#deathmarch

[consequencesofargentdawn]

In yet more revelations it appears that a new "NCU" (Northern Cinematic Universe) is in the works composed of The Northweald, The Arathi (dis)Honor Guard and Deathmarch, with possible elements from Grim Dawn involved too!

What an odious and ultimately doomed to narcissism driven project. A new power is rising in the North? More like a new circus.

[ocrkings]

Spartan Race Death March Summit Killington #spartan

[naptownbicycleclub]

Death March Past

[tornbluefoamcouch]

Artista: Serj Tankian Álbum: Intent To Destroy (original motion picture soundtrack) Ano: 2017 Faixas/Tempo: 25/73min Estilo: Soundtrack Data de Execução: 19/06/2023 Nota: 5,0 Melhor Música: Death march

[distribuidoraejeo]

¿Te gustan los mangas?, bueno aquí te compartimos las portadas de los mangas que salieron está semana a la venta de editorial Kamite. De venta ya con nosotros y claro con un descuento sobre el precio de portada. Fecha límite para adquirir tus ejemplares Jueves 22 de Diciembre de 2022. #distribuidoraejeo #kamite #nuevo #new #nuevos #colección #read #lectura #mangas #japones #diciembre #december #2022 #besosverdaderos #deathmarch #ocatve https://www.instagram.com/p/CmObeGyu5cy/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[oxenfvrt]

“It's always sat there empty, this hut. That is, till the night afore the battle. A man arrived, walked right in like twere his own. Was standin' at me window, peerin' at the goin's-on... He must've eyed me, 'cause next I knew, there he was, comin' my way! So, I grabbed me pan - for protection, see. But he just asks all polite, 'Gran, got any birch bark, by chance? Lilac berries, or even a few coals?' Nay, says I! And you must be right daft to pester folk at night with such foolery! But I sees he ain't listenin'. Just starin' at me pan, like a magpie at a copper! 'Lend it to me, gran, I'll give it back come morn'. Was right baffled, for what's he doin' fryin' in the dark? But I've got a soft 'eart, so I gave it to 'im.”

THE WITCHER 3: WILD HUNT

[popiellart]

3A in honor of this most cursed season! And 9A to balance out the psychic damage :)

Thanks for the questions!! 🥰

3. A song that reminds you of summertime

Can't say I have any special songs to celebrate this cursed season, and since I'm working full time for years now, the concept of 'summer vacation' exists just on Instagram influencer pages for me, so no roadtrip soundtrack 🤣

But since I'm chronically insomniac during summer due to the heatwaves, I ended up googling insomnia memes a while ago to commiserate, and found this lovely summer song; The Dreadnoughts - Sleep is for the Weak

9. A song that makes you happy

Oh, that's a fun one! And a very easy one. I wouldn't maybe say 'happy' per se, but there's a song that immensely soothes and consoles me during rough times, and that's Wardruna - Lyfjaberg.

[brynnmclean]

Video games I am playing with other people:

- Pentiment with my twin (priority! We're in Act 3!)

- Banishers: Ghosts of New Eden (twin is doing the Resurrection playthrough because I'm a baby who can't do evil playthroughs, but also I am glad I get to watch him experience this game!!! It's absolutely a favorite of mine now!)

- Plague Tale: Requiem (my little brother is playing this for the first time and I am also in streaming a replay for my sworn brother Lauren)

Games on my own personal backlog:

- Jedi Fallen Order

- Control (hasn't hooked me, but I want to finish before buying Alan Wake 2 and playing it with my twin)

- I am studiously ignoring Baldur's Gate 3 because I have a feeling once I start that one, it's all I'll do for however long it takes to finish it and maybe even after, lol

- also I cannot stress this enough, but once Hellblade 2: Senua's Saga is released on May 21, I will disappear. No one will hear from me. I will drop everything. I will be locked in. Good thing it's allegedly going to be a short game, but also I might play it multiple times right after I finish. Who knows. My calendar is MARKED.

