whats up silly little gay people in my phone, i return

peep the new angel rp icon ....

his hands tighten into clawed fists that dig sharpened nails into his palms  ;  blood beads to the surface like blooming flowers of flesh and crimson  /  HIS  PALMS  ARE  STILL SCARRED  EVEN  IN  DEATH.   [  there was a time when he was made to hold two ivory votives in either hand, letting them burn until hot wax scalded his fingers and held each candle up on his palms. he might stand with his arms outstretched.  the burning pain in soft, boyish palms would become his religion.   ]      HE  WAS  ONE  TO  FIND  RELIGION  IN  THE  AIR  AROUND  HIM   [  GOD’S  LIGHT  WILL  ALWAYS  SHINE  UPON  YOU  WHEN  YOU  ARE  NOT  LOOKING  FOR  IT!   ]     

there is holiness in the way lucifer grabs his wrist   /   there is wickedness in the way he does not let go.

vox moves to tear his arm away, but to no avail  ⸺  either he had grown  WEAKER  or lucifer was, undoubtedly, stronger than he appeared. he can’t move, can’t look anywhere but at the  HEARTBROKEN  AND  LOVESTRUCK  EYES  of the boy who’s initials were carved into the surface of his heart.   ( you used to want to tear yourself open to make a home for him within your ribs - )

❝    let  G - O   of me - !     ❞   his screen glitches and his head jerks ; a rainbow of colors across the place where weary eyes used to be. with his free hand, he  SLAMS  THE  HEEL  OF  HIS  PALM  into the side of his head twice, as if the throb of pain would do anything to stop the glitching again. he could feel the tears threatening to bud in the back of his throat, hot and angry and BIBLICAL -

❝   not  RU  -  UNN  -  I N G    away from  -   F̵̹̓͗̇Ū̶̢͔̹̣̞̊̏͠C̷̨̧̨͚̗̯̼͍͕̈́͌K̵͇̬̜̺̹̣͐͒͊̈́̿̓̕͝  -    ❞

vox yanks at lucifer’s grip again, but not strong enough to run. it’s as if his mind can’t properly decide if it wants to run or if it wants to savor this touch ; certainly the last touch he’d ever recieve from the sunlight of his adolescence. forgiveness was not a virtue that vox was DESERVING of, nor a kindness he had ever been allowed.

❝   YOU’RE  MY  FUCKING  PROBLEM  !    ❞    it’s the first sentence he can say without a glitch interrupting halfway, and it’s the most damning sentence of all. as if lucifer had dug his claws into the plastic of his mask and TORE,  intent on doing what he does best  ;  destroying. ripping apart all that vox had once thought he was certain of.   [  YOU BURROWED IN UNDER MY SKIN / WHAT I’D GIVE TO HAVE YOU OUT FROM ME !   ]

⸺   ❝    i was  -    ❞  a hard glitch. a head jerk.  IT HURTS / IT HURTS / IT HURTS!      ❝  -  fucking  IN  LOVE  WITH  YOU  back then , and what , you didn’t think that  SCARED THE SHIT OUT OF ME?  i was a fucking  KID  and i loved something i couldn’t fucking  H A V E -    ❞

there are tears flowing  /  HE  HATES  EVERY  SINGLE  ONE.   he’s shivering and he doesn’t know if it’s from cold or from fear or from EVERYTHING AT ONCE. ❝    and now you think you can just  WALTZ BACK INTO MY FUCKING LIFE  like it means  N O T H I N G  -  ?   ❞

Still, to this day : he doesn't understand what went wrong, what HE did wrong.

It's not like Lucifer had summoned himself onto the planet thriving with life, a sphere that had started from The Garden to flourish into what it had been. ( All from his actions. ) Maybe the man he once held HATED HIM for the simple fact that he'd been a wolf in sheep's clothing. Had the appearance and aura of an ethereal angelic with wings to put even birds to shame, but claws, horns and glowing red eyes made of nightmares held under the surface; never having to make its appearance. After all, weren't there untold legends of him being the father of lies in the scriptures he read? An entity of temptation and deceit and fraud.

Is that what Vox thought of him after all this time?

How was Lucifer to know? Only to ponder and ponder, endlessly, in the drowning sorrow of a hymn of the closest person he's ever had's [ VOICE. ] And yet, he held hope; the only hope he still kept lingered deep in the depths of his heart. Until Vox said to his face of how disgusting he was - he wouldn't give up.

