#the original painting ‘the fallen angel’ is just SO HIM

[crismakesstuff]

cast out of paradise

[esote-rika]

the memory of your lips | Spencer Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Category: Flangst. Summary: At the end of a great date, you have to deal with the realities of dating a BAU agent. Content: Mentions of alcohol, reader is tipsy and flirty and LOVESICK, Spencer is a gentleman, kisses, no use of y/n, reader is called angel. I had s3 or 4 Spencer in mind when I was writing, but it works for any season.  Word count: 1.4k A/N: Here’s the fic for the Lovesick by Laufey (listen to it right here, PLEASE I BEG!!!) poll I did a while back. I know I originally planned for it to have smut, but I opted out because it didn’t feel right with the tone??? Anyways, this was just really fun to write, and I hope you enjoy! 

Three dates are an embarrassingly short amount of time to have fallen in love with someone, but in your defense, you have not encountered anyone quite like Spencer Reid in all your years of dating. 

Never have you met a man so intensely focused and attentive, so intelligent without any hint of pretense. His arrogance is founded, but he never used his genius to make you feel less; instead, he’s committed everything you’ve told him to memory, from your favorite book to the throwaway comment you made about liking a specific shade of lipstick. Two dates and he’s already memorized you like a poem. It’s exhilarating. 

This third date had been the one to seal the deal. 

Sure, the anxiety is still there, and it might have caused you to have one too many glasses of wine over dinner, but still. Everything had gone so beautifully. A stroll around the art gallery where Spencer had eagerly shared the history behind the paintings. When you’d paused at a particular hallway, he stood right by a window and was hit just so by the golden afternoon sun that his eyes turned to the color of moss, you could have sworn you’ve forgotten the ability to breathe. You’re convinced you were the walking equivalent to the heart eyes emoji at that point, staring up at him with a starry gaze, all throughout the following dinner at an intimate restaurant, where you allowed yourself to indulge in some wine. 

Not that you needed it. At that point, you felt so relaxed and at ease with him that you were afraid you might float away. The alcohol only served to heighten the giddiness, casting the world in soft hues of sparkling gold. Like Spencer’s eyes. Which reminds you—

“You’ve the prettiest eyes,” You’re giggling as he walks you to your door, a lean arm firmly wrapped around your waist  to steady you. Head angled up, all of your attention is on him while you walk up the stairs, which isn’t helping your stumbling gait in the slightest. 

Despite his attempts to fight it, a small smile pulls at his lips. He’s obviously trying to seem stern, but his eyes look upon you with fondness. “I should have cut you off sooner.”

“Mhm, no, I wouldn’t have let you.”

“You’re gonna feel this tomorrow,” he warns as he stops at your doorstep, “Keys.”

You fumble through your purse, quickly locating them and pressing the keys into his palm. He slots it easily into the lock, and turns. 

He hesitates. Your hands shake as you wait.

“Can I trust you to make it to your bed in one piece?” he murmurs, fingers brushing a strand of hair away from your face.

“Probably not. You might need to help me out,” you whisper, even though you’re not really that drunk. It’s a (very thinly veiled) attempt to get him inside your apartment, in your bed. You’re not sure where you got the confidence.

But it’s Spencer, the sweet man who frequents the same bookshop in which you also spend a lot of time. The same man who’d been so shy about making a move that he decided to buy you a book and slip his number into the pages. 

So there’s no pressure, he had scrawled in messy, rushed letters. Embarrassingly, the note is in your wallet, kept as a memento.

It’s him, and the entire date has been a series of signs that simply validated the small (massive) crush you’ve had on him. You don’t want it to end yet. Or ever, really. If he’d let you keep him forever. 

Ever the gentleman, he nods and guides you inside. You stumble onto your couch with a low groan, an arm flung over your eyes as the harsh overhead light flickers open. Quick, shuffling footsteps, and then the couch dips beside you.

“Here, have some water.”

You accept the glass with a lopsided smile. The way his eyes linger on you would be enough to make you melt when you’re sober, but right now, with alcohol coursing through your veins, it’s downright cruel. “Your eyes are so pretty.”

“You’ve mentioned that already,” he says, urging you to drink, “Thank you. You have very beautiful eyes too.”

Once the glass is empty, he sets it on your coffee table and kneels down. With gentle hands, he eases the heels off of your feet, fingers pressing into the ankles carefully. 

“Come on,” he helps you to your feet, and you all but become deadweight in his arms as he walks with you to your bedroom. 

Spurned mainly by alcohol, you lift yourself to your tiptoes for a kiss. His surprise makes him pause, but he kisses you back gently, hands coming up to cup your cheeks. It makes you sigh, this tender way he likes to kiss, cradling your face as though it’s the most important thing he’s ever held. When your tongue sweeps across his lower lip, he pulls back.

“What—”

“You’re drunk,” his lips move to your forehead, “You need to sleep.”

“But Spence…” it’s childish to whine when he denies you, but it’s the only thing your dejected, alcohol-addled brain is capable of doing.

He chuckles, slowly walking you backwards onto your bed. “No, angel, it wouldn’t sit right with me.”

“I’m giving you all my consent right now.” you pout as he hands you a disposable towel from your bedside table. With a huff, you set on wiping away your makeup as he rummages through your drawers for pajamas. He finds some shorts and an old tshirt, and helps you out of your dress, shaking his head as you try (and fail) to seduce him into sleeping with you.

“Shouldn’t have had that last glass if this was how you wanted the night to end.” he says,  a teasing smile on his lips.

“You’re never gonna let me live that down, huh?”

He kisses your temple as a response, and gently pushes you to lay down. Chuckling, he sits on the edge of your bed, a hand on your knee. “I just don’t want you to be inebriated if we’re going to be physically intimate. Especially not the first time.”

You pout, “Boo, you’re too sweet for your own good.” It earns you a laugh from him, and it’s enough to wipe the pout off your lips, “Will you at least sleep over?”

He seems to consider it, running his hand up and down your thigh. However, it is as though the universe is conspiring against you, and his phone rings. You watch as his brows furrowed in concern as he checks whatever message he’s received. “I have to go in, we have a case.”

Your heart drops. The pout returns, “It’s Friday night.”

“I know, angel.” he leans forward and kisses your forehead again, almost in apology, “I’m sorry, I did tell you I don’t work traditional hours.”

Your hands close around his shirt and you pull him down. He surrenders to your eagerness this time, kissing you deeply, hands tangled in your hair, before he stops, breathing ragged. “I’ll make it up to you when I return, I promise.” he kisses you again, languidly, savoring the last few moments before he has to leave. 

You don’t have his eidetic memory, but you memorize the feeling of his lips all the same. “Stay safe,” you whisper when he finally pulls back, feeling oddly sobered up now that the reality of him leaving you is more present, “Text me when you can.”

“I will, angel.” he gives you one last kiss on your forehead before he stands up, “Drink lots of water tomorrow, okay? I’ll see you soon.”

You nod, and stare at his retreating back with a sad smile, blinking away the tears when you hear your apartment door click into place, signaling his departure. You try to tell yourself you’re being silly. It’s been three dates and you’re already acting so clingy. You chalk it up to the alcohol, twisting your feelings. Earlier, it had made the world seem effervescent, but now that he’s left, it only exacerbates your loneliness.

Is this how it’s going to be when you date him? He’d laid it out quite clearly during your conversations, that sometimes they get pressing cases that require them to drop everything else.  You aren’t sure you’re prepared to have dates be interrupted with one phone call. Morning afters without him beside you. With a sigh, you sink into bed, eyes closed, and only the memory of his lips to tide you through the night.

[cursecuelebre]

Roman God Lucifer of Light, The Morningstar, and the Rising Sun

Attributes

Morning star (Venus)

Light

Dawn

Rising sun

Stars

Director of the Heavens

Knowledge

Music

Twilight

Symbols:

Snakes/dragons

Jar of Light

Venus

The Sun (especially the rising sun)

Keys

Torches

Fire

Roses

Lavender

Bright stars in the night sky

Cats

General Information:

Lucifer before the Roman Catholic Church demonized him was a minor Roman God of Dawn. Since then he is been well known as “Satan” or “the devil” which isn’t true in the Bible Lucifer is never mentioned by name except one passage talking about the Morning Star which can be any god/goddess in the Middle East and nearby nations.

There is not well documented stories about Lucifer other than he works along side of Aurora the goddess of Dawn. Ovid the Pagan poet mention Lucifer as being the son of Aurora and Cephalus or Asterius (depending on what story you read), as she is the first to awake as she rides across the dawn filling the sky with light. Lucifer follows her capturing the light of the stars and pouring light from his jar. He also directs the order of heaven when the dawn comes to being. Known as the “Light Bringer” and “Herald of Dawn” and the Greek name “Phosphorus” which means Light Bringer as well. He is the physical representation of Venus/Morning Star. The Evening Star is his brother Hesperus representing the same star but at night overtime they merge together as one.

Obviously Lucifer isn’t all recognized as being Lucfiercus of Roman mythology. The Roman Catholic church used Lucifer as a scapegoat when demonizing their old pagan traditions. Since then a lot of Satanists and Lucferians see Lucifer as the Christian Devil which is valid. From my experience he doesn’t mind that, even I use the left handed path sources for his symbols and attributes even his sigil I used as a representation of him. I created this post to help people actually understand that Lucifer isn’t evil nor related to Abrahamic faiths in the first place. His origins do not show that, he was a god that helped bring dawn across the sky. It’s important to learn about gods who were demonized their actual purpose to cultures not just Lucifer but a lot of the “demons” we know today were once Gods and Goddesses. There is nothing wrong with seeing Lucifer as a fallen angel or a prince of hell just keep in mind that is not his true origin.

His appearance:

I have started to work with Lucifer early this year and it was quite interesting but in my meditations, that’s where I began to fully understand and work with him and help me to deconstruct my fears about him.

Traditionally he is a young man sometimes a child like Cherub (the classic art painting not Biblical accurate) with wings. I see him as a young man, but he is very bright! From my own experience has light colored hair almost white sometimes black, his skin is pale or gray, but his eyes always burnt orange so bright with massive black wings you would see on angel. At times he appears to me not in a physical sense in my meditations but in the sky as a bright star glowing like the sun. It’s quite beautiful.

My Experience from Working with him.

He has helped me being more empowered and trusting of myself, helping me hone in my skills of magic. Like giving advice and guidance on certain things. People who say he is like a father figure, I can most definitely agree with that, very gentle and very patient. But he will push you through not in a malicious way of course but a very tough love way, that he wants you to accomplish. I notice ever since I’ve been working with him I’m more confident and comfortable with my self and expressing my feelings.

Tarot Cards:

This is the tarot cards I personally associate him with feel free to use it but just sharing it in general sense!

The Sun

The Star

The Devil

[nathaliawoa]

The Angel and Devil (5)

One-shot collections featuring The Legendary Devil Hunter, Dante, and The Sole Nephilim, Celina. Celina is an original character with her own personality and backstory but feel free to read it as a reader-insert. Angels Do Exist AU: The existence and information of angels are limited. Where they are and why they left humanity to demons are up to speculations and rumors, making many believe that they no longer exist or are merely myths. That is, not until a sole angel, Eserio, descended to Earth many eons later after their supposed disappearance. Celina is Eserio’s daughter, but she never knew her late father was an angel until she crossed paths with Dante.

AO3 version | Masterlist

Chapter 5: Midnight Reassurance (smut)

Dante wakes up from a terrible nightmare in the middle of the night. Thankfully, Celina is there to help anchor him down. Additional tags: graphic depiction of character death (skip the first section), kissing, vaginal fingering, and vaginal sex (⚠️ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!! NSFW UNDER THE CUT!!! ⚠️)

(Dante)

“Whew! Talk about a workout, “ Dante remarked with a satisfied smile, wiping the sweat from his brows with the back of his gloved hand as he watched the fallen demon dissipating into thin air. It was a big fella, and one that almost gave him a run for his money upon taking this gig. Running into demons that provided even a speck of challenge was a rarity to him nowadays. 

The devil hunter turned to his partner, Celina, who was accompanying him on this mission. Said woman was also panting from the intensity of the battle, and Dante couldn’t help but be proud of how well she fought. She may not be a full-fledged devil hunter like him, due to her ordinary nine-to-five job as an accountant, but she grew a lot over the years thanks to him. All the blood, sweat, and tears during those intense training sessions with him in her free time had paid off. 

