#only later in the story it is believed when the Demon makes a deal for all Razareth's humanity and glass spikes and plates literally cover

[times-of-drought]

Storyteller Saturday! What is a Glass Demon?

Hello! Happy Storyteller Saturday! :3

The Glass Demon is Satan an ancient creature in the setting from one of my most polished plot-wise stories!

In the setting, the main kind of creature aside from humans is Elemental. There are many, many types of elementals, ranging from typical ones, like fire, to more uncommon ones, like light or even magic itself.

Unfortunately for both humanity and elementals, humans cannot inherently, directly create magic. It is not obtainable to them, simply put. They can, however, employ the 'help' of elementals, using them to craft more and more intricate spells or simply use magic for the human. A spell can be weaved by elementals and humans together, preparing it and storing it somewhere or in something (an artifact, an item, a scroll et cetera) and used by the human anytime, anywhere, so the profession of spellweavers who coordinate different kinds of elementals is highly respectable.

(It started out on rules of equality, but as elementals started being more and more exploited and bound by magical rules crafted by humans, less and less of them were free to do what they wanted and move where they wanted to. But that aspect of the kingdom where the story takes place is more about the story itself, not the Glass Demon fnksdj I got too far)(long story short, the kingdom 'employs' all elementals in it to serve humans. Every new elemental that is born there has to be woven into the pact, binding it like its parents.)

The Glass Demon is, at least now, more of a myth rather than a historical figure. A story told in plays and stories, The Bad Guy in any plot about overcoming the greatest evil. Everyone knows what the Glass Demon embodies, but almost nobody knows what really happened centuries ago.

There used to be a mage. The Mage, often called by haters The Sightless Mage. A real, full-blooded human, with all faults that came with that. They were power hungry, driven only by greed and pride. They were on top, with the greatest understanding of all intricacies of magic and spellweaving. They were not satisfied with that, however. They wanted to attain the unattainable - to be able to wield magic by themselves, with no assistance from elementals. It did not work out, to their dismay.

The only person who knows exactly how their current form came to be is the Glass Demon itself, but stories often involve the Mage employing dozens of elementals, experts in their craft, to help create the most foul artifact. It was supposed to be a new staff for the Mage, one that would allow them to directly use any kind of magic, with no preparation. Not a human, but still holding a copied human soul and The Mage's mind, causing them to be linked and have the same goals.

Well, the soul got copied and transferred, sure. One crucial bit of research The Mage missed to do before was that the soul is not linked to the body's mind. Transferring one does not inherently transfer the other.

I have to admit, the rule of the world was kept. What came out of the ritual was no human. But it was no staff, at least not after the first few seconds. A twisted form of sharp edges rang out the ritual circle, twitching surfaces and contorting in silent wails no-longer-flesh, seemingly shattered, constantly on the verge of falling apart in thousands of little, glittering pieces, The Glass Demon came to be. The first and last artificial elemental, albeit one with a human soul. At the beginning, the thing had no mind, only the most vile qualities inherited from the soul. In a bloody, murderous rage, it has slain its creator and their assistants. Alone, in a isolated vault, it has learned everything it could. Their form was not stable, constantly shifting and cracking with each step, but they have managed to at least vaguely hold a humanoid form. Full of hate, it started destroying everything they came across. Humans, elementals, villages and cities, nothing could resist the sharp, agonizing wrath.

Finally, after years of carnage, a counter-spell of sorts has been developed. Researchers found The Foul Mage's notes, their research, and crafted a binding curse.

Tricked, the Glass Demon was constricted into a shape similar to their original form - a silver staff the shape of a crescent moon, with the Demon's eye hanged between the tips, constantly looking out for victims.

The artifact not only has been sealed away, but additionally enveloped in layers of protective and offensive spells. Anyone who would try to reach the Demon would have to be an expert spellcaster, and after that whole debacle these have been strictly and closely monitored.

Not only that, but even if one managed to tear through all the layers, they still would have to be able to overcome the Demon, lest their form would be overwhelmed and destroyed by its power the moment they bound themselves to the staff just like a human would bind themselves to an elemental.

No human would have enough resistance to survive the binding and no elemental could bind itself to another, even if artificial, one.

Well. Until the main character of my story, Razareth, came along, a half human, half elemental ;)))

[witchywithwhiskey]

when in hell, do as the demons do

pairing: demon posing as a tattoo artist!steve rogers x tattooed!female reader (number and type of tattoos aren't specified but it's more than two)

summary: new york city tattoo parlors have a tradition of offering special deals on friday the 13th, but when you decide to try out a new shop in brooklyn, you get much more than you paid for—and end up selling your soul to a charming demon.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, monsterfucking, dubcon because magic, sex pollen elements, nonconsensual bonding, soul bonds, demon tricks, bdsm (no safe word but with check-ins), choking, sadism/masochism, pain play, very brief blood play, nipple torture, pussy spanking, face slapping, rough body play, finger sucking, dacryphilia, fingering (f receiving), degradation kink, master kink, praise kink, pet names (baby, sweetheart, plaything), begging, teasing, dirty talk, dry humping, biting, marking, cockwarming, aftercare, happy ending

word count: 14.5k

a/n: here's my first halloween fic for 2024! i came up with the idea on friday the 13th last month and liked it for a halloween idea so here we are! this is the fic i was talking about in my poll here, which helped me decide to make steve a demon, but i'm not great at world-building/magic-building so if the magic doesn't make sense, i'm sorry! i just wanted to write some sex pollen-y tattoo artist smut and it turned into a whole thing. this fic really got away from me 😬 whoops. anyway, i hope y'all enjoy!! ♡♡

halloween fics masterlist

The first time you heard the story—the urban legend whispered around New York City tattoo parlors—you were getting your second tattoo. You were young, but not so naive, and yet, when the woman named Wanda Maximoff told you the tale in her vaguely Eastern European accent, a chill raced down your spine. 

It went like this: There was a young person who wanted to get a tattoo, and they were lured into an unfamiliar shop on Friday the 13th by the special deals they were offering. (Where the shop was located in the city varied based on who was telling the story, but Wanda had said it was a small parlor tucked into an alley in the Bowery.)

The person in the story didn’t know the shop or the artist, but they were so enthralled by the artist’s beauty and work that they made the hasty decision to get a tattoo of a symbol they didn’t understand. It was the last decision they’d ever make, because by the time the tattoo was done, they’d been unknowingly enslaved to a dark force—having sold their soul to a demon.

When Wanda had finished the story, her piercing green eyes stared at you long and hard, her mouth twisted to the side as if she was stopping herself from saying more than she should. There was a warning in her expression you didn’t understand, and you hadn’t been able to stop the fear that burrowed into your heart. For a second—just a second—you’d believed the strange, witchy woman. 

Then you’d scoffed, laughing away your fear, and insisted the story must’ve been started by a grumpy old tattoo artist who was tired of the influx of customers on Friday the 13th. It was well known that most New York City tattoo shops had special deals every Friday the 13th, and you asserted the story was just supposed to frighten away naive tattoo novices who’d get something impulsively and regret it later. 

Wanda had pressed her lips together, an inscrutable look on her face, but only nodded once before returning her focus to your tattoo. In the silence that had followed, you’d been left alone with your thoughts, and you mulled over the story, repeating your rationalizations to yourself until you believed them. 

But a sliver of fear and intrigue remained for the rest of your session and when you were done, you were relieved to leave Wanda and her creepy story behind. Something like that—accidentally selling your soul to a demon when getting a tattoo—didn’t happen in real life, and it certainly wouldn’t happen to you. 

That’s what you told yourself, and you believed it. Until, of course, it did happen to you.

Over the years, you heard the story repeated time and time again in countless tattoo shops across the city, and the fear you’d felt listening to Wanda recount her version of the tall tale transformed into curiosity, then a dark kind of delight. It wasn’t something you wanted to push away, but to hold close to your heart, to cherish.

As you got older, you found yourself telling the story to younger folks when you crossed paths with someone who hadn’t heard it. And every time you told the story, you found yourself unconsciously replicating Wanda’s Eastern European accent, making the story as scary as you could. 

Each time you saw apprehension in the eyes of those you told the tale to, something inside you unfurled and grew stronger. You’d smirk when the tattoo novices scurried away, some leaving whatever shop you were in entirely, and a shiver would race down your spine, so much like the fear you’d felt when you first heard the story, but it was no longer that. It was a quiver of devilish mirth. 

You told yourself it was normal, how much fun you had scaring off the younger folks in the tattoo shops you frequented, laughing along with the artists you knew so well. You told yourself you were just taking part in tradition by repeating the story. You told yourself there wasn’t a darkness in your heart that was wakened by the story, and craved something you didn’t quite understand.

That’s what you told yourself, and you believed it. Until you walked into Hell and your entire life changed.

Hell was the new tattoo shop that had opened in Brooklyn at the start of October, though you’d been hearing talk of it for months before then. You’d been curious about it, and the fact that none of your friends or any of the artists you frequented knew much about it made it all the more intriguing. They didn’t know who owned the shop or who was working there, and you were desperate to find out.

It wasn’t a conscious decision you remembered making, but late in the afternoon on Friday the 13th, you took the subway to Brooklyn, getting off at the stop closest to Hell. 

The day was brisk, the chill of autumn clinging to the air even as the sun shone brightly above the city. You wore a thick sweater, a skirt and some tights with your most comfortable boots to make the trek deep into Brooklyn, and you were glad for it. It was a longer walk than you’d been expecting, but pleasant enough while the sun was high.

By the time you made it to the shop, though, the sun was dipping low behind the brownstones of the nearby neighborhood and your cheeks were chilled from the crisp autumn breeze. It was a relief to see the red neon sign for Hell, and you skipped quickly down the last block to push through the door of the nondescript exterior.

You were met by a rush of artificial heat that made you smile, pleased by the respite from the frigid autumn air, which swirled around your ankles as the door closed behind you. The warmth of the parlor kissed your cheeks and thawed through your icy fingertips while you looked around. 

You were surprised to find that Hell was unexpectedly inviting. 

Inside, the tattoo shop was decorated in dark colors that fit the theme: inky blacks, vivid reds, luminous yellows and burnt oranges. But, though it could’ve been dreary, Hell looked alive and lived-in, with cozy black leather sofas in the waiting area, and artwork decorating much of the wall space. When you looked closer, you saw that many of the pieces depicted creatures of the dark. 

As you studied the artwork, you noticed a theme: Demons cavorting with human women, specifically fucking human women. You felt a tingle of something bloom between your thighs. The art was salacious and wicked, and yet, you didn’t feel disturbed by any of the imagery, only intrigued. Even a little bit aroused. 

A clearing throat pulled your attention away from the art and to the redheaded woman standing behind the counter. She asked if you needed help. 

As you approached, you noticed she was beautiful, and had a cold smile on her face, her green eyes watching you in a way that unsettled you. It took you a long moment to realize her gaze reminded you of Wanda, even though the women looked nothing alike. But you felt uneasy as you walked up to the counter.

Your smile was tentative as you inquired if the shop had any Friday the 13th deals, adding that it was tradition, just in case the woman was new to the city.

Her green eyes raked over your face in an obviously assessing look, and you felt like your heart and soul were being judged. You nearly huffed a laugh at the thought, because it was so ludicrous, but managed to keep still and remain expressionless while the woman stared at you.

After a moment, she smiled again and the expression was friendlier, like she was greeting an old friend. She introduced herself as Natasha Romanoff and apologized because all but one of the artists had gone home for the day since their appointments were done and they didn’t get too many walk-ins, being a new shop and all.

Just then, a man stepped behind the counter as if appearing out of nowhere—though, at the time, you rationalized that you’d simply been staring so intently at Natasha, you hadn’t noticed his approach. Without missing a beat, Natasha introduced the man as Steve Rogers, the owner of Hell and the only artist still around on that Friday the 13th.

“What willing sacrifice do we have here, Nat?” Steve asked, sidling up to the counter and pressing his hands on top to lean toward you. 

The first thing you noticed where his eyes—such a pure, beautiful blue that they looked like the perfect, endless sky. But as your gaze wandered over his face, you realized his eyes weren’t his only gorgeous feature. He had a strong brow that gave way to silky blond hair; a straight, sloping nose that led down to a pair of plump, pink lips with just enough of a cupid’s bow, that you wanted to lick it. 

A rush of warmth filled your cheeks at the thought and you dropped your eyes to Steve’s broad shoulders, pausing to admire the way they filled out his simple black t-shirt. His thick biceps were covered in stunningly intricate tattoos, all done in dark ink that contrasted with his pale skin. They extended down to his hands, still planted flat on the counter. 

As far as you could see, there was only a small space of bare, unadorned skin at the base of Steve’s throat—all the rest of him seemed to be covered in tattoos that snaked beneath his t-shirt. You wondered idly if his tattoos covered his whole body, eyes trailing down to the black jeans he wore, and quickly shoved the thought aside. 

Raising your gaze back to Steve’s face, you hoped your expression wasn’t giving away your thoughts, but the charming grin that spread across the hot tattoo artist’s face made you think he had an idea you were checking him out. And he liked it. 

“Or should I say,” Steve went on in a slightly lower, more rumbly voice, leaning further across the counter with a conspiratorial glint in his eye. He was close enough that you got a hint of his cologne—leather and firewood—and you couldn’t help the way your body reacted, warming and tingling and yearning for him. “What sweet thing do we have coming to barter their soul for some new ink?” He winked at you, all charm, and you nearly swooned.

“I-I was just asking if you had any Friday the 13th deals,” you stammered, unsure how to act under the blinding light of Steve’s charm. You’d known and talked to your fair share of attractive tattoo artists in your life, but Steve was on another level. He was hot and alluring in a way you couldn’t put into words, which was how you found yourself blurting, “It’s tradition.”

Steve’s grin hitched higher, and he stared at you a second longer before ducking down behind the counter to rifle through the shelves. 

“Well, I’m not one to turn my back on the old ways,” he said, lifting his head to catch your eye. He gave you a look that made your knees weak, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief like he knew exactly what kind of effect he was having on you, before returning to his task.

Finally, he seemed to find what he’d been looking for and stood up, brandishing a piece of paper on which some simple tattoo designs were sketched. It looked like any other sheet of designs you’d see in any other tattoo shop, and you didn’t think anything of it, turning your attention back to Steve’s handsome face.

“We didn’t have anything planned,” he explained, crossing his arms and leaning down on the counter. 

The position made him slightly shorter than you, while emphasizing the expanse of his shoulders and the thick mucles of his biceps and the veins of his forearms. It was only because his hand pointed to the paper, pulling your attention away from his big body, that you remembered he was telling you something. 

“But if you pick from these, I’ll charge you $113—how’s that sound?” He raised his eyes to yours, and you noticed how long his eyelashes were. 

For a long moment, you just stared at Steve, your mouth slightly parted while you admired his beautiful face. You had the urge again to lick his cupid’s bow, and your body warmed pleasantly as you imagined doing exactly that. Sitting in Steve’s lap and licking him all over…

With effort, you managed to pull yourself from the tattoo artist’s spell, shaking your head to clear it while you processed what he’d said. The price he’d named was a typical deal for New York City, even with the Friday the 13th discount, so you nodded absently. 

“That sounds good,” you muttered, bending over the counter to look at the sheet of paper he was still pointing to. Even his hands were attractive, with skulls tattooed on the backs and other symbols you didn’t recognize decorating his knuckles. You couldn’t help but think his hands would make a pretty necklace if they were wrapped around your throat…

Shaking your head again, you furrowed your brow and forced yourself to focus on the paper with all the designs. There was some cute Halloween-themed stuff, like black cats, witch hats, ghosts and the like. There were also some stylized numbers, like 666, and a couple pentagram designs along with other symbols you recognized.

But the one that caught your attention was something you’d never seen before. It was made up of exquisitely delicate curving lines that formed what loosely looked like an infinity symbol. There were some twists to the design that made it look harsher, more archaic.

“What’s this?” you asked, pointing to the design that called to you and looking up at Steve. Your breath caught in your throat when you met his gaze, and your voice sounded awed as you went on. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

A secretive, conspiratorial smirk tugged at the corners of Steve’s lips and he leaned in a little closer, his scent invading your senses and his breath ghosting over your cheek. 

“It’s a design of my own making,” he said, his voice pitched low and intimate as he looked at you in a way that made warmth curl around your heart and trickle down to settle low in your belly. “It’s special—why, do you like it?”

It took a tremendous amount of effort to pull your gaze away from Steve’s, but you forced yourself to look back down at the paper, your finger tracing the sweeping curves and the sharp points of the design. 

“I do,” you said slowly, thinking about where on your body it might look nice. There was a spot on your ankle where you felt it would look good, like an anklet. But before you could get too attached to the design, you lifted your gaze, giving Steve a serious look. “It’s not a tribal symbol, or any kind of cultural appropriation, right?”

Steve placed a hand over his heart, like he was making a vow, and said, “I promise it’s not from any culture of man.” 

His strange answer piqued your curiosity, but you brushed your questions aside. Later, you’d understand his odd turn of phrase, but in the moment, you chalked it up to Steve playing into the theme of his shop. You figured anyone who named their tattoo parlor Hell would be a little peculiar, and you didn’t think it was a bad thing. Especially when he was so hot.

Looking back down at the paper, you let your eyes trail over the looping design a few times, feeling yourself sinking into…something. A thrilling shiver raced down your spine, a mix of delight and terror that you found intoxicating and you had to shake yourself to remember where you were and what you were doing.

Raising your eyes to Steve, you told him you wanted the design, and once the words were past your lips, you felt a sense of rightness. You weren’t the type of person to get tattoos impulsively, but this one was calling to you, and you didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to get a tattoo from the hot shop owner. 

Besides, when in Hell…

Steve slid the paper off the counter and stood up straight, his eyes going sharp as he looked between you and the design. You got the same sense you had with Natasha, that Steve was judging your heart and soul and determining whether you were deserving of the design you’d chosen. You found yourself hoping desperately that he decided you were.

After a moment, an impish smirk pulled at Steve’s mouth before his expression shifted fluidly into one of theatrical uncertainty.

“I don’t know,” he said slowly, drawing out the tension of the moment and stroking his jaw like he was thinking. “I was hoping to save this design for someone special.” His blue eyes pinned you with a searching look, a charming smirk on his lips. “Are you special, sweetheart?”

Steve’s charm was turned all the way up, and you felt flustered under the weight of it. Not to mention that the way the pet name rolled off his tongue made you want to do anything he asked. Twisting your fingers self-consciously, you ducked your head a little. 

“Well, I—I don’t know,” you admitted, but for some reason, your thoughts strayed to the dark pleasure you sometimes felt when you frightened others with scary stories. Did that make you special, or just a little bit depraved? You didn’t know, but you hoped it was both, and that both were equally appealing to Steve.

The tattoo artist leaned back down on the counter, the veins of his forearms bulging from his skin as he crossed his arms. Since he’d ducked down, he could easily catch your lowered gaze.

“Tell me, pretty girl,” he purred softly, his tone inviting you to lean in. So you did. 

A soft smile curled your lips when you smelled his cologne, and you relaxed a little while he kept talking in that alluringly deep voice of his. 

“Where would you like my design on your body?” 

