#Samael sweats

[scorchedcandy]

Day 18 - Fire

“And it said

Why don’t you cast yourself on me?

I promise you won’t feel a thing”

[asterhaze]

Get to Know My OC (Vlad Edition)

Thank you @gummybugg for tagging me HERE. I really appreciate it!

I have already done this for Glen, The Stupid Sexy Vampire, a long time ago HERE if you'd rather check that out. Today, we are interviewing Vlad AND his pesky little demon. This was really fun to write and I think I did a much better job on this than I did with Glen. If you'd like to ask any of my characters any questions, feel free to ask! Or just tag me in this again!

Are you named after anyone? 

Neither one of us is named after anyone. 

When was the last time you cried? 

I don’t remember the last time I cried.  Vlad rolls his eyes, leans back in his chair, and seems to think for a long time. When he’s finished, he sits back up in his chair and looks in the general direction of the interviewer without making eye contact and begins speaking again, his lips moving slowly and meticulously.  Altair says that the last time he cried was when he was adopted by Ska after his father was eradicated by Samael, his grandfather. That was nearly 150 years ago and nothing worth crying over has happened since. At least, that’s what he says.  

Do you use sarcasm? 

Vlad throws the interviewer a disgusted look before rolling his eyes, snapping them back to look at them. He flicks his hand as he speaks, as if to flick away the very question.  What do you think?  Again, Vlad seems deep in thought, the disgusted look slowly fading from his face as he seems to have a conversation with himself judging by the slow, small, movements of his lips. Finally he speaks again.  Altair says he can’t.   

Do you have kids? 

No.  Vlad hisses slightly as his amber eyes glow slowly brighter before fading, his hand snapping to hold the side of his head as he curses himself.  But no matter how the interviewer tries to present the question again, Vlad remains silent. Everyone watching gets the distinct impression that someone vile is laughing, somewhere dark and desolate, but there is nowhere like that in the small but cold room where Vlad is being interviewed. Strange. 

What’s the first thing you notice about people? 

The small movements they make. Their fidgeting, their nail chewing, the way they place their hands when they talk to me, the way they place their feet when they’re done talking to me but are forced to continue. I know what all of that means, I’ve studied it, I’ve learned to notice those things so I can use them to help me help you. Speaking of which--  The interviewer cuts Vlad off suddenly, almost as if they are terrified of what the psychiatrist is about to say. Some of the viewers around you have broken out in a light sweat, others are giggling to themselves, and others are still watching in morbid fascination at the possessed doctor being interviewed. No matter your reaction, it is apparent that even in the other room, Dr. Hayes has seemed to grab everyone’s attention in a chokehold.  Vlad rolls his eyes, the corners of his lips turning slightly upwards before quickly fading, before he looks back at the interviewer.  Altair says that he notices their hair color. Apparently, it’s a demon thing since there aren’t many demons who don’t have really dark hair anymore. No, I don’t know what he means by that. No, he won’t elaborate. Can we move on? I’m bored. 

 What’s your eye color? 

Vlad points to the corner of his eye, taps it slightly, and pulls his hands away being careful to not disturb his glasses. His eyes are the color of amber.  Altair has gold-colored eyes. 

Scary Movies or Happy Endings? 

We don’t watch movies.   

Any special talents? 

Since I’m possessed I have a few, limited, powers. I can tell when someone is lying, though it’s obvious when I’ve caught you, and it’s obvious when I blatantly lie. If you decide to feel fear around me, I can tell why you feel that way and what you’re afraid of. I read it sort of like a book above your head. Apparently, I’m also very intimidating, but look at me. I’m tiny. What am I going to do?   The room grows very tense as he says this, and it makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. There is the distinct feeling now that something in the room is no longer laughing but watching, watching very carefully. But what for?  Altair can do all of that but better. And some other things. I’m not really sure what he can do and he won’t tell me. So you’re shit out of luck on that front.  The interviewer speaks very softly.  Oh, you meant like hobby talents? I speak two languages and read very quickly. Does that satisfy the question? 

Where were you born? 

In a hospital. Altair was born-- you know what…I don’t know that one.  Vlad sits back in his chair and has a long conversation with himself…er…with Altair in his head. It takes forever and everyone is plenty bored by the time Vlad’s eyes widen and he looks sick to his stomach. Vlad waves his hands wildly, as if something gross has gotten on them, and he sits up in his chair again.  He was, uh, born somewhere far away. Let’s go with that. 

What are your hobbies? 

I drink, I read, I study.  Altair’s favorite hobby is being a nuisance to society and refusing to let me be alone. 

Do you have any pets? 

No, but Altair wants a cat. I’m thinking about it. 

What sports do you play/have played? 

None. Neither one of us is fond of sports. 

Favorite subject in school? 

Science, obviously.  Altair says that he enjoyed learning how to interact with humans the most when he was really small. I think he just likes to eat, but what do I know. We’ve only been attached in the head for ten years. 

Dream job? 

I’m already working my dream job.

The interviewer concludes the interview by thanking Vlad and everyone for coming, telling them where the exits are, all of that nonsense. You can't help but notice that Vlad has set his eyes on someone in the audience and is staring them down like they are some sort of monster. You trace his line of sight to a man who is tall, golden blonde, wearing a brown leather jacket, admittedly handsome, who is...flicking Vlad off? And laughing about it?

You look back over to Vlad as you walk towards the exit and you can see Vlad mouthing something to the tall, blonde, man: Fuck you, Glen.

Tagging, gently: @elbritch-kit @sparrow-orion-writes @tea-and-mercury @covenscribe @goldxdarkness @poetinprose @rainisawriter @doublegoblin @gummybugg (again?!?!?! plz???) @veetvoojagigthemagnificent @dakogutin @jessicagailwrites @godspeedjuneblackemperor

[freezeher-moved]

i've got you. i'm right here. ( from Samael 🥺 )

𝐷𝑅𝐴𝑀𝐴𝑇𝐼𝐶 & 𝑃𝑅𝑂𝑇𝐸𝐶𝑇𝐼𝑉𝐸 𝑅𝐸𝐿𝐴𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁𝑆𝐻𝐼𝑃 𝑃𝑅𝑂𝑀𝑃𝑇𝑆.

ethel's legs pedal in her sleep , arms flailing like she's running . running for her life , running from him . memories are always the worst dreams to have -- unrelenting ghosts she'd rather cast out , come to taunt her when she finally feels safe . she'd warned sam of her night terrors , of the possibility of his own sleep being put at risk , but doing so only seemed to ensure his presence as she slept . he's there when she wakes with a shrill scream -- ❛ s t o p ! ❜ -- strong , familiar arms around her form now shimmering with sweat as she's held to his scarred chest . 

her mind foggy from slumber , still lost in the all - too - real nightmare , there's a moment where ethel fights his comfort ; pushes against his chest like a child throwing a tantrum . then she feels his warmth & the steady pace of his heart , the rasp of his voice in her hair telling her that he's here . he's here . with her . ❛ s - s - sam . . . ❜ his name sounds pathetic in her wobbly voice , breaking into sobs when she attempts a deep breath . ethel clings to him like a lifeline , burrows into his heat as best she can .

[ghostsandyoumightdie]

A bit from my Gideon raised by Jod/Ortus as Harrow's cavalier AU fic that I omitted because I am really quite bad at poetic meter and was not having fun trying to make sure this was in enneameter.

Hark! the last link forged most recent in the chain of Samael’s prenticeship, a chain now finite and dying

Its cold and aged steel ending, abruptly, at the feet of Ortus Nigenad, cavalier primary of Drearburh

Sweat fell from the brow of the poet made warrior, but he did not falter nor abdicate his duty to his Lady Harrowhark Nonagesimus

Fear claimed not his heart, though squeeze it did, thus chilling the blood in his marrow until he felt most cold within and without

Nonetheless he brandished that black anchorite’s sword at the beast that spilled from its cavern, its ghastliness apparent and foul 

Legs sprung from where legs should not spring; insectoid it was in its movements, arm bones scuttling this way and that, guarding its helm

A skull bloomed from its center with knobbed layers of bone serving as its helmet, its depraved arms curling overhead like swords

And its barbarous paws dragging its grisly mockery of human form out in the open to face its erstwhile prey and victim.

“Paws?” Harrow scoffed. 

Ortus paused timorously. 

“No, don't pause-- I’m seeing it through your eyes. I wouldn’t describe those limbs as paws.” 

“Everyone is a critic,” Ortus muttered. “Please, my lady, the connection is stable. We should continue.” 

“Very well,” Harrow sighed. The sooner this was finished, the sooner she would never have to do it ever again. 

Connecting with her cavalier was not liking reading his mind. She could not actually scan his thoughts or memories while inside his brain. She did, however, feel how he felt and saw how he saw. While training, Harrow had come under the suspicion that Ortus experienced the entire world in some form of meter -- his way of processing information was the same as his method for poetry. 

Rather than swim against the tide, Harrow had learned to ride the flow. As long as she let his mind move along its natural paths, the signal shifts remained consistent, and she had no problem forming a link. 

The pedestal in Imaging made it even easier than that. It was like it was specifically created to hold a necromancer’s hand and show them the solution. Normally Harrow would have dismissed this sort of brain-squatting as an impossible fantasy, and she chided herself by knowing she never would have thought of the solution on her own. While grisly, the Winnowing Trial was remarkably forgiving -- compared to the Avulsion Trial, at least. 