Celina turned to Dante with a smile of her own. “Yeah, tell me about it,” she said, sheathing her sword, Redemption, on her back before adding, “But we did it.”

Dante let out a small, amused huff at her triumph. It always felt nice to share a victory with his gal. After sheathing Rebellion, Dante raised his arms above his head and cracked his shoulders to ease the tension and pressure from the fight. Grunting a bit, he said, “Alrighty then, let’s just head back, get the payment, and—”

“Dante, watch out!”

Time seemed to slow down as he watched Celina shove him to the side with a panicked expression on her face. He didn’t even have time to react when the monstrous jaws of the fallen demon snatched her body away. 

Wait. How was it still alive? He saw the damn thing turned to ashes just seconds ago and here it was back to normal like nothing ever happened!

The once vital life of Celina’s body was torn between large sets of razor-like teeth, like a wolf sinking its jaws into a rabbit’s neck. Gushes of red blood—her blood—spilled to the ground from the demon’s mouth. Dante had seen Celina get hurt before, but nothing like this. 

The sight of her head hanging low with one arm sticking out, whereas the rest of her body was crushed between the jaws, was too much for him. He didn’t even need to see the dead expression painted on her face, concealed by her cascading hair, for something to snap inside him. More so when the demon towered over him, taunting him with its sinister eyes, reveling in its triumph.

Dante saw red.

What happened next, the half-devil could not recall. All he remembered was standing there, heaving from adrenaline as the smell of iron and sulfur assaulted his nose. Familiar flashes of red lights flickered from his body, leaving him in his human form again. His other half may be gone, but his hard gaze remained fixed on the dead demon in front of him. Its carcass was heavily mutilated, its flesh torn apart and shredded into pieces in all directions. Any recognition of its living form was long gone, and Dante felt strangely satisfied with the job.

However, his small victory was cut short when his ears picked up on a gurgle noise behind him. Turning around, he was reminded of what started it all. His heart lurched at the sight.

“Celina!” he cried out, running over to her fallen body on the ground. The injury was much worse up close as he kneeled down to inspect her. Surrounded by a pool of blood, Celina lay there, barely conscious as her eyes struggled to stay open. Large puncture wounds lined across her torso and all three limbs. Her legs and one arm were badly mangled, snapped in unnatural directions with fractured bones sticking out. Everywhere Dante looked was no better than the rest. More blood seeped out from wounds that refused to close.

Dante had seen a lot of shit in his years of devil hunting. All sorts of blood and gore of unfortunate souls, but seeing her in the same position made his stomach drop even more. His worst fear was coming to life, and more so when he couldn’t spot the familiar yellow glow of her healing ability. Why was she not healing?!

Another gurgle erupted from her throat before she coughed out more blood. A lot of blood. Sprayed all over her chest and his. Dante quickly, yet gently, lifted her head up so she could breathe, cradling her while his other hand froze above her injuries, unsure of what to do without causing her more pain. He had to swallow the bile that threatened to rise up his throat from both the sight and smell.

“Celina, talk to me,” Dante said, trying to keep his voice steady, but it was getting harder by the second. Another wave of panic hit him when Celina’s eyes fluttered shut instead. Shaking her shoulders, he desperately called out, “No, no, no. You gotta stay awake, damn it. You gotta heal!” That did the trick when her eyes opened once more, but there were still no signs of her healing. 

Celina slowly gazed up at him. Although she was staring right into his eyes, he could see the distance in hers—they were losing color. A weak smile crept onto her face for a second, her teeth stained red. “D-Dante… you’re… you’re okay,” she croaked in a low voice. In the corner of his eyes, Dante saw her good arm twitching on the side, as if she was trying to use it to reach him but couldn’t.

Dante’s eyes widened in disbelief that she was more worried about him than herself. Seeing her current state made his heart clench in guilt as he couldn’t believe that she took an attack meant for him. If anything, he wished it was him who got hurt instead of her. If only he was quicker, more alert, then none of this would have happened.

“Don’t worry about me!” He didn’t mean to snap at her. He was just so pissed at himself. So pissed that he couldn’t do shit. However, Celina didn’t seem fazed by his outburst, only continuing to stare at him with those same glazed eyes. Still no signs of her healing, and Dante didn’t know how much more he could take of this.

Seeing that she was still unresponsive to his words, Dante continued with more urgency, “Come on, Celina. Why aren’t you healing? Come on! You can heal. You always heal!” He brought his other hand up and pushed her hair back from her forehead, removing the loose strands from blocking her vision. But his hand remained, hoping that it would ground her so that she could focus on herself. 

Still nothing.

Dante wasn’t sure if the injuries were far too devastating on her body or if something else was hindering her abilities. He just didn’t know! A part of his brain was yelling at him, screaming at him to move, to bring her to a hospital or something, but his body wasn’t listening. His legs felt glued to the ground. He watched helplessly as Celina slowly blinked at him.

Her mouth opened again, and the next words made his blood run cold. “I… I love… you.” Despite the genuineness of her words, her voice was losing its touch as if life was seeping out of her body.

With a desperate expression, he tightened his grip on her, refusing to accept her goodbye. Shaking his head, he pleaded, ”No, no, no. Don’t say it like that. Don’t you dare give up! Don’t you dare die on me!” He wanted to scream, yell at her—beg her—to stop talking like that. Celina was always a strong woman. Always fighting and standing tall no matter what, but this was not the Celina he knew. Not at all. 

But no matter what he said or did, he couldn’t stop her eyes from closing. Her head rolled against his chest as she took her last breath. The sound of her shallow heartbeat grew weaker and weaker. “Celina! Wake up! Wake up… please.” Dante’s voice cracked with emotion as he tried to rouse her again to no avail. His eyes rapidly blinked, trying to fight off the blurry spots that threatened his vision. Though they kept coming back more and more until his eyes felt wet.

No. This had to be a dream. A fucking nightmare.

However, how her lifeless, cold body felt against his told him otherwise. He desperately searched for any sign of life, but all he found was nothing. No heartbeat. No pulse. No warmth. Nothing at all. The realization that this wasn’t a dream stabbed his heart again and again with each passing second. 

His throat tightened, but he managed to choke out in a weak voice, “No… not like this…” He held her closer in a silent plea. A plea that she wouldn’t leave. 

Burying his face in her hair, he clenched his eyes shut, trying to block out the world around him. He couldn’t bring himself to face the harsh reality that she was gone. He lost so many people in his life.

Nell. Grue. Vergil. His mother. And now Celina.

A whirlwind of emotions tore at his heart, shredding it to pieces. Anger. Regret. Grief. Sorrow. Self-loathing. It was all too much for him.

Finally, an inhumane noise escaped from his throat, and for the first time in a long time, the Legendary Devil Hunter sobbed, cursing at the gods and universe for taking her away from him. 

