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moondirti · 1 month

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𝐂𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐍 𝐅𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 [18+]

familiar! ghost × witch! reader

you are a witch trapped at home by a devastating blizzard. ghost is the demon that answers your call. ( PART 1 of 2 )

DEAD DOVE. RATED R. HORROR/SMUT. 6k. – AO3

please please please read the warnings under the cut before reading. this is leagues darker than my usual work. it is a dark fic, and you know your limits better than i do.

warnings: discussed cannibalism. graphic depictions of gore. vomiting. killing/butchering animals. violent thoughts. malnutrition. alienation/isolation. manipulation. corruption. mentions of somnophilia. dark!ghost – i.e. simon does not conform to human morality. afab reader using she/her pronouns.

inclusivity note: the reader is described as smaller than simon, but he stands at 250 cm in his true form (8"2), so i assumed everyone – if not, most – would fit that category. she's also malnourished/sick at the start and so there are some references to unhealthy weight loss

Situated between a dense network of ancient oaks, a lesser demon would have mistaken the cottage for a boulder had they spawned further than ten metres away. Save for the warm orange glow illuminating its arched windows, the home married perfectly to its surroundings – disfigured and hideous, walls warped by unevenly stacked stone and a roof bowed under a thick blanket of snow. Overgrown bushes stick out from under its gnarled fence, dead branches desperately reaching, and the ivy he assumes was once adhered to its front has since been ripped out by the storm, whipping in the howling wind.

But Ghost is no lesser demon; in fact, he’s far above this whole affair. Something of his rank answering the summons of a novice who could offer no more than sheep’s liver buried in their front yard was an occurrence practically unheard of. For good reason, too. He’s dangerous in the right hands, willing to resort to lengths that even the devil wouldn’t dream of so long as he receives proper payment. Most power-hungry neophytes would slaughter, have slaughtered, to have him as their familiar. Even then, he is above their grovelling.

So, to be lured out of respite by sheep’s liver, of all things…

He supposes he has no excuse for it, not that he has to explain himself to anyone. Perhaps he’s here only to satisfy his curiosity. The call hadn’t come from the lips of someone who’d been practising – sharp and sure, roused by a brand of audacity special to cocksure practitioners – but from someone softer. More sceptical. It’s unusual that an occultist would have both knowledge and skill to summon a familiar, yet still be suspicious as to whether they even exist at all. He’s not so much offended, then, as he is morbidly interested in what reaction his appearance would incur.

Disgust. Terror. Reverence.

Warmth pools in his belly, blood oozing in fat globs to fuel the flame that compels him to head into the small home. It’s hard to make out what’s inside merely by looking through the windows; the glass has glazed over from the contesting temperatures on either side of it, painting a bleary picture of a fire silhouetting vague shapes. The doorstep creaks under his heavy foot, but nothing – from what he can see – moves in response to the disturbance. It’s late, he knows. If it weren’t for the thick clouds shrouding the sky, he would see the moon sinking towards the west horizon. Anyone with any sense in this world knows to be asleep during witching hour.

The doorknob is round. Brass. Worn by a hand that’s gotten very good at grasping it in the same manner every time. Ghost takes a moment to digest what that tells him about his new client before turning it and ducking inside. He was right to assume it’d be unlocked. While he’d have been able to find a way in otherwise, the silly little oversight manages to elicit more excitement in him than necessary. Their mistake is added to his quickly growing character evaluation. A routineer. Garden-variety mortal, too naive for their own good. Someone isolated. Someone–

Small.

Size has always been relative for something of his stature. At two and a half metres, he’s able to tower over even his own. But it truly hits him, right there, how long it’s been since he last encountered a human. He tries to tally the decades in his head, only to fail and fail again by fault of distraction. It shouldn’t hit him as hard as it does. She fulfils every bit of what he expected, after all; plain, though younger than the typical practitioner of familiar-summoning ability. Fast asleep on a threadbare couch. Drowned in clothing, skin dewy with sweat. A book abandoned, open on her chest, stuffed with spare pieces of parchment and illegible annotations. Ink-stained fingertips.

But his hand could crush her head if he was truly compelled to do so. He could scoop the bare ankles currently peeking out of her quilt and throw her over his shoulder like wild game, skinned and simple to carry back to hell. He remembers the fallow deer he’d feasted on just last week, belly soft as he sunk his teeth into it, and considers letting his appetite get the best of him with the one that’s unwittingly made herself available tonight. Crack open her ribcage to gorge on the gooey insides that no doubt taste like honey to a monster with his appetite. Bury his snout into her sweet-scented neck and get a sense for prey that can fight back, if just barely.

But the moment passes. In her slumber, she shifts to lay on her side, spooning the grimoire closer. The minor hint of life reawakens another, more primaeval urge in him, last felt aeons ago when he was a younger fiend and the world had been a much more vulnerable place.

(The urge to take, to bend and break to fit his fancy. Chewing on cartilage until it smacks like gum between his maw, flossing the foul curl of his canines. To sink his claws into tender calves and carve an irreversible Ghost-shaped hole in her home, a haunting so stubborn she’ll turn to a fake God to try and expel him.)

And it’s violent. A rather restive longing. But placed next to the patience he’s learnt in the centuries since, he makes his choice. A natural conclusion to a creature who’s always gotten what he’s wanted.

Yes, he’ll stay. Be here when she wakes and revel when those eyes widen at the sight of him, darkening the corner of her room. He’ll stay; trail around and observe as she tries to make sense of her routine in light of the beast looming over her shoulder. He’ll stay, maybe ravage what's between her legs, devastate her sense of preservation and instead make her beg for the damage. Fall short on his duties as a familiar. Stay until he gets bored, when he’s had his fill of the crying and the quaint box she calls home. When playing with his food any more will lay the morsel to waste. Only then will he finally tear into the temptingly delicious meal in front of him.

For now, though, his neck aches from having to stoop under such a low roof. He resorts to a bygone human form instead, one he consumed ages ago – bones snapping, flesh dimpling, folding, morphing into a much smaller thing, a man – and waits.

Morning finds you doubling over the side of your couch to retch up what little food you had scavenged the previous evening.

The loss is sore. Your stomach protests as the stale bread and water emulsion punches up your throat, emptying out onto the hardwood floor. Acrid. Bitter on the back of your tongue, sharp like the cramps that erupt in your abdomen once you lay back down. Sweat plasters baby hairs to your forehead, crawling down your back and pooling underneath your bandaged breasts. You wipe it off with trembling hands, kicking the suffocating quilt until it slouches off the armrest on which your feet lay.

Last night’s fire is little more than smouldering ash. Still, the cottage maintains a pervasive heat, the air buzzing with an unnamed vigour. It’s unlikely that the blizzard has ceased long enough for the snow blanketing your home to melt – and given the walls’ remarkable ability to release warmth faster than they absorb it, the current temperature is enough to confound you.

Likely a fever, you think, pressing knuckles to your temple. The timing is unfortunate enough, though something about your conclusion falls apart when tested against the churning of your gut. You’re clearly unwell, that much is apparent by the bile spoiling your floor, but you’d be a fool to miss the supernatural root of it. Like a perpetual tremor, never waning despite the way your muscles flare. A delirium that unfurls from your nape to slowly embrace your ears. You blink, trying to make sense of the queasiness that continues to wrack you.

You’d run out of herbs two days after the blizzard snowed you in, the remaining potions lining your pantry ones best left untouched. It couldn’t have been anything you took, then. Nor was it a spell; the last one you’d cast was an ignition charm you’ve performed so often you know its effects like the planes of your cheeks. You cycle through yesterday's happenings with febrile imprecision, sipping long gulps of oxygen to tame the queasiness lapping up your chest. Like bailing water out of a quickly sinking raft. Cupping it in your palms and throwing what you can overboard. You get nowhere, and your nausea only worsens.

You’d gone to sleep with your grimoire in hand. Had you cast something while in a hypnagogic state? Possible, though rather uncharacteristic. Your fingers dig into the cushion gutters, poking for any sign of the thick book. As a migraine begins to tear at your skull, your search borders on unhinged. Pillows fly across the room, cushions following suit. The quilt billows as you air it several times over, providing some fleeting – yet much needed – airflow.

You’re so focused on finding it that you almost miss the fact that the charred voice behind you is not your panic made material. Not the voice inside your head.

“Under the couch.”

This one is hoarse. Deep. It almost instantaneously shatters the heavy atmosphere cloaked over your shoulders, breaking your pyrexia with a sharp shiver down your spine. Pure ozone injected into the bubble you’ve made for yourself, the one you thought was so secure. Where the knife you taped to the underside of your table has remained untouched in the years since you moved in, unneeded. Hunched the way you are now, you can see it. Glinting as a mocking smile does; all teeth. Too far for you to retrieve without alerting your intruder. Too far for it to be an option. Your instincts rear.

Slowly, you crouch lower, hand skimming under the couch. Your pinkie grazes the well-loved leather of your grimoire’s cover. It manages to ground you to the situation at hand, though the reality is far more horrifying than what you could’ve conjured on your own. Distorted still, rippling with the impact of your fear. Paralysis battles adrenaline – your mind freezes with the shock of drowning, your body championing for survival. It doesn’t give you time to catch up.

Wood splinters under your heel as you twist, springing in the general direction of the voice. Heavy book in both hands. Your shoulders square, steadying as hinges to your attack. The figure is just visible; you barely make out the silhouette of its head before you aim for it.

But it grabs your wrist and flings your grimoire across the room in a fraction of the time, the spine splaying open onto an adjacent wall. Your stomach capsizes. The raft tips, flips, sends you crashing into frothing waves. Migraine blinding you for a brief, horrifying moment; one where you can’t see the thing shackling your wrist, or anticipate the hard kick it gives to your ankles. You buckle with the pain, held up by one heavy paw. A low whine syphons from your chest.

“Enough of tha’, now.”

Your vision comes into focus several seconds later. Still watery, brine spooling over your eyes, readying them for pruning, but clear enough to make out the depth of this ravine you’ve shipwrecked over. And it’s–

Uncanny. Teetering the thread between jarring and inhumane. Nothing about it – you’ve a hard time believing the moniker of ‘man’ – strikes you as superficial. Nothing skin-deep. Like a mountain seen breaking the horizon line from continents away, its rocks humming a song too closely resembling a banshee’s shriek for it to be alluring. Something concealed within its caves; underground, bubbling, molten. An impetus for myths, undiluted by tired parents using it to scare their children into bed. Still crowned by its original savagery, conceptualised centuries ago by a peasant who made the mistake of getting too close.

But it isn’t a concept, you quiver. It’s here – fleshly, corporeal. And it's even made an attempt to look human. As if you wouldn’t feel it itching to burst out of this skin, suffocated by too small constraints. Over six feet and then some, shoulders doubling yours and fingers that stretch a bit too long, a bit too thick. No face: everything but its eyes covered in knitted headwear, framing the pair of pale pupils, shadowed by a heavy brow.

Some suicidal, hare-brained part of you wonders what would happen if you were to lift the bottom of its mask. (What you would see. How it would react.) But the compulsion is quickly stifled by another wave of gagging, empty stomach looking for anything to regurgitate. The thing masquerading as a man catches on fast, flipping you so your back tucks against its chest. You end up projecting water over the carpet, coughing until your head pounds like a ripe bruise. It’s then that you realise your condition has everything to do with its presence, souring now that you’re practically nestled against its abdomen.

“What…” You question between dry heaves. “What are– What do y-you want with me?”

“Better question ‘s, wha’ do you want?” It murmurs back, rumbling too close to your ear. Rot thickens its breath, potent enough that it draws the tears already dotting your lash line. No doubt a corpse remains stuck somewhere down its gullet, stored away for later. No doubt you’ll join it soon, gnawed on until your flesh falls off the bone. The perfect victim; all alone, the town pariah. A witch by the common man’s standards. Cast out to a dismal forest to die.

“I don- I don’t–”

“Summoned me, didn’ you? Dug a nice little hole and all. Well,” His hand shifts, clasping tighter around your struggling arms. “I’m ‘ere now. ‘Bout wha’ you expected?”

