#they look so chewy

[starry-bi-sky]

Clone^2 - Separation Strikes

"Why do I have to go?" Damian asks, surly and accent-thick, it sounds more like a demand and a whine at the same time. Sitting on the kitchen table with his arms crossed, in a green t-shirt that Danny bought him at a whim when he was at a thrift shop, and black shorts, he's never looked more like a kid. There's a little backpack leaning against the table leg, Damian begrudgingly picked it out when they went shopping.

His English has grown in leaps and bounds since Danny found him -- er, or more accurately; since Damian was spat out in front of him. -- and very little did they have to use the translator on Danny's phone these days.

Which meant one thing: Damian can start attending school comfortably now. And 'go' was the Amity Smiles Child Care Center. Danny and Jazz went as kids until they were twelve, and Mom and Dad actually managed to convince the center director to let Damian enroll for the summer.

And it was summer; Damian starts today.

"Because," Danny says, trying and failing to hide the smile pulling on his face, his heart warm and soft, and also laughing at Damian's expense; "being cooped up in the house all day isn't good for you, and you're starting school in the Fall. And, in Jazz's words: you need to have interactions with other kids your age for the benefit of your social development. And besides, it's only for the morning."

Damian's nose scrunches up, and his eyes roll so violently that for a moment, Danny thinks about joking that he'll get his eyes stuck like that. He holds his tongue; his little brother already looks like he's five seconds away from committing an act of violence.

"I don't need social interaction." Damian sneers, his cheek in his hand; a neverend pool of pride. "I am--"

"The Blood of the Demon Heir, better than everyone else." Danny cuts off, waving his hand in dismissive circles, his voice mockingly deep. Damian's brown skin darkens in embarrassment, and he scowls at Danny. "I know, bud. But Jazz is right, -- don't tell her I said that, -- you should be around kids your age."

Especially when he starts First Grade in the Fall. Honestly -- Danny was a little nervous to send him to the center. Damian's long since cut the habit of trying to kill or otherwise maim people, his palms ache-burn with gentle reminder, but his tongue was as sharp and as cutting as his sword. He still struggles with trying to quell it when he's upset. Vicious child-weapon that he once was, and will never be again.

Danny knows that it comes from a place of fear and defense, that Damian lashes out because that's what he's been taught. That at the end of the day, he doesn't really mean what he says, and he's learning to express himself better. But the other kids don't know that, and kids can be unforgiving and cruel.

Danny just...

His slow beating heart sighs, melancholy settles behind his lungs.

He doesn't want Damian to be outcasted. He doesn't want him to be alone.

Not like he was.

Damian sneers again, but says nothing, his shoulders crawling up to hide his ears like a turtle receding into his shell. Danny watches him silently, leaning against the kitchen counter with his own arms crossed. The clock hanging on the wall ticks in their ears -- it's almost time to go.

He watches Damian, careful, and so he sees it when his little brother's stone-shell pride and petulance shudders, and cracks. The darkened furrow of Damian's brows weakens, and for a moment, slants back.

Ah, Danny thinks, his own shoulders slumping. Epiphany washes over him, and his sad-heart soothes in warm understanding. So that's what it is.

His head tilts, and his hair spills over his shoulders, messy and fluffy, tickling his neck. Some of his bangs fall into his face. "Hal 'ant easabiatan ya habibi?" He asks, voice low and soft. Just as Damian's English has improved, so has Danny's Arabic. He still stumbles over himself some days, and Damian says his accent is trash, but they can have whole conversations now in Damian's mothertongue.

(Danny was incredibly proud of himself for it.)

Damian's face darkens, his blush spreading across the rest of his face, and he ducks his head down. Grown-out curls, black-brown and springy, falls over his eyes. "La!" He yells, loud and indignant, and not at all convincingly. "La 'asheur bialtawaturi!"

He was nervous. Danny can see it now, in the hunch of his shoulders and the tightness of his face, and faintly, he can feel it too. In the ecto-rich air of the Fentonworks House, it thrums, barely-there, like a hummingbird behind his lungs.

Danny can't stop the little, fond smile that forces itself across his lips and upticks the corner of his mouth. "It's okay to be nervous, little brother." He says, he sounds like Jazz when he says that. He doesn't think she'll mind him borrowing the nickname.

