#devil personification

[avana-arts]

"I'm much more interesting man, won't you think?"

[moliathh]

Better the devil you know than the angel you don't

[kucka-g]

look at this baby proudly prancing around with his bomb

[musings-of-a-kjdrama-addict]

THEM

[i-bring-crack]

Scene idea running through my mind; Lucifer full of despair after having his last meeting with God because he has been told the events of the future and the role he is supposed to play, far far away from everything he has loved, just for their sake, everyone’s sake, maybe even his own— and as he slowly walks, dazed and terrified, the young prince appears from a corner with a gentle smile, coming closer to his aid, worried over his apparent fears. In that instant he finally understands, and asks the naive prince if he wishes to have a taste of the tree of knowledge. When the prince accepts, both flaming souls meet and part away just as quickly. The prince can only realize what the action was when he sees the human do it, their lips meeting, their bodies trying to become whole again before they had been separated.

[zyonsay]

Greetings from me and the magical unicorn connemara Chayenne✨

Also why do we both look TINY?! She looks like a mini pony and im built like a 12-year-old.

[saturnfairycat]

Winged

Work #3 | copyright to saturnfairycat

Author's Note: this is one of my biggest works. I really hope you enjoy this one. This is inspired by the Obsession poem series. Debrief: Word count: 1694 Warnings: gore, horror, death, sensitive topics.

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Winged

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'Do you see her flying?'

Is all of a brusque rhetoric opine. Even the blind could descry such a figure. 

Biblically meticulous angels are a frightening, foreign perception for the faint of heart. But a feminine adolescent human with ivory, coriaceous wings? A sight for sore eyes, a sight to behold. Uncorrupted and innocent, dove-like as a symbol of societal freedom and peace. A pleaser designed by birth to conjure movement and enthrallment for the ravenous. A perishable's dream bride, adorned with white like untouched snow on the first night of winter.

Kings have egos. Compelled to order and empower by any means necessary. Vestal subjects have pride. Their crest adorned with white is comparable to celestial tears. Combatants have glory, taking— saving— risking lives by ineludible ordinance. And evil? All they have is revenge. 

Scarlet wounds, blood vessels ripped apart unseemly by brute force. A perfect canvas, stained and poisoned by acid rain. Tainted with colour, her dress subsumes the surrounding ichor from the broken statue. If it wasn't for the gore giving away the depiction of clay and adroitness, she would've been a Renaissance angel built to be worshipped like the holiness structure itself. The venerable church has been home to the slain of sin, the keeper of the sorrow and celebration of nuptials. Its outer walls creak and moan at the sounds of howling winds, angered at the sight inside the chambers of salvation. High ceilings may have constructed envy to those whose house is neither grand nor tall enough to withhold such metaphorical heights of a ceiling— likewise a telling of the staircase to the heavens above.

The beams are indestructible by delineation, holding the shouldering weight of the god's misfortune of reckless decision-making. Howbeit, ladders like vines on great oak trees enable worshippers to maintain the tidiness of the “humble” estate; the beams are wide enough to dance to the opera choir singing, whose dedication to the ones living in the unbothered clouds. For someone to climb up the vines to reach the tallest branches on the great oak is a possibility within a thousand coin flips, though ought to question the means behind such a purpose is certain. Revenge is a rather peculiar sin, anyone could imagine it as such. The drive behind it is sorrowful to the do-er, but judgement day does not care for the iniquitous.

Revenge creates motivation, determination is effectual. To train like a knight, one can easily carry a dead weight on their cracked shoulders up the staircase to heaven. To study with pride, one would know what people see as their true saviours— their delusional hallucinatory of an angel. How to dress, how to please. White and lacy as a wedding dress, pure and lush as a celibate. 

The victim? 

How curious, the devil pondered. Perhaps a pleaser at heart? As such:

A devoted woman to her word, a persona whose love for the weak and vulnerable is overpowering. Like spiked wine, a goblet filled with luxurious liquid gold— misleading from its appearance— a perfect femme fatale. Its insides tell its truth, how we're all the same within— an inescapable peracute. But who said to drink it? Use it for self delectation? What a poor magnificent object, she doesn't want to be mere treasure. She is the perfect vestal subject, what more could you want? Perhaps she is more fitting as a villain, always seeking more. Greedy, much?

Yes, a perfect sacrifice indeed. An impeccable example of the ambition of a “devil”'s revenge. A church can have followers, so a mere cult can be concordant. While the title of being a cult is a fragment of exaggeration, the apostles will work well in such a plan. They, the misfortunate, seek the pained for comfort… paltry sympathy can only do so much, however. But it's only just sufficient enough. Manipulation? How insulting. Ultimately, it is up to those who seek change to take heed. Hide fleetingly, pretend to associate with everyone just like in the old days. The crowd knows when to act.

