oceanlipgloss
OCEAN
I keep my daydreams locked in a box, but I’ll share them sometimes; Ra, 20s, she/her.
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Text
LIPSTICK
SATAN.
+ warnings: strong language, suggestive themes.
+ female mc, feminine pronouns.
It’s said to be an art, choosing the right shade of lipstick. Perhaps it is so!
Think about it this way, now; paint—the palette painters create, to be precise—it does not matter much once it is smeared across a canvas, for a canvas is normally white (like ghosts and lightning, leeched sugar and whipping cream), and there is not one colour, be it shade or hue, that such a white fails to suit, though it will not always look good. With lipstick, however, the matter differs.
Of course, a painter does very much choose the most proper canvas for their creation, but that is only in terms of material and dimension. Similarly, it’s probably important for a woman to not merely choose the prettiest colours for her lips, but also the greatest matches for the smooth skin of her interest, who in this case is not quite her lover yet, and may never really be.
Who could possibly know how destiny is painted? Whoever can guess which swatches shall make the future up?
Back to the subject: it is pivotal to decide on a lipstick’s colour for the...aesthetic, if you will. Sometimes, you must understand, the lovelier a sight is, the more sensual it becomes. Beauty, when the time is right and the person is, too, can be an exciting thing. A dangerously exciting thing.
That was not strange advice, she thought. There were times when those erotic magazines and adult films of hers made as equal sense as science. This was one of them.
Her lips had stamped each soft muscle. His body was a hued mess. It was as though one had given a curious child dissimilar paints and a chalk-white paper to print their imagination on with no regard for the basics of art. A child would not know about those rules. At the same time, she was not an artist in the traditional meaning of that shimmering word, so she did not know anything about art’s foundations, either. Yet, she did know how to make the colourful garble on this man’s figure look like art, if only by rubbing her wine-red lips against the peach stain of a kiss to blend the two colours together. What would the result look like?
She could be impatient and quick-paced, in the hot moments often forgetting the artistic aspects and details, vivid with flowing rage, but she was still that sort of artist.
How surprising that she could even manage to know what to do next, at the minute!
The Devil was dreamily handsome. Lipstick gemmed the corner of his lips. His eyes were the colour of strawberries or hearts. His pale skin and purple veins were smudged with a range of popping colours. Some were matte, others glittered. Red Delicious. Tangy Tangerine. Raspberry Dream. Glam Brown. Burgundy Velvet. Electric Violet. Black Decay.
Her favourite? It had to be the last one. Black Decay. Pale skin, dark lipstick. The contrast! The impact! It looked stunning. And goodness, it made it seem like his wet horns had somehow melted at the red tips, mixed into the Red Delicious kisses, and dripped blackly onto his tense muscles. It was so cool.
Standing in front of mirrors again. Playing with fire is fun. Fun is never-ending. Beauty doesn’t last forever. Souls don’t necessarily go to Hell or Heaven. Humans are bound to die. Some people never find a haven. But this man, this man was the Devil. That changed everything; looks are forever, youth is eternal, the heart beats for ever and ever. So, what the fuck is death? What does time mean, then?
Immortality gives time a different flavour, kind of like how certain lipsticks taste nothing alike: one is ‘cherry,’ the second is ‘candy,’ and the third is something else entirely. Maybe ‘chocolate’? Who knows.
Anyways, it’s all very addictive. Being young. The electric sparks of attraction. Admiring a beautiful face. Worshipping a sculpted body. Burning in the fires of desire. Bloody rage.
It can be very pretty, put together in one painterly picture: a horned devil, a beautiful young king, dotted all over with the kisses of a human on her knees before him. The throb of bruises, the pulse of scratches, they aroused him. Because her anger tasted like it spread out from the purest depths of Hell. It was what a dream would taste like, feel like, be. It was what a dream would be.
His eyes were glowing a frantic red, a red redder than those hell flames from fiction’s silly little tales. The petrine crosses, they were like ink on a heart. That rage inside her, it was heroin and honey in his veins. He could not have enough of it. He wanted more. Double the dose. It boiled his blood and made his heartbeats insane!
Fuck, oh, fuck. The kisses weren’t cutting it. The pretty marks on his skin wasn’t cutting it. The colours weren’t cutting it. He wanted her breakable fingers to push his flesh in, turn him purple and blue, make him bruise. He wanted those dainty nails to dig into his skin, carve into it tiny bloody crescent moons. He wanted that delicate palm to scar his face, let it sting like a crimson wound.
It will, it will, it will, it will.
