#abyss angel and tail

[leifberry]

IT’S THEM

ANGEL AND TAIL

the ultimate duo

sometimes your best friend is your literal tail and that’s okay <3

one of my friend’s favourite abyss characters is Angel so I drew this for him :3

[trashogram]

He Chose You (Pt. 10)

Lucifer/Reader: Lucifer chooses you to be the mother of his child. Rated E for Explicit.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13

Everything was white. Pristine white. 

You couldn’t be blind, but no one would blame you for entertaining the idea as nothing but white stretched beyond your gaze.

Unending white. 

Uncanny. White. 

“Hello?” You asked the white abyss. Your call echoed out and back in, the way you imagined sound would echo in a canyon. 

“Hello!” 

You screamed, jumping up at the new voice coming from somewhere high above you. You tried to pinpoint where it came from, staring up at what you hoped was the sky before things slowly materialized. 

Pastel pinks, oranges and soft blues bled into the white, adding definition to what had once been literally nothing. The whiteness remained in the shape of buoyant, fluffy clouds pillowing all around you. 

“Over here!” The voice chimed. “Oh no, here! You’re getting warmer! Almost there!”

After circling around like a dog after your own tail, you finally found the source. Behind you rose a ginormous golden gate, gleaming beneath an electric-looking, all-seeing eye.

 And at its entrance towered a gold and platinum podium. 

A very… well, there was no other way to say it — a very white man with swooping blond hair eyed you from the top of the podium, grinning from ear to ear. 

“Hiya! Welcome!” The man said. “You’re right on time!” 

“Uh, okay…?” You replied. 

Without a hitch, the blond lifted up a large tome and began flicking through the pages. In the meantime, you stood there awkwardly, a question on the very tip of your tongue. 

“Wh-um, where am I, exactly?” You finally asked. 

“Why, you’re in Heaven of course!” He stated jovially before turning the book around and tapping on a name. “This is you, correct?”

Your name stared back at you in a glowing golden font, all pretty and shiny — 

And underlined? 

“Yeah.” You blinked. “Wait, did you just say Heaven?”

“Mm-hm, yep! And if I could just get you to stand right here at the center of the platform, that’d be great.” 

An elevated slab of pure gold rose from the clouds beneath your feet a little ways ahead of you. Timidly, you made your way over and onto the platform as instructed. You were pleasantly surprised at the instant warmth that met the bottoms of your bare feet. 

“Pe-rr-fect!” With a flap of suddenly conjured wings, the gatekeeper floated down to hover right beside you. “Now, we just wait for Emily. She should be here in 3, 2, 1… .5 — ”

A loud clang startled you out of your skin for the second time, and you whipped around to face the woman that had spontaneously appeared in front of you.

She panted. “Oh my goodness! I’m so sorry! I didn't mean to be late!” 

The golden gates pulled back to reveal the white-haired newcomer in all her splendor. This other angel was bedecked in a floor-length white gown to match her downy-white hair and periwinkle-grey skin dotted with white freckles. A halo hung over her head, casting an eternal light over her large, bluish eyes that sparkled with mirth. 

Like the gatekeeping angel, her wings flapped behind her, but you noted how they seemed to flutter nervously. Or perhaps excitedly? 

“Welcome to Heaven!” She opened her arms toward you. “We’re so glad you’re here! I’m Emily, but you can call me Emmy, or E, or Millie. Whatever you want!” 

You waved dazedly. “Hi.” 

Emily stopped short of touching you, despite looking like she was about to wrap her arms around you in a hug. Instead, the angel bit her lower lip as she stared at you. 

“I really am sorry I was late. I got caught up talking with Sera, making sure everything was all ready for your arrival.” She gushed. “Thank you for greeting her, Peter!” 

Peter brightened. “Of course.” 

Emily turned back to you, buzzing with anticipation like a bumblebee. “Anyway, I’m sure you have tons of questions! No worries at all! I’m here to give you a tour and show you around your new home!”

You cautiously took the hand offered to you, and let yourself be led through the golden gate. 

— 

Heaven was very beautiful, and very clean. The polished golden floors and beautifully-crafted architecture, complete with smiling people of all races, sexes and species didn’t unwrench you from a nagging sense of confusion however. 

“Um. Emily?” You asked your companion — well, one of your companions. Peter had elected to join the two of you on your tour, commenting that he’d gotten someone to cover his eternal shift at the gate for the next few hours. 

“Yes! Yes?” She smiled at you encouragingly. No doubt, your silence, while it had not stopped her constant chatter, had been a downer in as far as engagement. 

“I’m… dead. Right?” You asked. “I mean that’s how one gets to Heaven, so obviously I am… right?”

The mood turned down at that, with Emily turning morose. “Yes, I’m afraid so.” 

“Okay, good. I mean — I’m dead, but I’m having a hard time remembering h-how it… happened.” You admitted, embarrassed. And a little afraid, if you were honest with yourself. “Is that… normal?”

Emily and Peter stopped on either side of you, twin looks of confusion on their poreless faces. 

Peter was quicker to recover. “Oh that can happen sometimes! Dying can be a very traumatic thing for the soul.” 

Emily seemed hesitant for the first time since you’d met her, but with a look from Peter, she seemed to gain resolve. “Yes, yeah. Lots of people forget… but you’ll remember in time, I’m sure!”

“But wait!” Emily gasped. “We could ask Sera about it!” 

She clapped her hands together joyfully, while Peter’s expression teetered on uncertainty. 

“Uh, Em? I don’t think —” 

“We were headed her way anyway.” Emily nodded as if affirming her own plan. “I’m sure she’ll be happy to help us figure this out!”

The angel yanked you forward in her quest to get to Sera (whoever that was) and had you stumbling on pure fluff to catch up with her. 

Many angels raced to get out of the way as Peter called out in alarm, but apart from shouldering a particularly tall angel clad in a chasuble, you were unable to stop or slow down. 

—

“Hello child.”

The Seraphim (“Sera.” Emily had urged) was so large that you had to crane your neck up to see her face. 

She was beautiful in the most ethereal way. To look upon her was to look at a celestial body and feel your own insignificance dragging you down and swallowing you whole. 

Your surroundings — a gold and white antechamber with delicately carved archways and a grand war table in its center — did not help. 

Emily laid a hand on your shoulder with concern before you realized that you’d been paralyzed by the scene before you and had yet to say a word.

You stuttered a hello, and Sera’s stoney face softened into an understanding smile. “Be not afraid, my friend. I mean no harm.” 

You returned the smile, albeit shakily. 

Emily squeezed your shoulder. “Sera? We have a question.”

The Seraphim gestured with open palms. 

“Well, we were going around Heaven, and just kind of talking before um… well…”

“Emily, dear. Please speak up.” Sera’s command was gentle but firm.

Emily bounced in her spot, unable to keep herself from floating up from the ground. 

“Shesaysshedoesn’trememberhowshegothere!” She blurted out.

You and Sera both stared at Emily for a long moment, trying to process what exactly she had said. Sera had opened her mouth once more before the grand entrance into the committee room was slammed open and all heads turned to the unwelcome sound. 

The angel with the chasuble came barrelling in, and the omnipresent sunlight that touched everything around you glinted off the sharp black horns winding down from his skull. Or was it a skull? The face of this particular angel looked odd to you, with its smooth, glassy surface and flickering pixelated expression that replaced natural features like lips, cheeks and a nose. 

Their appearance looked at odds with everything else you’d seen in Heaven, regardless of the holy garbs they wore. Everything, while somewhat fantastical on the basis of it actually existing, resembled the organic and natural, and this figure stuck out like a sore thumb in comparison. 

“What the actual fuck? She’s actually here?!” The abrasive, aggressive voice that came out his digitized face shook you from your musings. 

You shrunk back toward Emily and Sera, instinctively trying to get away from the rapidly approaching figure that also towered over you. He glared in your direction, as if you were an insect he wanted to squash, and only when you lost the nerve to meet his gaze did you realize there was another angel behind him. This one wore a similar face, though they were smaller, slimmer and straight-backed. They wore darker vestments and jet-black horns as well, with wings nearly as jagged and hardlined. 

“Adam,” Sera greeted hesitantly. “I don’t believe you were summoned.” 

“Why is she here?” ‘Adam’ demanded, as if the Seraphim had never spoken. His companion stood firmly just a pace behind him, arms behind their back. 

Their combined presence was so off-putting, and your brow furrowed with mounting confusion. Sera’s shoulders slowly rose and fell as she sighed, disapproval in the hard line of her mouth. 

“That was part of the agreement.” 

“Uh, yeah — with the Devil!” His demeanor completely threw you off, so much so that you didn’t catch the full extent of what he’d said. “Who the fuck keeps their end of the deal with that asshole?”

You couldn’t hold back a scoff of disbelief, even as your confusion deepened. ‘The devil?’ 

A hand wrapped around your forearm, making you turn to look at Emily, who’d once more moved beside you. Her ire was clear, though much less contained than Sera’s. “Who are you to question Divine Judgement?” 

Adam laughed condescendingly. “Do you know who you’re talking to? I’m the fucking CEO of Divine Judgement, kid!” 

“We are literally judges, juries and executioners in Hell.” The other angel chimed in, flat and resolute. The smirk that curved her stitched lips gave away some covert sense of satisfaction in that statement. 

“Executioners?” Emily’s voice rose a few octaves. “What’re you talking about?” 

She was legitimately bewildered. 

“Enough.” Sera stepped in. “Adam, this has never been, nor was it ever, a debate. If you have a grievance, you can take it up with the counsel at a later date.” 

“My ‘grievance’ isn’t gonna fucking wait for this bitch to fuck shit up!” Adam pointed at you with a poisonous claw. 

“Excuse me?” You demanded in sheer disbelief. “Who do you think you are?!” 

The grin Adam shot you was more a bearing of one’s teeth, which further threw you for a loop as, again, his face was completely digital. “I’m fuckin’ Adam. The First Man. The Original Dick. I’ve been here since the fucking beginning. I earned this shit.” 

“Who do you think you are?” He asked, advancing on you. “You think you can whore yourself out to the worst being in all of Creation and still take up space in Heaven? Are you fucking kidding me?” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Your gaze narrowed, a stark contrast to the whirlpool of thoughts swirling in your mind at his accusation. 

