#ezekyle abbadon

[ms--lobotomy]

I heard some of you were looking for Kyle. Who am I if not a provider?

Summary: Abbadon wants a companion for the night.

Word Count: 1461

Content Warnings: General 40kness, smut, once my Catholic guilt arc is over it’s over for all of you

Image Credit: @squishyowl

You looked out of the window of your cell. It was the one comfort you had here, and the view was almost beautiful. Silent columns of lightning stretched out between magenta clouds, churning away faster than they ever could on any planet. Iron bars marred the view somewhat, but you had to take what you could get in this strange land. The rest of your cell was pitifully dreary, with a curtain closing off what resembled a restroom and a slab of… something that resembled a bed. You chose not to look at those parts. At least, not now.

You heard footsteps coming down the hall. They were heavy and loud, announcing the presence of maybe two or three members of the Black Legion. You barely turned your head from the window before they fiddled with the keys to your cell, almost ripping the bars off of each other. You recognized one’s speech in Low Gothic, but it took you a few moments to really process it.

“The Despoiler wants a word with you.”

You tensed up. They surely couldn’t mean… No matter. You put one foot in front of the other and joined the three hulking men outside your cell. One of them started to walk off, and another prodded you with his chainsword.

“Move.”

You had no choice but to follow these strange men through the halls of the base. You lost track of where you were early on, going into new and uncharted areas of the base. Granted, you’d only ever seen the prison, so this was not a failing of your navigational skills. You hadn’t time to marvel at the interior despite being confined to your cell for what felt like weeks, you and your captors were walking too fast. You had to slightly jog to keep up with them.

Soon enough, you were upon a large door. You ran your fingers along the intricate woodwork, not having felt varnished wood in ages. Two of those strange men looked down at you as you lowered your hand. Another one turned on his vox machine.

“She’s here,” he said, stepping back from the door. The others did so as well, prompting you to do the same.

After a few moments, the door clicked open. You beheld a man taller than the three around you, the first without a helmet that you’d seen in a long while. He had a long top knot at the top of his head, and his eyes bored into you, unreadable. You immediately looked away, trying not to shake in your poorly put together shoes.

“Leave,” he said as the three behind you turned tail and left, muttering to one another.

He watched them as they left before turning his gaze back to you. “You can come in, you know.”

You looked up at him and slowly walked into the room. It must be his private chambers; it was filled with ornate things that you couldn’t have even dreamed of while in your cell. Your eyes darted from the paintings on the wall to the table and chairs built for someone his size. He walked towards the bed, sitting on it as it slightly gave way underneath him. “Come,” he said, scooting over slightly.

“Why do you bring me here?” you asked, rubbing your upper arm with your hand.

He smirked. “I just wanted a bit of company tonight.” He called your name. It was a bit strange on his lips, but it was the first time someone had referred to you by name instead of number.

Was it night? It was impossibly hard to tell in this space between space. You found yourself walking towards the bed and sitting on it next to him as he took his gauntlets off, then his pauldrons, then the rest of the armor adorning his arms. You couldn’t help but notice rippling muscles as your heart beat quicker in your chest.

“Not like I have a choice in the matter,” you said after a moment.

He chuckled. “If you do not wish to be here, I could grab another.”

“No-“ you interjected before you could stop yourself.

He continued taking off his armor, pulling his breastplate over his head before casting it aside. “Good,” he said. He wrapped an arm around your waist, and you tensed up yet again.

“I will not hurt you, unless that is something you desire.”

You looked up at him. He was looking down at you with… reverence, almost. You felt your face go warm as he took your chin in his hand. His grip was firm, but you could tell that he was holding back.

He let go and leaned down to take off his lower armor, and you watched intently as pieces fell to the floor, softly clanking against other pieces. He looked down at you and smirked once he was finished. It was then when he leaned in for a kiss, pressing against soft skin. You were taken aback for a minute before you reciprocated. He grabbed your hips and turned the rest of you to face him, your legs resting against his waist.

He brushed the sides of your shirt up, fabric gathering underneath his hands. You let out a soft moan before freezing, and he pulled away.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked.

You slowly nodded. He went in for a kiss again, this time biting your bottom lip. You squeaked, grasping for his body glove. You felt him chuckle against you, hands moving underneath your shirt up your back. He pulled away again, his hands moving to your thigh.

“Take it off,” he barked.

Without hesitation, you pulled your shirt over your head. He looked down at you for a moment, running a hand over your body.

