#lilith my be-loathed

[moshieee]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY

Trtyyyy

[moshieee-but-evil]

Would you..like to know what glitchy does to their apple juice? They put milk in it and think it’s delicious

How fun

[moshieee-but-evil]

Ok ok hehe

Guys I just realized how much I spoil Lilith since I tell them my lore for everything

Lilith is now getting her lore privileges taken away and has to find out shit on her own like the rest of us

/silly

[titania-sleeps]

Human Bloodbag Yandere x Vampire Reader

so i totally lied when i said i would wait until next month to post this. i offer you another good boy.

as a note, his characterization is a little different from my initial idea of him but i ended up liking this more. there's no explicit scene in here except a lil biting here and there but that won't be true for future Dion works >:3

• Dion was born and bred your bloodbag. From birth until the moment he dies, he will be your bloodbag.

• Dion never really had a choice. In the world that he knew, all humans were subservient to their vampiric masters. His parents were never truly his; they were the servants of Mordred the Terrifying. Like all the other human children in this world, his blood was crafted with a specific monster in mind.

• Dion's blood was sweet. Pure saccharine and hints of despair. He was mixed with you in mind, a candidate to replace one in the Council of the Elder Ancestors.

• Dion first met you when you were six and he was seven. He was struck with both an intense loathing and a gentle warmth. His master was standing in front of him, yet he couldn't bear to look at you in the eyes. You weren't impressed with him either, but at the very least, you didn't look at him with contempt.

• Dion spent the month as your personal servant under the instruction of your governess, Madam Lilith Hatheway. He learned to distinguish the sickly pleasantries of poison from your plain juice. He learned to fend off potential enemies and greet your benefactors. He learned the sharpness of knives and how humans could bleed ever so easily. He learned hatred, abhorrence, desperation, eagerness, joy, and elation all in the time he spent with you.

• Dion nearly fled the day he was meant to be bitten by you. Fear coursed through his veins, but Madam Lilith held him still and your eyes were daggers pinning him to the ground. You approached him with a simple glide of your steps, and your teeth were upon his exposed neck before a scream could escape his throat.

• Dion's vision grew blurry as the world spun around him. Or perhaps the world was spinning around you and he was caught up in it. You are the gravity of his world and he had to fall into you. You remained attached to his neck for an eternity, and he soon found himself losing consciousness.

• Dion woke up the next day, having grown to be eight years of human age, and you sitting next to his bedside. He was distinctly alive, yet also empty of what little fear and life he had clung onto so desperately in the last month.

• Dion listened to you closely as you explained with thinly veiled concern that he was now bonded to you. For as long as you were alive, he would be too. Under your curse, he would no longer experience the same emotions as a free human. Instead, his emotions would slowly be replaced by an undeniable sense of servitude towards you.

• Dion couldn't mourn the passing of what he had never possessed. He accepted his fate and swore his loyalty to you. You looked displeased.

• Dion remained by your side for the next hundred years as you matured. You treated him coldly but not unkindly. Perhaps it was because of your bitter nature that he never grew the attachment for you that he was promised. But he was fond of you, and it was not due to fate or the blood bond that the two of you shared that created this emotion in him.

• Dion never faulted you for binding him to you. The Elder Ancestors demanded you to bite him, and he knew you couldn't deny them. You were six, and they were more than six thousand.

• Dion knew too well the emotions that went through you every day. He could feel it from your gaze and from the blood in his veins. Guilt, displeasure, fear, and a sprinkle of affection. And as he gazed back into your eyes, he knew that you were just like him. A cog in the machinations of this limiting cage, engineered and designed to sustain itself for centuries upon centuries.

• Dion blamed it on his faulty sense of camaraderie, but he couldn't help himself from trying to get closer to you. Another decade passed before he saw your sincere smile for the first time. But it wasn't directed at him.

• Dion, for the first time, understood what others would call "blood boiling." His body was heated in fury as you exchanged casual pleasantries with another vampire gentleman your age. You seemed to be immediately infatuated with his dark brows and suave demeanor, but Dion didn't let it advance. For years upon years, he has known you to be a glacial creature, blue blood and ice running in your veins. Are you only now to tell him that you could experience the same joy and despair that he could?

• Dion intercepted this shameful display of... of whatever it was. You were of greater nobility than this meager creature, so there was no need for you to be conversing so vibrantly with him.

• Dion drove the man away and you brought Dion home in a fit of rage. You were still young and he was not much older than you, but even then, he felt you were being unreasonable. You claimed that he was jealous because of the blood bond you shared with him, but he knew that couldn't have been the case. It was not gentle jealousy that he held towards the man, but righteous anger.

• Dion succumbed himself to your punishment, which was rather weak for how furious you seemed. He was roughly pushed onto your bed, your fangs baring at him. The bite was filled with your sadness and loneliness, and he embraced your form joyously.

• Dion didn't push you away as you sucked his blood endlessly. The venom you injected into him filled him with adult pleasure*. He held his body still as his arms pulled you even closer to him. Throwing his head back, he laughed. It was a carefree sound, not at all suitable for a bird in a cage. His laugh startled you and you unmounted your fangs from his neck, staring at him incredulously.

• Dion urged you to continue sucking his blood. He would agree to give you him wholly if you would only suck his blood and only his. You were confused; he was already yours in name and in blood. What more of him could he give you? Then you peered into his eyes.

• Dion's eyes were the color of turbulent waves that swept and drowned those who were unwary. They held the deepest of blues and the darkest of greys. A treasure trove of desires and epiphanies opened to you as you dove deeper.

• Dion cocked his head to the side, baring his neck. Your puncture brought pink to the skin surrounding the wound, but no blood seeped out. A knowing smile danced on his lips.

• Dion was a monster you created. So you have to take responsibility for him.

* my vampire headcanon is that you don't get the aphrodisiac or whatever tf vampires inject into their victims until you come of age

-> masterlist

[helluvapoison]

You were a rare soul— and that means something down here. You didn’t care about holding the title Overlord, nor the power that came with it. You had exactly zero souls under your belt, yet people… respected you. Not feared, respected. A peculiar word to hear in Hell.

Your name was uttered quieter than a whisper, like saying it an octave too loud would summon you.

The Rat King.

Soon you would meet…

˚✧₊⁎ Lucifer Morningstar ⁎⁺˳✧༚

warnings: gn reader, language, angst, canon divergence

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

• He thought it was very brave (re: idiotic) to carry the title king in his domain

• Lucifer came to you out of boredom, absurdity, and— no shit— the slightest bit of self indulgence! He was supposed to see this so called second king and rip them a new asshole. Except you weren’t a king— not even close

• He scoured you toes to head, seemingly unimpressed. Not rat-like, not king-like. Lucifer knew himself well enough to know he should have been bored by now. His expectations plummeted, nothing was going according to plan. And yet.. he found himself more curious than before

“You’re this ‘Rat King’ I hear so much about?”

“I guess so” You shrugged, “But I didn’t pick that name for myself.”

• You properly introduced yourself to the one and only king. Your real name tasted interesting on his tongue. Lucifer tested it thrice as he shook your hand, relooking you over like he missed something

• Apparently they called you The Rat King because you were in the secret trading business. Give one, get one. Simple as that. You explained the rules to him over a cup of tea that he asked for. It wasn’t his first or second choice of blend but he drank it to be polite. No other motive. Definitely not because there was a question on the tip of his split tongue

• Lucifer wasn’t the most observant of people. He couldn’t tell what people were thinking, he wasn’t fluent in body language. So when he caught your eyes bouncing between his tight grip on the chipped cup you offered him, to his jittery knee sticking out from where he sat. His body and his head were, for one, in agreeance; leave, they told him. He didn’t like to be sized up and that was always his go to answer for why someone was watching him so intently. But with his chest facing you, and his heart in control, he stayed put

• “Lilith.” He choked out, “I want any knowledge you have on her.”

