Tag: cackling

lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks:

nerd-with-a-cause:

lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks:

sepulchritude:

lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks:

concept: woman makes deal with demon to have it’s child in exchange for eternal life or some shit

woman then makes deal with witch and offers her first born for like, riches or something

woman dumps demon baby on witch, absconds with her winnings and leaves witch and demon fighting for custody

half demon baby grows up learning magic and visiting hell on weekends and every second christmas

does the woman act as a sort of vodka aunt who shows up sometimes to teach the child how to work the system?

“here you go timmy, have a new xbox. this year I’m going to teach you the ins and outs of magical tax evasion”

SHE DOES NOW

Well, here’s my take. @lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks

Vaiya’s mother had taught her never
to do things halfway. If you wanted something done, you did it yourself, and
you did it better than anyone else.

           She had
bought the expensive salt from the poisoned flatlands and made a perfect circle
with it. She had personally snipped two whiskers from a pure black cat (the
spell only called for one, but it was good to have a back-up) and used it for
the wick in her homemade firebee wax candle. The candle sat in the middle of
the salt circle, surrounded by painstakingly sketched runes. She had the silver
knife, if she needed it, and a cup of holy water sitting casually within hand’s
reach. The moon was dark. It was time.

           She recited
the spell she had memorized, not slowly but deliberately, giving each word its
proper weight. She leaned over the edge of the circle, taking care not to scuff
it, and lit the wick of the candle. It smelled like burning hair, and beneath
that lurked another smell, like sulfur. She drew back quickly.

           Something
uncoiled from the candle flame. It stretched up, spread itself out, and drew
back in on itself. The demon looked like flame made solid. It had taken the
shape of a cat, though a much bigger and fiercer one than the feline whose
whiskers she had used. Its flame-yellow teeth jutted past its lower jaw, and
its forked tongue, when it yawned, gleamed burnished copper orange.

           “And what
can I do for you, O Summoner?” it asked. Its pupils were the only part of its
body not the color of fire. They were shiny coal black, and they dilated as the
demon studied her.

           “I want the
hoard of the dragon that died two days ago,” Vaiya said. “I want it in my
cellar tomorrow morning, no later than nine o’clock. I’m not trekking up that
mountain to get it.”

           The demon
stretched its front legs, which lengthened unnaturally as it did so. It tapped
the edge of the circle, and its ember-red toes immediately withered into
charcoal. The demon studied its toes with interest.

           “Impressive,”
it said. “You do not smell like a witch.” It licked its toes until they began
to glow again.

           “I’m not, I
just dabble,” Vaiya said. “But I know enough to know you’ll want something in
exchange.”

           “You are
correct.” The demon slunk to the edge of the circle and paced along it, though
this time it avoided touching the salt.

           “I want a
child,” it said. “It will be half demon, and you will carry it for me for six
months. Less than your kind usually must bear, so I hear.”

           “You heard
right,” she said. “So, this demon child. Will it kill me in the process of
giving birth?”

           The demon
purred.

           “Fire is
always hungry, always seeking to spread. But a fire that destroyed the wood
that birthed it would die at once. No, it will not kill you. But I advise
against keeping it for long.”

           “Fair
enough,” Vaiya said. “You get a demon child, I get a dragon’s hoard. Agreed?”

           “Agreed,”
said the demon. It sat, tail twitching.

           “Blood is
traditional, to seal the arrangement.”

           “Funny. I
heard hair works just as well and comes with fewer side effects,” said Vaiya.

           The demon
did not quite sigh, having no need to breath. But it came close.

           “You are
correct,” it said.

           Vaiya cut a
length of her hair with the silver knife and tossed it into the circle. The
demon licked it up, and the smell of burning hair intensified.

           “We will
meet again,” the demon said. And then it vanished, as abruptly as a flame going
out. Vaiya sprinkled holy water over the whole area, just in case. Then she
swept up the salt and ashes, carried the dustpan to the pigpen, and dumped it
all in. She buried the remains of her summoning, knowing that a demon with that
much dignity would never risk emerging covered in pig muck.

           “Right,
well, that’s done,” she muttered to herself. “I’ll deal with the witch
tomorrow.”

Keep reading

holy shit this is fucking amazing

READ THIS

copperbadge:

peradii:

digitaldiscipline:

doctorwithafryingpan:

dafterwho:

arctic-hands:

not-to-worry–fan-not-stalker:

kyraneko:

peradii:

We all know that Hoth was a simmering mess of hormones and stress and I would pay good money for a soap opera about them. Here are some things which Definitely Happened: 