At his words, he landed but kept in pace, a wing still shielded him from the cold and rain as he left himself exposed, reaching out and grabbing his wrist to turn him around and face him finally. The angel needed to know. For the sake of his dwindling sanity of where they stood in each other's story.

⸺ ❝ You stop! Why are ya running away again? Talk to me! We've known each other for how long and you're avoiding me like the plague! What's your problem, huh? ❞

His grip was firm, but not enough to bruise. His heart couldn't continue to bear this weight that hung like an anchor. It roared wildly in his chest, in his eardrums, as the cool tears of clouds kissed upon his body, like a cleansing of the soul in the form of a baptism.

Why did he sound like that? Why was he acting like he committed a grave sin just by being too close to him?

let vox suck ur muse's dick. as a treat.

the new helluva boss trailer rlly makin me want to ship with a blitzo ,,,,

a good salesman could sell 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 with enough color and prose  :  things like that were easy.  𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍  𝐈𝐓  𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐍’𝐓  𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋,  𝐈𝐓  𝐖𝐀𝐒  𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐘  𝐓𝐎  𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐋.   love was something cloyingly sweet and rotten that you could package in shades of bright red ; cherry tonic and vodka  /  holy wine and sweet divinity.  and vox had become so  WELL  SPOKEN  in such efforts  (  the ones who twist and bend reality are often the ones who have learned from the best  /  the manipulated become the manipulator  /  are you paying attention . . . ?  )  

⸺    BUT  THIS  . . .   

HE  STANDS  OUT  IN  THE  RAIN,  NOT  A  DROP  PAINTS  HIS  WEARY  SHOULDERS  /  and he wonders if lucifer could ever really be a stranger to him. in this life. in any life beyond this one.    [  𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐓𝐑𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐆𝐎 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 ?  𝐃𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 ?  𝐃𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐃𝐄𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐀 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐃 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 ?  ]

when he walks, he is followed close after by the shorter man, lucifer’s ivory - feathered wing outstretched and curved to hover over vox’s head.  and there is something divine in such gentle intimacy.  the quick glances he allows himself to take at lucifer make it clear that the other man’s hair was getting soaked, and the sight made something cold pull at the bottom of vox’s ribs. as if he is grieving something still alive.  [  THE LIVING ALWAYS SAY GRIEF IS JUST LOVE THAT LIVES ON IN SPITE OF IT ALL, VIEWERS  ⸺  𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐎𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐑𝐒 !   ]

it’s his intention to walk home in silence. to ignore the cold pull in his chest, the invisible hand slowly sinking its claws into his throat, the constant, anxious run of his vents.  BUT  AS  HE  FINDS  HIMSELF  WALKING  THROUGH  THE  EMPTY  STREETS  /  ceo trailed by curious, heartbroken ruler  /  the tightening of his throat grows stronger.  [  DO THE MEMORIES HIT YOU IN WAVES, DEAR VIEWER ?  BOY,  DO  WE  HAVE  THE  WHISKEY  FOR  THAT  -   ]

❝   stop.    ❞      he intends to make it sound like a command  ;  how bitterly ironic, commanding the commander of sin.  but his voice glitches hard halfway through the word, making it sound like a pitiful and almost pleading whisper. 

( you are supposed to hate me and i am supposed to hate you and the world is meant to make sense when you rot in your own hatred because it gives you a reason to continue forward - you live by the heat of anger in your chest even if it burns you alive! ) 

(  but he remembers being twenty one again. sitting in the pouring forest rain that washed the blood from his hands. he could almost picture it cleansing him as he pulled his jacket around lucifer’s shivering shoulders. he remembered his hands lingering on the other man’s chest for a little too long. he remembers lucifer reaching out and touching the back of his hand with his own tender palm, like a prayer. a prayer for which no words suffice. he remembers. he remembers. he rots in the memory. )

He was left yet again to just watch and fester in the absence; it was God's cruel joke on his existence to always be abandoned and left behind. Imagine spending since the moments star dust tangled and wove together to make the idealization of perfection, an entity favored and treasured by Him, Himself - the highest power in the universe - to have the holy divinity spread word of thy name in blasphemy and discrepancies; even after Lucifer dared to change his name.

