archmight

[archmight]

source

[archmight]

Source

[archmight]

THE QUESTION STRUCK LIKE LIGHT ON DEEP WATER,

not with force, but revelation: threatening to expose all that lay beneath the surface. something behind his eyes flinched, and he shifted to brace lucifer--star more fully, cradling him like shattered remnants of a reliquary. the bathwater lapped gently at the edges of the basin as he moved, catching light in kaleidoscope fragments. michael's jaw was set, hard and regal, but behind the veil of authority - beneath skin carved with commandments and wings threaded with obedience - there was something breaking.

how did you get here? he could not say. (not in a way that wouldn't wound.)

he could have spoken of choices, of FALL, of the seraphic tribunal and the procedure, and the quiet horror of divine correction; but what would that matter to a creature who now curled into him like a child beneath the shadow of a BLADE that had claimed to love him?

lucifer --star -was disappearing into him now, voice thin as mist, body light as memory. michael exhaled - not through lungs, but through presence; the air around them shifted with the quiet tremor of withheld thunder. he lowered his head, just enough that his breath stirred the wet strands clinging to star's temple. one hand, vast and steady, cupped the nape of star's neck - not as a dominion, but as anchor - ritual without absolution. his thumb brushed through damp locks, a tender rote to keep himself from answering too quickly, too truthfully. star's body was too warm, his voice too soft, and the GUILT that bloomed in michael's chest was too ancient to name.

"you are safe now."

he said it softly, the LIE carried by a voice forged to shape cosmos. "you are not alone."

(but you are alone, aren't you? because I am not what you remember. and you … you are less than what you were. and I helped make it so.)

his arm curled more securely around star's narrow waist, fingers splayed with tenderness and guilt, holding afloat a body that no longer remembered how to belong to itself; not because he needed to - but because michael did. it was not enough (it was never enough). the mighty prince of the host, knee-deep in luminous water, drowning in the echo of a name he could no longer say without SHAME.

"I found you."

his tone was low and measured, as if each word might tip the world further off its axis.

(you had fallen from the place that once sang your name. they struck you down and called it MERCY. and I … I let them.)

the thought lived in the angle of his mouth, the ache in his touch, the silence between their bodies - space filled with things he could never unsay. he wanted to lie, to say something impossibly sweet, some gently forged balm; but michael did not lie easily - he bore TRUTH the way others bore crosses. so instead, he pressed his forehead lightly to star's damp crown, and offered the only truth left unmarred by heaven's teeth:

"I brought you here."

(I brought you to water, not because it heals, but because it remembers. I did not know what else to do.)

for once, michael did not care who watched - not heaven, not earth. not even god. the one being who mattered was here, half-ruined and half-holy in his arms, pawing gently at his wrist - not yet recoiled, not yet cursing him. and that, perhaps, was the truest FALL.

(I failed you, but I have not stopped carrying you.)

cont. @archmight .

he does not feel well, but this is normal. this is normal, now.

time is a beautiful lie to star these days - a myth, only heard of in daydreams and passing thoughts. he counts the flimsy hours in day and night, light and shadow, and even then he has little need to keep score. days turn to weeks turn to years, all under his patient, unwavering eye ; and he sits, unchanging. uneroding.

star is whisked back and forth between lucidity and dream, consciousness and deep abyss ; his eyelids never closing, but fluttering softly - reacting to the distant, unseelie light of the water. he rests against the lip of the basin, the natural force and michael’s hands keeping him from slipping deep into the water. only now has he become clean of sweat and tears. only now is he free of the filth his procedure wrings out of him.

he is exhausted. star’s limbs float unnaturally under the water, too worn to force them down - like a doll, buoyant and placid and pristine under the heavenly glow of water. unfocused eyes bask in the rippling light on the walls, ever-observant, ever-sharp, ever willing to learn in spite of his new shortcomings - not that he knows what they are. he barely knows what he is, now, barely knows how to breathe and speak and recognize his own name. agony rips at the heart of himself that he cannot remember, and when tears happen to bloom in the corners of his eyes, he cannot remember what they’re for.

tepid water crawls down his temples, and in spite of the warmth of the bathhouse, he shudders.

❝ oh. ❞

star does not enjoy the hazardous crawl back into his own body. star does not like the feeling of weight creeping back into his limbs, shame creeping back into his heart. there is a nauseous pit in his stomach, like a squirming viper, and he swallows. the bath is suddenly much too warm. the echo of water is much too loud. quietly, he moans, eyes squeezing shut as his fists curl against the sides of his bowed head. grant him mercy. grant him peace.

the embrace is sudden, and for a moment, far too much. star startles, gripping at michael’s arm for support, least he lose his balance and fall underneath the loose waves he’s riled alongside him. he moans again, this time in false protest, head falling limply against michael’s chest, and then he is still. his eyes flutter open once more, as barren and quiet as they’d been most of the day, and his fingers go limp around the wrist of the man who bore him here, who cleansed him, who showed him more love than the seraphs who hovered over his lightning-struck body mere hours prior.