You use your retching as an excuse to play a game of catch up, squeezing the last of your tears out. Your memories bleed into one another, ink on wet parchment. Summoned. Dug a… hole, to call on this thing of supernatural proportions currently occupying your home. Why would you want that? What have you done? The past year has been marked by loneliness of a drastic degree, certainly, yet–

And then it comes flooding back to you.

(Washing the salt off of preserved sheep’s liver. Fastening it to a bouquet garni with twine. Folding the modest sacrifice under layers of earth. Pouring milk onto the upturned dirt.)

“Aren’t you supposed to be an– an animal… Or something.” You choke.

(You never thought it’d work: this magic amateurishly scribbled onto the back of your book by a hand long necrotized. The runes had been difficult to fathom on their own. And the way the spell had sounded on your clumsy tongue made you sure you’d done it wrong. It was purely a pursuit of curiosity. Something to keep you occupied, for lack of anything else to do.)

“Or something.” It answers.

A familiar. Yours, to be precise. In service to you since it took the offering you fashioned. Or, of greater import, one that can’t do anything to you lest you ask for it.

(Foolish to think you can clamp a collar on a feral beast and expect it to heel.)

The girl has a harder time adjusting than his original estimate.

Of course, there’s the illness. The affliction that plagues all mortals who come in contact with a demon for the first time. She’s violently sick for days, verging on the full first week of his arrival. Constantly bent over herself, holding a metal pail close for the inevitable purge of bile, that which her liver overproduces to compensate for a lack of food. Her under eyes blacken five shades darker. Her cheekbones grow more pronounced. Ghost watches it all with a macabre sort of interest, unable to take much satisfaction in the affair as his meal withers away before his very eyes. Wrists thinning into willow branches. Lips flaking like dead bark.

He's almost tempted to do something before she begins to recover herself. Gets more used to his unnatural presence, it seems. Gradually. Slow.

It starts when she wakes up one morning, having slept in later than he’s known her to, hiccupping but otherwise solid. After laying on the couch for an hour, she limps off with dwindling energy to fry a batch of velvet shank for breakfast. The meal is hardly enough for one, yet she plates two-thirds of it for Ghost and places the dish on the table he’s commandeered for his own. It’s a kind gesture; he doesn’t have it in him to be kind about it, though. Yet before he can criticise her efforts, she waddles off to pry a window open. Frigid winds encroach on her sheltered home at once, snow flurrying in, but she braves the cold until a crow lands on the windowsill.

“Hello.” She croons, smoothing a knuckle across its crown. “Sorry I’ve been away. Here,” Digging into her breast pocket, she pulls out a handful of chokecherries and feeds them to the bird. “make them last. Supply is low.”

The crow merely picks them off her palm, coos lost in the roaring storm that batters at the door. For the first time since his arrival, Ghost is tempted to bleed into the shadows. The affair he’s made voyeur to is delicate, an understated glimpse into a life entirely foreign to him. It aches when he can’t piece together why she would give up her food for nothing in return, or why she treats him the same way she does a feral bird. He thinks it must be ego, this snarling anger in his chest.

So when the crow flies off with a final farewell pet down its back, he hardens into a nastier version of himself. Ghost still hasn’t touched the paltry breakfast when she turns her attention back to him, a fact she meets with a gingerly raised eyebrow.

“’Fraid I won’t eat tha’, pet.”

She takes a moment to process his epithet of choice, eyes narrowing in an almost comical turnaround of her previous gentle expression.

“Wouldn’t it be the other way around?” She scoffs.

The indignation alone should be enough to incense him further, never mind the apathy she adopts when she shucks the contents of his plate onto her own and marches back to the couch. It doesn’t. If anything, he calms a little at her willingness to take away what she so graciously offered. The cat does have claws, then. Albeit petty, piddling little claws – like the runt of a litter who’s learnt to bite back at anything that gets too close – but a fire, nonetheless. He appreciates that, perhaps more than he assumed he would.

Her sickness, he finds, is not the only issue.

Ghost lacks context for her situation – why she lives alone when the closest towns are just bordering the forest, or why no one ever seeks her out – but it does not escape him that the girl isn’t properly socialised.

In the centuries since they first emerged, he’s absorbed a keen sense for mortal behaviour. Credit to their alarming predictability, pattern recognition has halved the effort needed for his hunts. Not that he pretends to be at one with their psychology, but it’s easy to pin just where exactly she deviates from the norm when his strategy for ravaging her depends on it. More than once, he finds himself inexplicably engrossed in her habits.

Given her home is limited to the living room, kitchen, and washroom, she struggles to find a space where she can escape his oppressive presence. Ghost does not make it easy for her, either. He could choose to blend into the darker corners of her cottage, embodying the moniker he’d been given all those years ago and disappear almost completely – or enough to give her a mental break. But the mood strikes him more often than not, and he’ll loom over her like a spectral shadow, looking to provoke the grave mood swings that seize her like Satan does his miscreants. By far the most entertaining outcome had been when overstimulation trounced her usual level of tolerance and she pulled a knife on him, zeroed in on his jugular. He’d managed to scruff her by the nape until she wore herself out – which isn’t to say she didn’t put up quite a fuss.

Since then, she has yet to lash out to such an extreme, instead locking herself in the washroom when her temper skyrockets. Ghost is almost disappointed.

That’s his pet at her worst. At her best, she opts for quiet coexistence, either whispering to the crow who visits daily and appears to be her only friend, or cradling that ugly book in both hands. The back of the couch where she lounges most often obscures his view of her, but he’ll get the occasional vision when she pokes her eyes above the top to check on him. He maintains eye-contact – the heavy, uncomfortable kind that engenders pure humiliation and pummels her back into place, eyebrows furrowed and contentment spoiled – until the boredom gets to him.

The next time she sneaks a peek, then, he effects a gruff “Still ‘ere.”

She keeps to herself after that, nose buried in her grimoire like a chastened fawn.

It takes three weeks for her to settle into normalcy. By that time, Ghost’s patience has already started to wear thin.

The girl operates under the impression that he can’t do anything unless she orders it of him. He doesn’t blame her, credulous thing that she is. The notion is generally accepted by most of her grade, propagated by some text meant for beginners, written by a man who lacked the subtlety to discern between rules and good form. It’s true that familiar’s tend to only perform feats their counterparts ask for, but only because to do otherwise is bad practice. What else motivates a symbiotic relationship if not trust? Dependency?

Of course, that’s if a demon has anything to gain that a human can provide. He’s always found it to be a little more than pathetic. Reared to hunt, formidable in his thaumaturgic ability – Ghost has lasted centuries by remaining self-sufficient, unwilling to lean on the inferior class of rational beings. Unwilling to do their dirty work in exchange for blood he could obtain very well on his own. At least, that had been the conviction when he’d answered her graceless summons, bent on killing both his curiosity and hunger with one stone.

But something about her had made him glad to abide by the niceties. Had soothed the spring of his haunches as he prepared to pounce, or otherwise convinced him to play passive until golden opportunity struck. He’d wanted her to have as much a hand in her own unravelling, like a frog brought to a boil, entirely oblivious of its impending death until much too late. Her erroneous understanding of their dynamic, then, had paired nicely with his purposes. So he led her on to believe it, wasted most of his days amenable at the dining table as if waiting for instruction. As if she was the one in control, buzzing to shatter the perception when she inevitably asks something of him.

What he’s found, unsurprisingly, is that she’s blossomed under the reassurance. The initial fear that gripped her once she realised he wouldn’t be going away has since watered down to a weak, background agitation. He tastes it in the air; the mild unease as she flits about her cottage, the first thing to go when something else captures her attention. The way she hardly takes note of him anymore, waking up or retiring to sleep with nothing but covert glances to where he monopolises space.

So that feeling of frothing irritation returns at her docility, only more powerful than it had been when she’d offered her last chokecherries to the crow. No witch or wizard of her acumen has ever been so lacking in spite – and from what little she’s allowed him to see of her outbursts, he knows she isn’t short of it either. Yet she’d given up so quickly. Forfeited her home and comfort to a monster she hasn’t attempted to make any use of. And fuck– if that isn’t what he’d wanted. He needed her secure in him, pretty and soft enough that she’d be tempted to trade him for favours, for little feats of magic or the completion of chores she no longer has to worry about now that she doesn’t live alone.

Nevermind the detail that she refuses to ask anything of him; it still claws at him the wrong way, razor-sharp and deadly as it tears up his throat. This anger on her behalf. A compensation for the response she should be having. It stirs him when he realises that, for all intents and purposes, what he feels is pity. Perilous, committed sympathy.

There’s a reason he steers clear of it, too. Quick to snowball. He already feels it growing, avalanching into the hollow recess where he’d suppressed the soul of his first meal. Something shifts, then. He can’t place it. Just knows that the outcome he’d envisioned – where her bones serve to pick his teeth of the soft flesh from her thigh – is no longer a viable option. Just knows that his intentions with her mutate into something perhaps more dangerous, a little more unhinged. To weed out the wickedness he’s only seen in flashes. To see her corrupted into a far worse version of herself.

It’s late into his twentieth night when Ghost decides to do something about it.

He wedges back into her cottage when dawn splinters over the virgin snow. If he were a passionate man – not this hellhound trailing blood behind him like breadcrumbs – he’d remark on the way the tepid sunlight stains the forest in shades of peach and lurid blue. But the crow between his teeth hangs limp, and he’s hurried for the best way to present his gift, too absorbed in the task at hand to pay much mind to scenery.

The house is as tranquil as it always is at this time. Suspended in amber, a fossilised quaintness he’s grown used to. Golden, almost sticky slow. She’s still fast asleep on the couch, soft snores whistling from underneath a patchwork quilt (which smells so much like her that, to his mutt senses, they’re one-in-the-same form.) Despite the precarity of the moment, he makes no effort to keep quiet. His natural disposition isn’t prone to making any unintentional noise though, and so the only thing he disturbs are the dust motes bobbing in suspended animation.

Ghost places the dead bird on the table. It won’t be long before the blood drains from the punctures in its neck, and he prefers his meat iron-rich and wet, so he makes quick work of morphing back into his human form and washing his muzzle clean. There’s a sick thrill that curls in his gut; something like adrenaline, ozone-rich. Ruthless. He holds a crystalline picture of her reaction to the slaughtered friend he dragged into her home; angry, doe eyes glazed with tears as she yells at him for acting against her best wishes. Bad dog. Perhaps she’ll pull the dagger she keeps taped to the bottom of the table to indulge a sense of security. Perhaps she’ll drive it into his chest. That’s for hoping.

Standing over her now, he imagines the way her serene face morphs into something foul when she’s pushed to her limits. His cock twitches at the mental picture, aching behind the confines of his pants. A heavy hand moves to adjust it, stilling once it cups his balls to consider whether it’d be overkill to tug it over her face while she remains nice and still like this. It would be – not anything he’s above, granted, but excessive nonetheless. Besides, she’ll have plenty of time to accept the attention. Learn to love it, even.

When she wakes, Ghost has already plucked the crow. The feathers pile in the centre of her round dining table – distinctive even when detached from a body, meant for her to draw parallels to the game he currently masticates. Yet she hardly notes his presence at all. Instead, the unsuspecting thing merely clears the sleep from her bleary eyes, weighed down by a heavy cloak of sloth, more focused on wiping the drool off her chin than him. If she had been, perhaps the pieces would fall that much faster; at least, that’s what the quick-tick rap of his pulse insists upon.

But he’s no over-eager brute. He can wait.

Yet he is tense when she shuffles to and from the bathroom, bare feet padding along hardwood. Like a flood, his body grapples against the tidal urge to grab her jaw and force her gaze upon his bloody teeth, sharpened and marred behind the mouth of his true form. Look at me. Have you no survival instinct? There is a threat in your home and you parade in front of it, blind as a mole. You’ll get eaten like this. You’ll be condemned to hell between the jowls of horrible men.

