#SERAPH singularity

[spiribia]

even in an ending where luna and seraph are in the castle forever seraph is privately like it may be selfish of me but i am blessed to be a part of her life to see her get old, when they have gray hairs and so on. seraph eventually semi-retires and more spends her days training youngsters as an excuse to hang around in her vicinity still even though people are like seraph you could rest properly gods know you deserve it & luna is saying this also. but seraphs like there is naught more i love to do. when queen luna passes away seraphs like Perhaps in the next life... & then she officially ceases all her duties, deeming it all complete.

[daz4i]

this is a completely harmless thing but it is my pet peeve mostly bc it is a topic i know a lot about. anyway. so. you know i love angel/demon aus. and when i make my own, i just make up my own rules, barely touch any actual lore. and i know lore!!! angels (and jewish mythology as a whole) used to be my special interest not long ago, and i actually picked up research about it again lately, so i know i'm well informed on the topic, but i usually don't really wanna deal with canon stuff when it comes to fun aus. HOWEVER sometimes. i will read a fic that IS trying to be canonically accurate (to the bible, i mean) and is just a little bit Off and i cannot begin to explain how much this little bit pisses me off. please i can tell you're trying to put in effort here if you wanna stick to canon lore why not fully commit to it please-

also don't even get me started on shit like "seraphims" i'm removing english speakers' rights until they put minimal effort into using words in other languages right

[autistic-katara]

if i see another person say “seraphims” im going to kill myself

[scp-1296]

If if have to hear one of these fuckers say "seraphims" one more time? I'mma fucking lose it.

[nerdypagan1]

when people say "biblically accurate angel", they usually mean some odd combination of ophanim and seraphim (wheels, eyes, wings, fire). ignoring that regular old angels (mostly messengers, which is what angelos means, as does malakh) just look like regular dudes.

as do archangels! Raphael, Michael, Uriel? the famous ones?!

"biblical angels" you do realise there are angels in the old testament that are literally just regular looking guys, right? you do know that the hallucinogenic incoherent descriptions are in like. two books. and the rest of the time angels are just guys. you know that, right?

and I'm not saying don't have fun with weird angels. I'm saying, either the eldritch forms are for special occasions, or the society of the angels is Many-Eyed-Many-Winged-Interlocking-Circles, Four-Faces-Six-Wings, and Mike.

[icharchivist]

Belial.

Belial talks like that

But clearly, you just never forget your first

And before you say anything. I know. You said you actually grinded for these things. His comments hit you right in the heart. I know everything

Yeah Belial does and it's why i remember!!! Because why is he so horrible all thr time.

And yeah i bing grinded the seraphics and i still cant forget him making fun of me calling me the same thing as what i called myself watching my own grinding process. What can i say. It's his fault.

[harmonysanreads]

Halcyon

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Phainon x Reader

Some very soft Yandere themes. AU where there is no war, everything is fine, you and Phainon are happily married and have the ‘Puppy Phainon’ thing as an inside joke because today is Phainon Loving Wednesday. Written in the span of an hour so please excuse any errors. Enjoy the domesticity.

“Phainon, paw.” you beckon. It's as if the subtle curl of your fingers scratch a certain part of his brain, making him forfeit his hand to your outstretched palm in utmost obedience.

You gently squeeze his fingers, caressing his cheek with your free hand and it takes not a millisecond for him to lean into the touch. Eyes closed, lips stretched and survival instincts lost in bliss.

“Phainon, sit.” you order again. Ivory locks bump with the air as he straightens up, hand still in your grasp.

You hum, scrutinizing every little movement. The man does not dare breathe, eager to pass your assessment.

You lock your attention into those soliform eyes, observing the ripples among their serene surface at your next command, “Phainon, faint!”

He takes a second to soak in the word, before plopping down as if there exists no thought in his mind. The mattress dips under his weight, bedsheets rustling as you shift a bit closer to his defeated form.

Your fingers find refuge in his hair, the affectionate ruffles entices another seraphic smile to bloom on his face. But you're not done yet. Tracing the line of his jaw, you conduct his attention to you once more — the quirk of your lips perhaps a bit too sly.

“Can I get a ‘woof’?”

The ripples on Phainon's eyes still, a blink is all you see before you feel your head rest against the bedsheets — your husband's hand withdrawing after shielding the back of your head against any potential hurt. His towering form shields you from the acronycal rays, his silhouette illuminated by their touch.

You're not sure what you were anticipating, but Phainon's hand sliding from the curve of your waist to settle on your ankle certainly was not it. Your chiton slides up as he tilts your foot up, lips pressing against the dorsum.

“What... what are you doing?” you think you finally understand why Phainon looks like he's malfunctioning whenever you tease him. It should be obvious what he's doing, but the unexpectedness of it rendered your mind blank. You feel your lips purse against your will, the realization admittedly poking your pride.

“Since me acting like a puppy makes you so happy,” he rests his cheek against the skin he just kissed, peering up at you with dewy blue eyes. “What do you say to us taking the play a step further?”

You're certain he can see your mind buffering, if the way he smirks is anything to go by. Your hand reaches towards that smug smile, the force of your pinch making him whine and let go of your ankle in surprise.

