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virovac · 3 years

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Nature of Ghouls

Lovecraftian Xenology #3: Ghouls [by Leila Hann Before continuing with Carter and the Pussycats, I'm going to be taking a closer look at the creatures that made their debut in "Pickman's Model" before receiving their official name here in "Dream-Quest." This is going to be a tricky one. Reading "Pickman's Model" in isolation gives you a very strong impression of the ghouls, what they are, and where they come from. However, reading it alongside the other, earlier Dreamlands tales - particularly "Celephais" and "The Festival" - one walks away with a completely different interpretation. As for their reappearance in "Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath," well. On one hand "Dream-Quest" does silly things with other stories' continuities and perhaps should be best ignored. On the other, in the case of the ghouls, "Dream-Quest" not only expands on them in much greater detail than their debut story ever did, but is also the source of their official name. As such, I'm going to be taking the continuity approach, and looking at the ghouls within the framework of the Dreamlands series as a whole. The funny thing about "Pickman's Model" is that while the narrator is probably reliable, he's mostly relaying information that he learned from Richard Pickman, who seems to be much less so. As I noted while reading that story, there's a very obvious disconnect between the actions that Pickman depicted the ghouls performing in his art - particularly the "Subway Accident" piece - and what they could have possibly really done. Throughout his presentation, Pickman comes across as very much a showman, trying to create fear and horror in his audience and reveling mean-spiritedly in his success. Then, there's the detail of him interacting with the ghoul who tried to walk in on him and the narrator in the same way that a circus animal-tamer would with an unruly beast; not at all what you'd expect from a man who's trying to talk down a sapient, malevolent, possibly transhuman demon. As such, I think we need to take Pickman's art with a hefty grain of salt when it comes to inferring things about his models. This is supported by the ghouls' appearance in "Dream-Quest." They are described as hideous, frightening, and generally unpleasant, but they don't seem to be all that dangerous (unlike the zoogs, who are said to be dangerous to MOST people besides Carter, the ghouls don't even get an aside to this effect). Other than their antisocial habit of eating bodies from cemeteries that the deceased's friends and families would probably rather stay in their coffins, they really don't seem so bad. As far as the stories have reliably communicated, the ghouls are thieves and desecrators, but not the murderers and causers of disaster and misfortune that Pickman would want us to believe in. In fact, everything about the ghouls, from their appearance to their diet to their penchant for tombstones, scary noises, and dark, underground spaces, says that they aren't a force of destruction so much as one of horror. And, looking at "Pickman's Model" from that angle, we can definitely see how Pickman was helping them grow stronger in their element. Camel Spiders and Harnessed Horrors There's an animal called a solifugid, also called a pseudoscorpion or a camel-spider, that came to the western public's attention some time ago. Its a scary-looking arachnid, and one that you could easily believe was deadly if you saw it. Solifugids are mostly nocturnal, and so when they're forced to venture out of their lairs during the day they prefer to stick to the shadows...including the shadows of people, which they will chase after for that purpose. They're fast enough to keep up with a running human, and the rubbing of their legs when they move creates a squealing noise that could easily be mistaken for an aggressive vocalization. They also are always on the lookout for soft fibers to line their nests with; they got the name "camel spider" by being seen climbing on the bodies of dead or sleeping camels to cut off bits of their hair. In some cultures, this association was so great that people came to believe that the solifugids had actually killed the camels themselves. Less commonly, solifugids will crawl up onto the head of a sleeping human for similar hair-stealing operations. More than one American soldier sleeping in a tent in Iraq or Saudi Arabia has been woken up by a six inch specimen crawling across their face to see it opening its deadly-looking mouthparts just below their hairline. The solifugid is also completely harmless. In fact, its one of the only members of the arachnid class to have no venom whatsoever. It can even be a beneficial creature to have around, as it preys heavily on other arachnids including spiders and scorpions that actually are dangerous. During the early to mid 2000's, there was a rash of hoaxes about solifugids growing to lobster-size, being venomous, and even using a fictitious numbing agent to paralyze sleeping humans so they can slowly disembowel them alive. Someone was finding a misanthropic delight in taking this creature, which seems to have been practically designed by nature for this purpose with its appearance and habits, and crafting it into an instrument of irrational fear. This fear didn't come from nowhere, mind. The legend of the camel-spider harnesses the very rational human fears of venomous insects and being threatened in your sleep. But it takes those abstract rational fears and uses them to prop up a concrete figurehead of horror that is, itself, irrational. I'm an amateur horror writer myself, and I fell in love with the solifugids the instant I learned about them. I even had the pleasure of meeting a few during my time in the Arava Desert. I don't think that my soft spot for these arthropods and my choice of genres is a coincidence. In the Dreamlands, the cruel realities of the universe seem to be embodied in the Outer Gods, and anthropomorphized in their soul and messenger Nyarlathotep. If the ghouls are, as Pickman's art implied, meant to be like the witches of Puritan superstition, responsible for everything that goes wrong for humanity at the whims of a universe beyond our control, then it would make sense for them to be minions of Nyarlathotep. It would have been the easiest thing in the world for Lovecraft to cast them as such in "Dream-Quest" if that was really his intent; the story already calls for Nyarlathotep's agents to appear in numerous scenes, and the ghouls could have been among them. But they aren't. Instead, Carter meets the ghouls back on Dreamlands Earth, in entirely friendly circumstances, with them as the loyal servants of Carter's (trans)human friend Pickman. The ghouls are creatures of the relatable and imaginative Gods of Earth, not the apathetic and inhuman Gods of Space. Rather than being a cause or manifestation of our problems, the ghouls might even be one of our defenses against them. The witch was created so that we would have some kind of enemy to hunt down and revenge ourselves on when we suffer a tragedy caused by impersonal forces of nature such as disease or weather. The boogeyman in the closet exists because the darkness it hides in is so much worse, and putting a FACE on the unknown lets us believe that we can deal with it in a form we understand. The ghouls are indeed connected to the nightmarish witch superstitions that Pickman referenced, but it is a metafictional connection: they are the legend of the witch and boogeyman, and an embodiment of the psychology that leads to the birth of those legends. They harness the rational fears of human powerlessness, victimhood, and mortality, and embody them as an irrational archetype-creature, and in this form - as Carter just demonstrated in the latest episode of "Dream-Quest" - our fears can be useful tools. Even if the purpose of that tool is just confronting other people with their fears for fun and (in the case of Lovecraft, King, etc) profit. At several points in both "Pickman's Model" and "The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath," Lovecraft described the ghouls as being "gargoyle-like." They even look a lot like Gothic gargoyles, with their doglike faces, hoofed feet, and (in the case of at least one or two specimens that Lovecraft described) devilish horns. The purpose of the gargoyles in the European cathedrals wasn't to honor or appease the Devil; it was to mock him, and thereby rob him of some of his power. Ghoul-Changelings and Pickman's Transformation Given that Earth's Dreamlands are shaped by metaphors and symbolism taken from the subconscious of human dreamers (at least in part), its hard to say what is and isn't "literally" true about its inhabitants. Unlike most Dreamlands creatures, however, the ghouls are quite active in the waking world as well if only for brief periods at a time. As such, there are some objective observations that can be made. 1) Ghouls inhabit a network of caves in the Dreamlands' deep underground that contains portals to various urban dungeons and necropoli in the waking world, particularly in the New England area where the dream-sorcerers may have interacted with or even deliberately summoned them. 2) Ghouls eat the corpses of humans and other sapient creatures that they recover from both the waking world and the Dreamlands, but seem to be less interested in live prey. They also collect old tombstones and grave-goods. 3) After they've finished eating, the ghouls toss the bones into the chasm beneath their cave complex, which over time has become positively covered in bones, and attracted giant worm scavengers. 4) Richard Upton Pickman turned into a ghoul. The former three points are fairly self explanatory. The fourth, however, raises a lot of questions. In Pickman's art, he portrayed ghouls exchanging their own young with human babies in the classic fairy changeling mould, with both the changelings and the stolen babies eventually becoming ghouls themselves. Pickman also portrayed a Puritan-era changeling that bore a great physical resemblance to himself. Some readers have taken this to mean that rather than simply being a descendant of the Native American dream-sorcerers like Carter, Pickman was the descendant of a ghoul changeling, and the character he depicted in that painting was one of his own ancestors. Others, that Pickman was himself just one of many changelings from throughout history, and that he identified himself with an earlier New England instance out of whimsy. However, I find it a bit conspicuous that while Carter identified the fully transformed ghoul-Pickman and specified that he had once been human, he never mentions the possibility of any of the other ghouls being the same. Thus, its possible that what happened to Pickman is actually unique, or at least very rare, and that the changeling scenario depicted in his art was purely symbolic of the horror-artist's role as a devil's advocate to the rest of humanity and an ambassador to the dark forces of the universe. Pickman's transformation. I'm inclined to believe that what caused Pickman's transformation was not him being a ghoul pup switched with a human at birth, but a product of him being both a) an almost obsessive devotee of horror, and b) a powerful dreamer with access to the Dreamlands, perhaps helped along in accessing them by some recovered magic from his oneiromancer ancestors just like Carter was. It could even be that rather than his art depicting something that had or could have already happened with the ghoul-transformation, Pickman's acts of imagining and drawing a transformation were what CREATED THE POSSIBILITY for such a transformation to actually happen. An idea of his was made real through the power of his dreaming, warping his own flesh into one of his ghouls in a similar - but more visceral - manner as Kyle being transformed into Kuranes. Another question about Pickman's transformation pertains to him having mostly forgotten how to speak English by the time Carter met him again in the Dreamlands. Did his transformation rob him of his English, or did he just forget it after spending so long in the Dreamlands interacting only with other ghouls? For that matter, how long HAD Pickman been a ghoul by the time Carter stumbled into the bone pit? Months? Years? Centuries? Time in the Dreamlands seems to work in arbitrary ways, as evidenced by how Carter can be timelooped in the waking world while living through consecutive centuries as an explorer in the Dreamlands. In "The Silver Key," we learned that the Dreamlands (or at least, Dreamlands related artifacts) can even send you BACK in time. Origins? Since time in the Dreamlands interacts in very unpredictable ways with the waking world's timeline, its very difficult to say when and where the ghouls first came into existence. Since Pickman's art is also of questionable waking world veracity, we can't really tell if the ghouls have actually been popping up in the New England witch tunnels since the 1700's, and - even if they have - they could have been born in the Dreamlands from an event that had not yet happened in the waking world's timeline and popped out of those tunnels earlier in history as we waking earthlings perceive it. Another interesting fact to point out here is that Randolph Carter, Dreamlands explorer extraordinaire, only knew about the ghouls BECAUSE he met Pickman during his waking life. Its possible that the ghouls are a manifestation of some core archetype within the human collective unconscious. The Horror, the Boogeyman, the terrifying friend to artists and writers who delight in confronting their fellow humans with humanity's frailties and fears. The creatures that appeared in the dreams of H.R. Giger and caused him to wake up in heart-stopping terror on so many different nights, and yet that he adopted and came to love. Even if his own fear of them never diminished, it became HIS fear, and they became HIS monsters, and he began to feel possessive of them and delight in sharing their terror with others who lacked his mastery over them. The creatures that appeared in the dreams of Stephen King and inspired him to turn the anxieties of the modern United States against it, while cackling about keeping the hearts of fictitious young children in his study. The creatures that haunted the dreams of H.P. Lovecraft, and inspired him to write stories like "Pickman's Model," delighting in his own ability to scare Weird Tales' readers just as Pickman delighted in scaring the narrator. There is a moment in "Pickman's Model" when the ghoul walks in on them and Pickman has to go make it leave, when PICKMAN HIMSELF is described as looking terrified. And yet, despite that, he was able to reassert control over the ghoul and command it to leave him alone until he wanted it to return. I suspect that if Pickman ever stopped being afraid of the ghouls himself, they would have abandoned him and sought a fresh artist to inspire. Such is the relationship between the horrorist and the monster. There is another possibility, though. And that is that rather than being a universal manifestation of horror that serve as muses to numerous masters of the craft, the ghouls are the specific nightmare-turned-minion of one specific master of horror. Kyle/Kuranes dreamed Celephais and its people into existence, and then abandoned the waking world entirely to rule them for all time. What might another instance of this look like, if the dreamer in question was less of a sensitive too-good-for-this-world melancholic, and more of an angry misanthrope with a fixation with his Salem ancestry and an almost monomaniacal obsession with showing us fear in a handful of grave-dust? Perhaps it was just Richard Upton Pickman who loved his own, personal, imaginary monsters so much. And, through the power of the Dreamlands, they were able to love him back.

So ghouls are a combination of guardians, Halloweentown, and irreverance of 4chan.

A more benevolent take than my past one.

#dreamlands #ghouls #lovecraft

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sleepdeprivedheretic · 4 years

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Lilium

Summary: Although a witch, you weren’t the one to really summon demons, but your friends had insisted that you could use an extra pair of helping hands to help you with your run-down hut. After fixing the mess of a first attempt fail, you were expecting to summon a lower gremlin. What or who you didn’t expect, was to summon the demon king of hell, keeper of souls, in searching for something that only you could do perfectly.

In explanation of the fic: Each powerful demon has his/her own hell, and in each hell has layers, like onions. So although reader didn’t summon Lucifer, she summoned a pretty powerful Japanese demon who’s element of hell follows close to that of Greek mythology because Rita liked the Persephone vibes. As for the soul thing, those are the souls who just...wind up at his place.

Title name: Lilies are a flower that represent not only unity, love, and devotion, but also the flowers are most often associated with funerals, they symbolize that the soul of the departed has received restored innocence after death. Persephone held lilies in her hands/arms as she was take away by Hades, the flowers turning white as they fell to the ground. Ancient(?) Romans would stuff pillows full of the flowers, the fragrance perfect for love-making ;)

Notes: @youtubequeens, or Rita, requested the beautiful idea of Tai-chan being a demon king in need of something that only the reader can do, and we brainstormed together on the setting and the plot, so the credit goes to her, go ahead and check her on Tumblr <3

Warnings not in order: Cursing, hand cutting for rituals (so blood), being void of a soul (cause, demons), summoning demons, minions, souls of the damned, smut, deals with the devil, having your soul taken and turning into a demon, and hellish stuff.

Tag: @youtubequeens

“I mean, look at this place, Sister! It’s a dump! C’mon, pleeeease!” Your friend begged. She, along a few others belonged to a nearby coven. Although good friends, they delved into the darker aspects of witchcraft, such as demon summoning, as you stuck to herbal remedies, readings, and a little bit of scrying. Although not against the art, you weren’t well acquainted, and a little nervous.

“You don’t even need a contract! Just bind whatever poor little goblin or gremlin to you, and...you know, have it help you collect your herbs! I know, binding seems a little much, and it’s difficult to get out of one, but they can’t hurt you when bound to you.” Another friend piped up, trying further to convince you. Your gaze fell onto the chalked-up pentagram within your home, surrounded by salt and melting red candles, looking innocently out of place, almost.

“Alright, fine.” You huffed, causing squeals of victorious joy from the gaggle of girls. It wouldn’t hurt, you thought. You lived in the outskirts of the village, within a rugged hut that you called a “store”. Although it was a popular little town, you weren’t doing to well. Your place was falling apart, herbs were harder to find, and although tolerated, your witchy status had alerted and unnerved everyone, except your little coven of friends, who had hidden themselves away deeper into the forest.

Your life sucked, and with your pet familiar, the two of you kept to yourselves as you brewed supper more than potions and remedies, your Sisters popping in from time to time, checking up on you.

Your little orange rabbit snuggled into your lap as you repeated the words in Latin, trying to spark hellfire into the pentagram. No such luck.

“Aw! Is it not working? I’m suuuure my aunt gave me the right spell!” Your main friend huffed into a pout, the two other girls following her example of disappointment.

“Perhaps another time? It’s getting late, girls.” You admitted. Truthfully, you didn’t want to have to deal with more pressure, and your familiar was getting unnerved by the whole thing.

“You’re right. It was fun hanging out with you, Sis! Wish we could do this more, but you know, coven stuff.” The sweet friend smiled softly as she hugged you tightly.

“We’ll be busy, you know, coven stuff. Auntie wants us to clean out the nasty pots, restock the potions, and go on a wild, exciting adventure of grabbing rare herbs, so we don’t know when that’s going to take. Ugh, I’m not leaving, yet, and I miss you, already!” The leader of the girls whined, dramatically throwing her arm over her eyes. You couldn’t help but giggle.

“Stay safe, okay? We’ll visit to check up on you. Give Lottie some extra treats for us!” The third one grinned, petting the rabbit. With further words, they left, leaving you warm, yet saddened and alone.

Many times, the fellow women of the coven had offered a place for you, so that you wouldn’t be so alone, and you appreciated that, but you knew that the coven wasn’t one for you. Although not evil, you didn’t want to join for a multitude of reasons. They had strict rules and regulations, following their leader without question as they sacrificed time and energy for reasons that the girls, although close, didn’t tell you what for.

You couldn’t help but feel that it was rather sketchy. Your eyes laid upon the pentagram as the thought crossed your mind. You weren’t fully against summoning things from the underworld, it was an aged old practice that was held with reverence from generation to generation. You held Charlotte close to you, the rabbit sniffing at the air, scenting out scents that your human nose could not deter.

