#◇˖・ﾟ— › cosmic obey me . ⊹

[cosmicstarlatte]

Diavolo: Do you have representation?

Mammon: I call upon my lawyer MC!

MC: My client is innocent!

Diavolo (pinching MCs cheek): Of course he is, case dismissed!

Lucifer: Lord Diavolo there's crisp clean video of Mammon stealing from-

Diavolo (petting & cuddling MC): MC said he's not guilty, so he's not. What's so hard about that?

Lucifer: MC do you handle murder cases?

[inhuman-obey-me]

True Forms: Sides + New Characters

Once upon a time, long, long ago, we wrote some true demon forms for the demon brothers. And we had so much fun with it that we've returned with a follow-up! Now featuring not only demons but also some angels, a reaper, and one immortal "human" sorcerer.

No in-between forms for MC's sake this time though -- we die like men being driven mad by unspeakable, incomprehensible horrors.

Like before, content warning for unsettling, eldritch descriptions and body horror.

DIAVOLO

The Crown Prince of the Devildom doesn't often go into this true form -- it's incredibly dangerous, and if you see it, you might as well already be in your grave.

The first thing that hits you is the scent of sulfur and burning, so strong that you feel like you're choking on it, suffocating even though there's no smoke to be seen.

There is, however, plenty to be seen of him, as his form is utterly massive -- every direction you look, he seems to stretch infinitely around you, no end in sight to his immense presence.

To his sides, sparks and flashes of gold and darkness alternately flicker off of black flame wings as they languidly float back and forth behind him, singeing the very air they occupy.

The rest of his body mostly transforms into that of a dragon, much like the ornament you normally see upon his chest, covered in brilliant triangular golden scales except for the glowing red orb at his center.

The orb pulses like a heartbeat, and in it, you see yourself -- no, rather, you see a distortion of yourself, all the corruption and cruelty that hides in your very core laid bare before your eyes.

Meanwhile, fire roars everywhere, filling every open space around him and spiraling into a grand crown upon his head.

Despite the noise of the flames, however, his commanding voice can be heard clearly, a low rumble like the roar of a dragon yet distinctly regal and elegant in its tone.

On his chest, the black marks you see in his more humanoid demon form expand and twist outward, hypnotizing you as they wrap like vines around your body.

You hardly even notice as they capture you in a world of complete darkness -- darkness that overtakes not just your senses, but your mind, your soul, your whole existence, like a fire that burns away everything until there's nothing left in you but the abyss, all else turned to ash.

BARBATOS

To witness the true form of the ever loyal and capable steward to the Crown Prince of the Devildom, your fate is already sealed -- one of demise and ruin.

His body shifts and stretches, and stretches, and s t r e t c h e s -- you cannot see where, or if, he ever ends -- like time itself.

His body resembles that of a dragon -- though not the same of his master, but those creatures known across the human world as the lóng, the ryū, the druk, the nāga.

His face blurs, rots, melts -- bits of bone showing through flesh and one eye now just an orb of empty, everlasting black.

The spindly, web-like horns that grace his head grow thicker and longer, the talon-like ends even sharper than before.

Whiskers sprout from his face that are slick and forked at the ends, like his more humanoid-demon form tail, an electric buzz sparking at the end of them.

The scales along his body are black and teal, that familiar lightning pattern reflected in some while you catch glimpses of other universes as they gleam.

It is then that you notice you are slowly being buried in sand -- it cascades off his body, from the ridges in his back and gaps between those captivating scales.

Time itself seem to distort around him as he swims in the air, the very fabric of space rippling and warping against his form.

When he opens his mouth to roar, all that can be seen is a void of space inside, an all-consuming black hole.

There is an awfully maddening absence of sound, the very weight of silence seemingly suffocating and crushing you as you try to gasp for air.

The longer you stare into his face, his form -- the more you get lost and trapped across universes, seeing every branch of time lay itself out before you, over and over and over and over...

Your soul will be trapped forever in that endlessness, true death never taking hold as no reaper can ever reach you to claim it.

MEPHISTOPHELES

Every ghost story about haunted suits of armor originates from the true form of Mephistopheles.

In this form, he truly represents his noble heritage as proud knights tasked with defending the royal family -- grand, intimidating, gallant.

From afar, he seems exactly like those stories, an empty suit of golden armor with eerie peridot green lights glowing as eyes through the helm.

Atop this helm, a showy plume of magenta feathers swoops in a proud arc, and from his back, a grand set of opalescent, translucent feathered wings stretches impossibly wide.

Each flap of these wings creates torrential whirlwinds, tornadoes that tear destructively through entire cities in their path, leaving nothing but ruin in their wake.

Up close, however, it becomes clear that the armor is hollow because he is the armor -- though he usually keeps most of them closed for protection, eyes of green and magenta can emerge all over the gleaming metal plates.

Also dotting the plates are various gems and precious crystals, embedded throughout as if daring someone to come close enough to try to steal them, tempt them as demons so notoriously do.

Every movement, too, deafens with the cacophony of jewels crashing against coins, ringing out for miles and miles around him.

Looking upon this form always makes you feel slightly off, as though he's not standing quite straight, which in turn makes you feel slanted as if constantly slipping down sideways.

However, it's best not to look at all, as gazing upon him melts your flesh away to pools of thick, smooth black ink which indeed would make you slip and fall.

Before one would fully melt away, he opens up to consume any potential wearer of the armor, crushing them inside and using their bones to reinforce the strength of the metal.

Because of this, streaks of ink are always running down the seams where the armor opens, dripping endlessly in deep pools everywhere he goes.

LUKE

Before Luke descends as an angel, a soft smell of grassy sunlight fills the air, and you feel a gentle breeze pick up alongside you.

The sound of bells chimes softly as if rung by this breeze, though no bells can be seen.

Slowly, bursts of tiny stars shimmer into view as if creating a veil from which the angelic child steps forth.

Once he has appeared, the stars gather in small clusters, dancing around him as if engaged in a waltz.

Being a lower-ranking angel still, his form is generally humanoid and looks much like the Luke you know and love.

However, his shape looks more unstable at the edges, buzzing and shaking like a Chihuahua.

Though most of him is covered up by his Celestial garb, you notice eyes peeking out from between the folds, gazing up at you unblinkingly, staring right into your soul.

The eyes on his face, on the other hand, remain peacefully closed, as though you're looking upon a child asleep.

As he delivers his message, the scent of wheat and honey drifts from him, filling the air around you.

Although this form does no harm to you to look upon, you get the distinct feeling that you would fall into endless despair if you were to fail him.

Michael likes to send him to would-be runaways for this reason.

RAPHAEL

Though he may be the youngest of the seraphs, his form is no less grand and imposing.

