❧

@BackwardsChorus- 
            Spam PLS :O

/ something chaotic? :p

@BackwardsChorus- 
            Here here here !!

／  6 

@BackwardsChorus- 
            I'll drop you a spam later ! :3 

“  so  hell  is  cold  ,     a  suffocating  silence  ,      and  also  loud  .       „      he  repeated  what  he  got  from  it  ,        nodding  with  his  head  in  his  hands  ,      elbows  propped  up  on  the  desk  .      “  was  it  a  universal  thing  that  happened  to  everyone  ,       or  was  it  just  you  ?       „      he'd  ask   as  he  looked   up  at  the  other  .   

✡︎【 @luciferaeon 】✡︎
            
            Damian’s gold eye flickered in the low light, catching a shard of reflection before it dimmed again, shadows near his boots curling in a restless hush.
            
            “Why?” he asked first, voice quiet, rough, layered with a tired edge that almost sounded amused. “You planning a vacation?”
            
            He exhaled through his nose, claws flexing once before retracting as he rubbed a thumb over a crack on the table’s edge, the black veins on his wrist pulsing faintly.
            
            “It’s not fire and brimstone,” Damian finally said, gaze drifting away, jaw clenching as if tasting something bitter. “Not in the way you’re thinking.”
            
            His gold eye slid back to meet theirs, a flicker of something — grief, anger, something older than either — behind the glow.
            
            “It’s cold, mostly,” he continued, voice softening as the words tumbled out. “Cold and loud, and the shadows move wrong, like they’re waiting for you to slip. Sometimes it’s quiet, but not the good kind — the kind that presses against your teeth, waiting to see if you’ll scream.”
            
            “It’s a memory you can’t crawl out of,” Damian said, blinking once, slowly. “The worst thing you’ve done, on loop, until it’s the only thing you are.”
            
            “So, no,” he murmured, leaning back, eyes half-lidded, “it’s not like the Bible says” Damian paused, letting the silence hang before finishing, voice a rasp:
            
            “It’s worse. Because sometimes, it feels like home.”

with  a  sigh  ,      omega  would  roll  his  eyes  somewhat  at  the  assumptions  as  he  wrote  down  church  expenses  in  a  notebook  open  on  his  desk  .       “  i  keep  the  mistranslated  ones  anyway  .       'can  still  learn  something  from  them  ,       or  even  make  a  whole  new  sect  of  satanism  .       „      
            
            he'd  look  up  for  several  moments  ,      making  bored  eye  contact  with  damian  instead  of  the  book  in  his  hand  .      he  watched  as  he  closed  it  and  slid  the  book  back  into  place  on  his  desk  ,      just  where  it  had  been  .       this  made  him  smile  .     at  least  this  demon  respected  his   space  just  a  bit  .       
             
            “  what   if  i  read  them  alone  ?      and  at  night  ?       because  i've  already  read  all  of  these  a  million  times  over  ,      nothing  has  happened  .       „

✡︎【 @luciferaeon 】✡︎
            
            Damian froze, claws pausing on the cracked spine of the book, gold eye flicking up sharply to meet theirs across the dust-hung air. A slow, almost amused smirk twitched at the edge of his mouth.
            
            “‘Your’ dark gospels?” he echoed, voice low, rough around the edges, carrying that layered exhaustion that made every word feel heavier. His claws tapped once against the leather cover, the sigils on the book’s surface pulsing faintly under his touch, responding to the wrongness that lived beneath his skin.
            
            “You really think you’re the first to collect these?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, shadows rippling near his boots before settling. “Half of them are mistranslated, by the way.”
            
            He lifted the book carefully, turning it toward them so they could see the blood-stained margins, the old ink, the warped pages that crackled softly as he thumbed through them.
            
            “Listen,” Damian continued, softer now, a tired humor in his gold eye as it dimmed under the candlelight, “I’m not here to steal your creepy aesthetic. I’m making sure you don’t accidentally summon something that’ll eat your face while you sleep.”
            
            He let out a small, breathy laugh that didn’t quite reach a smile, snapping the book shut with a soft thud before sliding it back onto the table.
            
            “But fine,” he muttered, raising his hands in mock surrender, claws retracting, “your gospels. I’ll keep my cursed fingers off them.” His gaze softened briefly, a glint of real concern flickering beneath the tired amusement.
            
            “Just…don’t read them alone,” he added, voice low, shadows curling around his ankles like a restless cat. “Trust me.”