Saying her name out loud hurt more than he thought it would. It was acid in his belly, smoke in his lungs, and fire on his tongue.

Your smile faded.

“What?” He scoffed, “Lemme guess, you want something, right? A deal? I have to make a deal to find my own wife? Let’s get this over with then! I’m the fucking King of Hell, whatever you want is—“

Your hand shot out so suddenly that Lucifer was almost disappointed. He was expecting this. Right? This is what Sinners did, it’s why they were here. Why was he hoping you’d be different? And, more importantly, when did hope creep into his system again? He hadn’t been on good terms with the feeling in decades.

• However, Lucifer’s disappointment was killed before it could spread. Gently, so gently he could cry, you took his hand and pushed it, palm down, onto the table. Your eyes never left his. There was something about them that captivated him. He loathed it. It made him feel small. Not the kind of small that equaled insignificant, either.

No, it was worse.

Vulnerable.

“I don’t do deals,” You said quickly and it had Lucifer wondering if those eyes of yours saw how his mind was spiraling.

Stealing his hand back, ignoring how he immediately missed the contact, he wiped it on his pants.

A suspicious glare took over his face, “You—?What? You don’t do deals? What does that even mean!?”

“I just… trade secrets,” You sounded so defeated, “I don’t need deals for that. But I don’t have any secrets about the queen. I’m sorry.”

• Lucifer expected pity to rear its ugly head from you any moment now. His pride couldn’t take that hit, not today. What was it about you that made him so fucking transparent?

• The uncomfortable silence began creeping into the insufferably small shop of yours. It was fucking suffocating.

“I wish I could help you, I really do.” You said softly.

He really wished you would stop doing that. Your softness felt like a dagger to the heart. Reminding him it existed was agony he thought he’d never feel again.

• “Not one?” Lucifer asked bitterly.

Not a single one of these undeserving demons and sinners that Lilith loved so much spoke about her? Not a whisper or a rumor? They just forgot about her? It’s only been 4 years!

“I’m sorry, your majesty, if I hear something, I can—“

“No… No, it’s fine.” Lucifer cut you off, holding up his hand. His wedding ring blinded him with a sparkling gleam. He sighed, “I think we’re done here.”

• You stepped behind him cautiously, walking him to the door.

“You’re welcome to come back?”

He scoffed out a laugh, grinning at you from over his shoulder, “You’re not getting any of my secrets.”

A smile of your own began to spread.

“I also dabble in conversation.”

_

(part one? or move on to the next character? i dunno if i feel like continuing but want this to be as interactive as possible so tell me what you would like to see!)

[marvelwinchester67]

I’m gonna need 5-10 business days to recover from the Hazbin Hotel season 1 finale.

Hazbin Hotel episode 7 and 8 spoilers (because I’m going feral) and my thoughts/unhinged feelings about it because no one else can understand quite like tumblr can

Read at your own risk

What. The. Fuck. Guys.

WHAT DOES IT MEAN?!

IT WAS NIFFTY WHO KILLED ADAM?!

AND SIR PENTIOUS?! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! IM NOT OKAY BUT IM GLAD HE IS

Lucifer “now I’m gonna fuck you” Morningstar everyone (plz I love him so much)

So Carmilla knew who Vaggie really was and just, didn’t give a shit? Love her for that

I love Rosie. Her design, her personality, she’s amazing. She was so sweet to Charlie when she didn’t have to be and actually listened to her and encouraged her (points for the relationship advice)

So Alastor is on someone’s leash and he’s trying to wiggle his way out of it, the Vees are plotting (of course they are), and LUTE KNOWS LILITH?! THEY MADE SOME KIND OF DEAL?!

I’m so so curious about how Lute and Lilith know each other and why Lute would want her to deal with her daughter

But this implies that Adam had a previous deal with Lilith regarding something we don’t know yet, since Lute said she was in charge now that he was dead and that their deal pertained to her now

ALSO?! You’re telling me that’s what Adam looked like under his mask?! (I still loathe him but lowkey he was hot I’ll be honest right now)

Sir Pentious telling Cherri he loved her was so sweet

I soaked up every single scrap of Huskerdust I could within those last two episodes they own my soul and I’m so excited to see more of them in season 2

So it looks like Vox thinks Alastor is missing again which is why he’s plotting with the other Vees, but Alastor showed back up at the hotel during repairs so that might not last long

Alastor’s fight with Adam was so good holy shit omfg plz give me more of Alastor’s powers that shield was so cool and his verse in that final song gave me chills like, oh my god he was so mad and I’m here for it

And Lucifer showing up and telling Charlie she changed his heart and mind about the sinners? He is so precious plz protect this duck loving man at all costs

Charlie and Vaggie’s More Than Anything Reprise? Please I am sobbing they love each other so much it hurts

To top it all off- Alastor having beef with literally everyone will never not be funny. Fucking Susan? Are you kidding me. I was laughing so hard. Rosie seems like she deals with Susan a lot and Alastor calling her an Ornery Bitch was so fucking funny for no reason.

Everyone has beef with Susan now.

There is so much I have to say about this show and I could literally talk about it for years but for now I will be repeatedly listening to the soundtrack and impatiently waiting for season 2 because I no longer have the will to live after I sobbed on my bedroom floor over this show. VIVIENNE I AM IN YOUR WALLS-

[thebramblewood]

The first meeting of the Vatore Book Club has commenced.

Previous / Next

Helena: Caleb, are you in here? [telepathically] Caleb?

[silence]

[under breath] Where are you? You promised you’d show me more today.

[picking up journal] Hmm. These definitely weren’t here before.

[begins reading]

May 25, 1918: Another night daymare. Same as all the others. Calloused hands squeezing my throat, phantom fists pummeling my stomach, shrill bursts of laughter assailing my ears, sky of taunting stars, blinding white moon, a monstrous form looming over me… Straud insists I should no longer be able to dream. One more bold-faced lie from a man who speaks arrogant, empty words just to hear his own voice - and endlessly, endlessly. I already tire of his dull speeches.

July 10, 1918: The days stretch eternal in this crumbling mansion. I am Straud’s prisoner, though he claims I am free to come and go as I please. Yet he prattles on with excuses as though he does me a favor by denying me. I’ll not be allowed off the grounds until I bend to his will, until I  have suitably mastered discipline. How I loathe that word! I’ll be sick if I hear it once more.

September 8th, 1918: Killed two men last night. Only meant to step out for fresh air but instead found drunken idiot humans stumbling unknowingly across town lines. Their thoughts came to me easily. (So the old man taught me something after all.) Vile and crude remarks on my body, naturally. My vision flashed white with rage, and my body convulsed as if to split in two. Their taste of their blood was exquisite. It’s a funny thing, though. I kept expecting the swell of remorse to arise, but it never did, even when my brother, drawn by the cacophony, flinched away at the sight of my monstrousness, truly frightened of me for the first time. Further reflection is required, but for now I must depart. Straud requires placating.

Helena: [thinking] This is Lilith’s diary?

[flips to final pages]

February 22, 1921: Caleb’s birthday tomorrow. If it passes, he will be 27. He will continue to outpace me in physical age. He will eventually die. I’ve promised it will not. All week, he has been nervously pacing and eerily silent, too afraid to ask the obvious question: Will I truly make him like me? I know how to do it, but thirst remains a constant presence in the back of my throat. I suppose I will take it up with Straud one last time, though he will respond as usual. He believes the gift should be offered only to those who have been deemed worthy. But he grows uncomfortable when I ask how he determined my worthiness. I know he saw me merely as an opportunity, a flimsy young girl in distress who could be easily remolded in his image. I disappoint him every day. We must be free of him soon.

