece together everything on his own, with only the occasional help from the innocents he saves. Chris is sarcastic and annoying and funny and more than having a guardian angel, Sam’s relieved to just have a friend he doesn’t have to lie to for once.
The Halliwell house, with its potion ingredients and powerful witches and home cooking, is only an orb away. He mostly hangs out with Chris, of course, but Piper always invites him to stay for dinner and Paige checks in on him, feeling somewhat responsible for him since she met him first, and Wyatt’s friendly enough but Chris sends him packing whenever Sam’s there.
He’s pulling doubletime when it comes to saving innocents, doing it as a witch and as a hunter, and he’s still maintaining straight As on top of it all while lying about half his life to his father and brother. It’s a stack of cards that’s bound to fall apart.
Going to Stanford is about more than just escaping his father.
It gets him close enough to San Francisco that he won’t need to be orbed to the Halliwells. It’s supposed to give him some breathing room, to let him focus on being a witch, to let him get his education. He does more good as a witch than as a hunter, but it’s not like that’s something he can explain to his family.
He’d wanted out, needed out, before he gets himself or someone else killed trying to balance it all. But he hadn’t thought his father would kick him out. He hadn’t thought Dean would let him.
He goes to the bus station but doesn’t buy a ticket. He calls Chris and spends the rest of the summer at Halliwell manor, burying all his hurt under training with Chris and saving people and getting ready to start college in September.
~
Jess wears a pentacle around her neck and keeps salt in small bowls in each of the cardinal directions and Sam doesn’t intend to tell her that he’s a witch, but when he ends up saving her from a darklighter attack, that decision is taken out of his hands. Coming clean about the hunter part takes longer, but it’s a bit of an easier sell once the knowledge of the supernatural is already out there. The thing that surprised her most of all is that things like bullets and steel can be used successfully against monsters, rather than the existence of monsters themselves.
Three years later when Dean shows up at their door, Sam can’t bring himself to deny him. It’s one weekend. He’d never wanted to lose his family in the first place.
When he returns home to Jessica pinned to the ceiling, he doesn’t even have to think.
He yanks her down, catching her in his arms just as fire effulges the place she’d been. He pushes the fire away from them, but it fights him harder than demonic fire usually does and leaves his hands burned and blistering. He doesn’t care. Jess is bleeding and in shock but still alive, breath rattling against him. “CHRIS!”
Dean’s yelling for him, but Sam can’t let him in. He throws his hand out, keeping his bedroom door closed even as his brother throws his body against it, still screaming his name.
Chris orbs in, eyes going huge. “Sam, what-”
“Heal her then go,” he snaps, the smoke already hurting his throat. “I’ll explain later.”
He puts his glowing hands over her bleeding stomach and the wound closes, her body going slack and her breathing easing even as her eyes roll back.
Sam tenses. “Is she-”
“Fine, let’s go, your hands,” Chris says, hands already glowing as he reaches for him.
“SAM!” Dean shouts, sounding like he’s about two seconds away from trying to shoot through the door.
“You can heal me later,” he says. “Thank you. Go.”
Chris shoots him a bitchy look that Paige says they share and then he orbs away. The fire’s covered almost the entire room now and Sam finally lets go of the door.
Dean stumbles in, pale, already reaching for him.
Sam stands and finds his knees buckling, gritting his teeth to keep himself upright. “Take her,” he says urgently, pressing Jess into his brother’s arms. “We have to go.”
“You think?” he snaps, but he’s gentle with Jess. Sam shoves him towards the door, slamming it behind him just as it surges after them. Keeping the flames from killing them is one of the hardest things he’s ever done. No wonder he’s exhausted.
They stumble downstairs, away from the fire, and someone’s already called the ambulance.
The story’s an easy sell because it’s not like anyone would believe the truth. They say Jess took sleeping pills and Sam came home to flames. He pulled Jess out and has the burns to prove it. Dean saw the flames in the window and went up, helping to get them both out.
It’s almost true.
“He had yellow eyes,” Jess tells him after. “He was – Sam, I’ve seen demons, I’ve fought demons. He’s something else.”
“Different kind of demons,” Sam says. There’s the underworld, and there’s hell. Underworld demons go after witches mostly. Hell demons go after mortals and are a lot harder to kill, ironically. “It’s the same demon that killed my mother, Jess, and now it’s after you. I have to take care of this.”
Dean’s too relieved about Sam’s determination to rejoin the hunt to question him too closely about all this. He knows better than to think that will last for very long.