“HA! Seriously?” His face was mere inches from yours. “What? D’you open your legs for fuckin’ everyone? Have a hard time keeping track of all the brats you pop outta that used vag? Guess so, if even dying for one doesn’t ring your fuckin’ bell.” 

“ADAM!” 

Adam’s sharp grin dropped, expression dawning from stunned to petulant as Sera’s thunderous exclamation reverberated through the vast space between your unusual group. You swore the clouds trembled beneath your feet, but it was hard to care too much with the insinuations that had been thrown at you rattling within your being. 

Dying for… 

“Charlotte.” Your eyes widened to the size of saucers. Air escaped your lungs - which shouldn’t have been possible, but you were already dealing with one crisis upon the epiphany of what you’d been missing this whole time. 

A blitz of images and sordid emotions saw you struggling, legs falling out from under you as the weight of how exactly you’d died forced you down. Emily’s distressed cry sounded from above you, melding with Lucifer’s frantic pleas for you not to go as life drained from your body. 

The Seraphim’s shadow engulfed your broken form while you panicked on Heaven’s floor. 

—

Lucifer sat hunched in his chair, your cold, lifeless hand hanging in his. 

Charlotte had stopped crying and presumably gone to sleep. He hadn’t put up any fight when Cass took her to a crib set up beside your… your bed.

That was who knows how long ago. And apart from Cass coming over the check on his daughter, the elderly worshippers had left him to grieve in peace. 

The King had tried to convince himself to get up. He needed to take Charlotte and leave. Go home. The sight of you in death was unbearable — but he could not move. 

He couldn’t leave you, even if you were no longer there in spirit. The You he loved the most, your soul, was gone and had been gone for some time now. 

You had gone to the one place he could not follow. 

Lucifer’s hanged head slowly rose. His thoughts were starting to become more coherent — what if you hadn’t gone where you were meant to? 

Heaven was a paradise bound by rules, but it was also a cold bureaucracy where things could fall through the cracks. 

And any dealings with him — Heaven’s sworn nemesis — were likely to be one of those things. 

Slow-building anger replaced the gold in his veins as Lucifer considered that his own Deal was not met. If it wasn’t, that meant you were down Below, alone and afraid and suffering. 

The Devil’s claws cricked, fist clenching as he glared at the wall opposite him. 

He would not let you Suffer. Not you. Never you.

And you weren’t here anymore. He needed to know where you’d gone. Now. 

Rising from his seat, Lucifer laid your hand at your side and ignored the tears that stung his eyes at the sight of your ashen face. 

He touched your brow, lingering only to memorize the way your lashes rested against your sinking cheeks before turning to Charlotte’s cradle. 

She was sleeping peacefully, unaware of his anguish, of the great loss that not only he had endured but she as well. It made Lucifer’s heart ache. 

He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. 

Then, with a sudden snap of his fingers, Lucifer conjured the presents he’d made especially for her. 

The twin goats appeared, suspended in the air behind him. Lucifer didn’t bother to turn until their bodies were triple their original size, fur changing from felt to coarse fiber, eyes glowing as they were transformed from button to bonafide, and their bat-like wings began to beat at the air, blowing back the gossamer of Charlotte’s bassinet. 

Lucifer looked between the two magicked goats after kissing his daughter’s fragile head. 

“Stay here and protect the baby.” He ordered. “Charlotte is your top priority, do you understand?” 

The two creatures nodded simultaneously, determination set in their naturally adorable maws. 

“If anything happens, just bleat, and I’ll be back in the wink of an eye.” Lucifer’s wings extended and propelled him upward with a great stroke. 

The King of Hell disappeared through an enormous portal, sparking and swirling reddish-gold before vanishing behind him. 

*** Tag List: @crescent-z, @for-hearthand-home, @undertale-is-sansational, @loslox, @navierkalani, @yaimlight, @ivoryviness, @crystalplays28, @flowerempress, @wally-darling-hyperfixation, @altruisticradiodemon, @moonlight-readings, @halparkebitch, @charliecharlie65, @sockgoblin, @cocomollo, @caniseethefourthsword, @squeegeeclean, @crow-twink, @an-emovision, @marydragneell, @lafy-taffy, @fandom-imagines1, @loquacious-libra, @glowymxxn, @avadakadabra93, @froggybich, @hamthepan, @ukor02, @adaizel, @boogiemansbitch, @vinillies, @lbcreations-blog, @thesoundresoundsecho, @serenity-loves-red, @alientee, @aquaamythest96, @0strawberrysorbet0, @fluffy-koalala, @washeduphazbin, @rebecca-hvnstn, @velvette3, @kermitdafroggy, @wpdarlingpan, @apatcheworkofproblems,

[leonsdolly]

Wicked Game

Leon Kennedy x fem! reader

Synopsis: Leon leaves you for her, and you're not sure what to do now.

CW: nsfw 18+, infidelity, angst, suicidal thoughts, comparing yourself to her, masturbation, mentions of p in v

WC: 1.5k

“What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you…” You murmur along to the melancholy words that are floating around your room like butterflies. Actually, more like flies nearing the end of their life span - movement transitioning from an erratic flight to a lazy, almost purposeless dwindle until they’re on their backs with their legs sticking up in the air. That’s exactly how you are now that Leon’s done with you. A dead fly - no one could save me but you. Chris Isaak gets it. He gets it so well that he’s been looping for God knows how long.

Was it only last week that Leon left you for the ghost from his past? The one in red, haunting him in ways that you were oblivious to. Always bleeding red, like Bloody Mary or something. Maybe it was better if you’d feigned ignorance to the evidence. Maybe you’d still be able to call him yours if you played your role of a cross-eyed Mary jumping right into his arms with no protests, always playing it clean.

It was all because of a letter that was carefully tucked away in his desk drawer, folded and sealed with a kiss. No, literally a kiss. The bitch left her lipstick imprint in lieu of her signature. YSL, shade R1. You’d always been a Dior girl anyway. 

You swore up and down that you weren’t purposely snooping through his belongings, that you were just looking for Scotch tape. The offensive document shook in your hand as you fearfully inquired about its contents. He was stuttering and ashamed and apologetic and all the things a good man is when he’s sinned. He let you cry and scream and sink to your knees with your head in your hands like you were never going to come back up, like you could die in this position and be encased in marble. A new weeping angel.

You know in your heart that you could never equate to her in his eyes. The knowledge that he’s probably been comparing you to her throughout your relationship makes you so damn ill. Maybe you should slit your own throat in front of him and let the crimson flow over your body so you can match with her. Bleeding red all over the place, letting him see nothing but that cursed color, the way he did all those years ago in the city where it all started. The way he’d still continued to do so after meeting you and promising all sorts of things you weren’t accustomed to hearing. You suppose you can’t fault him completely, it wasn’t like he intended on hurting you; he’d tried to overcome his adversities and forge a new home for himself, one that was pink and frilly and covered him in glossy kisses after a long day at work. But ultimately, it wasn’t enough. His allegiance lay with first red, then white, then blue. 

You just miss him so damn much. You’re desperate enough for him that if he were to walk through the door right now, you’d take him back in a heartbeat. Sure, maybe you’d have difficulty meeting his eyes for a while, deep pools, murky with guilt and who knows what else. Your vision would be limited to the freckles on his neck, the ones resembling a vampire bite, but that’s alright with you. You’re familiar with the area, having kissed it so many times. You shouldn't be thinking about those little spots or anything else about him for that matter. He made his bed, and now he has to lie in it. With her. Pressed up against her with his face tucked into the crook of her neck. Oh God, now you're the one seeing red. Is there really such a thing as a red string tying two people together, keeping them bound for eternity? Hopefully not, because you're nauseous at the concept that it's always been her. She was right there beside his former bright eyed and bushy-tailed self, the version that had a vague understanding of how the world worked, before he was your solemn Leon. They trudged through the abyss together, leaning on one another for strength in the midst of a plague. You wish God would just deliver armies of locusts to devour you and him and her and the rest of the world. The end is here anyway now that he isn’t. 

Your last memory of him is that pitiful look in his eyes as he gazes at you one more time. You said I was your baby. He said a lot of things, promised you the world, and look how things turned out. It’s sickening really, how cruel fate can be. Was this fate? You’re going to tie their disgusting red string around your neck and squeeze until your head pops off like a rocket. A blazing glory, capable of stealing his attention.

The thoughts of needing to be better so that he’d be with you again swirls around in your brain, filling up your entire being until you can’t bear it any longer. This wasn't supposed to happen. He was supposed to put a ring on your finger and give you his babies and hold you close on your deathbed. Your hand twitches, muscle memory activated from all the times you slipped your hand into his, anchoring you to him. I’m so sorry… Ada and I… We’ve been through a lot together. You can’t take this anymore. But I love you more than anything in the whole world… How am I supposed to live without you? He never did give you a proper response to that, silence encompassing the air between you.

You shuffle to the bottom drawer of your dresser and fish out a wrinkled shirt that had been shoved towards the very back, away from prying eyes - navy blue with the letters “RPD” emblazoned in white across the front. You slip it on and inhale the fabric draped over your frame, protecting you, hugging you as you crawl back into your bed. His arms really were the loveliest place to be. Firm and gentle, wrapped around your torso like your very own bullet vest. Shielding you from horrors you would never have to experience, he’d make sure of that. Or at least he had, anyway. His lingering scent fills your senses like whispers in an abandoned chapel. Something familiar, a sense of comfort in your hollowed out state. It takes over your grief for a second, and when you shut your eyes tight, everything is alright again.

You yearn to hold onto this feeling, but it dissipates once your eyes open, and you're isolated yet again. Your bottom lip trembles as you squeeze your eyes shut as hard as you can, gripping onto the hem of his shirt. His arms are around you again, and the smell of him is welcomed. It elicits a natural response from your body, begging for his touch, forming a silent prayer to any divinity who will listen. Your thighs involuntarily part as you reminisce on the feeling of his face in between them, tongue lapping at everything you have to offer. Whimpers fall from your lips as your other hand travels down to slowly stroke your clit the way he used to do it. There’s my baby. You’re his baby, still so good for him. You rub your clit faster and faster as the hand that was clutching onto his shirt for dear life comes up to squeeze your tits and pinch your nipples. 

You realize that tears have been running down your flushed cheeks as you grind down onto your fingers faster in an effort to chase your high. Just like that… Sweet baby, my sweet baby. 