He pushes himself off the counter, and Damian refuses to look at him, hiding behind his hair and in his shoulders. It takes three long strides for him to reach the table, and Danny turns, plants his hands on the ledge, and hoists himself up. Right next to Damian.

Damian leans into him easily when Danny's arm wraps around his shoulders and tucks him close to his heart. He can feel his ear against his ribs. Danny hunches over him, resting his chin on Damian's head. "It's so okay to be nervous, actually. I was nervous, Jazz was nervous." He tells him, scratching the blunt edge of his nails across his scalp. "Everyone gets nervous."

"'Ana last aljumiea." Damian mumbles, as small and feeble as he was the night on the OPS Center balcony, realizing that his mom and the League weren't coming for him. Realizing that he was replaceable.

Danny's half-working heart squeezes; in grief, in rage, and his faucet eyes sting. He breathes in carefully, and presses his nose into Damian's hair in a loving faux-kiss. "You're right, you're not everyone." He says, steady and strong, because if he's not a pillar for his family, who else is he?

He can feel Damian's eyes flick up to him, and Danny smiles into his black-brown curls. Tilts his head to squish his cheek against him instead, hand dropping to thumb below Damian's lashes. "You're Damian Fenton," Because the adoption went through a few weeks ago, and he's still riding that high, "You're my baby brother. O' Artist Extraordinaire, Kickass with a Sword, Vegetarian and Wonderful Co-Ghost Hunter."

Damian tries to stifle a smile, and fails. Score! Triumph gathers in Danny's gut, his smile grows wider. He squeezes Damian tight, and only releases him so he can look him in the eyes. "And if anyone gives you a hard time at school, and I mean anyone--"

Danny has bad memories of the teachers looking the other way when the other kids were bullying him, all because he was a Fenton.

And Danny, bleeding heart, bleeding hands, loves his family more than he will ever love himself, will never let Damian experience the same injustice. Not if he can help it.

His eyes narrow, and the buzzy-film of ectoplasm covers his eyes, making them glow, "--You tell me. And as your awesome great big brother-and-technically-dad-but-only-biologically, I will handle it."

Damian, wonderfully made, full of light, his little brother Damian, giggles weakly at him. A sound that's worth it's weight in gold. The scary eyes dissipate, and Danny matches the sound with a cock-eyed, impish grin, dragging Damian into a soul-crushing, too-tight hug. The kind that only annoying older brothers can give. "Got it?"

That gets a proper, if short, laugh out of Damian. He wriggles in Danny's arms, trying to break free. But Danny does calisthenics, his arms are as big as Damian's head, so it doesn't work. "Understood, now, daeni 'adhhab ya 'akhi!"

Danny laughs, loud and bright, and loosens his hold just a smidge, only so he can adjust his grip and hop off the table with Damian still in arm.

"Never!" He crows, hoisting Damian slightly. One eye flick at the clock, and in one quick move, he secures Damian under one arm like a football, and hooks his foot under the strap of his backpack. Kicking it up, he tosses it into the air and catches it with his free hand, and slings it over his shoulder. "Now, to the car, my boy! Before we're late and Mom and Dad get charged."

Damian groans, childish and dramatic and long, but his face is all squished up with a wide grin and glee. Danny can taste his joy beneath his tongue.

"And, if my little pep talk didn't encourage you," He says, reaching the door to the garage, flipping Damian up onto his hip instead. "If you have a good day today, I'll make you bal mithai when you get back."

Like all kids at the promise of sweets, Damian's eyes widen and glitter. Danny loves seeing Damian be a kid, it's his favorite thing in the world. "I will!"

[unfinishedslurs]

The boy stops in his tracks. “I know you,” he says, tilting his head curiously. He’s not tall, but he’s regal nonetheless, dressed all in white. Something about him makes Leia’s hair stand on end, and although she hides it she feels a stirring in her own chest. I know you like I know my own soul, she thinks wildly, and wonders where it came from. Has she gone insane?

“That’s nice,” she says, and shoots him anyway.

