#Damiel

[onehobgoblin]

Same energy

I just think this kind of trope is funny

[sapphiccharacterstournament]

Canon Sapphic Characters Tournament Round Three

[damiel-of-real]

saw a guy at uni today wearing this hoodie. i couldnt see the text on the back but i could see there was definitely text and images THERE. i can only conclude that this guy was genuinely walking around campus wearing meth instructions

[hobiiiebrown]

collection of my earth-3 pieces for the past month or so

[angst-after-dark]

TW: BBU/BBU-ADJACENT SETTING, SELF HARM (harmful stimming), GRIEF, GRIEF FOR AN ABUSER, RECOVERING PET WHUMPEE

Peyton belongs to @wildfae-afterdark and is used with permission.

TAGLIST: @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump , @poc-whump , @badgerwhump , @flowersarefreetherapy , @gottawhump , @oddsconvert , @cepheusgalaxy

Since they’d run from the shelter, everything around them had stopped. They knew, in some part of their brain, life was moving on without them but they couldn't find it in themself to care. They’re vaguely aware of Peyton’s hands coaxing food into their mouth, or him opening and closing the door. He was hazy, like a shadow, a whisper on the edge of the emptiness that surrounded them.

They embraced the emptiness and let themself be lost in the peace. It was an old friend, one they felt at ease with. Nothing good or bad happened in the emptiness and time itself was wiped from existence. At times, they were sure they themself didn't exist but they could’ve stayed there for eternity.

Like waking up from an afternoon nap in time to see the next day’s sunrise, it hit them. The realization and feeling of everything around them took a few moments for their barely conscious mind to process. Information crashed in on them, a giant, powerful wave that washed them away and forced them underwater until they were certain they were drowning.

Overwhelming and confusing, it was miles from their previous empty space. It had been peaceful there.

Simple.

Everything here was too much. They could hear and it was too loud. They could see, sitting on the edge of the bed. Light poured in, too bright, from the gap in the curtains. The way the light moved and changed colors was weird.

Every breath they took burned its way down their throat. The saliva in their mouth tasted weird and bad as it tried to trickle down their scratchy throat only to end up being coughed up in wheezing breaths. The coughing was so loud and everything around him too. They scrunched up their nose, as if that could help with the ear-splitting sounds around them.They could feel everything. Cramped muscles twisted their body, forcing them to be even more aware of every texture that made contact with their skin. The shirt hanging on their frame felt like a brand.

They tried to sit up, to be in a better position. They were exhausted and the awkward position on their knees was not helping. Their arms and legs shook as they moved. Somehow they made it to the bathroom.

They forced their breathing to slow as they washed away all the gunk and grime on them, but the lump in their throat grew and grew until the dam burst open, and the tears finally bubbled to the surface. They let themself cry, weaving their fingers through tangled locs and pulling them taut.

Slowly, they sunk into the tub, rocking themself and biting their lip to keep their noise to a minimum. Not that it mattered. They were alone. No Sir. No Peyton. No Wick. No Kes. It was only them and the rainbow of color bursting from the pressure on their eyes. The soft click of the door shutting as Peyton entered sounded like a gunshot and left their ears ringing. Despite the auditory discomfort, Dami’s chest clenched with emotions they’d never thought they’d feel with the other man.

Anticipation and relief.

They were relieved. That was a curious thing but they’d explore it later. . They wished they could beg him to come into the bathroom but the words remained stuck in their throat, trapped by a tongue that felt too big for their mouth. Everything was too loud.

For as long as they could remember, (which, thanks to WRU, wasn't very long), Dami’s life had revolved around rules. Don't stim too loudly or big in public. Smile when other people smile. If someone asks a question, they want conversation. Conversation has more than one word answers. Most people like being lied to when it's about themselves. Don't talk to police, military recruiters, or WRU recruiters.

They’d liked it that way. It had made social interactions easier, until it hadn't but that was another story for another day. They had lists in their mind, contingencies, a script on how to act, what to do in any given situation, what to say. It got tiring sometimes and sometimes other people didn't act according to the rules Dami was told they were supposed to follow. That was confusing and frustrating. Why make rules you weren’t going to follow?

Humans were dumb creatures.

What were they supposed to do in this situation?

They’d seen death before but it had never been anyone in the friends or family category.

They weren’t sure where to put Thane. He wasn't their friend. He had been their family at one point but not anymore. They’d loved him at one point too and they weren’t sure if that feeling would ever go away. They knew that grief sometimes came as numbness, the soul partitioning off the wound until a time when the heart is capable of feeling the pain without bleeding out and

Maybe they were feeling that numbness.