“Bad boy.” you try to sound stern, not relinquishing until pink coats the area where your fingers squeezed. But your attempt at remaining firm remains for not long, as his carefree giggles fill the air — they're contagious, too idyllic for you to continue pretending that he ever displeased you. And soon, the sun-kissed afternoon becomes redolent with both of your laughter.

Such bliss faces an abrupt interruption, the insistent ringing of the calling bell of your apartment making you both cringe.

“Don't gooooooo!” Phainon clings to your clothes by instinct, baby blue eyes waxing with the tides of all the puppy energy he's gathered in that singular stare. All too used to his tactics, you gently push him to loosen his grip. Getting up after giving a pat on his head, as if to tell him that you'll be back soon.

You recognize the sight behind your door, “Sorry to trouble you, but could you lend me some salt?” it's the man who you remember living on the floor above yours, appearing rather flustered for such a simple request.

“Oh, sure. Give a moment.” you're about to turn around to go fetch the item, but an abrupt pitch in his voice stops you.

“Uhhhhhh on second thought, I'll just go buy it! Sorry again!” he dashes out of your vicinity before you can reply with anything. You stare at the now vacant area, taking a few seconds to register what exactly happened before your shoulders sag with a sigh.

“I know you're behind me, Phainon.” you call out pointedly, feeling no need check if your assessment was true or not as the accused man leans his entire weight against you.

“You were taking too long!” he grumbles against the dip of your shoulder, grip tightening around your body.

You heave a sigh again, crossing your arms over your chest. You consider whether you should reprimand him for death glaring at an innocent man again, but his coaxing gestures soothe your complaints.

“You know what, that irritated me as well. So, I'll let you off the hook this time — ” that is all he needs to hear to scoop you away from the ground. The loud thud of the front door being shoved close echoes around the building, as if to warn everyone to not intrude in your sanctuary, again.

[knight-a3]

Hazbin Masterpost

Heavenbound Masterpost

Sera, high radiant seraphim

I wanted angels to look more human. The whole "biblically accurate angels" thing is not quite as biblically accurate as you probably think.

More under the cut

This gets into some theology. So, I wanted heaven to be more human, since God created man in his own image, and it works best with the lore I am building. It just gives a more heavenly vibe when the angels aren't some creature-things. I want heaven to feel heavenly, okay?

Clothes: I changed her outfit, because the canon one is a bit too complicated and I didn't understand the construction of it. So I did something that's easier for me to understand. It's overall more animation friendly, and that pleases me.

Halo: I have specific ideas about halos. They denote the type and rank of angel they are. Seraphim have two silver ring halos. I haven't decided if I want to make her one of the Seven Heavenly Virtues (the Elder Seraphim) or just the head of the Radiant Seraphim(the broader rank of seraphim). Either could work. But if she's a virtue, I'd need to make a small change to her halo, as per my own lore rules.

Wings: I've decided to give seraphim wings with three sets(six total) of primary feathers, instead of six entirely separate wings. Mostly because I do not want to draw that many wings nor figure out the anatomy of it. It mimics the six-winged look while being easier for me to wrap my head around and draw. I also just like the look better.

They can also be summoned and dismissed at will, because I don't want to have to draw them all the time. It's a cop out, but I will do it.

--Biblically Accurate Angels--

"Biblically accurate" is not quite what most people think. Y'all are like, "biblically accurate angels are crazy looking eyeball and wing monstrosities, no wonder people were scared!" But that's literally not what the bible says.

Angel means "messenger", and they often appear as regular-looking people. Sometimes they have a "countenance of lightning" and "raiment white as snow". Jesus was once described(post-resurrection) as having feet of molten bronze(the molten part is the key: it's literally white-hot, not brown) and hair as wool(specifically referring to the color, not texture, and the commonly associated color is white). These are descriptions of glowing.

The crazier depictions tend to happen in visions or dreams, too. It's likely they were symbolic descriptions rather than literal. That the individual components had a cultural connotation that implied something about them. Many eyes symbolized constant watchfulness, for example. I mean, we sometimes describe an angry person as having fire in their eyes or steam coming out their ears, and that's not literal. We describe a sly person as a snake or a fox, but it's not literal. The book of Revelations and the Old Testament, in particular, use imagery, symbolism, and metaphors A LOT. And things get a little muddy when carried between language, culture, and time. Translation, localization, and modernization are tricky processes.

--Seraphim-- <-Link to some helpful info about this topic, if you're interested in that type of thing.

"Seraph" is a back-formation. It's a singular form of a pre-existing plural word. Seraphim is the plural form. I will probably use seraphs and seraphim interchangeably, so just don't worry about that.

The Hebrew root word "sarap" means something along the lines of "burning". It was often used to refer to snakes (possibly because the venom causes a burning sensation, or maybe as a metaphor for purification). It is only used once to describe a heavenly being, in the book of Isaiah. Every other time, it is translated as "burning ones" or "fiery flying serpent". In Egypt and other surrounding cultures, cobras would be used to symbolize divinity, sovereignty, and royalty. The Hebrews probably adopted the imagery. The seraphim described in the Bible might not even refer to what we typically imagine to be angels.

Long story short; seraphim means fiery flying serpents and symbolize divinity and/or purification.

--Cherubim-- <-Link to more cool info!

While I'm on the topic of the etymology of angels, I might as well address cherubs. Cherubim is the proper plural form, but I will probably use cherubs and cherubim interchangeably as well. Just roll with it, it's fine.

