#swd raphael

[still-a-morosexual-help]

ANDIDHXIDJDKD WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK IS WRONG WITH THE CELESTIAL REALM!!?!??💀

Imagine leaving your home that's by your own admission too strict, where you didn't feel like you fit in, where you were depressed and having to leave it meant your bodies were permanently changed but you found a new home and you started to learn to fit in there and you realised you fit in here better. Also the residents of your previous home killed your little sister and you gained two new family members in your new home

But then just one year later your previous home sends a text like "actually lol you're all forgiven, forget the whole dead sister thing and abandon the two new family members you got, you can come back home now! Isn't that great! No it's definitely not because we realised you're a force to be reckoned with and in case of a war we don't want you on the enemies side! We just miss you! Aren't you happy! Also if you refuse to come back we'll start an inter-realm war yes the very thing your new home is trying to prevent lol"

I know the Celestial Realm was supposed to be morally grey but holy shit?

The audacity!!????

Also solomon being hungover during the whole thing was probably the funniest part. The man's worst nightmares seem to be on the verge of coming true and he's barely standing up straight, because he got so used to MC's presence after just a few weeks/months of living together vs years of them living with the brothers, that one day without them meant he needed to go get blackout drunk (yes yes ik it probably brought up all his childhood trauma about being locked inside a basement alone and whatever happened to his first friend but the man couldn't have picked a worse time to have a crisis)

[zephyrchama]

Luke shouldn't spend too much time in the human world. Imagine if he starts making young human friends. They think he's homeschooled at Simeon's cafe, start coming around more often to hang out, and he starts speaking like them.

Everyone thinks it's cute and good fun until he runs up to MC one day and says "hey bestie, it'd be real based if you could install some lit roblox mods that slap for me, no cap."

[insomniachox]

┏━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━┓

𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐘 𝐌𝐄! 𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐬

┗━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━┛

im sorry if i'm repeating myself, but i can't remember what i've posted so far ndisnzksj loveu<33

[diatiddiess]

Lemme tell y'all... THE OBEY ME! FANDOM WILL NEVER RECOVER FROM THIS 🫠

[inhuman-obey-me]

The Authoritarianism of "Father's" Celestial Realm (NB Season 2)

OKAY, life got crazy for a while, but we're finally all caught up on Nightbringer's main story, and PHEW we've got some things to talk about. So let's dive right in, starting with one of our favorite topics:

God and the Celestial Realm actually kinda suck in the OM universe!!!

(spoilers up to NB lesson 38!)

Now, this been a consistent pattern for most of OM's story and lore, but we're going to be focusing here mostly on Lessons 37 and 38 in particular this time, because they had a lot to talk about in that regard.

In Lesson 37, we are introduced to the underworld, specifically Cocytus at the very bottom layer of it.

One interesting note, however, is that this region is territory of the Celestial Realm, despite it being geographically in the Devildom, and the Celestial Realm is the one that doles out punishments relating to it -- usually. We'll dive more into that whole conspiracy in another post, but it's certainly an interesting geopolitical fact of the Three Realms.

As for the underworld itself, the idea of multiple layers of hell is a common one which originates from Dante's Inferno, the first section of the Divine Comedy, and we see that Cocytus here is taken pretty directly from that as well. Just like Dante describes in the Divine Comedy, Simeon informs us that there are four regions that make up Cocytus, made up of four concentric circles of growing intensity according to their corresponding offenses. Specifically, each layer of Cocytus is related to a type of betrayal: of family, of homeland, of guests, and finally, as the very worst type of betrayal, of "him".

The design of that is immediately very telling about how the Celestial Realm views these offenses. Other offenses may land a person in the underworld in general, but these specific types of betrayal are the worst. And among those worsts, betraying God is the ultimate offense, absolutely beyond anything else one could ever do.

Now, these levels of Cocytus almost directly match Dante's Inferno take on them -- with one major, interesting distinction. In the Divine Comedy, Judecca is for "traitors to masters and benefactors." In OM, it is traitors to "him." Considering that the rest of the levels are a direct match, this suggests that, in OM, their father is the master who must never be betrayed.

And as Mammon notes, that's exactly what our beloved demon brothers did, with Lucifer in the lead.

That brings us to the present situation, with Lucifer chained and suffering at the very center of the bottom of the underworld. The worst of the worst offenders.

Simeon, Luke, and MC arrive to find Lucifer in a screaming rage, noting that same fact. Lucifer is in such pain and rage that he's creating dangerously massive gusts of wind, and as he worries about MC and then his brothers, it only gets worse. Suddenly, Raphael appears to read Lucifer his charges. And then, we get this conversation:

There's a lot going on there, but to go piece by piece, Luke is obviously distraught upon hearing the brothers' decreed fate. He wants to protest it and argue against it. Simeon stops him because Luke absolutely must not say another word -- as a reminder, arguing against Lilith's punishment was the catalyst for the whole rebellion that ensued, which is the entire reason Lucifer is being punished like this now!

