BEHOLD — lucifer was out of reach for so long due to their sole focus on god. shortly before the fall, however, they turned around and looked at you. to be seen by the most perfect angel, to be looked at, to be loved by the one god loved most? that could drive you to ruin. [ any ; always open. ]
TO BE LIKE ME — lucifer was the face of the fall. of rot. of pride. he chose to fall rather than be bound, he chose hell over the word of god — why? it drives you mad. why did he choose this? how could he choose this? what if you also wanted to choose this? [ angels only. ]
KNOWING GOOD & EVIL — as a demon, you have worked with lucifer to orchestrate the fall. you fought by them, you fell by them, you both ended in hell side by side. but you cannot continue this. you want to break free of lucifer but their claws go so deep that to remove them would mean death. so what do you do? [ demons only. ]
MY ANGEL OF MUSIC — baz lockwood has burned through the music industry, his songs unlike anything you've heard before. except — you have heard them before. you knew lucifer's song in heaven, you heard him sing holy holy holy before god himself. you can't get his song out of your head. obsessed with his song, what will you do? [ any. ]
SHOW ME ONCE MORE — lucifer has powerful abilities over illusions and the two of you linger in your memories of heaven together. you are stuck in this place of pain only made worse by these illusions but you cannot stop. you ask for more. they oblige. you must stop because when lucifer asks for anything in exchange for these glimpses of heaven, you agree. [ any ; always open. ]
CONNECTIONS — JOPHIEL
SING O MUSE — beyond much else, jophiel's true devotion is found in the act of creation. an artist themselves, they have sought you out to be their muse. innocent at first, it devolves as things begin to take a darker turn as jophiel's passion begins to creep into obsession. do you linger to see what all they might do — or do you leave them to madness? [ any. all. ]
THREE, TWO, ONE — jophiel's ability to hypnotize and suggest is an ability that is highly sought after by both sides. you know that having jophiel on your side will help — or will it? their pursuit of beauty could be a detriment. are you willing to take that chance and see what happens when terror drives you mad? [ any. all. ]
TWO-FACED — jophiel keeps their angelic gleam and innocence bright and sparkling but as the first angel to leave heaven, there is something beneath that mask that burns with fever. you know they aren't everything they say they are — and you highly doubt their loyalty to the angels. you are set to reveal their true nature as a betrayer in their midst. [ angels only. ]
JUST LIKE ME — despite their claims to their angelic nature, jophiel's delight lies almost a little too close to demonic pleasure. it would be so very easy to tip that scale. to have jophiel take the demonic side would be quite a win but jophiel bleeds too easily into obsession and passion. you find yourself with an angel that has the heart of a demon — & the appetite of one. if you are not careful, they'll devour you too. [ demons only. ]
closed starter: beelzebub & jophiel @vainglouried
event: the first seal, pt 2
where: eden
As much as he's enjoyed the buffet table, there is a type of gluttony which can never be satisfied by finger foods – and that is the gluttony which Beelzebub embodies. Charcuterie certainly won’t satisfy him, the ichor of an angel doesn't sate him. The death of god - now, that comes close, but he remains hungry.
And despite the knowledge that his stomach is a bottomless pit, Beelzebub searches for something to sustain him, to relieve his hunger. What he sees is an angel.
He watches Jophiel for a time; the angel’s poised movements, their shy smiles, their graceful eyes. Is he imagining it, or is Jophiel hungry too? Behind the softness is a void of satisfaction which Beelzebub understands all too well. He hasn't seen him in some time.
Eventually, Jophiel catches him watching, so Beelzebub has no choice but to approach. He's spoken to quite a few angels, lately, and it doesn't feel like any of those conversations have gone well. Perhaps it's time to change that.
"Well, if it isn't an old friend," he says. "Do you like it here, sweet Jophiel?" Beelzebub is greasy as always. "How have the theatrics of the night met with your tastes, hm?"
