#ephemeralshot

[deathfavor]

@ephemeralshot said: Michael felt his eyes sink into the ground as he listened. Arms wrapping around him in a pathetic hug to himself as he found himself wavering. He says they haven’t changed but Michael has changed a lot. Back then, he still felt hope, he even smiled. When he and Lucifer squabble, he had sensed it was more than simply wishing to illicit a reaction out of him.

Michael could understand the loneliness, the way Lucifer’s light outshined his own even long after he had been casted out. It didn’t make it better, it made it all worse. It hurt deeper than he ever imagined. Ironic how the one Michael wished to be like was just as lonely if not lonelier. Were they simply doomed to be miserable?

Heaven was his home, it was where he belonged and yet he felt alone amongst the other angels. God only ever spoke orders in his ears, and duty was all he knew. All the other angels would only ever gawk or steal glances at Lucifer. When he wasn’t locked away in the throne room. Many too afraid to speak to him. Michael hadn’t really thought too hard on it until now. He assumed it was the respect the bringer of light was owed. The morning star. Was it because Michael and Lucifer were the first that he had been able to speak to him in the way that he did? Unafraid to lash out, or fight back?

“So you liked when I yelled at you?” Michael asks, snowy white bangs falling in front of his face as he hide the small smile that appeared on his lips. Michael could be more than his anger, but it was much like natures wondrous encounters. Rare and sight to behold. Often times his anger was what showed what he was feeling deep inside. The grief he held for a father who didn’t listen, anguish, hatred and love for a brother who stood on the opposite of him now. “Is that all you want to know?” He asks quietly, his red gaze turning slowly to meet the pair of golden eyes watching his back.

Lucifer can see Michael trying to embrace himself, wrap himself in a self-soothing gesture that he would never let anyone else see. A part of him yearns to reach out...but what good will it do if it only makes Michael flinch away or shut down further? He's finally saying something, and perhaps it is best to give him the space to process it in a way that Michael needs to. Fingertips press against the starry fabric at his side, keeping his hands close to him.

" I liked it better when you'd brush my hair under that tree, even if you were often scolding me on napping or being out there rather than being early to an event. " It had never mattered. In fact, Lucifer's slight delay always had more people flocking to see his dazzling entrance whenever he would eventually appear. No matter how much he didn't want to be there, he would for Michael's sake or the others. He was God's right hand, it was something that was never to be forgotten. It still wasn't, Lucifer had been the one and only. To this day he carries secrets known to no other. " But yes. I suppose I did. It was new. I liked getting to experience what others did, if only for a moment. Only with you. " He's quiet for a moment as he chooses his next words carefully. " it has still always only been you. " Samael understood him too well, and that too was different than the bond with Michael.

Is that all he wanted to know? Lucifer's eyes meet familiar red, lips parting yet lingering with rare uncertainty. " I...don't follow. " He admits, draconic pupils searching Michael's face for the answers he doesn't have at his fingertips. " No... " He shakes his head after a moment, taking a few steps closer. The limitations of such language would never cease to be a frustration for him, but he's certain that No is the right answer. That's not all he wants to know. " If you mean your anger, no. It's not. " This time there's firmer conviction as Lucifer seems to slot together pieces and concepts of what has been said.

It would be better if it were another though. This Lucifer knows. Because Lucifer will not always be there, and they stand on sides of a line that Lucifer will die before crossing over. His freedom, his free will, that is his. He has ripped it from God's hands and burned and fallen for it. No matter what Michael could say or do, no matter what what beautiful picture he could conjure....it would not happen. Lucifer will not beg for forgiveness, he will not condemn that which he feels is right. And Michael....Michael should never fall. No matter if Lucifer might finally feel he is not alone, soaring miles above anyone else. No matter if it meant company. He does not think Michael could endure it, nor Heaven itself

" But what is it you want, Michael? " Lucifer asks, softer. Do you want me to anger you till you feel nothing but hatred and contempt? What is it that you want of me? A feather falls, dispersing into gold dust the moment it falls upon the earth, Lucifer lets a quiet sigh slip past his lips, and then crosses the space to press a butterfly soft kiss to Michael's forehead. He demands nothing more, takes nothing more. Only gives before he steps back, proud wings folding themselves smaller once more.

[apuppetmuseum]

@ephemeralshot

"I'm not really a sports person-"

When the basketball rolled at her feet, she decided to come out of her haze and appear visible to the one who had lost it. She picked it up and against her better judgement, tried to take a shot from where she was. Surprising everyone present, she made the shot. Which prompted the guy to ask her for a game, but she backpedaled quickly.

"It was just a lucky shot."

[grdnglow]

@ephemeralshot liked for an Epic One-liner

          "Let him feel the pain that the other felt, and rot."

