#( x. the nephilim. ❀ ;; )

[celestiall0tus]

May I requeat sleepy duck (cause that's me right now lol)

get yo ass to bed bitch.

Also, a little something something special.

[bird-in-the-space]

The Nephilim

(Author's note: I watched the Alita movie. It was hella good, and let's just say it got me a bit inspired. I started thinking if there were robots like Alita in the Bayverse universe and I came up with this, mixed with some myths.)

Warnings: mentions of war, cyberforming, Fallen, mentions of extinction and having been torn to pieces.

------------------------------------------------

Imagine this setting up in the Bayverse universe during the dynasty of the Primes, when the Primes came to the earth. Perhaps before the Fallen's betrayal, some Primes interacted with humans who were brave enough to talk to these giants from the stars. 

After the Fallen’s betrayal and the battles that followed, the Primes suspected that his followers would return and Earth would be left defenseless after their sacrifice. Thus, they agreed to select brave human warriors—those who willingly accepted the task—and transform them into a perfect combination of human and Cybertronian.

Through the cyberformation ceremony, the chosen human's bodies became metallic, allowing them to grow taller than other ordinary humans, more durable, and stronger. This process also extended their lifespan.

Under the Primes' guidance, they became forces to be reckoned with on the battlefield—swift and powerful warriors.

Due to their inability to transform, they were granted loyal steeds, cyberformed to assist them in battle and travel long distances. Because of this, they became known as the Horsemen.

After the Primes sacrificed themselves to hide the Sun Harvester and the Matrix of Leadership, the techno-organic warriors continued to fight and defend Earth from the Fallen’s followers, engaging in a long war to protect their world and prevent the Matrix and the Sun Harvester from being found.

They carried on, as the Primes had prophesied that the Fallen would one day return to Earth and attempt to destroy their sun. It was also foretold that a new Prime would rise to defeat him. Holding on to that hope, they fought on.

But as centuries passed and the world changed around them, their numbers dwindled—until the day they vanished entirely from the face of the Earth.

Through time, they came to be known as the Nephilim—children of Earth and the metallic beings from the heavens. They became the stuff of myths and legends, believed to have been either imprisoned or hunted to extinction.

Their secrets and stories were lost. The only myth that remained was that, at the world’s end, four Horsemen would arise to fight. But even that was reduced to nothing more than a mural and a story—just another legend of the past.

Until the modern day.

When the Autobots had made their home on Earth and began hunting Decepticons with their human allies, they stumbled upon a hidden research facility while investigating a strange Energon signature. In its abandoned ruins, they discovered a torn body made of Cybertronian metal. However, what most caught their attention was the upper torso that resembled a human.

And inside that human’s chest, they found a heart containing a spark that still pulsed with life.

[bleedingichorhearts]

𝐋𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞

“This is just my imagine for the Legion of The Damned in the Husbandry Sentience Universe. This is not a true appearance unless @/kit-willams claims so or approves of it as I do not like to taint boundaries. So, again, this is not true unless stated otherwise. This is just my opinion. Anyways, would this be considered an type of isekai?” - Ichor

Summary - "You get offered a game from a Thousand Son by the name of "Onuphrius" and bring it home to try it out. Not even questioning how he got the right disk for your console, and how the game freaks out here and there, but you have grown the love it… at a price."

“@kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.”

“+@c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @marcela2000.” - Tagged

TW: None, I Think? Well, Maybe Yandere-Ish.

|°𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥°|

You're not sure when the game has started to freak out on you, but you didn't think of it too much. More so, you were more frustrated on trying to defeat the boss inside of the game. Your determination to kill the last boss of the game going through your veins like the fires of hell as you have been stuck on this boss for quite a while, the Astartes' of fire frustrating you to no end.

You have tried every single strategy and class in order to defeat this god damned boss, but nothing seems to work very well to get him barely under half health until he absolutely rocks your shit with a super nova you can't avoid, you have to tank it. There was nothing in the area that you could take cover behind besides your own shield or magic barrier (depending on what class you are,) but even then, your own protection breaks, and you have to play without it until you die again or finally defeat the Ghostrider-looking Astartes' to gain it back.

You figure it was something in the game that was just inevitable. That it was some type of rule that your character has to tank such a devastating hit. You figured that out on your... what? 50th time of trying to kill the dude? After dying again and again to the damn attack on your fullest health and lowest health? Yeah, it wasn't fun for your brain as the boss gave you such a migraine after each fight you go through with him, but you were quite persistent yourself. Trying to push yourself through the headache and defeat the guy already. Even getting on the game after work just to endure more stress the game would most definitely give you.

Hell, the boss: Nephilim, Lord of Inferno even haunts you in your sleep. His phantom-like laughs that come from the game echoing through your dreamscape. You swear you had a bad dream about him too, but you can't really remember anything of the dream besides the heat of his fire flickering along your body. That you also didn't put much though on as it was rather common to have dreams of fictional people or even Astarte's.

You really should have though.

You really should have taken note of the current game you have “Legion of Fire” was not for sale or even known in the world. It wasn’t able to be acquired from a simple, sweaty GameStop. It was like it didn’t exist, but did you pay enough attention to that? No, the in-game boss was giving you a hard time and haunting your dreams. Why would- should your attention be taken away from the game?

Also, anytime that you even tried to switch games to try and relax yourself after the frustrating boss… All your other games flicker and glitch before crashing. Saying “Unexpected Error,” and you suppose it was alright? In a way? You only really use the console for entertainment… You’re lucky YouTube, Amazon and Spotify were the only few that were still on there. You might have just trashed it or given the console to someone to fix if you were suddenly revoked of those.

“I, Lord of Inferno shall cast, you, down!” The boss suddenly roars out, pulling you back into the game. The fire on the characters head changing; growing to a dangerous black color, the flickering embers turning whiter. Your fingers making quick work on your controller to use every protective shield and barrier you can to prepare yourself for the supernova. Your new build being a little mix, but more on the combat side rather than magic.

Your screen suddenly turns black then a blinding white. A vibration going through your controller as you can hear the magic barrier break immediately. An echoing shatter sounding out despite the raging fire that threatens to consume your character whole. Your health bar immediately sliding down to a quarter with such smoothness that it would scare a speed-runner.

“Foolish, little maiden…” The boss speaks again, somehow huffing and puffing out smoke from between his huge saber-like maw with a soft chitter. His armored body rising up and down as if he needed to breathe for looking like a type of lich creature. “You still stand from where you are supposed to fall?”

That was a bit different dialogue, but you didn’t pay attention to it too much. Your focus was just trying to destroy the boss as he gave you such a hard time, and you weren’t one to pass down an opportunity after such grueling grinding. Your fingers moving quickly to throw an extra shield at him. Something you really shouldn’t have carried cause of the weight it could have given your character, but you did. You were desperate to finally finish him off in any way possible.

The boss seems almost surprised by the suddenness of the thrown shield before simply backhanding it away. His form shaking once again with his phantom-like laughter echoing around the flaming ruins of the realm. Having his little moment of as a villain of the game.

“You amused me, my little bride.” He speaks again, his voice deep, sounding more like wisps. The glowing white slits in his eye sockets staring down your character while you controlled it to circle him as he follows along. “Yet I admire your dedication.”

Your character doesn't speak, it wasn't one of the things the character could do besides collecting items and battling the fire creatures of them game. Your character is simply a blank slate, but you? Up above his world? Staring him down with such fealty? You were not.

