#helhaths

[whitewingaed]

❝  i don’t have to answer that.  ❞

richard siken sentence starters.

            Tears stream down her face, her voice hoarse from crying out in objection – but still, she persists to fight against the ruling of the court, even as they drag her to the pyre. A crowd follows behind them like a mob, cheering on the impending violence; all they were missing were the torches and pitchforks, really. The surging throng pays no mind to the pair of men casually watching the scene unfold from their perch upon the wooden fences keeping the village’s goats at bay, far too enthralled in their wave of bloodlust and “holy justice.” The shorter of the two men briefly adjusts the collar of his off-white linen shirt, settling his hands atop the square, gold buckle of his belt. He’s always had a tendency to fidget a bit when he’s unsettled. 

            ❝ …I understand you’ve received another commendation for these trials. ❞ Hazel eyes shift to watch the other from his peripheral, though he doesn’t move his head to implicate his observation. His companion, in response, offers a rather noncommittal roll of his shoulders; the dark spectacles perched on the edge of his bold nose made it rather impossible to discern any sort of expression from him. “ …yeah, well. …nn. “ He shrugs, tapering off in an apparent desire to not dwell on the subject. Aziraphale blinks, and primly returns his attention to the crowd a handful of yards away, who have begun to bind the woman’s hands behind her back and tie her to a stake, a collective chant of “ witch, witch, witch! “ rising up from the throng. The angel’s expression remains unmoving, spare the slight raise of his left eyebrow, an edge of suggestion leeching into his tone.

            ❝ …you know …it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve taken credit …down there …for something humans had invented entirely on their own. ❞ He rocks on the heels of his leather shoes a bit, daring another sidelong glance at the other. His companion’s thin lips press into a grim line, cinched down in the corner, and Aziraphale knows he’s hit his mark. Still, he keeps any satisfaction for the discovery to himself, simply tipping the wide brim of his black hat down so that he might not have to watch the mob light the fire under the poor woman’s feet. After all, it was the fourth time that week that such an occurrence had cropped up – and it hadn’t been particularly appealing the first time, either.

            ❝ …did you, by any chance …? ❞ Have anything at all to do with this? The implication of his question remains hanging unspoken in the air. The other offers little more than an audible sniff, tipping his chin back smugly and casting his gaze off in the direction of the barn – evidently, he was no more eager to watch the unfortunate girl burn than his companion was. “ …I don’t have to answer that. “ He quipped, and Aziraphale …simply smiled, if only to himself. ❝ …no. I suppose you don’t. ❞ 

            After all, he already had his answer.      

[wldbirds]

“   --    i  am  aware  you  know  of  my  father . “  even  the  thought  of  his  dear  old  dad  makes  his  blood  curl ,  and  magnus  busies  himself  instead  with  mixing  drinks ,  kindly  offering  one  to  the  demon  who  has  decided  to  grace  his  apartment  with  it’s  presence ,  “  and  if  you  know  anything  at  all  ,  you  must  know   my  father  and  i  are  NOTHING  ALIKE .   i’d  wish  the  old  man  well ,  but  i  prefer  not  to  say  things  i  don’t  mean .  “  /     @helhaths  liked !

[whitewingaed]

❝  tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us.  ❞

richard siken sentence starters.

            …love? …the very word, the sound of it is enough to effectively derail the principality’s train of thought. Had it always sounded that wonderful? Had it always slipped down his spine in a shiver and warmed him from within like honeyed wine? Or did it only sound so lovely for the way that those lips in particular wrapped so richly around it? Breath bated, his very soul stills and hazel gaze frantically searches the expanse of tinted plastic shielding the other’s eyes – but he can only find his own reflection. His traitorous mouth parts, though none of the tumultuous thoughts flooding his mind manage to make the connection to his tongue; instead it dumbly repeats the single syllable that had snagged him by his heartstrings. 

            ❝ …love? ❞ He parrots, breathless and brimming with unabashed and unmistakable hope for the breath of a moment – nights spent sharing a bottle of wine with Schubert on the gramophone, wrapped in the warmth of an old fireplace and one another’s arms. Picnics in Saint James’ Park on sunny summer afternoons. Candlelit evenings at the Ritz, exchanging warm smiles and glancing touches and wordless promises of what tenderness would come later in the evening. LOVE. He almost allows himself to be carried away by the idealistic vision, before the cold grip of reality emerges once again to take hold of his spine and unravel the fantasy. One can almost see the shift, the devastation seeping in around the edges of his countenance and slowly giving way to the briefest moment of anguish, and then subsequently… resignation. Painful, grievous resignation.

            ❝ …do you even hear yourself? ❞ His tone is somewhat choked, evidenced by the tremble of his jaw as he fights to keep his lips pressed into a grim, unquestionable line. ❝ We …we can’t. …you, and …I. …we are an angel and a demon. If they discover this half-cocked plot of yours to avert the Armageddon, well – why, they would surely kill you, Crowley. And I could be cast out! How is that not ruin? How can you not comprehend that? ❞

[saoildorcha]

sᴛᴀʀᴛᴇʀ ᴄᴀʟʟ / ᴄʀᴏᴡʟᴇʏ / @helhaths

          “You’re late.” She stands with her arms folded, fingers tapping restlessly against her elbow. As a general rule ------ more for the sake of her own survival ------ Yunji made a habit of avoiding any dealings with demons. It was the prudent option, as they were often... well. She would not make the mistake of thinking of Crowley as harmless, but he was certainly more amiable than the rest of his ilk. Dogmatic creatures, devoted to their endgame. Exhausting. He, less so.

