#| ☩ I would bend the skies; realign all the stars in space; just to be with you ☩ (cxffexngel: Sandalphon) |

[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.

[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.

[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?"    

[aaetherius]

[ @cxffexngel​ || a follow up from christmas thread! ]

   Sunlight licks at aurburn strands that almost sparkle gold even though the angel, in a heap of messy sheets that need serious tidying up - something a sandalphon who hadn’t done…. what beautiful thing the night behind them had been, would be the first thing up his mind. But even now the grogginess of the night before hangs over the crowed supreme primarch, in the same way completely messy wings of white all but also help covering the state of undress Sandalphon now, slowly, realizes he still is in. A breathy sound escapes his lips as heavy eyelids try focusing a bit more around his surroundings, but it takes a good minutes between thinking of nothing after a dreamless and deep, revitalizing sleep and formulate many ways to slip away from Lucifer’s tangled limbs all around his frame (not that his own arms wrapped around the other’s waist and legs just as tangled with Lucifer’s helped at all with his situation.) safely without disturbing the other.    Hopeless as it is, and sleep kissed as the primarch is, Sandalphon can’t begin to find the less risky way - not that it mattered much; it still is a blessed and beautiful sight to witness the former supreme primarch how he is able to right now, curtains of white lashes hiding away those sky blue eyes, the quiet sound of his breathing against his own, as chest rises and falls so close to his - this feeling all the more felt with the lack of layers that would dull a bit how skin graces one another, how Lucifer’s warmth mixed with his, and at times, Sandalphon liked to think that there was entirely no difference on where Lucifer starts, and where it ends with his own. It paints a small, sleepy smile upon war-torn features, and adds to the pile of options of why he should stay a little bit longer next to the other’s sleeping frame, and bask in the silence and peace as the airship made it’s endless way upon vast skies. Wooden and steel faintly creaking as wind caresses the outside of the room, and the cold of the night slowly banishes to give way to the sun’s welcome.    Sandalphon doesn’t dare count the seconds, or minutes when time sometimes seemed both short and far too long to really give it measure, but after a while, he finally tries his best to slip away from the bed, replacing his form with the largest, available pillow for Lucifer to keep straddling while it lasts, knowing how easy it’d be for the Primarch to wake upon feeling the other’s absence, something that warmed Sandalphon’s wounded core enough to forget the hurt more than he likes to admit, and something that also embarrassingly applied to himself, especially in days where the shadow of doubts decided to reminds him anxieties that often made this reality far too great to believe in it. Something Lucifer has become better at noticing, and a complete menace into reminding the primarch that he’s here, and he plans on staying for as long as eternity allows them to. Bare feet, the chill of the floor instantly makes Sandalphon wiggle his nose in distaste, but he bears it to get used to the feeling as he rises, and with a smaller blanket draped over his waist to cover up enough he searches for something - a little gift box that had been loosely covered by a heap of papers and a book atop it to make it’s form as subtle as if nothing had been moved at all from the room. Taking it with his hands after applying some magic to clean better what last night’s activities had leave them a bit sticky, to not need and wash them in his current state witch absolutely would bring questions to whoever locked eyes with him. It’s tiny, cream colored with a brown ribbon keeping the box together, and a gold little feather drawn on one of the corners of the top. With it secured on one hand, the archangel approaches the bed until he takes a seat over the edge, and with his free hand reach over, as carefully as possible, to push a few white strands of hair away from the other’s forehead and reveal those closed eyes while Sandalpon softly sighs fondly over the other’s slumber. ‘’ I… Apologize if this disrupts your sleep, but at some point you need breakfast, Lucifer. ‘’ His voice no more than a quiet sigh, a complete contrast to how once he had been the very one to threaten the skies and bring doom. ‘’ Also, there’s something I wished you to have, but we got quite sidetracked yesterday - not that I regret any of it. ‘’ Oh he’d absolutely never regret that, not ever in thousand years. It had been wonderful, a dream he’s always fantasied about, something he never though possible nor close and worthy to have, and yet… ‘’ Take your time. ‘’

   A muffled whine escapes Lucifer’s rosy lips when he feels the familiar and comforting warmth that had been pressed against his chest vanish, or rather, feels it twist into something a tad bit more lifeless and cold. Instinctively, his arms grip the pillow Sandalphon had slipped into his arms a bit tighter, but feeling the soft, cushiony material give within his hold is more than enough to make the former Supreme Primarch frown in displeasure despite the fact that he’s still clearly asleep. Uselessly, his legs tug the discarded sheets closer, as if he’ll uncover buried treasure if he simply rolls about long enough. But there’s nothing there. His legs don’t ghost over anything warm or lively, instead they just get tangled up in the already impressive mess of blankets tucked all around him. His wings follow suit, lifting and then collapsing back down into the now empty space–as if searching helplessly for something that should be there, but isn’t. With a soft groan, he nuzzles into the cotton pillow case, smothering his face against its soft surface, and fussing up strands of pearly, white hair that’s typically so neat and well-kept. At the moment; however, it’s not dissimilar to Sandalphon’s–shorter strands sticking up haphazardly, and longer ones curling up at the edges. The severity made all the worse the more he desperately attempts to clutch at the pillow in his budding, but sleepy disappointment because something about it doesn’t feel quite right, but his hazy and dazed mind can’t, exactly, figure out what’s wrong.