[creepyscritches]

Speaking as an IBS haver and also as an idiot for the majority of my life I just accepted that the most delicious foods also come with potty penalty and figured the rest of the world also dedicated part of the evening to shitting their body weight after enjoying garlic and onions

[consequencesofargentdawn]

Another contribution from Observerseer. The tongue in cheek comedy is appreciated though the greater value is seen in that Deathmarch have seemingly hastily evacuated from the Stromgarde discord following the revelations of their ties to Ovisia (who has also either been evicted or left).

If they were truly as innocent as they protest to be, why did they make a departure? Usually when such a thing happens there is a deeper reason. Perhaps they are afraid that we know they are the Imperial Flame guild as well? PCU they may not be directly but directly interacting with and taking part in adjacent activities does make for people to be wary.

But we thank you Andalmar/Ironwyrm/Vorenus, it is good to know when we 'win again' (not that 'winning' is anything we're after). We are glad you have painted yourself as the competitive professional RPer who only seeks to 'win' over fellow players.

[dxrknessembr8ced]

Meanwhile with the others of the black bashe they were scouting the nest for any BSAA or any unidentified military personal while a few are inside of the nest studying the child in the nest, for now the nest is now secured but the only question how long the jiangshi and her sister will return? They ask that question but then they heard a loud beeping noise from their trackers only for one of them pulled out the tracker only to see a red dot which shows that.....

" ....這是一個陷阱. "

{ " .... It's a trap. " }

From above the rubble out of nowhere the Jiangshi jumped down towards the whole group of black bashe preparing to rip them all to shreds with those large sharp claws finally letting out the sheer animosity and violent tendencies she held for so long to protect her offspring.

" GET AWAY FROM MY BABY! ! ! ! "

Right there when they began to shoot the jiangshi in all her carnivorous nature tore one of the operatives to bits and pieces using her large sharp claws and even bitting off chunks of her flesh while they began to shoot and fight back but were stopped as the jiangshi is needed alive. They were all trained to combat the supernatural but not to fight and or combat the last remnants of the shao family. As they stepped back and watched in horror as their comrade is just torn to shreds, all they needed to do is only one thing. Run. The rest of black Bashe have retreated out of the nest while Hsien-Ko has begun the chase, across the nest leaving it and evacuating immediately the moment she emerge. The offspring watched his own mother in action as the commander of the group called for reinforcements to grab the tranquilizers.

" COME IN DELTA! BRING IN THE TRANQUILIZERS, WE FOUND PATIENT ZERO! "

{ " This is delta! What's going on? I'm screaming! " }

" NO TIME GET THE DARTS AND REGROUP! NOW!! "

On the south side outside of the nest delta squad loaded up their tranquilizer rounds into their rifles as they started to do as they were ordered and regroup.

" Alright no more bullshit we found patient zero, let's ge- "

' PRAAAACCCKKK!!! '

From behind one of delta squad impaled by large metallic claws and lift up from their entire body Mei-Ling has arrive to defend her sister and nephew from new shadow law, she refuse to let them take her back into the facility and be used, never again. Equipped with the same weapons and the same sheer ferocity as her younger sister, she's have had enough.

" Never again, Never EVER again! "

Right there they aim their weapons towards the now enraged older sister realizing that not only they have to deal with Hsien-Ko but far worse, they had to deal with the older sister too.

" Awww FUCK..! "

" NEVER AGAIN ! ! ! "

Tossing the body away as they began to fire Mei-Ling dodges those bullets and tear the squad into bits and pieces, bit by bit, with blood splattering and limbs flying.

' SLLLLIIIISSSSHHHH! '

' BRSSSHHHH! '

' PRAAACCCKKK!!! '

Meanwhile with Hsien-Ko she kept on with the chase still not tiring out from running but one of the black bashe tripped on the ground dropping his rifle as he quickly turn around he screamed as Hsien-Ko lifted his foot and...

' PRAAACCCKKKK!!! '

' BAAASSSHHH!! '

'PRAAACCKKK!! '

' PRRRSSSHHH!! '

The jiangshi with blinding animalistic rage stomped on his head and body repeatedly until his body was nothing but blood and splattered brain matter mixed with mush.

" Hhhhhrrg... "

Hsien-Ko looked around as she takes a sniff in the air, she can sense them she can smell their fear.

" Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, no where to be safe. No one will harm my babies... "

" NO ONE ! ! ! "

Right there she turned around punching into the wall where the rest of the black bashe are hiding as they immediately kept running the jiangshi switched one of her sharp claws to a chained large sharp spiked ball from her sleeve as she starts chasing them again all while swinging that ball around and cause massive damage.

' KKKRRRAAASSSHHH!!! '

' BBBRRRAASSSHHH!! '

" DIE! DIE! DIE! "

The Black Bashe kept running through the rubble until they finally make it out alive, they finally made it through Hsien-Ko's own bloody rampage but this is far from over as this is horrible night has just begun.

[openworldexplorations]

[thabigradwolf]

How did a terrifying fictional lesbian have me daydreaming about what sort of wife/mother they could be? Budddy I’m not even sure. I just love Alcina so much I wish I was motivated to write more or draw but real life and having to plan for a wedding is all consuming.

Still I love seeing all of these funny/ off brand AU’s that make me sort of daydream more about this stuff. Personally I was tinkering with a Hellsing x RE8 AU because that would be hella. Swap out Alcina for Alucard on deathmarch for power *chefs kiss*.

I’d actually love to do a doujin for that. Alcina’s alignment is evil for sure but like the possibilities bro. Also ai just want the big tiddy lesbian to be safe and happy in her ecosystem.

Also pre-cadou Alcina? What she always arrogant? Was she always violent and aggro? What about the Illness? Did she have a string of lovers? Or did she have just one we was head over heels for and something tragic happened?

And let’s not even forget about the indulgent SOFT things that I dare not mention. That shit is for me… ugh this upcoming wedding and the planning for my partner to carry our children has me in a headlock for warm fuzzy shit. I need more of those indulging Alcina AUs and headcanons. Like fr

[distribuidoraejeo]

¿Te gustan los mangas?, bueno aquí te compartimos las portadas de los mangas que salieron está semana a la venta de editorial Kamite. De venta ya con nosotros y claro con un descuento sobre el precio de portada. Fecha límite para adquirir tus ejemplares Jueves 08 de Diciembre de 2022. #distribuidoraejeo #kamite #nuevo #new #nuevos #colección #read #lectura #mangas #japones #diciembre #december #2022 #nodamecantabile #cierratusojos #deathmarch #prisionschool https://www.instagram.com/p/ClqXKNTOvx7/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[do-not-lick-the-walls]

a devil put aside | chapter three - renaissance

masterlist | read on ao3

(gif by @goodsirs <3)

beelzebub x fallen angel!reader

summary: you wash off the blood, and make a deal with the devil.

(she/her pronouns are used for the reader, no description of any sexual characteristics for the reader, no use of y/n)

warnings: non-sexual nudity & being undressed, religious themes & trauma, aftermath of injury, references to slight cosmic horror, some sexual undertones

ineffable taglist: @sarcastic-sourwolf <3

-----

You don't want to go in the bath.

Filthy is an understatement for you right now. Sticky with dry blood, covered in grime, clothes ripped up and hair swept into tangles. It makes you want to crawl out of your skin, how dirty you are. Too many layers made for Heaven's air-conditioned climate stick to your body, soot and ash mix with sweat to cover you in smears of dull gray. It's the third-worst thing you've ever experienced.

But you don't want to go in the bath. Sixty centuries worth of instinct is telling you not to touch molten sulfur, not to go near anything this hot, and certainly not to sink yourself in liquid hellfire. Your brush with death mere hours ago hasn't left you eager for a second try, no matter what godawful sensations you keep discovering.

You don't want to go in the bath. Because if it doesn't kill you, you'll know what you are, and you're not sure that would be any better.

So you just stare at it.

"Yes, you have to."

You shake your head and keep your feet firmly planted on the tile. You do not want to. It's not going to happen.

Beelzebub sighs. "You have to, love. I told them you would."

Tongues of steam-smoke curl around the little room, slowly licking at the air as the fire throws shifting pieces of darkness along the walls. Whirls of yellow sulfur float lazily within the red-orange fire. Dried blood sticks your shirt to your back.