"Such a strange creature you are," He deeply rumbles, the sound of his voice echoing through out the flames that cover the area before giving off another laugh. Seemingly amused with the situation. "Fighting me every day, after your duties to try and defeat me. So, let me put it simply, you can't. You cannot kill what is already dead."

Again, you don't put much thought into his dialogue. Your weapon thrusting forward. Believing it just how he was programmed; to try and make you second guess yourself. Try and make you faulter from pattering down his move set.

"Well, aren't you oblivious, my bride." He scoffs, amused. Blocking your attack with his gauntlets before coming forward to overpower your character. Grasping at their shoulders and opening their boned mouth as you could only sigh out in your world in despair: another 5 hours wasted on this boss. Another blinding black then white exploding on your tv as he feeds your character his own fire.

You rub your temples to try and relax them after trying to power through yet another migraine. You controller tossed onto the coffee table in front of you with a concerning crack. Your brain going a bit heavy with fatigue as the area around you seems a bit... hefty than usual.

"Little Bride~" A deep, phantom voice sings. Shocking you to quickly look up to find the source of it clambering out of your tv. There black and bone covered gauntlet settling on the coffee table and breaking it with ease as they crawl out, flames melting the sides of your tv. Your body quickly shuffling up on the back of the couch while your heart skyrockets to the fucking moon. This... this wasn't real, was it? This is just your... headache, right? Your own playing games with you?

"I see your devotion to me, let me return it, my little bride." The... the lich? Keeps speaking at you. His armored body halfway through the tv, completely melting it. His flames turning to a mix of deep blue and cyan. The area feeling a bit colder when it was just absolutely baking. His form ever slowly inching forward out of your melted tv.

A yelp suddenly slips through your lips while you fall of the back of your couch. A harsh thud shaking the ground while a phantom laugh echos out in your own home. The flaming being amusingly introducing himself properly.

"I am the Lord of Inferno. I am Nephilim Zachariah Nero, and you? You are my long-waited bride."

[a-998h]

The Hazbin Hotel's Nephilim

Nephilim: Half human half angel, these are bibical creatures.

This is a platonic yandere series, becuase I'm best at platonic.

I'm going from the Pilot to end of season 1.

Summary

What happens when the child of a human and angel goes to hell? Well, that's the question Heaven and Hell are faced with when Y/N, a nephilim, dies and goes to Hell. Now, Heaven is trying to take the kid back while Hell doesn't want to let go.

Prologue Welcome to Hell Hotel Day 1

Some People Know

Steely Secrets

Emotional Storm

Revelations

5 Stages In One Day

Ragnarok

[cherubnthechaoschoir]

NEPHILIM - Jackson-era!Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader

summary: the disturbing comforts the disturbed.

a note from Lucy: I swear there is fluff! I swear, I swear, I swear! You just have to squint *reeeeaaaalllly* hard. Yes, I read the book of genesis and the book numbers along with some extensive Wikipedia deep diving for like…a paragraph of lore. But is it really ever enough?

playlist | moodboard

wc: 2498

Warnings: 18+ MDNI DARK CONTENT! no use of y/n, I tried to keep her body type as generic as possible but he might be slightly skinny coded so please let me know and I’ll change it in edits, reader is referred to as ‘Bambi’, verbally constipated Joel Miller, brief gore descriptions, heavy religious imagery and references to the bible, biblical lore, bombastic age gap!!! yahhhhh! (reader is in her 20’s/ Joel is in his late 50’s), smut, p in v sex, creampie, fingering, rough sex, possessive!joel, dom!joel/sub!reader dynamic, you know the drill with my writing, there’s probably some form of cannibalism as a metaphor, or brutal violence as a metaphor, religious imagery as a metaphor, etc. (aka, fancy word vomit)

series masterlist | m.list

Genesis 6:4 The Nephilim were in the earth in those days, and also after that, when the sons of God came in unto the daughters of men, and they bore children to them; the same were the mighty men that were of old, the men of renown.

The reality of it was, you and Joel were two people who lived in the same small town. Who’s paths crossed once to save your life, and the others when coincidence would grant you that small pleasure. He carried you to the care of an old man with blue eyes now milky in cataracts. Jude. Who nursed you to health in a metal framed bed of an old family home— now the town clinic. The knife that sliced open your side had been dirty, and sepsis soon spread in the bloody gash. Only with Joel finding you in the snow, and Jude delivering you antibiotics, did you recover back to health.

He wouldn’t visit you directly. He would visit Jude and glance at you through the doorway as he passed the hall to the elderly Man’s office. To distract from the man you read stories when bedridden. Parts of biblical scripture; Read the book of Genesis; Read the book of Numbers. Jude being a religious man who had the fortune of holding God in his heart, kept them among his medical journals and books. And the former was far more interesting than the later in your opinion. For in them were mentions of anthropomorphic creatures born of flesh, blood and divinity. Towering tall over common trees and temples built in the name of Lord God. You were no religious woman, but you found comfort in the fables of the Old Testament. And likened Joel to the Nephilim in all ways.

Joel Miller was something of a biblical figure to you. A small glimpse into the past of something archaic, untold, and harbouring on the dangerous. You liked to imagine him as one of the Nephilim. A son of god, offspring borne of a fallen angel and man. A giant of misunderstood nature. Who’s soul had been cast down on earth in punishment. His large hands had bloodshed on them, or so people had said. They whispered it quietly in the spaces between. The places he didn’t occupy often. But he was always on your mind…so there was no place for those whispers there. If he was all that bad…why did he save you? You saw his need to care, protect, understand. Not be understood. But just understand. You would let yourself dream of taking his rough edges to the smooth plane of a whetstone. People claimed you cannot buff brass into gold. That it will only be as such in your head. That it was a fools game, but the fool is rich in content, and poor in sorrow. For the fool has little to worry about while they live in ignorant bliss.

What wasn’t written in any of the books of the holy scripture was this; ‘The disturbing comforts the disturbed.’ But it might as well have been. It was practically the way god intended life to be. You are shaken, and you are weaned on being shaken, until stillness is a discomfort and your body begs to be rattled again. But harder.

—

You took a while to find your feet. Joel took it upon himself to wordlessly help you with any medial or manual task. You were given a house on the edge of town, up a hill in some remote street that was always quiet. It seemed the less social souls resided there. Not that you minded. It was jarring to say the least. Being cast out into the hostile wild. And then brought back into the warmth. Here you had clothes, food, a roof over your head, and community. It stung in the same way it does to run your hands under a scalding tap after labouring out in the cold. It made your fingers numb before they regained feeling. Stiff. And a trouble to flex them back and forth, closed fist, open palm; Closed fist, open palm.

It’s how you earned ‘Bambi’. A name only Joel would ever call you. Dear doe on her wobbly, spindly legs. He’d keep you upright. Despite being a good thirty year sicker than you. Dirty old man. Ditsy little girl.