“Good girl,” he said, pressing you down onto the bed before planting his teeth on your collarbone. It wasn’t enough to draw blood, but it was going to leave a mark. You let out another high-pitched squeak, and he made another mark even lower. When he had his fill, he went down to your breast and took your nipple in his teeth.

“Abbadon…” you moaned as he bit you there. That was also going to leave a mark.

“What is it?” he asked before moving to your other side to do the same thing. You yelped, your fingers pressing into his back as he trailed lower. He was kneeling before you when he made his way between your legs, pulling your shoes and pants off and parting your legs with ease. He began to feast, eliciting soft cries from you. He reached places you thought someone could never reach, and before long, you came hard on him.

He pulled away, fiddling with the zipper on his body glove before taking it all off. You looked at him in awe before he pinned you down again, your fingers interlocking with his. He planted a quick kiss to your lips before he rubbed himself against you and you looked up at him, pleading.

“You will have to beg for it,” he said, grazing himself against you.

“Please…” you murmured. “Please put yourself in me. I want you.”

“More than anything you’ve ever wanted?”

“More than anything I’ve ever wanted.”

He put himself in, and you cried out. “You are taking me so well,” he said as he slid in further. You couldn’t form any cohesive sentences in response, so you let yourself cry out. He slid himself in to the hilt and stayed there for a minute, watching your face scrunch up and listening to your little yelps before he pulled himself out to do it all again. He started to go faster, and you felt your eyes rolling back. Here you were, stark naked, stretched out over him.

You came a second time, much more loudly and violently than the first. Abbadon smirked above you, victorious. His hands moved to your wrists as he kept going, and soon you realized how much stamina was granted to an Astartes. He kept you up long into the night before he started to speed up one last time. You were loud, and he stuck a few fingers in your mouth. He grunted something in his Cthonian tongue before he shot his load into you, once, twice, then a third time.

Liquid leaked out of you as he pulled himself out of you for the last time and shifted you fully onto the bed. He held you close to him. You relaxed into his hold as he ran a hand through your hair.

“You will not have to spend another day rotting in that cell,” he said.

You closed your eyes and sleep soon took hold of you. You slept better than you had in weeks.

@kit-williams

[yanandreckless]

Everybody Likes Kyle 4

Finally, new Kyle! This chapter has some shameless flirting and Kyle being a thirst trap, as per usual. Hope you enjoy!

*******

“Let me get this straight.” You inch closer to Kyle on the plush red carpet of his living room, your wine glasses safely on the coffee table. This has become a habit, the two of you sitting on the floor, whatever it was you would be doing between you. You would play Yahtzee (with a gilded golden tray with a mirror on it between you, since dice wouldn’t roll well on carpet, or you’d watch a movie, a bunch of cushions and a blanket keeping you company. Sometimes you played fighting games on his Playstation (Kyle sucked ass at Tekken, but he was great at Mortal Kombat) and he categorically refused to play Scrabble the one time you brought it. His excuse was that you’d lose all the letter tiles in the carpet, but you quickly fished it out of him that he was actually dyslexic.

“This is your god-given name, the one you first saw the world after leaving the hospital with?”

Kyle chuckles, careful not to press his arm against his body (freshly tattooed armpit, he complained they looked empty) as he shuffled from having his elbow propped onto the sofa, legs outstretched across the room, your knee all but climbing onto him as your wine-warmed cheeks hurt from laughing.

“No. I mentioned I was adopted, right? Well, he changed my name.”

“Your father?”

Kyle’s mouth briefly flattens into a line and he grabs his glass and downs the rest of his wine:

“Horus, yeah.”

Were you more sober, you’d have noticed Kyle pointedly avoids calling this man his father, always referring to him by his name. Which is now the interesting part:

“Wait, so, he has a perfectly normal, albeit Old Man name like Horace and he named you… Ezekyle?! It’s not even spelled properly!”

Kyle stands up, grabbing both your glasses in one gigantic paw and the empty popcorn bowl in the other as he starts walking toward the kitchen for refills:

“I wouldn’t say Horus is a normal name either. And just so you know…” He looks at you from over his shoulder and you’re pretty sure he catches you staring at his ass:

“Being rude about the spelling of someone’s name is a spankable offense for real wives.”

You sputter, but he just gives you an overly-exaggerated wink and (you’re certain) deliberate glutes flex as he pulls a fresh wine bottle off the rack and grabs the opener from the counter.

