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idk! ! ! what to do w/ this blog, i don’t think i’ll delete it, not sure whether to archive it (?) i don’t want to. i might pick lasafam up in the future but due to mental health i’ll just quietly put it on hiatus for now <3 ! this will probably go for all my blogs if people know of them(?) thank you for your patience! i’ve been busy thinking about things and also finding peaceful things to think about <3
Silly little angel with such seemingly pure goals.
Did he think that he was being some kind of savior with his little act? He may be the color of fire and passion, but their anger brewed from similar sources. Where there was flame, there was also smoke. Both were elements of wrath, but his wrath was absolute. He was the great tamer of fires.
His heaven was but a mere facsimile of all that an overworld should be. A seemingly welcome place with clear, blue skies and white, puffy clouds. An abundance of welcoming rainbows with bright, cheery colors that held darker stories than any war hero. His grand paradise decayed from the inside out, ruled by a cold, corporate god. It was more like a Grimm Fairytale than one crafted from the hands of those who sought happily ever afters.
Angels, beings of his creation were his to bend and break, to test the limits of emotion and endurance of the physical being. Snap, snap! Such a sad, broken doll. Snap, snap! Break each limb and force it to bow. All imperfect things prostrate themselves before his glory. Wails, cries and agonized screams were his songs of praise and twisted hymns.
Didn’t he know that heretics must suffer for their misdeeds? This one wasn’t stupid. Lasafram had always had that rebellious spark, that cruel intent that piqued his interest. No matter how many times he beat this angel, he refused to break and only became bitter over time. Such a spiteful little thing and yet, the god would ponder if his angel could endure the special punishment he had in store.
It was time to yet again, test his endurance against the wrathful hands of god.
A twisted smile crossed the deity’s face, amused with his subordinate’s choking. It could only be so merciful if that was something strong enough to end him. Pathetic little fool should have escaped himself if he wanted to be free.
Then again, like all of his other pets, he could not stray far from his master.
They never did.
God sees all.
A choked laugh slipped between his pointed teeth, along with inhaled smoke that gave an appearance of fire breathing. “Is that so?” With one swift movement, he fiercely grabbed the angel by his hair and tried to force him to the ground. “I’ll just have to up the ante. You never cease to challenge me. Your defiance will make things interesting.”
THE BRILLIANCE OF FLAME; fire can not be molded nor can it be bent, no hands are able to cheat their way into the core of a flame -- DOING SUCH WOULD ONLY GIVE YOU BURNS. ( I am fire you cannot put out easily. ) Water can not cure a fire that was born from gasoline tears, a trail of oil leading to a path he’ll burn down with his wrath. YOU’LL ONLY ANGER IT IF YOU DARE TOSS WATER. His source shall not run out, the flames of rebellion and resentment shall not be put out so long as he lives off his own will power and passion.
It doesn’t matter who was fire or who was smoke, the ashes that both wrathful flames and vile fumes leave behind is all that mattered; IT DID NOT MATTER THE CIGARETTES HE BURNT AWAY. From the ashes shall a phoenix be born anew, stronger.
ＰＥＲ ＡＮＧＵＳＴＡ ＡＤ ＡＵＧＵＳＴＡ 🇹🇭🇷🇴🇺🇬🇭 🇩🇮🇫🇫🇮🇨🇺🇱🇹🇮🇪🇸 🇹🇴 🇬🇷🇪🇦🇹🇳🇪🇸🇸
No matter the punishment, the wayward streak of red would only come out the door with more reason to retaliate against that of the corrupt God. HE WILL NOT ALLOW HIMSELF TO BECOME WEAK. The God may have left the crumbling rainbow in a boat in the middle of the sea; however HE was their FLARE GUN, he draws attention in the sky to others. ( Save them. ) THEM. The angel could care less for his own life, as long as THEY are free and saved, he may live whatever life -- may it be painful or peaceful.
PULLED ROUGHLY DOWN, the palms of his hand meet the coldness of the solid floor, soon enough that would make him sore but he’ll play fire versus fire if that’s the game the DAMN GOD was wanting to try today. Knees were hovering above ground whilst his shoes were being what was stabilizing his balance.