"Here?" & Jophiel casts a glance to the glittering lights of Eden, to the sound of laughter and delight and pleasure mingling to the music that feels like it's trying to invade their skin. The fever in their eyes is decidedly brighter, sharper. "Oh, it's delightful! Marvelous! Eden always has the sweetest delights. And the fright in their eyes —"
It slips right out before Jophiel can hedge their words. The ichor has made everything so sweet in shades of oblivion. Even the grease of Beelzebub has its own dark charm. They cover their mouth for a moment and then it splits into a laugh. "Oh, you'll have to watch my tongue. It's running around and saying the silliest things."
Their hand seems to almost tremble, excitable and rash. They lean towards him. It is just enough for a whisper, just enough to be seen by wandering suspicious eyes. "If I may — hardly to my tastes at all. So much wasted. Oh, did you see them, Beelzebub? What lovely sorrow. Such heartbreak and loss ...."
They linger on that for a moment as though having forgotten Beelzebub before reality snaps back to their eyes. "And you, old friend? You look ... oh, what's the word? Hungry."
— 𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙵𝙰𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁, 𝚆𝙷𝙾 𝙰𝚁𝙴𝙽'𝚃 𝙸𝙽 𝙷𝙴𝙰𝚅𝙴𝙽… 𝚂𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝. It wasn't as though Leviathan Lux was running through the streets of Las Vegas hooting and hollering in celebration. No... That certainly was not the case at all. Though yet... while she had been surprised to learn of the news after returning home from her trip, she was dry-eyed. One leaves to shoot a short film in Sicily for a moment and misses out on all the fun. As usual. Still, there were those that she wanted to check on after such an event. And after making a quick pitstop to her condo to drop off her luggage, the Hellmouth arrived at Lucifer's. Simply walking through the front door, akin to being the owner of the place.
"A demon goes on holiday and comes back to divine murders. You mice certainly played while I was gone." Despite her playful tone, her eyes bore at him in concern. There was no love lost... But God was still Lucifer's Father, and Castiel his sibling. "Luci, are you alright? What happened?"
𝚆𝙷𝙾: leviathan & lucifer || @vainglouried
𝚆𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴: lucifer's residence
𝚆𝙷𝙴𝙽: sometime after the recent "the first seal" event
The illusion in his hand suddenly and quickly winks out as Lucifer slowly turns his gaze, watching the Hellmouth spill forth from the threshold. Oh, what terrible passions lie there. His smile meets those eyes, bright as it always was. His hand flexes slightly as though still trembling with the echoes of memory. "Mice? I see we've upgraded from ants. You look lovely, my dear. Sicily looks good on you."
& with a wave of his hand, he gestures to the bar although Leviathan has never needed an invitation or to be told what all she could have. Lucifer, however, remains where he is and those endless eyes watch her. There is only the liquid neon spilling through the windows, illuminating the large portraits of hell and gilded frames that offers light. Leviathan is all aglow, lit by sin. It's only as she makes herself comfortable does he finally approach, hand soft to the curve of her upper arm.
"Am I alright —" he scoffs slightly, the smile pulling at the edge of his mouth as he shakes his head. "Well, God is dead. The throne sits empty. My kin has accused us all of murder while Michael lays the death at my feet as the killer runs free. Everything I've been working towards feels like it's spilling through my fingers. No, my darling, I am not alright."
starter: open / event 01 pt 2.
where: eden
ariel & ?
There's something out there, and it's laughing at them.
Ariel isn't typically prone to being so cynical. She's supposed to be light and life; optimism is supposed to run through her blood (so to speak). But God is dead, and the party continues.
She runs through all the options. This does not seem like Lilith's work. Lucifer, perhaps? But he hasn't showed up to gloat just yet, so it seems unlikely. She's unsure which other demons would even be capable of this.
It must be something else. Where is Cain? She hasn't seen him yet, but that vision cannot have been a lie. The tension in her mortal muscles is new to her, making her heartbeat speed up and making the noises all blend together. But she will be sharp, and strong.
And someone is standing behind her. She realises just now, and she's unsure how long they've been there. Ariel glances over her shoulder, meeting deceptively mortal eyes.