   It really only manages to click in his sleep-logged mind when he feels the gentle brush of fingers against his forehead. “Mmmm, Sandalphon,” he lazily yawns as he holds the pillow much too tightly, and nuzzles even closer to it (perhaps Sandalphon just narrowly manage to escape being hugged into a thousand pieces by waking up first). It only takes him a few more minutes and a few squeezes of his fingers against the fabric for him to realize the archangel wouldn’t be so soft and malleable. Slowly, long lashes lift to reveal sleep-dazed blue eyes that stare at the blurry mixture of colors swirling together before his eyes. Blinking a few watery, sleepy tears back, he finally manages to focus on the pillow held in his arms, and then on Sandalphon where he’s now sat at the edge of the bed. For a fleeting moment, a frown scars as his otherwise immaculate features, as if he feels betrayed by the pillow itself instead of the person who actually put it there in the first place. Carefully, Lucifer unwraps his arms from around the poor, sorely abused pillow and peers up at Sandalphon through dewy lashes and messy bangs. Positioning his arms on top of the pillow as he begins to the painful process of waking up, it takes him a few minutes to actually register that Sandalphon is saying words, and he can’t simply just lay there and admire his voice without saying anything at all, as tempting as doing so would be right now. For someone who had never required sleep in order to function before his current body, Lucifer, surprisingly given how stern and business-like he had once been, always had trouble waking up in the morning. It helps precious little that last night still feels a bit like a dream; an impossible wish that left his core feeling terribly light and warm and enamored. Though, even in his current, and very groggy, state of mind he’s well aware it had been reality.

  “Do I?” he asks, his voice still a bit hoarse and sluggish. “Perhaps I could be convinced with a kiss.” Even first thing in the morning he somehow has the utter audacity to make such heartfelt requests. Though, mercifully, his attention does manage to redirect slightly as Sandalphon continues speaking. Ah, yes, that’s right–he’d almost forgotten what day it was. Compared to everything that had happened, the holiday felt like a distant thought in his mind. Leisurely, he retracts his wings to make more space as he slowly sits up–completely ignoring the fact that he’s entirely bare still, and heedless of how the sheets all tumble down his shoulders to gather at his waist with the motion. “Yes, I remember now…” he mumbles softly, mostly to himself, but loud enough for Sandalphon to hear. The archangel had mentioned something about a gift last night, but last night itself had been such a grand gift that he couldn’t imagine or even fathom something more. “So it seems we did, but getting sidetracked was the greatest gift of all.” A gentle smile spills onto his lips as he finally begins to wake up, and break free from the clutches of sleep. The corners of his lips curl upwards even more as he reaches out to find Sandalphon’s hands so he can place his own over them. “I’m afraid if I were to take my time I would simply remain here with you, like this, all day.” Even he’s aware that’s not exactly practical–not to mention the mess, but he’s ignoring that aspect of his current situation rather well. “But I am awake now, so whenever you are ready. I am certain you could use breakfast as well. However…” He lifts his hands from the other’s knuckles just to gingerly card his fingers through those messy auburn locks, and to softly caress the archangel’s jaw, as if carefully making sure nothing was out of place, and that Sandalphon seemed perfectly fine. Ah, he’s still largely unfamiliar with the more physical aspects of his feelings, and a part of him simply never stops worrying. It’s in his nature. In his desire to see the other safe and happy. “Are you feeling all right, Sandalphon?” 

[aaetherius]

[ @cxffexngel || haunted shrine AU! ]

Wings with tips of scorched black and brown, dirty plumes veil the fave of the spirit that raged ever since unaccounted time, feared and isolated ever since of how much Sandalphon can even begin to remember. Everything around him changes, seasons pass and colors transition from lush greens to verdant colors and flowery beds, to snow and then the fall of leaves. A cycle he grows relentless time from time when shackled to the worn wooden shrine that would not allow the soul to leave the area, and only wallow in the loneliness and silence that, after centuries, the place had finally had gotten. It took million curses, dead people victim of his rage that inflicted illnesses to many of the unsuspecting visitors, heartbreaks that would wilt their lives to nothingness and then - silence. A cycle that happened time from time, and the winged creature, dressed in robes pf red and green and limbs of black hovered to many more days unable to really do much more but seethe with that flame that refuses to go out, an ire that fuels the vengeance that somehow is all he knows, no one that stirred the impatience of the haunting was ever free from the curses that would be laid as soon as eyes as red as a pierced heart's blood would stare down at them in the most reverent silent anger as words would be spoken, yet never head - and then silence would fill the empty field around the shrine again.

It's all he's known, Sandalphon has believed. To hate and lash out, to gnaw and curse, to wish and be left alone if no one was ever going to rid of him for good. The cruelest thing ever done binding his soul to such an empty place that looked like it'd fall down anytime at the foot of nature's will, and maybe someday, that's all he needs to finally go away — but fate was never kind. The heavens must resent him, as it mattered not how many centuries would pass, even when a period of stillness passed by, it never failed to occur the worst; a living to find their way to his shrine. The crunch of steps stirring vile and sickness to a being that only felt seething anger from thin air, like a wounded animal who wanted nothing but to be left alone, feathers would stir in anger and their battered ends would prickle, yet Sandalphon knew best that whoever is there, at best will feel the heavy air around the place, will feel that agony that the cursed place has been tainted with, and for better or worse, they'd leave. That's how it's always been.... Or not. There always is a time a single living would come by, everyday. Time from time again until they grew old and then the spirit would see them no more. For reasons unable to figure out, completely unaffected by the curses or his rage, nor even moved to fear or sadness over anything the sight would instill - nothing. All of those times, all of those lifetimes each living would have, they had in common one thing. Immense sorrow, guilt - and yet; it only angered the spirit even more. Why would they care? Why would they even make the effort for just a nameless being that only he remembers the name of? Ever since bound to this place, Sandalphon's known two things. His name, and that he's angry. Why? Betrayal. But what betrayal? Why was he cursed to be bound here for an untold time? Who did this? But such things were already dissipating as days could go by, and only the song of birds and wind blowing trees all but answered those questions. Looking back was a fog, a katana, red, horrified eyes of blue, and the shout of said name he all but remembers was directed to him. Everything else nothing but the blur of time passing, and frustrations that did not quell even as the ticking of an imaginary clock did not ever appease.

