aaetherius

[aaetherius]

Sandalphon's answer is more or less what Lucifer had assumed it would be, but had dreaded regardless. Upon actually hearing the other admit it aloud, his expression drops slightly--wings coming to sag over Sandalphon's back, seemingly drained of the strength and will to hold them up. Sandalphon understands his own sentiments--understands how conflicted and convoluted and estranged his own thoughts are, but he would much rather the other blame him. Sandalphon's suffering, in regards to these specific scars, is a direct result of Lucilius's cruelty, but Lucifer can't bring himself to blame his creator. Instead, it's fat easier for him to blame himself. To believe that he would have been capable of changing fate had he just paid more mind to the ones he loves most. No matter how farfetched that line of thinking it is--it's still a gentler pill to swallow than accepting the fact that Lucilius had acted of his own accord and desire. Somehow, someway, this must all be his fault somehow. Perhaps it truly is in the nature of the creation to be incapable of blaming the creator, but that thought leaves a lump in his throat and a dent in his core. Sandalphon's admission cuts him down to the bone because Lucifer is fully aware that the other is speaking and acting of love for him. People, himself included--he's learned--will do anything and everything for love. "I know, Sandalphon," he sighs weakly. Just as Sandalphon defers him of blame out of love for him, Lucifer concedes out of love for the current Supreme Primarch. He sympathizes with Sandalphon because he understands his pain--understands how and where it hurts.

But Lucifer would much rather die again than allow Sandalphon's wings to be ripped from his back even one more time. Perhaps that makes him selfish--perhaps that makes him a walking contradiction because he fears nothing more than losing Sandalphon to the point where he can barely even stomach the idea of the other getting hurt these days. At times, he wonders if he's dreaming as well, but the persistent hum of his core and Sandalphon's continuous warmth often him pull him out of such thoughts. He has to be alive in order to feel both. "And I fear nothing more than losing you, Sandalphon," he admits softly. If his life were to ever become a burden that would bring pain to the other, he would sacrifice it in a heartbeat just as easily as he had the first time, but he knows now to swallow such words, and keep them tucked away within the safety of his own chest. "I do not ever wish to see you in pain. I do not wish for you to suffer," he says instead.

He knows he can't dwell on what ifs, after all, he's spent far too much of his own life doing so. But Sandalphon's attempt to reassure him only further cements Lucifer's own feelings of guilt and shame and regret. Sandalphon should have never needed to confront Lucilius in the first place. He should have stopped Lucilius long before he had taken a sword to the other's throat. He should have taken more care when interacting with his creator--he should have noticed when the Astral had begun to spiral, and he should have saved him then. Logically, Lucifer knows his own thoughts are little more than hopeless delusions. But a part of him will always be convinced that he could saved both Lucilius and Sandalphon--that he somehow could have found a way to spare them from all of the suffering they endured. From the very agony that naturally comes with being alive. "That was a battle you should have never needed to wage." He can concede on nearly anything Sandalphon brings up, but he cannot let go of his own failings when it comes to Lucilius--his creator's sins were his failures to carry, not Sandalphon's. Never Sandalphon's.

Even so, he allows himself to be pulled into Sandalphon's embrace. He instinctively leans his forehead against the other's shoulder. Sandalphon is warm--of course he's warm, he alive, after all. And the drum of his core has become something intimately familiar to Lucifer--truthfully, it always has been. He finds comfort in knowing Sandalphon has come to understand what he desires. But Lucifer would have been willing--and will always be willing--to sacrifice every last wish of his own to grant even one of Sandalphon's. If not seeing his own desires come to fruition could have spared Sandalphon of all of this, he would have gladly severed every last dream he had ever considered harboring with his own two hands. "My greatest wish had, and will always be, for your happiness and safety, Sandalphon." He doesn't elaborate further--by now they both understand the meaning behind his words. By now, though Lucifer will not admit it out loud for the other's sake, he suspects Sandalphon already knows how willing he is to give up everything for him all over again.

He feels the warmth of Sandalphon's wings forming within the nest he's created around them. His own naturally part to make room for them--pearly feathers tickling Sandalphon's brown ones. Even without lifting his head to look at those wings, Lucifer knows, by nothing more than touch alone, which pair of the other's wings have slotted around his own. Gently, he briefly brushes his rosy plumes along Sandalphon's wings before allowing them to settle into a comfortable position. "I know you will not," Lucifer repeats once more. Sandalphon has always been stubborn, and would always be stubborn. Lucifer, as well, in his own way, is equally as stubborn though almost never when it conflicts with Sandalphon's own determination. Save for his self-sacrificing tendencies that Lucifer will carry to his own grave again and again. "Even so, I wish to carry all that you will me to." Lucifer will always concern himself more with others than he ever will himself. He may allows Sandalphon grace--may happily accept and embrace Sandalphon's pain and suffering, but he doesn't want to trouble the other with any of his own burdens. He has, after all, carried them on his own for millennia. Times has eroded the stone walls built around them bit by bit, and one day they will crumble all around him, but, for now, he won't trouble Sandalphon with them. "You will come to understand one day." Through what he experiences as Supreme Primarch or through Lucifer's own confessions--whichever may come first, but he's too tired right now to say more on the matter. Too bogged down by grief. "I know that, and yet I always pray these skies will be gentler for you despite how cruel they have already been."

Lucifer slowly lifts his head from Sandalphon's shoulder when he feels the other's wing wrap around his back. "And you have me, Sandalphon--my solace." His skin burns where the other's lips press against his jaw, and he tilts his head slightly to make more room for Sandalphon's head where he buries his nose into the crux of his neck. "I still wish for a peaceful life for you." His voice is no louder than the other's, little more than a mere whisper spoken softly against Sandalphon's ear. "With you," he adds even quieter. "I will not allow your wings to be torn from you again. Should you ever burn your hands, I will soothe your pain, and should you ever be wounded--I will care for you until you are well again." He doesn't carry the same power he once had. He is no longer capable of great feats of magic nor can he heal grievous wound in an instant. What little he still possess now pales in comparison to what Sandalphon has gained. But he has acquired something in this second life of his--he has learned resilience from the Skydwellers who persevere in spite everything they cannot do. He tilts his head in order to press a kiss against the side of Sandalphon's head--the angle is awkward, and he tastes strands of the other's hair on his lips in the process, but smiles anyway.

Guilt, regrets, shame - many of those emotions rise the more he senses, and sees the other pain for things none of them both were guilty of. Even if Lucifer had been more free, to have relieved himself of duties faster or even step down earlier than he wanted to, Sandalphon doubts it'd have made any difference - And hell, even now he can't bring himself to argue beyond the frown that mars his face. The pains of his scars no longer something that burns his back and more feel like just a slight backache from standing too many hours when serving in the cafe, no longer they even feel as a painful memory but a reminder of what probably most primal beasts had to endure, if no worse considering other of them out there with similar grievances that weight on them, which in turn helps understanding them and bringing judgement on them in the least painful way possible so they can have peace for once. '' I can't. '' he musters, soft and careful within the stagnant air between them as his face relaxes almost instinctively against the gentle touch of Lucifer's trembling wings and the gentle hold on his jaw, almost melting into it like the way those pesky cats within the grancypher would become just a heap of fluff at the slightest touch under their chin by Lucifer whenever they'd approach him. '' Perhaps, being creations makes us unable to blame the creator. Which.... is both a blessing, and a curse in a way. I cannot blame you, even if for a moment, I almost did - but then realized how wrong I was. I just can't, Lucifer. '' And oh he knows it might hurt the other, but also he's determined.

'' Ripped wings and sewn back multiple times, nothing compares to when I lost you, Lucifer. Even now, my.... my biggest fear is you being gone. That everything leading to this present is nothing but imagination that's just lasted far too long in a cruel twist of fate. '' Yet, unlike lucifer who is weighted by his own demons and regrets, Sandalphon tries to stand steady, his eyes opening again with the comforting warmth he's learned to have, and - also surprices himself how at peace he feels, regardless the guilts that fire arrows over and over against his own ailing core that stubbornly ignores them in turn to be that solace that Lucifer's always said the current supreme primarch is to him. So he tries. '' If you hadn't bestowed the ability to adapt like I can, I would've never been able to help and stop Lucilius when everything happened. '' He starts, even if probably won't hear or be too deep within his own sorrows, but even then, he tries. Shifting from where he sits and leaning a bit back to properly face Lucifer, as quietly and slow as he can despise his own body sometimes creaking and bones creaking. Missing the touch of their foreheads together, but replacing it with letting go the other hand of Lucifer's so, in turn, arms reach for the other's shoulders and pull Lucifer to his frame in one of those hugs that he, more times he can count, has been pulled into - reluctantly sometimes, forced by stubborn souls like Gran and Lyria despise his greatest complains and grunts or efforts to shake them off. It's strong, but careful all at the same time, chests close to one another so Lucifer can hear his the same way whenever he'd rest his head against the other, it's the gentle sound of Lucifer's new core all that matters in the world. '' I know I can't change your mind, and can't miraculously rid you of guilt the same way you can't undo the past. Lucifer... But, would have you even realized your wishes if all of this didn't happen? Would I have known and discovered what I want to live for were it not for my... own choices that I'm atoning for? ''

A gentle glow emanates from within the cabin, as if the very stars reflected by the window are gently plucked from the night sky one by one, whisked by gentle calls as Sandalphon's back forms the silhouette of two wings, before they materialize - light gently presses against his body and give space for the wings of Lucifer's own to make a bit of space, but never pushing them away. In a silent breeze, aurburn wings form on one of the set of scars, replacing the curves of dents that skin remind of past horrors into a beautiful array of fluffy, brown and light oranges as they cover a small part of it. Slowly, they unfurl in a sweet, silent shift as Sandalphon uses one to gently cradle the wings Lucifer had offered into his own hold. Even now, his own pair never are as big as Lucifer's, even now, they probably look a bit duller than Lucifer's new pairs of artificial ones that help keeping the other with energy to survive like a normal primal beast - And even now, he tries his best, when his own hands had known violence and war, unsuited to be gentle, offer the same gentleness Lucifer always offers back. '' Look... I– '' But his voice breaks a bit, mostly from guilts that even now weight heavily. '' You can't do that, Lucifer. Hold all my pain alone, I won't allow you... Instead, shouldering these things together, healing from it - moving on however hard it is to deal with 'what ifs' is what I believe best it could be. It's not easy. '' Hell, even probably impossible, for beings that have eternity ahead, but even then... '' I can't blame you for these things, but... I can ask - just like your wings had bestowed me a view of your own struggles, but very brief ones. I want to share the burdens you also have. With time, of course. To know about your own scars and help you with them, even if it takes centuries to even be able to talk about it. ''

And he speaks from sincerity. Pure, unconditional love that Sandalphon was made and burdened with. If lucifer was a light that flickered like thousand suns, then he is the moon that catches what he can to reflect it and give a light for those in the darkness cannot find their way. If Lucifer is ever lost in thoughts like he's been in days where he looked much more exhausted than usual, then he will be the shoulder he's always been so the other could lean. Even if Lucifer can only offer apologies instead of saying what ails his heart, then he will forgive every apology without even asking. A free wing, just like Lucifer's own, presses firmly against Lucifer's back as Sandalphon keeps the strong, but gentle embrace keeping Lucifer against his chest, lashes falling half mast as they tickle against the other's ear - whispering sweetly despise the dry throat that talking about just a single moment of the past had still left dents and wounds open. '' Just like you wanted a peaceful life for me. Then... Allow me to wish the same for you, however challenging it must be. You won awful wars alone, but this... The battle that living is, you won't battle this one alone. You have me, Lucifer. My guiding light. Even if life once more rips my wings off my back, I'll fight. If my hands burn from spilling hot water, I'll heal it. If you get wounds from handling paper, I'll hold them so they feel better. '' And he plants a small, fleeting press against the other's jaw while diving his nose into the other's shoulder.

#cxffexngel #| ☩ I would bend the skies; realign all the stars in space; just to be with you ☩ (cxffexngel: Sandalphon) | #| ☩ And once again the sky rises; sincere and melancholic ☩ (IC) | #| ☩ A faint dusting after sunset ☩ (verse: AU - Post) | #{ If I were a less sleepy man I would have icon'ed that art for this but alas I am not } #{ But you know exactly what art I'm talking about so simply imagine it instead GHFKFGDS } #{ Tungle will never let us have nice things } #{ Lucifer has a master's agree in being sad GDHKFDS } #{ Lucifer learn how to express your love in methods other than self-sacrifice challenge }

[aaetherius]

Lucifer has long since grown used to Sandalphon subconsciously flinching at his touch--at any touch. Yet, despite knowing it'll happen, and being prepared for it, seeing the other tense still makes his core twist and throb in guilt and shame and remorse. He has always assumed it is a habit that had imprinted on him during the time he had spent trapped in Pandemonium. Perhaps a result of always having to be on guard, of constantly getting into fights. He's not entirely certain, but, now, he wonders if that habit had been born from something else. Something like the scars on his back, or the things Sandalphon has yet to tell him. He could spend all of eternity taking wild guesses and making baseless assumptions--the end result would always be the same, he simply could never know what Sandalphon doesn't wish for him to know. But eternity is something they both possess, and he's willing to wait until the very end of time itself for Sandalphon to unfurl his wings, and expose the deepest parts of his heart to him. Patience is a virtue that Lucifer has possessed since the very moment of his creation, and he harbors it in spades for the current Supreme Primarch.

So, when Sandalphon does begin speaking, he doesn't interject, he only nods his head or offers a soft, noncommittal hum in response to let him know that he's listening.

He's fairly familiar with the labs back on Canaan. He had been present a handful of times during the creation of the first few Primarchs, though, over the years--the more and more archangels that were created--the less time he spent in or even around those facilities as he had other matters to attend to, and Lucilius no longer requested his presence or input. He's also familiar with the maintenance checks Sandalphon mentions. Or rather, he knows of them through only his own experience. They were intended to gauge an individual's performance and well-being, to see if any changes were needed, or if anything had gone wrong at some point. At times Lucilius would label certain creations as failures, though why or what exactly that entailed Lucifer wasn't privy to. By the time it became more common, he already had his hands full with other matters. Sandalphon's assumption; however, was correct. While it was a fairly rare occurrence, as Lucilius deemed such a mundane procedure unnecessary for him--the one dubbed the Astral's greatest creation--Lucilius himself had always been the one to personally look after Lucifer. He had met his fair share of Astrals while accompanying his creator, from time to time he would briefly engage with them, but anything more, and Lucilius would swiftly draw a a cold, hard line. He had the nagging suspension that, if anyone were to push their luck, Lucilius likely would've sent them off with one less limb.

So, he hums faintly once again, acknowledging Sandalphon's suspicions, but waits for him to continue without speaking up on the matter. He imagines the process was more or less the same as it was for him for the other Archangels. The possibility of Lucilius showing him favoritism was something Lucifer assumed--after all, most of what the other was describing right now was quite similar to his own situation, though only to extent that it was Lucilius himself looking after him--never anything more than that.

His wings tense instinctively a Sandalphon continues. If Sandalphon's tone had been different, he wouldn't have thought much of them either. He was by no means naive. He knew, to a certain extent, that Lucilius wasn't always kind. But he also existed in a world that was, largely, exclusive to himself and himself only. In a world where Lucilius was an individual with thoughts and feelings that were not always cruel and calculating and vengeful. Lucilius was capable of violence, perhaps more so than average, but he had never been aggressive or brutal to Lucifer himself, nor in his presence. That side of the man was, for the most part, foreign to the former Supreme Primarch. So, had the other's voice not been so heavy when those were spoken, Lucifer would have initially believed gaining Lucilius's interest was a good thing rather than a terrible one.