Anger and resentment always boiled beneath the surface of his masquerade. The same stage his fellow archangels wore masks of with an eye crossed out so their alias' were left unbeknownst to the slaughter. ( GOD KNEW HIS DESTINY AND HUNTED HIM FOR SPORT / SET HIM AS A PRIZE TO BE ADORED / AND DESTROY HIM. ) The game was set - premeditated with its odds. Heaven was a cult with the guise of wholesome lies. Lucifer was the only follower to question the integrity of the holy scriptures and gospels. His exposure with Eden HAD TAINTED HIM IN SIN. That was The Creator's law abided word - speaking as if Eden wasn't a testing, a hunting ground to see if SAMAEL Lucifer would pass.

The angel was always doomed by the narrative.

RUN little angel, DO NOT CRY - God is gonna "love" you and hold you tight. But what is LOVE but pain and grief? Listen to your [ FATHER ] to be redeemed. And if you stray and were to lie, be an example at the g a l l o w s to watch you D I E.

The choir still haunted him, the heavenly graced angelic tone taunting him as he died by THEIR HANDS, bloody and broken, wings battered and speared : they were the hunting dogs while he was the prey. Their teeth bore gold from his body as life left his eyes, FALLING, falling, falling down towards the depths of Hell just to be resurrected - never allowed the gentle hand of DEATH again.

His simple heart grew attached when the world seemed bitter and cold / all for a man that gave him his time, even if he hid behind his SIN OF PRIDE mask well. Lucifer couldn't let him leave again, not like this, even if what they once whispered of promises and future were all for naught; he'd continue to follow him out into the pouring rain, where a lonely heart screamed into the void - the rain he vowed Vox hated to be swept up in once more. Though quietly, he kept in pace - his wings unraveled as he decided to fly close by, using a wing to shield him from the acid that dare touch him.

If someone were to drown, let it be him and his rampant, yearning heart; maybe then a semblance of what they were long ago would grace him once more.

DESPITE  BEING  THE  RULER  OF  THE  RED  -  TINTED  LAND  OF  PRIDE,   it was not often that he bothered escaping into the streets of the city at all.  lucifer wasn’t a  party animal  by any means  /  but when charlie had begged him to leave his room, to explore the place he had ruled silently for so long, what was he meant to say ?    she was the one keeping him afloat, after all  ;  she deserved the comfort of knowing he was TRYING.

(  AS  IF  HE  HAD  NOT  ALWAYS  BEEN  TRYING!   as if he didn’t have half his mind in the paradise memory of eden, the other rotting in the abyss of his own creation. as if his agony was not white hot and SILENT in its nature, a beast not meant to be seen by any eye that was not his own. he supposed that was the nature of pain  /  he’d destroy himself in bitter quiet forever if nobody pulled him from his own grave.  )

he’d only been one drink in before properly realizing that  LISTENING  TO  HER  WAS  A  MISTAKE.  the people surrounding him in that dingy bar that angel dust had so  HIGHLY  RECOMMENDED  with a grin on his face and a pat on the shoulder  ,  they were . . . too close for comfort.  [  THIS WAS NO PLACE FOR ROYALS.  ]    the scent of booze and vomit and sweat lay thick and heavy in the air, a suffocating cocktail that turned lucifer’s stomach. perhaps it was a combination of overwhelming noise and stimuli that forced him to put down his glass and stumble out the door, taking a desperate gasp of fresh, night time air as he clutched at the fabric of his waistcoat.

it was in this  DESPERATE  ATTEMPT  TO  FIND  SOLITUDE  that the king had found himself stumbling into a nearby alleyway, his back pressed against the coolness of the brick wall, gentle head tilted back to the sky. his breathing had just begun to settle when the sound of  FLESH  HITTING  COBBLESTONE  made him jump nearly out of his skin.  THE  SIGHT  BEFORE  HIM  was not  …  UNUSUAL.  living in a hotel with a man such as  ALASTOR  had made lucifer grow very much used to the sight of blood in someone’s teeth.  (  cannibalism was not uncommon in godless places.  )   it wasn’t the sight of the body on the floor that transfixed him momentarily ; rather, the sight of the man before him.

