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I do love the monsterfucking & romance genre so so much, but I refuse to get into the monster shifting bullshit. So he's a werewolf or a dragon or a vampire or [insert any monster here], which is great, awesome even - but you only find him hot when he shifts to his human form?? weak. pathetic. you need to open your mind I don't want no oiled up, dehydrated, tiktok thirst trap looking ass dude with the most generic haircut you can possibly imagine. when I say I want to fuck the monster I mean THE MONSTER

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solas and inquisitor friendship is so dangerous. how many hours did he spend taking care of you, watching over you as you slept while the anchor in your hand got worse with each rift you closed. how many nights did you spend with him, leaning over his desk as you poured over maps and journals and old books, trying to find the way forward. how many days were spent traveling across thedas with him at your side, guiding you with a wisdom that always seemed so far from your reach.

and he does all of this knowing that he will leave you, one day. that he is guiding you towards his own path of ruin, and the anchor will eventually kill you when he is not there to slow its effects. solas and inquisitor are soo dangerous to think about.

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First & Last Words: Doctors 9-15

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Dear, sweet, Littlefoot, do you remember the way to the Great Valley?  I guess so. But why do I have to know if you’re going to be with me? I’ll be with you. Even if you can’t see me. What do you mean I can’t see you? I can always see you.

The Land Before Time(1988) dir. Don Bluth

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The Devil and the Servant

Part LXIII – The Devil's Mother

Warning: adult themes, sexual themes

    Elspeth had told him more of her home life in Calimshan, and about her father. In truth, Raphael had no interest in any of that. His interest lied in what made Elspeth choose to make a deal with Mephistopheles. As it happened, she had not. Not at the start, anyway.     When Elspeth and her twin sister's father had been killed, it had been Lilidh that had sought revenge. Elspeth wanted to run back to Cormyr, where her grandparents would have taken them in and made sure that they were safe. Upset as she was, she did not feel revenge was the answer. Typical of a person like her. She was a Cleric, after all.     Raphael refused to believe that Elspeth was some timid and overly shy noblewoman, however. When she'd mustered up the strength to call out his name and demand his attention, there had been fire inside that voice, inside her undead heart. She was not as weak as she appeared to be, or at least... as Mephistopheles and the Hells had made her.     Both twins were stubborn, it appeared. Lilidh wanted to seek revenge for the killing of their father, with blood and sweat, and anger. Elspeth thought that going back to Cormyr would grant them power through strength and alliance. They were of a smaller house, and it would not have broken into outright war if they attacked each other, but it would have at least kept the siblings safe, and their father's killer would be dealt with.     Instead, Lilidh took it upon her own hands to seek out the path of a devil. Becoming a warlock was a quick way to powers beyond the realm, and it only cost one, little thing: a soul. But she didn't want just any devil, she wanted a powerful devil that was strong enough to cause eternal suffering to those that wronged her.     Gaining the favour of Asmodeus himself was not so simple, nor was it when it came to Mephistopheles, but Mephistopheles was certainly desperate to gain attention on the Material Plane when it came to his cults. So Mephistopheles it had been.     Elspeth had attempted to sway her sister's acts, but a devil was too strong. Raphael had seen it before, so many times, but personally... it hit very close, for Korrilla and Hope had been so very similar.     Their master had been cruel, and Raphael had offered them both a way out of his ownership. Hope fought and fought, and kept on fighting him, whilst Korrilla happily pledged herself to him. Lilidh and Elspeth had been no different, and something strange settled in Raphael's belly at the thought of him and his father being so damn alike.     Anger. Disgust. He hated Mephistopheles, and he wanted to be far greater than him! So he refused to believe any of it, and denial consumed him, too proud to admit that they were the same.

    "Mephistopheles was not pleased when I denied him. I had my gifts, I did not need his, and that insulted the Archdevil," Elspeth informed, her head lowering for a moment. Her hands picked at the rags around her wrists as she still sat opposite her son in his chambers.     They were not pleasant memories, but they had also happened thousands of years ago now. She had been a young woman when Mephistopheles had claimed her and Lilidh, and many of those years had been spent within Cania against her own will. It wasn't that Elspeth had given in over just a few months of torture. She had held onto her sanity for years. Over a decade... A decade of the devil's obsession was a long time for a mortal, even if Raphael might have thought the opposite.