He deflects it in a flash of light, a glowing blue laser sword appearing in his hand like magic. She’s only seen one of those before, and it’s Vader’s. If this boy is anything like Vader, she realizes, she’s in deep shit.

She’s smart enough to know when she’s outmatched. Leia makes the tactical decision to run for her life.

Later, as she’s getting the hell out of there, she wonders why he didn’t try to stop her.

She remembers being young and tugging on her mothers skirts, demanding to know why their guest was so sad. “Does he not like it here?” She’d asked, and then, trembling, because Kenobi always seemed saddest around her. “Is it…because of me?”

“Oh, Leia,” her mother sighed, lifting her into her arms. “It’s not that, I promise.”

“Then what is it?”

“Master Kenobi lost a child under his care, years ago.” Breha’s eyes grew deeper, darker. “It was not his fault, but he blames himself. You remind him of that child, that’s all.”

Leia had quieted at that, contemplative.

The next time she’d seen Master Kenobi, she had given him a hug. He didn’t seem to know what to do with that, so she resolved to give him more of them. “He’s lonely,” she’d told her mother. “No one should be lonely.”

Looking at Obi-Wan Kenobi now, the memory seemed so far away. He’d aged thirty years in the ten it had been.

He looks, Leia thinks with a small twinge of regret, very lonely.

“Leia,” he greets. “It’s been a long time.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Leia sees a glint of white.

Kenobi freezes in his tracks. “Luke?” He whispers, and through the distance Leia can hear it as if he’d been speaking directly into her ear.

Master Kenobi lost a child under his care, her mother whispers in her head. He blames himself.

In an instant, Leia understands everything.

Kenobi is still staring at the boy he’d lost so long ago when Vader cuts him down.

Later, as she’s pacing around on the Falcon to Han muttering darkly about Princesses and supernatural abilities, she rememberers the way the boy collapsed, as if all his strings had been cut. Vader was too occupied with him to even look at her as she shot at him desperately.

Luke. She hates him more than she hates herself.

“They know where you are,” he hisses frantically. “They’re coming for you. You have to run.”

“Wait!” Leia quickly pulls up their sonar. Nothing yet, but it would explain the distant queasiness she’d felt since they’d landed. She tended to trust her gut. “How do you know? How much time do we have?”

“Not important, and not enough,” he says. “I have to go, and so do you. You need to leave yesterday.”

“How do I know I can trust you? I don’t even know who you are.”

He pauses. “Call me Skywalker.”

“That’s not an answer, Skywalker.”

“Yes it is.”

She opens her mouth to argue, but there are faint voices on the other end, drawing nearer.

“Shit,” Skywalker mutters. “I have to go. I’ll be in contact, okay? Don’t ever tell me where you are, or where you’re heading. Vader and Palpatine aren’t shy about reading minds. Just leave as soon as you can, and figure out the rest.”

“But—“

It’s too late. The comm has disconnected.

She stares down at it, disbelieving. How would the Empire know they’re here? Why should she trust a stranger who somehow got her personal comm code?

Gut feeling or not, on paper this was a perfect location. Supplied, armored, and most importantly, extremely well hidden. There was no real reason to think it would possibly be found out.

It’s probably a trap. Almost definitely a trap.

Han sticks his head in the door, a sour look on his face. “Hey Princess, can you tell these idiots—“

She makes a decision then and there.

“We’re leaving.”

“What?”

“We’re evacuating, effective immediately.” She pushes past him, and he follows so close he’s nearly stepping on her heel.

“Why? I think it’s pretty cozy here. Actual sunlight doesn’t hurt, either.”

“Apparently too cozy.” She grabs the first person she sees, a pilot who stares at her with wide eyes. “Emergency evacuation. Spread the word to pack everything you can and leave, I’ll let you know where we’re headed when we’re in orbit.”

He salutes and scurries off.

“Woah, hey now.” Han snatches at her elbow until she turns around to face him. “What’s going on?”

“There’s a new informant. He told me the Empire knows we’re here. They’re coming for us.”

“And you trust this person because…”

“I don’t have a choice,” she snaps. Someone runs past them, holding three packs filled to the brim with rations. “It’s either he’s lying and we’re not in danger, or he’s telling the truth and we’re going to die if we don’t listen. It’s not exactly hard math.”

