MEETING DEITIES & DEMON SPIRITS: LILITH & ASTAROTH ENCOUNTER "SEVEN IS DIVINE"
MEETING DEITIES
&
DEMON SPIRITS
(PTSD DREAMS)
CREATED
BY
J. BECK
2026
MEETING
DEMON SPIRITS:
"SEVEN IS DIVINE"
LILITH & ASTAROTH
ENCOUNTER
(PTSD DREAMS)
The heavy velvet curtains of the dark red Victorian parlor hung like coagulated blood, filtering the last dying embers of a fire that had long since surrendered to ash.
Only a single black iron candelabrum remained alight—seven tall tapers guttering in uneven rhythm, throwing long, obscene shadows across the black carpet, the black rugs, the black leather couch that dominated the center of the room like an altar.
Meadow reclined there, half-draped in the heavy black bear fur coat that had slipped from one shoulder, exposing the gleaming black-and-gold corset that cinched her waist to an almost impossible hourglass.
Sweat already glistened along her collarbones and the valley between her breasts; the room was stifling, the air thick with incense, spilled wine, and something older—something sulfurous and sweet. Her big black hair, wild and damp at the temples, spilled across the cracked leather.
Dark eyeliner had begun to migrate, giving her eyes a beautifully ruined, almost sacrificial look. Gold bracelets clinked softly against one another with every shallow breath; rings flashed on fingers that trembled just enough to betray anticipation.
The open bottle of red wine lay discarded on its side near the couch leg, a slow crimson tongue still leaking onto the rug.
Then the shadows at the far end of the room… thickened.
Astaroth did not so much step forward as congeal into presence.
Long, greasy black hair hung in deliberate disorder around a face that was neither fully masculine nor feminine—sharp cheekbones, full mouth painted the color of old bruises, eyes the flat black of obsidian yet somehow molten at the edges.
Shirtless, the demon’s torso was pale, almost luminescent in the candlelight, lean muscle sliding beneath skin that seemed too smooth, too perfect.
A black leather corset—identical in cut to Meadow’s but crueler, laced tighter—cinched the narrow waist. Below that, black fishnet stockings clung to long legs that ended in heeled boots polished to a mirror sheen.
And from the base of the spine, where flesh should have continued, a single thick, sinuous serpent-tail curled lazily, black scales shimmering with faint iridescence, the spade-shaped tip swaying like a metronome counting down to something inevitable.
He—she—they—smiled. The smile contained too many teeth for comfort.
“You called,” the voice was low, genderless, layered—as though several mouths spoke the same words a fraction of a second apart.
Meadow’s lips parted. She did not answer with words. Instead she reached out one ringed hand, palm up, an offering.
Astaroth crossed the room in three liquid strides. The serpent tail dragged behind, whispering across the carpet. When the demon reached the couch, it did not sit so much as flow down beside her, one long leg folding beneath, the other stretched along the leather so that the heeled boot rested near her thigh.
The tail coiled once around her ankle—possessive, cool scales against fever-hot skin—then continued upward, looping loosely around her calf like a living garter.
The demon leaned in.
Their mouths met slowly at first—almost ceremonially. Lips brushed, tasted. Meadow exhaled a soft, broken sound into the kiss.
Then Astaroth’s tongue—longer than a human tongue had any right to be, forked at the very tip—slid past her lips.
The taste was wine and smoke and something metallic, like blood just beginning to oxidize.
Meadow’s hands flew to the demon’s shoulders, nails digging into perfect flesh that gave but did not bruise. She pulled, greedy.
Astaroth answered with a low, resonant growl that vibrated through both their bodies. The kiss deepened into something obscene—wet, open-mouthed, devouring. Tongues curled, wrestled, the forked tip tracing the roof of her mouth, then flicking against the underside of her own tongue in a rhythm that made her hips jerk involuntarily.
One of Astaroth’s hands slid beneath the fallen fur coat, long fingers finding the edge of the corset and slipping under it to cup the swell of her breast.
The touch was cold at first—shockingly so—then rapidly warmed until it burned. Meadow arched into it, whimpering against the demon’s mouth.
