some people just wanna see the world bleed.
former angel, now a selfmade nightmare.
kesabel (any pronouns). independent fandomless original character. fallen angel, former leader of the watchers, currently residing in hell. refused another leadership position, opts to be free & do his own bidding. chaotic evil. collector of shiny things, avid swordfighter and an enthusiast for carnal pleasure.
dead dove, do not eat. a fair warning: he's mean, he's a dick, he chases fun and excitement and when he's bored he stabs people. if you don't mind that possibly happening to your muse, welcome!! if you do mind but still wanna be around to see it happen to someone else, also welcome <3 that being said, if you need something specific tagged, please don't hesitate to ask. for now, for a lack of a rules page, general kindergarten rules apply (ie. treat others as you wish to be treated, communicate as much as you are able, don't be mean...)
judged by kai, est. 2016, remade 2026. find me on my other rp blogs — @handgiven (angel oc) & @lifestilled (basil hallward) & @hellpending (witch oc)
currently testing new icons which are a little eye-strainy. if this is an issue for you, lmk and i can avoid using them for our threads :)
› height : 6’7”.
› weight : 175.
› body type : tall, lean, willowy. muscles developed for dancing & swordfighting.
› eye color : grey.
› hair color : black.
› dominant hand : ambidexterous.
› scars : many small scars all over his body that can open up into eyes.
› conditions : borderline personality disorder.
› intelligence : smart, but tired of it. looking for ways to dull the senses, dull the mind. looking for a cheap thrill and a way to keep busy, as not to think too hard.
› skills : physical (he's in perfect control of his body, his limbs, his stature, his behaviour — so anything that has that as a pre-requisite he's likely to be good at). heightened pain threshold (unrelated to his immortality, this is just because he's a freak). rhetoric (can actually be pretty convincing when he wants to be).
› likes : swords, clubbing, raves, dancing, hook-ups, unplanned murder, planned murder, being a nuisance, getting beat up, fighting and winning, being right (being a cynic) — vaguely related to this is sharing his knowledge with others, but that's from a long time ago.
› dislikes : boredom, stupidity, dullness, being wrong, being bested, a lack of sense of humour, not being in control, feeling vulnerable.
though i am once more overcome with the idea of kes singing carson's blues on karaoke night.......... it's ok he can sing it and then kill everyone who'd heard it lest they suspect him of feelings right
kes complains that I've been doing too much sadposting on his behalf so beware there's only gonna be cold blooded murder posting for at least a few weeks now to make up for it
It's chilly without his fur coat. Hughie's toes curl against the cold, wet grass, his arms tucked around himself, trying to hide his shivers. His question is ignored. The haughty man looks down at him, all splendour and refined grace, far too good for the likes of a sheepdog and his co-owned flock. Hughie narrows his eyes.
He would be more curious about the stranger's complete disinterest in Hughie's ability to shapeshift or how he even knew in the first place, were it not for his insistence upon finding Em. He isn't one of the villagers, obviously, but that doesn't mean that Hughie trusts him.
"Thought you knew. You're the one who said he was out there," Hughie jerked his head to the woods. He could track him by scent, but he's not about to reveal that. "Who are you?" He insisted again.
for a moment, this stranger seems to regard hughie almost judgementally for — the fact that he feels cold alone. a sideways glance, a hand clasped tigher on the tip of his cane, a dismissive smirk at his protest, as he turns to gaze into the distance, into those woods that surround the meadow.
"i didn't say that. i said that they are looking for him there." he frowns, impatiently, as if focusing on the dots of light dancing amidst the trees, less than the size of fireflies from here. "— are you deaf, dumb or still just a dog parading around as a human being?" he adds, for good measure, for a little bit of spice.
the question, as tempting as it is to simply ignore it again, gives him a pause. makes him ponder a second just how much he's willing to share. not much, is the answer. "i know him from another life," he says, instead of answering directly. "— while you know him from this one. we were never to meet had it not been for you losing him like that."
He laughs. He can't help himself, he laughs and laughs and laughs. Of course that would be what pulls Kesabel into interest in the surgeon. How slippery Jedetta too, could be. But he had always sought Kes out, never the other way around. Oh, there was some immense, cosmic joke to be had there. Jedetta can't quite concentrate enough to make it, but he knows it's there.
"go west," he murmurs, settling down slightly. He shuts his eyes, briefly, pressing a hand to his forehead and wiping sweat from it. "that's the direction to go! west..."
Another soft giggle.
"you might come across a party. do well not to disturb it, won't you?"
he avoids looking at jedetta. his weight in his arms alone is a sickening reminder of the leaden pit his stomach had become since he's seen him up close, now, and realised how badly he was hurt. he almost wishes now he'd tied the surgeon up outside if he had to. almost. he's not sure if he could handle another five minutes with him if he had to but that's besides the point. the surgeon is out of the question and he's left hoping that at least some parts of jedetta's life net work better than those capable of breaking him out of prison.
but you're that. you broke him out. you're a part of the net yourself. the thought rings in his head, bright and infuriating. he swears under his breath and throws jedetta up in his arms to adjust his hold. when he does, his eyes do fall on him and — he's glad to have his hands full, else he'd be tempted to push his hair out of his face and see the situation for how bad it is. for himself, that is. he's never meant to care quite so much.
"the west... is that where the moon sets, here?" the question barely makes it out past his clenched teeth. he tries to focus on the door the corridor is leading up towards. left, left, right and then they are free, underneath the open skies. "hey. stay with me. what kind of party?"
luv how male animals gotta fucking dance around and cry and shit for female attention and sex. and then men irl complain about fat women and body hair like get on ur fucking knees and beg me actually
Alpha males: "This is nature. You don't see animals acting like queers don't you?"
90% of nature documentaries: "Until now the female has been very impressed by the males drag performance of Orwell's Homage To Catalonia, soundtracked exclusively by Maria Carey songs. A demanding performance like that knows to impress. But... Oh No... One note in the final tune was one cent flat. It doesn't look good for the male now. She is ordering an orbital laser strike to burn his beautifully groomed plumage from space. It will take all year to regrow, effectively ending this one's mating season early. Better luck next time, little guy. Women are a tough audience."
i would like it known that it's 5am, i am walking to work in a summer dress and it's raining just a lil bit and the sky is all pink and I'm going to listen to annihilation in my earbuds for the whole day and everything will be Fine
kes w/ shorter hair to his shoulders vs kes with longer hair that goes halfway down his back. the former can appreciate having his hair played with & even pulled while the latter will cut off your hand if you touch it, without a previous warning. choose your fighter.
" ... It's been a little over a week - being out in the field, I mean! Researching goes back several years but that's not ... we don't need to get into any of that right now. Did you notice anything ——— off about the intruder? Any strange smells? Like ... just saying the first smell that pops into my head here ... sulfur, perhaps?"
"a week?" he repeats, this time less judgemental, more amused. she does seem a little bit in over her head. "sulfur? hm, no... more wooden fragrance. notes of cedar. smelled quite nice, actually." he seems earnest in trying to connect a name to the perfume, but it just doesn't come to him. and besides, she'd hardly care... unless?
"—the sword was unusual... but he was very good with it."
"I told you to leave this alone."
— @narrativefinale ; Isaiah Renoylds
"but i didn't wanna." spoken with the cadence of a stubborn child, not that of a tall man currently in the process of cleaning his bloodied sword with a piece of fabric, missing from the shirt of the corpse that lay between them.
"i'd sooner die than let a preacher have a more fun evening than myself."