“What do you mean, it’s a normal oldie name! Like the grandpa from Courage the Cowardly Dog?”

“The grandpa from Courage the Cowardly Dog had an Egyptian mythology name?”

“Egyptian- What the hell are you smoking, Kyle?!”

You start patting the couch for your phone, wanting to google this and prove him wrong. He just laughs:

“Horus, the son of Osiris and Isis? Geez, what kind of public school did you go to?!”

You grab a cushion from the sofa and drunkenly toss it in his general direction, barely managing to make it fly farther than the edge of the carpet. To add insult to injury, it turns out the grandpa from Courage is Eustace… not Horace.

Defeated and embarrassed, you pout and make grabby hands for wine and popcorn as Kyle is walking back toward you. He deposits them on the coffee table as he sits back on the floor and envelops your wrists in rings made of his thumb and pointer finger. It’s like he knows what the constant displays of size and strength difference do to you, smirking as he places your hands on his pecs. They look absolutely tiny:

“Your stress relievers, milady.”

The shocked gasp you let out doesn’t mask the fact that you do squeeze once before yanking your hands back:

“Kyle!”

He’s laughing, head thrown back onto the seat of the sofa as he stretches like a giant cat:

“So yeah, his name is Horus as in the Egyptian god. Means “god of light”.”

“Isn’t that basically what Lucifer means? Modest. And you’re named after… an angel?”

“A prophet. Name means “god is strong”.” Kyle scoffs, tossing a handful of popcorn into his mouth.

“Wow. Not to be rude or anything, but that’s a bit weird on your old man’s part.”

“Tell me about it. He hand-picked four of us and not one normal name between us. Shit stain.”

Well, that’s a bit harsh. But also funny in your tipsy brain.

“You have three siblings?”

“Brothers, yeah. Old man didn’t wanna adopt any girls.”

“Why not? Girls rock!” You place a hand on one of Kyle’s thighs for support as you reach over his legs for your glass. The muscle seems so firm it’s like squeezing metal.

“I do agree that girls rock.” Kyle concedes, sitting up and catching your gaze. His hair is down today, and still wet from the shower he took right before you arrived, it cascades down his chest in slightly faded red strands, the thickness hiding his deep undercut fairly well. He looks amazing with his hair down, you think.

“Thanks.” He says, wiggling his brows:

“So do you.”

You said that out loud?!

He’s chuckling as he easily intercepts your hand that was reaching for your wine glass and presses a water bottle in it instead:

“As much as I think you’re an adorable drunk, maybe it’s time I cut you off, huh, missy?”

“You’re an adorable drunk! Now tell me your brothers’ silly names!” You pout and Kyle unscrews the cap on the water bottle you’re holding and nudges it toward you:

“One sip, one brother.”

You frown at him quite impotently if his smirk is any indication. Entering a staring contest with him is always futile, his eyes are the most fascinating shade of light amber, they glow gold as soon as light hits them, and you discover you’re displeased now because his pupils are widening the longer he’s looking at you, obscuring that amazing color. You take a sip of water finally, humming at him to speak. He shakes his head:

“Swallow.” It’s firm and brisk, like an order and you do it before you even think.

“Good girl.”

He even rubs your back as you cough a little, cheeks heating up and ears drumming because he did NOT just say that! He gently pulls you into him, both your backs leaning against the sofa now:

“I’m the oldest, you already know my name. Take another sip.”

“No fair!”

“Life’s not fair, little one. C’mon. Sip, swallow.”

“Ugh!” Yet you obey.

“My next brother is Tarik.”

“Is that Turkish?”

“Arabic, I think. Means “morning star”.”

“Like the weapon!” You giggle and he rubs at your upper arm slowly. You scoot into him, curious to feel the scent of his body wash and his skin. He’s as warm as a furnace.

“Ready for another sip? Swallow first. Let me see.” He stares at you intently as you sip, thumb brushing against your lower lip to make you open your mouth so that he could inspect.

“Good girl. Next one is Horus.”

Now, that won’t fly! Does he think you’re dumb?

“No, that’s your dad!” You protest and you feel his frame stiffen for a fraction of a second. When he relaxes, he feels almost like a floaty being lulled in water:

“No, the old man is Horus, but one of my brothers is also Horus. I told you the old man’s a shit stain.”