"Isn't it?" Lucifer responds, turning the question right back around. Those nearly mortal eyes are dark, dark, dark. "Among the stranger I've had, I'll grant you that."
Neutral ground had strange meanings out here in this place. Ariel is best met where there is no battle to be waged, no sword to swing, no blood to spill. He didn't need a fight just yet. She had been on the outskirts of his mind, a piece of the puzzle that he knew needed to be dealt with. The sooner he knows where that strength lies, the better off he'll be.
He doesn't approach but takes his hands out of his pockets to reveal them empty and without malice. That, however, only goes so far with him. There would be no world where Ariel looked at him the way she did before. He is not family — and never will be again. He could live with that. He has lived with that. He smiles, dazzling and bright.
"I'm just here to talk. We can do that, yeah? Talk? I'm not here for anything else."
for @vainglouried / jophiel & chamuel / jophiel's studio
Posing for Jophiel is something of a respite, when the angel of beauty allows it to be. Chamuel can never quite predict whether the afternoon will grant him quiet, contemplative stillness while Jophiel sketches with furious devotion, or whether the sun-warmed studio will fill with the artist’s musings that always manage to bewilder him. He has always found Jophiel’s eccentricities endearing and thought-provoking, even when those thoughts are strange or intrusive, sometimes unwelcome. Beauty is meant to shock the senses, after all. He should have been more prepared for that, yet he still finds himself staring at the displays of pinned insects and neatly bisected human parts.
His jacket brushes the bandaged shallow cuts along his skin as he slips it off, and he prays Jophiel will not ask. Explaining that he froze before a minor demon and had to be rescued is humiliation enough, though he doubts Jophiel would tease him for it. Predicting what the archangel finds exciting versus mundane has always been a mystery.
“How would you like to have me today?” he asks, a ghost of amusement touching his voice. “And if you are taking preferences into account, I would rather pose with the moths than the brain.”
"Not the brain?" They have to repeat it, hand on the jar wherein floated a wet specimen of flesh. Now, why in the world wouldn't Chamuel want the brain? The brain was a magnificent example of that subtle, glorious act of creation! The blitzing neurons, the soggy gray matter, the way lives and worlds and constant being of self inhabited such a small and fragile thing — and he would rather a moth? "Oh, Chamuel, that completely changes the composition I had in mind! Very well, very well. Come, come then!"
Ushering Chamuel into the studio, they don't take much notice of him at first. Between the sheets to be draped, the skulls to be found, the flowers to be placed with their silken heads turning towards the light that would be — Chamuel & only here do they fully look at him. Those feverish eyes, devouring everything they can in this world before it is gone, pause right there on those shallow cuts.
"Oh, my dear." Chamuel takes a seat next to him on the small couch so arranged for the outpouring of the natural light from the windows overhead. They, for a few short moments, will be blessed by the light of the heavens once more. That's how Jophiel wanted to catch him, in blurring lines of light and shadow, cradling the life they so dearly loved. "What's happened? Oh, look at you. What's happened?"
It burned the air; tension. It was an undercurrent floating throughout the bar, and it threatened to suffocate. Or unleash an unbridled rage usually only he tapped into. It was heavenly, but also… infuriating. The throne emptied. The ichor licking the bar floor. The screams had, and tears shed. But none of it by his hand. Rather another chess piece — Cain, and company. But who else? He didn’t know and it gnawed at him. Sunk its vicious teeth in his thoughts as others scurried about and preened their metaphorical wings in anticipation, or strain. He simply shrugs. Lets the tension in the air breeze past him, and tries to follow suit with others who just left. He wasn’t in the habit of cleaning messes, and he had other trails to preoccupy his obsessive mind now. Of what he needed to do next to counteract this.
But as he moves to leave, others seem to disapprove. They appear to attempt to command his presence for a moment longer. To see how he feels, or if he knows anything more than the rest already do. But it was hard to articulate what you feel in your bones, especially when you do not yet understand it. So, he pivots. Reverts the spotlight back to them. His mind geared towards needing to counsel and direct, “and how do you feel about that?”