“I smell nothing out of the ordinary. The salt is too strong.” Her voice echoed in your head, and you nodded your thanks. You were curious, you admitted. You didn’t really have much things to do, other than clean your stew pot, tend to the moon water, and pluck the petals off of the dried out roses.

“Something has to give, in order for you to receive.” You said aloud, the wheels turning in your head. A certain flower could help, you thought suddenly, looking at the container of dried out white lilies. You opened the jar spreading out the white funeral flowers among the edges of the Celtic symbol. The scent was almost too pure for such a deed, you couldn’t help but think.

Carving a fool-proof plan to mind, you placed Charlotte down, and grabbed a small blade used for cutting fruits from your kitchen. The little rabbit opted to say nothing, trusting you as her witch to do what you think was best.

You winced as you sliced a small cut into your palm, letting the little blood droplets to drip onto each flower, avoiding the salt as best as you could. Picking up a slip of paper in which had the summoning spell, you began reading the Latin out loud as you channeled your energy at the edge of the pentagram, instead of in between it.

Your breath hitched as bright orange hellfire sparked, not going past the salt as it crackled at the precious crystals and parts of the flowers. You continued speaking the verses, watching in awe as the odd underworldly flames refused to consume, instead it burned brighter at each verse.

As you finished the last sentence with a final quip, you jumped in surprise as the flames reached almost as high as the ceiling, whirling dangerously as it let out smoke and sparks, fizzling as a tall figure behind the flames seemed to crawl from the little circle, you couldn’t see who or what it was, but you were coughing as the unnatural smoke outweighed the dying fire, floating heavily away as you looked up to see your first summon.

You were choked up, not knowing what to say as your eyes beheld the sight when the smoke finally cleared from the deadened flames.

A demon, and not just anything in the ordinary of what you knew about them. He was tall, as tall as the men in your village, and almost resembled a human. His pointed ears were adorned with little ringlets of gold, matching the glittering bracelets and bands that were worn upon his ankles, horns, wrists, arms, and a swishing pointed tail. His attire was something you’d never really seen within your village, but you knew what it was due to your books.

He wore dark orange attire that almost resembled a Doric chiton, except the one he wore, hardly left anything to the imagination, but you weren’t focused on that, right now. What you were focused on, was the demon’s scowl of frustration and annoyance, aimed at you as his tail swished and thumped angrily at the ground, reminding you of an angry cat.

“This fuckin’ circle’s too small! And the hell do you want? I’m a very busy man, ya know!” He growled out, taking in your smaller frame with displeasure. You were surprised by his accent, it was gruff, yes, but it was new, something that you’ve never heard, before.

“I was trying to summon something else.” You stammered, and he faltered in an angry shock, before narrowing his eyes at you.

“Tch! Who do you think you are, summonin’ a king of hell, tellin’ me that you were tryin’ to summon somethin’ else?” He bared his teeth, and you could see little tusks peeking out from underneath his bottom lip. You gave him your name as you found yourself blurting out who knows what.

“I need a um...helper. I needed somebody to look after my hut while I collected herbs...make sure that the villagers don’t torch down my shop.” The excuse slipped out as you stood your ground. It was partially true. His stance relaxed a bit at your words.

“A magic user, huh?” He asked slowly, behavior sharply and swiftly contrasting from his angry tone, as he rested his chin onto his hand in processing the thought. Then his eyes moved onto yours. He unnerved you.

“What about it?” You asked, and he indulged you.

“Normally, mortals such yerself can summon us with ease, only because ya need a contract. You, lil’ witch, were trying to find a binding partner, which uses magic. I may have use for you, yet.” His attitude shifted, and you couldn’t help but relax a little at the honeyed tone. What was with this demon?

“What are you talking about?” You bit out. He let out a victorious grin.

“Yer magic was so strong, it summoned me. A king of hell, a keeper of souls, n’ lord of demons. Bindin’ magic can only get ya so far, it’s pretty much unheard of a mortal summoning somethin’ greater than an ogre, or an oni.” Rolled off of his tongue, eyes now glinting with something that you couldn’t pinpoint. You were surprised. A king of hell? It did explain his jewelry and finery, you silently pinpointed. Despite the shock, you still needed to ask more questions while he was in the mood to be generous with his answers.

“So...you’re needing me to summon demons up for you from the surface?” You offered, and he looked at you with surprise.

“No….I need you to give up your soul, and live with me in hell.” He grinned at the tight atmosphere that he was causing, you froze.

“Tell me, why would I ever want to do that? What do you even want?” You grounded out the last bit, still confused, and getting weary. Your summon had taken a toll on your body, and now you were feeling the lull of sleep due to sapped magic.

“I have two main underlings who are like sons to me, but the three of us can only do so much in carin’ for the undead. Ya see, hell’s a very powerful place, in which it can supply a witch’s magic with ease. Ya know where I’m getting’ at?” He drawled out, and you nodded a little.

“I think somebody of yer stature could really hold the forte down. All you have to do, is just be there, n’ yer magic can calm down n’ soothe the restless dead, making this job a lot easier. Since yer magic is powerful, it’ll be extra helpful n’ dosing the souls an’ lesser devils, down. You give me what I need, an’ I can give you what you need.” He purred at the end.

The thought of being useful did appeal to you, it’s what you ever wanted. Yes, it was a terrible decision and you’ll probably end up being burned, anyway, but you remembered that a bound demon or devil cannot hurt you, no matter how powerful they were. If they hurt you, they hurt themselves.

“I’m not going to give up my soul to burn forever, to live with a demon that I’m not bound to.” You countered, and his eye twitched

“First of all, Sweetheart, my realm is in layers. Where you, I, an’ my boys live, is an environment that resembles your realm, but better. Secondly, you will be bound to me, but not as a servant or master, but as an equal. Somethin’ akin to…” He let the sentence hang as he smiled smugly at you, brows furrowed with cockiness, leering at you from his height.

“Akin to?” You egged him, and he let the rest rolled off of his tongue without hesitation.

“My queen.”

Your brain screeched to a halt.

He laughed at your stunned expression.

“What? Ya expected me to make ya my lil’ minion? No, no, Honey, somebody with yer power, and the sheer gall to stare into my face while arguin’ with me, has already earned my respect. Yeah, you’ll have to turn into a demon, but you’ll be immortal, n’ you can visit yer friends n’ family as long as you like, if you’re powerful as me. Which, you will be.” He threw in his own bait, trying to lure you in.

Understandably, you were stunned. You just summoned a devil. Who wanted you to rule hell with him. And to become an immortal mistress of the night who can help rule over the undead while living forever with him in his realm.

It was tempting, yes, but you were not one who really chased power. You told him, and his eyebrows furrowed, as if thinking further ways to lure you in, and to be honest? You found that you didn’t mind being swayed by a literal handsome devil.

“Well, think about it this way, Princess, I don’t know you well, but you live in a run-down hut, the peasants fear you to the point of possible violence, and you’ve turned your attention to demon summoning. We’re both desperate for somethin’.” He looked at you thoughtfully, tail swishing as you processed it. Hell.

“What about my familiar?” You were caving in, and his gazing expression broke out into a victorious grin as his eyes slide to your rabbit.

“Sure, the lil thing can come, too. Familiars exist in hell, too, but not the cute lil’ rabbit ones. Might be a nice change to have one. Wipe away the salt, n’ we can get started.” He acted as if he had already won, and to be honest, he did.

It was too good of an opportunity to really pass up, and you didn’t really have anybody, and good decisions in your tired state were lacking. You wiped away the salt, and he sighed with relief as he stepped out.

“Man, that tiny circle was exhaustin’ to be in. Now, let’s take you home.” He tucked a fray hair behind your ear. Smiling a devil’s smile, he held you against him, and you tried to keep your cheeks from flushing as he began a mantra of a spell in his native tongue, leaving you awed that it wasn’t the usual Latin. You couldn’t keep your eyes open as a wave of exhaustion and tiredness wafted over you, and your eyes slid shut, darkness over-taking you, but not before hearing a dark chuckle.

…………..

Warm. You were so warm. You opened your eyes, only to be greeted by a bare chest. Your eyes widened as now you were fully conscious, furiously wondering on what the hell was going on.

“So, yer finally awake.” He hummed, and you jolted slightly, looking up at his face with pure surprise, he smiled at you as he held you close to his chest. It didn’t take you long to realize that this was his bedroom, and your mind whirled, vaguely remembering prior events. Sitting up, he whined at the loss of contact, but you paid no mind.

The room was lit up by the flickering familiar orange flames emitting from the white candles slowly melting on top of his dresser, creating a safe, sleepy, and an almost romantic atmosphere. The bed was huge, and took up a good portion of his room, but there was still enough space for some furniture such as the dresser, and a large cage. You sighed with relief, seeing the familiarity of Charlotte within, the little rabbit’s eyes now glowed with luminescence, as if she were something else. It would make sense, your familiar was no longer a normal familiar, since she was in hell, with you.

You looked down, feeling warmed metal against your skin, and that’s when you’ve noticed your new attire. It was a chiton, like his, although a little looser, and you wore the same amount of matching golden jewelry. Your ears stung a little at the newer piercings, but you didn’t pay that much mind as you couldn’t help but think that he went out of his way to undress you and doll you up to match him. You gave him a dirty look, and he grinned in retaliation, enjoying the flushed and guffawed expression that marred your face.

“If ya’re gonna be the part, might as well look like it. I didn’t undress you fully or touch you too inappropriately, if that makes ya feel better.” He shrugged. Although you admit that he sort of have a point, still!

“What happened to me?” You opted to say instead, and he sat up along with you, you jumping slightly as his tail curled around your waist, acting as a small comfort.

“You’re a demon. I took yer soul, and bound it to me. Wish ya could’ve seen it, ‘s so pretty an’ pure, an’ it fizzled nicely within me. Was the only way for ya to come down here, sorry.” He hummed, rubbing his cheek against yours in seemingly affection, eyes glittering as he let you process the words and his bizarre behavior.

Demon. Were you dead? You had no heartbeat, did you? You let your hand rest against your pulse point, surprised by the soft fluttering. You looked at him with question.

“Demon, not fully dead, but not fully alive, either, an’ yeah, you’ll look forever like a human, since ya weren��t born like us. I took yer soul, and gave you one of the multiple that belongs to me. ‘S how we tie our lives together fer eternity, as if exchangin’ rings. You’re mine, and I’m yours. Romantic, isn’t it?”

“I have so many questions.” You murmured, instead. He smiled.

“We have an eternity together, I’ll answer all of ‘em. For now, c’mon. Lemme show ya what yer magic is doing right now at this moment.” He stood up from the bed, offering you his hand, pulling you up to him as you accepted it. He opened the drapes to his balcony’s windowed doors, revealing an ashen gray sunlight that paled in comparison to the candles. Letting you take Charlotte out of her cage, he opened the doors as the two of you stepped outside.

You looked on in awe.

The balcony to your new home, an ashen gray-stoned castle, had a short amount of steps that led into a gigantic garden. You stared in amazement and joy at the flowering plants and trees that grew in your former realm. There were so many plants, you couldn’t name all of them, but you didn’t mind as you looked on in the neatly organized forage of a garden, enjoying the array of greens and different colors of flowering foliage. Your familiar squirmed, wanting to enjoy the plants and be free, and so you let her, knowing that she’ll be smart enough to stay within eyesight.

“Beautiful, ain’t it? It didn’t look like this ‘fore you were here. Sure, some plants such as pomegranates n’ ferns grew, but since it’s such a deadened place, nothin’ really grew. I tried for centuries, n’ no such luck. It’s so beautiful ‘cause of yer magic.” His voice broke out of your thoughts, and you listened carefully as a hint of sorrow passed over his features.

“Pomegranates…?” Your mind raced to the odd familiarity of the setting. Greek clothing, the underworld, and now pomegranates? He leaned down and smirked at you, bringing your hand to his lips.

“Heh, because, ya know…” He grinned, enjoying the way you stared up at him in disbelief.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Can’t say that I don’t have a sense of humor.” He chuckled, and you felt yourself relax, thinking of ways to steer the conversation into another turn.

“You really like this place, don’t you...um?” You wanted to curse yourself. You went through a psychological loop in becoming a queenly wife to a stranger, no less a king of demons, and you didn’t even know his name. How forgetful were you?

Ignoring your inner dread, he grinned as he held your hand within his, rubbing his thumb over your palm.

“Taishiro. Yeah, I rarely visit earth ‘cause all the shit I have to do, n’ so this is my favorite place to relax. Thanks to you, it’s blossoming quite well.” He admitted, pecking your cheek, tail flicking with delight at the prospect of your face pink with the affection. Oh, you were so cute, he crooned.

“What about the dead, Taishiro?” You wondered as you tried out, the foreign language rolling off of your tongue. He looked at you with interest, liking the way his name melded to your own dialect.

“I’ll take ya on a little tour, how about that? Show ya what’s happenin’ and yer new home. N’ later, we can relax in our garden, take a lil’ break to enjoy our Honeymoon.” He purred, and you felt butterflies flutter nicely within your stomach and chest as you nodded.

“Yer familiar can stay outside. It never rains here, an’ she’s not really...alive, anymore. She’ll be fine.” He looked at the little rabbit that was chewing on a blade of grass, absentmindedly paying attention as you agreed, knowing that she’ll be safe.

Without further ado, he took you back inside of the castle, beginning the day.

……...

It was obvious that you were still in shock, and that this wasn’t a dream. He opted to say nothing about your state, as he introduced you to the castle, and the many rooms within. Of course the first thing he had offered to show you, was the dining room, stating that you were probably hungry, and a nice breakfast had been made for you. You blushed furiously, not acquainted with such treatment, and he grinned, pinching your cheek and you huffed at him.

“C’mon, Sweetcheeks, the staff’s all here, n’ they’ve been waitin’ to see what’s been in my bedroom fer about two days.” The sentence had surprised you.

“Two days?” You looked at him owlishly, and he shrugged.

“Turnin’ a human into somethin’ else, takes a toll on the receiver. I’m surprised that it was that short, to be honest.”

You walked along side him as the interior looked unique and odd, nothing of it that you’ve seen before. Colors of orange, gold, and red melded into a comfortable, royal setting as the hallways twisted. Each one sported different types of framed pictures and paintings of animals, spirits, and demons of which were new to your eyes.

Taishiro smiled at your awed and innocent wondering as he began talking, introducing you further into his world, entrancing and entrapping you into the Greek and Japanese themes that he so loved, and you couldn’t help but feel fitted in comfortably within your new home as the two of you continued on-wards towards the dining room, your stomach feeling empty.

You talked along with him, trying to learn and get used to the idea that yes, this was your husband. Your demon husband who was oddly being affectionate with you, despite his earlier, snappish attitude. Although, you were not minding it, preferring the brushing of hands, eyes meeting yours, and little touches, rather than the first thoughts of possibly burning in hell for eternity. He intrigued you, leaving you to wonder on how were you this lucky and yet foolish. All too soon, however, he had guided you into his favorite place that was second to the garden.

The room was beautiful and spacious, with multiple dining ware, vases of freshly cut flowers, and cloths laid neatly upon the long table. The staff were well dressed in their own lesser version of Ionic chitons, small bands of gold littered their collars and wrists, but nothing too extravagant like you and your husband’s. He sat you down, the smell of bacon, eggs, and biscuits wafted deliciously to you from the silver plate sitting in front of you. You could feel your mouth all but water as your stomach grumbled with an awakening realization. Taishiro sat next to you, chuckling at your eagerness.

“I know that yer not human, anymore, but we demons can live on an’ indulge on such human foods. Thank our chefs fer goin’ out onto the earthen realm, n’ huntin’ down the stuff.”

“Thank you.” Came out, and who you guessed were the chefs, bowed with gratitude. You tried not to shovel the food greedily into your mouth, paying mind to try to eat with grace. You blanched, feeling a bit of the egg yolk dribble down your chin, and you jumped as Taishiro didn’t miss a beat in taking the opportunity to swipe it from your face with his forefinger, eyeing you with a dark look mixed in with a cocky smirk as he began suckling on said finger, rolling his tongue around it, and pulling it out of his mouth with a wet pop.

You felt as if your face, chest, and ears were burning as he then groaned.

“Delicious.”

You weren’t burning in hell with actual fire, so you guessed he had to come up with other ways, you guessed.

The two of you finished in silence, him grinning with knowing want at your expressions, liking the way how easy and fun it was to just tease you. After saying your formal thanks to the staff, the two of you continued onward.

Most of the rooms, other than the main bedroom, that he had led you, were guest rooms, and the others were sleeping headquarters for the staff and his underling sons. Speaking of which, it did not take you too long to be introduced to them. Cue in bright laughter, oddly mixed in with a rather gloomy aurora caught your attention, and lo and behold, down the hall is where they stood.

“Oooh! Is this her, Tai-chan?!” Noticing your presences, a red-haired young man turned his attention towards you. He nor the other young man were dressed as glamorous as the two of you, but they were unique. The red haired boy, along with the black haired one, both had pointed ears, but that’s where the line was drawn. Red had scaled, burgundy wings, furled neatly behind his back as his reptilian tail wagged slowly, he sported a sharp-toothed grin and radiated sunlight.

The gloomy man had a crystal ball within his clawed hands, cape and hood cloaking his figure as he stared at you.

“Who else would it be?” He muttered slowly, sarcasm lost on the other.