He's probably fucking her at this exact moment. Cock buried miles deep inside her perfect cunt, perky tits bouncing at every thrust while she moans for him. You’re going to blow your brains out. What kind of sounds does she make when she’s getting the railing of a lifetime? Something more refined than your own little whines. Is she kissing those precious freckles on his neck, giving them all the attention they could ever ask for as he lets out his own delicious noises? You weep as you continue to rub your clit while slick leaks from your neglected pussy, begging for only him to fill it up.

You’re sobbing as you feel the release building up in your core, and you're bawling as you feel your pussy clamp around the ghost of his cock. You let out a cry of both pleasure and agony as you frantically cum all over your fingers. My perfect baby.

Shallow pants escape you as you simply lay motionless, eyes trained fixedly on the ceiling of your melancholy prison. You shakily bring your other hand up to wipe away the tears that have forged new paths for themselves on your cheeks and down to your pillowcase. I love you. You’ll always be my girl.

This world is only gonna break your heart. How are you supposed to live without him? Nobody loves no one. Chris Isaak needs to shut up.

[inhuman-obey-me]

True Forms: Sides + New Characters

Once upon a time, long, long ago, we wrote some true demon forms for the demon brothers. And we had so much fun with it that we've returned with a follow-up! Now featuring not only demons but also some angels, a reaper, and one immortal "human" sorcerer.

No in-between forms for MC's sake this time though -- we die like men being driven mad by unspeakable, incomprehensible horrors.

Like before, content warning for unsettling, eldritch descriptions and body horror.

DIAVOLO

The Crown Prince of the Devildom doesn't often go into this true form -- it's incredibly dangerous, and if you see it, you might as well already be in your grave.

The first thing that hits you is the scent of sulfur and burning, so strong that you feel like you're choking on it, suffocating even though there's no smoke to be seen.

There is, however, plenty to be seen of him, as his form is utterly massive -- every direction you look, he seems to stretch infinitely around you, no end in sight to his immense presence.

To his sides, sparks and flashes of gold and darkness alternately flicker off of black flame wings as they languidly float back and forth behind him, singeing the very air they occupy.

The rest of his body mostly transforms into that of a dragon, much like the ornament you normally see upon his chest, covered in brilliant triangular golden scales except for the glowing red orb at his center.

The orb pulses like a heartbeat, and in it, you see yourself -- no, rather, you see a distortion of yourself, all the corruption and cruelty that hides in your very core laid bare before your eyes.

Meanwhile, fire roars everywhere, filling every open space around him and spiraling into a grand crown upon his head.

Despite the noise of the flames, however, his commanding voice can be heard clearly, a low rumble like the roar of a dragon yet distinctly regal and elegant in its tone.

On his chest, the black marks you see in his more humanoid demon form expand and twist outward, hypnotizing you as they wrap like vines around your body.

You hardly even notice as they capture you in a world of complete darkness -- darkness that overtakes not just your senses, but your mind, your soul, your whole existence, like a fire that burns away everything until there's nothing left in you but the abyss, all else turned to ash.

BARBATOS

To witness the true form of the ever loyal and capable steward to the Crown Prince of the Devildom, your fate is already sealed -- one of demise and ruin.

His body shifts and stretches, and stretches, and s t r e t c h e s -- you cannot see where, or if, he ever ends -- like time itself.

His body resembles that of a dragon -- though not the same of his master, but those creatures known across the human world as the lóng, the ryū, the druk, the nāga.

His face blurs, rots, melts -- bits of bone showing through flesh and one eye now just an orb of empty, everlasting black.

The spindly, web-like horns that grace his head grow thicker and longer, the talon-like ends even sharper than before.

Whiskers sprout from his face that are slick and forked at the ends, like his more humanoid-demon form tail, an electric buzz sparking at the end of them.

The scales along his body are black and teal, that familiar lightning pattern reflected in some while you catch glimpses of other universes as they gleam.

It is then that you notice you are slowly being buried in sand -- it cascades off his body, from the ridges in his back and gaps between those captivating scales.

Time itself seem to distort around him as he swims in the air, the very fabric of space rippling and warping against his form.

When he opens his mouth to roar, all that can be seen is a void of space inside, an all-consuming black hole.

There is an awfully maddening absence of sound, the very weight of silence seemingly suffocating and crushing you as you try to gasp for air.

The longer you stare into his face, his form -- the more you get lost and trapped across universes, seeing every branch of time lay itself out before you, over and over and over and over...

Your soul will be trapped forever in that endlessness, true death never taking hold as no reaper can ever reach you to claim it.

MEPHISTOPHELES

Every ghost story about haunted suits of armor originates from the true form of Mephistopheles.

In this form, he truly represents his noble heritage as proud knights tasked with defending the royal family -- grand, intimidating, gallant.

From afar, he seems exactly like those stories, an empty suit of golden armor with eerie peridot green lights glowing as eyes through the helm.

Atop this helm, a showy plume of magenta feathers swoops in a proud arc, and from his back, a grand set of opalescent, translucent feathered wings stretches impossibly wide.

Each flap of these wings creates torrential whirlwinds, tornadoes that tear destructively through entire cities in their path, leaving nothing but ruin in their wake.

Up close, however, it becomes clear that the armor is hollow because he is the armor -- though he usually keeps most of them closed for protection, eyes of green and magenta can emerge all over the gleaming metal plates.

Also dotting the plates are various gems and precious crystals, embedded throughout as if daring someone to come close enough to try to steal them, tempt them as demons so notoriously do.

Every movement, too, deafens with the cacophony of jewels crashing against coins, ringing out for miles and miles around him.

Looking upon this form always makes you feel slightly off, as though he's not standing quite straight, which in turn makes you feel slanted as if constantly slipping down sideways.

However, it's best not to look at all, as gazing upon him melts your flesh away to pools of thick, smooth black ink which indeed would make you slip and fall.

Before one would fully melt away, he opens up to consume any potential wearer of the armor, crushing them inside and using their bones to reinforce the strength of the metal.

Because of this, streaks of ink are always running down the seams where the armor opens, dripping endlessly in deep pools everywhere he goes.

LUKE

Before Luke descends as an angel, a soft smell of grassy sunlight fills the air, and you feel a gentle breeze pick up alongside you.

The sound of bells chimes softly as if rung by this breeze, though no bells can be seen.

Slowly, bursts of tiny stars shimmer into view as if creating a veil from which the angelic child steps forth.

Once he has appeared, the stars gather in small clusters, dancing around him as if engaged in a waltz.

Being a lower-ranking angel still, his form is generally humanoid and looks much like the Luke you know and love.

However, his shape looks more unstable at the edges, buzzing and shaking like a Chihuahua.

Though most of him is covered up by his Celestial garb, you notice eyes peeking out from between the folds, gazing up at you unblinkingly, staring right into your soul.

The eyes on his face, on the other hand, remain peacefully closed, as though you're looking upon a child asleep.

As he delivers his message, the scent of wheat and honey drifts from him, filling the air around you.

Although this form does no harm to you to look upon, you get the distinct feeling that you would fall into endless despair if you were to fail him.

Michael likes to send him to would-be runaways for this reason.

RAPHAEL

Though he may be the youngest of the seraphs, his form is no less grand and imposing.

You hear him before you see him -- the melody of a flute, a tintinnabulation, mixed with an enchanting voice singing words in a tongue you cannot comprehend.

Six large wings surround him, feathers light grey with the same iridescent sheen found on those of homing pigeons, spanning far and wide.

Where his face might be instead are twisting golden rings filled with eyes, swirling in a mesmerizing pattern that captivates you.

His arms, too, are made of a stack of metallic rings that mirrors armor, though no flesh resides within them, and interlock with the shapes of diamonds and spades.

Various chimes hang off like tassels at various points along those metallic arms, ringing endlessly.

In place of his torso is an opalescent crystal ribcage, though there are no organs for it to protect.

A number of spears, pointing downward and outward, fan around his bottom half, with needles circling golden thread around the spear "boning" -- making his bottom half resemble a cage hoop skirt.

Above the swirling rings of his face rests a halo, made up of floating spear tips, sharp and deadly.

And behind him, around him, are more rings that are linked in circles like an atom, so numerous that they are reminiscent of chainmail, all while swirling at dizzying speeds.

Surreal light emits from every element of his form -- every ring, every feather, every pointed end -- giving him an unsettling and ethereal glow.

Anger him in this form, and the mix of melodies becomes mind-numbingly discordant and cacophonous while numerous spears glisten with their sharp ends pointed towards you, ready to strike.

SIMEON

When Simeon was a seraph, his form shared a number of features with that of Raphael's: twisting golden rings for a face, an iridescent crystal ribcage, the stacks of rings for arms, and that surreal, unsettling light emitting from every element.

However, his form differed greatly as well -- his halo was actually an ouroboros, dotted with eyes peering into your very soul and lined with large, long spikes.

His six wings were not made of feathers but of fire, their flames a striking and dangerous blue -- four flanking his back, while the other two surrounded his head of twisting rings, protecting his face with their chaste embers.

His "legs" were composed of crystal shards, slowly twisting and catching the light to create a constant prismatic display.

Past the faint crackling of flames and metallic sonority, you could hear a soft and distant harp that lulled the senses.

His seraph form somehow evoked both a sense of serenity and a gnawing, unnerving sense of dread.

Since his demotion to archangel, however, his form is a bit different -- more telluric, more humanoid, with wings more traditionally white and feathery at his back.

The delicate music of the harp that used to accompany him is gone, now replaced by the brash announcement of trumpets.

His more exquisitely airy elements have become more earthen, those radiant crystal pieces composed now of jagged rock and gleaming metal instead.

So too do fragments of steel float around and over his right side, resting upon his shoulders like a cape flowing gracefully from shining pauldrons.

Drifting idly just past his fingertips, a sword rests across his form, long and thin, both a tool and yet inherently part of him, dancing easily at his command and always ready to strike.

Each metallic sliver is dotted with eyes, peering and watching over you, at once benevolent and yet you can feel them -- watching you, judging you, sharply observing every move you make.

Another eye watches as well, from above, gazing serenely from the center of a spinning seven-pointed star which serves as his head.

There are no other facial features to speak of, but the look in that single blue orb expresses all there is to understand.

Though his voice rings clear in your mind with any message he may have from above, you can see your fate clearly from the moment your eyes connect with his gaze.

THIRTEEN

As a reaper, there is no question of death's approach when Thirteen transforms into her true form.