The youthful child depiction possibly comes from some rabbinic folk lore that claims the word is related to the Aramaic term for "like a child" or "youthful", but I'm not sure if that's true.

What I'm seeing most consistently is that they're implied to have wings. It seems commonly accepted that it comes from an Akkadian word meaning, "to bless". One source claims it means "hybrid" or "mount, steed" and refers to winged beasts that the Canaanite sky god would ride. Which would align with the depictions of cherubim as tetrads(a hybrid of four creatures), and/or the use of it as some sort of divine flying chariot.

There are a lot of theories, but nothing concrete. It gets very unclear and I'm not an expert. But I'm incorporating a variety of ideas into my lore, and I think I'm doing good with balancing them.

--

In the end, I'm using the terms seraphim and cherubim to describe ranks of angels, because it's what works best with our current understanding of the words. I'm not going to include the other traditional classes of angels like dominions, thrones, etc, because it's overly complicated, and not actually biblical. I don't want to waste brain power on that. Also, the Bible doesn't actually describe the hierarchy of angels at all. It's not even clear if seraphim and cherubim are supposed to be considered angels.

[devizakura]

🎀🐍 GESTURES BIG AND SMALL (Pennylou comic) - Part 3 🐍🎀

[MASTERPOST]

Ah there we go, Betty's repressed bisexuality is showing (JK JK... or am I? 🫢)

(also I am using the singular "Seraph" not the plural "Seraphim" because I'm right and the show is wrong 😤😤😤)

Also, yippee, I'm managing to handle consistent uploads so far! Sooo next part coming next Saturday!

[foxboybugs]

Call me bugs :3

19, red fox, Pagan, plural, physically disabled, transmasc and queer

Side blog for @bugssolarsystem if you know me from there no you don’t 

(More info below the cut)

- Silly side blog for fox brain posting. Just a little creature. May discuss being a seraph/avian (angelkin) as well, although that's a lesser identity for us, and only a couple alters identify with it.

- I'm still figuring out which alterhuman terms fit me best, so we'll likely switch between some. Please let me know if I misuse a term, I am relatively new to the nonhuman community and still learning the best words for my experiences!

- I try to educate myself before I say stuff but sometimes I am less educated than I think

- We switch between singular and plural pronouns. We’re a system, it’s normal for us

- No DNI I block freely

Tag guide:

#bugs barks - original posts where i yap #bugs asks - responding to asks

[sykesandskittles]

𝕴 𝖘𝖊𝖙 𝖒𝖞 𝖜𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 𝖔𝖓 𝖋𝖎𝖗𝖊

Word Count- 4k

Summary- When you find yourself running behind, fate draws you into a random coffee shop where a dark figure takes an otherworldly interest in you.

Pairing- Falling Angel!Christian yu/DPRIAN! x writer!fem!reader

Genre/Trope-Strangers to Lovers AU, Fated Lovers AU smut

Warnings- Vulgarity, sexual language, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving) stalking behavior, darker themes (I mean, he is a fallen angel), possessive talk, minors DNI 18+

The chime above the door rings through the small, cozy space as customers come and go throughout the day. Day in, day out. The murmur of voices, the grinding sound of roasted beans, the soft hiss of the frother as the baristas create some concoction or another. The daily dose of the bitter brew is the ultimate cure for the constant stream of half asleep zombies, each heading off to spend their day doing something productive.

It had been long since the figure in the corner had felt the urge to rush off to a destination like the steady parade of faceless figures he observes. His stoic face unimpressed as he studies his colony of ants, plodding along to fulfill some small happiness within their short, sad lives.

How he envied them.

It has been ages since his fall to this achromatic pit, a perpetual purgatory of anemic grey tormenting his wretched soul. How could these mindless drudges laugh, smile, delight in something as simple as a steaming mug of espresso and milk? The inability to even stoke the fire of a mild irritation causes him to sigh, his hands having long bled the warmth from his own cup as he sits watching.

His world is upended in the span of a second.

The chime of a bell.

In the countless instances he’s heard that incessant ringing, this is the only one that matters as time seems to grind to a halt. A cool breeze carries the scent of warm, buttery honey with a hint of floral citrus to balance the richness. The aroma threatens to overwhelm him, long forgotten sensations stirring. The potent shock of the resurrection of his emotions choke him, his hand unconsciously clasping his chest as he struggles to endure the assault. Only a moment ticks by as the scent reaches him, then he’s frozen in time as his world fills with color. Infinite shades of red inundate his sight, dark eyes locked onto the beautiful creature poised at the door, the curve of a smile in that rosy mantle sending a shockwave through his system.

The melodic tinkling of a small laugh shatters the tentative control he has over himself. An aria cuts through the symphony of noise he’s endured for ages. A singular voice reviving his entire being.

His long atrophied heart seems to give out a painful shriek at the potent rush of his lifeblood. The silent struggle of the shadow figure in the corner of the small cafe goes unnoticed, but for him, it’s as if he’s been resurrected, awakening from the tedium of his purgatory. It was only a moment.

The moment that alters his entire existence.

The moment he saw you.

The moment passes, and he can only cling to his teetering sanity, watching as you order your coffee. You are exquisite, radiant beyond comprehension. The curve of your neck causes him to tremble. The lilt of your voice a sonata made for him alone, kindling his very soul.

