#holy shit seraph can shade???

[disastrousfeline]

take up arms, take my hand, let us waltz for the dead

[starsailorstories]

fatalcookies

replied to your

post

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Does anyone actually wanna know about the...

Uuuuh please

*deep breath*

*steeples fingers*

@fatalcookies

ok so LIKE

In a deviation from canon, Shade’s only on earth because armageddon is coming someday, and she’s the Almighty’s most trusted strategist. I know this is also veering way off all conventional understanding of the hierarchy of angels, but I think our girl’s a seraph. I mean come on--little miss “think nothing but devotion”? The character who was so over the top in her praise of her boss that a complete third party called the relationship “an altar” to be “sacrificed on”? Seraphim is translated as “the burning ones” and Shade is burning inside and out in any version of her you want to construct. She’s way beyond goodness, she’s about PURITY. She is a slave to the theoretical ultimate perfection of the divine plan. Holy holy holy, bitch!

But...she has a secret.

It’s the same secret she has in canon.

She loves life.

She doesn’t know why and it kind of scares her. She has eternal bliss at her fingertips if she just keeps following all the rules, and she’s great at following all the rules. But at the same time, perfection is simultaneously incredibly hectic and kind of boring. After an eternity of serving at the height of passion, unchanging, unerring, a body gets a bit worn out, and starts to think it might be nice to just, curl up with some brief ephemeral story. Something a bit less than perfect, a bit less than eternal--just to see what it was like. And fortunately the divine, in her unerring wisdom, was just on time to tell one, which started, “In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.”

And so she goes to earth, and she’s just barely constrained in a quite handsome--entirely bespoke!--human body, whose eyes she only occasionally lights up with white flame, and promptly occupies herself with performing understated miracles of toy repair for random children, dressing like the pits of fashion, sipping espresso in cafes, skulking around the edges of literary society Orlando-style but in a theoretically specifically benevolent fashion, and justifying everything to herself one way or another.

And yes like...Shade is pretty sensible, she’s not going to get into the exact same nonsense on earth that Aziraphale did, but if you really think she’s not going to get into any nonsense at all then I feel really bad for you because clearly you’ve never met...wlw in general

She’s kind--never indulgent, but kind--and polite, and nobody really minds her above or below, because she’s very careful to maintain her Purity by never questioning anything or really putting anything in place besides that which she’s been told to. One of her main justifications for everything she’s been getting up to is to assume that if the Almighty didn’t want her to do it, she wouldn’t be able to, because she certainly doesn’t have free will...does she?

Shade is a pseudonym she took on to represent the humility of her human side, by the way, signifying its total inferiority to the radiance of God. I don’t know what God calls her when she’s a blinding, burning figure at the side of the great throne. Perhaps it’s Lux.

Now. Bolt. You may have been asking yourself, “How are you gonna cast the sweet, soft, motherly team healer as the demon in this? Even Crowley has it in him to be a bit of a curmudgeon sometimes and Bolt just doesn’t” and that is true.

But I have this to say:

Hell hath no fury like a tenderhearted gay disaster scorned.

Okay, it’s not all, like, completely personal. The majority of the soul reaping that Bolt accomplishes doesn’t require her to do anything besides exist. Because she’s a sweet, pretty, competent woman who listens, and she’s also the biggest lesbian in the world, and her numbers look fine back at home office because men are just like that. She doesn’t have to tempt anybody she’s literally just There

But sometimes, with the ladies, it’s more, and sometimes she is there for an extended period, and sometimes she feels something beyond pragmatic compassion and that something quickly turns to heartbreak. Because she will never not be a demon, and humans will never lack the ability to redeem themselves. With them she’s never more than a temptation, a distraction, a stumble on the straight and narrow--never chased, never cherished, never allowed to grow old beside. They abandon her, they hurt her, just like God did, and they never regret it, because it was the right thing to do. So, you know, every once in a while, when it’s really too much to take, when she really has to do something for once, to hell with them.