-

Vlad, telepathically: I can still hear every thought that passes through your mind, girl. Your barricades are sloppily constructed. And, no, my position has not changed.

[moshieee-but-evil]

if i ever fucking meet you in person im going to forcefuly teach you how to properly make a grilled cheese sandwich

NOW I GET WHY MOSHIE HAS BEEF WITH YOU

Why. Are you putting the grilled cheese. IN THE MICROWAVE-

/silly

Tasty

[wyxxiee]

I would also love to add something about Lilith in regards to my theory about Roo owning Alastor (linked here).

We all know that Lilith and Alastor disappeared for the same period of time. We also know that Alastor sold his soul to an unbeknownst demon…and my other post is Eve/Roo holds Alastor captive but where does Lilith come in, you ask?

It has been stated already that Lilith hates being subservient to Adam and is said to be rebellious of whatever authority comes into her. With that being said I believe Roo took interest in both for their powers.

She is a “looming threat in the distance” and I have said something in the comments about when a character is disregarded or left in the dark for QUITE SOME TIME, usually they’d be a plot bomb. Just waiting for the perfect time to drop them and for people to go like “OHHH HOW COME I NEVER THOUGHT OF THAT!!” or “WHAT. I COMPLETELY FORGOT ABT THEM.”

She’s a landmine waiting to be triggered.

And with Alastor manifesting such raw power despite being a mortal soul, and Lilith being the ruler of hell. Roo absolutely loves chaos and evil and she saw potential in both characters.

MY THEORY is that Roo captured Lilith and Alastor, wanting them both to sell their souls to her but well of course! Lilith rejects Roo because that’s her personality; she LOATHES submission. She refuses to kneel for anyone.

And in order for her to escape Roo’s never ending pestering she makes a desperate deal with Adam, and that is for her to reside in heaven while in return Adam can exterminate her people. I feel like there’s a condition to it because why would Lilith care so much about not submitting that she would risk her people’s OR her own daughter’s life. Surely there’s a catch.

What do you think is the catch?🥲🤔

[heavenlyraindrops]

Hello! can you see a girl reader who wants to be perfect in everything (in appearance, in weight and in work) and cries if someone bypasses her? characters: adam or lucifer :)

“ᴘᴇʀꜰᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ” ——> ᴀᴅᴀᴍ & ʟᴜᴄɪꜰᴇʀ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ——> ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 1.2ᴋ | ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀꜱꜱᴜʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ’ʀᴇ ᴘᴇʀꜰᴇᴄᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴀʏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ

warnings: profanity, mentions of not eating (? Idk)

A/N: omds my first request! thanks anon, hope this is on par with what you were hoping for! Soz if I got anything wrong/ misinterpreted the request :(

——> Lucifer:

You smoothed your hands down your sides, eyes locking onto the reflection in the mirror and assessing the dress you were wearing. You were due to visit Charlie and the Hotel- she was holding some event- soon with your husband. 

But you knew you couldn’t. Not right then, in that state of mind. 

Your muscles ached with hours of stress and overworking yourself, the eye bags that carved shadows into your face from the lack of sleep hidden by your makeup. You loathed the way you looked- not because it was ugly, you were beautiful enough- but because it wasn’t perfect enough. 

You were worried you weren’t good enough for Lucifer. You were worried you weren’t as good as her. Lilith. 

Be anything, you’d think. Be anything you want. Just be better than her. 

You knew this sort of mindset wasn’t healthy, but you craved to be like her, to be better. Her figure, her looks, her success. Whenever you were with Lucifer, you felt like the shadow of her loomed over you, foreboding, ominous. And no amount of his kisses and affirmations could make it go away.

Of course, it wasn’t just Lilith- you were an obsessive perfectionist at heart. Your desire to be perfect already had its grip on you, but then you saw her and you realized that you weren’t at the top. You weren’t the best, as long as she was there. And it crushed you.

Sometimes you’d go without food. Sometimes you’d go without sleep. Sometimes Lucifer would kiss you and tell you he loved you and then your eyes would fall onto her portrait, gleaming in the shadows, and every ounce of warmth would rush out of your body.

Three knocks sounded on the bathroom door, and you flinched out of your haze of misery. 

“Angel?” His voice drifted in through the door. “You okay in there?”

No. No. Not now. Tears threatened to spill over. You clenched your fists, nails digging into your palm. Of course my brain decided to make me have a breakdown now. Perfect timing. 

You opened your mouth, to speak, your chest clenching as you tried to keep your voice steady. “I…” you trailed off suddenly, clamping your lips together after hearing your own voice. “I’m fine.”

A beat for silence. “You’re not fine. Open the door.”

You did, hoping to god your face didn’t betray how you felt. His arms were crossed, sleeves rolled up and coat and hat off. You shrunk in on yourself as his frown deepened once he saw your face. 

“What’s wrong?” He said, gently, quietly, as if you would break. “You’ve been acting off lately.” His hand searched for yours to hold. Eyes soft and concerned. Your heart tore.

And then the dam broke. You slumped your tears rushing like a huge tidal wave, the storm behind your eyes pouring out and suffocating you. 

Within moments his arms surrounded your shaking shoulders, as you curled into his shoulder, your body racked with sobs. “Hush,” he soothed, stroking your hair away. His body was tense under his shirt, you noticed as you clutched the fabric, and you suddenly felt a jolt of nausea. You pushed him away. 

“Don’t look at me,” you sobbed, hiding your face in your hands as you curled in on yourself on the cold tiles. 

“Why?” Lucifer said, voice beseeching you to listen. He took hold of your wrists, pulling them away from your face. “[name], just talk to me.”

You sniffled, face burning as he cupped your face in his hands. “Cause I look hideous,” you muttered. His eyes swept over you, taking you in thoughtfully. 

“You don’t look hideous.”

“Yes I do,” you choked out, and he sighed, his breath skimming your nose. “I’m not good enough.” The words tumbled out of you as you struggled to rein them in, to control your tongue. “I need to be perfect, but-“

“Hey, hey,” he said, firmly, shushing you. “Who said you need to be perfect? Who said you aren’t already?”

You blinked at him. “Huh? I- no one-“

“Then shut up,” he muttered, pressing his lips to your forehead. “You’re already beautiful, understood? You’re the most perfect person I’ve ever met. You don’t need to be any better.”

Your heart swelled, tears drying on your face as you took in the way he looked at you. You pulled him in for a kiss before quickly wiping your eyes. Mascara smeared on the side of your hand, and you cursed, stumbling up.

He grabbed you by the waist, pulling you out of the bathroom. “Not now, darling,” he murmured, pulling you back into the bedroom. “Worry about that later.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled. “We’re probably late now and-“

“We’re not going,” he said, and held open his arms, legs pressed to the side of the bed. Without thinking, you immediately crawled into his arms. 

You closed your eyes, the steady beat of his heart calming you, the warmth radiating from his body engulfing you. His voice rumbled against your hair. “I love you, got that?”

“I love you too.”

——> Adam:

“Babe, you need to start fucking eating more.”

Your eyes locked with Adam’s behind you in the mirror as you ran your hands down your sides, tracing your figure. You hated it- so much, because you knew you weren’t good enough. Mediocre at best- and you couldn’t stand that. 

I’m a Winner. I need to be perfect. For Heaven, for myself. You met Adam’s eyes again. For Adam. 

He’d had two wives before you. What if you weren’t enough?

And on the other hand, there was Lute. God, you wanted to be her so bad. You’d always been number two to her, in your own mind at least, and it was slowly driving you insane. Her voice, her body, hair, skills, everything about her screamed unique, cool, original, individualistic- you could have gone on forever. And you, in comparison, were just… plain.

