abandon hope, all ye who enter here

indie demon rp blog (lore based seven deadly sins), penned by Tak

[saligiare]

Every day the world descends further into chaos...

    ...It’s only going to get harder to find a good spot to watch from.

lore/mythology based demon rp blog

multimuse for the seven deadly sins (as classified by Peter Binsfield)

21+, might contain various triggers

penned by Tak, discord available upon request

carrd.

[desertgourd]

"You'll refer to me as Baki." Addhir would be familiar with the name of the martial arts instructor. With a body like whipped stone and a demeanor to match, he and Gaara were alike mainly in their tendency towards perfectionism and a silent ambivalence for the unyielding rule beneath which they were both governed. He was easily the tutor Gaara disliked the least. "As for you - neither your face nor name are known to the general public. Addhir will suit you well enough."

Checkmate took a dozen moves. Gaara glided from the table as if the game had already been forgotten. In his room he dressed himself in plain pants and tunic; gone were the delicate gold bands around his fingers and wrists. His hair he left unoiled and unsmoothed, and it flicked in short wild tufts about his face. He stepped back from his mirror to examine the reflection of a stranger. Aside from the parts he could not strip - the unworked hands, the lean muscle, the practiced poise foreign to working men - he looked every inch the average commoner.

Yet he knew his eyes were untrained. Addhir's instruction branded themselves into his mind as law. In the palace Gaara was nothing short of the son of a god, but Addhir ruled the streets beyond.

Then he stilled. His ear twitched towards the balcony. The veneer of calm did not crack, yet the tension below it heightened, the frenzy of lightning across a sky without once striking the earth.

"He's here."

[saligiare]

Indeed, he was. Asmodeus could sense him even before the telltale sound, silent as it was. But even that demanded more of him than any regular old human would have ever dared to, which was yet another reason for him to dislike Hassan. Whatever fabric that man's flesh had been crafted of, it was as unassuming and elusive as the shadows he used to cover his tracks. At times the demon prince seriously doubted he even possessed a soul at all, and perhaps that was the most unsettling part. It left even an archdemon with very little to threaten.

Addhir turned in his seat, a lazy blink following Gaara's announcement, and there he was. Their guide for the night. Hassan, while his head and shoulders were covered by a black scarf, once again ruined any and all sense of modesty by showing off the intricate tattoos wrapping across his chest, arms, and all the way down his back. Sitting on the edge of the balcony, he flung a small bag of clothes over his shoulder and onto the tiled floor.

"Cute costume, but those garms haven't seen a day of work in their life. People are gonna smell your perfume before they even see ya", he sneered, before faltering under Addhir's smoldering gaze.

"Show some respect, you wretched street rat."

"Sure, sure, sure." Hassan raised his hands and went to pick up the bag again, though Asmodeus could not help but notice the small tilt in the corner of his mouth. With a theatrical bow, Hassan presented the bag to Gaara.

"My deepest apologies, your highness. But I really think you should get changed. Your dear pet, too. I'll wait by the balcony. Hope your highness isn't afraid of heights?"

~*~

The plan, that much Asmodeus quickly figured, was as risky as it was impossible for anybody prone to what Luzifer had once called the human condition. Luckily, it was aided by the fact that more than half of their little group of escapees did not succumb to it beyond surface level. Their biggest challenge consisted of getting the prince safely to the floor, back up a high wall and down again, while making it all seem as mundane a feat as possible. A long line of rope that Hassan attached to one foot of the heavy gigantic bed, a series of skilled knots and impeccable timing triumphed over the first part of their arduous journey. Asmodeus quietly thanked whomever that the prince, for all his youth and naivety, was far from a coward.

Addhir and Gaara both watched from the gardens as Hassan scaled the rope once more to remove any evidence from the bed, only to climb down the ornamented palace wall freestyle like an overgrown monkey. The next part would prove to be a lot trickier. After slinking through the shadows of a couple of cedar trees, avoiding two patrolling guards who seemed more than a little distracted by their own conversation, and carefully treading along the smooth sandstone wall encircling the gardens, the trio came to stop at the edge of an almost forgotten flower bed, as far away from the golden prison behind them as possible.

How on earth, in heaven, hell and below Hassan managed to cross the wall, which measured a good nine metres in height and provided a lot less stepping stones than the palace, would likely remain a mystery to Gaara. Asmodeus could only come up with a careful guess. Still. About ten agonizingly long minutes after Hassan had told them to wait here and disappeared within the shadows, the same rope as before came flying down the edge of the wall. Now was the time for Gaara to put his daily physical training to some practical use. Addhir followed suit, though he made sure to pant and shake appropriately once they reached the top. The view of the city, a sea of hundreds of bright sandstone houses and streets winding between them like veins on the back of a hand, was breathtaking.