You become aware of long, low bells in the distance -- for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.

From the moment you hear that very first clang, you cannot move, an icy chill washing over you and leaving you frozen in place.

However, it is not fear that you feel, but instead an odd sense of peace that overtakes your mind and makes the world around seem distant and hazy.

All light fades from view except the eerie blue flame of the candle she carries in one hand, along with the vivid green fire that takes the place of one eye.

Through the flickering light, you can see where bones replace flesh -- a half jaw, a sharp cheekbone, a partially exposed ribcage.

Her other eye seems to become more reptilian in nature, scales surrounding her brow bone and the hollows of her cheeks, jagged and harsh.

Her teeth are sharp and large, the exposed jaw making it appear as if they are locked in a menacing grin.

Gauze wraps around her neck, dark ichor seeming to seep through it and drip onto her chest and into the hollow of her ribs.

She floats towards you, no legs to be seen as she rolls atop mist and fog that sprawls ever outward, reaching the edges of your vision.

Within that mist you catch a glimpse of fluttering iridescence -- butterflies, their wings part black and shining with opalescent darkness.

No longer does she wear the tattered black robes so often thought as the reaper's uniform -- instead, long pieces of black chiffon, tulle, and mesh twist around her form, giving the illusion of a cloak.

Long, sharp claws wrap around her scythe, its blade broad and keen -- but it shimmers in the light, its form malleable and able to transform into whatever the reaper so desires.

However she decides to capture your soul, the last thing reflected in your eyes will be the blue flame of the candle extinguished, its wax melted away with the end of your life.

SOLOMON

Hello, my adorable apprentice

What's wrong? Don't you recognize me?

It's me, Skeletiano Solomon

The true form of an immortal human sorcerer is...

Yeah this seems right

Right?

[kit-williams]

Controversial Mermay Opinion

Sanguinius

So I got struck with this as I've just been playing around with what the Primarchs (Pri-mer-chs) would be and Sanguinius... our lovely fabulous hawk boy.

See that's the problem he is so tied to his wings that it makes picking a fish HARD for him and his sons since they have that Vampire and Angel motif. A very heavy sky motif... so what would be a way to give him what he deserves... to not be tethered to his trope.

To bind him to another

Might I propose this... his motif relies on the heavens and to some degree fire/the sun you force his motifs to be the abyss and the water/the dark

LOVECRAFTIAN SANGUINIUS

I makes sense to me! Because he is so inherently tied to his wings of being near divine in appearance that you have to make him near divine in this too. Of course, he will still be beautiful and easily bound to his hunger not much has to actually change about Sanguinius just I had to fundamentally remove him from his wings and what better way then to make him something fundamentally OTHER.

Still have the glittering golden locks... still be kind... still hungers for blood... still Sanguinius more or less... just don't ask another person what his tail was... don't question how he swims through the water as if it was air or even not there... just don't question... he can hear you think... your thoughts are so loud...

j̷̧̡͖̠͕̃̑̊u̵̹͔̙̤͙̗̯͋͛s̵̡̧͚̖̟͚͌̕ţ̴̢̘͕̦̪̫̔̈́̆͛̒͌͐ ̴̢̪̟̲͗̀̌͘͝ͅř̵̠̪̼̦̰͑̾ḛ̸̡̡̝̞̎ļ̴̘̯͇̿ä̸̡͇̖͐̒̐ͅͅẍ̶́͆ͅ ̴̜̋́̚l̵͎͉͐̌͐̂̓͆͝i̵̛̠̘̔̊̄͛́͂t̷̢̰̺̰̳̖̏̓̑̎͋̓́t̵̯̗͊l̶̘̳̮̱̿̊̅̂e̵̞̟̖̩͇̞̤͊̇̓̑ ̸̡̨̛̗͉͚̲̃̀͋͘͠s̴̜̠̈́h̶̡̧͈͈̤̗̆ẽ̶̠̠̞̠͜l̸̢̖̰̠͙͊̎̾l̵̘͉̙̦̰͗̏̆͒̾̍...

R̵̘̺͛͛̋͝ ̸̣́͊́͛̏͒̄̐̆̊̆̀̈́͋̑̑̇̓̀̚̚͝Ę̴̛̟̲̦̹̣͚́̂̋̿̐̿̍̍̾̀̃̏̈̆̈̆͒̆͘̕͘ ̸̛̛̛͇͉̩̠̟̣͇̦͙͌̋̐̇́͛͗͐̅͒̈́̏͊̄̉͋͊͐̅͛̚͝ͅL̷̢̛̦͖͉̗̱̗̜̫̭̈́̿̈́͆̉͒̆̈́̀͒̑͐̚͝͝͠ͅ ̷̧̢̢̥̫̬̘̹͙̤̦̻̱̣̩͖͉̹̖̫̝͚̊͆̓̊̎̈́̄̍̆͂̓̈̆̚͝ͅÂ̷̗͓̖͙̭͌̓̓͐̕ ̴̨̣̞̹̮̬̗̲͍̳̗̮̰̪̼͎͖̠̄͒̄̊̀̄̏̾̔͛̎͋̌̕͝͠X̷̧̡̧̨̠̝̜̲̻̞͙͕͇͚̺̱̟̘̪͚͈̯̘̓̂͜

[thehollowwriter]

The Official (Remastered) Bio of Finn Clearcove

Basic Info:

Class: Class C

Dorm: Octavinelle

Club: Gargoyle Research Club

Birthday: 20th November

Age: 17

Height: 146cm

Dominant hand: He's ambidextrous

Unique Magic: Mirror Image. He can copy the voice of anyone he directly touches and their physical form if he pushes hard enough. If he wants, he can limit it to certain characteristics. (E.g: voice or eye colour)

Preferences:

Favourite subject: Art

Hobby: Painting

Likes: Butterflies, reading, music, cooking, painting

Dislikes: Large crowds, loud people, showing his teeth, loud sounds, bright lights

Favourite food: Chocolate mousse, shrimp

Additional Info:

Homeland: The Coral Sea

Species: Cookie Cutter Shark Mer

Family: His father and later on Chrysos who belongs to @distant-velleity

Nickname: Blue Angel, courtesy of Floyd (thank you @azulashengrottospiano for the name!)

Relationships: Finn is polyamorous with the Octavinelle trio

Sexuality: Finn is gay and polyamorous

Appearance:

Finn has long, fluffy forest green hair that has a curly seaweed/kelp like shape that goes to just past his is shoulders. It is often tied in a tight bun. His eyes are a bright amethyst and his teeth look like they came straight from the mouth of an angler fish, twisted and horrific.

Finn is very chubby and most people think "soft" and "squishy" while looking at him. Until the dread sets in, that is. He's quite pale as well but has recently started to tan a bit. He is very very small and most of his clothes have to be taken to be adjusted so they actually fit him.

In his true form, Finn's tail and face are forest green in colour, just as is the rest of him. The palms of his hands are seafoam green. His tail is like that of a cookie cutter shark's. There is a large patch of scarring on his left shoulder and the middle of his tail. He has long black claws that are retractable and incredibly sharp.

Finn has a band of black scales around his neck, and from just below that all the way to his navel are photophores that glow in the dark, which helps him camouflage and can even make him look like a school of fish from below.

Personality:

Finn is quiet and mostly keeps to himself, barely speaking to most people unless absolutely necessary, and is usually polite. He lives be the rule "don't bother me and I won't bother you". His "default" expression, if you will, is usually just a blank or serious face.

Finn is intelligent and quick-witted. He often weeds information out of people for Azul, taking the role of the "therapist bartender" except most people get an uncanny valley feeling if they look at him for too long. Despite his politeness something about him always feels wrong to others. They get this sense of dread that make them want to leave as soon as possible.

Finn is quite sadistic and has a deep love for the twisted and macabre. This is often reflected in his paintings, many of which are disturbing in nature. He is very happy to extend his sadistic ways to other students if he deems it necessary. Only if he deems it necessary. (What he deems as necessary can vary)

Finn is, most of the time, immensely confident in himself and who and what he is. He is quiet but he is not, by any means, shy or timid. He does have his insecurities though, mainly about his teeth since they're often viewed as ugly. He covers his mouth whenever he laughs or smiles in public.

Some "Fun" Facts:

▪︎Finn is haunted by the ghosts of the siblings he devoured in the womb in true shark mer fashion, they aren't aggressive towards him but they are tethered to him and cause him nightmares and endless stress and fear (they are the cause of the sense of dread people get around Finn)

•Finn's voice is very soft and very nice to listen to. It's like a flowing river. He's difficult to hear at times.

▪︎Finn enjoys flying and is very good at it

▪︎His family comes from the deep of the midnight zone, so he is well versed in abyssal magic and the dangerous and powerful spells that come with it

•Finn likes to garden

Fic Masterlist

Art by @clovenoko

Art by @boopshoops

.....................................

A/N: Here's the boy! New and improved with an extra long personality section ooops

Tagging: @distant-velleity @krenenbaker @kitwasnothere @officialdaydreamer00 @jaylleoo14 @oya-oya-okay @cynthinesia @azulashengrottospiano @whspermy-name @minteasketches @the-banana-0verlord @adarkenedforest @whspermy-name @twisted-wonderland-but-gayer @ramshacklerumble @cyanide-latte @boopshoops @skrimpyskimpy @jovieinramshackle @quartztwst @amOnline @offorestsongs

@the-trinket-witch @ghostiidasponk @poisoned-pearls

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

SEA ANGEL LEGACY WITH AN ANGLER FISH READER!!!!!! DEEP SEA CREATURES LEGACY X READER!!!

