BRATTY&&

Did he think that he was being some kind of savior with his little act?  He may be the color of fire and passion, but their anger brewed from similar sources.  Where there was flame, there was also smoke.  Both were elements of wrath, but his wrath was absolute.  He was the great tamer of fires.

His heaven was but a mere facsimile of all that an overworld should be.  A seemingly welcome place with clear, blue skies and white, puffy clouds. An abundance of welcoming rainbows with bright, cheery colors that held darker stories than any war hero.  His grand paradise decayed from the inside out, ruled by a cold, corporate god. It was more like a Grimm Fairytale than one crafted from the hands of those who sought happily ever afters.

Angels, beings of his creation were his to bend and break, to test the limits of emotion and endurance of the physical being.  Snap, snap! Such a sad, broken doll. Snap, snap! Break each limb and force it to bow.  All imperfect things prostrate themselves before his glory.  Wails, cries and agonized screams were his songs of praise and twisted hymns.

Didn’t he know that heretics must suffer for their misdeeds?  This one wasn’t stupid.  Lasafram had always had that rebellious spark, that cruel intent that piqued his interest.  No matter how many times he beat this angel, he refused to break and only became bitter over time.  Such a spiteful little thing and yet, the god would ponder if his angel could endure the special punishment he had in store.

It was time to yet again, test his endurance against the wrathful hands of god.

A twisted smile crossed the deity’s face, amused with his subordinate’s choking.  It could only be so merciful if that was something strong enough to end him.  Pathetic little fool should have escaped himself if he wanted to be free.

Then again, like all of his other pets, he could not stray far from his master.

They never did.

God sees all.

It doesn’t matter who was fire or who was smoke, the ashes that both wrathful flames and vile fumes leave behind is all that mattered; IT DID NOT MATTER THE CIGARETTES HE BURNT AWAY. From the ashes shall a phoenix be born anew, stronger. 

                                  ＰＥＲ ＡＮＧＵＳＴＡ ＡＤ ＡＵＧＵＳＴＡ                                                                         🇹🇭🇷🇴🇺🇬🇭 🇩🇮🇫🇫🇮🇨🇺🇱🇹🇮🇪🇸 🇹🇴 🇬🇷🇪🇦🇹🇳🇪🇸🇸

No matter the punishment, the wayward streak of red would only come out the door with more reason to retaliate against that of the corrupt God. HE WILL NOT ALLOW HIMSELF TO BECOME WEAK. The God may have left the crumbling rainbow in a boat in the middle of the sea; however HE was their FLARE GUN, he draws attention in the sky to others. ( Save them. ) THEM. The angel could care less for his own life, as long as THEY are free and saved, he may live whatever life -- may it be painful or peaceful.

PULLED ROUGHLY DOWN, the palms of his hand meet the coldness of the solid floor, soon enough that would make him sore but he’ll play fire versus fire if that’s the game the DAMN GOD was wanting to try today. Knees were hovering above ground whilst his shoes were being what was stabilizing his balance.

But angels only spoke when spoken to…  Such a painful reminder regarding his place.  It made him attempt dismissal and focus, forcing his gaze always on to the task at hand.  

His struggles were in vain, though.  When his eyes were not searching for Him, his thoughts were.

Thankfully for Egmont, though, his facade was easily sawn through by the angel who never seemed to let him live his affections for the wrathful God down…

“Ah, Lasafam!”  He gasped, his body jumping briefly in surprise.

The red angel was definitely something else entirely, a force that was able to keep his focus (make him stable).  He was never a distraction in Egmont’s life, but instead a saving grace despite his terrible manners and rebellious attitude.  Lasafam was the equivalent of everything he knew to stand against, and yet Egmont felt the safest with him.  He knew how to pull him back together when times got hard.  He knew how to save him from falling apart.

Lasafam was a vital piece to his salvation, no matter how hard he attempted to disregard it.

Scribbles of what everything USED TO BE were how the decayed youth in his memories would often draw out history. Things that were once red crayons fervidly drawing out innocent pictures filled with a child’s love---

                    ｍｅｍｏｒｅｓ ａｃｔｉ ｐｒｕｄｅｎｔｅｓ ｆｕｔｕｒｉ                             🇲🇮🇳🇩🇫🇺🇱 🇴🇫 🇼🇭🇦🇹 🇭🇦🇸 🇧🇪🇪🇳 🇩🇴🇳🇪, 🇦🇼🇦🇷🇪 🇴🇫 🇼🇭🇦🇹 🇼🇮🇱🇱 🇧🇪

Never linger too long on burnt archives, fire’s wrath had scorched purity from the angel of red (it’s all gone to shit.) Yet once a wildfire has broke loose, from those ashes will nature sprout once again to retain order to life. That’s where HE came into the picture, strokes of a gentle paint brush going atop those scratches on the messed up angel’s paper. Filling each hole those lines of aggression had made with the grace of peaceful green; filling it with life.

“Have you now? I’ll be looking forward to how much you’ve trained without me. I KNOW that you’re a cocky bastard when it comes to combat, don’t get TOO ahead of yourself asswipe.”