It could be a trap of course, but he hadn’t suggested any sort of direction or destination to follow, and Leia wasn’t inclined to share. Especially not after his tidbit about Vader and Palpatine reading minds.

He squints at her. “That’s not it.”

“What?”

“I don’t believe you,” he insists. He’s so infuriating. Leia doesn’t know why she hasn’t kicked him out yet.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes you do, and you’re either gonna tell me why, or find a different transport when we head out of here.”

“Who said I was riding on your hunk of junk?” She demands. She actually was planning on going with them, since the Falcon has more than enough room for all the supplies that can’t fit in the other ships and none of the trustworthiness of the other pilots, but Han doesn’t need to know that.

“Well?”

Damn him. Damn him for knowing how to read her. She doesn’t know when she let that happen.

“I feel it,” she admits, defeated. “Something tells me he’s trustworthy. We’ll wait and see if it’s right.”

He studies her. She holds her head high, but inside she’s jittery at the scrutiny. They don’t have time for this.

“Yeah, all right,” Han finally says.

“Really?”

“Yes, really.” He rolls his eyes, like she’s not acting absolutely insane by putting all her trust in a random man she’s never even met. “Now come on, Princess, weren’t you the one who said we had to hurry?”

What is it about this man that makes it impossible to tell whether she wants to punch him or drag him into the nearest supply closet? They don’t have time to find out.

“So there’s good news and bad news.”

“Bad news first,” she demands.

“They know there’s a mole.”

“Shit.” Of course they know, how could they not? She should have been more careful, less obvious about the correlation of their movements with the Empire’s plans. “The good news?”

“They’ve tasked me with hunting down this ‘pathetic rebel spy,’” Skywalker says, humor in his voice. “That should buy me some time.”

Leia can’t quite stop the snort she lets out. “Seriously?”

“Yep. You’re speaking to a professional mole-hunter, here.”

“Well congratulations on the promotion, Skywalker.”

“Thank you,” he says grandly. Then, quieter, “It won’t last, Princess. They’ll find out eventually.”

“I know. Just hang in there, it will be over soon.”

“Will it?” He asks, suddenly sounding very young. She realizes that she has no idea how old he is. She doesn’t know anything about the man who has saved them more times than she cared to admit, and the idea rattles her until they sign off.

Later, she looks up the name Skywalker in their archives. There are a few results, but only one sticks out.

Anakin Skywalker, Jedi Knight and hero of the Clone Wars. Killed at the hands of Darth Vader. There are gossip articles too, speculations on his relationship with the pregnant Senator Padmé Amidala, who died around the same time Skywalker did. The baby, it seems, died with her.

Unless he didn’t.

It’s ridiculous. It’s impossible. The idea is so ludicrous that Leia almost rejects it entirely.

But it makes sense. By the Maker, it makes sense.

The child of Anakin Skywalker, it seems, would be a powerful Force user indeed. Powerful enough for Kenobi to take the baby and run. Powerful enough for the Emperor to want him for his own gain. Powerful enough to send Vader after Kenobi and take the boy himself.

Maybe even powerful enough to shield his mind from Vader and Palpatine’s intrusions.

Powerful enough to hide the fact that he’s a spy.

Leia sinks into her chair, covering her face as she laughs.

Maybe Luke isn’t so bad after all.

“No, no, no,” she mutters, digging through the smoking wreckage of the TIE fighter. “Don’t be dead, please don’t be dead.”

“Princess…” Han lays a hand on her shoulder that she immediately shrugs off.

“No, he’s not dead. He’s not. Luke!”

A faint cough answers her, and she’s so relieved to hear it she could cry. Behind her, Han starts bellowing for a medic and, “Some damn help here, do you expect us to move all this ourselves?”

“Luke, it’s me,” she sobs. “It’s Leia. You’re at the Rebel Base. You’re safe.”

More coughing, and there’s a worrying rasp to his voice when he says, “You know…my name?”

“I figured it out.”

“Smart.” This time, the coughing is so bad Leia and Han both wince.

“Shit, kid,” Han says, moving another piece of rubble. “Don’t talk. We’re gonna get you out of here, all right?”