And so the dark acolyte Harrowhark dipped her fingers into the brine of her cavalier’s psyche, tugging the lines of his vision

Her puppeteer’s fingers aligned them til her sight was true, as was Ortus’s, and the beast was clear in its monstrosity to her 

Its helmed skull reared like an infernal hoof beast, its jaw snatching at the air as if to devour the souls of the damned. [author gave up here]

[hauntmetosleep]

Broken Planets

Emperor bat commands the red sands, Reptilian with wings stolen from man He carries his slaves in web-like sweat Like ants clung to membranes of dew

When a thousand coloured suns have set, He will feast on our people in the cavern, His wine siphoned from the moon's blood, With broken planets bracing his wrists

----------

[Poem from upcoming collection The Gates of Paranoia] Copyright (c) 2016-2022 S.M. | Samael's Tuesday

[caelestiacorpora]

@patetpluvia asked: “ look me in the eyes and tell me you love me~. “ - Samael

". . . ." He felt a bead of sweat form on the side of his head. She was adamant about forcing his hand on this matter, more so than he had hoped. With a soft grin he debated his words carefully.

"My dear, I adore you greatly! Mere words of love and affection could hold no candle to how I feel towards you!" The demon always danced around this topic, but did admit to such a feeling on the rare occasion. This did not seem to be one such instance however.

[wandering-the-fae-wyldes]

Samael's Journey Begins (Part 1)

Samael lounged in her seat as the man before her read off a report. He'd been going over the report with her for the past fifteen minutes at least, or at least she thinks its been that long. She wobbled her finger back and forth before her as she balanced a pencil on the tip, frowning at the determinedly unbalanced object as the man took an exasperated breath, starting to list off merchants and caravans that had passed through lately. Nothing drew her attention from the pencil really, at least until he mentioned one particular caravan. Commander Atreal: "After the spice merchants and their traveling bazaar was of course your brother's caravan the Borneo Books Bonanza. Paperwork all in order, we expect the confirmation of-" The pencil balanced on the tip of Samael's finger exploded, wooden splinters and shards of lead sent flying through the air trailing ephemeral energy behind them. She sat up and focused on the commander of the guard for perhaps the first time that day, her steely teal eyes flashing with power as she held out her hand for the report forms. "My brother's what now? Give it here, now." Atreal slowly lowered his arms, looking down at his armor and noting with some concern the still glowing shards of wood that had lodged themselves in the steel. "Your brother's caravan ma'am. He left last night with Borneo, the book merchant." Handing her the reports Samael looked it over carefully, her bored demeanor slowly souring the longer she looked it over. She slowly stood up and thrust the papers back into Commander Atreal's hands. "You idiot, get my horse ready along with a scouting party. How many times have you seen my mother's signature on shipment manifolds and orders?" Atreal nearly fumbled the papers as he followed along behind the sorceress, starting to sweat nervously behind his ears, the tips of which were starting to turn red. "It must be thousands, no hundreds of thousands of times ma'am, it looks to be her hand on the papers! I can assure you that we made sure everything was in order, I know Borneo personally, he'd not dare to kidnap anyone, let alone someone of your brother's station!" Samael rolled her eyes as she continued down the stairs of the central guard tower, eventually stopping on the stairs and turning to face him. "Commander, I'm heading to the front gates now, to go and retrieve what you have carelessly let out. I'd love to spend that time pointing out the quality of ink used in the signature, the indentations in the paper and slight quiver in the ink that indicated a practiced but unsure hand, but if I don't have an escort with my horse ready when I get there then I'll have to waste even more time writing to the queen of the necessity for a new Commander for the Silver Spears." His ears now a bright red Atreal tucks the papers under his arms and runs down the stairs, yelling for servants and aids to begin rounding up the required escort and saddle her horse. Samael simply shook her head, squeezing the bridge of her nose. "Brother, what have you done now?"

[burning-fcols]

"Heyyyy wassup Mikey!" Adam storms in Michael's training studio unannounced and unceremoniously barrels into the lithe warrior, picking him up and giving him a nougie, similar to what he did back in Eden in that short period of time after Lilith and Lucifer left. Sorry, not sorry Michael, you have to deal with this manchild. - ✧ ˖ ˙ 「 @meansman 」 ˙ ˖ ✧

「 ☆ 」 Chest heaving from an overexertion that makes every muscle burn as if on fire, blue hues are nothing but ice as they behold the training dummy before him. Ripped beyond recognition thanks to a heavenly blade, any foe would have long fallen… Michael, however, has yet to be satisfied. So this imaginary adversary— standing steadfast in the place of Sera Heaven Samael Lucifer Sinners —must suffer even longer, MERCY not a virtue found within Michael’s training studio. Wiping mussed locks from a sweat-slicked forehead, fingers then flex upon the hilt as he reaffirms his grip.

Preparing for another strike, focus is shattered thanks to an all-too-familiar voice. Startled by the sudden intrusion, sword clatters to the ground as he hastily lets go— disappearing in a flash of stardust-infused light —barely having enough time to ditch the weapon before he’s unceremoniously swept up by overbearing arms. With an undignified yelp, the small angel now dangles from Adam’s hold. Going limp with a huff, rosey cheeks dust gold in what he hopes is interpreted as indignation. Not the best look for someone of Michael’s position, but still better than the true source of his change of color.

Grumbling under his breath as fluffy hair is further disrupted ( so what if it was already messy? it’s the principle of the matter ) , he aims a practiced unimpressed look up at Adam. ❝ Michael. ❞ He insists, the composed ❛ authority ❜ in his tone rather comical considering the situation. Frankly, he's aware Adam isn’t the sort to forgo nicknames merely because he’s told. If anything, he could dig in harder. But the small warrior insists nonetheless. He used to hesitate on the matter, figuring it would be a show of ego to put so much importance on what he prefers to be called…

Then Michael decided it was fine. Heaven had bestowed the name upon him, after all. So it’s not unreasonable to defend it from being butchered.

With the retort taken care of, a whisper of a smile dares to hint Michael’s features. Alone save for Adam, the angel gives in to the urge to partake in a bit of teasing of his own… Albeit under the guise of a lesson. In a blinding flash, Michael swiftly switches to a smaller creature. A golden-winged butterfly, resplendent as the sparks trailing behind it, easily free of Adam’s hold as it swoops up and behind in hardly any time at all. Poofing back into his proper form behind the larger angel, Michael attempts to use the momentum of his fall to playfully tackle Adam to the ground. At the very least, he figures he might cling onto the other man’s back. A far more advantageous position than being trapped in his arms. 「 ☆ 」

[kathyprior4200]

Heavenly Boss S1 E5: Sowing Sun Festival

Several pained groans and cries came from the bedazzling palace of Samael. The exterior walls were a blinding white, a stark contrast to the ebony black of Azrael’s palace below. Stained glass windows showed depictions of the blonde-haired muscular angel tossing demons into a fiery pit.

Tears came to the eyes of the teal elf sitting prostrate on the floor, chains binding his hands together. Red lashes cris-crossed his bare back and sweat beaded his bald head.

“Our Father who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name…”

Docile prayed out loud as another stinging lash struck against his back. He cried out in fatigued pain but kept the prayer going. “…thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven…”

Standing above him holding a deadly black whip was Samael, his pale chest bare, dark pants covering his legs. His hair was short and blonde, his eyes burning like hot coals. White feathery wings that sometimes shifted to black were folded behind his back. He was the harsh judge and venom of God, nicknamed “Satan” by Docile and several others. Like the Exorcists, Samael enjoyed administering harsh punishments and tortures. Golden wall-to-wall portraits of Samael posing in uniform with angelic guns and swords gave subtle hints of his sadistic nature. A golden measuring scale stood on a nearby mahogany desk. Marble pillars, a high ceiling and a tiled floor made Docile feel small and meek.

Docile remembered calling Samael all those months ago, first in his office when they discussed Covid 19. Then in the woods on Earth when Docile had reluctantly agreed to let Samael punish him every new moon in exchange for the Bible to access Earth. Now here he was again.

Samael leaned uncomfortably close to the wincing elf. “I’m sorry for moving our little rendezvous early. I have an engagement this month on the new moon. After judging some new souls, I must thoroughly inspect all the weapons of the Exorcists with Michael. Make sure the angelic magic still works properly.”

Samael tenderly stroked an angelic rifle on a mantle. It was dark red with glowing white Ichthys symbols on it, as well as an eye flanked by six wings, swirls and miniature crosses. A matching crossbow with white blessed-tipped arrows hung from the wall nearby. “I do appreciate the Ichthys symbol. It was used as a secret symbol for Christians when they were persecuted by the Roman Empire. Represents the Holy Trinity, multiplication of fish and loaves, etc.”

He paced around his displayed weapons proudly. Docile was only familiar with a few of them from his time as an Exorcist. He was sure that Tirred would love to get his hands on any of them. “Our armies have been using angelic weapons for centuries,” Samael continued. “They’re capable of erasing demons from existence. These weapons can even kill Overlords and demon royalty. Very expensive on Hell’s black market. Rumor has it that the Exorcists leave these weapons behind on purpose for demons to kill each other off with. Makes their job a whole lot easier, anyway. Then again, they may just be careless…” His eyes glowed. “Gotta track down those incompetent ones and show them just how capable my weapons…”

“You really wanted to punish me early for no reason?” Docile interrupted. Azrael wasn’t going to be happy as usual; he hated seeing others in pain, despite being the Angel of Death.

“Not exactly,” he replied. “As I’m busy during the new moon like I said, I punished you early and summoned you here.”

“Why do you have to do that?” Docile complained with a pained sigh.

“Well that’s what you get for stealing my Bible and going off to Earth without permission,” Samael explained, loosening the chains from the wooden post and freeing Docile. “But I’m only allowing you to do so since you want to help humanity and spread word of Jesus and our Lord. Still, make sure you don’t cause any more trouble. These Bibles are incredibly important and are not supposed to be lent out to itty bitty elves like yourself.” He pinched Docile’s cheeks and he flinched away.