It feels like a riotous scream, tracing through his veins like thin fractures right before a shattering. Lucifer can't feel anything for that sharp moment, nothing but memory. A tremor through his blood, stirring through his lungs, heavy on the back of his tongue. Honey lush in its comb, the weight of ripened fruit, blood and ash, falling. God is dead. One of you. That sound of weeping that Lucifer knows he'll carry with him for the remainder for his life.
The only thing that reveals his thoughts is that slow flex and and tightening of a fist. One second too long before he relaxes. His face is cold, empty. That vastness of the sky as the stars bleed away into the coming dawn, gray and all encompassing and utterly empty. To Satan's question, that is his answer.
Empty. Lucifer meets Satan's look and it is as black as it has always been. "Is this really the space for that? Let's see you do your best guessing and tell me ... how do you think I feel about all of that?"
Half a dare, half something else. Seeking, searching, trying to put words to the roar of the unspooling cosmos that had been so meticulously designed. What happens next? What happens now?
"Right, why would you? The whole world might be yours if you do play your cards right." However, Lilith's mind began to wander, causing the cursed mortal to huff. Surely they were others ready to just rule instead of Lucifer, Michael or anyone willing to lead the masses. They'd been scratching the door, waiting to be let out, their fingertips bloody, their hearts aching for power. She wondered how long he'd be able to keep them interested enough, to follow him instead of anyone else. "If you can still count on your followers, that is." Lilith raised her own glass and smirked.
"I didn't invite them," for once, Lilith decided to be truthful, "I don't know who did. And while I do appreciate the praise, I'm sure you'll agree, that this is just the beginning of something much worse. Angels will be tempted by the throne just as any Demon will." She wanted for Lucifer to see how crucial obtaining the throne might end up being. Having the throne meant to rule overall. No matter the cost, she hoped he'd go all the way. With the stars above their heads, Lilith simply smirked at the display of his powers, "I'm sure you've used that trick on many before, Morningstar. However, I'm not interested in God's Eden anymore, I have my own." She paused to really consider her next words, as if saying them would open another can of worms. Maybe it would. "Scarred, perhaps. I have seen kingdoms fall, saw mortals consider themselves godlike, only to die shortly after. Mortals are stupid enough to consider themselves equals to you. Why would I not consider you and everybody else's presence a warning, a bad omen? Are you not the most tempting of them all?"
"I think you have me confused for someone else." That smile of his illuminates. It's easy to see how, leading you into something you know better than to follow. It isn't difficult to see why they would follow, how they could choose him. His words might act humble but never truly are. "Temptation is easy but there are others are far better at it than me."
He lets her words linger in the air as the stars vanish one by one into the flash of neon and the low thudding pulse of her new Eden. The beginning of something much worse, omens of something terrible, a warning. He takes a drink and nods, letting his thoughts wander. "Well, your lot and mine have a connecting factor and we would both be remiss to ignore that. The whole world could be mine, as you said. What a pretty thought that is, hm?"
Pretty and dangerous. The whole world in one hand means there is one target to hit. Her lot and his might have a common factor but that did not mean much considering the factor. Lucifer knows that little quip about counting on his followers had more teeth than that smirk.
"Then tell me, Lilith, are you scared enough to start running yet?"
" don't they miss all of this....? pieces of history lost in time " blue eyes pierced jophiel, a questionable ally, nonetheless one she sought out through millennia, he saw something the archangel couldn't... beauty. " strange creatures, father loved them despite their flaws. "
beneath her strength hid an ancient pain, guilt, for the fallen angels and god, all lost, shattered for creation. " all of this for them " michael could not love them as god, albeit the duty to protect those lives, she longed for heaven, some peace of mind. " father wasn't always kind, perhaps he saw something none of us can " could an angel sit on that throne? hold such responsibility? they were, after all, only soldier.
" i suppose you are lucky to see them in such kind light " his love felt genuine, something the archangel could not comprehend, only respect. " jophiel, i cannot see it, all i can love is heaven and him... " michael stepped closer to her brother. " but i do not wish to harm them, it is my duty to keep creation safe, no matter what. "
a compromise, one she hopes jophiel understood. " he would not.... i failed " her voice remained stern albeit the pain. " but there is still time to mend this " michael turned to him. " we need to keep it safe, his creation, all of it..."