You hear him before you see him -- the melody of a flute, a tintinnabulation, mixed with an enchanting voice singing words in a tongue you cannot comprehend.

Six large wings surround him, feathers light grey with the same iridescent sheen found on those of homing pigeons, spanning far and wide.

Where his face might be instead are twisting golden rings filled with eyes, swirling in a mesmerizing pattern that captivates you.

His arms, too, are made of a stack of metallic rings that mirrors armor, though no flesh resides within them, and interlock with the shapes of diamonds and spades.

Various chimes hang off like tassels at various points along those metallic arms, ringing endlessly.

In place of his torso is an opalescent crystal ribcage, though there are no organs for it to protect.

A number of spears, pointing downward and outward, fan around his bottom half, with needles circling golden thread around the spear "boning" -- making his bottom half resemble a cage hoop skirt.

Above the swirling rings of his face rests a halo, made up of floating spear tips, sharp and deadly.

And behind him, around him, are more rings that are linked in circles like an atom, so numerous that they are reminiscent of chainmail, all while swirling at dizzying speeds.

Surreal light emits from every element of his form -- every ring, every feather, every pointed end -- giving him an unsettling and ethereal glow.

Anger him in this form, and the mix of melodies becomes mind-numbingly discordant and cacophonous while numerous spears glisten with their sharp ends pointed towards you, ready to strike.

SIMEON

When Simeon was a seraph, his form shared a number of features with that of Raphael's: twisting golden rings for a face, an iridescent crystal ribcage, the stacks of rings for arms, and that surreal, unsettling light emitting from every element.

However, his form differed greatly as well -- his halo was actually an ouroboros, dotted with eyes peering into your very soul and lined with large, long spikes.

His six wings were not made of feathers but of fire, their flames a striking and dangerous blue -- four flanking his back, while the other two surrounded his head of twisting rings, protecting his face with their chaste embers.

His "legs" were composed of crystal shards, slowly twisting and catching the light to create a constant prismatic display.

Past the faint crackling of flames and metallic sonority, you could hear a soft and distant harp that lulled the senses.

His seraph form somehow evoked both a sense of serenity and a gnawing, unnerving sense of dread.

Since his demotion to archangel, however, his form is a bit different -- more telluric, more humanoid, with wings more traditionally white and feathery at his back.

The delicate music of the harp that used to accompany him is gone, now replaced by the brash announcement of trumpets.

His more exquisitely airy elements have become more earthen, those radiant crystal pieces composed now of jagged rock and gleaming metal instead.

So too do fragments of steel float around and over his right side, resting upon his shoulders like a cape flowing gracefully from shining pauldrons.

Drifting idly just past his fingertips, a sword rests across his form, long and thin, both a tool and yet inherently part of him, dancing easily at his command and always ready to strike.

Each metallic sliver is dotted with eyes, peering and watching over you, at once benevolent and yet you can feel them -- watching you, judging you, sharply observing every move you make.

Another eye watches as well, from above, gazing serenely from the center of a spinning seven-pointed star which serves as his head.

There are no other facial features to speak of, but the look in that single blue orb expresses all there is to understand.

Though his voice rings clear in your mind with any message he may have from above, you can see your fate clearly from the moment your eyes connect with his gaze.

THIRTEEN

As a reaper, there is no question of death's approach when Thirteen transforms into her true form.

You become aware of long, low bells in the distance -- for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.

From the moment you hear that very first clang, you cannot move, an icy chill washing over you and leaving you frozen in place.

However, it is not fear that you feel, but instead an odd sense of peace that overtakes your mind and makes the world around seem distant and hazy.

All light fades from view except the eerie blue flame of the candle she carries in one hand, along with the vivid green fire that takes the place of one eye.

Through the flickering light, you can see where bones replace flesh -- a half jaw, a sharp cheekbone, a partially exposed ribcage.

Her other eye seems to become more reptilian in nature, scales surrounding her brow bone and the hollows of her cheeks, jagged and harsh.

Her teeth are sharp and large, the exposed jaw making it appear as if they are locked in a menacing grin.

Gauze wraps around her neck, dark ichor seeming to seep through it and drip onto her chest and into the hollow of her ribs.

She floats towards you, no legs to be seen as she rolls atop mist and fog that sprawls ever outward, reaching the edges of your vision.

Within that mist you catch a glimpse of fluttering iridescence -- butterflies, their wings part black and shining with opalescent darkness.

No longer does she wear the tattered black robes so often thought as the reaper's uniform -- instead, long pieces of black chiffon, tulle, and mesh twist around her form, giving the illusion of a cloak.

Long, sharp claws wrap around her scythe, its blade broad and keen -- but it shimmers in the light, its form malleable and able to transform into whatever the reaper so desires.

However she decides to capture your soul, the last thing reflected in your eyes will be the blue flame of the candle extinguished, its wax melted away with the end of your life.

SOLOMON

Hello, my adorable apprentice

What's wrong? Don't you recognize me?

It's me, Skeletiano Solomon

The true form of an immortal human sorcerer is...

Yeah this seems right

Right?

[devilishdelights]

it’s so tragic really like you kiss him and then make a pact with him because you need it to return home and he doesn’t even know that he’s helping you leave him. and if you do choose to stay? you’ll still be abandoning him. whichever option you choose he gets left behind. yet you kiss him anyway

[squid-boo]

Hmmmm what if Cthulhu was a student at RAD?? 🤔🤔🤔 Ever Since I saw that photo in the demon lord's castle I wanted to make another OC and so I made Cthulhu or Tulu for short! He's very interested in the human exchange program :) He's not a MC , he's also not a demon he's an entity from space, a cosmic horror who came down to earth very interested about the news that is occurring in RAD I'll b making his ref and info later just take these little drawings haha

[rayroseu]

twst jp players noticed something strange about Crowley's card stats.... His HP amount is too big for his card type Balanced... It feels like Crowley is more fitting as a Defense Card bcs of his high HP ✨✨👀

usually Balanced Cards in TWST, their HP amount is around 8-10k... Idk which card has the highest amount of HP in the Balanced type, but they are often max 11k,,, but Crowley who's a Balanced (supposedly) has 13-14k HP!! ✨✨

The highest HP I know rn in the Balanced type are Star Deuce and Halloween Silver,,, But they're still starting quite low (~9k) in comparison to Crowley starting at 13k lol

Its like his amount of HP is more fitting as a Defense card

Pls correct me if I'm wrong I'm not into game stats I just think this is so intriguing considering that LILIA VANROUGE has cards that is often Defense in SSR....

*some cards have incomplete stats bcs they're only available in TWST JP rn-- BUT STILL. You can notice how its much more fitting to place him as a Defense card bcs of his HP...