A frown stains his rosy lips as Sandalphon continues--each word seemingly becoming more and more difficult for the other to say. He understands the burden he unintentionally placed on the current Supreme Primarch with that choice that, at the time, had been made out of a desperate desire to give Sandalphon the freedom he and the other archangels lacked. Regardless of the path Sandalphon took, he had wanted nothing more than for the other to be able to choose it with his own two hands. In the end, he supposes, ironically, it was his desire to give Sandalphon that choice that had ended up sealing his fate instead. He hums faintly, though it's strangled and hesitant. He knows Lucilius well enough to have an inkling as to where this conversation is heading, but that doesn't mean he can accept it--or imagine it. His gaze shifts downwards to their hands, and he briefly recalls the image of the scars decorating Sandalphon's back. He's committed them to memory by now--analyzed them a thousand times over in the safety of his own head, and he continues to come to the exact same conclusion every single time. Those cuts were most certainly done by Lucilius's hand. Yet, his core still denies the possibility--or rather, refuses to acknowledge it until the words actually fall from Sandalphon's mouth.

Lucifer's artificial wings stiffen against his own back at that question, and his gentle hold on Sandalphon's hand squeezes slightly--not enough to hurt, but enough to make it clear it had been involuntary.

"Sandalphon," Lucifer exhales. His voice is broken and unsteady--hoarse and worn. It feels like all of the years leading up to this day have suddenly caught up to him at once, and neither his mind or body can keep up with all of the memories and battles that surge through every bone in his body rapidly. Replaying so quickly that he can hardly even think about all of it. He lowers his head, still staring at their hands like the warmth of Sandalphon's palm is the only thing keeping him tethered to this plane of reality. There has never been a moment, not even during his own death, where he had wished he harbored the ability to turn back time, but, right now, in this very moment, he sincerely wishes he could start back over from the very beginning, and somehow shield Sandalphon from all he's been forced to endure because of his failures and short-comings.

He should have been more careful. He shouldn't have left Sandalphon as frequently as he had. He should have noticed how much pain and hatred Lucilius held within him. Things might have turned out differently if he had. Perhaps he could have saved both of them from the agony they've been forced to carry. Even now, it's far easier for him to blame himself than anyone else--even the one who had held the scalpel and knife within his hands. And Sandalphon's words do little to quell his thoughts or soothe the guilt he feels wrapping around his throat like a noose. Truthfully, he barely even registers what's being said--he can't even begin to guess who would have used his name against Sandalphon, nor is it the most pressing matter at hand anymore. It was thousands of years ago at this point--finding out who had done it wouldn't matter now. Nor did he have any desire to clear his name when he might as well have been the one pulling Sandalphon's wings out himself for how badly he had let the other down.

"No, Sandalphon, my love," he heaves, chest quivering with every word that filters past his damp lips. "If anyone is to blame for what you suffered through, it is me. I am the one who failed to notice. The one who failed to protect you." He exhales, tasting iron on his tongue as he lifts his head, and extends his trembling wings outward to wrap them carefully around Sandalphon's shoulders. He doesn't have the same control over them as he had his real ones, and they're clunky to move around at times--their feathers, soft but awkward, brush against the other's cheeks as they move to rest over Sandalphon's back. If he still possessed the power he had once held, those same feathers would have warmed and begun to glow, but, no longer could he provide comfort in the way he had once known how to. So, instead, he leans forward, he presses his forehead against Sandalphon's--feeling the warmth that radiates off of the other's skin against his own that feels dreadfully cold right now in contrast.

"I am sorry, Sandalphon." His free hand lifts, though hesitantly, to run his fingers along Sandalphon's jaw. If the gesture is meant to soothe the other or himself it's impossible to tell. He should have paid more attention to those he held dear. It seems he's done nothing but cause them pain all of these years. "I have failed you time and time again." His core feels like it's contracting until it's closing in on itself and threatening to burst into pieces that would be impossible to gather up once again. His chest is painfully tight, and his voice dreadfully low and quiet. A whisper that sounds wrong in all of the worst possible ways. He doesn't want Sandalphon's forgiveness or his mercy though he knows the other would readily give him both, so he doesn't ask--doesn't allow Sandalphon the chance to try to strip him of the blame again.

"I am…glad you told me, Sandalphon." He is. Sincerely. As much as it hurts him to know, he's grateful Sandalphon was willing to confide in him, and reveal the ugliness that had resulted in those scars. "I…" He pauses for a moment, leaning closer in an attempt to quell the painful throbbing of his worthless core. He wishes he could have taken Sandalphon's place, but oh he knows, no matter how willing he would have been, Lucilius would have sooner burned the skies to ash than allow his wings to be plucked from his body. And that was part of what made it all so heavy. Because, to him, Lucilius is his creator and Sandalphon is the most precious person in the world to him. Hw wishes he could have taken all of their suffering onto himself. Wishes he would have prevented them from clashing. Wishes he could have kept Sandalphon safe. "I am sorry, Sandalphon," he repeats. "I beg you not to displace the blame I am deserving of. I cannot atone for allowing you to suffer, and my ignorance on the matter is no excuse, so I beg of you, again, not to use it as such. I wish I could take all of your pain, Sandalphon--I wish I could have given you the life you have always deserved."

A slight tremble rushes through his body, born from the gentle, audible shuffle and mute creak of old handmade wood that makes up for the bed's frame as weight shifts, wings of white he can catch slightly from the corner of his eye move away as Lucifer sits ever so slowly. Like if an animal had come to the bed and has found shelter in it yet needed to be threaded as carefully as it could. Oh even now it feels not real, that the other is there, that he will listen and there being nothing that can rob them of this time unlike far back thousand years ago when words were at the tip of his tongue, the moments where he had gathered enough energy to try and be selfish for once but even then, fate never was at his side. Called out for meetings or new missions, Lucifer would leave before a younger sandalphon was able to muster strength to even say anything or beg him to stay, and instead, smile and wish him well - maybe hold his hand or tug at the other's ribbon for longer than necessary, but even when his eyes would plea the other, words never rose. Instead, now it's almost the other way sometimes - Lucifer, now bound to just live the life as he wished, to choose for himself what he wanted to do each day was the one asking sandalphon to stay, between almost comically pathetic whines to groans and soft, sleep-kissed words spoken by the former supreme primarch that would melt Sandalphon's battered core into mush. What makes them more magical, to Sandalphon, is seeing the other so carefree, free of burdens and strained smiles he'd feel the other muster when it was clear how much the other would not want to go, to stay even if just a little more minutes more and sink into the quietness of the garden - and now he can do the same, stay behind or say goodbyes that are not like the past, those that will just last a few minutes, hours at best. Rarely days if Sandalphon has to take care of more heavy things like rampaging primals that need to be calmed down; but thankfully this can also be taken cared by the crew itself.

The quietness of the room gives away to that purposeful rustle of feathers, from when he can feel them flex quietly to give space for Lucifer to move, to when he reaches out and Sandalphon, in turn, tries his best not to flinch at that ever so feathery light touch the other always carefully threads him with whenever initiating such contact. But even then, no matter how many times, his body jerks a bit - a seconds long wave of fear that his subconscious will never heal from always making that part difficult before he sinks into the touch and even leans back a bit to let the warmth from Lucifer's palm help ease the demons within his mind. Tension melting away with a drawn out, dry sigh that audibly sizzles from slightly open lips as scarlet eyes dance away from his hands and meet halfway ever so patient sky blue ones that the primarch is unable not to wish to lose himself just marveling at them, every time. " I…. " Oh he knows Lucifer wants to know, the way he always honeys his name like that is a chorus for his core and makes it easier to ignore the demons and worse parts of himself that crawl from the depths of his soul just to hinder these moments into nothingness, replaced by the sweet reassurances that deflate even more Sandalphon into comfort. Lucifer has learned more and more on how to meet him at his most vulnerable, that touch, while still something that he yearned but also had become something his body would flinch away from, and sometimes still does - it also helps when coming from those he cares about, especially Lucifer. Even when Lyria would touch his hands with her delicate, small fingers it'd be enough to quell million years of flames and anger in a heartbeat. Oh, but he also almost laments the moment passes, too fast and too slowly all at the same time, when Lucifer's hand leaves his back, scars aching with a yearning and a tickle of cool air making the hairs of his nape stand a bit before settling back, and his frame suddenly feeling smaller despise nothing changing besides Lucifer's closeness and how his reassurances work keeping at bay the turbulent thing that is his emotions as they flare and burn and yet also feel frozen and thorny.

Sucking in a dry, stale breath that faintly escapes him, Sandalphon shuffles to sit fully on the bed, facing Lucifer - never letting go the hold Lucifer has on his hands. Legs crossed as his gaze falls again on their linked hands and digits curl a bit on Lucifer's own larger palm. " Back at Canaan; you knew about the labs. Testing facilities on the other side of the island and all those rooms where the angels and other primal beasts were made, right? " Of course he would, but even then, he still asks but not really wanting an answer; it's mostly context Sandalphon lays for them. Oh the cold halls of the island, sometimes quiet but not the same silence that governed the garden. It was dead quiet, a cold kind unlike the ripe freshness of lush grass, leaves and birds that sung. " At some point after my creation, all angels, me included usually would have appointments. Maintenance check ups as they'd call it. I suppose Lucilius did those personally for you, I doubt he'd let any no-name astral get close to you despise them being smart enough. In my case… "

He cannot meet Lucifer's eyes, but even then now the pain, the memories, it all feels more like a weight than a nightmare by now. Dulled with time and endless sleepless nights. And even then, they never felt as terrible as that one day with the other's head by his arms, yelling for answers the other couldn't hear yet still wished and wished in his final moments. Nothing hurt more than that exact moment more than what used to happen back in Canaan if he were to compare it. " At first it was to study 'A primal beast's creation'. Nothing too complex - tiny needles to draw out blood and analyze, a lot of questioning about this and that. It was bearable."

" Then, Lucilius noticed after papers were brought to him. Probably one of those astrals, or your notes when creating me. I don't certainly know when he noticed but only then - he took a slight interest. " And oh, he still remembers how small he felt at the time. Hopeful, yearning; even if the astral at the time hadn't really shown anything beyond the interest in research, to have his eyes fixed on parchments of old tomes with dulled covers. " You…. made me compatible with almost every element. That picked his interest. " There's a wry curl of his lip into a pained smile, and his eyes, for once, look up to meet the other's. Oh he doesn't blame lucifer for this - he was tasked to make an angel, nothing else. He had the freedom and chose what sandalphon had realized far too late, a freedom of choosing his own path without even meaning to, a wish the other wasn't given the chance to make for himself, and instead, given to him. How lucky he was and how much of a sick, twisted curse that Lucifer didn't mean to impart when all he did was try the most he could at the time. " Do… Do you know how it feels to have your wings ripped off your back? " He hangs the question almost quietly, his voice wavers a bit as the heavy question lingers there. Oh how he still remembers that, when he did that to the other primarchs, heels dug on Uriel's back as bone and skin broke audibly. Flesh torn without a care just like what had be done to him but with scalpels and restrains. " To know how elements could be absorbed, there was a way for Lucilius, the astrals, for them to see themselves. " And oh, the more he talks the more tired, dry and hoarse his voice comes. It's heavy, it’s something he never, ever has talked about besides hinting bits and relating to some of the experiments in very subtle occasions when the topic would surface around others - and yet, there's determination as well, the other's presence, the anchor of those ever so gentle hands on his as they cradle and soothe rough hands that have meet way too many wars and been on both sides of it, it's all he needs to keep going and even if his core hurts and feels as it's being burned alive while words fall like a long lost tale, it also helps shedding that weight that's been there, even with the guilt that also, in turn, mars his features for he knows this will probably make the other feel sad, hurt, maybe reveal something Lucifer knew or didn't know.

'' - And no, it's not your fault. None of it, you did what you had to do, Lucifer. '' He cuts before any gate would flood, his eyes meeting the other's again with tired determination, holding strong even when his soul felt crushed and serene, both at the same time in an array of emotions that are so hard to comprehend. '' All of these things happened whenever you'd be away, and at the time, all of this was done because someone wrote on your name that it was something I had to do; as far as I remember. And that's why I endured it for as long as I did. '' And were it not because Lucifer's memories threading along his own within dreams sometimes, Sandalphon would've never known Lucifer was never aware what was going on behind the scenes. It's what had, at some point, far back before the other's revival, had realized Lucifer was completely out the blue on Canaan's happenings during his absence.

#cxffexngel #| ☩ I would bend the skies; realign all the stars in space; just to be with you ☩ (cxffexngel: Sandalphon) | #| ☩ And once again the sky rises; sincere and melancholic ☩ (IC) | #| ☩ A faint dusting after sunset ☩ (verse: AU - Post) | #If this is a hot mess just know that is 100% Taco's fault for throwing things on the floor the #entire time I was writing this hfgjdkdgls #I feel as if I have conquered a demon figuring out how to edit this GHKGFDS #Even now he is still knocking things over #please save me GDJKGSD

[aaetherius]

The gentle hum of the Grandcypher plays softly in his ears as he feels the airship sway ever so slightly as it continues its journey through the night sky. Beyond the modest window in their shared room, Lucifer can see an array of stars poking through the darkness, occasionally reflecting off of the bed and sheets as they slowly pass them by. If he were to take the time, he could have easily plucked out the constellations speckled across the walls of their room, and given them a name. But he doesn't. They're neither as precious nor as beautiful to him as Sandalphon. If the stars were petals, Sandalphon was the flower they had fallen from. Even if spent the rest of his life admiring the other, he still wouldn't be able to explain or grasp the depths of Sandalphon's beauty, or the love he harbors for the Archangel. Though he's grown more accustomed to expressing his fathomless feelings for the other, he still, often, wonders if he truly deserves to be here. Tonight, that though crosses his mind again--not for the first time either.

His pearly wings curl against his back, their artificial feathers tickle his skin with every breath he takes. They feel ever so slightly different to his original ones, but the change is so subtle that he only notices it when he feels particularly out of place. The cotton fabric of the sheets is warm and soft against his bare arms where he's laying on the bed, and his body feels dreadfully light without the familiar weight of his armor pressing down upon him. Though he's steadily grown more used to not wearing it, he doesn't believe he'll ever fully grow accustom to its absence. Not when it had felt like an extension of his own body for so many centuries. But, when it's just the two of them--he prefers to be like this. Stripped down to his bodysuit without his armor acting like a makeshift barrier between them.

His brows furrow slightly at the tone with which Sandalphon speaks. It's a bit detached. Distant. It sends a pang of longing and heartache through his core as he sits up on the bed--slowly, as if he fears the slightest creak or rustle might make Sandalphon uncomfortable. Sandalphon's smile is small--it's timid and tired, and he can hear the gravity of it in those words. He returns it with a hesitant, yet gentle and patient smile of his own. Though it falters every so slightly at the next words to leave the Archangel's mouth. But only a moment. It's not as if he's unfamiliar with those scars. He can see them now, in the gap where Sandalphon's wings would be had they been manifested. He's seen those scars countless times before as well--he's touched them, even kissed them. He wants to know, though a part of him already does--a piece that's buried deep within him that recognizes the precise and methodical nature of those scars; that knows how purposeful those lines are. But he's never allowed himself to linger on it because he's convinced that, perhaps, with time he's misremembering--that he's wrong. Because the alternative would mean that tiny, shattered piece of himself is right, and he doesn't want to be right. So, instead, he's pushed it down, and convinced himself he was mistaken. That, perhaps, somewhere along the road to his revival, his memories had become disjointed and muffled so some of them must be distorted.

"No, it is all right," he reassures. "I want to know, Sandalphon." He always says the other's name with tenderness and care. Like it's something scared. Something to be treasured. He'll never grow tired of repeating it--of getting the opportunity to say it when, at one point in his life, he had believed he would never get the chance to utter it again, save for to himself in the lonely halls of an empty Canaan. He knows it'll be difficult for him to hear the origin of those scars, but that doesn't stop him from wanting to know, if only to be there to support Sandalphon. If telling him of the past he's not fully aware of can help ease just a fraction of the burdens Sandalphon carries then he would gladly listen until the sun rose once more, and, if it took even longer than that, he could continue to listen until the end of time itself.