“Stand back,” Luke chokes out.

“What?”

“Stand back. Please.”

Han protests, but something in Leia knows they should listen to him. She drags him back, and motions everyone else to fall back with them. They do, albeit reluctantly.

“Clear,” she calls, hoping Luke can hear her.

The TIE explodes.

“Fuck!” Han goes back in, Leia on his heels with the terrifying feeling that she’d just allowed Luke to die, before they both stop in their tracks. Around them, the broken pieces of the TIE are floating.

And curled up in the middle is a man dressed all in white.

“Luke!” She pushes past Han to start dragging him out, and after another moment of staring around them, he helps her.

As soon as they get clear, the pieces fall to the ground with a clatter. Luke falls limp with them.

Han is still looking at the TIE. “Can you do that?” He asks quietly.

Leia pauses her examination of the unconscious man in front of her to glare at him. “Is that what you’re most concerned with right now? Really?”

“Excuse me for asking, Princess!”

“It’s white,” Luke grumbles, pulling at his hospital gown bitterly. “I hate wearing white.”

“Should I be offended?”

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t even. You look great and you know it. I just feel like I never left.”

“Well,” she says gingerly. “I guess it’s a good thing you got sick of it. If we went around in matching outfits all the time, people might think we’re twins.”

He snorts. “Yeah, right.”

[royaltea000]

Got so mad seeing a forced marriage plot for the 20th time that I got up to draw a design specifically to put a veil on him

[heartscrypt]

showing a pa-pa-para-part of me so you might get the message, but the words i wanna shout to you get swallowed back up again!

[homeofhousechickens]

Babies...

[celluzu]

if Pac isn't meant for biting why is he chewtoy shaped

[fallowfrog]

"you wish to leave this place? then, it is my wish to make your doing so a little bit more interesting..."

[meteor-moon]

star wars screenshot redraw :)

[xxplastic-cubexx]

BIRTHDAY HAUL courtesy of a very lovely friend of mine 🥺

bonus goofy pics of a bday snack i had earlier with my favorite menace …..

[chewysgummies]

Honestly? Fuck my life dude

[stupidvillainousposts]

Prepare for Puppy Chaos!

Ford: *Humming as He Strolls Into the Kitchen* Good news, everyone! I've discovered a new form of- *Notices the Destroyed Kitchen Table Legs* Stanley! I believe we may have a beaver infestation!

Mabel, from the Living Room: *Yelps and Cries*

Dipper: Sit still! I'm trying to get them out!

Mabel, muffled: You're puwwing 'oo har'!

Dipper: I wouldn't have to pull at all if you'd helped me with the pipes! I told you that chewing the wood was gonna end bad!

Mabel: *Cries Pitifully*

Ford, watching with confusion and fascination: I should probably tell Stanley about this...

Mabel: OW! 'TOP IT! *Hits Dipper*

Dipper: *Whines* OW! I'M TRYING TO HELP!

Ford: ...After I help them.

-Two Hours Later-

Ford, walking back into the kitchen: *Sees Stan and Fidds Gaping at the Damage in Horror* THAT'S what I was meaning to tell you!

Stan and Fidds: WHAT?!

Ford: Yes, I found the kitchen in this state and attempted to gain your attention, but neither of you heard. I then heard Mabel crying, and- being the amazing Great Uncle I now am -attempted to help soothe her.

Stan: By doing what?

Ford: I tried to stop the bleeding.

Fidds: Stop... stop the... *Faints*

Stan, on the verge of a meltdown: Stanford, I'm gonna ask you this once... WHERE ARE MY KIDS?!

Ford: Calm down! They're in the attic with the vet!

Stan: The VET?!

Ford: Yes! My hands were too large to pick out each splinter in Mabel's mouth, so I called a vet to help. As well as to give Dipper a tetanus shot.

Stan: I would kill you if you weren't my brother.

Ford: I don't see why. I helped to my best ability.

Stan: *Growls Before Taking a Deep Breath* Just... make sure Honey Bunches is okay. *Leaves to Check on the Pups*

Ford, once Stan is out of earshot: I am so good at being an uncle.