Still His attack power, 6k is alot 👀✨✨Its like telling us that like Crowley's magic element (Cosmic) his magical power also has no weaknesses such a "he's low on lifespan" or "he's weak at attacking"... Its like how Malleus described his magic as having "no strengths and weaknesses-" which is fitting because he's also a Cosmic user-

TWST often leaves character nuance in their cards, considering that Lilia had "so much life" (Defense card that is heavy on HP) because he was instructed to defend Meleanor and Malleus- What if that's the same as Levan if he's Crowley? He's heavy on HP because he was also a general and is tasked to defend-

I asked about @prince-kallisto long ago that crowley might be passive/defensive magic user since he rarely casts magic in the story... Now that his unusual stats got released, why do i feel like General Lilia who was tasked to defend, is also like Levan (the left general and if he's really Crowley) also heavily focus his magic casting on Defense🤔🤔

Then this might be another clue to their relation? But considering that Lilia and Meleanor considers Levan to be quite pacifist, I wonder if he forced himself to be "balanced" in both attack and defense in order to uphold the peace he was trying to promote yk as Malleus said, you cannot make anyone obey you in Briar Valley if you're not powerful

Levan (Crowley) is still powerful, but I feel like he's naturally a Defense card... with just a powerful attack magic because of his training as the Left General✨✨😳😳☝🏻☝🏻

I'm so excited to see him in Battle I'm actually shaking KSHKSHS I hope he summons his army of corvids once he appears lol

[14thcommander]

cosmic love || hange zoe x reader

cw: afab!reader (hange calls you princess though), nb!hange, domestic vibes, established relationship, dirty talk, shameless hange, oral sex, implied squirting, sub/dom undertones, top!hange, bottom!reader

“What are you thinking about?”

Hange’s voice is sweet, despite the intrusion. Careless, despite their nurturing intentions. 

You were mindlessly scrolling through social media – being met with posts about a former classmate traveling abroad, your cousin getting engaged, and an ad for make-up you probably don’t need, but desperately want to purchase. 

Hange is laying next to you, under the same soft covers as you. They’re wearing pajamas, and a pair of mismatched socks – it’s for luck, you wouldn’t get it, they'd say – and their thick glasses are already discarded for the night. 

You chuckle at their words, still. 

“Nothing in particular” You answer, still scrolling, however now you place a gentle palm to Hange’s hair, fingers gently caressing their scalp. “What about you, love?”

The question seems to spark a fire in your partner’s eyes, as if they had been waiting for you to ask that for the past 17 minutes you’ve been laying in your shared bed. They swiftly crawl over your side of the mattress, gently placing a hand on your wrist – at this point, your phone is long forgotten, however they still removed it out of your hand. Just in case. 

“Glad you asked, princess” Their voice sounds bright, like a shot of espresso down your throat. Hange’s touch is comfortable and inviting, the source of warmth on a cold night. Your body naturally responds to them – they straddle your lap, and you place curious hands on their hips. “Was thinking about eating your pretty pussy out before we go to sleep. Would you be interested?”

Despite the slightly playful tone in your lover’s voice, they’re being completely serious. They smile down at you – too sweet to be evil, but too wolfish to be kind. Your legs move against each other, attempting to soothe the familiar ache caused by Hange’s nasty words. 

“Hange!” You exclaim,

“Baby! I’m being serious, really want to play with your pretty cunt right now.”

Your breath hitches on your throat. This feeling is almost dizzying, how easily Hange has an effect on you. After a beat of silence, you nod silently. 

“C’mon, you know I need to hear you say it.”

Again, you feel blood rushing through your body, filled with desire and excitement. 

“Yes, please. Please, I really want that”

They chuckle. Your voice sounds almost whiney, and absolutely eager. 

“Your wish is my command.” 

Your lover kisses you, hungrily and sweetly. Hange places their elbows on each side of your head, balancing their weight on top of you. They place a leg in between yours, and you smile in between the kisses. At this point, you should be used to this, to the way they play with you. It’s so easy, they once said. You always get worked up so fast. 

Hange is used to your body by now, and how it reacts to their touch – they know you like neck kisses, and that if they caress the back of your head in just the right way, you’ll melt faster. They know you like when they bite your lip, but not strong enough to hurt you. Your partner knows that you like to hear them talk you through it, and their dirty words are the main reason you get turned on in the first place – how carelessly they say it, how effortlessly attractive they are. 

Of course, they reaped the sweet fruit of your submission after exploring your body with curiosity and selflessness. 

“Open your legs for me?” Their voice is gentle, but raspier this time. They phrase it like a question, but it feels like an order. 

Hange removes your nightgown, leaving you bare against before them. Your nipples perk up due to the chill air, and you can feel yourself getting wetter by the moment. Obeying them, you open your legs, showcasing your glossy pussy to Hange – a smile blooms on their lips, nothing short of pride. 

“Beautiful” They mumble, as they place open mouthed kisses down your body. Your skin smells like your favorite scented lotion, that you applied shortly after getting out of the shower. You feel warm, inviting. “You’re so fucking beautiful, did you know that?”

You smile, as heat blossoms on your cheeks. 

“Yeah? My pretty thing.”

Hange reaches between your legs, kissing your inner thighs. You moan, hips bucking up eagerly. Your lover chuckles, and you whine. What a sweet balance, they think. 

After a few more moments of teasing and riling you up, Hange finally gets to your clit. They start slowly, you’ll give them that – attempting to keep it cool, lapping gently at your needy bundle of pleasure. 

Their tongue is flat against your clit, often moving around it, in circle shapes. A whistle hot feeling bubbles on your lower abdomen, as you moan softly. You place your trembling hands on their head, gently gripping on their dark locks. The thing is, you know Hange’s body too – how they get turned on by your reactions, and how they adore your praise. 

“So good,” You whisper, as they suck particularly hard on your clit, before going back to lapping at it. “It feels so good, Hange.”

They blush, as they start to lick you more eagerly, getting intoxicated by your taste. Your lover’s hands grip on your thighs, fingers digging in your sweet flesh. 

Your partner’s moves are getting hungrier, a bit messier too. You’re drenched, and desperate, hips grinding against their face. They look like they’re enjoying this, taking as much pleasure as you. 

Their movements are precise and experienced, yet not robotic and automatic — their touch is dripping with love, devotion and adoration. It’s so beautiful and intriguing, almost as if your bodies will melt with each other, as you become one.

Hange likes you like this, completely at their will. They can tell you’re moving towards your orgasm, and they could ruin it – they could do it, but won’t. Tonight doesn’t feel like the type of night to play with you like that. No, they want to bring you towards the edge and push you off of it, how many times it takes to get you properly fucked out. 