It takes a second to spare before the red angel roughly grabbed the delicate hand of Egmont, planning to drag him to where MOST of the training would take place, it’s mostly unoccupied most of the time so it gives the two more space from the others; all the area was, was a rectangle cut into the grass then dug, filled with sand, done. Easy. Grabbing  training swords, from the container they were left in, and proceeding to toss one towards the green angel as the training tool for this session.

“Come at me when you’re ready.”

                 Maybe I just spent TOO MUCH TIME                                      trying to do things r i g h t

A world cloaked in vivid colors, a shroud of faux happiness to delusion the world into thinking heaven was more grandiose than it seemed. A place of eternal peace and grandeur, a paradise among the living…a paradise steeped in shadows.  A forgotten paradise with eroding colors, faded with the sands of time, eroded with sin and mistrust.

His chains on them had rusted far too much and when given leeway, his little pets broke them easily to free one of their own. Such acts of betrayal left the god in his wrathful state.

It was time to bring deliverance to them once more.

The red one had always been troublesome, just as the symbolism of his color.  After all, red was a color of extremes, of passion, violence, danger and anger.  It was the color of blood and fire, energy and primal life forces.  Red was a powerful color and one that he could not ignore.  

Vile plumes of toxic smog released into the stale air of the room.  Cold eyes stared down that door, awaiting the presence of the red and white angel with a maelstrom of anger brewing in his blackened soul.  

Such heretics deserved to pay for their crimes, and the god would deliver justice unto him and lead him down the righteous path once more.

This angel had constantly tried to defy him, constantly stepped up to him and challenged him.  Lasafram was eternally serving as a thorn in his side and much to the god’s irritance, he would not give the angel his so desired wish.

He knew in hindsight what the angel wanted, and it was far too forgiving of a punishment.

The door opened as he blew another plume of smoke into the air and the angel finally revealed himself, standing before his god. Their gazes pierced each other, as if each of them was trying to fight some psychological battle.

Horrendous as it was, the fraudulent God could not bend crimson’s flames to his will through abhorrent and gruesome penalties; red was given the quality of RESILIENCE and strength, to have strong willpower against odds that were undoubtedly not in his favor. Was there any point in fighting against what was Absolute? ( It is futile to attempt the impossible. ) Although the fire of anguish from repeated defeat was burning his innards, the angel had no other choice but to SUBMIT towards the brutal advances of his --- ‘Creator’ .

                                       【 creator? huh. even that title is surreal. 】

Prosperity felt like a myth to those left questioning their deity; was a paradise of reconciliation ever existent in obscurity’s Heaven? Any fragments of what it USED TO BE felt dreamlike, bittersweet taste for the mouth of the mind. ( A place that was once a fairy tale. ) Angels that chimed the sweet melodies of innocence and purity, voices that sung like harps and flutes with sanguine hopes for where their little wings would take them. 

                                    🇴🇭 🇬🇴🇩 🇼🇪🇷🇪 🇹🇭🇪🇾 🇼🇷🇴🇳🇬!!!!

Feathers plucked away while their wings were bent uncomfortably, bruises tainting their porcelain skin, tears drowning out against their horrid disharmony of violins screeching against the strings tightening around their throats. To bare a halo became suffocating, TRYING TO FIND SURFACE IN THE OCEANS THEY WERE LEFT TO STRUGGLE IN. ( We were stranded out of the blue, the turn was sudden and critical. )

                                   ❴  ｆａｃ ｆｏｒｔｉａ ｅｔ ｐａｔｅｒｅ ❵                                                 🇩🇴 🇧🇷🇦🇻🇪 🇩🇪🇪🇩🇸 🇦🇳🇩 🇪🇳🇩🇺🇷🇪  So the day arrived where the tears of an angel rusted the metal on the chains  that yanked those the privilege to their ambitions and dreams; he allowed one to escape and ENDURED the consequence for a deed seen SINFUL by others that felt actually BETRAYED by his actions. ( How fucked up is that? Not wanting to give others the freedom of choice. CHANGE. ) That pissed him off big time.

Nauseating fumes of nicotine were unwillingly inhaled into the red angel’s lungs, making him hack out painfully at the disturbing feeling that the vile plumes plagued within his system. NEVER was he comfortable with the presence of SMOKE. Nor did he felt anyway complacent with the rough hold of the God, it felt like his skin was burning by touch alone. A scowl on the face of rebellion himself.

“Reform- respect, whatever the fuck you want to call it asshole god. I ain’t going t’respect you ever so don’t give yourself the luxury of expecting I WILL. I guess we both relate on one thing, we don’t learn a DAMN thing from these punishments, do we?”

(X)

“I’ll destroy you in the most beautiful way possible, then you’ll understand why storms are named after people.”

Indie Fumus

Side blog (will follow back on @petite-mouche )

10+ years of rp experience

Oc and crossover friendly

Selective

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DEBELLATE

[verb]

to subdue; to conquer in war.

Etymology: Latin debellatus, past participle of debellare (to subdue) de- + bellum (war).