Chris agrees to watch over Jess for him even though she’s not technically one of his charges. They layer protection spells on her, including one cast by the power of three, and even this yellow eyed demon will be hard pressed to break through that.
Hell demons are tricky. They’re not as susceptible to witch magic. But Sam’s not just a witch.
He’s a hunter too.
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someonefantastic · 3 months ago
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HAPPY BIRTHDAY, PIPER HALLIWELL | January 7, 1973
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shinedoitsulikeabright · 5 months ago
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Had Odysseus been smarter, he would've perhaps asked Hades to help him evade Poseidon. I mean, Hades was surely annoyed. Poor guy had 500 new arrivals to deal with all because of his brother's little tantrum.
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egophiliac · 2 years ago
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saw the event announcement and had to immediately drop everything and get back to my favorite pasttime (drawing Lilia). sure don't want me saving up my keys, huh, do you Twst?
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princessasmosprincess · 2 years ago
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Charmed, I'm Sure
Chapter 26
Summary: No human has ever avoided Asmodeus's charm. Except for you.
Pairing: Asmodeus x GN Reader/MC
Genre: Drama, angst, a bit of fluff.
Warnings: Sleep inducing magic.
***
Author's Note: I made it in 27 days, that's an improvement for me ;3
***
“I see.” Diavolo folded his hands in front of him on the dinner table as Barbatos began to serve dessert, “So that's how you managed to make it safely out of the underground labyrinth.”
Diavolo had asked for a retelling of your group’s adventure and it had taken all of dinner to explain. Solomon meticulously reported the group’s every move starting from the moment he summoned Asmo to his side, while Mammon and Levi filled in the parts before their party had met up with yours. Beel’s contribution to the conversation was mostly in the form of affirmative grunts as he stuffed his face with Barbatos’ delicious cooking. Every so often, Diavolo would ask direct questions of you or the others, listening intently all the while.
Asmo butted in when it came to the part he had played in the grand escape. His interpretation of the events was quite theatrical and self indulgent, making it seem like using his charm on Henry had been his idea all along. You met eyes with Solomon from across the table but he’d just shrugged and neither of you said anything to correct Asmo’s embellishments to the story.
“You know, now that I think about it, the whole reason we were able to escape was because of me and how stunningly beautiful I am!” Asmo tossed his hair.
“Yeah, but you were also the reason all of you ended up in the labyrinth to begin with, Asmo.” Satan said.
“Right, that's what I'm sayin'. That was terrible, and it was all YOUR fault, Asmo!” Mammon pointed at him accusingly with his dessert fork.
Asmo glared daggers at his older brother. Lies and slander. It had all been a big mistake. Helene had just been too emotional to deal with seeing Asmo’s beauty after so long that she’d lashed out. Who could blame her? He really was that gorgeous. Asmo was about to say something to defend himself when Diavolo spoke.
“You really should be careful in the castle. There are a number of items here with suspicious histories to them.” The demon prince frowned, swirling his glass of Demonus. “I can't guarantee that there aren't others in the castle who also want to get even with you, Asmodeus.”
There was something he wasn't saying, Asmo could tell, just like earlier when he’d given Asmo that odd look before he’d left your assigned room.
But Asmo didn't care, not really. He didn't have time to figure out what Diavolo’s cryptic behavior meant. That was a job for someone closer to the prince, like Lucifer. He’d simply have to wait until Lucifer decided to tell him what it all meant, if it was even relevant by then.
“It's just wrong to be this beautiful…” Asmo sighed.
***
After dinner, everyone thought it best to retire for the night. It had been a very long day.
“Well, time for me to get some sleep. Nighty-night, you two!” Asmo said as he patted an evening moisturizing mask into his skin, his bangs pulled back with a couple of bobby pins. He’d forwent his usual leisurely bath in favor of a quick shower. It was impressive just how efficient his nightly routine was, completing the multi-step process in only minutes.
“You're going to bed already?” Simeon asked, paging through one of the books on the side table, “It's awfully early for that.”
“Lack of sleep leads to unhealthy skin, and I don't want that! I'm sure both of you want to see me looking my best, right?” Asmo hung his silk robe on a hook before searching for something in one of the several bags he’d brought with him. “We have the dance tomorrow, remember? I may no longer be an angel but I’m still that Radiant Jewel everyone knows and loves. I have to dazzle, that’s what people are expecting and I will not disappoint.”
“Well, I suppose that means that I'll get to enjoy some peace and quiet tonight, which is much appreciated.” Simeon selected a book, Dante’s Inferno, and sat on his bed, crossing his ankles as he cracked it open on his lap.