The thing is that in vol. 1 Bolt certainly feels enormous degrees of love, but she doesn’t really have a moral code beyond “make the people around me happy so that they’ll like me and pay attention to me.” If she felt underappreciated in heaven, would she run to Lucifer’s side knowing she would be praised and made to feel special there? Abso-HECKING-lutely.

Of course, it takes more than just her feelings to make her fall. As with canon Bolt, she falls FOR someone.

Who does she fall for, in this universe?

Ready for this?

Eve.

Oh, it wasn’t entirely selfish. She certainly THOUGHT about the unfairness, the way God set them up for the Fall. And yes hell sent her to make it happen, so she can certainly claim to have just been doing her job. BUT…

She honestly might not have done it the way she did it, if she hadn’t thought, just a tiny bit, just way down deep where she could almost ignore it, “Maybe, if they could choose, one of them might choose me.”

Down the road, one of her few real resume builders downstairs is inventing the spinal block epidural--which REDUCES human suffering, but how are they scoring this thing anyhow?--as a middle finger to heaven and an apology to her first crush

+Bolt grumbling+ “‘In pain you will bring forth children’ ASSHOLE it wasn’t her fault!”

Also putting her in the actual plot rather than just the universe of Good Omens simplifies things nicely, the nuns aren’t needed anymore at all. Boltie will be the first to tell you that without her Systems and her assistants, she’s perfectly capable of misplacing a baby on her own.

I just want to mention here that she dresses like the exact midpoint between Jackie O and Marilyn Monroe with a slightly more infernal color scheme and her sunglasses are those red plastic heart kind

Also, because I do the same shit in every AU, she has the exact relationship Crowley has with Queen with, GUESS!!, Dolly Parton

I definitely think one of the most interesting things about this (it’s one of the things I think is most interesting about canon Good Omens too although they never go a l l the way down this road) is that Shade quietly suspects that Bolt is better at being Good than her. Oh sure she loves all God’s creatures but Boltie can get them to love her back. It seems that, unless someone has hurt her personally, one of her main motivations for pushing back against heaven IS compassion

Bolt for her part feels immense guilt about the fact that the only reason she EVEN lets this crap happen anymore is out of bitterness. She hears heaven offers humans unconditional love, even now that they have free will. Where was that deal when she wanted free will, huh?

From that setup on out, you don’t REALLY have to change anything--about EITHER source text! But it’s kind of fun to customize certain stuff for them

I feel like in that scene where they’re drinking in the bookshop they’d get into an exchange that’s like

Bolt, sitting with her legs slung over the arm of a chair, her pantyhose all bunched around her ankles, her high heels in one hand and a glass of red in the other: And that’s the other thing, if we go back they’re not gonna let us be cute anymore

Shade, sitting at her desk with her tie loose and her collar open beside a half-empty bottle of very nice whiskey (I told you the aesthetics were reversed): My goodness Boltie that’s really what you’re on about at a time like this

Bolt: Well take a second to appreciate what you’ve got down here angel, we look fine as all get out! If they send us back I’m gonna probably be back to bein’ a snake for all eternity and you’re gonna have to be a, a flaming wheel or some shit. You know you’re not gonna be able to get made-to-measure for THAT

Shade: …Damn, you’re right

Is this a good time to mention that in my head, Shade sounds decidedly English and Bolt sounds like she’s from Cleveland

Except also I really want Shade to carry Boltie across consecrated ground like in that one post

[webcricket]

A Drink with the Devil

Characters: CastielXReader ft. Lucifer

Word Count: 810

A/N: Drabble for my SPN Advent Challenge December 11 Prompt Situation - The devil and a fallen angel walk into a bar... I make no apologies for Lucifer, the egocentric little shit who took over this drabble.

Surreptitiously babysitting the devil, you sit kitty corner to Satan at the oak-topped Christmas light bedecked bar as he sings along to O, Holy Night. The classic tune crackles over the stereo speakers and it’s possibly the most surreal scene you’ve ever witnessed. His voice is cloyingly smooth considering it rolls off a serpent’s tongue. Fall on your knees, oh hear the angel voices…the chorus resounds and you think there’s an actual tear brimming in his eye. A wistful smile plays at the corner of his mouth.