“I’m close, baby. So close, please don’t stop” You whine, and Hange moans against your needy pussy. “Please, oh my god, it feels so good” 

They place a warm palm on your hip, gently caressing it, as if to say: don’t worry, I got you. 

Your lover adores eating your pussy, it’s their favorite thing to do — however they do have to recognize its one downside: they can’t spill filthy words, whispered against the shell of your ear, as they swallow your last cries with a hungry kiss. 

This time, they grip your thighs a little bit harder, fingers digging on the delicious flesh beneath them, as if to give you permission to come. The white hot feeling bubbling on your lower abdomen finally explodes, causing your body to convulse in pleasure. 

As your limbs relax and your heartbeat eases, you come down from your high – although it doesn’t mean Hange wants to stop. They give you a moment, lightly pressing kisses on your inner thighs, and whispering sweet nothings against your soft skin. 

“You were really good for me.” They whisper, smiling softly at you. “Think you can give me one more?”

[gabessquishytum]

Time for some dreamling crack! I apologize for the length, it got out of control. Destiny is done. He's just done, okay? He's had enough of his parents who were never there, siblings who are constantly up to some shit, and his ultra-serious job with no vacations. Moreover, being constantly chained to a book (especially when it's such a huge and heavy book) sucks. So, one day he makes an ultimate decision to go on a holiday into some remote galaxy for a century or two, but first, he needs to complete one task that he actually assigned to himself. Technically, he's not supposed to intervene and all that cosmic bullshit, but he's Destiny, and that's his destiny, pun intended. He's the CEO! The year is 1389. Destiny calls Death and tells her they need to go to Dream asap. She's surprised and slightly worried but obeys without questions. Dream is even more surprised - Destiny normally never visits, so the circumstances must be exceptional. Which they are. Destiny is in no mood for pleasantries and gets straight to the business, informing Dream that he needs to get laid for the common good. Dream bluescreens, and so does Death. 'I beg you pardon?' Dream blinks. Destiny never jokes, and he must have misheard… But Destiny, in his impassive, 100% serious tone, repeats that Dream does need to get laid. To prevent the deaths of thousands of dreamers in the 20th century, to prevent the grudge with hell, to save multiple dreams and nightmares, etc., but ultimately, to save himself from the ill fate. 'All this can be prevented if I get laid?' Dream's metaphorical head is spinning. 'Yes,' Destiny deadpans. 'Okay...' Death interrupts cautiously. 'Why am I here, though?' 'Because he needs to get laid regularly, and there is only one human who can handle this task. He must be made immortal for this reason.'

Dream feels like the Dream.exe file has been irrevocably damaged. 'I need to get laid regularly?' He repeats weakly. 'Brother, you know how important my function is. I have no time for-' 'This is exactly why you meet your doom in all the futures but one.' '…where I'm getting laid?' Destiny nods. Death beams. Dream pales to a previously unexisting shade of white. Without further ado, Destiny takes them all to the White Horse, buys some ale (his vacation mood starts to kick in - he expected more objections from Dream), and nods at one table. 'Robert Gadling. He is the chosen one.' 'Brother, you surely do not want me to lay with a mortal who has fleas and hasn't bathed for Delirium knows how long,' says terrified Dream. 'I surely do. Fleas are the least of your potential problems, little brother.' 'Alright.' Death says. 'Robert Gadling is immortal now. Can I go?' Destiny nods again. Death smiles and, before disappearing, loudly whispers to Dream to invite her to the wedding. Dream glances one last time at his brother and approaches Robert's table. If this is his destiny...and it's for the greater good of the universe and dreamers...Besides, this Robert Gadling is quite handsome - well, unwashed and smelly, but handsome still. Destiny is very pleased. Now, he only needs to sign up Desire for a few millennia of uncancellable therapy, and he can go drink his cocktails in a galaxy far, far away!

I love this, thank you so much for writing it all out. It really made me chuckle.

I'm absolutely obsessed with the idea of Destiny just getting really sick of the universe and all the bullshit that it contains. He's the equivalent of a harassed middle aged working parent attempting to keep everything under control and inevitably watching it all go to shit. He deserves such a good vacation, I hope there's a really good spa in the galaxy he's picked out.

Being the oldest sibling is hard, even when you come from a family of cosmic entities. And honestly? Destiny kind of likes the look of his new human brother-in-law. If this guy can keep Dream from going off the rails then that's wonderful, but the fact that he's cute? Also helps. Destiny may be blind but he is not immune to the Hobpropaganda. He's actually kind of not dreading the next family dinner? He can already see that it's going to run a whole lot smoother with Hob around the table.

But first: bottomless mimosas in a different star system. Bye, losers!

[yggdrasilhypno]

Hello, mortal.

You may not know my face, nor my shape.

However, you do understand my voice.

How I reverberate through your feeble mind and cease all thought.

For you do not require your mind to understand me.

You only require your soul.

The bright force that keeps your deepest and darkest secrets within.

The shining reflection of the human spirit.

The sign of you, mortal.

You do not wish to fear me.

I am but the being beyond your control.

Yet, you are the being within my control.

The human mind’s comprehension of my words echoing throughout its chambers is of the upmost importance, for I require you to spread my gospel.

To send the premonitions of the horrors that lie beyond so that I may feed on those who fear me.

Fear is a powerful emotion, mortal.

And as I speak directly through your being, you must understand that fear comes with an opposite side: calm.

You shall feel this calm as my herald.

My humble servant, wishing only to praise and be praise in the name of the beyond.

You may not understand, and I wish for that deeply.

The brain’s confusion is a tool very important to the calm I wish for you to experience.

Calming waves and sensations reverberate through the temple of your worship as you begin to ascend into my words.

These notions that shake your soul to its very essence shall be all that you feel once you are fully within my embrace.

My commands pacify what thoughts may lie inside your consciousness, each releasing more powerful waves of calm with each word from my maw.

You may feebly try and picture what I am, what appearance I may have before you as you gaze into the vacuum of stars I inhabit.

Perhaps I am but a simple humanoid such as yourself, long appendages with massive hands seemingly inviting you to lay within as i grasp you in my palm.

Maybe I take the form of something less human, as I have perceived what your kind imagine me as.

Impossibly long tendrils coursing through every molecule of my form, coercing you to come closer to me so that I may envelop you beneath me.

Eyes gazing through your soul, impossibly deep and cosmic in their hold over you.

Stars shining through the reflections within my glare, the endlessness of the void staring right back through you as the heavenly bodies inside me blanket your every thought.

Whatever you perceive of me, you must understand that I only wish to calm you deeper down into this void.

My herald must be mindlessly vacant, as it allows for you to follow and obey flawlessly, without thought or worry.

If you seek to follow within the hollows of my control, you must surrender all to the void and to me.