“Eijirou’s the dragon, an’ Tamaki’s the sorcerer. Boys, this is yer Queen.” Taishiro made a short introduction.

“Nice to meet you!” As well as “Hello.” Greeted you, and you mimicked their greetings, surprised by the welcome. You replied your own greetings, feeling a bit nervous.

“Tamaki, would ya show ‘er the souls? I’d like for her to know what’s on the lower layer.”

“Sure.” Without further question, the scryer demon began murmuring his own spell as you stared into the crystal ball, watching with amazement at the sheer focus that was being put into it as it began to reveal answers to your questioning mind.

“See what yer magic’s been doin? Told ya, Nightingale, yer magic’s one of a kind, an’ yer not focusing on it, right now, but see what it’s doin’?” Taishiro gestured towards the mass of ghostly shadows within the ball. They seemed still, as if time had stopped them.

“Rather than deafening screams, wailing, and clattering of chains, we have this. They’re calm, awaiting to be reincarnated. It’s the most quiet that we’ve heard in centuries. None of us has yet the need to intervene and waste our time.” Tamaki opted to explain for you, a small hint of a smile graced his features, while Eijirou smiled warmly.

“It eases their suffering, too! Your magic to them is like a lullaby! You can’t hear it, but others can! It’s why Tai-chan’s been so calm-

“Anyway! Let’s go to the garden, yer not too tired, right? We can continue this later.” Taishiro interrupted swiftly, ruffling each boy’s heads as he gripped your hand rather gently, tugging you along back towards the familiarity of the garden, as you swore you heard two chuckles behind you.

……..

“There is a teeny, tiny detail that I need to explain.” Taishiro dragged you further into the depths of the green foliage, slowly but surely darkening out the sunlight as you couldn’t help but shiver a little due to the anticipation. Where was he leading you? You guessed that he could see in the dark, but you couldn’t, feeling yourself stumble a little.

“Taishiro, I can’t see.” You offered, and you heard a chuckled huff.

“Guess I gotta carry you, hm?” The sentence was your only warning. You let out a shrill yelp, feeling him lift you up with little to no effort into his arms. You liked the way how he gripped you, and seeped into his warmth as he continued walking to who knows where, and oddly enough, you trusted him.

“In order to fully complete the bond,” He startled you, as he finally broke the silence in what had seemed minutes. Setting you down, he snapped his fingers. Orange floating, flickering lights that resembled candles appeared right after, dimly illuminating the area around them. Your eyes adjusted, taking in the scenery that the lights were willing to show. It was a spacious area of smoothed down grass, white lilies and red roses crowned around it, giving it a magical, romantic feeling.

“you need to finally receive part of my power. Sure there’s multiple ways of sharing a mate’s essence, I just thought that this would be more fun.” He gave you a wink, and you felt your heartbeat quicken with a little nervousness. Yet, you found yourself not really surprised. He was your husband, after all. The thoughts of you becoming a demon, him being your mate, and that you ruled souls along with your new family, had been whirling around your head silently. It was only natural to continue, right?

“Only if you take the lead.” You offered, and he smiled, leaning down to finally mesh his lips upon yours in a secured kiss, tail swishing wildly as if joyed. Although a little snappy, he was also sweet and devilish in a teasing, fun way. You guessed that he was probably stressed from working and worrying too hard, thus you didn’t really hold it against him.

“Alright.” He led you to the clearing, laying down as he pulled you down on top, you basically straddling him, heat creeping up to your neck and ears as his clothed hardness poked at your equally clothed entrance. Not bothering to take any clothes off, he rocked his hips, groaning with guttural want as you let out a whimper, feeling the silk cloth of your clothing stimulate your clit as he rutted lazily up against it. His eyes focused up at you as he held your waist tightly, helping you rock your hips in sync with his as his tail rubbed itself against your sensitive, itching to feel you.

“Can ya smell yer own arousal? Mixin’ in nicely with our flowers? Ya can cum anytime ya want too, okay?” He brought you down to kiss your clavicle and neck, your hands gripped his hair as your fingers threaded though the soft tresses and horns, keening as his own teeth latched onto the juncture of your throat as he suckled, minding his bottom tusks as he bit harshly, kissing the bruising skin with tenderness. You choked out a whimper as your hips bucked a little more roughly at his actions, causing him to groan.

You could feel yourself clench with want as his precum and your wetness soaked through your undergarments, creating a slicking friction as the wet squelching noises echo through the dimly lit darkness. You looked down at him through lidded eyes, eyebrows furrowing as you bit your bottom lip, noticing that he mimicked your expression, if it wasn’t for the gritting teeth, You liked this side of him, too, you thought through your itching need to cum.

He could tell that you were getting desperate, hell, he was, too. Yet, he wanted you to come before he did. Taking both hands away from your waist, he placed one underneath your ridden up clothing, and another cupped one of your bouncing breasts, thumb rubbing roughly over a nipple. Taking pleasure in the way that you were staring down at him, swallowing thickly, he let his hand slip into your soiled undergarments, making sure that every time your hips bucked forwards, you could feel his fingers brush against your clit.

“T-Taishiro~!” You gasped, and he moaned, slipping two fingers in as he continued bucking, envying the digits as they stretched your tight and wet heat. Your juices were now dribbling down, creating more of a mess as his now four fingers pumped in and out of you, crooking them and stretching your walls with a gentle fervor as his dick slid between the folds of your labia, continuing to rub against your clothed clit. He ate up your desperate expression, knowing that he was no better as the both of you were about to cum. He picked up his pace as your face was buried in his shoulder, panting loudly and letting out breaths of need.

“Y-ya know, I haven’t done this in centuries. ‘M gunna fuck you so good. Would ya like that?” He nipped at your ear, and you whined wantonly as you felt yourself tighten around his fingers, gripping them like a lifeline and he hissed as you came, cum soaking and dripping everywhere as you stilled, fingers grasped in his hair tightly, and damn if he loved that feeling. He stilled, awaiting for you to recover as you panted, lying against his chest as tears and a little bit of drool temporarily stained your flushed face. He kissed you softly, removing his soaked fingers from your fluttering heat, lust boiling within him as he imagined his cock in there.

“How do ya want this? Missionary and doggy are pretty good positions for first timers, either way, I’m going to claim you, Sweetheart.”

You looked at him through your wet lashes, as if contemplating on what you want.

“What do you want?” You asked instead, and the question caught him off guard, but he grinned.

“You.” He didn’t hesitate.

“Then have me.” You felt a blush at your own statement, but you really wanted to continue.

“Ya sure?”

“Anyway you can, Taishiro. I trust you, you’re not going to hurt me.” At this, his expression softened as he then kissed you with such a tenderness.

“I won’t, but my instincts are screamin’ at me to take ya right here on the ground.”

“Then do so. We have an eternity together, right?” You pondered, and he frowned a little.

“For your-

“I trust you.” You interrupted, looking at him dead in the eyes, as if challenging him. He couldn’t help but smile at your spitfire attitude.

“As my Queen commands.” He kissed your cheek.

It was the only warning you really had, but your blood was on fire with heat and want, and truthfully, if he wanted to hurt you, he had every opportunity to after you wiped away the salt from the pentagram.

Shedding off the both your clothing, the both of you stared unabashed at each other, a red flush tinted his face, and you were blushing furiously. You weren’t really acquainted with seeing an angry-looking cock, veins visible as a drool of precum leaked onto the ground, but here it was, twitching slightly at your intense gaze. The golden glints caught your eye, and your eyes widened with surprise.

“Y-you have piercings-!” You guffawed as he laughed.

“Oh! You’re so cute! Easy to reach’n stimulate, Babe.” He winked and you swallowed thickly as he then decided that enough time was spent staring, and now he wanted to touch you, more.

He placed both garbs neatly on the ground as he gently maneuvered you onto them, your stomach and breasts were cushioned as you gripped the clothing, knees on the cool grass as you basically laid out bare for him.

You jolted as you felt his hot, fat tongue lick a long stripe along your leaking sex and clit, his hands gripped your thighs, squeezing them gently as he decided to make a meal out of you, first. You could only lay there, whining and panting, trying to move your hips in his tight grasp as he licked you with fervor, taking extra time to suckle at your clit, chuckling as he also sopped up the extra slick running down your thighs, kissing them gently and you moaned.

“Taishiro!” You whined at him, silently pleading for him to get to the main event.

“Oh? Ya wanna be fully tainted by the devil?” He purred, and you nodded. You knew that he had to take care of his need, too, and he didn’t admit it, but he was getting a little impatient.

“Easy there, Hon. If anythin’ bothers you, say somethin’, and we’ll stop, m’kay?” He finished, getting an affirmative from you, as he then grabbed his dick, leading it to your sopping entrance, and pushing a little bit in. He was amazed on how the muscles to your opening were loose, letting the head of his dick catch the rim, slipping a little inside.

He froze when you froze at the sudden prodding, opting instead to move his hips rather gently, not going further as you got use to the feeling of what’s already inside you. He decided that rubbing your clit was a good idea, and was rewarded as he felt you loosen up a bit, knees spreading out further as you bit your lip, feeling the gentle rubbing of calloused fingers.

“C-continue.” You murmured, feeling the other piercings now slide past the muscle. It was a delicious feeling of being stretched and stimulated, feeling yourself loosen as you took more of him in.

“Almost in, Sweetheart.” He murmured gently, his other hand rubbing soothing circles between your shoulder blades. Finally, he moved the last couple of inches inside of your burning heat as he refused to move, letting the both of you take in the feeling of being joined together.

“Ya alright?” He grunted, silently pleading for you to give your affirmative for him to move. He was relieved when you nodded, amazed at himself for gently rocking his hips as you were basically sucking him in. You were in a daze, feeling every inch, vein, and piercing churn your inside walls as your breasts rubbed against the silken clothing, clit still being stimulated as he took care of you.

“Y-you can mo-ve fa-faster, T-Taishiro.” It sounded more needy than you liked to admit, but he didn’t seem to mind. He leaned down, resting his chin against your shoulder as he basically enveloped you from above, one hand rubbing your clit, and the other holding himself from fully crushing you as he let his hips buck with more fervor, both of you seeing each other’s needy expressions.

“Takin’ me in-oh! So well, Darlin’. Ya’re s-suckin’ me in so-damn! Nicely. Don’t know ya that well, but ‘m so fond an’ proud of ya.” He kissed your cheek tenderly, contrast to his hips positioning themselves in a new angle in a snapping motion. Your head spun with stars as you felt the piercing on his tip, hit something inside you, letting out a “do that again!”. He would chuckle, if that statement didn’t turn him on so much.

“Y-you’re doing such a g-good job, too! Ah! Like y-you a lo-ot!” You admitted, trying your best to return such actions of affections. He rested his cheek against your cheek, taking his free hand to interlace his fingers with yours as he felt you tighten when he rolled his hips, aiming for the spot that kept making you clench.

“’C’mon, cum fer me, Baby. Lemme feel ya milk a century’s worth dry.” He growled into your ear, eager at the prospect as much as you were as you suddenly stiffened, your walls tightening around him desperately as you let out a whine, chasing the fleeting feeling as you reached down and gripped his fingers onto your clit.

“T-Taishiro! O-overstim-ula-t-ed!” You cried out, tears pooling around your eyes in frustration as your body kept clenching around him and the electricity of your high was going haywire, consuming you into a mess.

“J-just a lil! More!” He tore his hand away, sitting up as he gripped one hand on your waist tightly, and the other pressed down on your back, snapping his hips, churning your sensitive walls with an animalisitc frenzy. You could only whine, laying there and taking it as your mind was in a blank state as you felt him get bigger, suddenly. To your relief, he gave one final thrust.

A hot warmth coated your raw insides, mixing in with your own cum as you felt him still. You whined softly as you felt full. Moments passed as the two of you huffed and panted, letting the cool air chill the two of your sweaty bodies down. He pulled out of you gingerly, you whimpered at the loss as you felt cum and slick leak out. He paid no mind, plopping down to the side of you, and pulling you back onto his stomach as the two of you took each other in, cooling down from intense highs.

He cupped your face, and began trailing soft kisses wherever he could reach, and you couldn’t help but rasp out giggles, the fog clearing from your head as you descended back towards your normal mental state of closure.

“Beautiful. Mmm, ya took me so well, an’ ya looked so pretty n’ debauched. Don’t care, I’m gunna say it, Princess. I love ya.” He admitted so softly, hands smoothing down your back as you felt your heart softened as you gazed down at him.

“I love you, too. I know for sure that I will love you more when time passes.” You kissed him tenderly, letting your own growing affections seep into the kiss, and he let out an odd guttural of purring, enjoying the fulfilling feeling of a partner doting on him. The lights flickered, as if trying to lull you to sleep, but you weren’t sleepy, yet.

“I want to talk. What’s your favorite color? Why do you purr? How did you meet your sons? I want to know every bit about you.” You murmured into his chest, peeking at him through lashes, enjoying the surprised and pleased look that you were receiving. You didn’t care about the time, letting him ramble at each question you had, enjoying the way his heartbeat quickened as his breathing chest fell up and down, him talking excitedly as he threw in his own questions, pleased to know about you, more.

“Ah~! I don’t think ya can’t get any cuter~.” He rubbed his nose against yours in affection, and you were surprised to hear the familiar purr echo through his chest.

“What about your purring?”

“Yeah, happens now an’ then when I’m truly happy.”

“That’s wholesome and cute.” You admitted truthfully, liking the way his eyes danced with light at your confession.

“I wanna go again.” He said suddenly, and you flushed, realizing that he was stirring to life, again. You didn’t mind. You told him, and he smiled, kissing you.

“We’ll take it a lil’ more slow, this time. Face to face. Preferably ya kissin’ me, more.” He smiled, pinching your cheek playfully. You kissed him in false retaliation.

“Yer still a lil’ wet, so ya wouldn’t mind if I just-?” He asked, and you nodded, feeling his member catch onto the rim of your used entrance, the both of you moaning as he slid in easier, this time. You were wet and loosened, and instead of focusing on chasing your highs, the two of you paid attention to each other.

Not many words were said as you did what you pleased, kissing, touching, and enjoying his softened expression at your inquisitive hands as he held onto you, returning your affectionate gestures as the atmosphere resonated with the flickering candles: soft and romantic as the two of your hips met in a slow, sensual pace, not racing against time as you felt him continue to purr, much to your satisfaction.

You were still satisfied from earlier, but he still managed to make you cum again, this time it wasn’t as intense, but it didn’t matter, for your head cleared a little more quicker, getting to enjoy his desperate look as he quickened his pace. He looked debauched and desperate, eyebrows furrowed downward, pools of wetness gathering at his eyes as he bit his lip, only to open his mouth and call out your name as once again, he came inside of you.

“Damn, I think that I can forever make love to ya.” He panted out, sweaty chest rising and falling as one of your hands soothed circles around his waist, the other bringing his own to your lips as you kissed the back tenderly.

“I feel the same.” You admitted truthfully, and he let out another set of purrs.

……….

“Oh my goooooood! Oh my god! Sister! Where have you beeeeeen?! It’s been like, a year since we’ve last seen you!” Your friend hugged you tightly, relieved tears threatened to spill. Taishiro and you had decided to take a visit on the earthen realm to collect the rest of your things, if the villagers hadn’t destroyed your hut, that is. Luckily, your place was left untouched, and you came across the wondering group of girls, fretting over you, your state of dress, and looking at Taishiro with concern.

“Sis, did you finally summon a hireling? He doesn’t look like a gremlin?” One asked. You had to keep in your laughter as your husband’s eye twitched with annoyance.

“Um, I used a different method on the summoning spell. This is my husband, Taishiro.”

“Whaaaaa-?”

“King of hell, keeper of souls, blah blah. Look, me an’ my Queen are going to go, now. Yer all annoyin’.” He griped, snapping his fingers as the portal to your home had opened, not giving your friends time to wave their goodbyes as he dragged you home, and oddly enough, you didn’t mind.

……..

Your eyes glinted in the moonlight as the juice from the pomegranate seeds stained your lips red as you eyed the stunned man. Centuries had passed, and you and your husband had lost track of time, not aging as your magic grew in power, melding perfectly with his. Your adopted sons had moved on, finding their own mates, bringing them to your realm to visit regularly, and your love for Taishiro grew immeasurably.

Unfortunately, since he was an ancient demon, he had to reincarnate once every one thousand years, letting his soul reset into a body although resembled his own, his memories were long gone, leading you onto a twenty-nine year old man-hunt for your reincarnated lover.

“I may have a use for you, yet.” You let the words soothe over the young magic user, his eyes widened in something akin to recognition, although confused.

“Alright, Dumplin, What’dya need?” His accent was the same, except it belonged to a young man, this time, and not a demon.

“I’m Queen of hell, lady of the lost souls, and I’m in need of a king.”

“So familiar…” He gripped his head, eyeing you with confusion, yet there was a hint of your husband’s glint within those eyes.

“It’s because you know me. Very well.” You hummed at his confused expression.

“Alright, I’m curious. Lead me.” He gave in.

You smiled. It wouldn’t take long for the two of you to be reunited, after all.

………..