(More monster than ever, really. Even like this, bound by his approximation of what a mortal man looks like, his face remains stuck to its original construction. The knitted mask he wears is more for her sake than his; he’s never been able to replicate the particulars of humanity. The delicate planes of their lips or the angles their noses protrude at. Better not to try, then. Better to hide it all away.)

It’s as she scrounges for breakfast that she finally heeds the pinpricks of blood dotting the floor. Fat, dark splotches draw a clear line from the doorway to a very calm Ghost, sat with his thighs spread over her too-tiny chair. He’s yet to finish his meagre meal – each bite seasoned with a satisfaction that bloats heavy in his stomach – hence the evidence of his crime still paints the corner red. A violent picture. Distressing, if he were to interpret the way her brows knit tight.

Crimson meat marbled ivory. Wings pried off a picked apart ribcage, shanks sucked clean of slightly tougher muscle. Still intact are the heart, tongue, liver – their membranes dissolving to soak into the table. The smell of death will be hard to rid of, he’s sure, much like the inedible parts of the bird that scatter carefully in front of him. Its glossy black talons. That tell-tale beak. Feathers on which her eyes linger, like she recognises the sheen but is too upset to connect it to the crow she fed daily. Her only friend.

She steps closer. Ghost devours every minute expression that flits upon her face. For the expressiveness of her pupils – contracted, small like organic pearls – she doesn’t portray much externally. Her fingers wring her skirt, twisting and twisting until it wrinkles in the impression of her thumb. Her lips purse into a thin line. But as far as his sharp observation goes; no tears. No ugly rage rippling her cheeks.

“What is this?” She asks in a small voice.

“Breakfast.” He says. It isn’t the response she’s looking for, and a frown tugs at her mouth. Not necessarily sad. Her hands release to clench at her sides. He smiles behind the mask. He can’t help himself.

“I didn’t tell you to do this.”

The smile breaks into a low chuckle. “No?”

“No.” Shaking her head, emotion surges up her throat. It bubbles thick and forces her to adopt a higher pitch to overpower it. “You brute. I-If you could’ve done whatever… whatever you wanted t-the whole time–”

“C’mere.” His hand snakes around her wrist, using it to wrench her closer. He consciously keeps his grip light – too much force and he could easily shatter bone – but the girl does not share his concern. She pulls and fights and stubbornly protests his direction.

“No! Get the fuck off! Get out!” She heaves. Seethes. Spittle launches from her tirade, her nails digging into his palm. She looks for blood but he won’t give it to her. She’s doing well, but not well enough. Eventually, he is able to pull her onto his lap, locking thick arms around her squirming form. “You bastard. You monster! I’ll fucking kill you. I’ll murder you in your sleep and feed your rotten insides to the maggots. Let me go!”

He’s blood-filled in his trousers. The hefty bulge knocks the small of her back and of all things, that’s what gets her to suddenly slacken. Though her chin tips to rest between her collarbones, lashes deliberately cast down. Refusing to meet his eye for all she’s worth. Good, he thinks, a warmth blossoming in his chest.

“You ough’ to know your friend didn’ put up a fight.” He starts, nosing the part in her hair. Despite his knitted mask serving as a direct barrier between them, he can smell the pine and juniper berry soap she uses to wash up. Sharp. Sweet. Particularly potent behind her ear, where he considers her lobes like low-hanging fruit.

“Shut up.”

“Need to hear this, pet.” She doesn’t listen, naturally, hips bucking wildly the instant he loosens his hold. His fingers bruise when he readjusts her on his thighs. “Need to know it was your fault as much as i’ was mine. Yeah? Y’let it grow too comfortable. Fed it daily and robbed i’ of its ingrained fear of strangers. In the end, it got much too friendly. Didn’ have the sense to fly away when I approached it.” Her breath pinches into a piercing whine. Ghost likens it to the kettle she keeps over her stove, waiting for steam to burst out of her ears.

It does not come. Instead, she cries. Beads of brine break her waterline, streaking miserable paths down her cheeks. He’ll grant her this: she does not sob unreasonably. Her hiccups are limited to if and when the air hardens in her lungs. He lets her have a moment before continuing.

“S’what happens, see. You get complacent, ‘n’ next thing you know, you’re meeting your God. Tell me, pet: do you think the afterlife would be pleasant to a witch?”

When she doesn’t respond, he bounces a knee to knock some sense back into her. Her weeping starts anew, only this time accompanied by a stuttered acknowledgement.

“Hm?”

“N-No.”

“No. ‘Course I could ‘ave told you that much, but it’s importan’ you come to the moral of the story yourself. Fight, or die.” Ghost strokes the goosepocked flesh of her upper arm, voice softening to deliver the final part of speech. It’s treacherously low, ultimatum like powdered ash cushioning the roughness in his throat. “And believe me when I say, dying ain’ the better option. There are far worse fates than me in Hell.”

He does not know whether it lands like he wants it to. If it accomplishes anything at all. But she doesn’t attempt to peel herself off him in the aftermath. Instead, she mourns herself dry for the next hour, snivelling wretchedly on his lap.

When her crying stops, the air is still laden with something. Hesitation rolls off her in waves, dense with the renewal of fear. He supposes it must be hypocritical of him, to both strike her with terror and expect her to overcome it, but he hums anyway, nudging her temple off his shoulder in an appeal to state what’s on her mind.

What comes instead is a deceptively simple question.

“What’s your name?” She asks. Doesn’t demand of him to tell her. Doesn’t set up grounds for him to ask for something in return. He can either answer, or not. She leaves the choice up to him. Clever girl.

He grapples with it a moment too long. A long dead man beats at his ribcage and demands to be heard. A meal he never managed to digest. Hissing. Snarling. S-Si-Si–

“Ghost.”

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retroactivebakeries · 1 year

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It is almost five centuries ago, and the girl who will one day be a swordswoman is lying in the red-tinged mud. She can't get up—broken bone? severed tendon? She can't tell. She's yet to cultivate her palate for pain. Her enemy towers over her, a cataphract mailed in screaming steel and poisoned light. His warhammer falls, and it is death, forever death, death unconquered and unconquerable.

"No," says a part of her. She is not even seventeen years old. Her body is mangled and broken, wound piled upon wound piled upon wound. A dull kitchen knife is her only weapon, though she lost that in the mud the second her grip faltered. Her enemy is no thing of this earth. And yet—

"No. It is not death, forever death, death unconquered and unconquerable. It is only a hammer, falling. It is only 'an attack.'"

And the girl understood.

~~~

It is the better part of three centuries ago, as best the swordswoman can reckon, and she is beset on all sides by foes. They are not monsters—just mountain bandits, or highland rebels, as one cares to see it. But they outnumber her by dozens, and even an exceptional swordswoman might struggle against but two opponents of lesser skill.

From in front of her, beside her, behind her they advance, striking from every angle with spears and blades and axes. Others fill the air with arrows, sling stones, firepots. It would be effortless, to parry any single blow. It would be impossible, physically impossible, to defend against them all.

"No," says a part of her.

"You are not outnumbered. You do not face 'multiple' foes. It would be impossible to defend against every attack — but there is no 'every' attack. Only one."

"Oh," the swordswoman said. And it was, in fact, effortless.

~~~

It is eighty years ago, or thereabouts. A coiling spire of stony flesh and verdigrised copper throbs like a tumor on the horizon, coaxed from the earth by spell and sacrifice. It is the tower of a sorcerer-prince, and a birthing place of abominations.

Seven locks of rune-etched metal are opened with her single key. Wretched shapeling beasts, grown by sorcery in vitreous nodules, flee wailing from her, absconding before she even draws her blade. Demons sworn to thousand-year pacts of service find the binding provisions of their agreements unexpectedly severed.

These things dissatisfy the sorcerer-prince. He waxes wroth. He makes signs of power and chants incantations. With a flask of godling's blood, he draws the binding sigil inscribed upon the moon's dark face. With cold fire burning in his eyes, he speaks the secret name of Death. It is a king among curses, all-corrupting, all-consuming, and it falls from his lips upon the swordswoman.

"No," she says, and she turns it aside with her blade.

The sorcerer-prince's brow furrows. How did she even do that?

"Parried it."

But—

"With my sword."

No—

"See, like this."

Stop—

"Well," the swordswoman finally says, "I figured that if I just...looked at it right, and thought about it, and construed your curse as a kind of attack...then I could block it."

That's not how it works at all!