The serpent tail tightened around her leg, then slithered higher, the smooth scales gliding over fishnet, pressing against the damp heat between her thighs through the thin scrap of black thong.
It did not penetrate—yet. It simply… rested there. Heavy. Promising. The spade tip gave a single, deliberate flick against her clit through the fabric and Meadow’s entire body spasmed, a choked cry swallowed by the unending kiss.
Astaroth broke the kiss only long enough to speak against her swollen lips.
“Beg,” the demon whispered, voice like black silk tearing. “Or I stop.”
Meadow’s eyes—wide, pupils blown, smeared kohl making her look half-feral—locked onto that obsidian gaze.
“Please,” she breathed, voice wrecked.
“Don’t stop. Take it all.”
The demon’s smile returned, wider, sharper.
The serpent tail moved—slow, inexorable—pushing the soaked thong aside. Cool scales kissed fevered flesh.
Then the thick, sinuous length began to press inside her, stretching, filling, the textured scales dragging against every sensitive ridge and fold.
At the same moment Astaroth’s mouth descended to her throat—biting, not breaking skin, but hard enough to leave perfect crescent marks.
One hand remained at her breast, rolling the pierced nipple between thumb and forefinger while the other tangled in her wild black hair, yanking her head back to expose more throat.
Meadow sobbed—pleasure so sharp it bordered on pain. Her hips rolled, riding the slow, deep thrusts of the demonic tail while her hands clawed at Astaroth’s back, leaving red welts that sealed almost instantly.
The candles flared brighter, as though feeding on the energy pouring off their joined bodies.
Somewhere in the haze of sensation, Meadow felt the demon’s free hand slide down her stomach, fingers finding her clit and circling with cruel precision while the tail inside her curled, seeking that perfect place—
When she came it was violent, full-body, back bowing off the leather, a raw scream tearing from her throat that echoed strangely, as though the room itself answered.
Astaroth drank the sound.
Did not stop.
The serpent tail kept moving—deeper, harder—while clever fingers never ceased their torment and the demon’s mouth returned to hers, swallowing every subsequent cry, every broken plea, every shuddering gasp.
The parlor smelled of sex and brimstone and spilled wine.
And the night, it seemed, had only just begun.
The candles had burned lower, wax pooling in black rivulets down the iron stems, but the heat in the parlor only thickened.
Meadow’s first release still echoed in the trembling of her thighs, in the way her chest heaved, in the slick shine coating the serpent-tail that remained buried deep inside her.
Astaroth had not withdrawn. The demon merely slowed the rhythm—long, languid drags of textured scales against her fluttering walls—enough to keep her teetering on the razor’s edge of overstimulation without letting her fall completely.
Their mouths met again, slower this time, almost tender. The forked tongue traced the shape of her lower lip, then dipped inside to taste the salt of her tears—tears of too much pleasure, of exquisite ruin.
Astaroth’s free hand roamed: down the sweat-slick valley between her breasts, across the quivering plane of her stomach, then lower still. Fingers joined the tail’s work, circling her swollen clit with feather-light pressure that made her hips buck despite herself.
“Again,” the demon murmured against her mouth, voice a velvet rasp laced with command. “I want to feel you shatter on me twice more before dawn.”
Meadow whimpered, half protest, half plea. Her body felt raw, every nerve singing, yet the hunger in her core refused to quiet. She clutched at the demon’s shoulders, nails leaving fleeting red crescents that healed in seconds.
The serpent-tail responded to her grip—curling deeper, the thickest part stretching her open while the spade tip found that devastating spot inside and pressed.
The second climax built slower, crueler. Astaroth controlled it with merciless precision: tail thrusting in measured strokes, fingers never quite giving enough friction, mouth moving to her throat to suck bruising marks into the pale skin just above the gold necklace.
Meadow’s hips rolled helplessly, chasing, begging without words. Sweat plastered her black hair to her neck; the bear-fur coat had fallen completely away now, pooling beneath her like spilled ink.
When it hit, it was quieter than the first—deeper. A full-body shudder, spine arching off the leather, a broken sob caught in her throat as her inner walls clamped down hard around the invading length.
Waves of pleasure rolled through her in long, rolling pulses; she felt herself gush around the scales, hot and slick, the wet sound obscene in the quiet room.