For taking away the only light he had left.

~~~

Dante jolted wide awake. His whole body lurched forward onto his elbows as his chest heaved, fighting to catch his breath. The heavy thud of his racing heart pounded in his ears while he scanned his new surroundings. Remnants of what just happened were still fresh in his mind, causing him to wonder where he was now.

Eyes frantically darting around, Dante could make out the familiar silhouettes of various pieces of furniture scattered across the room, under the peeking moonlight through the curtains: a dresser, a full-body mirror, a vanity table, a couple of lounge chairs, and some potted plants. He was in his bedroom—their bedroom. 

The sound of sheets rustling next to him caught his attention, and he turned to find Celina tossing on her side of the bed. She rolled onto her back to face him from her presumed side position. A mixture of grogginess and confusion etched her face as her eyes fluttered open, staring at him in the dark. But what really caught his attention was the rise and fall of her chest. 

She was still alive—thank God.

Without wasting a moment, Dante moved towards her and pulled her into his arms in a tight embrace. His head settled itself in the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent that he knew would calm him down. Celina momentarily tensed under him, but soon returned the gesture by wrapping her arms and legs around him. That helped anchor him down, along with the sound of her steady heartbeat that he also listened to.

Dante’s throat refused to cooperate, to explain himself to her, but Celina didn’t seem to mind. Instead, she continued to rub soothing circles on his back while whispering in his ear that it was okay, that she had him, and that she was there. It was clear that she knew what was going on in his head because her reassurances did wonders in pushing the nightmare to the back of his mind.

Slowly but surely, his pounding heart calmed down as he shifted in their embrace to get into a more comfortable position with his body now relaxed. Celina seemed to pick up on his cues cause she then asked, “You okay, babe? Bad dream?”

His first instinct was to brush it off and say that it was nothing to worry about, but he knew that Celina deserved an explanation, especially for waking her up like this. That, and she was stubborn just like him. “Yeah… a really bad one,” he admitted with a shaky breath. 

Celina hummed in response, but he could hear the gears turning in her head. He wouldn’t blame her for connecting the dots about his nightmare, considering how needy he was for her. Damn, now he was starting to feel bad for waking her up.

“I’m sorry I woke you up—”

“Don’t apologize. Besides, I enjoy holding you like this,” Celina whispered, smiling against his shoulder. 

Dante softly chuckled, appreciating her for lightening the mood, which worked. Pulling away to get a good look at her face, he noticed how wet her neck was. He pushed the thought away, not wanting to dwell on it. 

When Celina returned his gaze, her brows furrowed in concern. “Are you okay?” she asked, raising a hand to his face to caress his jawline. 

Naturally, Dante leaned into her touch, yearning for more. Truth was that he felt much better than before, still a little shaken but better. So, Dante flashed Celina a small smile as he replied, “Yeah, I’m fine now. Don’t you worry.” He even kissed her forehead for reassurance.

The look on Celina’s face told Dante that she must have seen through his facade because she did not look convinced. Her face softened a bit, but her brows remained furrowed. “Dante, talk to me, please,” she quietly begged, giving his cheek a soft, gentle squeeze for emphasis.

A part of him didn’t want to dwell anymore on his nightmare, but the sincerity of her concerns crumbled his last wall of defense. Closing his eyes for a second and taking a deep breath, he confessed, “I… dreamed about… you.” That was the best he could say right now, but it was something. Something for her.

Celina’s eyes widened slightly at the revelation. He wasn’t sure if it was because she was surprised by the nightmare’s content, because of his willingness to open up about this, or both. Either way, whatever he said was enough for Celina to get the memo, as a spark of determination replaced the shock in her eyes and her hand slid from his face to his warm, bare chest. “I am not going anywhere,” she whispered sincerely, before adding with a smile, “Not without a fight, of course.”

Dante reciprocated her smile with one of his own while tightening his hold around her. “I know that, babe.” He truly did, even if his nightmare told him otherwise, but he pushed those thoughts away, wanting to focus on her right now.

Letting out a sigh of relief, Celina continued to caress his chest as her eyes slowly closed. “Good,” she said in contentment.

They continued to lie facing each other, but the longer Dante silently watched her in the dark, the more he adored her. Despite the obvious signs of fatigue on her features, she still cared for him. The warmth of her touch and tenderness in her eyes made Dante realize how much of a lucky bastard he was to have her. 

Leaning down to place a chaste kiss on her forehead, Dante murmured, “I love you.”

Celina’s eyes fluttered open to him after the kiss. She smiled softly as she said, “I love you too,” before pressing her lips to his in return.

The kiss sent sparks throughout his body, and Dante found himself wanting more of that. He leaned in to connect lips with her with his tongue running along the seam of her lips, seeking for entrance. Celina’s lips parted in return, allowing his tongue to swoop in and dance with hers. 

Closing his eyes, Dante slid a hand behind her head and angled it to deepen the kiss, earning a soft moan from her. He felt her body squirm during the kiss as the hand that had been caressing his chest clenched into a fist, trembling with contained desire. Now the room suddenly felt hot with the heat that was building between them, and all of her reactions so far only made him crave more of that familiar, comforting sensation.

While his tongue continued to explore her mouth for what felt like the first time, his body pressed it more against hers until she was rolled onto her back, with his upper body pinning her down. The other arm that was not holding her head slid underneath her pillow so he could shift his weight onto it for support. Celina only had the chance to speak when Dante moved down to her neck and pampered it with wet, sloppy kisses. 

“Damn,” she rasped, out of breath, “you’re this needy already?” However, she made no attempts to stop him. Instead, her clenched hand uncurled and moved to find purchase on his shoulder.

It took a second for his brain to register her words as his brain had taken the backseat ever since the kiss, allowing his body to go on autopilot. Even then, his body and mind yearned for more, especially when he caught a whiff of her growing arousal. He almost smirked at her teasing remark, but a grunt was all he could muster in the heat of the moment as he continued along her neck. His fingers were twitching to draw out more of those sweet, wanton noises from her mouth.

The hand that was tangled in her hair slowly moved down her body while Dante‘s lips returned to her lips. Not even the darkness could hinder his progress as he already mapped out every inch of her body, like it was second nature. As his hand made its journey down south, it stopped and massaged her breast through the light shirt she wore, earning another soft moan from Celina, which Dante happily devoured. His hand then continued down and dove under the waistband of her pajama shorts. Celina seemed to get the idea when her legs spread apart to make room for him.

Slipping under her underwear and then over her mound, Dante’s middle finger slid between her labia and right over her clit. He groaned in the kiss of how wet she already was for him. Meanwhile, Celina’s breath hitched, and her grip of his shoulder tightened as a silent plea for him to continue. 

Using his index and ring fingers to spread apart her labia, Dante rubbed his middle finger up and down over her clit to spread her wetness around. Celina pulled back from the kiss to gasp at the sensation, but Dante leaned forward to capture her lips again as he continued to rub her down there.

As he dragged his fingers back and forth over her sensitive nerves, Celina struggled to keep up with the kiss. Her tongue grew sloppy, and her thighs twitched for more action. The sound of her racing heartbeat and squelching of her pussy was not unnoticed either. As much as Dante would love to hear her praises, he also loved overstimulating her, teasing her in all the right places until she melted under his touch. It was only when Dante slipped a finger inside was when she pulled away from the kiss to moan.

Dante slowly started pumping his finger in and out as he felt her stretch to accommodate for more. After a moment, he added in another finger and picked up the pace, pushing all the way down to his knuckle whenever he thrust inward. The intensity of Celina’s gasps and whimpers increased by the seconds, and he watched the moonlight dance on her face for every twitch he could draw from her.

The growing warm natural lube from her body soaked his hand and, no doubt, her underwear, but that only urged Dante to switch gear. Stilling his hand, Dante then curled his fingers upward against the hot spot that would send her sky-high, and he repeated this motion several times. A series of loud mewls escaped from Celina’s lips as her head rolled against his shoulder. Her iron grip on his other shoulder tightened even more, while her body pressed more against his, almost like she was trying to anchor herself in a sea of pleasure. Her gaze was far, but her body was definitely in tune with his. Each reaction she made sent more blood rushing to his groin, and he felt like his body was on fire, much like hers.

“A-ah… Dante… ah!” Celina moaned as he continued to fuck her with his fingers while making sure to lavish her clit with his thumb. The pace Dante set was steady enough to drive her closer to the edge, and he knew that her orgasm was going to hit hard when she started to squirm underneath him, as if she was trying to run away from her imminent fate, not wanting it to consume her just yet.

“That’s it,” he coaxed her in a low, husky voice. Shifting his weight from his forearm, Dante slid the same arm under her neck to hold her in place, while his other hand continued its effort, eager to bring her over the edge and catch her when she falls. 

Celina let out a loud cry as she came moments later. Her back arched from the mattress, and her thighs clamped shut around his hand. Despite that, Dante’s fingers remained inside, continuing to work her through her orgasm. He watched as ecstasy completely took over her facial features. The way her eyes rolled back and her lips parted, he was committed to burn the sight and sound to memory as best he could. He would be damned if he couldn’t.

The half-angel went limp, releasing her hold on him as she tried to catch her breath. Dante withdrew his hand and brought his soaked fingers to his face. How it glistened in the moonlight, and its savory scent further increased his hunger, and he wasted no time in lapping off her taste with his tongue. The sweet flavor of her essence coming in contact with his taste buds caused Dante to groan softly in satisfaction, and he made sure that his hungry eyes never left hers throughout the whole time. 

Celina hazily watched back and let out a small groan at the sight. “Fuck…” The hoarse sound of her curse sent a jolt of heat straight to his groin. The boxer shorts that constrained his growing arousal was becoming unbearable—too tight—but he held back for her sake. She had to work early in the morning, he mentally told himself. Though it didn’t stop Dante from involuntarily pressing his hardness against the side of her hips in hopes of relieving some tension, begging for her attention.

A moment of silence passed between them besides the sound of Celina evening her breaths. The way she looked up at him expectedly prompted Dante to ask in a gravelly whisper, failing to hide the near desperation in his voice, “Do you want to continue?” 

Celina glanced over at the digital alarm clock by her nightstand. The glowing green numbers read 2:47 AM, and Dante knew she had to get up for work in four hours from now. He half-expected her to say no, which he would come to understand. However, Dante’s breath hitched when Celina glanced back at him and nudged her hips against his groin, as if she was doing it on purpose. No, she was. The friction caused the familiar heat to come back at full force that he almost cursed out loud. But what she said next sealed the deal. Nodding at him, she whispered, “Yeah.”

God, he loved this woman so much, and he was going to make sure it was worth every second of her time.

Brimming with renewed vigor, Dante kissed her forehead as a quiet thank you before sitting up and tossing the thin sheets aside. He then kneeled in front of her legs and wasted no time in helping her shimmy out of her shorts. Hands hooked under the waistband on each side of her hips, he yanked both her shorts and underwear down in one swift move as Celina lifted her hips up for support. Once the clothes were off, he mindlessly tossed them elsewhere.

Climbing on top of her, Dante pinned Celina to the mattress and rested his forearms on either side of her head. Celina gazed up at him in anticipation, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his broad shoulders in response.

Dante shifted on his weight, bringing a hand down to his boxers. He made haste and pulled down the waistband enough to fish out his cock. A hiss escaped through his teeth when his hand made contact with his hard, throbbing length that was already smeared with precum. He slowly pumped his length to evenly spread its natural lube, which took a lot of effort not to burst right then and there. Though despite his desperate need to claim her, he couldn’t help but tease her a bit, wanting to hear her beg.

Lining his cock in front of her entrance, Dante glided the tip across the opening to her clit and back in a slow, deliberate up-and-down motion. The slickness between them made his cock slide so effortlessly. 

Celina’s face twitched as her pleading eyes darted up and down between his eyes and pelvis. “D-Dante…” She started to whine after the third taunting cycle but let out a high-pitched moan when Dante thrust himself in her in one solid motion, ending it with a loud clap from the impact of their skins colliding.

Dante moaned in unison with her. No matter how many times he slid inside her, each time felt like the first, knocking his breath away at how warm and wet she felt around him. It was as if she was made just for him—perfectly snug.

Burying his face in the crook of her neck, he started to rock his hips against hers. Each thrust built up pressure inside him, and the fragrance of her shampoo now mixed with her pheromones only heightened it.

As Dante started to pick up the pace, Celina’s arms tightened around him, spreading her legs out more to pull him closer. A telltale sign to urge him to go deeper. “Dante… more… please,” she begged between her moans, her hot breath fanning against his ear. Fuck, he could not say no to that. He could never say no to that. It was obvious that she was desperate for more, and he was more than happy to give it to her. 

Groaning, Dante pulled away from her neck and sat up straight to hook his elbows beneath both of her knees. Planting his hands on either side of her head, he leaned back down, bringing her thighs toward her chest with her legs dangling outward. This caused her hips to evaluate, which allowed him to pound harder into that sweet spot he knew would make Celina see stars, and she did.

