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GLORIAMORIS,    MARIEL.

“ did i worry you? it is not so bad, truly. and it cannot be avoided. ” mariel spent a great deal of her time on earth, busy instilling the virtues of love into mankind and thus by default challenging demons and others from hell who came to do the exact opposite on earth. it left her quite exposed to them and more importantly, caused her to find herself in the company of lucifer quite often. being who she was, mariel had not found it in her to approach any of them with anything but absolute kindness and love. perhaps she was, for a celestial, too soft. the politics of heaven were complicated and she was the youngest among them, making it difficult for her to understand all of it. “ i am sorry, it was not my intention to be away as long as i was. i should have let you know. ” it would not be the first time such thing had slipped her mind when occupied with earthly matters.

             ❝    i was beginning to wonder,   but i cannot fault you for doing your job,    now,    can i?    ❞     the viceroy says,    with the barest hint of a grin veiling his features as his cold gaze seeks out her’s,    faintly endeared,    as though just the promise of her presence had lightened the air,    a lit incense of light.    the grand pillars framing heaven’s palatial hallways stretch on into a seeming eternity before them,    and an arm is offered for the younger angel to grasp as they begin the trek along the empty,    empyrean corridor.    as it stands,    michael realizes,    not for the first time,    that she is simply too adept at her designated post  —  and for an angel,    it’s as noble job as can be,    propelling the authority of the demons and the beasts,    which slither like disease into the wound of earth’s domain.    alas,    he finds himself disliking the thought of the them swarming her,     her benignity a courtesy that should not be extended towards infernal rot,    lest they take advantage.      ❝    i only wish you didn’t have to be around those filthy creatures as often as you are   ...   do give lucifer my regards,    the next time you two run into each other.    ❞   

#gloriamoris #scripture . #arc : the choir is on fire. #michael: filthy creatures aka my brother :) #' wonder ' he says as if he was not losing his mind.

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deathless ♚ sentence meme

You will always fall in love, and it will always be like having your throat cut, just that fast.

You are going to break your promise. I understand.

You’re lonely too.

It will stop your breath, how cruel I can be.

I am a demanding creature. I am selfish and cruel and extremely unreasonable.

I am your servant.

I crawl at your feet; for before your love, your kisses, I am debased.

For you alone I will be weak.

I belong here, and you will not deny me.

I say these things, and the world listens.

I do not tolerate a world emptied of you. I have tried.

In the dark, I have pored over the loss of you like pale gold.

I will not let her speak because I love her, and when you love someone, you do not make them tell war stories.

I moved the earth and the water for you.

You will always run away with her.

You will always lose her.

You will always be a fool.

You will always be dead, in a city of ice, snow falling into your ear.

You have already done all of this and will do it again.

No one should be judged for loving more than they ought, only for loving not enough.

We look terrible to you, and severe, and you see our blood flying.

What we carry between us is hard-won, and we made it just as we wished it to be, just the color, just the shape.

There need never be any rules between us.

Let us be greedy together; let us hoard.

Do not leave me, swear that you will never leave me.

I am selfish. I am cruel. My mate cannot be less than I.

Sleep with fists closed and shoot straight.

I can’t abide a poor liar.

You look like a winter’s night. I could sleep inside the cold of you.

Oh, quit that. Blushing is for virgins and Christians.

Scold me; deny me. Tell me you want what you want and damn me forever. But don’t leave me.

Bad luck relies on absolutely perfect timing.

In his own country, Death can be kind.

What is the world but a boxing ring where fools and devils put up their fists?

Men die. It’s practically what they’re for.

I am no one; I am nothing.

Nothing in me was not made by you.

A revelation is always the end of something. It might even be cause for grief.

Just tell yourself a story that’ll satisfy you and pretend he told it.

Forever isn’t bright; it isn’t like that. Forever is cold and hard and final.

I savor bitterness - it is born of experience. It is the privilege of one who has truly lived.

If you want to kill yourself, do not use us as your knife.

What did I do wrong? Was I boring? Did I ignore you?

Don’t you dare speak to me like that.

I have worn nothing but blood and death for years.

I have fought all your battles for you, just as you asked me.

I have learned not to cry when I strangle a man.

I have learned to watch everything die.

I am not a little girl anymore, dazzled by your magic. It is my magic, now, too.

Are we not devils?

No one is now what they were before the war.

I have not seen you without your skin on.

Close up your head; your brain is getting loose.

We obsess. It’s in our nature.

I’ve a devil of a habit for being right.

In war you must always choose sides.

If you try to be a bridge laid down between them, they will tear you in half.

We are all dead. All equal. Broken and aimless and believing we are alive.

My old bones will follow yours soon enough.

It is better to be strong and cruel than to be fair.

I will see him with his skin off before I agree to fall in love.

After love, no one is what they were before.