Astaroth drank the sound with another kiss, swallowing her cries while the tail kept moving—gentler now, almost soothing, letting her ride out the aftershocks.
Fingers stayed pressed to her clit, holding the pressure steady so the pleasure never quite ebbed.
Minutes passed—or hours; time had lost meaning in the crimson haze. Meadow’s breathing had barely steadied when Astaroth shifted.
The demon withdrew the tail slowly, deliberately, letting her feel every inch of retreat until only the spade tip remained, teasing her entrance. Meadow whined at the emptiness, hips lifting instinctively.
“Shhh,” Astaroth soothed, the sound somehow both mocking and reverent. “We’re not finished.”
The serpent-tail slid free with a wet sound that made her flush. Then it moved upward—coiling around her waist like a living rope, lifting her effortlessly so she straddled the demon’s lap.
The black corset pressed against her own; fishnet-clad thighs bracketed hers.
Astaroth’s hands gripped her hips, guiding her down until she felt the hard length of the demon’s own arousal—hot, thick, ridged in ways no human cock ever was—nudging at her soaked entrance.
“Look at me,” the demon commanded.
Meadow obeyed. Obsidian eyes held hers, molten at the edges, pupils slit like a serpent’s. She sank down inch by torturous inch, the stretch exquisite, almost too much after everything else.
When she was fully seated, the demon’s tail wrapped once more around her thigh, anchoring her, while the spade tip found her clit and began to flick in time with the slow grind of hips beneath her.
The third climax came fast and brutal.
Astaroth fucked up into her with punishing rhythm—deep, relentless—while the tail’s tip tormented her clit without mercy.
One clawed hand tangled in her hair, yanking her head back so the demon could bite along the column of her throat; the other pinched and rolled her nipples through the corset until they ached.
Meadow rode through it, frantic, nails raking down the demon’s perfect back, leaving marks that smoked faintly before vanishing.
She came screaming this time—raw, animal, the sound bouncing off the dark red walls. Her whole body seized, clenching so hard around the demon that Astaroth hissed—a sound of pure, dark pleasure.
Hot release flooded inside her, thick and endless, spilling out around the base where they joined, dripping onto the black leather.
Still the demon did not stop.
They rolled her beneath them on the couch, never breaking contact. Astaroth thrust through the aftershocks, slower now, drawing out every last tremor.
The serpent-tail slipped between them again, this time pressing against her oversensitive clit from the front while the demon’s length filled her from behind in long, lazy strokes.
Meadow was beyond words—only broken moans, only the wet slap of skin, only the scent of brimstone and sex and spilled wine. Tears tracked down her cheeks, smearing the last of her dark eyeliner into black rivers.
“One more,” Astaroth whispered, voice rough with their own unraveling restraint. “Give me one more, little mortal.”
The tail curled inside her alongside the demon’s cock—impossibly, impossibly full—scales dragging against ridges, stretching her to the point of delirium. Fingers found her clit again, rubbing in tight, ruthless circles.
The fourth climax was cataclysmic.
It tore through her like wildfire—every muscle locking, vision whiting out, a scream that became a sob became silence as her body convulsed around the twin invasions.
She felt herself gush again, hot and helpless, felt the demon shudder above her, felt another flood of release deep inside as Astaroth finally followed her over the edge.
They stayed locked together for long minutes after. The tail slowly withdrew; the demon’s length softened but remained inside her, a possessive claim. Astaroth’s mouth found hers in a kiss that tasted of copper and smoke and surrender.
The candles guttered one by one.
In the dying light, Meadow lay boneless against the ruined leather, body marked and trembling, the black bear fur half-covering her like a shroud. Astaroth remained above her, long hair curtaining their faces, obsidian eyes soft for the first time.
“Until next time,” the demon murmured, tracing a claw along her jaw.
Then the shadows swallowed them both.
And the parlor fell silent—save for the faint drip of wine still leaking from the discarded bottle, and the ragged, reverent sound of Meadow’s breathing.
The candles had dwindled to stubs, their flames now low and blue-edged, casting the parlor in a flickering, almost underwater crimson glow.