The mere thought clawed at you like a wild, desperate animal. Your husband’s eyes in the mirror held concern for you- concern that made your stomach churn. 

“I’m fine. Aren’t you going to eat dinner?”

He rolled his eyes. “The fuck’s the point of eating dinner alone when you’re right here?” 

You fought to keep your voice calm as his gaze pierced through you, your shoulders sinking. “I’m not hungry.” As if on cue, your stomach grumbled. 

He ran a hand through his brown hair, fluffing it up, exasperated. You flushed as he grabbed your waist, pulling you in, before his hand fell to your hip and squeezed. 

“Goddammit, [name], you think I don’t fucking know what you’re doing? It’s obvious you’re starving yourself.” He pressed a kiss to your neck and you pushed him away gently. 

“Starving is an overstatement,” you said weakly, and your stomach grumbled again. He pinched your cheek furiously. 

“What are you even gonna fuckin’ get outta this?”

You hugged your sides, a lump forming in your throat at the angry look on his face. “Are you mad at me?”

The furious expression etched across his face fell immediately? “Huh? What? No.” His face fell even more as you turned away, rubbing your eyes. “I’m just mad you think you need to stop eating for whatever reason-“

“Whatever reason?” You bit out. “Look at me, Adam! I’m not enough. I need to be perfect. I can’t-“

“You are perfect,” he said flatly. You froze, looking at him. Your own ragged breathing was the only thing you heard, apart from the ticking of the clock. He stared back. You knew he wasn’t good at comforting- so you also knew he wasn’t saying this for your own benefit. 

“I’m not,” you forced out the words, “I’m not good enough.” You gestured to him, then around you. “For you, for everyone. I’m not the best version of myself, I can’t-“

“For fucks sake,” he snapped, cupping your face in his hands and roughly pulling you in for a kiss, tongue immediately swiping over your lips. He pulled away, breath hot on your face.“If you weren’t good I wouldn’t have fuckin’ married you.”

The sincereness lining the rough edges of his tone set it in for you, and you kissed back before he pulled away, and he linked his arm with yours and dragged you into the kitchen, huffing. 

You flopped down onto the kitchen table where he left you before he returned with a plate of food, sitting opposite you. He propped himself up on his elbows and quirked an eyebrow. 

“Eat,” he said.

You did.

“Good?”

You nodded, wolfing down some more. He chuckled, and leaned over, kissing your forehead. 

“Love you. Don’t fuckin’ forget that.”

You sighed, then smiled. “Love you too.” 

[absolutepokemontrash]

Ignore how late I am but I saw the post and I feel the the need to complain about this. A squick I have when it comes to fics and headcanons is when Belphie is completely villainized while the rest of the brothers hate him with their whole being while also depicted as perfect. And while that's annoying on its own, whenever this happens everyone else in the work also gets fucked over.

I specifically mean works where Belphie gets reduced to "the cold and callous villain who killed MC" and that's it. No acknowledging any circumstance around or about why he did it and making being manipulative his entire personality trait. And the rest of the brothers hate him for killing and manipulating MC, which I would understand more if this didn't so frequently come with them acting like they've never even hurt MC before.

The brothers love and protect MC by lesson 16, yeah, but they also almost put MC six feet under on multiple occasions themselves and only just got used to seeing humans as equals. They would be upset with Belphie for killing MC, but they wouldn't hate or never forgive him because they've been brothers long before MC got there and it would be hypocritical.

And this causes the rest of the brothers to act extremely out of character as well. Especially when it comes to why the brothers can't forgive him. Sometimes the brothers will hate Belphie for "killing Lilth" or hurting her descendant which is??? Or they'll treat MC like they're a replacement for Belphie, which is also???? And in these situations, MC acts like they're the antagonist of a replacement AU.

For some reason in works where Belphie's personality or lore gets tossed out of the window, so does everyone else's and both of these are so nerve grating to me. Okay, done complaining.

I have so many thoughts and opinions on Belphie and the fandom’s treatment of him, that I could deadass write a peer reviewed thesis on him…

TLDR: The mischaracterization of Belphie in the fandom is so rampant that I’m convinced some people writing him or complaining about him haven’t played the game.

Just to get this out of the way, Belphie’s character redemption arc suffered due to the 20 lesson limit in season one. His grand evil plan got put into motion in lesson 16, and we had to spend the entirety of lesson 17 (and into lesson 18) turning him into a viable Husbando (tm), therefore, his redemption and development was incredibly rushed.

Onto the good stuff 😈

My take on Obey Me and the brothers as a whole is that while yes, the writers have been woobifying them a whole lot, a LOT of their “toned down” behaviours can literally just be explained by them not having a *reason* to be assholes anymore because MC has done so much work to help them repair their relationships with each other.

I was raised Catholic (decently progressive Catholic, still got the fun guilt though lmao) and the way I was taught to view sin, was that it was an act of violence against someone else, and/or yourself, because there is some kind of deficiency or problem in your own life. It’s that whole “hurt people hurt people” thing, and you can literally SEE it with the brothers.

Lucifer isolates himself and puts on the persona of the tough, scary, intimidating eldest brother when in reality, he’s scared, and guilty, and fucking embarrassed about what happened with Lilith. You can see this when Luke took the Grimoire, Lucifer wasn’t acting out of rage, he was acting out of fear and disguising it, and then lashed out at Luke and MC and only stopped when Diavolo told him to because Dia is literally his boss.

Now what does this have to do with Belphie? Belphie is downright homicidal when the game starts in season one (which is why Luci locked him in the attic, to protect him AND the exchange program), now the question is “why?”

To put what Belphie has been going through in perspective: this guy has been drowning in guilt, trauma, grief, and self loathing for thousands of years. He feels guilty that Beel saved him instead of Lilith, and most importantly, he feels guilty that he led Lilith to the human world to begin with. He’s lashing out because he’s been grieving for thousands of years with no one to turn to about it BECAUSE THE OTHER BROTHERS ARE ALSO STILL GRIEVING

Now of course, this doesn’t excuse what Belphie did to MC, but it does EXPLAIN it. He’s so angry at humanity and himself that he’s the emotional equivalent of a suicide bomber. He’s self destructing and trying to take the people he’s blaming with him and praying that makes the guilt go away.

Finally, when Diavolo and Barbatos reveal Lucifer’s secret about what really happened to Lilith (how she was reincarnated and got to live a happy life as a human), this is the kick that gets ALL the brothers to finally be able to move on. We spent the entirety of season one making pacts and going on silly little adventures with everyone, all the while being the support system they needed to finally move on from their grief.

So THAT is why it makes me so angry when people act like Belphie is uniquely The Worst.

This is coming from someone who doesn’t mind writing the brothers at what I believe to be “their worst” in terms of shitty behaviour (if you want an example, look at how Asmo is currently behaving in A Lovecraftian Exchange Student). But I think characterizing Belphie as some pure evil villain is a massive disservice to him as a character. (Ignoring his survivor’s guilt and grief etc etc)

Also, to act like the other six brothers would immediately hate and despise Belphie over this is so wrong, I’m sorry but it’s grossly wrong. Belphie is their sweet baby brother, yes they love MC, but guys, especially at that point in season one, yes they liked MC, but BELPHIE 👏 IS 👏 THEIR 👏 BABY 👏 BROTHER. I think they’d be disappointed and maybe angry at him, but they’re not going to just up and abandon him, no chance about it.

I’d say the brothers didn’t truly begin to love-love MC until the end of lesson 18-20 after they’ve done some growing as people, but that’s just my interpretation.

Finally.

Y’all.

Did you forget that Belphie literally offered a pact to MC, SPECIFIED THAT IT WASNT BECAUSE OF THEIR CONNECTION TO LILITH BTW, and did this entirely of his own free will because he liked them???