Relief overtook the hatred. Relief. Relief that he would never come after then again. Relief that they didn't have to be afraid.

WRU didn't teach them to admit defeat. It was beaten into them that they were supposed to fight until their fists bled, tough it out until their skin was thick and calloused. Fight until they’ve burned their tongue and scorched their throat, fight until they are hollowed out with nothing left to give. Guard Dogs weren’t gentle, they weren’t soft. The fire in their belly was never supposed to die. The fire that was supposed to protect their Principle but Sir…Sir was gone.

For the first time since training, Dami had failed their purpose and the fire that had served that purpose was cold, freezing, threatening to consume them from the inside out. They wanted it to stop, wanted the thought, the feelings, everything to stop. Their body buzzed with sundering anger and another vicious emotion they thought they’d left behind a long time ago.

Hatred.

Their body shook, their nails scraping their skin hard enough to draw blood when they weren’t pulling their hair. They knew, somewhere in the back of their mind, that wasn't okay. They needed to do something better, healthier, but they couldn't bring their hands to do anything else. Their sniffles turned to whimpers then sobs that became harder and harder to keep quiet.

Sir was gone and Dami wasn't sure how they were supposed to feel.

Loneliness wasn't new to them. It had never felt this crushing before. They missed him and they loathed themself for missing him. It didn't change a damn thing. They’d loved him once upon a time. Some would say they loved him because that’s the only thing that they’d known. Was it wrong to love something harmful if it was the only thing you’d ever known? They weren’t sure they could ever stop loving him.

There was a gaping hole in their chest, one they’d avoided for months and months with the misplaced hope that it would go away. It only grew sharper and sharper, throbbing whenever they let their mind wander. His death wasn't his fault but the betrayal (as illogical as it was to call it that) still hurt.

He’d been a bigger piece of them than they’d ever imagined and perhaps a piece of them had gone to the grave with them. He’d taken a possibility away from them. A future that maybe he would change and they could work through their differences, find forgiveness and love in each other the same way Wick and Kes had.

They would curse him, spit on his grave, and beg for his return as they forced the memories (good and bad) into the gaping hole he’d left in their heart.

[justplainwhump]

Leaving

Ira's loyalty is absolute.

The first piece I've written in a long while, and a gift to @angst-after-dark. Thane and Dami are their characters.

Content / warnings: two whumpees, BBU, recovery, recapture. Past conditioning. A tiny bit of choking. Sacrifice.

The day, on which Ira's fifth life ended, started like any other day.

Of course it did, she thought. It always came as a surprise. Mistress - Madeline - had had her picked up to be given to Ms Gemma after a beautiful holiday. Ms Gemma had locked her up in the bathroom and sold her, just when Ira had started really feeling at home with her. The police had raided Master Adam's apartment during their regular Saturday morning sex.

These had all been the ends to bad lives, though. This life, it had been good. Since the moment she'd met Dami, her days had become brighter, her world larger, her smiles real.

She wasn't ready for it to end. But she knew it did, when she stepped into their kitchen, a bit sweaty from her bike ride home in the summer's heat, backpack half slipped down from her shoulder to stow groceries into the fridge.

"So you're it," a soft male voice stated. "You're the one they settled for."

The backpack dropped to the floor, as she turned around.

The stranger was good looking, young, a bit older than herself. Probably Dami's age. Dark hair, high cheekbones, perfectly white teeth. He'd helped himself to a drink from their fridge, it seemed, as he carefully rested the can of coke on the kitchen counter and looked her down.

Sometimes, activists in the network had felt the need to teach her about how pets have the same worth as others. As people. That they weren't weaker or less human or in any way inferior to them.

The lectures had never been necessary. Ira had never thought they were. There was no difference between pets and regular people.

The difference, the divide, was between all of them and the owners. Between those who had to work and struggle and fight and give in their lives, and those who never did. Those who only existed to take.

The stranger in her kitchen was that. It was obvious from his stance, the twist of his lip, the cool disdain in his eyes.

He was an owner.

And he'd come to take.

She just stood still, met his gaze, waiting for him to make a move, to tell her what it was that he wanted.

And he did move, with long strides, as if this place, this small kitchen with the yellow sunflower curtains, that Dami and Ira had called theirs was his already. And maybe it was. Maybe she was, too.

The stranger reached out to grab her chin. She didn't flinch. Just let him touch her, inspect her, judge her.

Her white hair, her colorful clothes, her tattooed skin, the patterns of crisscrossing scars, the place on her wrist where a tattoo swallowed what remained of her bar code.