Your scent wakes him from his endless slumber, the sight of you defibrillating his long withered heart. The sound of your laughter cuts through the never ending drone that surrounds him. The world falls away around him and he can only see you.

His dark eyes blacken as he watches you leave, taking the cosmos with you. Abandoning him in the frigid, ceaseless void he’s been condemned to. As your warmth seeps from the cafe, he stands, his purpose clear.

His hands clench as the need to touch you takes over his reason, longing for the sensation of your silky flesh in his palms. His mouth salivates at the thought of your essence on his tongue. There is no other purpose anymore. He has only one objective, one singular desire.

You are his only aspiration now. You are his holy grail.

And he must have you.

You were late, again. Always running late. But you had to have your morning coffee. You have a meeting with a writer in a different location and it threw you off this morning, but you’d spotted a decent looking coffee shop on the way. Luckily it hadn’t taken long to get in and out, and then you were on your way to your appointment.

“Slow down speed racer, your writer isn’t even here yet!” you hear someone yell and you just breathe out a sigh of relief, slowing down to relax for a moment before you make your way to the conference room. Between your editing job with the company as well as being a writer yourself, you were always on the go or lost in your head in front of a computer screen. Settling into your seat as your writer makes their way in, you just throw yourself into your workday.

By the time you’re opening your apartment door and kicking off your shoes that evening, you’re beyond exhausted. You’d wanted nothing more than to shower and get a warm cup of something soothing and just lose yourself in your current story. But after bathing and throwing on your comfy pajamas, your eyes are already drooping. “Tomorrow…I’ll wake up early and write in the morning….” You murmur to the empty space, and before another thought can form, the bliss of sleep was washing over you.

Your sleep was deep but restless, and as you sink into the haze of dreams you find yourself in a dark alley. There’s no sign of life around, not the scurry of a rat, nor the bustle of any vehicles; none of the noise you’d hear deep inside the city. The silence is eerie as you look around, but there’s a red glowing light surrounding you, almost as if you can see your own aura. Confused but curious, you make your way out of the alley into the empty street.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” you call out, and a warm breeze suddenly stirs the trash littering the alley around you, the rough scraping sound startling you.

“Yessss….”

The velvet utterance brushes against your senses, so much weight and significance behind the simple note as it engulfs your entire being. A shiver runs down your spine as the heat of the word seems to caress your skin delicately. With a gasp, you spin around and face…nothing.

“Who..are you?” you whisper, walking slowly down the bleak passage. Your arms are outstretched, reaching for the owner of the bewitching voice, even knowing that they should be drawing in around yourself.

“Yours.”

The statement halts your breathing, the sheer power behind it almost knocking you to the ground. “What-?” you begin, but a pressure halts your question, as electricity fills the air around you. Force seems to bear down upon your soul as the rustling of wings and the muffled thump of boots on the pavement resonate behind you. As you turn, your vision is filled with a large figure, massive black wings spanning your entire field of view. The silhouette of a towering man steps towards you, hand extending towards you.

“Come to me…”

The voice seems to echo in your head as you sit up, gasping for air and clutching your chest, the damp garment clinging to your skin. You can swear you hear the rustling once more of those massive wings from outside your window and a shiver wracks your body. Not in fear…no…not in fear…

“Where are you?” you sigh, fingers reaching out into the darkness. An overwhelming feeling of loss settles over you in the quiet room, the distant sounds of the city waking up cutting through the haze of the predawn light. Falling back against your pillows, you close your eyes, wondering why your dream affected you so much; why you longed to go back into your dreams to find the winged being who called out to you.

Days filled with writing, editing, and working. Rushing to and fro, the bustle of the city around you fueling your mornings and afternoons into the early evening. But it was the nighttime that you longed for; the dip of the sun below the horizon, the twilight’s call for your eyelids to drop. For your slumber to overtake you so you can get one more glimpse of your mysterious stalker, your shadowy suitor. Deep down you know that running from him is the correct response, yet his presence in your dreams inspires only an intense yearning, a hidden desire to be claimed by him. For him to assert his dominion, to step forward into the light so you may give yourself to him.

Always upon waking, you find yourself continuing to look for him, though he exists only in your fantasies. Perhaps your writing was bleeding into your subconscious and you just needed to bring him to life through your work.

Perhaps.

The weeks turn to months and you desperately urge him from the shadows, calling to him through your words on paper, the pages on your computer screen. Yet he eludes you, defying your every tactic to reveal himself. Never have you struggled with a character as much as you have him. He didn’t even have a name.

The more you write, the more you need to know him. To see him, to feel him, to hear his voice again.

To touch him.

Days filled with longing for the night, the anticipation of his nocturnal visit your primary goal. For just one more night filled with his enigmatic presence, eyes closing eagerly for the imminent appearance of your winged obsession.

A mania seems to be overtaking your mind, almost distraught at his elusiveness as you give in to your exhausted slumber.

Yet another dream, the same dream, time and time again. As you wake clutching your chest, you let out a mournful cry. “Why can’t I get you out of my head?! You’re not even real!” your voice is thick with agony, a throbbing ache in your heart as well as between your legs.

“Am I not?”