Simeon, however, has recently been demoted. We know he was a seraph at the time of the rebellion; the official Nightbringer website specifies that he was demoted for "covering for" the brothers, though we don't know the specifics of what happened there. Simeon has always been a little daring on speaking truth to power, and considering he's already been demoted, it seems he's willing to take the potential consequence of speaking up again here. So he does, expressing his questions and concerns about the whole situation going on. And, finally, he calls out Raphael on also feeling the same as he and Luke both do.

It is perhaps the most telling moment we've gotten to date of how Raphael has felt about this whole civil war between the angels. In the past, he's been fairly consistently strict about the Celestial Realm's rules, which essentially boil down to always obeying their father, and Michael by extension. And he holds himself to basically the same standards, obediently doing whatever Michael tells him to even as he's disgruntled or frustrated by the myriad requests. But when it comes to seeing Lucifer punished this way, he can't accept it either. It's wrong, and he knows it.

But he can't question decisions that come from on high. Even doubting is considered wrong.

We've heard the same from Lucifer once before -- that he questioned one who was never to be questioned. That is what he has been punished for.

This is the reason Luke must not speak up. This is the reason Raphael is crying. And it's the reason for Lucifer's current punishment. Simeon, Lucifer, and Raphael all know it implicitly -- what comes from on high is absolute. Questioning is unacceptable. Doubts are unacceptable. And rebellion is unacceptable -- the absolute worst thing that someone can do.

Anyway, now throw all that out though, because apparently Lesson 38 wants to attempt to bring us to a completely different conclusion!

Let's be honest here -- OM is a bit jumpy on its writing sometimes, and sometimes makes wild left turns. But we ended Lesson 37 feeling pretty excited because it's revisiting a common theme we've had hinted at throughout both games about what kind of leader their father is and what kind of place the Celestial Realm really is under him. And what we've seen, generally, is this: it is a very strict place, unforgiving of those who step out of line, where their father's word is absolute, and even feeling doubt is a grave offense. We even know that Simeon's greatest fear is their father!

So imagine our shock and disappointment when Lesson 38 suddenly decides that, no, actually, this punishment and everything else is actually God's love for them. What?!

New theory: exactly one person on OM's writing team is actually super religious and keeps trying to make this game about dating demons into a message that God is good. These lessons were not written by the same person.

Lesson 38 starts with a rather chaotic scene -- Lucifer has broken free of his chains and is lashing out in rage and despair, not thinking straight. Diavolo makes his appearance and tries to subdue Lucifer, though the two end up going into an all-out brawl as Lucifer lashes out at Diavolo as well. MC eventually intervenes and the brothers show up to protect MC from both Lucifer's and Diavolo's attacks. Lucifer is taken aback seeing that his brothers are all okay and present in front of him, and as MC approaches him to further calm him down, the Ring of Light glows and Lucifer momentarily transforms into his angel form, inspiring awe from everyone around at the sight of the Morning Star once more.

Earlier, Lucifer was begging to be shown some kind of sign from his father, of what it was that he wanted from him. Simeon comments that this might be Father answering that call for a sign -- a sign of his love. Lucifer seems to accept this, though with some bewilderment. But we have Lucifer straight up tell MC later in the lesson that he "must have forgotten" that Father loved them all along! That all he ever did was give, and never ask for anything in return!

Except for blind, unwavering loyalty. Something that Lucifer has actually forgotten about in this moment.

For that matter, why does Simeon automatically assume it's this grand sign of their father's love?! He himself just stated his own doubts and called Raphael out on his.

It's a huge 180 that gave us some intense whiplash for sure. But this isn't the first time we've seen that more religious trauma view from Simeon; we've seen it before in OG season 4, where he has obviously been deeply affected by being demoted out of being an angel altogether but tries to reassure himself that their father does everything for a reason, "even this."

However, even aside from the very sudden turnaround, this explanation leaves a lot to be desired, because it doesn't actually answer anything!!!

We just got told that Raphael was crying from the cognitive dissonance of obeying orders to read the charges against Lucifer while feeling deep down in his heart of hearts that this is wrong. Luke has been stopped from saying anything that could be construed as going against their father! Even harboring doubts is wrong, but somehow we are supposed to suddenly believe that it's because their father loves them?

If that's God's love, it's sure sounding like God is an abusive helicopter parent, because that's not a healthy loving relationship.

Think about it -- this is a scene of punishment. Lucifer isn't just chilling down here for fun; he is actively in pain when we find him, and it only escalates his torment at the thought that his brothers are being punished similarly. And even as we are told that Little D. No. 1 couldn't take material form because their father "just loved them so much," is it really a healthy form of so-called love to hold on to a piece of Lucifer's soul without his knowledge, even after casting him out?! We wouldn't say that a parent who throws their own child out to be homeless while keeping their old room intact is a good, loving parent; why should we think this is any different?