The man let go off her, shook his head with a scoff, before he gestured at the room around them. "This shithole of a place? A cheap runaway whore like you? That's the life they chose over what they had with me?"

"I love them," Ira said carefully, an odd sense of pride bristling under her skin. "And they love me."

He chuckled mildly. "We'll see about that," he murmured, and stepped in, settled his hand around her throat. "Would you even fight if I killed you?"

She lifted her chin to meet his gaze. "They love me," she repeated.

The man's fingers wrapped around her throat more tightly. "They're mine," he said. "They might've forgotten it somewhere between your long whore legs, but they'll remember. They-"

"Ira." It was all but a garbled breath behind her, followed by a word that made her shiver, cut to her bone. Dami's voice, horrified, sincere. Absolute. "Sir."

The man's other hand returned her, far enough for her to see them, to meet their gaze for the flicker of a moment, before they dropped to their knees.

She'd never seen them surrender.

Of course she knew they had. They'd been what she'd been, after all. Made to serve. Obey. Surrender. Made for an owner.

Made for this owner.

She wanted to whisper their name, but she kept silent under the man's hands.

"Please," Dami said, "Leave her out of it."

"You're mine," their owner replied.

"Yes. Yes, Sir."

"Then you'll come back with me."

"I will." Dami didn't look at her, just stared at the floor, the tips of the man's polished shoes.

"Good." The hold around Ira's neck loosened, as he stepped back and straightened his shirt. "Then let's go."

Dami scrambled to their feet. "Yes, Sir."

Ira didn't cry, or beg, or say goodbye. Dami was her world. There was no life without them. It wasn't even a question. She stepped forward, to their side, reached out to take their hand.

Their fingers interlaced with hers, natural, perfect, as they always had. They belonged together.

Behind her, she heard the man laugh. "What's that, whore? You want to come?"

"No," Dami whispered.

Ira swallowed, grabbed their hand more tightly and shook her head. This was her decision to make. Not theirs. And there was only one option. Not only her life had become better in freedom, side by side with them.

She knew she couldn't save Dami from going back. But she could keep them from going alone.

"Yes," she said softly. "I will."

[koneko-dreams]

How goes it with malleus?

@general-lilia-vanrouge

I think it's going well? I can't tell from this distance-

Damiell: "Going well! I think- We're going on a nightly stroll then look around some ruins! He did mention that he had another friend earlier when I first suggested to talk about gargoyles- Wonder what that's all about"

[please-dont-pet-the-okapi]

Angels in The Bishop's Wife (American, 1947): Cheerful, snarky chaps in suits who look like they wandered out of a mid-20th century catalog Angels in Wings of Desire (West German, 1987): Sad men in overcoats who have clearly Seen Some Things but also love humans so, so very much

[cepheusgalaxy]

I've been reading this whump series lately and

Damn.

Well, I wanted to say I love Damiel Cartier.

They are nonbinary

Black

Polyamorous

Neurodivergent

Have C.I.P.A. (congenital insensitivity to pain with anhidrosis) - a disease

Are AFAB

They're all the cissexist ableist traditional western system hates and I love them

Dami belongs to @angst-after-dark and is from the amazing bbu series, Like A Bullet Loves A Gun

(I have heard of c.i.p.a. before, but I didn't know the name, so @angst-after-dark made the favour of explaining me and I did a bit of research - it is a disease characterized by the inability of feeling pain and insensibility to temperatures, which can be very dangerous to the patient, and can lead to many accidents and episodes of self-harm, and lead to have the patient sick often, since they don't sweat - a natural mechanism of the body to regulate temperature - and hurt themselves a little often. I'm not an expert, of course, since I only found it out a few hours ago, and it may have some informations missing here, but it looked interesting to share.)

If you're into whump/bbu I hightly recomend this series!

But it has a huge amount of non-con (aka sexual abuse) so be careful if you don't like it or has sensibility to it. All the chapters have trigger warnings.

[robert-deniro]

I saw your concert...”Why can’t I be good?”.....

I swear if I knew, I would tell you.