The air hung heavy—thick with the musk of sex, the acrid bite of cooling brimstone, the sweet rot of spilled wine soaking into black wool.
Every breath Meadow drew tasted of it all: salt on her tongue, smoke in her sinuses, the faint copper tang of bitten lips.
Astaroth had not let her rest.
After the fourth shattering release, the demon had eased them both onto their sides on the wide leather couch, bodies still locked together.
The serpent-tail remained sheathed inside her, thick and pulsing faintly with the demon’s heartbeat, while the ridged length of Astaroth’s cock stayed buried to the hilt, softening only enough to allow the slowest, most torturous rocking.
Every shallow movement dragged scales and ridges along her raw, swollen walls, sending aftershocks that felt like lightning trapped beneath her skin.
Meadow’s entire body was a live wire: sweat cooling on her back, then reheating where their torsos pressed; nipples chafed raw inside the corset, every heartbeat making them throb; the fishnet stockings torn at the thighs, threads clinging damply to her skin like spider silk; gold jewelry warm from body heat, bracelets sliding with soft metallic clinks every time her hands clenched.
Astaroth’s long, greasy hair curtained their faces, strands sticking to her damp cheek. The demon’s breath—hot, faintly spiced, like clove and charred cedar—ghosted over her mouth.
“Feel everything,” the voice purred, layered and resonant, vibrating through her chest where their bodies touched. “Every inch. Every pulse.”
The fifth climax began as a slow, inexorable tide.
The serpent-tail stirred first—thickening inside her, scales flaring slightly as though tasting her from within. The texture was unbearable: each raised diamond of scale catching on her inner ridges, dragging upward in a slow spiral that made her toes curl inside the heeled boots.
At the same moment, Astaroth’s hips rolled in a deep, grinding circle, the ridged cock shifting against the tail, compressing the sensitive flesh between them until she felt split open and filled beyond capacity.
Her clit—already swollen, hypersensitive—throbbed with every heartbeat. Astaroth’s fingers found it again, cool at first, then burning as the demon’s touch heated.
The pad of one finger pressed directly on the hood, circling with agonizing slowness while the spade-tip of the tail slipped free just enough to flick once—sharp, wet, electric—against the exposed pearl.
Meadow’s gasp cracked the silence. Her back bowed, breasts thrusting against the demon’s corseted chest, the friction of leather on leather rasping over her pierced nipples like sandpaper wrapped in silk.
The gold chains between her bracelets chimed like distant bells as her arms jerked, fingers digging into Astaroth’s shoulders—nails breaking skin that smoked and sealed in the same instant.
The pressure built in layers: deep inside where tail and cock stretched her to the point of ache; at her clit where the relentless circling turned every nerve into molten glass; along her spine where sweat trickled and cooled in the same breath; in her throat where bitten marks pulsed with her racing pulse.
Then the tide broke.
It started in her core—a sudden, violent clench that squeezed both intrusions so tightly she felt every individual scale, every ridge, every vein.
The contraction rolled outward in waves: thighs trembling, calves cramping inside the boots, toes curling so hard the leather creaked.
Her clit spasmed under the demon’s finger, a sharp, bright burst of white-hot pleasure that made her vision strobe.
A low, guttural sound tore from her—half sob, half howl—as hot fluid gushed around the twin lengths inside her, soaking the leather beneath them, dripping in slow, obscene rivulets down her inner thighs.
Astaroth hissed through clenched teeth, the sound vibrating directly into her mouth as their lips met again.
The demon drank her cries, tongue curling around hers in the same rhythm the tail now thrust—short, brutal strokes that prolonged every aftershock until her body jerked like a marionette with cut strings.
She thought it would end there.
It did not.
The sixth came faster, meaner—stacked on the ruins of the fifth before she could catch her breath.
Astaroth rolled them so Meadow lay flat on her back, legs hooked over the demon’s hips, heeled boots dangling in the air.
The serpent-tail withdrew completely with a wet, sucking sound that made her whimper at the sudden emptiness—only to plunge back in alongside the cock, stretching her impossibly wider. The dual penetration was merciless now: tail spiraling in counterpoint to the demon’s thrusts, scales rasping, ridges catching, the spade tip curling to press hard against that devastating inner spot with every stroke.
