#Like first choir angels all have pure white wings

[fivepebblerhehe]

So I started hyperfixating on biblically accurate angels again so now y'all gotta deal with my own versions of each type of angel just so yall know this is probably not bibically accurate lol

Seraphim: big serpents made out of pure golden light. they have six pure white wings, two on its head and four on its body, the wings have many pupiless blue eyes on them. They dance around God's form in intricate patterns, singing his praises in otherworldly voices. They can compress their forms into more humanoid ones when interacting with lesser beings, one pair of wings folded up in a way that makes them look like a feathery robe, another completely covering their head, and the third used to fly and interact with stuff (like arms)

Cherubim: humanoid with four heads, a man, a bull, a lion, and an eagle. The eagle head is on their chest (their robes are very low cut so the eagle doesn't get a beak full of fabric) they have four white wings with fiery orange tips, they have the legs of an ungulate (like a satyr or however you spell it) and cow tails. They can't change into a monstrous form much like a traditional chimera but with more wings and fire. They are the secret service of god, acting as his body guards.

Ophanim: 3-4 interconnected and spinning golden rings with eight white wings and many many eyes, with one big eye in the center which the rings rotate around. Like the seraphim they can compress their forms, with the center eye and one ring acting as the 'head' with four wings around it, one ring acts as a halo, and the other two are wrapped around the torso. One pair of wings stay unchanged so they can fly and the 8th pair turns into a pair of arms.

Second choir

Dominions: they have the face of an owl, big manes and wings made of stars with pristine robes that look like the northern lights. They uphold the laws of the universe and make sure the second and third choir are doing their jobs.

Powers: they have two heron heads with rabbit ears and rabbits feet, with the tail of a scorpion. They are ever vigilant, four eyes and ears always watching for danger and ready for action. They have wings of steel with feathers as sharp as swords (in fact many heavenly weapons are made with the feathers of a power). They serve as heavens military and fight off any stupid demons that dare cross them. They are often seen holding a spear and a shield.

Virtues: graceful beings with the legs of a deer and wings made of leaves, with antlers intertwined with plants (the specific plant depends on the individual). They have four eyes, one for each element (a blue eye, a silver eye, a brown eye, and an orange eye) they rule over nature and maintain its balance

third choir

Principalities: spider like angels with eight fluffy limbs (four arms, four legs) and six eyes. They watch over human settlements which could be a small town or an entire country. Sometimes they have very colorful wings that look like stained glass, the bigger and more powerful their territory is, the bigger their wings are.

Archangels: individuals who act out God's will in the mortal world. mostly human with a single pair of wings, the color depending on the individual. 12 total.

Angels: anything that doesn't fit in the other categories, includes guardian angels and angels of death. Really just humans with wings, but their appearance depending on the type. Usually trained by an archangel

[slickchickchocolatier]

Hsjaksis this idea has been in my brain for so long but imagine demon heeseung who watches little church girl y/n ever since she turned of age, he's smitten,he wants her but also knows that her purity is too strong and he can only touch her body if she gives him permission,so he has to use deception. Pretend to be someone else to earn ur trust, making u suck on his fingers by telling u that it will earn u god's grace. Overall heavy on corruption if u catch my drift. He will slowly prepare you for himself cuz u r oh so sweet and innocent completely unaware of the pleasures of the human body

”A Test of Will.”

WARNINGS: Unprotected sex, slight breeding kink, corruption, deception, demonic HS x Y/N. Stealing y/n's virginity, possessiveness, secret admiring, cursing, I think that's it.

I apologize it took me so long to post. I got super jet-lagged after our flight back home the other day. But without further ado, here is (sorry it's not proofread) the one shot, "A Test of Will." REQUESTED.

Begin Read:

For as long as you can remember, you loved and praised God, taught to submit into his will whenever he desired or called upon you. As a young girl, you wanted nothing more than to become a bride of Jesus and yearned to remain everlasting and pure. It was a life you loved and respected, being the daughter of a pastor and the wife of a devoted homemaker. From the moment you understood speech, and emotional love, it had always been ingrained in your head to please him and only him.

So, you did.

The first moment you realized the importance of your obedience to the Holy spirit was after you turned seven and your family coordinated your Baptism at the local church, one your family had been attending for years. Donning all white, looking as angelic as the Renaissance paintings, you gained holiness and rebirth as God's child, watching as everyone gathered around and sang praises and cheers. It was a joyous event that displayed your conformance to the standards of God's holy will. Among the chanting choir, one particular guest lurked from above, watching with intrigue. Despite being uninvited, he remained to observe the Holy ritual while being unheard and unseen.

He hovered high above, over the large grand fountain, and watched as the priest gently dipped your frail body in the water, allowing you to rise and take your first breath. Seeing how you smiled delicately, accepting your dedication to fulfilling God's will, creates a smirk in defiance to form gracefully on his dark lips. Now, this ritualistic occurrence was not unique to him, but he could care less, for the event wasn't the reason for his stay. It was you that he was interested in. Your innocence appealed to him, and the strength of your devotion, especially at such a young age, what an enchanting young girl you were. Perhaps he'll possess you and devour your soul while you sleep, letting you die while he tucks your spirit away for safe keeping.

Spreading his wings wide, they rested against the cathedral ceiling; the darkness of the spikes and bat-like features looked as if it smeared the face of the great mother Mary and baby Jesus, tainting their warm faces with the hue of black and blood red. His lithe frame is sharply adorned in an all-black suit with fingerless gloves, while his hair is stained royal purple. Gravity did not affect his demonic nature; no one would have been able to notice him even if he decided to become visible to the mortal eye. He took on a perfect stance of a straight stand, parallel to the roof of the ceiling, with arms carelessly crossed and a raised hand stroking his lips by the lead index. Chuckling, he becomes amused and admires your happiness in becoming one of them, another tribal animal that falls into the pretenses of spiritual love and devotion, neglecting the nature of your mortal existence and desire. That won't do for him, considering he can only devour your spirit when it is strong in faith.

……………..

Years have passed since then, and the hellish guest permanently remained in your life, unbeknownst to you. It was enjoyable for him to watch you grow, molding into a prideful young woman. He admired your dedication but grew infatuated by your stubbornness. You had no problems remaining vigilant in keeping your chastity, but it wasn't easy. As you came of age, you longed for a sense of touch and physical companionship. Most times, you continued to plow through life with your dedication strong and steady, yet some moments you questioned if you were doing enough, feeling complacent with your current path and therefore drifting in thought, wondering if there is more to life than just serving the Lord.

It had hit you hard upon graduating high school, you realized that your greatest wish was to do more, thus furthering your motivation to stay on the current course. Especially after observing your peers, watching them take part in dating, following the natural courses of love, marriage, and family life. You did everything you could to take your mind off it, from actively volunteering in holy community services to leading Bible study every day, but none of it gave you the strength you needed to stay engaged with your dedication to God. Unfortunately for you, he had sensed it and took great delight watching as you tried fighting off your instinctive desires as a mortal woman.

There were times when his invisibility was clicked on or off, depending on his mood, yet it didn't matter for each time that he was present, he remained undetected. Whether it was appearing as the air itself, or disguising as one of your friends, teachers, or even your parents, he gained interaction to hear how lovely your voice became with age. He had found you peculiar upon discovering you as a young girl, but seeing how you grew into the dedicated young woman you are today, he was obsessed. Who could have ever thought that demons could gain affection and desire for humans? It wasn't natural nor was it normal, but there is a first for everything, including him. The last straw was when he lay, relaxing himself on your bedspread, watching as you remained oblivious to his unobtrusive presence. Figuring you were going to conduct your normal routine in changing inside your closet space, he relaxes on your bedding, already knowing that your inclusive habit was due to your shyness in changing out in the open, despite being nestled in the privacy of your room…or so you thought.

It's true, that you have made a habit of changing in discrete areas such as your closet or your bathroom, but time has an effect on everyone, even God's most dutiful child. Sure, you were still fruitful and pure, but as you matured, you found it nearly silly

you weren't as shy as you were before. You were a fully, blossomed young woman who helped and loved her family and had prospects to attend the university of your choice in the oncoming months, all with the attending hopes of joining a nunnery and becoming a bride of his holiness.

His brow raises when he notices you undressing. Shifting his gaze, he looked confused for a moment as you broke out of your traditional habit, and stripped off your clothing delicately until you reached full nudeness. It takes a lot for him to become shaken, it's never happened before, but you accomplished a feat that many, including the demons of Hell, found impossible to achieve. There he lay, iris expanding and glowing red as he noted the suppleness of your soft skin, how you tenderly removed your skirt, blouse, and the undergarments that cradled your luscious breasts and the simple white lace that protected the heart of your core. It was at that moment for the first time since he discovered you, he realized that he was not just intrigued, but obsessed with having you. His infatuation develops into something deeper and stronger upon seeing your bare form, he had to keep you, shower you with his darkness, and hide your lightened heart away for only him to admire.

………………

"Y/N, come here sweetheart, and meet the new priest who has graciously volunteered his services to our church."

You had just returned from your college orientation and noted an unfamiliar umbrella staged by the front door upon entry. Your steps were timid, but you approached the living room steadily, catching sight of your mother and father both speaking to a tall figure, with his back facing you. Your mother catches your entry and bids you to introduce yourself, and you had every means of doing so gracefully, until he turned around.

"Y/N, this is Father Ethan, he has come from far away and is blessing our church with his devotion and preaching of God." Your father added on, continuing your mother's praise of the rather young-looking man that stood before you. He had dark, shiny black hair, was lean, and had a handsome face; for a priest, he was unlike any holy servant you had ever seen before. He was Asian, though you couldn't pinpoint which national region his ethnic background came from, and didn't probe to ask as it would have been too rude. You smiled sweetly and finally gulped faith before emitting your first words in greeting him.

"It's…nice to meet you, Father Ethan. My name is Y/N…."

"Well hello, it's very nice to finally meet you, Y/n. Your parents were spending the last hour boasting about you."

Looking over to your parents, Father Ethan displays a sly smirk as he crosses his arms and swings his body before returning his gaze to your direction. Your parents nod with approval and gleam proudly. You couldn't be entirely sure but there was something strange about your meeting with Father Ethan; there was an unusual level of attraction that you felt towards, and from him.

The next day, you carried out your diligent duties in leading Bible study for the younger age group. Walking in, you immediately became aware of the stark emptiness inside; no one was around, yet the candles were lit. Making your way down the aisle, you looked around and peeked between the benches, only to find that the main hall was just as empty. You stood before the holy cross, admiring the small statues and chalices that decorate the platform where the priest conducted his prayer and Biblical lecture, when suddenly a deep voice emerges from behind you. "You're here for Bible study?"

Sharply turning, you set your eyes on Father Ethan. He stood straight and tall, wearing a casual black suit with a white undershirt, partially unbuttoned. "Oh, I'm sorry Father, I didn't know you were here."

"Pay no mind, and no need to apologize." he slyly smiles in response.

Surrendering a faint nod, you smiled sweetly before clearing your throat. "Are the children here?"

"Oh you mean the ones you're leading for the lecture? I'm afraid not, everyone had prior engagements set in stone and couldn't make it."

Stroking his chin, he flares his infamous smirk once more, locking his gaze and finding you heavenly and delectable.

"You know…y/n….your diligence and faith towards God is astonishing."

"It is?"

"Mmhmm…I wonder if there is anything you wouldn't do, all in the name of your love for him."

Your eyes slightly widen as you lean in, enhancing the value of your statement. "There isn't…I would do anything to show my loyalty and to become closer, I intend to be a bride of God."

"You want to be a nun?"

Nodding, you shifted your gaze to the side upon feeling his gaze examining you with intrigue.

"Interesting." Walking towards you, his hand reaches down and gently cups your cheek. Just as he expected, your skin was soft and supple, the strands of your hair grazing against his knuckle felt like silk threads, and you warmed his coldness in an instant. "Hm…pretty."

You were taken aback by his statement, as he displays a devious smile. "No-no…it's okay. I'm not going to hurt you…in fact, I'm here to help you to get closer…"

"Closer to God?" your eyes began to water, yet you couldn't help it, you became curious by his rather bold statement. Chuckling, he bites down on his lower lip and steps back. "You wanna see proof?… You wanna see a miracle…y/n?"

Nodding once more, you watch as he takes one of the empty chalices in his hand and flicks it. The chime of the brass echoes through the main hall and into the massive foyer. Presenting it to you, you gently cradle the cup in both hands and become stunned upon seeing that the chalice was filled with blood-red wine. "I-is….is this?…. How?" You snapped your gaze over to him, curious for an explanation as you were quite sure the chalice was empty a moment ago.

"Are…you an….are you an angel?… Father Ethan?"

"Something like that." tilting his head, he continues to flash his devilish smile before whispering once again, "Something….like that."

Looking down at the chalice, you smile softly. "Can I ask why you're here?"

Playfully rolling his eyes to the side, he shrugs his shoulders before emitting an answer. "Just here to help preach his desire."

"….What is his desire?"

"You really want to know?"

"…..Yes…."

Snapping his hand forward, he snags your wrist and rapidly pulls you close, pressing you chest to chest. "First…." he softly lets out into your ear before he slowly licks the nook of your neck.

"Father! W-what…!"

"Shh….I said…everything is going to be alright…don't you trust me?….If you don't, I guess I can leave and you'll be forever marked in his eye as someone who went against his will…."

Gasping, you desperately voiced out your objection. "No! That's not true! I would do anything for him, even if it meant giving up my happiness. That's how much I love him."

"Huh…that right?" Rolling his tongue, he tilts his head and peers his gaze into yours. "You know what would make him happy?"

"….No…would you tell me?"

"Its easier if I showed you…come here."

Gripping your shoulders, he straightens your posture and squares you up with his frame. He leans in and places a soft and sensual kiss on your neck, stirring a vibrating sense to riddle deep inside your gut. Giving you the thrill of passion, he presses his parted lips against yours and harshly breathes out, coating your skin with the warmth of his exhale. Slowly, his tongue trails through his mouth, feeding its way through your lips and smears his saliva over your tongue and cheek. Your brows furrow in fear and worry, but slowly transitions into delight once you reminded yourself of how Father Ethan was bringing you closer to God, or so he says. No one could blame you, after all, seeing his talent with what he did to the chalice was proof enough that he was not an ordinary person. But what was he exactly?

Your thoughts were interrupted when his grip changes, holding your firmly by your waist while he buries his tongue deeper. As soon as you let out a gasping moan, he takes things a step further by smoothing his palms over every curve of your body. Hesitant, you try to push yourself away, yet his hold on you remained strong and he continues to shower you with the passion of his sinful touch. "Stay close to me, I promise I'll show you heaven."

"O-okay…." you faintly whispered, unable to make any sense of what was going on. You knew that what he was doing was a sin, something your parents had warned you to avoid. However, when he began feeding his hand under the hem of your dress, and smother your neck and chin with his dangerous kisses, you faltered at the sensation, keeping in mind that you were displaying your loyalty to God and his will.

"F-Father Ethan…I…I can't breathe…" you whimper as he forces your head to tilt back, allowing him a wider range to lick and nibble the skin on your throat. "It's okay, I'll fix that in a second." He mumbles.

Turning you around, he was abrupt and rough with his movements, he could tell that you didn't seem to mind, at least it didn't sound like it. Since he started to rub your inner thighs, your pitch sounded more pleasurable and less fearful. Either you were too trusting towards him, or you were melting at the feeling of being ravished by his hands and mouth.

Piercing your entry, you gasped in shock upon realizing that his hand had made its way under your panties, taking advantage of your partially exposed cavity. "Wait! Wh-what are you doing!?" you gasped out, placing your hands on his shoulders as he inserts his fingers, lifting you upwards in the process. "Dont worry…its all in his will, remember?" Father Ethan smirks as he burrows his face into your neck, groaning against your skin. "You wanna be closer to heaven, riiiiight?" Gripping a handfull of your hair, he forcefully tilts your head to the side and bites, "Ah! That hurts!" Resetting your position, he looks down at you under heavy lids, his smirk completley gone but the lust in his eye remains. "Tell you what, if you're good, I'll show you my wings."

You looked up, completely bewildered. "You have…wings?" He nods his head as he pets your hair, it was at that moment you were convinced he really was an angel. Sensing your instant will and obedience, he ignores in confirming the validity of your submission and instead, turns you around while ripping your dress in half. Shredding off your undergarments, you cover yourself as you stood fully nude with his frame pressing against you from behind. "Did you know that you've been lied to all your life?" kissing your back, he leaves a lengthy trail down your spine as he plasters his lips onto your skin.

"W-what do you mean?" You ask in all earnesty, trying to refrain from releasing your desperate moans of pleasure as you relish in the sensation of each kiss. With his lips pressed onto your lower back, he grips the back of your thighs before mumbling against you, giving a slight tickle. "God would never demand that his creations to be so ignorant as to dismiss their instinctive will to learn the life lessons of pleasure, pain, and happiness. It's what humans are meant to do in their short lifespan." Biting down, you felt the sting of his demeanor on the back of your shoulder. "I'm sure he appreciates the spiritual faith in his name, but what good is flesh and blood if not without the practice of tasting, feasting, and desiring the need to touch and be touched."

Counterattacking his resolve, you whimper your words, trying your best to maintain composure. "Flesh and blood is all but a facade, its our will that remains everlasting and true."

Chuckling, you feel his teeth against the back of your neck as he responds in amusement. "Hmph…that right? Well then princess, let's see if we can break that will of yours."

He wastes no time and begins to insert his lengthy shaft into your womanhood. Even though you hadn't given him consent, you weren't resisting to the act, so long as he kept his promise in bringing you closer to God, among other things. True, you wanted to be closer, you wanted to see Father Ethan's wings, and you wanted to enter heaven, but there was also the longing built up within you that desired for him to do more. The feeling of his thickness filling you became the most painful and pleasurable sensation you've ever felt; you nearly questioned how you could have gone so long without experiencing it, when a quick thrust on his part pinched you with sharp pain.

"Ugh….it-it hurts! F-Father Ethan…."

"Call me Heeseung baby." Be breathes out in a low groan.

"He-Heeseung?"

Noting your perfect pronunciation, he showers you with praise as he continues to lick your neck. "Very good. You have a gift of tongues, don't you?"

Fully leaned forward, he coats your back with his chest, sealing his muscle as he stuffs his entire girth in between your wet folds. "Ready to see Heaven?"

You hesitated for a second, but nodded as your body shook vigorously from the immense pressure. "Alrighty then." he smirks, just as he starts his thrusts back up. "Wow…you're fucking perfect, aren't you?"

He starts slow, but picks up the pace as he continues to pump his lengthy cock in and out of your entry. The bulging tip harshly taps against a sweet spot that lays dormant inside of you, something you never knew existed until now. In and out, he steadily increases the pace, the sound of your skin wrapping his, squelching as he thrusts ferociously with the hidden intentions of staining your internal spirit with the darkness of Hell. He goes faster, your body jolts forward as he slams his cock deep inside each time, with his thighs slamming against your own and his groin popping against your derriere. Lost in the whirlpool of erotic pleasure, your moans were interrupted as you felt his fingers crawling up, around your neck, and onto you chin. Tapping his finger against your lips, he lets out an indiscriminate tone and smirks out another one of his chuckles. "Open." Bidding to his demand, you part your lips and watch as he slips his index in and rubs the inside of your cheek. "Good girl…"

Just as you started to question his claims, his voice punctures your thoughts when he asks you, "Can you see them?"