"If you insist," says the swordswoman, shrugging, and decapitates him.

~~~

It is now. It is the end. Death couldn't take the swordswoman, not when she'd spent all her life cutting it up. At times, Death might sidle up to one of her friends, or peer down into a grandchild's crib, and she'd just give it a look. That's all it took, by then.

Heartache couldn't take her, either. Bad things happened to her, and they hurt, and she lived in that hurt, but if it was ever more than she could take...she'd just, move her sword in a way that's difficult to describe. And she'd keep going.

Kingdoms fell, and she kept going. Continents crumbled and sank into the sea. Her planet's star faded and froze. She started carrying a lantern. Universes were torn apart and scattered, until all that had been matter was redistributed in thermodynamic equilibrium. With one exception.

But now it is the end. There is no time left; time is already dead. The swordswoman has outlived reality, but there is simply no further she can go. This is not a thing that can be blocked. This is the absence of anything further to block.

"No," says the girl who will one day be a swordswoman. "This isn't the ending. And even if it was, it's not the ending that matters."

The swordswoman looks back at who she was, at the countless selves she's been between them. She looks forward, at the rapidly contracting point that remains of the future. She grasps the all of linear time in her mind, and sees that it is shaped like a spear.

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probablybadrpgideas · 2 months

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Lesser Known Layers Of The Abyss

High school cafeteria where all the popular kids are laughing at you and also they're all Balors.

A fire pit of endless torture, but all the demons are on break. If you won't mind grabbing a red hot poker and torturing yourself, that would be great!

10th circle of hell. They borrowed it before the whole Blood War thing but since the falling-out they didn't really feel like giving it back, you know?

A field but there's, I dunno, lots of spikes there or something. Look, it's infinite planes, they can't all be winners.

Hang on, that's Tumblr HQ! Wow! This explains a lot, right?

Happy pastoral layer that all the demons are mildly embarrassed by.

NegaFrance, it's like France but evil and fucked up.

Oh boy, look, it's another Acid Swamp of Horrors. Sigh. Do you think this one has demons? God they're scraping the barrel.

#rpg #roleplaying game #D&D

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its-your-mind · 4 months

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thinkin bout how orv starts with kim dokja actively working to ensure that kim namwoon dies during the first scenario

thinkin bout how kim namwoon was a teenager at the start of the scenarios, dealing with the apocalypse using the mental paths that came easiest, jumping into the new world with both feet

thinkin bout kim dokja as a teenager. tired. hurt. alone. his internal and external struggles ignored by the adults around him. choosing to throw himself off a rooftop because there wasn’t anything in his life worth living for

thinkin bout how kim dokja woke up again, even though he had planned not to

thinkin bout a teenage boy. lost, alone, broken, scared, angry, in need of someone to come and show him how to keep moving forward

thinkin bout a protagonist in a webnovel who is an example to you of how to survive against all odds. a mantra to repeat when living life as yourself is too hard

thinkin bout a hardened and powerful hero who knows exactly how this world works, who holds out a hand offers you a place with him

thinkin bout teenage kim namwoon, looking to yoo joonghyuk as captain, teacher, and protector

thinkin bout teenage kim dokja, looking to yoo joonghyuk as role-model, hero, and refuge

thinkin bout teenage kim dokja, who saw himself more as kim namwoon than any of yoo joonghyuk’s other companions

thinkin bout adult kim dokja, reclusive and unsocial, hiding his phone from his coworker so she doesn’t see what he’s reading. convinced that yoo joonghyuk would look down on him if he learns who he “really” is. ashamed of any details kimcom learns about his past

thinkin bout what happens to a life when the person living it has never seen in it any redeeming qualities or objects of value. how someone feels about life when they tried and failed to give up that life a decade ago, and every day since has felt almost accidental

thinkin bout the lesser fire dragon. the disaster of floods. the strongest in seoul dome. the devourer of dreams. the 73rd demon king. the industrial complex. the war between good and evil. the wager with secretive plotter.

thinkin bout the most ancient dream. an empty station. a cold and hard bench. bandages and a notebook and a too-loose uniform. smaller than he should be for his age and more broken than any child should ever become. alone.

thinkin bout an unbreakable faith, shattered. a family frantically throwing themselves at their heart to save him from himself. desperate hands prying a blade out of shaking ones, moments before the jagged edge pierced deep into vulnerable flesh

thinkin bout how the younger kim dokja, recently released from the hospital, does not watch. instead, he instinctively curls up to protect the parts of himself already hurting the most. he begins to repeat his mantra

thinkin bout how kim namwoon kicked and fought and screamed and stabbed. and then, when he realized there wasn’t anything he could do, he got down on his knees and begged kim dokja for his life

thinkin bout how kim dokja just stood over him, held him in place, and looked at him in silence as the clock ran out

thinkin bout kim dokja at the beginning of his story and at the end of his story. in a subway. looking down at a teenage boy.

making a choice. the same choice, both times.

the first time: an explosion, a blood splatter on his reflection, and a confused and wary protagonist who has lost one asset and gained another

the last time: arms holding him back, a family hugging him tight, and another protagonist who steps in front of him. holds the child close. forgives him everything. offers up anything more he could need. and kim dokja watches as the person with the strongest claim to vengeance upon this younger facsimile of himself instead gently gathers up the most ancient dream, tucks him close against his chest, and walks away with him safe and sound in his arms.

#orv #omniscent reader #omniscient reader's viewpoint #omniscient reader novel #orv spoilers #omniscient reader spoilers #kim dokja #kim namwoon #most ancient dream #secretive plotter #LISTEN. listen.#I JUST THINK ABOUT KIM NAMWOON A LOT OKAY #literally there was like #one line in the 1863 arc where kdj was like #lol yeah I used to imagine replacing kim namwoon in the squad bc I thought I could do him but better #and then my brain short circuited #literally changed everything I felt about kim namwoon in like .02 seconds #cuz like yes kdj unreliable narrator #but I had not unlocked the kim namwoon mystery until that moment #anyway justice for kim namwoon my bby boy deserves better #he was a C H I L D #lee jihye also killed someone day one and kdj doesn’t hate her for it #anyway I’m just sayin that everything we see is through kdj’s eyes and if he thought Kim namwoon was cringe af #BUT ONLY BC teen kdj thought the edgelord thing was kinda badass #obvs we only get the bad vibes #I mean also there was an attempted stabbing #but only after kdj stopped him from doing old lady crimes specifically with the intent to make sure he didn’t make it thru scenario 1 #no old lady saving desire present

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mochatsin · 8 months

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WHEN MC COMES HOME INJURED

There are a lot of issues that you can come across as a human in Devildom and sometimes, the brothers aren’t really prepared for the worst case scenarios. One day they find you at home injured from other demons, how will they respond to this?

TW: Implied Bullying, Violence, Torture, Injury

sometimes I wonder if MC is a bit desensitized to violence (but not to a level where they’re no longer bothered by it). Think about it, the brothers have war-level fights all the time in the house. Plus MC lives in a realm full of devils.

------------

Lucifer

His patience has never been so tested, all he can think about right now is going straight home. He heard that there was a commotion that happened in one of your classes, so everyone was excused to leave early.

He never heard any of the details, and he would’ve asked the teachers or anyone in your class but it was better to hear from you instead. The wellbeing of the exchange student is his responsibility after all.

Lucifer was about to knock on your door but he heard a sniffle coming from your room which made him start panicking. “MC? Pardon me, but I’m coming over.”

He found you by the bed, clutching your arm that’s poorly bandaged. Seeing the tears in your eyes broke his heart as he ran to your side.

You told him that things got bad during your potions class. You don’t know how it went wrong when you followed the instructions correctly, but the cauldron exploded and gave you a bad burn. The teacher even scolded you in front of the class despite being in pain, making you an example of a foolish student before dismissing everyone.

Lucifer knows you’re not one to make clumsy mistakes like this, yet he keeps quiet to himself about that. His focus for now is to treat your wounds properly. But boy, he could feel his blood boil through his veins. How dare they make a fool out of you?!

He promised to find something human-friendly for your skin as he applied a spell to numb the pain before going back to RAD.

On his way, he overheard two students snickering to each other. Lucifer recognized them from your class.

“Who knew adding fire newt tongues would’ve made it that explosive?” “You should’ve seen the look on their face when the teacher got mad. I knew the teacher hated them but it was hilarious when they looked like they were gonna cry!”

Lucifer had this sinister smile on his face as he walked up to the students. “Meet me in my office. We need to have a little talk.”

It takes him an hour before he can come back to you with a healing salve. Gently applying it to your skin, you were astonished at how it was instantly restored!

Before you can comment about your amazement, Lucifer brings you in for a tight hug. “I’m so sorry… I’ll make sure you won’t get hurt like this again. I promise.” He tries to act calm but with how his hands held you so firmly, you can feel that he really was worried.

You could say that Lucifer keeps to his word when you find the demons, even your teacher, hung up by their legs in the potions classroom. They were beaten beyond recognition, you can’t even tell if they were still alive because the brothers lured you away from the scene before you could inspect them further.

The whole school got the message, to never mess with the Morningstar’s human. The punishments are beyond what they could imagine, it’s not worth the few moments of satisfaction from making you cry.

Those people were dragged away by Barbatos to the castle’s dungeon, never to be seen again. Diavolo had to make arrangements for a replacement, and Lucifer ensured that you have at least one brother for every class to watch over you.

He was strict and a bit more overprotective to you than usual, so it took a lot of time for you to reassure him that you’ll be fine.

Mammon

To lesser demons, it’s a wonder how his denial with his problematic gambling and theft still made him think that he’s amazing and great.

The stacks of reports about Mammon in the student council room can break records. He would ask Grimm that he would refuse to pay back, steal things he considers valuable, and his money-making schemes have caused lots of problems for other students.

Despite the punishments from Lucifer, some demons think that it’s not enough. They want to hit him where it hurts.

Mammon has been waiting for you, spamming your D.D.D. with several messages. You both planned to spend the night watching a movie together once you get home, but you’ve been running late and he’s getting impatient.

When he hears the main door open, he rushes with the intention of complaining about what took you so long, until he finds you limping your way inside.

“HEY MC I– huh… MC? What’s up with you? HEY!” As soon as he realizes that there’s more injuries on you, he instantly carries you to the bathroom and treats your wounds as best as he can.

He doesn’t speak, but he can’t hide the trembling of his fingers when he applies gauze pads and disinfectants on your wounds.

You tried to explain what happened to him to the best of your abilities. You were cornered by some demons you didn’t even know on your way back home and they picked a fight. When you described what they looked like, Mammon instantly knew who they were.

“How about you rest first in the room while I go handle something yeah? Maybe report this to Lucifer” He lied of course. As if he’s going to waste a single second not hunting down these bastards. He lets one of his brothers tend to your wounds, he has other matters to attend to.

Mammon would send those demons a message, saying that he’s ready to repay them if they meet up. He was ready to give them back 10 times the pain they gave you. Break their legs for making you limp, even.

You wake up in your bed to find him asleep next to you, holding your body close. The small tear stains on his cheeks made you pout and… well, you don’t tell him about the red stains left on his hands.

He walks you back to your classroom only for you to find it trashed. Broken chairs and desks, holes in the black board and the walls, and the demons from yesterday looking so bruised and wounded that they could barely shrink back in fear when they saw you and Mammon together.

Lucifer would’ve punished Mammon for wrecking school property until you explained to him what happened. Given the nature of these circumstances, he didn’t tie up his brother from the roof like usual, but made him clean up the classroom he trashed.

Even with his goofiness around you, that incident was a reminder for the school that he’s still the second most powerful brother and the wisest thing is to never touch Greed’s treasure.

Levi

Levi noticed that you haven’t been yourself lately when you come home. You’re always too tired to watch his shows and when you do, he finds one thing odd.

When the anime he was watching showed a scene about bullying, you would flinch or turn away. You were never like this before and now Levi is suspicious. What has been happening in RAD when he’s not there?

Lucifer called him in to catch up on his classes since he’s been slacking off due to his games. He stayed a bit behind and when he finally finished, all he could think of was finally getting his hands back to his controller but then he stopped when he saw you in one of the empty classrooms.

You were being cornered by a large demon, probably the size of Beel, who taunted you. About how you’re nothing but a weakling without the brothers, and calling them here would just prove his point.

He was raising his fists to land another blow so you used your arms to protect yourself, but it never came. Instead, you find Levi kneeling down next to you with a sad look on his face.