The sight becomes regular, always the same. A tall man, young yet lines of tiredness there. Sandalphon liking to guess it's his curses wilting that life away, but it was very obvious that it was something else entirely - somehow this place brought that man peace, much to his horror and distaste; and even worse. He'd try repairing the place, fixing rooting wood and painting faded reds back to something lively. It was disgusting, but little the spirit could do beyond hoping his clawing would somehow stir a reaction beyond tired hums he'd hear from the man rattle his chest, or words about things he cares little to listen when his mission was to let this place decay and be free; but it was helpless, his swings of dark clawed hands all but doing much, a much terribly futile attempt to what limited influence Sandalphon had, that he could only hover away, at a safe distance and stare at the other's back. A shirt that was cleaned not long ago, pants that fit nicely, but the vengeful soul wished they could just rot and bleed and be torn away by a wolf's teeth. Hair as bright as the first days after a gentle snowfall, fading to the slightest pink, and hands that told stories the ghost was not over interested to hear about. Why would he care? " Get tired already. " the psyche within what he can form as thoughts rattle as an echo of that wish from him, he could no speak, the wings get in the way - he could not see with his eyes, but he could feel the other's life radiating in colors a mortal could not. In a way, he could feel the other, could feel the world just like a living, and at the same time he could not. Limbs of feathers that sprout where ears could be all but locked in place, along bigger ones at his back that little needed to be there when as a spirit there were no bounds between earth and air, but just the unseen barrier that let him not to leave the place around the cursed shrine.

So the best now, just like anytime he's felt this presence ever since many times, Sandalphon just lets the curses take care of it. For now he just leaves him be and not care about what happens, for he all could bring is ruin and hurt, so that's what he will do.

The dilapidated shrine tucked beneath overgrown bushes and crooked tree branches isn't some whimsical or magical sight to behold. It's not a unique and beautiful treasure found amongst the aged trees of the seemingly out of place woods that some might assume it to be with the various rumors that circulate among the public about it. No, it's not special or breathtaking or mystical. It's haunted and rundown and unsightly. There's been talk of tearing it down for a few years now, but the plans to do so always fall short. The workers become ill or mysteriously vanish, and all efforts to remove it are brought to a halt. Curious onlookers are a rarity, too, these days. Back when Lucifer had first started coming to this shrine, years ago -- when he had been a child drawn to the ruined building by an indescribable tug on his heart, he would see the occasional brave daredevil who would visit the shrine just to prove the rumors were false. Sadly, all they ever did was add more creditably to those rumors. It seems, finally, after years of misfortune relating to the shrine, most of decided it's best to leave it alone. He's seen all manner of ill befall those people over the years he's been coming to this place, yet, that same fate hadn't befallen him. Perhaps it's only a matter of time before he finds himself cursed or worse, but, despite that possibility hanging over his head, he's never once considered putting an end to his visits. After all, he's come to this shrine every single day since he was five years old. A habit of twenty-two years wasn't an easy one to break. And, if he were being honest, even if he wished it, he doesn't believe it would be possible for him to put a stop to these visits. It would make his heart ache for too terribly.

So, with two cups of piping hot coffee, and a hefty bag of supplies strapped to his shoulders, Lucifer makes the same walk he does every single day. Up the same set of mossy, stone steps, beneath the same withering branches that creak eerily in the wind, past the same red gates that are full of splinters and chips, to the small shrine nestled within it all. Inhaling softly, he almost instinctively holds his breath as his gaze dances over the shrine, releasing it only when he's certain none of the awkward and worn pieces of wood holding it together will come crumbling down. He's fixed them a few times, but much of the original structure has rotted over time, and there's only so much he can do. Despite the lengths he's gone to to keep the shrine standing, he can't even begin to claim he's confident in his handiwork. But he wills those thoughts away to replace his concerned frown with a gentle smile as he kneels down before the shrine to make his offering, and say a prayer. Muttering a silent, yet heartfelt vow, he places one of the cups down on the alter alongside a handful of herbs before settling down on the steps a few paces away, and shrugging off his bag. Rolling his stiff shoulders back, he digs through the contents, removing a notebook, pen, a can of paint, and a paintbrush.

"I started the southernmost gate yesterday," he says to no one is particular as he taps the pen against the neat list sprawled out on the page he's opened up to. "Today I should be able to finish painting it. Ah -- perhaps I should sweep the steps as well." It's autumn, after all, the weather is getting colder, and the leaves have started to fall. He can scarcely hope to count the sheer number of them that have collected on the aged steps. Setting the pen on the page he had been eyeing, he glances upwards towards the dwindling sky. It's a bit late. He hadn't been able to get out of the meeting, and the sour taste it left in his mouth still lingered. But, here, for some reason, he felt at ease -- a world away from the hustle and bustle of daily life. Away from the expectations of society, and the slog of daily life. Here, despite all of the rumors that he fully believed, he felt safe. At home. The thought alone is enough to make his smile a genuine one. "It seems I will be in your company for some time tonight. Please look after me." He turns to the shrine as he speaks, watching the abandoned building groan with the wind.