A shiver of desire thrummed beneath your skin at the implication of Steve’s words. There was something so enticing about the way he’d phrased his question—his design on your body. It called to the darkness buried deep in your heart, and you began to suspect he somehow knew you were a little depraved. Like him. 

Steve held your gaze for a long moment, and you thought you saw something shift in the depths of his blue eyes, like a shadow passing in front of the sun. But it was gone just as quickly, and you questioned whether your eyes were playing tricks on you. 

Shaking yourself free of your strange thoughts, you finally managed an answer. “My ankle.” But it seemed your mouth had a mind of its own, because you found yourself flirting with the hot tattoo shop owner, a smirk curving your lips as you went on. “Do you think my ankle would be worthy of your design, sir?” you asked with feigned innocence.

As you watched for Steve’s reaction, you were rewarded with the sight of his eyes darkening, his pupils blowing wide like he greatly enjoyed the fact that you were flirting with him. His mouth spread into a hungry grin and he rubbed his jaw thoughtfully while he considered you, finally coming to a decision.

“Mm, I think your ankle is the perfect place for my design, sweet girl,” he rumbled, smiling to himself like he’d made a joke only he understood. Then his fingers were trailing lightly along the line of your jaw, distracting you with the tingling warmth they left in their wake as he stood up. “I’m going to enjoy this very much,” he murmured enigmatically before pulling away.

Your mind was too frazzled by his touch and how bereft you felt without it to wonder over his words. Besides, he was already calling for Natasha, who emerged from the back of the shop to help you through the rest of the intake process. It was only then that you realized she’d left you and Steve alone at the counter a while ago. 

She slid smoothly in front of you with that friendly smile of hers while Steve retreated into the back to begin setting up. Natasha walked you through all the paperwork, none of which was new to you. That was why you felt comfortable not fully reading the fine print. 

You should’ve read the fine print. 

Once everything was signed, Natasha led you into the back and showed you where to stow your purse. She pointed to the privacy screen where you could take off your tights and boots, then helped you into the tattoo chair at Steve’s station. 

When you were settled, Natasha bid you and Steve a good night and grabbed her own things before leaving out the back door. It was a little abrupt and you were left feeling confused.

You asked Steve if the shop was closing for the night—it seemed a little early, especially for a Friday. And he explained that he’d decided to close the shop early since they had no more appointments and were unlikely to get any other walk-ins. 

For a moment, you fretted over keeping him late, but he waved away your concerns. 

“There’s no where I’d rather be than tattooing my design on you, pretty thing,” Steve murmured charmingly while he pulled on some black latex gloves. 

The earnestness in his voice soothed your anxiety and you relaxed back into the black leather chair, your legs propped on the footrest while Steve created a stencil of his design. Soon, the two of you were so engaged in a discussion about where exactly on your ankle to place the tattoo that you forgot you were alone with the handsome owner of Hell. 

After trying a few things, you decided to have the beautiful design lay across the front of your ankle, the sides wrapping around to the back so it’d look like a permanent adornment. You smiled when Steve complimented the placement you’d chosen and felt heat suffuse your cheeks at his praise. 

It all felt mostly familiar to you, someone who’d gotten a fair amount of tattoos in your life. But what you hadn’t been prepared for was the way Steve’s hands would feel on your body, the smoothness of the latex belying the warmth of his skin as he curled his fingers around the back of your leg to pull your foot onto his lap. 

Warmth cascaded from the top of your head down through the rest of your body in a gentle, tingling shower, settling heavily between your legs. You pressed your thighs tight together, both to stave off the ache that was building there and to make sure you didn’t accidentally flash the hot tattoo artist.

You weren’t looking at Steve’s face, your gaze tracing the dark black ink decorating his skin and curling beneath the cotton of his shirt, but you thought you saw something flicker over his expression as he took in your reaction to his touch. You almost thought you saw dark shadows creeping into his gaze, blotting out his blue irises and making him look…demonic. 

But when you flicked your gaze up to his, his eyes were a normal, glittering blue. You gave him a small smile and internally shook yourself, chalking up the moment to a trick of the light.

It was dim in the back room, with only a few warm lights positioned in Steve’s corner of the space. Natasha had closed up the rest of the shop, leaving you and Steve alone in the space, which was separated from the front by a wall and a doorway covered in a thick, maroon curtain. 

The walls of the shop were painted black and covered in more of the same artwork you’d seen in the waiting area. The main difference was all the tattoo equipment and the floor that was a bare dark wood, instead of the burnt orange carpet that covered much of the front room. 

Hell was dark, eerie and intimate, and you suspected the atmosphere must be getting to you, that was the only thing that explained what you’d seen in Steve’s eyes. Yes, that must be it, you told yourself, settling into the chair and letting Steve get to work.

The buzzing of his tattoo needle filled the silence and you prepared yourself for the pain that you knew was coming. Little did you know just how much pleasure you’d feel that night as well.

Nothing about the tattoo process seemed amiss until more than halfway through, when you began to feel a strange kind of tingling in your ankle where Steve worked, the sensation slowly creeping up your leg. It settled heavily between your thighs, making your core ache with a yearning emptiness as your slit leaked wetness into your panties.

It wasn’t painful, the tingling feeling, but it was unnerving, like it didn’t belong to you, and you couldn’t understand where it was coming from. 

“Uh-uhm, Steve?” you started, a hint of a whine in your voice, though it was mostly drowned out by the concern you felt. You sat up straight, forcing yourself to ignore the urge to rock your hips and grind yourself against the leather seat of the chair. “Can we take a break? I feel…weird.”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Steve purred, instantly pulling the needle away from your skin and wiping away blood and excess ink with a small towel. After he’d deposited the tattoo gun and cloth on his station, he turned back to you, blue eyes filled with concern as he removed his gloves. “You ok?” he asked, his warm hands massaging the back of your leg that was still draped in his lap.

The urge to moan at the feel of his bare hands on your skin was almost undeniable. It felt so good to have his strong fingers kneading your muscle and you flopped back into the chair, pressing your lips together to stifle the sound of pleasure that wanted to slip free. But you couldn’t stop the way your hips squirmed, your body aching for something… 

“I think so,” you said, finally answering Steve’s question with a tremulous smile. You still felt the odd sensation pulsing up your leg and slipping between your thighs, prompting a delicious throbbing in your core, but forced yourself to ask, “There’s nothing strange in the ink, right? Something I could be allergic to?” 

An allergy was the only explanation you could come up with, even though it didn’t really make sense. You’d gotten plenty of tattoos, surely you would’ve had an allergic reaction years ago if that had been a possibility. And the way you felt wasn’t like any allergic reaction you’d ever heard of. 

You looked at Steve with wide, imploring eyes, hoping he could make sense of what you were feeling.

He shook his head, his fingers working higher to knead the muscle of your calf, nearly pulling a moan from your lips that would’ve drowned out his answer.

“I promise the ingredients are all-natural,” he said, his tone earnest and reassuring. “There’s nothing that would cause an allergic reaction.”

Your head fell back against the leather chair, missing the way Steve’s mouth curved into a devious smirk, and tried to gather your thoughts. The strange tingling sensation had calmed, you thought, having been replaced by the feeling of warmth that Steve’s touch inspired. 

Shaking yourself lightly, you told yourself it must’ve just been the tattoo needle hitting a nerve or something. You’d never had that feeling before with any of your other tattoos, but it must’ve been something to do with Steve’s method. It hadn’t been painful, so it didn’t mean something was wrong. It was fine. You told yourself you would be fine.

“Ok,” you said softly on a sigh, letting yourself sink into the comforting massage of Steve’s fingers. Your body felt a little heavy, a throbbing desire pulsing in your core, but suspected it had more to do with the hot tattoo artist’s fingers than anything else.

Blinking your eyes open, you met Steve’s steady, patient gaze. 

“We can keep going,” you said, giving him a smile that you hoped looked brave.

You must’ve succeeded, because Steve’s mouth curved into a pleased grin and his hand slid higher up your leg and settled on your thigh just above your knee, giving it an affectionate squeeze. His big palm on your bare skin sent a riot of sensation through your body, and when he squeezed you, you felt a mirroring clench of your inner muscles, your body aching to be filled.

“That’s my girl,” Steve murmured affectionately, his blue eyes glimmering with so much proud satisfaction that you felt your face heat and you ducked your head to hide a giddy grin. 

Steve gave your thigh one last squeeze before pulling away to put on a new pair of gloves and refill his tattoo needle.  While he worked, you couldn’t help but close your eyes and sigh silently, your skin feeling much too cold without him touching you.

For the rest of the tattoo, you tried to sit still while the tingling warmth rolled through your body, settling deliciously between your thighs and teasing your throbbing core until you were dripping into your panties. You had the absurd urge to spread your legs, to beg Steve to fill you—with his fingers, his cock, anything, so long as it put an end to the ache pulsing insistently in your body. 

You tried to be good, to be still and quiet so Steve could finish your tattoo. But apparently you weren’t doing as good of a job as you hoped. 

“If you keep squirming, ‘m gonna have to tie you down, pretty girl,” Steve rumbled, his head bent low over your ankle while he worked diligently. 

His voice was so low and deep, you swore you could feel it in your belly, the delicious rumbling tenor teasing your clit, and your hips shifted again, your thighs clenching tight against your needy slit. 

“Sweetheart,” he growled in warning, his hand gripping your foot firmly and tugging on it hard enough that you slid a few inches down in the chair. 

It took every ounce of your self-control not to whimper with desire at the evidence of Steve’s strength. Your imagination flooded with visions of him tossing you around in his tattoo chair, bending you over while he pressed his bulge into your ass or flipping you onto your back and folding you in half so he could pound into your pussy. 

A whine clawed up your throat, desperation flooding your body and making you want to writhe and beg and plead, but you bit it all back. Forcing yourself to be still, you asked, “Are you almost done?” in a tight, tense voice. 

“Almost done,” he confirmed, his voice soothing. He looked up briefly, giving you a rakish grin. “You can be good for me, can’t you, sweet girl?” 

Your heart lurched in your chest. It was all you wanted, to be good for Steve. So you nodded eagerly and tried to relax back into the chair. Your fingers were digging into the padded leather of the armrests and you pushed yourself deeper into the reclined seat, doing your best to ignore the heat and desperate, aching, insistent need pounding through your body.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you said on a small huff, your eyes shut tight so you couldn’t see Steve’s reaction. Your voice was little more than a whine as you went on, “I’ve never felt like this.”

You heard Steve chuckle, the sound rolling over you like a deep, delicious wave. Then, just barely over the buzzing of the tattoo needled pressed to your skin, you thought you heard him say, “Just wait, sweet thing,” in a dark, ominous voice you hardly recognized.

But you didn’t have a chance to try to parse out what he meant, because suddenly, you felt the sensation of a cold, hard shackle closing around your ankle.

It felt so real, and so at odds with the sensation of Steve pulling the needle away from your skin, that your whole body jerked. Quickly, you sat up and stared down at your leg, but there was no metal cuff. Only the tattoo. Finished.

Fresh black ink shimmered from your skin, and you had a brief moment to appreciate the artistry of Steve’s work, the beautiful, intricate design of the symbol. The phantom feeling of a manacle wrapped around your ankle remained, and you looked up at Steve, finding him wearing a smug, devious smirk. 

You couldn’t make sense of his expression, and in the next breath, it didn’t matter, because the fire that had been simmering in your blood suddenly blazed into an inferno. You couldn’t help the pained cry that fled your lips as you fell back into the chair, desire burning a demanding path through your body and tearing through your mind. 

Your legs fell open on the leather seat, a pornographic moan slipping from your lips when the cool air of the tattoo shop brushed against your inner thighs. Your fingers tugged fussily at your sweater, trying to claw off the once-cozy garment that suddenly felt too heavy and constricting against your scorching skin. 

Your eyes swiveled in your head, seeking and finding Steve, who was standing beside the chair and staring down at you. His gaze was lit with a depraved fire and his mouth was curled into a delighted grin.

“Aw, poor little plaything, are you feeling hot and bothered?” he cooed at you in a mean, patronizing tone that was so at odds with the charming affability you’d come to expect from the tattoo artist that you felt like you’d been slapped. 

A pathetic whimper slipped from your lips, and Steve’s eyes seemed to glow brighter, his smile hitching wider, growing more hungry and more eager at the same time. Leaning over your squirming body, Steve stroked the tips of his fingers down your cheek.

Your body’s reaction to his touch was instantaneous. The burning, blistering pain of need calmed enough that it no longer hurt, and you chased Steve’s fingertips instinctively, associating his contact with relief. He let you nuzzle into the palm of his hand, chuckling darkly when you sighed happily, your mind moving too slow to process what was happening.

“Should we get this cumbersome sweater off you, sweet thing?” Steve murmured, his hands curving around your shoulders before stroking down your sides. His thumbs brushed over the tips of your breasts and your spine arched off the chair, pushing into his touch, needing more. 

You were so hot, so achy, so needy, and you somehow knew Steve was the only one who could help you feel better. Distantly, you knew it was highly inappropriate to let your tattoo artist undress you, even one as hot as Steve, but in that moment, you didn’t care. His touch through your sweater wasn’t enough—you needed him to touch your bare skin. 

So you nodded frantically, whimpering, “Yes, please, Steve, help.”

The man laughed, a dark, evil chuckle rumbling from his chest. 

You didn’t understand what was funny, but you didn’t protest because his big hands slipped under the hem of your sweater and he touched you properly. His palms were warm, his fingers calloused and rough against your belly. 

You sucked in a surprised breath when his touch sent sizzling tingles of pleasure through your body, gathering in your throbbing slit and making more wetness gush into your panties. 

If you’d been in your right mind, you might’ve felt embarrassed over how wet you were from Steve sliding his hands up your stomach, but all you could do was revel in the pleasure his touch brought you. Your mouth curved into a delirious smile as you stared dazedly up at the supernaturally handsome man like he was the center of your universe.

Slowly, almost torturously, Steve slid your sweater up until it bunched above your breasts and he paused. His hands wrapped around your ribs, thumbs stroking over your skin beneath the band of your bra. He stared down at you, his blue eyes nearly glowing with hungry desire as his gaze raked over the lace containing your breasts.

Your chest heaved with your gasping breaths, and you took the moment to try to settle. The fire in your blood didn’t burn painfully with Steve touching you, but you still wanted—no, needed—more. Your hips squirmed in the leather seat and a whine clawed up your throat until it spilled free.

“Steeeve, please,” you begged, staring up at the tattoo artist with wide, imploring eyes. At the same time, you lifted your arms above your head and sat up a little in an effort to get him to pull your sweater the rest of the way off. Instead of spurring him to move, though, it had the opposite effect. 

Steve went still, closing his eyes like he was savoring the sound of your whining voice and begging words. When he opened them a moment later, they appeared darker—the soft, sky blue of his irises darkened to an almost midnight black, with inky swirls of darkness creeping in from the edges.

Then he blinked, and his eyes went back to normal. 

You were too distracted by your body’s need to think much about the fact that his eyes had gone nearly pitch black—that he’d looked, for a moment, like one of the monstrous demons from the art adorning the walls of Hell. 

Your delirious, desirous mind let the moment slip by unquestioned, instead focusing on your lust—and on Steve. 

“Lift up for me, pretty thing,” he cooed, his tone almost gentle despite the grit and gravel in his voice. 

You did as he said, lifting your back away from the chair so he could pull your sweater off, leaving you in just your bra, skirt and panties on his tattoo chair.

In the short moment when Steve’s hands deserted your body, the blazing inferno of need returned. You groaned in pain, reaching for Steve and latching on to his wrist. The burning sensation abated the second you touched him, but you didn’t stop there, dragging his hand back to your body and sighing in further relief when you pressed his palm to your breast. 

You didn’t know if Steve pushed you back into the chair or if you fell back and he followed, but he leaned over you, his big hands kneading your tits through your bra. A moan tumbled from you as you sank into the feeling, melting beneath his touch. It just felt so good—and the rougher he got, the harder he groped your tits, pulling and pinching on your nipples through the lace of your bra, the better it felt.

“That’s it, plaything, moan for me—let me hear how much you love it when I abuse your tits,” Steve growled, leaning so far over you that his head blocked out the light above the chair. His face was contorted into a greedy expression, his eyes sharp and hungry as he watched pleasure dance across your features. “You’re such a dumb little doll, you have no idea what’s heppening to you, do you?”

His tone was mean and mocking, but your body responded to the deep tenor of it all the same, wetness gushing between your thighs while your hips writhed on the leather seat, seeking something to grind against. 

Your mind was hazy with lust and pleasure and confusion. It took you a long few moments to understand what he’d asked and when you did, it sparked a bit of fear. But even that dissolved into pleasure and you moaned, your hands clinging to Steve’s wrists—not trying to pull him away, just anchoring yourself to him. 

“Wha-what’s happening to me?” you whined breathlessly, blinking your eyes up at Steve with an equal amount of uncertainty and trust. You still didn’t realize he was the reason for what was happening, but you’d come to learn that soon enough. Not that it would matter.

“Oh, baby, you don’t need to worry your pretty little head about that,” Steve cooed, his tone changing so quickly back to gentle and reassuring, it nearly gave you whiplash. 

Still, pleasure swirled in your chest at the sweet praise in his words, even if they were more than a little condescending. A smile curled the corners of your lips, but you forced yourself to focus. There was something you wanted to know—something Steve knew, and you were determined to get the answer from him. You knew it was important, even if you couldn’t remember why.

“Steve, pleeease,” you whimpered, your words dissolving into a moan when he shoved the lace cups of your bra down and pinched your nipples harder, pulling and twisting them until your spine was arching up off the leather seat. It took you a long moment to remember your train of thought and continue on. “Tell me, Steve, please, I can handle it—what’s happening to me?” 

A wide smirk spread across Steve’s face and his eyes flickered with shadows that seemed to want to consume his gaze the same way he looked like he wanted to consume you. Bending over your squirming, twitching body, Steve’s face hovered just above yours, an evil kind of mischief in his expression. 

“If I tell you, do you promise you’ll take it like a good girl?”

Images assailed your imagination—Steve shoving his cock deep in your cunt, growling at you to take it like a good girl while he fucked you like a bat out of hell. Steve pounding into your mouth, grunting his pleasure as he spilled down your throat and ordered you to take it like a good girl. Steve stretching your ass around his cock, smoothing a hand down your spine as he cooed at you in that meanly patronizing tone to take it like a good girl. 

A loud, debauched moan slipped from your lips as bliss pulsed through your body. It took you a long moment to push the images from your mind and gather your scattered thoughts enough to blink your eyes open and nod up at Steve.

“I’ll be good, I promise,” you said fiercely, knowing somewhere deep down that if you were a good girl for him, the visions you’d had would become a reality. And you wanted so badly for them to become a reality—at any cost. 

A devious, delighted grin spread across Steve’s face at your answer, satisfaction shimmering in his eyes. Then one of his hands let go of your breast and skimmed down your body, over your hip and down your leg until his fingers circled your ankle, just above the tattoo he’d given you. 

“This design you chose, it’s not just something I designed—it’s my mark,” he purred, putting emphasis on the last two words as if you’d know what that meant. But you still didn’t understand what your tattoo had to do with what was happening to you. His explanation just made you more confused.

“What does that mean?” you whimpered, your voice desperate and pleading. You wanted to understand, you wanted to be good for Steve and grasp whatever it was he was trying to tell you, but the meaning of his words was still out of reach.

