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helllords · 6 months

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@zealctry asked: 16. Does your muse initiate heated/sexual contact, or do they wait for their partner? & 17. Does your muse leave hickies / ask for them? ( 👀 for all of them!!) / Vanilla Sunday Meme.

Abaddon prefers for his partner to initiate anything sexual, simply because he likes seeing their need displayed on their expression and in their actions. He also tends to tease and rile them up anyway and just waits until their patience snaps and they press themselves against him. When it comes to hickeys he likes both giving and receiving because he loves to mark what belongs to him but also adores being bitten.

When is this man not initiating anything sexual? He is always in the mood for some fun and is not shy to ask for it. Of course he finds it even more delicious when his partner is the one desperate for it. Hickeys are always nice and he especially likes to give them where his partner cannot hide them.

Beelzebub rarely initiates but she does have a tendency to be delighted by every bite she is allowed to take and then often gets lost in the sensation, sucking on each mark, licking over it, groaning when her sharp teeth penetrate skin. She does love it when her partner is also hungry for her, though. And because of all of this, hickeys are just a given.

Never initiates but loves to tease and rile his partner up until they beg him to touch them. And his patience is endless, so if they do not engage immediately, he will gladly wait until they do. He does not care about hickeys, however. If his partner gives him one, he'll just shrug it off but he prefers to hold onto them and mark them through his grip alone.

Leviathan is also not the most sexually-driven beast, especially in the beginning of a relationship because he doesn't know if his urges are appropriate. But sometimes instincts just take over and he will pin his partner against the nearest surface and devour them entirely. Until then, his partner will have to initiate. Concerning hickeys, he likes giving them because he will bite and therefore leave a mark and his partner is also welcome to, he doesn't mind them.

Lucifer is most definitely the one to initiate. He loves to claim what is his and assert his dominance by screwing them out of coherency. If his partner is the first one to voice their desire, he will tease them by making them voice what they want him to do to him first. He will also mark them but doesn't like the look of hickeys on himself and will pull away if they try to give him one.

Mammon tends to keep her partners close to her, oftentimes on her lap or by her side. She doesn't intend for it to be sexual but does like to flirt and let her hands linger and move to drive her partner wild, waiting until their patience snaps and they take what they want. Hickeys aren't something she pays particular mind to, however.

#( nsft. )#zealctry #( hellspeak. );; replied.#( father of hellhounds. );; about: abaddon.#( desacralizer. enticer. temptation itself. );; about: asmodeus.#( saint babalon. );; about: beelzebub.#( sleep; brother of death. );; about: belphegor.#( the dragon of the sea. );; about: leviathan.#( you should see me in a crown. );; about: lucifer.#( the curse of the highest pedestal. );; about: mammon.#long post

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deancaspinefest · 3 years

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Summer Camp Chitaqua

Author: teen_dean | Artist: Flora Gois Posting on Tuesday February 15

Hunters' Sleepaway Camp. Six weeks of fighting, hunting, and survival skills... with time for movie nights, intramurals, and talent shows. Each summer, Dean's back at Camp Chitaqua leading a cabin of teenage hunters. This year, Bobby's brought on a mysterious new staffer named Castiel, who arrives with his teenage son Jack in tow. They're an oddly distant pair, but Dean can't help admitting there's something that draws him to Cas. It doesn't help that Charlie tries to engineer them together, that Dean's got a soft spot for Jack, and that the girls in Beech Cabin are dramatizing their lives for the closing night theatrical. When trouble comes in the form of a demon terrorizing the campers, Dean learns that Cas isn't everything he seems, and that there may at long last be an explanation for the handprint-scar he's worn on his shoulder for years.

Keep reading for a sneak preview!

