#☽｡⋆ ; 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐠𝐨 𝐨𝐧. (truearchangel verse)

[ofhell]

@truearchangel said: ❝ you’re always so reckless. ❞

Reckless.

It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does; after-all, this isn’t the first time such an accusation has been flung at him — hell, it’s not even the first time it’s come from Michael, either.

          Mikey, look! 

Lucifer free falls from the sky in Heaven down to Eden, nearly colliding with the ground before allowing his wings to manifest and carry him upwards. The rush is always worth it, and hey, if he hits the unforgiving ground, what will it matter? He’ll heal.

He’s breathless by the time he finds his brother again, adrenaline prickling under the lightbringer’s very skin while laughter tumbles from his mouth and already is he setting up to do it again.

          Come on, Mikey, try it! It’s fun!

The hand that catches his wrist is firm, the scolding that follows somewhat exasperated — but fond, always fond, even as Michael pleads with him to stop being so reckless. 

          I don’t want you to get hurt, he’d said. I don’t want you to hit the ground.

Oh, how beautifully, tragically poetic.

❝ Perhaps I am, ❞ he allows, the memory falling away as Lucifer glances up to study the man across from him. ❝ —but I’d rather be reckless than thoughtless. ❞

Unoriginal, a soldier, mindlessly obedient and ever so ready to continue with the status quo.

❝ I don’t pretend to be perfect, Michael. ❞ He starts again, tone softer this time, because despite everything — despite a betrayal that runs essence deep — Lucifer loves him.

                      And oh, how he loathes such a fact. 

❝ Has it ever occurred to you that I was made this way for a reason? ❞ They’re dangerous words, oh so tumultuous in his mouth — and yet he can’t stop, the thoughts he’s kept close to his chest for millenia now bursting forth. ❝ Father doesn’t make mistakes. That’s what we’ve always said, right? He’s all knowing. So then — ❞ He raises his arms in a gesture of resignation, a breathless, mirthless little laugh stuck in his throat, ❝ He made me different. Made me to question things, to be reckless, to be — ❞ the words hitch, agony marring the King’s features for the briefest of moments before his smile is painted back on — though the expression doesn’t reach his eyes.

❝ — this. ❞ Demonic attributes are showing themselves without Lucifer’s say so, though he can’t bring himself to care. It seems fitting, doesn’t it? To stand before his twin as the corrupted, flawed, ruined thing he is. Has always been. 

❝ So tell me, brother; have you never once thought about that? Does it not make you angry to be used as His sword? Do you not deserve to think for yourself, too? ❞

                                To be reckless?