“Well I’d HATE to be another damn toy of yours- so annoyingly willing to bend to your will. Reeaaaally, pisses me off. Shitty God.”
shittestdevils replied to your post:now bleeding he gona make kissy faces at
whith a whine the devil just lets the angel punch him and…. smiling? “awwww…. you really are being just like a Fumus jr right noooow~”
He falls silent, for a few moments was he sane in his antagonism, normal heartbeats pulsing through fire of umbrage; huffing from the energy and passionate hatred that he pushed into his actions relentlessly. Reverting back to his original bitter aggression towards the lucifer of obscurity, going so far as violently bashing at the satan’s eye.
( THOSE EYES. REALLY PISS ME OFF. . . )
now bleeding he gona make kissy faces at
The enraged red angel continues to violently bash his gun onto the devil, disregarding whatever face or emotions the other had towards the aggression from the streak of wrath and anger. Huffing, the vent of absolute DISGUST towards the devil’s advances escalated to a disarray of gunshots; Lasafam was a blaze of acrimony and resentment. HE ABSOLUTELY DESPISED THE PRESENCE OF THE HORRID DEVIL! The gun- forget- FORGET THE GUN. Dropping the weapon not too far not too close, just enough to pick up when needed, he proceeds to throw a flurry of punches.
“KEEP THE HELL AWAY FROM ME, DAMN DEVIL. Before I add more scars to that body of yours and blow your DAMN eyes out.”
winks at the red angel
ILLEGAL
shot through the eyebecauseyou’reaDICKBASHING SAID EYEWITH THE STOCK OF THE GUN
When your eyes are red, and emptiness is all you know… With the darkness fed, ι wιll вe yoυr ѕcαrecrow
✧
I would kill you. ✧ I would physically hurt you. ✧ I would attack you unprovoked. ✧ I would manipulate you. ✧ I dislike you. ✧ You annoy me. ✧ You scare me. ✧ You intimidate me. ✧ I hope I intimidate you. ✧ I pity you. ✧ You disgust me. ✧ I hate you. ✧ I’m indifferent toward you. ✧ I’d like to get to know you better. ✧ I’d like to spend more time with you. ✧ I’d like to be friends with you. ✧ I’m unsure what to think of you. ✧ I’m unsure how I feel about you. ✧ You are my friend. ✧ You are my best friend. ✧ You are my mentor. ✧ I look up to you. ✧ I respect you. ✧ You are my hero. ✧ You inspire me. ✧ You are my enemy. ✧ You make me happy. ✧ I want to protect you. ✧ I would fight by your side. ✧ I consider you an equal. ✧ I think you are beneath me. ✧ I think you are above me. ✧ I would lie for you. ✧ I would lie to you. ✧ I would sleep with you. ✧ I would sleep by your side. ✧ I would hug you. ✧ I would kiss you. ✧ You are family to me. ✧ I would die for you. ✧ I would kill for you. ✧ I would trust you with my life. ✧ I would trust you with my most precious belonging. ✧ I would trust you with a secret. ✧ I would trust you with my biggest / darkest secret. ✧ I love you (platonically). ✧ I love you (romantically).
??
“HIM? Oh, right. THAT GUY.”
AIN’T BETTER OR WORSE THEN THE DAMN GOD. Two that were utterly, grossly, alike. A tiny (a speck) of hope almost RELIED that at least the devil would be just by a MINUSCULE amount more tolerable then the god.
WELL THAT WAS OBVIOUSLY SOMETHING YOU COULDN’T RELY ON!
Yet those horrid scratches and scribbles of a bruising red, pains the head of the crimson angel, it was as if THINKING DEEPER of the devil it triggered the charred archives within his mind to hurl itself to find something like an urgent librarian.
. . . !
A voice.
It was somewhat similar towards the voice of the devil, yet less childish and comical- something not as CONTAMINATED with toxicity. Purple bled through the pages of the past.
HE WASN’T ALWAYS LIKE THIS – WAS HE?
“Besides filling the vile man with bullets… . .”
What words can you hold for someone who was no longer able to be considered ‘sane’? So far gone. (Well the question was what they always wanted to say, not what they will).
“What the hell happened to ya’?”
AND DO YOU NEED HELP?
He knew it was wrong to spy and pry in secrecy. Eavesdropping was not respectable whatsoever, nor was just generally being a creep. And yet there he was, pacing in the corridor beside his superior’s office with a fervent searching heart. Several times that day he had passed by wordlessly, tending to all the duties that required his attention. But he fell continuously distracted each time the door met his gaze, consistently feeling the urge (an itch) to knock knock on God’s door and speak with him.