HE’S  STARING  RATHER  UNCEREMONIOUSLY.   his hand still clutches the fabric of his waistcoat as he gives the strange, pale - haired man a once - over. strong shoulders, a self-assured stance, a grin that housed sharpened fangs behind parted lips. he was almost . . .  UNFORTUNATELY PRETTY.  the type of lovely that made an onlooker angry.  ( this isn’t what charlie was hoping  /  or perhaps it was?  she’d always had something to say about him MEETING PEOPLE, but he supposed that meeting a man in an alleyway while his teeth were stained crimson was not the ideal . . . )

❝   i . . .   ❞    ( they very rarely recognize the KING OF HELL in a place like this, when everyone’s too drunk and too forgetful. he’d been absent for far too long. )     ❝   you’ve got , uh . . . blood on your shirt, there.   ❞

closed starter > ft. @veneror !! ( lucifer )

this version of hell was .. different . it felt more permanent than avernus . which , one could suppose it was . especially considering , you know , he died . his plan to take part in the rite of ascension failed , and instead , his bastard of a master managed to complete his ascension , sacrificing astarion in the process . the vampire wasn ' t entirely sure how long he ' d been in hell , since time passed different here . perhaps it had been a week ? maybe two ? at present , the elven vampire was crouched over his prey , his fangs sinking deep into the demon ' s flesh . as the rich , crimson blood flowed into his mouth , a rush of exhilaration washed over him , momentarily drowning out the screams of his victim . demonic blood tasted more bitter than that of someone who was alive . but .. even though he himself was dead , his hunger still remained , and it was even more ravenous than before . and so , he needed to feed . thankfully , even in the depths of hell , there was a twisted sense of satisfaction in the hunt . the scent of another flooded astarion ' s senses immediately , and he heard the slight footsteps that entered the mouth of the alley way . the hand that held the victim up immediately loosened and dropped the limp body . spinning on his heel , then came a harmonious giggle . a hand swiped over his mouth , clearing away any droplets of blood that may have stained his chin . " ah .. " he hummed , raising a both of his hands , palms facing the other . " it ' s not what it looks like .. well , actually .. it is EXACTLY what it looks like .. oops ? " then came another giggle , seemingly holding no remorse for almost killing the demon who now lay hunched on the ground .

Another little scribble, this time of my take on Alastor’s true form as described in Anguish of the Marrow.

He’s both ghastly and lovely and I adore him

Vox: Do you want to come over to my place and sleep?

Lucifer: Like a sleepover? Aw, that's cute.

Vox: [ is trying to sleep with him ] Yeah-

[   𝐃𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐀𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 ?  DO YOU LOOK IN THE REFLECTION OF THE LAKE AND SEE THE SAME EYES THAT ONCE GLARED BLADES INTO YOUR ADOLESCENCE ?  HE WANTED HOLINESS FOR HIS SON AND IT CAME IN THE FORM OF BRUISES AND CONFESSION. 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐅 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐅 𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓, 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐍 𝐆𝐎𝐃. LIAR !  FATHER OF LIES !   ]

VOX  REMEMBERED  THE  FIRST  LAMB.   he remembered the wet heat on his palms, climbing up boyish wrists, the smell of metal lingering in forest air. he remembered the weight of the creature in his arms, the way ivory fluff grew stained with crimson bitterness ;  ( THE BODY IS A CANVAS AND YOUR SIN STAINS IT RED / YOU CAN SCRUB AND SCRUB ALL YOU WANT BUT IT WILL NEVER GO BACK TO HOW IT WAS. )      but  MORE  THAN  ANYTHING,  he remembered looking up from the summoning circle he’d dragged together unknowingly, to meet eyes with the devil.

(  you did not cry because you were afraid, did you ?  you cried because you knew lucifer took the form of the  TEMPTATION THAT YOU WOULD MOST REACH FOR.  just as he had offered eve the fruit with promises of knowledge unknown by her kind, he stands before you with a hand outstretched. and he is beautiful. and he looks like the end of your life. and you took that hand, do you regret it?  do you understand that there is no moving on  /  only running away until your legs give out ?  )

vox stared at lucifer’s outstretched hand. he watches it retract, then extend again, as if he were a frightened dog waiting with bitter expectancy of the absolute worst. something in his throat  BURNS.  there was no COY SMILE on lucifer’s face, no SHARP - TOOTHED GRIN that he’d seen at the bar not fifteen minutes prior. (  HOPE IS A THING WITH IVORY FEATHERS  /  YOU TORE HIM APART LIKE ANOTHER LAMB AT YOUR INEXPERIENCED HANDS.  )      

a piece of him wants to cry. to beg for that smile back. to wish for a different world, one where being known didn’t feel like being cut open for the masses to see. in another world, he would love and be loved so sweetly in return.  your father was a liar. why do you still cower at the thought of loving ?  /  is it because the fear of sinning is no longer there ?  is it because the terror of being vulnerable has taken its place ?  what are you if not a performer  ?