You glance toward the hallway where Castiel disappeared a moment ago. You suspect he’s trying to phone Dean to apprise him of the situation. You sip the whiskey, neat, held between your fingers and smile at the bartender when she asks for the third time whether she can get you anything else, like say, perhaps, her number.

Lucifer isn’t supposed to know you’re here with Cas. After you dropped Cas off at the park where he planned to meet a group of angels to help in locating Jack, he texted you the address of this dive on the outskirts of town. He left out the devil in the details, of course, but you quickly caught on when you arrived. Cas didn’t have to verbalize his desire to have you stick to the shadows. He seemed to have a plan – seemed to have the situation under control.

But there’s one problem. Well, actually two – the fact that Lucifer has killed your angelic boyfriend twice and you’re more than a little pissed off about it. Especially this last time – when he stabbed him in the back in front of you, Sam, and Dean. You resent the months you spent broken-hearted believing your angel was gone forever.

You down the remaining amber liquor, slam the glass to the counter with a sharp clank, and slip from the stool. You’re not certain why Cas hasn’t killed him yet. Sometimes your blue-eyed seraph is too damn forgiving for his own health, but you’re not wasting a perfectly good opportunity to slay the beast before he kills someone else you love.

Lucifer pays no heed to you, continuing to idly hum the carol as he pretends not to notice you. He knows exactly who you are though, or rather, what you are – he can smell his brother all over you and he knew it the second you walked into the bar. Castiel’s furtive glance your way only cemented his suspicions.

Reaching a hand beneath your coat to the small of your back, you slide out the angel blade tucked in your waistband. Sauntering behind him, you press the tip of the gleaming metal to his spine and hiss in his ear, “How does it feel?”

“Kinda tickles. Right below the belt buckle,” he murmurs, remaining motionless.

“You demented son of a bitch,” you spit, shoving the blade a little deeper.

“Are you flirting with me?” He smirks, casually plucking a toothpick from his coat pocket and inserting it between his teeth as he angles his neck to observe you. “Cause I feel like we have a real connection happening here.”

“Fuck you.” You conceal the blade under your coat as a young couple walks past.

“Is that a threat or a proposal?” He spins in his seat, resting his elbows against the bar top, and quirking an eyebrow.

You slap him hard across the cheek.

He flexes and rubs his stinging jaw, smugly noting, “I see why Castiel’s smitten with you. You really know how to gird a man’s loins.”

Your eyes narrow, rage flashing in your pupils. “You killed him! Twice!”

“Did I?” he muses, scratching his fingers through his hair and staring up at the ceiling in contemplation. “And yet here he is – can’t even get staying dead right, can he? But you know what they say, third time’s the charm.” His gaze settles back on you and he winks.

“I’ll kill you!” You clench the angel blade in your fist, grabbing a handful of his shirt to yank him forward to rake the celestial weapon at his throat. You couldn’t care less about who sees it at this point.

“I’d like to see you try,” he states coolly, expression glowing dimly red.

“You don’t have the juice!”

Lucifer raises a hand, fingers snapping, fully intending to liquefy you on the sub-atomic level.

“You impotent bastard!” you snort in his face when nothing happens.

He sighs in defeat, turning to slouch over the counter and nurse his wounded pride – a pitiable shade of his former self.

You stow the blade and climb onto the empty stool beside him. The merciful thing would be to kill him. And you’re not keen to show the devil any mercy.

You hail the bartender for two more whiskeys and he begins to hum again to the drifting melody of the music.

[dustingrayves]

faire un petite fête

characters; elsword, raven, eve, elesis, add, lu, ciel rating; T wc; 2055 au; mafia cws; smoking + the usual mafia stuff, though this is very mild notes; hi! its finally time to post this!! this was written for the elsword halloween-mafia collab, you can check it out HERE and read other fics from there and see all the amazing art!! please check it out!!

“My eyes hurt, this is bullshit.”

There’s a heavy sigh coming from the other end of Seraph’s earpiece, followed by a deep inhale and a bubbling sound. She scoffs at her partner, even though he can’t see her. “Smoking again?”