Curling his wings as flat against his back as he can manage, Lucifer shifts towards the edge of the bed in order to position himself closer to the other. Softly he lifts his hand, purposefully fluttering a handful of feathers until they rustle faintly in order to give Sandalphon a warning, and presses the tip of his fingers against the other's back in the gap of the fabric that leaves his skin exposed where his wings would have otherwise sprouted. Splaying his hand open there, he feels the precise dips and bumps of those scars against his palm, deep enough that the tips of his fingers can easily fall within them. He caresses them gingerly for a long moment, his eyes pinned on the ones that peak out from beneath his suit. That nagging feeling of familiarity wells up within him all over again, and he swallows it back down painfully. Something within his whirling, tired core tells him he knows how those scars were made. Yet, no matter how many times that thought crosses his mind, he refuses to acknowledge it. There's only so long he can avoid it, though.

Sighing faintly, he pulls his hand away and kisses the center of Sandalphon's back. "It does not need to wait, if you wish to speak on the matter, I will listen." He lifts his head, and shifts so he can actually see the other's face. His attention falling to where Sandalphon is kneading the fabric of his pants. Warmly, he places his hand over the other's, and rubs his knuckles with the pad of his thumb. "However, if you decide, at any point, you no longer wish to talk about it, then stop. I will wait as long as you need, Sandalphon."

[ @aaetherius ] A small starter just because.

It isn't exactly an easy thing. To re-tell long lost tales and woes of the dephs of his memory that Sandalphon simply cannot rid of even in those days where he tries pushing those memories down with the strongest hand he can. No. It still somehow comes back one way or another.

And yet, even as millennia have passed both so slow and also in the blink of an eye; after going through hell and back, catastrophe after catastrophe and still somehow coming back with his body more battered than the last, he still continues to live. Amidst grief and pain and sadness and much deeper feelings he can now mame but still can feel like deeply sunk thorns that are there to stay forever, he still lives on, and for once in his life he has a way to deal with it. For better or worse. He doesn’t know, but such uncertainty doesn’t scare him anymore as it used to. Not when surrounded by many bonds, some that forced their way through flames and thick ice that covered his withered heart that only now has let itself try and accept this new warmth that the current supreme primarch has been given the chance to taste.

Honestly, he still has days where seeing Lucifer feels like a sick joke from the depths of his mind, a long dream of things he doesn't deserve dangling infront him and believing every single of said miracles while also waiting for the knife to rip him apart from this paradise in the most painful way anytime. Yet it still never happens, and its been years, or more - Sometimes telling time apart even when living within the intricate thing that makes up for the fresh, old wood of the Grancypher’s walls is both easy and also difficult. Easy when needing to tend the cafe or clean and stock supplies, help in some missions Gran asks him for or he is the one to voluntarily step in. Even then, there's still times he loses track of time - holidays pass, enjoying them with Lucifer or the crew before crashing back in his shared room with the other and almost hibernating like those creatures from islands that exist in thick winters and spend many moons in slumber. It’s only because Lucifer and the others that he hasn’t been locked in his room unlike in the past when he had first arrived.

Not that he minds. It’s been a rather hard, but pleasant existence that he is determined to keep. Still too good to be true in his tattered heart but stubborn enough to fight for it, should it come down to even claw his way out the deepest pits of pandemonium once more. ( But at this point this being impossible with it’s existence having been destroyed a while ago. )

“ I…. I think I can tell you. “ His voice is solemn, a bit detatched even. But theres a small, timid and tired smile that Sandalphon still manages to manifest as he sits by the now much more comfortable bed that the angel shares with the other. A much needed upgrade ever since sharing rooms and having to make up for the rather hilarious mess of limbs sometimes it means to have multiple wings fitting and tangling between one another into a mass of feathers. Devoid of his armor and even heels, only comfortable pajama pants with fluffy fabric that the other had got for the other, and his signature skin tight black suit with exposed arms and shoulders. A bit relaxed despise how his voice lets out things he had never spoken nor even let himself try and actually think about for so, so very ling. “ About the scars. The ones on my back specifically. “

A part of him still doesn't want to. Not because he doesn't want lucifer to know. Oh he wants him to know entirely because the other had once, and just once said how he wanted to share the burden, to know and truly see the truth as what it was and have Sandalphon's side of what happened in the past, after many of their meetings slowly becoming strained on Sandalphon’s side along Lucifer’s less frequent visits because it was foolish to pretend that nothing happened. Or that at least the air had shifted in some way - that the light in Sandalphon eyes at some point had faded almost completely if not for the fact Lucifer would grace his existence finally after long, gruesome time he really wishes he could forget how long they took. No - a part of him still hesitates because he can feel the other will hurt. Feel maybe powerless when it’s obvious the former primarch obviously didn’t have any power in what was done in the labs. No one really had but the astrals and researchers themselves honestly. But still. Especially because he knows, those heavy ‘what if I had done this’ are hard to ignore as he’s also weighted by many of those, but at the end, Lucifer deserves to know, however it takes him to unravel this tight knot that firmly presses at his core like a parasite that wont be gone even if miraculously someone finds the cure to millennia long of inhumane experiences that not even primal beasts with the curse and blessing of sentience should have ever been subjected to. “ I hope it’s… Not too sudden, honestly. It can wait. “ It was his way to let Lucifer have a choice as well. His gaze is on his hands that rest on his lap, kneading lightly in the fluffy fabric of the pants he dons while fair, wild locks of brown lick at his temple and nose as Sandalphon doesn’t meet Lucifer’s eyes, his back exposed through the window of his suit where it’d let otherwise twelve brilliant wings sprout any other day, or simply his own two aurburn ones in more casual days.

#| ☩ I would bend the skies; realign all the stars in space; just to be with you ☩ (cxffexngel: Sandalphon) | #| ☩ And once again the sky rises; sincere and melancholic ☩ (IC) | #| ☩ A faint dusting after sunset ☩ (verse: AU - Post) | #I feel like there's something I'm supposed to do to this so you can edit it but I do not remember what so if that bites us in the butt late #I can re-post this and do whatever magical thing I need to do to make the editor work GJKGFDS #I no longer know how to work tungle #But take your time/don't fret! No need to worry if you end up feeling burnt out! #Poor Sandy :c #I 100% feel like I'm not posting this the correct way but I guess we'll find out the hard way won't we jgkdfds

[aaetherius]

cxffexngel​:

         It is not until the taller has caught the now very worried archangel that Sandalphon had noticed what was wrong. If the blush had been any indication before or the headache that’s beginning to push at his temples, the alcohol already in Lucifer’s bloodstream quicker than he’d have really anticipated and the urgency to get him water or something to help push through it deepens - if not because now the obstacle was the archangel himself, as he outrightly melts on Sandalphon’s frame the more he allows the other simply embrace him; something even now he’d be utterly unable to push away the other for despise the way his brows furrow a bit in concern. ‘’ Lucifer… ‘’ Ah, but even with the sluggishness that follows him, too, with that single sip of the drink that was enough to render Sandalphon miserable, it truly was impossible to deny Lucifer this, less when he asks with such honeyed words that easily could mistake anyone with the other not being tipsy at all.

          So, with the rest of the composure Sandalphon could muster while also leveraging the other without losing footing himself, he tries concentrating, even if it sparked a tinge of pain in his head - all to summon with his magic a jar of water along extra clean cups, which in a small faint light appear by the table they have been basically sharing their time. ‘‘ I’m right here, Lucifer. ‘‘ ‘I’d never go away like that’ he doesn’t say, lowly and in the least handsome voice even he recoils a bit from it and the crack it has - forces a cough he shields with a closed fist and tries again. ‘‘ Like I said, I-I wanted some water, it can help with the…. unfortunate aftereffects of the drink. ‘‘ He says, now with a slightly better judgement and careful, low voice - knowing it could ring within their ears should they speak too loud and spark a deeper migraine he’d not wish for the other. 

        It does, however not help with the deep arrow that strikes at Lucifer’s words that come last, that I love you spoken as if begging him as if death itself had been at their door, and oh - Sandalphon has to pick himself for a moment, allow himself to suck a breath in and pray his core wouldn’t launch itself out his ribcage from the sincerity alone of those words, even if fueled by the alcohol Lucifer had foolishly taken himself instead the most logical ways he could’ve disposed of the drink itself. Selflessness as ever, and now rendered nothing more but a much more comfortable and free version of himself, it’s easy to forget what he was doing both by Lucifer’s warmth that almost radiated just as his light once had been when his wings had been those that now he shoulders – those that Sandalphon believes, sometimes, still are on Lucifer’s own back when he smiles carefree; such moments, he still can see that beautiful and almost unobtainable light no one else sees. ‘‘ I… I love you too, but Lucifer… first drink a bit of water. ‘‘ He tries, soft and with a hand carefully reaching for the other’s hair to softly pull a few bangs out his eyes in an affectionate way, knowing the other at this point might be far too gone to process his words much like he’s beginning to a bit belatedly; albeit, he had half a glass compared to Lucifer’s horrifying display of endurance and chugging the entire thing without much of a flinch. He truly owes the other maybe a whole course of sweets should that awful taste remain and find it unpleasant.

  "Sandalphon," Lucifer hums carelessly in response to the other saying his name, all while rubbing his rosy cheek against the archangel's. His skin is flushed a dusty pink, and warm to the touch, though Sandalphon's isn't terribly different. In his current state, he can't actually tell where he ends, and Sandalphon begins--only that the current Supreme Primarch is warm and welcoming, and sets every fiber of his core ablaze by simply existing. So, being close to him--touching him, is enough to make Lucifer's throbbing heart burn into ash, and it makes him feel alive. But, ah, Sandalphon has always given him purpose beyond his former duties, even before he had realized the depth of his feelings for the archangel. But, in his drunken stupor, all he can actually comprehend is that he loves Sandalphon deeply. More than words could describe, more than there are stars in the skies, and humans in the universe. And the thought of not holding him, of not pouring every drop of that love onto the other, is utterly and completely unbearable. And also, that his body feels heavier and more sluggish than usual, and he's tired. Not the usual kind of tired that often plagues, but the sleepy kind of tired--the kind where one is content and happy and full of warmth, and ready to doze off for the night. But he refuses to do so without Sandalphon. His ability to convey that; however, is rather limited at the moment.

   Still clutching Sandalphon for dear life, when he sees the faint light appear at their table his attention very briefly shifts from the archangel to the jug of water that's been summoned before them. As if he has somehow managed to forgot he had once harbored that same ability, his mouth slips open slightly in wonder and he hugs Sandalphon tighter, nuzzling into his hair until the naturally messy style Sandalphon wears it in has become unrecognizable. "Wow, you are amazing, my dearest Sandalphon!" There's not an ounce of sarcasm or teasing in his tone--he sounds sincerely awed, and can't seem to wrap his head around how the archangel had managed to make the water appear. Apparently, right now, all Lucifer can actually think about is Sandalphon. But Sandalphon's answer to his pleas allows him to relax--for better or for worse--and all but collapses onto the archangel as his shoulders roll back, and he lets out a sigh of relief, and then smiles when Sandalphon coughs. Not the warm and gentle or distant and lonely smiles that usually grace his features, but rather a tired, almost sloppy one. "Ah, you are adorable."

   He leans into Sandalphon's touch, humming softly at the sensation of the other's fingers against his skin, and yearning for it every more when they retreat. A frown graces his pretty features, and sighs loudly, making his displeasure known. Sandalphon's 'I love you' brings joy to his heart once more, and his eyes light up, though his expression swiftly drops when the attention is turned back to the glass of water the other has been trying to offer him. That frown returns, and Lucifer crinkles his brows as he glares at the sparkling glass of water. "No, Sandalphon, I love you," he repeats, his voice lowering to a sorrowful whisper as he nuzzles against the other's cheek once more--almost as if he's jealous. He gingerly reaches his hand around the archangel to push the glass of water back down onto the table. He then whines quietly as he retracts his hand to place his palm upon Sandalphon's jaw, softly urging the other to look him in the eyes as best he can given how much Lucifer has draped himself over the archangel's shoulders and side and back and well, all of him.

   His eyes glimmer slightly, as if he might be about to cry. "Ah, forgive me, Sandalphon, I have failed you to satisfy you, and now you're seeking out this glass of water instead. I see...I cannot atone for my sins, but my love for you is greater than these skies, and my heart will always yearn for you, my love. Please, I beg of you, my solace, give me another chance." He lowers his head, settling his forehead against Sandalphon's shoulder as tepid tears begin to stain the other's clothes.  

#cxffexngel #| ☩ I would bend the skies; realign all the stars in space; just to be with you ☩ (cxffexngel: Sandalphon) | #| ☩ And once again the sky rises; sincere and melancholic ☩ (IC) | #| ☩ A faint dusting after sunset ☩ (verse: AU - Post) | #{ hgdjfshgjkds don't slip Sandy } #{ Sandy is absolutely more aware than Lucifer Lucifer is gone gfdhjsfgds } #{ He thinks Sandy left him for a glass of water GDSFHJKGFDS } #{ Gran would lose his mind at them right now hfjdhjgksd } #{ This is the silliest thing I've ever written dgfgdfs { #{ Lucifer has gone through so many emotions in this reply hfjsdghfkds } #{ Please don't drop your phone between the bed and the wall again I am innocent GDJSKGFHDS }

[aaetherius]

cxffexngel​:

         It goes without saying that Sandalphon’s drowsiness dispels the moment he feels that hand uselessly, but ever so softly tuck bangs of aurburn bangs away, and it makes his eyes soften a bit and chest that ached relax despise the headache starting to build in. He wasn’t even registering Lucifer’s words beyond finding comfort in them, despise he had asked something and wanted to hear the other - there’s also a pitiful whine at the tip of his tongue that he had enough willpower to drown out before making a fool of himself given even that small attempt at drinking somehow already had gotten to his bloodstream.

        But just as quickly he’s able to still save some of his dignity and the more he finally focuses on Lucifer’s words, the more he wonders what he means about ‘taking care of it’ entails - and he wants to ask, but oh how late he was to even act when the other lifts that glass and drinks the rest, horror easily painting Sandalphon’s features, finally rising just a bit from where he had sunk on the table as a hand twitches and tries to stop him much too late - hand in the air as it slowly lowers, and mouth slightly agape while the horror settles and just a single thing swims in muddled thoughts. ‘‘ L-Lucifer..!? ‘‘ he tries calling him out but recoils at the crack in his voice born from the headache and worry that laces his tongue now, side-eyeing the glass a few moments to check that this was something that truly happened and not another of those daydreams he’d have even when lucid. ‘‘ You didn’t have to do that– ah– Are you ok? ‘‘ because if he disliked the drink and Lucifer had admitted much the same, then…

         Gabriel is going to love this story if he ever tells her or finds the two of them here and oh Sandalphon really wishes he didn’t open that bottle right now, but the consequences of his choices always somehow tend to lean on what mortal children would love to hear and learn from. ‘’ L-Let me get you some water, Eugen did say it was a strong drink–! ‘‘ The hurry in his voice doesn’t match how unusually slow and clumsy he is to try and stand, but also little sandalphon wanted to leave the former supreme primarch alone now that he’s done it and probably given himself the worst burn ever from all that alcohol. Hell, how will he even react to it is a mystery to Sandalphon and he both feels curious as he feels terribly worried and prefers he’d never find out. But he knows that hardly is a choice now. So he takes the empty glass from the table an unceremoniously looks around the cabinet for a bottle of clean spring water. ‘‘ It should be around here… Damn it! ‘‘

   After the fire in his throat dies down, and his tongue ceases to buzz, Lucifer can scarcely even recall how he had gotten into this situation in the first place. His head feels a tad bit heavier, and certainly foggier as well. Even just trying to focus for more than a few seconds at time results in a sharp pain shooting through his temples despite the fact that he hasn't move an inch from where he's sitting. Yet, somehow, the empty glass looks like it's a mile away from him, and also appears to be moving ever so slightly. And the bright, colorful lights reflecting off of it from the ceiling above aren't making things any easier for his tired eyes to make out. No, instead, he allows his heavy eyelids to squeeze shut for a moment, as if that would somehow make the world stop spinning, but, when he slowly opens them once more, everything is trembling, and Sandalphon's voice sounds muddied.