“No new recruits this year to hand sanitation duty off to, I guess,” said Dean, casting a glance around the staff table once more. All familiar faces, some more reluctantly beloved than others. Ash, making a show of not listening to Jo, gargled beer in the back of his throat, a true-blue sign he’d just lost an argument to her and wouldn’t admit it. “Oh, no, there is someone new,” said Rufus. “He hasn’t turned up yet.” “What?” said Dean. He was Bobby’s right hand. He should know about any new hires at the camp. He’d made up all the schedules three weeks ago. “He’ll be here tomorrow,” said Rufus. “He’s bringing a kid of his own.” “What’s his name?” “Jack. Sixteen. He won’t be in your cabin, don’t worry. He’s gonna stay with his dad in that little Dacha up the hill.” “Not the kid,” said Dean. “Who’s the new guy?” Rufus shrugged, refilling Dean’s glass because he noticed it was empty, then adding more to his own. “Castiel. Snooty-ass name, if you ask me.” Dean agreed, frowning down at his drink, then looking over towards Bobby. Bobby was in good spirits, laughing at a conversation between himself, Sam, and Jody. “What’s he teaching?” he asked Rufus. Dean had already set the schedules, dammit. If he had to add a new program, it would throw off the entire summer. “He’s taking over Bobby’s stuff on Latin, Runes, and Hellspeak,” said Rufus. “Give Bobby more freedom to deal with whatever comes up through the day.” “He’s taking over— He’s taking over Bobby’s classes?” The courses Bobby led were a mainstay through the camp. As much as hunting was about physical work and reflex, a good part of it was also knowing your research, your lore, and your dead languages. Dean focused on training students in the former, but no one equaled Bobby in the latter. He couldn’t imagine Bobby giving up his precious instruction. “Bobby says he’s good,” said Rufus with a shrug. “And if Bobby says he’s good, that means he’s damn good. I’m willing to believe he’s some Roman Imperator if he knows better Latin than Bobby.” Dean had a brief vision of Russell Crowe from Gladiator arriving to teach at the camp. He shook his head to dismiss the image from his mind. A man was allowed to have a reasonable obsession with the movie Gladiator. “Showing up kinda late,” said Dean, trying to keep up his chagrin. He had an image to maintain. “What gives him the right?” Rufus swallowed down his smooth whiskey. “Real good Latin, I guess.”

[continue reading on Ao3 on Tuesday February 15]

#DCPF 2022 #DCPF Previews #destiel #deancas #summer camp au #alternate canon #timeline what timeline

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beatinghell · 5 years

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I’m trying so, so hard not to outright relapse but it’s so so hard when all I can think about is how I want to eat every two or three hours. Not because I’m bored, because I’m genuinely hungry. I’m tired of feeling bad after every time I eat. I’ve been struggling the most though, with feeling full and satisfied. It doesn’t feel right. I feel so heavy and big when I go to bed for the night, and it just feels wrong to not be in pain from hunger pangs. I’m aware it’ll feel normal to me at some point to be happy and healthy and full, but could we like,,,, skip all this?

#im aware skipping the discomfort isnt an option :(#im just tired of going back and forth on if im recovering or not and ugh #negative tw #ed tw #ed mention #hellspeaks

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basaltbutch · 3 years

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absolutely obsessed with music taste evolution. girl what the fuck is wrong with you <3

#it speaks #u know like those really winding mountain goat trails?? that but its my music taste #went from fucking. owl city to uhhhh. hellspeak is the most recent one #it isn't even like ''haha indie niche music'' its the music taste of someone who has a personality trait thats sorta Off but very wrong

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hellpark · 5 years

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GREGORY: My my, this sure is a popular question, isn’t it?

GREGORY: I can’t see why any of you would be taking interest in that traitorous rat, though.

GREGORY: Running the others off to safety while we were trying to deal with business.

GREGORY: It’s bad enough with all of the ruckus he causes on a daily basis in Hell, now he’s choosing to do it on the overworld as well.

ESTELLA: Are you talking about Tweek, over there?

ESTELLA: That scraggly, disease-ridden manchild will surely get what is coming to him.

ESTELLA: I hope he enjoys the strain of problems he’s created for us.

GREGORY: There are people asking about him, can you believe it?

GREGORY: They-- ohoh, this is actually quite funny.

GREGORY: They think he’s from the land of the living, how charming.

ESTELLA: Heavens, that problematic boil on the under-fold of a old man’s neck wouldn’t stand a chance up here on earth.

GREGORY: Right?

GREGORY: Anyway-- to answer all of your questions...

GREGORY: He’s always been in Hell, right to his very upbringing.

GREGORY: He was hellborn, several years before the new era of Hell.