"I don't want to."

They place a hand on your shoulder.

Every time you look away, the swirling patterns of the bath draw your eyes back. It's mesmerizing, in a horrible kind of way. Bright, like you're meant to be. Glowing with the vibrancy of colors found in fine stained-glass windows; the shades of red somebody could cut a depiction of Eve's apple straight from, hues of yellow fit for halos.

"You'll be okay." Beelzebub's voice is gentle, coaxing as they pull your suit jacket down your shoulders. You move to cling to it, but by the time you manage to tear your gaze from the fire, it's already been dropped on the floor, and they're undoing what's left of the knot in your tie. "It won't hurt, I promise."

That's what I'm afraid of.

Your tie follows your jacket, and though your brain wants it back, your body untenses at the loosening of your collar. The air feels cool in comparison to the humidity that's been building between your clothing and your skin, despite its actual temperature.

They peel off the rest of your clothes like that; carefully, slowly. Every button undone lets your skin breathe a little more. It's a relief. It's a deathmarch.

You fall into a detached kind of state, simply exist while your clothes turn into a pile of ruined fabric on the floor. Let time move through you without intervention. Only when Beelzebub holds out a hand to help you into the tub do you return to the active world, and by then your fear has settled into something less frantic. You have to go in, whether you want it or not. The quiet sinking of the inevitable wraps around your hand as you brace yourself on theirs, and step into the bath.

It doesn't kill you. It doesn't even hurt. It is a little uncomfortable when you sink all the way in, but you're quick to start adjusting to the heat, and it's nothing you can't handle. You haven't been smelling the sulfur this whole time, either. The scent is still there, but it's like somebody turned down your receptors to it. You're both thankful and concerned.

Beelzebub sits leaning against the tub, fidgeting with their hands in a way uncharacteristic to the calculated mannerisms you've come to expect. You don't dwell on it; the bathfire is starting to feel good, and you want to get this filth off your body before you explode.

You take a breath, close your eyes, and sink underfire. It's oddly peaceful, not altogether different from being underwater. There's the same bubbling noise, the same semi-floaty feeling. It'll take scrubbing for the blood to come off, but some of it is already starting to loosen while you soak. You wonder if it'll still be you underneath it all.

A tightening in your chest reminds you of your new need to breathe, and you resurface with a gasp and a slosh, fire-soaked hair sticking to your face and the back of your neck. Rivulets of sulfur run down your skin to drip back into the bath, rolling over your face and along your neck like rain on a window. A quick glance to Beelzebub reassures that you didn't splash them.

The cuts and bruises from tumbling around the office seem to have disappeared, though a general soreness remains. It's your back that truly hurts. From your shoulderblades all the way down past your ribs, a deep ache pulses angrily beneath your skin. You decide to save the back and the wings for last. Hopefully the fire will soothe in the meantime. You pick up a cloth.

Scrubbing the dirt from yourself isn't easy, and the blood's even harder to deal with. Your legs aren't too bad, but from the hips upward you're caked in blood that ran over your shoulders and down your chest, or around your sides to your waist. Your hands are particularly disgusting, bits of dark red-brown are mashed into every line and stuck underneath your fingernails. So the hands go first.

You weren't bloody after the war. Having a full cardiovascular system wasn't really your forte as an angel. When you took an injury, it was always pure light that shone out of the wound, clean and easy to manage until you or someone else could miracle you back to full. And you didn't take blows very often in the first place. But now a beating, bleeding heart's been shoved inside your chest, and you have a feeling it won't be going away. You've been cursed with a heart and lungs and guts. Your wounds will never be beautiful again, just messy and impure.

"Tell me how it happened."

The suddenly-broken silence makes you jump a little, knocking you out of your bitter thoughts. You stop scraping the ash from your forearm.

Some things are hard to say out loud. Hope leaves you lonely when you run out of denial to feed it with, and once the truth is past your throat it's never going back in. Your cardinal sins cannot be unconfessed, to others or to yourself.

When you answer, you answer quiet.

"Pride."

"Yeah," they sigh. "That'll do it."