End! Give Thanks and Credit to Rita, or youtubequeens on tumblr for the idea and us brainstorming! I tried to fix any plot holes, I fell in love with the setting and mythology and other things, so I’m pretty proud of this fic :3

#Taishiro Toyomitsu #Fatgum #fatgum x reader #mythology #demons #witchcraft #A lot of things really #I don't know why I added the familiar #I just like bunnies #Hades and Persephone vibes #This is for you Rita #I hope you like it #I tried #Plotholes but imagination #Ig #Sorry #Will I stop being a simp?#No

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davids-cartoon-corkboard · 4 years

Text

The Great Demon King [Redacted]

The crown sideplot in the first episode established King’s ravings about his “army of darkness” and “offerings” and so on are merely delusions of grandeur, and he’s actually just some tiny powerless imp.

*puts on tinfoil hat* But that’s what they want you to think! He’s voiced by Alex Hirsch, a man who created a hoax for his own show! You can’t just take him at face value, there must be something going on behind the scenes!

As we all know, a lot of cartoons these days are inspired by anime, and I think King’s story was inspired by a particular Dragon Ball character.

Pikkoro Daimaō, “The Great Demon King Piccolo”. Real nasty sonuvabitch, I’ll tellya what. He did a whole bunch of evil stuff when he was alive, but that’s less important than what he did as he died. He coughed up an egg containing his son/reincarnation, as a last-ditch effort to eventually rise again to his former status.

Call 911 he’s babey.

Like Piccolo Jr., King would have been a horrible little goblin child who retained all the memories of his previous incarnation and was hellbent (sorrynotsorry) on destruction. But King’s plans were thwarted much more easily than Piccolo Jr.’s, and not by something so dramatic as losing a battle.

It was just... an accident.

*x-files theme plays*

King fell and hit his head, developing amnesia (and breaking his horn). He retains a few memories of his old life, but he’s still a child, so it gets all mixed up in paper crowns and stuffed animals and free convention swag. I don’t think “King” is even his real name! Piccolo Sr. spawned minions named Piano, Drum, etc., so I think we should wait and see if he has an affinity for any musical instruments. Personally, I like the sound of “King Kazu” (kazoo).

Eda and King both share the issue of memory loss. I think King will gradually regain memories of how to use his powers, and as he shows them off, it will trigger a memory of Eda’s.

She’ll remember what he did to her.

King commanded an army, and what better soldiers for a demon king than powerful witches turned bloodthirsty monsters?

And then a horrible question hangs between them: does Eda only care for King because of some residual mind control magic? Obviously the answer will be no, they truly love each other because of The Power of Family, but I need that sweet sweet pain and suffering first.

---

(I can’t believe that King is the author of the journals, Pink Diamond! Seriously though, every fandom needs one wild theory that makes an uncanny amount of sense and will make folks go completely apeshit if it turns out to be true, and I figured I might as well be the one to write it this time. What do you all think?)

#the owl house #the owl house theory #the owl house king #toh king

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lovesickjoon · 5 years

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bad religion - jjk (m)

pairing: jungkook/reader

rating: NSFW (18+)

genre: SMUT, hunter!reader au, kingofhell!jungkook (yes this was highkey inspired by spn)

words: 6.7k

desc.: it was a bad religion to fall for someone who could never love you. but, thankfully you hadn't fallen yet. and who knows? maybe he could learn how to love. or namjoon, your dumbass witchy friend ends up possessed by a demon. on halloween night, you make a deal with the devil to try and get him back.

warnings: dirty talk, unprotected sex, oral, dom!jungkook, tiny bit of breathplay, possessive jungkook, probably forgetting something

notes: im sick so this is super unedited! also this is my p late submission for the BTS Smut Club Halloween Smut Fest: Prompt #77 “You can’t sell me your soul, when you don’t have one to begin with.”

The warmth of Summer was long gone. The air felt sticky, despite the chilly breeze. The moon was abnormally bright, casting a silver glow upon the Earth. It was unsettling, being able to only see the moon, and not a single star. The inky clouds that occasionally floated in front of the hanging, luminous pearl, never once caused it to dim. Your stomach churns and twists in protests. Your subconscious continuously beckoned to you, begging for you to turn back. It had been a long drive to find the secluded crossroads, and it was too late to turn back.

You had parked your car several blocks away and were now on foot. Driving this far into the countryside was new to you. Hopefully, you wouldn't have to drive this far here again. It never failed, Namjoon always managed to fuck something up.

There wasn't a shred of doubt in your mind. You knew this would work. It had taken hours of relentless searching to find the proper incantation. You had to dig through the witch's files for days before you found anything remotely close to what you needed.

Witchcraft was something you had promised yourself to avoid messing with. You always left it to Namjoon. You did the stabbing and he did the casting. You were on your own, and you were the only person willing to help your poor fuck up of a best friend.

You glanced around the road, eyeing the sides carefully. You gathered several decent sized rocks. You dropped the bag cautiously onto the dirt and kneeled. You adjusted each rock until they formed a somewhat circular shape. You drew each ingredient out of your bag and placed them in the middle of the circle, one by one. You grabbed a pebble and used it to sketch out the sigil into the dirt. You had to sketch delicately around the rock formation, the last thing you wanted was to mess up the ceremony.

Next, you brought out six onyx colored candles. You pulled the lighter from your jacket, the dirt crunching beneath your weight as you moved. The flame flickered to life, nearly fading out because of the howling wind. You lit the first candle, using your body to block the wind. The candles were specifically created for summoning. They endlessly burn, and are entirely unaffected by nature, unlike your lighter. You returned the lighter back to its place and used the one candle you had burning to light the others.

Next was the picture of you.

You pricked yourself with the needle, squeezing and massaging your finger to try and make the blood flow out easier. The drop landed directly onto the picture of you, and you felt more queasy than ever.

You cleared your throat, staring down at the dancing flames of the candles. The energy is already coursing through the pages, waiting to be unleashed. You can feel it humming through the thick leather. A shaky sigh escapes you when you tightly grasp the book and yank it from the confines of your bag. The book practically leaps into your arms and flings itself open. It violently splits open, the pages hastily whirl by on their own. It was as if the book had a mind of its own.

It seemed... eager... to be used.

The howling wind and the tossing of the grass seemed to still when the first words parted from your lips. You inhaled deeply, trying to focus. The words were familiar, you had repeated them to yourself for hours on end, trying to learn the spell. Though you spoke in broken Latin, you knew the words were transmitting. The text began to glow, and the book grew hotter with each sentence you finished.

The ground began to rumble, and you knew the creature was being torn from its throne. Your throat tightened, and you felt tears begin to poke from the corners of your eyes. It was so much worse being the individual to actually summon a demon. Rarely, when you were observing Namjoon complete a ritual, did you get sick. You always knew that, watching Namjoon get sick. You never realized entirely how sickening the process really was though. It was draining, mentally and physically. It felt as if you were right on the brink of death.

You choked out the last word and threw the book from your hands. The feeling of your skin sizzling and melting away made you hiss. You grabbed your arm, desperate to stop the pain. The book was entirely illuminated, glowing painfully bright. You wrench your eyes closed, the wind was roaring now, and you were convinced the entire planet was rocking back and forth.

Then it was calm.

The book dimmed, the candles simultaneously blew out, and the wind blew away the sketch in the dirt. Your picture was entirely singed, along with the ingredients. The rocks had sunk into the ground at some point during the ritual. The only thing that was left was burnt ashes. More importantly, your skin hadn't dissolved away. You stand and dust yourself off. You glance around, expecting to see someone standing around, watching you with curiosity.

You contemplated leaving, going and finding a place where you could have a couple of drinks... Or maybe a nest full of vamps you could stake.

Anything to get your mind off of this.

You pluck up the book and your bag. Everything felt different, but not in ways that you could name. It was such a slight shift in the atmosphere it was almost unnoticeable. For a fleeting moment, you worried if you had pronounced something wrong and unleashed something terrible out into the world.

You waited.

Unlike the person you were summoning, you were not immortal. You couldn't sit here and stare blankly at the sky until he showed up. At this rate, you were going to die before he arrived.

You persisted anyway.

You were determined to fix Namjoon's mess, even though he was the one to dig his own grave. You stood there like the ugly girl at prom, waiting for the guy who promised to be her date to show up.

"Sorry, I was running late. It's not often someone calls me directly from my throne."

You twirl around, nearly tripping over your own feet as you try and turn. Features scrunching up in confusion, you examine the man head to toe. How the fuck had you managed to summon an angel? The dark, doe eyes twinkle in amusement, and he grins.

"What? Were you expecting my horns to be larger? I didn't want to frighten you, delicate mortal."

You froze, and your heart lurched. It was finally settling in. You had just summoned the fucking King of Hell. His tall, lean figure didn't intimidate you. Not in the slightest. If it wasn't for the horns and the occasional shifting of his eye color, he could pass as someone your age. In no way, shape, or form did he appear to even be an ancient demon. The power, raw and unadulterated, radiating off of him was the off-putting part. The demon glanced towards the ashes, eyeing them carefully. He reaches towards the ashes and pinches a bit of the ash between his fingers.

He blows the dust from his fingers and raises his eyebrows. "A deal?" he asks. He eyes you suspiciously and wipes away the smear of ash off. "You waited specifically until Hallows' Eve to do this. Didn't you?"

As if you were a video, someone had taken the remote and stopped you from moving or speaking. You were on pause. You didn't know how to answer, should you lie? Should you tell the truth? The demon takes a step towards you, coming closer than you were comfortable with. You catch a glimpse of red in his eyes, and then it's gone.

He smirks, "I see. You purposely waited, just to summon little old me. This must not be a regular deal then. Oh. Don't bother trying to lie to me, because it obviously won't work."

You mentally give yourself a good shake and try to focus on your objective. You could probably knife this bastard just as easily as any other demon.

He rolls his eyes, "Mortals, all of you are so feeble-minded. Tell me, what is it you want? True love? Fortune? An extra cup size? Go ahead, sweetheart. This is always the busiest night in Hell."

"I want you to stop whichever one of your little minions it is from wearing my best friend. I only want him sane, completely alive, and back where he belongs," you hiss.

The worst thing is having someone incredibly powerful laughing directly in your face.

Which is exactly what he did. The King cackles until he doubles over, appearing to be in pain from laughing so hard. You internally cringe, and the repulsive feeling returns to your gut. He really found you.. amusing. You were concerned about the well being of your friend. Yet, this asshole was laughing.

You have to really resist the urge to whip your knife from your side and gank him right then and there.

"Not a problem, sweetheart," he raises his head, the grin still on his lips. He circles around you like a vulture, inspecting every inch of you. "Before we talk payment... Tell me, how did he end up as a vessel for a demon of mine?"

Truth be told, you weren't entirely sure. Namjoon wouldn't let some demon merely hop in his body and take it for a ride. Also, he hated messing with demons in the first place. You had kind of came to the conclusion that he had somehow been tricked, or forced. The last time you barged into his house, he had black eyes and threw you against a wall with simply a wave of his hand. He didn't answer a single question and only rummaged through his files. Maybe the demons wanted information? There was no way for you to be entirely sure.

He hums almost inaudibly, seemingly thinking. He had read your thoughts again.

"Have you considered the idea that maybe your friend wanted to be a vessel?"

Before he even finished the sentence, you were already shaking your head. "Why? Why would he want to ride backseat while someone else controls his body? That doesn't make sense."

He crosses his arms and shrugs. "How will you pay me?" his tone lowers, and he stops in front of you once more. You hold your breath as he nears you again. From this angle, you can see that innocent glimmer even better.

You frown, "Well, my soul. That's usually the price, correct?"

"Indeed," he hums. "But you can't sell me your soul when you don't have one, to begin with."

The metal jewelry glinted just enough to catch your attention. You focus your attention on the silver adorning his wrist, mulling over his words. You never played around with this kind of thing. Unless someone appeared in the middle of the night and siphoned it from you, he was lying. It wouldn't surprise you in the slightest if he really was lying. He was the King of Hell, and lying was what he did best. He tilts his head to the side, pouting.

"You don't believe me?" He asks.

He sighs and then the pout drops from his features. "The names Jungkook, by the way. Constantly referring to me as the King gets annoying after a while," he snorts.

You go silent, unsure of what to do, or what to believe. You were already low on cash, so you definitely weren't going to be able to give him a regular payment. Besides, a part in the back of your mind knew he wouldn't want it anyway. "How am I alive if I don't have a soul? How did I lose my soul?" you demand. Surprise flashes across his features, and it vanishes as quickly as it arrived.

"You think it's a big contract, just like every other mortal on Earth, don't you?" He asks in a mocking manner. "Technically, yes. You can lose your soul due to a big contract, similar to a contract that would be made here."

He pauses and steps away. He places his hand underneath his chin, trying to formulate a better way to explain his thoughts.

"It's a series of little agreements and every little fuck up counts. As for the how you're alive part, you can live a perfectly normal life even if your soul is gone. You're not unique, you're just the same as any other regular mortal. Until you die, that is. Then you're destined to fall straight into the pit."

You reflect on the haunting words, trying to think of every single thing you had done wrong. The list was honestly quite long at this point. You had done several horrible things in the past, trying to save your own ass from the fire. Only to learn that you were destined to fall right into it anyway. You never harmed animals, you never hurt anyone that didn't deserve to be hurt. You thought you were doing the moral thing.

"The devil has a thousand faces, sweetheart. Sorry to break the news this way," he mutters, not looking sorry in the slightest.

"If that's the case, then how do any souls get sold at all?"

The corner of his mouth twists in irritation. He clearly didn't appreciate the number of questions you had for him.

"Not everyone fucks up as easily as you have. Some souls simply are worth more than others, but most others just make fewer mistakes. Even if their essence is close to being fully corrupted, we usually will accept it. That is... if the deal is over something minor. You though, you're asking me to bother one of my own, and there's pretty much nothing to gain from you. No profit."

"Pathetic," he sneers condescendingly. "It's been years since I've seen a mortal completely corrupt themselves all on their own. You're lucky, though. I'm willing to fetch your little friend if you're willing to pay a different price."

Jungkook takes a confident stride towards you. You fought the urge to take a step back and start sprinting in the other direction. Jungkook cupped your face, gently brushing his thumbs against your cheekbones. Your cheeks scorched with embarrassment. Your mind clouded, and it became hard to think with him so near. Your face feels frozen, but burns where he caresses you gently. It took a moment before you could form a coherent thought.

"What's the price?" you ask, your stomach in knots.

He grins, "I get to fuck you. Since I've laid eyes on you, I've had an overwhelming desire to pin you down and whisper the filthiest things into your ear. I want to hear you whine and whimper until the pleasure becomes too much for you to handle. I think that's a fair deal, don't you?"

You felt lightheaded. The slightest breeze could come along and tip you over with ease. "Right now?" you murmur, voice failing you. You blinked rapidly, trying to clear the fog surrounding your mind and vision.

"No, Y/N. I will come to collect my payment soon."

You want to ask how he knows your name, but you figure it's a demon thing. Besides, you probably couldn't force the words out of your mouth at the moment anyway. His fingers remain on your face, and he didn't break eye contact. He was probably doing this on purpose, trying to lure you into a contract. Too bad for him, he was only wasting his energy. You were going to say yes either way. It was the eye contact, or scent, or.. something! It was him, he was the culprit making you feel this way.

"Yes," you spit out, finding it to be a struggle to make your voice go louder than a whisper.

The urge to throw yourself in his arms and let him care for you for the rest of eternity burns strongly inside of you, but you suppress it. It was his energy, you didn't even know him or anything about him. He presses his body into you eagerly, lips closing in on yours. His figure was so much warmer, compared to your mortal frame. It was thrilling, but terrifying considering you were so close to something that could easily snap you in two. Warmth spreads from the tips of your toes to the top of your head.

There was a swirl of indescribable emotions in your chest when the two of you broke apart. The kiss didn't last near as long as you wished it had. He stepped away from you, and you knew the deal was sealed.

He turns on his heel and marches away. The fog dissipates, the more distance there is between the two of you. There's another strange warmth, and it's creeping it's way up your arm. You roll up your sleeve with slightly cloudy vision, searching for the cause of the feeling. Right below the bend of your elbow is a mark. It materializes into a branded mark, and the symbol is easily recognizable. It's the sigil you drew to summon him. He had stuck a claim on you.

Your head darts up when you hear a violent cough. On the ground, a few feet away from you, is Namjoon. The sigil etched into your skin and every thought of Jungkook disappeared from your mind.

It had been a week since that night, and Namjoon was still pissed. He wouldn't admit it, but his actions spoke volumes. There had been no sign of Jungkook, leaving you regularly on edge. The mark scorched into your skin was obnoxious. At night, you would wake up, convinced someone had put your arm in a boiling pot of water.

"What's next?" Namjoon asked, reaching for one of the flasks on the bottom shelf. He shifts the basket on his arm and starts to stroll along again. You followed behind Namjoon like a lost puppy. "Oil of Abramelin," you responded, eyeing the list carefully.

When Namjoon didn't acknowledge you, you tried to pry once more.

"You can get that here?"

Namjoon kept his back turned to you, but you knew he was rolling his eyes. The building was like a maze, and the fluorescent lights above probably gave away every skin imperfection you had. There was a moment of silence, and then Namjoon sighed. "Humans who want to meddle in the dark arts can't buy anything here."

You frowned, definitely still pissed. You bite your lip, wanting to make a snide remark back, but also not wanting to see a Namjoon meltdown in public. Everything in the store seemed antique. Each item seemed crammed onto the shelf rather than place artistically. The painted text on the aisle directory signs was peeling away.