ANON YOU'RE RIGHT. YOU'RE SO RIGHT.

you dwell in the deepest, darkest parts of the Primordial Sea, where the water turns to sludge and everything crawls with lightless stars, cold and the color of midnight. only you and Foul Legacy illuminate the depths with your bioluminescent markings, your lure being particularly bright to attract your meals especially when you used to live in solitude- you had not, however, counted on the little light luring in a sea monster of all things. Legacy had chittered and cooed in such rapturous delight at the glowing dot, swimming around you and admiring your razor-sharp teeth and claws as you peer curiously at his softer scales and sparkly fins- though he has his own crimson maw and pointed horns. he croons to you, a deep whale-song, and you harmonize back with him as he chirps happily

perhaps the Primordial Sea became brighter from the company, or maybe it's just your imagination- either way, you swear the stars under the waves actually glow from time to time after you meet Legacy. you swim alongside each other, twining your tails together- you're fond of giving him light playful bites in particular- and catching fish and other creatures to eat. he's larger than you as well, being closer to a leviathan sea monster, and delights in swimming up behind you and wrapping you in his arms, careful not to crush your boney fins. one day, mortals will tell stories about two Abyssal sea monsters, so fierce and bloody but also so in love, swimming forevermore at the bottom of an endless ocean

[y-rhywbeth2]

Lore: Tieflings

Link to Disclaimer and other lore babblings

Featuring: The two types of tiefling (Orin belongs to one of them, actually) The other races' equivalents to tieflings Various ancestors of tieflings The 2e tiefling trait chart that I miss with all my soul My inability to be 100% neutral about certain 4e changes Tiefling Homelands, such as they are

---

Tieflings belong to a category known as the Planetouched; mortals descended from beings native to the outer planes. TIeflings are descended from the evil-aligned Lower Planes and at this point can be split into the newer Asmodeus tieflings and the original "generic" tieflings. (Other races have produced fiendish planetouched. Tanarukk are orcs of fiendish descent; Elven-demon hybrids called the fey'ri, or daemonfey; Dwarven descendants of the offspring of devils are maeluth; and wisplings are halflings of demonic descent.)

The original, generic tieflings are humans with a fiend or an evil deity from one of the Lower Planes in their family tree.

They appear as regular humans, usually with only one or two odd traits giving away their ancestry. Black feathers growing from their shoulders, glowing red eyes, a tail, making plants decay in their presence... wings...

The bloodline begins with the half-mortal child of a fiend or deity (a cambion, or a bhaalspawn, for example). They go on to have offspring with mortals and the child is a tiefling. The tiefling grandchild's line may continue to dilute with human blood until it seemingly disappears...

...until suddenly, possibly hundreds of years later, a family's new baby is born with six fingers or a tail or something and the village is talking about drowning the "devil" in the village stream. With a lack of understanding of what's happening, and a lot of fear, the family themselves usually reject their own child. There are only a few places in the Realms where a planetouched birth isn't considered an aberration (I'll talk about them towards the end).

The outlook for tieflings is... not good.

"Occasionally a tiefling is born to someone indifferent to its appearance, determined to redeem it, willing to exploit it, or evil enough not to care about its nature, and these tieflings are most likely to survive to adulthood." - Races of Faerûn

Even if their physical traits are not obvious, tieflings become aware from an early age that they are different, as the essence of the Lower Planes in their blood tries to compel them and they often have "strange needs, desires or urges." They can ignore these urges to be any alignment they so chose. Unfortunately, as the world around them hates them, they tend to grow up to be bitter and mistrustful; they're not terribly inclined to help people they expect to run them off in an angry mob. Some of them embrace their impulses, seeing as they're just going to be seen as monsters anyway.

Their ancestry can be from various categories:

Deities: Beshaba, goddess of misfortune is one of the more known ancestors of tieflings. Her descendants are marked by white hair and deer antlers growing from their heads. Mask, god of thieves is another ancestor; Maskarian tieflings cast no reflections. Bhaal's tieflings show no outward signs, but have inclinations towards violence and an obsession with death.

Baatezu; Devils, the Lawful Evil fiends of the Nine Hells. Erinyes (fallen angels with black wings), gelugons (ice insects) and pit fiends (giant scaly red monsters with horns) are the most common ancestors. They enjoy strict hierarchies, complicated plots, rules and contracts with lots of smallprint.

Tanar'ri: Demons, the Chaotic Evil fiends of the Infinite Layers of the Abyss ("If there's anything you don't like, you'll find it here."). The most common demonic ancestors are Mariliths (giant sexy snake warrior ladies with six arms and swords) and Succubi (who were strictly demons, until 5e decided the devils needed a soul-stealing sex monster even though they already had those and they were the exact same thing as a succubus (Brachina)). Where devils enjoy playing with contracts and mind games and the slow descent into corruption, demons are pure hunger/lust and chaos and usually go for the fast track to corruption. Orgies and mindless over-the-top violence, both at the same time, if possible. ["Devils and demons hate each other" is the biggest understatement the universe knows, and the two have been at war since basically the dawn of time. It's called the Blood War and it will never end. They are instinctually driven to destroy each other, and this is also built into their tiefling descendants.]

Other: Fiends who fall into no other category. There is actually a third category - Yugoloths, the Neutral Evil fiends, but they don't seem to make tieflings that I've seen. Night Hags are a common enough ancestor, and tieflings descended from them often have blue/violet skin, likened to the colour of bruises. Rakshasa are another one; cat eyes and occasionally fur turning up on them.

3.5e gave them a set of traits they all shared: higher reflexes; a boost to their intelligence stat (for some reason?); the ability to see in total darkness; to create areas of pitch black supernatural darkness; they were less affected by the cold and electric shocks, and their flesh and skin was slightly fire retardant. Sometimes they had an affinity for certain animals, or had wings.

Back in 2e, Tieflings were all unique and could manifest some of any number of random traits. Behold! The chart!

And then, amongst the various shit that went down as the setting was burned down around us all in 4e, Asmodeus - Archdevil of the Ninth Hell, Ruler of the Nine Hells - killed the god Azuth and elevated himself to godhood. He "defeated" the Tanar'ri in the (eternal!) Blood War and celebrated by having a circle of warlocks known as "the Toril Thirteen" to create a new strain of tieflings descended from him to remind the world to fear him. This would be fine, except he did this by ruining overwriting all the pre-existing tieflings so that they would now all be descended from him and ALL have their varied, often subtle, appearances be changed to be red skinned people with goat horns and tails regardless of if that made any FUCKIGN sense. How do you overwrite a Night Hag or Mask or.the goddamn Mulhorandi pantheon The hells and Asmodeus have zero - ZERO, connection! He has no claim-.

*ahem*

Asmodeus exerts no control over "his" tieflings, however, they are simply marked by his power. People do not like them any better than the originals, but less of them are getting killed at birth now due to being born into families of other tieflings.

The ancestry of these tieflings does not dilute over time. The child of an Asmodeus tiefling is another tiefling.

By 15th century DR (5e) the Blood War is back on and the original tieflings have begun to re-emerge in Toril, but the majority are still the Asmodeus type.

-

The generic tieflings are rare enough that the majority can go their entire lives without meeting another of their kind. Asmodeus' tieflings are uncommon, but prone to being found in small groups.

Tieflings are "persecuted and feared in most of Faerûn." (Though the gods don't give a damn, and are happy enough to manifest to them in dreams in tiefling form to the delight of the religiously inclined)

There are, however, places where they are more common.

Back before it blew up (4e!) Thay had an unusually high tiefling population. "Thayan tieflings [were] usually the grandchildren of powerful wizards, birthed as part of some power scheme, and usually [spent] their lives as slaves or pawns to both sides of the family." Obviously, these tieflings became Asmodeus tieflings due to the ritual. Afterwards the lich Szass Tam decided to turn everybody undead. Some living people returned to Thay, once it was habitable again post-Spellplague (despite still being full of liches and vampires), so there may be some Thayan tieflings remaining. TIefling descendants of the refugees of Thay can also be found in the surrounding countries. Aglarond, mostly, since Rashamen has a decidedly negative history with Thay. Mulhorand is another land with a tiefling population. Mulhorand is Ancient Egypt. Not like fantasy-equivalent to Ancient Egypt, like they're actually the descendants of Ancient Egyptians who ended up in Toril (side effect of ancient wizards kidnapping people from other worlds to enslave). Mulhorandi planetouched are the descendants of the local gods, who once ruled the country themselves when it was first founded, and the mixture of aasmiar, genasi and tieflings is significant enough to make up 2% of the total population. In the case of tieflings, that usually means their grandfather/ancestor is Set, Anhur or Sobek. Historically the priesthoods of Mulhorand enjoyed bickering, which would've been annoying as the descendant of their god/their god's enemy, but the pantheon has told them to knock it off nowadays.

Mulhorandi tieflings have their own naming conventions, taking surnames based on their ancestor; Zia or Sia preceding the god's name. Ziasobek or Sianhur, for example. In the North, Neverwinter was once host to a cult dedicated to Asmodeus (the Ashmadai) that lead to a rise in tieflings, and since that offers an opportunity to blend in with their own kind the city attracted more tiefling immigrants, and as such has a fair sized population now.

I'm also taking a third option: immigrants from the outer planes would be unusual, but tieflings are out there and some of them may decide to move to Faerûn for some reason.

Sigil is a city at the centre of the universe built into the inside of a giant ring at the top of an infinite spire that has no beginning or end. It's also the nexus point of the universe, is covered in portals and its markets have goods from everywhere in known existence. It's population also comes from everywhere in existence, so tieflings are not such an oddity. Culturally it's rather like a fantasy parody of corrupt cockney Victorianesque(?) London, if the entirety of D&D moved there.

Tieflings can also be found living in the Lower Planes themselves, usually as canon fodder in the Blood Wars.

[seraphimaa]

I can’t stop thinking about weird demonic sex with Haarlep. Maybe it’s just the monster fucker in me but let him be my creepy, weird little sex fiend bf.

Actually not nearly as dark as usual, just plain ol hornyposting, mostly.

- I want him to be holding me down, curling his hips into mine and hissing abyssal, like a snake in my ear. As our minds meld and his entire being consumes mine, I’m aware of my own mouth following his, hissing back. I want to stay locked under him, speaking in tongues and driven mindlessly manic by his cock

- I want to feel my heart bursting with fear and excitement as he chases me through the dark, shrieking as he yanks me towards him and crawls on top. I want him to claim me as both his prey and reward.

- I want to feel his mind tugging at mine as I sleep, and hear as he does - the strange and unsettling chorus of souls in agony and so many voices whispering through his mind. I want to feel in awe of this alien being who comes whispering in the night like a ghost, to touch body and mind.

- I want to feel something ancient and primal lurking beneath the beautiful mask. Something that could tear my kind apart with ease but was so tame and playful for me. It would stay its teeth as long as I was kind to it.

- I want to perch on top of him, trying to keep up, but forced to simply dig my nails in and try to hold on through the unnatural pace. I want get locked in his penetrating gaze and feel his voice reaching to me without words. Good girl. All his. Tight. His angel of little deaths. I want to know that he means it because the words he is sharing pass all boundaries of mortal language.