He could be a freak like that, but so what? He was sweet, too. She wasn’t sweet, but she could be his match. She was. So often their hearts and bodies played on the same frequencies. Down for a helping hand. Down for murder. Down for anger. Down for roughness. Down for Hell. Down for sex.
So, you see, ladies and gentlemen, the right colour of lipstick may very well do wonders.
+ MASTERLIST
+ AO3 POST
©𝙤𝙘𝙚𝙖𝙣𝙡𝙞𝙥𝙜𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙨
#Whb#what in “hell” is bad#what in hell is bad#whb satan#what in hell is bad satan#the story factory
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Sketchy illustration
+ note: I made this quick illustration yesterday and figured I'd put it up. It's been a long time since I last so much as doodled something—months—so even my beat-up brain found this somewhat soothing to make. I was thinking that I would really like to draw Satan next. My hiatus is still ongoing, though, so I'm going to log back out now. Take care x
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19.2.2024
UPDATE
Hello.
I wanted to say that I'm going to be inactive for now. My brain has become even more of a monster lately, and it has drained the drops of any desire to write out of me. If I do somehow manage to write something during my break, though, it will likely be posted once I'm back, and not in a time before that.
Take care x
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DETENTION
MAMMON.
+ no warnings.
+ female mc, feminine pronouns.
Some brands of detention are syrup-sweet. And this one? It's the sweetest kind.
A sort in which one is glued—chained, truth be told—to their spot because they don't have the heart to interrupt the rest of someone dear. Somewhat like...when a soft cat naps in a human's warm lap.
He's a huge man. An insanely tall king with his strong arms, chiseled body, and a swirl of golden bone—just one massive curl of horn. And there are times when it makes his head feel heavy, hurts his shoulder.
Long ago, he had traded one of his horns for something he very much wanted; in exchange, he got to quench the shimmering thirst of his greed and accept certain annoyances as part of this deal.
To do something like that...it's actually quite strange, because with all that money and those riches, he could have gotten anything he wanted from the world he reverently believed he owned; yet, it was somewhat understandable why many would cherish one of his horns more than they did anything else, view it as a treasure nothing could equate to. Was he not the King of Greed, after all?
Perhaps what he desired was of the rarest commodities, but perhaps he just wanted something of sentiment—an object so precious it could not be sold or so much as compared to money and gold. That item remains a shiny mystery.
Either way, everyone needs a shoulder to lean on. Even a great king like himself, no matter how big and tough his body. For while it's a perfect fact that humans and devils are much too different in their power and anatomy—in their very creation, even—when did such a thing ever mean that pain spares anyone of its claws? Whenever did it mean that devils do not have to be polished by emotional suffering, tarnished by physical pain, smudged by injury?
He had her shoulder to rest his head against.
He fell in love with her at first sight and liked her even more when she opened her eyes. He was hers and she was not yet his, but he would will her to be. No one else could ease the tension in his shoulders and weight in his head. Only her.
To him, she was a most precious being. To her, this was such a sweet sort of detention.
+note: the piece this time is quite sappy. It was inspired by the chat in the screenshots below; these texts from Mammon are so innocent and cute. He also briefly mentions how and why he came to have only one horn.
+ MASTERLIST
+ AO3 POST
©𝙤𝙘𝙚𝙖𝙣𝙡𝙞𝙥𝙜𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙨
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M. E. L. T. I. N. G.
I AM MELTING, OPPPPPP :(
Happy Valentines day ~ <3
from Chaerin ( my mc ) and Andrealphus~
#a perfect meeting between adorable and sexy#I love how the candy looks like an eyeball that's so smart#irrelevant but these jelly-filled candies often taste so good and they have such a satisfying texture :P#and. And! Let me talk about the ART!#can I please pretty please say that it's unbelievable how cute chibi Andre is? I mean EEEEE#I want to hold him and stroke his little head this very minute :(#I also love the step-by-step sequence#it's exactly like watching the kiss happen in slow motion#and excuse me but their expressions? And THAT LAST IMAGE?#WOOOOOOO YAAAAAA the 'aftermath' of their kiss and the look in your MC's eyes and Andre's shyness and her finger on his lips oh God OP pls#as a final note I really like how Andre looks so innocent and your MC seems cheeky too like that's SUCH a nice and fun dynamic#okay I'm done babbling now#thank you for this little piece of Valentine's candy I love it sm <3#what in hell is bad treasure box
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He's so soft and tiny, and he looks so warm with that little blush on his cheeks. I love him <3
#I also absolutely adore the sketchy quality of the line art and the watercolor-like style of painting#and the way the features are drawn! So expressive#what in hell is bad treasure box
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VALENTINE
ELIGOS.