Guys, a pact is offering control of the demon’s entire being! Belphie had grown enough in trusting a human to the point where he was willing to put his life in their hands!

This was so ramble-y and confusing, I’m so sorry- I just have so many thoughts about the brothers and Belphie in particular 😭😭😭

[moshieee]

Happy birthday

Error

[Response not calculated]

Try again tomorrow

[moshieee-but-evil]

BARK BARK WOOF

Bad

[ollieblogs-stuff]

Medusa and Lilith: a series of letters through time

Dearest Lilith,

I stumbled across

Your story today.

A passing merchant

Fancied himself a hero

In a moment of idiocy.

I have given up on trying to

Warn them.

I am

What they love to hate;

Something tells me

We have this in common

- Medusa.

~~~

Darling Medusa,

Though you have heard of me,

I must confess

Your name is new to my ears.

I must disagree with your

Expressed sentiments.

We are not what they love to hate;

We are as they made us.

They turned us into these things.

If they then choose to hate what

They created,

Well, that is

Their load to bear.

(I hope I have not offended you

By insinuating you are a 'thing,'

My friend)

- Lilith

~~~

Lovely Lilith,

My, what a welcome surprise to

Receive your reply!

Do not fret about

The language use.

I may have once flinched

At being called a 'thing,'

But that time has long since passed.

I do not get the privilege of

Feeling like a human being

Anymore.

I feel the weight of the word

'Monster'

Resting on my shoulders

From the moment I wake up

To the moment I fall asleep.

I am still human in my dreams.

Some days, it feels like

That is all my humanity ever was -

A dream.

When I think back

To my life before THAT day,

I loathe the way in which

I took my existence for granted.

Oh how different the world

Looks when your life is worth nothing;

When your death is prophesied

And celebrated.

I'll be worth more in death

Than in life.

- Medusa

~~~

My friend,

How my heart aches for you.

I can make my own assumptions

And conclusions about your past

And current situation from your

Previous communication,

But I know that I

Do not have the full picture.

So please excuse me,

My friend,

As I do what more people should

In a position like mine

And not say anything at all.

Just know that

I wish the best for you,

And I do not believe you

To be a monster.

Not in your heart,

And that's where it counts.

People choose to see

What they want to see.

It seems,

For both of us,

People choose to see a villain.

Evidently,

In their eyes,

There is nothing more villainous

Than an empowered woman.

- Lilith

~~~

Adored friend,

I thank you for your sentiments.

If I did not know that

Centuries and oceans

Keep us forever apart,

I may have accused you

Of reading my thoughts.

Whilst being a villain

Is not something people aspire to,

I find it more preferable to

'Hero'

With each passing day.

I am going to die,

Lilith.

I am going to be murdered.

A 'hero' who is no more than a boy

Will be the one to slay this beast.

I am to be no more

Than a milestone

In this child's path

To heroism.

I would wonder where the dignity

In this is,

But as a villain

I am permitted none.

I do not wish this

Child's legacy

To be the only reason

I am remembered.