Celina’s head rolled back on the pillow as she loudly moaned in response—Jackpot—and a jolt of pain spread across his back when he felt her sharp nails raking down his bare skin. It didn’t hinder him in the slightest if she drew blood. In fact, he welcomed every bit of it, knowing that he was pushing her to the brink. Thus, he thrusted harder, more frantic, causing the sound of their skins slapping, the wet squelches from her pussy, and the bed creaking to echo louder throughout the dark room.

His eyes flickered between her half-lidded eyes and lips, watching the tip of her tongue peaking out whenever she opened her mouth to gasp and mewl. The only coherent word Dante could make out was his name, and his cock throbbed inside for every time he was reminded of who was making love to her—who was making her feel this damn good. He was torn between wanting to kiss her or let her sing, but his attention was snapped when he spotted Celina moving a hand from his back and down between her legs.

“F-fuck…” Dante moaned as he watched Celina rub her clit with her fingers. How her eyes fluttered and her body squirmed showed that she wanted to come now. His orgasm too was right around the corner. He felt like he was about to burst at any second, but he was desperate to feel her clench around him first before he came.

Dante removed one of his hands from the mattress and brought it down to meet hers below. Celina hooked her arm around the leg Dante released, keeping it in place, and allowed him to nudge her offending hand away. He took over, using his thumb to rub up and down on her sensitive clit with the momentum of his thrusts. That was the final nail in the coffin as Celina let out a loud, prolonged moan.

The sound of her cries, the way her body quiver and clenched around him, and—fuck—the way she looked at him at her last moment pushed Dante over the edge too. Letting out a loud, strangled groan of his own, Dante rammed into her as deep as he could, putting all of his weight on her until his chest collapsed over her. Heat washed over his body like a tsunami, drowning him in a wave of relief as all of the pent-up tension finally poured out. He tried to continue thrusting to ride that wave out longer, but instead his hips stuttered against hers, feeling every ounce of his cum released inside her tight pussy.

Once his hips slowly rolled to a stop, Dante let go of her clit and buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent. He felt Celina release the leg that she held, letting it fall naturally to the side of their joined bodies. The room was quiet except for their labored breath that matched each other’s pace. They both lay there in each other’s embrace, allowing their racing hearts, pressed together, to cool down from the intensity of their shared climax. 

Celina nuzzled against the side of his head as she gently rubbed the back of his shoulders, where she clawed at earlier, in an apologetic way. After a moment of silence, she mused out loud, “All this because of a bad dream.”

It took a second for Dante’s brain to catch up with his body. A huff of soft laughter escaped from his throat once the weight of her words sank in. It was true. All of this was started by his own nightmare, his own desperate need for reassurance, to feel and hold her, to know that she was still alive and breathing. Though his method may or may not have been conventional, he wasn’t complaining in the slightest, especially when he felt so boneless and satiated. Celina had to feel the same, given her positive reaction so far. 

Pressing a tender kiss to her neck, he muttered, “I guess you could say that.”

Celina breathlessly chuckled at his admission, continuing to rub lazy circles on his back. Another moment of silence passed between them, and Dante didn’t mind one bit. In fact, he could fall asleep like this, but Celina had other plans.

“Alright, big guy,” she grunted, patting him on the back. “We need to clean up.”

A low grumble resonated from his chest. He was not keen on the idea of separating from her, but the logical part of him knew she was right. That, and her other leg was still sandwiched between their slicked bodies. She must be sore, especially when she was trying to stretch out her legs.

Reluctantly, Dante lifted himself up with a groan. “Ugh, fine.” He watched as Celina wormed out from underneath him and waddled out of the room in the dark. The moment she left, the room suddenly felt cold without her presence. Once he found the energy to haul his ass out of the bed, he followed after her, tucking his limp cock back in his boxers, not bothered by how much of a mess it was down there.

The hallway lights outside the bathroom were already turned on, casting a soft yellow hue over the walls. It only took a few blinks for Dante’s eyes to adjust under the light as he made his way over to the bathroom doorway. He found Celina relieving herself over the toilet in the dark room. He knew better than to turn on the bathroom lights, else the high intensity would blind them.

“How do you feel?” she asked, eyeing him as she reached for the wipes to clean herself down there. Despite the exhaustion in her voice, Dante could tell that she genuinely wanted to hear his feelings. She always did, even if he would try downplaying it sometimes, and it was one of the remarkable qualities he loved about her. That and there was no need to hide it after the recent intimacy they just went through. 

A soft smile cast on his lips as he leaned against the doorway. ”Better. Thanks to you,” he admitted. Remnants of the nightmare no longer plagued his mind and instead were replaced by the treasured memories of now—their love for each other. 

Gratitude washed over her features as she smiled back at him. A smile that melted Dante’s heart at the sight. “I’m happy to hear that,” she said.

After their quick bathroom break to freshen up, they padded their way back to bed in complete darkness. However, before they could dive right into the soft, cozy mattress, Celina scoured the sheets for her missing clothes. 

“Where the hell did you toss it?” she grumbled in mild annoyance, turning the sheets upside down to no avail. 

Hell if Dante knew. At the time, his mind was focused on more important issues—like her—than her flimsy shorts. Nevertheless, his eyes scanned over the bed to help her from where he stood by the foot of the bed. But despite being granted night vision thanks to his demonic blood, he couldn’t spot such articles lying around where he thought he tossed them at. Not even Celina could find it with her angelic version of night vision, he guessed.

As seconds ticked by with no luck, Dante got impatient. He was dying to get into bed and hold her for the rest of the night. “Forget the pants. Just sleep the way you are,” he whined.

The half-angel raised an unamused eyebrow at him. “And give you more ideas?”

A hint of a smirk played across his lips. “As if I need you to be naked to get ideas,” he remarked. 

The half-devil knew that if an opportunity arose, with or without clothes, then he wouldn’t hesitate to give in to the temptation. But he also knew that he had more self-control than she gave him credit for. At least, he hoped so. Celina may be part angel, but she could be a little devil too if she wanted to be, tempting him and all such. That sneaky minx.

Said minx simply rolled her eyes back. Luckily for her, Dante spotted her lost articles on the floor, right by the bed, when he approached his side of the bed. He was half-surprised to see that they made it this far, considering how eager he was earlier.

“Found them,” he said, reaching down to pick up her shorts and underwear before tossing them to her awaiting hands.

Celina fumbled with the clothes in her hands, running her fingers over the fabric as she scrutinized them, focusing especially on the crotch area. Just when he thought she was going to wear them again, she tossed them to the floor instead. “Seems like it’s your lucky day,” she mumbled in annoyance, but Dante could see a shy smile creeping on her face.

A sense of pride washed over him when he realized what she meant. He must have been so good with his fingers that she made a huge mess down there. The same mess that he caused. Dante couldn’t help but smirk in satisfaction.

“Lucky me,” he silently bragged, climbing onto the mattress and letting out a soft hum as his back sank into its plush softness. The only thing missing was Celina herself.

He watched Celina follow suit on her side but paused halfway, running her bare hand over the bottom sheet, particularly around the area where their lower bodies once mingled. “Oh, it’s all wet,” she whined out loud, followed by a tired groan when she glanced over at the alarm clock to check the time.

A sheepish chuckle escaped from his lips. Seems like their mess had also made its way onto the bed. Just as Dante was about to offer to help change it real quick, Celina said, “Scoot over.”

He was more than happy to oblige. In fact, it was just what he wanted in the first place. Scooting closer to the edge of the bed, he opened out his right arm to her as a silent invitation. 

Celina crawled over to him, and they settled into a comfortable position where they could both relax and sleep in. Dante wrapped his arms around her from behind, pressing his chest against her back. One of his arms draped over her midsection, splaying his hand across her stomach, while the other arm slid underneath the pillow. Dante buried his face in her hair and took a deep breath, inhaling her scent that soothed his soul. The softness of the bed and the warmth of her body against his were enough to knock Dante back to sleep. 

Just when he closed his eyes, Celina mumbled, “Remind me to never kiss you on the lips again.”

Ah, yes, the kiss that started it all. 

The corners of his lips tugged up in amusement as he pulled away from her hair. “You’re asking me to remember that?” he whispered in mock disbelief. Not kissing her was a thought completely absent from his mind. The idea of it was simply obscure for her to even ask. Dante, being Dante, pressed on, “I don’t know why you’re asking when you didn’t have any complaints a couple of minutes ago.”

Dante didn’t need to see her face to see how flustered she got from his comment. What he got in response was a grunt, followed by her mumbling under her breath, “Shut up.” He knew that she was holding her tongue to refrain from unleashing a snarky remark, as it was getting late to drag on this conversation any longer. They both needed their beauty rest, especially Celina with her morning job.

Though that didn’t stop Dante from getting the last laugh. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He lightly snickered before exhaustion started to creep up once more. He placed a chaste kiss on the back of her head. “Night. Love you.” He yawned, giving her a soft squeeze to emphasize his words.

Celina yawned as she shifted in her position to get more comfortable. “Love you too,” she mumbled those familiar words back to him. The same words that never failed to make his heart swell with warmth, and it intensified when she squeezed his hand with hers.

God, he loved this woman, and he would be damned to let anything happen to her. 

As they both fell into silence, Dante closed his eyes and relaxed further, listening to her steady heartbeat like white noise. Instead of the nightmare flashing before his eyes, he was met with a welcoming embrace of slumber. His mind slowly drifted to the unconscious realm for the rest of the night.

The nightmares were no more.

[ineffableghost]

Pepper leaned forward, also resting her elbows on her knees. "What's the difference between good and evil?" "The uniform," Crowley quipped. She scowled at him, and the rest of the Them sat up and paid attention too. "I'm serious." "And you don't go for easy questions either." Crowley looked her square in the eye. "I wasn't exactly joking. It's long, and complicated, and gets very fuzzy around the edges." "Try us." Crowley felt Adam's eyes on him too, and grimaced, lips parting instinctively to taste the air for danger, snake-fashion. "S'how you look at something that defines whether you consider it good or evil. Doesn't matter if the coin comes down heads or tails, still got the same value. Different times have different values and consider different things evil. Not much stays the same there, given long enough. The only thing that does really, is if you treat people as people with all the free will that implies, or if you treat people as things." He smelt/tasted dead leaves, and human, and damp dog with the faintest whiff of sulphur-undertone, and distant cowpat, and damp tree, and damp stone. No danger there that he could sense. Adam sighed. "Why would someone make people and then get angry when they act like people anyhow?" "Aziraphale would tell you that it's ineffable." Crowley shifted, stretching out one leg, then the other. "Personally? Likely because they think of people as things. Good has to persuade people to choose it, Evil is happy to force things into line. S'why it's easier to slide to Evil than to climb to Good. Life's never really about being wholly good or evil anyway, not for humans. It's about finding the balance point between the push and pull of them that works for you." ... Pepper was frowning. Adam just looked thoughtful. Brian and Wensleydale looked thoroughly out of their depth. Crowley hissed a sigh through his teeth and then produced an apple in his hand. Maybe metaphor would work where direct explanation didn't. "There is nothing of this Earth that is entirely one or the other. Look. Apple. Considered good, sweet, healthy, yes? Also represents original sin - the stolen Knowledge of Good and Evil. Couldn't have one without the other." He split it neatly into top and bottom halves, revealing the star shape in its centre and a dark pip. Even Fallen, the thing the once-maker of stars was best known for was, at heart, a star. Probably part of that ineffable divine sense of humour. "And the pips here? Well, they're a source of poison. Cyanide. Killed lots of people in its more pure form. One pip alone isn't going to hurt, mind you, but you eat a couple pounds of pips at once and you're in trouble." He split the halves again and passed over the four apple pieces to be eaten by the kids. They bit in cheerfully, and watched him. He shrugged. "Same goes for people. I've met people responsible for mass-murders - millions of deaths, minimum - who loved their families and painted pretty pictures. I've met people that humans generally consider good that did some very nasty things behind everyone's backs. And I've had far too many commendations from Hell about Evil being done by people convinced they're doing Good, to take people's word for what they are." Adam sighed too. "The vicar here says Heaven is all Good and Hell is all Evil." "That's a very popular way of looking at things," Crowley said dryly, "both here and in those places. Like I said before, the difference is the uniform." He looked up suddenly, sensing "angel approaching", and spotted Aziraphale picking his way down the slope. "Uniforms are black and white. The people wearing them - not so much."

From: Take My Heart (But Not My Hand)

[littleplantfreak]

Word Count: 847

Suo x Reader (drabble ig?)

I wanted to write something with fallen angel suo and originally I was gonna make him mean but for some reason I can never do him dirty T-T I didn’t check it for errors so ✌️

Cws: Blood, maybe implied corruption? idk

Every time you meet Suo, he plucks a feather from your wings. He laughs as you pout, grumbling that you should do the same to him and he agrees, inching them closer to you. You never do grab one, nor do you ask why he does it.