Your time together was silent. And while he never said he cared, he showed it. By waiting for you each time you were in the stables. And he would walk through town with you a safe distance from his side, up to the top of the hill your house was on. The snow would crunch under his heavy boots and he wished he was lighter on his feet like you. Not a large bulk of a man with heavy feet and even heavier hand. Maybe Joel wasn't large by the world's standards, but he was still a giant to you- muscular, and broad shoulders. With hands that could engulf yours, or cradle the entire crown of your head with a single palm. His arms were strong, and large from manual labour, and tightly knotted with tendons and grizzly muscle like thick twisted ropes that held up sails. What you liked most, however, was his softer belly. Perhaps the only soft thing about him from what little you had seen, or heard, or assumed. You felt an intrinsic satisfaction in knowing he was well fed. And Joel didn't mind it either. It was a reminder to himself what he was in fact as safe as he could be. Anything to not go hungry again. He still kept his brawns either way. Kept his hands and mind busy with patrols and the odd job around town. Fixing roofs, garden sheds, building tables with spare lumber from the woodhouse, and chopping firewood for the colder months. At the beginning of winter he would spend most of his free time ensuring you had enough. He spent hours out in his backyard, swinging that axe down on log, after log of wood. Then carry it up the hill in a wheelbarrow to your front door. He did it for nothing. Nothing but the peace of mind that grew from the seed of knowing you were warm. But he was greeted with something you had baked, or sewn, or knitted, or grown in your empty hours alone. Apple and rhubarb pie, thick woollen gloves, sourdough bread with crunchy, thick crusts that crunched when he broke his bread.

“It’s nothin’.” He would say, and shrug, hands on his hips while he looked back at the finished product of whatever work he’d slaved over that entire afternoon. Be it a pile of firewood, raised garden beds, or a fixed gutter. “Just…do me a favour?” He asked.

“Yeah?”

“Keep that smile on y’face, Bambi. Don’t let anyone take it away from ya.” His face was stern. As if he was telling you, not asking you. But if you were to ever stop smiling he thought he’d keel over and die a little bit inside. Or part of him would anyway. The part of him you now had in your chest unwittingly.

You watched the mountain of a man, Big Bad Joel Miller, warm up. Day by slow day. He was on the threshold of it. Right there. But the toe of his thick winter boots never ventured onto floorboards. He stayed out in the cold. After a while you dared Joel to touch you. Tired of him only meeting halfway. He was a man of few words, but a man of so much action. And when you challenged him with your tongue, he countered with his touch. That night was hell under the guise of heaven for his restraint.

“Y’so bad for me, Bambi.” Joel grunted, his entire weight smothering you against the mattress of his bed. His cock dragging in and out of you slowly. “Old sinner like me ain’t made for you.” So slowly the anticipation ached in the joints of your toes that curled. His grip on your hips casting his handprint in a watercolour bloom. “That’s it, fuck– takin’ me so well.”

You whimpered, eyes fluttering shut, back arching in a deep curve off the bed while his hips altered their pace. Just a tad quicker as you bucked up into him. The two of you climbing in tandem to the high. “That's it,” He repeated in a hiss, followed by a growl into your neck, “Keep archin’ that back for me.” You did just that, holding onto his forearms for leverage as you curled your spine a little deeper. A word came to mind. One you’d heard once before. Only once. But I held such a comfort to be able to label it. Hiraeth. He was that. And what you felt was that. A longing for a home. He treated you like you wouldn't break. But spoke as if words would lacerate you. One punctuated thrust, aided by your own slick was all it took, a moan for him deeper. A tear slipped from your eye and you let gravity do its work, pulling it from you. It slipped from the corner of your eye, and down your temple. “Good girl, Bambi.” He crooned, splaying both of his palms over your hairline and sweeping the hair that stuck to your forehead in the sheen of sweat atop your skin. His large hands dragged over the top of your skull to the crown of your head, down the back of your neck, and gripped. That soft fleshy part at the base of your skull and the top of your still curved spine.

It hurt. It deeply hurt. His calloused fingers, textured by the trigger of a gun, or the handle of an axe, pressing into your malleable skin. But you’d let Joel drag you to hell if it meant he would hold your hand. You didn't care how he touched you– how he was inside you. He could be buried to hilt in your cunt, or knuckle deep in an open wound. As long as he was there. You'd give the heavens, and the earth, and rot in hell if it meant he stayed. Joel swore you had the space for his heart next to yours. But you didn't have the stomach.

You gripped the skin of Joel’s back. Searching for a part of him to hold that would turn off the cynic in him. Or at least try. You gave up on that idea. Because the man that fucked you— the man that loved you in action and not words— was not kind. He was not gentle. He was bold, and sharp as broken glass, and blunt all in the same being. You knew the crease of his brow. You had it memorised.

He hooked a leg over his shoulder, opened you up to his greedy eyes. They misted into dark hickory at the sight of you taking him so well inside of you. Messy little cunt for him to play with whenever he pleased. His nostrils flared as he pressed deeper. And your reaction was as he planned. A cry of his name. Your sex drenched and accommodating every inch. “A cunt made for me.” He gritted through his teeth, leaning forward to sink his teeth into your bottom lip and lick into the wet cavern of your mouth; Take the taste of you back with him when he retreated again; Righting his hips and the angle he fucked you in.

“Made for you.” You agreed in a garble and a slur. As if drunk off the last dregs of his kindness that lay at the bottom of the bottle. Licking it dry for all it was still worth.

“Say it again.” Joel grunted, demanded.

“Made for you.” You repeated.

“Good little Bambi.”

From there it was the crescendo. And it came broken in two halves of two separate waves. The first wave was one of numbing pleasure. The one that fizzled through your legs until you were nothing but a mere speck for a second. And the second was the one that broke you. Had you shattering. It tightened in your womb, behind the mouth of your cervix, and then released in slow flutter; Your walls relaxing and then contracting. And he came after with a groan and spilled inside of you.

He was no gentle lover. In fact, he wasn’t a lover at all. When he fucked you that night…it felt like he was trying to love you— but couldn’t. He was too conditioned to violence. It showed the ache he left behind. Nevertheless, you would take more than he was willing to offer. But what he dropped in your palm you stored away and hoarded like a greedy magpie with shiny little trinkets. He was warm. But not warm like a campfire. He was warm like hellflame. And you were okay with that. You would take your time with him, and slowly pry open a gap in his ribs to slip past. To love him to the marrow. Even the mangled parts. Find him at his very worst — The part humanity suffocated in. And love him there. Silently.

Joel ran a hand over the flank of your ribs and then curled around your navel to pull your back to his chest. Then kissed the crook of your neck in a silent apology to your skin for each mark or tender bruise he may have left. One that wasn't really needed, but you accepted it by reaching behind you and running your fingers through his thick greying curls. In times like these after it all, in the clot and space in between, you came to realise loving him was like loving being hungry. It felt good to want things. To feed yourself you swallowed your fear instead. You lay there, exhaustion heavy in your bones, a hand of his slipping between your legs to feel the evidence of him being there inside you. His spend sticky and thick and warm between your legs. You couldn't fight the impulsive twitch that jolted your spine when he pressed on your swollen, slick clit and drew lazy circles. “Mine now, Bambi.” He murmured into the skin of your shoulder. He didn't kiss the skin there, but rather trailed his chapped lips over your flesh in such a light touch it felt like it was hardly there. More a trick of the sex hazed, lust crazed mind. “Understand that?” And you nodded in silence with a small smile, watching out the frosted up window pane as the dawn stained the sky a burnt orange and angry red. It refracted and smeared in the crystallised ice. A thin sheet that obscured the image of the sycamore tree outside his bedroom window. The bare branches looked far more like the bones of skeletal fingers than a tree bare of leaves. Its bleach white bark only emphasised your image of it. Your vision. Nevertheless; The blackbird would sing, once again on its branch, a morning song you knew by heart.

[0wavelength]

Honestly I kinda wish the creators of supernatural made the creation Nephilim a little more creepy, like instead of it being a normal pregnancy, the energy of the Nephilim actually feeds on the soul as well, but like make it painful. But not only that, the Nephilim wouldn’t look like a physical birth but instead a spiritual one because it orbits the soul like a planet to a star. A normal Nephilim birth on a human like Kelly, would not only leave them soulless but also dead.