Plus, this is the case for Lucifer -- but what about the other brothers? Though they all managed to get free, Cocytus itself seemed prepared to punish each of them for their various transgressions, and as Mammon points out, all of them were guilty of treason against their father. Yet, it's only Lucifer whose Little D. was never able to take form. It is Lucifer specifically who is targeted for this Cocytus punishment, and the others would likely have been left alone if not for the fact that they came to save him. Lucifer is the one who, for that one moment, regains his angel form.

And what does this mean, if this is God letting go of the last of his grip on Lucifer? That he still loved his favorite son but is casting him away for real now? We know Lucifer has said that God would never forgive him in particular, and though he's been accused of just being stubborn himself (and make no mistake, Lucifer certainly is also stubborn too), it does seem in line with everything else we've been shown about their father. Does this mean that their father no longer loves Lucifer, from this specific point onwards?

And, if their father loves them so much -- then why did they need to rebel for Lilith's sake? The implication here is truly bizarre: their father was going to obliterate Lilith entirely from all existence so that not even her soul would remain, but he also just loves Lucifer so much, but is also so authoritarian that Lucifer trying to talk it out with him was met with a complete shutdown so that Lucifer felt he had no other choice but to start the war. Of course, conveniently, this lesson also just chooses to completely disregard the whole Lilith thing, both her existence at all alongside the brothers before the war and her punishment, so apparently none of that matters!

It's completely out of line with the rest of everything we've ever really been told about the Celestial Realm, and frankly, we don't like or accept it. This so-called love that's suddenly used as the explanation in Lesson 38 isn't a true or healthy kind of love, and we don't want it.

So in conclusion: God is gaslighting us but he really does totally actually suck. We're just supposed to suddenly believe now, out of nowhere, that he doesn't. But he definitely, really does.

Anyway so, Lesson 37 is 10/10 and 38 is -10/10, would not read again. Merry Crisis!

[angelgoeslewd]

skirt.

🔮 summary: Diavolo, Simeon, Solomon, and Raphael love when you wear a skirt.

⚠️ warnings: 18+ content, minors DNI, skirt wearing, AFAB! reader, fingering, public sex, exhibitionism, spell sex.

DIAVOLO:

if there’s one thing good about entrusting your heart to the leader of the Devildom, it’s that Diavolo will never, ever, hide anything from you. this includes how worked up he gets when you he sees you in your school skirt.

he’ll hug you from behind in the morning, as you try and get ready for your classes, telling you if you’re dressed like that, better not to even leave the bed at all, his hand trailing up your thigh, ruffled the skirt up to your hip and flashing your panties at him.

you don’t understand it. you tell him countless times that he’s seen you in it before and this time should be no different, but he just can’t help him! the way it flutters around your thighs, how it rests perfectly on the curve of your ass, how he can nearly see the line of your panties… it drives him wild. expect him showing up in places just to get another look at you. and to make sure no one else gives you the same looks he does.

if he jokes about you sitting on his lap at lunch, DO IT. you’ll get to watch your perfect, eloquent prince freeze up and strain to create sentences. you can feel his cock pressing into you, and his face darkens with color and the promise to ruin you as soon as he can. you wonder if you’re in over your head.

he’s got you pressed up against the bathroom wall, strong hands on your hip, helping you press into his thigh as you grind on him. “That’s it, baby,” he whispers into your ear, “Wet those pretty little panties for me, let me see if drip down your thighs. I’ll lick it up for you after.” everyone else thinks you’ve gone to help Diavolo with human student affair matters. you aren’t sure this is what they had in mind. his cock presses into the front of your cunt, you reach for it, whining for something to fill you, but he grabs your hand away, shoving it above your head. “This is about you right now. Show me how naughty my pretty girl can get.”

make you cum on his thigh until it leaks out of your panties. he’s a cruel lover sometimes. he gives you a kiss and tells you to enjoy the rest of your day, he’s got to go back to the castle since Barbatos is finally forcing him to do work.

you’ll still be fucked into the bed tonight, but if you want your night to be non-stop from the time Diavolo gets home and rips the skirt in two, right off of you, to the next morning, text him ‘updates’ of your pussy with an upskirt view. Barbatos will not appreciate how much Diavolo rushed all his work though.