❝   i’ll be fine.    ❞      he says it with the same certainty and finality that he had when he was young. the same words he’d spoken to the blonde devil at twenty-two, when his touch had lingered longer than it should have, as he wrapped his coat over lucifer’s shoulders in the night rain.  and he meant it.  he would’ve froze to death under freezing rain, he would’ve lit himself ablaze to keep lucifer’s hands warm,  anything, just tell me what you need, and it’s yours for as long as i can give it to you. 

(  when he leaves the gala behind, when he feels the touch of hell’s rain on his shoulders, he does not do it because he wants to. he feels the acidic water dampen the fabric on his shoulders, they turn the white fabric dull and transparent, clinging to navy skin. he wishes the water was enough to drown him.  he wishes he were more than he was.  )

It was like church bells rang to summon the flock into the temple for hourly prayer - overwhelmed with emotion at the teachings of thy heavenly father of supposed love and understanding with how quick he was willing to leave; but instead of closing bibles with care, Vox left his open with a versus left underlined; and he saw recognition in eyes that spoke of unfamiliarity between them : ( JOHN 8:44 : You are of your father the devil, and your will is to do your father's desires. He was a murderer from the beginning, and does not stand in the truth, because there is no truth in him. When he lies, he speaks out of his own character, for he is a liar and the father of lies. ) From his understanding, from the first time tears flowed like rivers and redness touched his warm cheeks, the lamb gutted and displayed with shaky hands riddled in contaminated sin - blood cleansed his palms and trees; maybe this wasn't ever something he signed up for.

A bidding foretold of not his own desire. He'd never seen a human cry over a mere lamb before. They tell tales of how Lucifer was the untimely Devil but really, was it not human greed that took the true form of the DEVIL?

The curtains of their stage were closing, the mask had broken just a little : this was the end of the tragic performance but unbeknownst to Lucifer, the facade was far from reaching its close, many acts had yet to be performed. But no encore sang, no roses adored feet, there was no final bow ; his orbs of ruby bore into digital eyes as his voice ran stern. [ I CAN SEE HIM BEHIND THE GUISE / HE'S SCREAMING FOR HELP. ] The arm the rested a jacket on it rose to reach for him, to have an inkling of an embrace again but as his open, careful hand grew close - he stopped himself. Vox was making it painfully obvious that a touch by someone like him, a wretched Devil, was unwelcomed ; SOMETHING DISGUSTING. That must be the reason, Lucifer had become the most hated being in creation and textbooks - why would this be any different.

A blackened hand that showcased his sins, that had craved desperately for more just ... closed itself into a fist, inching back towards his body in defeat as his fingertips almost laid their claim on the side of Vox's face. He'll accept this fate, the one he's always been destined and prophesied to live : alone and unloved by any walk of life - a once human was no different. Instead, Lucifer grabbed at the jacket he collected, offering it out in turn.

⸺ ❝ ... ya forgot your jacket back there, here. The ... night gets cold sometimes. ❞ He wasn't really sure what to say anymore, any bravado and confidence he once conjured up had dissipated under his gaze; he didn't want to be the King of Hell with him, he just wanted to be : Lucifer.

woe, fuzzy Alastor propaganda be upon ye

HE  THINKS  OF  THE  BODY  OF  JAMES  EVERHART.   his body is rotten and unburied, but his name stands carved in stone, rememberance of a messiah and a martyr in the shape of a man.  the bullets in his body were meant to spell the end of him.  in another world, perhaps  it would’ve worked.  james everhart would die and  VOX  would be left in his place, and he would spend eternity pretending that  VOX  was all there ever was.  it’s a product easy to market, after all.   [  𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆 ;   𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐋 !   /   𝐍𝐎 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐍𝐎 𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐔𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄  ⸺  𝐈𝐅  𝐘𝐎𝐔  𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑  𝐆𝐄𝐓  𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃  𝐈𝐓’𝐋𝐋  𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑  𝐇𝐔𝐑𝐓  𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍  !   𝐓𝐑𝐘 𝐈𝐓 𝐓𝐎𝐃𝐀𝐘 !  ]

but  NO   ⸺   james remained. buried somewhere deep and secluded in vox’s ribs, laying shaking near a weather-beaten heart.  there, he remains twenty - one.  stuck in a memory’s time-ceased grasp, james everhart could remain in the year where he’d begun to associate the heat of sacrifical blood on his hands with the feeling of being  seen again.   