But for Sam or Dean who can house the most powerful entities (Michael and Lucifer, or any angel) in existence, outside of God, Amara, and the Empty, they’d be fine. So if you want to do a omegaverse au, Dean should be fine because he can hold the most powerful archangel without combusting. However if you want to make it even creepier, instead of the Nephilim coming out like a normal baby Dean or Cas have to go find a dead baby to house the Nephilim’s soul and grace in it.

😀

[fangelic-selfships]

selfship scenario #3

eyy, so, reblog/like/comment and answer us this: Does you F/O break stoic or serious character when they see you/look directly at you? What does their expression look like? Does it grow soft? enamored? loving? I bet they're a puddle of admiration for you! <3333

proshit dni.

[mi-i-zori]

When Her Blood Burns

CoD - Krueger x Fem!Medic!OC/Reader (Callsign : Nephilim)

SYNOPSIS : What I think Nephilim and Krueger’s relationship would be like.

WARNINGS : NSFW. Mentions of wounds, violence, blood, death and torture, smut, switch!Krueger and OC/Reader, mention of kinks. Kind of religious metaphors, though they do not indicate any of the character’s beliefs.

I do not give permission to re-publish, re-use and/or translate my work, be it here or on any other platform, including AI.

No Heaven or Hell - Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Based on his Reaper skin, as well as other similar attires of his, it’s obvious Krueger doesn’t mind going on a battlefield without any kind of protection for his torso and arms. Just him, and his massive balls I guess.

So my headcanon is that he could be at least a little bit masochistic, and definitely a sadist sometimes. Addicted to the adrenaline flowing from the idea of being injured, in a dangerous environment or in the middle of a certain type of stimulation.

On that note, I also don’t think he would mind his carnal adventures being a little risky too.

So I’m gonna throw him into Nephilim’s life like a goddamn feral raccoon. Always up to no good, enjoying being scolded when the pretty medic patches him up after inevitably getting injured in one way or another. Focusing on her soft, steady whispers as she comforts the injured soldiers and civilians who end up in her care ; coming up with fascinating stories whenever she needs to soothe the minds of the terrified children she holds in her arms after saving them from the wicked hands of the terrorists she and her group are trying to destroy. He is shameless when it comes to flirting, drinking up the tiniest reactions that slip through her tough façade. Loving the way she sometimes allows herself to actually be shy in front of him.

He takes the time to slowly unravel the web she hides behind as he holds her flushed skin against his. He drinks every noise flying past her lips, hands holding her hips and breasts in a bruising grip - grunting and growling as he pounds into her. The feeling of his teeth sinking into her shoulders sends her over the edge, pleasured tears dripping down her face and nails tearing through his arms. Waves of scorching heat never fail to rise from every touch they share, burning flesh and mind as their climax drips between them like lava flooding an endless valley, filled with their most primal wilderness.

As he watches her struggle to catch her breath afterwards, pressing corrosive kisses down her spine and slowly descending from his own high, Krueger thinks he could not have found a prettiest angel.

Yet those thoughts come to a screeching halt once he actually witnesses first-hand the real reason behind her callsign. When he sees her fly through the ruins littering the battlefield, all bloodied and bruised, leaving a trail of utter destruction in her wake. Her curses rise like a storm as she tries to maintain everyone in one piece, the emergency medical supplies working flawlessly in her dexterous hands. She doesn’t hesitate when it comes to dragging the enemy soldiers’ names and faces in the dirt, tearing their own supplies from their soon-to-be cold carcasses whenever she can.

Krueger shivers madly when he sees her bring the most cold-hearted war veteran to shame during an interrogation, making her targets whimper and beg before filling their very souls with lead. The burning wisps of her cigarettes light her blood-soaked fingers with each drag, a cold breeze whisking the smoke away from her lips as soon as they part, frozen eyes staring into the night before meeting his.

An Angel and a Demon live in harmony behind the humanity of her mesmerising features. Should any of the Sacred Texts hold even the slightest ounce of truth, he might indeed be the only man to taste the flesh of a Nephilim, at least since the first Divine Purge. The first mortal to savour this rare kind of danger multiple times and come out of it as unscathed as one can be.

It makes him wish he was in her enemies’ place as he watches her with a new kind of interest, lust rippling through every single one of his muscles.

And he does ends up being in their place, in a way, once she really gets more confident with him and their relationship. He realises the façade was not always a fluke when she forces him to kneel, not budging under his touches - for she’s in a bad mood tonight, and it’s finally time she let go of her own chains. He acts like a brat when she digs her nails into his skin into a series of scorching touches while restraining his hands, smirking and not uttering a single sound. Until he can’t take it anymore. Her scent is too tempting behind the blindfold, her touches too mesmerising, her voice too hypnotising.

She takes advantage of his heightened senses, turning his own little tricks against him. Whispering honeyed threats in his ears, pressing her bare self against his back, hands wandering up and down his body without ever going where he wants them to be.

He’s never been so hard.

And he cracks, savouring her coos as he pleads and begs, fighting against his restraints. Whimpering when she finally goes down on him, only to deny him his release. Stimulating him far beyond his limits like he has done countless times to her, biting his lips until blood floods from under his teeth. She licks it up, the flavours of his skin, sweat and blood mixing with the taste of her lips as she kisses him, riding him feverishly until there nothing left of them but groans, moans and pants - whimpers, cries and thundering heartbeats. Rendering them both as brainless as one can be.

After this, Krueger realises that, as dominant as he likes to be, he may or may not have a huge mommy kink.

[stickylizardcave]

hrghhfdg T H E Y

(ft inconsistent size differences and nephilim bf)

[ervikirvi]

VALENTINES DAY TADC SHIP LIST NO MATTER HOW MUCH CRACK WAS PUT INTO THEM‼️

Checkmates (Queenie X Kinger)

//#1 Checkmates Fan and you can bite me on that. They have encompassed my entire brain and personality at this point

//God save the Queen

//Long Live the King

Leaderboard (Queenie X Kinger X Caine)

//absolutely beautiful 10/10 I love it more than Royalteeth

//I love it when Queenie is brought back from the dead, makes the plot very interesting

Royalteeth (Kinger X Caine)

//Kinger in a relationship without Queenie involved is a one-sided relationship [in my brain]

//Anyways 8/10 I love seeing what the fandom comes up with

Nephilim (Kinger X God’s Angel)

//I’m coining this name, it’s now Nephilim, none of you can stop me HAHAHAHAAHA

//One-sided, but more in the sense that the Angel is still trying to eat him

//still using the dead wife trick too

//god save the king

Royalslug (Kinger X The Gloink Queen)

//I don’t know how it will happen, but it would be the funniest thing ever

//Kinger probably started talking about bugs and she took it as flirting

//anyways chess slug children when? although-after-mating-Gloink-kings-die-according-to-gooseworx

Slugbug (Queenie X The Gloink Queen)

//cmon Queen and Queen—it’s perfect

//bugs

//bugs

//and also more bugs

//I feel like it would be healthier than royalslug

Norking (Kinger X Nori from Murder Drones) + Norqeenie (Queenie X Nori)

//29/10 absolutely perfect in every way

//Kinger would fumble so many times it wouldn’t even be funny

//he gets too flustered or just genuinely doesn’t know what to do

//Queenie and Nori would be flirting with each other all the time

//she’d make herself fit in the back of their robes like a cat

//dead wife x dead wife let’s go [now I’m wondering about Kinger X Khan]

The genius Tumblr user who came up with it:

——>@distantmaniacallaugh fifty years ago you told me you’d like to be tagged in any posts involving Norking because you are god of this ship and hopefully you don’t break my windows if I’m wrong [funnily enough Norking is where I first interacted with you]

Okay for NON-Kinger-and-Queenie ships

Jesterdoll/Buttonblossom (Pomni x Ragatha)

//fuck yeah I can see it🔥

//my second go-to after Checkmates

//I don’t have much to say since I don’t think about them very often but Pomni would 100% sacrifice her life for Ragatha

Abstragedy (Zooble X Gangle)

//Been a shipper since Episode 3, Episode 4 only confirmed my [not real] suspicions

//I’ve been wanting to get into this side of the community more but I just haven’t been able to

//maybe it’s because you guys are crazy-crazy (lovingly, in the same way I’m with Queenie and Kinger) and I’m just a casual viewer—not sure

Bluetooth

//GOD DAMN

//THE ART???? THE ART?????