Evil can kill, there is nothing else to it. Have you ever wondered how it feels to bathe in virgin blood? It's disappointing, such fuss for it is foolish. The only real kick was the twisted face of telling. That face alone is a blank, pitiful canvas turned into the definition of art itself. Oh, you could paint a thousand frescoes with such an expression. It doesn't disturn her prepossessing features, but it does make her look older. Such complicated, big emotions shouldn't even be within reach for such a young fawn. In another life, surely her underlying intelligence would serve others more than just being a lap to cry on, but in this taken existence— her sheltered mind breaks from the sudden intensity of trahison des clercs. This isn't what her story was supposed to be in her eyes. Ah, regrettable unfortunate. ‘Not favoured by fortune, was she?’, the fallen angel cruelly smirked at the thought. 

The evisceration was excessively long. The risk of blood ruining the white was too prodigious, though such fastidious concerns were needless in the end— her neck provided enough liquid genealogy, painting the front of her dress crimson. The colour of hell, of sin. The tainted heaven, the poisoned goblet. Her wings were made from dove feathers, plucked with attention to detail— a maiden in a meadow, choosing and picking the best of flowers could not compare. The bone structure of the wings was genius, specific bones were chosen from certain organisms to create a grand juxtaposition from angel to bird. Sticking each chosen feather to the structure was tedious, but a hyper-fixed maniac does not sway from such work. Inspired by the Winged Victory of Samothrace, the wings belong on her back. But her impressive bone anatomy is in the way... 

...with the scapulae removed, the wings fitted with such grace and ease. Death has blessed her with paleness, such colour is the reminiscence of a statue. But her wasted life must be highlighted, must be remembered. Just like all those Renaissance angel paintings, after all— that is the only perception of angels that people will embrace. 

It is always about beauty and selflessness, never should one ought to become a fallen one.

Tough to touch, the rope that scratched up skin with small amounts of friction has proven to be practical. A satirical necklace for her elegant neck— tied down to halt the escape of her soul to the sky above. Wings may have been granted, but freedom of flying is not an option. But one as kind and saving as her needs a taster of such, the vines are no competition of strength with her figure in the devil's grasp. The perception of the stairway to heaven is certainly a sight of lush imagination, except the beams are thrilling as a ballroom for the bride-to-be and the avenger. Humming, content with glee; evil looks down to the church below, to where the mighty cross stands at the front of the sect.

Their creation is more impressive, without the use of a single nail. Prideful, the striking idea of overshadowing the lord himself is great. Tying the knot where evil saw fit, the weeping angel longed for the higher stakes before being pushed down, down to her fate. For a second, the wings may have tried to lift the dead and fly up— but the crushing weight of sorrow brought both down with a crack of bone. Her neck crooked, leaning to the left with no resting place for her head, she floats in front of her lord. Her feet swayed slightly, still savouring the dance from before as blood dripped from her blue-hue toes. Such pale eyes never saw the light of the sun again without the stained church glass praying through. 

***

The morning prayers, on time as usual for another hour of adored hope from the public. The doors opened, creaking and moaning its warning. The crowd is loud, chatting and laughing with optimistic cravings for their future. A future that she will never see. The crowd silences, and the cessation of movement brings shock and dread to the hearts of his lord's worshippers. She hangs in front of their eyes from afar, suppressed into death. It was when her guts came with a sickening "splat" onto the ground beneath her feet from her tedious exoneration that broke the silence. It was heaven's gift to them, the insides that paint the truth of the world… which they did not accept. There was then shrieking– some are praying, some have become sick– while the followers, the actors— they chanted at the sacrifice, sang with glee. 

All was in chaos until he, the evil, the devil himself— slid down from the oak ladder. One of his sinful hands still grasped at the ladder as his heels clicked onto the cool, stone-tiled floor. Some of his leeching zealots pointed at him, eager to know his final motive. 

Why such a plan? Why such a sacrifice? 

Sick revenge for mortals that need to be taught a lesson. 

Would they finally get it? Would they finally understand the suffering? 

No. 

They never do. They never pay attention until it’s too late. 

Gritting his teeth while his jaw clenches at the strike of realisation, he turns away from the selfish sinners. Has all his cruelty to her been all for nothing? His free, bloody hand carries a singular candle— which he tosses at the corpse. She lights up in flames, her laced dress burning into black ash as it climbs up her strained body. He looks in awe at his doing, the followers are shaken to their core. The thrown candle had crashed onto a parallel wall from directly hitting the “effigy”, miraculously causing arson, thus setting fire to the church itself. All his cruelty to her will not be all for nothing. The church doors slam shut behind the crowd, beckoning them in. As the house of holiness burns up to hell’s temperatures— he, who has been staring at her the whole time, finally questions the followers and himself:

'Do you see her flying?'

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[7finalgirl8]

TW: A little bit of gore.

Reference of my main sona, my beautiful wicked bb.

I should probably redraw this, add a different form, buuuut I keep forgetting to do that, so let it go for now. Specifically create my own semi-closed species for her, can tell more about it sometime, if I... Well, don't forget about it again... Yep.

