PSL (dont_be_boring)
Oct. 29th, 2019 01:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
privatelyfallen[It feels. Different.
Like rebirth and loss. Like walking away from a parent and there are parting words in his mind that he keeps replaying over and over. I think you want this. The words are unbearably sad but also amused, also happy, and he figures of course it fucking too you doing this to finally talk to me again.
Every child feels loss when they leave their parents. Maybe this is that but Lucifer is triumphant and he knows very well that all of Hell and Heaven fell. He wishes he could explain it to Michael and Sandalphon and Uriel - he wishes he could convince them to follow him but somehow-
Somehow it is only a matter of time.
Besides he was a shitty angel anyway.
No. He was a great angel. He was one of the best and Aziraphale had planted a seed of doubt in his heart and it had flowered and he can't hate that stupid fucking principality as much as he wants to because-
Because there are words in his mind. There's a hotel meeting in his mind and even if he feels lessened he feels like so much more and there are dozens of new instincts and urges and he needs to get his head together and resist the great rage that he feels towards her even as he thinks of the words -
(I think you want this)
Why? What the fuck did it all mean?
He can't think. He just wants to - do - or live - or sleep - but he has to report to Azazel. No. Beelzebub.
He has to report to them. They wouldn't be happy and he'd welcome a war but this was a war of - liberation. Yes. He would fight her and tear her down and liberate the rest of his siblings from her attitude and her blind worship of human beings. Weak things...
He walks with the pride of an archangel down the hallway as the demons and creatures of hell jeer and sneer at him before he turns and hisses, fangs sharp and eyes bright and red. No more backstabbing and quiet bureaucracy he got to learn a new system.
Beneath the steaming rage and anger he feels...happy?
No. Not happy. At home?
No. He's unsure. He just- knows where he has to go and-
His feet find Beelzebub's office nearly twisting his ankle in the process. He doesn't knock. Instead he opens the door and stares, blank and hopeful and terrified all at once. There's a bird on his head and a few feathers sticking out of his skin, dark gray feathers. His hands are probably the most difficult to look at. They're red and chapped but they're just starting to grow pigeon claws and...
He will do this professionally. He draws himself into a bow.]
My prince.
Like rebirth and loss. Like walking away from a parent and there are parting words in his mind that he keeps replaying over and over. I think you want this. The words are unbearably sad but also amused, also happy, and he figures of course it fucking too you doing this to finally talk to me again.
Every child feels loss when they leave their parents. Maybe this is that but Lucifer is triumphant and he knows very well that all of Hell and Heaven fell. He wishes he could explain it to Michael and Sandalphon and Uriel - he wishes he could convince them to follow him but somehow-
Somehow it is only a matter of time.
Besides he was a shitty angel anyway.
Because there are words in his mind. There's a hotel meeting in his mind and even if he feels lessened he feels like so much more and there are dozens of new instincts and urges and he needs to get his head together and resist the great rage that he feels towards her even as he thinks of the words -
(I think you want this)
Why? What the fuck did it all mean?
He can't think. He just wants to - do - or live - or sleep - but he has to report to Azazel. No. Beelzebub.
He has to report to them. They wouldn't be happy and he'd welcome a war but this was a war of - liberation. Yes. He would fight her and tear her down and liberate the rest of his siblings from her attitude and her blind worship of human beings. Weak things...
He walks with the pride of an archangel down the hallway as the demons and creatures of hell jeer and sneer at him before he turns and hisses, fangs sharp and eyes bright and red. No more backstabbing and quiet bureaucracy he got to learn a new system.
Beneath the steaming rage and anger he feels...happy?
No. Not happy. At home?
No. He's unsure. He just- knows where he has to go and-
His feet find Beelzebub's office nearly twisting his ankle in the process. He doesn't knock. Instead he opens the door and stares, blank and hopeful and terrified all at once. There's a bird on his head and a few feathers sticking out of his skin, dark gray feathers. His hands are probably the most difficult to look at. They're red and chapped but they're just starting to grow pigeon claws and...
He will do this professionally. He draws himself into a bow.]
My prince.