Never losing his momentum, he continues to pump his cock, disrupting the tightness and elasticity of your feminine virtue, jerking your body back and forth from his performance. Confused by his formulation, you were about to bid him to elaborate when suddenly you saw the glowing of spheres surrounding your bodies. Thrusting, your body motions forward and back as he pulls you by the hips, making it nearly impossible for you to admire the majestic beauty of what appeared to be stars, encircling you.

"W-what….ugh!"

"I told you, didn't I?…I'd show you heaven…"

Seeing the evidence of what you could only surmise as divine intervention, you submit fully by extending your arms overhead and plastering your forearms against the wall, spreading your legs even more and allowing him unbarricaded access. Arching your back, you perk your rear cheeks upward, wanting to see and feel more.

"Yeah? Bet you wanna see more, don't you?" he scoffs in between his growls. Nodding, you bend and submit every inch of your will and begged him to do more. "Huh….if only everyone you know could see you right now….what would dear mommy and daddy think if they were to see their precious daughter getting fucked…hmm?" Following his words, he speeds up his thrusts as he firmly grips the center of your throat. "Keep yourself steady baby….you feel so fucking tight like this."

Following his instructions, you keep yourself arched as you feel his thrusts going in deeper and harder. His fingers rubbing the side of your neck as he holds you down, pinning you against the wall while he takes advantage in fully penetrating you. The more he did, the more you saw. Soon the entire hall was filled with the glowing spheres; you watched as they fluttered around and looked too beautiful to be real. They had to be angels; small and delicate cherubs that were enhancing the legitimacy of his claims.

In between your pleading moans, you faintly smile as you felt wholesome in seeing what others could not, all due to giving yourself up to this man. Letting him continue, he delightfully takes you in and punctures your entry for hours, painting your skin blue, purple, and red by his licks and nibbles. He kept going and going, your body became numb and the pleasure wore off, the only thing you could feel at this point was prickling pain and sting, yet each time he sensed your weakened state, he taunted you with his words, teasing as he scoffs them out. "Are you giving up on me? Should I stop?"

You shook your head every single time, maintaining your stance so that you could continue to be closer to your faith, to which he would respond with a chuckle, and a dark decree. "Gonna fucking break you to pieces, girl."

You barely had enough time to process his word's let alone respond, all due to his last and final effort in increasing his speed. "Oh fuck you feel so good…going to make me cum."

With tears staining your cheeks, you shook your head as you helplessely leaned your head against the wall's surface, already having done too much to suddenly stop now, not that he would ever let you. Punching your internal gut, he goes faster, deeper, and harder. Your breasts bounce fiercly as your hair flies forward, your skin tainted red as he drags his nails and digs them in. Reaching your breaking point, a sharp, stabbing sensation pierces your clit as overstimulation takes effect from the constant throbbing of his cock. "Please! No more! I-I cant!"

Your scream was all he needed to hear before he releases, fully submerging his cock deep as he groans into your ear. "My little slut...you feel me turning us into parents?" Filling you, your walls become stained by the creaminess of his seed, the warmth of it all eases you inside and out. When he was finally done, he slowly exits, releasing his grip and letting you drop to the floor. You whimper as you lay weakened, your womanhood destroyed and beaten, and all he did was stand feircly tall as he smiled deviously. Grabbing hold of his cock, he slowly strokes it as he watches you faintly struggle up. "How pretty…I'm going to have fun keeping you all to myself."

Looking up, you tearfully watch as his blackened hair turns purple, his eyes glowed dangerously red, and his lips darken. The white spheres around suddenly turned black, formulating into wild shapes of various demons with jagged teeth and elongated tongues that practically reached the floor. Beyond frightened, you gasped out a series of whimpers as you used your arms to back away, only to meet with the wall behind.

"What?…Scared?" he chuckles, taking his steps closer to you. "Didn't I promise to show you my wings? My pretty...pretty....pretty wife..."

Furrowing your brows, you looked at him mercifully when he abruptly stretches his neck. From left to right, a series of cracks could be heard as he hovers his chin over each shoulder, his lids remained partially shut, revealing the rolling of his eyes towards the back of his head; with a subtle groan, he releases his bat-like wings as they extend high and wide. Covering your mouth, you gasp in horror as you begin to sob hysterically. What have you done? Who was he and just what did you allow him to do to you? The entire afternoon spent with him taking away your purity.

"Y-you're….you're not an angel…." you muttered out, watching as he reopens his eyes and tilts his head. Gazing at you with a smirk that pitied your oblivious state of mind, his eyes drift and takes in the miraculous sight of you from head to toe. He loved how broken and helpless you looked, trapped against the wall as you attempt to cover your breasts and bring your closed legs in. With a pleading tone, you asked with sweet innocence in your voice as your eyes pushed out fresh tears. "A-are you….the Devil?"

Smirking, he takes in a final step and kneels down before you, leaning in for a kiss. Holding your head steady by a fistful of hair, he gently pulls your head back, and whispers before sealing your fate eternally, having special plans in store for when he brings you back home with him, leaving you unfound and forever a mystery in the world you were born into.

With a deep tone, his lips brush against your own as he responds…

"Something like that…"

Taglist: aiden2001 , heeseung-min , lathan1510 , rayofsunshineeee

[writteninlunarlight-years]

Please Don't Prove I'm Right

This is based on the song Please Please Please (Epic Version) - by Morgan Clae. I haven't written in a long time; my mental health has taken a significant toll not too long ago. I have been going to some consistent therapy as well as taking things slowly on my own terms. I thank my support and followers right next to me as I recover. The banners are all from @venomhound. Please reach out to them for some excellent help with the Tumblr blog. They have been a big help to me. @literallurker is their main account. Thank you everyone for bearing with me. You are all amazing. My moons~

TW: AFAB Reader, Hurt, Graphic Details of Harm, Religious Truama's, Yandere Reader for a moment

In the beginning, heaven was a breathtaking expanse of glistening white, where clouds floated like soft pillows in an endless sky. The angels above drifted gracefully among them, their laughter echoing with pure joy, and the air held an ethereal light that felt almost alive. It was a realm of boundless beauty reserved solely for God’s beloved.

But everything changed when Lucifer, once the most cherished of all angels, was cast down. The pristine clouds darkened, their softness replaced by a bitter heaviness that weighed down the heavens. The once-gleaming landscape morphed into a realm of towering structures and watchful exorcists. The loss was palpable, as if the heavens themselves mourned the fall of its brightest star.

When you first encountered Lucifer, you were just a baby angel, a mere child of the heavens. You were newly formed, wide-eyed, and full of wonder, destined to guide the three humans wandering in the paradise of Eden. You felt an unshakeable bond with him—a connection transcending mere friendship. He was your sun, your air, the essence of your existence in this perfect world. 

Lucifer was intoxicatingly brilliant, his spirit igniting something that felt sinful within you. Yet, whispers of his rumored affections for a human stirred around you. It was said that he had fallen for one of them—impossible, you thought. God’s favorite should follow divine order, untouched by earthly desires, especially for a mortal once destined for Adam and soon rejected.

As you flitted anxiously through the heavens, awaiting his return, you could feel the eyes of the other angels upon you, judgment simmering in their stares. Sera, a newly appointed Seraphim, approached her voice a gentle choir against your rummaging thoughts. 

“Y/N, you seem troubled. Is everything all right?” Her youthful features were unmarred by the weight of time, yet you could sense the unspoken warnings in her tone.

“I’m just waiting for Lucifer,” you replied, forcing a smile. “He’s never taken this long before.” 

You could hear the skepticism in her voice before you even looked up. “Y/N, he’s trouble. He doesn’t see you the way he sees that woman. His heart is blind to your devotion, lost to her instead.”

Each word struck like a dagger, stinging your eyes with tears. “No, Sera. He cares for me. He tells me everything about his adventures in Eden. He will come back for me.” Your voice trembled with hope and desperation as if your sadness could summon him.

Just then, like a flash of lightning, Lucifer burst through the gates, the embodiment of energy and life. He swooped down, wrapping you in a joyous embrace, spinning you through the clouds, laughter spilling from his lips like music. You could feel Sera’s disdain radiating from behind, but you didn’t care. In that moment, you were weightless, untouchable...his.

In an instant, he whisked you away to a secluded corner of heaven, where you could gaze down upon Eden. Confusion washed over you as you settled on a fluffy cloud, watching him pace with uncontainable excitement, his wings shimmering behind him. He was always so proud of his beautiful wings.

“Y/N! I’ve discovered how to make Father recognize the humans as equals!” he declared, his eyes alight with excitement.

“Why would you want that?” you asked, a knot tightening in your chest. “We’re different for a reason. We’re not meant to be like them.”

His face fell as he paused, the thrill evaporating. “I need them to be seen as equals so I can bring them to heaven with us! Don’t you remember everything I’ve shared? All the dreams I have?” 

The ache in your heart deepened. You wanted to forget, to lose yourself in his bright hair and vibrant blue eyes, but the thought of Adam, Eve, and Lilith standing beside you twisted like a knife, no, not beside you...beside him. Two perfect couples, it seemed.

“Of course, I remember,” you said, forcing a smile. “Please, continue.” But inside, a storm raged between your heart and mind. 

What if you could just keep him for yourself? What if you shattered his wings, leaving him grounded and broken? What if you descended into the chaos below and extinguished Lilith’s light? What if you bound him to your will, claiming him as your own?

In that moment, you felt the weight of your thoughts, and the realization stung sharper than any blade. He was meant for her, not for you. There is no way when he spoke of you to her, if he did that, she had these thoughts...were you even an angel?

A chill ran down your spine as these dark fantasies engulfed your mind, each thought more treacherous than the last. You gasped, the air thick with dread, realizing you were still with Lucifer, his presence a paradox of comfort and ongoing torment. 

He rushed to you, his fingers brushing your cheek with a heavenly and cruel tenderness. His soothing yet distant voice echoed in your ears as a haunting melody. He was perfection incarnate, and you couldn’t fathom why those mere mortals deserved even a fraction of his devotion. You were willing to sin to keep him all to yourself...

After countless attempts to gain your attention, he realized it was futile. With a gentle sweep, he lifted you into the air, his wings unfurling majestically as he flew you to your resting zone—a serene haven that now felt like a ticking clock counting down to your last moment of peace. 

If only you had known this would be your final day in his embrace, perhaps you would have listened more intently, held him tighter against the wind, and begged him to affirm that your bond was real—that his heart belonged to you, not to that woman on the surface.

But morning shattered the tranquility, a sudden onslaught of light and chaos. Angels gathered, their faces a storm of judgment as Lucifer stood before them, shackled and tormented, bound to that woman from below. 

Tears blurred your vision as the reality of betrayal washed over you. He had chosen her, and in a cruel twist of fate, you were forced to witness your shame laid bare before God and all the Angels you shared home with. 

Then came the searing pain—the molten metal of chains biting into your neck and wrists, dragging you toward the center of the circle of wrath. Confusion clouded your thoughts as you locked eyes with Sera, whose disdainful glance pierced through your confusion like a dagger.

“Y/N, DO YOU KNOW WHY YOU’VE BEEN SUMMONED HERE WITH THESE TWO TRAITORS?” The voice boomed, a thunderous echo that reverberated through your very essence. You looked past Sera to see Him—the man the Archangels called Father, his presence both majestic and terrifying. With a shaky breath, you swallowed your fear and shook your head.

“No, Father, I don’t understand. Why am I being punished?” Each word felt like a desperate plea, even as the burning sensation clawed at your skin, choking you of your right to breathe.

“Father, please! Y/N is innocent! She knew nothing of my plans; she was ill when I confided in her last night!” Lucifer’s voice, once a safe haven for your soul, now felt like salt in an open wound. The sincerity in his plea twisted your heart, revealing the depths of betrayal you had yet to fully grasp.

“Silence, Lucifer, for God speaks! The matter at hand isn’t who has wronged whom but that this angel knew of your treachery and chose to remain silent!” Your world crumbled hearing Sera’s voice. You were to fall alongside those who had deceived you, tethered to the very man who had strung you along with promises and soft whispers late in the night, now choosing to partake in those nights with Lilith instead.

“FOR YOUR PUNISHMENT, Y/N, YOU WILL BE THE JUDGE OF THE SPACE BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH. YOU WILL DETERMINE THE FATE OF SOULS, FOR YOU HAVE CHOSEN TO WALK AMONG BOTH SIDES! YOU WILL FACE ETERNAL LONELINESS AND ISOLATION FOR YOUR TRANGRESSIONS UPON HEAVEN AND EDEN!” Fear engulfed you, a suffocating darkness that threatened to consume all hope. You were to be cast into a purgatory of your own making, alone and forsaken.

“Release her shackles!” As Sera’s voice cut through the air like a blade, you felt the chains around you dissolve, yet the burn marks remained, a permanent reminder of your choices. You were thrust away from Lucifer, your heart pounding against the confines of your chest, and when your eyes finally met his, you saw the flicker of concern. It ignited a deep-seated rage within you.

Pain shot through your back like lightning as your wings began to transform from gleaming white to a deep, obsidian black. Your halo, once a radiant gold, dulled to bronze, and your skin took on a gray hue. The purity of your existence was now tainted by your one-sided love for Lucifer.

“FATHER, NO! SPARE HER!” Lucifer’s desperate cries echoed through the heavens, but they fell on deaf ears. You stood there, hollowed out, your heart aching not for the punishment before you but for the betrayal that had led you here.

As the Archangel Michael took his stance next to Lucifer, he raised his sword, poised to sever Lucifer's wings. You were forced to witness the agony of his fall. His screams of anguish faded into the abyss as the clouds beneath you crumbled, sending you spiraling into your new reality.

For years, you lingered in purgatory, a silent reaper of the soul’s passage, guiding some to Heaven’s light and casting others into the depths of Hell. With each soul that passed through your hands, your heart grew heavy with bitterness, festering into a resentment that twisted into distaste. You found yourself haunted by thoughts of Lucifer—by the life he now shared with her, the woman who claimed his heart and turned your world upside down.

Then came the day you were summoned to Heaven, tasked with presenting your report on the balance of Winners and Sinners. It was there, amid the looming towers and the changed landscape of your once home, that you first laid eyes on her—Charlie Morningstar, a living echo of Lucifer, with his fiery spirit shimmering in her every gesture.

As you sat in the grand jury meeting, the air thick with tension, you listened to the murmurs of angels discussing Lucifer and Lilith’s child. Your heart ached as you watched Charlie fight for her dreams, her passion reminiscent of his—how he had once battled for his aspirations, now he was seemingly forgotten till Charlie showed up.

Then, as if summoned by fate, Adam snapped his fingers, opening a portal to cast Charlie and her partner back to hell. Just as it threatened to close, a surge of instinct propelled you forward, a desperate need to reach him again, the man you loved, to grasp the fleeting connection you had lost. You rushed toward the portal, your heart racing, your soul crying out to see him missing you.

On the other side, Lucifer stood, his eyes wide with shock and recognition. Amidst his hand, a cold golden band sat, showing where his commitments lie. Time froze as you locked gazes, every unspoken word hanging heavy between you. He extended his hand, a lifeline reaching through the veil, but the portal snapped shut instantly, severing the moment like a blade.

Tears welled in your eyes as despair washed over you, your head drooping low as the chamber emptied around you. Sera approached her presence, a gentle reminder of all those years ago, offering solace amid your sadness.

"It's time to let go, Y/N," she murmured, her voice soft yet firm. You nodded, feeling the weight of her words settle heavily in your chest. With a trembling hand, you reached out to the wall where the portal had been, yearning for the connection that had vanished.

As Sera sighed and stepped away, you whispered, “Please, please, please prove I’m right...Please, please, please don’t bring me to tears for one more night...” 

Years of pent-up emotions, longing, and heartache surged in a wave. A soft black glow began to envelop you. It consumed you, drawing you back into the solitude that Lucifer had unwittingly gifted you—a prison of your own making. Purgatory was your new and forever home.

Instead of proving you right, Lucifer had always been a master of disappointment, a beacon of hope that burned too bright yet always flickered just out of reach. He would continue to choose her, leaving you alone in the shadows, grappling with the remnants of a love that had never truly belonged to you. Or...did it...

Thank you again, everyone, for the support; I will slowly take steps back into the community one foot at a time. I hope you enjoy my pieces and stick around for my growth <3

[neverchecking]

A fall from Grace

Okay, so, i have made more friends. They have, in fact, influenced this. So here's a list of people to blame.

@angry-trashcan

@cloudninetonine

@desires-of-chain

@fanfic-fairy-fountain (you get to be included)

@wayfayrr (so do you <3)

Can be seen as a continuation of this, but I did not write it with that in mind. Happy accident. I can't promise a lot of writing bc Uni is just starting so I'm busy with that, but hopefully this feeds yall

Yellow was an ugly color. 

Hideous in the way it fell in stands around a porcelain face, caging eyes of pure sapphire with bands of white. White was meant to be a color of purity. A color to signify the untainted innocence of an unsullied soul. Touched by what was once believed to be pure divinity in and of itself, now revealed to be something much more sinister. 

Something with a gnarled grin, pinched by indented dimples and pearly whites revealed by pulled back lips painted a pretty pink. With eyes that shined in the sunlight like it was the great star’s only purpose to highlight those saccharine irises only to shadow over in the dark of night, hidden beneath the cloak of the twinkling stars, free to do as she pleased. Although, that was the humor in it all. It didn’t matter whether the dark of night was hiding her actions, repainting a saint over the real image of a sinner chained to their fall from grace, because the heavens sang her praises in a choir so loud it had deafened them all. Angels had preached her hymns to the point their ears rang with her acclaims and the skies thundered their applause for her. It seemed everything was built for her to toss or cherish as she so pleased. 

It made his stomach roll in a putrid anger that destroyed his senses, leaving him to act irrationally. He had been so blind. Content to follow like a blind puppy would follow the first person to drop them a scrap of leftover rubbish. 

But no longer would he be the one to write the very prophecies that proclaimed her a savior. A goddess fallen from whatever holy land she was born from to grace her people with her very presence. No longer would he be chained to sing the praises of an angel who plucked the feathers that lined her wings from the ones she damned to fall. 

He had been saved. 

Hands that knew nothing but boundless humility and grace had cupped his cheeks in an effort to shield him from the wrongdoings of the world around him. Skin that had not been blemished by a drop of bloodshed sheened in sweat underneath of him, imprinting their own unique mark on his own skin. Layer the scars that once laid there in new lines of red and white. Badges of honor bestowed upon him by a phoenix bred from the ashes of the damned fallen before them. Like an icarus who had heed the warning and rose to the heavens the way intended for them. Who held their wings of wax with bleeding palms until flesh and muscle did it for them. Until a halo of light was dipped into the golden rivers of luster and bestowed unto them on a velvet pillow proclaiming their ethereal welcoming into the place only murmured about in ancient texts. 

They had held him dearly while freeing the blindfold from it’s place cemented by a generation far older than him. Wound the satin curtains of crimson hooked around his face like blinders around a stake and watched glorious flames lick up the edges in a show of reds, yellows and blues, letting it burn in name of their glorious title. 