He was in his full demon form, his tail holding onto the demon’s fist and won’t let go. “MC… why didn’t you tell me? Or at least any of us?” He seemed hurt because he didn’t know you’ve been in so much pain, especially when he saw the bruises on your skin as he tugged your sleeves down.

He wrapped his jacket around you and wiped away your tears, trying to calm you down. Though it’s hard when Levi’s tail now has a death grip on the wrist of the demon who’s now screaming in pain and begging to be let go.

“Shut up!” He hissed, his fangs bared out when he turned to the larger demon.

Levi snaps his fingers and the demon disappears. The demon finds himself in the depths of the deep sea, struggling to breathe and swim up. He was spared from the agonizing suffocation by the sharp teeth of Lotan who swallowed him.

He shifts back to his regular form and waits until you’re okay to be held. He tries to be gentle with you given the amount of bruises you’ve gotten. Since he’s not good at magic, maybe one of the angels can do something about this.

He doesn’t leave your side while Simeon tends to your bruises, all while he calls Lucifer to inform him of what happened.

“You’re my player two, we’re supposed to help each other out you know? That’s how the game works. S-so rely on me more MC!”

He didn’t want to let you watch some anime that has bullying in the story, out of fear that it might remind you of what happened. The last thing he wants is to accidentally make you upset.

Levi started attending school more, waiting for you outside your classroom every dismissal. You’d spot him gaming on his phone and if you’d ask why won’t he go straight back to the house, he’d just stutter way beyond comprehension.

His cute flustered look as he struggles with the slightest physical contact, no one would guess that he’s the reason for the disappearance of the biggest bully in your class. It’s all game over when you mess with the Grand Admiral after all.

Satan

Despite being just a new exchange student in a realm with little to no knowledge, you still somehow make it through the academic year and even get better marks than half of the demon brothers who lived for centuries.

Some demons in class find it infuriating to see a lowly human do better. ‘Maybe they’ve just cheated.’ ‘Perhaps they use spells to see the answers’ ‘the wizard knows some sorcery, maybe this one does too’ ‘how wicked.’

Those were rumors you hear when you enter a classroom before a lecture. You try to not let it bother you because they’re not true. It’s from the combined effort of your hard work and the brother’s teaching you from scratch.

Satan has been waiting for you in the house since you told him that your lesson from today was a bit difficult to understand, so you both set up a small study session for when you get home. But it’s been about an hour ever since your last message.

No amount of reading has calmed his nerves since you’re not one to be late for no reason. It’s been raining really hard so he thought that maybe you’re stuck in this weather, but the lack of messages is still concerning.

When he heard the door open, he closed his book with the intent of questioning why you were late, but he saw how soaked you were from head to toe.

He grabs your arm to help clean you up, but you hissed and yanked it away. He looked at you confusingly before he noticed the puddle of rain water was mixed with something… red.

Without haste, he sits you down in the living room and rushes to get the first aid kit. He’s thankful for learning about first aid, but never did he think that he would have to use it on you like this.

He focused first on calming you down, placing soft kisses on your head every time you’d whimper. It worried him a lot, but he didn’t want to ask you about your tears until he’s sure you’re okay.

It took half an hour, and a whole lot of pain relievers until you’re okay. Satan went to grab your things left at the door, only to see a lot of your books and homework torn to bits. Connecting two and two together, he knew what happened.

When you slept, there was only one thing racing in his thoughts. To hunt. He’s heard of the rumors about you, and he’s had enough of staying passive about it.

He practically interrogates every student he comes across until he gets his answers. When he finally has a name, he would turn each stone in the realm until he finds them.

The moment he does, the demons are facing the most agonizing cat and mouse chase of their lives. Satan would follow suit behind their tails, and each time they ran across him they would shed more blood and tears.

He would’ve killed them on the spot with one snap of a finger, but that’s too easy. He wanted them to feel the fear, let it consume their soul until they go insane and give up. Only then did he grant them the release from this torture by burning them in green fire that not even the storm can put out, until there’s only ash.

He comes home, covered in blood and ash. He smiles as he places a kiss on your head when he finds you still asleep. After that, Satan offered to help you get some spare books and do something about your ruined homework.

He became much more aggressive afterwards, no longer tolerating any ill intent directed towards you. Mutter something under your breath, he’ll make sure it’s your last. That’s how they’ll pay the price.

Asmo

Asmo has so many admirers that are not limited to adoring fans online, but even famous celebrities that had the luck of working with him in magazine gigs and product commercials.

To him it doesn’t matter what kind of attention he gets, whether it's healthy or parasocial, he’ll bask in all of it as long as he’s the object of their affections.

He wouldn’t normally care when his brothers would get crowded with his fans who wanted them to deliver their love letters and gifts, despite all of his brother’s complaints or protests. However, you’re the exception.

Asmo doesn’t really hide how he feels about you. He would post your pictures with him on Devilgram or brag about you online. It did harbor some jealousy, but there are some that dealt with this worse than others.

‘It’s unbearable to see him with such a lowly human!’ a demoness thought as she found a new post from asmo’s page with you in the background. Her nails could crack through her phone at the sheer rage and she plans to do something about these feelings.

Asmo has been calling you nonstop since you two were supposed to meet up at the house to go to a salon together, after your shift ends of course. However, you’re running late and the salon would close in half an hour.

He was by his room when he heard your door open and closed. Asmo had the full intent to be extra whiny about your tardiness when he went to your room and opened the door.

He was in the middle of complaining but trailed off when he saw you clenching your cheek and turned away quickly from his gaze. You were trying to make him leave, saying that you’ll change first, but he’s not buying it. “Let me see, please?”

He moved your hands away from your face and gasped at the claw marks that ran across your cheeks. It hurts him to see that you try to hide the face he finds so adoring, so pretty. And he wants to find out who dared to ruin it.

He sits you on his lap while he applies any sort of healing skin that can restore it. He’s not going to allow a single scar caused by some low blood demon to rest on your face. He looks at you with a pout on his lips as he asks “... who was it?”

You can’t help it, so you explain that the demoness that was also in the magazine cover with him the other week, stopped by your work and slapped you across the cheek. About how a human should not have her place next to the Avatar of Lust.

For a quick second, he was wrath and you felt it. But he gave you a smile and held you close “you know that’s not true right darling?” and whispered sweet words to you.

Asmo spent the next few hours asking Levi and Solomon for help. The demoness instantly lost thousands of followers online, each and every scandal anonymously exposed for the whole realm to see. He was hell bent on ruining her life with all the power he has as an influencer and a demon.

You never see the demoness again, you just know that she lost every connection and supporters she had overnight. If you ask Asmo about it, he’ll just shrug and smile “It’s just how it works honey. But don’t worry about that thing, why don’t we go to the spa like we should’ve done a few days ago? I booked a new appointment for us”

Only Asmo, and maybe Solomon, knows the truth. So if you see a pink toad at the side of the road, pay no attention to it.

Beel

Beel has been regarded as the star athlete when it comes to Fangol. Other than his towering height and unbelievable strength, it’s a product of all his hard work and training. He’s been doing more every time you promised to watch his games.

He treats you like your lucky charm, and every time you’re there he would always do so well in his games. The other team doesn’t like that, they’re tired of the constant loss. Maybe if they do something about Beel’s lucky charm, he would be demotivated to play.

They’re demons after all, so cheating is not exempted in their nature. They’re willing to do what it takes to get Beel down to his knees, even if it means they’ll get their hands dirty.

There’s two days before the big game and Beel wanted to get a family-sized snack as usual from the fridge to calm his nerves. That’s when he found you rummaging through the freezer.

Maybe you were trying to get some hellfire ice cream, so he thought. Until he saw that you pressed an ice pack against your head. “MC? Are you okay?” He walks in to check on you.

He gasped when he saw that you looked a bit roughed up. There’s a bruise slowly forming on the corner of your lip, and some dried blood from the side of your temple.

He knows that this was no accident when he found more bruises by your arm. Since he got a bunch of those during Fangol, he knows how to treat them. You’re no player though. After putting two and two together? He’s starting to get an idea what might’ve happened.

You did eventually open up about why you were hurt. You were going home and felt someone throw a Fangol ball to your head. You recognized that they were from the opposing team of the upcoming match and they continued to use you as target practice as you ran all the way back to the house.

Beel was holding onto a bowl of cold water with a damp towel to treat you and as soon as you finished your story, the bowl was nothing but shards on his palm.

His deathly aura must’ve alerted the whole house, especially Belphie who suddenly woke up from a nap as he came running towards the kitchen only to find his twin already in demon form.

You’ve never seen him this angry that was outside food (or Belphie) and you tried to calm Beel down, but he left you in Belphie’s care while he walked out of the house. There was no way he was going to let this pass, not when you’ve already gotten hurt.

It doesn’t take Beel a long while to find the opposing team, especially when they always wear those ridiculous jersey jackets. Despite their large sizes that almost compare to him, they’re nothing but flies to Beelzebub himself.

“Heard you had a bit of target practice earlier… I wanted to go easy on you, so if you drop out of the game and never show yourself again I'll spare you.”

One of them scoffed and tried to throw a punch at his face. Let’s just say… never aim so close to his jaw. That player was no longer capable of holding a Fangol ball anymore, and the whole team got the message.

You received a notification online that the upcoming Fangol game has been canceled, as the team captain is suddenly incapable of playing anymore.

Beel comes home with a smile on his face while he has takeout of your favorite food. Mammon would comment about how it’s a miracle that he didn’t eat it on the way home, and all Beel said “It’s okay, I already grabbed a bite somewhere else.”

Belphie

If demons would cower under the sights of Lucifer, the exact opposite can be said about the youngest. Not everyone can find the demon who does nothing but sleep to be intimidating, despite his status and power.

Belphie doesn’t really care about trivial things about that. As if the demon who was willing to go against the royal prince himself was actually going to get bothered by mere rumors, even though it was all true.

He wouldn’t mind being called ‘a heavy weight’ when it comes to doing work, since he’d rather exert the least amount of effort if that’s what it takes for him to sleep faster. Sometimes he would forget important meetings because of his 8-hour naps.

Today was one of those days where Belphie overslept while you were waiting for him in the library to do work together. He woke up and realized that he was almost an hour late so he was rushing towards the door but surprisingly bumped into you.

“MC! I’m really sorry I didn’t mean to make you wait so long…” He was a bit panicked because you looked upset, though you told him that you’re fine and tried to walk back to your room.

He grabs your arm and you wince, pulling it away from him. He looks at you confusingly, before he notices a slight cut on your cheek and how your clothes look a bit dirtier than usual. So he gets worried and asks what happened to you.

You explained that while waiting in the library, you overheard some demons talking so badly about Belphie and calling him names. You confronted them, trying to defend his name, and the demons gave you a certain lesson for trying to sermon them.

Belphie whines and pulls you in for a hug, trying to provide any sort of comfort he can give. “You didn’t have to do that for me MC… but thank you. Go get some rest, you deserve it more than I do.”

His touch with you is so gentle when he makes little circles on your back as he hugs you. He lets you rest on his chest, feeling calm and safe in his arms. But Belphie was far from that.

He could feel himself close to popping a vein, the only thing stopping him from shifting into his demon form was because he was holding you. When he puts you down on your bed as you sleep, he stares at you for a while before whispering “... I’ll repay you for your kindness, MC”

The demons were laughing as they left the library, talking about the human they just picked on earlier. Too busy in their own merry to notice the pair of eyes that’s been following them.

Such carelessness would be their demise when they ended up getting thrown down the alley by the very demon they’ve been speaking ill of. Belphie stares down at them with no mercy in his eyes, despite the blood and screams. Unlike his twin, he was not as merciful.

“I can tolerate the nasty things about me… but if you hurt my MC, then you deserve eternal sleep.”

He comes home and immediately after dealing with the trash and starts walking back to your room. He’s glad to see that one of the brothers must’ve healed your wounds since your skin has been restored.

‘... if they really see the best in me, maybe I should put in more effort.’ he thought to himself, hugging you close as he drifts off to sleep. You wake up only to find that, surprisingly, Belphie has done all the work for the both of you.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me headcanons #obey me scenarios

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wrengrif · 2 months

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I rub my hands together..

Because I am having more Thoughts.

Big thanks to @badaziraphaletakes for pointing out the fucking obvious to me.