"Quickly now", Hassan whispered. "I slipped the guard something to make him sleep. Don't know how long it'll stick though. Pretty boy, you're gonna go first. Our dear prince will come right after. Wait for me at the bottom and stick to the shadow."

[findepartida]

“Am I shallow? she asks the mirror. Yes, I am shallow. The sun shines on the ripples where it’s shallow. Deep is too dark.”

— Margaret Atwood, The Heart Goes Last

[saligiare]

.:ooc

Between tumblr live being impossible to properly turn off, blog icons now being gone and every single search of mine for aesthetic shit showing either unusable Good Omens, unusable Hazbin Hotel, or unusable otome stuff (not to mention FMA and Supernatural, but those have been here before)... I'm really feeling so old and alien on this website.

[vintage-tigre]

[blogfanreborn777]

Crab by Timur Dairbayev

[radarchives]

[bones-ivy-breath]

Dieu et La Fin de Satan or God and the End of Satan by Victor Hugo (tr. R.G. Skinner)

[satanasaves]

The order of composing a semantic spell:

1) An address listing the characteristics of the one being addressed.

2) Statement of purpose (formulation).

3) Confirmation - mentioning symbols and names.

4) Fixation ("Let it be so", "amen", etc.).

The semantic spells are divided into:

- Spells: unrhymed text with inclusions of the Names, organized according to the pattern of spell composition.

- Spells: rhymed spells built on the principle of immersing a task into the subconscious and recording the lines that "pop up" from there. May have no names at all. Associative methods are often used.

- Hymns: rhymed or unrhymed spells constructed by following a spell composition scheme. Read using the voice modulation "Hymn", less commonly "Serpent". The use of ancient languages when composing spells adds to their power, on three counts:

1) ancient languages are much closer to a true reflection of the meaning of things (i.e., power is added through the pronunciation of sound);

2) ancient languages are used as amplifiers of connection to ancient (magically) egregors;

3) spells composed in ancient languages enhance the altered state of consciousness due to their unusualness. The concept of "vocal modulation" means a certain technique of pronouncing the text of a spell or invocation by changing the "depth" of breathing.

[saligiare]

desertgourd​:

The palace was bursting at the seams with a pregnant excitement. Head servants barking orders and musicians tuning their instruments echoed to the farthest edges of the grounds. All sorts of fineries - pillows and cutlery and linens - were carted from room to room; turning a corner too quickly had become a potentially catastrophic affair. Several distant guests had arrived in advance, drawing the lord and his three children to receive and entertain them for the morning. Through it all, Gaara’s attention was perfunctory at best. His mind dwelt fully on the events of the previous night, those laid out for tomorrow, and the one person in the center of it all.

After boasting their gardens, fencing grounds, and aviary (which included two full demonstrations of the hunting prowess of their trained hawks), the prince and his siblings were at last permitted a respite for their own preparations. Back in his chambers, Gaara had shed his outer shirt, leaving him in loose pants which cinched around the ankle, and had just dismissed the maid drawing his bathwater when Addhir returned.

He was breathtaking. There was simply no other way to think of him. The intricate braids reminded him of the delicately carved stonework lining the courtyard gates and upper balconies. The golden threads within them and mimicked in his tunic highlighted the amber flecks in his eyes. But it was not just his physical form that drew Gaara’s attention: Addhir so clearly enjoyed dressing the part. He wondered, if Addhir stood to ascend to the throne rather than himself, whether he would delight in all the courtly pomp and proceedings in ways Gaara did not, or if he too would ache for a different sort of freedom.

“You look fit for a king. It’s a strange feeling, though, seeing you so dressed for the enjoyment of others.” Steam rose from the freshly drawn bath. Gaara dipped his fingers and ran them in rivulets to refocus himself away from that uncomfortable tug behind his navel.

“You may be ready, but I still need to bathe and dress.” With little ceremony he shed his pants, slid one foot after the other into the water, and sighed deeply as he immersed himself to the shoulders. The added perfumes obscured him with a murky translucence.

“Please - keep me company while I do.”

  He did not need to be told twice.

  At once, Addhir scanned the tub and his master, before shrugging off the top of his robe and settling down by the edge of the bath. His arms folded underneath his chin, and he glanced up at Gaara through long lashes.

