#kore orion

[inkwell-and-dagger]

don't worry they're totally posing willingly don't even. don't even worry about it mate

also I've wanted to use this template for so long because all the ones I've seen are GORGEOUS. anyway teehee aarin time

[ash-isnt-writing]

“You know what they do to angels like you.” — The Hell Strip, Part 1

Character’s mentioned/used: Vanté (OC), Zuriel ( @p-3-t-r-1-ch-0-r ), Kore (collaborative OC)

A/N: This is (probably) not proofread, and written off the cuff. I don’t actually know what I’m doing with this. I was originally going to write it on Wattpad but idk mental block the moment I even try and create a new work on that app.

DISCLAIMER: THE CONTENT UNDER THE CUT MAY BE DISTRESSING FOR SOME INDIVIDUALS! I will try my best to tag as much as I can, but in case I miss anything, proceed with caution. Reader discretion is advised. I will not take credit for neglecting this warning.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Zuriel was perfect. Gorgeous in all it’s glory. Holy and flawless, able to light up any room with just a smile. Dazzling eyes and a voice of the holy choir. It had anything and everything and it earned all of it through blood sweat and tears, forged in fire and steel.

And that was the way it should have always remained.

Yet, Kore was the one that tainted that image. Kore, a foul, sadistic demon, with a silver fork tongue and a mind just as slick. A charisma unmatched and a sickness just as dark. Corruption incarnate, beautiful in a twisted and evil way that Zuriel was not.

He took what was pure, and pressured it until it shattered into millions of tiny little shards. He wore down that perfect angel, until it was nothing more than a pathetic, bloodied mess, then wore it down some more, until it couldn’t be called an angel anymore.

The fall was painful. It always was. Wings torn apart and replaced with ones that weren’t its own. Halo twisted and bent and broken, losing its glow. Having its spine grow and mutate into a shape it didn’t know. Of course, a lot of people would claim it was freedom.

But it wasn’t for Zuriel. It never could be and it never would be. That beauty, that holiness, it was who it was. It was who it had been brought up to be, all it knew how to be.

It was just a child, if not physically then mentally. Scared and afraid and in every right to be. Everything felt wrong, everything felt foreign. It wasn’t like his “Father” had made it out to be. Sure, it was a place of sin, and as such, a place of freedom - but it was new, and big, and scary.

Not a lawless land, but not a lawful one either. Everyone knew what they were doing, where they were going, how to love and how to live. Nobody was as confused and as scared as little Zuriel was in that moment.

Zuriel tried to find its own way, but its mind and its voice drowned in a sea of light and sound and activity, and other voices fighting to be louder than its own in a realm of filthy money and shameless fame.

For a while, it was certain that its voice had been stolen from its throat in the fall. That it was just another wrongful punishment for something that wasn’t its fault. Finding out that it was still there, however, wasn’t the voice that brought it relief.

It was its Father’s.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

[inkwell-and-dagger]

Sew Up My Mouth if I Can't Keep It Closed

MADILYN MEI LYRIC GRRGRGGRGGRHR anyway! I am SO sorry for not posting a lot of HAH content but here's an aarin drabble feat a new design idea for them🙏🙏

HAH Taglist: @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night

{†} — {†} — {†} — {†}

Aarin had long stopped acting defiantly towards Kore, but the urge to slap that smug little grin off the demon's face blazed like a fire inside their chest.

Of course, it wasn't like they could verbally express this anymore; the golden thread sealing their lips shut, dried crimson still staining their lips, made sure of this. After one too many times of lashing out at him, they should've realized that Kore would probably do something to stop them. So here they were now.

They had gotten used to the pain — either that, or it had dissipated, moving to the muscles in their wings right now. Stretched out in a marvellous display, each feather was pristine and silky smooth. Unfortunately, however, Kore tended to forbid moving their wings until the visitors left; so that meant that, in whatever position that Kore decided on, Aarin had to stay perfectly in place for hours, perhaps days, on end.

"You should be used to this by now," Kore would repeat. Aarin hated his voice; every fibre of the demon's being made them want to rip him apart, put his horns on display like how he's doing with their precious wings. "You've been down here for years. In my home. Following my rules. Under my protection." It wasn't protection. It was torture. So, so much torture, just to be gawked at like the 'statue' Kore believed it was. The 'statue' that Kore made them pretend to be.

"Aarin."

They were fucking sick of it. Sick of him. Sick of being forced to stay still while this— this devil etched patterns into their flesh with a scalpel, making meticulous incisions just because he couldn't be bothered to paint onto their skin every day. Sick of not being able to speak freely, move freely. Sick of not being free, full stop.