"You cannot blame yourself, Michael, for anything that happened." Jophiel, however, knew those words would not be of any comfort. How could she not blame herself? It was her mirror, that bright other, that held the threads of the end of her world — who to blame, if not Michael? "And if it helps, I don't blame you at all. You did not fail. God did not set upon us to win and only know the taste of victory. He also set upon us to fail so that we might understand how much greater that victory is. A curse to some is a blessing to another."
Those shades of gray, however, can be difficult to see. Michael, much like the other angels, saw the world so very differently than Jophiel did. There's shades of history, shades of people, shades of time and of meaning and they have all changed. The angels often believed that the divine degree of their creator is all that there was — Jophiel had reason to doubt.
They shake their head, the beads in their hair give a soft clatter. "I don't know if it's luck to see them this way but merely how I am designed. I do agree, however, that we must keep it safe from those that wish to harm it." & Jophiel reaches up to their throat, fingers reaching for a small golden charm on a necklace and they pluck at it. "I can't imagine the world that would come about if it fell into the hands of the demons. All of creation, all of the light in this world, all the hope — what would happen to it?"
They pause and meet those blue eyes. There's a fevered shine within their own, something within that trembles and delights. "But what does that have to do with you coming here? What can I offer to you, Michael?"
In his more selfish moments (which were beginning to increase in frequency), Adam found himself wondering how he and Eve could be blamed. How could they be blamed for falling for Lucifer’s trickery when the being was powerful enough, beautiful enough, to conjure up… his home?
His home.
It looked as it had the moment he had been created; it sounded as it had the moment he had been created; it smelled as it had the moment he had been created. It looked and sounded and smelled as it had the moment he had been exiled. His home. A home he could never return to, not really. A home he could only get in hallucinations – he had to remind himself, he was not there, he was in nothing but a powerful illusion – especially now that He was dead.
How it could deceive, how it could trick.
He could feel his eyes begin to prick. Was it the beauty of it all? Was it the sorrow of the loss? Was it the shame of having been foolish enough? He didn’t know. He didn’t think he would ever know. But he was there, welling up in front of a demon, bending over to run his hands through the soft grass.
There was plenty of grass on Earth.
None of it was like the grass of Eden.
“This flower,” he said as his hand trailed from the grass to a daisy, “hasn’t changed. This small, barely noticeable, flower.” How Lucifer had such a penchant for accuracy, Adam could not comprehend. But he remembered that flower. He remembered the fat honeybee that landed on it one day. He remembered the first time he had tasted honey.
“No, no.” He spoke before he had fully digested Lucifer’s question, before he had registered his hand cupping his cheek, before he registered anything other than the general concept of ‘do you want to leave Eden?’ And, to that, he said no. He did not care to see anything other than Eden… except, perhaps, what Lucifer proposed. His eyes trailed from the grass, lush and green and healthy, to meet Lucifer's eyes. “See God?”
"That would be why you're here, isn't it? As I said, if anyone were to understand, wouldn't it be me?" He holds that gaze, his hands gentle against his cheek. Once upon a time, Adam would have seen the colors of the dawn in those eyes when once he had been resplendent in glory. Now, they are unfathomably dark as though the light in them had long been smothered. He lets his gaze trail the line of Adam's face, the dark of his brows to the line of his nose, his mouth before he smiles.
& that smile remains kind.
Behind them in the glory of Eden, shadows move and shift and there is a shoulder, the shape of something moving just out of sight. God, through the eyes of Lucifer, is something magnificent. The creator of the world looks at you, loves you, chooses you among the rest — how can they be anything but magnificent? The radiance of glory bleeds through the trees, through the palm fronds, through the small little flowers with their bright faces looking up at Adam.
Lucifer watches Adam, watching for the way that his breath will catch or his hands with tremble. ( But the God that lives in Lucifer's memory and illusion is the one that did yet know Adam. ) Lucifer looks over his shoulder, lets the smile fade into something that could almost be said to be sorrow.