Fingers pinched her clit between thumb and forefinger—rolling, tugging, the pressure just shy of pain.
Astaroth’s mouth descended to her breast, teeth grazing the pierced nipple through the corset, then biting down hard enough that stars exploded behind her eyelids.
The pain bloomed into pleasure so acute it felt like fire pouring down her spine.
Her entire body became sensation distilled:
- The wet slap of flesh meeting flesh, amplified in the close, crimson room.
- The creak of old leather beneath her writhing back.
- The metallic tang of blood on her tongue from where she’d bitten her own lip.
- The sulfur-sweet scent of the demon’s skin, now mingled with her own musk.
- The low, animal growl rumbling from Astaroth’s chest, vibrating through her bones.
- The relentless, building pressure in her pelvis, coiling tighter and tighter until it snapped.
When the sixth climax hit, it was cataclysmic.
Her scream shredded the air—raw, primal, echoing off the dark red walls like a curse.
Every muscle locked at once: thighs clamping around the demon’s waist, inner walls spasming so violently she felt the tail and cock throb in response.
A flood of release pulsed out of her in rhythmic gushes, hot and slick, soaking the black leather, the discarded fur coat, the demon’s thighs.
Her clit throbbed under the pinching fingers, each pulse sending fresh shocks up her spine until her vision tunneled to black and white sparks.
Astaroth followed this time—hips slamming deep one final time, cock pulsing thick ropes of heat inside her while the tail shuddered, scales flaring as the demon came with a sound that was almost a roar, layered voices fracturing into something unearthly.
They collapsed together, bodies slick and trembling, hearts hammering against one another.
The serpent-tail slowly uncoiled, slipping free with a final, obscene drag that made Meadow shudder and clench around nothing.
Cool air kissed her abused flesh; she felt every drop of their mingled release trickle out, pooling beneath her.
Astaroth’s lips brushed her temple, voice hoarse now, almost tender.
“Enough… for tonight.”
Meadow could only manage a broken, breathless laugh—half sob, half surrender—as the last candle guttered out, plunging the parlor into velvet dark.
Only their ragged breathing remained, and the faint, persistent drip of wine from the forgotten bottle, counting the seconds until the next summoning.
The parlor had become a living thing in the final hours before dawn—walls seeming to breathe with the slow gutter of the last candles, air so dense it clung to skin like damp velvet.
Every surface radiated accumulated heat: the cracked black leather couch slick beneath Meadow’s back, the heavy bear-fur coat tangled under her hips like a pelt still warm from a fresh kill, the gold jewelry at her wrists and throat grown fever-hot from prolonged contact with flushed skin.
Astaroth hovered above her, long greasy hair falling in oily strands that brushed her collarbones—each filament cool and slightly tacky against sweat-damp flesh, carrying the scent of old churches, scorched myrrh, and something feral, like wet animal fur left too long in the rain.
The demon’s own skin smelled of brimstone softened by clove smoke, overlaid now with the raw, intimate musk of their mingled arousal—salt, iron, the sweet-sharp copper of bitten lips, and the thick, heady perfume of her repeated releases that saturated the leather and fur beneath them.
The Seventh Climax
Was Summoned with Exquisite Cruelty.
Astaroth’s serpent-tail—still glistening, scales warm now from being buried inside her for hours—coiled once more around her left thigh, the smooth, firm pressure of each overlapping diamond scale pressing into the soft inner flesh like cool river stones wrapped in silk.
The texture was maddening: raised ridges that caught faintly on the torn fishnet, dragging upward in slow, deliberate drags that left trails of gooseflesh in their wake.
The spade-shaped tip, slick and slightly ridged, traced lazy figure-eights over the hypersensitive hood of her clit—never quite direct contact, only the ghost of pressure through the soaked thong pushed aside, each pass sending tiny electric shocks that made her inner thighs twitch involuntarily.
At the same moment, the demon’s ridged cock—still hard, still impossibly hot—slid back inside her in one long, unhurried thrust.
The stretch was deeper now, more intimate after so many releases; every individual ridge and vein dragged along her swollen walls with a wet, sucking friction that felt like velvet sandpaper.