He doesn't know if this shrine is haunted or not. He has no way of knowing if a spirit or ghoul or god calls this place home -- if anything at all, but, in his heart, he doesn't feel as if he's alone. But the feeling is comforting rather than unsettlingly, even if he does get the occasional chill or hear the faintest of rustles from time to time. Shaking his head, he tosses the notebook onto the bag, and takes the can and paintbrush over to the torii gate leading up to the shrine, admiring the post he's already managed to complete. The fresh paint has dried, and the color has gone from a muddy pink to a vibrant red that stands out against its peers, but he's determined to repaint every last gate around the shrine so, one day, they'll all match. Without hesitation, after all he's spent the last twenty-two years tending to this shrine, he gets to work painting. Sweeping, he's decided, he'll do after he's finished with this gate. Ah, it will be well past nightfall by the time he leaves, but that thought doesn't frighten him. "Today I brought you a latte I brewed. I am afraid I have yet to master the art of drawing in foam, but I pray my humble portrait of the gates brings you some joy."

He's like this every time he visits -- speaking to nothing and no one in particular. Having a conversation with the wind and leaves. If there is something here, he feels like he should speak whenever he comes by. After all, he's the only visitor to this shrine anymore, and not having anyone to listen to must be lonely. Ah, it's a feeling he knows all too well, and he can't bear the idea of another enduring it. So, if he can help ease some of the pain just a bit, he gladly will. Even if the coffee he brings always goes cold, and there's never a drop missing from it by the time he leaves.

[aaetherius]

 @cxffexngel​ || for all those rained in drawings ya keep sending me and fueling my mind with many thoughs!!! I choose evil :3c

  Guilt forms a frown on Sandalphon’s fair features, dusted a blush from the cold at the tip of both nose and ears that peek from curls of hair that lower by the weight of rain that even now mercilessly pours like cascades without any end of it in sight. Clouds dark shielding the sun from adobe the skies, and bags with various fruits and beans secured with plastic wrapping so none of it could go held tightly, but not too strongly against his chest, Sandalphon heaves out a sigh in relief when they both find shelter under Lucifer’s place. A roof that provides a rest from the chaos that had been an otherwise what used to be a peaceful chance at shopping for a evening dinner the barista had offered in a whim. “ Sorry… About this. ” it quietly slips from his lips ridden with a bit of the frustration and rage that comes at himself. Not having been prepared, not being good enough, believing how little he managed to achieve despise his best efforts. Sandalphon let that slip and it stung like million thorns upon his tongue.

   And he’d never be angry at Lucifer. Annoyed, exasperated, maybe, but actual red, fiery rage feels like a farfetched myth, and there was nothing for the other that should be apologizing for when even the other didn’t even notice the moment the sky turned grey and the first droplets fell warning with only seconds to breathe before it became a full on storm. And yet, even as they had crossed the doorframe by now and Sandalphon had dropped the bags in an awkward splattering sound that made him wince. even the idea of drying himself only to later soak himself away undoing all their shopping to prepare the food felt like a huge effort by now. But that need to remedy something his withered heart always somehow lays the blame upon himself, even for those unexpected moments that were not even his fault fuel the young man to fill his lung with a sharp inhale, exhale. Count to ten and then face the other, his tired frown still there but fixed on the bags the other carried. “ Let me help you with them. ” To make up for it. But the last of that goes unsaid, instead all written upon his face.

   Lucifer's wet hair clings to his damp skin as he uselessly tries to brush his waterlogged bangs out of his eyes as he slips off his soaked shoes while clutching the grocery bag he's holding close to his chest, as if it could, still, somehow get rained on despite the fact that they've, finally, made it safely back to the warmth of his apartment. A frown lingers on his otherwise handsome features as he gazes through the windows at the dark sky, and the storm violently raging on beyond the walls of his home. His heart is somewhere between his throat and his stomach, and he swears he can taste it trying to crawl its way into his mouth with every breath he takes. It makes him hold the bag just a bit tighter--the plastic covering its contents the only thing keeping them from spilling out from the pressure that does little to make his chest ache less. Sandalphon's apology does little to ease the overwhelming sense of guilt and worry he feels deep within himself either. So, slowly he tilts his head back to look at the other--just as worse for wear as he is--damp and dripping wet. A puddle has formed on his welcome mat where they entered. "You have nothing to apologize for, Sandalphon," he's quick to assure. He can hear a bit of the frustration bubbling within the other from his voice, and it only makes the ache in Lucifer's chest grow all the more severe. "This isn't your fault. It seems we just run into a bit of bad luck." His lips curl into a gently, yet somewhat pained smile.

    His own feelings aren't much different from Sandalphon's. He feels as if he's somehow to blame for this sudden downpour, and he's worried sick about the barista's well-being so he can't bring himself to linger in the doorway for long. Especially when he finds himself somehow relating to the awkward, damp plop the bag Sandalphon is holding makes when he drops it on the ground. "No, it's all right. I'm fine. But, wait a moment, please." Before the other can insist further, Lucifer quickly slips past the cat tower Ellie has tucked herself away in to avoid both of them--much as she would love to chew off the shoelaces of Sandalphon's shoes, she also would rather not get even remotely wet, and into the ivory kitchen to toss the bag of groceries onto the counter so he could fish through the ivory cupboards for every towel of every size he could find. With an impressive collection cradled in his arms, he swiftly returns to Sandalphon's side. That frown remains in place as he sets down his stack of towels, choosing one from the pile as he glances over Sandalphon's drenched frame.

   "Forgive me, Sandalphon. Allow me to dry you off, I don't want you to catch cold." He cares little for his own well-being, and hasn't bothered to even so much as towel his dripping hair off, but he can't leave the barista in such a state. So, softly, he places the towel over the other's head, and begins to knead the warm fabric into his hair in an attempt to help him dry off. "We can check on the groceries after you've dried off." Lowering the towel, he gingerly cups the other's jaw with it as his eyes fall to Sandalphon's clothes--heedless of the fact that his own, white button-up shirt is equally as drenched. "Ah, your clothes are soaked. I can bring you some of mine to change into." He pauses for a moment, lips pursing. "Are you all right, Sandalphon?" The worry in his voice is palpable.