You look at Kyle, bewildered. Your hand grips at your water bottle so hard a bit of it spurts out, spraying over Kyle’s stomach. He pays no mind and you don’t even notice:

“He named a kid after himself?!” “Shit stain.” Kyle repeats, snarling. He sounds hot when he does that. But then again, Kyle would sound hot yodeling, you’re pretty sure.

“Can you yodel?”

He looks at you and blinks slowly, before nudging the bottle toward your lips again:

“Now, I want you to take the biggest sip, hm? Gimme a nice big glug glug.”

You laugh at that but he doesn’t let up and you’re soon downing about half of the bottle. Kyle’s huge paw pets you on the hair as you do and you want him to do that more often. Very often.

“How many brothers do you have left to tell me about?”

“Just one. Garviel.”

“Gabriel?”

“Garviel. Means “innovator”, I think.”

“So, you’re all light and gods and mornings and inventors…”

“Innovators.”

“Whatever. And do the rest of them also think your dad is a shit stain?”

“I sure hope so. Garviel probably the most. But then again… the old man ain’t popular anywhere anymore. Family reunions are weird.”

He stops talking then, but you sense he wanted to say more. He nudges the bottle at you again and you don’t need a verbal prompt for another big glug glug.

“How about you? Tell me about your family, darlin’. Any siblings?”

“Sister. Married and annoying about it.”

“Betcha I could make you twice as married and annoying as her!”

You giggle and nod, but mostly you snuggle into him like he’s a giant, very firm teddy bear. His hand is warm as it rubs your back, fingers careful not to tangle in your hair and tug.

The next morning you wake up in Kyle’s gigantic (you’re pretty sure it’s custom-made) four poster bed that seems as tall as a bar. His sheets are black and satin and smell like his cologne. You’re still fully dressed, sans socks. You slowly blink yourself awake, the room thankfully almost entirely dark, just a sliver of light left between dark curtains. Kyle is not in the room, but the smell of bacon and the noises of work in the kitchen waft through the bedroom door he’s left ajar.

You take a moment. You’ve never been in his bedroom before and you now eye the familiar ornate wallpaper that matches the one in the living room, a gigantic mirror in a gilded golden frame on the opposite wall, it is almost floor to ceiling. Mahogany dresser, two doors, one you presume for the closet and the other for the en suite, a rich, freshly stained dark hardwood floor. You try to take a look at the ceiling but the buttery layers of the black and red canopy above the bed are preventing you. There’s also a desk in wood matching the dresser, its ornate curved legs also indicating they’re a set, with a plush black leather chair. On the desk there’s a laptop and a bunch of notebooks and papers.

You glance at the bedroom door and then at the desk. Maybe just a tiny peek. You hope they’re drawings, Kyle mentioned he draws.

[yanandreckless]

The entirety of My Immortal rewritten like this would be *chef's kiss*

Hi my name is Ezekyle Dark’ness Despoiler Abaddon and I have long ebony black hair in a topknot (that’s how I got my name) with red streaks and red tips that reaches my mid-back and cold grey eyes like limpid tears and a lot of people tell me I look like Horus Lupercal (AN: if u don’t know who he is get da hell out of here!). I’m not related to Kharn but I wish I was because he’s a major fucking hottie. I’m an Astartes but my armor is black and spiky. I have pale white skin. I’m also a Chaos worshipper, and I go to a magic murderfest called the Warp in space where I’m on the 13th Black Crusade (I’m important). I’m a goth (in case you couldn’t tell) and I wear mostly black. I love Hottus Topicus and I buy all my clothes from there. For example today I was wearing black power armor with matching spikes around it and a black leather hair-tie, white skulls and my father's power claw. I was wearing black lipstick, white foundation, black eyeliner and red eye shadow. I was walking outside the Warp. It was snowing and raining so there was no sun, which I was very happy about. A lot of loyalists stared at me. I put up my middle finger at them.

[dese-o]

I wonder why Games Workshop hasn’t let the cousins meet yet…

[ezekiel13]

I think it’s very cool of me that I named myself after a fictional character and managed to spell that guy’s name wrong.

Like I was 100% convinced his name was spelt ‘Ezekiel’ and I was horrified when I checked in the book. But like I was too deep at that point. And I dislike the spelling ‘Ezekyle’.

