hallucinatory halo —

I TRIED TO CHANGE WHAT I’D DONE; YOU STILL DECIDED TO LEAVE US HERE TO CROOK THE SPINES OF THESE WRETCHED BODIES YOUR GARDEN REMINDS US OF OUR FLEETING LIVES

seeing the urgent defiance irked lucifer. unfathomable emotion surged, and lucifer didn’t want to decipher what exactly was boiling in the pit of his stomach. it felt foreign and unwelcome - a disturbance - most likely something stirred only by the capability of sandalphon’s hands. there was a moment of pause. and then, “sandalphon.” his tone was placid, but lucifer closed his eyes. “i am also to blame.” he spoke it like an unbreakable law. “please, let me.” it wasn’t sandalphon’s fault. not alone. not for lucifer’s hesitance, for the amount of time he was taking. “i will also apologise.”

     “No...!”

It’s like shattering glass -- the picture perfect scene giving in to cracks and fractures. Sandalphon’s palms bang against the coffee table that separates them both -- arms trembling from his sudden outburst. Yet in spite of, his cup remains still -- the ripples never threatening to spill past the rim; Sandalphon’s never been more resolute.

The weight of a single word hung heavy on his lips. Yet even so, Lucifer found it necessary in this moment.  “I hope you can find it in you to forgive me, Sandalphon.”​

Within and out, the very core of him and the one adapted unto him burn him from the veins underneath his flesh to the very surface of his skin – yet he doesn’t writhe, he doesn’t gasp for clean air or claw the wisps of hope that one would ordinarily beg for. He, with wings punctured with bullet wounds, blanketing the ground in their disarray, kneels, he kneels without any sign of waver, to stand or to fall. The ground beneath him is cold, the breeze wafting through the shreds of his clothes, yet he burns, still; he is licked with flames of power and defeat and as he is knelt into that very cold ground and pants into that breeze he grins in the face of an even brighter flame. 

` Now, now… ’  He breathes carefully.  ` I never thought you’d be the type to want things to come to a heel so early on… ’  He’d laugh had he not known he’s running on precious time.

     “Hmph... still wasting your breath?” comes the sardonic reply -- disdain laced in his words with little done to veil it. The wind howls -- breezing through them both. It is cold, much like the archangels of eld. “I just don’t like my time being wasted.” The quick swipe of his sword -- the clacking of metal signaling the blade under chin as crimson burn with a steadiness long toiled for.  In the midst of the world’s cacophony, comes the stand still between cunning and supreme -- a conjunction of devotion that veered down two different roads. Much in the same way Sandalphon presses to carry Lucifer’s will, does Belial wedge his own piece in the fray; Lucilius has always come before anything else -- the world nothing but another thing to discard in his wake. In a time past, Sandalphon thought he’d do the same. A foolish gambit, in hindsight: Lucifer was never wont to act on his own heart before the beat of the skies’. Sandalphon huffs -- and tips Belial’s chin up with his blade.

@malefacere​ said:  "Oh Sandyyyyyyy. Don't you want to play?"

unprompted // ALWAYS ACCEPTING ♡

First comes the inhale -- the sharp breath in which all form of patience has worn itself thin. Then, the hot flare in his veins -- fury a pulsing thing that beats against his temple. Lastly, the fixed glare -- the focus of his ire, and the last thing he wished to deal with. “Why...” comes the exasperated sigh, a hand pressing against the hilt of his sword. There’s no chance for pause; Sandalphon has already begun his clash -- teeth bared as his wings burst forth in a flurry of feathers tempered to the beat of his angered snarl.