    No doubt his father was upset, Raphael agreed. He knew Mephistopheles' temperament and ego. Being denied time and again would have been infuriating. If Raphael's ego was any less, he may have sympathised with his father, knowing how Hope had done the very same. However, he was not sympathetic towards his father, and thought it only amusing that Elspeth had continued to deny him. Good, let his father simmer in that rage. Let him suffer the gaping wounds to his fragile ego.     "I can already picture his displeasure," he said, his thumb under his chin as he listened to his mother, his other hand at the arm of his chair. His legs were still crossed, and there was a wine glass on the vanity he sat by, half empty now, as if the two of them were passing idle gossip and not the torments of the Hells themselves.

    Displeasure was one word for it, but Elspeth would have used another. Mephistopheles had raged at her rejection. "Lilidh gave her soul to him, and embraced your father's powers as a warlock. She killed Omari herself. I was not there to see it." But her sister had told her, in every gory detail, as she sat in a hanging cell over a bloody pit within the dungeons of Mephistar. Hovering over every man, woman and child that had been before her, as they decayed in the stench of the abyss below.     Was she pleased that the prince was gone? Yes. She was. She was no innocent maiden, she had felt the tendrils of vengeance and hate inside her just as anyone else would have—for grief was a monster in itself—but she also knew when to be reasonable. She knew that killing the man that killed their father would not bring him back. House Bakkir died the day Lilidh had promised both of them to the Archdevil of Cania. But they weren't dead, were they? Raphael still lived. If anything, he might well be the very last blood of their line. Lilidh had bared no children, and when Mephistopheles had planted his seed inside her, Lilidh had become jealous and upset, saying that it should have been her. She had resented her ever since, or maybe she had the moment she'd denied the Archdevil of his wishes. Either way, whatever sibling love that had once been between them was far beyond repair. Elspeth would have forgiven her, but Lilidh had been consumed by her hate and jealousy. The Hells had taken her, and in the end, there was nothing that Elspeth could do.

    "But you, my dear," Raphael smirked, "rejected him." His smile grew, eyes lighting up just a little. Elspeth was not so timid as she pretended to be. She had been rebellious. She had been stubborn, and there was a sense of pride that swelled in his very human heart. Because he knew that he came from someone that had denied Mephistopheles' advances. Of course, it had ended badly for Elspeth, she'd still been turned to a lich, but for how long, he wondered. How long had she been fighting the Cold Lord and spitting in his face?     Mephistopheles was a force to be reckoned with, even he knew that. Raphael would never go up against his father without the Crown of Karsus. It was why he'd wanted it so damn badly, because he knew without it, he would not stand a chance unless he was fully promoted. Zariel would only promote him so far, and then he'd need to gain power elsewhere. The Crown would have given him the godhood to make her bend the knee, and then his power would have grown from there, until he was able to finally make his father bow to him and lick the very dirt from his boots.     But here, Elspeth sat, across from him, still there, still alive (or undead). The point was, Mephistopheles had not killed her, and that meant his father had a weakness that he could exploit. Perfect.     "For how long, dear Elspeth, did he torture you? For how long did you scream inside the cells of Mephistar? How long until your throat became raw and your eyes burned, crusted with the salt from your tears."

    Elspeth's lips pressed together, her head raising again so their eyes met. "I was three and twenty when my father died. It took but a few months for my sister to gain her powers and your father's attention. Mephistopheles' torments?" She frowned. "I was six and thirty when I gave birth to you. When my soul left my body."

    Thirty six, she was. Eternally now, in her undead lichdom. Beneath the pale skin of her rotting flesh, she did still have plump cheeks and lips that resembled Haarlep's when his incubus took on the Archduchess' form. She was a pretty thing, and there was no denying it. It was no wonder his father had become obsessed. There was no true prize other than a beautiful soul that finally bent the knee and worshipped.     How many times had Raphael grown hard over the thought of Hope bowing to him, on her hands and knees, pleading for his forgiveness, telling him how much she loved him? Elspeth was no different, he imagined. Mephistopheles would have felt the same way. Love? It was not true. Raphael had no romantic feelings for Hope, just obsession when it came to breaking her. A devil did not love, after all, and Mephistopheles certainly wasn't capable of anything remotely close to compassion.     "Thirteen years in my father's clutches." Raphael tutted, his hand lowering and steepling his fingers as he leant his elbows onto the arms of the chair. "Impressive, Elspeth. It turns out you have bite after all. And here I thought you were soft and timid, and shy. A pitiful creature, not worthy of my time."

