I'll make you a HELL of a DEAL...

Indie Fandomless OC * Malcolm * Crossroads Demon

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We’ve Moved!

Hey y’all, this blog is now an archive.  You can now find the demon over on his freshly rebooted blog, HERE.  

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Hiatus Notice

((Hey everyone.  Sorry for vanishing without a trace.  If it hasn’t become apparent yet, this blog is on a hiatus until further notice.  I need to figure out what I want to do here going forward, which is probably going to mean some massive, sweeping changes and possibly a full reboot when I do decide to return.  

I’ve been logging in every now and then to check messages, so if you need to get ahold of me that’s one option.  Those of you who do have my Skype are welcome to contact me on it.  I hope you’re all well and thank you for your patience and understanding.))    

[spenceraes]

[survivingthedemonsinside-deacti]

spenceraes:

     WHERE IS YOUR GOD NOW?!

demonic possession.

[captnsulu-deactivated20161211]

we all have our demons, yes, but what if that’s all there is to me?

ii. questions of great tragedies (o.q)

[wordsnquotes]

Humans see what they want to see.

Rick Riordan

,

The Lightning Thief

  (via

eisoptrxphobiic

)

[frosya]

[apoeticmythos]

i don’t feel very human anymore.

7:59 pm 4/28/15; l.m. (via apoeticmythos)

[love-war-and-figs]

The Song of Achilles, Madeline Miller

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huntresscaraquinn :

Cara slowly nodded as he explained the gist of how the tattoo worked, and she instantly decided that she would be keeping her hair down from here on out. At least the tattoo would stay hidden that way, and she could be sure that it was able to do its job. Because the last thing she wanted was a repeat of what had happened in the past. Regardless of being able to remember it or not… It sickened her. She could imagine it – the slaughter of innocent people. Of her family. She would give anything not to go through that again. When Lee asked her about remembering her Latin, she questioned, “…Do I speak Latin?” She paused before continuing, “Do you? I mean, maybe if you can give me a head start, I can see if I remember any of it.”

He watches the gears turn almost as though her head were transparent; he’s never been particularly empathetic but when she goes quiet for a moment it isn’t too hard to guess what she’s thinking about.  “Demons ain’t no fun for no one, Darlin’,” Lee offers gently, as if the observation is intended to be comforting...he’s never been much good at that, either.  “--Do I?” The hunter scoffs.  She may as well have just called him dickless.  “Cara, are ya’ kiddin’ me?  I’m a fuckin’ hunter, my Latin’s better’n my English.”  He’s not lying about that, either.  “A’lright, how’s this, we’ll start with just a basic exorcism, yeah?”  Slowly and deliberately, Lee begins to recite the incantation, “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica...Any of this joggin’ your memory?”     

[sunlove9413217-deactivated20250]

[wnq-writers]

The one I used to love the most is now the one I am most afraid of.

starvingwriterblog (via wordsnquotes)

[dailyactress]

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misshoodoolady:

“I don’t really know,” she says, leaning forward. “I can set up a bath to cleanse the negativity from you, to uncross any jinx you may have, but whether or not it’ll relieve you of all traces of the demon, I can’t guarantee. I don’t know much about demonic possession besides the basics; what I know outside of that, I learned from the demon.”

Albeit, the demon had given her a large glimpse of the way the demon world worked–the intricacy of its bureaucratic system, the whys and hows of demonic possession—but there’s still so much she doesn’t know. What she does know is that it’s rare for a demon to leave its human host alive after vacating the premises—she hadn’t been aware that it was possible until the demon had told her it’d kept its host was still around—so this was an even bigger unknown territory.

“I think the least we can do is try. The worst that can happen is that nothin’ happens.” She stands up, hesitating before taking a step towards Malcolm and putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Lemme get my book and I’ll see what ingredients I need. I have a feeling I’ll need to do some shopping, but I can have it setup by tonight.”

Malcolm fidgets as he feels an unexpected wave of disappointment wash over him, chewing on his lower lip to hide it as much as possible as he nods.  Perhaps it had been foolish to pin hope upon such a fickle craft as magic in the first place, but Pasha is right--it’s still worth a shot.

“As ya’ say, ma’am,” the hunter agrees, glancing over at the warm hand upon his shoulder before meeting the witch’s eyes once more.  “If there ain’t no harm in tryin’, I’d be much obliged.  Can I do somethin’ t’ help ya’ get things ready?  Been a long time since I dabbled in spellwork, but I still know my way around an apothecary shop.  If ya’ gimme’ a list I can fetch whatever components ya’ need.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth he realizes how it might be misinterpreted.  “--I never practiced, I mean,” Mal quickly assures her, “Never this sorta’ thing.  But I know a sage leaf from a chicken bone.”  