vox pulls his hands from lucifer’s shirt. one trembling hand reached for his own chest again.  ( do you remember feeling as though you might suffocate as a child  ?   /   the world might have called them panic attacks, your father called them  PROOF  OF  WICKED  FORCES  PASSING  THROUGH  YOU   /   and perhaps it’s why you felt like you might suffocate when he TOUCHED YOU - )   he swears he can taste his own heartbeat in the back of his mouth. the mechanical whirr of fans buzzed low in his ears. the sound is too much. EVERYTHING IS TOO MUCH.

and through it all,  LUCIFER JUST LOOKS UP AT HIM.  innocent and sparkling crimson eyes  ;  he is everything vox remembered and so much more. the wave of childlike yearning that washes over his shaking form makes him feel sick to his stomach in its cloying sweetness. 

❝   i -    ❞     AND HE CHOKES!   the mask cracks a bit too far and his voice catches, glitching in the back of his throat and tinting the surface of his screen with distorted static for a fraction of a second. with only a moment’s quiet, vox straightens RIGHT BACK UP, eyeing lucifer like he was tearing open his pages. frantically searching for a reason to not trust him. he’d pick at whatever vague reasoning he could find.   [  𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐁𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐍 𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐒 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐄𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇, 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒 !   ]

vox forces his voice steady again ; always the performer to an audience of one.     ❝   i have to go.   ❞

He remembers a similar instance very well - the last night they saw each other; his demeanor and stance was almost identical to that night, a familiar thunder roared in his voice just the same. But Lucifer grew some thicker skin since then, HELL taught him well.

Lucifer Morningstar, once blessed upon the Heavens as Samael; a dead name forgotten eons ago. He wasn't the man God portrayed him to be perceived through the eyes of weak humans who'd lost their way and needed a path. For his rebellion, his kind nature and heart was nearly wiped from existence - only to be preached upon the word as a ferocious, demonic entity; and to some extent, maybe it was right.

But the beast of legends was truthfully kind and merciful, understanding and loving; he cared not who sinned - ( not every sin was irredeemable ); he granted them the option to freely think and be whatever one would so choose, regardless of their choices that came to pass. No judgements ever passed his lips - especially not for him. After the many years together, after the many secret hushed prayers or wanting forgiveness - he couldn't. Lucifer understood as much as he was able to understand and he saw [ himself. ]

The Devil in all his glory remained phased at his lashing out, like a monster in the image of his father would emerge at any moment with the holy belt in hand to lay punishment on him. No masquerade mask laid present on his features, he allowed himself open - just like Vox was attempting to be, his eyes were begging as his mouth spewed words laced with insecurity.

But, for what? Why was he so persistent to keep Lucifer at a distance? An answer was never given before and he continued to be confused for ages with no hope of one. As much as he despised being touched, he'd allow him to grab onto the fabric the adored his body, arms laid present at his sides - a look of understanding and worry laced his gaze.

( WHY WON'T YOU LET ME IN? DID EVERYTHING MEAN NOTHING TO YOU? ) Why had he grown so attached?

⸺ ❝ Normally, someone wouldn't act so defensive if that were the case. Why do you keep pushing me away even now? WHY? ❞

GUYS ???

Touch me like you've missed me for decades. Touch me like you're re-claiming what is yours.