 Are angels supposed to meet with fallen angels? Of course not, but if nothing else, you wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. He doesn’t tell you why he fell, or what happened to make him cover his eye with a patch. The answer is nebulous and changes by the day, but that’s also part of the charm isn’t it? It’s part of the allure that led to you meeting with him every week, sitting under a heavy canopy of trees or slipping into a dimly lit cave a trail of flower petals led you to. 

He’s a pinprick of red, crimson in your otherwise white, colorless life of working to watch over people who can’t see you. A thankless task, but necessary. Your way of living has been ingrained in you time and time again like water eroding mountains to follow a path out to sea, so by now the words come automatically.

“I don’t need to be thanked, Suo. I was made for this.” It’s an assurance you make time and time again, even if you sigh sometimes when you think about the monotony of it all. 

Help, bless, pray and repeat. 

Suo recently showed you laundromats, and the way the washing machine spins the water and soapy clothes in circles is how your job has started to feel. The trance you fall into as it spins is the very trance you slip into easily completing your assigned tasks. 

“I think it’s natural to want to be thanked for your work.” His words eat at you sometimes, because you can tell they’re sincere. Regardless of his status, of what he is, and how he’s fallen, you can tell with certainty he believes it. You would say that, is what you want to say back, but he doesn’t deserve cruel words when he’s been nothing but kind.

No one’s questioned your absences, or your missing feathers. Both are sparse in the grand scheme of things and if anyone has noticed or made note, it’s been filed away as a transgression so minor you feel like screaming. 

Why doesn’t that matter? Why shouldn’t someone be concerned? Why do they look at you funny if you even so much as think to ask a question that goes against what you’ve been taught? The word ‘why’ is small but stark. It stands out in your mind like the small dots of blood that replace the feathers Suo plucks from you over and over. The empty spaces have started to fill, but by the time you realize what’s happened, your wings have splatters of black against what was once a pristine white canvas. 

You paint over them every morning one by one trying to bury the evidence, but you can feel the difference in how you think and see the world. When it comes time to meet Suo again, you can tell he sees through the effort you’ve put in to make yourself seem normal. Whatever normal was is not your normal now, but when he places his own black feather in your hand, you realize it’s just as soft as your own. It weighs the same, probably even has the same chemical makeup if you tested it in a lab, but the color is growing on you the more you look at it. Maybe this normal is better. 

For now though, you bring the feather with you, shoving yourself back into the wash cycle. It can’t be much longer before someone starts to notice, but by the time they do, you’re sure it will be too late, and you’ll be long gone. It seems silly now to say an angel has fallen when they keep their wings, you think. 

Suo hears that comment from you himself too, smiling as if he knows a secret. Would you believe him if he told you the truth? That the black feathered wings usually only grow back after their old ones have been torn from their backs, blood flowing and staining skin and lost plumage like a waterfall?

The first day he saw you he could tell right away what your course was meant to be. The look in your eyes was the same as his right before he was grounded and left flightless in a heap, not a hand to help him up in sight. 

It’s good that he found a way around that. A way to save you from the pain and shame of not just falling, but being crushed under heel by the very entity that made you who you are. You’re happy now, looking through the garden he’s brought you to as you use an old botany book to search up what the flowers are. Your words from a lifetime ago ring true, if only for him. He doesn’t need to be thanked, he’s sure he was made for this.  

[cybergothmiku]

HC time >:D

sweetheart had a major spiritual phase where they collected tarot cards (autism) and milo would just find random cards scattered around the house then turn to sh like "sweetheart how many off these do you have?" and they just give him the most mischievous smile

when angel wants something they will never be upfront, instead they leave david hints around their house, like open magazines/newspaper ads etc - it didn't take david long to figure out that pattern and finds it cute

darlin doesn't sleep well at night without hearing sam's breathing behind them, so one night they recorded him sleeping and play it if he's busy with something and out at night, Sam didn't know about it till he came home one night to find one of darlin's headphones had fallen out and heard himself mumbling in his sleep, it's still the cutest thing he has ever seen

Anton can definitely crochet, he makes his partner random items and mails them to them, in return they will send back some paintings they did, he has them hanging up at work

cutie used to be a dancer when they were younger, sometimes Geordi would walk in on them dancing while cleaning and quietly admire them, when they split up cutie took up dance again as a form of therapy

dear is half irish and their mother used to teach them Gaeilge so they could keep in touch with their culture, sometimes when they're frustrated with work they will start cursing in irish. one night when they were coking dinner for both themself and lasko they accidentally burnt their hand and started cussing, lasko learned a lot about himself that night.

Smartass sings in the shower, and not just a little song, it will be a 2 hour long musical performance, Aaron noticed they always sang songs from a particular musical and put money aside for their anniversary to take them to see their favourite show, not only that he purposefully booked that particular showing because he saw it was special viewing with the original cast

[libraryofleos]

Back with some more 911 Fanart. Totally not original idea to turn a character into a classic painting, especially this one. “The Fallen Angel” by Alexandre Cabanel. (That howl painting was amazing.) Buck was just so pretty in the last episode I couldn’t not do some more art with him. With it being Eddie’s episode next I already have an Idea of what painting to put him in.

[neverchecking]

A fall from Grace

Okay, so, i have made more friends. They have, in fact, influenced this. So here's a list of people to blame.

@angry-trashcan

@cloudninetonine

@desires-of-chain

@fanfic-fairy-fountain (you get to be included)

@wayfayrr (so do you <3)

Can be seen as a continuation of this, but I did not write it with that in mind. Happy accident. I can't promise a lot of writing bc Uni is just starting so I'm busy with that, but hopefully this feeds yall

Yellow was an ugly color. 

Hideous in the way it fell in stands around a porcelain face, caging eyes of pure sapphire with bands of white. White was meant to be a color of purity. A color to signify the untainted innocence of an unsullied soul. Touched by what was once believed to be pure divinity in and of itself, now revealed to be something much more sinister. 

Something with a gnarled grin, pinched by indented dimples and pearly whites revealed by pulled back lips painted a pretty pink. With eyes that shined in the sunlight like it was the great star’s only purpose to highlight those saccharine irises only to shadow over in the dark of night, hidden beneath the cloak of the twinkling stars, free to do as she pleased. Although, that was the humor in it all. It didn’t matter whether the dark of night was hiding her actions, repainting a saint over the real image of a sinner chained to their fall from grace, because the heavens sang her praises in a choir so loud it had deafened them all. Angels had preached her hymns to the point their ears rang with her acclaims and the skies thundered their applause for her. It seemed everything was built for her to toss or cherish as she so pleased. 

It made his stomach roll in a putrid anger that destroyed his senses, leaving him to act irrationally. He had been so blind. Content to follow like a blind puppy would follow the first person to drop them a scrap of leftover rubbish. 

But no longer would he be the one to write the very prophecies that proclaimed her a savior. A goddess fallen from whatever holy land she was born from to grace her people with her very presence. No longer would he be chained to sing the praises of an angel who plucked the feathers that lined her wings from the ones she damned to fall. 

He had been saved. 

Hands that knew nothing but boundless humility and grace had cupped his cheeks in an effort to shield him from the wrongdoings of the world around him. Skin that had not been blemished by a drop of bloodshed sheened in sweat underneath of him, imprinting their own unique mark on his own skin. Layer the scars that once laid there in new lines of red and white. Badges of honor bestowed upon him by a phoenix bred from the ashes of the damned fallen before them. Like an icarus who had heed the warning and rose to the heavens the way intended for them. Who held their wings of wax with bleeding palms until flesh and muscle did it for them. Until a halo of light was dipped into the golden rivers of luster and bestowed unto them on a velvet pillow proclaiming their ethereal welcoming into the place only murmured about in ancient texts. 

They had held him dearly while freeing the blindfold from it’s place cemented by a generation far older than him. Wound the satin curtains of crimson hooked around his face like blinders around a stake and watched glorious flames lick up the edges in a show of reds, yellows and blues, letting it burn in name of their glorious title. 

Sky had fallen before. He had fallen from Skyloft and it had freed him in a way that was unexplainable until far later into his journey. He had originally believed that fall to be the one to shatter the shackles around his wrists and allow him to fully experience everything his world had to offer. Looking back, that was not the fall he had needed to truly free himself. No, that wouldn’t come until much later. Until he had met his sword brothers. Until he had met you. Until he had let your aura engulf his being and lull his busy soul to a steady slumber. 

He hadn’t known true peace until meeting you. Not until you gifted it to him, cupped in gentle hands and shielded by your radiant smile. One that didn’t need the heavens to enhance it as it was already pure perfection. One that was only amplified by echoing bells of your laughter that spelled out your joy for all those around you. 

He wasn’t convinced you quite knew what you had done to him. How you had positively eradicated any hope he had of going back to normal after this was all said and done, because there was no normal without you. There was no way he could go back to that fraud clad in robes meant for your frame alone. There was no way he could hold back the rage that would boil his insides and ignite a fury filled inferno so powerful it would leave the rest of Skyloft balking at the devastation left behind. 

Because he was nothing without you. He was a loyal follower devoted to your significance. Nothing else. He wouldn’t let himself be disgraced in such a way ever again. 

Because yellow was an ugly color. 

But gold? Gold was something rich and divine, elegant. Something that, when graced upon your figure lit up the room like you were doused in holy light yourself.  Something that when laid upon your collarbone in fine chain links curved perfectly into the dip of the bone. 

Something that, when wrapped around your finger in a pretty little ring of gold, reminded him that he was nothing more than a worshiper of your gospel. 

[anithemonsterlover]

Something New

Something fun I wanted to write! Erik/one of my OCs i thought could be engaging. It's an OC from my own story i have, away from POTO, but if you guys are interested i wouldl write more...I like their interactions...and this is more kerik than intended...but imagine this erik is like...in his 20s

--

"Silent again."

The figure had entered into the tent, irrupting him from his thoughts.

He turned, used to those flickering golden eyes, a wave of familiarity striking. But beneath that glance stood a pleasant face. And well, that had been, from the start, the man's most alluring aspect, ever since Erik met him.

But Dal's good looks were his weapon, as much as Erik's own monstrosity, he reasoned. The Shah had asked him to coordinate with this independent man to locate the whereabouts of the previous Vizier, who had fled the court under unknown circumstances. Erik was the new sensation, so the Shah thought practical for him to work with his original "shadow", a "blight youth", "the desert fox", in his words. Erik guessed he needed allies, in a way. Yet...

The boy got closer to the makeshift table with the fruit bowl, and took a peach. Insolent, ask first.

But Dal seemed to read his mind in that moment. He shrugged as he waved the peach around.

"I haven't eaten the whole day." And bit into the fruit, his skin a similar hue to the peach. Erik had initially found that curious...Everything pertaining to Dal's visage marked him as different. The pink skin, the golden eyes, the orange hair...If he wanted to play target, he could easily win...And therefore, working as an assassin seemed a bit of a contradiction.

Although maybe that's why he was dressed head to foot in black, even covering his head with a scarf at night. Erik found the similarities to his wardrobe amusing at first. See, Daroga? My fashion tastes are not that unusual.

But the initial droll would last for seconds, as he recalled the first night they met for the mission. Neither of them had talked beforehand...Probably not even knew of each other, if Erik's account could testify.

He saw the smug smile carved on his face and he felt a feline sensation of guardedness.

"Is my job threatened?"

"Only if you see it that way, boy."

The smile vanished in that moment, as fast as lightning.

"How old are you to call me that? Decrepit? I'm not a boy."

And that first impression had done little to sway him to his enchantments. Back in the present, the golden eyes flickered with defiance.

"Fine. But ask first before you indulge yourself."

Dal lowered his head, in a parodic fashion. Erik would be insulted...Would, if he was in any authoritarian position. But alas, the throne fit for him didn't exist. Just makeshift tent, in the middle of the desert, on the road for a wanted criminal.

But his face was striking, much like his was...In the opposite direction. Both would star prominently in paintings, tho, he reasoned. The Fallen Angel and Death, perhaps, holding on amiably....Incidentally, being a reflection of their current predicament. He wasn't sure the Shah would be generous to this deserter once he returned to court.

"Forgive me, your grace." Alright, now it delved into mockery.

"Hold your tongue."

And he showed his tongue! Well, he had to give credit; Dal would know when to be cocky and when not. Of course, based on the little glances Erik had stolen of him in court, he never behaved like that with the Shah.

Of course, tho, being like that with Erik, of all people...

Dal then stretched and sat on a pillow, continuing with the peach.