//WE NEED TO BE DRAWING MORE OF BLUETOOTH, I NEED TO START DRAWING BLUETOOTH

//BUT SERIOUSLY HOW? HOW DID THE FANDOM JUST DECIDE “yeah make ‘em’ sexy” FOR THE MOON? THE MOON

//although “canonically” the Moon fucks Caine so WHYNOT?

//god I love this fandom

Kaufmo X Jax

//The fandom carries this entire ship on their shoulders and I’m loving it

//Only interacted onscreen after Kaufmo’s death and it was very short-lived

//Probably not a healthy relationship in the long-run

[celestiall0tus]

Cain and Abel

I'm going to love doing these things. Cain has met Abel's friend group, now it's time Abel met Cain's, starting with the Queen Bee of Gluttony.

[conejoartillustration]

"Bound in Crystal"

The dim light of the chamber barely illuminated by Disease silhouette as she sat at the edge of the bath, lost in thought. Footsteps echoed, pulling her from her reverie. Turning, she saw him—Death, as cold and resolute as the void itself. There was no warning, no time for protest. His approach seemed almost tender, arms extending as though to comfort her. But the moment his touch met her, everything shattered. A fleeting pain, a whispered goodbye, and then—silence.

She awoke in darkness, a crystalline prison shimmering faintly around her. Her voice, trembling and desperate, called out into the void, only to be met with an eternal stillness. Meanwhile, the crystal hung unnoticed around his neck, hidden among his armor—a silent testament to a burden only he could bear. In her new reality, she was trapped, her essence confined, yet a part of him always. Together, but worlds apart.

P.s. Before Death began to go against his Nephilim brothers, he first killed Disease, the one who was dear to him, and kept her soul separately, which he used in the future as a spy.

[carlmccoy]

propaganda magazine issue 17, fall 1991

[a-998h]

5 Stages In One Day

TW: READER ANGST, MENTION OF DEATH, MENTIONS OF DEPRESSION, AND MOMMY ISSUES!

By clicking "Keep reading" you have read and understand these trigger warnings.

Narrator's POV

The air in the hotel parlor is thick with tension and silence. That silence is then broken by Niffty asking Vaggie where her wings are.

"Niffty, I don't have," Vaggie starts before Angel cuts her off.

"Did you ever think she's sensitive about her lack of wings, just like her lack of tits?" He asks Niffty.

Niffty then pulls at the collar of Vaggie's shirt and looks down, asking Vaggie about her tit's. Vaggie, annoyed, grabs Niffty by the arm and pulls it away from her shirt, asking if anyone else has other questions.

"I got one. How come every time Charlie talks to Heaven we get in deeper and deeper shit?" Husk asks.

Vaggie sighs, saying that angels are difficult but that Charlie is trying her best. Husk sarcastically remarks that Charlie's best has worked out well so far before walking away with his booze. Angel then loudly asks where Charlie is, commenting on how "isn't it time for another doomed-to-fail plan". Following that remark from Angel, Sir Pentious asks where Reader is.

Vaggie turns, saying how Charlie is upstairs alone in her and Vaggie's bedroom, coming up with plan while Reader has locked themselves in their room. Alastor's smile grows at the mention of Charlie being alone. Without anyone noticing, Alastor turns into shadows to reach Charlie and Vaggie runs upstairs to Reader's room.

Reader's POV

It hurts. I feel so stupid. I was angry at someone who doesnt even exist for years. That non existent woman made my dad feel like he failed as a man, but he never failed. She didn't exist, yet she's the reason I'm crying out my bodyweight in tears. The tissue pile has started leaking from the trashcan. Actually, there is a woman I can be mad at and cry over. I... I don't know how to feel about Vaggie being an angel. I trusted her, but I feel like that trust has gone. It's not fair... it's not fair, IT'S NOT FAIR!

The hotel blankets do nothing to comfort me, nor do the plushies provided weeks ago by Charlie and Lucifer. Damn it, even when I'm dead I can't escape feeling like shit. I sniffle and softly sob for what feels like hours, but my eyes have run dry.

There's a knock. I turn my head towards the door, telling whoever is on the other side to fuck off and leave me alone. Soon, a voice, Vaggie's voice. I groan and yell louder for her to go away.

"Please, mariposa," she Begs.

"Don't call me that!" I yell.

I hear her sit down in front of the door. I don't move. The clock ticks as I just glare at the door. One of the people who filled a gap in my heart is a liar and killer. Now, instead of a mom shaped hole there's not a Vaggie shaped hole.

"I get it. I understand if you're mad at me," she says from the other side.

I ignore her as I hear her stand up and walk away. Why? Why can't I just be happy?

Charlie's POV

"A smile is a valuable tool, my dear. It inspires your friends, keeps your enemies guessing, and ensures that no matter what comes your way, you're the one in control," Alastor tells me.

I rant about how I was never once in control as the person I trust most has been lying to me for years, Reader is now an even bigger target for Heaven, Heaven refuses to listen and even if they did I have no proof the hotel works, Adam has an invincible exorcist army pointed right at my doorstep and I can't do anything about any of it! I feel and hear my fist connect with the window, not enough to break or crack it but just enough for me to feel it.

"I know something you don't know," Alastor says in a sing song voice.

I keep asking him what he's talking about, but he keeps being vague and cryptic. By now I'm begging for him to tell me and he offers me a deal, one favor at the time of his choosing where I harm no one in exchange for him telling me what he knows. His hand is glowing with a green energy and I take it, feeling my own powers surge through me.

Reader's POV

My sorrowful silence is broken by green lines and symbols coming from the walls and ceiling. I hide in the blankets, scared that something bad is happening. Even on the bed I can feel the hotel shake and the temperature seems to drop. I'm begging with every god I can think over while I hear the sound of my blood rushing in my veins and my heart thumb away like a jackhammer on steroids. New tears somehow form at the corners of my eyes, then it all stops.

I poke my head out from the blanket and the green symbols and lines are gone, the hotel is steady, and it the temperature has gone back to normal. Walking out of my room I make my way downstairs. My breathing is still heavy and my heart rate has only ever slightly slowed down. Next to me, Alastor and Charlie make their way down the stairs. The air around them feels tense, and for once I'm scared of Charlie.

They both look at me. I never changed out of my pajamas and slippers. I pull the blanket closer and look away from them. Those damned wings wrap around me, once again acting as my shield. After what happened yesterday and the green lines and such appearing, I'm scared and I don't have anyone to turn to.

"Mon petit ange, care to join us on an outing?" I hear on my right.