"Aarin!"

They just wanted to rip his heart out, treat him like how he treated them. Give him a taste of his own fucking medicine. They wanted to make him the one to stay still for hours, make him the one to be stared at and admired for being a perfect little fucking statue—

"Fuck's sake— Aarin Malchediel!" The angel's head snapped to the side as they were backhanded by Kore, their cheek blazing with pain. They only winced, giving a silent glare to the demon in response as they turned their head back.

"Keep your fucking wings in place or I'll rip them out myself."

The angel couldn't help but whimper in reply, the muscles in their wings twitching with exertion as they stretched them out further. In the meanwhile, Kore placed a delicate veil over their head, nestling it in their hair. The fabric was opaque and — thankfully — hid their entire face, so they doubted they had any need to close their eyes. It was probably because of their sewn-up mouth, as well.

Kore hummed in satisfaction when he stopped fiddling with their hair, and when Aarin's wings — and breathing — stilled. But still, a threat lay beneath that silver tongue as he spoke again: "Keep zoning out like that and you'll end up like my little Zuriel."

Aarin had no clue what they were supposed to gain from the threat. Perhaps it was an attempt — a pathetic one at that, in their opinion — to make them behave, make them listen. They had no clue who, or even what, this 'Zuriel' was. It wasn't like the angel could ask, though. But given the look in Kore's eye, and the poorly scrubbed blood staining the marble beneath the rug in the center of the room...

Aarin wasn't sure if they wanted to know in the first place.

[inkwell-and-dagger]

colour is a thing I use very frequently in the process of designing my characters. they can all be reduced to a single colour that is incorporated in their design and / or personality in some way

for example:

Rayan's assigned colour is red. he has a warm colour scheme in his design, commonly wears red, and is always covered in blood. always

Foster is blue. in comparison, their design uses greys, blacks and of course, blues. their demeanour is equally as cold.

Aarin is more of a pastel blue, due to the colour of their eyes and their withdrawn, quiet personality

Zuriel is orange. compared to Aarin, its design is warm and friendly, much like its personality. it and Aarin balance each other out perfectly

Ailean is a light, pale green. due to the white brightness of the lab and their own albinism, along with the fact his design is inspired by a hemlock flower, they have a pale, muted appearance

Madir is beige. this is mostly shown in his design, in the white streaks of his hair from his poliosis and his dark, neutral clothing style

Esrana is a dark purpleish-pink. purple is an elegant colour, wouldn't you say? perfectly describes her, from her hair to her silky smooth accent

Madison is a mahogany colour. a strong colour, yet warm and inviting. she could crush you if she were so inclined, and yet her hands are gentle

Kore is a smoky, foggy grey. hard and cold like stone, scrutinizing eyes judging your every move. a vile man, he is

Zayn is a lavender-ish colour. unlike Esrana, who's dark and unforgiving, he's a lighter, more easygoing person

Derwyn is a neon, bright pink. eager, bright, loud. the colour reminds me a lot of their wide, unblinking eyes

Ezra is white. like ailean, he has albinism, and this is incorporated in his design a lot. he has a pale, light colour scheme, and nobody can really tell whether or not he's actually okay with or against Foster's situation with a captive. he's just.. neutral. white

but what about Ruaridh, you say? well, they're a special case

the lab is the only thing Ruaridh has known. for their entire life, they've had nothing but the clothes that Derwyn gave them, nothing but the books Derwyn gave them, nothing but the injections that Derwyn injected. they've had no outside communication, had never seen the world, had never had a chance to gain their own colour, in a way. they don't exactly have a colour

anyway. I like my ocs

[inkwell-and-dagger]

·{†}· Weeping Angel ·{†}·

A/N: 1) adding a lil ooh funky dynamic place because yes, and 2) inspired by this post!!

CW: angel whump, somewhat heavy dehumanisation, wing whump, blood, accidental trauma triggering, mention of previous branding, slight violence

DYNAMIC(S):

angel whumpee (Zuriel Damaris)

demon whumper (Kore Orion)

demon caretaker (Vantè Ramirez (who belongs to @paranoia-exe))

father-son dynamic for whumpee and caretaker

{†}· ·{†}· ·{†}· ·{†}· ·{†}· ·{†}

Zuriel had messed up.

It had done something which Kore had said time and time again, was something only living, sentient beings were allowed to do freely. It moved. Of course, it was accidental; but Kore wouldn't have known, and he certainly didn't care either way. Even worse, there were other people there to witness Zuriel's mistake.

