DAEMON SULTAN

Sideblog of Stalkingthestars

[nuclearchacs]

Azathoth’s eyes are permanently wide open. At least the facsimile any person i write with will be interacting with. since it’s not the conscious nuclear chaos, it’s the sleeping subconscious given flesh and interacting with its dream

because reminder. Azathoth’s dream is the whole omniverse, if it awakens

snap

that’s it

nothingness

[nuclearchacs]

[nuclearchacs]

[nuclearchacs]

@zzapzzaptasers replied to your photo “”

THIS ONE IS VERY PRETTY CJ

“it appreciates the compliment, but it is allowing for its child to play with you, it cannot play with you until it has finished chewing.”

[nuclearchacs]

[kansas-city-shuffled]

[fallenrazziel]

azathoth, by nightserpent

[miskatonicaquarium]

Azathoth by themagicwarrior

[theretkon]

Azathoth

[nuclearchacs]

azathoth by kometani

[tlumeti]

you look ready

[fhtagn-and-tentacles]

DEMON OF PAIN 

by Antonio J. Manzanedo

[oceanofspace]

[nuclearchacs]

me, writing azathoth to find it has very dom personality

[nuclearchacs]

popgcestheweasel‌:

‘It’ could apologize all ‘it’ wanted as long as ‘it’ fucking stopped it. Turns out that wasen’t apt to happen any time soon, much to his horror. Vilmer’s big eyes took on an odd sheen as his pupils contracted giving a rare glimpse to the blue that the blackness oft swallowed. Oh man, he did not want to choke on whatever was inside him. No sir. Not at all. He feared that a fair bit. It felt like a bunch of big worms were roaming around inside his guts, searing his insides over and over. He shouted loud and gagged almost instantly. And then he was choking. Choking just like he thought. Breathe through your nose. Bide your time. You can make it. Its like swimming. 

He quickly learned to fear and hate those weird ugly eyes of hers. Those gross eyes he really wanted to pop out of her head and take a bite of. Pop like a grape in his mouth. He wouldn’t ever get to do that though even if he made it alive out of this horror show. This thing could do just about whatever it wanted and, Vilmer was just stuck with it. In his burning mind, all he heard over and over was : Hurry up. Hurry up and take them out already.

A pathetic whimper uttered from his clogged throat as the creator of all things forced him to his knees unkindly and then he was shrieking and choking and wheezing and jesus fucking christ. He sobbed. Drool pooled from his lips mingling with tears and snot and sweat and dirt. That sweet nectar of a voice was a siren song in this maddened hell she made for him. Beg? A far away notion. It wasen’t something he’d ever done himself but, boy did he know what it was and just how it went. There was no method of active comprehension that had his lips whispering “Please, please, please, please…”

Temptation while it watches him with eyes like a curious child, is all it feels. It could just keep going, continue to make this man suffer until blood was pouring from every orifice. That sweet smile still remains present upon those soft and tender features, while Vilmer continues to cry and sob for mercy, just like it said moments ago he would do. To think he hadn’t believed it, had filled head with thoughts so dirty and wrong. Even know it could see how badly he wanted to destroy it, and how much of a fleeting impossibility that was. Such a pathetic and small little worm could never hope to have powers like the Creator, a creator with a name so vile none dare utter it except the blessed ones. Blessed be the chaos bringers.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it baby boy? It was wondering if you would give in or just wait until mind was mush.” For a brief moment, it takes hands off of him, crouching down to bring itself on level with him, watching him with those half lidded eyes with all the wonder and amazement of a child watching something for the first time. Watching these things suffer, so pleasant, so fun. Could see why children loved to do so, screams like music, mind like putty while its layers were sheered away. That smile of bluing lips widens a little, showing off the rows of perfectly white and pointed teeth to accompany those horrific eyes and that paled complexion.

Hands on him again, cupping his chin, thumb inattentively stroking away at his jawline. Softly it clicked its tongue, pouting its lips like a doubting mother mocking sympathy. “Poor thing. What has it taught today? Who is it?” Rotten little boy, barely even walk on his own, mind like swiss cheese, like a mad cow. Useless, except as emissary of chaos and death among mortal flesh.

[goswinding]

Sundance 2015 | Olivia Thirlby by Michael Friberg

[nuclearchacs]

popgcestheweasel‌:

That smile fell awkwardly as though it hadn’t belonged and wasn’t quite sure where to go now. Sweat poured down his skin like a broken tarp over a hose. He didn’t understand what she was saying, not to the grand extent and magnitude.Not even close. Someone like him could never hope to nor would he want to. Glimmers of realization mingled with great confusion and then, greatest of all, doubt. It was hard to believe things so abstract. Even harder to believe what could not be entirely understood. But as the uncomfortable feeling turned to one of a searing pain, he decided to quickly believe whatever she said. Worse than the devil and better than God. Sure enough he’d believe that. Lips pressed together as eyes bugged from his skull. Sure enough.

“Can you stop please?” From aggressive and lewd to timid and humble, it was a change that only it had bore witness to with any sincerity from the likes of Vilmer Sawyer. To think just a few moments before, he was planning on shoving his lower piece between those plump lips with a heavy certainty, shouting with glee as he gave her a whole carton of his seed.. His plea was barely maintained without any crying or screaming as he was want to do. Tears pricked his eyes and leaked down right after. It was like coal. Like burning coal. No, worse. God he was being cooked right now. Cooked alive. He groaned and hissed but that soon gave way to a mindless yell, as though the sound escaping him would alleviate the pain. 

“It apologizes.” But it didn’t stop, those fingers continued to stroll along to his throat, play against dirty bare flesh now when its thin and pale fingers finally reach his throat. It lets those tendrils flow along his throat, still diligently following the burning touch of the horrid creator of all things corrupt and abhorrent. A taste of his own medicine, a just action-- But it was not just it was prideful, it was stupid, but it was more powerful than any being that dwelled within the depths of its horrific dream. It is doing this because it was amused, so easily so as well. Those fingers under any other circumstances would feel pleasant, soft and nimble, as they rolled along the outside of his throat, smearing the sweat soaked mud and dead skin, peeling a layer of Vilmer away in a sense.

“It said it would make you beg for mercy.” Half-lidded eyes flutter, and those soft and beautiful lips twist into a contorted grin, one that clearly was ecstatic to be causing him so much pain that there was no freedom for until it wished. Those white irises contrast harshly against the red of its eyes, peering into the soul of poor little Vilmer Sawyer, before with a rough hand it forces him to his knees at its feet. Head tilts, gaze twisted down at him. Pointed well manicured fingertips tease at the side of his skull, wriggling around the inside of his skull like a white hot blender, shredding whatever brains was there, but leaving him physically unharmed.

“It does not think that sounded like begging.” Its voice like sweet honey to the ears, a voice he’d surely love and cherish were it not the voice of the one assaulting his very soul with nothing but its touch. “Beg, worm.”