"Ya know, i don't think we've started on a good foot. Let's try to bond again." He titled his head and smiled. Erik then noticed his tongue dangerously edged between his teeth.

He was startled at the suggestion. What to say to that?

"...What do you suppose?"

"...We're working together." the teasing paused. "If we want our mission to succeed we must share the same goals. I don't think your wish is to return to the kingdom to a cell."

"...No."

"...Well, then, let's start...I am Dal."

"...Erik."

"...Only Erik?"

He arched an eyebrow. "You're too curious for your own good."

He grinned. "Curiosity enrichens this cat."

"Or leads him to an early grave."

He chuckled, and kept stretching. Attention seeker, is he...

"Dalar, actually, but friends call me Dal."

"...I'm a friend?"

"...I want to believe so."

He finally chuckled at that. if he was younger, more naive, he might have felt hopeful at the open invitation...But he could see the red strings around Dal's words.

"You're not from Persia."

"Neither are you."

Touché. He wondered if he would be interested in displaying his past...Although maybe he could be reserved...Much like him.

"...What brought you here?"

"I could ask the same to you."

Alright, he wouldn't bend.

"Seems a little dangerous, dear Dal, to be an assassin with your...mesmerizing features."

"Not the first time I got that compliment." He laughed.

"Your hair stands out a lot."

"That's what the hood is for."

"But...amongst a sea of black...Red just..." A dye would be essential. But Dal's shrug showed a certain arrogance.

"Everyone's got their signature, this one's mine."

Well, alright, he'll get his throat slit any day...

"...The Shah has you in high esteem. 'The desert fox', he calls you."

"Is it surprising? I do a job well done, I get credited. Nothing to get wowed." He seemed annoyed at that.

"Why do you work for him?" Erik, feeling more secure, sat in front of him in a spare cushion. His senses urged him to guard his distance, stand up, but...

"Good pay." He arched an eyebrow. "Strange you ask me that."

He noticed right now...He had yellow eyes...Just like him...Huh...Well, he guessed the eyes weren't as haunting...In the proper face.

"A foreigner in the service of the shah of Persia" he insisted. "There's more to it than that."

"I tend to not tie myself up. It's a hassle." He shrugged, impatient. "Better to open yourself for the world...Somewhere i'll find work, and my skills will be appreciated."

Hah, curious ways of describing his work...Erik thought similarly.

Still, it sounded either like ignorant, headcharging stubborn youth...Or a man taking a decision and sticking to it...And Erik was aging himself with these dumb comparisons...Dal possibly was only 5 or so years younger than him.

He lowered his glance. He could spot the luck oozing from the words...But he didn't seem arrogant, at least. Just a little impatient. But...He wasn't merely a green boy, either. His figure, amidst the lazy stretches and superficial smiles, hid competence, coldness, dedication.

He liked that.

"You're very self assured, maybe too much for your age."

He sat still, cat-like, observing the horizon.

"I'm not a boy." He ate the peach. Erik noted a silver glint near his leg, under the robe...And Dal noted his eyes. "Curious?"

Erik looked away "I was just...-"

He chuckled again. "People have said ruder things." He slid his voice. "So..."

Erik titled his head...Yes, a metallic toe looked back at him. "...How did it happen?"

He was expecting for Dal's reaction there to change, and be somber...But, while the smile diminished, the air of nonchalance still followed him. He seemed at ease with Erik.

"Dumb mistakes."

He made a noise. "...Care to reveal?"

"If first you reveal your face."

Touché. The fox was true to his nature, and would not drop its slyness. Still, Erik appreciated that he hadn't touched the subject of the mask, in all the time they spent together...Till now.

"Why the mask?"

"...Dumb mistake." God's dumb mistake, rather...But possibly God also played to have Dal lose his leg, if one could passively believe in the concept of fate.

And he was close. Insolently close. Recklessly close. Foolishly close...Invitingly close.

The peach's scent was printed on him...And his eyes searched for him, searching that connection. Erik raised a putrid hand, maybe to rebelliously play with one of those firey locks...

But Dal turned away, towards the flap of the tent.

"Well...If you need me...You can make out the color of my tent." He paused before leaving. "Or you can just wait."

Normally he would growl at the scent of an order, but Dal's voice carried a light edge that would lull him into complacency.

Well...He had another aspect to look forward these years in Persia, he imagined.

[anonymousewrites]

One Hell of a Love (Book 1.5) Chapter Two

Sebastian Michaelis x Demon! Reader

Chapter Two: One Hell of a Congregation

Summary: Sebastian and (Y/N) talk, and they face an angel.

            “As only boys are being chosen for the Heavenly Choir, the Young Master is the only one who could get close to the Founder,” said Sebastian as he, (Y/N), Ciel, and Grell regrouped after the…ordeal with the nun

            “Really?” said Grell perkily. The other three looked over at her, and their faces turned blank. Grell was wearing one of the uniforms the little boys had one, and it fit…really badly around her. “Entering the Heavenly Choir is something even I can do! So, does it suit me?”

            “Wah! I’ll become unclean!” wailed the little boy in just his undershorts.

            “You—!” began Ciel, but a sudden singing interrupted him.

            “Ah! The time of the Founder’s cleansing ritual has come!” said the little boy happily.

            “Cleansing?” (Y/N)’s eyes narrowed. They were already feeling violent.

            “There is something else going on here,” said Sebastian. He had sensed it slightly when they arrived, but now it was here.

            “Is something wrong?” asked Ciel.

            “Nothing.” His eyes narrowed. “I just perceived the stench of an apple that has fallen to the ground and rotted through.”

            Rotten, thought (Y/N). That would explain why there was so much wrong here. An angel was lording over these people.

l

            (Y/N), Sebastian, Ciel, and Grell sat in the back pew of the chapel as the people of the cult filed into the room. Candles lit the dais, the light flickering against the stained-glass windows. Finally, the Founder emerged in white robes, a hood covering his head.

            “Tonight,” he declared. “All sinful uncleanness will be purified before.”

            Two cult members took the robes off of new converts, leaving them bare before the watchers. Sigils were painting on their backs. Then, a cult member handed two books to the Founder.

            Doomsday Books, thought (Y/N). Or Cinematic Records. Or one and the same. “Are those Cinematic Records?” murmured (Y/N).

            Grell, who had her arms around (Y/N)’s arm (which (Y/N) was allowing only because Sebastian seemed oddly irritated, so (Y/N) decided he should feel a bit upset too after the nun incident), sighed. “We’re too far away to be sure.”

            Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. He was suspicious of the Founder, but he was also irked at Grell being so close to (Y/N). They didn’t like touch, so for them to be allowing Grell to be so close meant something. Sebastian’s hands twitched with the suppressed instinct to push Grell away from (Y/N). A filthy reaper shouldn’t be anywhere near them.

            “Let us read from the Doomsday Books of these impure, stray children,” said the Founder. “Jill Peasant, born the second daughter of a farmer, fell pregnant at the age of fifteen. Thomas Atkins. Though he hasn’t committed any noticeable evildoings, he let the years pass meaninglessly, and this is a grave sin.

            Jill and Thomas writhed in pain as shadows congregated around them. Darkness poured out from their bodies, and they cried out. (Y/N)’s eyes narrowed. This purification was torturing the humans. Unbidden, (Y/N) felt the pressure of water on their chest, familiar sensations of fighting for breath and ropes digging into skin coming back to them. Suddenly, Grell’s touch, even at the desire for Sebastian to be annoyed, was too much, and (Y/N) sharply pushed her off.

            Behind the pulpit, the stained-glass window glowed with golden light. Bits of Jill and Thomas’s lives played before the congregation.

            “Get rid of the immoral! Get rid of the useless! Get rid of the impure! Get rid of the unclean!” chanted the Founder.

            The picture of Jill and Thomas’s lives shattered to leave just the original window behind, and the pair writhed on the stone floor. The light faded behind them.

            “Now there is no impurity,” said the Founder. “We welcome our newly cleansed brethren!”

            “Founder! Founder!” The congregation cheered for him as Jill and Thomas were dressed. They followed the Founder and the new converts out of the room to celebrate, leaving the infiltrators alone.

            “This is strange,” said Grell. “The books that guy was carrying weren’t Cinematic Records.”

            (Y/N)’s nose twitched. So she had known when (Y/N) asked.

            “That should mean he has no power to see the past,” said Ciel.

            Sebastian eyes narrowed, and his gaze went to (Y/N). He was used to their eyes meeting as they both identified that the angel had something to do with this, but they weren’t looking at him.

            “Ah, you are still here!” said a soft voice. Three nuns stood in the doorway. (Luckily for them, none of them were the one Sebastian had slept with, which meant (Y/N) wasn’t contemplating their murder). “Heaven’s grace has been bestowed upon you! You have been chosen for the Heavenly Choir!”

            Gross, thought (Y/N). But they knew Sebastian (and they) would keep anything from happening to Ciel.

            “Come, follow us. You must be bathed and changed before meeting the Founder,” said a nun, taking Ciel by the arm.

            “Yes, you must be prepared,” said another, moving towards (Y/N).

            They stepped back and narrowed their eyes. They weren’t going anywhere near the Founder or they’d kill him before there was any information. “I’m fine.”

            “Nonsense, you must be cleansed,” said the nun.

            “Don’t touch me. I’ll take care of myself,” (Y/N) damn near hissed the words.

            “Ah…Very well,” said the nun, handing over a pile of clothes.

            (Y/N) took them and stormed into another room in irritation, nose twitching.

l

            (Y/N) tched as they regarded the clothes. No way in hell were they dresses like a cult nun that was brainwashed. They promptly shred the clothes with a neat flick of their wrists.

            “(Y/N).”

            They turned to face Sebastian. “If you’re going to tell me I should be trying to blend in and go along with what the Founder wants to get information, please try to remember I don’t have to take orders from anyone here. I could leave without any guilt.”

            Sebastian picked up a scrap of the clothing and tossed it into a torch, letting it burn to ash. “I was going to say nothing of the sort. I rather agree with destroying this. You have no reason to be subservient to any human’s orders.” He took a step closer to them. “But do be wary. There is a rotten air to this ordeal.”

            (Y/N) understood. “The angel here.”

            “Yes,” said Sebastian. His eyes were somber. “This is not the first time someone obsessed with cleansing and purity has focused on you and the Young Master. If an angel is involved, there is danger.”

            (Y/N) could answer that they were capable. But they could see something in Sebastian’s eyes, so they just nodded. “I know.”

            Sebastian assessed their expression, and he felt himself relaxed slightly at their honesty. “Good.” The focus on the unclean had been directed at them and Ciel, and it frustrated Sebastian to not understand why yet, so he felt more protective that usual, both of his contract and the other demon. “We’ll be ready soon to get more information from the Founder.”

            “I certainly won’t be getting information your way,” said (Y/N), rolling their eyes and turning away.

            Sebastian smirked. So, that was why they had been upset. How fascinating…

            “I should hope not. Humans aren’t worthy of any interest such as that,” said Sebastian.

            (Y/N) glanced back at him. “What?”

            “Humans are of no consequence to a demon,” said Sebastian. “Especially not ones like you or I.”

            The nun meant nothing. She was an afterthought.

            (Y/N) felt a satisfied grin spread across their face. “No. Humans are of no consequence.”

            “Precisely,” said Sebastian. A demon such as you, however… But that was for another time.

l

            “Oh, what happened to the clothes we sent with you?” said a nun in disappointment when they saw (Y/N) still wearing the maid outfit.

            (Y/N) smiled darkly. “They didn’t fit.”

            “Oh, how unfortunate.” But the nuns took the answer and led (Y/N) and Ciel, who was wearing the outfit, back towards the chapel. Sebastian and Grell were kept behind.

            “We have brought them with us, Founder,” said the nuns to the Founder as he gazed down from the dais.

            “You may leave now,” said the Founder. The nuns bowed and left. The only one left was an attendant at the back of the dais.

            (Y/N)’s eyes narrowed. The Founder was surrounded by the stench of death, rotting bodies. They were ready to fight at a moment’s notice.

            “How lovely for you to join us,” said the Founder. “I have long been expecting you, Ciel. And your name is (Y/N) this time, yes?” They just narrowed their eyes. “Come closer. I wish to speak with you.”

            (Y/N) and Ciel stepped up onto the dais. “It is a great honor to be chosen by the Founder himself,” said Ciel, actually playing the part.

            The Founder extended an arm and placed his hand on Ciel’s shoulder. (Y/N) tensed watchfully. “Let me read from the Book to you,” said the Founder. “Let me read you a book until you fall asleep.” Ciel’s eyes widened, but he didn’t move as the Founder’s hand went to his forehead. “Let us erase it…the sin you have personally given born to. Let us erase it here and now!”

            (Y/N) moved before the Founder could. They pulled Ciel behind them as the Founder lunged for the boy. In the same moment, Sebastian crashed through the window with Grell behind them. He had sensed Ciel’s distress. Seeing as Ciel was already safely behind a demon (which was a strange thought, but Sebastian knew (Y/N) would not harm the Earl), Sebastian glanced at his contract for an order.

            “Sebastian, this is an order! Kill him!” said Ciel.

            “Yes, my Lord.”

            Sebastian threw a silver knife, and it sliced through puppet strings and embedded in the Founder’s head. When the attendant moved towards Ciel and (Y/N), Sebastian tossed a knife in their direction as well. The cloak was torn into pieces, and white feathers floated into the air as the attendant jumped out of the robe and into the air.

            (Y/N) narrowed their eyes. “Angela.” Just as they and Sebastian had sensed.

            The angel smiled as she flew into the air.

            “W-Wait a minute!” cried Grell. “What is an angel doing in this world?”

            Angela smirked and flew around the group, grabbing Ciel. (Y/N) rounded on them, but Angela opened a book, and strips of film encircled (Y/N).

            “Hey! Now that’s a real Cinematic Record!” exclaimed Grell.