+ no warnings.
+ female mc, feminine pronouns, hints of female mc’s official appearance.
An arts and crafts project of her very own.
An eyeshadow palette on the vanity, scissors in her hand, pink ribbons on the floor. And his adorable smile, of course, reflected in the mirror.
He looked so cute. Like a little present.
Ribbons were once tied in bows around his horns and clothes. Same old, same old—but then she thought, why not change that just a little on this chocolate-sweet day?
When red paint and pink paint are mixed together, they swirl into a color akin to magenta. The pink he likes comes to life from a drop of magenta—or perhaps strawberry-red—and a dollop of cream-white. But aren't cherries and Red Delicious apples the actual color of Valentine's?
That's why ribbons dripped from a lacquer box, all red, pretty and shiny. The crimson sheen of them made him wonder: was that why had she led him by his pale shoulders to the golden vanity? Better yet, was he going to get lots of pampering?!
Warm fingers stroked his hair. Compliments sprinkled themselves over his head. Made him feel giddy. And then those fingers were untying bows from black locks, sliding ribbons down white strands.
Horns for last!
Red ribbons twirled around her pale fingers, limited their movement; she avoided touching his horns as best as she could, however. It's nice to keep things innocent for once—sweet and childlike!
These short dark bones were such sensitive things, though, for even the caress of soft fabric against them made his body stiffen. And contact was ever inevitable—so when his short horns and her delicate fingers eventually met in the lightest of brushes, a shiver rippled under his porcelain skin.
Every time a pink ribbon fell to the ground, instead of it a red one got tied into a bow.
Snip, snip, snip! Scissors cut away any offending strings. Sunshine fell on his hair and made red velvet shimmer like rubies.
Minutes ago she was thinking about how precious he looked with his pink ribbons, blushing cheeks and childish smile, but right now she almost felt like she would eat him up as though he were just a tiny piece of heart candy. Red complimented his rosy happiness so prettily.
Just like a doll.
She had told him that in the human world, red was the color of love, and the color of Valentine's, the day of love.
That had to mean...that she loved him!
Happy. He felt happy.
As he watched her dip a soft brush in metallic red, he found himself thinking that white ribbons would look lovely in her violet hair.
The fine bristles felt softer than a dream against his skin. And a bit ticklish. He giggled. It was hard to stay still, but he knew it was important for perfect results, so he did.
Scarlet spread over the little bows on his shoulder. And since this was not only for artistic purposes—but also a message of endearment—she might as well also 'paint' the ones on his leg. So, she knelt before him and did just that.
With every tiny bow colored, she pressed a soft kiss to his skin and gifted him a compliment—didn't stop even when he already had a whole heart-shaped box of them that overflowed and dropped the sugary candies to the ground.
Finally, her hands reached towards the great pink knot about his waist. She would now sew red velvet to another one of his outfits, because the ribbons and colors must all match, no?
+ MASTERLIST
©𝙤𝙘𝙚𝙖𝙣𝙡𝙞𝙥𝙜𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙨
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This is sweet and painful at the same time. As tough and calculating as he appears to be, there is such a soft side to his heart. I love him so much
It's so sweet how he's happy and touched that just like others are always on his mind, there's someone who's thinking of him for once, too—but it's so sad that he never imagined someone out there would think of him.
Just like Bael, it appears to me that he's overworked. So many responsibilities on his shoulders. So many messes to clean up. Bael has to deal with a king that's never there, and apparently Gusion has to deal with a king that's always there yet almost makes it seem as though he's not there at all.
Gusion deserves a long hug. He deserves someone who can listen to him complain and talk about his problems, feelings, or even trivial things—like what he did on a certain day or what he ate for breakfast, perhaps—as they cuddle against his shoulder. He deserves a vacation in which he gets to enjoy his time and be laid-back while the person he likes to spend time with solves math problems with him (and maybe gets scolded when they suddenly don't know what the hell to do with that goddamn f(x) because they're busy studying his face instead <3) my God I'm down so bad for him I love him so much I can't even
#whb#what in “hell” is bad#what in hell is bad#whb gusion#what in hell is bad diaries#ra's fanfic plans
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OP you make illustrations that are too precious for this world. Bimet looks as sweet as the chocolate gold coins he so loves <3
I love your art style and our number one hobo hater him to bits. He's a sassy blunt man who still lies, fake-cries, and deserves a lot more love anyways :P also I have to say that the caption is adorably funny and smart because 'to every HOBO out there'? Plsss lol
Happy Lunar New Year to every hobo out there !