I have survived, but I have not been spared.

In the space of one heartbeat to another I loved you and I was lost to you.

Frighten me, make me cry, only come back.

It’s not so bad, my darling. Being dead. It’s like being alive, only colder.

You’ll think it’s love, while he dines on your heart.

You will be so beautiful when you are old.

I cannot keep you and I cannot let you go.

You will live as you live in any world…with difficulty, and grief.

I look at you and it is like my throat being cut.

She said you’d come and I swore to eat your heart.

I still want to kiss you.

My heart is being cut in two. I cannot bear it.

What happens to anything beautiful?

I have to know, I have to or else you will just rule me until the end of everything because you know and I do not.

#🤭

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michael attempting to justify his family's actions in front of all the other pantheons:

#a lot of myth-based mutuals lately. i'm blowing u all a kiss. #i think heaven would have a pretty bad reputation amidst everything.. #michael vc: bad news is that we've started the apocalypse. good news is that i've got everything under control :) #* heaven; on fire in the background. *

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Photo by sana. on November 25,

#visuals : all your dust turns holy .

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“His voice was low and had in it the timbre of certain great cathedral organs that seem, when they are played, to be conversing with God.”

— Angela Carter, from “The Bloody Chamber”, The Bloody Chamber

#ch study : i’ve been circling around god .

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if ancient deity that could level the earth... why pretty...  

#vis : my name is written under the lids of rivers . #no thoughts. only michael. #i can't believe no one's falling on their knees for him right now smh. #anyways.. this is my apology post for all the messages & replies i owe. we're getting there <3

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despair is a broken church,    the remnants of something sacred that has died and has rotted there,    or an evil that has taken root in the empty crevices,    or rotten roots.    a house of worship without faith is just a house.    what is an angel without reverence,    then?   humans have pondered over such concepts for centuries  —  the meaning,    the purpose,    the grand scheme of existence  —  and michael had thought them endearing at the time,    in a sentimental sort of sense;    a shepherd overlooking his sheep,    aimlessly grazing at their pasture;    these days,    he feels as lost as them  —  the earth and the heavens,    all together,    the disillusioned prisoners in the allegory of the cave.

@tobeblamed​​​​​​ said  —  twice is coincidence.    three times is enemy action.

❝    are we keeping score,    dean?    ❞    the archangel remarks,    the sharp edges of the veiled words of warning softened by slight bemusement.    if nothing else,    he has always found the winchesters’ audacity amusing.

            ❝    your crusade against my father is hopeless as is;  you cannot afford to make any more enemies in your current predicament  —    ❞     the simple act of being here,    leaning against the wooden edge of the table,    at the center of the bunker,    in essence,    is an act of betrayal against his ideals,    and his faith,    and his Lord.    but he’s here nonetheless,    eyes tinged with holy light boring into the figure of the hunter,        ❝    —  so cease the hostilities.    ❞

PROMPT,    STILL ACCEPTING. 

#tobeblamed #scripture . #arc : the denouement . #he's ever the optimist :)

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michael is actually the best person being to go to when you want to confess / vent for hours because he’ll zone out half-way through.

#the masculine urge to astral project instead of dealing with emotions <3 #sometimes talking to michael is like talking to a wall <3 #( i say that exasperatedly. ) #tbd.

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indulge me in plotted out dynamics,  extensive narratives,  and private verses.  💳💥💳💥

#epigraph : mutuals only . #i.e. this is a plotting call. #a friend is visiting for a few days hence my activity will be lacking. #writing-wise at least. #( i rebooted this blog at the most inopportune time possible but <3 ) #anyhow!! in the meantime let me smuggle michael into your dms.

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@ofpsalms​​​​​ said  —  killing gets easier with practice,   in mechanics and technique.   having killed never does.

a man sits amidst the rows of vacant pews  —   only he is not a man,    but an angel,    and there is no vacancy,    for the kingdom of heaven sits behind,    all around,    everywhere,    in tandem.      (  it’s a fine line,    he considers,    observing the woman,    between hunters and their hunt.  )     they are a strange kind of in-between creature,    not at home with man,    nor monster.    intimately aware of what lurks beyond the light,    where they were never meant to go.    they’re human,    they commit their little human acts,    and communicate in their usual ways,    with their jokes,    and gestures,    and expressions,    but if he were to glance beneath rib and bone,    in the garden of flesh,    from the blood-soil of which the soul blossoms,   they are fundamentally sick  —  the pathogenesis of the dark is this  —  the blood of the monsters slain staining their hands,   their hearts.