Sky had fallen before. He had fallen from Skyloft and it had freed him in a way that was unexplainable until far later into his journey. He had originally believed that fall to be the one to shatter the shackles around his wrists and allow him to fully experience everything his world had to offer. Looking back, that was not the fall he had needed to truly free himself. No, that wouldn’t come until much later. Until he had met his sword brothers. Until he had met you. Until he had let your aura engulf his being and lull his busy soul to a steady slumber. 

He hadn’t known true peace until meeting you. Not until you gifted it to him, cupped in gentle hands and shielded by your radiant smile. One that didn’t need the heavens to enhance it as it was already pure perfection. One that was only amplified by echoing bells of your laughter that spelled out your joy for all those around you. 

He wasn’t convinced you quite knew what you had done to him. How you had positively eradicated any hope he had of going back to normal after this was all said and done, because there was no normal without you. There was no way he could go back to that fraud clad in robes meant for your frame alone. There was no way he could hold back the rage that would boil his insides and ignite a fury filled inferno so powerful it would leave the rest of Skyloft balking at the devastation left behind. 

Because he was nothing without you. He was a loyal follower devoted to your significance. Nothing else. He wouldn’t let himself be disgraced in such a way ever again. 

Because yellow was an ugly color. 

But gold? Gold was something rich and divine, elegant. Something that, when graced upon your figure lit up the room like you were doused in holy light yourself.  Something that when laid upon your collarbone in fine chain links curved perfectly into the dip of the bone. 

Something that, when wrapped around your finger in a pretty little ring of gold, reminded him that he was nothing more than a worshiper of your gospel. 

[saturnfairycat]

Winged

Work #3 | copyright to saturnfairycat

Author's Note: this is one of my biggest works. I really hope you enjoy this one. This is inspired by the Obsession poem series. Debrief: Word count: 1694 Warnings: gore, horror, death, sensitive topics.

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Winged

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'Do you see her flying?'

Is all of a brusque rhetoric opine. Even the blind could descry such a figure. 

Biblically meticulous angels are a frightening, foreign perception for the faint of heart. But a feminine adolescent human with ivory, coriaceous wings? A sight for sore eyes, a sight to behold. Uncorrupted and innocent, dove-like as a symbol of societal freedom and peace. A pleaser designed by birth to conjure movement and enthrallment for the ravenous. A perishable's dream bride, adorned with white like untouched snow on the first night of winter.

Kings have egos. Compelled to order and empower by any means necessary. Vestal subjects have pride. Their crest adorned with white is comparable to celestial tears. Combatants have glory, taking— saving— risking lives by ineludible ordinance. And evil? All they have is revenge. 

Scarlet wounds, blood vessels ripped apart unseemly by brute force. A perfect canvas, stained and poisoned by acid rain. Tainted with colour, her dress subsumes the surrounding ichor from the broken statue. If it wasn't for the gore giving away the depiction of clay and adroitness, she would've been a Renaissance angel built to be worshipped like the holiness structure itself. The venerable church has been home to the slain of sin, the keeper of the sorrow and celebration of nuptials. Its outer walls creak and moan at the sounds of howling winds, angered at the sight inside the chambers of salvation. High ceilings may have constructed envy to those whose house is neither grand nor tall enough to withhold such metaphorical heights of a ceiling— likewise a telling of the staircase to the heavens above.

The beams are indestructible by delineation, holding the shouldering weight of the god's misfortune of reckless decision-making. Howbeit, ladders like vines on great oak trees enable worshippers to maintain the tidiness of the “humble” estate; the beams are wide enough to dance to the opera choir singing, whose dedication to the ones living in the unbothered clouds. For someone to climb up the vines to reach the tallest branches on the great oak is a possibility within a thousand coin flips, though ought to question the means behind such a purpose is certain. Revenge is a rather peculiar sin, anyone could imagine it as such. The drive behind it is sorrowful to the do-er, but judgement day does not care for the iniquitous.

Revenge creates motivation, determination is effectual. To train like a knight, one can easily carry a dead weight on their cracked shoulders up the staircase to heaven. To study with pride, one would know what people see as their true saviours— their delusional hallucinatory of an angel. How to dress, how to please. White and lacy as a wedding dress, pure and lush as a celibate. 

The victim? 

How curious, the devil pondered. Perhaps a pleaser at heart? As such:

A devoted woman to her word, a persona whose love for the weak and vulnerable is overpowering. Like spiked wine, a goblet filled with luxurious liquid gold— misleading from its appearance— a perfect femme fatale. Its insides tell its truth, how we're all the same within— an inescapable peracute. But who said to drink it? Use it for self delectation? What a poor magnificent object, she doesn't want to be mere treasure. She is the perfect vestal subject, what more could you want? Perhaps she is more fitting as a villain, always seeking more. Greedy, much?

Yes, a perfect sacrifice indeed. An impeccable example of the ambition of a “devil”'s revenge. A church can have followers, so a mere cult can be concordant. While the title of being a cult is a fragment of exaggeration, the apostles will work well in such a plan. They, the misfortunate, seek the pained for comfort… paltry sympathy can only do so much, however. But it's only just sufficient enough. Manipulation? How insulting. Ultimately, it is up to those who seek change to take heed. Hide fleetingly, pretend to associate with everyone just like in the old days. The crowd knows when to act.

Evil can kill, there is nothing else to it. Have you ever wondered how it feels to bathe in virgin blood? It's disappointing, such fuss for it is foolish. The only real kick was the twisted face of telling. That face alone is a blank, pitiful canvas turned into the definition of art itself. Oh, you could paint a thousand frescoes with such an expression. It doesn't disturn her prepossessing features, but it does make her look older. Such complicated, big emotions shouldn't even be within reach for such a young fawn. In another life, surely her underlying intelligence would serve others more than just being a lap to cry on, but in this taken existence— her sheltered mind breaks from the sudden intensity of trahison des clercs. This isn't what her story was supposed to be in her eyes. Ah, regrettable unfortunate. ‘Not favoured by fortune, was she?’, the fallen angel cruelly smirked at the thought. 

The evisceration was excessively long. The risk of blood ruining the white was too prodigious, though such fastidious concerns were needless in the end— her neck provided enough liquid genealogy, painting the front of her dress crimson. The colour of hell, of sin. The tainted heaven, the poisoned goblet. Her wings were made from dove feathers, plucked with attention to detail— a maiden in a meadow, choosing and picking the best of flowers could not compare. The bone structure of the wings was genius, specific bones were chosen from certain organisms to create a grand juxtaposition from angel to bird. Sticking each chosen feather to the structure was tedious, but a hyper-fixed maniac does not sway from such work. Inspired by the Winged Victory of Samothrace, the wings belong on her back. But her impressive bone anatomy is in the way... 

...with the scapulae removed, the wings fitted with such grace and ease. Death has blessed her with paleness, such colour is the reminiscence of a statue. But her wasted life must be highlighted, must be remembered. Just like all those Renaissance angel paintings, after all— that is the only perception of angels that people will embrace. 

It is always about beauty and selflessness, never should one ought to become a fallen one.

Tough to touch, the rope that scratched up skin with small amounts of friction has proven to be practical. A satirical necklace for her elegant neck— tied down to halt the escape of her soul to the sky above. Wings may have been granted, but freedom of flying is not an option. But one as kind and saving as her needs a taster of such, the vines are no competition of strength with her figure in the devil's grasp. The perception of the stairway to heaven is certainly a sight of lush imagination, except the beams are thrilling as a ballroom for the bride-to-be and the avenger. Humming, content with glee; evil looks down to the church below, to where the mighty cross stands at the front of the sect.

Their creation is more impressive, without the use of a single nail. Prideful, the striking idea of overshadowing the lord himself is great. Tying the knot where evil saw fit, the weeping angel longed for the higher stakes before being pushed down, down to her fate. For a second, the wings may have tried to lift the dead and fly up— but the crushing weight of sorrow brought both down with a crack of bone. Her neck crooked, leaning to the left with no resting place for her head, she floats in front of her lord. Her feet swayed slightly, still savouring the dance from before as blood dripped from her blue-hue toes. Such pale eyes never saw the light of the sun again without the stained church glass praying through. 

***

The morning prayers, on time as usual for another hour of adored hope from the public. The doors opened, creaking and moaning its warning. The crowd is loud, chatting and laughing with optimistic cravings for their future. A future that she will never see. The crowd silences, and the cessation of movement brings shock and dread to the hearts of his lord's worshippers. She hangs in front of their eyes from afar, suppressed into death. It was when her guts came with a sickening "splat" onto the ground beneath her feet from her tedious exoneration that broke the silence. It was heaven's gift to them, the insides that paint the truth of the world… which they did not accept. There was then shrieking– some are praying, some have become sick– while the followers, the actors— they chanted at the sacrifice, sang with glee. 

All was in chaos until he, the evil, the devil himself— slid down from the oak ladder. One of his sinful hands still grasped at the ladder as his heels clicked onto the cool, stone-tiled floor. Some of his leeching zealots pointed at him, eager to know his final motive. 

Why such a plan? Why such a sacrifice? 

Sick revenge for mortals that need to be taught a lesson. 

Would they finally get it? Would they finally understand the suffering? 

No. 

They never do. They never pay attention until it’s too late. 

Gritting his teeth while his jaw clenches at the strike of realisation, he turns away from the selfish sinners. Has all his cruelty to her been all for nothing? His free, bloody hand carries a singular candle— which he tosses at the corpse. She lights up in flames, her laced dress burning into black ash as it climbs up her strained body. He looks in awe at his doing, the followers are shaken to their core. The thrown candle had crashed onto a parallel wall from directly hitting the “effigy”, miraculously causing arson, thus setting fire to the church itself. All his cruelty to her will not be all for nothing. The church doors slam shut behind the crowd, beckoning them in. As the house of holiness burns up to hell’s temperatures— he, who has been staring at her the whole time, finally questions the followers and himself:

'Do you see her flying?'

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[inherstars]

Character Profiles | The Remnant Choir

I have role-played angels variously throughout the years, in different settings. The most recent one involved a post-apocalyptic war between "good" and "bad" angels (the good angels being those who sided with mankind and were helping them to survive a war raging against them). It mostly took place in Atlantic City, where the casinos had been converted into a kind of large refugee camp for both humans and angels. I recently dredged this up again in my head, and threw together the following character which have been happily living there rent-free (now with helpful illustrations thanks to Midjourney and a LOT of tweaking and revisions!)

Belael (Above left or top, depending upon how you're viewing this. Affectionately "Bel") is an angel of the choir of Powers, the melee warrior class.  Like all Powers he’s built for sheer, brute strength -- exceptionally tall, deep-chested, and broad-winged.  His wings (pictured white here, I couldn’t get the AI to adjust them so I may need to Photoshop them later) are largely brown with steel blue underfeathers.  His weapon of choice is a massive morningstar mace, but he also has a dedicated broadsword.

Belael was a force to be reckoned with during the First War -- sheer, walking destruction.  He was the first on the battlefield and the last to leave, cutting an unstoppable, bloody swathe through his enemies.  He was earmarked for general from early on, and offered frequent promotion through the ranks, but politely demurred each time.  Despite his proficiency he had little love for actual fighting, and certainly none for command.  He just enjoyed being a good, loyal, obedient soldier.  Following orders gave him a sense of peace and satisfaction, even if he wasn’t always thrilled with what he was ordered to do.

In point of fact he’s an easy-going, languorous sort, and prefers a more quiet, calm and contemplative day to day existence, though his love for structure and discipline abide.  He likes having a job and a role to fill, including being told when he should go off duty.

When he defected from heaven he encountered Gilde (Gildrael, above right or bottom), a senior Archangel who had moved into a suite at one of the hotels in (post apocalyptic) Atlantic City, NJ and was enjoying a leisurely, MILF-ish retirement of laying out by the pool and drinking cocktails.  Lots and lots of cocktails.  Gilde was sympathetic to Belael’s exhaustion with war, and took him under her wing (so to speak) as a bodyguard, escort and personal companion.

The arrangement, and the relationship, suit them both well.  Though he remains a somewhat laconic stoic, and probably deals with some level of PTSD from his time in battle, it’s obvious that he’s comfortable and happy with Gilde’s companionship, and the structure and discipline that she provides.  She may or may not be fucking his brains out; she is purposely coy about that aspect of their relationship, and although Bel is agreeable and receptive to her casual physical affections when they’re in public, he is the truest sort of gentleman to outside observers.

Zeroael (Above left or top, depending upon how you're viewing this. Affectionately "Zero") is an angel of the choir of Dominions, a born strategist and tactician.  He has a natural aptitude for statistics, logistics, and numbers.  Even if he didn’t want to be, any discussion that involves planning can draw him into a brief but intensely focused state of working out connections and possibilities, so as to determine the most efficient and beneficial outcome.  It’s hard-wired into his brain.

During the First War Zeroael was a courier, only involved in the occasional mid-air skirmish.  Owing to his smaller size (he stands about 5’6” or 5’7”, with a swimmer’s more lean, muscular build), he was an exceptionally swift and maneuverable flyer.  His wings are pure white, but sharply angled and peregrin-like in shape. At the height of the war he was one of the few angels capable of close-quarters turns and acrobatics.

During one such evasive mid-air maneuver, he was struck to the ground by a much larger and more aggressive Throne, fracturing his skull and sustaining a mild TBI.  He recovered, in time, but the injury left him with some occasional vestibular balance issues and -- more problematically -- sporadic grand mal seizures.

The seizures aren’t incredibly frequent, but unpredictable.  After repeatedly injuring his wings during some of the early seizures, he was outfitted with a strap-style harness that holds them in a closed and folded position on his back.  He can put it on and remove it fairly easily, but is in the habit of wearing it all the time, viewing it as a necessary prosthetic for his own safety.

After sustaining the injury, the generals simply had no idea what to do with an angel who could no longer safely fly.  He eventually left, of his own volition, joining the “fallen” choirs who had come to live on post-apocalyptic Earth.  He’s since traded his armor and weaponry for the comfort of blue jeans, baseball caps and button-downs.

Although he eschews any true command, he has long since come to be the defacto “leader” of the Angel and human colony currently living out of the casinos in Atlantic City.  He is the chief organizer and logistician of almost every aspect of its day to day operation, answering only to the little-seen and often out of touch Seraphim who are its true overseers.  He works long, exhausting days that begin well before dawn and end late at night, finding it easier to deal with his disability when he’s too busy to have to think about it at all.

Although he seems somewhat humorless and tense to those that work with him, it’s really just a side-effect of having to manage a huge number of people and juggle their needs and safety.  He’d like to kick back and have a beer like anyone else, but something always needs to be done, or fixed, or sourced, or some new emergency is coming over the horizon.  Whether or not he wants to, he’s always thinking about all of it.  Someone is always looking for him, or needs to have a word with him, and he does his best to make sure everyone is heard, even at his own expense.

Although he’s on “flight restriction”, on his rare days off he does try to find a remote beach where he can work on some of his old aerial maneuvers, trying to make sure he doesn’t completely lose the muscle strength necessary for flight.  He does worry that one day he’ll be hit by a seizure while he’s in the air, but in general tries not to think about it.  The seizures have happened, and will continue to happen, in evidence of others, and he he is matter-of-fact and dispassionate in explaining it to others, and what to do if he happens to have a seizure.  Just the same, for many reasons it’s a humiliating experience, and has led him to feel alone and emotionally isolated, particularly from other angels.

Lately he has become aware that one of the younger angels, Myriel (above right or bottom), has been making excuses to deliver things to him, or talk to him, or offer help with whatever project he’s currently neck-deep in.  He finds her company pleasant, but can’t fathom why the hell she has any interest in being entrenched in the chaos that always surrounds him.  The idea that she might have a crush on him is not even remotely on his radar.

Gilde is constantly, and without success, reminding Zero that he needs to chill the fuck out and find some time to relax.  Maybe take up drinking.  Maybe get fucked once in awhile.

Absolom (affectionately "Abe") is an angel of the choir of Thrones, and was a soldier in Lucifer’s army created toward the beginning of the Second War.  He “drank the Kool-Aid” early on, as any good soldier, but over time came to realize that he not only didn’t hate mankind, he didn’t really feel like they deserved to be wiped out of existence.  As skilled a fighter as he was, he was tired of murdering those of his own kind and what he perceived as innocents, and eventually defected.

Although he went to live in the casino colonies in Atlantic City, many were -- and still are -- unwilling to accept him.  The angels see him as a traitor and the humans are terrified of him, having seen far too many angels just like him slaughtering their kind.  He has no idea how to interact with humans at all, and worries that even friendly overtures come off as threatening.  It’s also strange trying to form interpersonal relationships with angels who don’t share the common goal of wiping out all of humankind, so he spends a lot of time by himself, sorting out who he really is and what he wants from this new life.

Myriel befriends Absolom, and is the first to show true trust in his better nature, guiding him patiently through the first steps of being something other than a minion. 

They become fast friends, and he often looks to her for guidance when it comes to interacting with others, or how best to handle certain social situations.  He enjoys her company, no strings attached, and while he senses she has “feelings” for the Dominion named Zero he doesn’t really grasp what that means.  Feeling anything besides either anger, ambivalence or estrangement is a new concept to him, and one with which he struggles.

Absolom had never been sick a day in his life until he came to Earth.  Suddenly he was surrounded by all kinds of unfortunate things to which he had zero immunity, and spent the first several months of his Earthbound existence sick with every single head cold, chest cold and sinus infection that he came across.

He was NOT A FAN, and it took quite a lot of convincing from Myriel for him not to say fuck all of this and all of you and go back to the happy place where his nose was not constantly stopped up with or leaking something disgusting.  He also spent a lot of those first few months complaining bitterly, which did not help people like him any better.

[wanderingmirror]

They kept him chained down within his own mind. The mask of being human always causing his anger to spike. Dean hid his rage behind smiles and attitude. But when Sam chose a demon over him, the room they had been in turned into an even greater mess. Archangels, Angels, and demons across the world could feel the wave of dark and golden grace. Ruby shivered and whimpered silently to herself while away from Sam.

Dean felt the rage overflow, he could not control himself as he searched for his human brother. Words are the nicest thing he could have with the She-demon.

———————————————————————

When Lilith was slain, her blood opening the cage, Dean entered the room, a dark look in his eyes. Sam felt fear spike in his chest when he saw the darkened look coming from his brother’s eyes. The moment Ruby was in sight, the words died in Dean’s throat at what the She-demon manipulated his Sammy into doing. Ruby, fortunately for her, was only stabbed with the knife Dean had taken with him. Dean letting out a vicious roar as he did so. Sam shivered and the beings in the area did the same. As Lucifer came up from the cage he felt the vengeful, dark grace push against his own. He yelled and his wings fluttered. Dean looked over to the fallen angel, his eyes glowing a pure white.

“Abbas?” He said softly and moved closer to the human who should not have grace coming from his form. Dean twitched and felt the signs of a black out coming for him. Sam’s eyes widened when Dean’s rolled into the back of his head. Lucifer lounged for the elder Winchester as he collapsed, but he only caught air as both brothers vanished. Sam was the only one awake to see the old church get destroyed. Dean unconscious.