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This.

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Just another brick in the wall.

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The Devil and the Servant

Part LXII – Familiar Territory

Warning: adult themes, sexual themes

    With the Orphic Hammer safely returned to Raphael's private archives, Sornin was not certain how he felt about being back inside the House of Hope. The first time, he had been a guest only for a small amount of time, and the second... they had broken in. They hadn't had much time to sight see, it had been them trying to find the very hammer that they had just returned to the devil. Then there had been when Haarlep had taken them through, but another time that was short. How long would their stay be this time?     He supposed their blessing was the fact that they all knew Raphael wanted out of Cania as soon as possible. Yes, they might have been 'guests' within his House again, but it would only be for as long as it took Raphael to figure out whatever deal he was working on in Cania that Haarlep did not feel the need to go into details for. Why would they be privy to such information, right? The devils would demand everything from them, but be damned if they got a crumb in return.     The House was different this time, devoid of all of those souls that had once been there, hovering and wailing in their despair and eternal agony. Raphael's presence certainly left for a less theatrical abode. There was no music playing, at least, and no devil singing.     Inside the boudoir, he knew that he should not be there, but it was a familiar place, and one of the rooms that had been rather untouched by the attack—despite their sneaking in and Haarlep sleeping with him. This... was Raphael's bedroom. A place of intimacy and power, but vulnerability also. Haarlep had said something along the lines of Raphael being a bottom, and the fact that Raphael was lousy in bed. Hard to believe, considering he was a devil, not to mention the fact that he slept with an incubus. Surely Haarlep had taught him many tricks. Was it all just lies? All just a way for Haarlep to make themselves feel better about being a bed pet?     It reminded him of the Underdark, back in the temple of Lolth. He had been a servant, a slave to those matrons, and whenever they wanted to feel his skin beneath their fingertips, he would be there, like an obedient dog, ready to bark and bite at her command.     The bed was empty now, sheets pulled taut and perfectly placed by one of the few debtors that now roamed the place. There, upon that bed, he had allowed Haarlep to sit atop him, to feel him sink inside him in Raphael's visage. The memory made him swallow thickly as the pleasure prickled against his skin. Haarlep now had his glamour, and he had felt it when the incubus had used it. Every so often, out of nowhere, this sense of pleasure would rush all up his spine, and would make the flesh on his skin prickle. If he had hair on his body, he knew it would stand.

    It was no lie when he'd requested Raphael's face. He did find the old devil attractive. He was frustrating and annoying, but that had nothing to do with his physic. He was pompous and rich and snobby, but what else was one to expect from the son of Mephistopheles? Raphael was no doubt a spoilt brat. He, of course, did not know the ins and outs of Raphael's personal life, but he acted like he was better than everything and everyone. It was impossible not to see him as a snobby little cunt of a man.     Still... Sornin did not detest the man. The devil. He was powerful, even if he had been brought down by him and his companions. It was a worthy battle amongst them, and one that had almost left all of them dead. Raphael should still feel proud of his death, it had been a masterpiece when he'd fallen, when he'd finally fallen. Any warrior would be proud, but Raphael was no warrior. He was a devil. A devil that made every post his stage. Well... it appeared they missed the lines of that play, and made their own when they'd defeated him.     Now that there was no threat of a devil looming over them and catching them, he could relax his shoulders. Though it would be unwise to allow his guard down entirely, especially when the resident of the boudoir was likely lurking. This was Haarlep's nesting ground, and his territory. As a druid, Sornin had learned much of nature and animals alike, and Haarlep was no different than any other beast; all of those baser instincts raw, topped off with the intelligence of a fiend. A dangerous combination and the perfect predator.     Sornin found that he had always been interested in what others would see as monsters. The spiders within the Underdark, their sacred creatures, had become his friends. The giant lizards that they rode as mounts within the city. The owlbear that accompanied them now, and protected their children. He had found comforts in them all, and Haarlep? Well... he'd even found comfort in that as the incubus had taken him, kissing him and making him feel things he'd never felt before.     But it was false, wasn't it. It was all tricks of the fiend. Halsin made him feel true love, and cherished and understood. Haarlep's physical pleasure was one thing, but the fiend could never understand what they felt for one another, what they shared between them. It was all shallow. Once, he would have laughed, and even been on Haarlep's side, but now... It was different. He'd changed, he'd grown. Halsin had allowed that.     He made his way up the steps, his bare feet padding on the marble floor and the long, red carpets. It must please Raphael to know that his house was back in order. No more hellfire burning up the walls and taking the tapestries with them. Someone had replaced them, potentially Korrilla, since the last time they'd been inside the house. But there, untouched by their battle, stood the portrait of Raphael, looming over the boudoir, and where Haarlep had given them the key to the safe behind it.     His mismatched eyes looked up to meet the devil. It did not look entirely like Raphael. Powerful, yes, and beautifully painted. Someone had made Raphael look like a sorcerer or something... maybe a wizard with that staff in his hands. Either way, everything about it screamed the Hells and evil. The eyes glowed and undressed him, laid him bare and made him feel like he should be bowing to his knees. It was the same feeling that the matrons eyes had given him for so many years. It was difficult not to fall, to bow his head and pray. But inside Sornin was also anger. Pent up anger that he had been so brainwashed, that he had allowed himself to be a plaything for so damn long.     He wanted to be free. He wanted to rid himself of these demons, of his past, of the matrons of Lolth and their assassins. Please... please let Raphael keep his word. If the bastard devil didn't, he wasn't sure what he'd do.