[cleaverqueer]

i want to write gay drabbles

[cas---2y5]

i genuinely feel like nick in s14 is more Lucifer than Lucifer in those late seasons. Like nick’s on a revenge spree to find the person who killed his family, being absolutely fucking brutal, killing everyone who stands in his way, all while having this eerie calm about him. It really reminds me of s5 Lucifer, who’s on a revenge quest to find and kill Michael, and being that same eerie calm about it while he raises horsemen and kills gods. They made his vessel more in character as the devil than the actual devil

[little-diable]

Lightning - Tyler Owens (smut)

I mean, we all knew this would happen. I haven’t seen the movie yet, but I am DESPERATE for him. And as somebody who actually has something to do with studying tornadoes, I had to write this. I am obsessed with this fic, but I doubt this will get much attention, so please actually reblog it if you enjoyed reading it! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Tyler and the reader are chasing tornadoes together, but when they have to step back and find shelter, things quickly change between them.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, handjob, kinda enemies to lovers, teasing and all that fun stuff

Pairing: Tyler Owens x fem!reader (3k words)

Wind was blowing in her face, letting her strands dance in the air while her eyes flickered between her laptop screen and the dark sky. She was surrounded by her team, trying to ignore their shouts as they decided which direction to head in. (Y/n) was torn between too many options, not liking the way this afternoon was playing out. 

It was do or die, miss or hit one of the biggest tornadoes they had come across in a while. And yet the second cell that was currently forming gave off a somewhat more promising chance of catching enough data this time around. 

“Which way will it be, lightning?” Her breath hitched in her chest as he mumbled the words, front pressed against her back. The hairs on her arms began to rise, fully focused on his closeness, allowing her to pick up on the scent of his familiar cologne, on the way his breath fanned over the back of her neck as if he was about to kiss that very spot.

“Am I dreaming? Is Tyler Owens asking for my opinion?” She slowly turned towards the handsome man. Her eyes instantly found his piercing ones, getting lost in their intense gaze while he shot her one of his signature smirks. Fuck, if he weren’t such an asshole most of the time, she would easily give in to the pull she felt, allowing him to tug her towards his bed without having to fear about the aftermath. But if there was one thing (y/n) was sure of, it was that Tyler Owens was all about playing games, toying with a woman until he eventually grew bored. He was a personification of a thunderstorm, fast moving and never ready to settle.

“Don’t let it get to your head, pretty.” She clicked her tongue with a displeased expression tugging on her features. There was no time left to study him, to curse whoever had created him for making him look this handsome. They had to stay focused, at least until she got the data she needed for her project. 

“Alright, we’re heading east.” (Y/n) closed her laptop before reaching for her bag–the bag that was snatched from her grasp before she could protest. Tyler had slung it over his shoulder while tilting his head towards his truck, silently asking her to ride with him. 

On any other occasion she would have cursed him, would have told him to fuck off. But today, while being heavily understaffed, she needed any help she could get. And knowing that Tyler drove like the devil himself, she knew she had the best chance of arriving just in time with him by her side. 

His smirk grew wider the second she gave in, begrudgingly following Tyler while her eyes found the confused ones of her teammates. She only rolled her eyes at them, raising her shoulders and dropping them again as if she was wordlessly telling them that she was just as confused as they were, not seeing through Tyler’s game just yet. 

Silence filled the truck, only a few commands left (y/n) whenever they needed to make a turn, chasing down the roads to catch up with the growing cell. All while the others followed behind them, too slow to catch up with Tyler’s truck. Her heart was pounding in her chest, riled up by the anticipation of chasing another storm – no matter how many times she had done this before, (y/n) would never get used to the thrill, the moments leading up to seeing yet another beautiful though terrifying tornado. 

“You alright, pretty?” She’d never get used to the way Tyler called her, dripping with that drawl she loved more than she’d ever admit. (Y/n) didn’t look at him, fully focused on her laptop to monitor the path their tornado took. No word left her pressed together lips, trying to drown out the feeling of his concerned eyes flickering towards her every few seconds. 

“(Y/n)?” The use of her name ripped (y/n) out of her trance, letting her wide pupils find his. She only nodded at Tyler, knowing she couldn’t waste any time on the crush she could never speak of, preferring to take her secret to the grave rather than feeding his ego–only to end up with a broken heart in the process. 

“Guys, can you hear me?” She held the radio close, speaking to the others while refocusing on the map. All they could hear was rustling, unable to pick up on the reply that was spoken on the other end. Curses clawed through (y/n), she tried to reach their teams again, while swallowing the sinking feeling growing in the pit of her stomach. No longer could she see them in the rearview mirror, telling her that they hadn’t made it down the narrow path Tyler had taken.

The road ahead was muddy, forcing the truck to slither along while Tyler tried to avoid holes and ditches. With one hand clutching the door, (y/n) tried to hold still, not daring to bump into Tyler whose angry cusses filled the truck. Both had their eyes focused ahead, knowing that this had been the wrong choice, the wrong tornado to chase. They were heading straight towards their death if they kept going that way, knowing that without their team by their side, they wouldn’t be able to collect enough data anyway. 