“Think hard, sweetheart,” Steve cooed, his voice turning sweet in a way that had your belly swooping deliciously. 

When you still didn’t seem to understand, Steve’s hand slid down, his palm covering your fresh tattoo and you gasped. His touch against the mark felt like he was yanking on a thread that had been tied behind your belly button. It felt like you were tethered to something…to him, you realized. 

You were tethered to Steve by some sort of magic. The mark he’d tattooed on your skin had bound you to him…

All the air fled your lungs as comprehension sank into your mind. Your face twisted in shock and understanding, though the expression didn’t last long. 

“There it is, that’s my girl,” Steve praised, squeezing your ankle and pressing his palm more firmly down on the mark. 

The touch dragged a reluctant moan from you as pleasure swirled through your body, and you weren’t certain if it was your own or the result of the bond between the two of you. When you got control of yourself, you glared up at the devious tattoo artist, letting him see the betrayal written plainly across your face.

“Oh don’t look at me like that, baby,” Steve rumbled, his other hand wrapping around the front of your throat and tipping your chin up while he bent down until there were mere inches between you. “You heard the story, and you ignored its warning.” He tsked at you, shaking his head when you only narrowed your eyes in anger. “You weren’t careful about getting tattooed on Friday the 13th and now you’re enslaved to a dark force—you’re enslaved to me.”

He didn’t give you a chance to react to that declaration, only closed the distance between your lips, covering your mouth with his own to steal a kiss. And, god help you, what a kiss it was. 

Steve’s mouth slanted perfectly to yours, his lips soft and seeking as they brushed against yours. His tongue flicked out, licking along the seam of your lips as if asking for entry, and you were helpless to the pleasure he offered. 

Your lips parted with a soft gasp, an invitation if ever there was one, and he wasted no time slipping in. Steve took possession of your mouth, plundering your body while his hands held you firmly pinned beneath him. 

It wasn’t long before you were moaning into his mouth and kissing him back, your fingers plunging into his soft, blond hair and nails digging into the skin at the nape of his neck until he was growling into your mouth. 

His hand around your neck squeezed harder, choking you lightly in retaliation for the bite of your nails and you pulsed with so much heat, you cried out sharply, the sound transforming into a whine of need. 

Steve nipped your bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood, and the coppery taste mixed with the heat of his tongue as he licked it from your mouth. When he pulled away a moment later, you could see the traces of red staining his lips—though that wasn’t nearly as disturbing as the sight of his eyes. 

Writhing shadows had blotted out the blue irises of his gaze, leaving only two fathomless pools of darkness shimmering in the warm lights of Hell. A shiver raced down your spine, unease and curiosity filling your chest as you stared at the suddenly inhuman visage of the handsome tattoo artist. 

Steve Rogers was still attractive, even with the unnatural eyes of a demon, but the shadows in his gaze changed the terrain of his face. His teeth looked sharper in his mouth, and the curve of his smirk looked more cruel. His jaw looked more angular and his body seemed bigger, broader, more intimidating as he loomed above you. 

And yet…

You liked how Steve looked when he’d shed the pretense of humanity. He was somehow, impossibly, hotter. More dangerous, sure, but also freer in a way that you found enticing. 

It took you a moment, your mind swimming with pleasure and the tingling remnants of his kiss, to pinpoint exactly what you liked about seeing Steve without the guise he must’ve been wearing. He was more himself. And this version of him, this demonic visage, called to the darkness inside of you in a way that made you feel like he belonged to you just as much as you belonged to him.

Pressing a palm to your forehead like you could push that thought straight out of your head, you forced yourself to focus on the present. “Nooo,” you moaned in a small voice, mostly to yourself because you were already thinking it wouldn’t be so bad to belong to Steve, especially if he belonged to you, too. 

But, for all you could feel the bond between you and the demon strengthening and solidifying as your tattoo healed supernaturally fast, his desire and lust mixing with your own, he still couldn’t read your mind. And he must’ve thought you were protesting the newfound connection between the two of you.

“Ohh yes, sweetheart,” Steve growled, his fingers digging into the sides of your throat and tipping your face up so he could see your eyes. 

The two shimmering pools of darkness were writhing with agitation, and you stared at them in wonder, your mouth falling open with awe. They were just as beautiful as his human eyes, looking like the surface of the deep ocean at night. 

“You’re mine, pretty little plaything,” Steve rasped, his voice low and dark and vehement, like he was determined to make you understand your new reality. “Your heart, your body, your soul—it’s all mine,” he went on, pausing only to capture your lips in a brief, but searing kiss, like he was marking you all over again. “You’re bound to me for eternity, baby, enslaved to all my whims, and I bet you know what I want rigt now.”

You did know. You could feel Steve’s lust slinking through the bond, flooding your body and creating the burning need that was so painful when he wasn’t touching you. But beneath it, you could feel your own desire, too. The yearning you’d felt for the tattoo artist that had only grown since you’d discovered his true nature as the demon from the Friday the 13th legend. 

Watching your face keenly, Steve let go of your ankle, grabbing one of your wrists and bringing your hand to the bulge in his pants. It was so big and hot and hard, even through the stiff denim of his jeans, that you whimpered. But you didn’t pull away, letting Steve use his grip to make you stroke his cock. And when he groaned his pleasure, your fingers tightened, giving his thick length a curious squeeze. 

“This is what you do to me, pretty girl, this is why you’re the one I chose,” he growled, his voice so deep, it sounded animalistic. “I knew from the moment you walked into my shop with your sweet little skirt and your dark little heart that you were going to be mine—and now I’ve got you.” 

It occurred to you to ask what he meant about your heart, but you suspected you knew. He’d looked deep into your heart and soul saw the darkness there—and it was exactly what he wanted. 

The knowledge that you were what he wanted filled you with a sense of pride, and you took over from Steve. You stroked his cock through his jeans without his guidance, squeezing him while you stared up at him, devotion written across your face while you pressed your throat into his hand, knowing the tattoos on his fingers were making a pretty necklace.

“You’re my precious little plaything, aren’t you, baby?” Steve cooed at you, sweeping his thumb over your jaw and swiping it across your lower lip. “Don’t worry, you’ll enjoy being mine.”

You ducked your head, taking his thumb into your mouth and sucking on him, your eyes going heavy lidded as you nodded your agreement. Steve grunted a pleased sound.

“That’s it, that’s my good girl,” he purred, pressing his thumb onto your tongue and pushing deeper into your mouth. “You’re gonna be such a good fucktoy for your demon master, aren’t you?”

You could feel Steve’s cock twitch beneath your fingertips and you squeezed him harder, moaning when you felt an answering pulse deep in your cunt. The burning desire that had been held at bay by the realization of what exactly he was and what he’d done to you returned with a fury that would not be ignored.

“Yes, master,” you murmured obligingly after tipping your head back to slide him from your mouth. You pressed a kiss to the pad of his thumb and smiled up at Steve, your eyes hungry and eager.

The demon’s gaze darkened further somehow, filling with greed and lust and just about every sin you could imagine—all promising to do dirty, filthy things to your body in the name of slaking the desire that burned brightly in both of you. 

“I knew you were perfect,” he growled, grabbing your throat and pulling you in for another kiss. His mouth was hot and demanding, his kiss inciting the fire in your body to burn hotter, making the throbbing between your legs impossible to ignore. 

While he kissed you breathless, your fingers kept stroking his cock through his jeans, your other hand sliding beneath the hem of his t-shirt to rake your nails through the thin trail of hair dusting his abs. Both of you groaned at the contact, Steve’s tongue plunging into your mouth as his hips thrust against your palm. 

Just as quickly as he’d dragged you into the kiss, Steve pulled away, shoving you roughly back into the chair. Your back hit the padded leather, a light, “oomph,” of surprise tumbling from your lips. One of his hands gripped your thigh possessively, fingers digging into your soft flesh while he leaned down and pulled a lever somewhere on the chair.

The footrest dropped away, allowing Steve to step between your legs, his hands groping roughly at your thighs, your hips, your tits. A low rumbling growl sounded in his chest every time his hand touched a piece of your clothing, as if they offended him personally. You squirmed in your seat, trying to find the words to beg him to take off the rest of your clothes, but all you could manage was a desperate whine.

“Are you still feeling hot, baby?” Steve asked, his tone playfully condescending as he skimmed his hands up your bare legs and tugged on the hem of your skirt—which, at that point, was barely covering anything with the way your legs were splayed open around his hips. “Should we get rid of the rest of these tiresome clothes?” 

You were nodding your head before he even finished his question, his hands making quick work of unzipping your skirt and tugging on it until you lifted your hips so he could drag it down along with your panties. He stepped back so he could pull them off your legs, raking his gaze up your body and pointedly looking at your bra.

“Take it off, fucktoy,” he growled, his tone going mean again. 

The quick change of his mood had you gasping with surprise, even as his rough voice made you gush more wetness between your thighs. You didn’t know if you’d ever get used to the demon’s mercurial moods, but you liked the unpredictability—it meant you’d never grow bored.

Scrambling to do as Steve said, you pushed forward from the chair to unclip your bra and ripped it off, dumping it unceremoniously on the floor. When that was done, the demon shoved your legs open and stepped back between them, pushing your legs up to drape over the armrests of the chair.

“Good girl,” Steve rumbled, stroking his hands down your thighs, digging his fingers in suddenly, hard enough to make you squeal and squirm. He chuckled, looking like he enjoyed your reaction, and pushed your legs wider, spreading you so fully, you felt a twinge of discomfort in your hip. But the pain was soothed away a moment later by the pleasure throbbing through your body.

A sharp exhale gusted from Steve the moment he laid his eyes on your bare pussy. He was staring down at you like you were everything to him, like you were the center of his universe. He looked like he was a mere second away from getting down on his knees and worshipping at the altar of your body.

More surprising than the way he was looking at you was what you could feel through the bond tethering you to the demon. You could feel his devotion in your soul, the sensation curling round your heart and filling you with a sense of adoration that was both yours and Steve’s. 

As much as you were his, you knew, with absolutely certainty, that he was yours, too. For better or for worse.

But the longer Steve stared down at your body, his hands unable to stop touching you—exploring every inch of your skin, his palms cupping your breasts, thumbs stroking over you nipples before he curved his fingers around your ribs and skimmed down to your hips, feeling you, learning you—the more you began to believe it wasn’t so bad being bonded to a demon.

You hadn’t noticed your gaze had drifted away from the demon, staring unseeingly over his shoulder while you reveled in the feel of him touching you, until his hand came down sharply on your slit, slapping your pussy so sharply, you cried out in surprise, tears springing to your eyes. Pleasure and pain burned through you, writhing and fighting for dominance, and you were helpless to the sensation.

“Eyes on me, fucktoy,” Steve growled, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look up at him. His fingers dug into your cheeks, his face looming over yours while his hand came down again, spanking your cunt and making your whole body jerk in the leather chair from the sharp, stinging pleasure. “You’re my dumb little cock slave, and you’ll look at me like a good girl when I’m playing with you like you’re my own personal fuck doll—got it?”

The demon punctuated his seething question with another spank to your pussy, and it was the hardest of all, but though you expected pain, you felt only pleasure. A loud, pornographic moan, spilled from your lips while your mind swirled, your whole body throbbing like you were one big nerve ending. 

Forcing your eyes open, you found Steve watching you expectantly. You gasped for air and scrambled for words “Yes, master,” you cried, surprising even yourself when you shouted, “I’m your good little fucktoy!” 

Steve seemed appeased, a satisfied smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth while his fingers rubbed through your drenched folds. “You are, baby,” he assured you. “You’re such a good little plaything for your master.” 

His words were an alluring purr, soothing you. Then, he surprised you by shoving three of his fingers into your cunt, making your whole body shudder from the unrelenting and sudden fullness.

“Oh god,” you moaned, pleasure ricocheting violently through your body. You squirmed in the chair, feeling your pussy spasm with delight, your wetness gushing out of you and dripping down between your ass cheeks, making a mess on the chair. 

“God’s not going to help you now, sweet thing,” Steve rumbled with a smirk, pulling his fingers out of you before pushing them deep into your sopping wet hole again. “You sold your soul to me, He has no dominion over you anymore—you’re mine for eternity.”

His thumb rubbed your clit and you cried out helplessly, barely hearing his words as your body focused on the pleasure he was giving you. He pushed deeper, his fingers stroking a spot inside you that had your spine arching and your hips bearing down on his delicious intrusion. You were so wet, he fucked you easily with his three fingers, spreading them wide to stretch you open. 

“Oh fuck,” you whined, your whole body shaking with need while the demon fucked you slowly with his fingers. You watched them slide into you, your folds swollen and puffy from his rough spanking. He was moving with a torturous laziness and you squirmed, mewling for more, “Faster, Steve, please.” 

Suddenly, Steve’s fingers pulled free from your obscenely wet pussy, and a second later they were being shoved into your mouth. Your sweet, musky taste exploded on your tongue as the demon pushed them deep, making you gag on his slick fingers while he loomed above you. 

“What did you call me?” he seethed through gritted teeth, the dark shadows of his eyes roiling like a churning sea.

“M’m sowwy,” you mumbled around his fingers, drool dripping down your chin and tears spilling onto your cheeks. 

Steve’s mood immediately calmed at the sight of your tears and he made a soft shushing sound as he pulled his fingers from your mouth. “There, there, my sweet little plaything,” he cooed, leaning down to kiss and lick the salty tears from your skin. “I like it better when you call me master—can you be a good girl and call me master?”

The way Steve was bent over you, the bulge in his jeans pressed into your leaking cunt and you rubbed against him like a cat in heat, your hole aching to be filled, but you knew you had to answer his question first. 

“Yes, master,” you whimpered, “I’mma be a good girl, I swear.” 

“That’s my girl,” Steve purred, swiping the drool from your chin and pressing a kiss to your mouth. It was sweet and slow, his mouth praising you without words and making your head spin with the feeling of affection slipping through the bond. 

When he pulled away, Steve gave you a stern look, his brow lowered over his black eyes and his mouth pressed into a firm line. 

“Now, I can feel you rubbing your cute little cunt on my cock, baby,” he rumbled, his hands groping your thighs, but not pinning you down to make you stop. So you kept humping against him, your body shameless in its need for him. “But I want you to use your words—what do you want from your master?”

“Fuck me, master—please, oh g-fuck, I need your cock, master, please, please, please give it to me,” you babbled, blinking away the last of your tears to stare up into the handsome face of your demon. 

You could still feel his lust and desire and fondness thrumming through the bond he’d created, but beneath that, deep in your own heart, you felt your own affection swell. You’d had a crush on Steve before he’d sealed the bond, and—god help you—those feelings didn’t waver in light of his trickery. If anything, every touch, no matter how rough or soft, only strengthened them. 

Steve’s fingers dug into the plush flesh of your thighs, his grip possessive as he stared down at you with a satisfied smirk. 

“Y’know, I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing you beg for me, baby—not for a millennia, at least,” he murmured, ducking down to capture your swollen lips in a kiss. 

At the same time, he rubbed his bulge against your sensitive pussy, making you cry out so that he could swallow the sound down. 

Kissing him back, you whimpered into his lips, need burning through your body and making you impatient. Your fingernails raked down the front of Steve’s chest, reveling in the way his firm muscles contracted, and the sharp little breaths he took. 

You hooked your fingers under the lower hem and tugged the shirt up with a desperate whine until Steve yanked it off over his head, breaking your kiss for only a second. 

Your fingers explored the smooth planes of Steve’s chest, brushing over his beautiful tattoos as you traced his hard muscles. All the while, he kissed you, devoured you, his own hands kneading your thighs and your tits and plucking at your nipples until you were writhing mindlessly beneath him. 

“Please, master,” you keened, arching your spine and pushing your tits into his palms. “Fuck me, pleeease!” You tugged demandingly on the waist of his jeans, your fingers fumbling to undo the buckle of his belt.

Steve only chuckled maddeningly, rubbing his clothed cock into your sopping wet pussy while he pressed kisses to your jaw. 

“C’mon, baby, you can beg better than that, can’t you?” he rumbled, his tone playful and warm, but it quickly turned dark and demanding. “Beg me to split you open on my dick, to fucking ruin your pretty little pussy with my fat demon cock—use your filthy mouth, sweetheart, tell me all the dirty things you want your evil master to do to you.”

“Oh fuck, yes,” you groaned, squirming beneath him and humping shamelessly against his bulge. “Please, master—please ruin me, hurt me, abuse me,” you cried, not knowing where the words were coming from, but you suspected they were being ripped right from that dark place deep in your heart, your soul. “Fill my holes with your demon cock and pump me full of cum, wanna be bulging with your seed, master—wanna be your dumb little fucktoy for all eternity. Make me yours, please!”

You cut off on a broken, desperate sob, and Steve’s mouth covered yours with an animalistic roar, kissing you hard—like he was branding you all over again. It made you moan louder, kissing him back just as fervently.

Your head spun from Steve’s kiss, but you could feel his hands fumbling between your legs. Then, the hot, hard length of him smacked against your swollen, smarting pussy, making you cry out into his mouth. 

Steve drank down your sounds greedily, like they were the nectar of the gods. His tongue pushed into your mouth, licking into you as if trying to lap up your pleasured noises straight from their source.

“You’re fucking perfect, baby,” Steve praised when he pulled away, his voice silky and earnest in a way that made your heart warm in your chest. 

His mood had switched again, and you didn’t think you’d ever get tired of the way it could shift like the wind. It was exciting and thrilling—like riding your own personal roller coaster. But no matter how his mood seemed to shift, you always felt his affection through the bond. Your demon was just fickle about how he liked to show that affection.

“Such a good fucking girl for me, ‘m gonna give you exactly what you want, sweet thing,” Steve went on, rubbing his hot, hard length through your drenched folds, coating himself in your wetness. “Gonna bury my cock in your holes for an aeon, keep you dumb and drunk on my cock, gonna make you my precious little plaything.” 

“Yes, master, please,” you whimpered, your hands finding Steve’s waist and pulling your bodies closer, your ass sliding to the edge of the chair. “Fuck my tight little hole, please—please!” 

Something in Steve seemed to snap, and with a snarl, he folded you in half in his leather tattoo chair, pushing your knees to your chest and lining up the head of his cock with your weeping entrance. In the next breath, he shoved his cock deep into your cunt, splitting you open with such a delicious mixture of pain and pleasure that your screams filled the whole of Hell. 

Steve gave you only a moment to adjust to the sheer girth of his thick, massive cock before he pulled back and snapped his hips forward, the sound of his thighs hitting your ass making a loud clapping sound. 

Your mouth fell open, the most obscene, pornographic moans coming from your lips. Against your will, your eyes slid closed.

Grabbing the back of your head to hold it still, Steve slapped your cheek—hard—making your eyes fly back open. The stinging pain blurred into a deep, aching pleasure, and your cry of surprise devolved into a lewd moan. 

“What did I tell you, fucktoy?” Steve growled, slapping you again, harder. The pools of his eyes churned dangerously, his mouth twisted with determination as he reminded you of his earlier command. “Keep your fucking eyes on me.”

Though you knew his strikes were meant to be punishing, he was keeping a tight leash on his strength. His hand smarted but he never truly hurt you. 