  What a fine young man his prince was, set out to become an even finer one, over time. The regular training and high quality diet showed - both in his muscles and his complexion. A little pale perhaps, his flawless skin speaking of hours spent among books rather than crops. His hair was smooth and silky, and his posture - though kind of stiff - without any shred of doubt that of a noble. He could have been handsome, beautiful even in his way, Asmodeus decided. If only he could shred the tension edged into his very fiber. A face that young should spend its time twisting and turning with joy, anger or sadness every given minute of the day. Alas, if such frivolous emotion had ever been present in Gaara, the royal lifestyle had seemingly beaten it into hiding long ago. Dipping his fingertips into the water as if to test the temperature, the Addhir gave a little hum.

  For a brief second, he had contemplated the thought of just climbing into the water himself, but not only would that have ruined most of his make up and perfume, it likely also would have hopelessly overchallenged, if not unsettled the prince. Addhir could already feel the steam creeping into every pore of his hair, determined to ruin what hard work and a lot of oil had accomplished within the previous three hours. But it was quite alright. He could always smooth down the flyaways later.

  “If my lord wishes, I could help him with his hair and back. I did promise him a nice massage on the night we first met. Or-”, and at this, his lips twisted into a cheeky little smile, “he could tell me what dress I would better wear for his enjoyment in the future. I can change it up sometime.”

[saligiare]

desertgourd​:

Saliva gathered thickly on Gaara’s tongue and in the back of his throat. He did not move as Addhir came close, he could not. The warmth of his skin brushed his only barely, his breath like sweet blooming cacti. He felt as though he had trudged home from the festival already, three glasses of wine deep, drowsy, pliable as putty. The thumbprints of Addhir pressed in him all over, molded to his whim.

He understood the risks from a logical perspective; they stood poised on his teeth when he finally swallowed. It was difficult to believe that Addhir had truly not considered the possibility of escape before Gaara voiced it, or that his imprisonment, at times, was not so different from that of a prince. Should he will it the slave would find no trouble slipping into the night, stranding Gaara in an unfamiliar word - leaving him - never to be seen again.

Should he will it.

Gaara watched Addhir’s perfectly manicured hands make his move for him, and his own fingers burned where they touched. He nodded his assent mutely, knowing at once that should his father mean to harm one hair on his golden head he would burn the world to ash.

The itch in the back of his mind did not fully subside. Echoing beneath Addhir’s stare, even as Gaara licked his lips without realizing it, a voice whispered: Were the situations reversed…

He slotted these thoughts away. Another time.

In his stupor he grasped for purchase and found boldness:

“Maybe if I do, I will find something to smile about, after all.”

 Addhir smiled, soft as a caress.

 “I will be looking forward to it.”

 He really did. That night, Asmodeus found himself torn between multiple desires of his own. As exquisite as the prince’s poorly veiled pining was, as delicious would the moment be when his blood finally boiled over and he would break those invisible chains that bound him to his title - and his grief. Withholding that bittersweet release was torturous for them both. Unlike Gaara, however, Asmodeus was no slave to his fleshly prison and the frustrating moral conventions that humans submitted themselves to. A true master of his practice, he also knew a thing or two about hunger, and how the most wonderful food was always that served to a starving man. Still, his patience was running thin. Lucky was the man bound by outside forces then... at least Gaara did not have to rely on self-restraint alone.

 In the end, Addhir did nothing to further physical contact with his master after their little game. He half expected Gaara to be crawling all over him by the end of the night, but when he woke to an exceptionally early morning, only a single lonely hand had gotten lost on his shoulder.

 Following breakfast, Addhir spent most of his day thoroughly grooming himself. Although the task was made significantly easier by the fact that his artificial body produced neither pimples nor undesired body hair or other flaws, washing, oiling and braiding his mane, applying make-up and picking out an appropriate set of clothing for the night swallowed several hours. The prospect of spending his evening as a pretty but ultimately untouchable piece of palace decor did little to excite him, but still he took uttermost care to arrange himself in a pleasant manner. After all, the truly interesting event was still to come... only he would be wearing significantly less jewelry for it, alas. All the more reason for him to give his prince (and the court, of course) something to marvel at until then. Besides, the royal harvest celebration would mark his very first outing to the public, and if he didn’t tread cautiously, it might very well end up being his last.

  It was already afternoon when Addhir returned to Gaara’s side in the privacy of their sleeping quarters. His copper hair was styled more intricately than ever before. Rows and rows of perfectly symmetrical braids lacing into each other, intertwining into thicker strands, and accentuated by golden threads woven into different sections. Creams and powder had given his skin a healthy glow without covering up his freckles. His clothes, while no less expensive, remained on the modest side. The white and gold embroidered kaftan looked just a little out of place for someone who was so obviously a foreigner.