But angels only spoke when spoken to… Such a painful reminder regarding his place. It made him attempt dismissal and focus, forcing his gaze always on to the task at hand.
His struggles were in vain, though. When his eyes were not searching for Him, his thoughts were.
Thankfully for Egmont, though, his facade was easily sawn through by the angel who never seemed to let him live his affections for the wrathful God down…
“Ah, Lasafam!” He gasped, his body jumping briefly in surprise.
The red angel was definitely something else entirely, a force that was able to keep his focus (make him stable). He was never a distraction in Egmont’s life, but instead a saving grace despite his terrible manners and rebellious attitude. Lasafam was the equivalent of everything he knew to stand against, and yet Egmont felt the safest with him. He knew how to pull him back together when times got hard. He knew how to save him from falling apart.
Lasafam was a vital piece to his salvation, no matter how hard he attempted to disregard it.
“Fine, we can go train. Maybe I can finally beat you at sword fighting, right? I’ve been practicing a lot… So, be prepared.”
Crimson gaze coming upon the silent wooden door, an entrance far too familiar with the intractable face and stingy eye of red’s revolt; never would the ENDLESS FLAMES OF RESISTANCE surrender his passion to the fraudulent holiness that the heaven left to disarray and turmoil tried to abuse into the consciousness of Lasafam. THOSE DOORS were an eyesore, plenty to cause another spark of disgruntled emotions pressing down onto his voice. ( Probably will be in there again later today anyways. Reform or some shit. ) Pressure, from the sole animosity the stray color, pushed down against his lungs.
Scribbles of what everything USED TO BE were how the decayed youth in his memories would often draw out history. Things that were once red crayons fervidly drawing out innocent pictures filled with a child’s love---
ｍｅｍｏｒｅｓ ａｃｔｉ ｐｒｕｄｅｎｔｅｓ ｆｕｔｕｒｉ 🇲🇮🇳🇩🇫🇺🇱 🇴🇫 🇼🇭🇦🇹 🇭🇦🇸 🇧🇪🇪🇳 🇩🇴🇳🇪, 🇦🇼🇦🇷🇪 🇴🇫 🇼🇭🇦🇹 🇼🇮🇱🇱 🇧🇪
Never linger too long on burnt archives, fire’s wrath had scorched purity from the angel of red (it’s all gone to shit.) Yet once a wildfire has broke loose, from those ashes will nature sprout once again to retain order to life. That’s where HE came into the picture, strokes of a gentle paint brush going atop those scratches on the messed up angel’s paper. Filling each hole those lines of aggression had made with the grace of peaceful green; filling it with life.
“Have you now? I’ll be looking forward to how much you’ve trained without me. I KNOW that you’re a cocky bastard when it comes to combat, don’t get TOO ahead of yourself asswipe.”
It takes a second to spare before the red angel roughly grabbed the delicate hand of Egmont, planning to drag him to where MOST of the training would take place, it’s mostly unoccupied most of the time so it gives the two more space from the others; all the area was, was a rectangle cut into the grass then dug, filled with sand, done. Easy. Grabbing training swords, from the container they were left in, and proceeding to toss one towards the green angel as the training tool for this session.
“Come at me when you’re ready.”
Getting into the defensive stance.
OVER AND OVER I ask myself ‘Where did I go w r o n g?’
Maybe I just spent TOO MUCH TIME trying to do things r i g h t
( I’m the PERFECT f a i l u r e. )
Angels were being molded in god’s image, those who praise him, dancing around and singing his name. However, that view had long since been obscured by the sands of time and they were now reverted to feathered weapons in his holy army, devices at his dispense. Feathered pets that jumped when asked how high or else suffered at the hands of what he deemed corporal punishment.
A world cloaked in vivid colors, a shroud of faux happiness to delusion the world into thinking heaven was more grandiose than it seemed. A place of eternal peace and grandeur, a paradise among the living…a paradise steeped in shadows. A forgotten paradise with eroding colors, faded with the sands of time, eroded with sin and mistrust.
His chains on them had rusted far too much and when given leeway, his little pets broke them easily to free one of their own. Such acts of betrayal left the god in his wrathful state.
It was time to bring deliverance to them once more.
The red one had always been troublesome, just as the symbolism of his color. After all, red was a color of extremes, of passion, violence, danger and anger. It was the color of blood and fire, energy and primal life forces. Red was a powerful color and one that he could not ignore.