We talk a lot in this fandom about trauma, how Heaven and Hell leaves different kinds of psychological, and physical scars on our angel and demon. Mostly though, we focus on the psychological damage that comes from Heaven and the physical torture that comes from Hell. I am of the belief that Heaven and Hell drop a lot of both on their environs, but that's a post for a different day.

Trauma isn't that simple, though. It doesn't matter what kind you face, your reaction to it is going to fall under animal instinct. What is truly horrifying is the realization that Crowley's and Aziraphale's gut reactions are completely the opposite of what their Bosses are.

When Crowley feels like he, or Aziraphale is in danger, instead of fangs out, he's looking for the nearest escape route. The easiest way to make the problem go away. He runs away -- but of course he runs away. If he doesn't run away, he's going to be tortured. He is going to receive physical damage for making a mistake. So flight is the best option. The ability to get away, to think of how to avoid that pain, one way or another, is so Crowley-coded. I've always stated that Crowley is the strategist, the one who makes the complicated plans. He takes himself away from the problem, so he can analyze the problem. He runs away, and then he turns back. Once he has enough physical safe space, he can sit back and look to see what can be done.

He never had a chance to do that really in the last days of Armageddon, because Hell was nipping right on his heels and he had to keep retreating. Until he was put in a corner, and then you saw the Serpent come out. His fear of pain lasts until he is more afraid of losing his life, or Aziraphale. For example, the bucket of holy water. Walking into a consecrated church. Walking into a burning bookshop. The M25 - he literally drove Right Into The Fire, even with Hastur there because he had to get to Aziraphale and he had to survive driving through a ring of fire. Crowley runs from pain, but that doesn't stop him from attacking if he's got no other options.

Aziraphale is the opposite. His trauma is one I am well acquainted with, and that is psychological abuse, and torture. Don't let it fool you - just because you aren't having someone hurt you with a screwdriver doesn't mean it's any less devastating to your body, much less your mind. What Heaven does is use Fear. Fear like a scalpel, or a baseball bat to your knees. The Fear of Falling, the Fear of being considered Unworthy of God's love. The Fear of being considered less than your fellow angels, although you'll always be lesser than archangel. Fear of being yourself, fear of being anything less than perfect. All the fucking time. Nothing can save you, but us, and if you turn against us, you're screwed. Aziraphale, though, he doesn't run. He's never run. He's a Guardian. A Principality. He held a flaming sword and he held it well. Oh, he will bald-face lie to God, to archangels, to Crowley, but he doesn't run. He will try to find a way out of it with the most convoluted stories. He'll smile, look pleasant and distant and not quite there. Don't notice me. Don't worry about me. I'm not doing anything wrong for you to hurt me. Only thing he fears more than Heaven is Hell, and he's not even scared of Hell as a concept, but as a fact of Hell will hurt Crowley. Hell will take Crowley away. Hell will reach up and snatch Crowley away in a heartbeat and there isn't anything Aziraphale can do about it. Fear, fear, fear. Yet he doesn't run. He fights. He fights with words, and when there's nothing left with that, he fights with his wits, and then when he has no more left of that - he stands his ground with a weapon. A sword. A halo. His own physical body, if necessary.

Where am I going with all this?

That Season 3 is going to be You Reap What You Sow. Crowley is trapped in his misery and he can't run from it, because Aziraphale is in danger. Aziraphale is trapped and afraid, and he can't do anything about it because they'll hurt Crowley. What neither Heaven or Hell has realized yet - and I especially mean Heaven in this juncture -- is that they haven't given Crowley or Aziraphale any choices. They've been trapped in a corner by both of their abusers.

Their abusers who have never seem to learn the lesson that if you trap Crowley and Aziraphale in a corner, they're going to turn around and bite. Bite as hard as they possibly can - just to protect one another.

#crowley #aziraphale #good omens meta #good omens #good omens 2 #good omens 3

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sparrowrye · 2 months

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Build a story through requests!

I’ve got an intricate storyline planned for my Demi Demon || Alastor x Reader but I’d love to hear what some of you might be looking for from our favorite hell-hot demon 😈

I plan to publish this in its entirety on other sites, but my Tumblr folks get to have a say in this story first 😘

Basic Rules:

- I’m not doing any NSFW since we’re not there with this story yet. Maybe one day but I make no promises.

- Please be patient. I’ll try to incorporate your request as soon as possible and where I feel it best fits.

- You can request anything as sweet and fluffy or as demonic and sadistic as you want :)

- It does not have to be current with the story. You can request something for the future or something for earlier in the storyline.

- Feel free to ask me any questions or just let me know your thoughts. I’m always craving reader interaction :P

————————————————————————

✨MASTER LIST✨

Act One

Part Pilot || Part 2 - escape is futile || Part 3 - lesser of two evils || Part 4 - hidden past || Part 5 - digging deeper || Part 6 - expanding horizons || Part 7 - pushing boundaries || Part 8 - ignited flame || Part 9 - playing mine games || Part 10 - building a shield || Part 11 - shadow work || Part 12* - bad memories || Part 13 - didn't ask for it || Part 14 - snake demon || Part 15 - saving the savior || Part 16 - purgatory || Part 17 - meeting the overlords || Part 18 - a new purpose || Part 19 - the curse || Part 20 - dark desires || Part 21 - of course || Part 22 - in your nature || Part 23 - the starting works || Part 24 - fulfillment || Part 25 - newcomers

Act Two

Part 1 - a teacher || Part 2 - a healer || Part 3 - a reporter || Part 4 - forever tied || Part 5 - protect and defend || Part 6 - developments || Part 7 - new revelation || Part 8 - making a deal || Part 9 - a different person || Part 10 - sweet blood || Part 11 - whistling || Part 12 - creeping shadows || Part 13 - soft || Part 14 - blood and fire || Part 15 - new terms || Part 16 - may I have this dance? || Part 17 - now what? || Part 18 - Blackwater || Part 19 - magic or not || Part 20 - fixing || Part 21 - new things || Part 22 - a good night's rest || Part 23 - new discoveries || Part 24 - a relationship? || Part 25 - comfort || Part 26 - so it begins || Part 27 - Alastor vs Blackwater || Part 28 - my turn || Part 29 - the aftermath || Part 30 - gone ||

Act Three

Part 1 - new haven, new me ||

#hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin husk #alastor x reader #alastor the radio demon #reqs open #request #demi demon

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fullofbees · 8 days

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Headcanons about the demon brother's and an MC who is on their period.

CW: Period Sex (All of them), Somnophilia (Belphegor), Non-con (Belphegor)

»»----------► Reader is Gender Neutral with AFAB anatomy

✬ Does he know what a period is? ✬

Yes. Though he may not interact with humans much in the Devildom (nor did he in the Celestial Realm either), it never hurts to be prepared by knowing and understanding basic human bodily functions.

✬ How he helps: ✬

Lucifer knows how much you adore his brothers, but he also understands that all of them can be.... a bit much – especially when together. So, when you need some peace and quiet, Lucifer ushers you into his private study. You relax on the plush couch, a small fire in the pit and his coat draped over you to keep out the house’s haunting draft. When you try to refuse, he chuckles, and assures you his inhuman sight will adjust easily to the darkness. It doesn’t take long for you to coax him to the couch anyways, both of you blissfully passing out for some much needed rest. "Your brothers would surely lose their minds if they saw you napping, with me in your arms no less." "That's why you're not going to say a word, lest you lose your snuggle privileges."

✬ NSFW ✬

Indents and imprints begin to form across your skin from where your body is shoved against the plush backing of the couch. Should anyone happen to disturb your haven of rest, they would be none the wiser, with Lucifer's looming visage shielding you from the door and his coat, draped across your waist, hiding your sin. His hand pulls your underwear off to the side, leaving him just enough access to tease you with the tip of his cock. Short shallow thrusts amplify the wetness that sticks to your thighs, slowly building the pleasure that hums throughout your body. Lucifer chuckles at how easily he's able to slip his entire length into you like this; heat rises to your face in embarrassment, but burying your face into the cushions does little to stop the drenched sounds of his cock fucking the bloody mess that is your cunt.

✬ Does he know what a period is? ✬

He’s heard it mentioned by the witches before – small grumblings of pain, frustration, and exhaustion between them. He’d scoff; their whisperings of mutual understanding being heard, their feet up as they relaxed, all while he was being worked to the bone. He spent centuries thinking they were lying before he met you.

✬ How he helps: ✬

Mammon always is ready to fight anyone who dares to upset you. As your first man, even the privilege of annoying you should be left to him. When it comes to that time of the month, Mammon is extra protective of you; threatening others with little more than a glance, shoving lesser demons out of your way, even going so far as to bribe others in to doing your homework for you. He's not letting you lift a finger while he's around! "Mammon! You don't need to do this. He was just being polite and saying hello!" "That's what he wants ya to think! Luckily, you have THE Great Mammon here to protect ya from these low-lifes!"

✬ NSFW ✬

God knows how much grimm he could make off of videos of your pretty face blissed out like this. You're panting against his mattress, sweat laced hair clinging to your cheeks and neck as your body bounces in time with his thrusts. Mammon pauses, watching you wriggle and writhe as he slowly pulls his cock out until just his tip remains inside. Perhaps he should feel dirty when he sees his flesh painted with your blood and his cum, but when has he ever given a damn about that kind of stuff? With the way you're begging him to continue, to fuck his cum back into you, how can he feel anything but lucky? Yeah, your sex tape would go for millions, but he knows his treasure is infinitely more valuable when he has it all to himself.

✬ Does he know what a period is? ✬

Absolutely not. Definitely stares at you in horror as you explain the process to him; What do you mean it happens every month? How are you able to bleed without dying? What use could this possibly have to your survival? He's a changed demon once he learns.

✬ How he helps: ✬

Thankfully, his Akuzon habits mean that you never are without any products you might need/want - same day delivery! Once the initial shock has worn away, Levi ends up placing orders without you needing to ask. It's one of the little way he shows his love. Otherwise, Levi does his best to distract you from its existence altogether. The more episodes you watch, or the more games you play, the less likely Levi is to overthink and worry about you. "Leviiiii, I'm tired, I want to sleep! I swear I'm not going to die from blood loss." "Losing my Henry is not worth the risk! Just a few more episodes, I promise..."

✬ NSFW ✬

Levi had only honorable intentions when he invited you to binge a new anime with him. Besides, it's not like you'd ever imagine being with a disgusting pervert like him. So how does this keep happening? Your back is pressed to his chest, his hands holding your legs open as he thrusts his cock into you. You whine, whimper, and beg for him to keep going. He hides his face against your neck, nipping and kissing the sweat-soaked skin. Normally, he would be the one crying underneath you, begging with tears in his eyes for his orgasm. Perhaps its your period that is making you so pliable, so sensitive to his touch that even a small flick to your nipples has you throwing your head back in pleasure. The anime's closing song plays through the speakers as the credits roll. It goes unnoticed.

✬ Does he know what a period is? ✬

Yes, of course; he's only read every book about the subject that he could get his hands on.

✬ How he helps: ✬

Satan ends up becoming your nurse more than anything. He insists on prepping all of your lunches, making sure each meal is packed full of the vitamins and minerals your body needs. He has you rate your pain on a scale of ten and charts it alongside your other symptoms to see if there is a pattern. You understand that its his curious nature that drives him to do this, but you still had to put your foot down when he started asking to chart the heaviness of your flow. "Eat this; it will replace the magnesium you are losing due the monthly shedding of your endometrium." "I am a human, not a guinea pig dammit!"

✬ NSFW ✬

It was supposed to be a joke; a terrible one, but a joke nonetheless. Yet here you are now, Satan pawing at your thighs, while in the most ridiculous nurse's outfit you've ever seen. It looks like a cheap 'sexy nurse' Halloween costume, it barely fits him, the white spandex skirt riding up his legs as he sits between yours; is that even a real stethoscope? His hands slide down to your knees, gently guiding them apart, "I need to conduct a thorough examination, so will you please spread your legs?" You wonder if he stole this idea from one of his not-so-hidden smut novellas.

✬ Does he know what a period is? ✬

Yes! However, his knowledge comes from hands-on experience rather than from a book. His servitude to Solomon allows him to travel to the human world far more often than his brothers, and of course, there were more than enough humans willing to indulge his curiosities.

✬ How he helps: ✬

Asmodeus is aware of how unattractive some humans feel during their cycle, so he always goes out of his way to make sure you feel desired. Worried about acne? He has enough serums, creams, and masks to handle any breakout. Feel like your clothes don't fit right? What a perfect excuse to go shopping! He'll make sure you find something that you look and feel good in. Do you feel achey and sore? He keeps plenty of bath oils/salts stocked for you to freely use in his bathroom. "Asmo, why are you taking your clothes off?" "Did you think I would let you bathe all by your lonesome? <3"

✬ NSFW ✬

The Avatar of Lust silences your protests with his lips, happily snaking his tongue into your mouth when you gasp. The water of the bath is warm and fragrant; Asmodeus may have gone a bit overboard with the salts, but he wanted you relaxed and comfortable before he made his move. He works slow circles over your clit, just enough pressure to excite your body but no more than that. Everytime you wiggle your hips in search of more friction, he simply removes his hand, giggling at your defeated and pleading expression. It's no secret that your period aggravates the tension in your body, but Asmodeus knows that a steady hand will always prevail over brute force. So, just sit on his cock and let him pamper you, kay? <3