“Besides, you might as well get ready for the Sowing Sun Festival.”

Docile briefly looked puzzled as he stood up on shaking legs. “Huh?”

“The Sowing Sun is a very special occasion. It celebrates the first of spring and the planting of seeds. The citizens hope for a good harvest in the coming months. Like Hell’s Harvest Moon festival, there are games and get-togethers. It is the annual duty of Azrael’s wife Flora to showcase it in the Halo of Patience. It’s celebrated by a very cheesy festival with the locals. Though I admit their cheese is pretty good. Of course, it’s sponsored by the main farmlands in the Charity Halo.”

“Patience, huh?” Docile asked. “My employees are from there. I’ve never really been there. Heard they hate violence, are well-paid, well-fed and can stare into space for hours on end.”

Samael chuckled. “Sounds like the perfect place for a sheep like you! Wouldn’t want to exist in some harsh desert with underpaid starving farmer imps who only knew war, would we?”

“Heh. Now that’s a place where you’d fit in,” he muttered with a smirk.

“What was that?” Samael cleared his throat with a glare.

“Can’t hear me now?” Docile joked before receiving an abrupt slap to his face.

“Do you need another punishment?” he growled, white teeth unusually sharp. “I was briefly considering letting you…off the hook.” He moved a sharp gray hook into Docile’s face and chuckled. The elf stepped back, hands out, stuttering. “N-no, no, sir! One round is good enough for me to learn my lesson!”

“Good,” Samael smirked, putting it away. He waved a dismissive hand. “Get dressed. Go have fun at the festival, unleash your wild nature.”

“I suppose the festival could be fun,” Docile said. “A work-free day would be nice. Though, I really don’t want my clients to have to wait…”

“Oh, fuck your clients!” Samael chuckled with an expression of amusement.

Docile looked horrified. “No!”

0 0 0

Meanwhile, a billboard was displayed over a clean housing complex advertising “Bio Rizz, the Science Wizz! See Rizzafolli’s show at Giver’s Garden, Charity.” The building was clean white brick, with polished windows and a welcome sign.

Timmid and Tirred slept in a bed together, though not too close. Their room was a combination of light and dark. While Timmid’s side consisted of flowers, a small fountain and sky-blue colors, Tirred had black wallpaper, crucifixion posters and weapons scattered around. Tirred’s phone lit up on his bedside table and a guitar solo played. Tirred tapped it and turned over. The phone played again. Tirred picked it up and sat up with a tired groan.

“What do you want, sir?” He wore black pajamas.

“Hey, sorry to wake you, Tir!” came Docile’s voice. “How would you and Tims like to go to the Patience Halo for some planting stuff this year?”

Timmid sat up in excitement, wearing a white tank top. “The Sowing Sun Festival? Hallelujah!”

Tirred sighed in annoyance. “Well Timmid likes the idea. Wait, where are you calling from?”

Docile appeared from underneath their bed (he had knocked on their door several times prior).

Tirred narrowed his eyes. “Of course.”

0 0 0

Before long, the E.L.F. members were traveling along the road in the Halo of Patience. (They had traveled from the Halo of Humility, where the former humans lived via a magic elevator.) White metallic wings kept their van aloft. Several elves with wings were meditating underneath a tree as they passed by in their sleek silver E.L.F. van. An advertisement displayed “Raphael’s Healing Herbs.”

They soon passed under a large wooden sign that read “Righteous Ranch,” under a light green sky. Driving through a curtain of clouds and sun rays, a decent white house with curved roofs came into view. Docile looked out the window and could see long rows of green fertile farmland. Corn, rice, vegetables and fresh fruit from the trees all colored the surroundings. The farm animals too, had heaven-like features including white wings, large eyes and cute appearances. Compared to the spine-covered multiple-eyed animals born in Hell, these critters appeared like animals you’d find in children’s books. The farm and the house at Righteous Ranch appeared to be on an aerial island in the vast sky. Nearby farms and a town were all on rocky islands held up by white clouds. One child accidentally walked over the edge, but magically appeared safely back on the land.

Docile parked the van. Docile wore more casual clothing: loose white pants, a black shirt and vest and tall white boots with teal trim. Tirred wore white boots with teal trim, light gray pants and a muted red long sleeve shirt with buttons. Timmid wore a simple light gray sundress with matching footwear. Sunna was dressed in a white sparkly skirt and a sky-blue tank top with the Christian fish symbol on it in black. Their halos hovered over their heads and glowed.

Timmid got out and greeted two elves waving at E.L.F. They were Timmid’s parents Max and Min. Max was a slender teal elf with short black hair, a small black mustache and dark blue sclera eyes. He wore a white tank top, dark gray pants and a white belt. Intricate angelic black designs decorated one of his arms. Min had similar white hair to Timmid but grayer in color, teal skin, pointed ears and dark blue sclera eyes. She wore a black shirt, a blue scarf and long tan colored pants. She also wore white gloves. Both of them had halos above their heads and folded white wings.

“Mamma! Daddy!”

Timmid embraced her father and mother.

“It’s so wonderful to see you, Tolly Timmid!” said her father happily.

“Just call me Timmid.”

“You’ll always be Tolly to us!” said Min.

Tirred rolled his eyes and snickered. “Tolly? That’s your real name?”

Timmid gave him a glare. “Timmid is their nickname for me because of how sacred I am. I decided to keep that one to stand out from my siblings.”

“Oh, I hope you didn’t get into any fights,” Min added, looking her daughter over. “Got any cuts? Is my precious baby hurt?”

“Ma,” Timmid protested, backing away. “I’m perfectly fine.” Her parents glanced at several of Timmid’s scars and looked concerned.

“I sure hope so. It can be a dangerous world out there!” exclaimed her father. “Heck, I remember when I used to be scared of my own shadow!”

He glanced down at his shadow that had appeared and shuddered. “I swear they have a life of their own,” he quivered with a shaking finger.

“Thanks for letting us stay here for the sowing jamboree,” Timmid said, trying to change the topic.

“It’s no problem, Tolly,” said her mother. “Just be sure to stick with whatever job you’re doing. Working several jobs at once can be stressful.”

“Some people do fine with freelancing,” Timmid replied. “My job is fine. All fine.”

She flashed a nervous grin and led Tirred over to them. “Anyway,” she said, “Have you met my boyfriend, Tirred?”

Max and Min stood with uncertainty as Tirred glared.

“Greetings, Mr. Tirred,” Max chuckled, holding out a hand. Tirred didn’t take it. “How have you been with work and stuff? You’d better not be doing anything rash with my daughter, ya hear?”

Tirred narrowed his eyes, arms crossed. “I assure you I protect her every day from those who instill constant fear.”

Min chuckled nervously while Max glared in return. “Is that a threat, sir?”

“I’m the “sir” here, guys!” Docile called.

“Oh y-yeah,” Timmid added abruptly. “Y’all haven’t met my boss Docile, and his Heavencat.”

“Hi, nice to meet you folk,” Sunna beamed. “I’m Sunna!” Docile smiled sweetly at her. “That’s my purrfect daughter.”

Docile walked over to Timmid’s parents after giving Sunna a hug. “It’s nice to finally meet the father and mother who transferred life to this gem of a sweetheart! You two raised an empathetic angel!”

Max chuckled. “That we did!”

“Are you kidding me?” Tirred asked out loud. “I’ve seen her be a warrior at least twice!”

Max folded his arms. “Tolly ain’t no warrior, boy. Never been involved with any fights. And I sure hope you haven’t exposed her to any criminal activity.”

“Of course not, sir!” said Docile, interrupting Tirred as he was about to speak. “She loves harmony, healing and the Lord as much as I do.”

Max and Docile shook hands with smiles. “So Docile, huh? That’s a fine name,” said Max.

“It reminds me of peace,” said Min lovingly, hands together.

Max smiled, “Nothing like a little tranquility to make a wise enlightened man!”

Docile smiled and bowed, “I like you people.”

“What a bunch of sensitive wimps,” Tirred mocked in disgust at Timmid’s family. “No strength and toughness at all! Timmid is just that: timid. I suggest toughening her up more so she can defend herself from, for example, the Anti-Exorcists who seek out souls of the former human saints to send down to…”

Timmid made a “cut it out” motion with her hand.

Tirred paused. “I mean…” He spoke in a high-pitched voice, “Happy peace!”

Docile elbowed his co-worker hard. “Don’t be rude!”

“Self-defense is all good,” said Max, “But a person ain’t nothing if they can’t resist the temptations to anger and wrath! They must be dignified.”

“He’s right, Tirred!” Docile added. “No need to be such a grumpy pants.”

“Shut up, sir.”

“Speaking of being dignified,” added Max. “…y’all should meet our newest help. Our old farmhand went off to help a family impacted by a rare solar twister. Hey, Soother!”

0 0 0

Gliding silently through the sky was a white Pegasus, Hypnoheart, soaring through the air. The being had four white wings that shimmered like pearls. The mane and tail were almost translucent in the rays peering through the clouds. The hooves were golden and sparkly, glowing with divine energy. The coat was white and feathery with prominent gems and golden eyes here and there. The horse’s three slanted eyes glowed teal and its teeth were surprisingly sharp.

The winged horse landed on the grassy ground and let out a soft musical neigh.

Docile cringed in disgust. “Ugh, horses.”

“Howdy folk,” greeted the rider. A dark red angelic pistol was hidden at his side. Although he wore cowboy attire, it looked more like the fashionable kind designed in the city. His boots were white with teal trim and his pants were black and free of holes. He wore a white vest and a dark fancy leather jacket with cuffs. The scarf around his neck was dark green and an expensive gold watch was on his wrist. His skin was dark teal, his eyes various shades of blue and green with hypnotic circles. Pointed elf ears stuck out on either side of his new white sun hat. A halo hovered above his head of short black hair. His wings were white with black feathers in the shape of small crosses.