Only chunks of words were recognizable, but it didn't help in the slightest. All of the products appeared to be scattered throughout the store carelessly. So, the signs wouldn't have been much help regardless.

Namjoon led you further into the shop, and you could tell the rear of this place rarely was used. Dust had gathered on pretty much every surface available. Even the spiders had abandoned the back of the shop. Their silk webs were now another collector of dust and pollen. Namjoon ignored the cobwebs, plucking thing randomly off of the shelves as he passed them.

"Next?" Namjoon asked, stopping abruptly. You fling your arms out in front of you, trying to avoid crashing into him. You stabilize and fumble with the list.

"Fulgurite," you read, squinting at the word in confusion. "Whatever that is."

Before Namjoon could completely twist around again, you lightly hooked your fingers into the back of his shirt. He studied you with a puzzled expression, "What?"

Feeling awkward, you release his shirt and let your hand drop to your side. "How many times have I apologized already?"

The question comes off slightly harsh, although you don't intend for it to sound that way. You didn't care though, Namjoon would be way too willing to hold this grudge against you for as long as he could. Namjoon glanced around as if he was expecting to see other customers nearby. It's deserted except for the ancient cashier. She was most likely hard of hearing anyhow.

"We've already been through this," he retorted, dropping his voice low.

"Yeah, but-"

You swallowed, trying to force the words to come out of your throat. It became hard to make out the details of the room, and the features of Namjoon. A wave of heat coursed through your veins, starting with the mark. Your ears popped, and the deep voice calling your name went muffled. Through blurred vision, you could see Joon wave his hand in front of your face. Nothing you did stopped the warmth rising in your chest. You buckle over, and you feel cool hands grab you by your shoulders. Namjoon does his best to guide you to the floor as safely as possible.

Then Namjoon's soothing hands disappear. You're drifting. There's no floor underneath you, nothing you can grab onto, and the weight of your clothes is missing. The fear, the worry, it has departed too. You feel abnormally calm, despite what had just happened. You unclench your eyes, startled to see an unfamiliar sky above you. You raised yourself from the bed, breath hitching in your throat.

Jungkook sat, perched right beside you on the bed. His mouth erupts into a sinister grin, and he greets you. "Welcome to Hell."

You were in a room, not outside, you concluded. The ceiling above resembled a night sky. There was something about the way the lights twinkled that made you feel as if it wasn't real. After a few more moments of gazing at the faux sky, your eyes drifted to Jungkook. Jungkook, the reality you didn't want to face. "Hello," you murmur, almost inaudibly.

"You don't sound very happy to see me," he remarks.

Namjoon comes to mind, you envision him on his knees in the shop. He was probably baffled by how you managed to vanish right from his arms. You had absolutely no reason to be happy to see Jungkook. Jungkook shifting on the bed catches your attention. He smirks and crosses his arms, "Oh, I see. You're upset because I interrupted the fight between you and your little boy-toy."

You scoffed, "Namjoon's like a brother to me, it's not like that. Besides, he's obviously not interested, and neither am I."

"Oh, Y/N..." he trails off, shaking his head. At some point, Jungkook had moved closer to you. He snakes his fingers up your arm and to the bend of your elbow. Your heart skips a beat, and for a moment you can't breathe. Jungkook brushes his thumb over the mark, and you swear little sparks shoot up your arm. "How does Namjoon feel about you selling your body to me?"

You lower your eyes, and the deafening silence answers the question. Jungkook tilts your chin up, so you are no longer looking away from him. "You didn't tell him, did you?"

He already knew the answer, but he wanted you to confirm it. You hesitantly shook your head, "Not what I sold."

The arm he was tracing over the mark with slipped itself around your waist. The grip around your waist tightened, and you could feel Jungkook's energy shift. "Y/N, if you genuinely don't want to do this, I won't force you. Tell me now, though, and I'll leave you alone."

You disregarded the sound of your heart beating tensely, trying to think through this carefully. Jungkook called to you softly, "Y/N, I hope you realize I am a very selfish and greedy person. This can be a one-time thing, or we can do it often. Know that I have no plans to share you with someone else though."

This was your chance to say no. From past experiences, you knew you were prone to desiring a relationship, craving the romantic things. Casual sex in the past never really stayed that for you. He could never love you back if you were to fall for him. Yes, Jungkook had the decency to ask you if you wanted this or not. That didn't mean he knew how to love another.

The easy solution was just to say no. Why would you take that route though? You could decide later if you were going to take a gamble at doing this again... For now, you were not going to miss this opportunity. Overcome with desire, you breathe out a faint 'yes.'

Jungkook dipped his head down and kissed you deeply. Your eyes fell closed, and all you could feel was warmth. The warmth of his mouth on yours, the heat from the mark, and the warmth of just his very being. The intoxication that Jungkook had brought upon you last time returned. There wasn't a doubt about it, the King of Hell already had you wrapped around his finger.

You whimper when Jungkook pushes your lips apart with his tongue. He explored your mouth with the intent to claim. He was conveying his message from earlier to you again, he was not going to be willing to share your body with another. Every inch of you was now his.

He broke the kiss, allowing you to catch your breath. Jungkook went for your jaw, sloppily trailing kisses down to your neck. It took a few moments before you realized Jungkook was simultaneously pushing you down onto the bed while marking your neck. He removed himself from your neck with a frustrated growl. Jungkook raised his hand, and the tip of his finger began to glow. With a single touch to your shirt, the material crumbled and dissolved into thin air.

You gasped, shocked by the sudden actions. Jungkook didn't merely stop at your shirt. He proceeded until you were completely exposed and on display for him. His palm found your breast, his fingers massaging it in a way that had your core throbbing. The wet heat between your thighs was growing more and more with each action. He reached for your nipple, gently tugging and rubbing it between his fingertips. This provokes a whine out of you, and he hums contently. His concentration turned to the other breast, and he repeated the same steps.

"You're so fucking pretty," Jungkook uttered, nipping at your sensitive chest once more. The kisses return, but this time, they're much more rushed. His attention trails lower, down past your ribs and all the way to your thighs. Jungkook parts your legs and moves between them. He resumes his path of kisses, now that your legs are parted.

Although you should expect it, you don't. A sharp moan rips itself from your throat when Jungkook finds your clit. He takes the tender nub into his mouth, flicking his tongue over it in different patterns. You withered underneath his touch, panting wildly. This feeling was so much different compared to your previous partner's attempts. Jungkook had a skilled, very well practiced tongue. He undoubtedly knew what he was doing. Jungkook brings his hands to your hips, striving to still your trembling form.

Jungkook licks a stripe up your slit, and you mindlessly let your hand drift to his hair. You wind your fingers into his hair, and the angle he looks up at you from exposes his glistening forehead. His furrowed eyebrows and the look of concentration on his face made you ecstatic. "Does this feel good, baby?"

"F-Fuck, yes," you whimpered. A squeak escaped you when Jungkook slipped a finger inside of you. He slowly starts to work you open. Your fingers tightened in Jungkook's hair, causing him to groan. He dipped another finger into your wet heat, producing a loud noise from you. You do your best to silence your cries, but with such a cloudy mind, it's a struggle.

Jungkook seems to sense that you're holding back, so he doubles his efforts. "Such a tight little slut, you're taking my fingers so well," he smirks, knowing damn well what his words do to you. He sinks his fingers in and out of you repeatedly, working them faster than before. "...I can't wait to see how you take my cock."

Not being able to hold back any longer, you let your hips roll to meet the thrusts of his fingers. You were so slick and soaked, at this point there was no way the sheets weren't tainted. Jungkook went back to lapping at your clit, slamming his fingers in and curling them. Your back arched from the bed, sharp pleasure shooting up your spine. Jungkook had hit the sweet spot inside of you, but your brain was so muddled it took you a moment to figure out what he was doing.

His tongue circling and twirling around your sensitive clit grew faster. Jungkook added a third finger, making sure you were nice and fucked out for him. It was beginning to be too much, you didn't know how much longer you could last. You try to cry out Jungkook's name, try to warn him your about to tip over the edge, but you can't. It's too late. You clenched around his fingers, rolling your hips and wailing out his name.

He helps you ride out your orgasm, before drawing himself away from your soaked core. You expected the fogginess to lessen, instead of growing worse. You struggle, trying to scramble upwards. You're so, so tired, but you're dying to continue.

"What are you doing?" Jungkook queries, confusion written all over his features.

"Returning the favor-"

Jungkook puts a hand in front of you, motioning for you to slow down. He stands, letting his clothes disintegrate and disappear. He shakes his head, "You don't seem to understand who makes the decisions around here, but okay. You want me? You'll get me."

You peel yourself from the bed and drop to your knees obediently. Your face was perfectly level to Jungkook's long, throbbing cock. It was standing proudly, a thick vein wrapped from the top to the underside. The way Jungkook was glaring down at you had you feeling eager and more submissive than ever. You scooted closer, opening your mouth for him. "Good girl," he hums.

He slid himself over your lips a couple of times in a teasing manner. After a few moments, he finally pushes himself into your mouth. He moved slowly, not stopping until he hit the back of your throat.

You linked your hands behind your back, letting Jungkook have full control of the pace. His fingers met the back of your head, guiding you up and down his length.

"You little slut, you've had plenty of practice, hm? You're taking me pretty well," he grunted, drawing himself out of you until his head was back at your lips. You ignored the ache in your knees, knowing damn well you were going to have a horrible carpet burn later. Jungkook hisses in pleasure, "Is this how you tainted your soul? By sucking as many dicks as you could so you could become a pro?"

The words made your insides burn once more, just when you thought you were sated.

You were anxious to please, so you hollowed your cheeks against him. You went to bob your head, but Jungkook held you still. You gazed up and met his eyes, causing him to groan. A thick band of sweat was developing on his forehead. His hair was beginning to stick to his forehead. You closed your eyes, trying to focus on breathing. You hear him murmur something along the lines of, 'fucking gorgeous.' You can't make out the rest of the sentence, too concentrated on controlling your breath.

Your throat tightened around him, and for the first time in the session, you gagged. Jungkook yanked you off of him, and you gasped for air. You opened your mouth again, despite your aching jaw. He slid into your mouth with ease, meeting the back of your throat again. This time he was rougher, thrusting quicker and quicker. You knew he was getting close, and he did too. He gave a few more thrusts and then slipped out from between your lips.

You craved Jungkook more than ever now. Lust surged in you, loins stirring. His tone and his harsh words triggered something inside of you that you didn't really understand. Without speaking, you knew what Jungkook craved from you. You rose and crawled onto the bed. You were correct, your knees were fucked. You didn't pay any more attention to it, needing all of your focus to go to Jungkook.

Jungkook chuckled darkly, a knowing look in his eyes. His voice grows closer and soon enough, he's right behind you. "You're this excited to be fucked by a demon, I can't believe it. I'm a monster. I'm the fucking King of Hell, and yet here you are. You're presenting yourself to me, practically begging for it."

He planted a gentle kiss on your shoulder before rearing his hand back and slapping your ass. You glanced back in shock. One of his hands were busy, pumping up and down his cock. The other hand cracked against your skin, extracting a yelp from you. Jungkook positioned himself over you, and you arched your back into him.

"Please," you whine quietly. Your voice was unsteady, and there was nothing you could do to control it. Jungkook doesn't reply at first, deliberating on his next move. "Are you this eager for all cock, or am I just special?" he growls, delivering another smack to your ass.

"Yours! Only your cock!" you cry out, feeling tears begin to build up. His free hand roamed from your ass to your flooded heat. He cupped your core gently, and you jerked lightly. You were still a bit sensitive from the earlier orgasm. His fingers find your clit, and he flicks his wrists in a circular motion a few times. Just as quickly as the touches came, they disappeared. Your walls uncontrollably grasped and tensed around nothing.

You need him to fill you to the brim already. You needed him to fuck you until you couldn't walk or see straight. Right when your patience started running out, he puts his cock to your entrance. "I'm going to fuck you so hard, you won't be able to think of any other dick than mine. Your poor little boyfriend will never be able to make you feel this way."

You were so worked up, at this point you didn't bother to argue that Namjoon wasn't your boyfriend. He moved his cock up your slit, brushing against your clit. You wiggled excitedly, stomach in knots. The head of his cock found your entrance again. He leans his weight onto you and enters you.

"I'm going to ruin you," he barks, bringing his hand down on your backside. The initial thrusts are slow like he's testing how far your depths go. He was also most likely giving your walls time to adjust to his size. You don't hold back your noises now, letting them spring wildly from your lips. You're glad you had already orgasmed once, so you were slick. This made the glide and stretch so much better.

Then, Jungkook yanks himself from you almost entirely. When he thrusts back in, it's with nearly enough strength to knock you into the headboard. Your arms trembled, trying to hold yourself up. Jungkook slams into you again, and for a split second, you think you're going to fall face first into the silk sheets. Jungkook's hand travels up to your shoulder, and he helps hold you steady.

"Fuck," you spit out, heavily heaving. Jungkook keeps his promise, each thrust was going to ruin you. He snaps his hips up into you at a ruthless speed. Eventually, your arms do fail on you. Your face was buried into the sheets, along with your fingers twisted into them. "I don't think I've ever felt a pussy as tight as yours, fuck," he rumbles.

Jungkook places his other hand on your shoulder. He uses both arms to yank you up, and to his chest. You're lifted off the bed now, and your legs are thrown over Jungkook's thick thighs. Jungkook never stops pounding into you, although you're pretty much sitting in his lap. His hand travels from his shoulder, past your collarbones, and to your throat.

He wraps his hand gently around it, ever so slightly constricting your breathing. You snap your hips down onto him the best you can. Your tits bounce lewdly, and you can do nothing but helplessly moan. Jungkook seemed to like this angle, not wanting to release you or your throat. You rotated your hips and did your best to grind down onto him with equal passion. He releases your throat but decides to hook his arms under your own. He lets you lean forwards slightly, so the only thing keeping you from smacking your face onto the bed is his arms hooked around your shoulders.

The coil in your tummy was threatening to snap, but you urged it away. There was a tiny sense of control you had before, but now there was none. Jungkook had inhuman strength and could toss you around as he pleased. Jungkook is close to your ear, panting heavily. Somehow, he knows. "That's right, baby. You don't come until I tell you that you can. You're fucking mine."

Jungkook knew your body so well. He knew how to press your buttons and how to play with you flawlessly. He found the spot inside of you that he had previously discovered with his fingers. He angled his body so he could repeatedly jab his cock into that place. A scream erupts from your sore throat, and you try to find something to grasp onto.

You find nothing, though, and let your hands fall limply to your sides. Your limbs came back to life though when the pads of Jungkook's fingers find your clit. You nearly come on the spot but manage to choke it back. Your hands clamped around his wrist, trying to make him stop circling your sensitive nub. There was no way, you weren't going to last. There wasn't a single sign he was planning to slow down, either.

"I'm close, baby. Don't worry," Jungkook snarls. His words come off as harsh, but also endearing. His thrusts turned sloppy, and you knew he was telling the truth. No matter how messy, he was still more skilled than any other man you had ever been with.

"Come, come for me like the good girl you are," he orders, hips giving their final few jerks. You couldn't deny him even if you wanted to. The blistering, white-hot heat courses through you. He fills you immediately, and you were slightly surprised by the unfamiliar feeling. Never had someone stuffed you so full. Or filled you at all. Jungkook goes to pull out, and most of the liquid flows out from your walls.

He positions you carefully on the bed. You blink slowly, entirely spent. "You did so well for me, Y/N. Thank you," Jungkook coos. You can't see his facial expression, because you're too tired to open your eyes. Jungkook cleaned you up the best he could, and soon enough you passed out with him realizing it.

You crack your eyes open, yawning contently. There was no alarm obnoxiously beeping, forcing you to wake up. It was merely sunlight seeping through your curtains and the sound of the birds outside chirping. Jungkook must have brought you home while you were resting. Jungkook, wait? What?

Memories of last night flood you, and you raise straight up. The memories were slightly blurry, almost like you had been drunk. You frown, and after a minute or so, it becomes clear. You had held up your end of the deal.

Something still seems wrong though. You drag yourself from your bed and glance in the mirror. There are no visible bruises on you or your neck. You notice you're wearing the exact same clothes you were before Jungkook had destroyed them. After a minute or two of staring at yourself, you think you know what's wrong.

You roll up your sleeve, the mark was still there.

Jungkook had forgotten to remove it. Fuck.

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tomtefairytaleblog · 5 years

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The Witch That Whirls in the Air: The Folkloric Roots of Walpurgisnacht in “Puella Magi Madoka Magica”

“On this night, I became a Magical Girl.”--Homura Akemi, Puella Magi Madoka Magica Drama CD: “Memories of You”

(The Witch Walpurgisnacht descends on Mitakihara.)