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psychoanalyticmystic :

If he doesn’t have the right answer then neither of them do. She thought that maybe it was to give up, to try and find a different way to live than the one they’d chosen together that was killing them both. But now she’s not sure of anything anymore. It takes more strength of will than she thought she had to stay apart from him as he looks at her, even as every part of her screams to fill the empty space.

“It’s funny,” she says quietly, even though she’s not laughing. “You’re who I’d talk to about all of this. To try and sort my head out.” Her voice cracks a little on the last word and she clears her throat to try and conceal it, looking down at the carpet. “I already moved my stuff into the other room. I don’t have a problem co-existing if you don’t. We’ve known each other long enough, right?”

He can hear his father’s voice echoing in the back of his mind--’What the Hell’d ya’ do t’ fuck it up, boy?’--and for the life of him Malcolm wishes he knew.  He wishes he knew why he couldn’t hack it at marriage, or why he’s a terrible teacher, or why the minute he opens his mouth he feels like a stranger in California...Maybe his father is right.  Maybe mucking pigshit in Texas is all he was ever meant to do with his life.

“Belle, you can still talk t’ me, ya’ know that.”  And yet, talking about their problems has never been a strong suit for either of them.  He takes a step toward her, and then another, closing the space between them before stopping himself just out of reach.  “Do ya’ want me t’ stay?” Malcolm asks, barely more than a whisper and half afraid of what her answer will be.     

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Open

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shaggydemon :

Chuck smiled, “Thanks, but I’m sure I’ll be fine.” He frowned at the questions and shook his head, “No… no one’s cared about me for a long, long time.” He glanced at the other, “Originally or… in America? Cause I have a place in New York. Nothing much, but it’s home.” 

He’s a little bit taken aback at the bluntness of the statement, though in truth he understands it better than most.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean t’ throw salt in old wounds.  I don’t really have any family, either, but--don’t ya’ have anybody who might be lookin’ for ya’?  I don’t have a phone, but there’s a bodega downstairs that’ll let ya’ use theirs if ya’ need t’ make a call.”  Malcolm taps a fingertip on the neck of his beer bottle before taking another sip.  “You’re a long way from New York, Chuck...”     

[misshoodoolady-arc-deactivated2]

♖ comforting after a nightmare

meme | accepting | @crossroadcaesar​

It’s the pacing that wakes her up.

Well, not exactly. It’s the way her house seems to whine and groan and sigh at every footfall. She’s lived in this house long enough to recognize the music it makes; she’s paced that hall enough times herself to know what it sounds like when someone’s trying to calm themselves down.

Laying in bed, Pasha stares up at the ceiling, wondering if she should leave Malcolm to his own devices, let him tire himself out. Then she remembers all the times she’s been in his shoes, alone with her thoughts and wishing that there was someone she could, at least, lean on. Those creaks hadn’t always been there; she’d worn them into the floor.

The second she opens the door, everything seems to freeze, silence drifting heavily between them. She hesitates, hands cinching her robe closed; then she jerks her head down the hall. “Come with me.”

It’s a command, not a request, and she moves without checking to see if he’s following. If he’s not, she’ll go to him. But by the time she’s pulling the steaming mug of water from the microwave, an infuser full of chamomile and valerian tea floating on the surface, he’s seating himself at the kitchen table. 

“Drink. It’ll help.” Again, not a request. She sets the mug in front of him before sinking into the seat next to him with a heavy sigh. “I get ‘em, too, y’know.”

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rileyhallow :

                                                  ——————–Too late?           She’s CONFUSED and looks it, without a doubt; brows knit together, level gaze flicking across the features of a face both familiar and UNfamiliar and now that she’s looking at him—–REALLY looking at him—–she notices it: the strange feeling she’d thought was just due to being gone for so long, but is now so clearly ANOTHER case altogether.     ❝  What happened—?  ❞     She doesn’t bother to keep the surprise from her voice or off her face, taking a step back, before she THINKS about what he’d said. They’re gone.     ❝  WHO’S gone?  ❞

For over forty years, trapped in his own consciousness while the demon defiled his body, Malcolm Brockway had prayed for the day he would get to say the words that fall from his lips next.  “That bitch is back in Hell where she belongs.”  Somehow it’s not as satisfying as he’d imagined.  The hunter shakes his head, pushing a hand back through the mess of tousled hair that falls across his forehead.  “Demons came.  A lot of ‘em.  It was messy.”  He’s not sure why he finds himself compelled to spare her the truly gory details...or to offer what little condolence he does.  “She didn’t let them take him.  It’s just you now.”