❝ it’s alright, ❞ he hums, voice wavering, more of a soothing coo than a confirmation. one hand paws at michael’s wrist once more - a comfort. it’s alright. you’ve done all you can for me.

❝ … how did i get here … ? brother ? ❞

[archmight]

Source

[archmight]

𓆩⚔︎𓆪 ; starter call from the big brother of heaven! if multi, pls specify muse

[archmight]

i looooove characters who are sacrificial lamb coded. characters who have never lived for themselves. characters born to be a tool, a weapon, a sacrifice, all of the above. a character raised by the heroes to save the world, at any expense, even their own health, even their own life. a character raised by the villains to end the world, at any expense, even their own health, even their own life. characters who are denied personhood so they can be used as tools instead. characters who never even had a chance to be people because they were shaped into something else from the moment they were born. characters who were born to die.

[archmight]

MICHAEL REGARDED HIM LIKE A CONSTELLATION JUST BEGINNING TO FORM,

not yet fixed in the firmament, but burning earnestly toward it. the chamber had emptied like a lung, the murmuring and rustle of feathers now a memory etched into the marble as the high council had scattered like stars at dawn; the prince of the host stood at the centre of the hall, its vast height no match for the weight of his attention. lucid, sweet and shimmer-lit, had lingered at the door uncertainly.

he stepped away from the central dais, boots tapping rhythmically against the marbled floor; when he came to stand before the fledgling seraph, he looked at him without condescension, but deliberate recognition. he observed him for a moment, as one might study a flame unsure if it would flare or falter.

"yes. you."

voice carried the hush of falling stars, though even softness from him had the resonance of FATE; then - startlingly gentle - he reached out, a large hand came to rest on lucid's shoulder, covering it entirely, only to steady.

( you do not need to prove yourself, lucid. not to them. not to me.)

michael exhaled once, slow, as if releasing something dense and unspoken from his lungs. immense gaze drifted - not up, not away, but through - as if for a moment he saw another face in lucid's expression, another echo trembling along the soul; one that had burned him, once. he looked back, finally, and for a flicker of breath there was something perilously kind behind his eyes. the hand withdrew, but the warmth remained.

he turned slightly, cloak stirring with the motion - less like fabric, more like stormcloud - and gestured to a bench, a place meant for seraphim who still had things to learn, and be told, and held.

"stay with me. tell me what you dreamed about today."

(so I don't forget what gentleness feels like when it follows, rather than flees.)

and for once, his voice was not divine decree - it was INVITATION.

" you are going to stay here , aren't you ? " - from michael @archmight

The meeting with the High Council had adjured, the angels filing out one by one to go about their day. It was not often that Lucid had seen Michael at one of these meetings. Or perhaps it was more common for the archangels to hold a private council of their own with little need for the rest. The young seraphim had looked between the Right Hand of God and the exit door multiple times, uncertain if he should stay or go.

Finally he made the decision to behind leaving when the older angels voice spoke. Lucid pivoted around, looking about to see if the archangel may have been meaning someone else. But seeing as it was only them left, the blue angel pointed a finger at himself, astonished. “Me? I mean, yes. I am happy to stay. Er, humbled t-to stay, sir.”

[archmight]

#𝘌𝘝𝘜𝘓𝘖𝘚𝘐𝘌ㅤㅤ⸺⸺ㅤㅤI FEEL EXACTLY LIKE AN EXPERIMENT & SO I AM COMING TO FEEL CONVINCED THAT THAT IS WHAT I AM; JUST AN EXPERIMENT & NOTHING MORE. IS MY POSITION ASSURED, OR DO I HAVE TO WATCH & TAKE CARE OF IT?ㅤETERNAL VIGILANCE IS THE PRICE OF SUPREMACY,ㅤㅤ𝕺 𝕷𝖔𝖗𝖉, 𝕴 & 𝖍𝖊 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖔𝖓𝖊

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝕳𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖑𝖚𝖏𝖆𝖍;ㅤ𝕴'𝖒 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖉𝖊𝖆𝖉 !

[archmight]

The bulge is to distract you in combat dipshit

[archmight]

Source

[archmight]

‘Why aren’t we interacting?’

😿 - I’m too shy to reach out

😥 - I’m a little intimidated by your writing length / style / formatting

😵 - I don’t know how to approach you

⌛️ -  You seem really busy

👥 - I don’t know which of my muses you’re interested in

📝 - It would help if you could fill my interest checker!