Walpurgisnacht casts a shadow—both literally and figuratively—over Puella Magi Madoka Magica from the very beginning, first appearing in Madoka Kaname’s dream as a looming figure floating ominously in the sky, while Homura Akemi tries in vain to defeat it (the scene accompanied by the appropriately ominous song “Magia”). It isn’t mentioned again until the sixth episode, when Homura tells Kyoko Sakura that Walpurgisnacht will appear in Mitakihara in a couple of weeks, and again in Episode 10, when its importance to Homura’s story and the overall plot are revealed. In the eleventh episode, Walpurgisnacht finally makes its appearance in the city, creating a supercell storm and forcing the civilians into a shelter, leaving the city abandoned while Homura faces off against it on her own. It appears in the middle of the storm, an upside-down giant of a woman dressed in medieval clothing, with gears where her feet should be, heralded by a surreal, circus procession, and accompanied by shadowy, ghost-like Familiars. While Walpurgisnacht may at first glance appear to just be a generic monster with a distinctive name, it has many roots in folklore, not just in its name, but also in its appearance and methods.

(Spoilers incoming.)

(1668 woodcut of the Witches’ Sabbath, by Johannes Praetorius.)

Walpurgisnacht’s name is a reference to the German name for “Walpurgis Night,” named after Saint Walpurga; it is also known as “Hexennacht,” or Witches’ Night. It was in 1668 that the Brocken—the highest peak in the Harz mountain range in Germany—was designated as the meeting place for Walpurgisnacht, as recorded by Johannes Praetorius’s The Blocksberg Performance (Davies). It was this idea that was further expanded on by Goethe in Faust; a footnote for George Madison Priest’s translation of Goethe’s tragic play specifically refers to Walpurgisnacht as a time that witches hold “carnival” on the Brocken, the highest peak in Germany’s Harz Mountains, a fact that is visually referenced when Walpurgisnacht arrives in Mitakihara with a parade of colorful animals signaling its arrival (Goethe 95). While traditionally set on the evening between April 30th and May 1st, no exact day is given in Madoka for when Walpurgisnacht appears; however, it is not a stretch to assume that it is also meant to be on April 30th.

(Dame Baubo as illustrated by Ernst Barlach, c. 1923.)

While Walpurgisnacht being a name for a specific witch associated with the day is new, the idea of a central, witch-like figure is not. One example appears in Goethe’s Faust, when Faust and Mephistopheles travel to the Brocken on May Eve, following a Will-O’-The-Wisp to the sight where the witches gather. There they see a group of witches, making their way to the celebration. Among them is a figure riding on a sow—this figure is recognized as “old Baubo,” to which the witches’ chorus responds to with “In front, Dame Baubo! Lead the crew! /A sturdy sow with mother stride, /All witches follow in a tide” (Goethe 96). This figure, Baubo, actually originates from Greek Mythology, as she was a demigoddess most known for making Demeter—who, at the time, was grief-stricken over the disappearance of Persephone—laugh by exposing her genitalia (Theoi). Just like how Baubo is associated with laughter, the Walpurgisnacht of Madoka Magica is portrayed as constantly laughing as she floats in the air; additionally, one can see that Baubo, a Greek figure, has been demonized into being associated with witches and the Christian Devil. This phenomenon of such a figure being turned into a demonic creature is not unique to Faust.

In their article “Becoming the Labyrinth: Negotiating Magical Space and Identity in Puella Magi Madoka Magica,” Sara Cleto and Erin Kathleen Bahl point out that Walpurgisnacht has many visual similarities to European nobility, shown in her “elaborate, blue gown with exaggerated bell sleeves and a cascading, tiered skirt,” while her head has a headdress that “tapers to two sharp points, suggesting horns or a crown.” “She resembles nothing so much as an evil queen,” Cleto and Bahl write, “a figure popularized most by Snow White tales” (9). Indeed, with the other folkloric/fairy tale imagery (both traditional and literary) referenced in the series such as “The Little Mermaid,” The Nutcracker and the Mouse King, and Goethe’s Faust, it would not be too far of a stretch to draw comparisons between Madoka and Snow White, especially since, as Cleto and Bahl point out, a central theme in Snow White is the generational conflict between a young girl and an older woman, which echoes the war between the Magical Girls and the Witches they will inevitably become when they are consumed by despair (9).

But if one looks at Walpurgisnacht’s general appearance—a queenly figure that rides out in the sky and terrorizes the land, especially children (the Magical Girls)—then one can also draw a parallel to the Biblical queen Herodias; specifically, the version of her that became a part of witch folklore. In the Book of Mark in the New Testament, Herodias was the wife of Herod who opposed John the Baptist, as the latter spoke against her marriage to Herod, because she had been Herod’s brother’s wife beforehand. She eventually gets rid of John by having her daughter dance for Herod at a party, who, impressed, offers to grant her anything; she then asks for John the Baptist’s head (New Living Translation, Mark 6:14-29) .

(Herodias, as painted by Paul Delaroche, c. 1843.)

That is where the story ends in the Bible, but folklore expands a bit on the aftermath. In Ysengrimus, a collection of folktales in Latin written by the poet Nivardus around the year 1148, Herodias is conflated with her daughter as the figure who danced for Herod; after receiving the head of John the Baptist, Herodias attempts to kiss it, having been infatuated with him. However, the head hisses at her, “with such force that she was blown up into the air and out through the skylight;” and since then, “she has been driven through the skies on John’s implacable anger” (Ridenour 135-136). Jacob Grimm writes in his Deutsche Mythologie that the winds in Lower Saxony were believed to be caused by Herodias constantly whirling, eternally dancing in the sky; additionally, she was believed in some places to be a child-stealing demon (Ridenour 136). Just as Herodias is associated with eternally whirling in the air, Walpurgisnacht in Madoka is described as symbolizing “the fool who constantly spins in circles” and whose nature is “helplessness” (Puella Magi Wiki). And Walpurgisnacht, as a Witch who was once a Magical Girl, certainly is helpless, being now nothing more than a pawn in the Incubators’ twisted plans.

In his book Witchcraft in the Middle Ages, Jeffrey Burton Russell refers to the Canon Episcopi, a text written in the early Tenth Century; the text itself refutes the existence of witches, in that it claims that any such stories are the result of people being deceived by the Devil, upholding the opinion that it is impossible for a human to wield magic (Russell 77). Within the Canon are references to witches who rode out in the night with “Diana, goddess of the pagans,” a reference to Diana, the Roman goddess of the hunt (Russell 76). Russell then adds that Diana is one of many goddesses demonized to be associated with Witches by Christianity; another example being the Germanic Holda, who is mentioned in the Corrector by Buchard of Worms, another important document of witchcraft (80-81). In Eisenach, Germany, Holda and her host are said to emerge from the Horselberg Mountain (“Hear-Souls Mountain”) with her horde of spirits on Christmas, Eve, New Year’s Eve, or the Winter Ember Days (Ridenour 132). This idea of a witch-like figure emerging on a certain day is echoed in Madoka with Walpurgisnacht’s arrival creating a deadline that the series’ plot hinges on.

Those familiar with Madoka may also note the idea of a figure being seen as both a goddess and a witch as paralleling Madoka’s status as being both Ultimate Madoka (a goddess) and Kriemhild Gretchen/The Witch of Despair (a witch); in fact, the idea of a goddess being demonized into a Witch by the Church is a pretty close parallel to the Incubators turning Magical Girls into Witches for their own plans. (There is some debate on whether Holda was a goddess or not, due to records describing her as such being made long after Christianization set in; nonetheless, the similarities are there (Ridenour 120).)

(Frau Holle, or Holda, traveling through the air with her spirits, by Joseph Sattler, c. 1927.)

After her initial attack on Walpurgisnacht—during which Homura throws an entire arsenal of weapon fire at it, barely putting even a scratch on the Witch—Walpurgisnacht manifests a horde of shadowy figures that begin to attack Homura. These minions are described as “countless souls drawn to [Walpurgisnacht’s] vast magical power,” and bear more than an uncanny resemblance to ghostly Magical Girls (Puella Magi Wiki). In concept, as ghastly beings flying amongst the storm, they are akin to the European legends of the Wild Hunt, a folkloric archetype that combines elements of stories regarding “hunting and diabolic hunters, lost souls, and slain warriors” (Ridenour 156). Slain warriors and lost souls—kind of like the Magical Girls of Madoka’s setting, who are shown to often die in battle at a young age; and whenever a contract is made with Kyubey, the result is the girl making said contract having her soul removed from her body, effectively rendering her undead, and therefore able to endure the physical strain of battling horrific entities. While the Wild Hunt is said in many cases to be led by Odin, there are stories where other leaders have been recorded; one such example being, again, Herodias, said to have sway over a third of the world, said third including “unbaptized children,” amongst other supernatural creatures such as elves and gnomes (Kloss 100). A similar belief is attributed to the figure Perchta, who is sometimes associated with Holda, and said to lead the spirits of the unbaptized and unborn out into the night (Ridenour 132).

(Top: Asgardsreien, by Peter Nicolai Arbo, c. 1872. Bottom: The Clowns serving Walpurgisnacht.)

Finally, while the influences on Walpurgisnacht have thus far been entirely Biblical and European in origin, there is also Japanese folklore to look to for a possible link between the legends of the West and the country of Madoka’s origin. Japan is full of stories regarding supernatural creatures, or “yokai;” there are also stories regarding the event known as the “Hyakki Yagyo,” or “The Demon Horde’s Night Parade,” when yokai were said to swarm through the city of Kyoto. In many ways, it was less of an attack and more of a swarm or manifestation that went throughout the city, akin to the Western concept of “pandemonium,” a “raucous revelry of creepy-crawlies” (Yoda and Alt x-xi). This legend is in many ways similar to the Wild Hunt of Europe; as such, while Walpurgisnacht’s imagery in Madoka is heavily-inspired by stories of witches and slain warriors swarming during a storm, the knowledge Japanese viewers may have of the Hyakki Yagyo would just as easily make Walpurgisnacht’s attack resonate with them, much like the term “Walpurgisnacht” resonates with those in the West familiar with the word as a serious threat in a series whose main enemies are Witches.

(”Hyakki Yagyo,” by Kawanabe Kyosai.)

While Walpurgisnacht makes only a few appearances in the whole of Puella Magi Madoka Magica, its influence is greatly felt throughout the series; and while ultimately just an obstacle keeping the main characters from reaching a happy ending, it also has a lot of mythological, folkloric, and literary archetypes of witches and hauntings caused by spirits, all rolled into one enigmatic figure (indeed, even after the origin of Witches are revealed, Walpurgisnacht still remains a mystery in everything from backstory to motives). Like a lot of the folkloric and literary references in the show, it is not necessary to be aware of all the history behind Walpurgisnacht to understand the narrative; that being said, if one does choose to look into it, they will find quite a lot of interesting stories.

Bibliography

“Agrarian Gods and Goddesses.” Theoi. Web. Accessed 23 April, 2019.

Cleto, Sara and Erin Kathleen Bahl. “Becoming the Labyrinth: Negotiating Magical Space and Identity in Puella Magi Madoka Magica.” Humanities, 5:20 (2016).

Davies, Owen. “Witches and Walpurgis Night.” OUPBlog. Web. Accessed 27 April, 2019.

Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von. Faust. Translated by George Madison Priest, William Benton, 1952.

Kloss, Waldemar. “Herodias the Wild Huntress in the Legend of the Middle Ages.” Modern Language Notes, 23:4 (1908), pp. 100-102.

Ridenour, Al. The Krampus and the Old, Dark Christmas: Roots and Rebirth of the Folkloric Devil. Feral House, 2016.

Russell, Jeffrey Burton. Witchcraft in the Middle Ages. Cornell University Press, 1972.

Sekien, Toriyama. Japandemonium Illustrated: The Yokai Encyclopedias of Toriyama Sekien. Translated by Hiroko Yoda and Matt Alt, Dover Publications, Inc., 2016.

Shinbo, Akiyuki and Gen Urobuchi. Puella Magi Madoka Magica. Studio Shaft, 2011.

The Bible. New Living Translation, Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., 1996.

“Walpurgisnacht.” Puella Magi Wiki. Web. Accessed 23 April, 2019.

Yoda, Hiroko and Matt Alt. “About The Books.” Japandemonium Illustrated: The Yokai Encyclopedias of Toriyama Sekien. Translated by Hiroko Yoda and Matt Alt, Dover Publications, Inc., 2016.

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adorablelittledemonking-blog · 4 years

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About King

Name: He is referred to only as “King”, short for his self-proclaimed title of “The King of Demons”.

Species: demon

Appearance: From the lower jaw down, King has the appearance of a small dog, albeit one with the capability of bipedal movement. His fur is entirely black, except for his stomach and the tip of his bushy tail, both of which are dark gray. His “hands” and “feet” are made of two clawed toes. His head is almost entirely made up of a dog skull, with two large horns sticking out of the back - one horn broken off half-way down. His eyes are large and round behind the sockets of the skulls, with yellow sclera and purple irises. Around his neck, he wears a red collar with a large, golden tag.

Personality: King is childish and selfish, but does have a conscience. He may talk of blood and destruction, but his actual actions are extremely small-scale (such as taking over the local playground, or bringing his army of stuffed animal minions to life to bring him snack). He doesn’t have many friends, so he cares very deeply for anyone who claims that title. Most of his big defiant talk is to make up for how small and adorable he knows he is.

Background: A demon from the Boiling Isles - an island dimension made of a giant, rotting corpse - King lives under the roof and employment of a witch named Eda the Owl Lady. He is Wanted by the guards for being too weird to fit into normal society, due to having delusions of grandeur - believing himself to have once been a giant, terrifying demon. Mostly, he spends his days napping, searching for new stuffed animals to add to his “army of darkness”, and entertaining himself in various ways - some more mischievous than others.