But it’s impressive that I accidentally gave myself the biblical spelling of a name rather than the name of a guy literally called “the Despoiler”

[couldtransitionsaveher]

also think my ask got eaten/buried. any warhammer characters in queue (besides fulgrim, who you mentioned)? been wanting to submit one but I'm not sure if she's been

So, Warhammer 40k has steadily entered the top 10 most submitted fandoms this blog has seen. Here's all the characters that are in the queue:

Corvus Corax (April 4th, 12:00 PM)

Magnus the Red (April 6th, 8:00 PM)

Lucius (April 6th, 8:00 PM)

Lorgar Aurelian (April 6th, 8:00 PM)

Trazyn the Infinite (April 22nd, 12:00 PM)

And here are all of the characters we've done before:

Roboute Guillman

Leeman Russ

Horus Lupercal

Rogal Dorn

All "Men" in the Adeptus Mechanicus Faction

Ezekyle Abbadon

Perturabo

Sanguinus

Konrad Curze

[yanandreckless]

This is gorgeous! <3

Stop the show

My entry for #WarpGala40k on twitter with Abaddon. I had this idea for his Gala set to be the Galaxy itself, torn apart by the Great Rift, into a half that is completely cut from the Emperor's golden light (to be made of vantablack fabric), and the rest is still lit up by it, but not for long - the gold drops coming from Terra and his hands show how he wants to tear it all apart and make it bleed.

And Chaos is creeping in. And I had to include Horus and the Mournival with the background colours, the Eye, the Moon phases, and a cinquefoil. His roots are always there.

[cultofthewyrm]

JoyToy Warhammer 40k Ezekyle Abbadon

[ask-the-crimson-king]

Part 2: TRAITORS

See the loyalist poll here

[askrobouteguilliman40k]

So I have a few questions, pertaining to comparing characters from both 40k and fantasy. My first question is, who do you feel seems to make a better leader of the champions of chaos, be it in power, strength, and over all effectiveness as leaders? Archaon the Ever Chosen, and Three Eyed King, and Exalted Grand Marshial of the Apocalypse? Or Ezekyle Abbadon the Despoiler, and Surpeme Warmaster of Chaos Undivided and the Imperium Nihilus? I'll be honest, I know a bit more about Archaon than Abbadon. So I'm curious what someone who knows a lot more on the subject thinks, and hope we can maybe discuss this in a mature matter, as that is hard to find.

Deep breath.

Both are suited for their roles and have at least a decade of lore to back them up.

There is nothing more to be said with out bringing up cringe memes.

[the-liars-art]

Speaking of force-of-nature Abby, I think it’s time to reread this beautiful Reddit comment from ADB himself:

(Original discussion is about whether Abbadon is a Horus clone, then ADB just dropped by and threw this bomb and left. Absolute legend)

It's SO GOOD to see him out there letting off some steam and being a fucking force of nature and murdering the shit out of some people

[ms--lobotomy]

WH40K MASTERLIST

PRIMARCH LISTS "Would you still love me if I were a worm," [gn] First Kiss [gn] How many geese do you think I can take in a fight? [gn] Bear Prep Time [gn] Primarchs and Praise Kinks (NSFW) [f] Are y'all down for some heresy? (NSFW) [f] PRIMARCH COCK (NSFW) [gn]

EMPEROR OF MANKIND Perpetuals [f]

MALCADOR THE SIGILITE Girldad (Platonic) [f]

LION EL'JONSON Building a Family (NSFW) [f] He's Old Now, That's Pretty Cool [f] Pollen (feat. Leman) (NSFW) [m]

FULGRIM Insecure [gn] - [x] [x] Daemon (NSFW) [f] How to Handle Someone from the 3rd Millenium? (feat. Guilliman) (NSFW) [f] Fulgrim Fucks You On Both Cocks And Then Takes You To His Place (NSFW) [f]

PERTURABO Caught Princess [f]- [x] [x] Slice of Life [gn] A Gift (NSFW) [f] Legion Mother (NSFW) [f]

JAGHATAI KHAN Riding (NSFW) [f]

LEMAN RUSS The Thing You Told Me Not To [f] Wife Guy Leman Russ (NSFW) [f] Sandwich (ft. Magnus, NSFW) [gn] Sleepy (Drabble) [gn] Pollen (feat. Lion) (NSFW) [m]

ROGAL DORN Falling Asleep [f] Fertile (NSFW) [f]

KONRAD CURZE Follow Me [gn] Y'ALL FUCK (NSFW) [f] Under the Weather [gn] First With a Partner [gn] Finger [gn]

SANGUINIUS "I have done nothing wrong in my life," [gn] Bleed [gn] Egg (NSFW) [f] Get Bent Bald Boy (ft. Horus) [gn]

FERRUS MANUS Nightmares (NSFW) [f] Episode [x] [x] [gn] Eurydice [gn, they pronoun used] Under the Table (NSFW) [f?]