[aaetherius]

[ @cxffexngel​ || royalty AU because Lucifer defs needs a treat - aka the sight of a pretty ang- knight! ]

    Sundown called in for the birds song fade, even those that linger with their melodies leave after seeds depleted and the lone young man only could watch with a melancholic fondness their temporary part. Lucifer had been gone for a while, something about a meeting with other royals and the villages below to enact new changes and simply forge stronger the bond he’s got with neighbor cities - this and that, and yet with the vague knowledge Sandalphon, the now claimed knight that had laid low for the time being, serves much to give a headache when trying to make sense of just what the other was going on about. So he simply did not partake on the political sides, never has tried; it was much better to go on and clean rooms where maids and others wouldn’t dare touch in fears piles of papers would completely crush them. Just like how once Lucifer’s room had been once a sea of papers, quills and many, many things the king had thought long gone miraculously unearthed from the mess the place it once had been. No longer a test of wills to step around without accidentally ripping the city’s pacts with other kingdoms, no more dread of a single drop of coffee falling on just newly written drafts as the ink dried — it had taken a while, and the knight remembers it with some sort of amused fondness; many apologies murmured from the man who might arrive anytime now, where Sandalphon has simply lost himself to working out as no more places needed, for now, any attention from the miraculous thing, apparently as some murmur, that is his tendency to space out in a fit of tidying spree for the sake of it.      It was easy to sneak and borrow discreetly things from one of the many rooms to raise new knights. Never having taken any of Uriel’s suggestions about enrolling in them due to the obvious that somehow did not drill into the man’s skull, nor it did help at all easing off how the other three simply did not help at all without somehow enabling him and drag the groggy knight around despise the clear protests - all bark but never a bite, and most duels always ending in a tie no matter who was against him between Sandalphon and the four knights. At least it helped sharpen his abilities, where he lacked the rather intimidating strength both Uriel and Michael had, he was quick, a quick learner and with sharpened senses that helped always avoiding the worst blows aimed. Even when swords were sheathed and tied so the blades never would come out and hurt any - bruises would simply sting if any of those connected, and while they did not do more than tickle, to Sandalphon, the looks of worry on Lucifer somehow had managed to persuade the reckless behavior to fade. Just a bit. Right now Sandalphon only tests stamina, with heavy lifts made pf rock and embeded in steel to hold them certain amount of time, and then lean forth to place them down when it was enough. A simple self imposed task, and one the young man enjoyed as it had greatly given back, along the unfortunate sparring sessions, the strength once wielded in the past. Perhaps it was greater even, yet still it’d yet to come and match Lucifer’s frame, not that he cared much thought.     It’s when echoes of steps and voices greeting the one who also lived here, longer than Sandalphon’s had when he knows the other is back, which makes his heart lighter somehow. Yet another of those rather embarrassing emotions that were immediately buried as soon as they sprout - shoved forcefully just like the harsh intake of air inhaled when he’s forgotten the basics of his exercised needed. Focus! But it was easier said than done, and completely out his hands now that a greeting and those insufferably kind eyes could stare back with a smile at the sharpness of his own. Sandalphon tells himself that he’s ready, that this time the facade pf some sternness will work and finally, Lucifer will tire of him - but that was yet another lie that’s hardly convincing at all. So the immaculate door frame moves, and from where the knight has made the makeshift training ground is, his back meets the king - taut fabric and flexed muscles of his back all for him to see as glistering shine of sweat clings dampening the dark skin tight clothes, only sparing, for now a look from over his shoulder. “ ... Welcome back, Kin- …Lucifer” It still feels wrong, but to drop the formalities was something he’s promised the other ever since that day under the beautiful snow. Even then habits die hard and his tongue ties within itself at the bitter taste the name upholds somehow, too close - too tight of a string tying his soul for the other yet there’s still that fog in between. Something the other had promised to dispel if he ever asked to, yet Sandalphon wanted to discover in his own. “ I suppose it went well - Don’t feel too obligated to spare details, I doubt to really understand most of it. ” But there’s not edge in the sincere exasperation that his words have, only then allowing his arms to rest and put the lifts down with a soft shift of pillows when they crush the soft surface but never completely touch the marveling floor devoid of a single speckle of dust - but droplets linger of the silent self imposed training, vestiges of how much it had been by now the small knight had ever since finished dwelling around and stayed within the only place comfort was absolute, despise never admiring it beyond how his body would relax the very moment heels clicked past the doorframe in especially long days and gross arguments against annoying individuals he’s thrown hands more than he was proud to count. Not that Sandalphon regrets it, too. Taut chest heaves in and out when the weights have left his hands, which now flex and relax to ease pff the soreness that always remain for some time, turning to properly face the other. “ Made the bed this time, and found… some of your lost tomes. I suppose even the crown gets lost sometimes? — D-Don’t respond that one thought. Just… Go rest if you’re tired. ” Ah, somehow even now it felt awkward - to somehow be this close to the one he once had tried to kill, to now slowly discover that there was just more than that. Too deep for a friendship but the heaviness betrayals dig and press it’s fangs it was too difficult to truly feel a complete bond. But this was not the time for such trivial things, and pursed lips relax as his gaze peels away towards where remnants of his silent plight coaxing the birds  silently frame the only one resident left about his actions. A few scattered feathers having been pushed by the breeze inside the room, and it was the perfect excuse to pace and take it within rough hands. Clean, and with small speckles pf dusted gold against it’s aurburn hue as he observes it - and it’s great to forget about the constant ringing in his brain, and simply keep the peace of the room.