“I hate being the one to say it, but we gotta find shelter, lightning.” Tyler’s annoyed groans left her nodding, giving him the green light to take a sharp left to turn towards the town close by. With the slimmest chance to find proper shelter, Tyler kept speeding along, seemingly having a spot in mind. (Y/n) was angry, at herself, at the road conditions, knowing that this situation should have played out much differently. And all she could do was trust the man she had always tried to hate.

“Come, follow me.” The truck was forced to a sudden halt. (Y/n) followed Tyler outside, holding onto her things while he reached for her free hand to pull her along. He guided her towards what appeared to be a barn, a building she paid no attention to as she studied the tornado, getting lost in its beauty for a second. “They built an underground shelter here a few years back, if we’re lucky nobody else had the time to find it.”

Tyler pushed her into the unlocked barn, letting the doors slide close again before he led her down some stairs. She didn’t dare speak, torn between too many emotions. All (y/n) could do was let go of a sigh while being ushered into the empty, dark shelter. It took her a while to adjust to the darkness, letting her hands move along the metallic wall until she found what appeared to be a light switch. She gave it a try, though without any luck, letting herself drop to the ground while Tyler stayed glued to his spot. 

If both hadn’t been too deep in thought, they would have realised that this was the first time they were sheltering together, completely alone without any nosy eyes watching them or listening to their talks. 

“We should have gone west, I’m sorry.” Her whispers filled the small shelter, luring Tyler closer who plopped down next to her. He fumbled with his phone to turn on the fleshlight, letting it rest on the ground to alight their surroundings. A few boxes were placed against the wall, filled with water and some snacks they hopefully wouldn’t have to use, praying that they’d get out of here fast enough to chase their luck once again. 

“There’s always time for another try, pretty.” Tyler reached for her hand to squeeze it before he could stop himself, forcing her eyes to focus on the spot where she now felt a buzzing sensation. She let her head roll towards Tyler, studying the white hat he took off with his free hand, placing it down on the ground, only to comb through his hair. 

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen you without that thing on.” (Y/n)’s whispers left him chuckling, a sound that momentarily managed to drown out the roar of the tornado. The howling was an almost comforting sound to them, after years of chasing them, well aware of every little detail. 

“Well, you’re one of the few who gets the honour, appreciate it.” She rolled her eyes at him before ripping her gaze off of him. Heat flushed through her at his teasing, a heat that only grew more biting as she realised that they were still holding hands. Her tongue moved along her dry lips, trying to find the right words to break their silence, silently hoping that she could cherish every single second of their time together. As much as she had once sworn to hate him while burying her crush deep inside of herself, she had lost all strength to fight against it, at least for now.

“Why have we never done this before?” Tyler seemed to feel the same longing, drawing her focus back towards him with his question. His eyes had an even more piercing touch to them now, having an invisible tight grasp on her soul she didn’t want to escape from. 

“Because you’re an asshole most of the time and I can’t stand being around you for long.” (Y/n)’s sharp reply left him laughing, a loud sound that had an addicting effect on her, leaving her chuckling while shaking her head at the man. 

“You wound me, lightning. Here I was hoping you’d finally let me take you out on a date, once this day’s over.” No longer did she laugh, the sound was stuck in her throat all too suddenly.

Did he truly mean it? Was he planning on asking her out? Or was Tyler playing yet another game with her? 

“Don’t fuck with me, Owens.” His hand darted out to grasp her chin, forcing her to keep her focus on him before she could even try to turn away from him. For just a second, she watched his gaze flicker between her eyes and her slightly parted lips. Once again her heart was back to racing, no longer focused on the howling wind, the sounds of things crashing outside, but fully and solemnly focused on Tyler. 

“Are you scared of this thing between us?” Once again, his question managed to rob her of the air filling her lungs, not expecting him to be this direct with her. A part of (y/n) begged her to cuss him out, to make fun of the question, to escape the avalanche that was about to roll upon them, but the bigger - more desperate - part of her, managed to gain the upper hand, leading her straight towards danger.

“Well, even though you enjoy riding your fears, I prefer to face ‘em. I’m not scared, not of this, whatever this is. But I’m fucking terrified of you toying with me and dropping me the second I’m no longer interesting enough.” He let go of her, only to pull her into his lap, making her straddle his stretched out legs. They held eye contact, wordlessly daring one another to move first, to give in to the pull that was as strong as an F5 they’d happily chase on any other day. 

“I’d be fucking stupid to mess it up with you.” She felt his breath on her lips, ghosting over her soft skin like he was giving her one last chance to pull away. A chance she wouldn’t take, letting it pass while finding his lips for a soft kiss that escalated within seconds. With his hand pressed to the back of her head and his other placed on her waist, Tyler held her to him while deepening the kiss.

Their tongues fought for victory, knowing that neither of them would back down from a fight against the other, urged on by their need to gain the upper hand. Soft groans and moans left them while their bodies searched one another’s closeness, knowing that this was something they wouldn’t tell others about, preferring to keep this as their secret. 