    "Well, well, little mouse."

    Sornin turned, where Haarlep was on the bed. How!? He'd literally just been looking at the bed before, and it had been empty. The damn incubus was stealthy, despite the wings he carried. He was not wearing the small leathers and chains that he'd been wearing the first time they'd met, but what was a rather slimming and beautiful dress that was clearly made to shape a woman despite Haarlep's masculine form. It parted at his chest, an open window that went halfway down, showing off muscle and hair. Not something he'd been expecting to see the incubus in, considering his usual garb. Did Haarlep actually own a single item of clothing, or did he just play dress up in Raphael's clothes? If he was wearing his glamour constantly within the House of Hope, why not pinch the devil's clothes? Well... this particular item surely wasn't Raphael's... unless he liked to dress up like women, anyway. Perhaps a special gift for his incubus. Either way, it was distracting, parted at the sides which allowed red thighs to show. Raphael did have a very lovely body, but Haarlep wore it like perfection.

    "What familiar territory," Haarlep gleamed, leaning back against the pillows. His tail swayed across the silk sheets that he'd missed so much, the scent of Raphael and Sornin still upon them. Months had passed, but the entire room still smelled of Raphael. His perfumes embedded into the sheets and walls, and his personal scent within the waters and the tapestries, clinging and claiming their ownership upon the house.     The dress he was wearing fell between his legs, open at the side to allow for flexible movement when it came to his legs, not to mention entirely compliment them between the silks. It was nice to be back inside the House of Hope, where he could be amongst the belongings. He missed playing dress up.

    Sornin frowned, folding his arms. Haarlep had already said that it was forbidden for them to share a bed, so he shouldn't be concerned about the incubus trying to bed him again. That didn't matter, though, did it? Not when Haarlep was so damn alluring anyway. This whole damn time, he'd wanted nothing more than to share that experience again. Halsin would have allowed him, but it would be wrong. It would be wrong to bed Haarlep, even if they'd gotten more familiar with each other.     An incubus was a fiend of the lower planes, an evil creature that lured others in for their souls. No better than any of the other devils, although Haarlep didn't follow the rules like pure devils of Baator. But Sornin was a creature born of evil, too. How was he any better, when he'd killed for less.     "Soon, this will all be over, and you can have your boudoir, or whatever you call it, to you and Raphael again." Boudoir? Sornin didn't even know what the fuck that was. Some fancy name for a bedroom that had a bath in it? He had no idea, and he didn't really care. He only knew it was called that from Nubaldin and the Archivist, who both insisted he come and visit the resident. So they did, with their perfumed invitation they'd conned from the tiefling servant, and there sat Haarlep, upon the bed, much like he sat now, all pretty and intoxicating.

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The devil you know

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I love finding out new things about Saint Robin Williams