#archmight

[chavahs]

It doesn’t happen often, but occasionally... Adam & Lute genuinely differ on certain issues. When this happens, it escalates & results in the matter being handed off to higher authority [ someone who can actually handle these two, ] This is what usually happens in Michael's office. It can last a while...ㅤ/ㅤment: @stadam & @archmight

[queenbeeibee]

Look, Michael, they're just not that into you-

@archmight ment.

[brokendreamscreation]

“Why wear clothes when you can have 400 crabs?!”

Lucid is still clothed, but he agrees there are far better and more pressing things in life needing attention. Like pressing the “Summon Crab” button!

@archmight

[huskersgamble]

@archmight

Husk pushed open the creaking doors of the old church, the smell of dust and aged wood hitting him like a cold slap. Sunlight streamed weakly through cracked, grimy stained glass, painting the cracked floorboards in muted reds and blues. He hesitated for a long moment in the doorway, hat in hand, as if the emptiness of the place might swallow him whole.

He walked down the aisle slowly, fingers brushing the edges of worn pews, before sliding into one near the center. He took of his hat in hand and his gaze traces the statues along the walls.

Mother Mary sat there, serene and sorrowful, hands folded. Husk’s chest tightened at the memory of his Nonna’s house, the little Virgin Mary on the mantle beside a tiny St. Michael, frozen mid-battle against a coiled serpent crushed at his feet.

His gaze shifted to the larger St. Michael in the church, wings outstretched, sword slashing down at the serpent beneath him. Husk’s throat tightened. He wasn’t a religious man, not in years. Hell, he hadn’t set foot in a church in decades. And yet… here he was. The men who want him dead, were closing in on him, and every option he usually counted on... bluffing, sweettalk, gambling... was gone. He could feel the cold knot of fear in his stomach, rising faster than any pride could smother it.

He bowed his head, muttered under his breath, words more instinct than devotion from what he remembers from his Nonna: “St. Michael… proteggimi… please… don't let them kill me.” His fingers dug into the pew, knuckles white. He didn’t expect an answer. He didn’t expect miracles.

He wasn’t asking for the salvation of his soul. He wasn’t asking for forgiveness. He was asking to live another day. And for the first time in a long while, Husk let himself hope that maybe, just maybe, it would be enough.

[more-things-in-heaven-hell]

“Since it appears the heavenly host is being vain this Sinday morning… a little treat for you all~”

[stadam]

SLOTH IS A SIN [ OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT... ]

⅋. ❛ I see how it is, @archmight. ❜ Adam is half-leaned in the chair, one armoured shoulder slumped into a fortress of parchment and sealed decrees. Stacks of reports rise around him in crooked battlements, and this is one war he does not enjoy leading. He tilts his helm just enough for his voice to slant dryly through the steel, ❛ The good news is [...] we can toss that entire stack over there into the flames, cuz the girls already carved their way through every demon attached to it. They needed the practice. Can't have them getting rusty. ❜

[primordialruin]

@archmight [starter call]

"Laugh, and I'll revoke my hospitality," arms cross defensively over her chest, disdain apparent in the sneer at the side of her nose. "Don't make me regret being on my best behavior, or giving you the privilege of calling you sir today."

[loreolympiad]

@archmight - fl-- scare, of course. although, can the god of war be scared?

"No." Definitely not having flashbacks to the jar. Nope, not at all.