Her hands roamed his clothed chest, feeling his muscles beneath her wandering fingers while finding her way to his belt. She toyed with the buckle for a moment while her lips were still glued to his, knowing they’d have to part any moment now to inhale some much needed breaths of air. 

“You sure you want to do this in here, lightning?” His chuckles left her grinning, while holding onto the question she had wanted to ask for a while now. 

“Why lightning?” A kiss was shared between them, much softer than the one before. Her hand was still toying with his belt, slowly undoing the buckle to wordlessly tell him she wanted this much as he did, even though they knew that it was stupid and selfish of them to hide out here while their teams were undoubtedly worrying about them. 

“Well, the first time I saw you, you struck me like lightning, brightening my darkest day.” The explanation was cheesy, and yet it still drew heat up her neck. She could only swallow, smile at him and refocus on her hands. Tyler let her move, freeing his hardening cock while his impatient hands tugged on the buttons of her blouse, letting it pop open to expose her bra-clad chest. 

“Fuck, you’re a dream.” Her eyes flickered up to his while she spat into her palm, using her saliva to lube him up. Tyler couldn’t stop his moans from clawing through him, fully focused on the way he perfectly fit into her hand, pressed against the soft skin he wanted to feel against every inch of his body. His head rolled back against the wall, eyes closed and lips parted – offering a sight that made her walls clench around nothing, proud for being the one to make him feel like that. 

Her hand added more speed to its movements, squeezing him with just enough pressure to draw another raspy moan from Tyler. He allowed himself to relish in her touch for another moment before he gently though urgently grasped her wrist to stop her from moving. 

“Will you ride me, lightning?” His accent grew thicker with every syllable, leaving her shuddering while only a soft chuckle managed to leave her. She rose to her feet to shuffle out of her jeans, keeping her eyes focused on Tyler who marvelled at her as if she was the strongest tornado he had ever been fortunate enough to see, fully mesmerised by everything about her. She kept her panties on while finding her way back to his lap, knowing that they needed to hit the road soon, not giving them a chance to do this properly. 

“Wait, here.” He reached for his back pocket to pull a condom out of his wallet, letting her rip it open to roll it down his aching cock. Both their hearts were beating in sync, knowing that they were finally about to do something they had been desperate for ever since running into one another for the first time. No matter how much anger and hatred had once grown between them, it was now turning them from opponents to lovers–or whatever it was both were trying to adjust to. 

Tyler held onto her as she sank down on him, letting her forehead fall against his shoulder for a second. No words were spoken while they had to adjust, overwhelmed by the new sensation and the whirlwind of emotions buzzing through them like a storm hitting them both. With her hands holding onto him, clinging to the fabric of the shirt he wore, she began to move, fucking herself on his twitching cock with such a passion, Tyler feared he may never want to get out of this shelter again. 

“Tyler,” his name left her, a breathy whisper he almost missed, too far gone to focus on anything but their closeness. He palmed her ass, letting his fingertips dig into her skin to leave marks that would remind her of this very moment for days to come. His hips met hers, jerking upwards to make his cock disappear inside of her even deeper, drawing desperate moans from them which dripped with a need for more. 

“Attagirl, look at you, fucking yourself on my cock like you were born for this.” She moaned at his words, knowing that her thighs would start aching soon enough, begging for a new position to give herself the needed push to fall over the edge. “What? You’re already getting tired? I should have fucked you in my truck, make you scream my name while the world’s ending around us.” 

He pushed her off of him without a warning, leaving her dazed and confused for a second while watching him rise to his feet. With a hand stretched out for (y/n) to take, he pulled her up towards him–only to pick her up and press her against the wall. His cock was pushed back into her, stretching her walls while he fucked her with a fast pace that made both of them see stars. 

(Y/n) clawed at his neck, needing to hold onto him while he fucked her closer and closer to the edge. A cocky grin widened on his lips as he felt her walls tightening their grip on his cock. She was close, would let go soon with his name burning on the tip of her tongue, a perfect reminder that she was his from today on, glued to the man who she had once sworn to hate. 

“Scream my name, lightning, show them what a real thunderstorm sounds like.” If he weren’t buried deep inside of her, she would have rolled her eyes at him. But (y/n) was too far gone to care about his cheesy teasing, solemnly focused on her arising high and the name rolling off her tongue like a prayer.

And then she came, pushed into an orgasm so strong, (y/n) feared she’d never experience something like this again. It buzzed through every part of her body, stealing her breath as if she was drowning, forcing her heart to skip beats as if she was chased by someone or rather something. Tyler kept fucking her against the wall, urged on by her moans, the sounds he’d never forget again. 

Pants kept leaving him while chasing his own high, letting his skin meet hers with every ferocious thrust. And with one last “Fuck” Tyler came, relieving himself into the condom as his smirk returned to his lips. Both were heavily breathing, clinging to the other while coming down from their highs.