[girlrandomstuff]

pregnant leia with ben solo, give me a minute while i sob

[lovelymotel]

incredibly obsessed with the translation describing noel as "so moist... chewy... like a cat..."

[matchalovertrait]

Let's go back home now.

Transcript:

Noemí, Erick, and Ángel: Dulce!!

Noemí: Mija, you did wonderful.

Erick: You were amazing.

Erick: Look at our baby girl.

Noemí: You must be so tired after all that! Let’s go home.

Dulce: Amá, Dad, how can you guys be so happy right now? I didn’t win.

Noemí: Dulce, that doesn’t matter. We’re glad you got to experience this wonderful opportunity. You came and gave it your all, so of course we’re beaming with pride.

Erick: [Gets down at Dulce’s eye-level] Sweetie, look at me. I know you’re upset, but it’s like what your mother said: This was an amazing opportunity. Not everyone got accepted, but you did. They saw something in you, and who wouldn’t? My daughter is phenomenal.

Dulce: I guess so.. huh? Thank you, everyone.

...

?: Excuse me, I don’t mean to interrupt.

Mia: Hello Mrs. and Mr. Alegria. I‘m Mia D‘Angelo-Ramirez, the main judge of Diced Junior. Your daughter is quite remarkable. Can I please have a quick word with her?

Noemí: Oh! Yes, please, go ahead.

Dulce: Oh, are you here to give me more advice?

Mia: No, only words of encouragement. I don’t want you to think we only said that nice stuff for the cameras. I snuck away from the table just now to let you know that I truly believe you’ll make it big in this industry.

Mia: I’ll be watching your career closely. Don’t let me down, alright? Be smart with your choices. I have to head back now.

Dulce: You got it.

[toads-n-moss]

[ no dl6 au ]

get ponified sillies

i think miles wouldn't be very good at magic, so he doesn't use it often

hmm why is phoenix pretending to be a unicorn? teehee :3

i'll hopefully draw some other characters later

[theresattrpgforthat]

THEME: Biblically Accurate Angels

@wokewerewolfagainstcapitalism I am not re-blogging the original post because I don't want to subject my followers involuntarily to the whole thing

although for the exceptionally curious I will still link to the post so they know the context.

BUT, I was surprised (and delighted) to find that there's actually a number of games that kind of fall into this wheelhouse!

I’m considering fallen angels as biblically accurate angels for this request; and there are certainly angels on this list that aren’t really biblically accurate, although there are some fun vibes.

Demon: The Descent, by Onyx Path.

Angels are everywhere. They are under the everyday world, behind it, beyond it. They are sent by the God-Machine to enact its will through time and space, delivering messages, building infrastructure, protecting some people, killing others. You were one of those angels… But not anymore. Now you are one of the Unchained, a fallen angel who defected to the human race. Yours is a world of false identities and clockwork conspiracies, stolen faces and hidden works of the Machine. 

Demon: The Descent is set in a world where God is a machine, and Its goals are inscrutable and yet definitely not good for mankind. You have chosen to side with humans - and have therefore lost your angelic status, although you still maintain powers beyond human comprehension. If you’re looking for characters that can strike the fear of… well something into the hearts of those who see them, this is a game that you might want to check out - because your demonic forms in Demon: The Descent have the potential to be truly horrifying if you’re willing to look beyond the veil.

Also, if you want more “biblical” demons, Demon: The Fallen is the old-school parent of this game, about Christian angels being cursed and deciding to fight back.

Feathers, by Thursday Garreau.

Feathers is a game about fallen angels looking for meaning and comfort in our world, using Avery Alder's Belonging Outside Belonging system. It's diceless, GMless, intimate, and very, very queer, for 2-3 players, designed to be played in a single session.

Much of the setting of this game is left up to the table that you play with; did you land in a small town? Did you know each-other before you fell? What time of year is it? The characters have all experienced different forms of heartbreak, but each archetype is provided with tools to help you get the happy ending that you hope for. Because the game is inspired by Belonging outside Belonging, you also each play as an element of the the world or the story, such as the Vibrant Flock, The Imperfect Vessel, or Handmade Deities.

This game is very poetic and evocative, and it’s also currently part of the TTRPG’s for Palestine bundle that’s going on right now. I definitely think that you should check it out.

