you know that trope where it’s princess + knight, but they’ve both been captured by the bad guys and the princess is now gripped by the jaw by the villain, receiving a thin cut to her cheek while remaining completely still with a defiant look in her eyes even as a droplet of blood begins to trickle out of the wound, all while 3 people AT THE VERY LEAST need to have their hands locked on the knight because he’s thrashing around like a wild animal, trying so so so desperately, violently, to get to her?
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#HappyBirthdayLucifer2021 ! This was another piece written as part of a collab project for Lucifer’s birthday -- you can check out all the artist/writer combos at the Lucifer Birthday Collab Twitter!
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Words: 886
Lucifer contemplates on what it really means to be a fallen angel turned demon.
Can be found on AO3 here.
For as long as Lucifer can remember, the angels were warned of the evils of demons, of the immorality and sin that seeped through every fiber of their being which twisted them into hideous creatures undeserving of the light. Demons were not to be trusted, nor respected, nor least of all revered. They were foul beasts, wickedly devious and constantly thirsting for power and blood.
For an angel to fall, to become such a monstrosity themself, was the ultimate disgrace. Wrenched of all purity and morphed into an abomination -- what greater punishment was there than that?
Lucifer stares at his reflection, his glowing halo long since replaced by the curve of two horns, sharp and rigid. Four feathered wings that used to be six, white silk now dipped in the deepest black. An onyx diamond resting perfectly in the center of his forehead where there used to be only smooth, unblemished skin.
A monster. That is what his father would now call him.
A scoff nearly leaves him at the thought, and he finds himself momentarily lost in a memory. That fateful day, where he had been forced to go in his father’s steed to visit the Devildom Prince. He had come woefully unprepared, his father not even bothering to mention the letter he had received that detailed the plans for this diplomatic visit, and thus Lucifer treated everything with suspicion. After all, he was in the home of those he had been taught to disgust! To what trickery would they subject him, the Morning Star, one of the greatest of the Angels?
And yet, he was treated with all the dignity and respect he would have never expected a demon to possess. Prince Diavolo was courteous, accommodating, and honest. Barbatos, ever his Lord’s loyal servant, kept his word and made sure to take care of Lucifer’s Armor of Light which had become literally soiled when he crashed into the Devildom dirt. They continued to treat him graciously even after a scathing remark after another would leave his lips. He tried to find the cracks, tried to pick and prod and find the twisted meaning of their words or the deceit in their actions -- but there was nothing of the sort to be found.
Which of us is the angel, and which of us is the demon?
That was the question he had that day, one that planted the seed of doubt. It rooted itself into his mind and took a hold of his heart. Gradually, it grew, and grew, and grew until it flourished and brought him to take a sword to all that he had been taught to obey.
His act of rebellion, unthinkable for an angel of his stature, was not without its painful loss, without its overwhelming grief, without its punishment -- but one thing it did not bring him in the end was regret. He wished -- oh how he so desperately wished -- that the outcome had been different, but his resolve was cemented in stone. He would have taken arms one hundred times over, for he would rather suffer sorrow and agony than to live a complete lie.
It was the Prince of the Demons who had come to his side when all hope seemed lost. It was not without its price, but he would rather swear loyalty to Diavolo than to his father, and he understood that such a cost was for the sake of the Prince’s realm. It was the Demon King who welcomed Lucifer and his brothers to the highest offices of the kingdom, recognizing their power and potential. It was here, in the Devildom, that they were able to carve out a new home and future, which gave them a second chance.
Crimson eyes gaze back at him as Lucifer returns to the present, the raven locks of his hair neatly framing his high cheekbones. A finger gloved in red leather traces his chiseled jawline, then moves to his sculpted lips. He was supposed to be one of his father’s greatest creations, one of the most beautiful and perfect beings to exist -- as an angel. But here he was, transformed and tainted, and still treated as perfection by demons and humans alike.