A silver thread of understanding passes between you. You don't really want to say any more, and they don't push. The silence becomes a little more comfortable. You return to scrubbing the blood and grime off your body, probably ruining the washcloth forever in the process, and things are okay for a minute. As long as you don't think about where and what you are.

Eventually, you manage to get most of the gunk off. All that's left is whatever mess your back must be. The fire's helped the ache some, but your shoulder starts complaining when you move to reach behind you. The other one fares no better, and after a few attempts on each side coming up fruitless, you swallow the pride that led you here. "Um... would you...?"

Beelzebub turns around, and you gesture to your back sheepishly. "I can't reach. My shoulders won't, ah..."

"Oh." They blink a couple times. "Oh. Uh... yeah. Sure,"

You must've caught them off-guard, to get a reaction so much less confident than their usual demeanor. Or maybe you've just been assuming their patterns wrong based on first impressions. This could be how they actually are, and the confident, authoritative Beelzebub could have been the outlier. You don't really know them.

And yet, you have a feeling the truth lies somewhere in between.

They pull off those odd little gloves of theirs, and their sash follows, then their blazer. Your throat catches at the sight of them left in mostly white, then catches again as they roll up their sleeves past the elbow, carefully tucking them so they won't unroll. As you hand them the cloth, your fingertips meet for half a second.

The fire-soaked cloth drags once across your back, and you're about to relax into it, when they inhale sharply. "Shit, angel..."

Their finger runs along the spot where one of your upper wings used to connect to your back. Ah. It must've scarred when they healed you, then.

"Did they...?"

You nod.

Beelzebub sighs, curses under their breath, and continues their work. The repetitive, slow swipes across your back are somewhat comforting.

"I miss the eyes more," the words fall from you suddenly, and without prompt. After all the crying and heavy breathing yesterday, your voice has gone hoarse, but you have an urge to talk again. Your thoughts have been racing around in your head like scattering rats, and you want them out. "I've still got two wings, I'm sure i'll be able to fly eventually, but the eyes..." you trail off, unsure of the right phrasing.

"You've still got two eyes. You can see, can't you?" They pour fire over your hair and start to work their fingers through it, and you lean into their touch without thought.

"No, I--- I meant the other ones. In here." You tap the side of you head.

"Well yeah, maybe you can't see in three-sixty or anything, but you can still see."

You pause, try to figure out a way to explain this to them.

"No, the ones on the inside aren't just eyes, really. They don't just see, they... they think."

"...How do you mean?"

"They're not just extrasensory, they're---" You struggle to find the right words for a moment, "They're a part of my brain. They're on it, they're in it. It's not just sight, it's foresight, it's insight, and now they're all closed, and I can't understand the things I usually do. It's like... like somebody's stapled a part of my mind shut."

The longer you think about it, the more frustrating it gets. You're stuck in the here and now, seeing only in three dimensions, unable to slip into bits of future or past or places far away. You can't see behind you, or through the walls, or what's going to happen. You can't see the answer to infinity, or how to divide by zero. You just sigh again, and stare at the curlicues of sulfur drifting through the bath.

"Do you want me to get your wings?"

You hesitate, then let them out. They fixed your wings themself yesterday, you can probably trust them with cleaning your feathers. You swear you can feel the missing sets unfurl too, but there's nothing left behind. Michael made sure of that. Sliced them clean off, left your upper and lower back flat like a human's. But Beelzebub healed you well. The remaining set feels perfectly uninjured, if a little sore, and all the other damage has been fixed alongside.

Nobody but you has ever groomed your wings before. It's a kind of intimacy you don't find in heaven. Even if you ever wanted to, if you had someone close to you, it wouldn't have been proper upstairs. It's probably not down here either, now that you think about it, but it's not like anyone's watching. The security cameras are all broken or fake. There are dark corners to hide in, dark little rooms to make secrets in. This can be one of them, you think, while their soft hands brush over you. I won't tell anyone.

They're careful not to dislodge any feathers, or bend them out of pattern while they clear away the blood. It's almost contradictory, how gentle their touch is for someone who's fallen so far.

Did their fall hurt just as bad?