———————————————————————

When the two brothers returned to Bobby’s, Dean fled into the panic room. Locking himself in and screaming in agony and rage. A long locked away secret clawing to get loose. To find their anchor. “LUCIFER! MICHEAL!” Dean screamed in Enochian. “GABRIEL!” His voice shaking the house entirely. The names of his brothers and his anchor sending shivers through Sam and Bobby’s spines. “Bobby what’s going on?!” Sam shouted as Dean’s wails got louder and louder. Bobby shrugged in terrified confusion. He scurried with the younger Winchester when the screams, worryingly, stopped. They found Dean laying limp on the wall farthest from the door. All of the Archangels shivered when the screams stopped.

Lucifer curled within the vessel he inhabited. “I hear you brother. I hear you.” He whispered with his grace nudging against the darkened grace surrounding his in a bond made long ago. His eyes sealed shut and his body shivering.

———————————————————————

Sam and Bobby dug deep into the books and lore to figure out who Lucifer had called Dean, since the eldest Winchester refused to come out of the panic room to do so. “Castiel, can you come down here? We need your help.” Sam prayed and got an answer through the book before him being flipped and a page being turned to. Faded, but still legible. Abbas, Archangel of Judgement. Three pairs of wings, bronze, gold, and white. Dirty blonde hair and eyes the same as Dean’s.

Dean’s wails started up again. He wanted to be freed. He wanted to spread his wings, to reap judgement past due. His grace wanted to wrap around the grace of his anchor, to feel it cool and calm his own. And after four days of this cycle of quiet then chaos. Dean left the panic room in a daze. He leaned against the door frame as he walked to his and Sam’s shared room. Laying down and passing out. “Dean?” Sam asked softly when he woke to find Dean curled around him later on. Arms wrapped protectively and legs tangled with his. Dean just pulled the younger closer and encouraged him to sleep too.

———————————————————————

The chase to find and reseal Lucifer was long. Castiel and the other angels tense and nervous around Dean when they were needed. Dean was quiet, hands itching to touch the remains of grace from his anchor only to find him long gone. Bond eerily quiet and cold. When they found Gabriel, the archangel froze. Eyes locking on Dean when he brushed his grace against that of Gabriel’s. The amber eyed male tearing up. He was then pulled into the arms of his big brother. Sobbing and pushing his grace into Dean’s, seeking comfort he hasn’t had in millions of centuries. Though the elder Winchester was surprised at first, he still soothed the other with his own. “You’re awake! I heard you! But they wouldn’t let me find you!”

Dean soothed Gabriel with soft words. Leaving Sam confused, bitch face in full swing. “De, start talking. Now.” Sam demanded as he crossed his arms. Dean gently nudging Gabriel into his side to rest. The three had sat down after Gabriel was finished checking Dean over. Dean was reluctant to talk about his angelic history. It being far to sore a subject that even Bobby was strictly in the dark. “If I had it my way, Sammy, I wouldn’t tell you shit.” Dean grumbled. He rubbed Gabriel’s back, between wings in severe need of grooming, as he thought how best to talk to Sam. “Well, I’d like to know how long this Abbas asshole has been with you. So, start from there.” Dean wanted to laugh. Sammy thought that Abbas was someone else entirely. When in reality, he and the archangel of judgment were one and the same.

“Sammy, here’s what you don’t seem to get. I am Abbas. Abbas is me. I’m, how you say, in my own personal prison. I never wanted to be human.” Dean said with no small amount of irritation. “Before, and even after the rebellion, I got a little too twitchy for the old man’s liking. So he and Death decided to seal what they didn’t like away. What better way to deal with an Archangel who just lost the one thing keeping them sane.” Dean’s mouth twitched in a humorless smile for a moment. Gabriel shivered when the short haired male decided to groom messy wings. Though Sam could not out right see the wings, Dean could.

It was common that Dean, while still with his brethren, would check the wings of fledglings and even the archangels. Grooming them like a mother hen. The others realized long ago that it reassured Dean they were still there. As many had disappeared suddenly over time. “That doesn’t explain everything. You damn well know that.” Sam stated and Dean did laugh then. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. They bound me in a human form, many human forms actually. Gotta move with the times right? I constantly had to grow back up. Lived with different human parents.” Dean shrugged at the horrified expression on Sam’s face.

“Then I was born in the Winchester household. As Dean Winchester. Eldest brother to you. I couldn’t access my grace back then. To save Mary. She was actually a mother I wanted to grow up with. To make proud.” Dean sighed with grief. “But, seems Azazel had other plans. And I got raised differently. Well, I didn’t get raised. I raised you and grew up being a parent instead of a child. Didn’t mind since I’d had children in my past lives.” Dean smiled fondly at those memories. Gabriel purring in his lap.

The other archangel had moved to nuzzle under his brother’s neck. Laying chest to chest to give Dean better access to his wings. Dean sat the feathers on the floor next to the couch after they either fell or were pulled. Sam found it both very cute and oddly enough didn’t seem bothered that the smaller archangel was curled like a cat against his brother. But then again, he had seen weirder. Dean grumbled when he found things within the wings, muttering about washing them later.

Dean felt his own wings flutter at the thought of bathing. His own grace shivering in quiet excitement that did nothing to pull Gabriel from his sleep. Dean poked the bond connecting him to his anchor, scowling when he found the bond was still icy and silent. “Who’s your bond with, Dean?” Sam asked after Dean gently kissed the side of Gabriel’s head. The smaller angel nuzzling subconsciously. “Lucifer. I did mention that I was going insane after his fall, ya know.” Dean arched a brow when Sam choked on his own spit at the declaration. Sam looked at Dean like he had two heads after that. Watching as the elder Winchester picked the archangel up and started for what he assumed was the bathroom.

Sam didn’t follow. Something Dean was grateful for, as he wasn’t keen on letting the giant of a man see his baby brother naked. To Dean, it’s like looking at your children. He raised the younger angels and Archangels after they were created. And once Lucifer and Micheal were old enough they helped him raised the others. Dean snorted while getting the water warm. Gabriel was always with Lucifer, both having tricks and pranks to dish out. Never against Dean though, as he could do much worse than them.

Micheal learned fighting styles and other more warrior like things from Dean. Always copying the elder Archangel, Dean pretending he didn’t see the boy as he trained beside him. Rafael was raised into books, and much to his delight, Dean always had stories to tell or books to help him learn. While he did have their father’s wisdom and knowledge, it was Dean who helped him channel it. As time went on, Dean and Lucifer fell for the other. The elder of the two seemingly calming down from his more destructive habits. Much to the annoyance of their Aunt Amara. Dean snorted again as he sat Gabriel in the bath, his wings spread out over the edges so Dean could reach them. Dean hummed softly, it sounded like a far away church organ. Gabriel purred as he woke up, blinking sleepily as he caught Dean humming in his more angelic voice.

“You still sound beautiful, big bro.” He said softly, earning a chuckle as he shuttered his eyes. Dean kept humming. While he was by no means a choir angel, he still could sing. Baritone was his most used tone. It rumbled deep in his chest and caused the fledglings and younger angels to giggle. It also calmed down the Seraphs after a day of battle. Gabriel made a small sound of relief when he felt the debris leave his wings under the spray. He hadn’t paid much attention to his wings after Abbas was sealed away and Lucifer was cast out of heaven. “And you wonder where the youngling Choir angels got it from.” Gabriel teased and made a large exhale as his oil glands were cleared. Dean snorted at the memory of having little choir angels trying to sing with him. They couldn’t keep a tune for long but they got better with time and patience. Patience, the angel race found, was ever present for them alone.

Dean scowled a bit, remembering how he got twitchy after their father created the humans. Lucifer had the mark containing Aunt Amara at the time. So the twitchy attitude Dean had at the time was thought to be understandable. It wasn’t until Lucifer snapped that Abbas felt the tugs to cast judgment upon the humans. He even felt the urge from Lucifer from time to time to do it. Though the younger archangel tried to hide it from him. Their father realized that Abbas wasn’t handling the new creations as well as he did with the angels. Lucifer being cast down was only the icing on the cake after that. Since the Archangel had no way of keeping a calm and rational mental state.

So much like Aunt Amara, Abbas was sealed in a different type of cage. “You’re brooding again.” Gabriel mumbled sleepily, getting wing massages and bathes were lulling the youngest Archangel to deep sleep again. Dean smiled softly as he emptied the tub, pulled Gabriel into a warm towel, and dried the man off. He walked to Gabriel’s room and found warm fluffy clothes to wrap his brother in. Along with boxers, Dean clothed his brother and put him to bed. “You really do have the mindset of a mom.” Sam snickered, quietly laughing when Dean turned a half hearted glare onto him. “Well when you have nothing else to do but be a parent to your younger siblings, it tends to stick.” Dean responded with no heat, Sam still felt a little guilty for not trying harder to be a better brother. Dean huffed a breath, he twitched his wings as he walked. He couldn’t do anything more than twitch them, they were bound by holy leather to his back. All three sets.

———————————————————————

Dean rolled his neck and popped it, grunting softly. It would be a long time before he could rid himself from these straps. Since no one but his bonded, who was still missing, or Micheal, who he hasn’t seen in millennium, could cut them off. Dean had tried ridding himself of them, but all it did was tighten the straps to his back. The blonde felt a growl well up in his chest, felt his darkened grace lash out at forces that were no longer within his reach to feel. With his grace locked and his wings restrained, the calls to cast Judgment were few and far in between. Sam had gone to bed, Gabriel had remained asleep still. Dean didn’t feel the need to rest. He poked at the bond, quiet still, but warming up. Dean smiled softly in quiet relief that his anchor didn’t feel he had to block Dean from him. Even if it was only to give the sense of safe-alive-home that Dean really needed.

“I’ll find you, beloved. Neither Father nor Death will keep me from you.” Dean muttered with a steadfast promise. And somewhere in the world, Chuck shivered, knowing full well that Abbas would keep that promise.

———————————————————————

Elsewhere, Lucifer was in hell. Dealing with things that had gone down while he was away. Feeling the constant pokes and prods of his Archangel of Judgement. Abbas was worried, and a small bit of anger. Lucifer knew damn well why Abbas was angry. Being separated from his grace, from his wings, from their brothers, and from Lucifer himself. Abbas was twitchy even before they were separated. Lucifer gave Abbas a small bit of reassurance, and felt the anger and worry ease into something he was sure Abbas could now manage. The darkened grace almost having a purr of its own now that Lucifer has acknowledged its owner. Lucifer can’t meet with Abbas now, in his mind Lucifer isn’t ready to see him again. But feeling his Archangel through the bond was enough to reassure him that Abbas still loved him.

As the demons around him moved, Lucifer allowed his wings to brush against the walls and the pillars of the throne room. None of the others understood what their lord was doing, nor did they need to. Lucifer stretched his wings, feeling the pops and cracks of disuse leave. With a sigh, Lucifer vanished to the surface to explore. Trying to get an idea of where his Archangel was. However, the shift in placement told Abbas where Lucifer was anyway. Lucifer was sure of that. It didn’t take much for Abbas to figure out where Lucifer was when the bond they had formed so long ago was so strong. But the younger Archangel knew that, without his wings the Archangel of Judgement could not fly to him. Something Lucifer was sure Abbas was roaring internally about.

“Do you think he’ll let me see him soon?” Lucifer looked at the sky without the need to turn around. Rafael was there behind him. “Don’t count on it, Elder brother.” Rafael said simply as he felt the warmth of Abbas’ grace flow over them both. While the archangels could only move their grace at Will to things nearest them, Abbas could reach across the world if he needed. Judgement is passed to everyone, not just a few. “I say the old man will. He can’t keep Abs away from his anchor forever.” Lucifer snarked. “Besides, he doesn’t want Abs to cast judgment on his favorite toys too soon, right?” He snickered when Rafael’s eyes went wide before the other vanished to tell their brother. “Don’t have to wait too long, Abs. I’ll find you before he has the chance to try and control you.” Lucifer muttered as he vanished back to Hell.

[thisisthehardestthing]

Hello Claudia!! Could you please do something with Bakugo having a girlfriend with an Angel like quirk?? Thank you Xx

Hello Anony! of course, I can x Enjoy

Bakugo x Angel!Reader

warning: not what you expect, blood, death.

Nobody believed Bakugo when he told them he was dating an angel. They scoffed at what they believed was his too soft nickname for you. He met you at the hospital, when he was so close to death, the bright light shining above called out for him. There you stood, beckoning him to come forward, but he resisted and so you descended.

You’d taken a mortal form for him, entranced the second you laid your eyes upon his scarred and broken body. He had blonde hair in the shape of an earthly porcupine and red eyes that burned with the fire of hell, and even with injuries so severe, he fought to cling onto the thread of his life. It wasn’t his time to go, so you decided to stay with him until it was.

You were tired though, missing the home above that’s beyond mortal comprehension. It was a rainy night when Bakugo came back from his hero work. You were sour, drinking what human’s called wine even though you never got drunk and it was just fermented grapes. You also have had enough.

“I’m home,” he called out as he dropped a bag near the door. You swirled the glass, whispering that it was not your home.

He stopped in his tracks when he saw you skulking in the kitchen, leaning against the counter.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, taking tentative steps towards you with arms outstretched. You fell into them with your face against his muscular chest.

“Do you think I’m beautiful?” you mumbled into his skin, his spicey cologne mixing with his sweet sweat.

“Of course.”

“This isn’t my true form,” you instantly countered. He knew that, even though he didn’t know what you truly looked like. He nodded as he placed a gentle kiss against your hair.

“I still believe you’re beautiful,” he said. He pulled you back at arms length, peering into your golden eyes that only hinted at the divinity within the skin suit you wore. “Will you show me?”

You squinted as you thought about his request, “yes.”

You took a few steps into the centre of the apartment, where the hardwood floor was clear of furniture. Bakugo watched you as you began to transform, in complete awe of the way your eyes glowed with inner fire. Your jaw fell slack, light pouring out in waves that burned like the midday sun. Bakugo shielded his eyes only slightly to avoid the glare. Your skin began to mottle, peeling off your body in flakes that disintegrated before it even touched the floor. And when the first of your wings unfurled from your back, the air in the apartment began to swelter.

Bakugo couldn’t look away from you, eyes widening in shock when he counted a hundred eyes blinking at him from the singular wing. Then another unfurled and the windows behind you began to vibrate with the intensity. He swore he heard a heavenly choir sing as you unveiled yourself to him. They sang louder the more you transformed. Two wings now flapped behind your back, lifting your body from the floor, two more sprung out to wrap around your body, covering your feet with the tips pointing to the ground below. It was when the fifth unfurled that Bakugo felt it.

The light in the room burnt like the hottest fire, like the surface of the sun charred everything in contact with it, and wet, hot tears streaked down his face. He touched it, eyes glancing to see it, when he almost collapsed to the floor. His eyes cried blood. It poured from the sockets, down his chin until it laid in a puddle beneath his feet.

“What’s happening?” he shouted, the choir deafening him as he stared back at you, which was the final straw with the final and sixth wing.

Thousands upon thousands of eyes all blinked at him while his vision began to blur. Shooting pain wracked his brain, thumping so fervently he collapsed down, head in his hands, knees in his blood. His fingers slipped as it tried to grab onto his skull. He could no longer see anything. Not even the black of his closed eyes. It was all pure white. Like the light that emitted from your soul.

“So, am I beautiful?” he heard you ask, your voice trembled the very floor upon which he crouched. There was too much happening, his body overwhelmed with the divinity in his midst. His chest spasmed. His could no longer feel his feet to stand. He wanted to beg you to make it stop. He would do anything.

“It’s time, Bakugo,” you sang, or cried, or shouted or whispered. You had no cadence or voice anymore. He felt his ears bleed before he no longer heard anything. 

You were beyond the mortal body. The apartment didn’t exist, a vast expanse of white surrounded your true form as Bakugo’s limp body floated towards you. You were an angel. It was time to return home.

[candideangel]

Primal WoL: Crystalline Angel

Name/Title: Chrysalis, Angel of the Crystal Tower

Battle Music: The Bard’s Song, Shot in the Dark (Second Phase only)

Appearance: This once graceful bard traditionally garbed in shades of earth now takes it upon herself and infuses with the power of the Crystal Tower and the power within its core, eyes changing from the shade of trees to crimson red and crystal starts forming in various places against her skin. From her back come wings of swirling blue light and gone are her boots replaced with delicate slippers and a bow bestowed upon her which doubles as a harp and clothed in pure white.

Start of Battle Quote: “...So, a skilled hunter now becomes the prey. Heh, come unto me then, and we will see who is truly capable of protecting him!”

DPS Check, moveset name or quote said when casting:

Choir: Full raid attack, dealing at least half damage to all. Unavoidable as she plays the strings of her harp and her harmonizing voice becomes a weapon. Crystal Sting: Tankbuster move of a charged up arrow attack similar to Refulgent Arrow, only made of crystal shards. Wing Buffet: Aero moveset, causes minimal damage as long as long as you move as far back as possible away from Chrysalis as she approaches the center. Does not throw off the edge. Heaven’s Curtain Call (DPS check!): Chrysalis at half defeat will reach within the power of the tower with unstable magic out of her control. The heavens above will darken except for a white orb of charging energy. Crystals will appear in segments. These crystals vary from gold to pure black, each shooting off different forms of unstable energy; the gold has a fan AOE, and should be handled first, then the Blue, which is the weakest, shooting off bolts at random players making them have to scatter to avoid massive damage, and Black which does long lines of floor effects of crackling shadowed energy. If successful the rain of arrows will have no effect or very little, but if not done correctly it becomes a full party wipe.

Party losing to Primal WoL quote: “It would seem my assumption was correct. Not even YOU are worthy of keeping him safe.”

Primal WoL losing Quote: “This damage...this destruction...m-my friends...I...I’m so sorry...”

Bonuses!

Pre-defeat, Chrysalis is fighting as the tower is starting to have some adverse effects, this spawns the quote as part of the WoL does come out while all Hell is breaking lose on the battlefield with multiple needs to dodge; “Th-The Tower! Th-The Magic! I...I can’t...G-G’raha...I’m scared...”

Before the battle, G’raha Tia, as the Crystal Exarch has had to put up a barrier between the party and Chrysalis who resides deep at the core. It was only enough to buy time until Chrysalis manages to overwhelm his power, knocking him fully aside with little thought.

Chrysalis spawns from the deep need to protect G’raha Tia from harm, having failed many a time before. It’s an all consuming thought and rash action leads to the creation; after having failed and him critically wounded from the battle against Elidibus, guilt eats at Angelique despite any words of comfort.

End of battle, Angelique has remnants of the primal consumption, a pattern of wings shimmer like a tattoo on her back and faint scars remain in areas where the crystal started to take over. After this, she locks away into seclusion leaving a small quest chain, which does give players options to either allow her to get over the problem alone or offer ways to aid and get her past everything.

Specialty Loot:

A harp with the holds that look like angel wings and is a toy that anyone can play to their desire, do not have to be a bard.

Crystarium Pegasus Whistle, a Pegasus clad in the colors of the city.

Special thanks to @totallycorrectffxivquotes​ for the prompt

Stole this from: @meepsthemiqo​ @whitherliliesbloom​ @windup-dragoon​ and others on my dash. 

[kathyprior4200]

Exterminate, Exterminate!