  • There’s a betting pool going on who takes Luke’s virginity. The favourites are Han and Leia, but Wedge Antilles has pretty good odds, and there’s a small contingent of aliens who are convinced it will be Chewie (after all, who could resist that Wookie musk? Headcanon: most alien races consider humans soft and gross. Most alien races find Wookies absurdly attractive. Han Solo isn’t the ladykiller; Chewie is.)
  • Leia and Han scream at each other in every corner of the base. Everyone is desperate for them to fuck. They do not. The sexual tension is so thick that it could be cut into blocks and sold as wall insulation. More than once they are ‘accidentally’ locked in a supply cupboard in the vain hope that claustrophobia will act as the catalyst that enables their frustration to spark into true love – or at least nasty raunchy cupboard sex. It does not. All that happens is that the offender has legally changed their name to escape the Wrath of Organa. 
  • Someone paints a shirtless Han Solo on their X Wing. Leia is furious. Han is delighted: both at the highly flattering portrait (he has an eight-pack, he is shredded) and at Leia’s fury (you’re jealous princess/no I am not/you’re jealous, hey I can pose like that for you if you –). Hoth’s winter had nothing on the chilly silence that followed that suggestion. 
  • Luke and Leia both have very graphic dreams about Han Solo. Han Solo has very graphic dreams about the twins –  individually, together, he’s thirty fucking years old, why is his brain doing this to him.(Later on they will, individually, realise that due to Luke and Leia’s Force-bond they probably created a circle of Han Solo Sex Dreams: Leia had them, so Luke sensed her lust for Han which intensified his own lust for Han, which led to Luke having Han Solo sex dreams, which led to Leia lusting – and so on, and so on. For the sake of their sanity, they never share this revelation which each other.)
  • Luke is SO COLD. All the time. WHY DOES NO ONE APPRECIATE HOW COLD HE IS. He comes from a desert world. Of course he’s cold! What is all this white stuff? It was pretty for the first fve seconds but holy fucking Force it is so cold it burns and what the hell is going on with that? He bundles himself up in so many layers that he waddles rather than walks. Fearsome Last of the Jedi indeed.
  • Luke tapes a knife to a cleaning droid (disc-shaped things that swish around the base, sucking up dirt) and names it Stabby. Why, says Leia. Luke, the boy from Tatooine, shining and happy despite everything says why not. Why not indeed. Stabby is very fond of chasing Han. Han wants desperately to shoot the fucking thing– but then he sees big-eyed Luke and sharp-toothed Leia cooing over it and, well. A little bit of light stabbing is nothing, compared to those two smiling. 

STABBY THE SPACE ROOMBA!

I am torn between wanting Stabby to be grabbed and evacuated along with the Rebels and make it to the next base, and wanting Stabby to get Vader.

Compromise: shortly after losing the Millennium Falcon, Vader, storming through the Rebel base, is startled to feel a sudden jolt of pain from the artificial sensors on his left leg prosthetic: a sharp sensation on his ankle. Surprised, because he sensed no threat–is the limb malfunctioning?–he looks down, and there is a cleaning droid with a knife taped to it, a little painted-on Rebel lieutenant’s insignia, and the word STABBY written on it.

He stares down at it, completely and utterly taken aback for the first time in over a decade. Fearlessly, it chitters back at him, sounding very triumphant.

He picks it up.

Off in the fractal weirdness of hyperspace, Rebels on several ships are surprised to find an update on Stabby’s kill-update feed, and then thoroughly shocked at the accompanying image: the upward-pointing camera has captured an image of Darth Vader staring down at the droid.

It’s the fastest news ever to travel through the Rebel grapevine, the mix of triumph and loss that is, they are certain, Stabby’s heroic last stand.

Until a day later, when the thing updates again, this time showing an extremely confused Imperial officer. And another, and another, and another, day after day.

They cancel the funeral.

Vader hasn’t done much just for the fun of it in two decades. Watching Imperial officers swear and clutch their ankles as a cleaning drone with a knife taped to it, an Imperial emblem, lieutenant’s insignia, and the word STABBY painted on it, bumps into them and then chatters triumphantly, he’s figured he’s earned.

STABBY FIC!  STABBY STARWARS FIC!  YOU HAVE MADE MY DAY!

But do they send in a rescue unit to reclaim their most honorable POW?

no, the rebels are all too happy to have vader backing one of their most valuable psychological weapons.  stabby’s antics are invaluable for their ability to escalate tension within imperial ranks, and vader’s personal amusement means stabby will get to keep running his miniature interference mission for a long time to come

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASSSSSS

STABBY LIVESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Grand Moff Tarkin limps into Vader’s quarters. Again. “Lord Vader, enough of this.”

“I have altered the droid; pray I do not alter it any further.”

(If there’s one thing young Anakin Skywalker can appreciate, it’s a hot-rodded maintenance droid, c’mon.)

VADER PUTS A LIGHTSABRE ON STABBY

HE CALLS IT HIS APPRENTICE

MY SON WILL NOT TURN TO THE DARKSIDE BUT MY SON’S STABBY SON WILL

Stabby is eventually recovered and given a medal after the defeat of the Emperor, but his poor little chassis is too badly damaged by then to even hold onto the knife anymore. His internal mechanism is removed and upgraded, and then the Master Droid Tech charged with fixing him casts around for a new casing to put him in.

“Hey!” calls a teenaged Poe Dameron, walking into the Droid repair shop. “I got this decommissioned BB-8 chassis they said to bring in here. It needs a new owner. Captain said I can have it if I can find a new mechanism for it.”

The Master Droid Tech looks at Stabby, then at the BB-8 chassis, then back at Stabby. Stabby turns his unsheathed ocular sensor to Poe and beeps adoringly. (This is a common if relatively new reaction to Poe Dameron, who has just graduated from his Awkward Stage.)

“Yeah, I got one for you right here,” the Tech says, grinning. 

thebisexualmandalorian:

liberteaandjusticeforall:

ok but at what point did Qui-Gon realize he’d said “The Queen doesn’t need to know” to the actual Queen.

at what point in the battle planning did Padme very deadpan say to him, “the council doesn’t need to know?” or something like that

at what point did Qui-Gon realize that under no circumstances should Obi-Wan and Padme be allowed to become friends because they will sass him to death

at what point did the young Queen realize she and Qui-Gon were saltmates

In the novelization, he knew the whole time.  He knew he was looking Queen Amidala directly in the eye while telling her the queen doesn’t need to know.  Qui-Gon Jinn hasn’t given a single fuck in fifty years.