“I don’t know if I can walk back to the truck.” Carefully, he placed (y/n) back down on her feet, shaking his head at her with a soft smile thrown her way. Tyler pressed another kiss to her slightly swollen lips before both redressed, knowing that they had to get out of here and back to their team as fast as possible. 

“You know I’ll gladly carry you, lightning. I always will, if you let me.”

[yandere-romanticaa]

A warm smile etched onto the pink haired foxian's face as he watched his beloved eat the meal he had prepared meticulously, his fingers still twitching lightly from the constant chopping and grinding of meat but his hard work had paid off in the end. Jiaoqiu was blessed to hear all the little noises that came out of your mouth, the satisfied hums and light little hiccups were like gospel to him, irreparable, satisfactory, necessary.

He reaches for his own utensils, still monitoring you carefully from the corner of his eye, never once letting the mask of a carefree gentleman slip off.

His beloved was the personification of every dark and sinful desire Jiaoqiu had ever had. The broken heart which he was still mending started to beat once more in the presence of his beloved, as if it finally found its long lost voice and sprung back to life.

The feeling, my, it was exhilarating. For ages now his one true desire was to cure anyone he ever could, to rid people of all of their pain and suffering, to hold their hand in their darkest hour of need and tell them in his sweet voice that all will be well and that he will heal them -

However, time was a cruel mistress. And Jiaoqiu, was all too familiar with its icy cruelty. It wasn't fair, just how much was he going to suffer? Even if he was not aware of it at times, Jiaoqiu was still just a person. One single person in this wast cosmos, a flickering flame of a soul which was threatening to give into the darkness like the weakling that he always was....

And then, he met someone. Someone who became precious to him, someone who allowed him to just... Breathe. To let loose, every once in a while. Someone who he just loved to be fussy about, a person so singlehandedly tailor made for him that it was practically too good to be true. He loved being by his beloved's side, watching over them, taking care of them. It felt good having someone all for yourself, someone who you didn't need to share with anyone -

Much like a house of cards, everything crashed down once he found out that he was getting ahead of himself. He had not made you his quite yet, even if in his mind there would be no other who could fill the empty black void in his heart.

A sharp thorn in Jiaoqiu's side was this absolute pest of a Cloud Knight, a person so singlehandedly determined to take you away from him, a knight so caught up in his own valor and glory that he had failed to notice all the subtle changes around him.

The devil was always in the details. No one ever paid attention to those little details. And Jiaoqiu, the cunning fox, could be a truly terrifying devil if he felt threatened.

Jiaoqiu watched you bite into the meat, the lightly pink centre catching his eye as his smile turned slightly wicked. His gaze lowered down towards the fresh juices which dripped from the meat and onto the pristine white plate, a happy smile on your face.

You inquired about the source of the divine meat for the entirety of the afternoon but Jiaoqiu would always give you non answers or simply dodge the question.

Jiaoqiu loved you. He loved you like no one before. He loved you so much that his heart would stop beating if you ever broke it. His love was deep, dark and wast like space itself.

And you had indeed formed a little crack on his bleeding heart. Not enough for him to do something truly drastic but... It was enough for him to be angry. Angry at the thought that you had allowed this knight into your personal space. You don't need that fool, you already have Jiaoqiu. There's absolutely no need for that frivolous little knight to even be breathing the same air as you, Jiaoqiu was more than capable of taking care of you all on his own.

He had made it his mission to steal back the air the knight had taken from you. At the back of his head, Jiaoqiu could still hear the sickeningly loud crunches of the endless pile of bones, the messy table which reeked of blood and putrid, his snow white hands tainted with the sticky crimson liquid as he hacked and chopped and cooked.

In the end, he was going to teach you a lesson, even if you were not aware of it. Please, be gentle with him. Do not break his heart anymore than it already is. Jiaoqiu is a sensitive and sweet man, he has no desire to be rough with the object of his affections. And yet, even he knows that a small dosage of tough love, as he likes to put it, was more than necessary from time to time.

[timothylawrence]

"Wyll is boring" he is the personification of daddy issues. he hides away at a beach TWICE and leaving the tav to go find him because he's not used to having people around who care abt him. he's been running around the sword coast for seven years just killing things and saving people because he got EXILED and chose to prove himself to his father and just help others. he spends his time training kids how to defend themselves. you find out his dad is the ARCHDUKE of Baldur's Gate. he almost drowned once trying to find mermaids. he has a literal devil haunting him that watches his every move. He managed to stop an entire cult of Tiamat AT AGE 17!!!!!!! he loves clowns.

Wyll isn't boring, ppl just haven't taken the time to explore his story and it SHOWS

[gay-dorito-dust]

Deadpool with a teenager protege plsss, thank youuu!

Wade will always claim that he never wanted a side kick.

‘Protege’ you’d correct him on the fly.

‘That’s a way too big of a word to be in your vocabulary so suddenly little featus.’ He’d quickly say in response before going in to boop you on the noose, only for you to swat his hand away.

Wade as a mentor was so unserious it hurt.