- Medusa

~~~

Medusa, my dear friend,

We are the legacy we leave behind.

If they will not remember us as

Heroes and humans,

Let them remember us as

Monsters and villains.

If we cannot outrun

Our fate,

Let us embrace it.

Let us be

The most monstrous.

The most villainous.

Let visions of us

Plague their dreams

And moisten their palms.

Let our names be whispered

Like a prayer or profanity.

Let us make it impossible

For them to forget that

They made us this way.

Let us give them a

A damned good reason

To remember our names.

- Lilith

© O.M.A

[moshieee-but-evil]

My tag for you is still Lilith my be-loathed

What are those odd tags you use

sometimes when a mutual asks something?

Okay I’m gonna use this as an excuse to dump all my mutuals and the tags I have for them right here.

@gummy-axolotl Gummy of the not bear variety

@cringelord000 Cult if cringe leader

@liliththe-annoying It’s just Lilith being stupid

@bixell-pixell bi-pixel 💃

@moshieee Goop buddies

@dia-smthidk hallucination buddy

@bunnybunnsowo Bunny fren, Milo the floofy boi

@rabid-mercenary16 jest awesome, jester wife, jester wife mention

@unfunnyaceartist Funny wife, Funny wife mention

(Both of my wives) 🌙🌟☀️, Jester wife and funny wife mention, my wife ♥️, my wives ♥️

@onimusha095 Oni mushy

@chaos-ace Ace of the chaos variety

@vexation-816 My toony brother, my toony little brother

@darken-hollow Dark and hollow but friend shaped

@i-ate-your-children Nuh uh no you didn’t

@iguessimfished Fish but also sheep?

@stuart-lonk Rat man with the plan

@neptunestoast Toasty blob

@anxiouschoco Count Coco

@/deadlysilence/@thepomniplush my plushy child

At least, I tried to remember all the tags I have for people, just know I might be inconsistent, but, k figured since I got this ask I may as well dump all these tags somewhere

Most of you already know my tags nicknames, I just wanted to link you in case anyone else was interested in seeing what you were called

[darkdemeter]

Hey hey, could i please have a request?

So imagine that the reader is traveling with death to restore the humanity and they get along so well and are kind of flirty and the reader is falling for him. One day they meet Vulgrim and she out of curiosity falls into his serpent hole and is transported to the past to meet the young and unruly death, who we know was a menace when younger. And then they have their interactions the reader goes back to the current version of death. How do you think that would go?

Have a lovely day and thank you for your work!

EVEN DEATH WAS ONCE YOUNG

◤✘DARKSIDERS COLUMN | Death x Female Reader

NOTES: ↳ OH. MY. GOSH. ANON! Writing this was the bomb!! Interesting concept, a wonderful opportunity to explore pre-horseman "younger" Death. I tried to keep a balance between his more mature personality while also having some fun with giving him a bit of spunk -- I couldn't stop giggling! WARNINGS! ↳ Just death being a bit of a young menace, but he kinda cute doing it sooo.... but like there's also fluff/hurt stuff?

✎5.4k ────────────────

When people used to say: “I wish I could meet the younger version of you.” They don’t actually know what they’re asking for. Because who in their right mind would want to meet Death in the prime of his bloodlust? 

The thought struck a fancy with you after your encounter with the demoness, Lilith. Her presence exotic and threatening without explicitly doing anything remotely violent. It was the sensual octave that carried her words like a lullaby you had found forbidding to hear, yet you fall prey to the temptation to hear just one more word.

That didn’t stop you from hiding behind Death, his back rigid to the point the knocks of his spine straightened slightly when her hand lingered a little too close to brush a stray framing of hair out from your face. 

But it was what she recounted that piqued your curiosity. Her children. Enriching lore of a species most loathed from long ago, a bloody crusade where they met their end by Death’s hands. From her retelling and the mystical pulse of life that beats in the embedded shards in his chest, even speaking of them appeared to pain him both physically and mentally. A burden you could never carry for him nor tell him to abandon. 

For a human, whose patience often wanes at the smallest of inconvenience, you show a lot of compassion and understanding for the weight on his shoulders. And never would you know exactly how thankful Death has become for your company. At times almost yearning for it whenever you are but a few feet away, or the thought crosses his mind to take you back to the Tri-Forge and leave you in the Maker’s care. Your fragility means more to him now than it has before, sometimes just looking at you eases just a fraction of that guilt he pushes deeper down. 

You’d both formed far too much of a bond so unnatural to the opinion of others, yet it fell into some assortment of right for you. 

You can’t possibly imagine being left behind, not now. Not after how far you have come all this way together. 

But yes, that saying. Did people ever realise what it was they were saying? 

“Meeting the mother-in-law already, baby albums and all.” Your voice crackles on the hot, muggy wind that travels through this slice of inferno, sky a spiral of darkness and hellfire smog. “Dare I say it, I wish I could meet the younger—”

“Don’t even think about finishing that sentence,” he warns with a low and thorough rasp that rattled in his chest. 

You cannot help but spare him a teasing wrinkle of your nose and puckering your tongue out between your teeth, body twisting from side to side innocently.

You can’t help but chuckle with a slight bounce in your step. “Sounds like you were quite the bad boy.”

You merely roll your eyes as he gruffly replies with a huff, “Your perception cannot possibly begin to fathom the prime of my youth… or handle it.”

Despite his attempt of coming off cool and collected, you could hear the bitter coil of something else underline his words. 

Oh, how mystical and dark and brooding he always was and portrayed himself to be. You’re sure that there is something a little less grim beneath that rough exterior. Hell — and that saying excludes your current locale — you have witnessed it before in the engagements of fun conversation that go back and forth to the point that a victor who gets the last say is indeterminable sometimes. So he’s not completely a lost cause of being impenetrable, he’s entertained you before with quite a few situations that you classified as flirting. Who knew that Death himself could make you blush bright and red?

He was close to claiming that title of victory this time, until you pad along to stop right in the middle of his tracks, his chest barely able to stop from bumping into you and causing your balance off kilter for a moment. 

“Come on, Death, at this point of travelling together, I can handle anything.”

He looks past your nonchalant grin and over your shoulder, seeming to cock a brow beneath the greying bone of his mask.

“Really now?” he hums, “Duck.”

“Wh—” you dare not finish to question him as you immediately take to assuming position, ducking low to the ground in preparation of an oncoming ambush unseen by you.

But it never comes. You hear a gravelly rumble of a chuckle emit from the reaper before you, his shoulders jostling a little with the motion. Your lips purse together and you scowl at him with everything you can muster to no avail of affecting him.

“Oh, ha ha. Very funny,” you snark back, walking alongside him as he continues to set your traversing pace. 

Noticing that he was heading back the way you came, you jutt a thumb to point behind you “Aren’t we meant to be going that way?” 

“Your sense of direction has improved astonishingly, girl,” Death snickers dryly, the slur of flirty endearment almost lost in his words. He continues, “We’re paying a visit to Vulgrim.” 

Ugh, even saying that name brings a ghoulish, slimy chill to climb your spine uncomfortably. 

“Horseman,” The greenish bulbs of his eyes shrink behind a wrinkling brow of pale, craggily skin. Then his eyes see you and the form in which they almost bulge from their sockets sickens you. “And your little human companion! Your scent is just as… lovely as ever, my dear.” 

The gaping maw of his lipless mouth twists into a creeping grin so unnerving it causes knots of fear to tie in your gut. 

“Uh, no,” you say with an adamant shake of your head. No way in this life or the next would you trade your soul to Vulgrim of all fiends. Death had warned you to just keep your soul to yourself in general if offered to sell it for a little something in return. 

“Your dealings are with me, Vulgrim.” Death is clear and quick to establish your presence before the serpent hole. The demon trader, sighing grimly with a black, slimy tongue ringing over his cracked and deformed fangs, addresses Death. 

“Very well. Let us see what I have to offer… and what you can afford.”

Vulgrim usually dances about his serpent hole but never ventured too far if he can help it, usually to usher you away from it with a warning, “If you know what is best for your longevity, stay away from there.” 

And most of the time, Death kept a watchful eye on you to keep you from falling face first into the next trap of trouble. However, this time around, the pool of green mist is left surprisingly unguarded. With a curious tilt of your head and scrunch of your nose, your boots pad on over as you walk towards it. 

You can’t make out a bottom through the wafting cloud of mist that rises from the hole. Still you arch your body to peer over the edge and down into it as though you’d find something soon enough if you just inch that little bit—

“Human!” Death bellows as he rushes to you, only just seeing your form stumble and fall forward. A yelp of surprise turns into a blood-curdling scream as you sink into the smoggy abyss. The green haze around you fades into a darker shade until all around you is black nothingness. Your voice throws over into a thousand echoes that follow you. You’re still falling. At least it feels that way and for a moment you think you’ve closed your eyes; it’s hard to tell with the inky black around you.

A bright tone paints onto the surface of your closed eyes and you fall onto ground, dusty and hard, small rocks jab and scrape as you land. The brunt of the fall knocks the wind from you and you take a moment to recover your bearings, soon to rise to your feet and brush off the smears of dirt on your clothes.

“Okay. Duly noted: do not go anywhere near serpent holes,” you affirm strongly with newfound belief, only to be met by silence.

No scolding words that apprehend your actions. Not the familiar grasp of a cold, large hand that strangely warms you and causes your heart rate to pick up a little faster. No, you turn and shift on your heel to scan all directions about you. 

“Uhm… Death? Vulgrim?” You’ve spun yourself into a circle a million times over by now. “Anyone? Hello?”