Hope you will pick me at the end ~ <3
#and Bimet is a genius character choice for this celebration OP!#don't mind me I'm just gonna put him in my pocket and let him peek at the world from there#then give him a chocolate gold coin that's three times his size and watch him nibble on it#what in hell is bad treasure box
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SCULPTURE
BARBATOS.
+ warnings: angst.
+ my mc is the heroine, so the pronouns are feminine.
In the little mermaid's perfect round garden was the statue of a handsome man, a marble figure fallen from a shipwreck.
In the little mermaid's sweet flowering heart lived a human prince, ever since they met. In the human woman's heart, however, was a timeless sculpture, a devil.
The youngest mermaid and her unknowing prince were not favoured by destiny. Perhaps the same fate would become of them, too. Except, this tale was not of sacrifices and death; they just...would never be, and no one would hear of their story—it will forever remain a forgotten love, an untold tragedy.
+ MASTERLIST
+ AO3 POST
©𝙤𝙘𝙚𝙖𝙣𝙡𝙞𝙥𝙜𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙨
#obey me#obey me shall we date#om! barbatos#obey me swd#shall we date? obey me!#om! shall we date#om! swd#shall we date barbatos#barbatos x mc#obey me barbatos#swd barbatos#obmswd#obmnb#obey me nightbringer#obey me fanfic#the story factory
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10.2.2024
Albeit how sweet and kind Andre is, in reality it would be heart-wrenching to date him. Besides the fact that his partner will have to see him silently suffer from the pain of his childhood, there's something else, too.
There's how he is always out for blood to quench such a little part of his bloodlust; yet, he may slaughter a thousand angels and it would do almost nothing to make him feel better, because it's so small it's insignificant, it's temporary, it's not Raphael he killed, and nothing could truly mend a broken heart that has suffered from a loss like his.
There's how his wish to avenge those he loved and lost—as well as himself and all the innocent devils harmed—is so solid and intense that it's no longer a wish, but a need. He's so incessant on turning his dream of revenge into reality that he's ready to pay whatever doing so may cost him in exchange, even if the price were to be his own soul and life; aside from sacrificing innocent lives, the lives of those he cares about, and, most importantly, his lover's life, he's willing to give anything away.
There's the harrowing terror and anguish that these desires of his would curse his lover with—for no matter how strong he is, the fear of losing him or him getting hurt and the pain of having to see him deal with such draining, perilous, black emotions (and thoughts) would forever haunt the one who loves him.
When he's with his lover they feel calmer, because they love him and he's right before their eyes; they can see his face and feel the warmth of his body and hear his voice and know for sure that he's safe, but a single black thought may plague them still. And whenever he's away, that black thought turns into a vicious monster that feeds on their peace and heart. So, whether he's together with them or not, fear would take his lover between its teeth and threaten to crush them with its power.
There's how the second he kisses his lover's forehead or presses his lips against theirs to soon step out the door, their brain and heart would begin to pulse with nauseating fright. They would find themselves going around in brutal circles as they ask themselves the same dreadful questions once and again: is he safe right now? What is he doing in this moment? Are angels currently dying at his hands again? Did they injure him somehow?
They will wonder whether he will come home painted with angelic blood, or if that was the last embrace between them, the last kiss they shared, the last time they looked at his face and kissed his lids.
They will wonder if that was the last time they would have to feel this fright for his wellbeing and life—because he's going to disappear forever—or if he will return tonight and tomorrow will be the same.
They will wonder for a long time, but they will never find the answer and their mind will continue throbbing with fright until he comes home again.
The wave of relief and happiness would be so strong it may burn their strength and weaken their knees, but they will throw their arms around him and their tears will fall of their own accord as they silently hope that his love for them would someday change his mind so he would stay safe with them, in their range of sight.
New Andre fic idea again, hallelujah
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These words of desperation—almost pleading as they are—nailed me in the brain, knotted my intestines, tickled my heart
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9.2.2024
Piggyback and shoulder rides with Mammon <3
Tall as he is, clinging to his back or merely sitting on his shoulders would give the world a new, different perspective; it would make it seem so much higher.
If he carries someone on his shoulders, they would almost feel like they're soaring at the great height—yet, that very height would also render them quite focused on balancing their body that's so much smaller and more delicate than his, all while leaving them nervous about being so high off the ground for the first time.