His Red Hand, by Carrie Imago.

HIS RED HAND is a 3-player tragedy about fallen angels, built on Jay Dragon's Nameless Engine. 

This game was designed for the Trans Fucking Rage Jam, a game jam for trans creators back in 2022. It's specifically for three players, so I think it's a good game for three friends who know each-other well.

In this game, you are each characters but also threats. Your characters are doomed; you decide exactly how they die. You will watch as the things that you love, the things that keep you safe, are ripped away from you. You will be asked to turn on the pieces of your very soul, so if you want a game that is all about sticking the knife in and twisting as hard as you can, this is the game for you.

Angels and Devils, by Sascha Pogacar.

It is the eternal struggle of angels and devils for souls. Everything is placed on one sheet to experience endless stories together with a few friends.

This is a competitive game, with half of the players being angels, and the other half being demons. It reminds me a little bit of the Screwtape Letters and a little bit of Good Omens; the demons tempt mortals using the 7 Mortal Sins, while the Angels rely on the 7 Cardinal Virtues. This is a short game; it requires a regular deck of playing cards and a few hours, and that’s about it!

Halos & Hellfire, by Jason Tocci.

THEY HAVE BEEN CALLED ANGELS & DEMONS, the Heavenly Host and the Fallen Legions, the holy and unholy armies secretly locked for eons in THE WAR over the fate of humanity. These days, though, they mostly just call themselves messengers. It draws less attention when complaining about work over beers.

Halos & Hellfire is a hack of Lasers & Feelings and inspired by In Nomine, fitting on two sides of a single letter-size page. It includes rules for creating celestial beings, handling divine interventions, buying advancements with superiors' favor, and performing ever-risky miracles (adapted from the magic rules from Sorcerers & Sellswords). 

I’m really enjoying some of the character aspects you can choose for your heavenly form in this one; some of your options include many-eyed, Formless, and Leonine. Sometimes I forget that biblically accurate angels can be furries too.

Anyways, this is another Lasers & Feelings hack, with a single number representing both your strengths and your weaknesses, with a setting that can be twisted or changed in order to fit the kind of story you want to tell. There’s a little more to play with in this game than a typical Lasers & Feelings hack, with special rules about miracles, doing battle, and other character options that you can choose to add in order to give you more tools to play around with, including a method for character advancement if you want to play this for more than one session.

Relics: A Game of Angels, by Tin Star Games.

Trapped on Earth. Surrounded by Enemies. Desperate for Answers.

God has gone and the Gates of Heaven have slammed shut, leaving angels and demons abandoned on the mortal world. Their powers, long trapped in physical objects, now begin to awaken and the cold war between the two sides erupts into a arms race to control all of creation. A desperate, brutal battle will be waged in the present on the secrets of the past. 

Relics: A Game of Angels is a roleplaying game in a world inspired by Wings of Desire, Dogma and The Prophecy. Players take the role of angels who have lived on earth for hundreds or thousands of years. The unique memory system allows you to build an ever-growing backstory as you play, making you the unreliable narrator of your own past. Plus the simple Tarot-card system makes gameplay simple and fast, with characters made in just minutes.

The angels in this game aren’t necessarily biblically accurate, but it does focus on the conflict between heaven and hell. The game uses a deck of tarot cards for resolutions, and your character backstories are written as you play. The setting is heavily urban fantasy, so I think if you like Buffy the Vampire Slayer or perhaps Dresden Files, you might like this game.

War in Heaven, by milo v3.

One page rpg where you play a constellation of angels that are trading stories among each other about the rebellion that is brewing in Heaven. Requires at least 3 six sided dice to play.

This game actually uses scriptural references to describe parts of your angels! Character creation includes determining your Eye, your Gate, and your Wings, each of which determines something about your character’s secret desires and hopes. The game takes place over a series of turns, where rumours about a rebellion grow, while your Angels talk to each-other about what they think of the conflict, and confront & comfort each-other over the upset that might result in Paradise Lost for them all.

Also…

If you want to be alien and unknowable, and possibly even strike fear in the hearts of those who lay their eyes upon you, even if you’re not really an angel, may I suggest: Star-Spawned, by @prokopetz?