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Sweet Dreams 2.0 [AU]

One half of the crowd held their breath, the other had fallen into quiet, unsettled or doubtful murmuring as the woman up on the little makeshift podium had started to deliver her speech. She was not overly pretty or charismatic, with her dull, old-fashioned clothes and her plain little hat. But her voice was loud and clear and she spoke with the fervour of somebody who was willing to fight and die for a cause, and people tended to be impressed by that. Up behind her swayed a heavy flag, handpainted with the symbol of two hands breaking what looked like a long, thin stick in half.

People joined and left the group of bystanders listening to her words, some losing interest halfway or simply retreating when her crazy ideals ceased to entertain them. Not even those who stayed knew exactly wether or not they should believe her. It simply sounded too ridiculous. This was the twentieth century, after all. A modern world with a modern society and new ideals and ambitions. Science was blooming. The steam engine had almost completely overtaken horse carriages and handmade crafts by now. People went to work in massive factories, guarding and assisting heavy machinery that could produce the exact same item tenfold in under five minutes. There were hardly any black spots left on the world map, and the Western World had only just overcome the horrors of what was soon to be called World War I.

And now there was this woman, standing in broad daylight, and proclaiming that in this day and age, witches and wizards walked among them. All those scary bedtime stories still told in both Catholic and atheist households? Absolutely true. Magic? Spells? Curses? Real, all of them. Mutations. Lunatics. A danger even more threatening than the heavy war machinery developed for the fight against the Germans. Impossible to calculate. Even harder to stop.

But who would believe that? In a world so disillusioned and cold, where would there be any space for something so fantastical as real magic?

The blue eyed man standing in the back of the audience shifted his head to the other side to catch a better glimpse at the speaker. He was tall, not extraordinarily so but still well built; slim and fit under his perfectly fitting dark suit, and in his late twenties. He looked like a business man - his black hair slicked back smoothly to grant sight of his sharp cheekbones and jaw - and his eyes were set on a certain person up in the front.

The boy he was watching could not be older than eighteen, or twenty at best, but the blue eyed one doubted that his mother had ever celebrated a single birthday for him before. He was quietly handing out flyers with the same symbol as the one on the flag, along with a few other children who all looked a lot younger than him. The man let his gaze wander across all of them, and yet they always returned to the teenager in the end This was not the first proclamation of the Salem 2.0 that the man had visited, and it certainly wasn’t the first time that he was watching the kid either.

Paimon was his name. Pai for short, but only one of his younger sisters seemed to call him by that. Adopted, as far as the man knew, by a muggle mother who had always been keen on the absolute destruction of all things magic in the world, as if wizards were a deadly disease that would infiltrate and destroy her good honourable neighbourhood if she did not put a lid on it, like prostitution, cocaine or black people. Let all witches burn on the stake! Bring back the trials of Salem! Protect our city from this pest! …and so on, and so on.

The blue eyed one sighed and tossed a glance at his pocket watch. If they did not come to an end very soon, he would have to move the date to another day in the calender completely. It was not supposed to be one like any other, after all. Today was the day he had been waiting for over weeks already. He would speak to the poor guy, who stood there next to his mother with hunched shoulders and used boots like he did not belong into the middle of a radical political campaign. His expression looked almost a little dreadful, but still he never tired of handing out new flyers and granting the onlookers an uncomfortable smile every once in a while.

The sky darkened slowly. More and more people left and right from the man disappeared to go about their day again, hoping to grab a safe spot under a steady roof to keep them dry and warm. The woman’s speech had come to an end, or so it seemed. Her voice lowered and she bowed deeply before the sad rest of her audience, promising to keep on fighting for her belief and to make the city safe once more. The man waited.

#greatkingofthewest

👑 (Pick whoever)

“Oh, yes. Isn’t it absolutely dreadful?”

Armand cut into the conversation Prince Adem had been having with his peers, surrounded, as he always was, by a group of young and equally vicious Lords. All of them sported the same smug look, and Armand was doing his best to hide a knowing smile.

“Your favourite horse, as well. Who knows how far it could have gotten by now, bolting like that in the night?”

There was nothing like the sweet taste of petty vengeance. Perhaps now Adem would think twice about spreading seedy rumours about him and the stable boy. He was sure he would make the connection.

“And just yours, as well. What an unfortunate and odd occurrance.”

#;royalty au #greatkingofthewest

Pomn: I work for McDonald’s scent lab.

Levi: ok but why

Ciar: MCDONALDS HAS A WHAT

#idk I giggled #there's three types of people #greatkingofthewest #bastardantichrist

“It’s a trap, Ciar!”

#.:Leviathan speaks #.:watching you #greatkingofthewest #bastardantichrist

.:ooc

Coincidence? I think not.

#.:ooc #bastardantichrist #greatkingofthewest

@greatkingofthewest liked for a starter

It bordered on a miracle that Paimon had not gotten a hold of the demon prince yet. After fleeing the confines of Hell for a much needed whiff of fresh air Asmodeus had not gotten the impression that anybody was following him for answers. Word of his return should have gotten around by now though, and so it was only a question of time before Luzifer’s right hand man would show up to squeeze his story out of him. Asmodeus couldn’t say he was very excited about the prospect. Yet of course, he did not have much of a choice.

When he looked up from the rubix cube he had quietly been fidgeting with for about an hour now, a familiar face was gazing down at him.

“So you found me, huh?”

#greatkingofthewest #.:Asmodeus speaks #prayer for a lifetime arc

@greatkingofthewest

Armand sat and stared straight at the other, in plain admiration. It was something about him - or was it just his desperate need for distraction? Whichever, it didn’t matter.