[deathfavor]

@ephemeralshot said: Shhh I don’t have multi up yet but Kuroh is sending him birthday kisses 💋💋

A warm laugh fills the air when he's immediately greeted with birthday kisses when he steps out into the main living space. It's beautiful to see how enthusiastic Kuroh is about the day. One might mistake it as being his birthday rather than Yukari's. What is more of a gift than getting to see Kuroh's soul shine brightly?

Although he certainly wasn't going to say no to Kuroh's cooking, that was for sure. Not when the smell of pancakes fills the whole apartment and makes his mouth water while he holds the younger man in a hug.

" Thank you, Kuroh. " A relaxed smile slowly forms on his face at the birthday wishes that are extended to him amidst the flurry of kisses. He was beginning to suspect that it was one for every year. It was sweet, how much effort Kuroh always put into these things. Even if Yukari would be fine with something nondescript ( - well. It was Yukari, it was unlikely to remain as such with his flare for the dramatics ) it was an effort that he did appreciate. It was always rather touching to see the lengths people would go to for one another ; a unique kind of beauty different than what normally pained the world.

" A beautiful start to the day. Homemade breakfast, kisses, and I've only been out here for a few minutes. " Yukari was not skipping steps of his wake up beauty routine even for his birthday. Which was likely when Kuroh had started to make breakfast if he had to guess. " Shall we eat? It'd be very unbecoming to let your breakfast get cold. " He remarks, releasing his hold from around Kuroh to follow him towards the kitchen. " Should I be expecting more surprises? "

[fatepowered]

Time had lost all meaning since the world went quiet. Silence pressed in from every side, thick and heavy, broken only by the distant groan of the undead. Cheng Xiaoshi moved through life on instinct now—eat, hide, survive. He was used to it, he told himself. After all, he’d spent most of his life holed up in this very studio. Or what used to be a studio, before the virus swept through and turned the city into a graveyard.

He hadn’t set foot here in years. Sometimes he wondered if the building still stood, or if it had finally fallen to the rot. He didn’t know what had pulled him back—nostalgia, maybe, or just the hopeless urge to see what was left.

Qiao Ling and Lu Guang were gone. The memory hit him like a blow every time. Lu Guang had thrown himself between Cheng and a pack of biters, buying him those precious seconds to escape. Qiao Ling had been lost not long after. Now, it was just him and the ghosts.

He eased open the studio’s battered door, gun raised, finger tight on the trigger. The air inside was stale, thick with the scent of mildew and old blood. Shards of broken glass crunched beneath his boots. Photos littered the floor, their frames shattered, the images inside water-stained and fading—remnants of another life. The place had aged, the walls stained with time and neglect. In the half-light, Cheng could almost see them—Qiao Ling’s laughter echoing down the hall, Lu Guang scolding him for leaving his mess everywhere. He missed the sound of Lu Guang’s voice most of all; it used to fill the empty spaces, make the place feel like home.

Now it was just silence. He crept up the narrow staircase, muscles taut, every step measured. The hallway was choked with dust and cobwebs. He paused outside the bathroom—rust streaked down the walls, the sink bone-dry and cracked. The mirror was splintered, but enough remained to catch a glimpse of himself. He looked as battered as the studio: eyes bloodshot, beard rough and patchy, hair hanging in tangled clumps around his face. He hardly recognized the man staring back.

He turned away and padded down the hall toward his old room. That’s when he heard it—a faint shuffling, the scrape of something moving inside. He froze, breath caught in his throat, gun raised and ready. A biter, he thought. Had to be.

He nudged the door open with the barrel of his gun, heart pounding. But what he saw made him stop cold.

“Xia Fei?!” // hi surprise I’m giving feishi zombie au too @ephemeral-shot

Xia Fei wasn't sure what brought him to Time Photo Studio... at least, what remained of it. The last time he'd seen Cheng Xiaoshi and Lu Guang had been years ago, and all he'd been left with was an address. He and Vein had happened to be passing through the area when the memory struck him.

Surely, there was no way they were still there... he didn't even know if they were still alive. The studio had long ago fallen to ruin, he discovered as he wandered through the wreckage. Each time he passed a fallen photo, he looked at it - memories of better times. These photos were filled with nostalgic joy, and Xia Fei found himself missing his friends so badly it hurt.

Even destroyed, the studio retained the echoes of its occupants, as though it were haunted by them. Xia Fei drifted from room to room, surveying the darkroom, the sitting room, the moth-eaten couch where surely Lu Guang and Cheng Xiaoshi had sat close to one another before all hell broke loose. He'd never met Qiao Ling, but he felt her here too, thinking of the sharp personality Cheng Xiaoshi had shared with him.