She could feel the pulse of it, the throb matching her own racing heartbeat, the faint heat of the demon’s release from before still coating her insides and easing the way for fresh invasion.
Astaroth’s hands—long-fingered, nails filed to subtle points—roamed with possessive slowness. One palm flattened against her stomach, pressing down so she could feel the bulge of the cock and tail moving beneath her skin with every shallow rock of hips.
The pressure made her gasp; the heel of the hand ground gently against the lowest part of her corset, compressing her abdomen just enough to heighten the sense of fullness until she felt split open and claimed in every direction.
The other hand slid beneath her neck, fingers threading through sweat-matted black hair, tugging her head back to expose the column of her throat—skin there marked with overlapping crescents of teeth, each bruise throbbing in time with her pulse, tender when the demon’s breath ghosted across them.
The scent intensified as their bodies moved together. Every thrust stirred the air between them, releasing fresh waves of their combined aroma: the sharp, metallic bite of her arousal, the darker, earthier musk rising from where their bodies joined, the lingering sweetness of spilled red wine that had dried sticky on the leather and now mingled with the faint sulfur that clung to Astaroth’s skin like perfume.
When Meadow turned her face into the crook of the demon’s neck, she inhaled deeply—clove, smoke, the clean animal scent of heated hair, and beneath it all the unmistakable smell of brimstone, like match heads struck in a closed room.
The build was mercilessly tactile.
The serpent-tail inside her began to spiral—slow clockwise turns that made every scale catch and drag against her inner ridges in a continuous, rippling massage.
The friction built pressure in layers: deep muscular contractions that fluttered around both intrusions, the wet slide of scales against slick flesh, the faint tug when the thickest part withdrew only to plunge deeper.
Astaroth’s thumb found the pierced tip of one nipple through the corset, rolling it with slow, pinching pressure that sent bright sparks straight to her core.
The leather of the couch creaked beneath every shift of weight; the fishnet stockings rasped softly against the demon’s own thighs; the gold bracelets clinked like tiny chains with each involuntary jerk of her arms.
It started as a deep, rolling tremor in her pelvis—muscles clamping down so hard she felt the individual ridges of the cock and the textured scales of the tail distinctly, as though they were etched into her from the inside.
The contraction rolled outward: thighs quivering against the cool, firm coil of tail wrapped around one leg, calves cramping inside the tight boots, toes curling until the leather groaned.
Her clit pulsed under the relentless circling of the spade-tip—each flick a bright, wet snap of sensation that made her hips buck hard enough to slap skin against skin.
The release came in violent, rhythmic gushes—hot fluid flooding out around the twin lengths inside her, soaking the already drenched leather, dripping in slow, heavy drops down the curve of her ass to pool beneath her.
She could smell it acutely now: the sharp, almost floral sweetness of her own climax mingling with the darker, saltier musk of the demon’s earlier spend, the whole room saturated with the raw scent of sex left to linger too long in close air.
Astaroth growled low in their throat—a sound that vibrated through Meadow’s chest where their bodies pressed, the resonance traveling down her spine like a second orgasm.
The demon’s hips stuttered once, twice, then buried deep as fresh heat pulsed inside her—thick, almost scalding, adding to the slick mess that leaked out with every slow withdrawal and re-entry.
They stayed joined through the aftershocks. The serpent-tail gave one last, lazy spiral before easing free, leaving her gaping and fluttering around nothing but the softening cock.
Cool air kissed the swollen, dripping flesh between her thighs; she shivered at the sudden contrast, feeling every trickle as it cooled on her skin.
Astaroth’s lips brushed her ear, breath hot and spiced.
“More?” the voice asked, soft now, almost reverent.
Meadow’s laugh was wrecked, breathless, tasting of salt and wine and surrender.
The candles had gone out entirely.
Only the faint red glow from the dying embers in the grate remained, and the slow, wet sounds of their breathing, and the heavy, inescapable perfume of everything they had done—clinging to skin, to fur, to leather, to the very air itself, promising it would never truly fade.
. . .