A pause. “That has nothing to do with you, Seraph,” he mutters, “I just need something to keep me sane while looking at this stupid green shit. What do they even want us to do at this point, the security is down and the team is probably already on the way back.”

“You’re a hacker, and hackers get a black terminal with green words. Like all of us, now shut up,” she grumbles, and for a second, just a miniscule second, she thinks it worked, but then Esper’s deft fingers show off how fast they type and before she could even think about the goal of his work, her terminal blacks out. It comes back alive just as fast, but instead of the familiar and calming green illuminating her face, the words glare at her with that disgusting shade of purple she was forced to grow accustomed to.

“I prefer black and purple, thanks,” Esper says, going back to his pipe to let her undo the nonexistent damage.

Her lips form a tight line. “Of course you do.”

A knock comes from Esper’s side of the call and she can practically see him perk up, exhale the chocolate-tasting smoke and stand up to go open the penthouse door. She checks all her histories and makes sure to save today’s logs onto one of her disposable USBs before deleting it.

“Hey Seraph,” an energetic voice greets her when Esper returns, moving to save and delete his own logs. “Still don’t understand how you guys do this. Like, this is just a slew of numbers.”

A soft slap. “Let go of my keyboard, Infi!” Esper hisses, irritated, “All these numbers say ‘fuck off.’”

“The security also said ‘fuck off’, but you think that stopped me?”

“Who exactly do you think stopped the security in the first place, huh?”

“My irresistible charms, of course.”

“You don’t have a single redeeming quality about yourself, much less a charm, you dope.”

The boys continue chatting, throwing around meaningless insults, but Seraph decides she has had enough and disconnects from the secured line with only a ‘See ya.’ She misses both the answers as she puts her headphones down and stretches.

Working with that guy never ceases to get to her, no matter how much she insists she doesn’t care. He’s just so annoying… But the mafia pays well and he might help them track her if she ever decided to switch to someone else. He might be annoying as hell, but even she can’t write off his tracking skills.

It’s not like they’re friends, barely acquaintances, but it’d be best to stay on civil terms.

For now.

“So, why’d you crash here?” Esper asks, offering to pass the pipe. Infi takes it and takes a long drag, marveling at the surprisingly rich chocolate flavor the smoke carries.

“Well, to steal your tobacco, for one,” he says, taking another long drag. Esper snorts, fingers tapping on his (admittedly cool) light-up keyboard at the speed of… something. Definitely faster than Infi can.

“If I find even one package missing, I’m personally hiring a deep web hitman.”

“Aw,” Infi feigns sadness, but it’s quickly forgotten in lieu of another long drag, his lungs filling with the smoke and calming his nerves. Not that he’d consider himself a smoker, but passing up tobacco this good should be a crime. “Anyway, I’m here for a debrief, telling you you did a great job, yada yada. Seraph too, but she’s gone.”

“Yeah, she doesn’t much care for this stuff.”

“You don’t, either.”

“Eh,” Esper shrugs. He holds out his hand for the pipe and takes it from the redhead. “If I ever said I hate your mug, your sis would rip me a new one.”

“You don’t really hate my mug.”

“Nah, I’ve seen worse. Like your sis’.”

“I won’t tell her that, but only because we’re friends,” Infi laughs.

Esper’s tone carries a heavy tone of sarcasm as he says, “I appreciate it.”

“Anyway,” Infi mutters after a while, having made himself comfortable on Esper’s couch like every time, “Sis is meeting with the Crows on Saturday—”

“A weird day for a meeting.”

“—Yeah. But anyway, I want you to come with. La Diabla is coming too, along with her… boy toy? And I’d feel much better with someone who can rig up an explosive in case something goes south. Or un-rig it. Whichever.”

“Aw, and here I was, thinking you wanted me for my beauty, and you just want to exploit my collection of chemicals,” Esper snorts, but none of his words carry any heat. “I’ll go.”

“I think others would appreciate your ‘beauty’ more.”

“Fuck, dude, if anyone can appreciate my three day tank top and sweats, I’d be surprised.”