Turning my head I'm met with Alastor's creepy gaze. I give him a confused look and he chuckles.

"Me and Charlie are going out to do something important and I was wondering if you wanted to come along with us?" He asks.

I look at Charlie, the look in her eyes says that her mind is off somewhere else. I turn back to Alastor. I won't be alone in the hotel, but I can't bare to face Vaggie or the others. I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place as I feel a Alastor grip my wrist. He's made the choice for me it seems. Sighing, I tell him I need to get dressed first.

"Alright, I'm ready to go," I mumble, afraid and almost lifeless.

"You look wonderful, my dear," Alastor says with his standard dramatic flourish.

Normally, that would make me happy... but now, I don't know if he really means it. I walk towards Charlie and reach towards her hand. I feel her grab my hand faster than I can pull away and she guides me out the hotel door.

*A lot of walking later*

Charlie has been ranting about Vaggie not telling her she was angel, for the whole walk. I swear her lungs are giant or she has none. I... I can't find the energy to be upset for Charlie. Everything about this walk feels like a chore. I look around, which is hard when you're in between Charlie and Alastor, and notice wherever we are has a different style than the rest of the city. I can tell Alastor isn't really paying attention.

The more I look around, the more I notice that this place looks straight out of a historical drama or the reenactment scene in a documentary. The people all stare at me with soulless black eyes and fee show sharp toothed smiles. I also notice the lack of any technology beyond the 1800s, or at least I think that's the era this place is in.

"What about me, ME, say ununderstanding..." Charlie rants.

She stops and it's clear she's just as confused about this place as I am. She then picks up her rant only to get tounged tied and ask Alastor where we are.

"Cannibal Town!" He says, once again pulling out all the annoying dramatic stops.

He hooks his left arm with Charlie's right and Charlie uses her free hand to grab my right. Alastor says he has a friend he wants Charlie to meet. Charlie, clearly has her doubts.

"It's... surprisingly nice here," Charlie says.

I can't really argue with her there. The place does feel at peace or as much as a place full of demon cannibals can be. Those soulless black eyes are staring at me, watching me I feel it! Alastor says that the place is nice because of a "very special someone". We both have no choice but to follow him into a crowded store through a stained glass coffin shaped door.

Once we're in the crowded store, I no longer feel stared at. Now all I see are more people dressed to the nines and hear a Jersey accent, or is it New York? Looking towards the voice, I see a grey skinned lady with a giant red hat behind a glass counter. She has the same soulless eyes as everyone else here. Alastor waves in her direction and she makes her way over. I'm hiding out behind Charlie cause I don't trust anyone of Alastor's "friends" who aren't Husk and Niffty.

As this woman is reuniting with Alastor, she seems to notice me and Charlie standing there.

"Oh. Who's this you brought with you?" She asks Alastor.

I can't tell if she's talking about me or Charlie, probably Charlie. The woman makes a joke about how Charie is too young for him, that Charlie rolls her eyes at.

"Oh, I'm just kidding. I know you're an ace in the hole," the woman says to Alastor.

"A what now?" Alastor asks.

Normally, this would be funny but I... I just don't feel like I have it in me to laugh. The woman then scolds Alastor for not having good manners. I glare at this woman for ignoring me. Sure, I'm not as tall as Alastor, but she can't fucking miss me!

"Ah, yes, Charlie and Reader. This is Rosie. The most faring, delightful, and dangerous Overlord this side of the pentagram," Alastor tells us, less annoyingly dramatic this time as Rosie gives us a curtsy.

"Always such a charmer," Rosie comments.

My blood boils the more I look at her, she seems like everything I wanted in a mom and it's not fair that my real mom isn't even real!

"And, Rosie. It's my pleasure to introduce you to Princess Charlie Morningstar, daughter of Lucifer and heir to the throne of Hell," Alastor says while pushing Charlie towards Rosie.

Charlie gives and awkward greeting when Roise, finally, notices me. I feel Alastor looking down on me, stupid prick!

"And, this is Reader. The Hazbin Hotel's youngest and most recent guest," he says, while patting my head.

Rosie crotches down to meet my gaze. She looks kind, but I still hate her. I mumble out a hello before she smiles and stands back up. I feel Alastor looking disappointed in me, but I don't care at this point. Rosie pushes me and Charile towards her stupid little tea time area. I will admit, the place does look nice. She offers us some snacks which make my stomach growls, guess I've earned that for skipping breakfast.

"I'm sure I have a leg around here or something," she mumbles.

She then pokes Charlie in the stomach area, saying something about how "a small thing" like Charlie must be because she's waiting her figure. I then feel her eyes on me as I glare at a spot on the floor.

"Well, I can clearly see someone is upset," Rosie says.

"I'm not upset," I tell her.

She gives me look that every parent has when they know their kid is lying. She then turns around and offers a box of pinkie fingers to Charlie. I was... gross seeing all that. Charlie turns down the fingers and Rosie moves her to one of the Plush looking chairs near the table with the tea set. Rosie sits in the other seat and I stand near Charlie. Rosie then gets up and brings over another chair.

"Well, sit down. A tiny thing like you must be exhausted from all that walking," Roise says.

I want to stand to spite her, but I don't have the energy for it. I sit in the chair and look at the tea set. Rosie sits back down and asks Charlie to "tell Auntie Rosie what she can do for you?"

Rosie whispers something to Alastor and he says that we're here on another type of business. Rosie tells Charlie not keep her in suspense and how she's a very busy woman. I grumble and let my sitting position become more lose and unrefined. Charlie tries to, at first, calmly explain the issue but it all falls apart as she starts speaking a mile a minute and getting tongue tied to the point where Alastor has to step in and fill the gaps.

Rosie asks if there's more to the planned than a bunch of unarmed cannibals and Alastor says that Rosie's people will be less than helpless and will be able to "eat their fill".

"Well, in that case. Why not?" Rosie responds.

Charlie asks if Rosie means it and Rosie just says, "What can I say? I like your moxie, girl." Ending with how Alastor hasnt wronged her before, probably because if he did she wouldve eaten him by now. I sit there, feeling more and more angry the longer I look at Rosie. She... she's everything I wanted but I'm mad at her for being that. Charlie thanks Rosie before Rosie looks back at me.

"I just gotta ask, how old are you?" Rosie asks me.

I tell her I'm a teenager, and I see her soulless eyes widen as she turns to Alastor.

"So, who's the lucky lady?" She asks.

I explain that Alastor isn't my dad and my mom was already "gone" long before I died. Rosie runs a hand on one of my horns, and I can feel it. It feels good for a little bit, but I don't like this stranger touching me. It took Charlie weeks before she even asked about touching my horns.

*Timeskip*

Well, Rosie is yelling through a megaphone for everyone to get in the town square and also advising Charlie that in order to get the cannibals to follow her use would need to win them over. When Charlie asks how, Rosie says something about need sparkle, razzmatazz, and her moxie. I give Charlie a pat on the back while Alastor walks by.

"Shouldn't be a problem. It's not like you've ever failed to inspire before," he tells Charlie.

I give her a side hug and follow the others up the gazebo stairs. Rosie is warning Charlie about how the town sticks together and that to win everyone over she'll need to convince everyone. That sounds, scary but not seemingly impossible until Rosie tells Charlie that there is one cannibal who is hard to convince. Alastor scoffs and his ears point back as he says the name Susan. Guess Karens do end up in Hell not matter the era. As Rosie looks for a polite way to describe Susan Alastor steps in.

"Ornery old bitch?" Alastor says.

"That," Rosie says.

