#morael

[houlen-yabusame]

does anyone remember drawcast

[zorkaya-moved]

@volfinas and i really sat down and went 'lucilius created lucifer to be the perfect version of himself, morael as the copy of himself (mirror) and belial as his rebellion (cue the serpent)' and I'll never be the same.

[misreputed]

if morael is the copy of lucilius then belial....... belial......

[anryuuepic]

Winterkill Works — Ward 3 Executive

Seamus Morael

[frezak-fro]

FINALLY. I believe they are canon okay???

[spencecreates]

Some Moras

[crystal-bytes]

GIFTOBER 2023

DAY THIRTY-ONE: FREE CHOICE

A timeline of DONALD GLOVER and MILES MORAELS

Spider-Man 3 (2007) / The Amazing Spider-Man (2012) / Donald Glover: Weirdo (2012) / Community 2x01 "Anthropology 101" (2010) / Ultimate Fallout #4 (2011) / "Not Going Back" Live Performance (2011) / Ultimate Spider-Man 3x11 "The Spider-Verse: Part Three" (2015) / Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017) / Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018) / Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse (2023)

[mysaldate]

Never forget what we could've had. All of these ended on the cutting floor despite being so much better than what we got 😔

Morael

[barrelgunx]

Day 7 - pastel gore

Headcanon - she and Morael have purple organs and blood with stars.

[sashamain]

MORAEL - QUEEN OF THE STARS

character 9/???

celestial

[trappednyourheart]

DCXDP IDEA PROMPT#2-(bro I love the new spiderman movie,And especially morws moraels!!!)

Based on spiderman across the multiverse Movie and Deadpool

Where Danny had accidentally Broke the fourth wall and finding out his actually a cartoon Character, But suddenly he had been suck into Google, and you know what he found?

*Fanfics of different versions of him like cryptid,twin of damian or even Jason todds biological kid?? and Justice league being lovey dovey parents!*

But much more is that he was now suddenly been put into a DC World that is the Justice league unlimited series, Beggining to Episode 1!?!?

Now Danny thinks how the hell is he gonna survive into this new reality and truth he just now unlocked? That even clockwork can't even control?

[zorkaya-moved]

Morael vc: Lucilius was brought back to life and instead of keeping me out of y’all mouths, you deliver me straight back to him like a doll to celebrate his birthday like what the fuck did I expect—

[zorkaya-moved]

Her eyes do not open, her body does not move when he touches her hair. "―Misery loves company. Are you here to search for it?" Misery, oh dear misery, she is lament who is stuck in a stagnated perfect state for all eternity. ( Stop looking at me, stop seeing our creator in me. ) "What do you yearn for today, Belial?" And still, her eyes remain closed as she refuses to look at him. Not yet, she doesn't want to see him looking at her.  Not until he asks her to do it or forces her to do so. "How can I not be unhappy when you are the reason for my demise? I ought to strangle you here and now." 

     there's a cool , lascivious undertone to his so - called " frivolous behavior " that spells trouble . a hand touches a wisp of @zorkaya 's silver , tamed hair—— not as soft as belial remembers ( ... are you recalling the right person ? ) . ❝ oh , don't look so unhappy ...      too pretty a place to be miserable in . ❞

[anryuuepic]

Winterkill Works Bios — Masterlist

Leader

Winterkill Ratched

CEO

Barracuda Blaine

Sanya Acherontia

Jormungand

Jackal Balthazaar

Executive

Dieterich Bruinsma

Mingxia Vesalius

Seamus Morael

Gaware Collyer

Hikura Faraday

Beatrice Mukhina

Lisette Arondight

Super Executive

Silverbell Albescu

Korose Bequerel

Ymir Liones

Cindarosa Pender

Ethereal

Ardemis

Assistant

Foxglove Kovalenko

Nightshade Kovachev

Biological Hazard

Chemical Hazard

Physical Hazard

Kayori

Kitana

Lux Dunn

Whimsy Del Rayo

Verne Laska

Avya Sobol

Test Subject

Jupiter

Juno

Apollo

Venus

Neptune

Bacchus

Mars

Mercury

Orcus

Proserpina

Ceres

Vulcan

Minerva

Vesta

[saviolum-sanguineus]

glory, glory, glory (of transience and unknowable memory)

Esme always wanted to belong with the stars. Perhaps, with all her brightness, she should have known it would come to burning. tw: death

Wind stirs the flowers again, along with their shadows; slivers of silver light and the darkness neighboring them whirl over the marble and draw Luna’s and Joel’s eyes.

Even if the glamour hadn’t withered away the moment its caster passed into death, the Malrics still wouldn’t have held an open viewing. Pheles had long since forced its fill of drinking in their daughter; she would have laughed at the idea that death would preserve her dignity, but Tobin and Yvette hold a private ceremony anyways.