“Which reminds me, you will wear something appropriate, won’t you?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“If you come in a t-shirt and shorts I’ll let sis shoot you.”

“Her aim is shit.”

“Fair enough. Even my aim is better than hers.”

“You just don’t have enough concentration to stabilize it.”

“Well, mister smartypants, you don’t even have the upper arm strength to shoot one.”

“First of all, rude. Second of all, not true. And third of all, who needs a gun when you can have an explosion?”

“Sane people.”

“Aww. Nevermind then. Never qualified for one.”

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Esper mutters, glaring at his reflection in the passing window. “Last time I wore a suit was when I killed my father.”

“Good memories, huh?” Krim jabs, taking her attention off her call for but a second. She had been on call for over half an hour now (more than enough for Esper to set up his explosives around the only two exits of the warehouse), though mostly quiet and listening to whatever the other person has been babbling about. Esper doesn’t care.

“Actually, yeah.”

Krim’s expression darkens for a split second, looking at him with something unreadable. Not uncommon, when it comes to him.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he bites, “Forget I said anything.”

The Commander is a fearsome man, with reputation preceding him by a mile or ten. Looking at him for the first time, aside from photos and low quality footage, Esper has to admit if it weren’t for years of expertise in the whole mafia/gang/whatever the hell they were, he still isn’t sure — sometimes the bosses act like goons, quarreling with the others, and sometimes they’re working like a switzerland watch — he would feel intimidated.

Instead, he just keeps to the shadows, fingering the fuse in his pocket, thumb running over the smooth surface of the buttons. It’s not that he would like to be stuck in a half-blown-to-high-heavens warehouse, but both Krim and Infi have been very adamant about the security measures.

They — he — end up being completely useless. The Commander drinks his polite glass of wine, brings out the cash Krim had demanded, and then turns his attention to La Diabla, looking the most out of place of them all, with her beautiful gown-like dress and hairdo fit for a runway.

Her… assistant… stands like a soldier a few feet over, the only one she had brought. That knowledge alone is more than enough to pique Esper’s curiosity, and he moves over to him, instantly grabbing his attention.

The man’s expression is unreadable, even moreso with the mask (which is, again, very unfit for a place like this, but for a completely different reason than La Diabla’s getup) obscuring half his face already. His eyes follow Esper’s every movement.

“Is she always like this?” Esper asks. The man cocks his head to the side as if in a question. Esper sighs. “This… pretty? Does she always go out of her way to look like she’s up for a modeling shoot in thirty minutes?”

This explanation seems to finally get through to the tall man. (Which, Esper begrudgingly seeths at. He’s already tall enough, no need to go the extra mile, right? Fuck you, taller people.) “That’s how she looks like,” is the simple answer.

“Uhhhh-huh…”

“Lu is beautiful.”

“And pays you a lot to say that too, huh. Wait, Lu?”

“Lu,” the other man repeats.

“Wait a sec right there— Is she…? No way, holy fuck. I knew she was familiar.” Fucking Luciela R. Sourcream, right here, under the fake name of La Diabla. Who would’ve fucking thought? Great, no wonder she only brought one man along.

Esper glances over at Infi, wondering if he knows. He’s got to, right? He does business with her.

Then again, she does look completely different right now that on any of the magazine covers that praise her almost-childlike appearance. Holy shit… This knowledge would sell for millions on the black market. Millions and… millions in bounty, too. Esper shudders inwardly at the thought of having to jump countries again to escape the persistence of mercs after a few easy millions.

“I’m Demonio.”

Esper is snapped out of his thoughts by the man’s voice. It still feels too gruff, like he’s unused to speaking much. Which he probably is, thinking about it. “Esper,” he replies.

Demonio gives him a nod and then goes back to looking presently dead inside. “I hate meetings like these.”

“Why’d you come, then?”

“Lu said, so I did.”

“Do you do everything she says?”

“Yes.”

“That’s kinda shitty,” Esper muses quietly. “But I hate these meetings too.”

“Why are you here, then?”

“Infi asked me to.”

“Do you do everything he asks?”