You changed into your pajamas behind the modesty screen, “I was thinking of going to bed now, too.” By the end of dinner you’d had difficulty keeping yourself awake. Satan had even needed to poke you in the side a few times as you’d spaced out over dessert. Your body and mind were worn out from everything that had happened in the labyrinth.
“I hope you have sweet dreams, MC,” said Simeon as he dimmed the lights of the room, leaving a single magically lit candle by his bedside for a reading light.
“Thank you, I hope you do too.” You pulled back the covers on your bed.
“The sweetest dreams are the ones involving me,” Asmo tossed a wink over his shoulder at you as he turned down his own bedding. He pulled out a cobalt blue spray bottle and spritzed the sheets about a dozen times until the vapor glittered in the air as it floated down onto the bed. He took a deep breath, inhaling the fragrance, “You’ll have to tell me if something spicy happens between the two of us, it’s only fair.” He set the bottle down on the bedside table before hopping onto his bed.
The poof of the comforter under Asmo’s weight sent a bit of the fine mist swirling in your direction, you could feel it settling over your skin. It was a pleasant scent, relaxing and cozy.
Asmo slipped a pink silk sleep mask over his eyes as he nestled into the plush bedding, his back turned to you.
The bedroom door burst open.
“HEY! Look who's here...it's Mammon! And you know what that means?! You ain't gonna be gettin' ANY sleep tonight! АНАНАНА!” He made a beeline for your bed and sat, bouncing a few times.
“Mammon, it's late,” you complained, making a point to lay back onto your pillow and pulling the covers over yourself.
Simeon gave a longsuffering sigh, “Asmo, he's your brother, isn't he? Do you think you could possibly do something about him?”
Asmo gave a low growl, tipping up the corner of his sleep mask as he sent a single sticker over text to Lucifer. How that could possibly be helpful, you weren't sure.
“All right all right all right! Time for a pillow fight deathmatch with the Avatar of Greed himself!” He clawed at your sheets as if to free you from your comfy nest of blankets, while you did everything in your power to keep them around you. “LET'S GET READY TO RUMBLE!”
The screen of Asmo’s D.D.D. went dark and he further cocooned himself in the plush comforter.
“Mammon, please,” You debated trying a pact command on him to get him to stop, but without the use of magic it was very hit or miss whether a command would “take”. It was more like a suggestion and gentle prodding in your favor rather than full control over him, and he usually had to be paying attention and already somewhat inclined to do what you asked. Right now Mammon was neither.
“Let's get started before that ass Lucifer comes round on patrol and starts botherin' us!” He laughed mischievously, tearing the pillow from under your head.
“I'm sorry. Who did you just call an ass?” Lucifer’s dark form filled the doorway.
“Yikes!” Mammon ducked behind your bed.
Lucifer crossed the room in three strides, “You're coming to my room. Now. And tonight it's not going to be just me in there, but Diavolo as well. I have a feeling we're going to have all sorts of fun, don't you?” His eyes glowing as his hand closed tightly around Mammon’s forearm, yanking him out the door and closing it behind him.
When the room was silent once again, Asmo shifted under the covers and Simeon resumed reading his book by candlelight.
Despite that brief disruption, you could feel the tension of the day rolling off of you as you settled into your own bed, replacing your pillow and cuddling into the comforter once more, everything fading to black as your eyes slipped closed.
You drifted off to sleep in a cloud of lavender and vanilla and something herbal you couldn't quite place…
***
You woken up way too soon by a knock at the bedroom door.
“Come in!” Asmo sang cheerfully. He'd already been awake for a while, having completed his morning skincare routine, now putting the finishing touches on his makeup as he hummed to himself.
The door swung open and Lucifer stepped into the room.
“Good morning, Lucifer,” Simeon stretched as he woke, greeting his former brother. “You're up bright and earlier than I’m used to. That’s two days in a row.”
“With good reason,” said Lucifer, his voice gruff from the earliness of the hour but his appearance pristine, “Breakfast will begin in twenty minutes, I trust none of you will be late, especially the two of you under my charge?”
“I’m almost ready,” Asmo said, twirling once in front of the bathroom mirror. “Oh but look at them, still snoozing away. It’s like we have another Belphie on our hands.”
You were still snuggled into the comforter.
It felt like it had been no more than a few minutes since you went to bed last night. Like Lucifer had dealt with Mammon and returned right away. Confused, you tried to will your eyes to open, but they wouldn't. Your mind was awake, and you could hear everything that was going on. But you were still tired.