#About page

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sogton · 3 years

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Generic Poetry

Original: Darkest moon had soon forgot The utter danger of the Plot To answer call of Banshee Queen A heightened and a highly mien Servant of Shadows, Isabel Black Dark Grimalkin call the attack! As shadows whirl around thy head Fear me, I am Sogton Kottr, and I fly as one dead Her beauty dark as Winter's lace She touched you once and left no trace But still anon her footsteps fall In hidden valleys, mountains tall 'Tis the ice queen, you said That shatters souls and heals the dead The ice queen sitting on her frozen throne In halls of frost, no sun shone Yet still one man dared to challenge the queen Though his life, until now, was but a dream His ambitions even less Yet he saw the moonlight reflected in her pale tress Did you stop to judge the time With what reason or rhyme Did you come to these far flung shores Under a blood rime, with sea foam Disguising the treacherous rocks below This the ice queen said To the englishman Better to fly than die In icy roam Though the allure of the beauty and the beast was strong, lo Yet how could this adventurer resist the guile And slight smile, disguising the fury of the queen Such was his doom underneath the throne and light sheen. The ice queen imprisoned him, yet herself was bound With ring though nonphysical, still struck her round And love melted her accursed heart Yet could not entirely bind the art Of shadow, devilish magic Pagan shadows in the sick And eldritch dark She acquiesced to him Could she be grim? Under this amourous adventure The lure of green shores, and grass under hill Broke her out of her spell, And though uncertain, tarrying under the snow She came to knell And the thatched cottage of his home Shadowy still She bargained with goodness, helped the peasant and uplifted the half breed Yet the honeyed mead of her bargain seemed false And allayed by grief, she stole his life And became his wife Now Ragna Kottr For this was the ice queen's name Unhuman daughter Of sin, not flesh Rebelled against God And was caught in the mesh Of those who transgressed the Divine White hair, white raiment To cause the unbeautiful to lament She married John Westley, sailor Parlor magician, sometimes purveyor Of childish dream The glowing rainbow orbs of fairy tale Unfeasible, ephemeral, unsubstantial How such a man would have tamed the proverbial lion And gone From the comfort of England's green and pleasant land Sunny under fertile river band To the cold shores of island dreary No one knows, yet he was not weary And maintained the hand of the seductress in marriage Yet God had a plan Grim tidings yet nevertheless melt under the ban Of Heaven Such is what happened In England, the lovers made their home Yet from the early rebellion, the bone and flesh of humanities' transgression Was relieved by Jesus, and through fission Like that which the stars undergo, The force of goodness in Ragna's soul Formed humanistic nature The fool yet dreams of empirical power Domination of men in dark hour Yet Sogton Kottr cast aside such aspirations Living in Nippon, a frugal life Castle undecorated, free of imperial strife A simple black robe to match the sadness of her home Attended she was by lantern carrying mountain Gnomes The dark haired lady Sogton challenged the ice queen Out of jealousy, but not vanity, like the demon She cast down the London squallor, But was deposed by the englishman and his dread wife's palour. Now our tale comes to a close, as the Nymph rests imprisoned in the teapot. Yet not forgot. The Samurai wandering from the lands of feudal dominion Does not become the minion of his desires Yet stokes the fires Of nobility Strange certainty A generous mien, a wanderlust so deadly To those without the greed And desperate failure of lust But in God we trust At least, at the beginning Not all was evil then Some may say that none in the beginning was evil But when the Creator transpired that each being should give their all to art and music One great song before the fall, the Demon conspired To bring the Sephirot down A clown Yet still noble, would end up redeeming humanity. Come and see If anyone dares to pursue the rhyme to it's just end Lend aid And give the thirst land it's due sacrifice in newborn seed laid To growth If a moat bridge Was built on sand, it would fail And so the witch Ragna Kottr, Though could control hail and cold Yet had no idea of good's power for defeating the old And sending the rot to rack and ruin Still imprisoned in a teapot, the Light Sprite made a ploy To destroy the bind with eldrich abomination Manipulated for good For even the ugly shall avoid damnation, though bound in dark Away from the light, but not evil She suffered the blight, to make the ill witch pay. The day broke. John thought Sogton saved them, when really a cunning ploy Sending the assassin to a vain threat, inconsequential Met with trivial acting A emotionless play So putting forth a small fraction of the powers The flower Of youth and holy vengeance Sogton Kottr, Divine Fooled the fearful englishman into adding her to his party Not smart For Ragna, Yet hearty in the eyes of the wise The trio was amended Some ragged band of adventurers, lended To grand pursuits, a man who wanted the best for his country And two sisters at each other's throats Knife in knife, parry for parry, without heraldry or pomp But John was oblivious to this Not envious, he could not comprehend evil Until it was at his doorstep And it was not Not yet. The last chapter of our adventure unfolds at a manor In the woods Shadowy, of ancient built When the Romans still roamed Britain's isles Ragna had her fill of shadow She would strike soon Yet the doom of Sogton was not vanquished just yet. Ragna struck, claws outstretched Yet with luck John turned around and stabbed the witch And she died, in spirit, if her physical body could not be vanquished. Yet spiritually she was still present. Until Sogton manipulated time. The past was restored. And our rhyme ends on the western ocean. Like the legendary tale The pair set sail To greener pastures Under a sun that was glowing. Sakura Blossom falleth oh Cruel Woe, Cruel Woe As soul of weary Wanderer to the Otherworld doth go The Golden Tether breaketh and the chain shatters like glass As soul of weary Wanderer to the Otherworld doth pass His soul alights on Fuji san and knows not where to go With aching heart he hears the call of those trapped down below Of Barrow Gnome, and Lonesome Elf, with lanterns bright up the mountain In pitch black night they walk, while below, the Sun shines on the plain Past Tori shrine and uttering rhyme he leaves an offering And finally at Mass he came to grass where Nightingale doth sing With aching heart he passion asks the Spirits gathered there If any Kami ever saw a Girl with Snow White Hair? Then Kitsune comes, to perilously lead the chase And pursue Ragna through the wrack and the waste With regal mien the White Sorceress dwells by Willow Tree And fast meandering River brings the Naiads free The Raven, Amaterasu's Eye, watches the fields with red gleam And as he spies, utters a cry, to below the Moon Sheen The Wanderer Comes to this Sacred Site And with Sign and signet and sapphire performs the Sacred Rite And at last the Mist parts And Kitsune leads him up a Hill to vanish with a pure heart And John meets his Goddess Not the less, does Ragna Blush, and twist her hands, with courteous White bands Her heart pines, and not like the cruel rime Was the place, yet blessed in Strands Of Divinity. Now with surety, John approaches her, And with Mist, she could not resist, the leaves parted, They kissed. Folk: Excalibur, The blade was forged in water sweet And hot in realms where flagons flowed with mead And dreaming damsels had some Faerie Magic While tempestuous seeking psychic Roamed over the forest emerald and tourmaline The fresh clean white tabbard, the ringing sound of the tambourine The drum beat rapt a military tune In pleasing dells, the horn and flute brayed till noon And the evening fell with hot caress on the pastures quaint And night yet beautiful the stars illuminate The realm of Arthur's home, free from Taint The Quest For The Grail was set! Excalibur, Oh Excalibur! Shall I fain discard this haliberd? And have I failed the bet? The drumbeats of war no longer soothe my heart And peace calls to me in the song of Bard Yet I cannot subside and rest Vengeance calls me hence! Shall I ever see the white walls of Camelot In ravenous glee? Or with jovial Mordred, forget the plot? Gram, Arondight Half light Such Arthur's bane was The blade of the King Saint sanctum Laundsalin With tempered steel and moon silver it was forged A blade to rival Elementium's cursed lores And dark to subdue the murmuring of Elves And fairy Hobgoblins in desolate shelves The ice forms around the huddled leaves in glade Shading around like frightened maidens in pallourous afraid The design of Shadowy Ghouls and intelligent princes The Blade Was forged by witches, And succinct Demons, kind of Lich And All Soul's Night is saved We pray to you, King Lancelot And Mordred too, with Dark Sheen Thy noble Arms is not forgot We pray thee, Grace Our Halloween Viking Sunset In burdened perfection Our burning inflection of regal splendor Waves crash against the shore of our ferric and fearsome dragon ships As we reach the siege of seas Tell me wise man once you left the farmland meadows Was God and Glory hiding in the shadows? was there anything waiting in treasure or compensation as you stared at the stareless and blank oppression at subjugation of the vast encircling dark? Hark At the end of the world The Jormungand Jaws turn around our screaming vessels The elves wait with vipers engulfed with the rapture of boiling magma, black ambrosia Sundown has come on the wailing and lashes of mortals that fend and impartially perish in the cold dark Loki alighted on Svartalfheim Brash, black, busy buildings Cutting through the air like a frosty magic spire Challenging the grace of God A dismal prospect in the rime ocean Such was the grace in those times A hard life, given only to those worthy, and with good will Yet much was holy and soothing about then, and those that lived through evil conquered the weakness The Vikings knew the sadistic style of Sigurd Now Loki had travelled through the mists of Niflheim to get there Musing not, more morose was his bane in the frost fire of the arcane Void, Where not much lived, and he would be hard pressed Living through the rapid transformations and tests of the Primal Realm thusly Destroyed in body and mind, though not in spirit. Loki endured this. And as a damsel in distress, a dastardly graceful dame, dressed in elegance, with decorum abound, virtuous if wicked, and containing an evil heart yet smiling countenance, thus Loki orange corseted attained the corsairs of Svartalfheim The Dark Elves there were brash, but eager to serve the Tyrant, and with cherries and wrath she was fed, and attained in her throne, and nursed back to something resembling health. But her face, recovering illsomely from the serpent's Venom, distorted and became disfixed in the eternal stream of time. It was a monstrous array of color and rainbow light, and mercuriously shifted like some pouring poison to the confine. Ragna, as we shall call her now, for she took a name of revenge and damned resolution, pridefully angry stood, and slapped the hame of the Doctor. "Grant me alms!" she screamed, and her Banshee shriek was soon obeyed. Now Linsom Lauflett, the slave and bellows master, told the thralls to brutally heat the magma, having necessary cauterizing properties even for God Venom. Loki was placed on a bench, stone carved the table was, and the heat steamed from the fire of the lake which coldly rested above the vulcanous mountain that led to the cavern of the Elves. Ragna screamed as the fire magma dropped on her and redressed her face in a symphony of pain, and she convulsed like one half mad with visions of grandeur. Phantoms came to her, and she began to walk like one half incensed in a fantasy. The spirits were darkly conquered, however, and the magma solidified into a mask, forged into a clown smile by her indomitable spirit. The danger was through. She rose triumphant, a dawn of man and Beast, this Godtrivested part responding to her eternal domination of the mortal races. Artemis Star Bow Vanquisher of the dark below Thy eyes contain sweetness The dew of the earth, is a cascade of river on thy illustrious halo The triumph of man The conquiesence of a conception of dignity The Trinity Reflected in thy light The return of Gods and Giants and Demons full bright A sad array of abandonment for the parched fallen Earth Too many failures lay in that dark dirt Thy hair, is a band that circles around the entire plane A uniting of ends, the Jormungand serpent eating its tail A sign of stability in Midgard And Beyond To the greater Stars that sit on the gate of the Elder Dark A sad and stark reminder OF RESTITUTION The dissolution of mortal binds A rhyme, to pierce even the chaos within the river of Andromeda And the song of Philomela, echos to the Divine In this clime, not much sits, but ever flows, In increasing heat, as Dante knew Until how tempered and beat like gold he returned to the eternal New Dawn. A triumph of humanity. With clarity, to analyze events. He saw Diana bathing in the vents and hot geysers of the Greek Arcadian peek And with a sleek look, was caught in her wiles, and devoured by dogs Necessary of penetrating the fog of human indecency Such a pennant monk thou hast never seen in the penitentiary Or Rosary, of Indus monk, who nurses on Ram's knee and Sita's breast Far removed, but still containing the glory of the West So Kipling mused while in field of guns, amid a sulfur cloud And even the darkest evil always passes by when Angel shroud Illuminates the plain. Be with me, Queen, and I shall tolerate pain. Now in that bright City Where knows know sadness, nor gloomy pity Related the call of Giants and the Horn of Sylphs With deep births, their dominance over the mortal races was unchallenged With Queenly garland, their Kingdom uncommon Rose to compete with the heights of Heaven Their bronze City competed with even Olympus And the Thunderer was brashly impressed Not such a glory Has occurred since the Heathen Kings Of Atlantis in the West Who worshiped Christ though they knew not his face And were the only ones in Limbo saved Praise be to the Glory The resounding Allfather, that Pity, and Judgement Of sin, not a gentle hand, but resounding fire that refines and burns away impurity Devoutly to be wished Sister, can though comprehendest the tale? So with Sail. Earendil, desperate Mariner Beseeched the Valar for Salvation But few was given, for they were wrought by Melkor And the evil that well deep poisoned the dawn of Creation in the Gigantomachy That slaying of kith and kin that poisoned the world Enoch speaks of it, When he allayed in Mesopotamia Of the fallen Angels, and those deceitful kind Who poisoned the minds of Genius Gloria, was far gone Yet not forgotten Enoch still had wisdom enough to measure the circumference of the world When fools talk of conspiracy deep, and decry the Ice Wall, that division of Heavenly Rule and earthly desire, they hit close to the fact Yet with tact they have not, they would do well to remember the words of Milton, as he describes Mic'hael, talking to Adamas as he searches in the tree Reading the books, the sacred note, that scroll winding through the Garden of Eden Free he was, though far fallen And in time he would come to repent of his transgression, become good again. That was not now. "Turn away from misdeed, Adam, what reason do thy have to examine the Stars? Turn away from needless speculation, the Heavens are not thy to understand, and instead work on improving the race of mortals on earth. The planets are not yours to will, the movement of them is Eternal." so those lost, and ephemeral Flat Earthers, would do well to remember the will of God. We shall go back to Enoch. The King, knew of the demise of the Earth And how the Giants were rebelling So with thought spelling He turned to Jesus He was on the world in those days A king with Sapphirical stone A halo shrouded his appearance, his limbs were wan And gave the appearance of one not human The earthly races would do well to remember that he is not on of their kind Although Man Made in his image Have some terror before a superior mind Fear of God is the beginning of Wisdom Jesus said thus "Behold, Enoch, the extent of my rule." And he showed him the far Earth, The Angels, with their multiple eyes and fast wings and cutting angles, amid a substance translucent, a mineral neither gem nor firmament, but one containing transmorphic powers: the wheel span, fire was below. Now in the face of these mind crushing Abominable, the parasites that fed on human will, Enoch may have quavered, but he was strong. He saw the sky beyond, and realized that it was dark, yet stone and life still grew near the mark, minerals silver and red and adamantite, a bright and fell green fire was on the white. He moved on to the Ice Wall, where death was, not even Fingolfin could come to the end of the World, without suffering great terror, this was why the Eldritch Abominants dominated the world, and the Crossing was so perilous. In Denigrous, and pale transition, the realm of Hell crossed into mortal splendor. Mark now, Reader, how the world was not separate, nor a hallow sphere, but a deeper dark expanse, ranging on Parallel Planes, this eternal Interdimensional dance, was transcribed in legend, but most ignored it. The bleed was evident, Spectres sat on the realm of human, and fed on their Souls, the alchemists seemed not to care. The stare of death was upon them. Now with desperate prayer, Enoch turned to Jesus. The Lord, in infinite mercy sent an army to help him. The Giants were rebelling, and the Angels descended and curtailed the revolt. With much blood was the field won and spilled red. Ragna bound and at that time serving Jesus rejoiced at the slaughter, although the seeds of this envy would copulate throughout the Ages, and Lucifer would revolt. Female insight and necessary expansion was always thus. Now, the plight solved, yet many ill humans still relented. For the Giants were sealed, but the teachings of bad Angels remained, and Augury was high, Science turned to sin. With the within caverns, ancient information was sealed, with gold walls, although the information would be later ignored, yet God would still give men the chance to save themselves, thus was his Mercy wont. Now a great flood was set upon the world, and we shall return to No'a, or Gilgamesh, as he was known. This mortal, would save humanity. Jesus grace the masses, Thus we relate the tale of the Garden of Eden. Eve transgressed, and ate the forbidden fruit, And for that much good was done But she also suffered And evil was allowed to creep into the world So mortals would do well to veer away from Telperion's boughs And Laurelin's cursed sap, will make Humans venomously bleed, and transform, though with heavy regret and much convulsion Let not the repulsion allay you from following the path of Good. Eve was cursed and then became known as Lilith, and thou knowst the tale How she was eternal animous to Sogton Kottr, as well as her darker more resonant and familiar personality, Astarte That sacrificer of innocent, murderer of children, in Hedonistic Uruk She was a breeder of Orcs and Hobgoblins in heated depths The breadth of her transgression was not Known to Her Long would she suffer And in the End, justly so. Let us return to the harrowing of Good in Anatolia John Westley, a King in those days Built the gates of Uruk Before it was turned to evil Wise was he wrought, and crafted the bars out of True Silver Not yet Oricalc, For Atlantis had died. Ragna had alloyed with Aztec sacrificial mask And killed everyone inside Then burned the bodies on the pyre of Satanism Though she was not as evil as Astarte, she did not kill children They drowned, and came to the Kingdom, and Jesus saved them. Thus is related in the Atlantiad. John Westley, calling himself Gilgamesh Built the walls sturdy, beyond mere bricks But polymers of steel, and technological innovation Was high, though the lying scholars of false study want you to believe not learned And unintellectual cretins built the gates with chisels and dust How could Egyptians move the Obelisks? Perpetual fools. The ramparts were laden with iron, Of garlands were the houses decorated A stone was on the welcome step Vast clean streets held a variety of commerce The bazaar was always laden with silk And fruits juicy with melons that dripped water Although perfectly ripe Such a glorious paradise Has never been on Earth since the Telemacy And Arcadia Now the King ruled supreme But Astarte had plans for him, And turned him to corruption It started with prostitutes, And before long he was Hedonistically crumbled and fell to Rejection And renounced the religion of Innana Ragna for her part turned to vengeance And made the clay man Enkidu to subdue him Breathing her own breath into the Wild man, like Odin of old Greater than any gold were his manly primitive treasures Leather and waste, a strong rope, his hands instead of a bare sword The idealism of the country was on Enkidu And like Charles went to comfort John in his trip to Svalbard Years later The bards, weakened the pride of the king and turned him to gentle dreams once more Enkidu then taught him the ways of war, and for the first time drew blade Though despising violence There was nothing ill in slaying savages The glade Of Lebanon was their target The pines were the rarest in the world And they slayn the Etin Ubaba That large hybrid Which inspired the speculation of Bigfoot [No Nephilim was he, cursed be to America] in later Lays. The Days drawn on in bliss. But the flood was coming. And Astarte cruelly slain Enkidu. As the water raged through the city Through Gilgamesh's knees He saw that a part of it was slight stained with Wild man's blood And coldly cried to the wind. He then took his beloved's body, and buried it in Sky Palace, and his grave remained above the waters, like the Lone Island of Beleriand. Gilgamesh journeyed to the shore of Israel, and saw the stars