For certain this is not the same slice of hell you had accompanied Death to and no serpent hole was in sight. Instead, you're in some cavernous valley of dust land and patches of grass and foliage, in the distance stands the mounds of high reaching cliff sides. 

Where exactly are you? 

As a human evidently from earth, you had never once had the ability to traverse any realm unfamiliar. In fact, you never knew of the possible existence of them. And after meeting Death, you were strictly told to stay close. Realms harboured dangers of their own, a breed of some civilisation that undoubtedly hurt you if you ran off by yourself. 

And now you’re beginning to feel that seeping dread of despair dawn within you. That sulking hopelessness that you have cast yourself to some unknown corner of the cosmos, and Death has no idea where you dropped off to. 

“Death?” You ask aloud again. Were you lost forever? 

You begin to head off in a direction, putting the sun to your left as you look around for ideally any serpent holes that can hopefully drop you back where you belong. With Death. Without him here, you feel like a newborn fawn stumbling on its legs. He always made you feel safe, always ensured he was between you and whatever threat that tried to get you, even if he got hurt because of it. 

You continue to call out to the wind that sweeps over you, the sun beating down hard. You brush aside a flurry of hair from your face, your pace slowing exponentially as you practically stumble through this unknown territory.

That’s when that sixth sense kicks in. You’re not sure if you had been ignoring the signs before or if the feeling just came, but all the same you feel that you’re being watched.

You’ve barely dived out of the way before something large crashes behind you, the scraping of claws digging into the crusty soil and the shifting balance of weight kicks up a cloud of dust behind the force of the leaping attack. Turning to face whatever it was, you grimace at the sight of a mangy looking hound that dwarfs you. Its skin is a burnt hue of reddish pink like it suffered constant exposure to the sun, what matted fur that lined its spine and cuffed around its ribs was a dark, sandy brown with dark, faded stripes. Its ears twitch as a high pitched wheeze passes through its open jaw that pries open like a snake. Rows of black teeth are coated in an oily surface of dripping saliva. 

You see another grapple down the cliff face to join the first, this one notably smaller, but not by much. Then another of the same size joins the second, each one stalking closer to corner you in. 

A piercing sharpness fills your chest and your hand grasps at the handle of your dagger. A simple form of defence, highly unlikely to fend off the predators easily, but better than nothing. 

Right about now, that favourable reaper of yours would be excellent company. There were so many things you wished you had said, times you procrastinated moving that bit closer to his side by the evening campfire meant for your safety and sanity. You fear that this is your end. For your quest in restoring humanity, one more human will be lost today, and Death will have to bear that burden. It saddens you in a way. That the guilt would eat away at him. 

One of the smaller hounds takes no more than a few steps forward, just about ready to pounce at you before a humming force sings through the air and with a meaty crunch of bone and mushed brain, an all familiar scythe fatally sheathed in its skull. 

You fall back on your arse, a relieved grin digs deep into your cheeks as you think Death has somehow found you. 

You look around, eager to see him, barely catching something fast cut through the corner of your vision. The next thing you know, the head of the second smaller hound rolls over, its tongue hanging loosely between its jaws, the decapitated appendage just resting at the heel of your boots. The sight makes you grumble in dull disgust.

However, you are brought into the shadow of the larger creature that now towers above you, caught with a gulp in your throat. By your lucky stars, its attention diverts from you and to your rescuer and dives forward. 

You only just turn your head when a pained shriek howls through the air and a severed limb flies some distance away. Followed by another and then a third limb, leaving the defeated creature to begin crawling away with a distorted whine. 

His silhouette bathed in the scorching sun is a sight of relief, though his attire had changed. Not the draping tabard of violet tied about his waist or the deep purple scarf hung over his shoulders. Mostly an assortment of bandages wrapped and woven around his arms, clad in iron fittings. He steps after the beast, following along the weeping trail of blood smeared into the dirt, scythes coming together as the long staff of Harvester and placed to his back. 

Your face contorts in response to the sheer brutality before you, visage twitching in your frazzled comprehension. Yes, Death had a very violent tendency to be dangerously savage, but he was well versed in being precise, but never at this level. Seeing him utilise naught but his inhuman strength at his disposal and his hands, he rips the hound’s upper jaw clean off until sheets of sinew and muscle were reduced to hair-thin threads. 

He drops the unhinged part to his feet with a wet, clumpy thump. Even you have to internally argue that Death may have lost himself a little there. When his head turns over his shoulder, the flicker of an amber glow catching you in his sights, you cannot help the reaction to freeze as you roll onto your belly. 

Something unfamiliar resides in his gaze like he’s seeing you for the first time. But rather than the confusion of an older entity seeing one of the many souls still alive, there is a frenzy of anger – adrenaline running a high river through him, driving him bloodmad. 

His upper body then begins to turn only to halt when you utter his name, form rigid in his study of you. Again, you try, “Death? Hey, it’s me.���

Immediately you’re met by the unsheathed blade of Harvester aimed against you and you skitter back with a hiss as the massive blade knicks your cheek. 

“Hey! Careful with that— what’s gotten into you?”

“Who are you?” 

Your face scrunches, a morphed complaint of your confusion. He only attempts to raise his scythe to your neck with a threat to render you headless at his whim. 

“I-it’s me, hello!” you laugh with bitter nervousness, “you know me. Y/N, the human you’ve been travelling with.”

He gives no form of recollection. Not that he’s easy to read with that mask of his, hiding all but the expression in his eyes. Or the way he narrows them upon hearing one word: Human. Call it intuition, a gut feeling, a divine touch; you feel that that word held some powerful trigger to the Horseman before you. And none that you had seen in him before. Almost a zeal of intense excitement flourishes in the furnace heart of his eyes. 

“A human?” Harvester balances in his grasp to lean against his shoulder, a curious tilt of his head somehow influences you to mimic the action with an affirmative hum.

“Uh-huh. We were on our way to restore humanity. We went extinct, remember?” 

“Really now?” 

When he begins to stalk closer and inching the gap between you shorter, you find yourself taking a few steps back. Something was… off. Death isn’t like his usual self. The concept of humans didn’t really phase him in such a way before. He just thought of humanity and their restoration as a mere key to gaining his brother’s freedom. Somehow integral to the balance but never once serving importance to him. But now, before your very eyes, he appears with a dark excitement as he looks you over. Like your very existence piques him. 

Was he flirting with his leash ten yards behind him? 

Now that’s very unlike your old reaper—

There’s a thought: he is not… that old. Sure, old by some standard in the scheme of time, but compared to when you were travelling together, you come to realise how noticeably younger he is. And still, he advances towards you until his shadow overthrows you, drowning you in it. 

Even if you wanted to chalk up your thoughts to some conspiracy, you also notice that there is a sore lack of soul-cursed shards embedded into the taut muscle of his chest. 

Alright. Now you’re beginning to put the pieces of this puzzle together. You have somehow landed in the great, great past.

It’s like your wish became a manifested reality. 

Bathed in the sunless dark of his shadow, your feet intend to shuffle back, only for his arm that handles his massive scythe extends forth, the pole of it acting as some guard that keeps you from moving any further away. 

You mumble to yourself then, resigning in your compliance to remain where you stand. He may not be trying to directly hurt you now, but if given the motivation, you could yet stand corrected. 

He continues to stare at you, long and hard pressing, you feel like an ant under the heated blink of a glass scope that is threatened to burn. A matter of curiosity is all you can surmise it to the way his neck extends forward, bending down until the bone form of his masked nose hovers over you, near deathly silent but still largely inhaling your scent.

The act is enough for that heated flush to deep into your skin. 

“Hey—hey, easy there, big guy,” you warn, voice wavering from the way he merely tilts his head before leaning in again. “No, I said n-no! Stop that—no, that tickles!” 

Upon you practically beating him away with the ferocity of your mitten gloves, he then circles you like a predatory beast. 

“How is this possible? Humanity’s creation has not yet come,” he inquisitively says. 

You give a shrug, choosing to be a little more careful of your words. Would anything you do or say alter time itself and affect your supposed present? 

Just with you being here would be enough to do just that if Death’s claim that humans weren’t born yet is true. 

“Uh, well… it’s not so simple to explain. You see, I er—”

Shit this was getting more and more difficult to explain with the growing anxiety dangerously lurking over you like a foreboding cloud. 

“I’m not from here.”

You can almost see his brow curve upward under the mask. “Evidently,” he drawls deeply in response. 

With a roll of your eyes you try again. 

“All I know is that I somehow fell through some serpent hole and got transported back in time. Now, I gotta find a way back.” 

“You mean to leave?” 

Already turning your back on him – unaware of such a grave mistake – you only nod in response, your eyes last to leave him. Who knows how much longer you will have to endure here before Death finds and rescues you from his younger self. 

But that just isn’t in your stack of cards. Again you’re almost blown to the four winds and land on the cushion of your arse, grumbling in pain as you stare up at him, standing right in the way of your path.