The dark creepy robotic angels of death are used to exterminate the citizens of Hell to not only reduce their population, but to also plant fear. They have silver weapons that can kill any demon, as well as humans. They were made creepy on purpose: to fight fear with fear. They are sent down once a year to purge the citizens at random.

The exterminators were divided into several groups: the Exterminators, the Death Dealer Archangels and the mechanical angels.

Some of the dark angels used to be regular deceased people who couldn’t make it to heaven, but weren’t evil enough for hell. They had done bad things in life but with good intentions (like stealing money for the poor or killing criminals). When they did make it after many years in limbo, they disobeyed orders and took advantage of their freedom. (There was plenty of food and riches in heaven, and they kept much of it for themselves). They fell from heaven and were sent to Earth and eventually, hell when they didn’t learn their lessons.

After they worked hard to redeem themselves in hell, they were sent back up to heaven. To prove their worth, their leaders gave them a test and mission. They were given special spear weapons made of silver, forged from the flames of the sun that could kill any demon and erase any soul. They were sent down to hell once a year to reduce hell’s population by purging citizens once a year.

The only way to be freed from their duties was for them to realize that even killing sinners isn’t right. That everyone should be given a second chance. They had disobeyed God, fell to Earth, then proved their innocence through prayer and being nice (or at least tolerant) to the demons. Giving them special weapons and a direct order was a way to test them: would they choose for themselves what is right, or be willing to obey their master even if what they were doing was considered “evil?” After all, when people and the divine alike possess power, they can become very different individuals.

 Regarding the second group (Known casually as Death Dealer Archangels), other more experienced exterminators were actually archangels, leaders of other angels. Unlike regular angels, they were able to take on the appearance of black bird-like creatures with wings while wearing LED masks to scare off demons. Their jobs were to punish sinners and plan the purges each year. Puriel, Kushiel, Teneluehus, Raguel, Wormwood, Jeheel, Zacheniel, Ababhar, and their leader, Abaddon were the oldest and most experienced at their jobs. In fact, each one of them led attacks of choir exterminators onto one of the nine circles of hell.

 For the third group, there were a few dark angels that were purely robotic. These were mostly used for tests and replacements if the dark angels couldn’t participate in the purge.

 Heaven viewed Lucifer and the larger hell population as a threat, as Lucifer had waged a previous war against them. To prevent the threat, the exterminator dark angels were hired/created.

 There may be several reasons why Lucifer is against the idea of Charlie redeeming sinners and creating the Happy Hotel:

1.   It is part of their family’s legacy to make demons suffer and keep them in line. Creating a Happy Hotel would make the royal family appear weak to their rivals.

2.   If Charlie were to redeem demons, she might be given the opportunity to go to heaven. If that were the case, her father would never see her again.

3.   Lucifer has a deep grudge against God, the angels and archangels for being banished and for mortals being favored over him and the angels.

4.   Lucifer is overprotective of his daughter and worries that she will be harmed if the angels (or other demon overlords) find her. He doesn’t want her to draw too much attention. He calls her a failure because he doesn’t know how else to persuade her not to pursue her dream due to his worries of the previous listed scenarios.

5.   Lucifer worries that Charlie will find out that he was once an angel who punished and killed demons. The thought of her father previously killing “her people” would be too much to bear.

Vaggie remains in possession of a harpoon that can kill demons. The X over her eye is on her left eye, rather than her right, like the exterminators. Unlike many demons, Vaggie values respect and virtues. Perhaps there's an underlying reason why she has these traits?

After Vagatha died in 2014, she became an exterminator, neither good nor evil. Due to her doing evil actions with good intentions, she was put to the test and sent to purge demons every year.

But a certain demon princess caught her attention...the one demon she would not slay. For the two had fallen in love...but love comes with great costs.

But some people are willing to take the fall and brave exile, in the name of genuine feelings for a fellow friend.

  Vaggie, the lesbian moth demon, is Charlie’s best friend and the manager of the Happy Hotel. She is also Charlie’s current girlfriend. She arrived in Hell in 2014 and can speak Spanish. Vaggie has a strong hatred toward men, especially when they attempt to insult Charlie.

 Not much is known about her previous human life, but it’s implied that she likes punk rock music, and Latino music.

 This theory has been brought up before by fans. What if there’s more to Vaggie than meets the eye? If she’s a demon in Hell, why, then, would she have been an angel in the past (or have the potential to be one?)

  How did this theory come about? From similarities between Vaggie’s appearance and the looks of the exterminator angels, sent down to purge the citizens of Hell every year.

 First, there is the characteristic pink X over Vaggie’s left eye. One of the Exterminators seen in the trailer had an X over their left eye as well. A picture of an angel’s face also showed an X in place of one of their eyes.

 Second is Vaggie’s expertise with weapons, specifically the harpoon. Throughout the episode, she is shown holding a spear-like weapon that is capable of killing demons. The Exterminators use these weapons to “cleanse” or kill off the demons to keep the population at a set amount. Sometimes, these weapons are discarded, and are found by other demons to sell on the black market. In the opening introduction, white figures of the angels are shown holding spears similar to the harpoon Vaggie holds; a long weapon with a sharp curved blade at the top.

 It is also worth mentioning that when Vaggie warns Angel Dust about Alastor, her pink bow briefly takes on the shape of horns. The Exterminators themselves also have horns on their heads.

 But perhaps the most convincing point to this speculative theory is not Vaggie’s similar physical traits to the Exterminators. Perhaps it is her personality.

 Based on the wiki, Vaggie is described as “prudent and sensible,” more so than the other characters. She is often seen trying to keep Charlie out of trouble and making sure the hotel stays up and running. One example is when she tells Charlie to stay on topic during her interview and not to sing (though she doesn’t listen.) When a cameraman calls Charlie a “stupid bitch,” Vaggie punches him off a chair.

 Possessing a fiery temper, she confronts Angel Dust after his participation in the turf war against Sir Pentious. She is furious that Angel ruined Charlie’s reputation and that of the hotel. Though Charlie said he was “clean” for two weeks while spending time at the hotel, Angel then decided to resort to violence and drugs.

 Despite Alastor being powerful and intimidating, Vaggie doesn’t hesitate to point her weapon at him, while they’re at the hotel. He warns him not to harm Charlie and even insults him.

  The wiki also mentions that Vaggie has a wide knowledge about Hell, despite having been sent only recently. She knows about the Overlords and how dangerous Alastor is.

 Additionally, Vaggie cannot fly like the angels can but that doesn’t mean that it wouldn’t be a possibility in her full demon form (which has not been revealed as of yet.)

 How does this relate back to the Exterminators?

 While not much is known about these dark angels sent to Hell, it is assumed that they came from Heaven (or were once part of it). They would hold up certain standards and values such as obeying rules, not participating in sinful acts (despite the irony of them killing demons) among others.

 Vaggie is distrustful of sinners and of men, especially. Unlike many carefree demons, she is practical and protective of those she cares about. In one scene, Vaggie protests against allowing alcohol in the hotel, saying that the hotel “is a place that (should) discourage sin.”

 However, Vaggie still displays some so called “demonic” traits such as swearing and a fiery temper.

  The question is, how would Vaggie know about how Hell works so fast? How would she know how the overlords rise in power and information about Alastor’s rampages? Unless someone else told her about all of it, it wouldn’t be likely for her to know all the specific details so easily. It is assumed that only demons in higher positions of power would know about these dark politics.

But if no one told her about it, then how did she gain that knowledge on her own?

 Perhaps this will be explained in a future episode…

 Or, maybe Vaggie got this intelligence from a higher source of power, a group who knows the ins and outs of Hell to keep the overcrowded population from becoming a threat. You guessed it…the Exterminators and the inhabitants of Heaven.

  Vaggie may have been an Exterminator in the past, just after her death. She may have died from suicide or homicide. In her human life, Vaggie may have wanted to get justice on abusers and evil individuals…but went about it in the wrong way (violence or murder). Thus, she didn’t go to Heaven but not to Hell yet. She was tested and briefly became an Exterminator, to cleanse evil “for the greater good.” (Exterminators may have been previous souls who were truly neutral or did bad things that they thought were the right things to do).  

 Vaggie soon became a fallen angel.

 How, then, was she sent down to Hell? Maybe she enjoyed killing sinners a little too much (or not enough to complete her tasks). Or, more likely, her temper tampered with her ability to focus. After all, even dark bringers of death have rules to follow. Fearing that Vaggie was a threat, they sent her down to Hell (burning off her wings) with only a weapon to defend herself.

 Now she faced the ultimate test…survival in her new afterlife. She did remember one part of her mission: to keep the demon/angel Charlie out of trouble…and help her with her destiny to redeem sinners, and themselves.

 For if Charlie convinces demons to be good, they might be redeemed and be sent to Heaven (or become Exterminators), thus reducing the population and making Hell less of a threat…

 Something that the king of Hell and the overlords would not approve of…

List of Angels and Demons in Theology:

From Oberon Zeil-Ravenheart’s “Grimoire for the apprentice wizard” (2004) Career Press

 Chioth Ha Qadesh – Supreme Order of Angels, led by Archangel Metatron (“Angel of the Presence”). Shekinah is his female counterpart. Associated with the infinite divine spirit of Kether.

Metatron is the link between God and humanity. The King of all the Angels and the youngest, he was once the Biblical Patriarch Enoch.

 Auphanim – (Whirling Forces), ruled by Archangel Ratziel (“delight of God”), the prince of hidden things who is called the Angel of Mysteries, holds a coded key to the secrets of the universe.

 Aralim – (Strong and Mighty Ones, made of white fire) Archangel is Tzaphqiel (“contemplation of God”), prince of spiritual strife against evil. Planet: Saturn

 Chasmalim – (Brilliant Ones, justice) Archangel Tzadkiel (“justice of God), prince of mercy and beneficence who guards the gates of the East Wind. Planet: Jupiter

 Seraphim – (Flaming Ones) Avenging Angels of Destruction. Ruled by Archangel Kamael, (“severity of God”), prince of strength and courage, bearing the flaming sword. Planet: Mars

 Malachim – Govern all natural laws and are responsible for the motions of the cosmos and heavenly bodies. Archangel is Raphael (“physician of God”) prince of healing. Planet: Sun

 Elohim – (Choir of Principalities) Archangel is Haniel (“grace of God”), prince of love and harmony, art and creativity. Hagiel (Aphrodite), female counterpart. Planet: Venus

 Beni Elohim – (Sons of the Gods/ Choir of Archangels) Archangel is Michael (“protector of God”) with Raphael as his lieutenant. Their province is art and knowledge. Planet: Mercury

 Cherubim – Guardian angels of humanity (“those who intercede”). Archangel is Gabriel (“strength of God”). It was he who appeared to Mary with the Annunciation and dictated the Koran to Mohammed. Planet: Moon

 Ishim – (Blessed Souls) lowest order of angels, assisting humanity directly, associated with mundane concerns, once living saints and prophets. Archangel is Sandalphon (twin of Metatron) Planet: Earth

 Angel Types:

Archangel (Christianity, Islam, Judaism) “chief angel”

 Bene Elohim “Sons of God”

 Chalkydri (Christianity, Judaism) = Carriers of the sun’s heat

 Cherub (Christianity, Judaism)

 Dominions (Christianity, Judaism)

 Grigori (Watchers) (Christianity, Judaism)

 Ishim (Judaism, Islam)

 Lamassu (Ancient Mesopotamian religion) = protection, constellations, female deities

 Mu’aqqibat (Islam)

 Powers (Christianity, Judaism)

 Principalities (Christianity, Judaism)

Seraph/Seraphim (Christianity, Islam, Judaism)

 Song-Uttering Choirs (Judaism)

 Thrones (Christianity, Judaism)

 Virtues (Christianity, Judaism)

   Angels of Death:

 Azrael

Dumah

Munkar

Nakir

Samael

 Fallen Angels:

 Azazel

Dumah

Harut

Iblis

Lucifer

 Marut

  Christian Hierarchy of Angels:

(Highest order)

Seraphim

Cherubim

Thrones

 (Middle order)

Dominions

Virtues

Powers

 (Lowest order)

Principalities

Archangels

Angels

  Names:

 Abaddon (Christianity, Judaism) = Destruction

 Abathar Muzania (Mandaeism) = The weighing of souls

 Aglibol (Ancient Cannaanite religion) = Angel of the god Baal Hadad

Ananiel (Christianity, Judaism) Archangel, “Rain of God”

 Arariel (Jewish mythology) = Waters of the Earth

 Ariel (Christianity, Islam) = Personification of Israel

 Artiya’il (Islam) = Removes human grief

 Azazel (Christianity, Islam, Judaism) = Archangel, fallen angel, teacher of evil arts, rebellion against God

 Azrael (Islam, Judaism) = Archangel, Angel of Death

 Barachiel (Christianity) = Archangel, lightning, Guardian angel chief “Blessed by God’

 Baraquiel (Jewish mythology) = Archangel

 Camael/Kemuel (Christianity, Judaism) = Archangel, Leader of the Powers, strength courage and war

 Cassiel (Christianity, Islam, Judaism) = Archangel, solitude and tears

 Daniel (Christianity, Judaism) = Watcher

 Dadrail (Islam, Yazdanism) = Archangel in Yazdanism

 Dumah (Islam, Judaism) = Angel of Death, silence, torments the wicked after death

 Eleleth (Sethianism)

 Eremiel/Jerahmeel (Christianity, Judaism) = guides the holy deceased in afterlife

 Gabriel (Christianity, Islam, Judaism) = Archangel, messengers, military, destruction “God is my strength”

 Gadreel (Christianity, Judaism)

 Hadraniel (Judaism, Gnosticism) = Second Heavenly Gate

 Hahasiah (Christianity, Judaism) = Principality

 Hanibal (Ancient Mesotopamian religion) = Angel of the god Baal Hadad

 Haniel (Christianity, Judaism) = Archangel, leader of Principalities along with Archangel Netzach

 Haziel

 Harut (Islam) = fallen angel, sorcery

 Hashmal (Christianity, Judaism) Dominions

 Hamalat al-Arsh (Islam)

 Hofniel (Judaism) = Archangel

 Iblis (Islam) = fallen angel, ruler of lower heavens, teacher of angels, leading angels into battle, (after the fall) tempter and commanding demons

 Imamiah (Christianity, Judaism) = Principality

 Israfil/Israfel (Islam) = Archangel, music

 Jegudiel (Christianity) = Archangel, responsibility and merciful love “Glorifier of God”

 Jehoel (Christianity, Judaism) = Seraph, fire

 Jequn (Christianity, Islam, Judaism)

 Jerahmeel (Christianity, Judaism) = Archangel “God’s Exaltation”

 Jophiel (Christianity, Judaism) = Archangel, wisdom, understanding and judgement

 Kalka’il (Islam) = fifth heaven

 Kepharel (Jewish mythology) = (Archangel)

 Kerubiel (Judaism)

 Kiraman Katibin (Islam) = recorder of human thoughts

 Kushiel (Christianity, Judaism) = punishment

 Lailah (Judaism) = night, conception

 Lucifer (Christianity) = Archangel or seraph, cherub, fallen angel, Bringer of Light, rebellion against God

Morning Star/Venus, wanted to surpass and be “Most High”

Bogomiliam: Lucifer fell from heaven and trapped souls from heaven inside matter which were later freed by Jesus

Jealous of God and humanity

Satan in Christianity

One of the four princes of Hell, ruler of the East and air in Satanic Bible

Morning star, intellectualism, fantasy, enlightenment in some versions

Neopagan: Lucifer as brother and consort to goddess Diana and father of Aradia. (Apollo?) “proud of his beauty and who for his pride was driven from Paradise.”

     Maalik (Islam) = hellfire

 Malakbel (Ancient Canaanite religion) angel of the god Baal Hadad, the sun

 Marut (Islam) = fallen angel, sorcery

 Melek Taus (Yazdanism) = Archangel

 Metatron (Judaism, Islam) = Archangel, seraph, The Celestial Scribe

 Michael (Christianity, Islam, Judaism, Mormonism, Yazdanism) = Archangel, seraph, military, Angel of Mercy, General in God’s army, Angel of Death “Who is like God”

 Moroni (Mormonism) = the Golden Plates

 Munkar (Islam) = Angel of Death, the Faith of the Dead

 Muriel (Christianity) = Dominions, June and Cancer in astrology

 Nakir (Islam) = Angel of Death, The Faith of the Dead

 Nanael (Christianity, Judaism) = Principality

 Netzach (Christianity, Judaism) = Archangel, leader of Principalities along with Haniel, eternity

 Nithael (Christianity, Judaism) = Principality

 Nuriel (Jewish mythology) = hailstorms

 Ophaniel/Ofaniel (Christianity, Judaism) = Cherubrim/Thrones

 Pahaliah (Christianity) = Thrones, Virtuosity

 Penemue (Christianity, Judaism)

 Phanuel (Christianity, Judaism) = Archangel, Repentance and Hope “Face of God”

 Poyel (Christianity, Judaism) = Principality

 Pravuli (Jewish mythology) = Archangel, God’s scribe

 Puriel (Judaism) = examines the souls of those brought to heaven

 Qaphsiel (Christianity, Judaism) = angel of tears, presides over the death of kings

 Radueriel (Jewish mythology) = can create lesser angels

 Raguel/Azrael (Christianity, Islam, Judaism) = Archangel, Angel of Justice “Friend of God”

 Ramuel (Christianity, Judaism) = Archangel, “Thunder of God”

 Raphael (Christianity, Islam, Judaism, Mormonism, Yazdansim) = Archangel, leader of the Virtues, cherubim, healing “God heals”

 Raziel (Judaism) = Archangel, Keeper of Secrets

 Remiel (Christianity, Judasim) = Archangel

Ridwan (Islam) Angel of Paradise

 Rikbiel (Christianity, Judaism) = cherubim

 Sachiel (Christianity, Judaism) = Archangel, cherub, Wealth and Charity

 Sahaquiel (Jewish mythology) = Archangel, guardian of the fourth heaven

 Sabriel (Jewish mythology) = Archangel, Miracles

 Samael (Christianity, Judaism) = Archangel, Angel of Death, fetching souls

 Samyaza (Judaism, Manichaeism) = Watcher

 Sandalphon (Christianity, Judaism, Islam) = Archangel, protector of unborn children

 Sarathiel (Christianity, Judaism) = Archangel, Discipline and Penance

 Sariel (Christianity, Judaism, Islam) = Archangel

 Sealtiel (Christianity, Judaism) = Archangel “Intercessor of God”

 Selaphiel (Christianity) = Archangel, patron saint of prayer and worship

 Seraphiel (Christianity, Islam) = seraph, protector of Metatron, highest ranking seraphim

 Shamnail (Yazdanism) = Archangel

 Shamsiel (Christianity, Judaism)

 Sidriel (Jewish mythology) = Archangel

 Suriel (Christianity, Judaism) = Archangel, “Prince of God”

 Temeluchus (Christianity, Judaism)

 Tennin (Japanese Buddhism)

 Turail (Yazdanism) = Archangel

 Uriel (Christianity, Judaism) = Archangel, seraphim, “God is my light” patron of arts

 Uziel (Judaism) = Archangel

 Vasiariah (Christianity, Judaism) = Dominions

 Vehuel (Christianity, Judaism) = Principality

 Wormwood (Christianity) = war

 Yarihibol (Ancient Canaanite religion) (angel of God Baal Hadad), springs

 Zachariel (Christianity) = Archangel

 Zadkiel (Christianity, Judaism) = Archangel, leader of the Dominions, "Righteousness of God” angel of freedom, benevolence and mercy and the Patron Angel of all who forgive

 Zaphkiel (Christianity) = Archangel, leader of the Thrones, “God’s Knowledge”

 Zedekiel (Christianity, Judaism) = Archangel, “Grace of God”

 Zephaniel (Judaism) = Archangel

 Zephon (Jewish mythology)

 Zophiel (Christianity, Judaism) = Cherubim

  List of Demons in Theology

 Archdemons seven deadly sins:

 Lucifer: Pride

Mammon: Greed

Asmodeus: Lust

Leviathan: Envy (sea monster)

Beelzebub: Gluttony (Lord of the Flies)

Satan: Wrath

Belphegor: Sloth (suggests ingenious inventions will make people rich)

 Demon Kings of the Ars Goetia

Amaymon (King of the East)

Corson (King of the West)

Ziminiar (King of the North)

Gaap (King of the South)

Bael (first king, power to make men invisible, teaching science,

Paimon (obedient to Lucifer, knowledge of past and future events)

Beleth

Purson

Asmodey

Vine

Balam

Beilal

Alastor (Greek spirit of vengeance)

Pazuzu

 Demons in Christianity:

Adrammelech

  Alastor (avenger of evil deeds, specifically familial bloodshed, byname of Zeus, also one of Hade’s black horses, possessing entity like Nemesis, generic term for evil spirits)

Asmodeus

Baphomet

Belial

Belphegor

Demogorgon

Dusios

Gello

Incubus

Succubus

Satan

 Four Princes of Hell (Satanic Bible)

Satan

Lucifer

Belial

Levitaian

[torendheavenandearth]

1.5

“The world will never be able to be what it once was, before BATALA was killed, before the Trinity came, during the age of heroes and gods. Yawa and Halimaw and sitan rule these lands now. God rules these lands now.” - From The Drunken Teachings of Master Erpat.