            Sebastian gritted his teeth angrily as the record was turned on him and strips of film grabbed at his limbs, binding him like (Y/N).

            “Grell! Use your Death Scythe!” ordered Sebastian.

            “Don’t be so hasty! I’m on it!” said Grell. Her Death Scythes were even smaller than the last time they’d seen each other.

            “What are those?” sighed (Y/N). Their hands were bound so they couldn’t use their claws, otherwise they’d slice through these before Grell could explain herself.

            “There’s nothing I can do about it!” whined Grell. “My Death Scythe was confiscated by Will the other day!”

            Angela smirked. “Then I shall take my leave.” She flew up higher and tugged on the records. (Y/N) was pulled into the air, bound. “Let me bring light to your darkness and cleanse the evil within you.” The window behind her glowed as it opened a portal to another plane of existence, and Angela dragged her captives towards it.

            “Young Master!” shouted Sebastian, straining against the records.

            Grell finally cut through the scraps of film. “I did it!”

            Sebastian lunged towards the portal. “(Y/N)!”

            “Sebastian!”

            The portal closed and left behind an empty chapel.

Taglist:

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@izzieg3987

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[cosmic--dandelion]

So how did we get from this

To this?

Let's talk about the history of Beelzebub!

Beelzebub is strongly associated and indeed often conflated with Baal, a Hellenistic era pagan god worshipped everywhere from the Canaanite city of Ekron to Greece (where he was known as Belus) to Egypt as far back as 1400 BCE. He is first mentioned in the Books of Kings (2 Kings 1:2–3, 6, 16) as Ba'al-zəbûb, meaning "Lord of the Flies" in Hebrew, a possible corruption of "Lord of the High Place" meant to denigrate the deity after he was appropriated and repurposed as a false god, then a demon. Baal worship was extremely difficult for the early Christians to stamp out, so they basically stole other people's mythology and used it as a free idea bucket to fill out the Bible's rogues gallery.

While it's true that in some Ugaritic texts, Baal is depicted as expelling flies and causing sickness, he was still held in high esteem in ancient Canaan and Phoenicia as a powerful deity who controlled the sun, storms, and fertility and who defeated Mot, the god of death and the underworld. The ancient world could get pretty scatological at times! After all, one of Beelzebub's contemporaries, the Egyptian sun god Ra, was often depicted as a dung beetle, then a prominent symbol of rebirth.

Some scholars think he might have even been the same god! Beelzebub seems to have been the ancient world's go-to demon because the name has been used interchangeably with everyone from Lucifer, Satan, and even Hades in some gnostic texts.

Unfortunately, we don't have much information about Beelzebub's pre-Christian origins other than some iron age ruins in what is now modern day Israel that suggest his temples were decorated with little golden flies, which is pretty neat.

Interestingly, Jesus himself was accused of being a worshipper of Beelzebub multiple times in the New Testament. Maybe the Pharisees were projecting?

Throughout the Middle Ages, Beelzebub reappeared again in the Lantern of the Light (where he was associated with the sin of envy), De Occulta Philosophia, Princes of Hell, and other demonology texts. 16th-17th Century French Inquisitor Sébastien Michaelis elevated him to the rank of fallen angel in his book The Admirable History of Possession and Conversion of a Penitent Woman: Seduced by a Magician that Made Her to Become a Witch, translated to English in 1613. It was around this time Beelzebub started to become strongly associated with witchcraft. Michaelis should know; he burnt over 14 women accused of being witches!

Unsurprisingly, his name came up repeatedly during the Salem witch trials.

Beelzebub and fellow demons new and old bounced all over different classifications of demons during the 1500s and 1600s. In John Milton's epic poem Paradise Lost, first published in 1667, Beelzebub was part of an unholy trinity consisting of him, Lucifer, and Astaroth. Occultist Johan Weyer decreed that Beelzebub was the Emperor of Hell, having led a successful revolt against the devil. German theologian Peter Binsfield described him as the Prince of Gluttony in his 1589 Treatise on Confessions by Evildoers and Witches. Before that, he was associated with Envy, then Pride.

We even have his personal signature! (At least according to the Grand Grimoir, an anonymous text on black magic of unknown origin)

Beelzebub's physical appearance is even more diverse. He's been depicted as everything from a leopard, a feminine man as tall as a tower, a snake, a calf with a fly's face to...whatever the literal hell this is:

"'dressed like a bee and with two dreadful ears and his hair painted in all colors with a dragon's tail"

Jacques Albin Simon Collin de Plancy (1793 – 1881)'s Dictionnaire infernal was among the first to depict Beelzebub literally as a fly. No duck feet, no lion's mane. Just a fly.

Still better than this.

As Plancy was a skeptic influenced by Voltaire, the book was first intended as a folklore compilation but was later modified to fit with Roman Catholic theology after he converted, much to the consternation of his admirers. Many of his lurid illustrations later appeared in S. L. MacGregor Mathers's edition of The Lesser Key of Solomon...for better or for worse.

Put Adrammelech in Helluva Boss you cowards.

So basically, Beelzebub has been a public domain character since before King Tut was laid in his golden sarcophagus, and people have been just making shit up about him for millennia. What's your favorite depictation of Beelzebub? This is mine:

Nothing beats 2nd Edition Dungeons & Dragons artwork.

[not-quite-there-myself]

helloooo, if thats ok, id like to request something with square mutton fish/male reader! could be anything :)!!!! i rarely see any content of him ^^ love your writing btw!!!!

PORTRAIT PAINTING

After telling him that you wanted to see original art instead of his forgeries for once, Square Mutton Fish ends up painting a portrait of you. He does, and... he ends up liking it a little too much. The painting, of course. Definitely not because the subject was you. Totally not.

A/N: Aww anon I'm happy to hear that (seriously, that made my day)! Square Mutton Fish is definitely underrated, and he actually happens to be a favourite of mine. Made this silly drabble with him because of that, though it ended up being different than I originally intended (please help me I didn't mean for this to be 1k words).

Reblogs are greatly appreciated!

"What?!" Square Mutton Fish yelled, stepping back in a rather dramatic manner. "You're telling me you, my amazing master attendant of all people, have never had your portrait painted?!"

It was another day when you and your Food Soul, Square Mutton Fish, had been talking about his... unique, shall we say, line of work. As you came to learn, he was a skilled artist—that was the only thing the two of you could agree upon with 100% certainty. Square Mutton Fish would have honestly been happy if the two of you left the conversation at just that: his artistic talent. Unfortunately for him, you also happened to pick up on the fact that he didn't always use that talent of his for good.

Forgery was something you weren't exactly fond of, so it was no surprise that you chastised him when he reluctantly admitted to his scamming side hustles. No matter how much he tried to convince you it was honest work, you shut him down immediately. It didn't help that he often got into trouble with scammed victims he couldn't run from. Whenever he came back from one, you were like a parent punishing their kid from stealing from a candy store, hands on your hips and making him work double time on chores around the restaurant. But he wasn't just going to give up doing it just because you told him to.

You sighed. "Honestly, with all the trouble you get yourself into, you really oughta use that art talent for original work, not forgeries." Square Mutton Fish suddenly perked up when you added, "I'd like to see some of your own art for once..."

A grin appeared on the Food Soul's face. "Well, why don't I make one just for you?"

And that's where the two of you stand now.

He'd suggested painting a portrait of you, because what better model to have other than his dear attendant? Surely you'd like a painting of yourself, right? Especially with how you mentioned his creative talents and all... But you shook your head, declining his offer. You told him that you probably wouldn't be the best muse—you've never had yourself painted before, actually. You weren't sure if you'd be able to sit still for so long, nevermind keep the same position.

Incredulous by your nonchalant reply, he decided that that just wouldn't do. "Come now, Master Attendant. Why don't I do the honours of painting you?" He seemed all the more eager now, and claimed to be up for a challenge. With a bit more pushing and prodding, you gave in and agreed to his request.

Who knew it would end up backfiring on him?

Gathering all his supplies, you and Square Mutton Fish agreed on a time in the afternoon where you both would be available, and away from all the hustle and bustle of the busy restaurant and the even busier streets. You went out to a grassy clearing nearby, and, making sure there weren't any Fallen Angels near by, met with Square Mutton Fish.

He had already made himself a little area to put his paints and brushes, plus a wooden chair in front of an easel for you to sit on. He waved to you as you came over, carrying a blank canvas under his arm. From the way he peered at you, he could tell that you were probably regretting your decision to agree to his silly request. He seemed adamant on keeping you seated though, a cheeky grin on his face as he put a hand on your shoulder.

"Having second thoughts, Master Attendant? You better not! You agreed to this and I've already set up everything."

Well, it's not like you were gonna back down now.

As the sun gradually went down, you watched as Square Mutton Fish's eyes alternated from the canvas to you. He worked swiftly, mixing paints and switching brushes, but you couldn't help but think that after all this time, he'd been staring at you for a little longer than necessary. It got to a point where you worried he was spacing out or tired and questioned him about it.

"Huh? N-nope! Nothing's wrong, Master Attendant! Don't worry, you look great!" He'd shake it off and tell you it was just an artist at work, to not worry your little head about it and trust the process! It takes time to create perfection, you know. And it's definitely not taking longer than normal because it's difficult for a skilled artist like him to paint someone he finds attractive. Wait, what?

At some point, he let it slip, a frown on his face as he struggled with finding the right colour for your clothes.

"Tsk-tsk, if only he wasn't so handsome, this wouldn't be as complicated..."

"What was that?"

"Wh-what was what? Just keep still, Master Attendant. I'm almost done~"

The relief that washed over you when he told you you could move after so long was astounding. Stretching felt amazing, and you swore that if anyone ever asked to have you pose for a portrait painting again, you'd never agree. You went over to look at the finished product and was pleasantly surprised with what you saw.

"Oh, this looks wonderful!" You complimented, taking the painting off the easel with great care. You made sure not to touch the paint as it was still in the middle of drying. The colours and the proportions were perfect, and the way the paints blended in together seemed almost effortless. It looked so real that if you didn't know any better, you'd think you were looking in a mirror. He really was talented.

Square Mutton Fish had a hand under his chin the whole time, an indiscernible expression on his face. It honestly surprised you that he could get so quiet. You grimaced at the thought that he might not be happy with it. You held up the painting for a side by side comparison. "You're not going to make me sit back down, are you?" You asked, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"Ah, no! Not after you've sat for so long. I wouldn't make my master attendant suffer like that." He seemed to trail off despite that, drifting back into his mind's space once more. Your brows furrowed in confusion until a realization dawned on you. There was a prominent dust of pink on his cheeks that only seemed to grow the longer you stared at him, and his expression seemed almost soft.

"Are you having second thoughts, Square Mutton Fish?" You smiled slightly. His mouth struggled to come up with a reply. "You seem to like staring at me. You already have a painting right here, surely that will last longer than the real thing." You teased, "Unless you want to keep looking?"

The Food Soul let out a forced laugh, trying to buy some time to think of an excuse. "Master Attendant, you're really..." He cleared his throat, dismissing what he originally wanted to say. Instead he explained, "It's, uh... it just turned out way better than I expected it to! Yes, that's it!"

With a swift hand, Square Mutton Fish yoinked the canvas from your hands and fled the scene, leaving you, the easel, the paints, and the paint brushes alone. You also caught him say he forgot to put a seal somewhere or something. As you watched him leave, you couldn't help the small chuckle that left your lips.

It's not everyday you get to see Square Mutton Fish so flustered. Thank your lucky stars that today you managed to catch the look on his face today: incomparable to any work of art, original or forged. It was absolutely priceless.

[heavenzscent]

Working Title : OUT OF OUR HANDS

WIP Rated: M

867 

The Mountains of Hizuru were as beautiful as they had looked in the history books. He rolled down the automobiles windows to allow the crisp coastal breeze to keep him up. The trip from Odiha to Hizuru had been a last minute one without much comfort. 

13 years had passed since Eren had trampled upon the world upon the citizens of the proud nation of the North Eastern sea. Luckily most of it was located upon mountainous islands full of caves which had served as natural bunkers. What had done many of the citizens and survivors had been lack of food. But still they stood. Not as old, grand and mysterious but still just as proud. 

He pulled over into a rest stop. In the walls they would bury or burn the dead. Burials where costly because their was little room for cemeteries it needed to be made useful. Here the cemeteries where different they where streaming with life, trees, ponds and hillsides. They doubled as parks. This one was dedicated to the victims of the rumbling. 

Their where statues made of marble and bronze of angels. Shoguns, emperors and heroes of the past. Alongside statues of those who had fallen from familymen who always helped the community and grandma’s. Their stories written on plaques in both Hizuruan and Eldian. Every tree and statue had a story written upon it. Some where beginning to grow out of eyelevel becoming last to future eyes. 

In the center was a large marble structure that contained all the names of those lost in Hizuru in their complicated writing. 

“Ambassador!” 

He turned around and nodded his head at the frantic scout who he had left asleep in his backseat. 

“Please -uh– refrain from leaving sir.” 

“Sorry Yua. Just needed to stretch.” 

“Don’t do it again. It’s my job to protect you.” The young scout insisted. 