ANGRON You Smoke Angron Out And Then He Eats You Out (And More) (NSFW) [f] First Night (Post Nails) [gn]

ROBOUTE GUILLIMAN Painfully Hard in Public (NSFW) [f] How to Handle Someone from the 3rd Millenium? (feat. Fulgrim) (NSFW) [f]

MORTARION The Merman [gn, afab body]- [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8 (NSFW)] [9 (NSFW)] Aftercare (NSFW) [gn] Meeting (NSFW) [f]

MAGNUS THE RED Sandwich (ft. Leman, NSFW) [gn] Pounding Magnus the Red in the Butt (NSFW) [m] Sick [m]

HORUS LUPERCAL Warmaster (NSFW) [f] Belt Loops [m] Songbird (NSFW) [f] Get Bent Bald Boy (ft. Sanguinius) [gn] Hope You Don't Have Tokophobia For This One [f]

LORGAR AURELIAN Ancient Lullaby [gn]

VULKAN "IMMA BEAT YOUR ASS UP" [f] Sleeping In (NSFW) [m]

CORVUS CORAX

ALPHARIUS

EZEKYLE ABBADON Companion (NSFW) [f]

CALLADAYCE TAUROVALIA KESH Go get Him, Cal! [gn] gay sex (NSFW) [f]

LUCIUS THE ETERNAL Your Ugly Dog Boyfriend Does Some Pred/Prey With You (NSFW) [m]

CATO SICARIUS I don't even know. It's smut. Have fun. (NSFW) [f] Peg That Blue Boy (NSFW) [gn]

TYPHUS THE TRAVELER Lab Rat (NSFW) [f]

OCS Hutri (Iron Hands, quasi-husbandry?)- First Minis- [x]

Aion (Alpha Legion)- [x]

...and more to come! remind me to pretty up my list i have no idea how to do that on mobile

[yanandreckless]

Everybody Likes Kyle 3

Imagine meeting a super hot guy. Like, scaldingly, world-explodingly, chaotically hot. Champion of all hotness. And then imagine that guy invites you over for a homemade dinner the first time you meet. You’re at his place before his TV is even there! He’s rummaging through boxes looking for the spices for those steaks! He ran to a nearby bakery to buy you cheesecake!

And then nothing.

You kept doing that thing cool girls never do, the thing where you replay every single moment of your interaction in your mind looking for things you did wrong. And you found so many, but also none.

Was it the ratty T-shirt and your nest of a messy bun and your bare face? Why would it be that, he saw all that and invited you over anyway. Was it your jokes? The one about a philosopher and a sneeze was always a smash hit everywhere and he did laugh. Was it something else you said? For the love of you, you couldn’t remember that you said anything egregious… because you didn’t remember much of what either of you said at all, because this man has THE biggest biceps you’d ever seen… Cutlery looks like toys in his hands, his thighs are literal tree trunks, he’s…

Well maybe it’s that. Maybe you made him uncomfortable with your staring and thirsting.

The next few days you moped. You didn’t see Kyle but that was because you tried to actively avoid him. He wasn’t a very quiet walker or door shutter so you could hear him leaving his apartment or returning to it, and you mostly worked from home so it wasn’t all that hard to forget how shoes are put on and what trees looked like.

By the time day 12 rolled around (but who’s counting), you ran out of groceries and started feeling like your wallpaper is making your nails itch so you decided to actually go out of your house and shop instead of ordering like you got in the habit of doing.

Your older sister called that morning too, with all her well-meaning but poorly-worded comments:

“Will you have grown another dress size the next time I see you?”

“How do you think you’ll find a social life if all you do is stay at home?”

“Do you want to go to yet another school reunion and say there’s no boyfriend in sight?”

Your sister, dear everyone at home, suffered from a condition you liked to call ass whoop deficiency. She’d say things that should have gotten her a smack or two to people, and never get that smack or two. Not even from you, not since middle school at least.

And it seems that she got even more courageous over the phone; luckily she didn’t call too much, busy with her husband and children.

You wanted to have greasy hair and ketchup stains on your T-shirt on your own terms, not because you were too busy to clean yourself because you had two toddlers. But all that was beside the point.