It was pride that made him fall, they said. It was pride which he now embodied, the very Avatar of his sin. Arrogant and conceited, or as he liked to call it, self-assured and confident. It should have corrupted him whole, turned him into the very abomination and monstrosity they were told demons to be -- nevertheless, here he stood, still admired and revered despite the darkness that swallowed him, despite the fangs and claws that lied in wait behind a disarming smile.
A monster, the angels he fought against above would call him now.
But was it so bad to be considered as such? Weren’t the very angels he once belonged to, the angels that still peered down with judgement from above, also horrific in their true nature? There was a reason angels so often spoke the line “Be not afraid” when encountering their precious little humans. Divinity so often equates to unimaginable horror and wonder -- awe-inspiring, formidable, grand.
A smirk formed on his lips, feeling his pride swell in his chest.
Reader stopping Simon from committing suicide Part 8 Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7
The rest of you and Simon's date went amazingly. You two decorated the cookies, even though Simon kept attempting to eat the cookies or the icing, you also convinced him to do some of the decorating and he managed to even write Luv on a cookie for you, it did take him multiple tries, anytime he made a mistake he just “oop, looks like I ‘ave to eat that one now luv” you’re not sure how accidentally it really was. Simon even made you take the cookies into his room because “Soap will eat all of them if he finds them, especially while drunk” and he said it so seriously you wondered how many times Soap has come back drunk and eaten Simon's food.
You and Simon stayed up late on the couch, just talking while eating cookies, when you started yawning Simon said “why don't we go to bed luv” Simon would never let you go home so late, it was dangerous and now that you two were together it only made sense to sleep in his room. Simon gave you some of his old clothes for you to sleep in, of course it was huge on you, and Simon couldn't stop staring at you, you just walked up to him and gave him a soft kiss “come on Si” you said as you got into the bed. He sat on the far end of the bed, giving you as much space as you needed, but you didn't want that, you wanted to cuddle with Simon. You moved the blanket out of the way and called him over, giving him those cute pleading eyes. Simon laid next to you, letting you get comfortable next to him, his arm wrapping around your side keeping you close to him.
It didn't take you long to fall asleep, not with Simon's soft touch, his heartbeat beating in your ear, his warm body next to yours, and it didn't take long for Simon to fall asleep either, only able to fight the sleep for a few minutes to stare at your sweet sleeping figure. And it took Soap less than a minute to wake you both up. Well technically Gaz was the one who woke you up, but still.
Simon woke up as soon as the front door opened and Soap loudly said “‘m fuckin’ tired ‘nd hungry, where’s Ghost?” and then you woke up when Gaz said “shut up dude, you'll wake them or some shit” at least he was trying. Simon turned to you giving you and apologetic look, before either of you could say anything you heard Price come in “both of ye shut up, go to bed” you couldn't stop yourself from laughing, Simon just whispered an apology, but you leaned up to kiss him “it’s okay”
It got quiet again and you thought they had gone to bed, but then Soap came in without knocking, “ghosssssttttt, did yer bird leave some food” Simon rubbed a hand over his face “go to bed Soap, get out” Soap groaned “L.t come on-” finally Soap seemed to notice you, he was looking in your direction and squinting very hard “oh sorry, didn't notice ya, did ya leave any food” Simon threw a pillow at him, Soap stumbled and half leaned against the door but the pillow went past him and hit Gaz square in the face “hey asshole, I was comin’ ta’ help ya” Gaz said before throwing the pillow back at Simon. Now you were just full on laughing, Gaz now seemed ready to fight Simon, all Soap cared about was getting some food, and Simon was ready to kick them all out the house. You put a hand on Simons shoulder to stop him “okay listen” you said and sudden all of there attention was on you “if you two got to sleep, I’ll make breakfast tomorrow, just no more yelling and fighting” Gaz was thinking about it, he nodded while Soap just seemed in a trance thinking about it. Gaz elbowed him, and Soap nodded frantically “okay then, be quiet and go to bed” they both immediately left, and you two only heard some shuffling before the whole house got quiet again. You leaned over and before Simon could apologize again you kissed him “they make life interesting”
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tags | angst, abusive relationships, reader is married to another man, blood, killing of animals, graphic depictions of domestic violence, graphic depictions of violence, religious guilt, infidelity, please read at your own risk
ch. 7 | masterlist | ao3
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There’s blood everywhere.