✬ Does he know what a period is? ✬

….No. Probably will also forget within minutes of you explaining it to him. It's okay, we love our gentle himbo.

✬ How he helps: ✬

There is no such thing as a weird food combination to this demon, therefore, he will enthusiastically try anything you create to appease your cravings. Also, thanks to his athleticism, Beel knows how to appropriately massage and stretch out any knots your muscles may form. He has to be extra careful since you're not as sturdy as a demon, but he's so happy that you trust him to do it anyways. "Mmmm.. chocolate and peanut butter..." "Beel, you're drooling into my hair...."

✬ NSFW ✬

It's not like the poor gluttonous demon could help it... you just smelled so good during this time of the month. Beel doesn't know what causes you to relent this time around, but he can't help but feel like he's unwrapping some exclusive treat as he slides your underwear down your legs. In his eagerness, he doesn't notice the embarrassed blush that covers your face, too focused on appreciating the meal that lies between your thighs. You don't have the time to mull over your decision before the demon has buried his tongue in your cunt, moaning in pleasure at the taste -- your taste. Just remember to help him clean off his face afterwards.

✬ Does he know what a period is? ✬

It's not that he doesn't know, more that he just doesn't care. He never cared about humans, or any of their inane problems, before you came along. At the very least, that means he'd be the most casual about it.

✬ How he helps: ✬

Belphegor is the laziest of all his brothers, so if his help doesn't involve napping, it's a slim to none chance of it ever happening. You'll find him in the attic whenever you need him, and he never asks questions when you do. He simply makes room for you, letting you get comfortable before trapping you against him for the foreseeable future. "Belphie, so help me-- I'm going to bleed on your pillow!" "snORk.. mimimimi..."

✬ NSFW ✬

It wasn't unusual for cuddly naps with Belphie to turn into half-asleep sex. But those times were usually initiated by the demon; he would infiltrate your dreams, interrupting whatever scenario that was playing out, and fuck your dream-self into waking up. Other times, the lazy brat would wake you up himself just to make you ride him while your moans were interrupted by yawns. This time, he wakes before you, and finds you rutting your hips against his as whisper-soft groans slip past your lips. You don't wake as he carefully undoes your pants and slide them down. He ogles the deep red stain that bleeds through your underwear, the sight of the sticky mess oddly erotic. Tentatively, he presses his fingers against the fabric, surprised by the warmth and feel of the blood that now stains his skin. It's a while longer til you wake, and Belphegor intends to play with your messy cunt until then.

•••✦ ❤ ✦••• Submit A Request •••✦ ❤ ✦•••

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wanderingsorcerer · 10 months

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The 72 Demons Of The Ars Goetia

This will be multi parts and in each one we will be going over each branch of them "whoop whoop" let's get cracking

Starting off the 72 demons of the ars goetia are the amalgamation of the Occult Writings from the 15th century. Compiled into one text in the 17th that is where we get what is now known as the Lemegeton Clavicula Salomonis or simply The Lesser Key Of Solomon. Due to many translations spelling changes depending on region and personal preference for the author.

Let's start the Journey with the KINGs Of Hell

Baal (Bael): is the first king of hell with estates in the east and commander of 66 legions. This King is distinguished by his three heads, One of Toad , One Of Man, and One Of Cat. He teaches the art of invisibility and the power to Garner The Favor of Others. He also rules over Love and Science.

His Symbol

As with most Spirits in the Goetia they prefer people who are clever and intelligent. Someone who is willing to put in the work instead of relying entirely on the power of the deity

Paimon(Paymon): one of the kings of hell with estates in the NorthWest he is the ruler of 200 legions of demons. Paimon is depicted as a man with an effeminate face, wearing a precious Crown, and riding a Dromedary. He is said to roar upon arrival and speak in a loud voice until asked a question from the caster. Paimon teaches all arts, philosophies, and sciences, and secret things; he can reveal all mysteries of the Earth, wind, and water, what the mind is, and where it is, and everything the conjurer wants to know.

His Symbol

To summon him it is common practice to have a Sacrifice prepared, usually one of personal significance to the caster.

Beleth: one of the Truly Mighty and terrible kings of hell he is the ruler of 85 legions of demons. Beleth is depicted riding a war house and is said to have Loud music blaring as he arrives. He is said to look terrifying upon arrival and will attempt to frighten the caster to see if they are brave.

His symbol

When summoning him it would be best to hold a silver ring on your left hand middle finger to your face, as to show him his respect due to his rank in the infernal realm.

Purson: One of the Great Kings of Hell, being served and obeyed by twenty-two legions of demons. Purson is depicted as a man with the face of a Lion, carrying a Viper in his hand, and riding a bear. He is commonly associated with the AntiChrist. His powers include knowing all hidden things, discovering treasures and divination (telling all things from past, present and future). He can take on a human or astral form.

His Symbol

He represents the sun and the moon and symbolism from both is best when beginning his summoning. I.E Silver and Gold Jewelry and coloring

Asmodeus(Asmoday): One of my personal favorites, he's the one I have the strongest relationship with out of all of the demons in the Ars Goetia. Labeled as The Thirty-second Spirit He is a Great King, Strong, and Powerful. He appeareth with Three Heads, whereof the first is like a Bull, the second like a Man, and the third like a Ram; he hath also the tail of a Serpent, and from his mouth issue Flames of Fire. His Feet are webbed like those of a Goose. He sitteth upon an Infernal Dragon, and beareth in his hand a Lance with a Banner. He is first and choicest under the Power of AMAYMON, he goeth before all other. He teaches the Arts of Arithmetic, Astronomy, Geometry, and all handicrafts.

When summoning him be respectful he has a soft spot for academics and is a true wonder of a friend to have on your spiritual journey, just don't wear hats around him.

Vine: is an Earl and also a King of Hell, commanding 36 legions of demons. This demon is portrayed as a Lion holding a snake in his hand and riding a black horse. He can tell present, past, and future, discover witches and hidden things, create storms and make the water rough by means of them, and also bring down walls and build towers.

His Symbol

Acts as an elemental guide unto those who may seek to attack you. Vine is also a divinatory spirit who will also brings initiatory knowledge to Wizards, Witches and hidden aspects. Summon him if you wish to learn more about the Occult.

Balam:is a great and powerful king of Hell who commands over 40 legions of demons. Balam is depicted as being three-headed. One head is the head of a bull, the second of a man, and the third of a ram. He has flaming eyes and the tail of a serpent. He carries a hawk on his fist and rides a strong bear. At other times, he is represented as a naked man riding a bear. He gives perfect answers on things past, present, and to come, and can also make men invisible and witty.

His Symbol

From the Daemonolatry Goetia by S. Connolly

“Invoke Balam to get over social awkwardness or to find the inner reasons for shyness or discomfort. Leave a piece of gold in offering to Balam (And his sigil) on the altar to keep magickal works secret until they manifest the desired results.”

Zagan: A Great King and President of Hell, commanding over 33 legions of demons. Zagan is depicted as a griffin-winged bull that turns into a man after a while. He makes men witty; he can also turn wine into water, water into wine, and blood into wine as well as blood into oil, oil into blood, and a fool into a wise man. Other of his powers is that of turning metals into coins that are made with that metal (i.e., gold into a gold coin, copper into a copper coin, etc.).

His Symbol

Turns things into their opposites. Invoke to help curb addictions and bad habits or make delusional people (or dabblers) to see the truth. Zagam rites are a Daemonolatry Keeper ritual

Belial:He is a King of Hell with 80 legions of demons and 50 legions of spirits under his command. He was created as the first, after Lucifer. He has the power to distribute senatorships and gives excellent familiars. He takes the form of Two Beautiful Angels sitting in a Chariot of Fire.

His Symbol

He must be presented with offerings, sacrifices, and gifts, or else he will not give true answers to demands.

Always when working with these entities show them great respect and take into considerations that the majority of these are gods from other cultures that have had there meanings shifted over the years to be perceived as demonic. Treat them with kindness and respect and for the most part they will treat you the same. Do your research and learn. Learn more everyday and don't forget to have fun. The occult is a wonderful and beautiful thing and I hope to take you on more journeys with me.

We will continue this next time when we go over the Dukes of Hell.

Thank you for being here with me and having tea with me on the other side of the Great divide :)

☕ Like My Blog? Then consider buying me a Ko-Fi ☕

#goetia #ars goetia #demonology #demons #witch #witchcraft #witches #witchblr #magus #magi #grand magus #solomon #solomonic #lesser key of solomon #key of solomon #occult #occultist #occultism #WanderingSorcerer

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vcreatures · 7 months

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The term fairy covers a large swath of beings and in some cases clear delineation between species and their classifications hold only ephemeral standing. Imps are a prime example of this. While classified under fairies, the Imp has also been labeled as a lesser demon.

The Imp comes in a vast array of shapes and sizes. Two of the species catalogued here is the Corpse Imp and the Owl Bellied Imp. Primarily an earth or fire elemental you will commonly find them dwelling deep within cave systems.

Much like the pixie, Imps are known for their mischievous nature verging on malicious in some cases. With that, it is not uncommon to find them as the familiar for darker forces. Should a being win favor of an imp, they will server their master dutifully, even at it’s own expense in some cases.

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mcisanon · 21 days

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LustHub (PT. 1)

Author's Note: Hi please know that this is mostly a crackfic and I wrote this out of boredom I might edit it if I'm feeling cute, tehee

Warning: Minors shoo, NSFW, Dark AU(?), Fem! MC, Bad English

Imagine:

LustHub is a site where Denizens could watch any type of Sexual categories be it Philias, Roleplays, and genre. Just search whatever you want and it will be there!

If not then you are always to make an account and post your own sexual deviancy or you can also pay and request a Lust Demon to do a video to your liking since they are obviously always the top streamers of the site.

With that in mind you must know the new rising Category of LustHub and that is......

*drum roll*

Human Porn!!!

That's right folks Human Porn, getting so much attention lately as MC progress with their achievements. Because phew you telling me this cute little human who are stereotypically weak and small in all realms standard is collecting pacts from the 7 princes?!?! Not only that, they are now Solomon the Greatest sorcerer's Apprentice? What's next Lord Diavolo and Barbatos having a soft spot for them hahahaha.... Oh...

I mean how can these lesser demons resist a forbidden fruit that is the MC that both can be a sub and dom them. Like plese MC use your Whip of Love on them too!

They are sooo jealous with the brothers whom you can command to get in their knees and be called a bad dog!

It is Canon that Devils always give in to temptation and they would gladly sink themselves in MC if not for her guard dogs, yikes!

But if MC herself is doing the beating then *insert the fboy face emoji * say less there are demons that are into that, you can punch them, kick them, pull their hair please they are A-OK being stabbed, biting and scratching are on the table. You can use fire! There are no off limits to this degenerates.

So anyway what do they do if they cannot have the real thing? Go the LustHub! Where you can request a shapeshifters a video of MC getting railed in any scenario you want!

The brothers, lord Diavolo, and Barbatos tried to stop this from spreading too much, but oh well, they too enjoy this type of videos. After all, they are demons too.

Looks like you got some lots of disciplining to do MC!

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me mc #OM #obey me x reader #om x reader #obey me brothers #18+ mdni

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rklover13 · 4 months

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Helluva Boss and Hazbin Hotel are inconsistent in their origins, not just the world building

I want to post something I've been thinking about for a while, and I haven't seen it mentioned too much in the critical community.

The world of HB/HH is a mess, and I don't mean the worldbuilding of the shows.

Disclaimer/Info: I grew up in the Protestant church, specifically: Methodist, Southern Baptist, and Charismatic. I am very familiar with Protestant Christianity in the US, including the Evangelical church thanks to a family member. I am no longer religious, but not quite atheist, and I wanted to shout into the void.I will say that I do not particularly care about the inaccuracies. I grew up with so much media misconstruing mainstream beliefs, and now, I just don't care about what Vivziepop does in regards to whether something is accurate or not. This is more of a ramble about why the elements are clashing. Helluva Boss and Hazbin Hotel pull from a long list of sources when it comes to world building and they all contribute to criticisms of the execution.

TLDR : Vivziepop pulls from varied, disparate sources, and does not integrate them in a logical way, making the world of Helluva Boss/Hazbin Hotel an even larger mess.

The main inspirations:

Dante's Inferno: This one is pretty obvious. The idea of rings of Hell come from Dante's Inferno specifically. Except, she isn't depicting the rings Dante described: Limbo, Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Wrath, Heresy, Violence, Fraud, and Treachery. (Source https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Inferno_(Dante))