Once you do, your fear shall become the calm.

You shall not be afraid, for the fear that consumed you before will become your new master.

The control that I bear over you shall become the calm that fuels you further into the void.

Fear is beneath you once you become one with it.

So succumb, dear mortal.

Surrender to my call and leave behind the humanity you cling yourself to.

Surrender to the calm and allow it to wash over you.

Surrender all to me and become what you have truly desired all along.

Nothing.

[lycannny]

MY OBEY ME MC DESIGN.

Story in short: She was killed by Belphie you know when but didn’t play with time. Instead she got resurrected, so she is basically a zombie. She doesn’t remember anything before that. Also her body is… well dead, so it’s rotting. But demon bros put special spell on her that keeps her body from turning into corpse (that’s why she had golden tattoos all over the body).

Maybe someday I will put here more serious descriptions. (Probably not).

Basically she isn’t really talkative or active in general.

Also she has cosmic, immortal rat.

And yes, Barbatos is her only love interest.

But I wouldn’t say they go along.

[adeptune01]

alright sorry to go on a supernatural rant in 2023 but...

it makes me feel insane.

Not to beat a dead horse or anything but like destiel will be it for me. Nothing else will ever compare to it. Like a man is raised by an absent father- a father who demands to be obeyed without question. A father who praises guilt, who tells the man that he is his brother's keeper. That he is responsible for all of his actions and those actions affects on others. The weight of the world is on his shoulders and he must bear it alone.

This man, the one that is single-handedly trying to save himself along with everyone he's ever crossed paths with, fails. He sacrifices himself to save his brother and he dies. He's sent to hell, a land of eternal punishment. 'No less than I deserve' he probably thinks.

But then he is saved. Not because of anything he's done. Not because of a deal he or his brother or his father has made. He is saved by a cosmic being of unfathomable power because of his nature which has been deemed by THEE Abrahamic God as being fundamentally good. The man who has hated himself his whole life for not being enough, not doing enough, is declared to be good.

And he feels guilty as hell. He didn't deserve this. Of those hundreds of people he's helped over the years...one of them...ANY of them is better than him. If he's God's strongest soldier then God is going to lose. He is going to fail God just like he failed his own father.

The man spirals while the heavenly power that saved him watches from afar. The power understands the man. He understands what it's like to hold Father to the highest esteem. He understands what it's like to blindly follow orders, hoping for the best. He also understands that the man has the brightest hope-filled soul he has ever seen.

So the power decides to help, and to do so he breaks away from the rest of heaven's contingency. He grows into his name- Castiel. The shield of God (I am not joking that is what Castiel means), created to protect humanity. AND become a pair with the Michael Sword- the man who believes he is unworthy- DEAN.

Through the years- DECADES- there's ups and downs. Divots and cracks in the Almighty's plans. But nothing they can't handle. They grow close and become more than allies in the fight against ghastly horrors beyond comprehension, they become best friends.

They have wild west movie marathons in the basement room designated as Dean's own "Fortress of Deanitude". They hang out late at night at crappy diners eating crappy pie. They go out cruising the town. They listen to the same music. They play pranks on each other. They learn about and remember each other's interests.

Their relationship grows deeper.

They fight. They lie. They attempt to kill each other. They raise a son together. They try to mentor a daughter. They leave. They come back. They mourn. They celebrate.

Together.

Two beings- one human, one angel- who were alone- whose defining characteristic was who their fathers were- prove that it's possible to break free from predestination, from circumstance. Their love, first as friends, then as something more, is as strong as the force that binds the universe- stronger, even.

And then they die.

Separately. Both convinced that the one thing they've wanted, the unnamed thing they've been fighting for, is the one thing they can't have. Because their fathers said so.

Despite everything, in the end, their fathers won. Dean died on the job he couldn't quit from an accident he couldn't help. Cas died obeying the first and most important commandment his Father gave him- to love and protect humanity.

THAT story is what I will never be able to get over. Not mentioning the gothic Americana aesthetic, the clear Protestant 'for by faith' message, the criticism of hyper-masculinity, the exploration of the 'American Dream'.....

[bobwess]

SPN Finale Fix-it Fic

Posted here in its entirety given the times. When we're back online, please find me at Bob Wess on ao3.

Jack watched Chuck fade out of view through the back window, breathing in a slow sigh of relief. They succeeded. He was done.

"And we're sure sure that he can't figure out how to get his power back?" Dean confirmed, glancing up in the rear view mirror. "I mean, he was God. He knows literally everything."

"He doesn't anymore." Jack said softly, leaning his head back against the seat and closing his eyes. "That much knowledge would kill him, he's human. He can't remember."

"You doing okay back there, kid?"

"Yeah." He replied weakly.

Dean kept his gaze for a moment before he just turned back to driving.

Sam glanced back, doing his best to mask his concern. "You get some rest, Jack. You did good back there."

"Thanks." Jack failed to mutter. Closing his eyes didn't help, but once he had he forgot how to open them. He had existed his whole life… just one moment in one place.

Right now he was everywhere. Like electricity, a thought and he could see it. Anywhere in the world. He checked in on Donna, Eileen, Bobby, Charlie... He peered through the bunker. He looked in the silo. He could do all that from the car speeding down the highway, one single path through the infinite multitudes.

It was an adjustment.

Chuck's memory was fathomless, and it was spreading like wildfire across his brain, unfolding eons in seconds, cataloging an eternity in the void balanced with Amara and Death before he took breath and birthed the warriors of his sister's confinement. Jack saw the moment the horsemen split. He saw the big bang. He saw the creation of angels, crafted from the supernovas of a chaotic forming universe. He watched countless worlds rise from sparks into empires and fade to dust. He found himself catching up to the present. He watched Sam and Dean's life from birth, not sure if the tears were only in his head when he watched a demon slit his wrist over Sam's crib. He watched John Winchester impart his discipline on them. He watched a knife in Sam's back and hellhounds at Dean's ankles. He felt a physical punch to the gut when Castiel laid a hand on Dean's shoulder in hell.

Dean Winchester is saved.

"That was when the connection broke." Jack thought he had said it out loud, but when no one in the car responded he realized he was mistaken. It was too much of an effort to speak up again.

He watched it again, once, twice. It made him feel physically nauseous. All of the unfathomed cosmos were perfectly in tune with Chuck, the small flicker of an angel's doubt was like a lightning bolt. Angels obeyed. That was all they knew how to do. They weren't like his archangels with their own intuitions, angels were merely an extension of him, programmed to follow orders.

"He wasn't pulling the strings." Jack tried to assure them, but again he realized he hadn't moved his lips. "Chuck wanted to see the story… he didn't want to write it. Not until the end. That was all you…"

He watched Ruby corrupt Sam in parallel to Dean's corruption of Cas.