- I want to feel him at all times, a little part of him living within me. I want to feel him seeing what I see. Feeling what I feel. I want him to trickle into the back of my mind, so constant in its presence that I can no longer recognise what is him and what is me. I want his love to be a possession. This hungry being lived inside of me too, now. He would be the voice guiding me towards all of my deepest desires and tempting me to give myself to my needs, no matter how debased.

- I want to look at him wearing my form. I want it to weird and unsettling. I want to feel disgusted. I want to see the shallowness of his act and lack of mortal inside of him, now at its most transparent. I want to fucking love it. I want to obsess over this ethereal being wearing my skin. To see my flaws worn in such perfection and not recognise myself. I want to know that his use of this form was his show of love. He chose me as I chose him. For no other reason than he wanted to. We will live through each others worlds and share our own forevermore.

- I want the shattering and incomprehensible ecstasy that would come with him using it when we’re together. I want even the smallest spark of pleasure to echo and amplify as it reverberates between our beings. I want it to feel dangerous, like it would go forever and this would be eternity - locked inside this increasingly unbearable echo chamber until it ended me. I want to feel happy to go in the constant peak, but to always know that this strange being would pull me back down to them, every time.

- I want to lick every groove of his scaled, reptilian skin. I want to dig my nails into his arms and feel them slide and catch on each one. I want to watch his wings flap and twitch as I pleasure him with pure adoration and curiosity. I wanna tug on his dexterous little tail and giggle as he hisses like an animal. I want to feel it curl around me possessively as he forces me down to the mattress, cock drunk and drooling. I want to feel the tiny dull barbs and texturing on his leathery cock. I want to feel the tapered, inhuman tip push its way inside.

- I want to revel in how powerful it would feel to share pleasure with this little god of hedonism. This unknowable being, so much greater that me. To make him moan, and whine, and squirm, and cum and give him life through my acts of devotion. As I breathe life into him with body or soul, he as a reward, he lets me revel in that power, sharing it with me.

I SWEAR TO GOD IF I POST ONE MORE HAARLEP THING PLEASE CALL THE VATICAN BECAUSE I NEED AN EXORCISM. HE WONT LEAVE ME BE. IM LIKE HIS LITTLE SMUT PUPPET AND I NEED TO SLEEP.

[parad-ice-lostandfound]

Body in Abyss, Heart in Paradise (3)

Prompt:

Pairing: NA

Genre: Angst and a little comfort

TW: Angst, a bit graphic, insinuation of bullying, mentions of bl**d

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Barbatos was serving the prince his tea when it first happened. His eyes glossed over, his body working on auto as his mind played a snippet of a vision in front of him.

He found himself falling down, phantom pain engulfing his body. Turning his head slightly, he could see Simeon falling as well. Down, down, down. The ground, Devildom ground he would have recognized anywhere, was coming closer and closer, and he saw Simeon reaching out for him. “Mc!”

“-atos! Barbatos!”

Barbatos found himself being shaken, the teapot in his hand long empty and the teacup overflowing. “Oh dear,” he said, his voice shaking from the revelation he had been given. “Forgive me, my lord, I shall get you a new cup right away,” he said, turning to put away the empty teapot and clear up the mess.

“Barbatos.”

Barbatos looked up at Diavolo, who gazed at him with concern in his eyes. “What’s wrong? What did you see?”

Barbatos’ hands shook. “Simeon and Mc falling.”

“It can’t be true… His vision must be wrong Diavolo,” Lucifer argued, in the same state of denial as Diavolo himself was in a few hours ago. The prince sighed, placing a hand over his friend’s.

“Barbatos’ visions are rarely inaccurate Lucifer. Please understand. Even if it was inaccurate, wouldn’t it be better to be prepared?” Diavolo tried to coax the other demon, knowing he had succeeded when Lucifer’s shoulders sagged and he sighed.

“What do we do?”

Over the next few days, a lot of preparations were made. Lucifer had informed the brothers about Barbatos’ vision.

The HOL was thrown into an uproar. The brothers all loved you very much, but they had been through the fall themselves. They had seen each other, felt the pain that comes with it. None were sure they wanted to see you in that state.

Diavolo agreed. It was a known fact that if a demon’s master was going through something life-altering and the demon was in the vicinity, it would be very easy for said demon to lose their sense of self and go on a rampage just to protect them, fueled by the master’s own thoughts of self-preservation and the demon’s pact connection. As some of the strongest demons, them going on a rampage could very well threaten the very existence of the Devildom.

In the end, it was decided that the brothers would be kept busy on the day of the fall, along with the Demon Prince.

Barbatos had seen a lot of things. Being the Demon Lord’s butler and his time powers had shown and taught him many things.

But nothing could have prepared him for the scene that he witnessed when he reached the place where you and Simeon fell.

Barbatos had been sent to keep watch over the place he knew you’d fall at, just in case his vision was true. He had been ready to see you and Simeon, battered and bruised and different. Demonic features coated with blood wouldn’t have broken him as much as Luke’s crying form sitting in between you and Simeon did.

Barbatos had been momentarily distracted, having had to solve a small dispute some of the Lesser Demons had on his way to the spot, which was why he had not been there when you two lost consciousness and when Luke woke up. The normally calm and collected butler couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw Luke had fallen with you two. This wasn’t what had happened in his visions. His little apprentice baker, the angelic kid who he had grown fond of wasn’t supposed to be there. And certainly not with horns sprouting from his head, tail curling around your form shaking you as his hands did the same to Simeon in an attempt to wake the two of you up.

This wasn’t what should have happened, and yet it did.

Barbatos suck in a breath, hands trembling at his sides as he called out to Luke. The young angel- no, demon- turned at the sound of his voice, and Barbatos’ heart shattered into a million little pieces. Rivulets of blood streamed down from the base of the horns, mixing in with the tears that ran down his face. Luke stuttered out something, but Barbatos could neither seem to hear nor comprehend anything. All he could think about was your unconscious bodies, Luke’s hurt form, Luke was crying-

Barbatos let out an ‘oof’ as Luke’s tiny body collided with his, the younger wrapping his hands around the older and crying into him. Barbatos immediately wrapped his hands around the other’s small and frail body, the two of them falling to the ground as Barbatos tried to make sense of Luke’s rambling. He reassured Luke that you and Simeon weren’t dead, just passed out from the pain.

Making sense of Luke’s unexpected presence could wait. First, he needed to get the three of you medical attention.

“And so you decided to jump first so that they couldn’t stop you?”

Luke looked down at his feet, pouting. “Yes.”

Barbatos frowned. “Luke, you do know that that was highly dangerous and a risky thing you did, right? Things could have been much worse had Simeon not broken your fall for you,” he said, applying some ointment to Luke’s tail.

“I know…” Luke answered, making Barbatos sigh and look at the little demon in front of him. He hooked a finger under Luke’s chin, gently coaxing the younger to look at him. Once Luke met his eyes, Barbatos smiled. “I apologize if I’m being too harsh about this. But you must know that what you did does have consequences little one.”

“I’m not little!” Luke fumed, making Barbatos chuckle. “I just- I didn’t want to be alone,” Luke said, folding his arms over his chest. Barbatos didn’t speak, allowing him to continue. “Ever since the Exchange program ended, the other angels haven't exactly… been nice to me..,” he admitted.

“They thought that I was weird for thinking that demons are not entirely bad…” Luke said in a small voice. Barbatos’ heart clenched. He knew how hard it must be for a young angel like Luke to come to terms with the fact that a lot of his teachings were wrong. Barbatos didn’t know how to console the young one, so he settled for kissing his forehead to comfort him. He smiled when Luke looked up at him surprised. “Get some rest, Luke. I’ll let you know when Mc and Simeon wake up.”

Barbatos silently changed the flowers in the vase, glancing over at your unconscious self. It had been a few days since you had fallen, and while Simeon and Luke had both woken up, you were still unconscious. The brothers had come to visit you every day, bringing you flowers, the very ones Barbatos was placing.

A whimper sounded through the room, and Barbatos’ heart nearly leapt out of his chest when he turned to see you opening your eyes and trying to sit up.

“Careful,” he said, his smooth whisper too loud for your overly sensitive ears. “Where- where am I?” you croaked out, your voice dry and your throat in desperate need of water.

“In the Demon Lord’s palace, Mc,” Barbatos said, walking over and helping you up. He raised a glass of water to your lips, reminding you to slowly drink its contents, while the other hand found its way to your head, gently massaging your scalp. You melted into his gentle and experienced touch, letting a sigh of relief fall from your lips as bottle green eyes watched you for any signs of discomfort.

Barbatos smiled when you looked up at him, your eyes shining with recognition. “Welcome home, Mc.”

[alexanderlightweight]

Good afternoon, hi, hello, happy timezone to you OMG. I am in love. Obsessed I tell you. Kitten Alec is my new favorite thing in the whole wide world. And it's Wednesday! Any chance for a bit more of maybe I'm the villain?

I cannot tell you how much fun I'm having with Magnus and Alec's ears. And Magnus and Alec's tail! Alec's tail wrapped around Magnus' wrist!

If you'll excuse me, I need to go find a Victorian fainting couch to fall on as I swoon from delight while contemplating all these glorious pictures you've put in my head. ❤️

^_^ hehe i love all flavors of dragon and cat malec and i realized that this is a world where shadowhunters/seelies/warlocks have marks and other forms. vampires dont have them and werewolves nly have wolf features.

i hope you enjoy swooning! alec is definitely going to swoon at sme point on magnus' sunlit window seat

i am also having fun and tbh, alec is going to be having fun at some point too ^_^

thank laws and i hope you enjoy

<3 lumine

-

— Alec can’t help but relax further into Magnus the more his tail is petted.

Between the tether and the petting, Alec is the most vulnerable he’s ever been and experiencing the most intimacy of his life. It’s overwhelming to a degree where all he can do is press his forehead against the scales of Magnus’ neck and try to focus on his scent.

It’s rich and woodsy and deep with earth scents that cause Alec to nuzzle closer. His tail has once again betrayed him and he knows it’s wrapped devotedly around Magnus’ wrist. Magnus’ wrist is being greedily held captive and Alec continually tells himself that the only reason he hasn’t pulled away is because at this point, what does it matter?