Faraway, So Close! (1993) dir. Wim Wenders

[zodiacsea]

going home today…. sad but also SO excited to be in my own bed and my own shower and be sooo cozy and see my cat and see damien :)

[sapphiccharacterstournament]

Canon Sapphic Characters Tournament Round Two

[damiel-of-real]

fucking adore the undertale winter alarm clock dialogue for obvious reasons (its really good) but also because it establishes that flowey and papyrus are STILL friends. like with the rest of the cast he just can't make friends with them. he feels like he fundamentally cannot connect with these people anymore and he honestly might be right. but you know he's STILL gotta hang out with his best friend papyrus. he lets him dress him in a dumb little ribbon too

[flowersarefreetherapy]

For the truth serum ask:

Dami asks Robin why they took them in. Why they care

“Everyone needs someone to care about them. That’s why I work the job I do, that’s why I stopped that night to pick up the man who is now my husband. . . and that’s why I took you in.”

Robin faintly smiles, allowing the words to hang for a moment. “From the moment I saw you, I knew you needed that person. You needed someone to help start you down the right track, to give you somewhere to fall back to if needed. Maybe I consider myself too much of a hero, or maybe it’s selfish but—I wanted to be that person. I wanted to be the first one to offer you safety when no one else would.”

They hesitate a moment, but the truth serum compels them to add, “this is selfish, but . . . I’ve always wanted a child, to have that relationship. Taking care of you and getting to show you love, that gave me a glimpse into what it’s like in all its beauty and pain. I know it’s a weird thing to want, and I don’t know if you even want me in your life in that way . . . but to me, you’re my child, and I take care of my family.”

[angst-after-dark]

CW: BBU/BBU-ADJACENT SETTING, HOMELESSNESS, RECOVERING (SORTA) PET WHUMPEES, IMPLIED PROSTITUTION, MITCHELL (WHO WILL NEVER BE MENTIONED AGAIN AFTER THIS CHAPTER)

Peyton belongs to @wildfaewhump and is used with permission.

TAGLIST: @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump , @poc-whump , @badgerwhump , @flowersarefreetherapy , @gottawhump , @oddsconvert , @cepheusgalaxy, @whump-card

The sky was turning pink beyond the sliding glass doors that also served as a window to the world. Every color stood in stark contrast to the beiges, blues, and brushed nickel-platings of the Speed Queen washers and dryers. They’d probably been white at some point but time and cigarette smoke had aged and discolored them. Or maybe it was the era of the building and not the age that made the scratched enamel the color of egg wash. Greasy, curry-orange chrysanthemums bloomed on the walls. Blue-frosting fiberglass egg chairs tipped against them.

Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, buzzing loudly and making them wish they had their headphones. The strong, fragrant smell of Downy permeated the air.

Dami’s eyes grew heavier and heavier as they sat in one of the chairs across from the wall of washers and dryers. The rhythmic humming of the machines had already lulled Peyton to sleep and was doing its best to send them there as well. Peyton’s head rested on their arm. A blanket, one of their only clean ones, sat around his shoulders. They were one of the only people in the laundromat at this time of the morning and Dami was grateful for it. The clerk at the front hadn't asked them to leave. With the payment Dami had given her earlier that night, they’d be safe for the night. The chairs weren’t the most comfortable but it was better than sleeping in the alley out back.

There was only one more load of laundry they had to do anyway before all their clothes and the backpacks were clean. Then they’d have to find something to eat. They’d spotted a cvs down the road. They could stock up on peanut butter, granola, and waters - things that could get them to the next town easily. There were so many pros and cons of college towns. Stores closed late and opened early.

Maybe they could rest their eyes a little bit. It wouldn’t hurt to sleep for a minute and let their clothes sit. The machines hummed, a hollow clanking as the interior mechanisms tossed clothes about in a soapy mess. Tiny waves of suds washed up against the circular window of the washing machine, along with glimpses of black, blue, and green clothing.

They’d barely closed their eyes for a second before the harsh, sharp beeping sound rang in their ears.

Or not.

With a soft huff, they pushed themself out of their seat, careful to maneuver Peyton so he was sleeping comfortably again. They leaned over the machine and thumbed quarter after quarter into the hungry slot until the control panel blinked options for color, white, delicates or permapress.

The boy who walked in looked young, with a warm, dark complexion and a toned physique that draws Dami’s attention as he moved to the washer a few spaces down from theirs. The stranger smiled at them for a moment with a flash of blinding white teeth

"Hi," he said.

Damiel turned to him. He was shorter than Peyton, but still cute in a just figuring out life kind of way. He didn't feel dangerous, there was no need to be unfriendly, so Dami nodded and muttered something that could pass for a hello. They went back to the washer and their clothing but continued to watch him out of the corner of their eye. He took their muttered utterance as an invitation.

He sidled closer, eyes darting around before resting on Dami again. He looked up at them and tried to smile.