Soother got off the horse. “Nice to meet you all.” He walked over to Timmid. “Heard some good things about you from your folks, Timmid.”  He spoke genuinely without flirtation and Timmid felt at ease in his presence. They shook hands.   

“What’re you doing so far from Elf City? Stressful at work?”

“Oh, you won’t believe it. I almost…never mind,” she paused. “We’re just visiting for the festival. My boss came here on behalf of Samael and Azrael. Naturally he brought us along for the ride.”

Soother smiled and noticed Docile. “Boss, huh? Oh, so you’re the elf who started his own reviving biz?”

“Yes sir,” Docile said.

“Not many elves start businesses on their own. That’s pretty impressive.”

“Thank you.”

They shook hands.

“So even that hotheaded Samael let you go down to Earth?”

“Yes…and no. I can go off and save people but…it’s at the cost of my body. I mean, not in the pleasant kind…kind of way…” Docile revealed some of the scars to Soother who raised an eyebrow.

“Just drink holy water and heal yourself.”

“The healing process takes forever and a day after our…sessions,” Docile replied with a fearful shudder.

“You know,” Max called to the group. “You should enter the Gain Games.”

Docile rushed over to Max. “I heard games! What games? I’m in!”

“Every sowing festival,” said Min, “There’s a competition to see who can plant the most seeds and be the fastest most generous good-doer in Patience!”

“I wish I could play,” Timmid pouted.

“Tolly, you know those competitors can be really tough on fragile girls like you. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“I’m not a little elf anymore, Ma! I can take care of myself. How come Polly Pax still gets to compete?”

“Your sister has a lot more experience.”

“Experience with what? Singing and animal-taming?”

An elf in the background with white hair and blue overalls signed to her brother as they led a pink pig back into a pen. The elf was Polly Pax. She briefly said “Hi!” to Timmid in Enochian before continuing on her way. She could only speak the angelic language for some reason, but she could also do sign language: American, Angelic and Demonic.

Min added, “Still, you get to root for her and your brothers and you can cheer on your boss!”

“I suppose you’re right,” she said with a smile.

“Who needs to participate in stupid childish games,” scoffed Tirred.

Timmid leaned over to him. “They have a shooting and archery contest too.”

Tirred then grinned. “Never mind, I’m in!”

“Please don’t get carried away,” Max warned him. “The punishment for killing any contestant is instant banishment!”

“Heh. They’ll already witness Hell when they decide to mess with me,” Tirred grinned.

Polly Pax signed nervously in angelic. “Yes, he’ll probably cheat,” agreed Timmid, “But I’ll keep an eye on him. I can be tougher than I appear. And I know he has a sweet heart deep down. He may be entitled, but when it comes to saving the day, he does what’s right.” Then she muttered, “When he’s not possessed of course.”

“I heard that!” Tirred spat. Then he added, “Ya know, those in Heaven and Earth are still debating on the legitimacy of gender changes…” Tirred ranted coldly.

Polly Pax then signed in demonic to Timmid. “What?” Timmid asked, translating. “He’s talking down about your transgender friend? You know our family’s accepting of everyone. Though there are still plenty of ignorant extreme conservatives around, though. So, you think Tirred’s a racist, selfish…wait, don’t use that word!”

Polly Pax grinned and signed more curse words. Timmid fumed.

 “Stop it, sis! Don’t insult my friend. You’ll have to recite the Bible and wash your mouth out again! Or wash your hands at least. Could ya switch back to proper angelic or even human American? No, I don’t care that you think demonic is more fun! It’s only supposed to be used for practical missions!”

They chased each other around as Tirred rolled his eyes. “Alright, fine!” Timmid yelled to Polly Pax. “I’ll give you some new words to use!”

0 0 0

The sky glowed light red as crowds of teal-skinned elves gathered around, chatting excitedly. On the wooden stage stood the elf Sully Serious in a fancy black suit and black round hat. Nearby stood Flora in her youthful elegance. Her swan-like face was black like Quartet’s with a long dark mane of feathers going past her shoulders. A white feathery rim was around her face. She wore a signature earthy green dress studded with jade, emerald, malachite, moldavite, and various gems from meteorites. A crown of iris, tulips, lilies and other exotic flowers lay on her head. She decided to stay in her natural swan form instead of her more human-like form. Azrael stood quietly by her side like a corporeal shadow.

Sully Serious held a long golden old-fashioned microphone with an eye in the center near the speaker, with small white wings and a small golden halo around it. He cleared his throat. “Welcome, welcome one and all, to Patience Halo’s annual Sowing Sun Festival! To kick things up, we have the lady of nature herself, Flora here to user in the Gain Games!”

She took the microphone, her eyes shining teal. Her wings glowed with rainbow light. “Greetings my lovely little Patience Halo elves! I hereby welcome you all to another year of celebrating the fruits of your labor as we continue to feed the citizens of Heaven! Sponsored by Charity’s farms.”

Some elves cheered while a few booed. Although they were paid reasonably well and fed, they were still perhaps the lowest class in Heaven. Many were still underfed and underpaid and a rare few were cold and violent.

Flora continued. “I’m happy to kick off the start of these games that will challenge the most dedicated elves to show their skill in nurturing and what else, patience! Hahahaha. Good luck to you all!”

A gun went off and the games began.

The first event was a flying race in the sky around a statue of Metatron. Tirred knocked several elf angels off course with a snicker but another angel darted in front of him. Surprised, he then crashed with a yell into a Roman pillar surrounding the track…landing in a heap on a cloud.

The second event was truthful trumpet playing. Tirred blew hard through his horn and almost made another angel tell a dark secret. Two angels gave each other looks and grins. The two blew right into Tirred’s face, causing him to spit the swear words to Soother he had been hiding. The crowd gasped in displeasure. Another disqualification.

The third event was sowing. Everyone planted seeds into the ground and waited patiently as the stems slowly grew out of the fertile soil. It was a way to celebrate spring and bond with the plants. Docile’s plant waved at him, glowing with health. An enchanted tomato grew after an hour and Docile got to enjoy it. Soother’s plant instantly relaxed in his grip. A blooming lavender appeared and he offered the sweet flower to Timmid who blushed. Tirred stomped his foot impatiently and accidentally crushed his plant. Another plant smacked him in the face and he fell into the soil.

In tug of war, Tirred, Soother and Docile were on a team. Tirred tried to use his sharp teeth to win but he slipped and fell into a puddle of mud. A heaven hog snorted at him and squashed him into the mud with a foot, bearing teeth.

Soother and Docile had lots of fun at the Heavenly Halo toss. They tossed plastic halos right and left, trying to hit hovering golden poles. They hit at the same time, both halos spinning around the pole. They grinned competitively and tossed again. A bigger elf grinned at Tirred and wrapped him up in rope and halos. Tirred scowled as he kept missing the targets he was shooting at. Tirred screamed as a black and white shark leaped out of a puddle of golden water and crushed him.

“Mother buck…”

Sully Serious was on the stage again. “For the first year ever, we have a tie for the winner of the Sowing Sun Gain Games!”

Flora took the microphone. “The winners are…Soother…and Docile!”

Everyone cheered as Docile and Soother walked up on stage. They smiled kindred smiles.

“Hmpth,” scowled a frayed dirty Tirred in the stands next to Timmid who was clapping delightfully. “That eccentric elf seems too nice for his own good. He may have the ‘healing advantage.’ I can heal when I have to at work. Besides, I’m better at other things, like singing and handling weaponry.”

Soother pulled out a golden guitar. “I’d like to take this opportunity to sing a quick song I wrote just now about how we’re all winners.” He strummed the strings and then threw a harpoon spear right at the bullseye of a hanging target by a tree.

“What a bucking showoff!” Tirred seethed, arms extended in frustration.

The stage lights turned a soothing indigo blue. Soother sang a calming melody on the guitar, putting a few elves into a daze.

“Sweet teamwork

Will always work well

From down in sake o’ Hell

To the puffin’ clouds in Heaven, tell”

“Sweet teamwork

With everything we do

With every talent

We achieve and we excel, too

Every time we try, we may cry

But we push and win…let’s begin”

“We will be the best,

Perfect beings in paradise

Hurdle through every test

We won’t rest. Everybody’s nice.”

A fan girl elf rushed toward the stage with a squeal. Soother briefly picked her up and twirled her around in the air. He gave her a kiss on the head and gently placed her back on the ground. There was a chorus of “awws,” from the adoring crowd.

Docile walked over and sat next to Tirred and Timmid, licking an orange popsicle.

“Isn’t this guy great?” he grinned.

“False!” countered Tirred.

“It’s gonna be nice working with him,” Docile said.

“Working with him? What?!” exclaimed Tirred.

“Yeah, I asked him if he wants to join E.L.F.”

“You asked him…but…”

Tirred glowered with his head down.

“Tirred, I think you’ve had enough for now!” Timmid said in sudden frustration. She stood up. Docile and Tirred stared in stunned silence, still not used to her occasional moments of speaking her mind. “Let’s get you back to the house so you can think about what trouble you’ve caused.” She jabbed a finger into his chest. “All you can think about is winning, fame and you, you, you. Even you should admit that you’re easily influenced by Heaven’s current commercialism and false worship of the wealthy! Can’t you think of someone else for once in your life?”

“Sure, I think of people all the time,” he said with a smug expression. “All those pathetic weaklings and easy pushovers. You’d do well to not blindly trust anyone you see.” He glared at Soother.

“Oh, so that includes you, I suppose.”