   A sigh slips past his pale lips as he waves off the group of soldiers trailing after him - excitement carrying their voices down the hall, and well past his chambers despite Raphael’s grunts in an attempt to hush them, Michael having already been made Gabriel’s prisoner upon their return so she could relay the results of the meeting to the others. He was sympathetic to their eagerness, they were mere foot soldiers; the children of farmers that he had given shelter within the palace in exchange for serving him. Unlike the army Lucilius had left behind, the soldiers of noble birth who despised him, they were friendly towards him, and held him in high regard. And the meeting today had been directly related to sustaining crop growth during the drier seasons, and expanding the overall supply of food they had available within the country in an attempt to help curb the scarcity that had become commonplace during the other’s rule. So, it was something they had a vested interest in, but exhaustion was already plaguing him - as much respect as he harbored for the kings and queens of the countries that bordered Canaan, he had never been good with social gatherings or prolonged conversations with those outside of the ones he was closest to. It was draining, and despite how much he cared for them, he found his smile faltering ever so slightly when they didn’t seem to understand Raphael was attempting to dismiss them. It made the relief he felt palpable when he reached the ornate doors that lead into his room, and the message finally came across as he offered them a soft, and apologetic farewell for the time being, with the reassurance that he would update them after a night’s rest. One was sorely in need of given that he didn’t sleep at all while they had been away - every image that crossed his mind when his eyes would close twisting into a nightmare in a matter of seconds. He’d hardly eaten, as well, despite Michael’s best efforts - too concerned about a certain knight’s well-being to care much for his own. With a shake of his head, he dismisses the thoughts, and slips inside of his room before someone else tries to catch his attention. The door falling shut behind him with no more interruptions, a welcomed mercy given the sheer number of times he had been stopped since setting foot in the courtyard.

    ��It’s only after confirms the others have left that he tears his gaze away from the door, hazy irises dancing across the immaculate floor - not a single paper or tome that he had left strewn about remains upon the lush carpet. At this point, it no longer catches him off guard, but he finds himself admiring Sandalphon’s handiwork regardless. But it only holds his attention for a moment when he catches sight of the knight in the corner, eyes lifting and lips parting to greet him, though the words are firmly lodged in his throat upon actually seeing him. Long lashes flutter upwards in surprise as his mouth swiftly snaps shut. The thin fabric of the other’s bodysuit is taut over his lean muscles, and the dampness from his sweat plasters it against his skin, making every curve of his shoulders and back painfully apparent. His auburn locks tousled even more than usual from moving about, and there’s a distinct sheen to them that makes them shimmer gold against the gentle light of the sun pouring in through the open windows leading out onto his balcony. He finds himself, for once, struck utterly speechless in the other’s presence, and he’s aware his gaze is lingering on the knight’s shoulder blades for an exceedingly impressive amount of time - to the point where he hardly notices that Sandalphon had tilted his head to look at him. His trance only broken by the sound of the other’s voice, and he blinks harshly before meeting those scarlet eyes while swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat. “Ah – Thank you, Sandalphon,” he clears his throat in an attempt to hide how his voice cracks when it manages to escape his throat, and just how hoarse it is when he forms actual words. A hand lifts to cover his mouth, in an attempt to hide the wave of emotions threatening to drown him, and to shelter the faint dusting of rose that speckles his doll-like features at the joy he feels by being called his name. “I am home,” he adds on after a moment, the soft sound of his deep voice muffled slightly by the warm skin of his palm. Another thick swallow to curb the drum of his rapidly beating heart is forced down before he walks over to where the other is standing. 

      “It did, yes. Things appear promis–” he promptly cut himself off when Sandalphon sets the weights down, memorized by the way the other’s muscles flex beneath his shirt with the motion, and how his skin glistens as it catches the warmth pouring into the room. His gaze once more trailing downwards from the other’s visage to his body. A mixture of relief and awe swimming in eyes that seem just slightly more alive than they had been when he had first entered. Compared to the first few weeks following the now knight’s release, Sandalphon’s body had been worn and weary - he had lost weight, and a decent amount of his strength from being chained for so long, and it was a welcomed sight to see him regain it. His skin no longer looked ghastly pale, and the bruises that had covered his ankles and wrists from where shackles had held him in place were gone. He looked alive again, at least a bit, and it was enough to make Lucifer’s heart cease beating where it was lodged painfully against his rip cage. But, for as much relief as he feels seeing the other so well off, he feels just as much admiration  for him. For his strength, of course, but for how wonderful he looks. He always did. He had always thought Sandalphon beautiful, but when he’s faced with it so painfully it takes every last drop of oxygen from his lungs. His own chest heaving beneath his robes at the same moment he watches the knight’s do the same - his eyes unable to resist trailing over the other’s arms as he stretches them out. And it’s really only when he accidentally makes eye contact again that he recalls he had been in the middle of speaking. “Right, things appear promising,” he repeats himself as he coughs weakly into his hand to clear his throat again before allowing it to drop back down to his side. The fond smile that had been hidden behind it now allowed to, finally, grace as the other as he closes the distance he had left behind them to give the knight room to continue with his work out. “You have my thanks, I would be lost without you.” And so would everything else in this castle, but he doesn’t feel the need to admit that much out loud when it had been clear from the moment Sandalphon had joined their ranks. “And my gratitude for all of your hard work.”   