(TO BE CONTINUED)
MEETING
DEITIES & DEMON SPIRITS:
ASTAROTH
ANDROGYNOUS SNAKE DEMON
&
ASMODEUS
GOATHEAD DEMON OF LUST
LIAISON:
A DEMON FLING
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/meeting-deities-demon-spirits-astaroth.html?m=1
FURTHER
REFERENCES:
MEETING
DEITIES & DEMON SPIRITS:
"PAN"
GREEK GOAT GOD
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/meeting-deities-demon-spirits-pan-greek.html?m=1
"The Great God Pan is not Dead."
MATILDA
AKA
"MATTYO"
MATTY ORLANDO
MEETING DEITIES & DEMON SPIRITS:
MORE PAN
(PTSD DREAMS)
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/matilda-aka-mattyo-matty-orlando.html?m=1
(OUT IN THE WOODS)
MEETING DEITIES & DEMON SPIRITS:
SATAN & ANTICHRIST
(PTSD DREAMS)
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/meeting-deities-demon-spirits-satan.html?m=1
(Discussing Revelation
& The End of Time)
MATILDA
AKA
MATTY ORLANDO
MEETING DEITIES & DEMON SPIRITS:
THE
DEVIL & BLACK PULLET
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/matilda-aka-matty-orlando-meeting.html?m=1
MEETING
DEITIES & DEMONS:
ASTAROTH & ASMODEUS
(PTSD DREAMS)
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/meeting-demons-astaroth-asmodeus-ptsd.html?m=1
WITH
EXTRAORDINARY
ALL NEW AI GENERATED IMAGES
USING WORD PROMPTS
MEETING
DEITIES & DEMON SPIRITS:
LOKI
&
THE MOTHER GODDESS
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/meeting-deities-demon-spirits-loki.html?m=1
MEETING
DEITIES & DEMON SPIRITS:
MOTHER GODDESS
(PTSD DREAMS)
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/meeting-deities-demon-spirits-mother.html?m=1
MEETING DEMON SPIRITS:
URSALUPUS
ENCOUNTERS DEMON RAUM
(PTSD DREAMS)
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/meeting-demon-spirits-ursalupus-ptsd.html?m=1
CARMELA VISITING
FATHER OZARIO & SISTER YESSI
(PART 1)
MEETING DEITIES & DEMON SPIRITS:
(PTSD DREAMS)
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/carmela-visiting-father-ozario-sister.html?m=1
MEETING DEMON SPIRITS:
LILITH SUCCUBUS & INCUBUS
(PTSD DREAMS)
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/meeting-demon-spirits-lilith-succubus.html?m=1
FURTHER INTRODUCTIONS
OF DEMONIC DEITIES
LAMIA & JOHN KEATS
(PTSD DREAMS)
AN
INTRODUCTION
PART 2
FEMME DEITIES & DEMONESS’:
VISITING THE MADONNA
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2025/12/an-introduction-part-2-femme-deities.html?m=1
INTRODUCTIONS
DEMONS & FAMILIARS:
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2025/12/introductions-demons-familiars.html?m=1
THE MOTHER GODDESS
VISITING THE MADONNA
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2025/12/the-mother-goddess-visiting-madonna.html?m=1
ELECTRA
AKA: "ELLIE"
MEETING DEMON SPIRITS:
BALAAM THE FALSE PROPHET
(PTSD DREAMS)
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2025/12/electra-aka-ellie-meeting-demon-spirits.html?m=1
MATILDA
AKA:
"MATTY ORLANDO"
RETURNS TO VISIT MAMMON
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2025/12/matilda-aka-matty-orlando-returns-to.html?m=1
MATILDA
AKA: "MATTY ORLANDO "
MEETING DEMON SPIRITS: MAMMON
(PTSD DREAMS)
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2025/12/matilda-aka-matty-orlando-meeting-demon.html?m=1
MATILDA
AKA: "MATTY ORLANDO"
VISITING THE MADONNA
(& MEETING WOLF-DEMON AAMON)
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2025/12/matilda-aka-matty-orlando-visiting.html?m=1
DEMONS
"LILITH & AAMON"
(MEADOW & JACKIE JR)
A SUPPLIMENT FOR
THE YOUNG SOPRANOS