   "Sandalphon?" He asks after a moment, despite the fact that he feels as if there's an earthquake taking place within his own mind, his words slip smoothly from his lips, and his voice is still even and pleasant to the ear. But he blinks a few times, allowing his eyes to adjust to the archangel's figure--his gaze fixed on the other's lips as he tries to understand what Sandalphon is saying to him, but it takes him a painfully long time to actually process the words, and then to make sense of them. "Ah, yes, I am fine. Truly, Sandalphon, there is no need for you to worry about me," he reassures, though the long delay is proof he isn't. He's never had much to drink given that he dislikes the flavor, and finishing off that bottle had easily been the most he's ever had in his long lifetime. Ah, for some reason he feels tired, and Sandalphon seems even more enchanting than usual.

   But the moment the other stands up, he feels his core shatter within his chest--he can't bear the thought of Sandalphon leaving him, even only for a moment. Clumsily, he reaches out to gently hold the other's hands, and tug him closer. "Sandalphon," he whines, and while his voice might remain steady, he certainly doesn't sound quite like himself anymore. It seems it only took a moment for the alcohol to get into his system. Maybe they were right, maybe archangels really didn't have the same tolerance level as humans--minus Gabriel, but she was the last thing on his mind right now. "Stay with me," he pleads, tears beginning to well up within the corners of his eyes as he clutches Sandalphon's hands tighter while leaning off of his chair to get closer to him.

   Sandalphon is warm. His hands feel nice within his own, and Lucifer cherishes the closeness, though it's still not close enough for his tastes, and he leans closer and closer to the other, though he can barely keep himself up as he nuzzles against the archangel's cheek. "Sandalphon you are very beautiful and warm. I love you, please don't go,” he mumbles while continuing to nuzzle against Sandalphon’s, falling more and more onto the other.    

#cxffexngel #| ☩ I would bend the skies; realign all the stars in space; just to be with you ☩ (cxffexngel: Sandalphon) | #| ☩ And once again the sky rises; sincere and melancholic ☩ (IC) | #| ☩ A faint dusting after sunset ☩ (verse: AU - Post) | #{ GDFHSKGHJD I'm glad Lucifer's very noble and 100% totally necessary sacrifice could make you laugh hard enough to drop your phone } #{ DGHKJGFD now they can be miserable together though Sandy is def more miserable hdgfjkghkls } #{ Lucifer is gone that's all it took FGDJKGFHD }

[aaetherius]

[ @cxffexngel || Sandy tries less than a glass and wishes to never do that ever again dsFÑKDSFDF ]

‘’ I don’t get it… ‘’ it was the woes of the current supreme primarch as he could barely feel his throat. The burn of alcohol much too great and uncomfortable compared to the pleasant one of freshly brewed coffee. Sandalphon was unsure how he got roped this time to try the alcoholic drink after many times refusing - even after that time that one draph woman had the audacity to pour a whole bottle of that into his coffee back at the stall he once set at that one campsite some months ago. It was disgusting, too strong, sour and simply not even something he finds the so mentioned ‘joy’ of drinking at it. It made him feel heavy, dizzy and simply miserable - which he accentuates with a drawn out groan exhaled as he slumps into the table in front him, cheek flushed into the welcome of cold wood and hands at each side of his form. ‘’ What’s even the point of this drink, the culture around it if there’s not even an ounce of ‘happiness’ this even brings? Truly, I don’t get mortals sometimes. ‘’ yet what he fails to admit the entire time is about how all he’s done is drink not even half the glass he had been offered by none more than Eugen himself, the old skyfarer plenty of times having tried to offer the archangel drinks, to party and drag him as if Sandalphon was a junior under his wing rather the multimilenia primal beast, that will even outlive the old man at any point given - but he couldn’t complain, no. Not even when the four primarch themselves also, while now respecting him given his role he didn’t ask for but has worn with pride , there’s still that familiarity and almost friendliness they thread around him. Uriel almost like an older brother when they cross paths, to Michael’s understanding and lending each other an ear over regrets and guilts that hang over the two, to Gabriel almost terribly dotting nature and sometimes scary way  that she’s, out all the four, the most blended with skydweller culture than he’d be able to. And Raphael that stands by, but always offer the best advice when the winds blow in his direction. And oh how much of a fool he was, as he had singlehandedly seen Gabriel and Europa that time also delight themselves with drinks too while he was just perplexed at the crime happening before his eyes without a power to stop it. ‘’ Maybe I just wasn’t cut for this… Lucifer, what do I do with the glass? I could sneak and throw the rest into the sink but that’d defeat the purpose of a gift despise how… unfitting it is to my tastes. And the pile that the mortal has been piling for me and this ‘enlightenment’ I see nowhere despise my attempts. ‘’ And if he was going to be utterly honest, Sandalphon definitely wanted to just burn them all and just lie that he had drink them without trouble - but knew that he was much of a bad liar and it’d be found out easily even if he left no evidence of the matter due to how easy it’d be to spot the fallacies of his claims. Maybe, just maybe Lucifer would have an answer to his pleas; so a tired sharp, crimson eye perks a bit from the collapsed from of the archangel and oh; was that a frown on Lucifer there? ‘’ … Lucifer? ‘’

A sympathetic frown creases Lucifer's delicate lips as he listens to Sandalphon lament, and then watches the other melt against the table. The archangel has barely made a dent in the drink Eugen had given him, but Lucifer, though not quite as vocal about it as Sandalphon, can understand the other's woes. He finds the taste of alcohol rather detestable, and tends to turn it down or avoid it whenever it's offered to him. Though, unlike poor Sandalphon who got roped into trying it in the middle of a party, the first time he had tried was with Gabriel on an outing some time ago--she had claimed the drinks were delicious, and the flavor might even inspire him to conjure up a new type of coffee. Needless to say, he eagerly agreed to join her, and was sorely disappointed with the results. At first he had simply believed that his tastebuds weren't made to stomach such a thing--after all, the genetic make-up of primals and humans differed, but, ah, well, he had watched Gabriel easily chug down several glasses without batting an eye so that theory had been thoroughly debunked. Perhaps this aversion to alcohol was limited to just himself and Sandalphon for some reason, but he shakes his head. He would need more evidence to back up that claim, so he turns his attention back to the ailing archangel. "Perhaps some mortal customs are simply beyond our comprehension," he adds softly, not wishing to speak too loudly when he knows the effects that drink can have one. "There is no need to push yourself to take part in all of them." Usually Lucifer is eager to try new things, and learn more about humans and their lives--his response to the whole ordeal makes it abundantly clear he enjoys alcohol about as much as Sandalphon does--which is, not at all.

His frown deepens just a tad at the question. Ah, it would be a bit rude to throw the glass away as it was a gift. But he doesn't wish for Sandalphon to torture himself further by forcing himself to drink more of it. His eyes drift over to the glass--watching as the liquid inside sways back and forth, almost like a monster circling its prey. It's only when Sandalphon calls his name that he realizes just how long he had been staring at it. With a soft sigh, he reaches out to gingerly push the other's messy bangs away from his eyes--his skin is warm to the touch, and there's a slight flush painting his features. And it makes his heart ache for the other. Slowly, he runs his hand through the Supreme Primarch's messy hair, and leans down to place a soft kiss upon the freshly exposed skin. "It will be all right, Sandalphon, I will take care of it. Just take it easy," he reassures despite how his nose twitches ever so slightly at the pungent aroma wafting up from the glass. Truly, he's impressed Gabriel can tolerate the taste so well, perhaps there's some sort of trick to it he's yet to learn or master. But, ah, for now, he simply has no choice but to fall on the sword for Sandalphon.  

Pulling away, he now comes face to face with the daunting task ahead. Inhaling deeply through his nose, he prepares himself before picking up the glass, and painstakingly drinking what remains. Though his expression remains stalwart, he can feel his throat burning, and the corner of his eyes threaten to water, but he somehow manages to get it down without coughing on it. And he quietly places the empty cup back onto the table--without saying a word. He seems unnaturally quiet and stiff.

#cxffexngel #| ☩ I would bend the skies; realign all the stars in space; just to be with you ☩ (cxffexngel: Sandalphon) | #| ☩ A faint dusting after sunset ☩ (verse: AU - Post) | #| ☩ And once again the sky rises; sincere and melancholic ☩ (IC) | #{ DHKGJDS poor Sandy he's suffering but now at least Lucifer is suffering with him! }

[aaetherius]

if you receive this, you make somebody happy! go on and send this to ten of your followers who makes you happy or somebody you think needs cheering up. if you get one back, even better! ♡♥

This is so very sweet and you deserve to get all of these back!

#| ☩ out of time (ooc) ☩ | #{ You're so very kind and sweet and I've loved every thread we've done! }

[aaetherius]

cxffexngel​:

         He doesn’t know for how long he’s been counting specs of dust, letting the rich smell of worn stone and wood fill his lungs nor he knows for how long limbs would not respond to him - or rather, simply didn’t felt the urgency to. Even before the Ceberus he so dreaded yet seemed to also not know his visage despise the archangel having many, many not so fond memories of her had caught wind of his state of consciousness plagued with a migraine that hangs over him like an impossible weight. All he remembers was that darkness filled Lucifer, the horns of the man that even then, even despise that malice the other held and how it seemed that maybe, in this alternate world another Sandalphon didn’t quite exist or at least, wasn’t made by this Lucifer, still somehow was filled with some twisted sense of kindness. He knew better than to rush and attack, he’s been thinking about it for some time ago until the hound woman finally realized the archangel laid awake over the plush soft velvet blankets of pure, deep red like the heavy scarlet eyes tiredly looked at the warden.

        Knowing his time was limited, or at least he believed so before somehow these people that wore the very same familiar faces he’s seen, those of fallen angels that the crew back in the skies he belongs ( Yet saying it like that still bears a sting upon his core. ) feel both familiar yet also so strange and far away. They didn’t know him, not even recognized him like a familiar face. and that further pins down that maybe, in these skies or earth or whatever it is this realm, Sandalphon didn’t exist in any way. And he doesn’t know if that stung like a stubborn needle against his core, or relieved him in some way.

         At least, it made the Lucifer, not so Lucifer somehow spare his life - Even when he could feel the immense power from the distance the man held within these walls, and how even his words had much more power than the constant protests muffled by layers of wood and neatly dusted curtains. It was… something. And Sandalphon truly didn’t know how to feel, when the irrational survival instinct side of his mind wanted badly to get out as fast as possible and just deal with it on his own, while the most logical part urged him to stay and maybe somehow he can gather enough info considering his circumstances weren’t favorable outside this place - Just like he remembers the other mentioning. It really didn’t even need this Lucifer’s sugar coated warning to know the gravity of his situation, truly. He knew the very moment he had fallen into that darkness filled void that whatever he was getting into, it was terribly dangerous even with all the power at his fingertips the archangel wields. 

        The soft ring of the man’s voice both make his core flutter awkwardly as it also makes it sink all at the same time. It sounds so wrong, just like when that one time back in the grandcypher he swore to feel and see Lucifer, chased for him without a breath yet what he met was none more than the doppelganger wearing his very same armor, the same face, yet everything else was far from the truth. It lights a fire of his anger which shows with the wrinkles that form between fair dark brows, and the way Sandalphon’s nose wrinkles in distaste a bit - but challenges the need to look away by holding his tired gaze over the other. ‘‘ It’s… better than laying on a crater of my own making, at least. ‘‘ But just like Lucifer says, he’s awake - Clearer of mind, even when the anxiety of his situation hangs over like a pendulum, looming with the gravity of it all and the deep worry in his core about the fate of the grancypher, the world he’s been tossed from and if they are doing ok. It’s enough to make his fists curl until nails dig into his pals only now the Supreme primarch notices are devoid of the layer of torn gloves. At some point, he had been stripped of his armor ( And it makes sense, he knows best than anyone that sleeping on bulky armor wasn’t the smartest idea if he wanted to later be haunted by a very, very sore back and stiff limbs. ) yet there’s apprehension too. And a hand flies to check on his back, yet there are no wounds he could feel from adobe nor numbness he’s fairly familiar with. Just the bumps of old scars he knows too well.

        ‘‘ I need to go back. I think you already noticed I’m not from here, not even this reality - But I have no idea how I ended here beyond that I overdone it with… my power. ‘‘ He lets his arms cross mostly to keep some level of authority to hide the worry that he knows it’s not the best thing the angel is known to be able and feign, but the attempt is done. And his tongue clicks, even with the million questions at the edge of his lips, there’s restrain there - If not only because he saw those dark wings, the black of them reminding him of that one battle with Lucilius in what he feels was forever ago by now, yet the scars of that linger - And even if this is a Lucifer of another reality, it doesn’t mean he’s being keep here for a good reason, it truly feels like some kind of combination of them both, and Sandalphon doesn’t know how to feel about it despise the natural way his core aches when looking at those eyes and sensing the immense aura the taller beholds - hos similar it is to the Lucifer he knows, so one part of him wants to believe nothing will happen. ‘‘ … Why didn’t you dispose of me? Considering I remember you saying this being your ‘territory’. I’m a trespasser. There must be something you seek, Speak. ‘‘ Oh yet he isn’t one to obey that easily and the rebellion in his eyes is stronger than logic sometimes, so he knows he’s playing with fire when the question hangs there, but he isn’t defenseless - thanks to that long slumber, most of his power finally regenerating if not only the lack of sun making it still a bit of an effort to gather natural ether. And the air in this palace like fortress made it even heavier somehow to his core. But if his wings couldn’t hold him, it’d not be the first time he’d use his nails and teeth, even when Sandalphon knows that’d not be pretty.

   It appears some rest has helped to mellow the stranger's temperament, if only a bit. At the very least, he's certainly thinking with a clearer head than he had been when Lucifer had first encountered him. He supposes any progress is still just that--progress. So, he hums nonchalantly in return while stepping into the well-furnished, though rather dimly lit, room. The scarlet colored velvet carpet gives a bit against the sharp heels of his boots with every step he takes, and he subconsciously extends one of his hands to brush his fingers along the smooth, wooden table in the very center of the room. When he lifts them, a small collection of dust has gathered upon their tips. It stands out against the deep black of his armored gloves, and he rubs his fingers together to disperse it. It's been some time since this room has been used for anything, and it seems Cerberus hadn't bothered to clean it before their 'guest' had been moved inside. He'll have to send someone to clean it properly when the chance arises--it would be unbecoming to leave it in such a sorry state when he knows there's so much wonder hidden beneath that layer of dust. And he knows such to be the case for this angel as well--that beneath all of the grime and filth he had been covered with--there's something enthralling.

   "Indeed, I would imagine so," he responds, disinterest lingering in his voice as his gaze dances about the room, as if this is the most mundane of conversations. Though his attention eventually drifts over to the stranger, eyes lingering upon his form as if examining him. But the other, though perhaps a bit more level-headed, remains quick to voice demands. Not that Lucifer minds--he's far more entertaining when he's giving voice to the desires swirling around in his mind than he is when he's resting peacefully. So Lucifer approaches the bed, smoothing out the crumbled up sheets haphazardly tossed over the other's form (likely from Cerberus; while she might have played babysitter like he had ordered that hardly meant she had done so with great care) as he ponders the stranger's words. Though he had already harbored his own suspicions on the angel. After all, he was vastly unlike the so-called holy beings that resided within this realm, and he was nothing like the demons that followed him either. Not to mention the fact that he had felt the disturbance in the air when the rift that had spat the other out had torn through the skies he knew like the back of his hand.

   "Hmm, you might need to be a bit more specific than that." He retracts his hand from the bed. "You see, opening a rift isn't the most difficult task; however, where that rift will take you is a mystery. You're more likely to end up in another reality than to return the one from which you hail." He speaks in an even tone with little emotion--as if he doesn't harbor much interest in the topic and is only humoring the other. But a smile still creeps onto his lips in amusement--this one is rather stubborn, even given his circumstance, he still feels the need to cling to some sense of security or authority despite having, truly, neither one within these walls. "The task of opening a rift that leads to a specific reality is far more difficult and rather tedious, and I'm afraid you might run into a bit of trouble attempting to do so, though you're welcome to go through my library in search of information on what you seek." That trouble being that the three realms of this world--the angel, human, and demon--have been at odds with one another for some time. So gaining access to the knowledge one would need to do so would be rather difficult. "However; why not consider remaining here? It could easily guarantee you an easy life."  