He tried to shoo you away as though you were a stray fucking cat trying to follow him home or something!

There was no point in searching for any deep wisdom from him when anything he said was rude and rather crude for some people, you’re better off finding wisdom in a brick wall then wade, but still you were stuck with the human personification of intrusive thoughts.

He was the devil on your shoulder telling you to dropkick the elderly down a flight of stairs or send them floating down a river in a box (not blind Al tho) and or to kill/kidnap and torture the enemy in your love life.

Wade acts like he hates having you follow him like a lost puppy but the moment he losses sight of you he runs amok, claiming that his ‘mother’s adrenaline’ was kicking in and he had to find you while causing death and destruction in his path.

He wasn’t the ideal person you should be following in the footsteps of and he knew it too, but by this point he had grown an attachment to you and he knew in that moment he was fucked, royally, up the ass with no lube nor warning beforehand.

(He likes a pre-warning countdown before he gets royally fucked in the ass)

You bicker more often then not about how to handle things and it ends with the enemy often getting away, which then becomes even more unnecessary bickering!

‘He got away! Again!’ You’d cry.

‘I’m not the one who wanted to talk all peace and love with the guy in hopes it would change him, this isn’t booktok little fetus!’ Wade would shout back.

‘You were going to kill him without finding out where the rest of them were based at!’ You screamed incredulously, waving your hands towards the twin guns in his gloved hands as though it wasn’t obvious enough.

‘You’re in time out.’ Wade said. ‘Go and sit in the taxi with Dopinder and think about what you’ve done!’

‘Fuck you, you ain’t my dad!’ - you

‘That’s it! No Mac and cheese when we get home!’ -Wade, crossing his arms.

‘I hate you wrinkle dick!’ - you shouting over your shoulder as you walked towards the taxi.

To anyone else It looked more like siblings fighting rather than a mentor and protege going at one another for the second fuck up that day.

While it may look like Wade doesn’t take anything seriously, if you were to get seriously hurt however, it was a different side of him entirely. He’s doing things that you have never seen him do before and just how terrifying he could be with how effortlessly he moved through the goons as though they weren’t shit before making it to your side.

Whether you can heal like him is up to you, but regardless Wade will make sure that your wounds weren’t too deep or too serious for him to handle. He didn’t want to see his protege hurt, not on his watch, you had very much became his child over the course of your time as mentor and protege, so much that he was finally allowing himself to sit with the feeling he had been having for a long while.

He cared. He really cared and it kinda scared him as how was he suppose to look after someone else when he couldn’t even look after himself? He didn’t want you to end up like him as he knew you could be greater but was too selfish to let you wander too far away from him, not without feeling that tug within his chest that told him to keep an eye out.

You never knew what you were getting with deadpool/Wade Wilson, he was unpredictable and chaotic but you wouldn’t want it any other way.

If you were to do anything that was too ‘Wade’ he would pretend to wipe a tear as you looked back at him with a smile as though you didn’t have blood on your face, and fake a sniffle.

‘That’s my little featus, I birthed them from my womb and now they just began to run with their tinny, stumpy baby legs.’

Wolverine next to him like: 🤨what the fuck are you on about-

Wade: shhhh, I’m being proud of my tiny creation, don’t ruin this for me with your toxic macho man brooding.

Needless to say you need to be a little bit mental to have someone like Wade as your mentor.

[theemporium]

Work Christmas party with Nico Hischier?? Please and thank you 🫶🏻

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

.

“Are you sure this looks okay?” 

“Baby—”

“Because I can change into the other shirt.” 

You pressed your lips together in an attempt to hold back your laughter, watching as the boy continued to fuss over himself in the mirror. The back and forth had been going on for the last twenty minutes or so, which would be annoying if it weren’t so endearing. 

For as long as you knew him, Nico Hischier had always been the walking personification of ‘cool, calm and collected’. Whether it was on or off the ice, it was rare to see him erratic or frazzled. He was always the one to stay composed, to be the voice of logic, to keep everything in order. 

So to see your boyfriend distressed over something as simple as your work Christmas party was honestly quite amusing.

“Nico, you look fine.” 

“Fine?” He repeated, whirling around with wide eyes. “I need to look a bit better than fine.”

You snorted, unable to hold back as you pushed yourself off where you were sitting on the edge of the bed. You made your way towards him, your cheek pressed against his arm as you looked at his hopeless expression in the mirror. 

“Baby, it’s just a small Christmas party,” you murmured, a soft smile on your lips. “There’s no need to get all worked up over it.” 

“Yeah but,” he let out a small sigh, leaning into your touch and the warmth your body provided against his side. “This is the first time I’m actually in Jersey for it. I want to make a good impression for you.”

You raised your brows. “For me?” 

“I don’t want to embarrass you,” he said, his brows furrowing when you snorted once again.

“Baby, how the fuck would you embarass me?” You asked, tilting your head back to look up at him fondly. “You literally charm everyone you meet, my coworkers will be no different. If anything, they will probably be all over you, Captain.”