Vile plumes of toxic smog released into the stale air of the room. Cold eyes stared down that door, awaiting the presence of the red and white angel with a maelstrom of anger brewing in his blackened soul.
Such heretics deserved to pay for their crimes, and the god would deliver justice unto him and lead him down the righteous path once more.
This angel had constantly tried to defy him, constantly stepped up to him and challenged him. Lasafram was eternally serving as a thorn in his side and much to the god’s irritance, he would not give the angel his so desired wish.
He knew in hindsight what the angel wanted, and it was far too forgiving of a punishment.
The door opened as he blew another plume of smoke into the air and the angel finally revealed himself, standing before his god. Their gazes pierced each other, as if each of them was trying to fight some psychological battle.
“Always to the point, Lasafram,” Fumus walked over to the wayward angel and grabbed his arm harshly. “If words aren’t needed, perhaps actions will do you better. Punishment isn’t about making you feel guilt; it’s about reform and respect. I’ve let you get away with your little act long enough.”
❛ ＦＯＲＴＩＳ ＩＮ ＡＲＤＵＩＳ ❜ 🇸🇹🇷🇴🇳🇬 🇮🇳 🇩🇮🇫🇫🇮🇨🇺🇱🇹🇮🇪🇸
Horrendous as it was, the fraudulent God could not bend crimson’s flames to his will through abhorrent and gruesome penalties; red was given the quality of RESILIENCE and strength, to have strong willpower against odds that were undoubtedly not in his favor. Was there any point in fighting against what was Absolute? ( It is futile to attempt the impossible. ) Although the fire of anguish from repeated defeat was burning his innards, the angel had no other choice but to SUBMIT towards the brutal advances of his --- ‘Creator’ .
【 creator? huh. even that title is surreal. 】
Prosperity felt like a myth to those left questioning their deity; was a paradise of reconciliation ever existent in obscurity’s Heaven? Any fragments of what it USED TO BE felt dreamlike, bittersweet taste for the mouth of the mind. ( A place that was once a fairy tale. ) Angels that chimed the sweet melodies of innocence and purity, voices that sung like harps and flutes with sanguine hopes for where their little wings would take them.
🇴🇭 🇬🇴🇩 🇼🇪🇷🇪 🇹🇭🇪🇾 🇼🇷🇴🇳🇬!!!!
Feathers plucked away while their wings were bent uncomfortably, bruises tainting their porcelain skin, tears drowning out against their horrid disharmony of violins screeching against the strings tightening around their throats. To bare a halo became suffocating, TRYING TO FIND SURFACE IN THE OCEANS THEY WERE LEFT TO STRUGGLE IN. ( We were stranded out of the blue, the turn was sudden and critical. )
❴ ｆａｃ ｆｏｒｔｉａ ｅｔ ｐａｔｅｒｅ ❵ 🇩🇴 🇧🇷🇦🇻🇪 🇩🇪🇪🇩🇸 🇦🇳🇩 🇪🇳🇩🇺🇷🇪 So the day arrived where the tears of an angel rusted the metal on the chains that yanked those the privilege to their ambitions and dreams; he allowed one to escape and ENDURED the consequence for a deed seen SINFUL by others that felt actually BETRAYED by his actions. ( How fucked up is that? Not wanting to give others the freedom of choice. CHANGE. ) That pissed him off big time.
Nauseating fumes of nicotine were unwillingly inhaled into the red angel’s lungs, making him hack out painfully at the disturbing feeling that the vile plumes plagued within his system. NEVER was he comfortable with the presence of SMOKE. Nor did he felt anyway complacent with the rough hold of the God, it felt like his skin was burning by touch alone. A scowl on the face of rebellion himself.
“Reform- respect, whatever the fuck you want to call it asshole god. I ain’t going t’respect you ever so don’t give yourself the luxury of expecting I WILL. I guess we both relate on one thing, we don’t learn a DAMN thing from these punishments, do we?”
The flame hisses out with sparks and heat.
(X)
“I’ll destroy you in the most beautiful way possible, then you’ll understand why storms are named after people.”
Indie Fumus
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GODLY ARIAS ECHO IN THE HAVENS OF THIS WORLD
DEBELLATE
[verb]
to subdue; to conquer in war.
Etymology: Latin debellatus, past participle of debellare (to subdue) de- + bellum (war).
[Pete Mohrbacher - Gadreel, Angel of War]
Drawing of the power angels to give me the strength adjust to college life