It wouldn't take you that long to get ready, five more minutes of sleep would be fine…
Lucifer nudged your shoulder. “MC, wake up.”
“Mmh…” You rolled over in bed and sunk deeper into the covers, not being able to find the words to answer Lucifer or send him away.
With a sigh, he knelt at your bed, leaning over your sleeping form. The lingering scent of Asmo’s pillow spray wafted over you with his movement.
“Not a morning person? Well neither am I,” Lucifer’s low voice whispering in your ear would have sounded seductive if he didn't follow it up with a mild threat, “Downstairs in twenty minutes or I’ll have Beel eat your portion of breakfast.”
It didn't matter, your eyes still wouldn't open and your limbs felt heavy and useless. You couldn't get out of bed and you didn't really want to. It was too early for this, though you didn't know what time it was. You just knew you needed to sleep longer.
Your enchanted bracelet buzzed away on your ankle, feeling like a light shock of electricity, a zap running up your leg. But you began to tune it out. You were so… So sleepy…
Lucifer sniffed the air as he stood between your bed and Asmo’s. “Is that Nightfog oil?”
“Hmm?” Asmo was busy gazing into his own eyes in the mirror. “Oh, yes it is. It’s in that new pillow spray I got from Savonne,” he indicated the spray bottle on the bedside table, “Doesn't it just smell lovely?”
Lucifer gave an exasperated sigh, “Asmodeus, you can't use Nightfog oil around humans, not without taking extreme care. It’s too potent.”
“What? How was I supposed to know?” Asmo squeaked.
“You would know if you paid attention in Applied Magical Potions last semester,” Lucifer picked up the glass bottle and squinted to read the ingredients list. There was no warning label. He would have to inform Diavolo so the oversight could be corrected. “It can cause somnolence, and in large doses, prolonged sleep. You only used it on your own bed, correct?”
“Huh?” Asmo didn't realize he was gripping the edge of the countertop so tightly until he heard a faint pop sound and looked down to see the cracks spiderwebbing from his fingertips across the surface. He pushed off from the counter and went to dig in his makeup bag for some nail polish to fix a chipped nail. “Yes, I… It wasn't a very large dose, I just sprayed it a few times on the sheets.”
“They had no direct contact with it?”
Asmo shook his head, avoiding Lucifer’s eye as he twisted open the bottle of pink nail polish, trying to hide the slight tremor in his voice, “Th-they should be ok then, right?”
Lucifer shook you a bit harder to see if you would stir. “Direct contact or ingestion is when Nightfog oil is at its most…” He chose his words carefully, noticing Asmo’s anxiety, “Efficacious. The fact that it’s been diluted with other ingredients is also good but…” You just continued to sleep, now snoring lightly.
“Oh dear,” Simeon came to your bedside. “Is there something we can do? I would offer to give them a blessing but I don’t think that would be wise to do within the Demon Lord’s castle.”
“No, it wouldn't be.” Lucifer scrubbed his face with his hand. This was the last thing he wanted to be dealing with right now, especially at this hour. He waved toward the bed behind him, “We have to remove the stimuli. Strip the sheets and pillows from Asmo’s bed and have the little Ds come collect them. They’ll need to be replaced.” He got up and threw open the window while Simeon dealt with the bedding.
Asmo chewed on his lip as he watched from the bathroom doorway as Lucifer performed a spell to neutralize and expel the remaining scent. A light breeze rustled the sheets of your bed.
Lucifer moved to wake you again, rather aggressively if his body language was anything to go by, when Simeon laid a hand on his shoulder and took his place, kneeling by your side.
“MC, dear,” He brushed your hair out of your face, “It’s time to wake up.”
At Simeon’s caress, you began to stir. He helped you to sit up in bed as you stretched and woke.
“Nightfog oil, huh.” You grumbled, rubbing your tired eyes.
Asmo’s shoulders sagged in relief, as did Lucifer’s.
You swung your legs over the side of the bed and reached down to massage your calf, the shock from your bracelet only just beginning to fade.
“Crisis averted.” Lucifer shot Asmo a pointed look, “I think we can forgo punishment this time since it seems to have been an accident. The last thing I need is for Diavolo to complain that I’m being too hard on you again.”
“Again?” Asmo asked.
He picked up the bottle of pillow spray, ignoring Asmo’s question, “However, I'm confiscating this so you don’t accidentally put MC under a hundred years’ restless sleep.” He slipped it into his pocket with a wry smile as the clock tower chimed a quarter to the hour. Lucifer caught your eye, “Fifteen minutes.” And swept out the door.