GREGORY: About ten or even years before I died, making him... eighteen or nineteen now, I believe?

GREGORY: All I recall is that his birthday is on Halloween.

GREGORY: Funny enough, Hell uses the same time system as earth does.

GREGORY: Though rather than two thousand... someodd... I don’t quite remember the year up here anymore-- it’s year ten of Era 2.

GREGORY: Sounds ridiculous, right?

GREGORY: Ahahah...

GREGORY: Anyways, where was I?

GREGORY: Oh, yes.

GREGORY: Tweek, unlike the rest of us, has never been to earth until now.

I remember running into him the first time, shortly after my death.

I believe when I first met him, I thought he was just some stupid kid who died too early to know what like was like on the surface.

He would be found headbutting rocks, gave me a strange look when I approached him, and would speak in a strange tongue I couldn’t understand at first.

Of course, I wouldn’t know what to say in response to something I did not know.

I’ve known a handful of languages from a young age, but his was unlike anything I’ve ever heard until I arrived in Hell.

At first I figured, maybe this was some language from a lost civilization, hundreds of years in the past? Perhaps age doesn’t work in Hell like it does in the land of the living?

This would be incorrect.

If I recall, I attempted to talk to him in my own language-- English, of course. I think I’d felt it too rude to try and leave while he was trying to have a conversation with me.

GREGORY: I can’t quite understand you...

GREGORY: Are you able to understand me?

TWEEK: ...

GREGORY: ...I’ll take your silence as a no.

GREGORY: I wonder where you’re from...

GREGORY: I’ve never heard such a language before.

I would try to seemingly no avail, so I felt my inclination to be true. For a few moments, that is.

Looking back on this all, it’s a rather funny instance, though at the time I was utterly terrified when this next bit occurred--

I’d been so used to demons and ghouls and all sorts of hellish beings flying about in the skies, I hadn’t stopped to notice two individuals soaring my way from behind Tweek.

They would land to see me, surrounding him on either side. I remember this image very clearly in my head...

...because as a little kid, seeing two full grown adults, with a wingspan larger than myself at the time...

My lord, I was scared senseless.

They would look down at me, smiles on their faces. I figured them crazed, it didn’t look like they knew quite how to smile at first.

I expected them to speak the same language as the kid I had been talking to, considering how close and personal they seemed to be with him.

They addressed to me in full English that I had been talking to their son, though-- something I find rather interesting now, considering they would have had no idea exactly what language I would have spoken.

I suppose that’s a mystery I’ll solve another day.

MR. TWEAK: Hello!

MR. TWEAK: Can we help you?

MR. TWEAK: I see you’ve met our son!

MRS. TWEAK: He doesn’t get out much, you’re the first saved soul he’s ever seen...

They had a peculiar accent. I wouldn’t have been to describe it at the time, but now I can say with clear conscious that it is just one of many Hellish accents you’d find in Hell.

An accent from one who would have grown up speaking a specifically satanic language-- one that would commonly be known to English-speaking Hellspawn as, simply, demonic tongue or hellspeak. Myself fancying the latter.

They had seemed rather keen on being overly nice to me, where as most looks I’d gotten from those I’d later find out to be hellborn as well would be looks of disdain.

I had arrived in Hell a year after the previous ruler Satan had died and went to heaven, and merely months into a new era-- in which none would be damned to eternal torture.

I’d like to say I was lucky for dying at the time I did-- but I wasn’t.

I was just luckier than those who had died before this new era was enacted.

They were almost more threatening than the ones who would give me such wretched looks. They were almost trying too hard to be nice.

I could recognize their efforts though, however terrified I was at the time.

In turn, they could recognize my fear. So his mother would attempt to console me, something else I’ve never forgotten.

MRS. TWEAK: My my, dear...

MRS. TWEAK: You’re so brave...

MRS. TWEAK: There aren’t many souls who seem as sudden as yours who would care to talk to someone like our son...

GREGORY: ...

MRS. TWEAK: You seem scared and lost... and alone.

MRS. TWEAK: Do you have any known family down here?

GREGORY: ...I don’t... really know...?

MRS. TWEAK: That’s quite a shame...