It was more degrading, feeling Steve slap your face, and you enjoyed it much more than you would’ve expected. The sounds of your desperate, depraved pleasure spilling freely from your lips. 

When you managed to focus your gaze on your demon, you found Steve watching you with a smug smirk on his face. 

“Do you like it when I slap you, sweet thing?” he cooed, his hips driving into yours, fucking you deep and hard with his thick cock while he held the back of your head. He didn’t wait for an answer, slapping you again, letting your face twist to the side before forcing you back to look at him. “Do you want me to hurt you more, pretty girl?”

“Yes, master!” you cried, surprising even yourself. But you were greedy for the mixture of pain and pleasure Steve offered, finding you were quickly growing addicted to the wicked way he made you feel. “Play rough with your fucktoy—please, master, I want it!”

“Good girl,” Steve purred, grinning wider and using his free hand to slap your tits, your thighs, anywhere he could reach. The sharp smacking sounds joined with the clapping of his hips against your ass and the obscene wet noises of your pussy being fucked. “You’re such a perfect little plaything, baby, taking it like such a good girl for your master.”

Steve leaned more heavily on top of you, his hips pressing his cock so deep, you sobbed with pleasure, feeling like he was pushing into your cervix. Pain and pleasure made your mind spin, and your hands clung to Steve’s thick biceps, your nails digging sharply into his skin.

Your demon hissed out a breath at the bite of your nails, his hips stuttering and fucking more powerfully into you. He slammed against a spot deep inside your cunt that had you thrashing beneath him in the leather chair, clawing at him even more.

“Fuck yeah, sweetheart, hurt me back,” he growled, his tone taunting you meanly as he went on. “Show me what ya got, I can take it.” 

Darkness rose inside of you, and though it was tempting to believe it was solely the effect of the demon’s mark on your body, you knew it wasn’t. This was the darkness that had grown within you over the years, the one that had called out to the demon and had been so pleased when he answered your call by binding you to him for an eternity of sinful servitude. 

Skimming your hands up to Steve’s shoulders, you didn’t miss the way he looked a little disappointed at your light touch. You curled your lips in an impish grin—the only warning you gave him before you dug your nails deep into his skin, dragging them down over his inked shoulders and biceps as hard as you could.

Though you didn’t break skin, dark red lines appeared on his pale skin where it shone through and Steve groaned loudly, his hips twitching before he picked up his pace. He fucked you faster, with punishingly violent strokes that had you babbling an endless stream of pleasured noises.

“That’s it, plaything, let it out—take it out on me,” he growled encouragingly. 

You didn’t know what exactly he was prompting you to let out, but you suspected it had something to do with the darkness churning in your chest. And his reaction, his pleasure in response to the pain you’d given him, lit something inside you. The darkness unfurled further as you finally let it free, and you felt Steve’s encouragement through the bond you shared.

Tilting your hips up so that Steve could pound harder and deeper into your pussy, you reached around to his lower back, raking your nails up the long length of his muscles. You pressed so deep, you would’ve gouged into a human’s skin. But your demon was made of sturdier stuff, and he simply grunted in pleasure, fucking you harder—so hard, it nearly hurt.

Steve was glorious above you, his demented coal-black eyes staring down at you with a fathomless greed you could feel thrumming in your own heart. It made you want to hurt him. It made you want to love him. 

Frightened by both impulses, you grabbed Steve by the back of his neck, digging your nails into his skin as you pulled him down. Instead of kissing him, though, your face buried into the crook of his neck and you sank your teeth into the spot at the base of his throat, the one free of ink, biting him hard enough you thought you might actually pierce the demon’s skin.

He tasted like fire and smoke and salt. 

Steve’s growling groan rumbled in his throat and you felt it against your cheek, moaning in answer while you licked his warm, golden skin. You sucked on him hard, wanting to leave your own mark on your demon, sinking your teeth in further while his cock pressed deep inside you.

Your demon allowed it for a moment, then his hand wrapped around the front of your throat and he pushed you away, pinning you hard against the back of the tattoo chair while he climbed on top of you. The back gave way until you were laying flat and Steve’s big body was covering yours. 

The chair rocked dangerously, but stayed upright and Steve caged you in beneath him, fucking you in slow, lazy strokes.

“You bite me like that again, sweetheart, and ‘m gonna blow my load way too soon,” he grumbled, glaring at you, though there wasn’t any heat to it. Especially since you could feel his pleasure through the bond. 

“Oops,” you said, unable to hold back your giggle. Steve didn’t look nearly as amused as you felt, so you forced yourself to look a little contrite as you pouted and simpered, “Sorry, master.”

Shaking his head and huffing a laugh, you felt his humor slip through the bond and saw his mouth flicker in a smile. 

“Baby, baby, baby, what am I gonna do with you, huh?” he purred. Tilting his head to the side, he considered you with smirk. “You’ve only been bound to me for an hour and I’ve already corrupted you, sweetheart.” 

He ducked down, dragging his nose from the base of your throat up to your jaw, nipping at the spot just below your ear that had you moaning softly. Your legs clung to his sides, holding him close in the cradle of your body while he kissed your neck.  

“Mmm,” you hummed in agreement, even though you both knew it was the darkness in your heart that had drawn him to you in the first place, not that he’d corrupted you. “I guess you’ll just have to keep me, master,” you said sweetly, lifting your hips to meet Steve’s languid strokes, gasping when the tip of his cock hit that spot deep inside you that had you seeing stars. 

At your words, Steve huffed a laugh, burying his face in your neck and mumbling against your skin, “As if I’d ever be able to let you go.” He rocked into your body, wringing another moan from you as he grunted his own pleasure. “Fuck, your cunt feels so good, ‘m not gonna last much longer.”

“Master, please, ‘m so close,” you whimpered into his ear. You wrapped one of your arms around his broad shoulders while your other hand dove into his soft, blond hair. You clung to your demon while he dug his arms beneath your back, holding you pinned beneath his body so he could rut ferociously into you.

“Bite me, baby,” Steve growled, pounding into you with short, hard thrusts, grinding the base of his cock against your clit with each one. “Mark me—show me I’m yours.” His voice was a desperate, greedy rasp, his need thrumming through your body through the bond, and you couldn’t think of doing anything but indulging him.

Your teeth sank deep into Steve’s neck, in the one spot that wasn’t covered in ink, and sucked hard on his skin, licking his throbbing pulse point at the same time. He growled wildly, his thrusts turning harder and meaner, his fingers slipping between your bodies to find your clit and rub ruthlessly.

You didn’t know which of you came first because it seemed like you both pushed each other over the edge in the same instant. 

The coil of pleasure deep in your belly snapped suddenly, and pleasure exploded through your body, leaving devastation in its wake as you screamed your release. At the same time, Steve groaned, long and loud, his cock throbbing deep inside your cunt while he spilled his seed into your fluttering channel. 

Your demon kept fucking you as you both rode out the waves of pleasure, your body clinging to his and milking his cock while he held you crushed to his chest. 

Your gasps for air turned to deeper breaths as you slowly came down from your peak, and you were distantly aware of Steve hauling you up from the chair and spinning around to sit while you sprawled in his lap.

As you recovered together, Steve’s fingertips danced up and down your spine while your head lay on his inked shoulder and you watched the red indents of your teeth slowly fade from his neck. A frown pulled at the edges of your mouth, and you wondered how on earth he’d managed to get tattooed if it was so difficult to leave a mark on his skin.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked in a deep, gruff voice, like he’d been on the brink of sleep. 

It took you a moment of being confused about how he could’ve possibly seen your frown before you remembered the bond. You still felt the tether to him, like a string tied behind your belly button, but you didn’t feel a tug on it until his palm skimmed down to your ankle and his hand closed over the tattoo he’d given you, which was healed somehow. 

“How did that heal so fast?” you asked, sitting up twisting around to look at your ankle. The sweeping, delicate curves peaked out from behind Steve’s hand, and you brushed your fingertips over the inked lines with wonder. 

“There was a drop of my blood in the ink,” Steve answered, and when you looked at him, he wore a mischievous smirk. “I told you the ingredients were all-natural, didn’t I?” he asked charmingly and shot you a wink, making you laugh and shake your head. 

But then your eyes fell on the spot on his neck where you’d bitten him. He’d healed so fast, you couldn’t see any trace of your teeth anymore, and you brushed your fingers over it sadly. Steve caught your hand and brought it to his mouth, pressing a kiss to each of your fingertips.

“There’s a special method to tattooing a demon,” Steve answered your unasked question, skimming his free hand down his chest and over all the other ink on his skin. “I can teach you how,” he offered.

Your eyes had drifted down to his chest, tracing the lines of the tattoos that had been hidden by his shirt, but at his words, you glanced up—and were surprised to see the darkness had receded from his eyes, leaving them a bright, sky blue. The look he was giving you was earnest, and you felt it reflected in the bond that hummed in your body.

“I’d like that,” you said softly, ducking your head into the crook of his neck and licking the spot you wanted to mark. 

He still tasted like fire and salt and smoke and you wanted to savor him for an eon. With a sigh, you gave into the urge, licking and kissing him idly while you cuddled into his chest. Steve held you securely, your body still impaled on his half-hard cock while his cum dripped out of you, and you thought you could stay like that forever. 

Instead, after a few moments, you asked, “So what happens now? Do you take me back to hell or the underworld or whatever?”

A chuckle rumbled in Steve’s chest. The sound reverberated through your sternum where you were pressed together and you smiled into his neck.

“I figured we’d stick around Brooklyn for a couple decades, then we can head down below,” he murmured, tracing patterns on your lower back with one hand while the other gripped your ass possessively. “I think you’ll like it there—I’ve got all kinds of fun toys to play with.”

You could hear the depraved excitement in his tone and snorted a laugh. But then something occurred to you and you pushed up from his chest to sit back so you could see Steve’s face. He looked confused by your suddenly serious expression.

“When you say toys, you don’t mean other people you’ve bound to you, do you?” you asked him with your eyes narrowed. Your focus was almost entirely on the bond, waiting for his reaction. You knew you’d be able to tell if he was lying, or hiding something.

But you felt only amusement from him, and watched as a grin spread across his face. “Nah,” he said, his hand wrapping loosely around the front of your throat to pull you in for a kiss. “I’m not actually the demon from the urban legend,” he confessed. “It’s just one of the ways we trick pretty little humans like you to sell your souls to us—you really should’ve read the fine print of that contract you signed.”

You huffed an exasperated laugh, because what else could you do, and kissed your demon again. He chuckled into your kiss before deepening it, his mouth sliding possessively against yours. When he pulled away, he nipped your lower lip, soothing the sting away with his tongue as he growled into your mouth. 

“You’re the only soul for me, sweet girl.”

Your heart beat harder in your chest, and you felt his deep affection swirling with your own in your belly, twining together around your heart to create something real and deep. It was something that would grow and strengthen over the millennia you spent together.

You knew in that moment that there would be no running from the demon you’d unknowingly bound yourself to, and that you wouldn’t want to escape him anyway. Steve may have tricked you—and you’d make him grovel for your forgiveness for at least a century for that—but he was yours now, just as surely as you were his. 

“You’re the only demon for me, Steve Rogers.” 

You moaned for your demon when his hands grabbed your hips and began bouncing you on his hardened cock. His cum was still leaking out of your cunt, making a mess of both of you, but neither of you cared. Your kisses turned messy with your grunts and groans of pleasure, your bodies pushing each other toward the edge of another release as you gave in to the insatiable need you both felt for the other.

It would be a long time before that need was finally sated—so long that it was no longer Friday the 13th by the time you stumbled out of Hell, Steve’s heavy arm draped around your waist. His strong body kept you upright on unsteady knees while he walked you to his brownstone around the corner.

For years after that fateful Friday the 13th, you helped Steve keep up appearances as a tattoo artist, playing his devoted girlfriend during the day. Then at night, he took you home and made you his personal plaything, bending you over and fucking your ass with his fat demon cock or unloading his cum down your throat. 

In the rare moments when you weren’t fucking, Steve taught you how to tattoo, and the method of how to tattoo a demon specifically, all so you could leave your mark on his skin. You tattooed an outline of your teeth marks on his neck, in the spot he’d left open for you since the night you’d met.

You’d even included a drop of your blood in the ink, even though Steve said it wouldn’t strengthen the bond. But afterward, you did feel like you were close to him, and he admitted he felt it, too. 

Years later, Steve surprised you by asking you to marry him, and though you thought it was a little unnecessary, you said yes. It just seemed a bit like overkill to have a whole wedding ceremony when your souls were already bonded for eternity, but you had to admit it was a good time. Plus, all your friends and family cried happy tears—even the demons. 

Finally, when it began to get suspicious that you and Steve weren’t aging while the humans around you were, Steve passed on ownership of Hell to one of the other artists and he took you down below to the real thing. He carried you across the threshold of his house and welcomed you home, where you’d live happily together until you decided to go topside again.

There in hell, Steve spent centuries shattering you apart with his cock before rebuilding you, only to break you down into his dumb little fucktoy all over again. Together, you used every toy Steve owned. You were your master’s good little plaything while he delivered pain and pleasure that sent you to new planes of existence. 

Then, of course, Steve taught you how to use them all on him, too, because your demon master liked a little bit of pain, too.

You’d loved your time in Brooklyn with Steve Rogers, the tattoo artist and owner of Hell, but you loved your time in hell with your demon master even more. Together, you allowed yourselves to be truly free and give in to your darkness together. You allowed yourself to love him, and let him love you in return. 

It was everything you could have dreamed of, living a happy life for the rest of eternity with your demon in hell.

And all you had to do was follow one rule: When in hell, do as the demons do.

[ambrosiagourmet]

In chapter 28, Marcille lays out why the journey she's been on has been worth the pain: because they were able to bring Falin back. The injuries, the indignity, and the mess of it all - they are tolerable primarily in context of destination she believes she's reached at this point.

In truth, of course, the story is far from finished. In fact, I would argue that this is actually where hers really starts. This scene holds the seed of the very thing the Winged Lion will exploit to lead Marcille to become the Lord of the Dungeon. After all, with a desire as far reaching and deeply held as Marcille's, if the only acceptable outcome is success, what other choice does she have but to bargain with the infinite?

So let's talk about this idea - where it leads her, how Laios' path intersects with it, and how they both help each other move forward in the face of failure.

First though, I want to step back and talk about something else: the shapeshifter chapters.

With these chapters recently covered by the anime, there has, of course, come plenty of fun discussions about which version of each character belongs which other character's perceptions, and what that means.

One thing I've seen pointed out a few times is the fact that both Laios and Marcille's impressions of each other are based around Falin. Marcille's version of Laios is larger and more masculine, because those are the traits that stuck out to her in contrast to Falin. Laios' version of Marcille was directly inspired by her appearance and demeanor when resurrecting Falin.

So why is this important to a discussion about Marcille being focused on success? Well, it shows us where Laios and Marcille's relationship starts: built primarily around their shared love for Falin. It's from that shared beginning that they begin to learn about each other on their own terms.

And this is true for the whole group, to be clear. They are united by circumstance - love for a lost companion, a sense of responsibility, a desire for freedom - but they all grow and help each other beyond that circumstance. They help Senshi bury the ghosts of his past and eat some Hippogriff stew. They help Izutsumi open up to mutual love and friendship. And they learn so much about each other: about Chilchuck's family and Laios' love of monsters and Marcille's desires to live life alongside others.

In the particular case of Marcille and Laios, understanding each other is what lets them save each other. It is not through Falin that Laios talks Marcille down from the edge the Lion has brought her to, nor is it through her that Marcille comforts Laios after the demon is defeated, when it is still unclear how everything will work out.

In fact, it is very specifically the unknown fate of Falin that Marcille comforts him about.

She is willing to accept the outcome - willing, now, to embrace the journey itself, rather than only accepting it as a means to an end.

This is a lesson she learns from Laios, and it's a lesson we watch Laios learn, too.

Just before making her deal with the Lion, Marcille recalls everything that led her to that moment. She lingers on the pain, recalling the worst of their journey:

She only pushes through by remembering her goals: saving Falin, and equalizing the lifespans of her friends to match her own.

And yet, 10 chapters later, when reflecting on why she actually wants to see her goals through, it is the good parts of that very same journey that shine through.

There's an inherent contradiction here, one which Marcille doesn't know how to face. How can the suffering that she tolerates also be the love that drives her forward? How can the loss that she's worked so hard to reverse also be the very circumstance that created a world she, now, cannot stand to give up?

And Laios confronts her with the truth. Because it just is.

Losing Falin forced him to open up to others in a way he never had. It forced him to choose what he cares about, and in making that choice, it gave him the opportunity to be seen. To connect with others.

He has already had to come to terms with the fact that Falin's death has given him something - he would not have been able to kill her again if he hadn't.

There is something here that is fundamental to Dungeon Meshi's understanding of what life even is. Like, I don't think it's a coincidence that part of Laios' speech to Marcille in chapter 85 is actually first seen in the chapter where they fight off ghosts.

In 'Sorbet,' while possessed , Laios thinks that it would have been better if the dragon had eaten him, instead of Falin. The ghosts make people lose their will to live - they are dragged away from life.

When he's pulled back from that brink, Laios realizes that he can't move forward without accepting that she is gone. He even compares the way he was holding on to her to being possessed: it pulled him away from life, from the present moment.

To carry on, he must accept what has been lost, and focus on protecting the life that they still have.

Like Marcille, he has to accept the contradictions of their journey. That life means eating, and eating requires death. That sometimes one must be selfish in order to be kind, and that selflessness can easily be twisted into to cruelty.

That loss will, inevitably, lead you to find happiness that you may not have found otherwise.

This is how he gets through to Marcille. And I think part of the reason he reaches her with these specific ideas is because those contradictions are baked so thoroughly into their relationship.

Marcille only met Falin after she had been left behind by Laios. Laios was able to reconnect with Falin because she left Marcille. They both met each other through Falin, and yet they only really got to know and care for one another after she died.

And of course, that's why Marcille uses the same ideas to comfort Laios, in the final chapter. It is because of Laios that she is able to accept the journey for itself, and not need the happy ending to justify its meaning to her.

Together, they help each other move forward, and accept that they may not be able to bring Falin back.

Which, if I'm being honest... I think this is the reason Falin can come back, narratively speaking, without the resurrection feeling like it takes away from the themes of the story.

After all, she doesn't do it for Marcille or Laios - she does it for her own sake. Her own hunger and her own desire to eat are the things that lead her back to life.

All three of them, together, end the story like this: not clinging to the things they are afraid to lose, but knowing they can choose to move forward together.

And, importantly, this happy ending is no longer the thing that gives the journey meaning. Rather, it is the privilege of the journey itself that is her happy ending: the chance to walk alongside others in the time they have, to get to know each other, and to eat well.

[demonslayerunhinged]

*cw: this theory deals with child sexual abuse and has mentions of suicidal ideation and eating disorders.

*If you or anyone you know is going through this, you can find resources here, here and here as well as a list of international hotlines.

Obanai is probably the second most hated character in the fandom, and just like Sanemi, he’s one of the most misunderstood. I think the hate he gets from the fandom is unwarranted; he’s accused of being a dick, a horrible person, a simp and a character who only exists to be Mitsuri’s love interest. All of which is unfair, sure he’s prickly and unapproachable, but he’s not as bad as the fandom makes him out to be.