"Are you here alone?" he asked. His voice is deep and kind of husky, like one of the clients Ms. Dahlia used to have. The one that let Dami taste their first cigarette and was disappointed when they hadn't flinched at the cigarette on their skin. It was strange to hear such a deep voice on someone so small.

"No," They answered. From a distance, Peyton stayed asleep, nervous hands hidden in the sleeves of Dami’s worn hoodie. They hoped he kept sleeping. He’d need it with the walking they'd need to do today.

"Just a friend?" the guy asked. Another forced smile. He put his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels. "I'm Mitchell."

Mitchell, no last name. They didn't bother to answer, putting more coins in the washer instead. They pushed the lever and moved to the next washer, which meant, unfortunately, they had to walk towards Mitchell.

"What's your name?" Mitchell asked. They gave him a flat look and moved around him.

"Look, I forgot to bring a book or anything else to do while my laundry's busy, so I was wondering--”

"No," they cut him off. They didn't give a shit what he was about to say even if they could clearly guess. The answer was no. No, he couldn't talk to Dami. No, they didn't have a book to lend him. No, they didn't want to play cards. Honestly, they didn't want to be there at all, getting the smells of strangers into their clothes from sharing a public washer and dryer, sitting for hours in uncomfortable too-small plastic chairs and counting the minutes while Peyton jumped at every shape, shadow, and ringing bell.

"I was just going to ask if you want to fool around in the bathroom a bit," Mitchell said, easy as anything, shrugging. If Dami were alone, like they'd been their first escape, they would've said yes. They would've let him pay for their laundry. They would've made him pay for every touch. They would’ve longed for the company. They would’ve welcomed it.

But they weren't alone. They were trying to be a better example for Peyton.

"No," they said. They moved on to their third washer.

"You don't even have to touch me," Mitchell continued, like he's deaf to Dami's voice. "I just want to get my hands on your dick, just a little."

Dami slammed the coins into the washer too hard. The machine moved with it but nothing broke. They ignored it.

"No."

"I like 'em big and bulky," Mitchell said with a small smile. His voice dropped in something reminiscent of a Romantic’s whisper as he reached for Dami’s bicep and curled his fingers around them, touching them as if he’d been invited to. As if he had the right. Another smile accompanied the violation, “And you….look perfect.”

They whirled to him, growling. They pulled his hands off of them, squeezing his fingers together just painful enough to feel threatening. Their nails pricked the skin on the back of Mitchell's hands, digging deep into the lines and numbers Damiel was too familiar with.

They let go as if they’d been burned. It made sense.

Eyes wide, Mitchell stumbled backwards, pulling the sleeve down over the barcode.

"I'm so sorry,” he whimpered,”Please don't hurt me. I didn't…I need….please.”

“Shut up.” Dami grunted. “Not going to hurt you. You’re bad at this.”

A Romantic wouldn’t have been that clunky once they’d found their target and they would’ve chosen someone with more money than Dami currently had. They’d obviously been a Platonic or a Domestic.

“Flirt first. Tease.”

“Flirt?” Mitchell squeaked. He rubbed his wrists and backed up again, putting some much needed distance between them.

Dami was grateful for it.

“Flirt. Make them laugh and if you can’t,” they shrugged, “you’ll go hungry. Laundromats aren’t good places. No money here. Just college kids and single parents. Try nightclubs. Bars. Golf parks. People there always want more than they have.”

He nodded, holding his fingers close to his chest and Dami sighed, still glaring.

“Here.” They shoved some clothes into a backpack and almost threw it at him. They could live with one bag. Less things for them and Peyton to carry. They dug into their pocket and pulled out a few bills, giving those to him as well.

Eyes wide, Mitchell took them and stuttered out a thank you.

“Someone says no, move on. Don't be pushy. Will get you caught.” Mitchell nodded eagerly. He didn't stop talking, alternating between apologizing and thanking them. Dami ignore them. “CVS down the street. Get food that will last a long time. Don't steal it. They track stuff.”

Mitchell leaves soon after but Dami couldn't relax. They'll be fine with one backpack. They hurried to finish the rest of their clothes and leave the laundromat.

[koneko-dreams]

Get them a therapist. Or Yuu in general-

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N: So- Imagine if someone handed you a box full of all the items you have lost throughout your life

Koneko: Ah, my parent's love and affection plus my childhood, where have you been these last centuries?

Damiell: My mother's love! How have you been?

Yuna: Is that you my long lost sanity?

Angelica: Goodness, where on heavens have you been my own emotions?

Y/N:Do- Do you all need a hug?-

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Don't worry- I didn't traumatize the rest of my OC's- I think- -KD