SIMEON:

you? in a skirt? that’s one way to ensure this man is all over you. Simeon isn’t one for PDA, preferring to keep all your shared, loving touches for when it’s just the two of you, but when you wear a skirt, he just can’t help himself.

it exposes your soft legs, gives him memories of the night before, having them tossed over his shoulder, his hand gently holding them, leaning his head over to kiss them as he rocks into you, guiding you to your orgasm.

his reserved nature doesn’t allow him to say anything to you on the matter, but you definitely notice how he glances at your ass you more frequently during those days, making up excuses to having his hands pressed to your thighs — “Oh, this problem isn’t correct,” he murmurs, leaning over you and using your leg for stability. he tries to distract you from his caressing by going a little too in depth on the answer, but you know your boyfriend by now. you can tell when he wants something, and smile coyly, playing along while your own hand rests on his, guiding it up your skirt further.

his face colors as you get more bold, spreading your legs when he reaches your panties, letting him feel the sticky wetness that he’s created. the library around you two are none the wiser, when his fingers push the thin fabric to the side and press into you slowly. it’s a sleepy pace, Simeon being cautious and inexperienced, but the heat in you is slowly building with his unwavering enthusiasm, the way he presses his fingers deep in you, pulling out only to rub your clit, almost as if telling you he owns this part of you, this pleasure he creates.

when you’re close, grab his wrist and gasp his name. the things he will do to you when he sees your slick drip out of you onto your skirt as he pulls his fingers out of you will be unimaginable, even for him. his gaze pins you to your chair, you’ve never seen such a look on your boyfriend’s face. such desire, such… heat. he’s smiling and asking if you’re ready to go home, but you can tell he’s on the verge of cracking.

you’re lucky Simeon has the willpower to get home and take you as soon as he gets you into the bed. you’ll never know how he almost pushed you into an alley, pulled out his cock, and stroked himself until he came all over that pretty little skirt of yours.

SOLOMON

the second most obvious one. I’d call him the first, since he’s the most bold, telling you straight up how much he likes you in your skirt, but Diavolo is more obvious when it comes to how it affects him.

Solomon sees this as a challenge. a game between you and him to see who can break first. which is why he’ll tell you in the first place, to be honest. he wants to see your cheeks flush when he leans down and whispers his crude words to you in the lunch line, the teasing, dangerous undertone of his unsaid promise teetering on the verge of being a threat.

he is the most touchy of them all, not even trying to hide how he gets his hands all over you, maybe to your embarrassment. when mammon is calling him out on it, it’s a lot. he tells the demon to mind his own business and to stop looking at his darling apprentice in such a manner, but doesn’t make any move to keep his hands off your waist and to himself.

will flip up your skirt. only does it when he’s the only one behind you, but does it to get a reaction out of you. you’re seeing a pattern here. when Solomon wants attention, he gets absolutely unbearable. whether it’s his underhanded comments, being physically a nuisance, or the way you can tell he’s planning something, it’s really up to you how long you want to let this go on. want to try and make it through the school day? sure, but it won’t be easy with your sorcerer interjecting himself into everything you do. the more you try to ignore him, the harder he’ll try.

want a way to get him back? ask him to try his new spell out on you, watch his eyes light up with delight at your suggestion, and sit back to enjoy the show. if you can.

see, being a sorcerer, you sometimes come across magic that was simply made for the user’s pleasure and have almost no way to test it out. of course, when he has you…

being able to feel your cunt around him, despite being across the room from you. it’s exactly the payback he deserves. you can watch him strain to keep a level expression, his jaw clenched as he feels your wet heat holding him securely. you can feel a phantom of a cock throbbing inside of you, wondering if you’ll make Solomon come in his pants. shift around to watch him try and stifle groans at your action. he’s a bad sport, however, and if he starts to lose, he quickly dissipate the spell.

it’ll only keep him at bay for a small time, however, and while you can keep doing it, Solomon is just going to get better at playing. he’ll turn it around on you quickly, so you better make arrangements to get him off or he’ll make you miserable.

and the only he’ll accept as an ‘apology’ for your behavior towards your ‘mentor’ is letting him cum in you and letting it leak out of you so it ruins your skirt.

RAPHAEL

whew, boy. here we go. there’s a good chance you never realize how your clothing choice affects your angel. mainly because Raphael avoids you. to the point of where you almost never see him throughout the day because he just leaves the room whenever he spots you. and no one calls him out on it because, well. it’s Raphael. no one knows what he’s thinking.

seriously? what the hell. he always does this when you wear skirts, too. and you’re getting rather sick of it, to be honest. you just want to at least SEE him. and treating you like a wild animal he has to be wary around isn’t very healthy of him, no matter what his problem is with you. ESPECIALLY when it’s coming from him, the celestial creature who makes demons quiver and whatnot.

cornering him is probably the only option. sometimes he has such a good poker face and is so good at turning tail that not even Simeon can help you. he tells you just to ask Raphael about it, since, “He probably won’t… can’t lie, to you, of all people.” whatever that means. so you have to go on an angel hunt.

so you do. it takes a while, but you find him in the gardens, sitting, attempting to read a book, you say attempting because you can tell he’s not having much success by the knit of his brow. you almost don’t do it, since he seems irritated enough, but work up your courage when he sees you and immediately closes his choice of material and tries to leave again.

