#papalrot

@papalrot​​​ 🖤’d.    

        “So  what  are  you  exactly?”  Hazelnut  eyes  scanned  his  form,  “There  is  a  lot  going  on  here.”

Continued from HERE. 

@papalrot​

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The  kicks  of  his  bunkmate  are  interpreted  sleepily,  as  quite  a  nice  massage...a  violent  massage...OUCH  THAT  FUCKING  HURT!  Ifrit  retracts  his  kicked  leg  quickly,  retreating  under  the  sheets  before  peering  over  the  side  of  his  bunk,  now  upside  down.  “What  was  that  for~?”  

At  the  accusation,  the  fire  ghoul  squints  into  the  darkness,  searching  for  any  sign  of  movement  or  COMPLAINT.  Silence  save  for  road  noise.  “Are  you  a  compulsive  liar,  or  do  you  just  lie  to  me?”  The  ghoul  asks,  tilting  his  head  to  the  side.  If  the  question  weren’t  so  genuine,  it  might  be  insulting.  That  thought  that  it  could  be  never  crosses  his  mind.  

angst starters | accepting

@papalrot​​ said:  'Does it hurt?' (pls let copia hurt gab) 🔪

   The anger that blooms is almost palpable. A simmering acrid taste like ash on the tongue. White hot in old nerves in such a way that, had it not been for the restraints on celestial wrists, would have had the space ablaze in a wrath so powerful...a blaze so intense, that it would have left nothing but crater and shadow in it’s place.

Normally such petty trinkets would have been ripped apart without a fragment of effort. Like brushing lint from an expensive suit. Torn away. Wall brought crumbling down in the process. But the rotten stench of HELLFIRE on the iron, the haphazard enochian scratched into the metal by those whom obviously knew only the barest of it, held in place. The stain of hell revolting as it pressed hot against his wrists like it meant to brand. Gabriel’s lips curling subtly in disgust. The thick heavy iron more insult than the words cooed at the Archangel however. The mere audacity of the restraints presence enough to cause offense. That the creature had even DARED, enough to have rage in Gabriel’s veins.

      ‘ Do you have any concept of what I am? WHO I am? ’

The Archangel’s voice almost too calm. Belying the storm in ethereal eyes. Gabriel’s expression a mask. Heavy chains that ran from shackles, down through through rings on the floor, that trailed somewhere behind, grating. Metallic and loud as hands lifted to gesture. 

‘ I am brother to the Morningstar. I have experienced his wrath and listen to me carefully, little insect, when I say that you neither have his presence nor his....imagination. Take heed of that and know that these might hold me for now, but they won’t hold me forever. ’