      A faint chuckle ripples through his lungs as he pushes aside the raspiness that still clings to his voice, and reaches out to gingerly push the other’s damp bangs from his eyes. “It has, yes, though I am happy to inform you it has been some since I last misplaced it.” While there is a certain amount of playfulness to his voice, it’s clear he’s quite serious - not that it’s difficult to believe when he loses nearly everything he touches, and he has a habit of not wearing it given his dislike for doing so. Needless to say, he’s lost it…quite a number of times. He shakes his head lightly at the other’s words. “No, I am all right.” He’s tired. Exhausted even, but he’s longed to see the knight the entire time they had been away, and he can’t stand the idea of closing his eyes now that he’s finally reunited with him. “Relieved, truly, to see you doing well. I pray the others have treated you well in my absence.” There’s worry in his voice despite his best effort to hide it. So, instead, he retracts his hand only to allow his palm to fall upon Sandalphon’s forearm instead. And it’s strange to him how simply being in the other’s presence is enough to chase away just a bit of the numbness and fear and dread that had been clinging to him the entire time he had been away. How he yearns for the day Sandalphon might be able to accompany him - ah, that’s right. The other isn’t a knight of his own will. The day he’s able to accompany him beyond the castle walls, he imagines, the same day he will leave this place, and Lucifer can’t blame him - even if the thought tears his heart to pieces. Subconsciously, he squeezes the other’s arm gently, gaze lowering to where their skin touches as he forces the thought away. “I can heat up water for a bath if you would like, or brew you a cup of coffee in a moment. For now, though, sit down; allow me to massage your shoulders. I believe you have done far more work than I have while I have been away.”    

[aaetherius]

[ @cxffexngel || Lucifer shall have one (1) angel who can't stop being heart eyes at him! ]

The cafe had a short time open, and the last customers had already left the grandcypher's homely room the current supreme primarch had dedicated for this alone, leaving him and Lucifer at the gentle silence only adorned by the creak of wood whenever wind hits the massive airship at odd angles - it's sown nothing but a mute howl that mostly wen't unnoticed by now. Apron left upon a hanger and most plates cleaned already besides the last ones left, and the primarch truly would go and finish scrubbing clean those last cups, but it felt, suddenly, a terribly taxing task. One he could ignore for now when all his tired gaze could pour attention at was at the gentle trail beautiful and graceful fingers trace against worn paper of lent books Lucifer quite often is found consuming. His usual pair of aurburn wings spread behind them, one sprawled across the low antique looking sofa until the tips fall, caressing worn flooring while the other served as a blanket and pillow for the taller angel's back as he read aloud for Sandalphon - and most of it's contents perfectly flying over the primarch's head beyond the admiration that oozes from his core at the beautiful ring Lucifer's voice always had whenever certain things picked his interest, and needed badly to share with him such findings - even at the cost of Sandalphon not remembering half of it until he's neck deep re-reading by himself so the guilt doesn't eat too hard his shadow. " hmh... " Hums, lowly in a purr as a brow rises with more interest at the words that blur into nothing more than indescribable doodles like Vyrn's attempts at writing despise his rather awkward paw like limbs not helping the poor small dragon into holding a quill properly. Even when he felt perfectly awake and with energy that could last various missions before needing to finally collapse into his creaky bed, it's as if simply taking solace upon Lucifer's side, leaning his chin into the soft of the other's pale exposed skin of his shoulder all but depleted all that bristling energy into nothing more than a weak ember - and not in a bad way. Heavens no. It felt more like what that one skyfarer who surrounds himself in cats pictured more like - as the cats sometimes wander into his room and somehow the best resting spot, despise the many better candidates Sandalphon could perfectly number out aloud to their tiny fuzzy little heads to remember, yet choose to conveniently feign ignorance, were the inside of his hood, or atop his chest were he be unlucky enough that the largest one of those felines caught him laying down looking at the ceiling for hours. With little respect stepping on his form until they lay all that fuzzy weight into a perfect sphere of hair and whiskers as if he were some kind of luxury bed just for cats. Yes, that's more how it felt whenever he had those moments where he could simply be held by Lucifer, in any way.

And the more Lucifer goes on and on, explaining him the contents of a book that by now Sandalphon has forgot even what was it about, his lashes fall a bit to half mast, blinking slowly while muscles that spend most of the day ready for any danger simply melt the more time passes at the dim yellow light of a gentle flower shaped lamp that helped the other see better when the sunlight wasn't enough. It doesn't register to the crowned primarch that his free wing shuffles so it rests upon his lap, covering his hand that laid upon his thigh a bit or that the hold he had with the other one upon Lucifer's arm lessened it's hold, until it's nothing but a fleeting thing. Truly, he felt blessed any chance he had to simply be like this with the other, thankful that Lucifer never once pushes away unlike the many times he's the one to hesitate whenever the other tried to close their distance, afraid of hurting or be hurt even when the logical part of him knew more than anything, that Lucifer would never think ill of him after all he's done. It's a hard habit to shed, and it'd stick with him, he knows. So he immensely appreciates the patience the other simply never lacked, his core always twisting awkwardly when Lucifer would have these faces of worry even when he discovered, finally of Sandalphon's airsickness he failed to tell. But ah - Sandalphon squeezes his eyes shut a bit and stops his mind from wandering too far, before any guilt rises from thin air just because, and tries concentrating on the other, let his voice ground his soul back to where they spend the rest of the day; whatever the book is about, again. Plants? Another of those terribly dramatic multi volume novellas? Cultural research? Or perhaps another tourism booklet other crewmember picked up and left in the cafe's stash one could pick and leave books and what nots? " 'm paying attention... " Awkwardly says, slurry and lazily to himself but by the little distance he has from Lucifer's ear hidden by the veil of beautiful snowy locks, it's terribly apparent the other might have picked on his own slip. Embarrassment rising terribly easy, and no soothing tiredness from being comfortable could match the way bashfulness plagues his body. " s-sorry, Lucifer. I — kind of spaced out..." But at least he's honest, even when truths like these, harmless and the ones that brought a fond smile to the taller primarch, shattered instead Sandalphon's pride because he was too caught trying to concentrate, and yet ending up doing the exact opposite when it was such an easy concept and act.