His feet brought him up the stairs, towards the bedroom. The door clicked closed behind him, but he hardly noticed. A long-rusted bunkbed stood against the wall, molding sheets still thrown back as though they had just been climbed out of. A crumbling desk rotted in the corner, underneath an equally decayed bookshelf.

One last photo rested atop that desk, and Xia Fei reached for it, fingers gently brushing dust from its surface. Pictured there was Lu Guang and Cheng Xiaoshi in Bridon, cat-eared hat and all. Xia Fei smiled in spite of himself, nearly overwhelmed by the memory of something long lost.

Then, the sound of someone coming up the stairs. Xia Fei blanched, reaching down for his sidearm, bringing it up just as the door pushed open, and suddenly he was staring down the barrel of a gun... a gun being held by a human, someone almost familiar, though through the beard and dirt Xia Fei almost couldn't recognize--

" Xia Fei ?!"

Xia Fei's eyes widened into saucers. He'd know that voice anywhere - deeper than the last time he'd heard it, but it still flooded him with a sense of comfort he hadn't felt in what felt like eons.

" Cheng Xiaoshi ?!" / @ephemeral-shot

[deathfavor]

@ephemeralshot said: Will you kiss his bump better, ling wen?

" You're a big boy, I'm sure you can handle a little bump. "

[deathfavor]

@ephemeralshot said: He doesn’t know which would have been worse. Lucifer ignoring his wishes and lingering closely and further fueling the flames of his wrath or the way his wings extended out in all their glory reminding him of a time they’d never see again. He found he hated both options passionately.

“Because it’s fun to you” he says angrily, “you were like this even before. You’ll push every button you can.” He almost found himself turning around as he spoke but he stopped himself. Not wanting to look back, as if doing so he’d find himself trapped. Whether it was in his gaze, or the wings he would find himself curled up in when he fell prey to his own selfish whims. “It’s all you know how to invoke.”

For a moment, Lucifer is abnormally quiet. Not in mere mortal words, but as if everything that is Lucifer had gone silent and still in the universe. You were like this even before. Yes and no. It had been different then. Lucifer's heels click against the ground, evidence that he is moving and the draft that his wings create.

" So were you. We haven't changed very much despite how many eons have passed. Always working so hard for so little reward. You'd brush off everyone else who tried to get you to, other than Gabriel sometimes. Although she more often had to soothe things over. If i made you mad, you'd usually stop work. " He stands a few feet behind Michael, and then turns slightly with a small sigh. And then, he concedes.

" I did push all your buttons. You would get mad at me. Nobody else would. " Lucifer admits. " Heaven and Hell aren't so different in that regard. " He muses thoughtfully, though it sounds unhappy. " You were the only one. You ARE the only one. Even others of the original angels would rarely even raise their voice at me. But you would yell and fight and be petty. The great Michael, petty. " A small huff leaves his lips, a subtle hint of his amusement. " Sometimes I did it just to get your attention. Bothering you or sneaking out of Heaven tended to get the reactions I wanted. I felt less isolated when you were mad at me. Standing among millions of angels and not one willing to look you in the eyes or bowing with every step, too afraid to be near...maybe you envied that, but I just felt alone even under all the adoring stares. " It wasn't any different in Hell, not really. Other than a few arrogant ones willing to try to be clever.

He slides his gaze back towards Michael's back, staring at him silently for a few moments. " You're right. I know your anger better than anything else. I know how to get that. So I seize that. "

[deathfavor]

@ephemeralshot said: Michael huffs as he turns his reddened gaze from the other angel, his teeth seething. He couldn’t look Lucifer in the eye right now or he might be at risk for throwing more of the lavish furniture at him with no avail. “Don’t come near.” // gives you an angry Michael cuz hey why not >:3

Subtlety is far from Michael's forte when it comes to his rage. It fills the space like smoke and sulfur dioxide from a spewing volcano, tangible enough it would make lesser beings cower and grovel. But Lucifer? He's been on the receiving end of such rage more times than even he can fathom. Pre-fall, post-fall, it made no difference when he knew Michael's rage with intimate familiarity.

" You should know that won't dissuade me, Michael. " Lucifer answers, his voice calm and smooth compared to the strained sound of Michael. Part of Lucifer wants to push and push and push. What would Michael do if he didn't fight back? Would he be horrified at the brutality once red faded, or would he be happy? Satisfied? Yet, for his words, Lucifer doesn't actually move closer.

He tilts his head, gold eyes watching God's Shield snarl and gnash his teeth like an animal at a cage bar. He folds his arms across his chest, and then his wings flare out and stretch out, blocking out light that he was once the bearer of. " I don't know which is worse, your sulking or your rage. I like your rage more though. " It's familiar. He knows what to do with that. He does not know what to do with Michael's sorrow.