What totally was the point was the dreaded school reunion. You hated those, you had been to a couple and the last one was already hard, it seemed like almost everyone around you dutifully partnered up and procreated in the looming shadow of the number 30 on their birthday cakes. And now, five years later… it will be so much worse. The occasional pitiful gaze sent your way when you say you’re single will now no longer be occasional. Everyone would be looking at you like you’re some poor specimen with a factory error of some sort. They’d all pull out photos of their kids and not even the fact that the kids were much uglier than their parents believed was comforting to you.

You needed something to say that will get you off the hook. Or you needed to not show up. Maybe invent a business trip you had to go to. After all, you did have your job going for you, it was great, you worked hard to get where you were, and now you had cushy savings well on your way to being enough for a down payment for a house.

But if you didn’t show up, will they all be suspicious? What if everyone else showed up and then only you didn’t, will they realize you lied?

But if you did show up, what could you say? Aside from your career, nothing changed for you, and last time, they didn’t really seem to care about careers, even though universities and jobs had been all the rage to talk about at the reunion prior to that one.

The familiar thump of steps in the hallway makes a lightbulb above your head turn on. He’s far from the perfect husband candidate, you’d be better off asking a neat, powder-blue button-down-wearing average-looking accountant at your company, of which there were many (you sometimes wondered if there was a store producing average-looking accountants companies bought from wholesale); but you didn’t want average… and truth be told, you didn’t want to forget which guy was yours and mistakenly grab someone else’s average dude when it was time to leave. So, before you have the chance to change your mind, you’re knocking on Kyle’s door.

He opens it in a compression shirt and you nearly have a heart attack. Every single muscle outlined beneath that black fabric, gray sweatpants sitting low on his hips, huge chest heaving slightly as he wipes his face with a burgundy towel: “Hey neighbor!” He greets you pleasantly and is patient enough to wait until you pick up your ovaries (or was it jaw?) off the floor. If he notices or if it amuses him, he doesn’t show it. “Hey Kyle, uh… can I come in?” He steps aside silently and you inch into the apartment. He has finished moving in and now it’s boasting his signature macabre decor, all black and gold, with blood red accents. 

There’s a suit of armor that looks like it fits him in the corner and he sees you looking at it and grins: “Do you like it?” “Why do you have a suit of armor?” You sputter before you get the chance to wrap it in a more polite sentence. “Because fur suits are so 2010.” You turn around to look at him in bewilderment, and he chuckles, it’s a deep, yet slightly hissing sound, almost dorky: “I wear it to conventions. Bunch of us do, it’s a hobby.” “Uh… so you have your… armorsona?” He nods, perfectly serious: “The Despoiler, yes.” He points at the huge sword with a bunch of impractical-looking spikes on it and at the even bigger and even less practical… claw-glove on another shelf: “These are his weapons.” You blink, taking it all in, when you notice skulls on spikes protruding from the back of the armor and you point silently, eyebrows raised. “Skulls of my enemies. They’re interchangeable, look.” Kyle bends over (cake cake cake!) and flips open a wooden trunk. He pulls out a few skulls, some of which look non-human. “So they’re fake.” You state dumbly and Kyle looks at you with poorly-concealed amusement: “No, of course this tyranid skull is completely real, what are you accusing the Despoiler of?” He thrusts what looks like a dinosaur skull toward you: “A dinosaur?” Kyle blinks slowly, like he can’t believe what you just said: “My sweet summer child.” He puts the skulls back and closes the trunk, still smiling to himself: “Anyway, would you like anything to drink?” “Do you drink the blood of your enemies, Despoiler?” “I can. Or eat their flesh, but that’s only to see their memories.” “You really thought this through, didn’t you?” You laugh and he tilts his head as he looks at you, an unreadable expression on his face. His gaze is oddly warm and it oddly makes you want to fidget and hide and squeal. You can’t remember a man looking at you like that in a long time, if ever. So you clear your throat and opt to look at a painting in a gilded golden frame, depicting what looks like… a galaxy? With a pink, ocular-looking center: “I actually came to ask you if you’d like to attend my high school reunion with me.” “In the armor?” “No, of course not!” You spit out and Kyle’s laughter clues you into the fact that he was joking. “Alright, I’m in.” “Just like that?” You turn to look at him, your bun bobbing in its ratty hair band. “Just like that. Are we married? Expecting? Can I pet your belly as I talk about the ultrasound appointment?” You balk, your mouth gaping and Kyle bends over in laughter. You love his laugh, booming, with an occasional snort and that hissing tea kettle sound when he tries to calm down: “You wouldn’t be asking me if you didn’t want me to play a role. You’d be bringing an actual boyfriend or husband.” Ok, that makes sense. So you decide to lay all your cards on the table: “Husband would be too suspicious because how did we get married without anyone knowing?” “We eloped.” “And how were we in a relationship before that without anyone knowing?” “We met two months ago on a cruise where our ship went through a sea storm and you rescued me… no, I rescued you, and we instantly fell in love. It was fate! We knew we were meant to be together and decided, why wait!” Your shock quickly morphs into enthusiastic amusement. This is fun. 