And so it is for this particular demon that she makes an exception, even if it means waiting outside a nightclub at close to one in the morning, in her hometown where she has no desire to be. (No one is looking for her anymore, but it is also a prudent decision to avoid where one is still wanted in connection to the murder of their husband.)

London hasn’t changed in the decades since her flight, not in any way that matters at least. She can see the eye from where they’re standing, a bright beacon in the sky. She observes it with a distant interest. “One could stand to be on time when they call a meeting, my dear crow.”

[brutlistarchive]

     𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐣𝐚𝐜𝐨𝐛 𝐡𝐞𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐝𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭'𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 , 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭     ---     lobbing his phone with quite the ferocity over the guard rail and into the harbor . he’ll regret it once the adrenaline that has left him panting from the exhilaration of simply , and quite literally throwing his caution into the wind begins to dissipate , jacob heugh knows this . but for now , the irresponsible maneuver has left him feeling free .       a glance given to his company . he realizes then , that perhaps he ought to better compose himself .     “     ---     hate that phone .     “ 

@helhaths // sc

[lovedgods-a]

@helhaths   𝒔𝒂𝒊𝒅  :    'see' 👀👀👀

﹡ . °  seer   stuff  //  accepting .

  ❛       WHAT   A  BEAUTIFUL   GARDEN !   why ,   it   is   more   beautiful   than   the   porticus   liviae ,   &   i   have   been   there   often . . .   better  than   the   emperor ’ s   gardens ,   even ,   though   i   believe   it   may   be   treason   to   say   so .   you   will   not   tell   anyone   i   said   that ,   will   you ?       ❜     hand   is   warm   &   dry   in   their ’ s ,   fingers   gentle   as   they   trace   lines .   ah ,   she   knows   she   is   a   curiosity ,   but   she   feels   like   living   up   to   the   label ----   she   could   get   lost   in   their   past ,   in   the   pathways   &   the   winding   roads .   it   would   take   her   years   to   truly   see .  &   the   future   is   just   as   bad ----   millions   of   branches   sweep   off   into   the   darkness ;   her   lashes   flutter   &   she   has   to   pull  away .    ❛        the   trees ,   a   man ,   a   woman ,   an   apple .   how   plain   it   all   is ,   how   untainted .   is   that   really   how   you   lived ?      ❜  

 ❛        you   see   so   much ,   &   you   travel   to   so   many   corners   of   the   world ----   i   wish   i   could   do   the   same .   somewhere   east   next ,   i   should   think .   perhaps ?   i   cannot   pronounce   the   name .   but   this   is   not   new   for   you .       ❜        she   leans   in ,   presses   a   finger   to   her   lips   with   a  conspiratorial   smile .   ❛        but   that   is   alright .   i   won ’ t   tell   anyone !   who   am  i ,   to   go   speaking   of   a   messenger   from   the   gods ?       ❜

[samnael-blog]

i’m just gonna wing this || no longer accepting.

                    the scoff that escaped lucifer’s parted lips bore with it a TINGE of exhaustion and exasperation as a shaky hand gripped mazikeen’s dagger. all around him in his partitioned bedroom, remnants of his wings were strewn in a haphazard mess, identical to the very same ones that had regenerated and unfurled once more, as if in stubborn defiance. he’d cut them off yesterday, but DAMNED be the fact that he healed fast, and no sooner than a day later did his angel wings return in full force.

                    he wasn’t expecting any company, but truth be told, the onus was on him for not installing a proper lock on the elevator leading up to his penthouse. yet, his visitor at this hour wasn’t the HUMAN sort, but rather someone he’d known for eons. with a slow, careful swivel of his frame, he turned to face the other, bitterness colouring every inch of his features. “come to mock me, have you, crowley? laughing at the fact that ONCE again, dad’s returning to His old tricks of MANIPULATING me and giving me my wings back?” he laughed venomously, a hollow sound echoing in the empty penthouse. then he held out the dagger towards the other, goading him to take it. “well? don’t just stand there looking pretty, cut them off. cut them BOTH off. make sure they DON’T grow back this time.” / @helhaths

[peacefulapostle--a]

@helhaths​ ||  Also “you look like hell.” &“Do you want me to tuck you in?” But sarcastically

      the apostle does not get sick often, but when he does it’s complete hell. chills and fever accompany body aches and his house guest isn’t helping his mood.  “thank you for your candor,” he sighs while rubbing a hand over tired features. “And no i’ll be alright.. somehow i think i’ll manage especially without the sarcasm.”  fingers grasp at the blanket around his shoulders and he uses his cane to help guide him back towards his room. “since you’re so helpful then i’m sure he know your way to the door.”