 [    𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒.   ]        ⸺      he registers the name before he registers anything else spoken by the  CLOYINGLY FAMILIAR  voice behind him, and it straightens his shoulders to an almost painful extent.  HE HOLDS THE MEMORIES IN HIS THROAT AND THEY’RE ROTTING  like unspoken confessions. vox’s hands shake, nails digging holes into his palms.   (  HE PICTURES HIS PALMS PUNCTURING  /  HE IS A MARTYR WITH ARMS OUTSPREAD, JUST AS HE HAD ONCE BEEN IMAGINED BY THE BRAINWASHED CROWD  !   )     

vox’s head jerks. the distant hum of his whirring fans purr in his ears.  WAS  THIS  WHAT  IT  FELT  LIKE  TO  BE  MOCKED?   he could feel the words burrow into his liver, as if lucifer were his own personal brand of alcohol poisoning, like this was a bitter and wicked  SECOND  DEATH   [  𝐌𝐀𝐘𝐁𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔’𝐋𝐋 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐈𝐓 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 !  ]     he is re - imagining every broken prayer he’d ever given.  he should have given them to his god  /  a god that would not listen to heartsick young boys who dance with devils in the cruel moonlight  /  a god that did not want him.

(   BUT YOU WERE THE ONE TO PUSH HIM AWAY.  when your lips brushed so close that night, you were the one who felt a hundred eyes from the impending heavens, watching you from afar, their swords raised for your slaughter.  YOU WERE THE ONE TO PUSH HIM OFF.  he stared up at you with such confused heartbreak as you  SCREAMED  AT  HIM,  as if hurting him would cleanse you.  CRUELTY IS NOT A BAPTISM, DARLING BOY  -  )

the confused and broken man in vox’s memory is the same face he turns around to see. big, red eyes, anxious demeanor.  ( he’s holding your jacket, do you remember wrapping your coat around him when the woods became wrecked with a night - time thunderstorm? do you remember feeling his shivering cease as you did? didn’t that jacket smell like clean vanilla and reassurances? )

;      the memory cries :  i’m so sorry - ;      the memory cries :  i didn’t mean to . . . i didn’t think - ;      the memory cries :  i just thought you - i thought we - ;      you scream :  SHUT UP SHUT UP PLEASE DEAR GOD JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP FOR ONCE THERE IS NO WE! THERE WAS NEVER ANY “WE!” NOW GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY H E A D !

the rage boils in him when he turns to face lucifer. his chest shakes with every breath. blood begins dripping from his palms from where his claws stabbed into his flesh.  

❝   lucifer, is it ?    ❞    ( he’s aware. he knows. the name is burned into his bones, his being, his LIFE AND HIS DEATH. )      

❝   i don’t know what kind of fucking  GAME  you’re trying to play here, but it stops right the fuck now.   i don’t know who  JAMES  is, i don’t know you  -  so stop acting like you  FUCKING  KNOW  ME !   ❞    shaking hands grip the front of lucifer’s shirt. he’s stronger than he once was. 

He noticed the drunken sway in his walk, the frustration of clothes too tight clinging onto his form as if he was suffocating. Lucifer grew curious as to what was wrong - maybe drinking the liquid courage wasn't something he indulged in too often. Patiently, the moments passed, allowing the lamb to travel further before the King makes his way to the blazer nestled on the ground, he picks it up to throw over his shoulder. Cologne radiated from the jacket mixed with some spilled bourbon; a hint of a woodsy fresh pine : ( A SMELL HE ALL TOO WELL REMEMBERS. ) Confirmations kept seeding itself into the crevices of the Devil's mind, flourishing further that this was his [ James. ]

Nobody lingered in these empty halls that seemed to echo and time nonexistent; they were the only two, unbeknownst to the man who seemed to be crumbling under the unseen weight of God's judgement ⸺ a memory played before him, Lucifer was in Vox's shoes, reliving the day in God's court - being sentenced to a life of damnation for all eternity; for Sins he hadn't meant to commit.

A sigh exhaled out of him silently as his chest grew heavy; ruby gaze blinks and suddenly, he's reminded of prayers silently spoken to Lucifer in their time apart in the confessional that was his mind : he always heard his invocation designed specifically for his ears alone - long when his presence was no longer summoned for rituals. It'd become the last the Devil had left for years of Vox and his voice. He blinks again and he's back to the present time, witnessing the wraith unfold that sounded much like the Father he prayed about - who raised him.

( HOW LONG DID YOU CARRY THESE BURDENS ALONE? )

Through the silence that ruptured after the string of cussed. Lucifer decided, quietly, from the shadows to speak up. He was very merciful and understanding but ⸺ why? Why had it been so long of being tormented by a voice he couldn't see the face to? The King tried to approach it ... gently.