The velvet tone causes you to freeze in sudden fear as your curtains flutter, drawing your gaze. A soft laugh washes over your entire being as you focus on the large dark figure on your balcony. “I am as real as your desire for me.” At your startled cry, the figure takes a step into the doorway. He appears as massive as he is in your dreams and you can’t help but recognize the shiver of excitement under the thin veneer of fear.

“You-you’re….this is a dream.” You tell the shadow gazing at you, vulnerable and alone in your bed. Slipping from beneath the covers, you stand on shaking legs, telling yourself to run but…all your feet want to do is move towards him. “This isn’t rea-” Your statement is cut short as the man…or whatever he was is suddenly in front of you, arms to either side, encasing you against the wall.

Your heart feels as if it’s trembling in your chest cavity and his instant proximity has you quivering. You hadn’t even seen him move. “What-” your voice cracks and you swallow, trying once more. “What do you want?” You stare into his eyes, his features now visible. Dark hair that frames his beautiful face, eyes black and gleaming in the moonlight. His plush lips form a smile as his lashes flutter, a soft laugh emanating from his throat. Velvet and honey with a slight edge, you can’t help but feel yourself react to him. Clenching your thighs together, you let out a small whimper.

His pause is heavy with significance as he seems to inhale you, his nostrils gently flaring, his lips parting on an audible exhale. “What is it I want?” he asks, head tilting as his eyes open, capturing your gaze in his. It seems a galaxy of stars have taken up residence in them and you long to explore their infinite depths. “You ask the wrong question, my precious one.” his tone lowers even more as he brings his lips to your ear, the sensation of his breath eliciting an involuntary moan.

“It is not what I want ... .but whom. That I am here with you should answer that quite succinctly.” His words wash over you like a wildfire, your entire being, your very soul screaming for his touch. “It seems I am not alone in my yearning.” He chuckles softly. “I can smell your desire, beloved.” Your cheeks burn at his words but there is no way to refute them. The moisture pooling at your core defies any argument you try to form against him.

“You can…smell…me?” you manage, throat working desperately, palms planted to the wall behind you. Yet, despite how near he is, he’s not laid one single finger on you. This fact should calm your racing heart, yet it only serves to accelerate the pace. Instead of answering your question he merely draws in another deep breath, letting out a small purr to agitate your already frenzied senses.

“Are you-are you here to…hurt me?” you whisper and the sudden hiss as he draws back to look at you sends a shock through your system. His eyes almost swallow you whole as his entire body seems to shake. “The very thought of harm coming to you pains me in ways you cannot comprehend.” The honeyed voice is now as sharp as a razor's edge, yet your thirst for him only increases at his words. “I would rend flesh from any being who so much as dares to consider such a vile thought.”

“I simply long to touch you…to press my lips to yours…to hold your precious hand in mine. You’ve captured my very soul with your existence, and I am yours to command.” As you quake at his confession, he sinks to one knee before you, his heavenly face tipped up to gaze at you. “I will not lay a single finger upon you without your permission, despite my overwhelming longing for you.”

This must be a dream, you think to yourself as you take in his form, crouched before you, glorious eyes begging for you to accept him. Slowly raising your palm from the wall, you find yourself reaching for him, tipping your hand to bring your palm to his cheek. The breath he lets out at your touch is filled with relief, as a man dying of thirst takes his first sip of water. He vibrates under the simple caress of your hand, as if the connection has completed some broken electrical current.

“If I allow you to touch me, what then?” you find yourself asking, and his body stills, a pressure seeming to fill the room. Ever so slowly you watch his large black wings unfurl as he stands to his full, commanding height. You can only watch in awe as the massive appendages loom over you, as he splays his large hand, palm out towards you. “You would be granting this fallen angel sanctuary in his endless tormented existence. To be granted your warm embrace would be the ultimate solace to my anguished continuance. For this…for you alone, I would bestow upon you any treasure, fulfill every hunger, lay the very world at your feet, if you so crave it.”

“And if my only want is you, and you alone?” you dare to ask, your breath hitching, throat closing tightly as you watch the tremor in his extended hand at your words. His lashes flutter as his tongue darts out over his bottom lip, hooded eyes never leaving yours. “Then it is I who would be receiving the most priceless of treasures in you, for you are the world in my eyes.”

True to his word, even though you can feel the room itself almost vibrate with his energy, he has not disturbed one hair on your head. He merely watches you with an infinite patience that defies the intensity of his gaze. Time appears to stop as you consume the picture of this dark angel in front of you, this beautiful heavenly being offering you your every desire. For the longest moment you just savor his form, pure radiance illuminated by the white light of the moon haloing him.

Without a word you step forward, raising your hand palm out to press to his, staring into the endless abyss of his eyes. “You may have me, take me, touch me, taste me in any way you so wish if you answer one simple question for me.” you breathe out, the tingle of your skin against his drawing out a small gasp. “Ask and it shall be yours.” No hesitation, only the eager urge to please as he observes you.

“I wish to know your name.” you breathe out, your fingers interlacing with his. His eyes close slowly, and he sighs out heavily, a tremor rippling through the length of his body. “You may call me Christian.” tumbles off his lips a moment before they are upon yours, his arm wrapping around your waist to tug you into him. “Christian-” you gasp into his mouth and he hums in delight as you let go of his hand to wrap your arms around his broad shoulders.