Lithe fingers trace over the faded text sprawled across the crinkled pages of the tome cradled easily within his hand. His eyes fixed on each line he says, softly, out loud in the quiet of the cafe. Well after closing hours for the day, the typical hustle and bustle of the small coffee shop aboard the Grandcypher is gone. The tables have been cleaned off, and supplies put away, though the pleasant aroma of coffee still lingers in the air - he can taste it in his lungs whenever he inhales gently against the auburn licks tickling his skin. The warm of Sandalphon's head upon his shoulder, and his body curled up against his side has become a familiar one to him now, but it's not something he would ever grow tired of. No, instead, he adores these quiet moments between them where he can simply be in the other's presence, and enjoy the time they have to spend together. Centuries ago, he had dreamed of sharing such mundane nights with the archangel, but that's all they had been at the time - dreams; faraway ones that seemed impossibly out of reach. And, now that those dreams have come true, they feel every bit as mystical and magical as he had always imagined they might. Even the soft thump of the Supreme Primarch's core and the tepid caress of his breath upon his neck is something Lucifer has come to cherish deeply. If given the chance, he would have easily spent years sitting like this on the couch in the cafe, enjoying the bitter, yet rich taste of coffee that was still present in his throat, and basking in the comfort of Sandalphon's existence as he flipped through a rather old book about plants. It was one he had jumped on the chance to purchase when the Harvin merchant had paid them a visit - an ancient piece full of countless memories for him that he was rather surprised to see. While, at the time, it had been one of the newest books in Lucilius's impressive collection, now it was one of the oldest book he's seen a Skydweller possess. Of course, it wasn't the copy his creator had kept, but it was similar, and the wave of nostalgia that hit him when he had spotted it had made him want to read it despite the fact that he had memorized its contents long ago. To most others, it was likely rather dry - full of basic and medical information about various flowers, many of which were difficult to find now, but Lucifer had always found it utterly fascinating.

And, so, he's perhaps so caught up in its contents that he scarcely realizes how dull it might have been to listen to. Even when that purr rumbles deep in Sandalphon's throat, he can only lean his head down to gently nuzzle into the other's hair to comfort him. A smile plastered across his smooth lips and radiant features as he continues trudging forward through the text without hesitation. But he is aware that the weight he feels against his side presses just a tad bit more into him as the archangel leans more heavily upon him. And he notices, too, when that wing comes up to drape over his lap rather sluggishly, and how the other's hand seems to slowly loose its strength until the hold Sandalphon had upon his arm is almost entirely gone. His expression softens, and he leans the book down against the table beside the lamp so he can free up his hand to gingerly dig beneath their wings to grip onto the Supreme Primarch's hand so that hold wouldn't be lost beneath a hefty pile of feathers that served to keep them warm. His own wings shift quietly, moving to cover up more of the smaller primarch as he leans back into the couch. It's undeniably comfortable - even in the silence that's filled only by the sound of his own voice, and the occasional thud or conversation by passing crew members. During the years he had spent in Canaan, the quiet had been a dreadfully lonely thing; cold, as well. In it, he would walk through the old gardens and picture the places where Sandalphon used to often visit to fill the increasing hole that had taken hold of his heart. Now, here aboard this ship, the quiet is something he can take solace in - it's something gentle and warm. He doesn't have to imagine conversations or visits with the archangel any longer because Sandalphon is almost always beside him these days. There's rarely a moment when they're apart, save for when missions call the other away or the Captain steals the Supreme Primarch for some job. And, even those moments, Lucifer doesn't find as lonely as he thought they might be - it's not the same type of feeling that takes hold of him as it had been when he had been waiting for the other in that distant garden.

It's the slurred sound of Sandalphon's voice that pulls Lucifer from his thoughts, and his gaze finally shifts from the book to the archangel. His sultry tone feels warm against the former Supreme Primarch's ear, and Lucifer knows his core swells at the sensation because he can feel the faintest fire begin to boil within his chest. That, too, is a feeling he's slowly growing used to, and one he's come to adore because it's one Sandalphon ignites within him. "Hmmm, so you are," he hums softly against the other's ear, his voice deep in his throat and laced with just the smallest spark of exhaustion this comfort brings to him naturally. But he can tell, rather easily, how bashful Sandalphon gets the moment he realizes his little slip-up, and Lucifer has to fight down a chuckle at the apology that follows, but oh his smile betrays just how fond he is of the other - and just how much and how deeply he loves him. "You need not apologize, Sandalphon." He pushes the book up onto the table from where it had been leaning against its frame, and relaxes against the other. "Forgive me for not realizing how tired you were. We can always continue the book tomorrow." Ever so lightly, he cranes his head so he can place the softest of kisses upon the archangel's head before leaning against his wild hair once more. Beneath their wings, his thumbs traces soothing circles upon Sandalphon's knuckles - carefully falling over each groove, and softly rubbing every scar and callous he feels as if he's trying to ease whatever pain they might have caused when they had first found their upon the other's skin. And lingering on the promise ring he had given to the other some time ago now. "Would you like to turn in for the night, or perhaps I could make you a cup of coffee, or choose something else to read to you? I have a novella here one of the Skyfarers of the crew lent me not too long ago, as well as beans that another gifted to me." Ah, he's still, even after all of this time, getting used to how excited and generous the members of the crew were. "Or, if you are hungry, I can make you something. Katalina did give me a recipe she is rather fond of the other day."

[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.

[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.