“Really? You’re going to try and avoid me again?” he at least has the decency to look ashamed.

“I… I’m not avoiding you.” bullshit. he’s sweating. his one tell.

“So what do you call leaving every time I come into a room, then?”

“Trying to maintain my dignity.” what. the fuck. does that even mean. he can tell you’re flabbergasted, confused, and fed up with his behavior, so he sighs, finally giving in and sitting down on the bench. “When… you wear stuff like this,” he admits, shyly, dog-earing a page back and forth between his fingers, “It makes me feel. A certain way.”

you blink. oh. oh. so that’s why he…

you get it. he’s an Angel. you can’t expect that from him, not when his role is so dire to his world. it would be like asking him to give up his job, his very being for existence for you. you realize then why he was trying to distance himself. to excuse himself from such emotions for a human creature. you won’t see bad history repeat itself in the man you love.

“I… I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that I...” had such an effect on you. now that it’s out, you feel embarrassed at your rash actions, not even taking the time to consider what Raphael was going through. it’s the same reason why you hesitate at calling him your boyfriend, he’s got more on his shoulders then you could ever imagine, and you can’t ask him to give it all up for you. “I’m… just gonna go.”

his hand shoots out and grips your wrist at an impossible speed, his eyes widening at the thought of you leaving. it melts your heart and worries you all at once.

“No, no… you’re already here. And it wasn’t right of me not to tell you. It wasn’t fair. You should know,” he says, looking away from you as he adds, “And I miss you.”

your heart flutters, yearning to be close to him, and you let yourself sit next to him, daring to sit so close that your arms touch. “I missed you too. It’s why I was so upset. I thought you were angry at me or I did something wrong-”

“Nothing like that,” he murmurs, picking his book up again. he flips to a random page, but after a while of sitting and enjoying his company, you can tell he isn’t reading. he keeps glancing at your legs, your skirt dipping where you’ve spread them slightly to make yourself comfortable.

“Raphael…?” his eyes flicker up to meet yours. you didn’t realize the extent of his words. it’s almost smoldering, how much heat and desire fills his ocean eyes. it runs through you as deep and as quick as his spear could, the threat of something equal parts dangerous and exciting. you can’t help yourself, wanting to indulge in this emotion from him that you don’t get to see very often. you reach over slowly, closing his book, letting your fingers linger on the edge. his lips are inches from yours, hot breath fanning over your own.

there’s no one around to tell if he breaks.

[psst . . . if you liked Raphael’s part and want more, there’s a continuation here!]

[overheardbyvarioustherapists]

Raphael: Are you sure you should be giving this to me? As much as I like Solomon's cooking, he did make these cookies especially for you.

MC: Please, I INSIST.

[12am-motivation]

I found these salt and pepper shakers in my Pinterest feed the other day and I could see Solomon using these so—

[lilirot]

RAD Uniform Raphael because it's only fair the last angel boy got one too

[devil-baker]

Accent musings

English: Lucifer, Dia, Raphael

Scottish: Mammon, Barb, Thirteen

Irish: Levi, Simeon

Welsh: Satan, Luke

Australian: Asmo, Solomon

Kiwi: Beel and Belphie, Mephistopheles

[still-a-morosexual-help]

RAPHAEL I'M SO SORRY FOR EVER DOUBTING YOU! EVERY0NE WHO GOT PISSED AT RAPHAEL FOR PULLING THIS SHIT OWES HIM A PERSONAL APOLOGY

also

MICHAEL SQUARE THE FUCK UP

i'm so sorry for believing the sad wet cat from s4 could be this cold

just look at him

pathetic (affectionate)

Also Michael unknowingly/secretly becoming a full time side character next season is insane and everyday we're getting closer and closer to seeing what he really looks like and i'm on my knees praying that he has long hair

[lancermylove]

I love how endearing Nun!Mc is! She’s not a dumb@$$, but she’s not the brightest either! Imagine how confused everyone is when they discovered someone started a Soup Kitchen in Devildom! They’ll like ‘Who’s the dumb@$$ that starts a soup kitchen in Hell?’ Then Nun!Mc walks in happily announcing that she started her First Soup Kitchen! How does everyone react?

Since most of the Nun MC asks are quick asks, I will keep it consistent.

---

Finds your gesture endearing and can't get over how pure your heart is - Simeon, Luke, Mammon, Asmo, Levi, Raphael

Did you even talk to Diavolo about this? There is no way he would agree to this - Lucifer, Mephistopheles, Barbatos

Wait, are there actually poor demons in Devildom? Should he explain to you that if demons get hungry, they will just tear into another demon? - Satan, Belphie, Solomon

Watching on the sidelines with popcorn in her hand - Thirteen

First in line in your soup kitchen and plans to finish everything - Beel

"But...Devildom doesn't need a soup kitchen." However, he doesn't have the heart to tell you this - Diavolo

[ecoamerica]

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

[insomniachox]

┏━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━┓

𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐘 𝐌𝐄! 𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐬

┗━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━┛

[diatiddiess]

HDD.5 (Memory Cards)

[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?