So, in my quest to draft a defense for our favorite snek boy, I reread his backstory and in doing so, I realized something sad

Unhinged theory

Obanai is a sexual abuse survivor

Let me explain:

Obanai’s backstory and aspects of his character mirrors that of someone who’s been through sexual trauma. The evidence I'm going to present is a combination of my own knowledge about these matters and information I got from forums and websites for male survivors of sexual abuse. So let's examine them...um spoilers

The snake demon

I believe that the snake demon is a metaphor for a sexual predator. Her inclusion in the family could also be a metaphor for how these predators insert themselves into family units-or most of the time are family members themselves-and abuse the children for years and even generations. Obanai's relatives sacrificing their babies to her could signify the real life actions of families who are unaware or, turn a blind eye to, or sometimes actively participate in the abuse of their children.

The sacrifice in exchange for wealth speaks of how families in real life ignore the abuse of their children to maintain the wealth and status they obtain from being related to and associated with the abuser.

Even her decision to wait, ordering the cutting of his mouth so he would look like her, could be interpreted as her 'grooming' him in a sense.

Even her design has a certain sexual, predatory aspect to it that's different from the other demons.

His relatives

Obanai describes his family members as being 'disgustingly' affectionate and bringing him lots of 'greasy' food that made him sick. Food in media is often used to depict love, affection, connection and sex, and Demon Slayer is no different.

There are plenty of instances where food and the giving of food has been used to denote friendship (Tanjiro giving Zenitsu, Inosuke and Genya meals in an attempt to bond with them), connection (Giyuu wanting to give Sanemi ohagi), love (Tanjiro's love of cooking and the satisfaction he shows when his meals are enjoyed by others) and pleasure (Mitsuri's large appetite). I'll make a post about this later.

With this context, we can interpret their bringing of rich foods, their overbearing attention and affections as them objectifying and even being sexually inappropriate with him.

The sexual abuse

Non-physical.

The first instance of abuse is non-physical, but that doesn't make it any less important. Being constantly visited by the snake demon in his room at night, Obanai described his feelings of terror, being paralyzed and watched. His body would break out in a sweat, and he would be unable to fall asleep.

His descriptions of the experience and his body's reaction to it reminded me of some survivors' stories I read, where they talked about how in the initial stages of the abuse or when the abuser was first introduced into their lives, their abuser would give them unwanted attention, would stare at them in a way that felt creepy, gross and wrong.

Some had their abusers come in to their rooms, maybe under the guise of 'checking in on them'. They described feeling terrified, freezing up with the hopes that the attacker would leave. Some would take measures such as sleeping with the door locked or with a heavy object against it, sleeping with a sibling or parent, sleeping in a hiding spot that the attacker knows nothing about or not sleeping at all.

Physical.

The specific age that the snake demon plans to 'eat' Obanai is never stated, but from what we've seen so far and in the sexual context, we can assume that she's waiting until he hits puberty. Some studies state that the average age of victims of female sex offenders usually falls around 14 years, but there are cases where the female predator waited until their victim reached sexual maturity before they carried out their abuse, like in the case of Mary Kay Letourneau. Here's a video that breaks down an interview she did before her death.

Obanai was 12 when he was dragged out of his cell to be subjected to what I believe is the first physical abuse. He had his mouth slit from ear to ear, with the blood collected and fed to her. The snake demon decided to have him live a little longer, which again, fits into my theory of her wanting to wait until he reached puberty.

Bodily violation, violence and blood are common allegories for sexual assault used in media and in Obanai's backstory we see it being used when his relatives drag him from his cell, literally pin him down, cut his mouth and feed his blood to the snake demon. The act of feeding on his blood could also be a metaphor for the snake demon sexually abusing him.

His escape and the resulting fallout

Obanai managed to escape, and although he was tracked down by the snake demon, he was saved by Shinjuro Kengoku before she could kill him. His cousin's response was to blame him for all that happened, asked why he ran away, and said that he should have 'allowed' the demon to eat him.

This could represent how some victims are rejected, ostracized and criticized for speaking out against their attacker, exposing the abuse to the public and getting help. Their families would say 'you should have just let it happen', 'you destroyed the family', 'why did you run away, tell people?' and place the blame on the victim.

Obanai's reaction

There are three aspects of his characterization that are similar to the common reactions noticed in adult survivors of sexual assault, especially male survivors.

His appearance.

His behavior.

His beliefs.

His appearance

Obanai has a small frame that he hides with his baggy uniform and haori. I can tell it's baggy compared to that of the other slayers because of the width of his pants vs the width of his lower legs. Desexualization or hypo-sexualization is a common response among some survivors of sexual trauma, this usually involves wearing clothes and taking measures to make themselves look 'unattractive'.

'But this side feels more comfortable for me, like the baggy clothes I wear, which hide my body, and the long sleeves which reach past my wrists. I promised myself no man would ever touch me again, and whether it was a moment of triumph, or a moment of defeat, I still don't know.'

'I'm thin, shy. I seem easy to dominate. I've grown a beard. That's helped a little. I dress in baggy clothes, covering as much of my skin as possible. That makes me feel safe.'

This not only helps regain a sense of control and power over their body but also serves as a protective measure against sexual advances so they don't get abused again.

In Obanai, given his history of receiving unwanted, suffocating and 'disgusting' attention from his female relatives, it would make sense that he would want to dress in a way that makes him unapproachable and hides his body from the opposite sex. We can see his attempts to desexualize himself in the picture below:

His behavior

'Iguro has difficulty with girls. Due to his experiences growing up, he was unable to conquer his fear and animosity. Plus, the firls who joined the Demon Slayer Corps often put on brave faces because of their sad backgrounds, so he felt sorry for them, making him uncomfortable in a different way.' - Taisho Whispers, official English translation.

'Iguro-san isn't good with women. Due to his upbringing he has a fear and disgust towards women. (I couldn't overcome it easily. The women who joined the Demon Slayer Corps have painful stories of determination. I felt sorry for them and I didn't get along with them in a way that was different from the way I got along with my family)' - Taisho Whispers, direct-sort-of-shitty translation via Google Translate.

Male survivors who were victims of childhood abuse by female perpetrators often talk about how the abuse greatly affected their relationships with women or lack thereof. Some going so far as to say that they became afraid of women, being around them and how sometimes being touched by women would trigger panic attacks and remind them of the trauma.

Here are some quotes posted in a thread on the Male Survivor forum. Full thread here.

'Once that happened, my genophobia became more intense. I couldn't ware short trousers in summer, could never go swimming, got paranoid if I touched a woman's arm or even brushed against one, would always stand at a distance from female friends, and would literally leave the room if anything explicit was discussed.'

'I have started to have strange, deep discomforting feelings as I remember some of the assaults and I have gotten to a place where touch from a woman makes my hair stand up, makes me nauseous, and gives me chills and feelings of dread.'

Obanai has similar responses when he finds himself in proximity to women. We're only told about it in the main manga, but it's shown in the Gakuen. I know the Gakuen takes place in an alternate universe, but aside from the events, the behaviors of the characters are based on their actual personalities in the main manga, so we can safely say the reactions he displays in the Gakuen is canon to his character.

His beliefs

Adult survivors of sexual abuse often struggle with feelings of guilt, rage, and shame. In the manga, Obanai talks about being held back by the decaying hands of his family members, which could represent the long-lasting effects of sexual abuse and how some survivors carry these burdens all through adulthood or throughout their lives.

There's also the thoughts about himself that echo the heartbreaking thoughts shared by some male survivors.

Guilt:

"As the member of a filthy family, I too was corrupt. My sins were deep, so I could not live a normal life"

Rage:

"With no other outlet, I turned all my rage on demons in a grudge of intense hatred. By risking my life for others, I felt as if I could in some way become a slightly better person."

Shame:

"Unless I die and come back in a different body in which this filthy blood does not flow, I have no right to be with you."

Suicidal ideation(mild):

"By risking my life for others, I felt as if I could in some way become a slightly better person."

"I want to die defeating Muzan." (He's the only character that I know of that outright says this.)

He also kind-of expresses his feelings of being weak during the fight with Muzan:

"I've accomplished less in this battle than anyone! I wish I could deliver a more effective attack."

While this quote isn't exactly definite, a feeling of being weak, or being 'less of a man' is also a common experience shared by male sexual assault survivors.

The scar and It's symbolism

The scar is a physical manifestation of the lifelong effect that sexual abuse has on its victims and the stigma it carries. For Obanai, it's not just a painful reminder of the trauma he suffered at the hands of his family, but also a reminder to him that he's like his attacker, the snake demon. The bandages he wraps around his mouth symbolizes not just his attempts to hide his trauma, but also his inability to talk about it due to shame and fear, which is unfortunately an all too common experience of male survivors.

Another struggle survivors often experience is with intimacy, romantic relationships and sex. For Obanai, I believe that this struggle is represented by his eating disorder. The link between food and sex is a well established belief in many cultures, people with large appetites can be seen as having equally high sex drives while people with small appetites have little or no sex drive.

As he grows older, his little appetite is basically him curbing his growing sexual desire, which he sees as ugly, like the scar on his mouth. But the thing is Obanai wants love, he wants to love and be loved, to be intimate with another person, but he feels he doesn't deserve it, after all he's filthy, shameful and probably a predator just like the snake demon. So he starves himself, suffering in silence with the belief that he was disgusting, that no one would ever love him, that he was destined to and deserved to be alone.

Then he met Mitsuri.

In Conclusion, Obanai is way more complex than the KnY fandom gives him credit for. This is a man that went through immense suffering, and it's really sad to see people hate on him because he isn't 'nice'.

Well, that's just how life is. Trauma doesn't exactly make nice people. We can't all be like Giyuu or Tanjiro(bestest boy ❤), a lot of us are like Obanai, Sanemi, and even Shinobu, a lot of us are angry, and why shouldn't we be?

...

*Phew, ok so this one has been in the drafts for a while because I was scared to post such a dark subject matter and also I needed to be really sure I wasn't just talking out of my ass but after rereading his backstory and analyzing aspects of his character, I'm more confident about this.

[auras-moonstone]

hii i love your work sm! do you think you do back to december by taylor swift ethan x reader?

back to december — ethan landry

word count: 1,876

pairing: ethan landry x fem!reader

summary: after insecurities got the best of her, y/n breaks up with ethan. a few months later, she goes to his dorm to say sorry for that night.

warnings: angst, mentions of toxic relationship, insecurities.

Y/N KNEW SHE HAD PROBABLY MADE THE BIGGEST MISTAKE OF HER LIFE BY BREAKING UP WITH ETHAN, but at the same time she knew it was probably the best thing for him. The ghost of her past relationship never quite stopped haunting her—do the wounds of a toxic relationship ever fully heal? Y/N was starting to believe they did, until she bumped into him, and the fears crept back into her mind after that.

Do you really think he loves you?

He only wants you for your looks, but he’ll eventually get tired of you, like I did, because you have nothing else to offer.

Smart boys like Ethan Landry end up with equally-smart girls, Y/N. You’re just a good fuck for him, a doll to have on his arm.

It’s not going to last, he’s going to break up with you. He’s too good for you, you know that, right?

Those were the words that he had said and Y/N couldn’t erase from her mind. Those were the words that led her to leave her only source of happiness, the only boy she had ever truly loved. Ethan was better off without her, he was too amazing and sweet to have to deal with her and her insecurities and demons.

But if it was for the best, why did it feel so wrong? She hadn’t been able to sleep ever since. She stayed up late and played the scene of her leaving the commodity of his arms.

The worst day after the break-up had been the one of his birthday. Many were the times she had opened his contact, her finger floating around the ‘call’ button, but she didn’t dare to do it. And then, she saw their friends’ Instagram stories and she broke down. They were throwing him a party, and Ethan looked so beautiful yet so sad, and she knew that was on her. It was wishful thinking, probably mindless dreaming, but she wondered if one of the birthday wishes involved her.

She missed him so much, the pain wouldn’t leave her chest. She missed watching him laugh from the passenger side when they made their way to college, she missed his long fingers wrapped around hers, his big brown eyes that were like magnets, and she really missed those lips she used to call home.

It had been three months since she left him standing in his living room, with a crestfallen expression and without letting him fight for their relationship. Y/N knew that if she had let him talk, she wouldn’t have been able to walk away, so she ran before that could happen.

A few weeks after that, she got into therapy, thing she should’ve done since she stepped out of her toxic relationship, and was finally able to see she had messed up. She should’ve never walked away without telling him everything first, she forgot the most important thing in a relationship is communication. She had let herself get scared by the ghost of her past and hurt a person that had done nothing but give her roses, and in exchanged she had left them there to die.

Y/N had decided it was time to swallow her pride, take her feet towards Ethan’s dorm and say sorry for that awful night. Not only for him, because that’s what he deserved, but also for her. Because there hadn’t been a day in which she hadn’t gone back to December, wishing she could go back in time and change it. She couldn’t do that, but she could still make things right.

So building up courage, she knocked on his door. Heart beating faster as she listened the sound of footsteps getting closer to her.

Ethan cursed when he heard the knock. Dragging his feet across the living room, he scolded Chad on his mind. His roommate had the habit of forgetting his key and it really annoyed Ethan. Though when he swung the door open, he froze in his place as he came face to face with the girl who lived free-rent on his mind. Even if she had ran away after the three words left his mouth, he couldn’t help missing her.

That rainy december night, in that very same apartment, Ethan had told Y/N he loved her. It was something he had been dying to get off his chest. He hadn’t expect her to say it back—he would’ve understood if she wasn’t ready, but he definitely hadn’t expected her to walk out of that door without uttering a word. He had given her his heart and she had dropped it, breaking it into a million pieces like shattered glass.

“Hi.” she broke the heavy silence.

“What are you doing here?” he asked in a cold voice. Ethan stood firmly on the door, furrowing his eyebrows.

“I wanted to talk to you.” she said softly, and then, disguising the pain it caused her, though not doing a great job at it, she added, “I texted you, but you either changed your number or you blocked me.”

Guiltiness filled his chest, but then he shook it off—she left him, not the other way around. He shouldn’t feel guilty. Of course he blocked her, and then deleted her number to avoid giving into the need to call her and beg for an explanation. “Um, yeah. Look, if it’s about that night, it’s okay. I’m over it, we don’t need to talk about it. Let’s just move on, on our own way.”

I’m over it… those words were like a slap to her face. Did he really move on? Had the love he felt for her turn into ashes? Fighting the urge to cry, she pleaded, “I can’t move on if I don’t explain what happened. I understand if you don’t want to see me right now, I can wait. I just… I really need to tell you what was going on in my mind. I still live in the same apartment, so, if you decide you want to hear my version… you know where to find me. No pressure.” she gave him a tiny smile and turned around, ready to walk away.

Ethan heard the sound of his own voice say “Wait.”, making her turn around with hopeful eyes, and Ethan just gave in. Her eyes were still his greatest weakness, just as his eyes were hers. “Come in.”

The two ex-lovers sat awkwardly on the very same couch they had been laying on that night. "So, how's life? How's your family? Haven't seen them in a while." she said, meaning to clear the mood.

"Good, we are good. Busier than ever. Did you come from work?" his tone was a polite one, but it didn't hold the softness Y/N had been accustomed to. It was very clear that his guard was up, and Y/N knew exactly why—he hadn't moved on like he tried to make her believe a couple of minutes ago, he was still hurt and confused. The last time he saw her still burned in the back of his mind, and that's why she needed to explain everything.

"Yeah." she answered before sighing. "I know this is uncomfortable for you, so I should just get it off the desk. I'm sorry, Eth. I'm sorry for that night. I'm sorry I didn't come sooner, I'm sorry I ever left."

The walls broke down after the situation was addressed, and Ethan finally showed how he really felt—his eyes got glossy and he looked her in the eyes, the desperation painted on his face. "Why did you do it? I told you I loved you for the first time, and you just left me. I don't understand. Did I scare you? Was it too soon for you? I'm sorry if I overwhelmed you, I just wished you would've talked to me instead of disappearing."

"God, no. Stop. Why would you apologize? You did nothing wrong." she assured him, resting her hand on top of his. "It wasn't too soon, and I didn't leave because I didn't love you. I did. I've known it since the fall."

"Fall? But we started dating during the fall." he said confused. Y/N blushed and shrugged—yes, she had fallen in love with him quickly and hard, but it was inevitable. Ethan was the most amazing guy she'd ever known. "If you'd known it since then, what happened? Why didn't you say it back?"

"That morning I bumped into my ex." Y/N confessed.

Ethan furrowed his eyes and his jaw clenched. Nothing good could've come out of that encounter. He remember the way she sobbed on his chest as he held her in his arms that September night; how, in between hiccups, she told him the manipulation and abuse her ex had put her through. And now, everything clicked: why Y/N had looked so shaken up when they met that day, why she looked so off. "What did that asshole say?"

Y/N repeated every exact word. Words that had worked as salt on a wound that had never quite closed. "I really thought I had moved on from all that hurt, but it took just a few words from him to tear all my confidence and progress down. After I broke up with you, my mom sent my this therapist's number... and now I’m finally okay."

Ethan was never a violent person, but now, he wanted nothing more than to find that piece of shit and cut his tongue so he can never speak like that to someone again, especially not to his girl. "I'm so sorry, Y/N. I should've asked you what was wrong."

"You did, Eth. And I brushed you off." she smiled weakly. "I should have told you. I was just so scared, and I really believed he was right. I'm so sorry, Eth. I'm sorry for hurting you."

"It's okay. I understand now. You didn't deserve to go through the hell that asshole put you in. I'm glad you got help and moved on from that."

"Me too. I just... I just wish it hadn't been at the expense of your feelings." her voice got weak, and Ethan didn't hesitate to wrap his arms around her.

"I know, but you are okay now, and you came here to explain everything." he assured her, pressing her close to his chest. "I missed you."

"I missed you too, you have no idea. I have been replaying that moment since December, I wish I could change what happened."

"Stop punishing yourself, love. It's done, it's in the past. You are here now, we are here now. That is all that matters."

"I love you, Ethan. I loved you then, and I still love you now. And... I get if you aren't ready for this but I want to try again. I swear I'll love you right, just like you deserve."

"I've been dreaming of this moment for months, love." he said softly and sweetly, eyes shining like fireworks. "Yes, I want to try again. I love you."

"Really?"

"Yes, really" he said, leaning down to let their lips connect. And as always, they were like two pieces that belonged together, two pieces that should've never been apart. "I loved you then, and I still love you now."

[nogenderbee]

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ 𝕊𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕖 𝕚𝕟 𝕤𝕝𝕖𝕖𝕡 ₊˚ˑ༄

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ anon request: Could I request the demon brothers with a lover who says strange things in their sleep? Like, they're just napping and all of a sudden, they say "potato fairy".

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Yeah! Absolutely!

I'm sorry some are really short but hopefully it's at least not forced so I still hope you'll like it!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ fluff, TW: slight mentions of guts in Asmo's part (just skip the dialogue)

✧ Lucifer is probably one of the rare demons who doesn't make big deal out of your habit

✧ it's just like snoring but... talking. And it just happens to be a bit stupid. He's seen worse things

✧ he'll move you to some private space when you fall asleep in public so you can rest there, without worrying layer about anyone hearing your mumbles

✧ he's usually not even paying attention to what you're saying in your sleep and just gets lost in his work

✧ even if he hears what you're saying, he's not gonna tease you about it, unless you really want to hear about things you've said

"It wasn't really anything out of the ordinary. Again, talking and flying fruits. I didn't listen to your descriptions. Sorry dear, but I had work to finish."