▼

Before long, Makabintang jumps back in. He lands on the floor without making any sound. “Bad shit, guys,” he says. “So get this: the entire village of Laurel is swarming with Guwardya Sibil. There are some anghel as well there too. Mostly just Guardian Anghel.”

Ang Nilapastangan rises and curses. “Ah fuck, that’s not a good sign.” She clenches her fist and waits for a bit. She turns to look at Angela, who has more or less already dried her eyes up, although her eyes have gone a bit puffy and red.

Angela rises to her feet. “So? What do we do now?”

“Makabintang, give her a bolo.”

Makabintang runs over to the banig on the floor and pulls a weapon from underneath. A bolo, basic, with a wide and flat blade similar to a machete, and with a handle made of hand-carved wood, sculpted to look like the opening maws of a serpent. 

“Now be careful, this is a real weapon,” says Makabintang, as he walks over and hands it to her. “It’s super sharp, so be careful.”

“Do you have an anting-anting there that she can wear?” adds Ang Nilapastangan.

Makabintang gulps. “Sadly, I do not. It’s why I’m wearing this barote.”

Ang Nilapastangan curses beneath her breath. “All right. All right then, we have to be careful of how we step. Since you can go quietly, Makabintang, you go on ahead. Angela, you stay close to me, got it?”

Angela blinks, staring at the bolo now in her hands. A single thought permeates her thoughts: she has no idea how to fight! Well, there was that one time she took karate when she was younger, and also that time Arnis was taught to them during PE class. Other than that, nothing. She wouldn’t know what to do when it came to the time she had to kill somebody, or at least defend herself. She’d just break down. Simple, normal, everyday living tasks already tear her to pieces, what more of something so stressing as fighting?

Angela grips the handle. Her hands are shaking. She’s trembling.

She nods. “I’m sorry. I… don’t know how to use a bolo.”

“Thwack nasty guwardya in the face,” says Makabintang, making a swinging motion. “Make stabby stabby,” and Makabintang does a stabby stabby motion. “Make sure blood goes splotchy. Got that, school girl?”

Before she can say something back, Makabintang turns to Ang Nilapastangan and tells her that he’ll go first and that they have to go quickly while the morning is still dark. With that, he leaps up through and out of the hole once again.

Angela is still staring at the bolo in her hands. At the blade that is shined and oiled so well that she can see herself within it. Ang Nilapastangan appears in front of her and gives her hand. “As long as you stick close to me, you might not even need to use that,” she says. “Trust me, all right?”

Angela looks up at her and swallows. With a single, slow nod, she secedes. “Okay.” Her voice is small. Smaller than she thought it would be. Weak and frail, just like her.

“Come on,” says Ang Nilapastangan, her voice firm and unwavering. She helps her up the rattan ropes and straight up through the mound opening.

They come out into a small garden of these same mounds, each one having a little wooden sign in front of them to signify who owns them. A brisk wind caresses Angela, causing her to shiver a bit. It’s cold here, surely brought about by the combination of the fresh wind and the early dark morning.

Ang Nilapastangan stands up before her. “Keep close behind me.” She begins walking to the dirt road and Angela follows after her. They pick their way through the garden of mounds, making sure to step on none of them this early in the morning. 

“Tabi-tabi po,” they both say, in addition to already gingerly making their way over the mound garden. Eventually, they reach the small bamboo fence that keeps them in. They hope over it, for its not terribly tall, and descend on the other side. Angela turns around to look at the mounds from outside. The mounds look like their own microcosm of an apartment district, with a main road and everything. All of them are lined up in emanating rows from the tree in the middle, which itself is beside the house of the green-skinned elderly woman. The woman stares at her from within, shrugging.

“Sa ngalan ng mga ninuno,” mutters Ang Nilapastangan, kissing the back of her hand, before breathing deeply, letting the air flow through her, becoming somewhat… well to Angela’s eyes, more missable? Like, if one were not looking for Ang Nilapastangan, one would easily overlook Ang Nilapastangan as just a part of the scenery. Magic, Angela thought.

And then, with that, they are out on the main road. “We will travel through the back alleys. Follow me, and stay close behind.”

As they’re about to set out on this mission to sneak through the barangay, Ang Nilapastangan grabs Angela by the arm and hauls her straight to the back of a house. 

Ang Nilapastangan pulls Angela so quickly that all wind is knocked out of her. She has to inhale suddenly, but that is going to be too much noise, so Ang Nilapastangan clamps her hand over her mouth, and then presses most of her body weight against her. Now all the houses are upon pillars, so they had to make do by pressing themselves against the thick bamboo pillars of said houses. 

Angela’s eyes widen and she grows hot, and her brain goes fuzzy, unsure what to do.

“Just keep quiet.” Ang Nilapastangan’s whispers are warm.

Angela is breathing too quickly, she realizes. She forces herself to take a few longer, deeper breaths to control her breathing and then tries to listen around for sounds that she can focus on instead. The sounds of footsteps now suddenly reveal themselves to her, loud and clear. The sound of leather boots against the dirt of the road. And then… the sound of chains? Yes, that’s definitely the sound of chains clanking. It’s a bit too similar to how Angela would lock the gates of her house at night. Just the heavy clanking of chains.

“Buwisit,” curses Ang Nilapastangan. “They’re in pairs.”

Angela leans out of the pillar to see what Ang Nilapastangan is looking at. She only sees a quick view of what Ang Nilapastangan is looking at, but it's enough to be burned into her mind. On one hand, there is a woman guwardya sibil, wearing navy blue trousers and the navy blue rayadillo. She wears a salakot to protect her head and then wields a bolo and a revolver. She’s wearing boots, something that’s bound to be an irritation in the heat. Although it is a damp and cold morning, so it might not be so much of an inconvenience.

Behind her, however, is a stranger creature. Imagine a human body bathed in pure white milk, and then tied up by chains. Their hands tied up above their head, their ankles tied together and then wrapped by a strange veil that gives them some semblance of clothing. Their heads are shaved, and their eyes are blindfolded. Wrapping around the creature’s neck is a black leather choker, upon where a chain hangs. However, the chain is not tied to anywhere, although it is clearly supposed to. Their mouth is gagged by chains. They hover above the ground, carried by wings of heaven-white down.

“What is fuck is that?”

“Guardian Anghel,” says Ang Nilapastangan says. “The lowest in the Koro Esfera.”

“The fucking what?”

“That’s the word for the Spheres of the Choirs of Angels of God,” says Ang Nilapastangan absent-mindedly while she’s still looking out at the pair. “Koro Esfera. The Guardian Anghel is the lowest of the low, the Third kind of Anghel in the Third Sphere, farthest from God.”

“Okay…” she blinks, and then tries to ease out her frustration and irritation by exhaling slowly. She only kind of understands this due to having played JRPGs. “I think I understand.”

“You will not engage,” says Ang Nilapastangan. “Come on, let’s try not to make too much of a commotion.”

They wait for the pair to pass their position before Ang Nilapastangan hauls Angela to the other side of the house, and into the streets of Barangay Laurel. Angela does her best to follow Ang Nilapastangan as she rushes through the in-betweens of the houses, over stacks of cargo, and under the pillars of the houses, which are surprisingly clean. Eventually, they arrive at another wide road.

“Wait.”

Angela does so. Her hands tremble as they grip the bolo. 

A voice pipes up from behind them. “All right so--” Angela jumps and screams, but Ang Nilapastangan is like lightning. Her hand is over Angela’s mouth, muffling the sound before it echoes across the barangay.

Makabintang winces, appearing from underneath one of the houses--which isn’t too hard for him since he’s their height. “Sorry. I tried my best not to be too shocking.”

“It’s all right,” says Ang Nilapastangan, using her eyes to tell Angela to shut up. “What’s the lay of the barangay?”

“Well, since you’ve gotten this far, you probably already know that most of the patrolling guwardya sibil now have their own physical Guardian anghel.”

Ang Nilapastangan nods grimly.

“I’m here to reassure you that it’s going to be like that for the rest of the way to the stables. However, I know that the kalesa is ready: I managed to get that far. It’s going to be an easy escape. The hard part will be getting through the entire place without being seen.”

Ang Nilapastangan inspects the wide road that’s before them. “A few more blocks before then. Any larger threats other than Guardian anghel and Guwardya Sibil?”

Makabintang nods. “Near the borders, some of the Guwardya Sibil are accompanied by Soldado anghel, and not just Guardian anghel.”

“Shit. All right. Those are a bit more tricky to dispose of.”

Ang Nilapastangan turns to Angela. Angela is biting her lip, wondering the next course of action.

“All right,” says Ang Nilapastangan, rising to her full height. “We’ll time the patrols so we get across this wide street. After that, we’re going a bit northwest and we’re going to find the stables there. This wide road is going to be our biggest point of vulnerability,” says Ang Nilapastangan.

Angela gulps and nods. “Because we’ll be out in the open for a while?”

Ang Nilapastangan nods. “Go on, Makabintang. Go first.”

“Gotcha. Stay safe, both of you. Bantayan kayo ng ninuno.”

“Ikaw rin.”

Angela inhales. “May the ancestors watch over you.” “You too.” That’s what they said, but they said it in such a ritual style that Angela thought that it would’ve been something they did in their religion.

Considering everything going on, that wouldn’t be too crazy, actually.

“All right.” Ang Nilapastangan peeks out, and Angela follows suit. Ang Nilapastangan shoots her a strange, almost irritated look, but doesn’t stop her. Outside, in the wide roads, Angela notices that the dirt is not even. It looks like it’s been stamped upon by elephants.

When she sees that, she suddenly remembers the events just the other day. Or was that yesterday? She mentally shrugs that off; time, along with many other things, does not make sense anymore. Anyway, she remembers that during the procession of traders there were a lot of parades and animals stomping about the main road.

Angela notices that Ang Nilapastangan doesn’t give it any special heed to the uneven, battered dirt road, which probably means that it’s a normal occurrence.

Angela follows Ang Nilapastangan’s line of sight. She’s staring to the right of the opening they’re in. She’s gazing over at another alleyway wherein they can presumably slip into. However, walking up the street is a pair of Guwardya Sibil and Guardian anghel, both looking about them, making sure they had no blind spots. 

Cursing, Ang Nilapastangan turns to her left, and Angela follows her. She sees that there is another one--a larger man this time, still wearing the clothes of a Guwardya Sibil, although this one is wielding a long rifle.

“Barilero,” says Ang Nilapastangan.

“Barilero?” asks Angela. 

“Those that use those rifles. The rifles are called baril. They work purely mechanically, shooting balls of steel. Those will hurt if you’re hit.”

“I know what happens if you get shot,” says Angela, but she shudders still at the thought. The fuzzy anxiety that gripped her before grasps her heart again, now realizing just how close she is to danger.

Ang Nilapastangan whips her head to the right once again. Angela follows suit, and then sees a strange winged human, wearing a long black coat that reaches his knees, crimson trousers, and black shoes. He looks like an evangelist. His hair is the color of crushed grapes, and his eyes a burning silver. His skin is immaculately white as well. He walks with a cane. His wings are the color of the sky during the last parts of twilight, right before sunset.

Of course, the more alarming thing is the strange, six-limbed creature that walks with him. Now, this creature somewhat resembles the mix of a man, a dog, and a crocodile. Its back is ridged and sharp like a crocodile, but its snout is like a dog. But it has the shape and demeanor of a human with two sets of arms, and with skin so white they looked as if they had been bleached. Its hands are talons, and its tail is the tail of a crocodile.

“What the fuck is that?” hisses Angela through shut teeth.

“Halimaw,” says Ang Nilapastangan. “A kimera halimaw. Those are uh… the kind of halimaw that are weird mixtures and blends of different creatures.”

Angela blinks. Halimaw means “monster” or “beast” in Tagalog. “Okay, all right. You’re saying there are other kinds of halimaw?”

“As many as there are animals,” says Ang Nilapastangan. She retreats for a bit, and Angela joins her, resting against one of the pillars of the hoses. Angela notices then, as she presses against one of the four pillars of the house they’ve chosen to hide behind, that the houses on the other side of the road are bahay-na-bato style instead of the usual bahay-kubo style. Instead of being built on wooden pillars or bamboo stilts, they’re built upon a stone base.

Angela swallows and waits for Ang Nilapastangan’s move. Ang Nilapastangan looks up at the morning sky for a bit. The sky is slowly turning indigo. Moving toward the bright blue of the rising sun. “Angela, you just stick as close to me as possible, ha? That means you have to match my speed as much as you can.”

Angela licks her lips but then nods anyway.

“Okay.” She turns to the ground and then whispers. “Makabintang!”

A moment passes, before the ground in front of her turns into a mound, and Makabintang pops into view. “What’s up? The place past this is clear for the most part. The Soldado anghel that was guarding the stables has gone.”

“Yes. Because he’s here. And he has a kimera halimaw?!” 

Makabintang winces. “Yeah, sorry about that.”

“All right. You’re going to have to make a distraction for us.”

Makabintang rises to his feet and raises his hand to protest, but then before he can say anything his eyes glisten with either ideas or understanding. He sighs and lowers his hand. “Fine. You’re really gonna go ahead and exploit me, huh? I better get something good out of this.”

“When the people come out, that’s your cue to dive into the ground and get to us. Got it?”

Makabintang sighs and nods. “Got it. Come on then.”

“Nawa’y bantayan ka ng mga umalagad.”

Makabintang repeats the words back to Ang Nilapastangan in a mocking fashion. He disappears into the dirt.

Ang Nilapastangan and Angela wait. They wait in bated breath. Angela specifically waits with her heart beating against her chest, threatening to shatter her rib cage. Her hands begin to shake. She starts moving them around in strange patterns to shake off the jitters.

A moment passes. And then, the sound of “Hoy!” followed by the sound of a gunshot.

Angela’s eyes widen at Ang Nilapastangan. “Don’t worry. Trust in Makabintang,” says Ang Nilapastangan.

Angela gulps and nods. As she does, she and Ang Nilapastangan see the kimera halimaw and the Soldado anghel zoom past, with the Soldado flying upon his twilight wings and the kimera scrambling across the ground as if it’s a wall that it’s trying to scale. 

“Umalagad favor you, Makabintang!” mutters Ang Nilapastangan as she rises to her feet. “Come on!”

Angela stands and absent-mindedly grabs for Ang Nilapastangan’s hand, but she’s already moving. Angela curses and follows suit, a desperate sprint to catch up. 

The road is bumpy, pocked with holes and puddles, and is somewhat muddy, making footholds a bit difficult. She’s wearing sandals that she borrowed from Ang Nilapastangan, but it’s not helping her all that much. As she runs, she sees that there are people peeking out of their windows and doors, either suddenly interested or suddenly awoken by the commotion going to their far left. 

Ang Nilapastangan and Angela, however, are moving toward the right. Toward that alleyway in between two bahay-na-bato. The road is wide, but Ang Nilapastangan leaps through it as if it were plain grass. Her strides are confident, every movement performed to be able to give her more speed to get to the other side. She jumps over a large pock-hole easily.

Angela, however, doesn’t have her kind of movement or physical prowess. In fact, all the physical movement she’s ever had other than getting on and getting off the bus is through her school’s PE. Sure, that involved running track, but PE was her lowest grade.

She tries her best to keep up, prancing around pock holes and almost tripping once, twice, due to strange height differences and the persistence of mounds. She leaps over a puddle and then looks up. Ang Nilapastangan is already on the other side, turning around to see behind her. Angela is still just about halfway through the road.

“Where did it go? What was it?” Angela hears a deep voice far to her left.

Looking up is her first mistake.

As she takes another step without looking first, she doesn’t realize that there is another mound right before a depression in the earth. She hits it and misses her footing, tripping forward and into the hole, slamming against it. Thankfully the earth is soft, so other than the initial shock of hitting the ground, she isn’t very hurt.

However…

Ang Nilapastangan’s looks over her shoulder. Her eyes go wide, and she curses.

Angela looks to her left, and she sees the Soldado is already looking in her way. She sees the two Guwardya Sibil turning to see what the commotion is, and why the Soldado is looking in her direction. The Guardian anghel, despite being blindfolded, also turns to her direction.

And the kimera halimaw is dashing full speed towards her.

Next Chapter.

Return to Table of Contents.

[undeadwicchan]

Rewatching RWBY: Volume 1, Episodes 6-10 [Live Blog]

The second half of Volume 1, and yes if you combine the parts. Volume 1 is actually only 10 episodes long.

[Episode 6]

I know it’s first volume and the budget isn’t as big as it is now, but Ruby’s arms in her uniform are unusually long.

Blake is actually somewhat OOC during the ‘Banzai’ then again, Blake is one of Miles’s hardest characters to write and it’s Volume 1 so…

Omg that Achievement Hunter poster

It’s always the quiet ones hehe.

I don’t understand why Ruby would cut the curtain to this very day unless it was an accident.

Weiss is womanlet compared to Yang omg.

Oh right, JNPR’s room is right across from RWBY’s!

“Remember when STRQ was late to class? Good times”

Okay so who is that guy with the black hair and green shirt?!

Also hello Port!

Yeah just yell at Ruby while Yang and Blake were cheering too lmao.

“Sheesh what’s with her,” tell me about it.