   His brow lifts slightly at the other's demand. A faint glint in his steely blue eyes cuts through the darkness of the room with ease, but his amused expression hardly betrays his innermost thoughts. Instead that smile cracks slightly, if only so a chuckle can escape his pale lips instead. "Did I have a reason to dispose of you? This is my territory. I am the master of this realm. I do not need a reason to do anything at all. Within my domain, I can do as I please, and that includes sparing your life for any reason, or even no reason, at all." There's a not a demon alive that would seriously challenge any decision he made. While Azazel might complain and voice his disdain for any given idea, even he wasn't foolish enough to actually raise a fist against the ruler of the underworld--few were. While the choice to bring the other back might have displeased more demons than it had sparked any interest in, not a single one would openly question his actions. In other words, he truly was free to do whatever he liked on little more than a whim, regardless of the consequences that may or may not unfold as a result.

   "Ah, but if you must know, I simply find you fascinating. That is the only reason I chose to save your life." He shrugs, dusting off the cabinet beside the bed with his hand as he speaks. "I am curious to see what results your venture will yield, and you're free to use whatever resources you desire within these walls to accomplish your goal, should you still desire to return. But I think, in due time, you'll discover you're in dire need of my assistance if you wish to return home." He suspects the other won't take him up on his offer to remain here--a pity, truly, he's ever curious to discover what these strange feelings that bubble up within him whenever he sees the other are, but, perhaps, he'll still be able to spend enough time with him to uncover the truth. For now, he tilts his head back to look at the other, smile falling back onto his frigid lips. "And you never did give me your name, my little dove."

#cxffexngel #| ☩ I would bend the skies; realign all the stars in space; just to be with you ☩ (cxffexngel: Sandalphon) | #| ☩ And when night falls ; the stars will guide you ☩ (verse: AU - Fallen) | #| ☩ And once again the sky rises; sincere and melancholic ☩ (IC) | #{ In Sandy's defense he deserves to be pecked GDSJKGHFDS } #{ So he's valid for being mildly feral and maybe wishing to fight just a biiiiit { #{ Lucifer isn't making it easier by antagonizing him either hjfsdghjkfa }

[aaetherius]

Hello, may I interest you in some trash in these trying times? This is an independent, private, selective, 21+, and extremely headcanon heavy Volo from Pokemon Legends: Arceus (written by Noise). If you would be interested in interacting with a pretty man who has almost no other redeeming qualities give this post a like or a reblog so I can check you out!

#| ☩ Out of Time (OOC) ☩ | #| ☩ A thousand glittering stars in twilight ☩ (promo) | #{ there is an attempt being made to be vaguely active on Volo's blog gdjfkjhgfjks }

[aaetherius]

cxffexngel​:

        The easy way Lucifer carries himself bleeds a bit into Sandalphon’s own desolate nature, easing a bit despise his initial distrust on the very man that should have taking his life that one fateful night upon a hunt that somehow had convinced the other to be innocent of crimes he commits - even if they aren’t made to humans, and his kills are always taken with respect and apologies for each animal that he culls for feeding. Only a few stores seemed ready to go, mostly those run by the Elderly or the rare case of people that worked just fine during mornings and were fast to get ready; an unknown time ago, that’d not be Sandalphon’s case - maybe. He remembers disliking it, and also remembers certain brunette’s presence anyways splaying all over his bed demanding silently between shaking a very sleepy, still human Sandalphon’s shoulders and bed sheets to get out there and help him with his travels, which only won the lowest growls known to man, and still somehow have the strength to bundle himself a bit more into bed despise the pest adobe him making it impossible to drift back into the sweet embrace of darkness. Such a memory he holds dear as it also makes a non beating heart ache a bit, to a stolen past by an unknown vampire to this lone present where he finds purpose in being a rogue like hero, even if it came with the drawbacks of his very nature eating at his heels and losing so much in the way; but what drives the Vampire away from giving up and letting go his humanity was many things.

And right now, one of them, his Humanity - a very slight light of hope that had been there as no more than a tiny spark is being feed by a Hunter whose eyes he can feel on him despise the comically large coat that hangs over his very form. ” It will be on you, my cash was back at the shed we left during the night and since we went leaving that trap, I didn’t bring it with me. “ He half-lies. There’s a bit pf spare between his pockets but it’d not be enough for that amount of beans - but still he wants to poke a bit, see if it bothers the other in any way, see if there’s a crack under that very sincere smile that digs deep into his dull soul and reveal a true nature. But he hopes, also, that not be the case, and if Lucifer agrees to split… maybe feel a bit guilty for that too, but as the rather prideful being he is, too, it goes unmentioned. Lest let it be seen in the way he carries himself to exchange words with the elderly woman upon approaching her stall and carrying a normal conversation, asking about her wares without ever raising suspicions about his nature.

         It’s over within minutes, having found in one of the pockets of the lent coat a bag of coins which absolutely belonged to the hunter - and just the slightest hesitance, used anyways - the bags of coffee cradled under a free gloved hand and later tucked inside the coat for safety. With a pleasant good bye and a feigned smile, the vampire is back at the other’s side, head tilting enough that the bridge of the hood of the coat reveals eyes of scarlet, nonchalance within them and a frown on his lips that was the usual normal expression worn by the vampire when no duties held him down. ” If my memory doesn’t fail me, that abandoned shed has some worn but usable equipment for this, like a grinder and the filter. But… again, I can’t promise the cups will be good. “ A last warning before probably, and by absolute no malice poisoning the hunter who brimmed with so much curiosity, a glow that seemed rival the sun if Sandalphon gave it a comparison - so he adverts his gaze, and starts his way back to that one shed inside the woods, in a pace the other, of course could catch up with.

                                                 ༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

        Even with the many holes that stain the abandoned cabin within the overgrown field, the air now fills with a familiar scent, one Sandalphon hasn’t even revisited since what he feels like forever, and maybe a month after a sundown - He’s lost count of the time since having last prepared a round of cups, but still perfectly knows how to grind the beans into even grounds, for them to keep that rich essence he knows he cannot taste, yet at least basks in the way the smell reminds him of a long lost drink he can’t enjoy without it meeting his palate tasting like ash and murky water, no matter how rich his attempts were until, at some point, Sandalphon simply stopped preparing the drink. It was all muscle memory, from preparing a fair fire to put a still functional kettle atop it and let the water boil, to finding and cleaning a perfect piece of fabric that serves as the filter tied to makeshift iron that holds it into a cone shape for when he’s ready to pour the boiling water into it, and filter with the grounds.

         Pale hands work as if it were a graceful ritual, crimson eyes focused in the talks more than the way too eager man that sits upon the shade cast by the feeble wooden ceiling and torn curtains that only blurred the outside greenery, steam of the boiling water kicking the strong scent of the prepared drink like a small eruption blossoming to existence. The frown on Sandalphon’s lips relaxing when it tickles his nose and dampens some strands of aurburn, the keetle now empty and the pot filled with a freshly made round of coffee - on he is sure it’s made properly even when unable to test it himself. ‘’ I hope it doesn’t kill you, though. That’d be a tragedy. ‘’ The vampire jests, but truly, under it there’s lament. Some concern and even a slight tint of bashfulness. Lucifer still had time to simply deny him, to go away. Regardless that, he sets down two cups, one for himself which might largely be left untouched and the one for the Hunter, pouring with grace the drink for him.

   The familiar, and welcomed scent of coffee wafts into the air as Sandalphon sets about the task of creating it. Effectively masking the lingering order of damp wood and must that clings to the small, abandoned (though can one really call it that when it's one of the handful of hideouts the vampire seems to have amassed) cabin. Though, truthfully, Lucifer has become so accustomed to sleeping outdoors and in other questionable locations over the years that he scarcely even notices the distinctive smell that clings to the dilapidated building. That is, when he does sleep, which is rare to begin with. Even the brief nap he had taken with Sandalphon in the woods was an oddity for him, and, perhaps, that's why it still lingers in his mind as his gentle gazes watches the rise and fall of the vampire's shoulder blades as he works--how the muscles in his back contract with each movement, and how silent his steps are when he moves upon the aged floor. He knows, in the depths of his heart, he'll never forget the feeling of leaning his head against Sandalphon, and of the other's frigid touch. A part of him knows he should have found it unpleasant, if only because the vampire's skin was ice cold against his own, but, for Lucifer, it had been the first time in more years than he could count that he had been that close to someone--that he had physically touched someone. Even if that someone happened to be a vampire. Even reflecting on it now is enough to make his chest tighten, and he instinctively lifts a hand to clutch at the taut fabric hugging his defined muscles as if doing so would somehow make the lingering ache dissipate. Yet, if he were being honest, he would actually prefer it to remain. there's something utterly breathtaking about that warmth--that dull throbbing in his chest. It makes him feel alive.

   He pulls his hand away from his chest, watching steam as it begins to roll past Sandalphon's shoulders, and up towards the creaky roof of the cabin. He'd rather be helping the other than simply waiting on him, but this was something the other had been determined to do for him, so, as much he wants to assist, he knows, right now, it's best for him to stay out of Sandalphon's way. Though, he would argue he's not actually bad at making coffee. He used to brew it often many years ago--back when he still had someone to live for. But, ah, it wouldn't really be the same. Not when Sandalphon can't actually taste it. The thought is enough to bring a frown to his soft features. He wonders if the other misses the taste of coffee--or if he longs to sample its bitterness once again. But it's insensitive to ask, so he chooses not to dwell on it for long. Ah, but wouldn't it be wonderful if there existed a coffee, or anything, strong enough that a vampire could enjoy it as well? What if he added a drop of his own blood to the mix, would Sandalphon be able to enjoy its flavor then? He shakes his head quietly, willing a smile back onto his features--he suspects this particular vampire would scoff at the very idea, and reject it, perhaps, before Lucifer could even offer.

   Lucifer perks up slightly when Sandalphon empties the kettle, and takes a moment to inhale the rich aroma of the coffee bubbling up from the pot. And, ah, he's eager to taste it. Coffee is something he drinks frequently, given the nature of his job. Some would argue too frequently. So, he's been exposed to more than his fair share of blends over the years--sweet, bitter, nutty--everything and then some. And yet, for whatever, this was, perhaps, the most excited he's been for a cup of coffee in well over a decade. Most humans, let alone vampire hunters, wouldn't accept anything crafted by the hands of a vampire, but Lucifer had always stuck out like a sore thumb. Even as a child he had been curious by nature, and a bit eccentric despite his intellect. So, he can only meet Sandalphon's words with a fond smile. One that oozes delight, affection, and curiosity. And one that looks rather strange upon his normally distant features.

   "Even if it were to kill me I would not mind," he admits easily, smile widening a tad when he noticed the subtle concern and bashfulness that's crept into the other. "I am simply grateful I have the chance to taste your coffee at all, Sandalphon, the honor is mine, and I am grateful for it." He could easily turn tail and simply decline the cup, but Lucifer reaches out to accept the one poured for him without a moment's hesitation, as if to prove his resolve, and appease any of those festering concerns Sandalphon might still harbor. Poisoned or not--good or bad, he's nothing but thrilled to try the fruit of Sandalphon's labor. How can he not be when the other had gone through the trouble of making it just for him. Ah, truth be told, he almost feels guilty drinking it given that it's a gift from Sandalphon, so he cradles it in his hands for a moment to allow the warmth from the drink to seep into his palms as he treasures the moment before inhaling the rich scent, and taking a long, careful sip.

    He allows the taste to linger on his tongue, the heat almost enough to burn his throat on the way down, and it's quite strong--with a rich, yet bitter flavor, but Lucifer would argue it was the best coffee he's ever had. So, he takes another long sip, cherishing every second of that cup before it's gone almost as quickly as Sandalphon had poured it. "It tastes wonderful, Sandalphon. This is the best cup of coffee I have ever had, truly. It is incredible." He tilts the now empty cup in his hand, staring into the empty depths of the old mug as a sigh flutters from his lips. "But it appears it was so good I drank all of it already. Truly a shame, I would have liked to taste even more of it." He sounds so despondent one would have believed he might be talking about losing something precious than finishing a cup of coffee. But to Lucifer, this was something precious. "Thank you, Sandalphon, sincerely, for making coffee for me. I'll cherish it always."

#cxffexngel #| ☩ I would bend the skies; realign all the stars in space; just to be with you ☩ (cxffexngel: Sandalphon) | #| ☩ And once again the sky rises; sincere and melancholic ☩ (IC) | #| ☩ the ballad of a dove; go with peace and love ☩ (verse: au - vampire hunter) | #| ☩ thread 107: sandalphon: cxffexngel ☩ | #{ Sandy doesn't need to worry about it killing Lucifer even if it did he would thank him GDSFJKGFHSJFS } #{ Lucifer has approximately zero sense of self-preservation in this AU FGSDJHSKGHDJF } #{ He's just no thoughts Sandy pretty he will protec } #{ Which fair Lucifer GFJSKGHDFSK } #{ Sandy will be stuck with him for life at this rate he made him coffee and let him sleep on him it's over for him GDFHGKFDJS }

[aaetherius]

cxffexngel​:

         Burnt soil crunches when the strange, yet so painfully familiar figure moves closer despise the poor attempts of Sandalphon to draw some distance between them out pure survival instinct. It makes his core ache because this all feels wrong, that despise having this part, this etched innate thing that would wordlessly accept the hand that it’s offered, the other side of him; the pained and wartorn one, the one that’s been through betrayals and delusions far too many times knew best than to just do that. So he squeezes his eyes shut for a bit. Inhaling sharply despise the tang of cooper that he feels filling his lungs - clarity seeping more as he forces himself to stay conscious enough to make a decision - and when sharp lashes open again he sees what is going on.

        The man wasn’t wrong, he had been so, so painfully close to say his name out aloud but even when he could see why this person, this… familiar man before him bears that name, it also felt entirely not suiting him. This was Lucifer - yet at the same time not the Lucifer he knows, not the one that crafted the ailing thing that his core is. It’s not the one that gave him these wings - and that’s something that gives Sandalphon enough adrenaline to ignore further his pain, the initial glares of his eyes gone and replaced with surprise, disbelief and apprehension. ” Lucifer… “ Oh he knows him, but this isn’t Lucifer. It all but makes both his mind spiral but also fall in one logical conclusion he can scavenge in the depths of his mind. It made sense. The rift, the cracks in the sky - the rainbow void that once in the past had also almost swallowed him at the fall of the entemaki; this time, he had fell through and gone somewhere very, very far. And oh, if that didn’t terrify sandalphon he’d probably call himself crazy.

Fire in his eyes dull with exhaustion and the turmoil of emotions threatening to swallow him, wings tremble as the archangel stops struggling to break away anymore - the curve of the crater not helping with the escape anyways as he feels as it will only drag him back again to the abyss and probably smother his face in more ash than he’d be willing to swallow to keep an ounce of his pride. It doesn’t help that, despise how this Lucifer not so Lucifer’s offer - where he remembers kindness and this one’s darkening words offer a bit of the comfort he seeks, yet also not deviant to say that Sandalphon was still very much in danger. He might have the world’s power, but he could still be defiled of his wings, at his weakest and even, if he gave it a bit more though, maybe even closer to regress into core state than he’d be comfortable admitting. So he tries composing himself - throat dry as he exhales after pondering with the clarity he’s forced into himself, but there’s not trust there and he very much doesn’t like this Lucifer - but he can see that there’s no hostility there despise the threats. If he wanted to kill him there, it was obvious that he’d not even be there laying so pathetically. ” You’re not… Him, yet you… Are - Ugh, I-I must has messed up badly– “ If it wasn’t anymore obvious but it’s what Sandalphon manages to spit, brows furrowing - only now noticing the horns decorating the other’s crown. The partially black wings yet only a pair versus the other two immaculate white ones, the golden armor and those lips with fangs poking out. What happened here and in what skies has he even involving himself now? Time can only tell, and he wishes that this gut feeling that he can trust this Lucifer is right for he will curse himself if this leads to a dead end, and is unable to go back - even when his curiosity starts also seeping in with that deep wonder, and some misguided hope also in there, when a bloodied hand emerges from under his wing to accept the other’s offer. ” Fine – B-Break your promise and I’ll kill you. “ His threat comes from deep in his core, but yet, he doesn’t mean the words - even if this wasn’t the Lucifer he knows, he knows that just looking at those eyes were enough to make his blade hesitate and turn away. Even if he’s making probably yet another mistake, he knew that this deep familiarity, this affinity he feels means that this is, in a way, Lucifer - and that’s what terrifies and angers him. But before he can even spout more questions, his lashes fall and darkness finally meets his mind as the archangel falls unconscious.