Tirred paused, elf ears folding back slightly. “No, it’s not…”

“You’re no different from anyone else, Tir. Just because you’re part of E.L.F. and are one of the best at using angelic weapons doesn’t make you special. You live in this lie that you’re superior than most of our kind. But none of us are. Face it, we’re not the elite Heaven born angels and we’re not even saints. The sooner you accept your flaws, the better things will be.”

Tirred grit his teeth, frozen speechless. At times, he was defenseless against the wise words of his friend.

“Know that I only stay with you because I keep having faith that you’ll be a considerate and better person someday.” She stared at him dead in the eyes, and his pupils shrank a bit. “Don’t make me lose that faith in you.”

Soother said to Tirred in a sing-song voice, “Tirred you’ve lost yourself. You’re a big bad elf.”

Tirred scowled at him before glumly following Timmid.

“Thank you very much. You’re so kind,” Soother said to the audience as he finished the song.

Back at the house, the Pegasus munched on golden hay by a windmill. Timmid watched as her elf siblings gathered up pots of flowers into a wooden cart. Timmid helped out before happily waving and running off.

Flora walked up to the stage again at the festival. “My dear subjects, I, Lady Flora hereby bless this sowing festival with the vibrancy of the flowers and sun!”

She waved her arms and rays of light peered through the rainbow clouds. Flowers of all colors danced around, creating dazzling shapes and patterns. The audience awed at the show. The crowd even got to see a glimpse of the Archangel Michael in all his glory when he came to visit. He had a pale white face, short sleek blonde hair, golden eyes, and wore a fancy white suit with a black necktie. He displayed his sharp glowing sword with blue flames, Excalibur, the one he used to defeat his twin brother Lucifer during the first Heaven Hell War. Later as the sun set, Azrael flipped through his Bible, waved his hand and a portal appeared in the sky. It showed a beautiful full orange moon from the past in a starry black sky. The elves watched shooting stars and the moon from Azrael’s magic. It was a spectacular sight.

Then after a feast and more planting, the dancing began. A group of orange sheep cherub triplets played lyres, trumpets and musical instruments on stage. Sunna joined in on the fun, dancing with everyone she met. Docile was having fun too, sipping on apple cider and eating heavenly fruit. Some families sprinkled holy water on themselves and their loved ones for good luck while others were more content to drink the alcoholic Holy Spirit Water and Cloud Nine Wine in secluded areas.

“Hmm, needs more cowbell,” Docile mentioned, regarding the music. Another elf walked on stage and rang a cowbell out of sync with the sheep band players. They glared at the elf who ignored them.

“Much better.”

0 0 0

Tirred sulked outside on the steps of the house, the festival sounds distant. He had messed up again, too preoccupied with proving himself and putting others down for his own sake. How could he really call himself an angel when he was nothing more than an egocentric Exorcist-envying elf? A bully. A brute. A brat.

He stood up and spotted a black and white picture of Timmid and her family on a table.

Timmid looked so happy with her family.

Millie the imp had her parents Joe and Lin and her siblings: her sister Sallie May, and her brothers Billie, Willie, Tillie and Killie. Unlike Millie’s family, who prided themselves on brute strength, Timmid’s family were all about peace and passivity. Tirred spotted Timmid with her parents Max and Min. Then all her siblings were pictured: Polly Pax, Molly Pax, Holly Pax, Jolly Pax, and Dolly Pax. Although Tolly Timmid was a scaredy-elf, she seemed to be the bravest of the bunch, despite her parents often claiming the opposite.

Maybe it was Tirred’s destiny to live a misery life alone within golden walls and sparkling spender, wishing for bluer skies to no avail. The truth was, Docile, Timmid and even Sunna were the closet people he had to friends.

He knew her family would never approve of him and his crude ways. How much longer would it be until she decided to leave him, too?

“Don’t make me lose that faith in you,” she had said.

Tirred stared at the sun in the dark green sky, several stars peering down at him like small eyes. Even the universe was judging him, mocking him. He closed his eyes to make the image go away.

When he opened his eyes again, he glimpsed at a black bird flying in the sky not too far away. It wasn’t like many birds Tirred had seen. It looked like a large black owl or an eagle.

“Would be nice to have a flying companion,” he thought to himself.

He lifted himself off the ground in a graceful arc and followed the bird, not getting too close. After about seven minutes, the bird stopped in midair, holding what looked like a Bible. A glowing spinning sigil appeared in front of it. It was neon pink with crosses, triangles and Vs.

Tirred took a closer look and realized that the thing wasn’t a bird at all. It was too tall, too intelligent and too alien to be a bird. Tirred’s halo over his head throbbed with worry.

 “Well that’s troubling,” he thought. 

He spotted Timmid flying in her own world and abruptly pulled her close. She looked at him in surprise.

“Oh hello Tir…”

He shushed her. “I’ll apologize to you later. We have a situation.”

0 0 0

“Timmid and Tirred are missing out!” Docile giggled, finishing up his apple cider. He was glad to have listened to Samael’s advice. “Hey, Sunna, could you get me some of that Holy Spirit Wa…”

He froze when Sunna had drunk the last of it from the bottle. She licked her lips and hiccupped.

“What the buck, pussy cat?” he glared.

Sunna merely purred and slurred in a strange sing-song voice. “This is even better than my catnip!”

Docile looked around. “Somebody sober her up, please.”

Many elves ignored him.

“Oh for flying out cloud,” he slurred slightly himself. He took out his staff and waved it on himself and then on Sunna. Their eyes cleared and their posture straightened.

Docile stood, hands on his hips, looking intimidating despite being shorter than Sunna. He pointed at her.

“I’m watching you, missy.”

Sunna just rolled her eyes and continued having fun.

 Docile soon peered over at a large setting orange-red sun and saw a portal in the distance. It was located past the edge of the farm island in the air. He noticed an Exorcist-like figure pass through it and out of sight. He peered closer and saw Tirred dragging a protesting Timmid in the air, their wings flapping. Tirred looked at Docile and waved a harpoon weapon to get his attention. He seemed to be mouthing words urgently and pointing repeatedly toward the portal. Through the portal, he could see a dark red sky.

Docile stood, confused. Exorcists never traveled to Hell until extermination time once a year. And missionaries only occasionally traveled down there to report back on Overlords and events to the Archangels. Tirred mentioned for him to follow several times before urging Timmid forward. Docile waved his staff and summoned a Bible into his hand.

“You know if we get caught, we’ll be banished and be stuck there forever,” Docile warned them.

“Tell that to the random exterminator,” Tirred said, eyes narrowed. “Hurry, the portal’s closing.”

0 0 0

Docile, Tirred and Timmid kept to the shadows as they followed the lone Exorcist through the thick dry air surrounded by red sky. They flew so fast that the demons below didn’t notice them pass overhead. The being wore a dark gray mask decorated with a creepy white grin and an X over the right eye. Black wings propelled the being forward like a vulture. Its sharp curved horns and talons briefly reflected the red light of the giant spinning neon pentagram in the sky.

“Why aren’t they slaughtering anybody?” Docile whispered as they followed.

“I don’t know,” Timmid said. “Looks like they’re on some kind of mission.”

“You don’t say,” Tirred scoffed sarcastically.

Docile’s hairs stood on end. “I haven’t been down to Hell since my exterminating days. Looks a lot different than how I remember it.”

The dark angel in front of them pulled out a piece of paper and gazed at a painted black sigil on it. It darted this way and that, scanning the areas for almost half an hour. After standing still for several minutes, it suddenly dove down through another portal. Docile and the others raced to catch up.

Finally, they came across a great palace with stained glass windows and an astronomy theme to it. After locating the sigil of Stolas embedded in the wall, the Exorcist swooped with determination through an open window.

Timmid shuddered and whimpered out loud in fear. “Oh no, no, no I don’t like this!”

“No backing out,” barked Tirred.

“My parents are gonna kill me!”

“Not if the other demons get to you first,” Tirred responded. Timmid shot him a glare.

“Let’s get to the bottom of this,” said Docile, eyes narrowed. “Pray we don’t get banished to this place. Come on gang.”

They flew gracefully through the window and stood in one of the halls. Their footsteps echoed from the walls and polished floor. Docile took the lead while a shaking Timmid held Tirred’s hand. By instinct, Tirred squeezed hers in comfort. There was something in her eyes that caused him to smile warmly without thought.

The elves came across a section branching out into several hallways. The shadow of the Exorcist slithered around in a random direction. Timmid pulled out a holy dagger, while Tirred reached down for his angelic pistol, black with glowing white eye symbols and crosses on it. Their leader looked around for the source. Docile made a two-finger looking motion and then pointed up and down in the separate directions. Each of them had small golden horns that functioned as walkie-talkies. The elves nodded and split up, Docile taking the center hall, Tirred to the left, Timmid to the right.

Timmid admired the elegant intricate architecture of the estate. Almost every room had a starry high ceiling and wide windows to provide a clear view of the sky. One of the dimly lit bathrooms had an empty gold-trimmed old-fashioned bathtub with hovering constellations floating around the room. Telescopes were in large bedrooms with king-size beds and velvet sheets. Portraits of Stolas, Stella and a younger Octavia lined the halls. Banners displayed the Ars Goetia family symbol in gold. She passed by a large circular room decorated with pink starry curtains, a hanging space mobile, a rug and a peculiar display of taxidermy figures of Hell-born creatures. Octavia’s room.

Timmid couldn’t believe that such beauty and bizarreness could exist outside of Heaven. She continued down a sunlit hallway.

Timmid then nearly screamed and jumped backward as a Venus fly trap snapped its leafy jaws at her out of nowhere. She darted around, avoiding the jaws of the other plants. Breathing heavily, she sprinted down the hallway. More than ever, she wanted to go home.