If anyone were to understand, wouldn't it be Lucifer? Wouldn't it? Among all of them, among the demons and the angels and those crafted out of mud — wouldn't it be him? His voice aches, soft with the tenderness of wishing for something that he simply can't hold. To those unshed tears in Adam's eyes, he gives a laugh that could be hiding his own.
"I don't know what to do, Adam. I really don't. I'm having trouble wrapping my head around the fact that God only exists now ... like this and there is ... nothing I can do. And if I said that to anyone else, they'd laugh."
It is strange to see Lucifer without the gilded grandeur that once framed him like a crown. Mortals paint him monstrous, horned and steaming with infernal power, or they imagine him as a debonair devil who never errs. Chamuel has always found those depictions almost amusing. Yet this, he thinks, is closer to the truth. The being before him now is snarled and devastated and painfully honest, stripped of ceremony yet still luminous. Chamuel sees remnants of divinity clinging to him where none should remain, like faint stars hidden beneath daylight. Devil in fractured radiance, or light trapped inside a broken man.
Lucifer reaches out. He stops. He withdraws. Chamuel stills as well, uncertain if he is being observed, hunted, or simply seen. The memory of false heaven clings to them both; he cannot yet tell which words had been truth, which had been weapon, and which had been whispered to unmake him. Does it even matter?
Then the choice is taken. Lucifer takes hold of him, and Chamuel is caught between two hands, between awareness and instinct, between every question that suddenly feels unimportant in the presence of the fallen star staggered.
“No. I do not think so. I do not know,” Chamuel murmurs. He hardly notices the cuts scattered along his arms and fingers from shattered glass. They felt small beside the shock, beside the life lost. That loss feels even smaller now that Lucifer stands before him.
“What is wrong, Lucifer? To come here…” He trails off. The answer is already rising within him, unbidden.
His own grief comes from the same well. Hate and love are mirrors, and he knows them to be twins, not opposites. For so long, God had been Lucifer’s beloved and his rival, his source of light and deepest injury. To lose Him now, by someone else’s hand, is a wound Chamuel can scarcely fathom. For a fleeting moment earlier he wondered if the demons had plotted this death, but he knows—he knows—Lucifer would never allow another to strike the final blow. His pride, his longing, his fury would not permit it.
And so what remains?
“You are suffering, are you not?” Chamuel tilts his head gently. He places both hands upon Lucifer’s chest. This time he does not claw or pull or strike as he had in Eden. He simply holds him, feels the ragged thrum of a wounded heart beneath skin and shadow.
“Even as you rage, you suffer,” he whispers. “I know. It's alright."
Chamuel places his hands against his chest and Lucifer grabs his wrists and feels the thread of his pulse beneath. Suffering? Is that what this is? It feels more like a shattering, a breaking apart, a ruination that has no end. God is dead. Cassiel's voice, their weeping, their accusation blends together into this torrent of ... suffering. It clouds his thoughts. It seeps right through the emptiness, that blank face that he shows the world and strikes him open.
God is dead — where does that leave Lucifer?
& here, he falters. Here, he is not the betrayer or the adversary or even the devil. Here, he is a bleeding heart that shudders with the wound suddenly and sharply carved into it. He lifts one wrist and looks to that gentle palm, to that shallow cut along that delicate finger still red and angry. The thought of it, the thought of Chamuel shattering apart like the divine, no. No, please.
Here in the soft shadows of the atelier, in these new nights that the world has never known, he betrays himself as he places a soft kiss to those shallow wounds. There are words bleeding through: You cannot leave. I will not be left again. I won't allow you.
"It isn't alright. I can't think like this. I can't — I can't hold all of this." He presses Chamuel's hand to his heart. The gilded image curls in at the edges, flakes away into something that feels real. His voice falters, heavy with something that could taste like grief. & then he falls to his knees, looking up at Chamuel as though there is nothing else in this world to hold him steady. Suffering. Is this not the world you sought? One without God, one alone upon that very throne? Not like this. Not at all like this. God was his — his — what now is he to do with all of that anger, all of that grief, all of that love?