“And now I’m pregnant?” 

“What do you think people do all night when they’re in a whirlwind of devastating love?” Kyle places one dramatic hand on his chest and the back of the other on his forehead, wiggling his eyebrows too quickly for it to not be funny.

“That’s an insane story. Will anyone buy it?” 

“How would you ever have faked an insane story like that? What, you found some crazy guy to play along?” 

He does have a point. How many people are insane enough to lie about something like that? 

“Alright, let’s do it. We’d have to sync our stories.” You say, realizing that this will be an opportunity to spend time with Kyle.

“And our outfits. What kind of dress will you wear?”

“What makes you think I’ll wear a dress?”

“My gorgeous wife, the moon that guides my sanity and the sun that lights my path, she’d wear dresses. And probably no underwear, but that’s too much to ask of a fake wife, I understand.” 

You don’t regret skipping all the boring accountants one bit. 

[axiseart]

'If at first you don't succeed, fix your ponytail and start again.' -Unknown

[robot-roadtrip-rants]

That's ok because it's misspelled in English, too.

Yechezqiel (יְחֶזְקֵאל) is based on the ch-z-q root, "strength." So, "strength of God," or possibly "God is strong." In addition to ending in -el, it also starts with a yud, which is another way to put God into Hebrew names. So the name literally starts and ends with God. I guess it's extra holy?

Yechezqiel is actually a prophet, not an angel; you can find his prophecies in the Book of Ezekiel in the Tanakh/Old Testament. He starts the book by noting the time (30 years), the location (by the Euphrates in captivity/exile), and his background (the son of Buzi, a priest) before diving into some hella trippy angel imagery. Good times. Well, maybe not for Yechezqiel, being in exile and all.

BUT! This post is about angels, not prophets. Therefore I propose that Mr. Ezekyle is the double-holy Angel of Buffness.

B-B-BONUS ROUND!

I looked up "Abaddon" on Wikipedia and found some good shit:

According to the Brown–Driver–Briggs lexicon, the Hebrew אבדון ’ăḇadōn is an intensive form of the Semitic root and verb stem אָבַד ’ăḇāḏ "perish", transitive "destroy", which occurs 184 times in the Hebrew Bible.

In the Tanakh, the word frequently appears in conjunction with Sheol, the Biblical afterlife (it's more similar to Hades than modern concepts of Heaven/Hell, which didn't emerge until the Second Temple Era). In the New Testament Abaddon is the name of the angel of the bottomless pit, who is the king of this incredibly metal-sounding army of locusts:

7 And the shapes of the locusts were like unto horses prepared unto battle; and on their heads were as it were crowns like gold, and their faces were as the faces of men. 8 And they had hair as the hair of women, and their teeth were as the teeth of lions. 9 And they had breastplates, as it were breastplates of iron; and the sound of their wings was as the sound of chariots of many horses running to battle. 10 And they had tails like unto scorpions, and there were stings in their tails: and their power was to hurt men five months.

I didn't plan on quoting religious text at people but it was so cool that had to share.

ANYWAYS!

This addition leads me to conclude that Mr. Ezekyle Abaddon, Esq. is not only the double-holy Angel of Buffness, he is specifically the Angel of Buffness Used For Destruction. You know that li'l comic with the gymbro thinking, "I'm gonna to be so good at hugging"?

Abbadon is the polar opposite of that, angelically. Also he commands an army of androgynous locusts with breastplates and scorpion tails. I'm gonna put my foot down here.

Send me 40k characters with -el names and I'll give you the shitty Hebrew translation

Ever wonder what all those Blood Angels and Dark Angels and Sparkle Angels and Whatever Angels are angels of? Y'know, aside from murderizing things? Now's your chance!

[clover-cat-commissions]

“Brotherhood is not about what misguided craft went into both our making,’ hissed Abaddon. ‘It is about the choices we make.”