✧ overally, it's like he doesn't even notice that trait of yours

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

✧ you scared the living out of Mammon the first time you did that

✧ he didn't knew you talk in your sleep in the first place so imagine fear on his face when you didn't answered simple questions

"MC, what do you mean...?"

"flying piggies..."

"WHERE-?!"

✧ literally believes you every time for some reason...

✧ don't you dare spooking him with ghosts or so because he'll end up clinging onto your pretending to just be "warming you up because you were shaking" ignoring the fact it's him who's shaking

✧ you'd think it'd get better with time, and yes it does a bit?

✧ when he's in front of someone and you start talking stupid things, he'll just explain how it's your habit, but he'll still have quick and sly look around his surroundings just in case...

✧ you're making this man lovkey paranoid a bit, especially if he's after horror movie... then it's even worse!

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✧ Levi sometimes doesn't even realize you've felt asleep to be honest

✧ he's sometimes so lost in his game or anime, he responds automatically without thinking about it

✧ it's just a habit when he's too focused on his things to just get rid of somebody

✧ it's honestly even funnier when he realizes what you two are talking about and stops everything he's doing to have a lag

"We can conquer the marshmallow kingdom later."

"But teddy bears..."

"Teddybears can wai- hold on... What...?"

✧ he's not letting anyone else hear you to save you the emberassment, so any time you fall asleep in public, he'll try to take you to his or your room, or anywhere private so you can rest

✧ he mostly doesn't even remember stories you've told him unless they really broke his mind so it's rare when you get to hear about things you've said in your sleep

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

✧ Satan simply finds it funny

✧ people who talk in their sleep, sometimes tend to respond and he'll use it to have laugh of the year

"bugs with crowns..."

"Oh really? Why do they have crowns, MC?"

"They beated up Lucifer, then Diavolo..."

✧ the stories you've come up with in your sleep are truly worth writing down and you bet he does just that and reads them to you once you're awake

✧ he's not trying to be mean, he simply can't resist making you a bit pouty and blushy with your habit

✧ though he'll skip this part when others are around and won't mess with you, that's for his ears and eyes only~

✧ weirdly, you fell asleep around him more often after he've discovered your habit

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

@miya-akane - come get your cat lover!

✧ Asmo, similar to Satan, likes to have a chuckle thanks to your little habit

✧ though he's not as mean about it and has more casual conversation, eventually chuckling more from cuteness of your words rather than the fact he finds it funny

✧ sometimes tho, he may get dramatic with it

✧ try to say something stupid about self-care and he'll have an argument with your sleepy self

"I put jellyfish jam on my face and now I'm dazzling..~"

"You- YOU PUT JELLYFISH GUTS ON YOUR FACE?! Oh no, no! Listen closely, MC, you can't..."

✧ when you wake up, he doesn't let you go untill you two have your skin-care night/morning

✧ he won't be afraid to let you nap in public, after all your mumbling is cute!

✧ speaking of which, he doesn't mind telling others he's close to about what you said last night but he'll stop if you feel uncomfortable with that

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

@vodka-glrl - come get your pretty princess~

✧ Beel is another rare demon who doesn't make big deal out of it!

✧ he talks in his sleep too, and so does Belphie. He began ignoring sleep talking for quite a while now

✧ don't ask him what you've said because poor boy doesn't even remember

✧ he won't really touch or move you when you're asleep but he might sit down next to you and be like your little body guard

✧ if you ask him to tho, he'll move you to more private place when he catches you asleep somewhere public, he wants to make sure you're comfortable after all!

✧ but if you don't mind, he'll just let you rest like you are

"and then... bathtub elve came out..."

"Do they-"

"Oh yeah, they talk in their sleep. Anyway, are we going to that restaurant or not?"

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✧ Belphie also talks in his sleep and believe me, it's sometimes even stupider than things you're saying

✧ like, if you two actually talk with each other in your sleep, stupidest and most creative stories happen

✧ ask someone Beel to record it for you and you'll have a good laugh

"bee's need our help..."

"they can burn on candy sun..."

"but lolipops will melt too..."

"just spill it on Lucifer... heh..~"

✧ even if Lucifer overhears any of your stories, he can't do anything because you're just talking in your sleep and not insulting him consciously or are you

✧ when he sees you sleeping in public, he just joins you

✧ even if you tell him to move you somewhere private, it "slips his mind as he's too tired" and you end up waking up in the same place but with Belphie next to you

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

@miya-akane - come get your sleepyhead!

[jubileemon]

A Serpent Allowed Into Heaven

It was a snake that first tempted Eve. Fittingly, it's a snake that is the first sinner in hell to be redeemed. Sir Pentious was only supposed to be a one-off villain, but Vivienne Medrano brought him back as the second guest in the series. Keeping with sins being turned around into virtues, Sir Pentious converts fluently from a harmless villain who made an impact for the whole exorcism.

His freedom seems based on no Overlord considering him to be a soul worthy of collecting, and was only taken in by the Vees for a one-off job to spy on the Hotel because he’s a desperate nobody with no direct ties to them that Charlie would easily take pity on. Indeed she does, even after he’s outed as a spy for the Vees and was willing to give him a second chance for real redemption.

His chaos and paranoia around the hotel during his first week leads to Vaggie and Charlie taking action in two pivotal ways:

Firstly, Vaggie confiscated Pentious' weapons and puts Alastor in possession of his Egg Boiz. While accompanying Alastor for the day, one of his eggs Frank accidentally ends up following him into a meeting with his fellow Overlords. Frank was so unnoticeable that he’s used by Alastor to spy on Carmilla, allowing Alastor to learn that she knows how angels can be killed which is a valuable piece of information that eventually leads to the hotel fighting back against the Exorcists six months later. As another insult to Vox for sending Pentious to the hotel in the first place, because Pentious doesn't believe Frank when he blabs about it when recounting his day. According to him, “they say insane shit all the time!”

That knowledge remains hidden, until there's only a month left until the Exorcists return and Alastor uses Charlie’s desperation to strike a deal with her in exchange for the secret that was the very thing he was trying to prevent.

Secondly, Charlie decides to initiate a trust exercise in response to Pentious' behavior. This leads to a chaotic exercise where the group is forced to fight together in a turf war. Knowing Sir Pentious wouldn't stand a chance, Angel Dust chose to rescue him, marking their first act of camaraderie and the group starting to become friends.

After Mimzy caused loan sharks to attack the hotel, Sir Pentious rescued Niffty from the carnage, instantly proving Lucifer wrong about sinners. However, this goes unnoticed because Lucifer and Charlie are too busy arguing. Interestingly, the choice of character Sir Pentious protects is Niffty, Adam's future executioner.

Lastly, during the battle against the Exorcists, Sir Pentious makes a selfless charge on Adam in his death machine. Since Sir Pentious is just a nameless soldier to Adam that he has no personal vendetta with. In "Welcome To Heaven", his antics kept him out of focus the whole court assessment, but he forgoes beating him down like Alastor and Charlie and instantly vaporises him on sight. This act not only sets off Charlie's demon form and the ensuing scuffle that allows Lucifer to intervene, but leads Sir Pentious to be ascended to Heaven for his sacrifice as undisputed proof to Sera that sinners can be redeemed.

Having cleared his conscience, humbled himself, and sacrificed himself for his friends, Sir Pentious is the first sinner to be admitted into Heaven. This is not only significant because Charlie's plan actually worked, but it is also important that a serpentine being is the first to escape Hell.

According to the story of Original Sin, Eve was first tempted to eat the forbidden fruit by a serpent. After Adam and Eve's betrayal is discovered by God, the serpent is also punished for being the instigator and is forced to crawl on its belly for its whole life. Considering that the serpent initiated humanity's fall from grace, Sir Pentious's acceptance into Heaven makes an even bigger point that any sinner can be redeemed.

[gffa]

You start Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint with an intriguing concept. A webnovel about “Three Ways To Survive in the Apocalypse” that this shy nerd has been reading for 10 years and is the only one who has been reading it, is ending, and he’s kind of sad about it, because he’s loved it for so long, he’s tried recommending it others, but got shut down because nobody believed he wasn’t the author trying to promote himself, so he just gave up, he doesn’t really have goals in life, he doesn’t interact well with others, he’s socially awkward and quiet, he defines himself as having a “reader’s life”, someone who just observes the story, but then suddenly THE EVENTS OF THE NOVEL ARE REAL. The apocalypse is happening around him and everyone is freaking the fuck out and he is as well, like, what in the actual fuck, but he knows a few things to expect because he’s read all 3k+ chapters of the webnovel and you can see him start to piece things together when monsters are suddenly attacking and they’re being forced to kill each other and he manages to find a way out, with as little bloodshed as he can. You understand the shape of this 550 chapter story, you understand that it’s like ten novels worth of story, you understand that Kim Dokja is going to slowly become the protagonist of the story, even though the story already has a protagonist and you can feel his presence looming over the story and terrifying DKJ, they can’t meet yet, he’d be crushed by this guy, it’d ruin everything. But WHOOPS he does meet the protagonist of the story and gets hung out by his neck over the crumbling edge of a broken bridge and he has to scramble to desperately lie to the protagonist because he can’t reveal how he got his knowledge of the events that are unfolding around him or even let on that he’s aware of the protagonist’s story. He gets himself thrown off the side into a sea-monster’s mouth and told to survive if he really is worth saving and you understand the shape of this story.  You see the early events that will shape Kim Dokja into becoming his own protagonist, getting him slowly out of the “reader” role.  He uses his knowledge of the apocalypse to obtain the special magical items he needs and avoid pitfalls that would have hindered him later and makes deals that will benefit him the entire way.  You see the shape of the story unfolding. You go through a brief timeskip, he’s gotten stronger, he’s used his knowledge to become faster and more powerful than most around him.  You see him join a group of other survivors and have to go fight a bunch of monsters, including a major Tier 7 Demon, which he defeats with forewarned knowledge, and he is steadily growing UNHINGED while he does it, like this boy isn’t so much off his rocker as he is using it for kindling, he just casually slices up the Tier 7 Demon, but, h-hey, aren’t you going to finish it off? everyone else asks.

All right, you understand he’s kind of a little more unhinged a little sooner than you were expecting, but it’s not that--

..........uh oh, you think. Turns out, because Demons are subordinates of Demon Kings, if you kill one, you get cursed to witness something truly horrible, and, sure enough, cowardly rich business man type steps in to steal the kill and oh shit okay--

And you realize, ohhhhhh, oh shit KDJ probably did this on purpose, knowing business man would steal the kill, because the start of this sub-arc had him saying that he wasn’t as nice as he appeared and he wasn’t just here to save people, and also you realize he maybe wanted to punish that guy for the shit he’d pulled on someone KDJ liked and-- And then, after all this shit goes down, KDJ is just like:

And you realize he’s already there, he’s already this unhinged and dangerous and scheming, he still thinks of himself as a “reader”, but he’s weaponizing that position and you have NO idea what kind of batshit antics he’s going to pull out of his ass next and-- And you realize YOU ARE ONLY ON CHAPTER 22 AND YOU WONDER WHAT IN THE UNHOLY FUCK IS GOING TO BE IN THE OTHER 530 CHAPTERS IF WE’RE ALREADY THIS FAR ALONG. Anyway, please read Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint with me, it’s completely out of its mind in the best way, and you can start with the webtoon, it’s super pretty and the translation is very smooth, and come yell, “WHAT THE FUCK??” at every new batshit event this story is throwing at me.

[maboroshi-if]

SNote: Maboroshi is intended for 16+ audiences. Strong Violence and Swearing/Cursing will be in the IF. The warning list will be updated as we continue. Intro Post is still being pulled together, so if there are any questions, let me know!

Maboroshi is an Interactive Fiction Game based in the world of Naruto, however, all events within the story span during the end of the First Shinobi War and the beginning of the Second Shinobi War.

Long ago, many years before you were born, the countries of the world were entrenched in warfare for land. Mighty warlords and noblemen wished to expand their territory; however, blood would need to be given in exchange; Unfortunately, for the people of the land, the blood given as payment was not theirs. Instead, shinobi across the lands sacrificed their lives to fulfill the greedy lord’s wishes. Villages would soon be pillaged, children and women would perish from famine, and demonic creatures would rise from the darkest parts of the world to roam the earth. This would later be known as the Warring States Era. 

Twenty years later, all the infighting, battles, and wars would just...cease to exist. No one knows what caused the wars to stop; many believe that an inner deal was made between Daimyo across the land, while others believe something much more sinister is at play. Regardless, the ninja world seems to have finally settled into peace and harmony.

It has been some years since the Warring States Era ended. Villages across the land have been ushered into peace, and the village of Kirigakure is one of them. 

Having just graduated from Ninja Academy, you're now a Genin placed into your forever squad. Focused on growing stronger and building a name for yourself. You set your sights on becoming the strongest nin in your village, and who knows? Maybe you'll even become Mizukage someday. Before that happens, you'll need to pass the Chunin exam, a test that is said to have painted the very soil underneath your feet red.

Exam preparations are put on hold when rumors of war begin spilling across the peninsula. 

Tonari Yuma, a missing-nin from your village once accused of kidnapping and killing five children from all across the Land of Water, has resurfaced as a chieftain in the small village of Kirostache. 

Proclaiming himself to be the rightful Mizukage of the Land of Water. He wages war against Kirigakure and denounces your village as a town full of traitors united in dethroning the Daimyo by the usage of dark means. Your father calls it foolish. There is no way that the Water Daimyo would believe such a basis. 

Or so he hopes.

A conspiracy is brewing in the Land of Water, and you will soon learn that life is not as idealistic as you believed.

Fully customize your character!

I MEAN IT; fully customize them! Choose your 

Hairstyle and type

Hair color is locked to red, but you have the option to pick different shades of red, 

Skin color, 

How you appear to others, 

Eye color, 

Ninja outfit + civilian outfit

Name + Nickname

Gender, 

Genital choice + Body Shape will come in Part 2

Pronouns

Height

Weapon (you can’t use your chakra ALL the time)

Birth Season

Backgrounds are locked based on your chosen clan

More to come soon...

Choose one of three clans to be your paternal lineage

Tsuchigumo: Become Spidewo-(man)! or not. 

Yuki: Possess the Ice Release Kekkai Genkai

Shirogane: Puppet Masters who originate from the land of Wind

Become a master of either Taijutsu, Genjutsu, or Ninjutsu

Or master a combination of all three!

Romance 8 ROs

Three are available for Part 1

Four ROs will be introduced in Part II. The last is a secret RO

Pass the chunin exam!

Failing means your death, so make sure you are ready when you take it.

Complete a bunch of D-rank and C-rank missions; you're only a genin, after all.

Learn forbidden jutsu or stick to a path of purity (aka, do nothing fun!)

Meet some fan favorites as they were when they were alive!

Determine your fighting style: are you more brutal, or do you have finesse?

Or maybe you don't want to fight at all!

Become a Jinchuurki? It could happen 

Choose to become a medic-nin if it suits your fancy!

Izuna Uchiha (M): The Rival A boy shrouded in mystery, he is a constant reminder of your first C-rank mission and what went so terribly wrong. You’ve tried your hardest to make peace with him. But it feels impossible. He's a stranger in your tight-knit village and has found himself to be treated like an outsider. You would feel bad for him; if he weren’t so smug. Replacing one of your squadmates, he has shown an aptitude for warfare and finesse that makes you weary. How can a child who has grown up in a world of peace be so ruthless? Get to know him and you’ll unfortunately find out. 

 Izuna possesses an aptitude for Taijutsu, Ninjutsu, and Genjutsu, making himself a triforce. And it makes no sense to you, considering that you hardly see the boy practice! It will be interesting to see how he grows. If he makes it.

Chihiro Inoue (F): The Dreamer

One of your squadmates, she is a loud and outspoken girl with large dreams and big ambitions. Working to become the first female Mizukage, Chihiro often displays headstrongness and an overzealousness that can often get her into trouble. Luckily for her, fortune always seems to work in her favor.

Chihiro possess an extremely high aptitude for Taijutsu and Ninjutsu, calling herself a self-proclaimed weapons master. She gives as good as she gets, and has no problem getting a little dirty.

Tanui Hozuki (M or F): The Jokester

A jokester, they seem to have no desire to become a ninja; but with all that chakra they possess, they are given no choice. Apart of Squad Six, it makes no sense why you seem to run into them all the time, but you find their presence comforting.

You know nothing about their fighting style; only hearing whispers of the ‘wicked’ things that they have summoned from the adults in your village. 

Shinichi Hoshigaki (M): The Lost One/Secret RO

The second member of your original squad. Shinichi is the complete opposite of what you would expect from the Hoshigaki clan. Known for being fierce and aggressive, Shinichi is the exact opposite of the savage reputation that precedes them. Soft and friendly, Shinichi is a gentle soul and abhors the act of violence. But when push comes to shove, he will protect himself and his friends with the vengeance of Asura. Unfortunately, that wasn’t enough to save him. Or was it?

Shinichi possesses a high aptitude for the sword. Almost on par, if not matching Chihiro in strength and brutality. He favors the Water Release Jutsu; typical for someone coming from his clan. 

Akane Uzumaki: your mother is revered as the five-tailed beast's holy priestess/vessel. Once labeled as one of the strongest Kunoichi in your village, she has settled into domestic life and has left behind a life of adventure. She seems content; however, you catch the sorrowful expression on her face whenever she looks at you.

[[Chooseable Name]]: Your father is a distant cousin of the Water Daimyo, considered a war hero for his actions in a rebellion that lasted almost ten years. He has been given the highest spot in the village as "supporting Kage," only second to the Mizukage himself. 

Hanabi Sugawara: Your sensei; is not what you had expected in a teacher. Seeming to coddle your small team of three more than teaching you. You feel that she is hiding something, something that could put everyone in danger.

DEMO (Coming soon) || RO Appearances || Discord (Maybe)

[nikosamaki]

Hi guyssssss, I'm BACK 💃

Sorry I had something to deal and it took a lot timmmmme 😔😅

I promise I'll post a lot stories and HELLO to new followers ☺️❤️ Thank for following 🥰

When you touch their horns:

Lucifer:

He's shocked -he doesn't show it, of course-, but looks at you with narrowed eyes which tells you: "You're too young for death, Idiot " (Don't worry, he'll not kill you AT LEAST🤐 -because of Dia- ). In spite of you're freaking scared and near to ruin your pants, you figure out that how soft is his horns areeeeeee!!! They're as soft as silk and not to mention that you thought demon's horns must have been REALLY rough, but SOFT... No fucking way!!

As you're in your thoughts, he's blushing -I should've said it sooner, demon's horns are their most SENSITIVE part of body (Naughty 😏... Except that BEAUTIFUL part :)- and he thinks he's doing well in hiding it -but he SUCKS 😔😂.

When you saw his face -FINALLY-, his eyes are just like wolf's eyes and JUST wants to do it (you know I'm still a bit shy about saying it, so...😅), wants to make you say his name to stop, wants to hear your moans and so many things... -Your fault, because you badly turned him ON.