“No. But he’s a friend, y’know. We help each other out.”

Demonio makes a small humming noise in the back of his throat. “That’s nice.”

“Are you doing anything tonight?” Esper finds himself asking before he can even think about it. He wants to smack himself right after, but Demonio, despite what the name should suggest, seems like a nice guy who could use a little escape.

“Lu is shooting.”

“Uh—”

“Magazine.”

“Right…”

There’s silence, and Esper thinks that’s all there is to the conversation, but Demonio turns to him with a tilt of his head, as if he’d been waiting for Esper to elaborate on his question. “Why?”

“Well— There’s a good Chinese restaurant a few blocks from here, and they’re having an all-you-can-eat tonight. Me and Infi are going— And, frankly, you look like you should get something into your stomach.” Esper doesn’t really have the right to say something like that, but hey. Whatever.

Demonio looks down at him almost absently, leaning on his oversized sniper rifle — which Esper still doesn’t understand. They’re inside.

“That’s me extending the metaphorical olive branch. Y’know, friendship and all.”

“I’ll ask—”

“It’s alright,” come a lull of a voice, high pitched, silky and almost snake-like. Esper tenses up, eyes flitting to La Diabla. Shit. She must’ve heard. Demonio still looks as nonchalant and unbothered as ever, looking at her with confusion. “Go, dear, I can take care of myself one night.”

All the eyes inside are on them, now. The Commander’s, boring through and assessing; Krim’s, confused; Infi’s, mildly amused; and La Diabla’s, of course, seemingly even thankful as she looks at Esper.

He regrets agreeing with Infi to come. His fingers are still curled around the remote, itching to press a button and go hide somewhere during the explosions. He could’ve been at home, watching some stupid thing on Netflix and ignoring job offers instead of here, kindling friendship with the most well known assassin this side of the globe.

God, he really can’t wait to get home and get a cup of coffee. But then again, this is his life. And he hadn’t been shot or skewered on a blade yet. (Yet.) That’s a win in his books.

“Great. Anyone else who wants to tag along to the Chinese with us?” he asks, half rhetorically and full-on exasperated.

He doesn’t expect it in the slightest when the Commander grins and opens his mouth. “How good are their spring rolls?”

Oh Jesus, Mary and Joseph. This is gonna be one hell of a dinner.

[hypemanminami-blog]

lebenfxrseis replied to your photo: I was gonna wait until after Halloween to share...

//hOLY SHIT YOU’RE AMAZING OMG ESPECIALLY THE COLORS AHHH PLS TEACH ME

YEARS AND YEARS OF PRACTICE, and i’d love to teach you i really would :’D, but the only thing i can suggest is just pay attention to how other people, people who you consider to be more advanced in art than yourself, pay attention to how they draw things, how they colour things, it might not show you the techniques they use but it’ll guarantee you’ll end up experimenting with your own techniques to create ways to do the same thing yourself!  

(just gonna put the rest under a readmore cause it’ll get long otherwise :’D)

Like, i needed a denim colouring tutorial for this, the only one I could find only had a few progress images on it with no instructions, instead it had a ‘pay me on patreon to get the details’ slapped onto it (seriously i miss the days before patreon, artists were waaayy more generous), something you’ll unfortunately find a lot these days with art tutorials.

So i googled a shit ton of jeans references and just made up a technique to do it myself, consisting of three different layers, tiny airbrush strokes and a bunch of random marker brush lines :’D

If you see something you like in someones art style, maybe how they draw lips, or how they draw eyes (I've personally adopted a sort of Owari No Seraph eye style cause I LIKE IT), how they colour that little dip between your nose and your top lip, add it to your art, find a way to add those little details to your style. Sure it’ll guarantee your drawing time will probably lengthen from half an hour to a whole day of detail work, but.... trust me it’s worth it! 

AND NEVER UNDERESTIMATE A GOOD ART/COLOURING/SHADING REFERENCE, seriously create a folder in your computer documents purely for pose/shading/colouring references, anything you feel drawn to, and each time you draw something try USING the references you’ve gathered. 

You’ll improve immensely, trust me.