To say that Kore was infuriated would — somehow — be an understatement. Zuriel could feel the demon's rage, simmering under flesh, in every grasp of Zuriel's wings as it was pinned helplessly to the cold, hard ground. Zuriel squirmed weakly.

"Wait- Wait, Kore, I'm sorry—!"

Yet Zuriel knew its begging was futile. Useless. Kore wasn't keen on listening, and he made that evident as he carelessly ripped out one of the angel's wings. The pain was agonizing; blinding. It startled Zuriel at just how much pain it was feeling, how many emotions were running through its head: guilt, shame, then pain, and then utter agony, till all it could do was scream and writhe and beg for a mercy it believed it was undeserving of anyway. It was Zuriel's mistake to move. To be anything more than a decoration, a bragging right, an object for Kore to show off proudly as if it were the most important thing in the underworld. It was all Zuriel's fault, and it was so, so sorry.

Hands brushing above the fabric of Zuriel's sweater, a beat of hesitation following before they gently glided across where the angels wings once were. Previously a gorgeous ivory, now healing gashes on its back. Just the touch itself brought back memories, and Zuriel's hands instinctively tightened on Vantè, as if its life depended on his presence. Which, really, it kind of does.

Vantè caught onto the miniscule reaction, his hands leaving the angel's back to gently card through Zuriel's long, snow white hair; Vantè had let his new legal son grow it out after its initial rescue. At the same time, a soft whimper escaped Zuriel.

"Hey- hey, Zuriel, it's okay.." Vantè murmured softly, soothingly, as he idly unknotted the stray tangles in Zuriel's hair. "He's gone, he's not here, it's over."

A small, shaky hum was the only response, but Zuriel's face pressed into the crook of Vantè's elbow, another one of Kore's branding etched into Zuriel's cheek gently grazing the demon's skin. Zuriel basked in the sensation of Vantè's hand — calloused and warm, yet simultaneously feather-light and gentle — softly rubbing the angel's arm whilst the other continued to untangle the loose knots in its hair. Those hands weren't Kore's. Kore wasn't here anymore; Vantè was.

[inkwell-and-dagger]

a thing I love about both my oc series is that they're all so flexible!!!

of course, in their canons it's just the survivors and rayan, also maddie, vee and vayel, and in halos and horns it's zuriel, aarin, kore and also vantè

but there could be a universe where both of the groups are combined! maybe the survivors kidnap and torture zuriel and aarin because they're not exactly human (thank you to foster for being a pussy and not liking anything specifically human /j), or kore takes rayan to demonstrate to zuriel / aarin what happens if they don't behave! and, since rayan's immortal, kore can hurt him as much as he wants to!

also taking into consideration other whump tropes, such as living weapons! a concept me and eros have been trying out is foster and madir having living weapon whumpees, such as (the newly introduced!!) iylre gambit, carmen atkinson and haedrin loryll!!! mayhaps rayan is still in the basement, and foster - similar to the previous idea with kore - still tortures him to show the Living Weapon Trio™ that disobeying leads to getting hurt!

I also love it when people who view my ocs' writing and lore create stories of their own about my ocs / continuing from written lore I've already put onto this blog or my main, or with their own ocs mixed in! of course as long as credit is put, and obviously I'm not forcing or pressuring anybody to go and write about my ocs- /gen

I dunno I just- y'all can do whatever with my ocs, I just love them that much. draw, write, whump them or comfort them; I don't care! I love how I'm gaining so many followers it makes me so giddy I love it 🥲🥲 /gen

also could as well add Halos And Horns Taglist: @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night (so sorry for not posting a lot of halos and horns 😭)

oh yeah!! Vantè, Vayel, Iylre, Carmen and Haedrin belong to the previously mentioned eros, or @paranoia-exe / @er0s-1s-whump1ng!!

[inkwell-and-dagger]

·{†}· Crucifixion ·{†}·

A/N: tehe Zuriel's back bitches

CW: (quite obvious) crucifixion, uhh- yeah kinda religious themes if you don't like that juz yk. Jesus got crucified lmao L ratio get wrecked bozo ANYWHO angel whumpee / demon whumper, impalement (kind of??), implied extended captivity, dehumanisation,

Pain. That's all it could feel. Pain pulsing rhythmically in Zuriel's fingers, the feeling accompanied with the sound of a hammer making contact with metal nails, both sound and sensation in perfect sync. Zuriel barely flinched at this point, having been used to staying still and staying quiet when Kore needed it to.