Your lips purse tightly together, you hiss, “Death!” 

He crouches in front of you, ignoring the way you attempt to pry him and push him away as he moves a hand forward. He holds your wrist at bay before you can land a firm push to his mask to shove him away, his amber eyes dance with a certain level of intrigue and his head tilting to the side leaves his raven hair to saddle alongside the motion. 

He peels the grubby article off your hand to reveal the bareness of your skin and you find yourself holding your own breath. 

His own hand measures yours, palm to palm and you feel the roughened contour of his skin. His body radiates with an off-centred heat, not entirely cold as he is in the present with you but the morph of warmth isn’t so smothering unlike some infernal realm you know. You almost see the softness that crosses his features beneath the boney helm of his mask, like the cracks of emotion are being revealed without your exact know-how. 

But you’ve known Death for some time now. You’ve been in his company. If this is some revelation of a breakthrough, then you see it before your very eyes. 

Each finger lines to one another. A curtain of silence falls over the both of you until your eyes meet. A smile creeps over your lips then. 

“Must you truly go?” he’s sudden to ask beneath the gravel baritone of his chords. With a sigh, you only nod your head. 

His eyes harden at this, something distraught lines his concealed face only to be betrayed by the levelled glow of his eyes, but nevertheless he stands, no longer keeping you from running off. As you make your way to stand on your own two feet, brushing off the particles of dirt off your clothes, you notice Death’s prolonged stare. 

“What is it?” 

He only shakes his head, a gruff response of, “Nothing.” 

Though his reply is suspiciously vague, you both venture off into the great unknown, however much you believe that Death is more accustomed to the land than you. 

Hours pass as the sun begins to ride your backs and no sight of any serpent holes, leaving you with a feeling of exhausted anguish. As the night creeps in as a shadowy blanket over the sky and turns the humid air colder, you pull your shawl over your body as a chill licks your spine. 

Death — no not your Death, the younger one — takes notice, eying you from the side of his vision. 

“What’s wrong?” 

You jerk your head in his direction with eyes wide in your perked alertness. “Hm? Oh, I’m just cold is all. Usually I’d have a fire set up by now to rest…”

Would it be wise to add that it was him — older him — beside you and ensuring you settle into your makeshift camp? Unsure, you keep that to yourself. 

When he places an overly large hand to your shoulder, you stumble on your heel and pause, watching Death’s head scan the horizon and the upper cliff faces until he stops. You turn your head and notice just in the crevice of shadow and fading sunlight the blackened mouth of a cave. 

Your eyes light up at the thought of rest despite your circumstances and you already begin your trek towards the rocky climb, though you now see the rather steep slope it resides to reach the haven. With a grumble, your determination steers you to climb anyways, your feet stumbling and causing small pebbles to scatter down the face. 

Hands then grab hold of you and before you’re able to fight or protest, Death scuttles up in a matter of seconds with you hanging on for dear life. After he sets you down, you huff out, “Thanks.” 

He gives a gruff sound in response with a curt nod, then turns to scour the new site of camp. It wasn’t so much as a cave as you thought, moreso of a sheltered crop in the rocks, providing enough area to protect you from the elements but also invites the cool winds to breeze on past. 

Making a fire was a challenge than it usually was, making due with what you had on hand, and Death sets Harvester to his side, leaning it against the wall. He doesn’t think you pose that much of a threat to warrant its persistent sheath. 

He however finds some interest in how you kindle the birth of flames, crafting it from almost nothing. 

Looking up at him from your position, you laugh softly to yourself. “Yeah, I know. Humans are so weak and strange. But it’s what we do. How we were made, I guess.”

“I didn’t say anything like that,” Death says with a clearly risen brow. His answer does bring you surprise. After all, Death had many times sighed and chuffed about how humans did the most silly of things – things that were key to your survival, keeping that in mind. 

“Well… you will. Someday.”

“How is it that you know me?” he asks, crouching on the fire’s opposite side, facing you. As much as you think it unwise to share anymore knowledge, you cannot deny that you feel almost safe around him, no matter the fact that he’s younger. In the prime of his bloodlust. 

But he hasn’t killed me yet. Tried to, but hasn’t. 

“It’s going to sound strange but… I’m from the future. And in that future, we are travelling together.”

“Because you said something of Humanity’s demise.” 

He’s Death alright. A keen observant to detail. You nod in reply before continuing, “and as I said, I fell through some sort of timeline and landed here in the past. The way, way past. So far that humans aren’t even created yet, as you’ve said.”

To this, he nods in turn and it brings you to smile. You feel as though he silently applauds your own recollection for detail. 

“Death, how old are you?” 

Yes, it is indeed perhaps a very stupid decision to ask his age, but the nature of curiosity humans are notoriously known for gets the better of you. His eyes flicker with momentary stutter, taken aback by such a question, but one he doesn’t ultimately deny in answering. 

“Today is my day of creation… I’m a thousand-and-one—”

Your eyes go wide and you shoot up to your feet with a cheer. “What? Happy Birthday!” 

Your voice is a loud noise to the shell of his hearing and it spurns him to the defence, beckoning Harvester to fly to his hand within an instant. You’re quickly covering your mouth, uttering your apologies at spooking him. 

Settling back down, this time to his side, you flash him a shy, toothy grin. “But that’s exciting!”

“What is a ‘birthday’?”

You gasp at the shocking revelation. “It’s a celebration. When humans are born on a certain day, it’s a tradition to celebrate it every year.”

Then it pops into your mind, again sending the nephilim beside you to flinch at your motion, you stir up a fuss of plucking a twig from the flames before it’s entirely devoured. Holding it, single flame slow to eat away the kindle, you beam as you stare at Death with large, doe-like eyes. 

“Make a wish!”

“A what?” He scoffs, only to see you dramatically roll your eyes until they’re nearly rolling out of their sockets. “A wish. You make a wish, something you really want, and then blow out the flame. Another tradition on your birthday.”

His eyes narrow to thin points, sceptical that perhaps you were using something to your advantage. When he sees that you don’t have any ill intent to deceive him, he shuffles in his spot slightly to face you, body arching ever so over yours; his height even at this level towers over you. 

You whisper softly, “Like this.” 

Making the motion of blowing out the makeshift candle with your mouth, the campfire casting an orange hue to your skin paints you in a fine detail that the nephilim cannot help but study closely until a there’s a skip in his chest.

His hand raises to his mask but stops and you see the hesitance to continue any further. Understanding that it very well could be because of your presence, you tilt your chin down and squeeze your eyes shut. 

A gust beats across your face, skirting the wisps of hair away and then just as promptly as he’d lifted his mask, he’d lowered it just in time for you to peel your eyes open. Again, you smile. 

He’s the first to crack through the veil of tension between you both, standing on his feet. 

“Get some rest, girl.”

The next day, you finally see in the distance the familiar halo of green and sick looking mists, but it is your ticket home nonetheless. You skip ahead and towards it, laughing at the thought of reuniting with Death and telling him of your adventure.

But then you stop. Not another skip in your step. You turn around to see Death, body rigid but his chin is aimed down and his eyes don’t exactly meet yours. Approaching him cautiously, you halt a few feet before him, hands pinned behind you. 

“I guess this is goodbye…”

You don’t very much like the eternal sound to your farewell. Like you’re losing him forever. 

He drawls out, low and lessened of any sort of emotion, but you swear you note a hint of sadness in his tone. “My wish didn’t come true.”

“What was your wish?”

His eyes rise to meet yours and you feel your heart splinter. Why did it feel so wrong to want to go back to Death in the future? Why did everything that wasn’t with him feel so, so wrong?

“I wish that you would stay here.”

“I can’t stay. I’m not from this time.” Your words do little to ease that which internally troubles him. Your hands coax his jaw to lift upwards until he stands, prouder and much taller over you that you have to balance on the toes of your feet. Then, you sweep your arms around him. His body is stiff to meet your hug but you care little in that regard. He’s always been one less evident of his affections, a tendency you’re completely fine with. 

“But I promise that we will meet again in the future. After all, that’s who I’m going back to through the serpent hole. To you.”

There it is, that flicker in his eyes that reveals in them a shiny glow of fire that you feel warms your heart in many ways. Pressing a chaste kiss to the toughened chin of his mask, you offer one last smile and bid your farewells with a wave, promising that you will see each other again before you jump into the serpent hole, disappearing into the green mists. 

You yelp as the void sends you crashing yet again and you fear that you have stumbled into yet another realm in another time. But for the first time, you find yourself relieved to hear Vulgrim’s slimy voice announce your arrival. 

“Ah! And there she is, the curious little mouse who doesn’t keep away from serpent holes,” he snides with a raspy coil like a snake getting ready to strike. 

“Vulgrim,” you poke your tongue out, brushing your hair from your face and you look to see Death charging his way to you. 

“There you are,” he says almost wistfully, hands pressed to your shoulders. A tender action even with the glare clear in his gaze. “What were you thinking? What happened to you?”

You know that beneath the roughness of his callous tone, he means well. He was worried and the look upon his younger self’s face as you left, you find yourself pulling yourself into him and embracing him. 

“I promised you that we’d meet again.”

His arms weave themselves around your waist, holding you to bear you closer in his embrace. “Yes, you did.”