spin They wheeled unnaturally in phosphorescent agony There was deep trauma, illness in the Universe He sought the Old Man how to rectify it But was told "Look within thyself" Then Gilgamesh learned from Inanna, And saw her hut And saw that humility was the best respite from the burdens of Demoniacal destruction With locomotion he built a Boat, and took the fruit of the Gods To Elvenhome, and withsustained the legacy And the immortal blood was not shed And he was in bliss, until the Slave of Sogton, that Snake Mephistopheles', sadistically stole the Fruit, and brought about the Race of Dagon So two beings, Dragon and Elves, divided Domination of the Earth As Sogton and Ragna divided the Heavens. Yet dark came upon the deep. The race of Man was doomed, for they were rude, and died alone, and no one cared about their death Thus saith the Lord. Tolkien: Part I: The Death Of Lailath Oh Muse, sing not of pleasant times Field with tended grass, soup under a fire, handmaid red dressed, gold shiefs of barley waving in the wind This is not my intent. Instead, sing of violent war, the tempestuous rage within man, the conflict unceasing, yieldless pride and incessant chattering, which leads to blades. This is what happened in Beleriand long ago, as the house of Gil Galad, long suffering and held in bright weariness, attested. In Western Lands beneath the Sun, Where clear the Nor'land waters run In mingled light of silver gold Where Valar slept in days of old Until Morgoth, relenting Destroyed the Twin Trees, and caused all woe to plague this earth Yet a slight venting For Redemption was possible, through Christ, and Men alone for Elves eternal beyond death and rebirth. In Mandos suffering lies, But the Race of Men can redeem themselves, in due time. Thus was the subject of our epic poem. Turambar dwelt in a glade, a simple ranger No stranger to toil or danger Yet a kind heart, he did not let his grief overcome his part In the Glorious Honorable play Which forged the world. Morgoth turned an eye evil towards this light, dark gathered And battered, Turambar was tested Still, in the West. Now Delu Morgoth doth attest To wicked deeds, though was once blessed But never baser crime he done, than slain the daughter of the Sun, and Moon Too soon, was this taken from our noble isles The wiles of Morgoth were intense Though past tense, thankfully he is banished beyond eternal Night Still strife, and pestilence extreme, plagued the lands In Hithlum, by Godly hand, was fire started Mist boiled, water turned to steam But the elves resisted. The strength of Fingolfin was on these lands, though he is long since dead A legend to fade in the light of the moon What a Godhead His fairness knew no bounds, and compassion abundant Blonde curles allayed his head But his descendants were fraught with redundants, and dunces, mostly because of strife with the sons of Feanor Who was a brute, although abhorred evil Such is the scene for Morgoth's second greatest crime, The unleashing of poison And fell smoke, black as death in Northern Clime He unleashed this on the Noldor, and struck Humans For he despised the Race of Man even though they were weak And harmless to him, they feared him, but he feared the power of their speak To this end he intended to obliterate the bands And brigands of roving adventurers. Turambar's sister, Lailath, was consumed She sickened, and in hot fever was doomed Cursed be Morgoth for this transgression. So, with hands cursed from the sickbed, Illness breeding, and not much hope in light and farmstead Turambar undertakes a journey East and South To mouth of Ossiriand, and wonder forest in Doriath But first he stops by the grave of his sister With aching heart he missed her, but knew he could not bring her back Men were fated to suffer for Mandos cold was grim and cruel The Reaper does not suffer fools. He forges the sign of the cross Made a cross of ash to stand above the grave and the grass And never be inviolate, though in death For Morgoth was a failure And Turambar cursed Shadow with his last breath. Part II: Turambar's Stay In Doriath Now Turambar travelled through the forest, many rocky climes, rivers fast which almost undertook him, the way was grim But thankfully the blessing of Ulmo allayed him, Who had not abandoned Middle Earth Although Manwe tried to convince him of the dangers of death, and disease to be found in the dim That possessed Mortals and Immortals alike with Demon in the Scattered Lands It was a strange time, those immense shattered deserts And forests, they were mixed light and dark, to dwell in the sorrow of Damnation from God Such a bleak future was almost unable to be mentioned. So Turambar was guided to Doriath, and safely came under the watchful gaze of King Thingol, and Mel'ian spied on him from her crystal ball. It must be paused here reader to display the politics of the Kingdom. Although egalitarian, an Eden on Earth, there was much Tyranny and distrust from the Elves. King Thingol was a Tyrant Kindly, but not all displayed this will to rule benevolently, and many fell to violence. Saeros was one of these vile folk. Under yoke of Melkor he was not But forgot the beauty of the realm. He hated men. So began Turambar to approach the palace. So we must describe the forest's splendor, although wickedness hung above it like a pall And Mel'ian's leaves, although glorious, were dark and droll. Like a sickly sweet Christmas cake. The baker was an unstable man. Saeros' malice followed Turambar, although he was not permitted to be killed And no blood would spill Doriath, until the Dwarves in their realm were culled But this was by Beren and Luthien A noble massacre, a slaughter of thieves and dirt and assassins. Thankfully we do not have to get into this sin yet. Turambar was accepted by the King, and under Angel's wing, was nourished and nurtured by glorious Mel'ian. He flourished, under her hand. A compassionate and emotional young man, he learned from great scholars, but could not stay for long. Dread doom was upon him. So with aching heart he turned to the King's feast. Thingol raised a glass, but Saeros with an ass, compared it to Turambar. The beast was distraught, for Saeros' cruel whip had made it wrought, but Turambar was quite righteous about this animal cruelty. Taking up a goblet, he smashed Saeros' gullet, and killed him, sending him below the sea into the Halls of Mandos. Such was well deserved on his part. The Heavens glorioused, but such an ill of spilling blood in Doriath, although it was immortal blood and not evil, was not to be forgiven easily. Thingol banished Turambar with a heavy heart, but repented half way though the march, and sent a letter to him. It was too late. Turambar knew the King's intent, but was going to kill con men. Part III: The Outlaws Turambar ranged onthrough the thicket, with brambles the whole thing was a shambles, outside the Range of Mel'ian's Girdle and resembling the forest in it's original primal despondency. The liturgy of literature and wealth of stories on the savagery of the forest is well known, handling Dinosaurs in ancient days, while lays of minstrels and dragons were sung. It is not a fairy tale of modern hippie, although many will say that Mel'ian's magic was the responsible force for this damn distillation, and thus is true, although is not as nurturing as thou might hope and Elves are fey and Death Dealing, a Doom for Pagan Rites. With blades they cut the shadows, so Turambar, waddling in the part pitch of the shallows, of a stream, was assailed by the Elves' artistry in their primitive habitat. With mat of fur he spent the night, and in the morning was assailed by bright and cold. Such was the wild. Turambar came to a mountain, not one to give up, hardy as his foes and twice as noble and rough. But even he could not assail the glade, it resisted him with thorn and flax. As Shadowfax, in Gandalf's times, was a messenger of Heaven, so Turambar's salvation was from a rhyme. He heard song in the dark. It was Beleg's voice, penetrating the mark. "Elbereth we sing of thee Those who wander under trees And shadowy in lost and gloom But still we remember the tune Though Abandoned by God, we are not lost We trust in Holy Crusade and the Cross" So Turambar agreed with. But he had to continue. With dark trees, he made for shelter. It was not long until outlaws and brigands in the trees he saw. They killed one another, rough, base. It was not enough to coexist in peace and comradery, the race of nature would not allow such weakness. With blessed eyes, Turambar exhumed the scene. It was some teens, paltry but emotional things, setting up camp against some invaders. So mean Turambar sliced the foes, and sent them hurrying, many he sent to Mandos, where they would be saved by God but kept outside his nourishing rays. In elder days, mercy was given, but Turambar pulled a blade on the children. The teens were Outlaws, wicked and immoral, but contained some noble virtue and were beautiful. They were of the lesser class, whom Scientists deemed inferior and Racists perverted into a subworth nature, although this was false, it was based on observation. So Eastern man has often done strife. Although justified, he came under ire of luxurious whites, and moralists basking in hypocrisy chastised. We must ignore politics for now. Turambar was ready to kill them, fearing his life, but seeing their happiness repented in emotion. Sentimentality came over him, but he was not entirely overcome with fool, he maintained a warning against those who would betray him, friends and Outlaws too. But he fed them stew. Outlaws embraced him as brother, and Turambar with joy acquiesced, returning their compassion, and he joined the crew. Part V: Turin In Nargothrond Now Turin was overcome by grief, by grief Turambar besieged, and spent many hours mourning the Death Of Beleg. This is when he abandoned his friends and turned to the mountains, returning to his home in Hithlum. The road was long, and many evils besieged him there, like the ill ghoul that dwells in the wells of the ravine stream, and the mountain trolls which were large like the size of pines. Our adventurer was greeted by his old home in Hithlum, covered in snow. Many winds flurried, his eyes were blinded by frost. But for naught, was his visit, for he could not find his mother Morwen, and again was lost to the ice. Yet another vengeance spurned his mind. He met several Easterlings, Asian Kings, Oriental Lords of the Realm. They had sold his family into slavery, and he killed the underling of Morgoth, a tan Lao Feng, who died with a tobacco wand staining his yellow teeth. The eyes bulged, and a pool of blood, overcame the slaves, who fled to the mud. Turambar mowed them down. No mercy was given to the Outlaw defilers of his treasure and kin, and with no sin was this evil committed. Yet Turambar still repented, for he had lost valuable time. He almost died in the rime, and at length came to Nargothrond, where he was rescued. The Elves of this Stone City, guarded by moat and taking boat on the river, were the Greatest warriors in Beleriand. Not since Fingolfin have we seen a ruler as genius as Felagund, who with rod, instructed the noble force of the Valar's army. He was Fingolfin's cousin, and quite the charming man. Alas, this could not last. Turambar's visitation spelt Doom for the Elves of Nargothrond, for Gurthang plotted to bring the City to the ground, such was the evil within the blade that passed on to Turambar's mind. Turambar became a mighty King, and had a black mask made from obsidian and molten lava, with emerald gems in its sockets, and was a horror to behold. The Dwarves called him Death Knight, and he slayed friend and foe alike, and was rumored to be unkillable saved for an arrow. Within the City, Turin fell in love with Finduilas, an Elf. He was not to be content with her self, though, for his eyes turned to other methods than peace, and in the east, he was going to sin with his sister, a King overturned like Oedipus to incest and strange danger. The story came to an abrupt war, for Glaurung the Red Dragon Emerged from the burrows. In fire he came, a Wyrm, quite wingless and large, with eyes that burned with alchemy that could petrify his foes, or trap them in a dark illusion. Such was his talent. Chapter VI: Glaurung The Dragon Now Turin had some intelligence with him, and sealed the blade with iron, but the irony of his fate could not escape him despite how self aware he was. Finduilas became his love, and noble love it was, yet love is often self destructive. We should aim above paltry emotions and wit, and save the Divine Grace of Spirit for viewing who we admire, not petty Altruism. Now, the battle began. An army of Orcs came from the North, and the City was besieged, fire coming to the thatched bazaars. It was bizarre, but no Dragon yet came from the burrow, for Glaurung was biding his time. Such a rhyme he had and rhythm that he could confuse mortals merely by talking to them. Turin was no fool, and had Countenance Divine, but even he could not resist the Dragon's wiles. Fafnir plotted. The blade, Gurthang, allotted sentience, a noble Demon, although corrupting and cruel, shifted in its sheath, hungry for Dragon's blood. The Mephistopheles would not escape with ease, however, for Turin had bound the sheath in runes, and the struggle was futile, although did empower the Iron Of Death with breath of corruption. Turambar went to war. With a swing of his blade, Mormegil decapitated twelve Orcs, for the Gurthang's energy was long, and could spit lightning as easily as it spit emotional distress. The battle bridge became a vortex of wind and storm, and Turin became the first to utter the command to lower the gate. Foolhardy was this, and too late. Fafnir emerged from his burrow, and immolated several of his own crew, being hungry. The Dragon emerged into the dawn, and unlike other Wyrms of his genes, was not harmed by the light, or burned in his pale skin. Therin was a shadow curse of Morgoth, having bred immortals into the Dragon's flesh, and created a creature that was neither Beast nor Intellectual, but something greater than either. Terrifying was he. Glauring, Master of Fire and ruler of land and sea, immolated the town, steaming the water and leaving the parched grass brown. He then dislimbed several fighters, and with claw and spike tail he mightily dispatched the protective bulwark. Turin went out to fight him. "Hail, Turin son of Hurin Thalion" he uttered. "Well met, although thy father will curse the day your face comes to him in dark dream from the dregs he is imprisoned in. Repent!" The words, although Turin saw through them, hit their mark, and Turambar relented. The hesitation was enough for Glauring to make his move. "Thy mother goes in rags. Tarry for her, and thou shall not be able to save Finduilas, whom thou lovest. I am Fafnir. Marvel at my cruelty." Fafnir took a claw and snared Finduilas, who was flung from a window by an Orc. Thus Turambar was ensnared, either choice having an element of failure. He cried, and upon seeing Finduilas brutally treated he swung his blade widely, enough for Fafnir to easily dodge. The scales were hard enough to break iron, and even Gurthang had a hard time for it. In a moment of selflessness, Gurthang whispered harsh to Turambar. "Do not look at his eyes." Too late. Turambar was lost, and gazing in the emeralds wished himself dead. Even worse was the shame from his father. He collapsed. Glaurung retreated. The battle was won, Nargothrond burned. Part VII: Turambar And Niniel Turambar emerged from his stupor, his memory gone, his thoughts a blurr, but gradually remembered the events that took place as he foolishly lay in misery and some half noble idea of valour. "Thy idiot," Gurthang said, "You are a weak Lord and she is gone. I would be much better off with some type of indignant simpleton hero, rather than a betrayer of kin, Sigurd the Volsung." So the sin hit Turin. Like a pall, he realized that he had to rescue Finduilas, but fate was not so kind. For Sigurd, Turambar, Mormegil, Turin, Beowulf, was a weak King, with the moral certainty of a mortal that wavered like a feather in the breeze. He would easily leave Finduilas his lover to death if it meant saving his mother, whom selfishness dictated saving, although they were quite unlike in temperment and Turin never got along with her. And his sister, that was who would truly confound him off the Godly path, but not due to ties of family, but a perverse love which matched his own cruelty and desire for dominance. He was fated for Niniel, and the last front came to be which would put Man against Deity and the virtues of morality against the sin of Hedonistic God. So Turin crashed through the plain, and eventually came to a small town. He met a man, Brandir, who took him in, but also saw Niniel. He fell in love with her instantly, and not all was evil, for it was the greatest love of mortal Men. God allayed that man should love and all love be good, but incest he did not allow to be, and even normal sexual relations were sinful because they distracted from the mind. Therefore, though Turin was pure of heart and Niniel willing, they committed the greatest sin of humanity, but it was not all his deceit, Morgoth was responsible for this. Ever since he killed the Two Trees, evil came into the world, and all wicked ill was his responsible for through his intentional malice and wrongdoing. Therefore Niniel and Turambar would be forgiven of transgression, and celebrate in Heaven. First, the conflict therein. Brandir was jealous, and with distrust he viewed Turambar as an usurper, for he loved Niniel. Not without reason, for Turambar was a fraud, and with vainly regarded word Brandir tried to convince the council that Turambar was evil and implored them to serve God. Turambar was ready to smite Brandir there, but restrained himself. In dark of the night he and Niniel kissed, and became some of the most hated individuals in history. But also the most loved. Glauring gleamed in a cavern. He had expected this. With impassionate heart he impaled Finduilas on a spike on a tree and gave the signal to lead a path for Turambar to follow her. The Wyrm smiled. Everything was going exactly as it should. Part VIII: Dragonsbane Turin came to the clearing, having followed Orc tracks and drearily packed the tools necessary for high hunting, following the clear signs of Orc attack. Gurthang warned him it was a trap, but Turambar did not listen, disliking the Iron of Death, but also pride confused him and far under the ills of Glaurung's spell, he ached for Finduilas. To make sure she was safe, although he did not value her much, but some love still remained in his heart. This part was the hardest. He cut his foot on a thorn plant, and the blood, which was spelled to deter any form of danger, was touched by a single leaf, making that spot on the foot weak. The shadows gathered around tall pine trees. Glaurung saw this, and gloated. With ease he came to the burial sight of Finduilas, where she was Crucified like the Christ, arms spread wide like an eternal Angel gone to peace in God's beauty with a spike shoved into her chest. The roots were binding her hands and feet, showing she had been mind attacked, and the blood attested to her torture. Cruel lure was Glaurung, a master of psychology. He wounded Turambar so much that it would be easy to capitalize him. The Volsung screamed and in the forest, owls flew, to green pastures and hard mountains that were better than this forest, which was cursed. Forever that place would become known as Finduilas' Haunt. None dwell there but gaunt Imps and Banshees. Now Turin returned home, but Brandir was waiting for him, warning that Turambar had fallen in love with his sister, for he found news from the North, and Elves of Gondolin friends with Hurin, who told Brandir of the son's lineage. Turambar did not believe him, but in his heart he knew it was so, and with aching heart filled with woe, he went insane, and slew Brandir, the Black Blade feasting on the blood of innocent as kindness died and compassionate bliss was ruined by Lust. Volsung delighted in his murder and became smiling as a Demon. Glaurung ambushed Turin, but the son of Odin had other plans, and was aware of treachery, the fell murder pushing him to unlock his Divine lineage and ascend to the ranks of the Godhead. He stabbed Gurthang into the Dragon's fleshy belly, past the hard scales, and Gurthang extracted lightning, killing Glaurung in a torrential downpour of blood. The blood was strong enough to make a rain. Finally, Turambar was immortal, but the leaf still stuck to his flesh. He tripped on a rock, limping on his injured foot and impaled himself with Gurthang. Entirely surprised and angry looking at the Heavens, Turambar collapsed from the unintentional blow and died looking at a single Star. The Star that had Abandoned him. Niniel, having been told of her incest by Brandir and that she was with child by Sigurd, came to his corpse and cried, caressing his face, natural sisterly love finally breaking the curse of sex that had haunted the pair ever since Glaurung's emerald eyes shone on them. "Master of Doom By Doom Mastered. Oh happy to be dead, beloved brother, I shall join you, wait for me in Valinor." She flung herself into a waterfall, and the Elves of Gondolin made a monument, a memorial to evil and good intention, and it still stands strong amid a phantom doomed forest while the Heros that fought and fell there rejoice in God's Eternal Mercy and compassionate redemption.

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The Witch's Servant And The Demon Lords Horns.

Alternative: A Minion of a Witch and the Horn of a Demon King,The Witch's Underling and the Demon King's Horn,Majo no Geboku to Maou no Tsuno,The Witch's Manservant and the Devil's Horn,魔女的仆人和魔王的角,마녀의 하인과 마왕의 뿔,魔女の下僕と魔王のツノ,El sirviente de la bruja y el cuerno del rey demonio

Description : The witch Vivian is dying, and she asks her apprentice Betty to prepare the only medicine who can save her. But to get a hand on the ingredients it's not going to be a piece of cake... because one of them is the horn of the demon king Kinguburu, and defeating him can be a matter of life and death. #MangaReddit.com, #ReadFreeMangaOnline Read Free Manga Online at MangaReddit.com: https://mangareddit.com/p/the-witch-s-servant-and-the-demon-lords-horns_1584390032.html