   A low hum vibrates in Lucifer's throat at the sound of his name as the stranger's expression slowly begins to change. His head tilts in order to get a better look at the battered and bruised and filthy face; his fair hair reflects the dwindling sunlight and almost appears to glow beneath its fading warmth. Yet, with the amount of ash and dirt staining his visage there's not much he can truly deduce at the moment. A shame for imagines this little dove is rather beautiful beneath all of that muck and crime. Certainly, at the very least, he's a sight for sore eyes when Lucifer's most persistent visitor is Azazel and he's beginning to grow weary of seeing the other's face. "You know my name, yet it appears I do not know yours." He doesn't expect the other will grace him with an answer, assuming he even possess enough energy in his body to do so at the moment. And, frankly, his name isn't important at the moment. No, what's important is removing this intruder from prying eyes, and ensuring the angels of this world don't come to claim him for themselves. He harbors little desire to see them get their hands on a weapon they could potentially use against him at some point--or whatever other wicked schemes they might be brewing after sensing the rift.

   His brow raises slightly at the slew of words spat clumsily from the other's lips. They sound like the nonsensical ramblings of a dying man, but this man is neither dying (on death's door, perhaps, but certainly far from actually being dead) nor is he on the verge of going mad. But it does provide Lucifer with a bit of insight--not much, but enough to continue stroking his growing interest in the other. There are questions on his tongue, though he doesn't bother to give them any voice. He doubts the angel is in any condition to give him a thoughtful answer, if he can even give one at all. "So it would appear," he muses instead. What 'messing up badly' entails exactly he can only guess, but the state the other is one reflects a rather grave struggle, as does being brutally hurled into this world from the depths of another. "But you are still alive, so perhaps you have not failed as drastically as you seem to believe." If there's a purpose for his blunder remains to be seen, but, at the very least, Lucifer finds him entertaining.

   But he does, eventually, relent despite his dreadful stubbornness, so Lucifer considers that a small victory in his favor. "For better or worse, I am a man who keeps his promises." He pushes himself up from the dirt gracefully, gaze dancing over the other's form as the angel struggles to remain conscious. It takes only a moment for him to pull the other into his arms, and effortlessly pick him up. In Lucifer's rather cold hands, the other feels terribly warm. But that thought is nothing more than a passing wind as he extends his wings behind him, and vanishes just as swiftly and mysteriously as he had appeared--this time with the angel in tow.                                                              --------

    Time is inconsequential to a man who has an infinite amount of it on his hands, so while he can easily prattle off the number of times Azazel has stormed into his study to loudly complain about the additional 'baggage' Lucifer picked up and brought (very much to the other demon's dismay) into the palace, he can't actually say for certain how many days, weeks, or possibly even months that have passed since that fateful day. Though he imagines it hasn't been quite that long--the angel seemed too high-strong to remain somewhat comatose for more than a few days, if Lucifer had to make a guess. Despite Azazel's frequent and rather obnoxious protests, it appeared bringing the other in had been the right choice. After all, he imagines the stranger's predicament would be rather unpleasant right now if he had left him to fend for himself in that scorched land. Instead, he had welcomed (very much against his subjects' approval) the other into his territory, and set aside a private room for him to rest in. A room he's been sleeping in ever since--with Cerberus watching over him, also very unwillingly (largely because she found the task to be dreadfully boring), to see when he wakes.  

    Regardless of the amount of time that's passed--in the depths of the underworld, it's difficult to tell wether it's night or day--anything beyond that is a mystery to most, Cerberus does finally drag herself to the doorstep of his study with a rather annoyed expression on her features as she informs her their 'unwelcome' (to everyone aside from the king of Hell himself) guest was awake, and, therefore, she was no longer willing to play babysitter for the 'ungrateful birdbrain' he had dumped on her. So, with a slight upturn of his lips, he claps the spine of the book he had been glossing over shut, and goes to pay his, apparently, unruly guest a visit.

    "So it appears you're finally awake," he greets, as he opens the door to the other's room without bothering to give a warning or even knock. Everything within these walls belongs to him, after all, there's little reason for him to announce his presence in his own home. "I do hope you find your accommodations to your liking, though I'm afraid they're a bit drab." 'Drab' is far from what most would call the rather luxurious room he's given to the other.

#cxffexngel #| ☩ I would bend the skies; realign all the stars in space; just to be with you ☩ (cxffexngel: Sandalphon) | #| ☩ And when night falls ; the stars will guide you ☩ (verse: AU - Fallen) | #| ☩ And once again the sky rises; sincere and melancholic ☩ (IC) | #{ Ahhh poor Lucifer is def super distressed and just wants Sandy to come back safely and wants to go find him but since Sandy has the #{ supreme primarch powers he can't look for him ahhhh my heart! #{ Poor Lucifer! } #{ This is very chaotic and I am very tired and that's not making it less chaotic GJFDSKGJFDS } #{ I just imagine that Azazel has spent the entire time Sandy has been out cold complaining directly into Lucifer's ear about his existence } #{ GDFJSKGJDS }

[aaetherius]

cxffexngel​:

        Residual of ether leaves as time passes, it feels like forever, to the archangel collapsed by the wake of his unceremonious landing. Inhaling cooper and ash, nose uselessly wiggles as eyes remain close - and for a bit, while what drops of consciousness remains within the stubborn archangel, he believes himself having done it this time, having basically shed his immortal coil and destroyed his core in a fit that maybe Lucifer would frown at him for, or be worried sick and then Sandalphon feel guilty for so suddenly leaving the crew having left his promise half-assed all because he couldn’t properly control his newfound power to not let it destroy him.

        But he isn’t met with the lush scent of grass like that one time when his soul had been lost in that realm between life and death, there’s not that odd stillness of the air or the mystifying presence that the dreamy world that once he had been tossed to. Yet, the more he thinks while his body laid there still, without strength to muster much beyond pained huffs as he breathes in an out - the scorched air burning his lungs in a pleasantly familiar way grounds the archangel as he tries gathering himself, but muscles were too exhausted, his wings barely even lifted before collapsing right where they are, and then tension seeps into ever root of his nerves like steel at the silent grace of footsteps and overwhelming yet familiar presence. Even with eyelids trying to finally open, his vision is blurry at best. And the voice that greets ears is nothing but just a noise in hand of the leftover ring of his eardrums in the aftermath of the fall; he could only pray he was making things up, that his mind is playing with him, but another part was entirely aware of being very much still somewhat conscious - at least enough to make up for the lack of clarity in his consciousness.

        It’s when graceful fingers touch dirtied and bloodied rough skin is when eyes finally jolt open, and focuses. A grave, choked sound stuck at his throat when easily lifted to meet his visitor’s visage while recoiling a bit from the touch of his wings with newfound strength entirely similar to when - millennia ago, an once torn away archangel had been just out from experiments dragged away to somewhere he’d not be of waste and easily stepped on, and even then finding it in him some strength left to struggle as the hands on him felt so wrong and wanted none of it. “ G-Ghrrn— ” Nothing that he tries to say makes sense, but when clarity starts to seep in, just as his core starts healing the wounded body of the archangel with whatever it could without returning into it’s vulnerable state, he finally starts to manage to make through the fog of his vision. And the first thing that hits his mind is that sticking, majestic and ethereal white hair. “ Luci…F… ” The name tries fleeing his lips, but it feels wrong - the familiar presence was there, yet at the very same time it wasn’t like the man he thinks this might be. No, it’s not him, and at the same time it is. And the more he tries squeezing his brain to refocus and pull away, to make up what the other say for he’d recognize him even should there be nothing but darkness and even amidst dreams somehow sending him somewhere closer to him. Yet it’s that same sense of danger and leftover adrenaline still coursing through his veins that push, finally, Sandalphon to move away from the touch as fangs bare and crimson eyes still blurry from the flash of light having temporarily blinded him, doesn’t let him see beyond the glints of golden armor, gloved hand so close yet so familiar and foreign, and the white and black blotches of color behind the man that has found the fallen archangel in the crater left by the fall.

        It’s that same movement that sends a sharp sting of pain courting entirely on his body, and with what he can, he tries with a mix of his wings and elbows to prop himself up, but muscles tremble at the intense effort, sending him in a fit of raspy coughs, staining the ground crimson from overextending himself - getting another face full of ashes and dirt  - but at least now with a much clearer mind thanks to the pain that felt like an old friend that helped, in some morbid way Gran probably would scold him if he ever admitted it, staying awake and sound - aware enough that maybe he’s just thinking too much and seeing things to realize the man before him was very much real, and the sense of terrible danger but also heavy curiosity also came in hand with that unbreakable stubbornness to get back to the fight that very much he was thrown far, so very far from. There wasn’t time to be distracted. “ Don’t t-touch me - Get lost. ” Comes the choked out threat, low and more like a weak growl, even if he couldn’t summon his swords or even control the one that rests at his hip, his wings unable to manifest due to all the spent energy and his brown ones stubbornly staying entirely because they helped shielding himself somehow, Sandalphon still finds it in him a will to resist, to live, flee from danger even if someone was offering either a quicker death or some mercy. If this man had said something, it entirely bounced off Sandalphon’s ears at this point, and instead he was more focused on struggling back on his feet, attempt after attempt - like a wounded animal who bares their teeth at anything blindly.

   A hint of a curious, and amused smile twitches at the corners of his smooth lips when the wounded angel nearly utters his name, but stops just short of finishing it. That rather peculiar sense of knowing that had tried to rear up in the back of his mind when he had felt this stranger tear a rift into this realm emerges once more, but, while a rather interesting sensation, it hardly serves as a distraction from what's in front of him. After all, the angel himself is a far more fascinating phenomenon than the array of feelings his presence stirs within him. Both; however, remain worthy subjects of further study, at least for the time being. Even if this newfound dove doesn't appear to be of the terribly agreeable variety judging from just how willing he is to make a bigger mess of himself to put some distance between them. Though, Lucifer uses the term 'some' generously. As the poor angel ends up with a mouthful of dirt and blood, and only covers a meager amount of ground in the process. Why, if he weren't currently choking on his own ichor, Lucifer might believe him dead--or rather, he very much resembled a dead man with all of the grime and lingering wounds covering his body. A shame really when his eyes are so striking that the man beneath all of that ash and dust must be equally so.  

   "Oh?" There's an utter lack of hostility in his voice as he raises a fair brow at the other when he works up enough strength to growl at him. His voice is even, good-humored, and perhaps a bit flippant. In his defense; however, he can't think of many who would feel faint of heart while being threatened by someone who looked they just crawled out of the depths of Hell. He's keen enough to sense what little energy still clings to the other, and the power the other yields is far greater than what currently wiggles about in the stranger's body (an educated guess given the sheer level of destruction that had occurred when he had fallen into this world), his current state isn't anything impressive. "No need to be so defensive." Everything that comes out of his mouth is spoken in a carefree, overly familiar manner, as if he's a bystander rather than someone directly involved in the situation.

   "We're not strangers after all, are we? You did almost call out my name a moment ago." Perhaps now isn't the time to poke the horrent's nest, but he has no reason to disregard the other's slip-up a moment ago either. Somehow; someway; somewhere, he suspects they're more familiar with one another than they believe. Though the details of that relationship are unknown to him. And he's not willing to write it off as a mere coincidence either when his mind continues to conjure up a feeling of knowing, even if simply dismissing it as a result of his infamy would have been the easiest way to go. He's also dreadfully stubborn. One he sets his mind to something it's difficult to persuade him otherwise.

   So he rises from where he had been kneeling in the dirt, speckles of ash cling to his dark robes like starlight in the night sky as his wings fold themselves neatly behind him. Two sets of immaculate, gleaming white wings, and the final set is of glistening, eerie black ones tucked between them. His movements are graceful, but unhurried. He feels no need to rush, after all, it's clear the other doesn't have much strength left. He suspects, despite the angel's desire to escape or fight him, he doesn't possess the energy to do either at the moment. So he closes the distance casually, blatantly ignoring the threat that had been hurled his way. Though, admittedly, threatening him was a rather bold thing to do--and a rarity, truthfully only Azazel typically had the nerve (and foolishness) to do so. Once he's close enough, he kneels beside the other once more--if only to put himself closer to his eye level.

   "However, you should consider your situation carefully," he begins, lazily flexing his wings behind him. "It's only a matter of time before you attract unwanted attention to yourself." Well, that's putting it generously given he's fairly certain he falls into the category of 'unwanted', but there were fates far worse than what he had to offer lingering about. "Attention from things far worse than myself." Well, worse might not have been the best word--rather their intentions wouldn't be nearly as kind as his, if one could even call his actions such. "And, I'm afraid, with your current condition you wouldn't last long out here alone. This world isn't a kind one, dove." He tilts his head to rest his chin against his knuckles. Despite his words, his voice lacks any urgency, and he speaks in the same flippant manner he had before. But it's also entirely devoid of hostility as well, though is expression is unreadable. "And, if you ever wish to return home, there are few with as much knowledge as I possess." While he was more than capable of tearing a rift open, it would be random--he couldn't ensure it's location, but even that much was better than what most could offer this little angel from another sky. "So, what will you do? Come with me, or die here." His tone darkens, and there's a certain gravity to his words as he turns his piercing gaze back towards the other. "The choice is yours." It's not much of one, though, he leaves little room for negotiation, and with the offer to assist the stranger dangling in front of him, there are few other options he can take. It's a tad bit underhanded, but what's such a small detail to a devil.

#cxffexngel #| ☩ I would bend the skies; realign all the stars in space; just to be with you ☩ (cxffexngel: Sandalphon) | #| ☩ And when night falls ; the stars will guide you ☩ (verse: AU - Fallen) | #| ☩ And once again the sky rises; sincere and melancholic ☩ (IC) | #{ FGSDJKGJKFS poor Sandy } #{ One very cursed Lucifer and one very soft Lucifer! } #{ Ahhhhh oh nooooo Lucifer would be so distraught } #{ He can feel Sandy's not there anymore/his presence is just gone but he can't do anything about it! } #{ I'm also sorry if this is a train-wreck Bella and Elise murdered me GFDSJKGFD }

[aaetherius]

[ @cxffexngel​ // for RoB lucifer! Local goth lucifer receives a fateful visitor! 👀 ]

It all happens too fast, blows exchanged between the archangel, the crew who had his back and the greater force they had waged war against - one of far too many powerful primal beasts who mindlessly rampaged causing havoc against the skies without a mind about the disaster their power harbored. Sandalphon always taking the heavier blows, always using himself as the shield of the skies he wanted to protect, he was the one deserving each painful swipe of claws and magic that charred skin that later healed quicker than some of the mages of the crew could even begin trying to heal. Twelve wings, blinding with power that could break space and time itself flare to their full might, with the intend of banishing the primal beast towards it's endless slumber and mercy so it could rest once for all - he understands the pain of sentience, the burdens of being given life yet blinded with rage and to be left alone, so it's a war out of mercy, even when the rampaging beast fights and fights until drawing it's last breath.

Time had become nothing to sandalphon, sounds muted at this point to his ears as all he focuses is to land a last hit, the surge of power from his wings canalized into a so, so blindling light wielding every element etched into his core as he focuses the last hit, charging it with every second, the crew backing him up while flying behind and the sparks of bristling light, fire, winds, earth and water all become pure energy within his palm; molded into a massive sword unlike the purple ones that aid his battles - golden like an angel's halo. It takes one hoarse scream, one for the others to get out the way, the inelegant bristle of wings tinted gold by a light that comes from inside from immense gathered power. It takes only that for the sword to be sent forward at maddening speeds and force that break the sound barrier in a shrilling swipe of his bloodied hands. And it happens all too fast. The flash of light that nearly burns his eyes before he could refocus, the smoke in the distance as wails of the beast fall to a deafening silence, the uncertain peace of nothingness as many eyes wait to see the results of Sandalphon's last attack and confirm that maybe it's a win - and oh how Sandalphon wishes it could be. He was tired, the attack having drained every last drop of energy that he had managed to gather preparing the attack but not allowing himself, just yet, to fall by the aftermath of it. He waits, and the light that magic left residues of unusually staying, like a crack in the sky that as moments pass, makes that feeling inside his chest realize something.