Mammon:

His reaction cannot be worse than Levi (I guess you've figured it out), but his face is as red as tomatoe due to blushing! (Sooooo CUTE 🥺). Though he tries really hard to control himself -not doing or saying anything silly-, he suddenly took a step closer to you -maybe just wanted to give you a good view of his horns-; and unfortunately -or FORTUNATELY!- something catches his heel and falls down on you!!! (How ROMANTIC!). In his mind, he's fucked, but doesn't know that you're dying inside -you're red, mess, REALLY confused and of course you have lots of SWEET thoughts in your mind that could happen any minute NOW.

When you look at him, he's not the same Mammon that he used to be; is he kinda cursed? -His eyes are narrowed and his face is serious. When he speaks, he's too much Daddy!! (I didn't know how to explain it 😂). :"You're MINE, ONLY mine... You didn't forget it, right? 'Cause I get the feelin' that I should make myself clear THIS time." You're amazed and scared, because you don't know what the Hell is happening?! Do you deserve it? What does it look like to be punished by Mammon?? Soon you'll find your answer, in BED!!

Levi:

Already D.E.A.D!! In shock! -he had a convulsion 😔, Poor. He canNot analyze what's the point? Why is he bowing and letting you TOUCH his HORNS?!?!? Error 404...

2 hours later...

He keeps his eyes closed because he can't handle the feeling he gets -you're FUCKING close to him- Again errors...

He tries to get calm by taking deep breath. When he becomes calm -you wish that he never gets calm-; his inner beast woke up and now you're in DANGER (Never underestimate calm Levi... NEVER!!) . You cann’t believe what you're seeing, Levi's cool?? He's not freaking out? W-who's that guy???

He's a hungry beast that wants food, wants to test every part of your body... Wants to eat you up!

You want to run, but you can’t; his tail tightly held your feet which means that there is NO way back.

Satan:

He's behavior is like Luci but has more control on it! -to be honest, he has tried this situation hundred times as if it happens someday???? (Now it's getting WEIRD 🫥). When you ask him to let you touch his horns, he takes a sit and lead you on his lengths -he gives you a good view of his horns. Well you didn't know that it's a trap 😏. Like you don't even know HIM :/ - ;When he led you on his lengths, you figured it out very suspicious but somehow you ignored your warning though and sat (A stupid move🤦). While you were touching his horns -he's blushed-; he pulled you on bed ! (Very CLEAN move😔👌). NOW you've understood that you're FUCKED UP. He grins at you and says:" Kitty, let's play GAME , but not the usual one... The SPECIAL one."

Asmo:

No need to ask!! He just grabs your hand and put it on his head -means “Go ahead, TOUCH MY HORNS”. Since you’re naive (Too MUCH naive); again you’re tricked –just like Satan’s situation- and started to rub his horns. They’re very soft!! –even softer than the rest of the brothers 😲. He doesn’t let you to think or do anything else, in the blank of an eye, you’re tied up on his BED! (You canNOT guess how that happened… You better not to try to figure it out; it’s for your own sake😊).

Erotic eyes which shows he’s turned on badly, a smirk on his face that want to do VERY very bad and UNHOLY things with you… Bent down and said in your ears:“ Now I got YOU… Just YOU & ME🤭❤️” (You’ve got the right to scare😶… He’s the avatar of LUSTttttt, so don’t think that you can handle any shitty things that’s going to happen!)

Beel:

Doesn’t care :/ (That’s not new… because we’re talking about BEEL). He changed into his demon form and bent that you can touch the horns. At least you’re a hundred percent sure that he WILL NOT do any BAD things –or maybe he’ll but you don’t know? Who knows??. Just when you touch his horns, his stomach starts groaning 😑 (Well, you’re LUCKY… Be optimist !). He asks you for food and you said you’ll give him some food. BUT, but when he said “FOOD” he didn’t mean chips or burgers or else; HE meant YOU!!! (You idiot, how can someone be that much silly?????). As the way he’s misunderstood your meaning -or you were the one who didn’t understand his question-, he grins and stand straight, Looks down on you and lick his lips :“ You look DELICIOUS 😋. I want to start from your lips”. Here’s when you find out the situation BAD (Mostly like you’re FUCKED). He bite your lips and lick them hard…

You want to set yourself free, but you’re very weak against him. There is no way BACK, accept your destiny that you’re going to BE FUCKED by Beel😅🤗.

Belphie:

Veryyyyyyyyyyy FUNNY question… NOPE😥. (No wonder that no one can imagine how you’ll be fuck by him :/ I CAN’T!!)

And of coursee.... Happy Valentine's Day 💘

[foolishlovers]

CHRISTMAS FIC RECS: Below you can find a quick list of all the Good Omens Christmas fics I’ve read this year so far.

I thought some of you might want to indulge in some cosy reading as well!

You can request more fic recs here.

O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree How Terrified Your Branches by Supergeek21 (1.2k, G)

As their first Christmas in their cottage approaches Aziraphale asks Crowley if he wants to get a proper Christmas tree. He's surprised to learn the demon already has one.

Christmas Angels by TawnyOwl95 (1.8k, T)

It’s starting to look a lot like Christmas in London and that means there are lots of angels about. Aziraphale does not handle this well.

A half-penny will do by penny_archer (2k, G)

It’s Christmas in Victorian England and Crowley is trying not-very-hard to hide the fact that he’s been giving pickpocketing lessons to the disenfranchised youth of London. Oh, and he has a cute gift for Aziraphale that’s totally not a big deal.

The Nice List by GaryOldman (2k, T)

When watching Christmas movies with Anathema, Crowley can't work out why no one else seems to believe in Santa when he's been receiving gifts for years.

A Christmas Miracle by Santillatron (3k, M)

Crowley gets irritated at couples kissing under a holly arch. One thing leads to another, and a sprig of mistletoe makes a timely appearance.

Well, it's bad luck not to, isn't it?

Taking the Cake by Caedmon (3K, T)

Aziraphale has noticed his handsome neighbor, but hasn't had an excuse (or the nerve) to talk to him. He gets his chance, though, when a bakery delivers a package to the wrong door a few days before Christmas and his neighbor comes knocking.

And All Was For An Apple by Lindewen (3k, T)

The second winter after the Apocalypse didn't happen, Crowley and Aziraphale are out for some sightseeing and Christmas shopping along the south coast, simply because they can. But Crowley also has a secret errand to run--and, as it turns out, he can't always balance very well in his human form...

All The Lights That Light The Way by FeralTuxedo (8k, E)

On the run from a disastrous work Christmas party, Anthony Crowley encounters an angel singing in the streets of Soho.

Of Love and Lattes by edna_blackadder (9k, G)

A.J. Crowley, part time barista at Madame Tracy's Coffee Shoppe, only wants one thing for Christmas, which is to get through the joyous season without his head exploding. His coworkers are already not helping, and then the proprietor of the bookshop across the street develops an unfortunate addiction to seasonal espresso beverages.

Secret Santa by AppleSeeds (18k, T)

On the advice of his therapist, Crowley signs up to be a 'Secret Santa', an anonymous gift-giver for a community initiative aiming to bring some Christmas joy into the lives of people going through a hard time. He's partnered with Aziraphale, a librarian who has lost his home and bookshop in a fire. Through the power of Christmas Magic, Crowley ends up meeting Aziraphale in person when he takes his nephew to the library and is immediately smitten. He becomes determined to use his expertise and influence to give Aziraphale the only Christmas present that could really make a difference, but are some things too important to be kept secret?

muddle through somehow by curtaincall (27k, T)

Aziraphale Fell runs a successful food blog, Celestial Comestibles, where he shares mouthwatering recipes and heartwarming stories about his happy domestic life in a cottage with his husband and son. As promotion for his upcoming cookbook, his publishers run a contest: one lucky winner will get to spend Christmas with Aziraphale and his family.

What the publishers don't know is that the real Aziraphale Fell is a single city-dweller. And if he wants to keep up his happily married persona, he'll have to acquire a cottage, husband, and son before Christmas.

As it happens, his friend and neighbor Anthony Crowley has his nephew staying with him for the holidays. One fake marriage proposal later, and everything seems tickety-boo--as long as Aziraphale can keep from developing inconveniently real feelings for his pretend husband...

First Class (Hons) Christmas, University of Tadfield. by heloluv (41k, M)

Dr. A.Z. Fell is a renowned literature tutor at the prestigious University of Tadfield. December is upon the University, and Dr. Fell is leading the Christmas Charity Drive. He needs volunteers.

Dr. A.J. Crowley is a skilled plant ecologist who recently began his tenure at UoT. He can't stand Christmas, and nothing at all could ever possibly convince him to partake in "festivities". Until a certain literary expert catches his eye.

A Christmas and New Years fic, in which Aziraphale teaches Crowley how to enjoy the most wonderful time of the year.

bonus: The Christmas fic I wrote this year

The Anon Before Christmas by foolishlovers (58k, M)

When Crowley’s friend, blogging buddy and business partner Anathema announces her annual Secret Santa Exchange on Tumblr, she is very adamant Crowley should join this year.

The old-fashioned (but admittedly compassionate) man he gets assigned to send anonymous messages to every day until Christmas sounds awfully similar to the fussy bookseller that his friends adore, yet Crowley tries to avoid at all costs.

But surely his friends would have mentioned if Aziraphale had taken an interest in the Bad Omens fandom as well… right?

Or: An Enemies to Lovers Secret Santa Tumblr AU.

[bluginkgo]

Wtf am I doing ranting again, you may ask. I was gonna talk about absolute solver again... but then my brain said "Nah, more nuzi." And who am I to refute that argument?

Spoilers, duh

Yes, how fricking typical. A duo of an emotionally scarred emo girl and a retriever puppy boy that get together. But honestly, after being in the usual angst department shipping for a couple of years now, Nuzi is such a refresher. Not to mention, that despite Liam Vickers focusing his story mostly on lore (LORE THAT I CRAVE AND LOVE), he takes time to include little things like nuzi. Nuzi didn't have to happen, but I'm so glad it is pretty much canon. Makes the dark and unbearably scary moments for the duo... bearable. I could go on a whole tangent about these two, but I mostly want to take note of how N interacts with Uzi. (I might do a post later doing the opposite, analysis of Uzi interacting with N.)

To put it simply, N is soft. Wow, Ginkgo what a revelation! (That was sarcasm) I know thank you. But seriously. When he talks to Uzi, his voice softens. Especially taken notice in ep4 during the Falling... for you? scene. Perhaps I'm just dense, or maybe I wasn't paying enough attention when watching the first time, but when N pulled the "therapy session" I was fully expecting for him to chat to her about the murder spree. How fricking wrong I was. N took me by surprise and asked the question that was ACTUALLY bugging Uzi the entire time. Not the killing spree, not the issue with her solver going haywire, not the backstory of her mother. None of that! It was if she was lonely.

"No, don't look. I'm gross and eating people and stuff."

"Yeah, we'll figure that part out. But you know that's not what I mean."

After rewatching the Murder Drones like 20 something times, it still baffles me how he talks to her. Softer, more open, willing to admit he's also scared- despite being a fricking disassembly drone, a demon in the eyes of regular worker drones. I can see where that trust comes from.

Uzi's fought and killed N before. But instead of fighting again, she puts blame on humans that "supposedly" made him.

"Do you really think that the company won't dispose of you, once all the workers are dead?"

Of course, there's way more evidence on how Uzi's comments, mannerisms, and remarks gave N a reason to trust her. There's also something I took notice of. The difference between N's chat with V and Uzi.

In ep3, N is cornered. Uzi and him had a misunderstanding, and V is very hush hush about their past. He has no other place to turn except to V for answers.

"V, if you're hiding something. We can figure this out together!"

He's open, here. Trying to get answers from out of thin air. Now, don't get me wrong. I love V. V is, by far, my most favorite character in the show. I love her violence, sarcasm, and character growth. But because this was only ep3, she's also trying to do what she believes is for the best. And we see why she was very hush hush about their past. N himself said "Not dealing with this great to be immediately honest." When he first lays his eyes upon the experimentation absolute solver was doing in the mansion. In V's perspective, it's better for N to forget. Ignorance is bliss as they say.

You can even see that she's guilty in the following frame for what she was about to do- cut N off literally and figuratively. Of course, since then, V has come a long way. Going even as far as trusting Uzi with everything.

But here's the difference.

"Just avoid another whole spire. Baby steps, together?"

Maybe it's just the moment, maybe it's just simple animation choice. But they made him here uncertain. The same "we can do this together" line, following his attempt with V, is less bright and more uncertain. A question, instead of a statement. He was at least somewhat ready to be shot down again, but instead Uzi met him halfway and took his hand in this big mess. It's these somewhat little moments that build the trust between the two, and what makes Nuzi so wholesome. There's no secret past about them, no big overdramatized misunderstandings. Just two people- or robots- learning how to get through this big mess of the universe ending.

And not to mention that the "together" line comes back to bite on us. The teaser for ep7 and 8 have that line as the last thing we hear.

"...figure things out... together."

I'm probably repeating things people have already said... bite me. I love Nuzi and how they've developed throughout the season. I may be after Murder Drones mainly for lore, but damn me, Nuzi is a really great addition to the entire package.

[likecanyoujustnot]

Cardan’s letters pov

Part 5: vexation

A/n: I wrote this one last don’t know why. Oh well. I really struggled for ideas for it. I had to make sure cardan didn’t sleep on his back in the court of shadows scene lol.

Part 4. Part 6

Another bloody revel.

I was getting sick of them. Which was saying something since I used to count down the days till the next one.

But Jude had been here then.

I still hadn’t heard back from her, and the roach was refusing to give me any information about her, probably knowing I would do something irrational. Which I would.

“My king.”

Jude?

I turned to the voice.

“Taryn.”

She looked like she hadn’t betrayed me and her sister a month and a half ago. She looked innocent. But there was a tiredness to her, evident by the bags under her eyes and her pale skin. Her simple green dress doing nothing for her complexion.

There was no news of Madoc other than he was somewhere north with the court of teeth. This unnerved me. He was undoubtedly biding his time until he stuck. He always believed me to be a weak and incompetent king. And I would show him I was not.

“What do you want?” I snapped.

“I wished to know if you had heard from Jude.” Her hands where clasped in front of her.

I kept my face as blank and my posture as relaxed as I could. “Why would I? I exiled her, put a death penalty on her head, if she sets foot here she could die.” She could die, if a guard found her and decided to kill-now-ask-questions-later, I didn’t even want to think about it. But Taryn didn’t need to know about the loophole.

“I wasn’t sure if maybe she’d asked to be able to come back.”

“It’s Jude, she doesn’t ask permission, if she wanted to be here she would, and she would first go for the people, who have betrayed her.” I put an emphasis on people, hoping she would get the hint that Jude was just as upset with her as she was with me. Presumably.

I got the reaction I wanted from Taryn. She flinched. “I really didn’t mean it.”

“You didn’t mean to pretend to be my seneschal, and trick me into releasing my general from his oaths, effectively allowing him to declare war on me?”

“He made it sound like it was the right thing to do.” She looked at her feet.

“That’s what manipulation is. Now get out of my sight.” I didn’t have time for her self-pity stories.

How could she just stand there and look so much like Jude, but be so wholly different? I watched her retreating back, her shoulders tense.

I stared at the wine in my glass. Horrid thing.

There were footsteps up to the dias.

“Cardan.” A soft feminine voice said.

Nicasia. My former friend, my former arranged fiancée, my former lover. Before she’d ruined that. Today was a day for bringing up past demons.

“What.” I snapped, not even trying to be pleasant. I was only going to stay another few minutes before I went back to sulk over my disastrous marriage.

She looked beautiful. Dark hair swept up and held in place with pearled combs, the cut of her deep purple dress low and inviting. Once upon a time I would’ve invited her to my bed, but the princess was as interesting to me as a rock in that moment.

“You’ve been acting weird.”

I sighed. “I don’t need you to worry about me.”

“You’re my friend.”

I raised a brow at her. “Didn’t stop you from cheating on me.”

She at least had the decency to look ashamed. “That was a long time ago.”

“Yes, and I’ve finally come to terms with it, I was never enough for you Nicasia, no one will ever be, you will tire of who ever warms your bed and move on like they never existed.” I was married now, and Nicasia needed to understand nothing would ever come of pining over me again. “I no longer have to deal with your presence to avoid upsetting our parents, I will never marry you, no matter what your mother may want. And that is final.”

She looked hurt. “Is that it? You’re ending our friendship over mistakes I made years ago?”

“I’m ending our relationship for many things, what you did to Jude when you kidnapped her being one, allowing balekin to control her, starving her.” The way she looked as she was half dragged out of the water would haunt me till the end of my days. She’d been so pale, so thin. I threw up that night. Cried for seeing her like that. My strong fierce Jude. “Allying with the man who killed my family-”

“Those were my mother’s choices.” She protested.

“And you went along with them.” I shut her down.

“Is that it? Jude? You care that much for her you would cut me out of your life?”

“I’m not cutting you out, I’m merely suggesting you stay away from the high court when it is not absolutely necessary.” I stood.

“It is Jude.” She laughed. “Of course it is, I knew you liked her, we all did, you’d stare at her, bring her up in conversations that had nothing to do with her, you’re pathetic.”

I kept quiet. I could not deny it. I loved Jude more than anything. And i was glad to be rid of Nicasia, had been looking for a way for years. Now I had one.

“I hope she never comes back. Or she does just so she can kill you. You’d deserve it.” She storms away back to her entourage of kelpies and merfolk.

Good riddance.

She had been a good friend, cruel, but never to me. When we’d decided to take our relationship further, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

Until it wasn’t.

I’d written another yesterday.

To the High Queen of Elfhame

Above me is the same silvery moon that shines down on you. Looking at it makes me recall the glint of your blade pressed to my throat and other romantic moments.

I do not know what keeps you from returning to the High Court- whether it is a vexation with me, or whether, having spent time in the mortal world, you have come to believe a life free of the folk is better than one ruling over them.

In my most wretched hours I believe you will never come back.

Why would you, save for your ambition? You have always known exactly what I am and seen all my failings, all my weaknesses and scars. I flattered myself that at moments you had feelings for me other than contempt, but even were that true, they would make but a thin gruel beside the feast of your other, greater desires.

And yet my heart is buried with you in the strange soil of the mortal world, as it was drowned with you in the cold waters of the undersea.

It was yours before I could ever admit it, and yours it shall ever remain.

Cardan

It was the longest one that I had written, one that bared what was in my heart, and left things unsaid, for me to tell her if she ever did come back.

I took the crown of my head and studied it.

It was heavy, made of soft gold, it would be so easy to just, break it.

But I wouldn’t do that.

I kept it in my hand as I got up to leave the revel.

I was stopped by a young woman, thick dark hair that offset the slightest green tinge in her skin. I noticed her fingers had an extra joint. Strange, but not unheard of.

“My king.” She bowed.

“Can I help you?” I sneered at her.

“I was wondering if you may wish to join me tonight?”

I huffed. “Not interested, sorry.”

She looked crestfallen as I walked away.

I caught a flash of orange hair as I walked away.

Of course Locke would swoop in to “comfort” a woman at the same party his wife was at.

He made me sick.