You stood and stumbled your way to the bathroom to get ready, nearly bumping into Asmo.
Something strange crossed over Asmo’s face, but it was gone as soon as it came, “Oh my,” He giggled nervously as he took in your bed head and bleary, dark rimmed eyes, glaring right at him.
With a quick nod, he shoved a jar of eye cream into your hands and hurried after Lucifer.
***
The magic eye cream Asmo let you borrow made you look well-rested, but you were practically falling asleep at the breakfast table.
When Diavolo caught you yawning as you filled your plate, he recommended Assam tea and personally poured you a cup. You were sure you saw Lucifer laughing behind his hand when he saw your reaction to your first sip, but he hid it well, falling back into polite conversation before you could call him out.
You’d only been able to choke down the bitter tea once you added copious amounts of honey (of the non-poisonous variety, Mammon wouldn't pass you the jar until he’d made sure of that, despite Barbatos informing him he'd only set the table with human-safe options) and milk to it. The tea did give you a little caffeine buzz and helped you feel more alert, but sleep’s siren call still tempted you in the recesses of your mind.
“All right, it's time to explain what we have planned for day two of our retreat.” Lucifer said, standing at the head of the breakfast table once everyone had finished eating.
“A scavenger hunt, right?” said Simeon.
“Yes, we'll be having a scavenger hunt.” Lucifer confirmed. “Each group will be given riddles to solve. Each riddle hints at one of the works of art or historical items here in the castle. Once you figure out the answer, you find and take a picture of the item in question. The things you learned during yesterday's tour of the castle should come in handy as you try solving your riddles.” He passed out itemized lists to everyone.
“We're doing this in groups, huh? In that case, I'm groupin' up with MC.” Mammon reached for your hand.
“Why don't we just say that the groups will be made up of the same people you share a room with?” Diavolo suggested.
Mammon growled, there was no arguing with the prince, not while Lucifer was there. He stomped away to join his group as everyone left the table, lists in hand.
Simeon helped you up from your chair, while Asmo hovered at a distance, waiting as the other groups dispersed in random directions.
“Since you actually got to finish the tour yesterday, Simeon, you’ll have to lead.” You said.
“Of course, I’d be happy to,” said Simeon. He scanned down the list thoughtfully. “Hm, Let’s start with the difficult things first.” He chose a riddle at the bottom of the list and read it through a few times. “The answer to this one is… The enchanted moondial in the back garden.”
“Alright,” Asmo gave a mock salute and took off, not waiting for either of you.
With a shrug, you took Simeon’s offered hand and the two of you followed after him.
**
Cross-posted on AO3
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writingsofwesteros · 1 year ago
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Charmed, I'm sure
THREE COUSINS: Robyn Stark, Sienna Lannister and Stev Baratheon find out their family secret as magic swirls around them. (Charmed style)
Warnings: NSFW, Dark intentions, Manipulation, Non-con (to be edited)
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The demons and everything in between they meet along the way as the tug of war between light and dark continue.
The Characters
Demons
Aegon Targaryen
Maegor Targaryen
Euron Greyjoy
Werewolves
Sandor
Cregan Stark
Khal Drogo
Warlocks
Aemond Targaryen
Oberyn Martell
Larys Strong
(to be continued)
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wingedarrows · 1 year ago
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AJDHDHDHD THAT'S HOW IT GOES YEAH
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i've been rereading Charmed, I'm Sure by @wingedarrows and just all of it is so good but the mental image of quirrel trying to convince grimmchild to stop spitting fire at anything that moves is so funny
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fcaruana · 4 months ago
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The fact Williams hasn’t thought of getting a Spanish speaking PR officer to supervise Franco yet is hilarious. I mean now there’s no point but like 😭 y’all should’ve learnt by now fr
it'd really make everyone's (but franco's) lives easier djsksj whatever rebecca's salary is it's simply not enough to deal with him. this video is so funny like the way she just. gave up while he happily approaches the mic to talk about weed 😭😭 and she had no idea !?!&@& imagine when she found out
but also. this is so cute 🥹 he 100% charms his way out of scoldings
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andyoullhearitagain · 9 months ago
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Late DS9 Writer: Ok how about in this one there's no Vic Fontaine.
That One Writer Who's Always Making Sure Vic Fontaine Is There: Ok, but hear me out
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dailyg3 · 1 month ago
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Daily G3 My Little Pony is: Twirlerina! ♡
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