⸺ ❝ Had I .. done something - to upset you, James? ❞

VOX  DUG  SHAKING,  DESPERATE  CLAWS  INTO  THE  FABRIC  HUGGING  HIS  CHEST   /   suddenly regretting the three-piece suit he’d gotten custom made for such a gala. the cotton material did not loosen. it was structured to be tight and perfectly ironed, (  𝐍𝐎𝐓  𝐀  ��𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐋𝐄  𝐍𝐎𝐑  𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍  𝐈𝐍  𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓.  )   but for a time like this, when he swears his body might revolt against him if he didn’t manage to get a breath in, it’s much too tight for him to handle. too warm. too  MUCH.

the ceo tears his blazer off and chucks it absently to the floor of the hallway as he keeps walking further and further from the event space.  𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄’𝐒  𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐁𝐄𝐃  𝐖𝐈𝐑𝐄  𝐖𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃  𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃  𝐇𝐈𝐒  𝐋𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐒  /  𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘  𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇  𝐈𝐒  𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐄.   (  the mask is chipping and you are a witness to it falling apart. a salesman’s grin never fades.  perform !  act  !  sing  !  your body is not your own.  )    vox’s trembling form is adorned in a tight undershirt and waistcoat, both shades of deep navy and muted cyan, and he keeps pulling at the front of his shirt like it’ll make it any looser.  WITH ANY LESS PATIENCE, HE’D TEAR IT OFF.

he tastes blood in the back of his mouth  /   (  IS  IT  HIS  OWN?  )     had his teeth sunk deep into his tongue without him realizing?  why couldn’t he remember?    [  is this world too much for your bitter heart to handle, dear viewer?  /  try  𝐁𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆  𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑  𝐎𝐖𝐍  𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐘𝐄𝐑  !   /   watch the pain from the sidelines and imagine the body in the mirror is not your own!    𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐙𝐄  /  𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐄  /  𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐑 !   ]

(   and he will spend forever hoping, hoping, that this is all a nightmare. he will find a place where time is weak around the edges and he will tear it apart with his bare hands, until the nightmare fizzles out and he wakes up. there is an alternate universe where lucifer was the one he stayed with, after all of that time. where they were simply two young men dancing underneath eternal moonlight, in a world where rain never fell and wickedness was no thing.  he will wish for another chance forevermore.  he will not get it.   wasn’t god supposed to give second chances ?   )

MAYBE  GOD  CREATED  YOU  TO  BE  DAMNED  /  MAYBE  THAT  WAS  YOUR  DESTINY  ALL  ALONG. / MAYBE YOU WERE BORN TO BE THE PERSONIFICATION OF WRETCHEDNESS.

he doesn’t see lucifer behind him, and that’s the only reason why he begins speaking to himself, a voice that turns distorted and glitched, breathy in its desperation.       ❝   fuck,  fuck,  SONOFAFUCKINGBITCHFUCKFUCKFUCK -    ❞

And there he goes ⸺ RUNNING AGAIN.

Once upon a time, they had fox trot madly in a slow twine together, while under the gaze of lunar shadows that met the dancing trees - keeping pace with the crickets song of the night, the moon rising in the chests of a fastened heartbeat tangled into one.

A carnal, intimate dance, close, the beat can be felt of each other's hearts in their chests roaring; close, where breaths lingered on cold lips, hands squeezed in tandem in each other's hold; close, a lean, sealing a forbidden fate between star crossed lovers who could never be - he pulled away : ( HE NEVER MIRRORED HOW YOU FELT. ) A facade of a what if, what could never be. Maybe he'd been a fool to grow so attached ⸺ to a HUMAN no less. But it wasn't the first time his heart's been ripped at the mercy he laid it bare to; he was a timeless being with karmas who followed.

[ He's never gonna make it; all the poor people he's forsaken / KARMA : is always going to chase him for his LIES. ]

And like a time from long ago, he's here again - the broken repeated image of that familiar broad back facing him once more, growing farther and never closer to him. No longer would a limited time of an hour per sacrifice deter him this time from chasing; Lucifer would finish his glass and stand, casually stalking from a distance. Nothing of interest peaked his fancy in this gala anyway, he's hosted and attended many of them : it was more for showmanship and appearances than anything more.

The lamb ventured off into the bustling crowd of sin, the serpent slithered easily through the grass; keeping his eyes on the prize that was his prey - he'd await his next moment again.

you can ,, probably tell what thread im hyperfixated on BUT i will be coming out with more drafts soon i pinkie promise