{†}· ·{†}· ·{†}· ·{†}· ·{†}· ·{†}

Its wings had been nailed to the wall not too long ago, forced to be spread out. In all honesty, it was thankful it no longer had to stretch out its wings constantly, the muscles cramping and straining and only fuelling its struggle to be perfect.

Perfection is all Zuriel knew, after all. All it should know and all it will know.

It could feel a warm liquid, no doubt its blood, trickling down to its palms, then travelling further down to stain its arms with the substance. Kore said the whole ordeal was to "make it more aesthetically pleasing". Zuriel didn't know what that meant.

When Kore was done, Zuriel could hear his fading footsteps toward the door to the little room Zuriel was usually stored in. It took a moment, now in solitude, to breathe; something which Kore said only sentient beings do, but it just wanted to try it out. It's not like it needed to breathe, anyway.

Visitors soon arrived, as per usual. Kore guided them, and they gawked and stared at the "hyper realistic statue of an angel" on the wall. Zuriel didn't like them staring at it, but it didn't speak out. Only living beings speak.

{†}· ·{†}· ·{†}· ·{†}· ·{†}· ·{†}

[inkwell-and-dagger]

"You better pray I don't get up this time around." — Whumptober 2023!

Day 5: Debris || Pinned Down || "It's broken."

Characters:

— Zuriel Damaris (Whumpee-Turned-Caretaker) it/its

— Aarin Malchediel (Whumpee) they/them

{†} ~ {†} ~ {†} ~ {†} ~ {†}

Aarin didn't know what was going on.

First they had been standing "perfectly" like how He had said, and they were there for a while. Then, this.. person — creature? No, that was mean; Aarin just opted to go with "person" until they figured out what it was — burst in and picked them up after draping something like a jacket over their shoulders. Then, if that couldn't get more confusing, He entered and the person growled at Him! Don't they realise what He can do?

Nevermind that. Their halo was used to set things on fire, and the person ran off with them. Aarin, of course, didn't get a say in it.

And now there they both were, and amongst the hallways blazing with fire, the mysterious being's panic was palpable. Chest heaving with each breath, the person set Aarin down in a safe enough place. They were stiff as a board, and even stiffer when they saw the burn marks across the stranger's tanned arms, and some parts of the singlet — that looked a little too small for it — that it was wearing was charred in some places. It didn't mean to do that. But, thankfully, the person didn't seem to mind it.

"Are you okay with running?" A breathless voice, strong and yet raspy, sounded in their ears, snapping them out of their train of thought. Taking a moment to look over the stranger's appearance, they forced their aching neck to nod.

Tanned skin, long and thick white hair, much taller than Aarin themself, and.. strange eyes. They had another one on its forehead, which looked normal, but the other two had black scleras — blacker than the darkness that would surround Aarin when people weren't visiting; which was impressive to them — and their irises looked like honey. They also had these strange horns, and their wings were charred and bone was showing between the thin feathers. They must've been an angel at one point.

"Okay. C'mon, just— follow me."

And just like that, the stranger grabbed Aarin's hand — ignoring how that'll most likely burn the skin off their palm; Aarin had realized that the stranger's skin burnt when in contact with theirs — and set off in a dash. Aarin stumbled and followed, forcing their legs to move quicker and quicker to keep up.

Occasionally, the stranger would let out a small warning cry, and tug Aarin to one side. Aarin didn't understand why, until they tugged a second too late. The wind was knocked out of them as a piece of debris knocked them over.

The stranger watched with wide eyes, before running over and crouching down in front of Aarin, whose leg had gotten stuck under the same piece of debris.

"You're okay, you're okay..." They mumbled when Aarin began to whimper, trying to ease the debris off their leg gently but quickly.

After what seemed like.. well, forever, the debris was pushed aside and the stranger helped Aarin to sit up, the sound of sizzling filling their silence. They tried to stand, but whimpered again and sat back down.

"It— it's broken..." They mumbled hoarsely. They couldn't remember the last time they'd spoken; their voice sounded wrong, in a way. But the stranger didn't seem to mind.

And indeed, they picked Aarin up again. "That's okay, it— I'll just carry you again. We're nearly there anyway, I recognize where we are."

"...How do you—"

"I'll explain when we get home."

"What- Where are we—?"

"Home."

Aarin went quiet again for a while as the stranger ran off with them again. Questions flooded their mind, but the pain in their leg was overpowering. Hopefully, the stranger would keep their word and answer their questions when they were "home", wherever that was.

They also hoped they'd get out of this place alive.

{†} ~ {†} ~ {†} ~ {†} ~ {†}

Halos and Horns Taglist: @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night