  “How do I look?”

  Spreading his arms, Addhir did a little spin, his robes flying behind him.

[the-daily-word]

[chxrrywaterrs]

[saligiare]

desertgourd​:

“There’s no reason for him not to complete his task. If he fails partway, he will have wasted his evening and lost his payment. We’ll stay among the crowds, avoiding quiet or poorly-lit streets, to prevent being caught alone. If anything should go wrong, I’ve brought extra coin to buy our way out of trouble.” It was evident that he had dedicated much time and thought to the logistics of their plan, for better or for worse. “Besides, you’ve shown well enough that you can talk your way out of just about - “

He stopped at once, his arm outstretched, frozen, bishop in hand one move shy of check. The piece dangled there, the move aborted. When he spoke the words were drawn out of him like bile.

"Addhir, what is stopping you from running away the moment we pass the gate?”

  Silence.

  As the question dangled above his head like the sword of Damokles, Asmodeus briefly considered if the accusation offended him more than it endangered him, and whether he should let it show. Gaara’s acidic tone left no doubt that his answer would make or break the entire operation. Truthfully, he had expected the prince to notice this problem lot sooner. A shame they couldn’t have gone without it entirely. He blinked.

  “Uh... well..” The servant straightened in his seat, carefully weighing his next few words. “Now that mylord mentions it... nothing, I suppose?” He tilted his head like a curious child that had suddenly been presented with a very intriguing idea. “I hadn’t considered the option, if I am completely honest. But I mean... I am not exactly living the worst of lives right now, am I?”

  And there it was again, that crooked smile that never seemed as if it were directed at anybody in particular, but a simple expression of his own pleasant yet secret imagination.

  “I have a comfortable bed, a lovely wardrobe. The food I eat is of the highest quality, and I do not even need to lift a finger to make or receive it. I get to sleep and chat and play chess all day long. Sure, there is little music, or laughter, or reading, and somebody is watching my every step. But I am spending my time largely in the way I would as a free man - in the company of someone who appreciates me, or so I like to think, and whose world might be just a tiny bit better for my presence in it.”

  Smiling, Addhir shifted his weight and rose from his position. He stepped around the low table between them - slowly, gracefully - and without any sign that Gaara’s sudden anger concerned him at all. Only his clothes and the golden chains around his shoulders rustled quietly as he moved, carrying with them the subtle scent of a perfume that Addhir had doubtlessly dabbed onto his skin sometime this morning. From the other side of their game, the smell had been rather discreet, grazing the prince only in passing as they had set up the table. Now, however, it seemed to fill every breath he took, though it seemed as soft as unobtrusive as before. It promised warmth... and tranquility. Like a bird, Addhir finally lowered himself onto the arm rest of the other’s chair and gave him a curious look.

  “ I do understand why my prince would be suspicious though... even if I wished his trust in me to be stronger than this”, he murmured. “If it eases his mind, perhaps I should stay behind and make up an excuse if anybody comes looking for him? If it is any consolation to him at all, however, I will swear on my life that I shall not leave his side and do whatever is in my power to make sure he returns home safely, and with me-- if my lord Gaara can promise me that he will do the same if the king ever changes his mind about the position of my head.” With that, Addhir gently plucked the bishop from the prince’s grasp - fingers brushing him ever so slightly - and placed it on the board before them, just where it had been supposed to go.

  “And if all else fails... well. Maybe he should make sure to hold tightly onto my hand the entire night, and never once let go.”

[satanasaeternus]

Lilith and Eve - Yuri Klapouh

[dk-thrive]

The church says: The body is a sin. Science says: The body is a machine. Advertising says: The body is a business. The body says: I am a fiesta.

– Eduardo Galeano, Walking Words. (Norton, January 1, 1995)

[saligiare]

What are you the god of? UQuiz

ft. Lux / modern AU Asmodeus

Mixology

everyone who has invented a cocktail that is just spirit + tonic deserves a kiss on the mouth. everyone who makes a cocktail that is just spirit + spirit + mixer deserves several kisses. anyone can and should be a mixologist. mix alcohol. mix potions. mix posions. there is nothing more beautiful than creating something, no matter how delicious or disgusting or deadly. make, create, you are the spirit a kind of inebriated aritstry that is a joy to behold

Tagged by: stole it from my room mate

Tagging: @ofpsalms​, @desertgourd​, @shellcrack​