Crimson staining the concrete under you, and splattered on your husband’s sleeves. The juxtaposition of your husband and Simon solidifies itself then. Something that made your mouth water and heart race with desire when it came to Simon is repulsive on your husband. Something that lodges a lump deep in your throat, makes it difficult to swallow the tears running down your cheeks.
Your hands shake as you reach out to the bunny lying there motionless. Fear runs through your body, raging anger, but the guilt is the heaviest.
It’s your fault. It’s all your fault.
The bunny was innocent. A sweet, pure thing that had nothing to do with you and Simon or your deceit. And still, your husband took his anger out on it, snapped its neck in two like it was the one coercing you to Simon's doorstep. The poisoned apple.
He’s too narcissistic to realize it was him. Too much of a coward to confess he was the one who forced you down this dark and moldered path. One that made you lose your wedding ring somewhere in the backroom of Simon’s butcher shop when you left your dignity on your knees.
Your husband had hardly noticed really, it’s not like he paid attention to detail when it came to you. You were shocked when he did notice, stuttering over your words, and you offered a weak apology, saying you had lost it while washing the dishes.
It was a lie, he knew it. A part of you thinks you didn’t try to convince him on purpose. That you lost it on purpose because you didn’t know how to end this any other way. It’d be easier if he was the one.
Everything else after that is black, a flurry of running after him as he storms to the backyard shed. You had screamed so loud when he picked the bunny up, the poor thing kicking its hind legs in the toughest fight it could muster. It looked so tiny in his palm, trapped in his confines.
“Been letting you feed this damn pest in my backyard and this is how you repay me?” He spat it out with fury, globs of saliva landing on your cheeks.
“Put it down, please." You spoke calmly, masking the way your chest was vibrating with anxiety. "I don't even know what you're talking about, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart. There's that damn word you trickle in. A front. Appeasement of sorts to show you still care, that this is a marriage you want.
“I should’ve known, marrying a whore like you.”
Whore. He says it so often you don't even bat an eye. Sweetheart, whore, the words have become analogous at this point.
You were too late after that. The sound of its cracking neck came first. Its thrown limp body on the floor. Its head makes a thud as it lands hard on the gray cement at your feet, blood splashed underneath it.
It all happened so fast you didn't have time to react besides falling to your knees next to it. The worst part is you didn't even name it. A part of you afraid of the attachment you would've grown when you knew it would eventually lead to this. Afraid of what it would mean when he finally did.
You think you black out for a few seconds, coming to in short fuzzy bursts as reality dawns on you. It's funny the way raw meat did not affect you, not when Simon was the one meticulously handling it. Funny how you were willing to lie on the butcher block next to it all, be the sacrificial lamb instead, but this draws a vizierial reaction.
You stay still, despite your quivering fingers, until the fog clears, until your hands stop and your heart calms. Everything clashes together then, morphing into this ugly, angry monster in your chest that takes over. Years of just burying it down, pretending you were okay, boil over and your pretty bow that sealed it all together unravels. Tears in two for the first time since you've laid eyes on your coward of a husband.
You look up at him then, at the ugly figure that has the audacity to call himself a man. You won’t be too late this time.
“You’re right.” You stand, saying it with the same conviction he spat at you, except yours has reason, a deeper meaning than insecurity. "It’s the butcher. Had me on my knees last week.”