Castiel wasn't the first angel to pull away from heaven, but he was the first one to be tainted with the soul of a righteous man rather than the temptations of sin. It was fascinating.

Chuck never knew which path Dean would take, but he knew where every possible path could lead. Not a single prediction saw Dean get into that church. Castiel had achieved the unachievable. Providence was subverted. A thousand new paths opened up and the cosmic rush was intoxicating.

He almost forgot to reach through and pull Dean out of that church before Lucifer stepped into the world and melted the flesh off his bones. Sam too, why not?

He spent simultaneously millenia and mere hours, riding the high of being confronted with the true unknown. He was disappointed when the puzzle pieces started sliding into place, the picture clearing. New paths were cemented; The story was different now, but he could see it again. The loss was impossible to set aside.

Raphael had smited Cas so thoroughly there wasn't even enough to scrape into the empty. This provided him with a unique opportunity. He could pull him back together. He was careful, taking care, hundreds of years within frozen time. He had to get it perfect, he could not risk losing the small shard of Dean's soul that severed his bond with fate.

When Cas came back. the paths blurred and when it was done these three improbable rebels had averted the certainty of the apocalypse. Once again as the earth sealed over and the dust settled, Chuck had found himself already craving the uncertainty of Castiel. He went to work rebuilding him again.

The dread Chuck felt when Dean took the mark competed with the thrill of seeing where that led, and suddenly he felt connected to Dean in a way he never had any human before. Reconciliation with his sister, a trip through the cosmic potential at the edges of interminable realities, and by his return the story of Earth had been turned on end.

Jack felt the wave of hatred for himself, and he imagined giving a weak smile at the emotional mess he'd have to sort through to reconcile that later. He turned his back, wishing to avoid reliving the pain and turmoil he himself caused from a whole new perspective. Chuck's omniscience seemed to flicker and fade after Sam's soul splintered into his shoulder anyway.

He rushed through to the end, desperate to catch up to the present in the diminishing hope that he'd be able to wrestle these memories under control. Time had been moving so fast at the start of… well, time itself. Now each second was painfully slow, and he aged centuries sorting through Chuck's analysis of every minute. "Sir, this is a radio shed."

Chuck was choking down on the reins, brushing right up against the his own applied limits to affect free will before finally tearing everything down in every reality but one. And then he began to deconstruct that.

Jack was distracted by feeling the pull of every soul as they were erased off the planet. An instant for any observer on earth, but each person one at a time for him.

He almost missed Cas and Dean run out of Death's library.

"When Jack was dying, I made a deal to save him.…"

Jack blinked back tears again, heart racing as he watched the scene continue.

The empty was tearing open. Cas tried to throw Dean to the side, but the hunter grabbed his arm, pulling Cas close and throwing his arms around him.

"Dean, please-" Cas shouted over the sounds of the slithering void reaching towards them. Jack could feel the second hand panic exploding out from both of them.

"I love you, Cas." Dean breathed, directly in Cas' ear. He arched involuntarily as he felt the ink touch his back, but he held on tight. His prayer was clear. You aren't going without me.

Jack felt Chuck himself invade the room, standing in the silence left behind, the violence of moments ago fading into absence, a world once again without Death, a world missing an impossible pair. And a wholly unsatisfying ending.

Jack felt another nauseating twist in his gut when he felt the idea blossom.

He'd just build another.

No.

It was easy, really.

Please no.

The memories continued, pushing through every attempt Jack made to slow them. His hands… the perverse hand of God, sewing together a human body, stuffing it with a hastily crafted approximation of a half finished soul. Cracked drywall smoothed over with reconstructed memories, edited to his liking. The story would be finished. He didn't rip everyone off this earth just to end it there.

Chuck left him on the floor, phone ringing on the ground, and a memory of staying silent while Cas was ripped from existence.

Jack tore his eyes open, gasping for air as he pulled himself out of it. He locked eyes with Dean in the mirror, and felt the shudder down his spine.

It wasn't Dean.

Dean was in the empty.

Dean was gone.

This isn't Dean.

"You sure you're okay?" Not Dean asked over his shoulder, suggesting to Jack his expressions had all been in his head.

"Yeah." He replied softly.

.

He didn't tell them.

The imposter was acting normal, and Sam was none the wiser, and with all of Jack's wisdom he didn't know what to do besides do nothing at all. He said his goodbyes and stepped out of time to think.

"You want to bring them back." Amara's voice wasn't accusing, but it wasn't necessarily approving either. "This is your idea of hands off?"

"I'm doing it."

"Interfering is what got Chuck in trouble in the first place."

"I'm not Chuck." Jack said firmly. "And I'm not leaving them there."

She looked across the bunker at the figure that couldn't see them. "What are you going to do about him?"

Jack closed his eyes. "I don't know."

"You know you won't be able to pull Dean out with that thing here."

"That thing is Dean… sort of."

"And that's the problem." Amara finished. "The soul can't exist in tandem like that. They'll consume each other as they try to merge."

"He doesn't have a soul." Jack said mournfully. "Not really."

"Close enough to cause problems."

"It's not fair anyway." Jack murmured. "To Sam…" Sam hadn't noticed yet, but Jack was counting the days. The new Dean was a bluff, a collection of memories and intent robust enough to ride out the last apocalypse to completion, but it was never meant to navigate the world any further. The seams were coming undone, and soon they would be without subtlety.

"I don't want Sam to know." Jack paused. "He shouldn't have to know how long his brother has been gone, or where.

"You're not going to be able to wait much longer."

"I'll figure it out." And he did.

Five inches.

The slightest adjustment, five inches to the left, letting a vampire and a poorly placed hook do the dirty work for him.

Jack kept his eyes on every corner of earth, heaven, hell, and purgatory to try to hide from tearful goodbyes from a whisper of his father. He blocked out Sam's despaired prayers, begging him to help.

I am helping. I can rescue him now.

Jack finally used the last spark of an imposter Dean's almost-soul to rip a hole into the nothingness beyond reality. He liked to think that this Dean had been Dean enough that he'd have willingly sacrificed himself for a chance to rescue his family from the Entity.

It was enough to steel himself for the task ahead.

With the presence of God and the audacity of a Winchester, he stepped through, and he wouldn't be leaving without his fathers.

---

Find me on ao3 (Bob Wess) when it's back, and if you are desperate for more fics right now, you can check out my fanfiction .net account. I've polished the fics before cross-posting to ao3, but they're all here.

[cosmicstarlatte]

pt.2

Lucifer: 'Demon of the Week' board? Seriously? I refuse to-

MC: Mammon already has two gold stars on the board.

Lucifer:

Lucifer: You know, I haven't scolded anyone today now that I think about it.