“How I’ve longed to hear you say my name, My Light.” his breath mixes with yours as his tongue plunges into your mouth, free hand dipping to cup your ass and press himself into you. It’s obvious he’s large in every aspect as he lifts and you wrap your legs around him. The moan that escapes your throat is full of need as he grinds himself into your core, eliciting a sharp gasp from him. Before you can register, your panties are torn from your body, leaving you only wearing the flimsy shirt you’d gone to bed in. “Oh-please touch me, please fucking touch me-” you are crying out, and he complies immediately his long fingers on your ass brushing against your weeping slit as he presses his clothed crotch to your sensitive nub. The friction of his pants against you tears a moan from your lips, and his mouth is eager to receive it.

“Anything for you, anything you want-” he groans as his fingers tease at your entrance, his mouth trailing kisses down your chin, to your jawline and along your neck. Your hips have a mind of their own, jerking and writhing as he spreads your pussy from behind. “So fucking soaked, My Precious….” he growls into your neck, sharp teeth brushing your pulse. “Christian!” you cry as he pulls back, his hands withdrawing to grasp your thighs, almost sobbing at the loss. But before you can so much as utter another word, he’s on his knees before you, throwing your thighs over his shoulders. “My tongue longs for your taste-” he hisses, then he’s burying his face into you, overwhelming you with a flood of pleasure.

You can feel his fingers, spreading you apart, your wet folds sucked into his mouth as his nose nudges your clit. Immediately your hands are in his hair, tugging as you cry out his name. The wet noises of his tongue as he laps at you, then draws back to suck eagerly on your aching bud have your thighs trembling as he holds you in place. “You taste better than ambrosia, My Light, I could drink from you for eternity-” his whispered voice only adds to the intensity as you feel the familiar burn of your impending orgasm building. “Oh Christian-” you moan out and his fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs, his tongue slipping inside of you as his nose rubs your clit.

The moment his tongue enters you, you can’t hold back any longer and you’re screaming and bucking in his arms, flooding his tongue and face with your climax. He lets out pleased noises as he holds you in place, indulging himself in every last drop before he finally presses a kiss to your bud. He stands and lifts your limp body gently, moving to splay you out on the bed. Removing your shirt with a tug, he sheds his own clothes quickly before climbs between your legs, his long thighs parting yours. You rake your eyes over his long, lean body, still quivering with the after effects of his mouth, opening easily to him as he hovers over you.

The urgency of your desire for him is so profound that you feel tears prick your eyes, reaching for him in desperation as he settles his weight onto you. “Please, please-oh I need you-please-” the endless pleading falling from your lips darkens his eyes, his lip in his teeth as he slides his long length against your dripping cunt. “You’re mine, my precious love. My Light, My Heart, My Soulmate-” he whispers softly as he shifts his hips, drawing back to position his cockhead to press against your tight opening. “Yours-take me, I’m yours, please-” His hand grasps yours as he grips the sheets in the other, your hips lifting to add to the needy cries.

His gaze holds yours as he pushes forward into you, his thick girth stretching as his lips part in a moan. “Yes! Oh please-” you cry out, and a ragged moan rips from his throat as he thrusts forward, burying his cock to the hilt within you. “Don’t stop!” You scream and he complies, hips drawing back to snap back into you, his moans and cries harmonizing with yours. The sting and burn of his girth stuffing you full only adds to the insane rapture, making you whole. As if without him you were an unfinished puzzle and he is the final piece.

You take in his glorious features, his lust glazed eyes as he thrusts into you, his beautiful parted lips, his massive wings a canopy over you as if he’s shielding you both from the world. On a whim, you drop your fingers to work at the muscles of his back where the wings protrude and he lets out a musical medley of moans and cries, his hips rolling as he plunges faster and harder. Your entire body is on fire, every touch, every breath of his raging across your nerves, your nipples tightening as you arch your back.

“More, more, more, I want to hear you sing for me-” you gasp and he starts to tremble as you clutch a wing in each hand, his cries only swelling in volume as he drops down to claim your mouth with his. Your thumbs knead along the muscle of his wings and his hips begin to stutter as you tip your hips up, the friction of his body pressing against your clit. The tight coil deep within you threatens to shatter as his breathing hitches, his mouth torn from yours on a long moan. “Everything, give me everything, come in me, fill me, Christian-Complete me-”

His eyes meet yours and you gasp at the pure white swirling in them as he parts his lips to let out a strained cry, choking on his moan as he tips you over the edge with him. Your strangled cries blend with his in a symphony of bliss; you feel him burst within you as you clamp around him, clenching and pulsing together as you both let go. Waves of pleasure wash over you as he empties himself, your tight walls milking him dry before he finally collapses on you, his head pressed into your neck. His irregular breaths puff against your skin, the sensation causing you to clench around him again, drawing out a whimper as he wraps his arms around you.

“Mine. All mine.” he rasps out and you just run your fingers through his silky hair, sighing in contentment. “You belong to me now, as I belong to you.” he whispers, drawing back and cradling your face in his palm. A warm rosy glow surrounds you both, seeming to pulse in time with your matching heartbeats.