She soon heard angry female voices coming from the kitchen. She slowed to a stop and turned around in curiosity. The sounds of crashing flowerpots were heard. Ever so slowly, she peered around the corner and noticed a vast circular kitchen with a fridge, several tables and an old-fashioned stove. More stained-glass windows depicted stars and planets. Dark pink wallpaper was displayed. Thankfully neither of the two figures in the vast room seemed to have noticed her.

“I can’t fucking believe it!” yelled a tall white anthropomorphic swan lady wearing a small golden crown on her head and a puffy white dress. Stella. Her grey teenage owl daughter Octavia sat on a cushion by the window with a hand to her forehead in utter annoyance. She wore her usual crown and hot pink dress with light yellow stars on it.

“My husband is a goddamn embarrassment! An imp-sucking, pathetic cheating prick. Cares more about some common low-life than his own wife.”

“You done?” Octavia sulked.

“It’s been a thousand years or so since we first met. He was faithful to me then. I don’t know what he sees in that imp.”

Octavia shrugged. “He’s eccentric and childish but he’s actually not too bad.”

“Not bad?! Who knows where he’s been? It’s time for your father to step up and do things the proper Goetia way. And that also includes you, dear.”

Octavia sighed. “Here we go again…”

“You’re the next heir to the Goetia throne,” said Stella. “You’re a princess now but will eventually move up the ranks. Appearances and dignity is of upmost importance. If you were more like me and not stuck in your brooding teenage fantasies, you’d understand that.”

“At least I feel cared about in my own fucking world,” Octavia spat. “You and dad don’t give a shit.”

“Well he took you to that cheesy theme park and must’ve talked nonstop about his prick of a partner. Surely you find that annoying.”

“I do. He’s a fucking perverted weirdo. But…he’s still my dad. He’s…not bad at times. Actually makes an effort and is better than you ever were.”

Stella merely scoffed, beak in the air.

“When was the last time you cared about me, again?” Octavia asked, eyebrow raised, arms crossed. “When I was five?”

“I’ve been preparing and helping you for many years,” said Stella. “You’d never live up to your role if it wasn’t for me.”

“Tell that to your reflection you keep staring at for hours, bitch.”

“You and Stolas were always thorns in my side. If you two were more like me and followed tradition…”

“Like that’s gonna happen,” Octavia glowered at her mother. “Don’t think I’m naïve. You’ve been in conflict with him ever since you got into that arranged marriage. Stolas wanted love and fun. And what did you want? Power and prestige. Nothing else to explain! Maybe if you had a heart like my dad, we wouldn’t be in this shit!”

“Stolas has been a bad influence on you. Encouraging relationships with plebeians and other demons who could bring our family down. In a world like this, it’s the powerful versus the weak,” Stella said, briefly preening her feathers. Her eyes glowed a deadly pink among thick curved eyelashes.  “I obviously choose to thrive. And you can either follow in my wings or be pushed aside.”

“Prissy bitch,” Octavia muttered.

Stella strolled over and abruptly slapped Octavia in the face. She flinched. “You’d do well to remember that, my daughter.”

Then Stella turned on her heels and stormed out of the room. Octavia flipped her the bird as she left. Octavia sulked off as Timmid moved a hand to her mouth in shock. A red faced butler imp glanced in her direction and she ran for her life.

Tirred finally caught up to the Exorcist. The creature was busy prying open double doors that were locked.

Tirred spoke lowly in Enochian to get the creature’s attention. It slowly turned its head at Tirred, mask glitching at times, making the elf gulp.

“What are you doing?” Tirred asked in the angelic language. “You’re not supposed to be in Hell yet.”

The Exorcist spoke in a distorted mechanical voice, also in Enochian. “It’s not of your concern.”

“As a citizen of Heaven, I can say that it is.” He glanced down at a familiar-looking weapon at the Exorcist’s side: an angelic rifle.

“You aren’t supposed to be here, either,” said the Exorcist. “And I’m afraid I cannot let you proceed any further. I have orders to follow.”

The Exorcist abruptly shoved Tirred back against the wall, muttering something in a strained voice. Tirred kicked and tried to claw at it, but he was pinned down. His trumpet talkie was just out of reach. Light shone from growing cracks in the floor underneath Tirred. Tirred cried out for help, but his mouth was soon covered by a hand. The hole grew larger under Tirred’s slender feet.

“Time to go back home,” the Exorcist spoke. “Be grateful that you’re not a demon.”

By sheer luck, Timmid had arrived and promptly used her staff to whack the Exorcist in the back of the head. The being stumbled as the dark mask fell to the floor. Tirred and Timmid then stared at the revealed angel behind the mask.

They gasped.

“Soother?” Timmid asked in surprise.

Sure enough, the teal-faced elf was there, holding back tears. “I’m sorry, my friends. You weren’t supposed to witness this. But it must be done.”

He briefly strained, as if the Exorcist suit were weighing him down.

Tirred scowled. “What are you planning? Mister! You are aware that the weapon you’re holding can kill…”

“…demon royalty,” Soother finished.

“Yes. That.”

“That’s the point.”

“This is not like you, Soother,” Timmid spoke with worry. “You don’t have to do this.”

A strange evil grin of sharp white teeth appeared on Soother’s face. His eyes flashed and swirled with ocean-colored glowing hypnotic circles. “Oh I totally do.”

Before Tirred and Timmid could make a move, Soother wacked them to the ground with his feathery black wings. Both elves tried to fight back, but Soother’s Exorcist outfit increased his durability, and instilled a strange mixture of compliance and bloodlust in him. Soother put his mask back over his face and his demeanor turned more predatory. The room turned darker and the designs on the mask seemed to illuminate.

“The righteous shall always eliminate the malicious. Anyone standing in the way of His plan shall face the wrathful consequences.”

“Enough of your preachy bull-spit,” Tirred glowered.

“Speak for yourself, hypocrite,” Timmid replied to him, blocking a talon attack with her arms.

Then Timmid gasped in realization as she dodged Soother’s attacks in midair. “Sinners are forced to die every year by saint’s hands! To reduce Hell’s population so Heaven can win the future war! Saints compelled to obey. Man against man. I knew something was up!”

“Now’s not the time for your random theories!” Tirred called as Soother landed a hard punch to his gut. Tirred wheezed before a foot swiped under his legs, sending him onto the floor. Timmid started to dash away, but a talon hand quickly pulled her back. He slammed her abruptly into the wall and she slid down with a yelp to the floor. Soother moved to Tirred and held his face in place with strong hands. Tirred squirmed in protest, but Soother pinned him with his body weight. His dark blue eyes swirled in hypnotizing bands of green, navy blue and glowing light. A melodious sound emitted from Soother’s throat, almost like a hum to a song. Tirred felt his body becoming heavy like led.

“Aren’t you tired from all that fighting, Tirred? You need a good respite from your stress. Don’t worry, I’ve got things under control.”

A yawn already escaped Tirred’s mouth and his eyes started to flutter.

Soother turned his head to see Timmid reaching for his rifle from behind. Soother smacked Tirred hard in the face, sending him rolling onto the floor. Timmid shut her eyes when he grabbed her, but his soothing voice compelled her to open them. She reached out a shaking hand to Tirred before going limp into sleep. A portal appeared from the floor, leading back to Timmid’s house. Soother gently dropped her still form through the hole, where she slowly landed safely onto the green grass below.

 “Timmid!” Tirred cried out weakly.

The portal closed, Soother catching his breath. A silver Shem necklace with Hebrew symbols and a star-like shape was around his neck, increasing his power and enabling the portal creations. It glowed, then the light faded.

Soother grabbed Tirred by his hair and shoved him into a nearby closet. “Until I recover enough energy to make a portal for you, you stay put.”

The door slammed shut and locked. 

Fighting fatigue, Tirred searched for his pistol in the darkness. Thankfully he still had it. He aimed and fired at the door, bursting the lock. He burst through the door and saw that the bedroom double doors had already been opened.

0 0 0

In his master bedroom, Stolas was gazing with passion at a body pillow of Blitzo on the bed. He ran a finger down his face and embraced the pillow in a hug.

“Oh my darling Blitzy…thank you for all the fun we had before the Harvest Festival. You were so daring and mighty during those games. Though I will admit that cowboy imp was pretty hot. But not as much as you of course.” He giggled a childish giggle, his four red eyes slanted in happiness. He picked the body pillow up and swooped it in a circular dance.

“Hmm, this moment calls for some music.” His gray feathery chest was bare, his tail fanning upwards. He magically summoned an old mp3 player toward him.

“I wonder what songs Via had on here. Let’s see. How to use this again…” He swiped his dark finger across the screen. “Ah-ha! Here’s her favorite!”

He put the ear plugs into his ears (if he had any) and “My Life Is Burning Down Around Me” by Fuck You Dad played.

Stolas flinched at first but found himself enjoying it. His eyes glowed red. “Ready to get naughty, my little imp?” He placed a ball gag around his neck. “Can’t wait to see you in person again!”

Stolas danced around with the body pillow, lost in his own world and passion. He sighed in delight.

The prince didn’t notice a shadowy figure with an LED grin slowly creep into the room. A glint of metal appeared, and an angelic rifle was aimed at the back of his head. A soft click was heard as dark hands aimed and steadied…

Click.

The Exorcist froze. A glowing teal wall materialized silently in between Stolas and the Exorcist, muting the outside conversation and distorting the view.

“Uh, excuse me? The buck?”

The dark head slowly turned to see a stern Docile vanishing his magic staff and aiming an angelic pistol at him.

“Docile,” the Exorcist whispered darkly. “I thought you were still at the ceremony.”

“Well, when you co-workers let you know that something fishy is up, then you should probably trust their instincts. Now calmly step away from the owl.”