Nails tease at sensitive skin until he shakes even as Magnus calls out, apparently resuming court even as he ignores another drink to instead keep both hands on Alec.

—

Magnus palms Alexander’s ass and delights in the tightening twitch of the thick tail around his arm. Alexander’s ears also betray him, flicking back and then forward as his breath comes in tiny pants that end with little kitten licks to Magnus’ neck.

It’s nearly too much to let go and the moment that just enough time has passed, Magnus has his teeth in Alexander’s neck and is greedily bruising flesh and muscle even as he breaks skin and breaks blood to the surface. It’s a mouthful of pure ambrosia and the mere taste of Alexander’s lifeblood fills Magnus with a devouring lust even as he swallows another mouthful.

It’s with lingering tenderness that Magnus licks the bite — until it’s preserved in a half-healed state that will scar even with angelic or magical intervention.

Alexander shakes and whines but makes no true protest and Magnus croons even as he pets Alexander’s ears until they lift again. They’re so delightfully soft and Magnus is sure that his kitten’s fur is one of the most decadent textures Magnus has felt in centuries.

Magnus listens to the tedium of his court as he savors the last of Alexander’s blood on his lips and tongue and the weight of his kitten in his lap. There are more than a few looks that linger and Magnus curls his lips at those and from their immediately cowering, it seems his point is made.

Magnus has held court in a variety of ways, some more salacious than others, but he’s fairly certain this is the most distracting court he’s ever held. No one can look away from Alexander but very few dare or are stupid enough to keep looking. It means that his entire court is shifty-eyed and hesitant even as Magnus’ good mood grows.

Alexander seems overwhelmed by the entirety of the experience and Magnus has no doubt that on a battlefield, his little angel is quite the warrior. Here though, protected and kept warm and distracted in Magnus lap, he’s a sweet kitten, begging to be pampered.

His tail and ears are gorgeous but the same oil that polishes Magnus’ scales will do wonders for the luster of his dark, abyssal fur. Magnus wants to lay him out on his lap and brush and pamper and tend to Alexander until he purrs for no other reason than that Magnus is touching him.

Another ten minutes pass and the clave’s hunters are no where near the rift they’re supposed to be eradicating. Instead — as they stumble slightly out of the path — Magnus carves his initials into Alexander’s thigh with one, long talon.

Alexander keens through it and the paralytic from Magnus’ nails ensure that its a numb heat even as it clots the wound.

Magnus admires his own handiwork, pleased with how nicely his brand looks on Alexander’s skin.

It’s a pity it’s another twenty minutes till Magnus will get him naked — Alexander won’t be as gentle if Magnus plays the same trick twice and Magnus isn’t going to risk being predictable — but Magnus is enjoying himself.

Alexander is relaxing now — subconsciously or not — and his ears are flicking towards Magnus’ every time he speaks, his tail relaxing when Magnus’ talks and tightening when others speak instead.

“My good, precious kitten.” Magnus murmurs, hand reaching under shirt and jacket to scratch his nails down sweat-damp skin. “Rest lovely, you have nothing but time.”

Alexander muffles a growl in Magnus’ neck and Magnus marvels at how rarely the clave ever act in his favor, even if it is accidentally.

Problems are brought to him to solve from something as small as a magical house pest, to a century old feud that has been remembered for the first time in decades.

It’s tedious and necessary and Magnus finds himself far more patient than he normally is. Alexander is an easy distraction — a reminder of good things to come — and Magnus finds that time melts together as Alexander’s jacket is dropped to the floor and then his shirt.

It’s been just under an hour and Alexander is naked and bare and yet still relaxed and languid in Magnus’ lap. He’s firm and muscled and clearly needs some coddling that Magnus is more than happy to provide.

The hunters have finally found the right path and Magnus has no doubt that they’ll soon be providing him with plenty of reason for entertainment.

Inside Pandemonium, Magnus throws up the wards that mean he isn’t to be approached and curls his fingers through soft locks until he can gently pull Alexander’s head back.

“Drink kitten,” Magnus murmurs as he offers Alexander a sip from his own cup. “Small sips,” Magnus tells him chidingly when his lips barely press against the glass. It’s with an incredulous look that Alexander hesitantly laps at the drink with small kitten kisses of his tongue.

It’s sinfully exquisite and almost too much to handle so Magnus takes a long sip of his own drink and presses his lips to Alexander’s insistently. He pulls an open-mouthed gasp from Alexander as he teases him and feeds him the drink before he pulls away, licking away the shine of alcohol from his kittens slack lips.

“Good boy, Alexander.” Magnus murmurs and then he smirks as an the sun finishes turning and the entirety of an hour has passed.

Alexander is naked now and it’s time for Magnus’ to have his fun.

[leifberry]

Them!!!

Angel and Tail!!

They’re one being, Angel uses he/they, and Tail uses they/it!!

yes i named the sentient tail character ‘Tail’

what about it

i love them

[tothepointofinsanity]

Tearful Sayaka.

Some ramblings:

The doll was much bigger than I had anticipated. Well, more for my money's worth I suppose. I also didn't notice she had tears in her eyes when I made the purchase. Tragic.

Funny free gift that is the Madoka magnet.

Some thoughts/analysis of Sayaka below:

I really like Sayaka a lot (because that definitely wasn't obvious before already judging by what I draw) - she is not only love-themed (mermaid), but also angel and ocean themed. Aside from the metaphor that she embodies depression, Sayaka is like water itself. Volatile and moody... etcetera etcetera. Sayaka became a mermaid to survive the crushing waves of grief she felt, but by the time she realised she wanted normalcy and acceptance again, she had already traded her feet for tails.

Mirrors play a huge role in Sayaka's character without it being outright noticeable. In the show, she sees herself as a corpse, and believes that she is a magical girl that rouses only pity and disgust. Oktavia, her witch, lines the mirrors of her hall with memories of her former life, deemed so unbearable that she hides them behind closed doors (commence the sequence where Kyoko and Madoka enter the orchestra, where the doors open to them because they are both a part of this bygone memory). The mirrors are also reminiscent of the one from Snow White - the queen constantly summoning imagery of the princess, who was the object of her jealousy. While it can be interpreted that the "princess" is Hitomi, I think it is more appropriate that, in this case, the princess is the "old self" Sayaka once was; the peaceful life she had, once regarded without second thought, had became unobtainable, for never again would she be as fair (human) and desired.

The witch herself is an undulating armour of a knight, her face not freely gazed upon by anyone so simply. Sayaka also often shields her face out of habit in Rebellion, where it seems that she's crying into her hands during her own transformation, and deliberately hiding her face when singing the Cake Song. As opposed to just deducing this as Sayaka thinking she is ugly, she believes she is monstrous. Her self-loathing is intensified by the fact that her powers and motif revolve around water aside from music alone. Sayaka succumbing to her despair meant that she stopped trying to swim in an ocean, where she's surrounded by an infinite and spanning abyss reflecting her failed ideals. I think...much like Homura, Sayaka, once transformed, is sealed in a hell where the warden are themselves.

(If you made it this far, have a bonus picture. Here's Imposter Miku and a comically large Sayaka figurine lingering in the background.)

[daphnefisherofficial]

bugna: TAKIPSILIM | destiny's twilight

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Pairing: MCU Moon Knight System (Marc/Steven/Jake) x Avatar Fem!Reader

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CHAPTER FOURTEEN - THE HIDDEN PROTECTOR.

Marc Spector watched with a mixture of amusement and concern, his bemused grin in place as the two of you stumbled out of the cozy pub, the warm embrace of alcohol having worked its magic on you both. You swayed slightly, your gait unsteady, but your spirits were high. The hour had crept past midnight, and the streets of London were bathed in the soft glow of streetlamps and the distant hum of city life. He, along with Steven Grant inside their shared consciousness, walked a few steps behind you, ensuring you didn't take a spill or tumble headfirst on the cobblestone streets.

You decided to walk backwards, your gaze locked on Marc, who followed your every movement with an indulgent smile. The alcohol had loosened your tongue, and with a lopsided grin painting your lips, you rambled on about anything and everything, your words a merry jumble of observations about the city and its people.

"Marc," you slurred, pointing at a passing black cab, "did you know these taxis look like big, shiny beetles? I swear, it's like we're in a giant insect parade!"

“Yeah, baby”, Marc chuckled softly, his Chicago accent tinged with affection as the inhibitions of calling you by his preferred term of endearment finally passed his lips with ease. "They do look a bit like that, don't they?"

“They do”, you continued your tipsy commentary as you continued strolling backwards, your laughter ringing out in the night air. “And you, my beautiful Marc, are like a shadowy guardian angel. Always a step behind, making sure I don't fall into the abyss of drunkenness."

“How poetic of you, sweet Mira”, Marc chuckled softly, the corners of his eyes crinkling in mirth as he mirrored your steps with ease. He grinned at your compliment, though it was clear you were beyond rational thought at this point. He'd learned a lot about you during your late-night conversations, but this was the first time he'd seen you in such a state.

As you approached a slightly secluded alleyway on your way to the bus station, you noticed a solitary lamp post still lit and a few meters away. A mischievous thought crossed your mind, memories of a pole dancing lesson you were forcibly enrolled in by your good friend Aleah, flashing before you. With a playful grin, you decided to give Marc a show.

"Watch this, Marc!" you exclaimed, twirling around the lamppost and gripping it with surprising grace. You swayed and spun, mimicking the simple moves you'd learned, your laughter mixing with the night breeze.

“Looking good, Mira!” Marc watched in utter amusement, his hazel brown eyes fixed on you as he exclaimed tipsily how much he liked your performance. "I’m so proud of you, darling"

You ended your impromptu pole dance with a cute, theatrical pose, earning a hearty round of applause from Marc. He shook his head, utterly entertained by your antics as he burst into a hearty, boisterous laughter for probably the first time ever in his turbulent life. It was a rare, carefree moment that he wished to imprint in his memory forever.

Unbeknownst to both of you, masked assailants had been silently tailing from behind, their intentions far from benign as they were concealed in the shadows of the alley. Armed with malevolent intent and their hands gripping wolfsbane guns, weapons specifically designed to kill those they were aimed at. They had been sent on a mission to eliminate you - a sinister plan that has already been decades in the making.

Two gunshots pierced the quiet London night, shattering the peaceful ambiance. Marc's eyes widened in sheer surprise and horror, time seemingly coming to a stop as he saw your top slowly staining with the gushing flow of your own crimson blood. Panic gripped him as he watched you crumple to the cement floor, a small crescent moon tattoo on his body beginning to glow with an eerie intensity.