He storms across the distance then, an anger in his eyes you're not quite used to. You don't move though, not even a flinch when he wraps his hands around your throat and slams you against the wall of the shed. Your head throbs from the impact, a panging tightness radiating from your skull down your spine. Your hands find purchase on his forearm, dragging your nails along his skin until it draws blood, legs kicking out as the bunny had in his grasp too.
“Right on top of the meat you eat for dinner every night.” You say it between your strangled breaths and stinging lash line with tears you try your best to hold back.
His fingers tighten around your neck after that and the edges of your vision go dark, hands losing their grip on him when you physically can't fill your lungs with air. You see your mom at the edges, the abuse she endured when you were young. When she wasn’t brave enough to do something about it and leave. When she put her faith above reality. Above you.
You think maybe you should be thinking about your faith instead of hers. Muttering a prayer you were forced to memorize growing up, but none of them come to mind. None of them could help you now. This God should’ve saved you years ago.
The rest is a blur, you don’t know what you grab, or how you even manage to, but it’s heavy, and you can barely wrap your fingers around it. All you know is it makes your husband’s hands fall from your throat, falling back after repeatedly bashing his head with it.
Your cross necklace follows him, silver jewelry ricocheting off the floor. You think it has to be a metaphor, a sign from this God. Being set free from the expectations of religion, set free of the shackles that weighed you down for so long. The cross scalded on your skin melted off.
There’s blood dripping from his forehead when you finally stop, and he’s looking at you in shock, fingers dabbing at the wound like he hadn't just had his hands around your jugular. It makes you laugh, a sound that comes out half broken from your strained throat.
“We’re done.” It's raspy, but final.
You don't look back as you walk back inside the house you've lived in for years. Don't even give him a shred of acknowledgement when you pack a duffel bag.
You find you don't have much of importance in this house besides Simon's jacket.
You don't even realize you've got blood on your shirt and under your finger nails until you're outside Simon's door and he looks at you concerned.
You’re not even surprised when you see your ring glimmer out of the corner of your eye, pinned to the wall like a trophy he’s won.
Soft-opening preorders now for all of my out of stock skirt designs! Currently the 4 in the top image are available to preorder now through mid-june, I'll just be leaving preorders open for a while on these for anyone who wants to grab + reserve one! Available S-6XL for all of these, will ship ~late july! 🖤 I'll be adding a few more in the beginning of june depending what else is close to running out!
www.vetiverfoxapparel.com
also, I have leftovers on sale for 10% off on all skirts down to only a few left, including the "black velvet" and "foxglove & absinthe" designs. check em out! No code needed, sale price should automatically apply ^^
I have now added MYTHOLOGY skirts to this round of preorders! There are also still some leftover skirts on sale if you want to grab em for 10% off, BLACK VELVET and FOXGLOVE are down to their last couple skirts, and BLACKBERRY BRAMBLE & FLORAL WOLFHOUND are almost gone too!
>Particularly among Gen Z, our data shows an interesting duality: they are both the group most likely to agree that women who have a successful career are more attractive to men but are simultaneously most likely to agree that a wife should always obey her husband and that a woman should never appear too self-sufficient or independent.
I know these two things seem contradictory, but there’s nothing a conservative man loves more than to tear off an angel’s wings. There are plenty of women that would willingly choose the obedient SAHM lifestyle, but these kinds of men always seem to go for the opposite. Why? Because it’s a power play. There’s no need to break a horse that’s already broken, and that would do nothing to validate that man, his ego, and his place in a world he sees as designed for him.
Another factor is that these men avoid dating conservative women who already want the lives they want them to have because those women's standards are too high. Specifically, such women expect to be the obedient stay at home mum, but they also expect their men to be the masculine ideal from the other half of the equation -- they tend to look down on their men if they cry, they expect them to be able to financially provide for the household, they want them to uphold their end of the bargain. You see this again and again in groups of conservative men who go out of their way to date liberal women; there is a power play, to tame someone untamed and bring her into line with his expectations, but there's also her lack of expectations of him. They want a woman who will do all the household and keep the home but ALSO will not reject him for not being able to afford to finance the family alone. They want a woman who'll respect and obey him but ALSO be fun and relaxed and let him show whatever emotions he wants. They want the Perfect Trad Wife who won't expect him to be the Perfect Trad Husband.