She says that Susan is tough so if Charlie can win her over than everyone else will be easy. Why do I have a bad feeling about this. Charlie takes her place behind the mic and I'm off to the side. Once the intro by Rosie is done, I hear a raspy voice booing. Following the voice I see a dark grey skinned old lady with a fox shawl. Charlie gives Rosie and Alastor a side glance and they confirm that yes, that old woman is the infamous Susan. My bad feeling gets worse.

As Charlie tries to make it through withholding her speech, Susan keeps throwing insults and booing. I've never felt the urge to hit an old lady before but it looks like today is that day. Charlie is barley holding it together and Susan's critical remarks aren't helping. I know someone is gonna snap and it won't be Susan.

"Fuck You! You old bitch!" Charlie yells into the mic while flipping Susan off.

Ive never seen Charlie use the bird or swear before. This is a shock and I'm not sure how to feel. The crowd gasps in shock at this display and I facepalm. Rosie saves the day by pulling a fuming Charlie off stage. I go to follow when a cannibal woman sees me. I try to scurry away faster but she grabs my arm.

"You there, youngster," she says.

"Yes ma'am?" I ask, wanting to get this over with.

I see her reach into her handbag and hands me something. I look at it, trying to figure out what it is when I decide to unwrap it. It's gum, the cannibal woman smiles and I wander away with a stick of gum.

Vaggie's Pov

"With what? Som secret weapon of yours?" I ask.

"Stupid girl, are you really so dense you don't realize you're holding the answer?" Carmilla asks.

It clicks as I look at my spear. I'm surprised at how easy it is and wonder why no one has figured this out yet.

*One Song Later*

"Well look at that, you might just survive this," Carmilla tells me.

It feels nice having my wings agian, but sleeping is gonna be a pain. I tell Carmilla that we're gonna need more weapons and she agreed.

"Oh more thing," she says.

I turn and asks her what else she needs to say.

"I will take the child for safety," she says.

"You mean Reader. Why?" I ask.

"Would you rather they fight in this war?" She asks back.

I don't. Reader's just a kid, a kid who's been through so much. This is what's best, and we had already discussed sending Reader away so the angels couldn't reach them. Carmilla is a better fit than anyone else in Hell.

"Fine, we will," I tell her.

She nods and walks away to start gathering weapons for us to use. I can't help but think of what could go wrong, but mariposa needs to be safe.

Reader's POV

I follow Charlie into the back room with Rosie, I didn't want to but they both insisted. Rosie asks Charlie what's wrong and Charlie spills what happened.

"What do you do when someone you love lies to you about who they are?" Charlie asks Rosie.

Rosie sits down on the couch and saying that romance is her specialty. Rosie asks Charlie for details and Charlie tells everything that happened with Vaggie. Rosie asks Charlie how it makes her feel and Charlie says it makes her feel angry. Rosie listens as Charlie talks about why she's angry and how Vaggie might not have supported the hotel at all.

I look out the window, tuning out what's happening. I have my own problems to deal with. Rosie talks Charlie through her problems and how Vaggie is trying to redeem herself. The conversation seems so heart warming, but it just makes me more mad.

Sure, me and my dad talked through my issues about mom... but now it feels like we wasted all those nights. Every since that meeting my emotions have been switching from angry to depressed to sadness and back again. It hurts, I want to talk to someone but I don't have anyone.

Charlie and Rosie talk more and more, Charlie getting happier by the minute. When Charlie mentions the failed hotel pitch, Rosie asks how Charlie usually does it.

"By singing... but that never works," she admits.

"It will work here. Trust me," Rosie tells Charlie.

Charlie runs off to prepare and I go to follow, but Rosie stops me. She makes me sit where Charlie was just sitting.

"I can tell you've got something on your mind too, kid," Rosie says.

I keep chewing the gum, trying to ignore her. She doesn't stop and says she just wants to help. I spit my gum out into the wrapper and sigh.

"Well, I just learned that the woman I thought was my mom was just a fake identity," I admit.

"That's quite the knowledge," Rosie says.

"Yeah, I was so mad for so long and now I... I just feel," "Like it was all for nothing?" "Exactly!" I tell Rosie.

She moves her hand toward mine and I go to pull it away. I vent to her about everything, growing up without a mom and now learning the person I was mad at didn't exist.

"Well, you have a right to be angry. You also deserve a mother, you're a good kid after all. But just because she doesn't exist doesn't mean you're not allowed to feel angry," Rosie tells me.

I look up at her. She explains that my feelings are real and what that woman did is something I have the right to be mad at.

"But," I start.

"No buts. You're allowed to be angry and hurt," Rosie says, stopping me.

She says that I can heal when I'm ready, and that place in my heart will one day be filled by people who truly love and care about me. I tear up and she opens her arms for a hug. I'm scared but she tells me it's alright. I hug her, tears emerging from the corners of my eyes as Rosie rubs my hair in a soothing manner and tells me it's ok to cry it out.

She moves me onto the topic of those who love and care about me. I list off Vaggie, Charlie, my dad, Husk, Sir Pentious, and Angel. She smiles, saying that I may never be able to forget what happened.

"But, you can make new memories with those who really care. Then one day, if ever, will you be able to fully move on. Now, if ypu ever want to talk, you come vist Auntie Rosie, " Rosie tells me.

I wipe my eyes and thank her. She smiles and says that she's just happy I'm smiling. She says that as she's pinching my cheeks and I tell her to stop. She stands up and offers her hand, asking if I'm ready to go back in front of the cannibals.

"Yeah, I'm ready, Rosie," I say as I grab her hand.

Charlie is now back under the gazebo, nervous but feeling better. I give her a thumbs up with a soft smile as Alastor hands her his microphone.

*One Song Later*

Its late when we're finally back at the hotel. I squeeze my way through the crowd and I see Vaggie, but she has wings. I look behind her and see the scientist and puffy haired ladies from months ago. The both flash me soft smiles. I watch as Charile and Vaggie make up and it makes my heart swell. I follow them back inside the hotel and... everyone is still there. Angel looks down at us from the upper indoor balcony part.

"You doing ok, bambino?" Angel asks.

I nod, just happy that me, Vaggie, and Charlie won't be alone in this fight.

As I look for ways to help, Vaggie and Charlie pull me aside. I ask them what's up and Vaggie looks me in the eyes.

"You're not staying for the fight," Vaggie says bluntly.

"Why not?" I ask, annoyed.

"You're just a kid and Vaggie said that Ms.Carmine is willing to house you during the battle," Charlie explains.

I'm scared. I don't want to leave and never see them again, but I also don't have any skills that could be useful. I'm... I'm soft and squishy. I hug them both, tearing up. But now, I can't tell if it's from sadness or fear.

"I promise to be good," I tell them.

They both laugh and say that they know. I got to help the others with fortifying the hotel, I just hope it's here when I get back.

[cherubnthechaoschoir]

NEPHILIM: BAMBI - Jackson-era!Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader

summary: when does a human stop being regarded as a human…and, instead, seen as something different entirely?

a note from Lucy: No smut? Huh? Someone check my temperature please. I liked writing Nephilim so much that I decided to do a small Drabble of the exact moment Bambi got her name. Think of it as a prequel of sorts. Takes place soon after Bambi recovers from sepsis. Enjoy!

playlist | moodboard

wc: 1563

Warnings: 18+ MDNI! no use of y/n but reader is referred to as ‘Bambi’, no physical description of reader apart from ‘long lashes’, brief descriptions of injury and blood, religious imagery, use of guns/ being taught to shoot, me not remembering how to shoot even though I was taught how to so there may be inaccuracies lolsies, Joel is a little bit of a dick but it’s only because he cares!

series masterlist | m.list

Psalm 18:33 He maketh my feet like hinds' feet, and setteth me upon my high places.