MRS. TWEAK: I hope you can find them some day.

MRS. TWEAK: For now, though... as a mother, and an imp...

MRS. TWEAK: I’d love to welcome you to our home any time you feel like you need to get away from everything out here.

MRS. TWEAK: It’s hard in these times, I’m sure you could do with a friendly face or two.

She would tell me, without even knowing who I am, that I was welcome into her home.

I’ll admit I felt a little like a charity case in that moment, but she’d sensed I was all on my own at the time-- which I was.

Even though the torturing era of Hell was something I had missed, the four or five days I had spent alone, wandering hell to my own devices... everything I had experienced up until that point had been quite scary, to some degree.

I mean, I was still in Hell, what else would I have felt.

Her generosity and the father’s... attempt at a polite smile... had been the first somewhat comforting things I had felt since I had died.

His mother would then try to promote to me: Tweek, a potential friend.

MRS. TWEAK: Darling, were you talking to his young man?

MRS. TWEAK: Would you like to make friends with him?

MRS. TWEAK: Now now, dear, not so rude.

MRS. TWEAK: You know this language.

MRS. TWEAK: I know, you’re nervous...

MRS. TWEAK: This man is a nice fellow, though, I think he and you would make terrific friends...

She would reveal to me that he could in fact speak English, and really he was too shy to speak outside of his native tongue.

He didn’t quite look like somebody I would want to be friends with at the time, but with how nice his mother was and how lonely I felt, I was... reluctantly intrigued, to say the least.

However I remember finding his name quite silly-- it’s not even a common theme in Hell. His father’s name is Richard, goodness sake. They really had to regards when naming him, it seems.

TWEEK: Um...

MRS. TWEAK: Tell him your name, dear.

TWEEK: Tweek.

MRS. TWEAK: Tweek what?

TWEEK: My name is Tweek.

MRS. TWEAK: Good job!

MRS. TWEAK: Why don’t you try speaking to your new friend in a way you can both understand?

TWEEK: O-oh, um...

TWEEK: I-- I wanna poke your eyes out with my pitchfork, ugly.

GREGORY: ...

MRS. TWEAK: Ohohoh-- He doesn’t mean that. I promise you.

MRS. TWEAK: It’s the way of the old era, so please don’t mind him.

MRS. TWEAK: Tweek, why don’t you try being nice?

MRS. TWEAK: We’ve been practicing this, right?

TWEEK: When I grow up, and get my own torture chamber, I’ll let you be the first in it.

GREGORY: ...Nice to meet you too...?

GREGORY: My name is Gregory???

Tweek wasn’t very good at being nice when he was young. I disliked him, for a time, but put up with him because his mother was so nice.

However I learned it really just was the way he was raised. If you grow up in a world where your sole purpose is to trick and torture others, why wouldn’t you be taught to be so devilish?

He took a while to unlearn his habits, and he still has some issues now and then. On the other end, I’ve learned to understand him better.

Of course, my understanding of him right now is that he’d rather betray our entire friend group by running off with a bunch of humans than to stick with us-- people he knows.

It’s beyond ridiculous, offensive, and hurtful. I don’t know what his motives are in this instance, but he’s to have a good reason for all of this if he expects me to forgive him.

As for this question, I hope this quelled your curious minds once more. Tweek has always lived in hell, born and raised, and just barely over twenty four hours ago was his first breath of air on the surface.

I know I went on a bit of a rabbit trail, but I believe it paints a better picture of exactly why I’m friends with Tweek now.

I sometimes wonder what it would have been like if I had known him since he was even younger.

Would his parents have shown me the same hospitality?

Would he have been as rude? Would he have made me want to me more rude?

I wonder if he looked as stupid as all of the other implets running amok in hell when he was young...

Perhaps I’ll visit his parents soon and ask them just that-- maybe ask them for a young photo or two of him while I’m there.

I’m closer to them than I am him at this point, anyhow.

#south park #gregory of yardale #tweek tweak #imp tweek #estella havisham #hellpark #sorry for the long pause between updates!!!#I am in the middle of moving. The mods do a wonderfully timed job at drawing their pieces #I'm just slow to put them all together #thank you for continuing to enjoy this blog!

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