Stolas sang along to the music off-key, occasionally preening his feathers.

The Exorcist faced the elf.

“Stay out of my way.”

“First tell me why you’re trying to kill him.”

“I was ordered to do so. Stolas has been a menace and annoyance to those in Heaven.”

“Sure he can be…eccentric enough,” Docile raised in eyebrow. “But he didn’t do anything wrong to you. He can’t even access Heaven.”

“Not to me. To the others. He’s been harder to control during the rituals that the living use to ask for advice. And not only that, he’s enslaving the demons of Hell just like many other Goetia officials. The one who endowed me with this mission said they want the job done for the betterment of their life and the lives of others. Who knows how much evil Stolas will commit?”

Docile looked in disgust and confusion at a moaning Stolas, thrusting his cock repeatedly on the bed near the body pillow. He certainly did not look anything like a cruel heartless leader. Just the opposite in fact. But then again, that may have been a façade.

Docile raised an eyebrow. “Are you serious? You do realize that could potentially start another Heaven-Hell War once they find out a member of royalty has been taken from them.”

“Well no one would suspect the work of a lowly cherub…or an imp…or even an elf to do the deed, would they?”

An elf?

The Exorcist slowly removed his mask. Docile stepped back, stunned. “Soother?”

The elf strained and briefly shed another tear. “I know you’re surprised, too. You and your co-workers weren’t supposed to see this.”

“I can’t let you kill him!” Docile said. “There has to be another way.”

“My master has negotiated with Stolas long enough. For decades at least. Now is the time to show them what happens when they step out of line.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so.”

“Docile, c’mon,” said Soother. He stepped forward and paced around Docile, making him nervous. “You know the two of us are superior than most of our kind. And you are so above prostrating before a hotheaded Archangel only to sneak bottomside to Earth to save lives…for what? To briefly please your Saint clients who care more about their own wealth and status than who you are? Why struggle to run a business that’s rigged against you when you could be…”

“Slaying Overlords and Archangels?” Docile glowered.

“No. Working with the Archangels,” Soother mentioned. “Or the Shem royalty.”

Docile paused, confliction dashing in his eyes.

“Think about it,” Soother explained. “You could collaborate with me and you wouldn’t have to worry about being the lowest of the low anymore. Saints and cherubs alike would begin to respect you more, and possibly our kind as well. Your expertise in battle, healing and efficiency would get noticed by important figures.”

Docile’s eyes shined. “Even…Jesus and our Lord?”

Soother shook his head. “They’re always too busy with their own tasks. Keeping an eye on humanity is hard work so He put snobby figures in charge of Heaven in His absence. The Holy Trinity usually cannot be disturbed. Though I wouldn’t say it was impossible.”

Docile pouted in disappointment before being conflicted again.

Docile could easily join him…but at what cost? His co-workers would get left behind. And though the Archangels did good things, they were very elitist too.

Docile himself never cared for demons, but he never wished further harm or prejudice on them. Helping Soother kill off those that higher-ups deemed unworthy wasn’t what he wanted at all. Bad memories of him killing demons as an Exorcist rushed back to him. He suddenly mourned for all the Sinners that had been lost to the annual cleansings. To face death and damnation for just existing in a flawed afterlife…it somehow made Docile’s blood boil. Ever since he got fired for making a mistake, he vowed not to harm anyone else again.

Not if he could help it.

Soother leaned closer. “We could be the most revered beings in all of Heaven, Docile.”

“That does sound very tempting,” Docile gulped. He yawned. “Okay, I’m in!”

Soother grinned evilly before a click was heard from behind him. Tirred stood with his pistol in hand behind him.

“Took ya long enough, Tir!” Docile grinned. He had faked being tired. “You should’ve seen your face, Soother.”

The fight soon began. Soother and Docile landed a series of punches and kicks. Soother yanked hard on one of Docile’s pointed ears and he cried out. Docile landed fists onto Soother, who used his arm to block the punches. Soother moved his head to the right to dodge a bullet fired from Tirred’s pistol. Soother grabbed onto Docile’s hands as both elves struggled to push the other back. Soother grunted and soon shoved Docile backwards into Tirred. They tumbled to the floor. Tirred reached for the angelic rifle, but Soother yanked it off the ground. He soon aimed it at them.

“This is your last chance to surrender. Or you can pray to the Lord to try and save you. Spoiler, He won’t.”

“In your dreams, you despicable heathen!” Docile yelled, tripping Soother with his foot. Soother was then cornered as Tirred soon fired a warning shot by his head. Both Tirred and Docile aimed their pistols at Soother, who flinched in fear.

“Please don’t hurt me.” He then grinned forcefully. “If you kill me, you’ll be dammed to Hell.”

He turned to Docile as the elves paused.

“How embarrassing, boss-man. You’re wasting a lot of potential on a no-good, brooding…”

“Are you gonna finish that sentence?” Tirred asked with a scowl. “Brother?”

Docile didn’t know if Tirred actually referred to Soother as a lost brother or whether it was a form of greeting. More likely, it was the latter.

“Brat,” Soother scowled. The remaining energy from his necklace glowed silver. He waved his hand and another portal appeared back to Heaven.

From the other side, Stolas stood up and raised an eyebrow at the teal translucent barrier. With a head tilt, he pressed his hand against it and cracks quickly appeared. All three elves froze with frightened faces. In moments, the barrier would fall and they would be spotted and heard. Already Docile was losing energy due to all the magic use and fighting.

Docile turned to Soother. “You seemed to have forgotten something, mister.” He took out his talkie trumpet, moved closer to the portal and blew into the instrument.

Time was running out, fast. The barrier was almost broken and no magic could hold it any longer. The room was already starting to shake and glitch in various spots.

“Well folks,” Soother drawled. “Prepare yourselves to an endless nightmare of fire, brimstone and hooting.”

In a flash, a brown blur shot through the portal and leaped onto a hanging planter on a high windowsill.

“Okay, I’m here,” Sunna called. She glanced down at three leafy vegetables, but her weight caused the planters to collapse on the spot. She shrieked with a meow and darted back through the portal. Dirt and the vegetables spilled and rolled onto the floor in a big mess.

Soother fled through the portal in a different direction. The barrier shattered away, the pieces vanishing into light specks. Docile and Tirred pressed against the wall, not daring to breathe.

Stolas gasped at the sight before him.

“Ahhh! My cabbages!” He bent down and ran a hand along his prized herbs.

Thankful for the distraction and not being seen, Sunna, Tirred, and Docile leaped through the portal just before it closed. Docile looked around in the air back in Heaven, but Soother had already disappeared.

0 0 0

Later, everyone gathered at Timmid’s house. Timmid woke up in her mother’s arms outside. Min tearfully hugged her daughter as Tirred told the whole story.

“I’m so glad you’re alright!” she sobbed. But she also had anger in her eyes. “Young lady, what you did could’ve gotten you killed! Haven’t we taught you better?”

“Y-yes, it was risky,” Timmid said, stepping back and wiping away tears. “But he was slippery…and was harming my friends!”

“Excuses! Why didn’t you run away and call for help?” Min asked her. “Or if you’re so tough, defended yourself better? You’re better than that, Timmid!”

Tirred closed the luggage and marched over to Timmid’s parents. “You know, she fought back and protected me! Sure, it may have been tempting for her to run away scared. But she knew what she was doing, even if it was risky. If Soother thought we were demons and she had left me…”

He paused. “Anyway the point is, Timmid has the strength…and the kindness enough for both of us! You’re getting on her case due to her being lulled to sleep by a freak you hired? Shame on you!”

Timmid smiled lovingly at Tirred. But Tirred wasn’t done yet. He lowered his head, his ears drooping.

 “And…I also wanted to apologize. To all of you regarding my behavior. I truly am a selfish bully and brat. I know I won’t be forgiven now, and I still have much to work on. But…maybe someday I can make amends and really prove myself to you guys.”

Timmid smiled, tears in her eyes. Docile “awed.” “I forgive you, my sweet friend!” said Timmid. She gave Tirred a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek. Tirred stood stunned, but a genuine smile soon lit up on his face. Timmid smiled. “I knew your good heart was in there somewhere, Tir!”

Max gave Tirred a knowing nod before following his wife back into the house.

0 0 0

Soother was lounging on a satin sheet bed at the Lookout Five Star Condo. The complex was made of marble, had seven floors and reached the clouds. The sign nearby read, “Love Where You Live.” The plain white wallpaper in the room was brand new, with a bunch of modern silver features and appliances throughout the space. The windows offered a great view of the night sky and there was a small balcony as well. The room was large and plain, with a white carpet floor, a desk, a bed and a nearby bathroom.

The elf pressed a cell phone to his ear. “Ugh. I failed to kill the target down in Hell. But don’t worry, sir. It won’t happen again.”

“I heard that Stella wanted that pompous adulterous prince dead. Now I want our Stolas gone too. He’s been harder to control in the summoning rituals by me and the missionaries. He’s been conning and enslaving many citizens down there.”

“Negotiations can only go so far,” he continued to Soother. “If your next attempt doesn’t work, tell the Exorcists to leave out more angelic weapons for shady outsider demons to use. Oh and if anyone happens to get in your way…”

Soother gulped, tears in his eyes. “K-kill them?”

“Goodness no! Just put them into a slumber for a bit.”

Soother sighed in relief. “Understood, Lord Menadel.”

There was the labor-centered Menadel, drumming his fingers on a table in his palace. He could switch between a human-like form and a white swan being. He had elegant white wings, long black hair, a pale thin bird-like face and glowing dark green eyes. He wore a fancy white suit with dark pants, a dark red necktie and a necklace with his sigil on it. Two fake swan heads draped over his shoulders in the front. A halo hovered over his head, with a small red cornelian crystal in the center. His crown was in the color and shape of fire.

