Name | Listed Above
Alias | Pronounced "ASH"
Current Interests | Single | One Current Interest
S. Orientation | Straight - Attraction Is Female Based
Age Unknown | Immortal | Six Foot Four In Height
Fallen Servant Of God | Eternal Earth Angel Of The Dark
Lords Servant Turned Chaotic Fallen Angel
It had been a century since I had been thrown down onto this shit hole planet, one very long century of making my mark on this earth, becoming more than just a servant of the Lord gone bad. I had made a name for myself, a position everyone seeked and desired now rested in my name. My name coiled around the city of New York like barbed wire, my veins coursing through every damn noon and cranny of these streets and high rise buildings dripping of my blood. No name, new faces and or wrong doing got by without my say. I'd earned this, fought for this position, this rank. In the wake of becoming a prodigy of the Lord very long ago, I was endowed with the honor and Abilities to work along side the Lord himself becoming one of his chosen. Though in during that time I knew that position was never right, the word of sin boiling within me spreading like a forest fire to soon implied upon impact. It was only a matter of time. I was born weak they said, weak, sinful and ashamed for the life I wanted to live elsewhere and the God I did not care to any longer serve. I'd given in, I had let the sin of the world consume my flesh and blood and from that moment I knew there was never going back to the life I'd lived before. Sin, it felt too damn good for the soul which I knew I'd lacked from the start, a hole buried so deep throughout my anatomy there was no coming back from.
A century ago when I'd made my entry from the spirit realm, the abilities I was granted continued while others surfaced. The further I delved into the darkness the darker my abilities became, but with much more power of course came its weaknesses. Cathedrals turned my living breathing body I withheld into a demonic entity, eyes as dark as the abyss, teeth as sharp as daggers, and skin as white as the snow. An all around monster from the depths of hell itself, a shell of the being I'd become but very very much worse. When it came to Ashers everyday life he lived smack dab in the middle of New York City, owning of the largest most wealthy establishments called Club Desire, a club for any and all supernatural beings. It was a place of much success, spanning into not only one of the largest nightclubs in the US but also included a strip club, and brothel. Of course only the wealthiest of supernatural men and women were able to delve into experience everything the club had to offer. Though with all of this power, wealth, nothing felt enough. It was as though Ashers thirst was never quenched, a ranging fire never to be satisfied.
C u r r e n t L o c a t i o n
Based On Current Threads
C u r r e n t R e a l i t y
"Sinful, Angered, Lost"
C u r r e n t H e a l t h
Physical Health 100%
M e n t a l S t a t u s
Mental Health 75% Intact
He did not fall from heaven. He leapt for her. For the godling. She was holy in the way poison is brilliant, cruel, untouchable. She whispered to him with a serpents tongue from beyond those pearly gates, seducing him with the ache of being chosen. Playing on all those old desires before he ascended and so he chose her. But Desire, to her, was only divine when denied. She loved him more as a myth and encased him in ruin, coiled by the serpents of her entire being. Now that he kneels before her, breathless, broken, and bound, she toys with him when it suits her and leaves him hollow when it doesn't. It was that she hated him, it was the fact that she had simply lost all interest in the fallen one.
He awaits for her in the shadows, starving for scraps of her deadly gaze, a relic of something she once wanted to destroy but forgotten to finish. It is in the silence where her absence hums the loudest that the oracle witch comes. Her voice one of smoker and mirrors and certainty. She speaks not to console but to awaken. Shes speaks, you're not lost angel. Just unclaimed. But she will come, marked by the end that devours its own beginning, a circle of hunger, not wholeness. The one who walks with the dead and sings in the language of gold and ruin. The girl with the serpent wound. She will not bow to your grief. She will not fear your fire. She will kiss the ash from your mouth and call it sweetness. You think yourself a fallen now? She hums. Wait until you love her. The gate is her heart. The key is your ruin. That is when you break. Together, you will unmake the lie that heaven told. That is when you will rise. In the cruelest form of blessings the girl the witch spoke of does not yet exist. But she echoes in him like marrow in a bone. On the edges of his mind, she is a silhouette made of prophecy and ache.
He clutched those words like a wound. Not because he believed them, but because it was all he had left when the serpent lost interest. He is still claimed, just not by the godling. Not anymore. After all this time, the wound is so fresh yet charred by the hope of uncertainty to bring forth meaning to it all. The only reason for his fall because he refused to have it bound by the woman who deceived him first. He belongs to something still coming. He walks the wline of death itself, in search of someone far beyond his reach. Far beyond the eye can see, a mirage, a dimly lit light camouflaged by the lies and deceit. She is the secret he keeps. The lie behind his teeth when he whispers sweet nothings to lovers, sinners, and enemies, alike, for in the end, he'll always deny that he has repeated the same cycle the Serpent did to him. And he knows when he finds her it will burn worse than the fall from heaven ever did.
Appearance | When it comes to Ashers appearance one might noticed his angelic like features. From his perfectly structured jaw line and high cheek bones, to his masculine full lips and steel gray eyes maybe one would truly understand just by one look at Asher how the devil to was once a beautiful being. Standing to the height of six foot four inches Asher was tall, with broad shoulders and very lean and toned body with just enough muscle. Though against the pure skin he had once before now laid littered in art, tattoos covering almost every inch of his flesh. With ears ears and nose pierced he looked edgy, with his dark slightly long dark hair either fixed back and or shaggy and waved laying against his forehead.
While taking pride in his physical, when it came to women all of that was off of the table. Most upon first seeing Ash would assume he had a taste, but that was completely far from the truth. When it came to a women Asher he owned one of the most wealthy supernatural club of New York, every women ranging from thick to thin, every shape and size perfectly in place to what his customers preferred. Though again when it came to Asher, it would take a very particular being to gain his interest. It would take a very special one indeed to put up with his interests in the way he preferred to delve into his women. Though that is for another time. Then again, it was no ones fucking business to be honest. After all Asher was a one of the fallen, a being that drew you in the moment you took one look, one breath, even with just a taste you'd be so far gone from reality you wont even know what hit you. A man so deranged, toxic, dark he'd leave you on your knees wondering how in the hell you'd gotten to wrapped up in the dark yet begging and pleading to stay just one more time. it was a matter of time before he would become your downfall.
A deep soulful connection was never something Asher felt, having one being so engraved within the very marrow of your bones. It was exhilarating, defying in a sense. Yet why did it feel so damn good, so good to go against everything you'd ever known. Everything you'd ever been told. She had become the exception to everything Asher ever promised himself, the man he'd never become. Although she felt like the only reason for his very breath, the only reason he'd trench through the very depths of hell, the guilt he'd one day be her ruin scorched through him like a burning inferno. For Asher burns at her feet like a pit of flames, and she the arsonist holding the match. Written in blood, a bonded obsession so poetically dark, twisted, and matted deep within the very seams of their beings it felt as through there was no escape. For he will hold her in he very depth of his palm, that is until the one whom walks with the dead and sings in the language of gold and ruin draws near. It is then he only fears decision, for it is what he desires and what has been already claimed he will have no choice in.
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Preferred Genres By Writer:
Action, Thriller, Fantasy, Mythical, Dark themed, Dark Romance, Connection and Character building, Drugs and Alcohol Use, Possible Abuse (Only If Co-Writer Approves) Knife Play, Blood Play, Sexual Situations etc. Very Adult contact ahead, so keep all of this in mind when wanting to write with me. This Page is rated MA for mature audience only, so please leave if you're underage. This is your warning.
This is in dedication to the writer's of Dinah & Mammon / Credit for helping with coding.
Latest Page Update: 05/14/2025