Time stopped.

It stopped in it's entirety. And the realization makes the archangel scan hesitantly his surroundings; clouds don't move, wind doesn't blow, the sun stalled where it is. Maybe, he overdid it, maybe it was the primal beasts's last defense. He doesn't know. But before he could try and investigate more, from behind he feels a void draw him in, and unconsciously his wings flap with all his strength to draw away from it before he could think or curse.

It's all like a blur after that, his eyes at some point having fallen shut tight and braced himself for whatever was going to happen, be it fire, hell, to be crushed - whatever it'd be that was going to be. But he could feel the pull of gravity; the feeling of falling in speeds not even his wings would be able to stabilize. It was too much so instead his wings curl all around him, especially the white ones despise he tries to use more the other pairs as if they had minds of their own - with what he could of the last drops of strength drawn out out pure desperation, a  protective veil of light shrouding the cradle of wings that fall from orange skies of twilight - like a shooting star that had fallen from the night skies. It's a silent fall, one no one ever sees. And the crater left when finally the archangel meets ground is so loud no mortal would've ever survived such a fall. Sand scorched by the light, grass turned to dust - and white and golden tipped wings vanish along the multicolored pairs the archangel bore, only leaving the stubborn, tousled and so out of shape brown pair that continue to shield the now passed out archangel at the bed of his landing.

    His sharp chin rests against his knuckles as a nimble finger glides effortlessly along the old parchment of an ancient tome that seems to scarcely hold his attention. It's an old tale. Nothing terribly inspiring or breathtaking, and one he had memorized long ago. Though that hardly makes it special by any means--it's little more than another book upon the expansive, and densely packed shelves that wind all around him. Hundreds, if not thousands, of golden shelves stretch upwards until they reach the very ceiling of his less than modest study. Why, the collection he possesses would make even the royal library look like child's play. And, upon those numerous, seemingly endless shelves, there isn't a single tome that the ruler of Hell hasn't memorized. Records of wars long since forgotten, crumbled up love letters from dying soldiers, legends from bygone days that harbor a hint of truth to them, tales of other worlds, and precious research that has never seen the soft flesh of human hands. Anything one can imagine, and then some, exists within these walls. For a scholar, it would no doubt be a dream come true, if not for the man who sat upon the scarlet throne in the very center of the circular, maze-like room.

   Lucifer was a name used to strike fear in the hearts of angels, demons, and men alike. But there were few who had actually seen his face. After all, it's rare of him to leave the palace. He harbors little interest in the affairs of mankind, so long as they don't tiptoe their way into territory where they're not welcome. And, even then, he rarely bothers to lifts his own finger to deal with them when there are demons frothing at the mouth to sink their fangs into their tender bones, and devour every last shred of their existence. And, so, the one of the most feared men in the world also became one of the most elusive. Which, of course, encourages humans to imagine, and lends then to create stories--as they tend to do. Each one more absurd and grotesque than the last. Yet, he can't stop a smile from forming upon his glossy lips as he reads over the ghastly scenes depicted upon the tome in his lap. Perhaps, to mere humans, this story they've conjured up is horrifying. A nightmare. Something only the devil himself was capable of.

   But oh the real thing was so much worse.

   He shuts the book, and sends it back, seamlessly, into its place upon one of the many shelves with a flick of hist wrist. How dull. For such imaginative creatures, they're certainly lacking in finesse. But even if the book can't hold his attention, something else is more than capable of grabbing hold of it. Nothing that happens in this world happens without his knowledge. Then again, with an entrance as bold as that one, he suspects there's not a soul within the three realms who hadn't felt the shockwave that had blasted through the earth. But it's not the impact that urges him to tap his long fingers against the arm of his throne, but rather the lingering sense of familiarity and desire that stir within him when he focuses on its source. So he stands, and leaves the stillness of his study to pursue something a tad but more enthralling.

        ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

   The faint click of his shallow heels echoes through the now barren forest that greets him. The once lush greenery has been reduced to ash, and even the soil itself has lost its color. Even if life should return to this land, it would take many millennia for anything to be able to thrive once more. But the buzz of power still seeps into the stagnant air, and lingers all around him. Though he's aware he's never met its source before, it still feels familiar to him. But while he might not be able to place a name to it, he can easily figure out its source--or rather, what its source is. Nor does it take him long to make his way over to that source.

   A man, or rather an angel, flung uselessly into the dirt with a pair of disheveled, brown wings cradling his feeble form. He supposes he could simply take this opportunity to kill the other where he lies, but that would be rather anti-climatic, and one look at him is all Lucifer needs to be painfully aware that this 'angel' isn't from this world. While the power that radiates from him is similar, it's not identical. So, perhaps then, he can find some use for this discard angel after all.

    He kneels down silently beside the other, reaching out to brush some of the debris from those tangles wings before curling his fingers, and lifting the stranger's jaw from the dirt. "Now you've found yourself in a bit of a predicament haven't you, dove? Why now allow me to assist you?"    

#cxffexngel #| ☩ I would bend the skies; realign all the stars in space; just to be with you ☩ (cxffexngel: Sandalphon) | #| ☩ And when night falls ; the stars will guide you ☩ (verse: AU - Fallen) | #| ☩ And once again the sky rises; sincere and melancholic ☩ (IC) | #{ Ahhh I hope this works if not just let me know! } #{ Not pictured: GBF Lucifer hyperventilating and suffering GDFJKGHFDS } #{ may you enjoy the chaos GDJKGDFS } #{ I don't have anything to say for myself } #{ I took a break from writing smut to write this and it feels the same GDFSJLGKHFS }

[aaetherius]

cxffexngel​:

        Something inside Sandalphon’s chest prickled with familiar flames that brew under his skin, fueled by the charcoal of regrets and guilt that even Lucifer’s ever so attentive voice, despise their shared predicament soaked to the bone state all but pushed deeper whatever flutters with the sweetness of the taller’s worry despise his very person soaked entirely by the rain’s mercy that at the time basically refused to wield. It’s roar crackling from the windows as gusts of wind shakes the stiles against the rails, even when shut tightly and them being probably properly installed still somewhat affected by the sheer shrengt of the storm. But before he could just dip his head further and excuse himself away, before he can even begin to let said guilt take over and shut off Lucifer’s worry out his mind to dwelve further, the other’s ever attentive kindness is what janks away Sandalphon’s spiraling into despair once more. As always.

        It looked ridiculous, the pile the older carries within his arms of clothes with various colors and textures. Ranging to beiges to sepias. Blues and light sky blues and greys to black, most of them wool or very expensive looking fabrics that the Barista would barely ever believe to indulge himself with beyond some biker styled leather jacket, and wear it until the thing would barely even have working seams and falling down patches. His own frown even subsides with the sight as it also washes away the way his head filled with those undesired, bitter feelings that easily could plague his heart at such moments sometimes - Lips parting with a question that struggles to come out, or even another apology he can just guess Lucifer would shake his head at an take the blame instead when neither, in the end, was really at fault nor anything truly wrong has happened. ‘‘ Lucifer… ‘‘ It’s the only thing his lips can conjure out. It’s strained at best, but his expression is one that mixes exasperation with relief, and a silent thanks despise Lucifer maybe is unaware of the ongoing war between Sandalphon’s heart, mind and the demons inside him. And he doesn’t talk about it, knowing the many times certain someone that likes to make his house also his place to barge in tells him to actually do. Not that Gran’s the best to suggest such a thing when he’d also carefully tuck his own things inside that mysterious heart of his. But Sandalphon, unlike Gran, prefers to not barge uninvited. He waits, listens, and if he’s unwelcome then that’s it.

        But also Sandalphon knows that when Lucifer is focused on something, nothing would ever posibly manage to sway him to back off. He was adamant, stubborn, and a bleeding heart where his kindness maybe would be able to pierce through the strongest of storms to discover the sun once again, and maybe that’s what he does right now. Maybe that’s why whatever shadows that had been inside Sandalphon’s heart once more die out the very moment the other comes back with that ridiculous amount of clothes and his face probably more blinding than he can imagine behind all of that. Sandalphon genuinely smiles at it, too. ‘‘ You’re ridiculous… but thanks. ‘‘ And his voice sounds ten times tired once he relaxes. It’s a good kind of tired if given a name or feeling beyond that taste whenever discovering a new blend that he likes and learns without trouble. ‘‘ I’ll choose this, please… don’t look. ‘‘ And oh if it had been any other day where he felt less tired - Sandalphon would’ve made the effort to change somewhere else. At least he has the decency to just change the top, turning his back from the other to struggle his wet clothes off with a silent gruff grunt and haphazardly letting it fall somewhere, and having chosen randomly which one from within Lucifer’s offers, ends with a rather open soft milky yellow shirt that gingerly covers his frame. Still lightly wet from being poured over by the rain but not enough for the dry fabric to dampen and stick to his skin.

         He can agonize later if Lucifer saw or not. With enough energy to be awake and maybe push himself to repay the other with making some food and cups of coffee, Sandalphon turns back to the other and lets a loose smile mar his features while a hand pushes back over slick strands of aurburn over his ear, exhaling a silent laugh while the other falls on his hip, lips part. ‘‘ You too, or else Ellie will call security you’re making a mess yourself, Lucifer. ‘‘ Plus, he’d blame himself even worse Lucifer falls sick from staying like this anytime more.

    Lucifer tilts his head ever so slightly at Sandalphon's comment, but a gentle smile still washes over his tired and damp features regardless. Ridiculous, perhaps, but he couldn't live with himself if he allowed the barista to stay in wet clothes, and risk him catching a cold. Truthfully, it's far from the first time he's been called something along those lines. Micheal often pointed out it out, and his brother had frequently dismissed most of his curiosities with a wave of his hand while mumbling that word. If anything, it makes the tension in Lucifer's shoulders dissipate, and fondness swells within his heart. Sandalphon sounds as tired as he feels, but he has enough awareness to understand that exhaustion isn't coming from a bad place. It's simply been a long day, and they're both feeling the weight of it upon their frames. "Indeed, it seems I am." His voice is lighter now. Gentle as always, but there's almost the faintest bit of pride tucked away in that declaration. If being ridiculous is what makes the other feel comfortable and eases his concerns then ridiculous Lucifer will gladly be.

    There's almost the tiniest flash of disappointment hidden in the very back of his mind when Sandalphon urges him to not look once he plucks a shirt from the hefty pile, but he doesn't allow it to show on his pretty features. "Of course, take your time." Without hesitation, he turns around to face the wall, and firmly squeezes his eyes shut. The pressure makes patches of colors explode behind his eyelids, and he realizes, perhaps, he's being a bit too harsh about it so he slowly peels his eyes back open to stare at the rather bland, ivory walls of his apartment. Though the sound of shuffling fabric serves as a tantalizing temptation, he still tries his best not to glance over his shoulder despite the fact that his eyes wander ever so slightly and he catches just the faintest bit of Sandalphon's bare back when he does so. It’s just the slightest bit of skin he catches, but his heart still throbs at the sight. Not wanting to give himself away, he quickly adverts his gaze once more, and actively holds his breath in an attempt to lull the ceaseless drumming of his cruel heart.

   At the sound of Sandalphon voice, he hastily turns around, nearly throwing the entire pile of clothes onto the floor, as if he had been caught staring. And it takes him a few seconds to register what Sandalphon had actually said, and he lowers his arms a bit so he can actually see the other over the clothes. His heart seems to stall all over again, and he can feel it leap onto his mouth at the sight of the other in one of his shirts. It's loose on the barista, and dips a bit over his shoulders, revealing some of Sandalphon's collarbones, and Lucifer finds himself staring for a prolonged moment before an unhappy meow from Ellie rips him from whatever daydream his mind was conjuring up from the sight. Ah, of course, she must be hungry--ah, Sandalphon must be as well, neither one of them had eaten yet. After all, the groceries they had gone to pick up were for, well, just that.

   "Yes, of course. You're right," he manages to force out in a daze. He sets the pile of clothes down on the white table situated by the door where he kept his keys and wallet, and anything else he often took with him when he left. Despite that, it wasn't uncommon for him to forget them, and so Micheal always kept a copy of his key on hand to bail him when he, inevitably, left home without one. Without much thought or shame, he pulls a piece out from the increasingly messy pile, and quickly peels his current shirt off. It makes a soft 'plop' sound when it drops to the floor. His skin is still a bit damp, but he's mostly managed to towel the two of them off to an acceptable level. His muscles are toned and evenly contoured. Every inch of his body seems immaculate and smooth to a fault, expect for the large scar across his side, and a smaller one along the base of his neck. They stick out rather startlingly against his otherwise flawless form. But he pays them no heed as he quickly slips on the soft, creamy sweater he had pulled out, and, within moments, both scars are covered by the luxurious fabric.

   "I'll start a load of laundry. It's best not to let our clothes soak, well, at least not with rainwater," he adds with a smile. "Ellie hasn't had dinner yet so I imagine she's quite unhappy with me at the moment, so I'll prepare something for her. But you must be hungry as well, Sandalphon. We didn't have time to eat during our shift, and you have my sincerest apology for that. I would be more than happy to make something for you, as well." Allowing Lucifer anywhere near a kitchen to cook up something other than cat food or coffee was a dangerous thing, if Sandalphon values his own life.

#cxffexngel #| ☩ I would bend the skies; realign all the stars in space; just to be with you ☩ (cxffexngel: Sandalphon) | #| ☩ To meet with you again ☩ (verse: AU - Modern) | #| ☩ And once again the sky rises; sincere and melancholic ☩ (IC) | #| ☩ thread 109: sandalphon: cxffexngel ☩ #{ I'm always impressed by tungle actually keeping tags for the most part unless it chooses violence GDFJFKGDS } #{ Ahhhh it's so soft!! My heart!! But gently I'll give you some soft back! And some mild angst and also some danger GDFGFDS } #{ The tiniest peek!! He tried his best not to look!! But he did so respectfully for the smallest peep! } #{ Naming Lucifer's cat Ellie was like the worst idea I ever had HGFDKHGFS } #{ I wanted a name that meant light and I thought Ellie was cute (which it is } #{ But it's so so close to Elise that I read Elise every time I see it and get confused for a second GDFJKGHJFDSK } #{ You know how tired I am today but at least Lucifer and I can be a mess together in this reply GDJFKGHSDF }

[aaetherius]

I think I’m going to crawl back out from the dirt over on my multi first @barmeciide​ if anyone would like to interact over there! 