You see the same thing in conservatives who complain that all their leftie friends are abandoning them, but who won't just hang out with right wing friends instead. They don't want to hang out with other righties because a group of righties quickly becomes judgy and hateful and socially competitive, and is only fun to hang out with when they want to vent, whereas their leftie friends were more relaxed and fun. They want license to be unpleasant and expect unreasonable things of others, but want the people around them to be pleasant and not expect unreasonable things of them.
We have some excellent commentary here, but I want you to keep in mind an adage that will serve you well on the modern internet.
"If something immediately makes me feel anger, repulsion, or joy, with even a simple blurb, it's probably manipulating me."
First off, Newsweek is hardly an unbiased source these days. The majority shareholder is Dev Pagrad, is exceptionally wealthy, and has been repeatedly pushing newsweek to be an arm of the right wing's propaganda machine. It is HARD LINE far-right, Anti-trans, anti-woman, anti-immigrant, anti-science
To cite the Southern Poverty Law Center (by way of Wikipedia)
In November 2022, the Southern Poverty Law Center reported that Newsweek had "taken a marked radical right turn by buoying extremists and promoting authoritarian leaders" since it hired conservative political activist Josh Hammer as editor-at-large. It noted the magazine's elevation of conspiracy theorists, publication of conspiracy theories about COVID-19, views such as support for a ban on all legal immigration to the United States and denying adults access to trans-affirming medical care, and failure to disclose potential conflicts of interest in the content published on Hammer's opinion section and podcast.
https://web.archive.org/web/20221106005834/https://www.splcenter.org/hatewatch/2022/11/04/newsweek-embraces-anti-democracy-hard-right
Newsweek, when even linking to the study it cites, doesn't... actually link to the study. It just links to newsweek's "study" tab. It does MENTION the study, which allowed me to track it down.
https://www.ipsos.com/en-uk/almost-third-gen-z-men-globally-agree-wife-should-obey-her-husband
IPSOS is a MARKETING FIRM, whose CEO Jean Laurent Poitou, was the former head of Accenture, under whose leadership, sure did a lot of fraud, engaging in tax avoidance, and other such conservative-leaning behaviors, and who generally is affiliated with the traditional right.
Let's add another one.
The group "Global Institute for Women’s Leadership at King’s Business School, King’s College London" just so happens to be at the school that the Current CEO of newsweek is not just an alum of, but is a major contributor to the funding for. It's always weird when something extremely polarizing comes from, a group that's directly funded by the CEO or owner of the conservative newspaper that's publishing it, as well as from research done by a Marketing firm in the pockets of wealthy conservatives! Funny how that always seems to happen!
But if we actually look at IPSOS's study, you'll see that a lot of the numbers have been gently massaged and their methodology is EXTREMELY opaque. After all, they're not a scientific institution. They're a MARKETING FIRM.
The biggest conclusion if you read their own paper, is ACTUALLY, that MOST PEOPLE seem to hold progressive views on women's autonomy, but think that THEIR COUNTRY still majority holds draconian views on women's autonomy.
Things their own study says:
A Majority of Gen Z believes that women shouldn't "always obey" their husbands.
A Majority of Gen Z has concerns that their society holds draconian beliefs about women.
What the results of the SPIN on this facts, as well as how many in the comments are reacting, is actually perpetuating the Traditional Right's views on Gender and Marriage.
I need you to understand that it actively benefits the traditional right when you lean into gender essentialism and believe that Men Are Evil. That Men Are Monsters. It makes the default assumption of men be that they will always be predators, meaning that when they DO do something predator, nobody's surprised; well that's just how men are; when he finds the RIGHT woman who can Tame Him, then he'll behave; that's the duty of a woman after all; to put up with men abusing her until she finds one who is the Right One, who she can handle.