He sighed. Even during a time of relative peace in an empty park a soldiers duty never seased he supposed. 

“I used to be a soldier too yuh know?” 

“This is my first mission out the castle and My Empress trusted me with you.” 

Jean cocked his brow and huffed from his nose. Mikasa had

“Do you happen to know the reason for this visit.” 

The Yua simply shrugged in reply suddenly unable to look him in the eye. 

“How old are you, Miss Tanaka?” He asked taking one last look at the memorial. 

“18 years.” 

He hummed. She had been 5 at the time. He turned around and followed her back to the automobile. 

859

The palace was lovely and fresh but it lacked the grandeur of the original which he had only seen in paintings and photographs but one day it would be. Kiyomi boasted about how the building of the palace was part of the economic plan. It was a joint project between Paradise and Hizuru, the first of many she hoped. The lumber had been issued from the island and some of the stone as well. 

It had been a tactic to show peace and to share access to Hizurus knowledge and  industry. 

The workers who built it were in contract to work on all co-country projects and many of those in the village were on the state's payroll. 

Unlike Eldian palaces that were closed off and tall like fortresses the structure was wider, only going as high as three stories but usually just two . 

“How was it?” He asked Mikasa once they were left to themselves. She had been so quiet but her eyes looked so inquisitive the whole tour. 

“I wish we had more time to see it …before.” Jean nodded in agreement. “But I try not to dwell, I don’t like getting angry at him.” Jean nodded again. He understood it was a useless sort of anger. 

“Hey.” Jean whispered. Mikasa leaned in her face perplexed over the sudden shift in his demeanor. “Ring the bell.” He smirked, pointing at the button. 

“It’s my first night here.” Mikasa rolled her eyes. 

“Come on.” Jean pleaded. 

It didn’t take much convincing.Mikasa never needed much convincing when it came to Jean. 

Within the hour they had a cart full of food and drinks wheeled into their room by an awestruck servant girl who spoke slightly broken but good Eldian. They asked her to join them as they ate dessert and asked her about life in Hizuru, working at the palace and her life. 

To both Jean and Mikasa’s surprise what she said aligned closely with Kiyomis version of the truth. 

867

Once entering the grounds he saw her sons first. The twins, So and Kaito, were hitting a topiary with wood swords as their older brother, Wren, was supervising, pointing every which way yelling unintelligible commands. 

He had thought that he would resent maybe even hate the boys but he quickly found that he could never hate anything that came from Mikasa.

Yua yelled in Hizuran once the twins began climbing the decorative tree and bending it into odd shapes , causing Wren to begin crying and hollering to try to gain his authority back over the younger boys. 

The twins screamed and laughed until they recognized Yua stomping towards them. 

“See this is why I need a promotion.” She said in annoyance although her lips were tugged slightly upwards. 

Jean stopped to wait for Yua to fish the boys out of the bushes. 

He looked down, swearing he heard a small thump. 

Wren was standing in front of him as stiff and straight as he could muster and was giving him the old military salute of the walls. 

Jean mimicked the gesture and bowed. “Crowned Prince Wren.” He addressed the boy as though he were a commander, one day he would be after all. 

“Mr.Ambassador Jean.” The boy mimicked a soldier's tone. Jean tried his best not to laugh at the stern little boy. 

“How have you been? It's been five months.”  

“Yes, since the winter.” Wren was smart. Some six year olds barely knew the months or their birthdays. But the prince was smart like both his mother and father. 

“How has everything been since winter?” 

“I started mine schooling with the other children. Kaito and So still learn with the ummm babies.” Wren seemed quite smug. “My Hizuran and Eldian are very good my mommy and father say so. Oh! A-and uhhh Miss Ao is upset at father right now!”  

“Huh, why?”Jean asked, trying not to seem too interested.

Ao Tanaka was the emperor's mistress and very much the love of his life. At first Jean had hated the man for not loving Mikasa. The emperor had the person in which Jean coveted and was practically spitting upon the blessing. But with time he saw that the arrangement seemed to work for everyone and that the world was larger than what he had been raised to know after all. 

Ao was a kind woman and had been from the emperors home village in the countryside. They had grown up together and at one point thought they would make a life together.That was until the rumbling happened and he became the best and most supported candidate to lead the nation.

He was a kind man as well; Jean supposed. 

He wondered what that bastard had done. Ao can barely swat a fly without looking guilty; he couldn't imagine her being angry.Espcially not enough for even the kids to take notice.  

“I’m not sure… maybe you can cheer her up. Your very funny uncle!” 

“What happened to Ambassador.” Jean faked indignation. Wren simply laughed. He was a confident little boy. Most kids needed an adult on their knees to feel comfortable speaking but Wren could hold a conversation looking up with complete ease and cheerfulness. 

“I’ll try my best.” Jean bowed deeply which made the boy giggle with delight. No one really bowed to him unless the event was formal. Both Mikasa and her husband agreed that it would spoil the boys. 

So ran up to his brother muttering some unintelligible Hizuran/Eldian mishmash of a sentence (Wren seemed to understand the bilingual squishing of words perfectly.);Jean could swear he heard the word child. 

This was followed by another scolding from Yua trying to get the twins to sit on their hands for a few minutes until they calmed down. She quickly gave Jean a glance that left him uneasy. 

“I give up! Do as you will. I need to take the ambassador to your parents. I’m going to give Chiyo a whipping later.” She announced.He supposed that had been her replacement while she undertook her first mission. 

Wren gave him and Yua a final salute before they disappeared through the heavy palace doors. 

INFO SHEET

The Imperial family of Hizuru

Her majesty the Empress  Mikasa Ackerman

His majesty the Emperor Arata Azumabito-Ito 

Crowned Prince Wren Ackerman-Ito  (both sounds Eldian for the bird and sounds Hizuran) 

Prince So Ackerman-Ito

Prince Kaito Ackerman-Ito

Courtesan to the Emperor Ao Tanaka

Yua Tanaka, Scout and serves the Imperial family. 18 years old 5 at the time of the rumbling.

Kiyomi Azumabito - states woman and ambassador   

Unified Nations Federation

Jean Kirstein, Lead Ambassador of Eldia and The Unified Nations Federation. 

Reiner Braun, Ambassador of Eldia and The Unified Nations Federation. 

Connie Springer, Ambassador of Eldia and The United Nations Federation. 

Pieck Finger, Ambassador of Eldia and The United Nations Federation

The Government of Eldia 

Queen Historia Reiss of Eldia 

Armin Arlert, Minister of the Eldian Empire.

Annie Leonhart, Retired Ambassador, Assistant and body guard to the Minister

[originemesis]

@bored2deathiswear xxx

The energy he puts behind the attempt at wresting his wings mere inches from the hovering touch of the cutting curve must be immense given how tightly the restraints had already constricted in with the tied down angel's prior thrashing before he knew that any actions taken towards freeing himself only added extra locks to a situation whose skeleton key eluded him still. Such was primitive power produced from a hopeless situation which was always holistically human at heart despite any lack of semblance he now shared with his origins until stripped of everything that suggested he belonged in the skies or menacingly perched vulture like on sparking hotel signs.

"The fuck do you MEAN- 'my place'?" He grinds out through grit teeth, the unrestrained tips of his primaries flaring out wildly when the boot drops to pry hunched shoulder blades apart, as if any attempt at puffing up would serve it's usual means of intimidation despite having fallen far from a position of power. "I had my place! Several of them, IN FACT- because you never could just let me have one for too long, could you?" The bite of protest dwindles with another brushing of tender sprigs of downy that had yet to grow in to replace the last layer of molt as Lucifer slots the scissors into an egregious angle that draws a strained inhale that catches in his throat- but mostly because the snake there keeps periodically milking the sound out of his jugular unless he kept his head straight while the other's hesitation kept him anchored in place under the weight of mounting dread.

"Don't...don't you fucking dare! You can't-" A strained hiss is the only appeal left for a man that heaven always expected one step beyond what he'd been designed even when they broke both his legs and he crawled. Even with his wings, the commander of Exorcists was never their equal, and so it was not truly heaven's pride between the cutting blades when they began to saw and snip. But it was Adam's- one man's, and it was easier to cut through all the more for it.

The first cut is the deepest, and though more snipping follows suit, it's the severing of hollow bone what startles an unholy screech very nearly composed of several dying species of earth birds combined into a collective cry, one that carried past the gag of his neck restraint as his feathers flared in alarm and violently twitched at each resounding snip until they would inevitably droop with the disassociation of nerve endings. A molten pain pulsing down the last attached ligament of the first wing and down his spine in a scalding shudder causes a momentary relapse from all resistance previously offered against his bindings as the lights that form his face blink out and plunge him into limp unconsciousness. It's but a temporary solution to the shock of the amputation, and technically spares him the brutal efficiency of the second, but at the cost of having the second wing drop beside his face be his first sight upon waking as a soaked feather tip paints a golden streak across his mask when he sought to jerk his head away, alarmed.

"W-what the fuck... what did you do-" Any semblance of an avian's elevated cadence in his voice plummets to the ground and breaks with a half dizzy quaver which the restraint on his airway was likely not helping with. "What did you DO?" Shaking with what rattled, despairing rage remains and coughing as the snake binds seemed to give him an inch to rock onto a knee as he attempts to find all fours to pull himself he fails and one when flexing the jagged ends of bone for what little remained of wings for the needed balance to do so ends in a fierce fire shooting throughout his shoulders. A sharp sob from the shock trails into hiccups of groans as he fell back to the floor into the pooling puddle of gold and some spare feathers left almost strategically within eye range of where his cheek clanked onto the floor in exhaustion from both the ordeal and subsequent blood loss.

Falling quiet as the uncomfortable reality sinks in, he wonders if the restraining serpents are going to inadvertently squeeze the rest of his blood out of him with the pressure imposed. Sort of hopes they do. His captor's voice is already fading in fuzzy, and it's not until he feels the faintest brush of knuckles at the severance scene that he jerks and attempts to curl his head under the canopy of a phantom wing- then the crook of an arm when that doesn't work. The various twitches afterward seem to coincide with sleeve-stifled sniffles and whimpered hiccups. That fucking liar. It had hurt.

Just when he thought the other couldn't take anything more from him- he found something else. He took everything.

"-when is it ever f-fucking enough for you?" Why him? Always him.

[ask-paradox-and-friends]

Okay @hazawatsugu @splatoonfan88

Here I have an idea. What if the Einherjars went against gods that weren't the ROR gods or at least other gods.

In order of rounds and reasons.

Kaito vs Athena 'Of steady hand and still blade I shall strike you down.'

Paradox vs Kali 'the living apocalypse who fights to protect his family vs the berserker warrior goddess who will do anything for her husband Shiva'

Tsugu vs Tyr 'the righteous god of war and justice vs the most innocent and pure of the mortal champions'

Bun vs Azazael 'you and I have suffered for the mistakes and sins of others. I'm so sorry I wished we met under and other circumstances. So do I.' (You chose who says what)

Derail vs Hel 'a king who lived to save and serve his people a just and kind ruler? Please Lady Hel I'm just human as anyone else just like you are truly a benevolent queen.'

Sunblood vs Isis (yes that's her name) 'Both gods connected to many things. Sunblood despite being a science God is also connected wisdom knowledge medicine Foresight hindsight and more while Isis is a healing magic fertility and moon despite normally being seen as the motherhood and family goddess both getting several powers through outside means [Sunblood through worship and getting the titles of various gods he helped overthrow and Isis through getting Ra's secret name/part of his soul that gave him most of his power.] Both are the head god outside of primordial gods and abstract ones. (Isis is the goddess of the cosmos in some tales and Sunblood is second only to the abstract god of space and primordial goddess of the void.) Plus unlike other head gods both are good and caring deities

Mai VS The Jade Emperor 'the fallen Angel who rebelled against heaven's gods for the sake of her sisters' Children vs the god who rules over the gods and mortals with an iron fist poorly painted Jade green'

Garou vs Zagryus 'the human monster who fought for underdogs everywhere while misguided till his final moments vs the god before being accepted by Greece he was originally the terrifying god of rebirth and madness who was taking in the outcasts and who's worshipers were the margalined people of Greece [slaves women and non citizens]'

Bonus fights.

Naruko vs Daji 'both foxy vixens but the difference is one accidentally made a harem of lovely and skilled people she genuinely cares for vs the empress destroying temptress who takes men as her slaves or die by her hand.'

Pico vs Hou Yi 'the mercenary solider who became the world's strongest sharpshooter/gunman who was wrongly portrayed as a villain for too long who eventually loved a Angel and a demon gaining pseudo-immortality vs the devine archer who was exiled from heaven for doing something he was ordered to do and was sent to earth as a mortal who eventually obtained a elixir of immortality that could've given him regular immortality with him unable to gain it and growing to enjoying mortal life.' [bonus both were betrayed which ended in their deaths in my AU Pico was betrayed and killed by his greedy friends and his employers who wanted him to assassinated his partners [gf's dad wanted bf dead and bf's dad wanted gf dead and his friends killed him after blowing off a hand and cutting out an eye before he got killed by them a year later while Hou depending on the myth had his wife selfishly down the elixir and become a goddess only to find out she's still exiled with him getting killed by an apprentice later or the more preferred ending neither he nor her took the elixir and his apprentice finds out about tries to steal it only for Hou's wife Chang'E to down it to stop him from becoming an immortal and greedy god to which Hou Yi still dies a mortal but is STILL betrayed by his apprentice]