Seven Deadly Sins: The concept of the deadly sins originated in the fourth century, and was revised in the sixth. (Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seven_deadly_sins)

Hell: This one is obvious. Vivziepop is depicting Christian Hell as a place where sinners are tormented for all eternity. Hell does not exist in the canon Bible, and not in the way churches preach about it. (Source: https://www.paulmclellan.com/blog/2019/4/9/hell-as-a-lake-of-fire-for-eternal-punishment-does-not-exist-in-the-bible). Lots of misconstrued verses lead to this idea, and I suggest looking more into it. Okay, so Christian Hell, as taught by churches in let's say in mainstream Western Christianity (US caveat aside). That's perfectly fine!

But then we get Alastor. Before I say anything else, I am white, and I fully acknowledge, appreciate, and defer to the criticisms of depicting a long-demonized religion.

Vivziepop declared Alastor mixed after she was criticized for using Vodou symbols in the pilot when it first aired. The problem with this? It's not canon. If it isn't depicted within the work, it shouldn't be considered gospel. It's like JK Rowling declaring Dumbledore gay. It does not matter if it isn't depicted. Either way, we have a sinner associated with another religion in Hell... which means, to be consistent in this world, there would be sinners of EVERY SINGLE OTHER RELIGION. Because that is the Hell that churches teach! Anyone who does not believe in Christianity is sentenced to eternal suffering. So there should be a helluva (couldn't resist) lot of sinners that follow Hinduism, Islam, Judaism (yep, God's chosen people, but they would be sent to Hell in mainstream Christian doctrine), etc. But, Viv wouldn't dare to depict that (I am not saying she should). If one religion is depicted in Hell, then ALL religions must be depicted in Hell. Onto the next big thing:

Demon Origins: So, we have mainstream depictions of Hell, and also Dante's inferno, and now we are adding in...

Demons from the Lesser Key of Solomon including Paimon and Stolas (Sources: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Johann_Weyer; https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_demons_in_the_Ars_Goetia).

Asmodeus from the Book of Tobit. This book is canon in the Eastern Orthodox, but not in the Jewish Orthodox, or the Protestant.. conglomeration (Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Book_of_Tobit).

The Seven Deadly Princes from Peter Binsfield (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Classification_of_demons#Binsfeld's_classification_of_demons)

And then a few canon (as in Biblical canon), demons like Leviathan, Satan and Lucifer.

It's an interesting pull, a lot of demonology books popped up in the 16th century. But, it makes it cluttered. The Lesser Key of Solomon has 72 demons alone! It's plenty good for an afterlife depiction. So Vivziepop has mixed in many sources to depict many demons that don't actually go with the demons in Inferno (for further reading: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Malebranche_(Divine_Comedy)). Instead, she mixes the Seven Princes, with the Seven Deadly Sins, and makes those the rings. And finally:

LILITH

Lilith is a fascinating figure that I really only learned more about recently. Lilith is not canonical in any orthodoxy that I am aware of. She appeared in the Alphabet of Sirach, a work from around 700-1000 CE. I haven't been able to find sources on if she was a part of Jewish culture prior to that time, but I will admit I'm not going SUPER in depth, and here is some further reading: https://www.jewishvirtuallibrary.org/alphabet-of-ben-sira https://www.learnreligions.com/legend-of-lilith-origins-2076660

Lilith is not in Biblical canon, or in the books I previously mentioned. She was mentioned in a few works in the 1800s, as well as in one of Aleister Crowley's books. A quick overview of her figure is that she is thought to be Adam's first wife, who refused to be submissive (and in some teachings, refused to have sex in the Missionary position), and left the Garden of Eden. Some teachings say that she became the mother of demons. Personal gripe, Lilith could have been incorporated more into Hazbin Hotel because like, give me a dominant woman, who is also a mother, and can fuck up all the demons. So to tally, we have: Rings of Hell, but not Dante's. Seven deadly princes from one author in the 16th century, tied to the seven deadly sins from the fifth. Ars Goetia, from another author in the 16th century. Lucifer AND Satan (traditionally, these are considered the same beings, which would make sense for the Hell she is depicting) Traditional church teachings of sinners being tormented for all eternity Demons from the Bible, but also Lilith, who is not a canon part of any of the Abrahamic religions (as best as I can tell). I could also go into how there are only cherubs (weak little guys in the show), and angels. When she could go hard with depicting the hierarchy of angels, after all, she's doing complex nonsense with the demons. (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hierarchy_of_angels) All of this leads to a very confused and messy world. Sure, something like this could work! But it definitely doesn't in Vivziepop's world. End of ramble, and for the amazing creative people that are doing rewrites, maybe some things mentioned here can help!

#helluva boss critical #hazbin hotel critical #helluvaboss critism #hazbin hotel criticism #vivziepop critical #vivziepop criticism #long post #tw: religion

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devildomwriter · 6 months

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Raphael Birthday Special 100 Fun Facts

1. Raphael enjoys coming-of-age sports dramas

2. Raphael wishes the war were forgiven rather than it never happening, as evidenced in his ideal hallucinations in season 4

3. Raphael was so close to Lucifer and his brothers that everyone assumed he would join Lucifer’s side in the celestial war

4. Raphael, when having to deal with Michael, sometimes wishes he’d just followed Lucifer

5. Raphael was the youngest angel ever to be promoted to Seraph

6. Simeon claims that Raphael is scarier than any demon when he has a spear in his hand

7. Out of all the brothers, Taphael seems to have a soft spot for Belphegor

8. Raphael chased Asmodeus with his spear after learning Asmo had snuck off to the human world to party

9. The brothers would often rip and tear their clothes while running from Raphael so Raphael learned to patch and repair clothes eventually making it a hobby

10. Not knowing that Luke was compared to a Chihuahua, Raphael sewed a Chihuahua patch onto one of Luke’s belonging

11. Raphael is unable to read the room and caused Satan to flip out after comparing him to Lucifer

12. Raphael never let Mammon in his room in the Celestial Realm as he was worried about germs and other things

13. Raphael has a very unrefined palette

14. Raphael loves Solomon’s cooking

15. Not knowing how others feel about Solomon’s cooking, Raphael made Luke eat Solomon’s food so he’d grow big and strong

16. Raphael did not notice when his hand caught fire during an obstacle course climb

17. Raphael is an amazing singer

18. Raphael was often asked by the brothers to sing to them as they enjoyed it so much

19. When Belphegor got lost in a tree in the Celestial Realm it was Raphael who found and rescued him

20. Luke claims Raphael scolds the brothers so much because he genuinely cares about them

21. As a prank the brothers once replaced the sugar with salt in a cookie recipe but Raphael enjoyed it so much he asked them to make more

22. Mammon once hid a frog in a book to prank Michael but it was Raphael who stumbled into the prank and he demands no one bring it up

23. When Simeon became human it was Raphael who continued to check on him in the human world to make sure he was okay

24. Raphael is described as being meticulous, methodical, and extremely strict

25. Raphael is the one stuck looking after Michael and his ridiculous demands

26. Raphael’s official birthday is September 29th, making him a Libra

27. Raphael is one of the strongest fighters in the Celestial Realm

28. Raphael’s official job is a Hit-Man for the Celestial Realm

29. Raphael does have wings in his angelic form, as Mammon once tried to sell bird feathers to the lesser angels, claiming they were Raphael’s

30. Raphael is the angel that Michael trusts the most

31. Raphael is one of the most respected angels in the Celestial Realm

32. Raphael is worried that Michael may want to attend RAD

33. When Michale snuck off to the Devildom disguised as Raphael, Raphael took over all of his duties

34. Raphael knows Solomon as the man who fought the Devildom all on his own

35. Raphael was the first of the new characters to make a move on MC

36. Raphael starred in a short film Satan made

37. Raphael asked Solomon to create a camera that would always take pictures from the best angle

38. Raphael accidentally saved everyone from certain death when he ate all of the food Solomon had made as a surprise

39. Raphael believe everyone is very kind and generous when they offer him their portions of Solomon’s cooking

40. Raphael mastered Kung-fu just by watching movies

41. The only thing Raphael said in his introduction to RAD as a new exchange Student was “Hello.”

42. Raphael used to drink heavy with Lucifer and Michael

43. Raphael doesn’t care how food tastes as long as it looks appetizing

44. Raphael keeps all his important keys on a Zombie Iguana keychain Luke gave him

45. Raphael has the power to call forth a rain of spears from the heavens

46. Raphael would usually punish the brothers by calling down his spears upon them

47. Whenever Raphael would chase around one of the brothers with a spear, the other brothers would gang together to go fight him

48. Raphael nearly smited a demon with his spears when he thought he was being ignored

49. Raphael believes Luke is a shining example of what an angel ought to be

50. Raphael enjoys watching true-crime

51. Raphael worked with Satan and Barbatos to surround a sleeping Belphegor with spears and crime tape to recreate a scene from their favorite show

52. Raphael worked together with Mephistopheles to throw a Christmas party

53. Raphael believes a few spears is an acceptable replacement for a Christmas tree

54. Raphael dropped his Student handbook while chasing Mammon for pulling a ridiculous prank on him. When MC gave it back he was so grateful he offered to help them with anything they needed

55. When the laundry machine overflowed with suds, Raphael didn’t know what to do so he called down his spears upon it

56. Raphael believes Simeon is a handful

57. Raphael’s immediate answer to stopping a problem is to call down his spears

58. Raphael has to retold the laundry after Solomon does it so it will look better and seems distressed when he is called away and Solomon is left on his own.

59. Raphael praised Mephistopheles when he saved Luke, likely the first time he’d complimented a demon

60. Raphael’s excuse for always calling down spears on the brothers is they were “simply too unruly”

61. Raphael once went sightseeing in the Celestial Realm with Lucifer but they recall the most memorable part being Michael’s face when they forgot to buy souvenirs

62. Raphael believes most Devildom products look dodgy and is concerned by the amount of skulls

63. Raphael enjoys demonus

64. Raphael prefers quiet places and if you cannot find him he is somewhere quiet

65. When Belphegor was attempting to make Raphael smile he didn’t until Belphegor gave up and feel asleep as it reminded him of the old days

66. It’s hard to decipher what Raphael is thinking since he doesn’t talk much

67. Raphael often helps Luke study

68. Raphael is offended if MC accidentally mistakes him for Michael as he believes Michael is a socially inept weirdo

69. When a chimera attacked Simeon, Raphael was so enraged he immediately sought vengeance

70. It is said Raphael rarely smiles

71. Michael and Lucifer are the only people Raphael is said to respect

72. The room in Purgatory Hall Raphael stays in used to be used as a storage room by Leviathan

73. When Raphael is in a dream world where the brothers are back in the celestial realm he refused to wake up until Lucifer was summoned to bring him back

74. Whenever the brothers would ask Raphael to play with them he would deny them by telling them if they had time to play they had time to pray

75. Raphael is said to have a snarky attitude to the point Lucifer used to find him unpleasant to be around

76. No one is safe from Raphael’s harsh remarks as he even insults Michale who, he deeply respects

77. Raphael used to scold Beelzebub for his lack of control of his powers

78. When asked about his level of cooking, Simeon tells MC it’s better not to know

79. When Raphael attempts complicated recipes he causes chaos in the kitchen to the point Luke started screaming in fear

80. Raphael is a sleepy drunk and if he has too much he can fall asleep mid-sentence

81. Raphael has an eye for detail

82. Raphael sometimes does not notice anything in his surrounding, once not even realizing Belphegor was speaking with him

83. Raphael ignores non-verbal cues

84. Raphael believes Satan is so similar to Lucifer is uncanny

85. Raphael quickly noticed torn clothes or loose threads as he immediately noticed when MC’s shirt had frayed and fixed it with great skill

86. When they went to a concert together Raphael learned all the lines beforehand and everyone enjoyed hearing him sing while he enjoyed singing with MC

87. Raphael owns the Peeking-Out-From-Behind-a-Pole Diavolo Cup-cutie

88. When they swapped rooms Raphael seemed confused that Simeon spent the entire night trying to clean up his room

89. Raphael takes meticulous notes in his Student handbook, highlighting pages, leaving sticky notes and more to help him study

90. When solomon got an extremely comfortable sofa, Raphael warned against it as anyone without extreme self control may laze about in it the entire day, but it quickly called out by Simeon for having fallen victim to it

91. Raphael requests dishes from Solomon

92. Raphael enjoys Moe Moe Animal cake, Stewed Orthrus, Death’s Door hot sauce, and food with flavors too strong for most people to handle

93. Raphael made outfits for his cursed doll after seeing Leviathan do so. Everyone says the outfits he made were very cute.

94. Michael asked Raphael for so many souvenirs when he went on vacation that Simeon and MC had to help him get them all as he barely made a dent in the list even with his arms full

95. Raphael prefers getting souvenirs with Logos, that way everyone knows where you’ve been

96. When Solomon accidentally froze Raphael’s demonus, Raphael seemed so sad that Solomon immediately poured him another glass

97. When assigned to make thank you cards for his friends, Raphael made everyone the exact same card and was forced to redo them

98. When Raphael is really enjoying himself he will start humming

99. Raphael says he could spend days in the the most expensive Devildom boutique due to his enjoyment inspecting all the high quality material used

100. Raphael is not good at doing his own makeup, it was described as a mess on his face

#obey me shall we date #obey me raphael #obey me happy birthday raphael #obey me fun facts

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