[angelgoeslewd]

only between us.

🔮 summary: finishing what you started in skirt with Raphael.

⚠️ warnings: 18+ content, minors DNI, very graphic mentions PIV sex, lots of spicy horny thoughts and scenes, a bit of religious sacrilege, Raphael being both emotionally and sexually constipated, AFAB! Reader.

Raphael has been alive for more than a millennium.

he’s young, compared to Simeon and Michael, but older than humans can ever even imagine. but all these years....

all these decades and he’s never been quite so taken with someone as much as he is with you.

you captivate his worst imagination; you, a little, unassuming human, a pea in the scope of the layers of the universe — you are the one to drag him into the eternal torment of blasphemy. his lustful thoughts, his unangelic desires to touch you, constantly tossing him closer and closer to falling.

prayers, interrupted by You. the constant turning at night in his own sanctuary, bidding his hardened length to leave him, shaky hands eventually succumbing to sin, sweating as he spills over into his hand and getting all worked up again wondering if you would lick it off for him. is it really a sin to think about how he would worship your body? how he would spend hours between your thighs, nipping and licking and sucking, covering his chin in spit and your slick, making you cum on his tongue until you cry, until his locks are taken into your hands and you beg for him to stop. how can it be such, when it feels so good?

he can practically hear your snarky remark the next day, wondering how he could sneak into the Celestial Realm when he behaves like such a demon in bed. he doesn’t retort. gives you a pointed look, then drops it to your shaking thighs, that you can barely brush together, lest the evidence of your coupling distract you once more.

while you and him shared some sort of… connection, one he couldn't possibly attempt to understand, Raphael wasn’t a mind reader. there was no possible way to know how far your feelings for him extended, you never crossed any lines that came with a loving ‘friendship.’ and while he desperately wanted to ruin it, to create something different, something deeper and more meaningful, he couldn’t bring himself to cross that line.

every moment you were by his side was too precious. he didn’t have any earthly belongings, anything he needed was bestowed or earned… but you. you gave your time, your patience, your kindness to him so freely, even when he knew he crossed the lines of pleasantries. he was utterly taken aback that a human could be so giving. as any angel, he was always taught humans took and took until no more could be given, then they would turn and find more to take. that they ruin and destroy as they did to the Fallen Ones. but here you were. handing him a set of new pens that he had off-handedly mentioned he liked the grip on. and suddenly, he wanted to be selfish too.

if he could just have you, platonically or otherwise, it was worth every second of keeping it status quo.

the most torturous part of the whole arraignment, however, is that you don’t even seem to realize the effect you have on him. you sit close to him, far too close, practically on his lap, teasing him with the slight distance, despite all his attempts to get you to actually do so, to play out his most shameful thoughts. you leave your scent on his arm, his shawl, his fucking papers.

he wants to burn them. he wants to bury his face in them and never forget your scent.

he tries so hard not to pay it any mind, but it is as close to home as he gets these days; his mind goes blank when he lifts it to his nose and smells you, vision blinding white in bliss and euphoria, your outline silhouetted every time he closes his eyes.

and those skirts. fucking hell, those short, perversion-inducing skirts. he’d damn them all to hell if he wasn’t currently living there already (physically and metaphorically). every time you wore one, Raphael lost his sense of reality. he’d live in a world of just you, him, and his bed. school and responsibilities be damned. they'd be less fucked than you would be. Raphael would keep you there, you’d have no reason to leave. he could conjure anything you needed with a snap of his fingers. the door to his room mysteriously vanishing from the Purgatory Hall, swallowed up by the void, along with your sweet, sinful moans. only he would hear how you would call for him, your pitiful cries for more of his touch. he would fuck you for every single time your skirt rode up and made him snap a pencil in his hand, your soaked little panties begging for him to push them aside and plunge deep in you. he would tell you to call his name when you came, make you forget about whoever else ever crossed your mind and replace it all with him.

the thought of you being such a little slut for anyone else made him crazy. he wanted to ruin everyone for you. he wanted to push his cum so deep in you that you could never even think of anyone but him doing so. how dare you swish your pleats like that? you even nearly made him break a pen in class once, when he watch you do a little twirl for Leviathan and Beelzebub. ink bubbled from the tip as you strutted back over like you didn’t just flirt with two demons in front of his face, asking with a pout if you could borrow his wrap because you were chilly.