          ❝    no,    i don’t suppose it does.    ❞    he agrees out of courtesy,    words tinged with something sad,    something shaped like pity.    its ultimately hollow,   an attempt at consolation that does not come to him naturally,    a compassion he must will for her.    in truth,    michael doesn’t suppose anything,    because he doesn’t understand,    not in any way that matters.    there is no place in an angel for guilt,    or grief;    no more than there is within a statue,    or a mountain.    he leans on his cane as he stands,    the brass topper gleaming with the might of heaven,    crossing the distance between them,    overlooked by the throne of st. peter.    the sound reverberates off the walls of the basilica.    accompanying his stride,    a breeze chimes with the sweep of unseen feathers.    a flurried moment,    then hush settles.    the night settles.  

❝    the fight for justice has never been an easy one,    nicolette.    ❞      god grew man like a flower  —  the archangel’s head cants as though in thought  —  and no flower can thrive where darkness dwells.     ❝    at times,    necessity may outweigh your ideals;    but careful you do not betray your principles and lose your way.    ❞    

PROMPT,    STILL ACCEPTING.   

#ofpsalms #scripture . #arc : i sit alone in a pillar . #michael in all his casually apathetic glory 😞

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—         ask meme      :      THIS IS HOW YOU LOSE THE TIME WAR,   MAX GLADSTONE & AMAL EL-MOHTAR.pronouns / tenses changed in some places.

twice is coincidence. three times is enemy action.

killing gets easier with practice, in mechanics and technique. having killed never does.

you know — just as i’ve known, since our eyes met — that we have unfinished business.

it’s been so long since i last started a new conversation.

we knew one another as one knows a childhood dream.

our glorious crystal future shines so bright i gotta wear shades, as the prophets say.

i’d walk a swath of rot through your verdancy, no matter how light i tried to step.

it grieves me to think you’d make a boring poker player. but then i imagine you’d cheat, and that’s a comfort.

let me tell you what you have told me, speaking plain: you could have killed me, but didn’t.

tell me something true, or tell me nothing at all.

there’s a kind of time travel in letters, isn’t there?

do i have you still? do i address empty air and the flies that will eat this carcass?

if we’re to be at war, we might as well entertain each other.

that’s what we treasure. that’s us, always: the volcano and the wave.

hunger, ___ — to sate a hunger or to stoke it, to feel hunger as a furnace, to trace its edges like teeth — is this a thing you, singly, know?

have you ever had a hunger that whetted itself on what you fed it, sharpened so keen and bright that it might split you open, break a new thing out? sometimes i think that’s what i have instead of friends.

this is a place i love, and hate myself for loving.

i was the only person on that tiny rock, and i made the world go dark.

i wanted to be seen. that need dug into the heart of me.

i was light, hollowed, hungry.

have you been lonely?

you place each stone expecting it may do many things. a confession is also a dare is also a compulsion.

i have observed friendship as one observes high holy days.

harvest is not a word for swiftness; the future harvests us, stomps us into wine, and we grow stronger and more potent together.

what i return to, the me-ness that i know as pure, inescapable self… is hunger.

i love cities. to be alone in a crowd, apart and belonging, to have distance between what i see and what i am.

shit. i’m sorry. i can’t keep up the joke. and it’s wrong to call you enemy.

i am more sensitive to your footsteps, i think, than anyone alive.

this letter is a knife at my neck, if cutting’s what you want.

i see you as a wave, as a bird, as a wolf. i try not to think of you the same way twice.

i have built a you within me, or you have. i wonder what of me there is in you.

you’ve whetted me like a stone.

i remember bright light, and then — hunger. hunger that was turning me inside out, hunger in the most primal way imaginable, hunger that obliterated every other thing.

i was only my own body, only my own senses, only a girl whose parents were running to her because she had a bad dream.

this feels like teetering on the brink of something that will unmake me. but i trust you.

there was, i am sure, a time i did not know you. or did i dream that me, as i’ve so often dreamed of you?

i want to be a body for you.

i sought loneliness when i was young. but when i think of you, i want to be alone together.

i want to be a context for you, and you for me.

i love you, and i love you, and i want to find out what that means together.

this is me, the truth of me: broken open, in the palm of your hand, dying.

you must feel it — the difference? we’re on the brink of something.

i would rather break the world than lose you.

i’ll be all the poets. i’ll kill them all and take each one’s place in turn, and every time love’s written it will be to you.

how could you die like this? how could you die at all?

sometimes you have to hold a person, though they’ll mistake embrace for strangulation.

#prompts . #whilst i rework my carrd... 😇

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PROMPT   —   SELECTIVELY ACCEPTING.

                stray streams of early sunlight pierce the windows,     falling through the glass,     and shedding light on thousands of tiny dust particles which begin a new dance with every movement the archangel makes.    the conversation echoes against the walls of the otherwise empty establishment,    trembling at the magnitude of combined magnitude of energy — michael’s words are attentive,    his eyes are pointedly not.    leaned against one of the many counters of the library,    he drums wearily against a wooden globe,    residing within its polished holder.    for a moment,    his unfocused gaze traces the painted outlines of arbitrary borders.    how frail,    the earth is,    how breakable.    