And isn't it mentioned in-game that despite how chiseled he is, his muscles are soft to the touch? I imagine that his body is very warm, too. It must be so soothing to hug his broad back like a koala bear, snuggling against it, cheek pressed to the gentle heat during rides on his back.
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The manner in which you draw him is criminally precious. It melts my heart. He's so cuteeee :(
GUYS DON'T TELL ME THAT ANDREALPHUS HAS A CHANCE TO BECOME WHB MOST BABYGIRL 2024 I CAN'T BELIEVE IT
(hes blushin, our boi is flattered)
#AndrealphustateRiseUp
(If he wins I will draw some celebratory Andres :D )
(btw tried drawing in FireAlpaca instead of microsoft paint, it's nice and has cool features but it doesn't have the ,,vibe" )
-cinnamon
#I want to put him on the fluffiest pillow in the world and pet his little head until he falls asleep#then when he wakes up I'd kiss his blushing cheeks#what in hell is bad treasure box
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He—
Softtttt🥺
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FREAK
SATAN.
+ warnings: implicit mentions of sex, strong language.
+ female mc, feminine pronouns.
Haircare.
A meaningless routine, a dumb thing. Angels burn Hell, humans burn incense, and haircare burns time otherwise better spent.
Rewarding someone with a kick brought about glee to their hearts. That wouldn't take a minute.
Ripping an angel's miserable head off their neck rid the world of one more revolting creature. That took even less.
So why the Hell did he find himself sitting before a mirror—time after time, night after night—as the woman in his lap wove a brush through his hair, her warm body pinning him to a velvet chair?
‘Haircare,’ she had once told him.
Haircare, huh?
Haircare his ass.
Still, that didn't mean he was against it; because fuck, he liked this—her closeness, the caresses of the brush, having her all to himself. He liked being with her. She dyed his heart with something redder than fire, but sweeter than anything else; kind of like one of those little chocolate hearts wrapped in red foil: stark on the outside, sugary when one takes a bite.
They could look at the long hair of a ‘freak’ like him and think, “goddamn, it's all tangles.”
Yeah, that was right until it was wrong. After all, it looked so lovely, his hair. He had the best hair ever—soft, rosy, silken. Made hands tingle, itch to bury themselves in the luscious softness just to delight in the feel of it.
They could think a ‘freak’ like him wouldn't want fine bristles stroking his tangled locks and unravelling their harsh knots.
Better take a second guess—a wild guess. He liked that a lot. It felt nice to be cared for.
He may have thrilled at the sight of her body melting into a sugar-puddle under his, yes. But as much as he liked to have her delicate neck in his hands, as much as he loved to watch their veins flare blue with popping definition in response to his strength—
Some didn't know; ‘freaks’ like him can be so damn soft, too.
When hot baths turned his hair into a pink mess, there wasn't really much—anything—to complain about, because such an entanglement only meant that he would get to stay with her for a long while, sit back and watch her gently take the snarls apart.
The glittering focus in her eyes was so fucking pretty. Staring at her was such fun. He enjoyed how his gaze visibly scraped her nerves with its intensity—like nerves were nothing but molten candy, dry and stuck to a pan.
Proper haircare was daunting. Silly. He had to use a lot of stuff—shampoos, conditioners, oils, masks—and do so many things.
Or...maybe not. Maybe he didn't have to do anything.
His perfect lips were curved into a cheeky grin. She even thought she saw his blood-red eyes glow, like those of a cat's in the dark—perhaps even captured the desires in his thoughts.
Of course he didn't have to do anything. All he had to do was lay in his bathtub, preferably with her in his arms. All he had to do was teasingly admire her as she did all the hard work.
They didn't imagine that a ‘freak’ like him liked it when she brushed his hair, but liked the weave of her fingers through it much more.
+notes: writing this piece was a process of decision-making. It was the first time I write two different versions of a fic and have to decide on one of them. I couldn't quite do that, so I ended up stitching them together instead.
This is because albeit how I had the idea about two months back, I only managed to figure out how to write it less than a week ago—but then I got stuck again, and put it away. When I retried my hand at it, I ended up with a new second version.
+ MASTERLIST
+ AO3 POST
#whb#whb satan#what in “hell” is bad#what in hell is bad#what in hell is bad satan#the story factory
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I love him so much. I love him I love him I love him
edit:...what happened to the 2nd and 3rd screenshots' quality exactly? They look just fine in my gallery lol
#whb#whb satan#what in hell is bad satan#what in “hell” is bad#what in hell is bad#what in hell is bad diaries
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