A pang hits your chest at the thought. You want to ask, but can't bring yourself to.

How many did you send falling in that battle? How many lost their halos to your spear? How many did you put through this?

You beat the thought back. They're demons, it was justice when you struck them down. And it doesn't matter anyway, because if you didn't get them, someone else would've. It was inevitable for them all to fall. You were doing your job.

When your wings are free of blood and put away, Beelzebub offers their hand to help you out of the bath.

You shake your head. "I don't feel clean yet."

They give you a look that falls somewhere between sad and resigned. "You never will again."

You're dried off and wrapped in a long silk robe. The red looks wrong against your skin, replacing the beiges and whites and soft blues that should be there. While Beelzebub rolls their sleeves back down, you look at your pile of clothes, stained beyond repair, and let yourself mourn them. The last visible trace of angel is gone from you.

Your stockings lie at the top of the pile. They're ruined, of course. But maybe not quite so much as everything else. Maybe, if you could find a way to wash them...

You doubt they're compliant with hell's dress code, and although they've been kind to you, you really doubt Beelzebub wants you hanging onto a piece of heaven. But... they're pretty. And nobody would ever have to know.

You sneak a glance at Beelzebub. They're facing the other way, distracted with pinning their sash back on.

You take your stockings from the pile, and slip them up your sleeve.

Barely a second after you finish, Beelzebub turns back around, pulling on their gloves, and waves for you to follow.

---

Beelzebub's throne room isn't much of a throne room. It's a small, undecorated concrete box with a short platform, a gold-edged old sitting room chair, and as of last night, thanks to you, a bloodstain on the floor. But there's one thing to say for it: it's a lot cleaner than the rest of hell. The huge piles of newsprint and paperwork are tied into neat-ish stacks, likely never to be finished, and although the chair trying to be a throne is old, it doesn't look infested with anything.

Beelzebub flops onto it, throwing a leg over the side, and gestures vaguely to a collection of newspaper bunches stacked like haybales. Seeing no other chairs, and not wanting to sit on the floor beneath them, you follow their suggestion. It's not actually the worst place you've ever sat.

The silk robe moves and falls with you in a way so elegant it has to be borderline sinful. The feeling of it against your skin, too, is horrifically pleasant. Empresses from long-gone dynasties come to mind, in their bright dresses and golden hairpins, or perhaps more similarly the lush dressing gowns of golden-age Hollywood stars. You try not to look at yourself.

"So," Beelzebub starts, "We've got a lot to talk about here, I suppose."

An icy sinking along your spine pulleys your heart up into your throat like a double elevator shaft.

They sigh. "Don't look so tense, love. I'm not going to bite you. Go ahead, relax."

You make an attempt at relaxing into your seat, at first trying to mirror them before quickly realizing that's not going to work with your setup, then fumble around for another couple of seconds trying to find some other position. It feels unnatural, to lean back at a time like this. You're not sure you like it. You must not do a very good job of it either, because they wince, and wave you off. You go back to sitting straight up with your feet together like you're meant to.

"But you just did it in the--- no, not important, actually. We can work on the uh, relaxing thing later. More pressing matters." In a seeming attempt to reset themself, they exhale, and straighten their lapels. "Alright, I'm assuming you know who I am, or you would've asked by now, and I know who you are, or I would've asked by now, so thankfully we can skip that bit, yeah? Good. Okay," they pause, then reset themself again.

"I don't know how a Seraph managed to get the boot after so long. But however it happened, you've joined the Fallen now, and you're clearly not faking it. Making you," they sit up a little, focusing. You're stuck between wanting to break eye contact, and wanting to lean in closer. "An unprecedented phenomenon. And an important one, too."

Still stuck in your throat, your heart flutters.

"Point is," they sit up fully now, resting their elbows on their knees. "You're something special, pet. So,"

Their mouth twitches upward, so slightly that you would've missed it if you'd blinked. Their eyes flash like they're letting you in on a joke. You brace yourself for the words.

"I have an offer for you."

It was always going to come to this. To a deal with the devil. Your heart sinks back down the shaft, pulling the icy dread up again in counter.

"Let me train you."

You blink.