— you, lying on your back on the classroom table, your cunt dripping wet stains onto the white fabric you ‘borrowed’ —

he couldn’t hold your eyes after such a thought. he handed it over to you and left in a hurry for the bathroom.

he would shamefully finish himself there, leaning his head against the peeling paint of the stall, pounding his fist into the metal as he came into his hand, yet again, reminding Raphael of how absolutely fucked he was.

the fact that all these ugly, human emotions came to head simply because of an article of clothing pisses him off. can he not control his mind over such an insignificant little thing?! how is he fit to be Michael’s secondhand!? he could never live up to Celestial realm's expectations if this continued. and it would be found out. he knew it would. they always find out.

he had to train himself. he had to be a better angel for you. you couldn’t have such an impure, deviant partner. he had watched you rebuff such demons, time and time again. and he was acting no better than they were. maybe… maybe if he could expose himself to you in little amounts, those thoughts would leave him… wouldn’t they?

but you. you were all-consuming. a total and complete aphrodisiac to his senses. and you never seem to stop fucking wearing that stupid skirt. did you know what it did to him? were you doing this to test his resolve? his thoughts tainted every time you searched him out wearing that flimsy piece of fabric. Raphael knew he was much stronger than you. he could just rip it off you, hold you up as you bounced on his cock. it didn’t matter where you two were. but whenever he made a decision to make a move, he would get up, meet your innocent, lovely face, and crumble like the walls of Jericho. he couldn’t defile you in such a way. not in this state.

pitifully, his only savior was the gardens. losing himself in something else, something so pure it almost felt like it cleansed him of his sins. or perhaps it just reminded him too much of the Celestial realm, touting its overwhelming, overbearing expectations of perfection and innocence. but it worked. at least it worked.

most of the time.

it seemed today was his absolutely unluckiest day. he was hounded by temptation. of course today was a day you were wearing that damned skirt. the old wives' tale of keeping you awake at night by dreaming about you didn't seem to be true. and of course, last night had to be a night with a dream that was so utterly debauched that Raphael feared the Devildom was eating his angelic nature alive. it seemed like every time he turned, there you were. over his shoulder, trying to “help” him with his assignments, the length of your skirt so short that the bottom just barely reached the top of the desk, even with your frame not being very much taller, making him sweat internally, trying to keep his hands from twitching, from doing something rash and unbecoming, but oh — how desperately he wanted to run his hand up your thigh and see just what your choice of panties were this day.

he wouldn’t necessarily call what he was doing running away or avoiding you. it was simply… just not an adequate environment to work in. that’s it. yes, he just couldn’t get past the fog of thoughts all related to you and what exactly you would do under him, to focus on absolutely anything else. not even his silent prayers were enough to hound them off anymore, and he found himself doing less and less of that and more of what sort of penance to he would pay on his knees to your beautiful— Raphael.

he was just in class with you, and even so, that brief window of opportunity was enough to do him in. he couldn’t stop. his grip on the book clenched, wrinkling precious papers, all because of your hold on him. you, this human who randomly showed up and captured seven demon lords, his former brothers, mind you, and him, in this nefarious web of lust and love and, my god, did he just want it to be over.

he tried to slow his heart beat, looking upwards to the darken sky in desperation to find some sort of relief. was this a test of his own willpower? did Father plan for this to happen? was it just him? was he broken? Raphael was at a loss. How was he ever going to fix this? He couldn’t keep on like this; losing sleep over you, messing up the simplest of assignments because every time he looked down he was reminded of your smooth, sweet legs, peeking out from that skirt.

the crunch of grass is enough to snap him back to reality. he quickly tries to look busy, and exactly not like an angel in utter turmoil, hoping his furrowed brow and tensed shoulders would be enough to drive off whomever came across his little bubble of paradise.

“Raph? There you are.”

Of course. Of fucking course. Smite him now. There was no escaping this eternal hell of sin. The sound of your voice seems to inspire a sort of natural reaction from him, his legs already stretching to get up, book snapped shut and pressed tightly under his shoulder.

“Really? You’re going to try and avoid me again?”

You were always so blunt. Raphael can say without a doubt that he was utterly in love with that, and he felt no shame in admitting that, at least. But now… now it just embarrassed him. He knew, subconsciously, that he wasn’t doing right by you. What kind of friend just avoids another? So many questions he had, and not enough experience to answer them. He supposes that’s why he felt so pushed to run from them. Very much like he would do up above. he can’t even bring himself to turn and look at you when he answers.

“I… I’m not avoiding you.” he cringes. great, now he’s a bad friend AND a liar. What else could go wrong.

“bullshit.” that’s not what he wanted to hear. Raphael slowly turns to face you, he doesn’t want to meet your eyes, but when he finally spins around… they’re right there. you’re search his own for answers, for clues, and he worries for a moment that you might find what he hopes to bury.

“So what do you call leaving every time I come into a room, then?”