When does the man become the monster? Is it his first kill? Or maybe his first thought of pulling the trigger? It might be the moment he picks up the gun. When the metal is cold in calloused palm. A human would find it heavy and unwelcoming. A monster might find it a comforting thing though. To know he is protected at his own hand. Are they even entirely separate? A person may be both at once. Monster. Human. Who is the righteous one, the wise one, who draws the line. Is it God? The people? And how thin of a line is it?

Joel could be both. In the Venn Diagram, the spectrum of Monster and Man, he resided in the very middle. That’s what they told you anyway. You took it with a pinch of salt. Thought it a rather hypocritical comment to make for no one in this world was truly pure of sin. Even the lamb grazes the grass that the foal could have. Though Joel thought you came damn close to purity. He now associated the colour of your eyes with innocence. Conditioned to the thought whenever he saw it in nature, or in a person's clothing. Slaved away to keep it. Protect it. Was a man that protected truly a monster? Because the things he did, the sin he committed, the blood on his hands, was all in the name of protection in one way or another.

He quite liked being alone before. But the more time he spent engaging in the odd conversation with you, the more he realised how dull it was to talk to himself. He and himself were only acquaintances. You felt more like a friend. His first real friend since Tess.

So maybe the question is this; When does a human stop being regarded as a human…and, instead, seen as something different entirely?

—

“I can’t do it.” You huffed, looking back at him and dropping your arms. In your hands was Joel’s rifle. The weight of it foreign and uncomfortable. The trigger cold, and your fingertip not calloused enough for it to feel like it belonged. The metal bit back. It said ‘you don’t belong here’. It commanded you: ‘Give me back’. The weight of it was unsettling. In your hand was the weight of a life taken. Or a life spared. And yet he stood behind you with his arms crossed, his brow set in stone, furrowed together in a frown akin to the busts of Caracalla. Narrowed hawk eye on your poor form. Unsteady on your feet and uncertain with your trigger finger.

“You can.” He replied, voice clipped and snippy. Not giving you a choice. “And you will.” He spoke in such a grating edge it seemed he was frustrated merely through your apprehension. “Eject the cartridge.” So you sighed, abiding his words, pressing the butt of the rifle into the crook of your shoulder and staring down the barrel at the tree you hadn’t landed even a graze on once. “Feet shoulder width apart, girl.” He reprimanded. Joel had repeated that one point about five times now in the past hour. And each time you’d forgotten. Something as simple as the planting of your feet on the snow blanketed ground. Your mind was in disarray and a disconnect with your body.You looked down at your feet and shuffled them wider apart.

You felt his strict grip find temporary and telling purchase on your hips, jerking you side on so the foot the side of your non-trigger hand pointed towards the target. Even through layers of winter clothing his touch made you shiver far more than any biting winter wind could. “Like this.” That tone again. It was windburn on your cheeks. It was pins and needles in your feet. Unpleasant, painful, and long enduring.

“Sorry.” You mumbled.

“Don’t be sorry. Be better.” And he stepped back to observe once more.

He didn’t do it to be mean. He didn’t say it to be curt, and rude. He did it for your benefit. Because one day your loose tongue would very well find you without it entirely. Still, it hurt. To know he was so willing with criticism and so restrained with compliments. He must bite his tongue so often that it grows back sharp. It felt like lashes from the cat of nine tails upon your back; Your skin now lacerated and tender from each blow. Regardless, you swallowed the lump in your throat whole. It could suffer and scorn and burn in your churning stomach. You inhaled, and on the exhale you pulled the trigger.

Miss.

You huffed again, utterly defeated. Your heart seemed to sink lower when you looked at him. His face still set with the same Caracalla frown.

“Again.”

“What’s the point, Joel?” You protested for the second time. Desperate to go back to town and wallow. To not have to face that grimace. You felt like a child, waiting for that fateful ‘I’m not angry, just disappointed’ speech. “I’m not a violent person. I’m not like you. I’m not—“ the words faltered as you tried to find them. You stopped yourself before you could blurt the first that came to mind. But he knew. Joel always knew. He didn’t need to say anything for you to admit it. Merely raise a brow and dare you, urge you further.

“Y’should think before y’speak.” You nodded at his words, eyes trained on his boots. “Again.”

Too ashamed to fight any further, already treading on thin ice and skidding miserable on wobbly doe legs. Too soon would you thud to the floor and plunge into the icy waters below. You must find your footing again.

It was in this very shame you obeyed, picking up the weapon again with bated breath and aiming. But your mind was elsewhere. It scattered like the spray of a shotgun's fire. Your form was off. You’d lost that stance from before. And you were too busy in your own head to even think about paying attention to the tree trunk down the other end of the barrel. You fired without the inhale before as well as the beat of your exhale. The recoil was strong, the butt of the rifle ricocheting into your shoulder causing an ache to dissolve through flesh and sink to bone. The sound was jarring, it rang in your ears, rattled in your head. And you lost your footing, stumbling back with the force towards the snow.

Joel saw it coming. He expected you to right your footwork. To breathe in and fire on the exhale. But the sound of the bullet leaving the chamber came before any of the aforementioned. A simple stride in haste and he was behind you, stopping you before you fell to the floor.

“Jesus, Bambi!” Joel gritted through his teeth when you collided. The sound was becoming less jarring. But the name. The name was new. It was fresh. And ripe. A fruit that would never rot. Be eternally sweet. He had thought about it before; You had these wide eyes that looked up at him through thick lashes. You were tentative with your footing. And uneasy on your feet when it was cold. He remembered when he found you in the snow; Curled up on your side with the flesh wound under your trembling palm, bleeding through your shirt and gaps between frail fingers. He thought of a doe just born. Fresh and pure. So vulnerable it ached to not reach out and nurture it. When he looked into those eyes, the eyes of the woman in his arms, he saw it all again. A picture that was printed on the backs of his eyelids when he slept. Or where he blinked for that matter. In waking and in sleep, it haunted him. Whispered in his ear with a warm breath that paralleled the alive and beating. He felt a sharp sting in his heart. He didn't know it then, but it was Eros’ arrow. He would know soon enough.

You shared the time between the words and the writhing of your feet. Shared it with a stare in imperturbable silence. A simmering, deep stare. It wasn’t deep in the sense of a gaping void. More like a watering hole. Something that promised plentiful supply and the chance of survival. The satiation of the unquenchable.

You would learn one day that his love for you can quench any thirst, satiate any hunger and rest any fatigue. All this and he would still be left thirsty, starving and exhausted. Accept him for what he is. Heavy handed, colossal, brutal. Loving, nurturing, tender. Just a man. Give him on chance — one meagre, single moment in time — and he’d decay at the swipe of his tongue across the bottom of your lip alone; Finding a homage for him between them. A feeling he would wish to indulge in selfishly cradling his beating chest. And maybe, just this once, he will let himself be selfish with something that wasn't just for the purpose of survival.

So I beg of you, contemplate: if a man deemed a monster can still love, if a man named the devil can see innocence, grace, beauty, and nurture it— is the man still a monster? Something else entirely? Or is he just human?

[fics-and-quotes-andthelike]

Alec Lightwood: You know, sometimes I really think I can be too straight.

Magnus Bane: (covered in bi merch and sipping an iced coffee) How unfortunate for you.