You're not sure what you expected. Maybe a threat, or something more candy-coated, an obvious temptation. Something other than an internship with the Prince of Hell.

Tentatively, you poke at the idea with your foot. "What's the catch?"

"No catch. I'm not trying to trick you into something. Be my apprentice, let me teach you to be a demon. There's still power in you, I'll help you tap back into it."

They look you dead in the eyes, and you almost say yes right then. A sudden want to bury yourself in that obsidian gaze comes rushing through your veins and down to your fingertips, hot, then cold, then hot again. You stare into the void, and the void stares back.

A second passes.

Cut it out, traitor! Your rationality slams you over the head with a laptop full of reasons why you're an idiot. They are a demon. They are Prince of Hell, patron unsaint of the flies that follow them. They are distracting you. Demons are liars, no matter how beautiful, how kind, and you cannot afford to forget that. You are in enemy territory.

You clear your head, and move with caution as you prod at this a little more. "What's in it for you?"

They chuckle. "You, sweet. You're drowning in potential. I'd be a fool not to want you on my side."

They say it as if it's the most obvious thing in the world, and you have to look away to avoid being hypnotized again. The idea of being wanted drips into your head, starts to melt into the cracks like honey while your brain tries to scrape it off.

Didn't they just say you're something unprecedented? Important? Whispers the scars on your back. Even missing wings and eyes, they still want you.

"Come on, love. It's a win-win. I get to teach you, you don't get fed to something, everybody's happy."

That sobers you again for a moment, furrowing your brows. There's the threat, then.

"You don't have to worry about it," they take your hands, moving closer, an honesty in their undertone that you want to believe is real. "I'm offering to bring you under my protection. Nobody would ever touch you again, and if they did, I'd kill them."

A finger traces your cheek, like it did yesterday, and your face untenses. Such a violent idea should scare you. Instead, it makes your heart skip beats and tremble in a different way, slowly trying to push the lid closed on your moral compass.

You swallow. "Tell me more."

"I'll train you myself. Teach you to be a proper demon, and keep you by my side while you learn. You'll assist me with things, if I need you to." They pull your hands in so slightly you might be imagining it. "And you won't just be some errand girl. You could have status. Who knows, in time, you could be a Duke of Hell."

You want to say that's not tempting, but so help you, it is. Technically, you fell high in the ranks of Heaven, but not in the way they're offering. Seraphim think, not lead; that's an Archangel's job. God trusted you with higher cosmic knowledge, but what else did she ever give you but commands?

Images flash through your mind: more red silk, jewels and pins, comfortable sofas, ignoring your paperwork. Darkness, depravity, hedonism. The kinds of sin that make your body go hot just thinking of it. Giving the orders instead of only taking them. Wine. Music. Velvet.

Suddenly, you become very aware of the stockings hidden in your sleeve, take another laptop to the face, and frantically shove your visions of grandeur back into the box labeled 'SIN: DO NOT OPEN.' You have to get out of here. You're being corrupted already, and worse, you're starting to like it. God forgive you, you're starting to like it.

But where else is there to go? If you say no, you're getting fed to something, probably over and over for all eternity. And short of an intervention from God herself, you're not getting out of hell entirely.

"So. What'll it be?" Beelzebub drops your hands, then reextends one of theirs, inviting.

Those hands have only been kind so far. Every touch from them has been to help you, to heal you. You want their touch again, that feeling of another that's so rare to find in heaven, their hand on your face, in your hair. You want them to want you.

You have nothing to lose, and everything to gain.

You slide your hand into theirs.

They smile.

[reinterlacing]

I can tell you right now as a software engineer:

1. this won't happen, or

2. this won't happen, and the attempt will finally kill this unkillable network good and dead, or

3. (distant third possibility) this will sort of happen, and the "success" of the monumental and fantastically ill-advised engineering deathmarch will finally kill this unkillable network good and dead.

there are no other options. none.

additional tea:

(also, the CEO of Automattic is kind of a piece of shit. it's just that he's spent most of his focus lately on making Wordpress worse, rather than making tumblr worse. I say that as somebody who makes my living adminning Wordpress sites.)