I hoped someone cut his throat

I stared at the ceiling from where I layed in bed. Hands folded over my bare stomach, wishing, as I always did, that Jude was here. She would chastise me for being so pathetic, for longing so strongly for her.

56 days. 8 weeks. 5 letters.

And I hadn’t even gotten a “piss off Cardan, I’m not coming back”

It was silence.

As always during this time of night, even before her exile, my thoughts strayed to Jude.

To her smile and mouth, her soft hair, her curves and the way she tasted when I kissed her. The noises she did her best to muffle. How every time she looked at me I wanted to make the world disappear so it would just be the two of us and I could live out my fantasies.

Great. Now I was hot and uncomfortable. But I wouldn’t do anything about it.

This was my self-inflicted punishment, the misery.

I couldn’t sleep on my back.

The position was too vulnerable. Reminded me too much of the horrors I’d faced from my brother.

Maybe one day I would tell Jude.

Maybe.

If,

She,

Ever,

Came,

Back…

[xxsycamore]

👻🕸️🦇 IKEVAMP SUITORS IN A HORROR-MOVIE SETTING ! 🦇🕸️👻 (headcanons)

Happy Halloween! Yes, this includes all 17 suitors. I'm no expert on the genre but I thought this might be fun! Some of them die. I'm sorry. Warnings: everything that can appear in a horror movie really, including mentions of death, mass murder, blood, gore, torture, cults.

If you feel like reading something more goofy where everyone lives, try Pumpkin Carving Competition At Saint Germain’s Mansion or maybe even “Welcome to Saint Germain’s mansion, please have a fang-tastic night.” 

𝐍𝐀𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐍

The "okay guys, we need a plan" guy and welp, he has a sword, he is willing to walk in front, why not trust him? 👍🏻✨He's totally the one to hide being infected because come on, how are they gonna get out of there alive if the leader is down? Has a dramatic scene where he's fighting off the transformation in secret. Ends up being saved by someone and survives.

𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐎

Leonardo is the one you find along the journey, mistaking for an enemy at first as you get into his trap... when it actually turns out he's been there long before you, surviving all alone in this post-apocalyptic setting, adapted to it, prepared for every danger out there with gadgets he made himself! He might not stay alive until the end but plays a key role in the plot.

𝐌𝐎𝐙𝐀𝐑𝐓

He tried to warn them not to do anything stupid... He's now stuck suffering from the group's bad decision-making. He doesn't even know how he ended up there. Mozart is that one character that you're supposed to hate for being an asshole. At one point he falls in danger that specifically relates to a fear of his, and when everyone expects him to sacrifice another person to save himself, he does the opposite. He seemingly dies right there, breaking everyone's hearts, only to be revealed at the very end that he managed to survive!

𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐀𝐂 (credits for the idea goes to @scummy-writes guys she can write a whole fic of those I swear,, it's been such a pleasure listening to her)

Isaac needs to be saved five minutes into the movie... which writes him off as the weaker one from the get-go. This is going to be bad if the situation comes to "we gotta leave someone behind or we all die here!" - but hey, DON'T LEAVE ISAAC BEHIND IF YOU WANT TO SURVIVE! Because the next thing you know everyone falls into this deadly trap that only HE can figure the way out of, using his big brain skills. His worth has been proved! Everyone loves him now! And all he wants is to go back home and never go on a trip with these guys ever again!

𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐑

I'm sorry, Arthur dies first. The others are trying to warn him about the cases of victims who've been sucked to a dry husk and he's like "later virgins, i have a date tonight". Yeah his date totally killed him. Bonus points if we're dealing with vampires here, because irony. It's fine though, he's still important to the plot after he dies, because we find his writing diary and he left important cues there while trying to escape from his killer. Maybe he even came close to the truth! He knows his mystery genre stuff after all...

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐔𝐒

Theo just does NOT believe paranormal exists, not even after witnessing it with his own two eyes. Worst part, he tries to convince the others too. "My broer IS NOT POSSESSED!" Uhuh! Okay Theo! You just saw cryptic images appear on his canvas without him even moving the brush but I guess he was just trying a new painting technique!! And he levitates too and his eyes are tar black but what do we know... Once Theo realizes the situation, he's out there swinging a bat (sexy), ready to beat the shit out of whatever caused this, and he's good at it. Don't worry about him dying.

𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓

Poor baby Vincent is every sinister ghost/demon's number-one target. Vincent listens to the voices. He sympathizes with them! He makes friends with them! Maybe he doesn't even need to be possessed at this rate... Same story with joining a cult, honestly. When their bad intentions begin to come to light, Vincent puts up a fight and is suddenly not as easy to control as they thought.

𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐍

Jean might take some bullets from our main cast while someone shouts "IT WON'T DIE!" but it's fine he's used to it... he's been dead for quite some time and not just inside. Jean is probably the result of some sick experiment about making an immortal army of warriors and. It's sad. But it's fine because he joins the protagonists now! He's friend! I hope they apologize for calling him a monster. No, he doesn't die by the end of the movie, but at what cost?

𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈

"Oh, it was just Dazai." Of course it was, someone has to be that one idiot that scares the shit out of everyone until he becomes the boy who cried wolf. Which usually ends with death! I'm sorry Dazai. At least they can take him seriously now and pay some more attention to the strange things he kept on saying.

𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐄

A very old-school villain! Bonus points if the setting is modern yet he still has a villain's lair and all that. There's something beautiful and tragic about him and he probably dramatically lets himself be defeated even if he had a chance to escape. Everyone will remember him. Mostly for the mental and physical torture, but still.

𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐓𝐄

"But we have one hour left until the curse kills us all, how are we gonna get there on time?!" *sounds of safari jeep pulling over* "Someone ordered a ride?" - yeah. Comte is here to save the day with the power of money friendship. And not just that! Who is the one who suddenly remembers a family heirloom that is as old as time and suspiciously shaped exactly like the key they're searching for? I also want him to lose an eye or a limb for some reason... just for a little touch of gore maybe?

𝐒𝐄𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐀𝐍

Gods, Sebastian is the only prepared one, bless him for that. He's read all about that urban legend while everyone's been busy denying its existence. He is not scared at all, too... you might wonder if he's just geeking out during all of this bloody mess or something. He's so important, please don't let him die please don't let him die... he died.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐒

The villain's aide that infiltrates the protagonists' group. By the time his betrayal scene happens and he nearly kills three members of the group with a chainsaw, we get a glimpse of his trauma and that's the key to sucessfully talking him out of doing it, eventually disarming him and catching him. He manages to escape and maybe later returns as an ally! Yay!

𝐅𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐓

Gods he's scary. I'm not watching this. Of course he's the killer, what did you expect? Has a tragic backstory of being used by an even more fucked-up killer in the past to do the dirty work for - and kept doing it even after getting rid of them himself, because that's the only thing he knows how to do. You can't fix him.

𝐕𝐋𝐀𝐃

IT'S HIMMM he's the scary little boy from the photos and the same scary little boy that always shows up in the rose garden and his soul just won't rest in peace!! Shows up in his adult form plenty too, just expect his expression to twist into something horrible every second. He needs to be sealed forever somewhere and it would take three sequels to get to know what would actually defeat him once and for all.

𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐊𝐄

... I'm sorry but there definitely is a lighthouse in this movie. And you can totally trust Drake! The poor guy's body just washed up for you to discover, tragically drowned-oh, wait no, he's breathing. He's totally not the same sailor who died around here many, many years ago. He's gonna keep you good company in the lighthouse alone for miles.

𝐆𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐎

Galileo is the one who saw the Thing™ with his own eyes, while he was watching the stars one night ages ago. He dedicated not only his massive research but also his life to this, yet noone believes him. If he somehow manages to find that one missing piece that connects everything together, he will die a horrifying death before he can even share it with the main cast. Rip...

Taglist: @arsnovacadenza @ale-teodora @kimi00twin @otomelady @privilegedpancake @g-kleran    @pumpumnnnp @thesirenwashere @ravenarld @kimmy-banana @devonares @galaxyprison @sadshaxk @starshards26 @thewitchofbooks @acethephoenix256 @ikevamp-shrine-2 @nad-zeta @crystal13unny @keen19thcenturygoatsstudent @lordsister @ikemen-banshou   @themysticalbeing @otome-scribbles @rhodolitesrose @coornn @kpop-and-otome @queen-dahlia @kisara-16 @chaosangel767 @ikemenlibrary @queengiuliettafirstlady @aurora-morning @aquagirl1978 ​ @ikemenlover24 @mcofthemansion @joy-the-reader @katriniac @ikemen-writer @tele86 @lovely-bubb1es @aria-chikage @babyblue0t7 @rhodoliteschaos @shrimpy-kitsune @nightghoul381 @xbalayage @lucyw260 @kittygrimm88 @my-day6 Let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged!

[yuri-is-online]

Sometimes the Wallpaper is Just Yellow: A Heartslabyul Color Analysis

This research was inspired by this post by @mothman-files! I am so sorry for @ing you please let me know if you want me to remove it and I will do so ASAP. Thank you for sending my head into a tail spin, I've learned a lot of stuff.

After reading mothman's musings, you might be thinking to yourself like I did: "hey, there is something familiar about red, blue, yellow, and green color coding." And it is, as mothman correctly points out in the notes of their post it is an extremely common trope in anime. The reason was both exactly and not not at all what I expected after I resurfaced from this little detour I took from fic writing.

How well do you know the colors of your oni? Because that's more important than card suits for this particular trope, but to make it all make sense I am going to go through each of the Heartslabyul boys one by one saving Cater for last. With that being said, pack your bags and grab some beans we are going to learn some meditation techniques.

Setsubun and the Beaning of Life

No seriously. It all relates back to beans. As a refresher for those unaware, Setsubun is a Japanese festival celebrated at the start February, the day before spring starts on the Japanese Lunar calendar. It is typically part of Lunar New Year celebrations today, and if you know anything about it from anime you probably know that it's that holiday where the Japanese throw beans at demons to chase them away so they can start the new year without their evil influences. What kind of evil influences? Well according to Buddhist belief there are five main ones that are referred to as the five hindrances: sensory desire (i.e. greed), ill-will (i.e. anger), disquietude (i.e. anxiety), sloth (i.e. unable to make decisions), and doubt (i.e. self explanatory).

Now why is this all relevant? Well I saw it repeated again and again, on some articles about Setsuban that the oni who appear during the festival are COLOR CODED and fucking finally thanks to this beautiful, beautiful person called Matthew Meyer (the Yokai Guy) on Patreon of all places! I found out why. Because a professor of History named Yagi Tōru said so and I am inclined to believe as he is the president of the World Oni Study Society! Which is a thing! And he has written textbooks?!?! I get that this might be a tangent but it is important to me you understand I am not pulling this out of my ass, there is scholarship on this I am not lying to you. So what are those colors?

Red Oni (Greed) Blue Oni (Anger)

The only reason I even tried looking at this angle was because of these two. Everyone say thank you to Aduece. You might have heard "the Red Oni Who Cried" folktale in an anime or two (My Love Story is the first that comes to mind for me) and it is thought to have spawned a sort of character trope in anime. There's a hot headed red coded character and their intellectual blue bestie, or maybe they're twins (FFXIV and Tokyo Rev jump to mind), one of them jumps first and the other asks all sorts of questions, both now and later. When I first saw Aduece I thought they were a clever twist on that trope because they're both trying to fit those color molds but... aren't really making it.

Ace wants to portray himself as an easygoing guy who doesn't think too much about things, but we know that's not true. He is extremely smart, he just refuses to put in maximum effort unless forced. I don't think it's too much of a stretch to classify him as greedy either, but when you are sharing the stage with Azul it can be easy to forget that greed isn't always accompanied by a great work ethic. Ace cheats at cards, makes a deal for a study guide he doesn't need, and sucks up to his senpai's all to make things easier on himself. What he actually needs to do is work bitch and when he does that and only then will he realize his true potential.

Deuce, poor ex-delinquent Deuce. He does think about things before he does them and constantly lectures Ace for just doing whatever he wants without thinking, but he is far from naturally intelligent and prone to outbursts of anger. As soon as he looses his temper, he also looses his rational thought, but he accepts that about himself. That's what allows him to discover his unique magic, he knows he has his own sort of intelligence and is determined to work on what he does not.

Green Oni (Sloth)

I don't really think it is revolutionary to say Trey is a bit of a slacker when it comes to addressing interpersonal issues. He finds it easier to try and keep the peace or manage the fallout than directly address the problem at hand, and he is resistant to doing additional work not assigned by his housewarden. Or required by the school, just look at how "excited" he was to be a starsender. If he was any more unhinged he would have started throwing hands. Sloth as a sin isn't strictly just about being lazy. Apathy, a lack of reaction towards something like say, your friend's control freak tendencies that is clearly him acting out his own trauma can qualify as sloth.

I would like to add, though, that I don't really think it was Trey's responsibility to tell Riddle he was going overboard. That should have been Crowley's job, but that's another post. For now just take green as a sign of dodging emotions and let's go.

Yellow Oni (Disquietude)

As pointed out by mothman-files, Cater is supposed to be yellow, but he is more often portrayed with reds and oranges, pinks even, than yellow. Like them, I don't think it is a coincidence he is associated with orange when that's what happens when you mix red and yellow together. Cater is taking on what he perceives to be the identity of his dorm, and he is extremely dissatisfied, disquieted, and anxious because of that.

Something I think should be considered, NRC freshmen are sixteen years old. Cater is a third year, he's spent around two and a half years at NRC, two and a half years that were relatively stable compared to what he tells us about his previous schooling. I think that he has some genuine dissonance in him that is getting harder for him to ignore because he has played this role longer than the ones he has played previously. Cater the Heartslabyul student, the NRC mage, that is who he is now, and I wonder if he knows how he got to this point or if he feels like he just woke up in someone else's body someday and doesn't know if he likes it.

What's worse is I think he does like his friends, and he is suddenly confronted with how little they actually know about him, what could be more anxiety inducing than that.

Black Oni? (Press X to Doubt)

I don't think Riddle is meant to be the black oni, but I do think it's interesting that the color black is associated with doubt and loss of ones convictions when that is essentially both the cause and color of an overblot. Idia and S.T.Y.X. seem to be focused on emotion + extreme magic use to be what's causing the blot... but the more I roll chapter 7 and all the reading I did for this post around in my head it seems to me that overblots like the ones at NRC seem to be tied to a loss of identity and the shattering of one's perceived reality.

I would also like to mention that I have no idea if any of the cited folklore has anything to do with Yana Toboso's mindset when she created these characters. She seems to be someone who does a lot of research and thinks deeply about symbolism, but this color coding and its associated vices can be found in a lot of anime. She could have just picked up on it from that.

I hope you found this descent into madness informative, and if not at least entertaining. Thank you for your time, I am going to go eat a cookie.

Semi Unrelated Fun Facts:

A lot of this brainrot was inspired by Amnesia, as I stated in a post I already made, but I also was thinking about the song YELLOW by Yoh Kamiyama which I don't fully understand the meaning of, but think it is supposedly about being trapped in a false reality from some of the things I've read.

Back to Amnesia, the yellow diamond in that Visual Novel (I haven't watched the anime adaptation because they did my man Kieth dirty) is the yandere route. Which made me start to think about how often yellow is used as a color for characters with identity issues, like Sailor Venus from Sailor Moon and Amu from Sugo Chara! and led to... this mess

According to this thing I found while trying to look for the professor Yagi Tōru he has a son who is a male voice actor???? I don't have time to look this up someone else do it please.

Please check out the Yokai Guy. You can join his patreon for free, his art is lovely and he saved my sanity. I cannot read Japanese so I almost didn't bother saying anything about this because I knew I wouldn't be able to provide an academic source for it, and that's important to me as someone who has a love of history. Also he has a kick-starter up for an illustrated book of folklore, did I mention his art is lovely?

And lastly a lovely hello to @somany-fandoms-solittle-time who kindly asked to be tagged in this post (つ≧▽≦)つ I hope you liked it.

[flightfoot]

Could you recommend fics where Marinette quits being Ladybug?

Sure!

---

final girl by picayunewrites

Marinette has ninety-nine problems, and the superhero trio of Paris counts for a hundred. [AU where Marinette follows through on giving up her earrings after Stoneheart, but becomes the Guardian to protect her replacement.]

This is just great. Marinette thinks she failed, but the other heroes wouldn’t agree. And eventually, she gains some confidence in herself as well.

---

Accidents Are Also Miracles by @liiinerle

After a few turbulent days where four new people discover her secret identity, Marinette loses faith in her ability to keep the secret hidden. Wracked with doubts and insecurities, she pleads with Alya to take over as Scarabella, but she still can't let those worries go. Especially not once Monarch starts taking a particular, and personal, interest in her.

Along the way, she also starts to date Kagami, and has to deal with changing feelings about herself, Adrien, Alya, Kagami, and the idea of being Ladybug. At the same time, Alya works to uncover Monarch's secret identity, while Kagami struggles against a controlling parent, and a girlfriend who seems bent on destroying herself - with or without Monarch's involvement.

Fantastic Marigami fic here! You’ve got three major POVs in this fic: Marinette, Kagami, and to my delight, Alya. I loved getting to see Alya cope with taking over as Scarabella especially.

But of course, this fic centers more around Marinette and Kagami, with Marinette struggling with Monarch targeting her, and Kagami struggling against her abusive parent, as well as both of them trying to navigate their relationship together when they know that not everyone will approve. 

There’s also some other plots going on in here, like Sabrina breaking away from Chloe and becoming more independent (and closer to Adrien in fact), as well as a Lila takedown plot, though thankfully not one that involves demonizing other characters. While there are conversations about people believing Lila and siding with her, no one’s actually attacked for it except for Lila herself.

Oh yeah, and while this fic may not have much focus on Adrien, he’s still treated fairly and with respect, even when he messes up. He can make mistakes, but people understand where he’s coming from, and are still kind to him and want things to be okay, and to help him escape his abusive circumstances.

---

do you think I have forgotten about you? by @roseinaugust

Based on the song ‘About You’ by The 1975. Memory Loss. Told in alternating time lines, one leading up to and one dealing with the aftermath of Marinette relinquishing the Miracle Box and the guardianship. Marinette struggles with her life after losing her memory, though there is a persistent voice that calls to her that always seems just out of reach in her memory.

Beautiful memory loss fic here, with seeing Ladybug’s and Chat Noir’s relationship before she gave up the Miracle box, juxtaposed with the present day, when Adrien is only a stranger to her. I could really feel how Marinette was struggling with navigating these new circumstances, with her friends seeming to expect her to remember, to be who she was to them, to Adrien especially, before, and her just… not knowing whether she can do that. It’s got a happy ending though, for those who are concerned about that.

---

Our Tales Are Endless (That’s Why I Tell Them) by @joonapeach

Marinette lives a simple life - one surrounded by pretty dresses, fresh macaroons, and the calming view of Paris. It’s a life she thinks she has always fit in. And yet sometimes, when a certain boy comes by her shop with a flower and a new adventurous story, she can’t help but wonder if there’s something else she’s missing.

This was a truly gorgeous story. It’s the classic “Marinette gives up the Miracle Box and loses her memories” storyline, exploring her life two years later. Even though she’s had time to heal and recover, she still feels like she’s missing something, something big. At least Adrien’s stopping by regularly to tell her stories about Ladybug and Chat Noir, even if she doesn’t understand why they resonate with her so well.