#| ☩ Out of Time (OOC) ☩ | #{ One last reblog because I think I am actually going to post a little starter call tonight }

[aaetherius]

cxffexngel​:

       Core catches between his throat and mouth, or so Sandalphon always believes it does in a sense whenever Lucifer would even do so much as look his way and sheen pale lips with the tiniest dust of a blush from having sipped from a warm cup share a smile at his way. At this point, the Archangel would believe the organ would spill all over or free itself from the confines of his physical form just to reach the other’s touch, and each time he waits a few seconds for that to happen, only to be proven wrong and it’s just him. All of him that desires that touch after yearning and wishing for it since so many millennia. Dulled skin of scarred tales, each tell a story, wounds of the past from other archangels when he had been in the lines as a fallen himself, making his way just so Lucifer would look at him, finally acknowledge him - foolish that he is when all this time Lucifer always had been there in a way or another, and had always wished for his happiness however much he could sacrifice, even if his ways were flawed at best when given so limited tools for it. Fools in what the heart is about, fools in so many things because they were not built for it at all and yet, given a heart of too many emotions that managed to overrun said limitations even when with them came big mistakes that they shouldn’t be forgiven of. “ Ah… ” And yet, nothing ever prepares him for the heartache that is Lucifer admitting what he had convinced himself it’d never be true, that Lucifer did love all those times even if the bond was a strained one from both of them keeping a healthy distance while basking in each others fleeting presence. That fleeting connection that came with each of Lucifer’s visits and talking about nothing beyond birds, the skies, the good parts of Lucifer’s travels and the boring life inside the garden Sandalphon mostly sheltered himself in. That even now, even when there’s so much Sandalphon has to make up for after his grand mistakes, his wish remains the same and not ever the former supreme primarch changes his mind. Lips part a bit, processing it within the bliss of their shared cabin as the mute sound of the wind - crimson eyes of a late day dusk shining with the sting of tears born from an equal unmeasurable amount of joy that the other dares, without fail, make it known to the archangel, another moment where he is proven again and again the very same thing deep down his core still thinks a fairy tale’s worth of facts. It falls quick, just a single shed of it before the current supreme primarch brings a finger and wipes it away and sighs into their nest worth of tangled limbs and bed sheets, snowy feathers that cascade from Lucifer’s back and have found their place everywhere like tiny stars adorning the night sky as they shine when catching the sun’s light in little rainbows on their own. “ I’m… So glad to hear that, Lucifer. Truly. ” There’s always a lack of words when it comes to it, a struggle the archangel knows will last millennia more and maybe never get that good at with time regardless his attempts. He can only helplessly smile at the other’s merciless kindness and love that seemed so infinite even for the most flawed beast of all and yet still look back at his claws and bloodied teeth with nothing but an outstretched hand and offer the pull to stan up back again without a fear he’d bite that hand away, or worse, not caring if he did and still offer the other, and thousand more times until there would be nothing.

         And that’s exactly what happened, which is what also scares Sandalphon so much. It scares him because even in this new life, the possibility of it happening was as great as it had been yet once had been blind of, thinking Lucifer a perfect, unkillable being when given no reason there was a possibility of someone ever finding a way to destroy for real a Primals core without the use of the red dragon.

        But before worries would fester away at his mind, Sandalphon distracts himself with the other’s flinch. A thing he knows too well by now that is born from hurt and still being so new with what Lucifer had not allowed himself to feel. Knows for a fact because he, too flinches still even from the most careful graces from Lyria’s almost featherlike hands whenever she’d try hold his hand when she’d find something he’d be interested him and try leading the archangel to their destination. His body would tense for seconds, his senses would sharpen but then his mind would react and calm down in a surge of exhaustion and forget about it - the Same goes with Lucifer; even when he utterly melts at the other’s gentle traces over awful scars and ridges of numb skin, to the beautiful little blossoms the other has left upon his body in a much, better fashion that the litter of fifth that is each of those marks from his own demons and foolish battles, always his first reaction would be the slightest flinch, followed by a collapse in the most terribly desperate sense to purshase that touch despise the guilt that also comes with it. And he cannot escape it even if he wanted to, with his wings veiling most of his lower half, Lucifer’s strong arm wrapped over him while his hand keeps that delicate mission to trace meaningless; It’s not dissimilar to his own attempt to smother back messed up feathers that require a much better inspection than the rather lax smothering rough, battle worn digits could do at his lying state. But Sandalphon doesn’t care. While his heart still mourns and hurts and aches, there is no doubt right now he feels happy - calm, relaxed. Every single of those things he though would never come back or even be a luxury anymore worthy of being granted after so, so long. “ Hmh. A wonder indeed, perhaps your last mission needing to carry loot and other’s heavyweight was met with a rather strong storm. ” He adds, almost like a low pur as it rumbles from his chest and core with great comfort and fondness that carries in the way he fixes another loose feather out, and it tumbles slowly into exposed skin soundlessly. “ But gives me a chance to work them back into a presentable state - the same way you wish to brush my hair. Which… You should not even ask for, Lucifer. My answer is always one, yes. ” Always yes, even on those days where his core felt heavy and talking just wouldn’t come to him nor he’d have the strength to do much beyond push his tired legs forth and bring himself into the airship, back into the kitchen to do something, or to their cabin to promptly collapse on the bed or chair. Even during those times He’d meet others with tired, furious glares or scoffs to aimless nods that Lucifer understood somehow and guide him to comfort. Give him space or an embrace the other easily falls into and lets it fill his wounded heart once more.

       Time goes slow, it seems as the sun today didn’t quite felt like following it’s path as always in the same speed as it always had been ever since he’s known what the sky is what it is, maybe it’s past noon or just when he’d usually open the cafe, but little Sandalphon has done beyond count feathers aimlessly while smothering those he can reach, being as careful as ever while the smallest noticeable veil of light emanates from his digits just to also apply another layer of comfort with it’s healing warmth, one of his own powers ever since creation, the very same one he used to attempt at making Lucifer’s already closed wounds heal when the former supreme primarch would come back to the garden in a rush, out of breath and his beautiful armor trashed in blue ichor from otherworld beings having done quite a number on the other. And even then, Lucifer only worried for the other who had almost, at the time, never been in anymore danger beyond cuts and scratches from twigs and thorns, or his heel catching at something and twist his ankles in awkward positions that ached for a day or two - which compared to nothing to experiments that his back feels numb to. That, Sandalphon still has to someday talk to the other, but today… as the light catches on that ring he had fixed on the other’s finger as the sun’s touch paints it lighter than the alloy it’s made of, Sandalphon chooses to simply enjoy the day as it is. ‘’ I’ll get us some food. Do you want something sweet? ‘’ And yet, within the way his voice drapes lazy and low the wonder at the tip of his tongue, it follows also that slight knowledge that Lucifer might just agree to whatever he’d choose. But he likes to ask nonetheless. Sharp lashes close as he focuses a bit, as teleporting takes not much beyond a speck of power unlike how it might take half the life of a mortal to master such a spell, and it takes seconds as next to their shared bed a small mobile, wooden antique looking table tray manifests with Sandalphon’s usual kitchenwares; two cups, two plates, in the lower level are the coffee pot and some bags of grounded beans, a few sweet pastries of chocolate and vanilla with toppings of various fruits the crew has stored and he has access to. It disrupts the usual scent of home that the cabin has with a newer one more appropriate to the grandcypher’s kitchen, but Sandalphon welcomes the change nonetheless. ‘’Ahaha - It feels too self indulgent to do this hands free, but… Considering our current predicament, I can try and serve us like this – just be sure to not drink laying down or you might cough on it, Lucifer. Gran tried once and the results were disastrous. ‘’ Drinking sup gone wrong, one of those memories he looks fondly of despise his insistence at the world’s singularity to just sit up while afflicted by a bad cold and have at least something easy to digest before he’d starve, and yet…

   Lucifer's core tightens at the sight of Sandalphon's eyes glimmering in the early morning light. He can see the faintest traces of tears forming in their corners, and he desperately wishes to reach out to quell them before they can fall. But he's too late, and one spills out over the edge, staining the current Supreme Primarch's face before the other quickly wipes it away before Lucifer can extend his hand to do so. Those tears settle just as quickly as they had come on, but it does little to ease the agony of his heart as it squeezes violently within his chest. The love and affection he feels for Sandalphon so deep that it's impossible for him not to let out the quietest of hums in response--it's question without actually asking it; a desire to know if the other is feeling all right. Though he suspects he already knows the answer. Thousands of years ago, before the archangel had been created, he would have found the idea of crying due to unfathomable joy a tad farfetched, and Lucilius would have dismissed the notion with a disinterested snort and a wave his hand--claiming Skydwellers to be worthless beings driven mad by their own emotions. He can still vividly recall the times he had questioned the other about the various stories he read, and the interactions he observed amongst the Skydwellers that were so very unlike their own, but he was rarely given an explanation beyond muffled grunts. For so long he had believed himself incapable of feeling emotions, but that had never been the case. Whether or not he was actively aware of it until recently, Lucifer's always felt the handful of emotions that crop up in his core rather intensely. It had been subtle at first--he can still recall the time he felt his core throb when he had found a bird's nest that had been downed by a storm. Against his very purpose, he had wanted to save the newly hatched chicks, but he chose his duty above their lives, and the next morning his core ached so badly he had convinced himself it must be malfunctioning. In hindsight, that lesson was one he learned over and over again until the pain in his heart was so great that he learned how to live with it--that he tried to live with it. That was, until Sandalphon was created, and he discovered it was truly possible to cry from happiness, even if he didn't quite understand that was what had happened at the time. Every moment he spent with the other helped ease that ache within his chest, but every second with the archangel replaced it with a new feeling he didn't have a name for until it was much too late. So, even now, whether or not those tears stem from happiness or sorrow, they'll drown Lucifer's heart entirely.

   "Sandalphon." His voice is as quiet and gentle as always. The other's name is spoken less in an attempt to get his attention, but rather in an effort to soothe any lingering aches or doubts that might hang over him. Because oh Lucifer understands those feelings all too well when he's spent the last two-thousand years regretting the choices he had made, and praying for forgiveness and peace he didn't deserve, yet was granted to him regardless. He knows Sandalphon's mind is not unlike a rose--wondrously beautiful yet full of thorns that torment him more than he lets on. So, he exhales softly--his warm breath kicks up strands of auburn hair as he does, and keeps the fond smile that had painted his lips since last night ever present upon his seemingly immaculate features. "I'll never tire of reminding you." he whispers, briefly nuzzling against the archangel's cheek in reassurance--his skin is warm to the touch, and he can feel the steady rise and fall of Sandalphon's chest beneath his own. It serves to ground him--to remind him that they're both very much alive in this moment, and that they're at peace. For now, the world consists of little more than the two of them, and this room--for now, it's quiet and still and safe. And it's a feeling Lucifer is still growing accustom to, perhaps just as much as Sandalphon is. But if he's learned anything from the crew that has welcomed him with open arms despite his flaws and glaring failures, it's that he's not nearly as alone in the world as he believes he is, and that they'll figure everything out together.

   It takes only a moment for him to grow used to Sandalphon's tender touch once more, and for him to completely relax into it. Even if he still feels guilty for flinching at it from time to time, especially around his wings, neck, and side where he can still occasionally feel phantom pains from where the dark matter had pierced through him despite the fact that the body he occupied now wasn't the same one that had been destroyed back then. It seems the memory lingers far longer than the physical wounds he had suffered. But it's easy for him to ground himself once more when all he needs to do is exhale, and focus on the sound of Sandalphon's breathing, and the sensation of his skin pressed against his own--on the feeling of the rough edges of the scars Lucifer traces against the tips of his fingers, and he's reminded, once again, the hand stroking his feathers belongs to the one he loves most, and that he is safer within the archangel's arms than anywhere else in these vast skies he had once watched over. He adores the feeling of Sandalphon's touch above all else, and always yearns to feel it more despite the fact that, sometimes, just like now, it catches him off guard and he flinches involuntarily. There are times; however, that the archangel does the same, and it worries him, but he knows the depths of what Sandalphon must have endured in Pandemonium are beyond even his worst nightmares, and he has to shove the thoughts aside to avoid himself physically ill with worry. Instead, he chooses to continue softly massaging the other's chest--memorizing the bump of every scar that lines his body, and admiring the curves of the archangel's muscles. And each touch seems to make his wings fall further from grace--little more then a heap that's collapsed uselessly over both of them as little strands of fuzz and fluff drift about the room. Oh, it makes him wonder what the Sandalphon that always eagerly greeted him in the garden over two-thousand years ago would have said if he saw his wings in such a state back then. The tiniest of laughs escapes his throat as he imagines the horrified face of a much less battle-worn Sandalphon, and he hurriedly swallows it back down.    

    But he can't keep that laugh down when the rumble of Sandalphon chest vibrates against his own, and it spills past his lips in a light-hearted, airy chuckle. The fondness in the other's voice isn't lost on him, no it only serves to warm his core and widen his smile as he catches Sandalphon plucking a loose feather from the absolute bird's nest his wings have become, and feels its soft edges tickle his side when its released to join the others that are no doubt strewn all over their cabin. "Hmmm, so it seems," he hums through his laughter. "But it was a beautiful storm, and I would gladly brave it over and over again." The soft rumble of his laughter fades out into a gently smile as he continues tracing nonsensical patterns onto Sandalphon's skin as a content sigh falls soundlessly from his tongue. If it were at all possible, he believes his wings would simply melt back into his skin from the comfort they feel. "Indeed, though I am afraid to admit that it may take some time." He flexes his wings as best he can in their current state, and the motion alone is enough to make another wade of feathers tumble from their perch before his wings collapse in a pile atop them once more. "It gladdens me to hear that, Sandalphon, and I am honored to know that. However, I find I rather enjoy asking." He pauses in his ministrations for a moment just to run his fingers through the archangel's messy hair. While it's a tad bit more tousled than normal, it can't compare to the absolute disaster Lucifer's wings are at the moment. He would feel guilty if not for the fact that he wishes for nothing more than Sandalphon's touch and presence, and taming the unruly state of his wings will require a tremendous amount of both.

   Lucifer is intimately familiar with the abilities Sandalphon was created with, and so he knows, without a doubt, what that familiar warmth that slowly seeps into his wings with every stroke as that gently light washes over his pearly wings and bathes them in a rose-gold hue. And it feels utterly magical despite the fact that he's perfectly fine, and there's little need for Sandalphon to expend his power in such a way. But it brings back memories from when he would return from more dangerous missions covered in the ichor of other-worldly beings, and his own dried blood, and the other would insist upon healing him despite the fact that Lucifer's wounds had closed up long ago, and there was no need for it. And, yet, he never had it in him to deny Sandalphon of anything, and had only ever helplessly agreed to his aid. Even back then, it had made his body feel like putty. So, shamelessly, he allows a soft, content moan to fall from his lips as that welcomed warmth floods into his feathers. "Mmmm," he exhales, his eye half-lidded ad he tries not to completely succumb to Sandalphon's touch, but oh he's failing spectacularly at that. "Whatever you wish for, Sandalphon, I will happily share with you." His words are low, and bordering on a jumbled mess yet, somehow, he still maintains the air of grace and elegance he naturally harbors. It seems Sandalphon had known his answer before he had ever given it, and Lucifer is only vaguely aware of the presence of coffee and food when the natural woody aroma of the room shifts into something a bit more bitter and far sweeter--more akin to the scent of the kitchen rather than their cabin. Lazily, Lucifer's eyes peel open to glance briefly at the archangel's handiwork before his attention returns to the current Supreme Primarch himself. Ah, Sandalphon truly has found a use for his powers outside of battle, and it soothes the ache in Lucifer's a heart a bit, though not enough that he actively wishes to rise from where he is. "Is that so? Somehow, I can sympathize with the Singularity's desire to try such a thing right now," he mumbles softly. "However, I would not wish to spill anything or inconvenience you." Yet, even as he speaks, a frown briefly slips onto his features as he slowly sits up, his wings dropping behind him in a manner that can only be described as utterly defeated. There's a moment where all of his grace and elegance and mysterious aura is gone, and he looks completely miserable before he catches himself, and forces a smile back onto his features. "Ah, it feels rather cold without you, Sandalphon," he has to audacity to whisper as he longs for the other's embrace almost immediately after having removed himself from the archangel so they could enjoy breakfast.  

#cxffexngel #| ☩ I would bend the skies; realign all the stars in space; just to be with you ☩ (cxffexngel: Sandalphon) | #| ☩ A faint dusting after sunset ☩ (verse: AU - Post) | #| ☩ And once again the sky rises; sincere and melancholic ☩ (IC) | #| ☩ thread 108: sandalphon: cxffexngel ☩ | #{ It's so very soft! My poor heart! } #{ FDSJKFDHKFGDSA *taps Sandy's chest* this bad boy can fit so much tragedy and love in him VGDFLGJDFKS } #{ DGJFKGJFDSK RIP Gran but somehow he knows and he's already plotting his revenge! } #{ Lucifer is being so very shameless right now FEJKSJFDS never let Lucifer get tired he just gets dramatic and shameless DFHJKFG }

[aaetherius]

I think I’m going to crawl back out from the dirt over on my multi first @barmeciide​ if anyone would like to interact over there! 

#| ☩ Out of Time (OOC) ☩ | #{ I do want to write here and on my gbf multi again too but #{ my adhd is kicking my butt really really bad I am severely lacking in confidence because I know my writing is disjointed as a result #{ so I just want to gently try writing again someplace a bit quieter! }