His cheeks started to tint a light pink.

“Pretty sure Janet’s daughter is a Devils superfan,” you continued, watching fondly as his expression brightened a little. “She might hog you for the night.” 

“Jealous?” He teased, seeming a little more relaxed now. 

“Might have to drag you away from the party,” you retorted, squeezing his bicep a little. “The cupboards all have locks from the inside.” 

Nico’s eyes darkened. “Yeah?” 

“But that wouldn’t set a good impression, would it?” 

Nico’s lips parted. “Well, there might be a few minutes we can spare—”

“Wear this shirt, you look good,” you grinned, pressing a chaste kiss to his flushed cheeks before turning to walk out the bedroom. 

“Baby—”

“We are leaving in five minutes, Hischier!”

.

[asterinthesiren]

oh my god. oh my fucking god. i just had the most insane and delusional realization/theory about agatha and rio. hear me out ok

first lets recap. agatha's colors are purple, and rio's colors are green. purple is a mix of red and blue, and we associate red with rage, passion, love and blue with sorrow and grief. green is a mix of blue and yellow, blue being the same and yellow as happiness. bUT HERE'S THE THING OK. yellow is also associated with obsession, sensationalism, and cowardice.

we know for a fact that agatha and rio are bound by their sorrow. they share grief--of being hurt (agatha) and of hurting someone they love (rio). HOWEVER, agatha channels her grief through her rage. she turns her blue into red, and we see this in her snark, her devil-wears-prada act, flaming everyone around her.

and rio? she sensationalizes her grief.

she answers agatha's rage with mocking confidence, challenges her passion with her own obsession, hunting her down but never quite killing her--she processes her grief through this facade of sensationalism, but underneath it all is her own cowardice--which the better word for it here is shame. she clearly regrets having to kill(?) nick, but the question no one seems to be asking is this:

why didn't Rio just leave Nick alone?

yes we assume she's the personification of death. but she said it was her job, which means she has someone she answers to. if rio is everything she seems to be, why didn't she challenge whoever it is that gave her that job? if she loved agatha so much, why cause any harm to nick (her son) at all? it looks like she accepted it so willingly, which is why i think agatha hates her so much. so in my mind, i'm thinking rio is always regretting that choice, and she might have thought it cowardly or shameful. because what could have possibly been powerful enough to punish her?

WHICH LEADS ME TO BELIEVE that Rio's trial is having to face that choice again: Rio's trial is going to be about sacrifice. about LIFE.

and i think it fits with the themes of maiden-mother-crone. there's this really good post that i 100% agree with that delves more about the themes (@shutupineedtothink), but essentially what this person talks about is how jen's trial is birth, and rio's trial is life, which completes the witch cycle. i posit that jen's trial is about confronting death. jen is a midwife. midwives don't just make sure that the baby is delivered safely, they are there first and foremost for the mother--because the mother's life is what ensures the baby's. birth is such a dangerous process, because at any moment both mother and baby could die. the midwife's role is to avoid both from happening.

and that exactly opposes jen's essential conflict: rather than confront death (whether that's the death of her powers, the death of her legacy, or the death of belief in herself), she avoids it. thus, the crux of her trial is for her to confront death, and in doing so, face herself. she's been hiding behind the fact that she's bound to excuse all of the choices she's made so far--the trial, then, forces jen to remember that she's not defined by her binds. her potions and knowledge all help the coven dance with death and leave (mostly) unscathed.

the same goes for every witch--the road opposes their essential conflict and forces them to face it:

alice's conflict is denying the identity her mother passed on to her: how can she protect herself, her loved ones, if she doesn't know her own power? if she doesn't know herself? (in comparison to jen, who already knows her capability and denies it (and has it taken from her), alice refuses to know it when it's being handed to her on a silver platter)

agatha's is most likely her power: she defines herself with it, after earning it with blood sweat and tears from years of study and experience. but without it, who is she? what can she do?

lilia's is her past: she is hopelessly stuck in it. she can't shake all of the things she's seen and experienced. and if she's stuck in the past, how can she be able to face the future?

teen is still a bit of a mystery, but i can guess that his conflict is that he doesn't know where he really comes from--and why he's being hidden (we'll end it at that bc there are so many ways that could go)

THEREFORE WITH RIO, her trial is going to be about saving lives, as opposed to taking them. if rio really is the personification of death, she's the one being in the world who absolutely cannot be attached to anyone or anything. and she's THE green witch: she deals with ephemeral things all the time. flowers bloom and die, animals prey on each other, hell even the seasons are a metaphor for death. but here she is, hopelessly in love with agatha. thus, with rio, i think the road will put her in a position where she has to choose between agatha and teen. if she chooses agatha, she'll risk losing agatha's heart forever, because that will be the second betrayal. if she chooses teen, agatha will die. so i think it'll force her to come up with something to save them both. she has to go against her nature of taking lives the way she didn't when faced with that choice earlier with agatha and nick.

because what else does the yellow in her green stand for?

LIFE.