“Ozpin made a mistake” Oh hell no.

“My ‘Ruby is having a conflict with herself or with someone’ senses are tingling” - Ozpin, probably.

I love Ryan voicing Port omg.

“I have made more mistakes than any man, woman, and child on this planet” can we talk about how tired and sad Ozma sounds here? Yes, I strongly believe that this is Ozma in control talking to Ruby.

Boy I wonder how that opinion that Port has of Ozpin is going to change now…

You tell her Port.

Yeah, you see Weiss. Ruby is working very hard. Baby girl is doing her best and that’s all that matters. ;v;

HHHhhhhh Weiss is so sweet omg

And now it’s time for probably  the most skipped on and criticized arc in the series. Jaundice.

[Episode 7]

Now isn’t that some alluding regarding the characters they’re based off of.

So it’s been a considerable amount of weeks and a few months before the Vytal Festival kinda sorta starts. Interesting.

Omg Ren’s and Nora’s story telling.

Ruby and Pyrrha are on the same wavelength regarding their concern for Jaune

I WILL 1v4 YOU TEAM CRDL IF YOU CONTINUE TO BULLY VELVET.

Oh my god, I know it’s for comedy relief but, that’s kinda messed up Cardin would send Jaune trapped in a locker flying.

Cardin. You. Me. 1v1 now. You dare hurt the Bun?! Speaking of, I know Velvet’s teammates designs aren’t completed, but they would kick Cardin and his team’s ass.

“It must be hard to be a faunus” Yeah… Looking at how shitty society treated Adam and Ilia, it is not much of a brainer.

OOBLECK!

Aw poor baby is so hesitant to speak out about the discrimination she faced as a faunus :c

C’mon Jaune….

Oh man, Adam would just… have a field day with the way Cardin would show his disgust over the faunus .

YES BLAKE. GO PYRRHA. TEAR THAT MAN APART AND DRAG HIM

I wish I had a teacher like Oobleck back during my days of High School.

“You know, I really will break his legs” please do Pyrrha.

...F...Forever Fall is that you I hear? ;v;

I’m sorry guys, but the lyric version of Forever Fall messed me up so much, that if I hear it I start to tear up a bit…

Pyrrha deserves the world god damn it.

This arc does give some perspective on Jaune’s character and how he can grow. I actually love the Jaunedice arc.

SCREW OFF CARDIN.

[Episode 8]

I can’t even blame Pyrrha for being mad and disappointed with Jaune here.

I love this moment between Ruby and Jaune, they’re very supportive of each other and I really like they let each other lean on the other’s shoulder if needed to be. Lancaster man…

C’mon Jaune…

Okay. So we got a tease of Forever Fall in Maya via Adam and Blake shorts but, I really hope we see the forest again!

Pfftttt Nora.

How did Glynda not notice that box of wasps?

You hurt Pyrrha. I hurt you.

Don’t do it….

Yeah Jaune!

Oh no Jaune!

LMAO

Oh because I’m watching on the blu-ray it contains the bonus scene of Nora stealing Pyrrha’s collected sap.

YEAH JAUNE!

Cardin deserved that one.

“Time to save the boyfriend.”  - Pyrrha and Ruby, probably.

Go Jaune, go!

I’ll give Cardin this. He actually does keep Jaune’s secret a secret.

*cries internally* God damn Forever Fall…

Ah, there’s that smile from Pyrrha.

And so begins Jaune’s training arc.

[Episode 9]

Alright the Vytal Festival is coming!

Weiss being excited is so precious.

And so begins the Blake vs Weiss arc.

That’s racist, Weiss.

S U N. MY SUNNY BOI.

I miss him having gray eyes omg.

Okay so, Sun winked at Blake. An angelic choir suddenly starts playing and it makes it seem like Sun is introduced as Blake’s future love interest.

Blake looks like he took her breath away or just confused or both.

P E N N Y. MY BABY GIRL.

FRIEND.

Asdfghjkl I miss Penny omg. ;v;

“It’s a combat skirt” iconic.

Where did she find the time to draw that picture of Sun lmao

God damn it Weiss. That’s rude af.

I can feel the discomfort from here too…

“There’s no such thing as pure evil,” now if only a certain part of the FNDM can be aware of that….

Weiss’s anger is valid, but she shouldn’t be generalizing all faunus with the same mind set like that….

Damn, Adam managed to steal an entire train worth of dust even after Blake left all on his own?

Speaking of Adam, he indirectly caused Weiss to have a difficult childhood, I hope people remember that.

“Well maybe we were just tired of being pushed around!” How many do you want to bet Adam said the same thing…

I always wondered if there was a connection between the Faunus and the Grimm….

Awww Volume 1’s purple ears.

And so the S.S. Blacksun sails.

Jfc Weiss

In the manga it’s only been a like not even a full day, but here it’s been two days that Sun has been with Blake.

[Episode 10]

Sun’s disgust over the White Fang is interesting tbh like did he ever encounter them in Vacuo or Mistral?

The only time you see Blake with brown hair.

Okay so… the silhouette on the right…. That looks… an awfully a lot like Adam if you get rid of that tail…

Ffs Weiss….

That slow realization lmao.

What great teammates they are lmao

Sun is great here, he tries to help whenever he can.

Yang is still thinking about Weiss’s words, “Is she innocent?” “She’s our teammate we have to at least talk to her…”

Some nice insight….

Touche.

Yikes, Roman is pretty racist towards them too.

Battle time!!

Man Roman’s dialogue is so witty I love it.

GUN CHUCKS. GUN CHUCKS.

Sun has one of the best fighting styles, but I imagine it’s a pain in the ass to animate it though.

“You hurt my friend, now you’ll pay”

Get em’ Penny!!

Rip those members of the White Fang. Seriously how does Adam manage to bullshit his way into making them help Roman still after this.

“Kinda cute” Bless Ruby

Weiss get some off screen development

And Blake… finally is starting to get her wings… *cries*

How is Ozpin is getting that kind of live feed?

Wings plays and the credits roll for this volume…

But wait there’s more!

Volume 1 Mercury and Emerald look wack. I’m glad they look so much better in Volume 2!

And that’s Volume 1, and now onto Volume 2…. Where the bees start really buzzing since… I hardly could spot a thing for Yang and Blake except during their initiation in Volume 1 and Yang wanting to be understanding. In contrast to where Blake and Sun have established a friendship.  But, Volume 2 hoo boy… Buzz buzz.

Buzz.

[benotafraid]

Genesis

Following is the long awaited, first half of the chapter Genesis from my novel, Be Not Afraid; Memoirs of the Bound. This teaser should speak for itself. Follow the main characters memories of the Heavens and key historical events, but start off with their take of the Early Earth.

I hope you all enjoy! If you’re interested in finding out more, feel free to follow here, or consider becoming a patron on Patreon, where for just $1 (£0.77 or €0.85) a month you can gain access to the FULL first chapter Genesis (four times the length of this excerpt!) and many, many more bonus features. And, as always, thank you all so much!

I remember a time when the Earth was without humans; O what a time that was. 

I remember their beginning, and I remember long before. I remember watching from home through the Asterium, a fancy observatory more or less, at a cloud of celestial debris that one day would be the entire star system I now, albeit reluctantly, name home. There was a time when I could walk across the surface of a planet you would call hellish; when the ground underfoot was burning and a molten ocean of all manner of metal, and when the frigid breeze reeked of brimstone and ammoniac salt. I remember walking along ridges with erupting fire and molten rock, letting the subterranean heat soothe my aching soles as the weak sunlight struggled to heat my back.

The sky was a thick admiral blue like seashells when the noon was high, and deep violet when the sun was setting. Dazzling meteorites broke the atmosphere frequently, it made visiting here pretty funny, I’d see angels without premonition standing right where a meteor was burning up in the atmosphere above, and watch fragmented meteorites pelted down on them. There was a majesty unmatched, however; one has not seen something as magnificent as a meteor breaking the atmosphere and imploding into a million tiny shards, an auburn shadow cast onto the indigo sky. It was a rain of which I was partial to, truly.

This was a planet of which I was very fond. It reminded me of my home when it was not long from its nascency. I’m not too prideful to admit I was disappointed when this burning world was selected for the terraforming process.

 It’s not a short process, you see. It involves a lot of waiting, and very little interference from any observers. To beings who transcended time, not merely looking away for a few instances and seeing the stellar landscape change, but remaining and waiting for the right opportunity, the right moment - now that was a game I was never good at. Time slipped from me, not merely years but millenia gone in just an instance.

An undifferentiated planet like Earth, its breath bitter and its heart full of rage, can be soothed and made gentle - the screaming kindled to a song. As much as I despised the journey, the product is beautiful.

 Where we walk, the world reaches up to meet us. At the feet of seraphim incite flames, at the feet of elim trees spring forth - and it is just that, which was used to cultivate life. The first step meant cleansing the world of all contaminants. When the planet is pure, one of the choirs is selected and a part of them is set to the planet to grow. That way, all life is new, with something alike us at its core. Not long after Earth was chosen, all denizens were commanded to leave it and return home. Few returned more reluctant than I, but I knew better than to risk challenging this of all laws.

We are not to interfere, except to make challenges for life, so only the most suited may succeed. Not just anyone, though, each of us with each set of skills may appeal to orchestrate an obstacle, or are commanded to do so by the council. Laws are set, and set into motion. For billions of years, we controlled it - so many tiny things, pulling the strings of fate. Wasn’t the first, and time draws on ever longer.

I wanted to visit, and watch as the planet become its own, but once terraforming begun, it wasn’t until life was close to us that a being of any Heaven could set foot upon the world.

 I imagine now you would like to know of my home? Since I have spoken so surreally of yours. It is a place of beauty, one that many of your kind aspire to one day witness, and dream of indefinitely; but don’t worry, I dream of it too. Heaven is a vast place, but not a single one, either: there are nine great Halls, nine planets, to which Heaven is composed of. Of all those with memories of Heaven, or scholars who discuss it, very few know of the Halls, and those that do have a great confusion. Shamayim is the first Heaven, at the furthest gate from Earth, though Gnostics think it is closest, this is very false. I know this because I lived there.

You know those days when the clouds are thick, the sun isn’t too bright but the sky is just like a sheet of paper, vast and unbroken white? The sun is a shining white disk that only just breaks through the clouds; and at night, it’s black with patches of great white clouds that make the stars shine so much brighter? That was my sky, my home, back at Shamayim. That will always be my sky.

Shamayim was not a massively early planet, it was made from the remains of many stars, and as such, was rich with metals and its core was heavy. The surface was littered with crystals, ores and chunks of stone formed naturally. A crystallographer’s dreams would be filled in Shamayim, one could go for a casual stroll and pick up a fist-sized gem of immeasurable value if on Earth. Plantlife on Shamayim was rather hardy, adapted to muted but blinding sunlight, large regions without much water and aggressive predation - many were thick with a brittle and spiked covering, bitter tasting and with interlocking wide-spread roots. Shamayim was much unlike the human envisionment of any Heavenly abode before the Falling… oh, the Falling, I’ll… I will tell you about the Falling later.

 Arguably, as of yet the only important thing you need to know about it is that after, a substance that beforehand was incredibly rare, became suddenly ubiquitous. The only monuments of note made of it were towers, erected in the largest city of each Hall, aside from Shamayim, there were two. They reached as tall as each archangel in full form, up to seventy seven thousand feet from the base. They were unparalleled, a symbol of God, his sons, and their omnipresent power; along with the desire of all angels to join God, in hyperuranion topon, in Moksha, in Nirvana, without separation a part of the Lord God.

Only a decade or so after The Falling, each capital to each Hall was centered with a giant building of some kind, Shamayim’s being the Empyrean - the Seat of God, and at any time eight angels would be left in stewardship of the seat, maintaining the building, and all manners of it.

The abode of the Empyrean was made into more of a city, streets arching outwards paved with the same pearlescent stone, buildings of all manner erected around the monument, smaller towers and the homes of angels too. All angels within the boundaries of the Empyrean Square were to wear garnered robes, white, in remembrance for all who died during the Uprising, with a trim matching each angel's’ wing feathers; it was a distasteful show of conformity, designating us by choir, even from a distance. I guess at the time you don’t always notice these things, it was later that I began to learn.

The Empyrean Square was a sombre place, of devotion purely to our Father, a morose remembrance to the price of rebellion. The buildings were built with gold filigree inset with onyx, hematite and rich tourmalines, with occasional monuments of large rubies and garnets. The streets were paved with blades burning as torches. Despite crystals and pyre upon pyre, the most surreal feature of Shamayim, was the golden water. You seldom saw them, but travelling from the capital, the rich everglade rivers would come into sight, and soon enough, the horizon would be streaked and blonde seas would span across the view.  Not unlike Earth, with blue seas and blue skies, when the blanket clouds parted they revealed the sky hue to be a silky, sweet orange reflecting below.

To me, as I sit on this blue rock, grass staining the fabric of my trousers green, I look up to the sky and see not my sun Shamsi peeking through the firmament, but a foreign yellow star on a canvas of cobalt blue, and it stabs a blade within my ribs to tear at my heart, saying; ‘this is not your home, this will never be your home.’

My home was gold gilded on pearls and burning bright. My heaven was a beautiful, beautiful place.

I miss it every day.

 It must be weird, hearing only of the highest and furthest Heaven, the most far removed from all the things you hold close. Hit the ground running, I guess. In Shamayim, as I said, you wouldn’t find blue skies, you wouldn’t find pumpkin spice lattes, Walmarts or Christmas decorations. Cities would rise to the sky randomly, branching through the air as if there were no ground.

Shamayim had beaches, like Arrad, but no blue sea. The plants weren’t often green, they sprung from the ground bristly as purples and indigos, per Shamsi’s yellow-looking light shining unbridled by archaea. Probably the only place in all of the vast Heavens a human would feel home, would be the Library, home of the raphaim.

Shamayim was the abode of the seraphim mainly, the burning ones, the challengers, the angels of fire. Raquia, the home of water angels, you’d feel at home, the place covered in the Library with its rare surface communities.

I wish I could tell you that we had a perfect, commune-based system in which all were cared for in equal-measure. I can’t. The nine Heavens were ruled unevenly of the nine Aeon, with princes ruling as their fathers substitute when off-planet - but because of this, each Heaven was a kingdom, to a king in stewardship for God. The Aeons were powerful, old and respected. Their progeny rulers in stead, born into wealth and respect; some angels, though, were born without a home, without a great deal of anything at all. In Shamayim this was relatively rare, they were generally taken in and looked after, our adoption and foster systems were stellar; but in Raquia, the abode of the water angels, this wasn’t so much the case.

 Raquia, the second Heaven, I never knew so intimately.

There were times I had visited it, times I saw it before the War, but it was encroaching upon it. Memories of the place dwindle few and far between the ones of Machonon, let alone Shamayim. I, think I’ll have to tell you about those later, unfortunately. Raquia after the War was incomparably different. The ‘monument’ erected in Raquia practically covered it, covered the ground in stone like Earth did with concrete. Raquia erected The Library. Now, don’t get me wrong, The Library was a beautiful place, but when faced with a reality where it was all you could see, you have to love it. Very rarely did anyone venture out of it, very rarely was anyone allowed.

You may think it weird, having a whole world wrapped in books, values in knowledge wrapped up in scrolls; but for many of us it was home.

[bensravenclaw-blog]

“Edge of 17″ - Remus Lupin x Reader Imagine

request:  Remus x Reader inspired by Edge of Seventeen by Stevie Nicks?

– I loved writing this! Hope you like it ♡

Just like the white winged dove Sings a song Sounds like she's singing Ooo, ooo, ooo Just like the white winged dove Sings a song Sounds like she's singing Ooo, baby, ooo said ooo

Remus Lupin loved his friends. It was a fact that he thought of them as family and that he always tried to keep them out of trouble. But as he was trying to finish a Potion essay and they were loud-talking about their next prank, saying Remus wanted to hex them wasn't an exaggeration. Instead of fulfilling his will, he took his belongings and went outside his dorm to find some peace. He left the Gryffindor Tower and wandered around the castle trying to find a place to study. That's when he heard your voice. You were there, in a small corner, writing on a notebook and singing along to a song softly. Remus watched you secretly and swore you sounded like a white winged dove.

And the days go by Like a strand in the wind In the web that is my own I begin again Said to my friend, baby Nothin' else mattered

Ever since that day, where Remus saw you and then left in scare of behind discovered, he couldn't think about anything else than your voice. Since that day, all he could talk about was this little moment he spied on. His friends, on the other hand, swore it was all that mattered to him: your voice and this moment. He was love struck just by your voice and his male friends thought he was exaggerating a bit much. But his friend, Lily Evans, could not stop hearing him talk about it, she found it so sweet. She secretly wished that Remus would actually go and talk to you, but knowing him, she knew this was impossible.

He was no more than a baby then Well he seemed broken hearted Something within him But the moment that I first laid Eyes on him all alone On the edge of seventeen

You knew Remus only by reputation. He was this sweet, book nerd, silent Marauder. He was smart and nice and did not have a tendency for trouble, surprisingly. You also heard his friends one day talk about a "furry little problem" of his, but you never really got the hang of it. You could see scars on his face and you just hoped he wasn't abused at home. To you, Remus looked like this little fluff ball of fur that you just wanted to take care of. But that he didn't know. When you first laid your eyes on him, you fell in awe. He was just adorable.

Well, I went today maybe I will go again tomorrow Yeah, Yeah, well the music there Well, it was hauntingly familiar Well I see you doing What I try to do for me With the words from a poet And a voice from a choir And a melody, nothing else mattered

A week later, Remus found himself searching for you at the same hour it was when he heard you singing. He was alone, in the hallways of Hogwarts, his ears open in case he heard your voice. He had this craving to hear you at least one time again. He wanted to know who you were writing about, what you were writing and why. He had this urgent need to know everything about it. He was hopeless, needy of your voice.

The clouds never expect it When it rains But the sea changes colors But the sea Does not change And so with the slow graceful flow Of age I went forth with an age old Desire to please On the edge of seventeen, ooa

A year passed and nothing happened. Remus never heard you sing again and he never got the courage to talk to you. He would be more caring, though. He would always look at you when you arrived late in class, scanning every feature to see if you were fine. Just like you did with him when he didn't notice, when he arrived after a full moon -that you didn't know of- and you would see more scars and bruises on his face in the morning. You would always fight the urge to go ask him what happened and to take care of him. You couldn't, he would think you're a freak. At least, that's what you thought. In truth, Remus would actually feel blessed and happy if you talked to him.

Well then suddenly There was no one left standing In the hall yeah yeah In a flood of tears That no one really ever heard fall at all Well, I went searchin' for an answer, Up the stairs and down the hall Not to find an answer Just to hear the call Of a nightbird singing Come away

It was a winter night and Remus was anxious. The next day was a full moon and he was scared of what he would do this time. He found himself alone again in the hallways, looking at the sky. He swallowed hardly and tried to fight the urge to cry. He had to be strong, but was he? No. He was alone and nobody could ever understand what kind of pain lycanthropy could injure to one and the others. Mostly to one. He fell to his knees, thinking of him as a monster, and let the tears fall. Nobody has even seen Remus Lupin so fragile, so weak, so vulnerable. He was a mess. A flooded in tears mess. That night, you saw him. You were there to come and sing, but you were interrupted by his whimpers. You couldn't fight anymore. You ran to him and hug him. He pushed you away once he saw it was you, how could you see him like that? He liked you, for Merlin's sake! But you didn't care, you hugged him once again and whispered to him that everything was going to be alright. And just as he put his arms around you, you did it again. You started singing softly. Remus slowly stopped crying, being rocked by the sound of your angelic voice and your warm arms.