“Trying to maintain my dignity,” he breaths out, finding that he’s unable to fib when he’s meeting your beautiful face head on like this. it doesn’t even register in his brain that he’s said it. when it does all click together he’s panicked, wondering how to get out of this, how to leave, how to explain, but your face contorts and twists into something that breaks him further. confusion. hurt. anger. it’s so gorgeously human that if he wasn’t hopeless in love with you that he would spend all day in awe of it.

it’s that thought that finally fits.

the piece he’s been missing, this whole time.

the part of the cog that has his whole body relaxing in utter relief, exhausted with his charade.

he’s been in love with you, this entire time. this lust is just a facade for how much he wants for something he’s not supposed to have. he’s so hopelessly devoted to you that there’s nothing that could come close. he’s never felt this way about the celestial realm, all these years, and all this time he has with you, he’s been doing nothing but thinking about how he can realign himself with them, when it’s obvious that no matter what, he can never think the same after meeting you. no matter what they say about this, about humans. and he’s more than willing to follow this spiral to the end. regardless of what waits at the finish line. there is no other path, no way of redefining or fixing his dedication, for Raphael. because there is only you.

he blinks. you blink. and finally, he’s done running.

he sighs, surrendering himself to the execution of your friendship, and figures he might as well sit down as he ruins everything. the bench is hard and cold under him, and he barely feels it. his fingers shake almost undetectably as he meekly flips through the book that will forever mark the end of this. of you two.

“When… you wear stuff like this,” he admits, shyly, dog-earing a page back and forth, “It makes me feel. A certain way.”

the silence is impregnable. it’s heavy and thick like the celestial realm before rainfall. it’s murky and undecided and so painful that Raphael wonders if being cast out would hurt less than this. he doesn’t look up. he refuses to. he hates to admit that he might actually cry if he does.

“I… I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that I...” the tips of your shoes tap each other.

why are you apologizing? he wonders. it’s me. i’m the one that’s ruining everything.

you’re shaking, he realizes, you’re shaking and it’s all because of me.

“I’m… just gonna go.” his hand reaches for you before you can even move an inch. he doesn’t know what’s happening, or what will happen, but you’re here now, right? and… and you didn’t outright laugh at him or say no, so that should mean something positive. a newly found courage in him has him shaking his head.

“No, no… you’re already here. And it wasn’t right of me not to tell you. It wasn’t fair. You should know,” he says, which is absolutely true. he was a terrible friend for hiding this from you. he wonders if you hear him when he adds quietly, “And I miss you.” he wants you back. he wants you here, with him, by his side, even if he can’t have you in the way he wants, he wants to be selfish and a little human too.

you take a place next to him on the bench, your skirt splaying around your full thighs like a crown of temptation, the thorns that festered this whole mess. yet… Raphael’s head has never felt clearer. he is mesmerized solely by the fact you still choose to sit so close to him that he can feel the warmth of your skin through his clothes.

“I missed you too. It’s why I was so upset. I thought you were angry at me or I did something wrong-”

“Nothing like that,” he cuts you off before you even slightly doubt his intentions. he wants nothing more than to protect you, don’t you see? his mind will be the downfall of you both. but… it seems by doing so, he prevented nothing but your light. your company. your closeness. in trying to circumvent his prophecy, he ran head first into it. he will do better by you this time.

but still. it does nothing to chill or put an end to the loathsome heat inside of his heart for you. the book is a prop in this play, in this act where you both try and pretend there is nothing that hangs between you two. where Raphael pretends that he isn’t still enchanted by your youness and he tries not to glance too long at the skirt you wear and what could blossom underneath, how much he wants to experience it all. and this play is coming to an end… or, perhaps, to its climax?

“Raphael…?” your saccharine voice is all he needs to be push over the edge. he has enough willpower not to immediately toss the object in his hands (that, and fearing what Satan might do if there’s any damage to it) but shuts it nicely and looks up at you.

your breath catches. he’s close enough to hear it and he can’t imagine what you see, but he hopes it’s good. he hopes you like it. and honestly? he’s done hoping now. he wants to do something.

your breath fans his face, lingering warm tendrils on cheeks that heat them to a rosy pink — or perhaps, he’s blushing. who can tell, when you’re both this close to each other. your whisper is lost to only him and the gardens:

“We don’t have to do—”

“I want to.”

his lips catch yours before you can say anything else, he can faintly feel the book slip out from him, dropping to the dew wet ground as he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you in. you squeak, but let yourself be trapped against him. he loves the feeling of your arms pressed against his chest, the way your fingers fiddle with the delicate gold ornaments and colored fabrics. he wants to feel them on his skin, he wants to feel your nails dig into him as he brings you to orgasm, he wants the catch of your finger pads on his shoulders when he lifts you up and thrusts his cock into your pussy. he leans into you, and you catch the hint, leaning back into his grasp, letting him slowly lower you until you feel the hard rock under your back, his arm still cradling the small of your back, albeit a bit uncomfortably. it’s the he pulls back, tracing the wet curve of your lips, now dripping with spit, sloppily, gasping for air and he combs over your flushed face.

he’s so utterly fucked.

[Continuation . . . COMING SOON.]