@vinduri​​ / metatron says :      at last, you’re beginning to be honest.

❝    i've been nothing but honest for the past ten minutes.    that you have grown cynical in your time away is not my fault.    ❞      michael says curtly,    voice impassive though he supposes his entire demeanor betrays him either way.    statement is accompanied by the straightening of posture,    arm crossing over the other as he leans further back against the desk.    at last,    the prompt diversion of his attention to the scribe,      ❝    rather,    i’m beginning to be concerned.     much to your amusement,    no doubt.    ❞

#vinduri #scripture . #arc : the perjured city of heaven . #michael needing to ask for help vs him being purposefully annoying #it’s a struggle 😔✋

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concept :    michael visiting your muse in their dreams <3

#tbd. #bonus : they see his true form at some point <3 #like just imagine a thread happening entirely as a dream sequence. the aesthetic of that is chef's kiss #perhaps they assume he's a figment of imagination at first. in any case - i just think it's Neat. #his presence is associated with serenity so. let him soothe you thank you :')

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#vis : my name is written under the lids of rivers . #the disappointed sigh... him.

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the visual of michael on his knees is something that can be so personal 😳

#( romantically. threateningly / mid battle. apologetically ... any context. ) #it's all about the worship ! it's all about the devotion ! the weight of a powerful being choosing to oblige ... hm ! #many thoughts ... anyway ! #tbd.

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Belle de Jour (1967) dir. Luis Buñuel

#visuals : all your dust turns holy . #it’s just about the ✨ vibes ✨

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KATERINA,     petrovafired.

his  presence  leaves  a  mark  on  his  surroundings.  she  already  knows  that.  katherine  has  felt  the  divine  entity  before,  many  years  ago.  she  was  just  as  affected  back  then  as  she  is  today.  her  body  trembles  just  as  the  ground  does.  it’s  only  for  a  brief  moment,  but  the  fallout  remains  within  her  veins  as  a  tingling  sensation.  she  lifts  her  chin  in  expectation,  hiding  in  the  shadows,  waiting.  his  arrival  is  of  somewhat  apocalyptic  measure   —   overly  dramatic,  without  doubt.  and  yet,  soothing.  the  town  square  seems  abandoned,  only  the  two  immortals  left  with  nothing  but  time  and  a  warm  summer  rain.  

a  smirk  appears  on  her  features  as  soon  as  she  hears  his  voice.  not  exactly  the  most  charming  greeting,  but  neither  was  hers.      ❛  ouch.  is  that  how  you  salute  a  lady?  you  can  do  better,  mik'hael.  ❜       she  steps  forward,  thereby  willingly  exposing  herself  to  the  first  raindrops.  she  starts  to  saunter,  politely  keeping  the  distance  between  herself  and  the  archangel.  a  few  meters  of  moist  ground  remain  between  them.  chestnut  brown  eyes  inspect  the  heavenly  figure  on  the  wooden  bench.       ❛  —  but  i  gotta  admit …   you  look  stunning.  ❜      despite  what  she  said  prior,  and  just  as  she  remembers  him.

                 it is a thread of eternity that binds them,    weaving an unlikely companionship across the cloth of centuries.     unlikely indeed,    this dance between vampire and archangel  —  he’s certain it is breaking some unspoken commandment of refraining from indulginging the wicked.    the distant bells toil a third and final time,   as though proclaiming loudly their judgement.    but with the sobbing sky their only witness,    he can’t quite seem to mind.    no one will know,    it is is own quiet rebellion.    (  these flashes of moments they share are lost to time,  )     he tilts his head then,    deeming to catch her vivid brown gaze with the stiff sanctity of his own,    arm coming to lay against the wet wood of the bench’s backrest.    she is as entrancing and vivacious as he remembers.    (  but they are savored by memory.  )   

❝   forgive me if i doubt your sensibilities are that delicate,    katerina.   ❞      the archangel says brusquely over the sound of rain breaking over the damp pavement.    the humid heat of summer air swirls in the distance they keep,    twining small leaves and petals into the breeze which land at his feet as a show of courtesy,    like obedient dogs.    you look stunning,    she says and he huffs out something akin a laugh as he makes to raise,    the gilded topper of his cane gleaming with the few droplets which have landed atop it.     ❝    and you radiant  —   i presume the necklace i gave you is wearing off,   ❞      he is first to cross to make the trek across,    and when he stands before her,    chin tipped down to level with her eyes,    it is not his cane but an umbrella that is raised over her head.     ❝   i could sense your presence for miles.   ❞

#petrovafired #scripture . #arc : i sit alone in a pillar . #no because ... they're so dramatic i love them.