Well I hear you in the morning And I hear you At nightfall Sometime to be near you Is to be unable to hear you My love I'm a few years older than you, My love

It had been years since that night. After that night, you and Remus spent time together, you even dated. But his demons got to him, he thought of himself as a nightmare, a monster. And he decided you had to leave him. It broke your heart but you respected his decision after weeks of fighting for it. But every day, every night, you still heard his soft whimpers you heard that one time. You knew he wasn't fine, you knew you had to help him. You both aged, you both were alone. And still thought of each other. 

One night, you entered a bar in Muggle London and sat. You ordered a drink and looked around. And there he was, in a small corner, staring at an empty drink. You got up fast and sat in front of him. You both looked at each other in shock, then smiled, knowing you were reunited. At this moment, all you could think about was your love for him. And that was all he could think about too. Long gone was the fear of hurting you, he felt so pure around you. He wanted to give your relationship another try, and so was you. And like you always did on every night you spent together ever since you knew each other, you talked all night, sang and cried, hugged and kissed, united forever.

Liked it? Let me know by reblogging or liking the post!

Requests | Masterlist

[ulfwolf]

The Northern Lights of Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D-Minor: My home

Did you know that the aurora borealis makes a sound? It emits a sort of electrical hiss, a subtle shifting of audible frequencies, as it both shapeshifts and colorshifts across the black, star-studded sky.

I count myself very fortunate to have been born and raised in northern Sweden where each winter we had vivid northern lights (norrsken—literally, northern shine) a dozen or so times a year.

These were gigantic, multi-colored church organ pipes covering half the northern sky, fluttering or shivering slowly in the sun-particle breeze while whispering its unoiled song to all little humans standing in the snow, head back in awe.

The first several times I saw the northern lights I had yet to hear of Bach or any of his music, but I was introduced to this god of music sooner than most in that we lived a five-minute walk from our local church which sported a very impressive (I’d go so far as to say magnificent) organ, and in that the church organist was also my music teacher and he had invited me to come hear him practice any time I wanted.

The keyboards to this organ were housed in the choir loft (some call it the church balcony) at the rear of the church which you reached by climbing a narrow and spiraling set of stone steps.

Sometimes of a quiet winter night I could actually hear him play even from our house (yes, I’d have to be outside, of course, and yes, it would have to be very quiet) and then I’d rush up to the church, climb the stairs and debouch into this wonderful space that housed not only the multiple-keyboard organ cockpit, but also the seats for the choir and (of course) the magnificent pipes.

And there he would sit (his name was Harald) both hands and both feet busy with their magic. He’d sense me arriving and turn and smile at me without stopping. Me, I’d sit down and just watch and listen.

Now, it was not that I knew that the music was written by Bach—yes, he may have mentioned it but that did not register at the time. What did register, however, was Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D-Minor, which Harald played more than once (he obviously loved it, too). Those ten heavenly opening notes found two eager ears and a forever home in this young boy, listening in open-mouthed wonder to his music teacher’s conjurer’s trick.

The association between the northern lights and the grand pipes of the church organ is easily made—they do sport the same features—and it’s only a few short associative steps from there to seeing Bach up there in the winter sky (once I learned that he had written the Toccata and Fugue).

To be honest, perhaps it’s not so much that this stellar piece of music was my home (as I wrote in the Wolfku above); it’s more that I became a home for it, and from there on, looking up at the divine winter-night spectacle, there they were, both Harald and Johannes Sebastian, smiling down at me.

That said, let’s fast forward a few years, and I now live in Stockholm in a very cold little apartment with a very good stereo system. One night—and, yes, I must admit to being high on hashish this night—I put on Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D-Minor, and as the heavens opened in those first ten notes, I saw the familiar northern lights right there in my room, real as anything, descending through the ceiling.

Fast forward a few more years, and I wrote a short story about just that night called “Bach Lights,” which I’ve included it below. It tells of the wonder and why I still am a home for Bach, and he a home for me.

:

Bach Lights

The Winter Dawn is timid this far north. That is why she tiptoed up to my window and then hesitated, as if unsure about what to do next.

Within, Night, her brother and contrast, lingered in many places: on the windows and along the floor as frost, in the cold hash pipe as ash, in the lava lamp as yellow and red bubbly ghost still rising and falling and rising and falling from the heat of the little bulb that could.

On the table as story.

The sun scaled the sky a little more before Sister Dawn finally worked up the courage to pry herself through the frosted glass and heavy curtains and onto my face where she settled and with the help of pure physical (as in bathroom) needs found and excavated me.

I opened my eyes to wonder at the ceiling, then turned to my left to wonder at the all the little letters written on the wall, then turned to my right to wonder at the table, then at the large sheet of paper on the table with many more inky letters scrawled all over it, all mine. And when I say wondered, I really mean wondered, for as yet I could not imagine what I might have written on wall and paper.

I heaved myself halfway up and onto my elbow to wonder a little harder at the sheet of paper: so many letters, all running around scratchily in my barely legible hand. And looking, and looking again, and making out a word or two or three it came back to me, little by a little more: that long, glorious and wordy exhaling under the spell of Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D-Minor.

I sat all the way up now and retrieved the sheet from the table, wrapped the blanket around me (noticing my breath as faint mist in the cold air), leaned back against the thick wall behind me, and began to read in earnest.

Reading, I returned to the night before and again fell in with Brother Cold and Dark (aka Brother Night)—Cold and Dark despite the two gas burners on my stove burning as high as they would go and hissing heat into his icy heart and despite the little kerosene heater that did all it could to give the gas burners a hand from its frosty corner.

But those were only gestures at warmth, for I live in Stockholm and it is deep winter in the capital N North with a meter of snow outside my window, glittering now and would be sharp to the touch, I could well imagine, and would squeak now underfoot, I could well imagine.

And in this capital N North my room is a tall rectangular box of frigid space: a three-meter-high ceiling with two almost meter-thick walls colder than death facing the outside, another wall nearly as cold facing the entrance way, and a fourth (not so cold but not-at-all warm) wall that I shared with my neighbor. It is in this box of winter that Brother Night and I spent an interesting evening; a cold and stoned evening—just me, though, with the stoned part, Brother Night doesn’t smoke hashish.

Initially, after a pipe or two, I had sailed across first one ocean (the Atlantic) and then a continent (USA) to reach the next ocean (the Pacific) and the big city by the water they call Los Angeles which had gifted me the Doors and their Strange Days Long Playing (LP) record. Leaving my very good speakers as stereo adventure I listened through all of side one and then all of side two and still my frosty wings were spread and eager to go places so I carefully lifted the Doors LP off the turntable and returned it to its sleeve (only touching the record edges), then found and disrobed and carefully lowered a Bach LP onto the turntable instead. Then, as carefully, brought out the stylus from its cradle and lowered it, slowly, slowly, respectfully, the way you should always lower even the most eager stylus onto Bach.

I have a theory: Bach is God. Well, if not God God then at least of the same substance, of that I have no doubt.

:

Of sounds there are none more God-like than those first measures of the Toccata and Fugue in D-minor (or D-Moll as my Archiv German pressing says). They arrived through the ceiling, from a distant somewhere up there in the darkness, as descending lashes of beauty to kill the frozen silence.

Stunned, I reached for pen and paper as would a photographer for his camera when suddenly stumbling upon extraterrestrial aliens—slowly, carefully, centimeter-by-centimeter—hoping not to draw their attention, you know, spook them.

I had to get him down om paper.

Him God. Him Bach. Had to. For were I not to let what now flowed into me, flow through me and then out of me as ink onto this stiff paper I would overfill and drown in beauty. Not a bad way to go mind you, but I was young then and not ready that final passage just yet.

But I did not reach for pen and paper inconspicuously enough. Those first few measures, midflight, spotted my movement and rushed me and wrestled me to the floor where some part of me, some sunny sandy California part of me somehow remained in the Doors’ Los Angeles: prostrate upon Santa Monica beach sand, warm ear to the warm ground listening to the Pacific, listening to wave upon wave reaching sand like wind reaching trees but another part of me—most of me—remained in the wintry Stockholm here and now hearing Bach/God descend and I scrambled back on my feet and discovered a pen in my hand and the sheet of stiff paper on my table and then I began to write down all that Bach said.

Those first few measures again, resurrected in a lower register, circling, then entering me like so many lovers: through my ears, through my eyes, through my skin, embracing me each as they entered. My body sang with Bach. Then the vision.

It was brother North Wind: the ever dawn of the northern lights, their shimmering pipes of icy organ rising shifting rising in a mid-winter fantasy making snow sing. It was God coming down through my ceiling as the aurora borealis and I knew then and there that Bach and God are indeed one and the same.

Then the world rises. It starts somewhere in the engine room of time, his feet on the lower pedals, hands too to the keyboard left as he begins to lift the planet. My room vibrates with the effort, with the strength and sheer joy of that rising. I am water I am wave I am blue ink and I flow onto stiffly white frame after frame of photographed aliens or no one will ever believe me I actually hear this.

The lifting escalates and crescendos and is done escalating now and flings open the door onto Spring.

I hear and see and follow with the tip of my very costly fountain pen which I bought just the other day knowing full well I could not afford it. But these were the days when a check was automatically good because you signed it and gave it to the clerk who then handed you the pen with smile. I have since learned the meaning of the word overdrawn, but meanwhile here it is in my hand and anyway, it’s too late to take it back now, no matter how expensive it was, so I do with it what I hoped and dreamed I would do with it and I write with it.

And out into Spring: The doors are flung wide open, onto narrow crystal steps that dance up into the morning into sky. No more brother North Wind now, just dawn and dew and those little lakes of silver that form on my petals and leaves and do to sense of smell what Michelangelo does to rock.

I wish I could cry matching tears.

Though for whose benefit? I am overcome, yes, but not beyond control. So, un-crying, I keep writing. I no longer know exactly what I say or why really just that I know that this is a capital M Moment and I am having some sort of epiphany here and maybe just maybe I’m a genius of some kind that someone is waiting to discover and make immensely rich and warm and to move out of this freezing almost ceiling-less room so full of darkness and frost and this immense music.

Sound as Mountain. Physical. And I confess I lose my way. In Him.

I reach the end of the paper and there is more to write as I sail on, cast about by waves—a soul in blessed turmoil. And then a new cresting that lets me sprout wings and out and over I glide. He does this to you, you know, God does. Bach does.

I have taken leave of Stockholm of winter of snow and Boreas’ and Bach’s Light and now there is only ocean reflecting soul and I cannot comprehend how anyone encumbered with arms and legs and fingers and toes could possibly have conceived and composed beauty such as this, wings such as these and again I remind myself that I am in His presence, sailing His air, and that for Him all is possible.

I turn the sheet over. The one sheet. I only have the one sheet? Why have I only the one sheet? But wondering does not turn it into several, so instead I turn it over and continue this scribbly dance on the other side and I hope that at least some small vestige of what enters actually exits as I race ahead by one inky Swedish word after another and turning my head now I see a path that perhaps can be followed, perhaps should be followed, perhaps must be followed, or I will never find my way back.

What goes through God’s mind when he writes music like this? What could possibly inspire Him, source of all inspiration? But something does and did and am I really the first to hear this? To hear what He meant. To see what He saw.

There are islets below. They could be Greece or they could be Australia or they could be our own Stockholm archipelago in the summer I don’t know and really, I don’t care as long as my wings carry me and I don’t fly too close to the sun.

My speakers make a faint hum from an inverter I need in this old apartment, so old it only has direct current (DC) electricity which needs chopping up into little AC bits to drive my stereo and that’s what makes them hum but God doesn’t care and I no longer notice. Now there is only space and the windy tapestry of pipes as I approach the edge of the second page and there is so much more to say but nowhere to say it so I turn to the clean wall behind me and now I have a sheet to last me.

We sail on, Bach and God and I for the final measure.

Timid Sister Dawn (she is very perceptive) sees all this of course which is perhaps why she finally ventured through frosty panes and heavy curtain to find my face, beneath which I sleep the sleep of last night’s frost and though I slowly know her on my face up there on the somewhere surface I choose to ignore her for a while. But she has come to stay and soon manages to dispel her brother to some nether, even colder region, to under my bed perhaps and into corners where he will sulk till the sun sets again to set him loose and she tugs me gently and tells me to wake up, to wake all the way up and to open my eyes.

:

“So what do you think?” I ask.

My friend gets to the bottom of the stiff sheet and mumbles, without taking his eyes off the text, “Amazing.” Then he turns the sheet over.

“Do you think your dad might publish it?” I ask. His dad is an editor of some sort. It’s a small magazine, but quite prestigious I’m told.

“I would think so,” he says and keeps reading. “Surreal,” he adds after another while, still not taking his eyes off my scribbles.

Then he gets to the bottom of the second page and says, “Does it end here?”

He turns the sheet over again and over again and over again looking for a better ending. “Where is the rest?”

“On my wall,” I remember.

http://rowansongs.com/blog/2019/2/2/the-wolfku-garden-22

[passion-in-my-blood]

Figure You Out (Rogermon 6)

A dark shadow was looming over the fragile prey. Sweet innocent eyes, blinked only to never open again. At first, the sounds of the upcoming disaster, were one with the harmonic nature, before there the lethargic silence turned into a lethal one. Then the quiet, furtive movements, grew louder, adding in aggression and destroyment. The shadow became a blur with the other dark corners in the thick jungle.

Every once in a while, the shadow seemed to lure some of the colorful, bright creatures from the well-lit parts, to him only to add some colour in the dark corners. A prominent, rich red dispersed everywhere the shadow had been successful. And this shadow didn’t fail. The island provided it with strength, the dark thoughts fuelling its anger, the motorics the shadow had to carry out became a steady procedure.

In the afternoon Roger sat on the log, where he had talked to his Chapter Chorister earlier that day. Various long sticks located next to him. As the ginger boy was confronted with the sight of a dark-haired figure, he easily recognized, all alone, he dropped his intention of bonding with their elected Chief over a walk together and approached his fellow choir member instead. “Any luck with the spears yet?”, Jack attempted to strike up a conversation with the gloomy looking boy. He just looked up from sharpening the stick in his hands, not bothering with words. Roger wasn’t in the mood for people. Not that it was that rare for him, yet usually there was one exception.. In an almost desperate attempt to forget about the smaller boy, he resumed his work with much more force. His fingers were gripping the spear way too forcefully, whereas the knife was slammed up and down the wood. A concerned expression crossed Jack’s face, as he took in the sight in front of him. Even for the strangely secluded boy, that behaviour was pretty odd. The riddle that reserved boy appeared to be, became gradually more unsolvable. 

Little did the ginger boy know that Roger was desperately trying to solve a riddle himself. His mind and his heart were waging war on each other. Surely, Simon didn't deem him terrible. Their history together was most certainly graver than meaningless pettiness. Then why has he always been so caution around him and that comfortable around the fair boy, a stranger? Had everything been a facade? While he was sitting there, a huge cloud appeared on the sky casting shadows on the boy. A small, white butterfly was escaping the absence of the sun by fluttering swiftly to the parts where the sun was still reaching the ground. In contrast to the animal, Roger, who had observed it with some kind of curiousity, stayed in the darkness. Yet, as he was in utter loneliness the wing-beats reverberated for him. After he blinked in confusion he could only recognize the small animal in a distance, who had apparently brought its friends along. Rubbing his eyes, Roger watched the fluttering moths coming closer. His purely white butterfly was nowhere to be seen. Maybe it has never been there to begin with.

Roger opened his eyes in a haze. Soft feathers were caressing him, a bright light was shining in front of him, as the sound of a lone pair of wings beating occupied his ears. "Roger?", he perceived once more and all of these senses were to be discerned again. "I brought you some water. You do look terribly pale. C'mon drink something." Unvoluntarily his lips formed a smile, his red-rimmed eyes displayed a treacherous glint, but this times the endorphines who were rushing through all of his body, appeared to drag miniscule pointed daggers with them. Creating a mixture between the blithe exaltation and the agonizing pain. In short, the dark-haired boy was torn, when he was confronted with the one who had been present in his thoughts all along. The angelic voice sounded again. “Please, drink. You’re shaking Roger! Can you even see me? It looks like you look right through me.” A shaking hand appeared to grab the offered good. It took a moment for Roger to realize it was his own, having acted independent from his buzzing thoughts. Simultaneously, he figured out, what the bright creature in front of him wanted. Simon cared for him. He mattered to someone. Not only to anyone but to him. These thoughts brought warmth to the shivering boy, spreading an anodyne cover over all of his limbs, shielding it from the attacks of bloodsucking bugs and tiny stinging daggers. With unexpected strength he grabbed the object in his hands to take a sip, which caused the brighter silhouette to drop its jaw, immediately concealed by a hand in front of it. The droplets washing down the soreness of Roger’s throat, flourished into floods drowning out the sorrows of his heart and mind.

“What’s wrong, Roger?” The smaller boy appeared to have reclaimed his poise, as he tilted his head to its side, while thoroughly inspecting the scene in front of him. The other boy merely stared at the sand, absented-mindedly shovelling holes, only to bury them with an urgent sense of finality. After, the green-eyed boy surveyed his behaviour for a prolonged period of empty silence, he helplessly let a sigh escape his mouth. Noticing the other’s discomfort, Roger made contact with the emerals eyes, the words already on the tip of his tongue. However, he noticed a dark figure in the corner of his eyes, the darkness he just couldn’t cast off. This was sufficient for the boy bearing the heavy weight. He swallowed his original phrases and muttered in a defensive exasperated tone: “Well, I’m busy here. Maybe I’m going to build some destroyable sandcastles as you should with the Chief. Or what did he call it? Shelter?” The smaller boy visibly flinched at the sharp edge his voice held, while mentioning the elected leader, before the tangible tristeness of being rejected crossed his features. The torture Roger was put through sent chills through his spine. He had to stand his ground. He had to leave the smaller boy. He had to...make his delight illuminate his world again. As a result of the dark-haired boy’s inner conflict, the somber-looking smaller one had moved as though to creep down a rabbit-hole and hide in their for the rest of their stay. His shoulders slumped, as he went to retreat as far away as possible, but when Roger voiced the result of his pondering, the smaller boy put a halt to his walk on the smoking coals. “Simon. Maybe we can meet up, tonight. I’m just not feeling well right now.”

Though judging Roger’s weak appearance this hadn’t technically been a lie, the suspicion was visible in the green-eyed boy’s face. Yet, the comforting blanket out of these words made him overlook the small patch of dirt he had just discovered. Anyone could have a bad day. Especially stranded on a deserted island mood-swings shouldn’t be the most concerning topics. Shrugging things off, wasn’t usually Simon’s forte, but Roger was aware that in some aspects the woke small boy, firmly closed his eyes. Apparently, with his phrases he had made the impossible happen once more. Though the light didn’t fully shine again, at least the overwhelming darkness had vanished. For the moment.