#fallengraced

[luxbringer]

fallengraced: but does the devul believe in the devul?

lucifer voice: i dunno do you believe the earth is round

lucifer voice:  do you believe there’s a sun and a moon.

[biblicalvirtue-blog1]

                                               for @fallengraced​

              i.    ----------     stumbling, liquor stained bravado is met with astonishing refusal. desire extinguished by sheer bemusement settling across her delicate visage, settling in the depths of couch cushions, adhering to his frame, enveloped so perfectly. their frames hinge together as if forged of two separate pieces destined to become one, a whole. his voice, often a source of pricking irritation now lulls her into a deep slumber, comforted by it, blanketed by vowels distorted by his foreign accent. as soft snoring tumble from her lithe frame, the noise perceived as endearing by the DEVIL himself, weakening beneath the influence of her spell. it was a strange magic, one he had yet to encounter. it guided his lips to press tenderly to her forehead as she slept, linger for only a moment, retreating in haste as she stirred to burrow herself further in his being. 

             ii.    ----------     chaste. it’s the sensation of lips grazing the surface of his cheek, senses heightened by her presence, the numbness he’d grown so accustomed to dissipating. odd was the presence of such purity, grazing the flesh that had been charred by the flesh of his dark, desolate kingdom. the scent of brimstone is obsolete now. in it’s place lingers the scent of her - vanilla clinging to the petals of peonies, infiltrating his atmosphere, intoxicating him. a breath is drawn, deep, full. gratitude settled on her lips, pressed to his cheek, lingering - a common theme. they teeter on the tightrope, the chasm waiting, the abyss dark, unknown. trepidation prompts her to withdrawal. she questions her own display of amicable affection. yet she cannot help but wonder if his skin burns as hers does once she has parted from him ?

             iii.    ----------     CHAOS - it erupts in words driven by emotion. WARFARE had unfolded, the room a BATTLEFIELD. acrid is the taste of his queries on her tongue, bile rising with vexation. tension coats the atmosphere, thickening the air, each breath heavy, weighted within struggling lungs. curiosity had driven her to madness, incessant in the need to unearth the mystery that was LUCIFER MORNINGSTAR. the desire suffocated her, care soon woven with the thread of exploration, longing to know the darkest pieces of him, to follow him into the shadow, to illuminate it with her own luminescence, to touch & cradle them as none other has. in her compulsions, she exhumes the bewitchment, entangled in his being, soul laced with the remnants of his own. humor, his best defense, his shield, now cast asunder, emotion littering his visage, it’s presence increasingly irritating. was he jealous ?  the DEVIL jealous of the pursuits of a simple mortal ?  why ?  why is he cursed with his knotting in his guts, the heaviness upon his chest, longing to crush his sternum ?  her desires are unknown to him. her thoughts hidden beyond opacities he has yet to find clarity to peer deeper. what has he become afflicted with ?  was there a cure ?  in desperation, frustration mounts and he falls silent. confessions pour from her lips, staining him as the tears do her cheeks, pouring from their overwhelming captivity, throat tightening. she trembles as she speaks, RAGE & FEAR leaking into every muscle, heart aching as it rises to her throat. she’s struggling now, composure failing. & just as she was bound to crumble, leaping from the tightrope they shared bound for the abyss, hands collide with cracking pieces, melding her as one. lips crashing, the cacophony of their warfare was silenced. each syllable she could not utter is marked by the movement of her lips, fingertips biting into the haphazard suit hanging from his frame. in his embrace, she is whole, safe. in her embrace, darkness is chased away, warmth swelling in his chest so burdened by the chill of his detachment. together, loneliness is cast away. 

             iv.    ----------     lips graze the expanse of her spine as he unravels her from the confines of her gown, a gasp fluttering forth to contort his visage with a smirk as he pays careful attention to each vertebrae. slowly the fabric slips from each gentle curve his hands now explore. at long last, he has what he desires most, a tangible reality - not the dreams that had plagued his nights. she turns to face him, the softest tremor in her fingers as buttons are parted to expose his chest, hand splaying over his heart, guiding him into a deep kiss. emotion floods her being, stains every movement, sinking down onto his silken sheets. fingers nestle in raven locks as he is bound to explore, breath warm against her skin, lips pressing to every part of her, claiming her. exalted Persephone has found her home, her place & throne, life gracing the feared & exiled Hades yet as she blossoms for him, does he fear his death will taint her, bring her ruin ?  it seizes him in a moment, gaze rising to meet hers only for her to quiet his thoughts with a kiss. without darkness, light would have no purpose. without death, life would be unending, only a ceaseless monotony of moments that hold no weight, no meaning. dread is ebbed by the whisper of her love, lost in him, his aura. this was love - the jaded Lord of Hell drowning in its sea, in her wholly. & he knew, from this moment, he was to be forever wed to her, surrendering completely.