The pain in his shoulder and lower back was searing, nearly unbearable, but he couldn't focus on that. He sprinted toward you, his heart pounding in his chest, as his mind raced to comprehend the unfolding nightmare. The world around him blurred, the relentless agony threatening to engulf him as his face contorted with both fear and anger.

Meanwhile, chaos reigned inside their shared headspace. Steven Grant, who was usually calm and composed, was now screaming bloody murder, his voice echoing through the confines of their mind. He was helplessly trapped, unable to do anything but watch in terror as events spiraled out of control before him.

Then, as if the universe itself was conspiring against Marc Spector, a sudden darkness overcame his vision. It was as if an unseen force was forcibly pushing him out of his own consciousness. Before he succumbed to the overwhelming pressure, his blurring vision caught a glimpse of a familiar crescent moon tattoo identical to the one on his own body, glowing brilliantly white on your jugular, the very spot where his most recent, mysterious tattoo had manifested.

...

Jake Lockley was only supposed to merely watch from the shadows of Marc Spector's fractured mind that Friday night. He silently observed you, the object of his secret fascination, from the dimly lit recesses of their shared consciousness. A small, crooked smile played on his lips as he watched you with a mix of amusement and adoration, seeing you twirling near a lamppost in a slightly secluded alleyway. Your laughter rang out, infectious and sweet, as you executed a mini pole dancing routine. Your movements were fluid and mesmerizing, and he couldn't help but be captivated by your beauty and your quirky charm. There was something about the way you carried yourself, especially when you were a little tipsy, that made him smile despite himself.

With a final flourish, you ended your short performance with a cute pose, leaving Jake grinning from the shadows of Marc's mind.

But that fleeting moment of contentment shattered when two gunshots pierced the silence. Panic immediately seized Jake's heart in an invisible tight grip, his world seemed to stop as he watched you slowly succumb to your knees to the cold cement floor of the London streets. The wolfsbane poison carried by the bullets took effect immediately, as the new moon further inhibited your innate avatar ability to heal and be impervious to harm.

Your limp form was a stark contrast to the vibrant, spirited woman he had known just moments ago as Marc instinctively caught you in his arms, his eyes now wide with shock and panic. Steven, trapped in the forefront of Marc's mind, was screaming helplessly to no end as he pleaded Marc to take you to the hospital.

Jake, however, was done lurking in the shadows and playing the silent observer. Fear and fury coursed through him, consumed by the guilt and the urgency of the situation.

And at that moment, he decided that he couldn't stand idly by any longer. With a surge of willpower, Jake forcibly pushed his consciousness to the forefront, relegating Marc to the backseat of their fractured mind. It was time for him to act - consequences be damned.

Jake’s senses sharpened as he finally took the reins. He could feel the cold London air against his skin, taste the metallic tang of fear and danger in the air. The masked assailants who had attacked you were still at large, and they had marked him, your companion, as their next target.

With a guttural growl of anger, Jake summoned his ceremonial armor that was once Marc’s with a swift and deliberate motion. The former white Egyptian old threads were now ebony black as it enveloped his arms and torso, the design intricate and etched with symbols of the moon god Khonshu. His dark cape billowed around him, forming a protective shield around you as the assailants continued their relentless gunfire assault. 

Jake's eyes burned with a dangerous intensity, his look crazed and borderline dangerous as he tried to shake you awake, calling your name in his heavy Spanish accent. 

"¡Despierta, Mira!" he growled, his gloved hand gently tapping your cheek repeatedly. "Wake up, cariño, please!"

The world around him seemed to slow down as Jake quickly assessed the situation. The assailants, their faces concealed by masks, were firing volley after volley of wolfsbane bullets in their direction. But he was not about to be a helpless victim. With a flick of his wrist, he wielded his cape with precision, deflecting the bullets back in the assailants' direction with deadly accuracy. The shock on their faces was palpable as they scrambled for cover. 

"Finish the job, Jake”, Khonshu's voice echoed in his mind, a dark and commanding presence. “I will make sure to protect Mira. Show them our wrath for daring to threaten her life."

Jake felt an unsettling mix of exhilaration and dread as he obeyed Khonshu's command. With swift, brutal efficiency, he closed the distance between himself and the assailants. His gloved fists were like sledgehammers as they started to strike with unrelenting force. The fight was brutal, a chaotic dance of fists, kicks, and the gleaming edges of his crescent darts. He moved like a shadow, striking with precision and power. 

Bones snapped, and bodies crumpled under his onslaught. The moonlight glinted off his ceremonial armor, giving him an otherworldly aura of power as blood stained the cobblestones beneath his boots with the assailants falling one by one.

But he wasn't satisfied with mere vengeance. He wanted answers. And he was about to get them when one of the assailants, bloodied and broken, managed to wheeze out a few vital information as he gasped for breath. 

"Die soon... Set... will be pleased."

"Who sent you?" he growled in his thick Spanish accent, his grip tightening around the assailant’s throat as he pinned him to the ground, a savage glint in his eyes. "Who wants her dead?"

“You’re too late, Moon Knight”, the assailant's lips curled into a wicked smile, blood trickling from the corners of his mouth. "Mayari's avatar will die soon. At his hands, victory will soon be ours.”

His words sent a shiver down Jake's spine, but he refused to let fear take hold. 

"Who is behind this?" he pressed further, his voice laced with menace. “Who is Set’s avatar?!”

The assailant laughed softly, his breaths growing shallower as life seeped away from him. "You'll find out soon enough," he wheezed, his eyes glazing over. With one final shuddering breath, he fell silent, taking his secrets to the grave.

Jake released the lifeless body before him, his mind racing with thoughts and questions. But one thing was clear—your life hangs in the balance, and he would stop at nothing to make sure you will not lose your life on his watch.

Despite his hardened exterior, Jake Lockley was trembling with panic as he immediately went by your side, watching your olive-brown complexion slowly pale due to the toxic effects of wolfsbane now slowly coursing through your veins. Blood continued to flow from your wounds, staining the cold ground beneath you. His fury was barely concealed as hot tears cascaded down Jake's face, his facade of stoicism cracking under the weight of despair.

He couldn't afford to lose you. He simply can’t.

"What can I do to save her?” Jake shouted at Khonshu, his voice filled with desperation. “Tell me what I should do!"

“Take her to Marc Spector’s flat”, Khonshu's voice was calm and composed, offering a lifeline amidst the chaos. "There's a way to counter the poison. But you must hurry."

Jake nodded resolutely, his alters still simmering beneath the surface of his mind as he cradled your limp form protectively into his arms. With a surge of power, he prepared to take flight and carry you to safety back to their London flat.

But before he could ascend, a powerful spell stopped him in his tracks. He turned to see a shimmering, ethereal presence materialize before him, divine and radiant. It was your patron moon goddess, Mayari, the fury unmistakable in both her luminous and blind eyes.

"You will go no further," she declared, her voice echoing with the authority of a divine being. “Let go of my fallen avatar, Jake Lockley”

“Goddess Mayari, please”, Jake’s voice trembled despite his rage and fear, unable to directly defy your patron goddess’s command. “We need your help, she’s dying”

“This is all your fault, Khonshu!” Mayari’s voice shook with fury as she faced Khonshu directly, who merely watched the ongoing exchange with barely concealed guilt in his facade. 

“We do not have time for this, Mayari”, Khonshu retorted as his own frustration grew. Despite your displeasure at him, the Egyptian moon god has treated you all your long life as if you were his own offspring. “Mira and my avatars share life forces, if you remember. He can save her, goddess”

“Yes, please”, Jake agrees, willing to try just about anything at this point. “I’ll do anything to keep her alive. Anything”

“Very well”, Mayari’s eyes bore into Jake's, her anger momentarily subsiding as she considered his plea. "I will come with you both, so do what you must. But you will answer to me for what has transpired tonight, Jake Lockley"

Relief washed over Jake as Mayari's acceptance of their plea offered a glimmer of hope. "Thank you, Mayari," he said sincerely.

As the London night continued to bear witness to Jake Lockley’s chaotic, stormy thoughts, he readjusted his hold on you as he pulled you even close and protectively in his arms. Mayari’s spell finally lifted, allowing him to finally take flight and bring you back to their London flat. In that moment, Jake's world shifted once more as your fate hung in the balance once again - the woman he had secretly admired and sworn to protect. 

And with the moon goddess watching closely as your intertwined bugna (true destinies) were being woven right before her ever-watchful eyes, Mayari realized then that she could no longer keep your looming tagna (prophecy) at bay.

END OF CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

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[xx-adam-xx]

beast from the abyss watching the lone angel enter its domain. the abandoned cathedral had long fallen into the corruption. dust gathered on every surface. the pews, empty for years. light filtered through stained glass.

it waits, patiently, as it has for decades. the opportunity arises when the angel is at the preachers podium, fingers delicately tracing yellowed paper scripture, holy words dried out and dull on the pages— nothing now but letters and a snuffed out hope. the demon appears from the darkness itself, rising from shadow, thick and heavy claws reaching out to grab the angels waist, claws resting on the fabric, teasing it, as a growl rumbles through the angels very being, shaking them to their core.

"what do we have here? surely the lamb knows better than to wander into the slaughterhouse." hot breath on the angel's neck as the demon speaks, close, voice alluring but unmistakably dangerous. "unless, of course... it knew what lurked within." a lick across the neck as another pair of hands reaches around, gently playing with the pseudo flesh of the thighs. a barbed tail curling around the angels leg.

[yaeggravate]

umm no offense but kaeya's favorite haunt is angel's share, he keeps with him a book the adventures of angelos, his constellation is a peacock, peacocks have countless eyes on their tail feathers, his gift is a lamp that housed a jinni who are born from nabu malikata- malikata meaning angels- who is a seelie-who were angels, and kaeya likes listening to hymns but like dainsleif he doesn't go inside the cathedral, and the abyss mages chant in enochian which is the language of the angels, and the abyss order are khaenri'ahns transformed into abyssal creatures, and in the first archon quest when kaeya spots the abyss mage, it speaks to him in enochian and his vision is missing wings, and the defiled statue of the anemo archon has wings the statue was hanging upside down like the sinner because the sinner because the sinner is actually kaeya's vision is missing wings because the sinner is