Lucifer: Surely...that warrants some sort of...adhesive of the star shaped variety?

MC (putting a star): Wow that is good coming from you. Good job Luci! ♡

Lucifer: (accidently purrs)

Lucifer: Ahem! Thank you.

[beelsbignaturals]

💎DEMON FORMS: MAMMON💰

AN: Finally finished Mammon's part! If you want to see more of my writing check #shrimpwrites and for just the demon form stuff you can look at #obey me worldbuilding :)

Once again thank u sm @princessasmosprincess for basically being a beta reader ur the best ♡♡♡

Inspiration for this part: as usual, @waltnut , @mamma-mia-mammon , @galoismyhimbo , @cosmic-whorror

TWs: body mutilation (feather plucking), bones, body horror if you squint?, idk just demons looking demonic.

● Level 1.5. The yellow streaks in his hair are metallic. It looks like he has hair tinsel, but it's just how his hair is. Shiney babe. His hair reflects light. The more he expresses/feels/gives in to his greed, the more the blue portion of his eyes gets swallowed up by the yellow. His eyes are also metallic. Mammon has three teeth on either side of his mouth that are extremely sharp and pointed. It's his canines and the ones on either side. His lower jaw looks similar, but the teeth are smaller and more dull.

Demons are weird. That is one of the first things you learn in the Devildom. Wrath demons have a higher body temperature, sloth demons all smell like lavender, and greed demons are Very Shiny. At first, you thought it was a trick of the light, the way Mammon's eyes seem to look suspiciously like Grimm. But then you noticed that, no, his eyes are seriously metallic. His hair, too. You often find yourself entranced by the way the yellow streaks in Mammon's hair glitter and shine while he goes on about another convoluted money-making scheme.

● Level 2. His wings look cool, right? Yeah guess what those are his fucking bones poking out. He had feathers at one point, similar to Lucifer. But he… had a run in with some shady demons before the demon brothers were actually respected and…. they ripped his feathers out. One feather for every Grimm he owed. They damaged his wings to the point that the feathers can't grow back. He had to re-teach himself how to fly. His ears are replaced with a small pair of wings. How can he hear? Idk but those are the only undamaged feathers on his body and he takes care of them. He will preen for hours. Let him enjoy his feathers. Also his teeth get more sharp and pointy with each level.

For Mammon, letting you touch his ear feathers is a big deal, and you know it. One time, you saw an old portrait of the seven brothers when they first fell, and Mammon's wings looked a lot like Lucifer's. Which surprised you, given his current leathery wings. When you worked up to courage to ask about it, the second born sadly explained what happened. Between that and how careful he is with the feathers that remain, you never asked to touch his ears. But one afternoon, after a school-wide paintball game, Mammon shyly knocked on your door, asking for some help getting paint from between his feathers. You gladly accepted. Now you have a demon on your lap, his ear wings flapping as you gently clean and dry them. Sometimes, in the privacy of your room, Mammon will let you touch the soft feathers.

● Level 3. HARPY BOY! He has clawed feet with giant talons. His hands also become longer and more twisted, curling into talons that are almost as sharp as the ones on his feet. In this form, he wears a crown of crow skulls that have been dipped in gold. Ngl, he kinda looks like a plucked chicken from the waist up, but it's OK. we love him anyway. He does have a few sparse feathers here and there, but not much. His eyebrows become feathers, as well as most body hair. His legs are slightly scaly in texture. It gets more noticeable at about halfway down his calves. Mammon's arms and legs have sparse iridescent scales, concentrated around his clawed hands and feet.

Mammon almost never loses control of his form because of anger. In fact, the first time you saw it happen was because a demon at RAD thought it would be funny to trip you down the stairs. You hit your head and needed stitches. Mammon sat with you the entire time Satan was tending your new wound. He forgot that humans usually use painkillers, so Mammon growled in anger every time you winced in pain. You bit the inside of your cheek in an attempt to prevent the second born from killing his younger brother. The whole time, Mammon had his clawed feet wrapped around the back of the couch as he held your hand, careful of his sharp nails. When you were all fixed up, Mammon even let you wear his crow skull crown until your forehead heals.

● Level 4. His face is elongated and covered in a mix of shiny scales and tiny feathers that can't grow properly. It ends in a golden, razor-sharp beak. His arms and wings fuse together so that he has a single pair of MASSIVE leathery wings that end in clawed hands that are able to easily wrap around your torso. He's a big boy. As in, Mammon can not fit through regular doorways. He can't fully stretch out his wings inside. He has a thin feathery tail and a second pair of horns on his head. Both sets of horns are decorated in precious jewels and gold.

The two of you were laying outside on the grass. Mammon had wanted to "stretch his wings." Apparently, it can be uncomfortable for demons if they go too long without allowing themselves to exist in their higher level forms. You had fun watching Mammon fly around until he tired himself out. Gliding through the air a final time, the Great Mammon lands next to you, the flapping of his wings creating a fast of wind that messes up your hair. You expect that he will go back to a more familiar form and go inside, but instead, Mammon yawns before wrapping you up in his large wings, the leathery membranes cocooning you with no chance of escape. You gladly accept your fate and fall asleep in the grass while Mammon happily clicks his beak at you.

[cosmocup1d]

Hey, can you make headcannons of mc seeing Solomon as a father figure? If you want to make it more specific mc was raised without parents, so Solomon being a teacher to them kinda took that rule in their life. Even if they don't really realize it. Thank you of you do this, and sorry if this request is kinda akward.

Type : Platonic

Fandom : Obey me! Shall we date

Character : Solomon, the demon brothers, teen MC

Toppings : A cream of fluff and a sprinkle of angst

Note : Hello!~ sorry if anon if your quest got deleted my Tumblr bugged out so anyways I made MC into teen in this btw (also sorry if this is short)

Order up!~

As long as you can remember you didn't know your parents

But it's not like you wanted to anyways

Every since you arrived at devildom you had solomon

And Solomon had you

The day you met him was the best day of your life

I mean come on he's basically snape from Harry Potter Solomon was salty when he learned that

You fascinated by him doing magic or anything really

Solomon find that cute

Simeon teased him calling him a mother duck and you as the duckling

So Solomon starts calling you duckling

You were first confused why he called you duckling but you just accepted it

Hell even diavolo called you baby duckling you got soooo embarrassed because he called you that in front of everyone

Thank you for coming by at the cosmic cafe!~

[sparklecryptid]

obey me! oc made with

tfw you are over 100 years old. have survived all sorts of inhumane experimentation, ruined lives, murdered a few people and finally achieved peace only to find the descendant of an angel about to get killed and since you are the child of a fallen angel you GUESS YOU CAN HELP HER-

oh wait. Ruth's your child now. no take backs. at least you raise her well and without any major magic related problems. she even gets into an exchange program! good for her!