“At long last, I’ve found my heaven on earth, and I’ll never let you go

[cringefailvox]

something that does irritate me quite a bit as a jew is hazbin's misuse of hebrew words. "seraphim" is a plural word and "seraph" is singular, so when sera says "it's my job as the head seraphim" she's basically saying "it's my job as the head bosses" or head angels or something which obviously makes no sense grammatically. for the same reason that it's annoying in supernatural when they constantly use "nephilim" as singular; no, the singular is "nephil", just one. it's not a huge deal but it also doesn't take very much research to learn this. i wish they would've looked into it a little bit more because this small mistake just makes the dialogue sound extremely silly

[gae-bolg-alternative-dot-exe]

Unpopular fgo opinion but when people talk about just following the story online and not playing the game. They tend to always say skip all the event stories and that feels like really terrible advice to me. Summer events have some of the most fun found family dialogue and general intercharacter bonding. Events like Seraph and Imaginary Scramble are bountiful in lore content that could have been their very own dedicated story sections. Events like the tomoe/shuten tower, christmas in the underworld, christmas lucha rumble, gudaguda (pick a number), etc extend upon characters that otherwise have gotten the shortend of the stick in main storyline presence while also being more engaging than entire early game singularities and some lostbelts.

Some of the most humanizing and connecting stories for these servants are found in events. Sure you get some really bad story events like prillya, ooku, saber wars 1, etc but to skip every event story online because of bad apples seems bad faith to me. I feel most of us still interacting with the game are here for the writing and the story at this point. Why recommend other potential readers to miss out and deny well, more story lol.

You tell them to skip Agartha though. It's not an event but skipping Agartha is good and encouraged.

[chaifootsteps]

The real tragedy of Hazbin has to be the naming conventions of the angels.

Sera

Emily

Vaggie

Lute

Adam

Abel

Peter

Speaker

Wtf are these?!

Firstly, Adam, Abel, and Peter aren’t even angels! They’re humans! So they shouldn’t even count.

Second, “The Speaker” has a name. It’s Metatron. And he is one of the ONLY TWO humans to ever ascend to being an angel, the other being his twin brother Sandalphon. They are Seraphim.

Third. Sera and Emily. Sera. Emily. SERAphim. Seraph-EMily. Haha, that’s so clever.😒 Okay so, seraphim is the plural, seraph is the singular. They mess that up in the show too. Also, no -els for oh-so important seraphim? They don’t have to be used for every angel, but MAYBE the important ones like the seraphim, since the -els attached mean they’re of God?

Lastly, Lute and Vaggie. One was a placeholder for Lieutenant, that they never changed. And the other is short for Vagina. Enough said.

Also, none of the female angels get though put into their names. Placeholder for Lute, genitals for Vaggie, not even a name for the speaker, and lazy ass puns for Sera and Emily. While the men get to be someone, who aren’t even angels, they just get promoted for no reason.

You should have been around for the leaked scripts. Originally, Viv was going to name all the female angels after genitals.

[makoredeyes]

12 & 50. Rasputin/Felwinter

YES GOOD. Enjoy a nice painful snack of Warmind Angst.(TM) These are kind of interchangeable with both getting a little bit of both but here we have two prompts so I've done two fics. Pop the confetti 2nd one is another sort of between-the-scenes moment from Housefire - Syzygy this time.

12 - in grief

It took some time after the Cosmodrome had stopped shaking from the explosion for the dust to settle. The Lightbearers had really done some damage on their way down, and Rasputin had his work cut out for him to regain access to the Site Six bunker. The Warmind was aware, more or less, of what had transpired thanks to black box recorders and some feeble transmissions still trickling in from the few surviving nanites, but at first he was largely blind and almost entirely cut off from his own systems thanks to the damage. 

He'd known they wouldn't go down without a fight. He'd been prepared for war. He didn't have to like the results. 

Nasty, freakish dead things. 

They could stay dead. 

But he had to see. Had to be sure. He didn't have his Seraphs anymore, and frames were too bulky, and too slow to be thorough search parties.

He had -

He...

Visual data relays returned, and for all that Rasputin had seen and done, the images shocked him. The destruction was to be expected after an explosion so powerful, but what truly gave the Warmind pause was the SIVA.

Twisted, gnarled vines in waves and swathes of red coated everything, engulfing it, consuming it. His rage... his malice, given grotesque form, thrown right in his face.

It had seemed so much simpler, so much more benign from a distance. Lines of code didn't tell the same tale as bodies torn asunder, half-consumed, wracked in visible terror and agony. Unfeeling Zeroes and Ones made it far less poignant that these undead things were also men and women.

People.

Felwinter's friends.

His son.

Rasputin didn't find the body right away. He knew he was there, and even had a fairly accurate idea of where to search, and still Rasputin had nearly given up when he'd finally found something. A limb. The rest of him had been elsewhere. Not far away, no, but...not attached, either.

The red-mesh impulse that had been sweeping the vast room flickered in a long wave and then collapsed down to that singular place, pinprick points of light quivering as Rasputin examined what was left of his most beloved creation and arguably the best part of him. His child, his humanity- the Traveler had stolen him from Rasputin, but Rasputin had snuffed his flame.

Aurora synapse flared and shrank over and over as Rasputin mapped out dimensions he already knew as well as his own, ghosting over hands, chest, and face, electronic tears doing nothing for surging grief.

Oh how he'd failed. Oh, he'd made a terrible, terrible mistake.

More beats of light, flickering, filling the room, but no amount of anguished kisses from a mourning father could warm the cooling body of a murdered child.

This one he would have to live with.