             v.    ----------     no prayers to father would cease the inevitable. is it not certain that all ends in tragedy ?  the worst of his fears now, nightmare ushered forth by the fates who longed to wound him. screams litter the territory that surrounds him, his own resolve weakening as she descends, scarlet flowing from inflicted wounds. ashen tones have already begun to settle on her ivory skin as he cradles her, crimson now staining his hands, trickling from the corner of her lips. a hand rises to settle on his cheek, moisture trickling from her gaze as she peers up at him. she’s terrified, numbness rising in her body, growing colder as her pulse weakens, thready & unreliable. sorrow strives to destroy him as utters another confession of her love, urging him to keep her daughter safe before death takes her from him. on his face, her hand falls limp, clutching her cold limb like a vice, agony tearing through him at a dizzying rate, sirens wailing, far too late to be of any aid. his press hurriedly to her palm & once more to her forehead. he rises, her body draped over his arms as he emerges, those who had come to ensure her safety buckling at the knees. once more he curses the father who longs to cause him harm, to offer a being like his detective & snatch her away as he has learned to love & gain her love in return. as if from a distance, her voice calls to him, awakening him from the horrid visions he is burdened with. worry is etched on her countenance, studying him as he stares, bewildered.  -- a dream only, the cruel machinations of his own mind torturing him without remorse. he is comforted by her touch, their limbs entangled beneath her cotton sheets, hand combing idly through his hair. 

[echoied-blog]

hey echo, draw me like one of your french girls (:

 GNASHING  TEETH,  FERMENTING  irritation.   curse  the  gods  ------  and  HIS  god,  too.     ❝     draw  me  like  one  of  your  french  girls.       ❞

[demonicveined]

          ❛     what part of   “   NO   ”   do you not understand   ?      ❜

          @fallengraced  ♥’d for a starter.

[jackalborne-blog]

          damien does well in school,            his grades are high and his attendance records are spotless.  mainly because he never gets sick.        not even with the chills.  and though no one, not even his ‘FATHER’ thought twice about it--       people were growing uneasy, curious even; and damien can’t blame them.            for it isn’t as if he either, entirely understands the current events befalling him every day.    it’s as if the closer he grows to his sixteeth, the more things go wrong.  people have come to see HIS UNCLE--     people who when they see him, damien, look as if they’ve seen          the devil himself.        and for a boy who doesn’t remember, doesn’t know-- & doesn’t UNDERSTAND.       he can only hold under thumb, the emotions boiling within his belly along side ‘the beast’ that lays a slumber.      & wait, for on the radio another body to have been discovered.  mauled by dogs, hit by stray trucks-- his nanny killed ‘his mother’.  & police shot down ‘his father’.  they seem like horrific events, & accidents.  but the truth is, they are anything but.

                                                       ❝ my uncle isn’t home. ❞

      &&. @fallengraced

[biblicalvirtue-blog1]

            ▸                thick  is  the  haze  of  sins  committed,  wayward  stragglers  stumbling  into  strangers  beds,  entangled  in  foreign  sheets  to  know  the  sting  of  hellish  REGRET.  it  is  what  burns  her  lungs  with  every  inhale,  stale  smoke  settling  on  the  surface  of  her  tongue,  lips  stained  with  memories  of  a  much  simpler  time.  CONTRITION  seeks  to  drown  her,  tension  imprisoning  the  cage  of  her  ribs,  a  vice  striving  to  fracture  them,  breath  rattling  with  each  weighted  ache.  it  echoes  the  sensation  ensnaring  her  in  his  embrace  as  her  gaze  met  the  expressive  darkness  of  another’s.  cerulean  irises  linger  on  the  figure  stilled  on  the  baby  grand,  illumination  exposing  serenity  within  exhaustion,  every  curve  of  his  features  captivating. 

                    how  could  something  so  beautiful  sear  its  flesh  with  a  label  of  utter  abhorrence  &  depravity  -  THE  DEVIL ?   she  nearly  scoffs  aloud, still  blinded  by  skepticism.

                       her  weight  settles  on  the  bench,  gentle  hands  cradling  his  nearest  limb,  careful  not  to  startle  him  but  ease  him  to  some  semblance  of  consciousness,  noting  the  coolness  of  his  hand  beneath  her  own.     ❛     ------- Lucifer ...   ❜      COMPASSION  swells  in  the  utterance  of  his  name,  as  if  a  holy  sacrament  spoken  to  guide  a phantom  back,  to  aid  its  return  to  life.     ❛     ...  maybe  we  should  get  you  upstairs.    ❜

       @fallengraced

[timeborrowed]

    It’s laughable that he tries to adapt in ways he should never have had to. At times, he attempts to immerse himself in the frivolousness of the modern day. These are the times Arlen wonders most where traditional values have gone and how there appear to be little boundaries to cross...  &  he sighs as he is reminded that this is not the worst he’d seen.        Assuming it better to be seated at the bar, he maneuvered his way to the closest stool and was relieved when he found that the others had long since been vacated. How perfectly appropriate for him to arrive alone and to sit alone, he mused. 

@fallengraced

[biblicalvirtue-blog1]

            ▸             irises scoured the data held within the manilla folder, photos of a young man body strewn in pools of crimson, his visage hardly recognizable. photos from what remained of his family revealed he was nothing but normal, his facial structure never to be the same, his mother never able to view that face again. absently, she caught her finger tracing the lines of his photograph, sorrow overwhelming her until it was thwarted by poisonous, headache-provoking vexation. lengthy fingers drummed on the surface of her desk whilst playful, flirtatious giggles of his next endeavor filled the airspace. a knot twisted the muscles in her back, tension rising as her focus fell on witness statements littering page after page.

              ❛      don’t you have a hobby ?      ❜     it was the first time in the hour since his arrival that her eyes finally granted him the attention he desired, her tone dripping with venom & irritation. ---- typical LUCIFER.

            @fallengraced