What this article ALSO does, is scare progressive women, scares queerfolk, scares young folk, and makes conservatives feel emboldened and empowered.
You need to ALWAYS, ALWAYS, remind yourself: "If something immediately makes me feel anger, repulsion, or Joy, with even a simple blurb, it's probably manipulating me."
And more than that, you need to remember the follow up:
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Could I suggest a picture of Dawntreader Texas Calboy? He is a beautiful male calico cat who is a chimera. He's also somewhat controversial among some cat fancy associations since he is a male cat with female colors, and some people are strangely transphobic towards him, despite him being a cat? There was even a rule implemented to keep him from competing in a cat show. If you look up his name, he made a few news articles.
Yeah you're right about beautiful I'm squeezing him until he pops!!!!! I love this guy I think I'm going to make an edit real quickly Calboy I love you I'm so sorry people are calling you a freak??????
As someone who played the MW campaigns and the MW3 battle passes—I genuinely don't believe Johnny is DEAD dead until I finished the new campaign.
They turned him into some kind of zombie-cyborg-something one season, Season 4 I believe, (with the green mask, scar on his temple and all) and I HOPE they'll make that canon.
how are you gonna be 31 and posting fandom content bro leave it to the teenagers
People 10 and 20 years older than me are writing your favorite fanfics, and drawing your favorite characters. You'd have no fandom without the people you think are 'too old' to have hobbies.
This mentality is so insanely frustrating. Why do teenagers think that people have to give up their hobbies, give up fun, when they reach a certain age? Like??
When I was a teenager writing fic, I remember finding out that one of my favorite authors was in her 50s and that just was SUCH a revelation for me!! What do you mean, 50 year olds can write fanfic?!? Does that mean I can write fics when I'm her age?? That's AWESOME! I seriously looked up to her so much. And now I'm 35 with a husband and kid, and I'm still writing fanfic and posting fandom content - and I have no plans of stopping!
If you try to drive 30+ people out of fandom, you're going to lose the backbone of said fandom!
The ageism in fandom is fucking insane. It’s strange that people seem to have the idea that fandom was created by and for teenagers… It was not. It was created by adults. How would we have ao3 if only teenagers were in fandom?
I don’t want to sound like I am hating on younger people in fandom, but god, y’all need to stop it with the ageism. You don’t have to give up what you love once you’re an adult. Honestly, the belief that you have to is pretty bad. It sounds like it would make people afraid of aging. Granted, modern society is so very afraid of aging.
Don’t give up what you love just because you’re an adult. You don’t have to. And don’t try to force others to do it either.
Teenagers don't have the resources and skills to build something like AO3, it has to be people with degrees and money doing that, and that translates to a 30+ crowd. But teenagers especially need the protection and legal advocacy that something like AO3 offers them.
Part of the reason the then 30- and 40-somethings who built AO3 did what they did was so that someone with as few resources and as little support as the average 15-year-old fic author can safely and comfortably share their fanfic and find fic to read.
When you attack and belittle older fans for daring to be fans, you're not just being cruel to people who share your hobby and write fic you enjoy, you're attacking the very same people who make your hobby possible for you in the first place.
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living with simon riley is more like living with a large, slightly scary dog than a man.
he’s quiet, low-maintenance - as long as he gets his hour or two of exercise a day. skip it and he gets restless.
right before dinner he appears in the kitchen doorway like clockwork, staring at you with a hopeful, wide eyed look that says “feed me, please.”
when he’s home from ops, he follows you from room to room without a word - your silent, ever present shadow. if you leave for work, he’s waiting by the front door when you get back, like he’s been lurking there for hours.
and every morning when he wakes up hard, pressed right against your ass? he humps against you like a horny mutt who’s forgotten all his manners.