"Take it away, please. I know you can. I have never asked anything of you and I won't — except for this, please. Please, take it away."
OPEN STARTER
— jophiel.
— the origins museum of art.
The world grows very quiet and very dark as the sun begins to tilt itself toward the evening. Jophiel stands in the grand room of their little world, a sole figure against the silence and watches as that great idol, endless in its stories, rests its cheek against the horizon and spills gold upon the world before it fades. The gilded frames, the soft shades of paint and figure, of bone and treasure, of worlds having come and gone.
Jophiel had watched it burst into life. Out there among the stars and the moon, and the unknown chaos and it suddenly — there was light. How glorious. For days, they sang of the sun and the lovely moon. A small refrain lingers in their mind and as they turn away from the melting evening, they begin to hum it.
& the song follows them as they turn to that lingering figure. A smile on their face, gold on their fingers, the soft subtle gleam of the velvet of their jacket, all of it alight in the glow of the sunset.
"The museum is closed ... unless you're here for a private tour?"
[ SENT : 02:58AM to +1 305 229-0801 ] If that's what you think is best.
[ UNSENT : 02:59AM to +1 305 229-0801 ] I miss talking with you. I miss being able to talk to you. Do you m|
🚀 — A GOODBYE TEXT MESSAGE !
[ SENT : 06:04PM to +1 305 229-0801 ] It's good to hear from you. I thought you'd have lost this number by now.
[ SENT : 06:04PM to +1 305 229-0801 ] I'll have to talk to you later, though. It has been busy over here.
[ SENT : 06:05PM to +1 305 229-0801 ] Actually, I'd like to see you soon. Think that's doable?
for jophiel:
🦋 a loving text.
💫 a late night text.
💀 an urgent text.
🦋 — A LOVING TEXT MESSAGE !
[ SENT : 08:42AM to 💘💘💘 ] Good morning, sweetest Chamuel! 🕊️
[ SENT : 08:42AM to 💘💘💘 ] I hope you slept well considering everything we got up to last night. I know I'm still sore! Take care of yourself, my darling! I hope to have everything finished before you're able to stop by next week.
[ SENT : 08:44AM to 💘💘💘 ] Honestly, I think it's shaping up to be one of the better ones yet.
💫 — A LATE NIGHT TEXT MESSAGE !
[ SENT : 12:12AM to 💘💘💘 ] Oh, listen to me. I'm making a fool of myself, honestly. You should be going to bed, not listening to me blab about loneliness. 😂
💀 — AN URGENT MESSAGE !
[ SENT : 6:16PM to 💘💘💘 ] I don't think she understood what I was saying. Ariel can be quite stubborn when she wants to be. Regardless, I won't be at the museum tonight or for the next little bit.
[ SENT : 6:20PM to 💘💘💘 ] Do not tell Michael. She won't understand either.
[ UNSENT : 6:20PM to 💘💘💘 ] Honestly, it's starting to feel like the only ones who get me are the demons! Why is my loyalty the one questioned? You see as many dem|
[ CALLING -> 🗡️🗡️🗡️ ]
[ CALLING -> 🗡️🗡️🗡️ ]
[ CALLING -> 🗡️🗡️🗡️ ]
[ SENT : 04:35AM to 🗡️🗡️🗡️ ] MICHAEL ANSWER YOUR PHONE RIGHT RIGHT NOW I SWEAR TO THE HEAVENLIES I WILL SCREAM YOUR NAME FROM THE TOP OF THE BUILDING YOU WILL NOT BELIEVE WHAT SHOWED UP AT MY DORR
[ SENT : 09:03AM to 🗡️🗡️🗡️ ] I must have gotten a little heavy-handed with the drinks last night 😂 I'm sorry! Hopefully I didn't scare you. It wasn't anything important! Honestly, I was barely awake.
theartofmadeline
annaxmalina
pixelskylines
jacobvanloon
ellievsbear
stormborns
dededos
origamiaround