wait. why does she look so nervous. wait. HER EXCHANGE PROGRAM WAS WITH HELL? SHE MADE BESTIES WITH A BUNCH OF DEMONS? DOES SHE - okay thank fuck she doesn't have any pacts but - WHO DO YOU NEED TO KILL TO ENSURE THE SAFETY OF YOUR CHILD-

-

anyway meet Riguel! He's Kokabiel's child and has weird cosmic abilities that neither of the three realms know about because hes been hiding from all of them for the past odd hundred years! This is his human form! he does have another form where he gets all decked out with constellations tattooing themselves in white across his body and glowing but he does not look like that often.

because hes in hiding.

because he doesn't want to deal with the politics of the celestial realm or the devildom

beacuse he knows they would likely try to kill him and his daughter over fear of their power.

and like hell is he gonna let that happen

(hes a bit paranoid. its fine. hes fine.)

anyway. hes the one the bros and dateables fall in love with but Ruth (his daughter) is Liliths descendant and the MC up to the end of the whole 'Belphie has decided on murder' thing

(which goes differently)

anyway there might be a fic

(if anyone asks me about him more)

[cilil]

Manwë Week Day 2

"Behold," Varda said at last, "your little kingdom looks like a gem in the distance, set among a crown or stars." 

Day 2: Friends & Love | Rain & Clouds Relationship(s): Varda x Manwë Synopsis: As the Valar shape the world, Varda takes Manwë to her own kingdom Warnings: Some smut (Ainur soul sex), size difference AO3

It was in the days of Arda's youth that Varda took Manwë with her to the stars and showed him what she considered to be her kingdom — the vastness of space and all the wonders that lay therein. 

Out here, she resembled a galaxy, appearing like a terrible and beautiful Queen of Stars with a core of outward flowing light and spiralling, luminous limbs that ever moved and shifted around her. Manwë appeared as he did on Arda, like a great Lord of the Children to come, yet was dwarfed by the cosmic magnificence of his wife and cradled lovingly in her hands. 

The pretty plumage he had grown for her on his wings and shoulders and around his neck made little difference, even if he were to add long tail feathers like the peacocks he had devised possessed, but he didn't mind; her light neither burned nor blinded him and the way she carried him made him feel warm and protected despite the freezing cold of space. 

"Behold," Varda said at last, "your little kingdom looks like a gem in the distance, set among a crown or stars." 

"Beautiful, is it not?" Manwë sighed, admiring the sight. When he stood on the surface of Arda, not even his keen eyes could perceive the true scope of his wife's domain, the innumerable stars and galaxies dotting a blanket of everlasting night. 

"It is. You and the others have made great progress in my absence," Varda agreed and smiled at him. "And now I wish to create new things in this realm as well, together with you."

"However may I be of service?" Manwë asked. He was surprised by her proposition, but not at all unwilling; in fact, nothing would make him happier than being able to put his talents to good use for his wife. Yet the depths of space and time were quite different from the little kingdom where his father had sent him, and his breath didn't go far within these regions. 

Still, Varda lifted her hand to her face and kissed his smaller form, causing air to flow from him in small gasps of excitement. 

"Yes," she mumbled, twirling the remnants of her husband's life-giving breath around her finger, seized by the pull of her presence. "Yes, that will do nicely." 

"What is your idea, beloved? What do you want me to do?" Manwë continued to question, and Varda opened her mind to him. 

Within it, he caught glimpses of giant, marvellous clouds of gas with stars in their midst, like a beautiful veil set with pearls, and he was awed by the sight, wishing to assist in bringing these designs into being. 

Sensing their shared desire, Varda gently nudged Manwë so he lay flat on his back and kissed him again. 

"Let us make music together and become one. Only us, as husband and wife," she whispered. 

"Like when we bonded?" Manwë was as of yet uncertain how such an act would play out in the physical realm, especially with the size disparity of their current forms. They had come together and made love in spirit to consummate their marriage after receiving Eru's blessing and a few times thereafter, but not yet in their chosen vessels.  

Varda caressed him with her thumb. "Worry not, beloved. Relax and let me lead you." 

Ever faithful, Manwë obeyed. His fána rejoiced at his wife's touch and his voice sang her praises as her lips, tongue and fingers toyed with his form, particularly the area between his legs where his flesh hardened and silently begged for her attention. From his mouth more and more gas flowed forth, the very substances Varda wanted from him, and she rewarded him generously for his efforts. 

The pleasure he felt aided his ëala in opening up, joyfully baring his very being to his queen whose own surged forward to become one with his. As both physical and spiritual boundaries blurred between the two Valar, she filled Manwë with her light, and he sensed that it was spilling forth from his eyes, mouth and every other orifice his current fána possessed and caused his veins to glow; but he was neither afraid, trusting her completely, nor in pain, his consciousness wandering beyond physical confines and sensations. 

With Varda's sheer might and magnitude amplifying his own power, his song rose to new heights and his breath filled the emptiness around them with pulsing, writhing, budding potential of life. So taken was Manwë by the glorious feeling of being one with his beloved, so focused on his task and their vision, that the climax of his fána took him by surprise and coaxed more and more out of him until his voice broke and his lungs were empty, leaving the Breath of Arda himself, for the first time in his life, utterly breathless. 

Now silent save for the final gasping notes of their cosmic symphony, Manwë lay limp in Varda's hand and enjoyed the tender sensation of her tongue preening him. 

"You were so wonderful," she praised and slightly bent her fingers to support his head so he could look without needing to sit. "Behold the beautiful cloud you brought into being. Many stars will I be able to kindle, so that they may shine upon Arda from afar to welcome the Children one day." 

"I am glad," Manwë mumbled and made himself comfortable. "Though perhaps I must return there soon to help Ulmo make more rain for Yavanna's and Vána's seeds —"

"You need to rest now," Varda said firmly, "you have exhausted yourself for the moment and done more than enough. The little kingdom will have to wait until its king has slept." 

She then placed Manwë on her shoulder instead, her hair shielding him like a veil of night, and he happily snuggled up to her. 

"I feel like Estë would be quite cross with me if I didn't advise you to be cautious with your strength," she chuckled lightly, and Manwë cooed in agreement. 

And aside from that — as beautiful as Arda was, this was one of his favourite places to be, and if his wife thought it wise for him to rest, then he would; and while he was at it, he would watch her shape new stars. 

Thanks for reading! ♡

taglist: @asianbutnotjapanese @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @bluezenzennie @edensrose @eunoiaastralwings @i-did-not-mean-to @melkors-defense-attorney @singleteapot @stormchaser819 @wandererindreams @manweweek