----

50- out of love

Rasputin trod the Corridors of Time a little more slowly than was strictly necessary. The burden he carried in his arms did not trouble him. His race against the inevitable was over.

He could afford to steal a few minutes more. He didn't care if he was selfish.

Felwinter was alive. Alive. He was as well as he could be, and safe with him, even if he was hard-pressed to convince poor Felwinter of the fact.

Rasputin didn't blame his son for not trusting him, even if he was still struggling to process the pain of just how poorly he'd actually been received. Rasputin knew what he'd done, and the pain he caused. He realized, with no small sting, that this was likely the last time Felwinter would let him this close (and that 'let' was a dubious qualifier when Rasputin had rendered the Exo unconscious for both of their safety) if the shattered plating under his eye was any indication, and while Rasputin could accept the fate he'd created for himself, he wasn't about to miss an opportunity no matter how small, either.

And so he took advantage of what little time he had, no matter how pitifully one-sided it was, for despite all his wrong doings and all his bad choices, he loved his son, and these precious few minutes with him meant the world to Rasputin.

"Someday," he whispered, knowing Felwinter could not hear him and relieved that Felspring was busy chattering with Caerus somewhere trailing behind, "I will may be able to tell you in a way that will matter." But for now, even effectively alone, he still could not. He had to do better. He would. He tipped his chin down, nuzzling in to lay a slow kiss onto Felwinter's too-hot forehead, immediately feeling a sharp slap of guilt for stealing the touch, though he'd done so largely without realizing what he was doing until it was too late. What was one more drop in a sea of sins, Rasputin thought bitterly. He lifted his head and picked up his pace.

Love and remorse alone were not enough.

He would do better.

[sighed-the-snake]

So, about Furfur's angel book. Remember the part about Baraqiel?

Image text: BARAQIEL. Dominion. Angel of the Sky. Appearance: Hair an eye-burning jinnjer. Eyebrows with the appearance of a grisly slug. Often draped in red. Occashunly damp, most likely singed.

I recently got my hands on a copy of A Dictionary of Angels, Including the Fallen Angels, by Gustav Davidson.

And here is the entry for Baraqiel!

Image Text: Barakiel (Barachiel, Barbiel, Barchiel, Barkiel, Baraqiel, etc. -- "lightning of God") -- one of the 7 archangels, one of the 4 ruling seraphim, angel of the month of February, and prince of the 2nd Heaven as well as of the order of confessors. Barakiel has dominion over lightning and is also one of the chief angels of the 1st and 4th altitudes or chora in the Almadel of Solomon. In addition, he is a ruler of the planet Jupiter and the zodiacal sign of Scorpio (as cited by Camfield in A Theological Discourse of Angels) and Pisces. With the angels Uriel and Rubiel, Barakiel is invoked to bring success in games of chance, according to De Plancy, Dictionaire Infernal.[Rf. Ginzberg, The Legends of the Jews I, 140.]

Lightning of God We see Crowley let off some lightning while too angry to control himself, and an angel of lightning could easily be considered an angel of the sky.

Archangel Baraqiel We assume Metatron was referring to Satan when he spoke of the Prince of Heaven they lost. Could he have been referring to Crowley? There was a lot of hatred in the look Metatron gave Crowley in the bookshop.

Crowley also told Beelzebub that the whole erasure from the Book of Life thing was something they said just to scare the Cherubs and that it wasn't actually a thing. We think of fat little cupids when Cherubs are mentioned, but Cherub is just the singular of Cherubim, and those guys are just one step below the Seraphim.

And he was teasing them.

Crowley says he understands what Aziraphale is offering him better than his angel does. If he was a Seraphim, then I believe it.

I know Furfur's book places him as a Dominion, but Neil can be an unreliable narrator, and who knows how accurate a demon's book might be. Neil could have also just decided to make Crowley a Dominion instead. Afterall, the angel guarding the Eastern gate in the bible was a Cherubim, but Neil and Terry changed that to Principality when they made Aziraphale.

Also, if Crowley was hanging out with "Lucifer and the guys," that suggests he was a high ranking angel. You're friends with the people you see every day. They were probably his office buddies.

Crowley said in the beginning of S2 that he worked "very closely with upstairs" on his nebula project. Anyone who has worked for a hierarchical business knows that lower order employees aren't even allowed to talk to the higher-ups directly. They would have to submit their issues to their direct supervisor, and that request would go up the chain until it's taken care of, probably never reaching the highest levels of the company. If Crowley was working directly with "upstairs," and his crossed fingers suggest a close collaboration, then he must have been a very high rank to be allowed to talk to them directly.

It is also worth noting that the use of the singular seraph, in the Book of Isaiah, is translated as "flying fiery serpent."

Ruler of the signs Scorpio and Pisces Crowley is hissy and wrathful and WILL CUT YOU, but he also loves children, and turns goats into birds so he doesn't have to kill them, and breathes life back into smooshed doves, so this makes perfect sense to me. Who's our moody little snek, you're our moody little snek.

Invoked to bring success in games of chance We have already seen him outsmart Heaven and Hell with Armageddon. He is uncommonly sharp-witted and capable for a demon, or even an angel. Look at the way he invented regulations for the Rules of Engagement so convincingly that Shax backed down, and how he got Muriel to sneak him into Heaven. I would definitely want an occult force like Crowley-Baraqiel on my side if I was doing something risky.