“If Stolas can be eliminated, I can finally make up all that lost time with my daughter.” Menadel thought. “I can’t believe I was so content to lose myself in my job…forgetting my family even existed.”

Menadel did feel some degree of guilt for not being involved in Quartet’s early life. He was so involved in his heavenly duty that at first, he didn’t know that his wife Flora had remarried the Angel of Death and moved away when Quartet had only recently emerged from her egg. Needless to say, he had been furious at both of them, but not wanting to let the boss of everyone down, he continued with his work. He was determined to try and keep the demons under control, to help guide the fallen angels to the light and be an inspiration to mortals on occasion. His foremost duty was to serve God and preserve Heaven and the cosmos.

Like many angels, Menadel wanted the demons to be restrained by Heaven’s rules put into place. It was comparable to how powerful individuals wanted to do what they thought was best for other poor countries, while many of the citizens perceived them to be colonizers. It was all for the benefit of the dominant culture. Only this social conflict had lasted for thousands of years.

Soother hung up the phone and stared with uncertainty at an angelic pistol in his hands. “I’ll get him next time.”

The phone rang again. Soother picked it up. “Yes, sir?”

“Soother…you said you went to Hell, right?”

“Yes...”

“Forgot to ask you. Just to confirm, did you happen to avoid all the dystopian cyborg demons and spot Stolas’ palace in the sky?”

Soother frowned in confusion. “Um…his palace isn’t in the sky. And there were no cyborg demons at all. Just a bunch of psychotic imps and an upcoming rehab hotel. You said his sigil looked like this.”

Uttering an angelic spell, Soother briefly projected an image of a nearby piece of paper with the sigil on it in black ink. The paper appeared in a glowing image atop a staff next to Menadel. The same paper he had taken with him to Hell.

“It does.”

The line went silent, save for a quiet concerned gasp from the Shem angel. “You didn’t… you didn’t go to Inferno at all?! Bucking spit. If the canon characters of the Hazbin world had discovered you there…or worse, General Lord Adam of the Exorcists…”

That had also explained why it was so exerting for Soother to create the portals. It wasn’t advised for those in Heaven to enter their version of Hell. But to have accidentally entered the original Hazbin one in the parallel universe…

It was a miracle that all the worlds hadn’t been destroyed during the battle of the four afterlife companies on Earth.

“You said, ‘go to Hell,’ so that’s what I did. Wait, what’d ya mean I went to the wrong Hell?! Oh…so where I went wasn’t what mortals call the 2P Hell, then…and you really think I’m sacred of Adam, the former human…”

Menadel was not pleased. “Do not make the same mistake again, elf. And tell no soul of what occurred, lest they find you out and banish you on the spot. Lord Adam may enjoy pleasing himself with all his female Exorcists, but he’d take the time to fry you to a crisp if word of this got out! I’m willing to take some risks, but not ones that could involve parallel interdimensional chaos!”

“Understood, sir.”

“I know that like the imps, you and your kind would do anything for money and extra food. I don’t care who you have to go through. Even if what you do troubles Azrael, just get the job done.”

Similar to how the Goetia demons were often at odds with the Overlords, the Shem royalty didn’t always get along with the Archangels and the other angels of the hierarchy.

Soother hung up the phone again, his worrisome and enigmatic eyes glowing blue in the darkness of the room. “I’ll get him next time. If there’s ever a next time…”

[randomwordsonly]

Samael slowly opened his eyes, instinctively trying to move his arms but he couldn't. He was still chained to the bed, and his blood was being drawn. Samael couldn't remember how long he was here, in Rainier's lab. Two or three days, he guessed. He tried to move a little, but his restrains made it almost impossible. He hadn't showered in weeks, the smell of blood and sweat made him sick. The neck restrain was still on, making it hard for Samael to breath, and the more he thought of it the more anxious he became. Breathing got harder as he desperately tried to calm down. The lab door opened, and a woman entered the room. Samael had seen her before, her name was Laila and she had been working for Rainier for about 4 years. Laila quickly glanzed at Samael before turning around. She took the needle from his arm and worked on the blood bags.

"Laila..." Samael said, shocked by how weak his voice sounded. "I need to use the toilet.." he added. His body was restless, it's been days that he hadn't moved at all.

"Soon", she coldly replied without even looking at him. She struck another needle into his arm, this time injecting the contaminated blood. Samael dreaded this moment the most, as it was extremely painful. His while body fought against this substance. Fever, abdominal pain, vomiting, unconsciousness and a lot more where the result of this torture. Nevertheless he tried to remain calm, closing his eyes as the pain increased with every breath. Pearls of sweat were forming on his forehead.

"Laila... how long will this continue?" he asked, his voice trembling.

This time the woman turned around, looking at him with something that resembled sympathy.

"Rainier hasn't established that yet."

Laila looked at him, knowing that also Samael knew what that meant. Rainier wanted to test Samael's limits, this torture would go on for weeks if not months.

[bl4sphemy-archived]

night terrors. from lumine !

𝖑𝖔𝖚𝖉 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖉𝖊𝖆𝖋𝖊𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖘𝖎𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖊 . . .

       Samael whimpers in his sleep, dark brows furrowed as he rolls to his side, then his back, then his other side, the blankets encompassing his form tangled around his long limbs. Sweat beads on his forehead, making his bangs stick to his face waywardly, and he grunts as he shakes his head from side to side. In his subconscious, he can feel the cool pressure of electrodes pressing against his skull, and when he tries to close his mouth, he whines when he feels the bite of leather. He's dreaming again, sent back to the worst time in his life     ——     at Psalms North, England's 'finest' conversion therapy camp. 

       His wide, tear-filled eyes plead with the doctor responsible for his torment in the sleep-induced illusion, and a flash of dread hits him like a splash of acid at the malicious grin donning the man's features. That grin was real, and still haunts him. Samael squeezes his eyes shut, and when the electricity courses through his brain, he screams, bolting upright. He's surprised when the bindings meant to hold him down don't work, but even more stumped and relieved to find he's in his bedroom in the dark. Lumine lays beside him, but she's awake now, startled out of sleep by her boyfriend's outburst.

       Samael opens his mouth to apologize, but all that comes out is a broken sob. He melts as Lumine consumes him in a tight embrace, letting himself cry against her neck, his body shaking violently as he clings to her for dear life, his tears soaking her soft shirt.      ❛❛   I'm so sorry,   ❜❜     He says between his cries    ��——     he hates that he woke Lumine up, hates that he's burdening her with his baggage.

[w4nts]

28 + 31 with august &. samael !

         His noises are muffled by his lower lip, bitten hard between his teeth, the tang of iron harsh, but easily ignored in favor of how well August is fucking him. His eye makeup is running, black eyeliner smudged down his flushed cheeks, his hair wild, wayward pieces sticking to the sweat that prickles his skin.      ❛❛   Fuck, baby, mmm, god your cock is divine-   ❜❜     Samael croons, panting out the words as he writhes against the wall behind him, deliciously trapped between it and August's body.

         His eyes nearly cross when a firm hand is wrapped around his throat, and he rewards the motion with a moan that rivals a p.orn star's.      ❛❛   Oh, yes, choke me, ah, harder,   ❜❜     His voice is a growl, accompanied by the sharp sting of his nails (more like claws in instances like this) in August's arm as he maintains intense eye contact, even as he's rocking his hips to meet August's thrusts, even as his lips part with ungodly wanton noises.

[delabor]

📖 XD

{ ☠ }{ @shieldofgod }

“you should keep challenging archangels to fights. there are seven of us, you’re bound to win one eventually.

                          better yet, you should try to take out our father. it’ll totally go as planned.”

[woodsteingirl]

no song appeals to me like better than fine by fiona apple <33

[hauntmetosleep]

Unique Body

Tacky wax figure melting in transit Sweat from glutton fingers raining down You've got big eyes, always distracted, A unique body formed of flowing numbers Perhaps you're human, ever breathing But surely in this mess, this awful system You can't want to be a physical being

Blood and viscera censored by radio trauma A model gentleman, no knives in your pockets - One already aches for your vulnerable back You're a big hero, you're nothing special You own no colours and you eat no bullets A unique body, like the grease on the forehead Of a warlord who melted into a landfill

----------

[Poem from upcoming collection The Gates of Paranoia] Copyright © 2016-2023 S.M. | Samael’s Tuesday

[thelastarchangelaskblog]

@messenger18reaper, I was happy to see SPN didn’t hesitate to give angels vessels of different genders when it came down to it. Although Raphael seemed to take an intimidation hit once the vessel changed... For this ‘verse, they default to ne/nir/nem when angels haven’t taken a vessel before. So with Joshua in Ouroboros, as Gabriel has never seen nem take a vessel, he used the default pronouns. Sam and Dean would have used male pronouns since they saw Joshua in a male visage. Raphael went by female pronouns because she spent a while as a female and doesn’t care. If Gabriel, for example, suddenly ended up in a female vessel, he’d be fine referring to himself as female if others think of him that way. (I have thought about this scenario, ha. It would throw everyone for a LOOP) For Samael, angels always use the gender neutral pronouns. Gabriel is an exception, changing pronouns depending on if he sees Samael or Sam. The AIs always use she/her because they’re used to Sam, not Samael. And ne’s fine with that because they’re family. Still, because these are angels and they view gender differently, I treat the situation differently than I would if we were talking about human characters. So my handling of Sam before ne regains nir Grace would be different than Samael, as can be seen in some of the other stories before Ouroboros. But the short answer to your question is they use the gender neutral pronouns unless otherwise indicated by vessels! Angels have gotten accustomed to making things easier for the humans they communicate with.