They dress Esme in crimson, fine cloth woven furiously and dyed by her mother’s hands, and lay soft lavender and lilies by her head and feet, nestled around the cold stiffness of her body so the soil and stone will welcome her home. The blooms do not cover the scars—skin split by flame and flagellation, healed over waxy and gnarled—and Tobin cannot bring himself to look Val in the eye to ask for his help.

So they sit and speak to Esme one last time, before warm, trembling hands lay over a pair of cold ones and tuck a trio of mementos where they’re folded: a worry chain of tiny, interlocking wooden hearts, polished buttery smooth and varnished with a glossy dark cherry stain; a pair of ribbons spun from silk that gleams softly opalescent, embroidered with tiny, fine-stitched scenes of a dancer whirling in the stars, and coiled into the shape of two roses; a child-sized woodworking chisel, worn with age and marked near the lip of its handle with a tiny, crudely carved pair of cats sitting with their tails entwined.

Three pairs of hands lower the lid of the casket. A clock ticks over the sound of sobs. A charcoal portrait of Esme smiles brightly from its stand between carefully arranged flowers; in front of it is a plate of apple slices cut to look like rabbit ears, crisp flesh yellowing.

They lower the casket with all the care they’d saved up for her during her life and great absence from theirs. When the earth is smoothed over before a marble stone, three warm hands press their palms in turn to the triquetra carved below Esme’s name; the scent of mingled magic lingers in the air as the Malrics depart—solemn sorrow so unspeakable it silences even their steps.

Taran has either the consideration or carelessness not to visit until three days have passed. He drops a single poppy over the grave and looks silently at the headstone and its inscription for a long moment. A faint, vaguely sad smile and a shake of his head before the murmur: “Eight more, kitten. Maybe you’ll find me again in the next.”

He smokes wordlessly while Cassius kneels to perform something tearful that’s part prayer and part farewell, choking on the words he gulps to make way for sobbing. Taran steps forward only to place a hand on his son’s shoulder and urge him up to his feet when the message turns to apologies.

“We all made our choices,” Taran whispers as he hugs Cassius close, scooping him up. His face is unreadable, voice steady as he ferries his son away. “Even her. Even then.”

He slows but does not stop when he passes Zia on the path, one arm slung around Morael’s shoulder. She raises an eyebrow but says nothing. When the Marquesses Seraphine leave the cemetery, it’s without the elegant but impersonal bouquet they’d entered with—red ranunculus and sparkling white lilies—and having completed another task on their list of duties.

Luna visits at night, when the moon high above is the only witness. She stares at the headstone too, mouth pressing into a tight frown before she sighs.

“Hi. Um, I miss you,” she says, eyes dropping to the pile of flowers atop the grave. Briefly, she wonders if Esme would have wanted her to bring flowers too. In the moonlight, their petals seem colourless.

Luna hesitates. “I miss you,” she says again. The petals flutter in a breeze that curves so like the touch of a hand that Luna nearly expects the moonlight bending over the marble to slide aside in response. Quiet settles again like snow.

“I thought about talking to Ell,” Luna says suddenly. “I don’t know if you’d remember her. I think you met. And you knew so many people here. Ell has studied necromancy. She could bring you back. I’d convince her. But I don’t know if you’d want that. I never knew what you wanted. But I always wanted to do what you wanted. Even if I never was.”

She pauses. Esme’s grave does not respond.

“I’m going to miss you for a long time,” Luna says quietly. “I keep thinking about the night you spent at my place, back then. And if there was anything I could have to done to make this end differently.”

“Luna?”

Her instinctive shielding spell flickers and fades—somewhat reluctantly—as Joel emerges from the shadows along the path. He’s dressed darkly, signs of the papacy condensed to a Farfallan cross hanging from his neck, minimal enough to assure his being mistaken for a devout civilian from a distance.

Luna grimaces before nodding at Joel. “Pope Babyboy.”

He blinks—something twitches over his expression, fleeting as a cloud over the moon, before Joel motions towards the grave, still not quite able to look directly at it.

“I wanted to come pay my respects. If you’d prefer privacy, I can wait.” There’s a faint pause after the words.

Wind stirs the flowers again, along with their shadows; slivers of silver light and the darkness neighboring them whirl over the marble and draw Luna’s and Joel’s eyes.

Rain washes pollen from the marble, water gathering in the etched lettering above Esme’s name. Beloved. May she dance among the stars.

Far, far away, in the ashes of what used to be an Aixoisi lavender field, rainwater mixes with the silt and ash and soaks the grave of flowers that knew too early the grace of burning. Earthworms churn in the dirt and break through the surface, glistening raw and pink in the moonlight.

The first petal from the flowers left at Esme’s grave flutters gracefully to the earth, felled not by malice but by time.

[shumbledoobles]

meows moraels

badly drawn lil man