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2025/12/demons-lilith-aamon-meadow-jackie-jr.html?m=1
AN
ANALYSIS
OF
"THE UNHINGING CRUX"
(Meadow's Virgin Islands Confessions)
FROM
THE YOUNG SOPRANOS(TYS)
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2025/12/analysis-of-unhinging-crux-from-young.html?m=1
AN ANALYSIS &
PHOTO ALBUM OF MEADOW'S MANY FACES
W/CARMELA COMPARISON
FROM
THE YOUNG SOPRANOS
APPENDIX II:
"Conspiracy of Crows"
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2025/07/the-young-sopranos-appendix-ii.html?m=1
(The Ghost of Tony Soprano
Appears to Carmela)
A SUPPLIMENT
OF
"THE YOUNG SOPRANOS"
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2025/07/read-young-sopranos-source.html?m=1
"MATILDA"
FROM LEON: THE PROFESSIONAL (1994)
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2025/10/matilda-from-leon-professional-1994.html?m=1
MATILDA II
FROM LEON: THE PROFESSIONAL
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2025/10/matilda-ii-from-leon-professional.html?m=1
"MATILDA" III
FROM LEON: THE PROFESSIONAL
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2025/10/matilda-iii-from-leon-professional-1994.html?m=1
"MATILDA" IV
RESCUING BEETHOVEN
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2025/10/matilda-iv-rescuing-beethoven.html?m=1
"MATILDA" V
MATTY ORLANDO
DATING "JOHNNY B. GOODE"
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2025/10/matilda-v-dating-johnny-b-goode.html?m=1
MATILDA
AKA: "MATTY ORLANDO"
VI
MAKE-UP PRACTICE SESSION
W/ JOHNNY B. GOODE
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2025/10/matilda-aka-matty-orlando-vi-make-up.html?m=1
MATILDA
AKA:
"MATTY ORLANDO"
VII
MEMENTO MORI
(DRUNKEN DREAMS)
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2025/10/matilda-aka-matty-orlando-vii-memento.html?m=1
MATILDA
AKA
"MATTY ORLANDO"
SUBWAY RAT DREAMS
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2025/10/matilda-aka-matty-orlando-subway-rat.html?m=1
MATILDA
AKA:
"MATTY ORLANDO"
VII
MATTY ORLANDO'S
(Narrative)
"SECRET LIFE"
(W/ OUT JOHNNY B. GOODE)
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2025/10/matilda-aka-matty-orlando-vii-matty.html?m=1
"MATTY ORLANDO"
(ANIME)
RESCUES BEETHOVEN
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2025/10/matty-orlando-anime.html?m=1
MORE
"MATTY ORLANDO"
(ANIME)
DATING
JOHNNY B. GOODE
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2025/10/matty-orlando-anime-dating-johnny-b.html?m=1
"MATTY ORLANDO"
(ANIME)
MEMENTO MORI
(ROMANCING THE DEAD)
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2025/10/matty-orlando-anime-memento-mori.html?m=1
"MATTY ORLANDO"
(ANIME)
MAKE-UP PRACTICE SESSION
W/ JOHNNY B. GOODE
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2025/10/matty-orlando-anime-make-up-practice.html?m=1
"Johnny B. Goode"
(Live at the Fillmore East, NYC, NY - 1970) · Johnny Winter
https://youtu.be/gEayVWiJtLg?si=iePgaGvJVwQXTAmp
"MATTY ORLANDO"
INSPIRED
BY:
LEON: THE PROFESSIONAL
(1994)
https://youtu.be/Pf0JW-cAFTs?si=-BMWviJ-Dham07HD
RAYMOND CURTO JR
DIMEO CRIME FAMILY
(FICTITIOUS CHARACTER WITH MS)
"Our Vision: A World Free of MS"
Delivering Breakthroughs to a Cure
Invested $1.1 billion into research since 1946
Please Consider
Donating to MS SOCIETY:
https://donate.nationalmssociety.org/pages/8528
CAITLYN (MOLTISANTI) SOPRANO
(FICTITIOUS CANCER SURVIVOR)
Please
Consider Donating:
ST JUDES
CHILDREN HOSPITAL
ALL
AI GENERATED IMAGES
CREATED BY USING
WORD PROMPTS
2026
Comments
Post a Comment