❓ - I’m not familiar with any of your current muses

📩 - I’ve sent you asks / written you starters, but you never replied to them

📤 - We have threads, and I’ve been waiting on your replies

💬 - I have a plot in mind for us, but I haven’t found the right way/time to reach out

💞 - I ship our muses, but I don’t know if you’re interested

✒️ - I usually interact through memes / open starters and you don’t post a lot of them

🥇 - You followed me first and I’m waiting for you to make the first move

🥰 - I’m following you because I love your writing and content and I just want to read your stuff

➕ - Other reason(s) -sender specifies-

[archmight]

michael: I would strike down any unholy dalliance between angel and demon

grimm: mike, if you went chasing after every angel/demon couple you'd never get any other work done. also, you hypocrite.

[archmight]

michael, what would you do if you found out one of your own brethren was in love with a demon and slept with them?

THE PRINCE TURNS HIS HEAD SLOWLY,

as one who has heard thunder before it breaks, as if to better heed with the weight of his whole form; a question like that does not strike the air - it settles, like ash on the ground.

the silence that follows is consecrated, the kind that comes before a holy sword is drawn. his gaze is not cruel but immense, expression tempered. thought slows in him, but never halts: he is a warrior forged of paradoxes - the stillness of stars, the judgment of storms - and behind his silence is not hesitation - but RECKONING.

when he speaks, his voice is low - the kind that could be mercy or a sentence, drawn from the iron of conviction and cooled in the waters of restraint.

"if they have taken FIRE into their bones and dared to call it warmth, I would ask them what they remember of their origin-- and whether they understand what it means to call something HOLY, and to make of themselves a temple for what was never meant to enter it."

the wind shifts, carrying the ghost of wingbeats too vast to see; his hands fold not in prayer, but in deliberation. "LOVE is not forbidden. but allegiance is not weightless - and what you offer with your body, you risk offering with your soul."

his mouth hardens at the corners - pain, not disdain; he does not judge quickly, for he has seen too much RUIN dressed as romance.

"--but I would not strike them down, not at first, for hearts may ERR. flesh is weaker still. and I do not punish instinct - I punish ABANDONMENT."

and now his eyes fix, gold-flecked and fathomless, dusk made of wisdom and wrath.

"so I would ask: did they forget who they are? or did they choose to become something else?"

(and there lies the difference. --because one he can forgive. the other … he must DESTROY.)

"if they have given what was divine to what DEVOURS--"

his eyes lower, in the unbearable weight of consequence.

"--then I will carry out what must be DONE. even if I love them."

(especially if I love them.)

[archmight]

Source

𝖗𝖊𝖕𝖔𝖘𝖊 𝖎𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖌𝖆𝖗𝖉𝖊𝖓

[archmight]

𝖋𝖎𝖗𝖘𝖙 𝖙𝖔 𝖐𝖓𝖊𝖊𝖑,

⚔︎ ʟᴀsᴛ ᴛᴏ ғᴀʟʟ

＊ ind., selective and low activity 𓆩⚔︎𓆪 archangel MICHAEL , prince of the heavenly host sideblog, follows from grimowled scriptured by grimm promo art by (c)

⚔︎ ⚔︎ 𝖉𝖔𝖌𝖒𝖆 | 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖈𝖆𝖓𝖔𝖓𝖘 ⚔︎

[archmight]

VIII. ON ANGELIC BONDS - SIBLINGS IN FLAME, NOT IN FLESH

in heaven, the word 'sibling' means something different - it is a term rooted in structure and formation, rather than biology.

angels are not born, nor paired, nor chosen - they are made, each shaped into being by the divine will with exact purpose, precise essence, and SOLITARY function before form. there is no shared blood, no lineage, no womb. no parents. no DNA - only CREATION.

and yet, they often call one another brother, kin. although they do not share origin, they share proximity to god's breath, forged in adjacent instants of holy fire. they were made in chorus, and so they cling to one another like verses in the same hymn; at the outset, their love is not romantic, nor sexual, nor yearning: it is holier, structured and solemn; a love threaded with recognition, of mirrored BURDEN, of serving the same unbearable light.

they are not born with each other, but they were commanded to stand beside each other: that is their form of family, the BRETHREN. for millennia, this form of detached closeness is all they know. they love one another like the stars, held in celestial formation. they do not crave, they should not desire, and they do not miss each other - not in the human way, as they are supposed to be made complete and kept complete in god.

--until HUMANITY comes. and when the first humans were created, the angels (THE MONSTERS) observed, they marvelled at the softness, the limitations, the intensity and ache of their emotions. they were instructed to guide and protect them, but somewhere between observation and obedience something changed irrevocably.

some angels began to feel things that had no name in heaven.

yearning, longing ... the unbearable urge to be seen - not as a function, but as a BEING. and in watching the humans love - desperately, recklessly, irrationally - some angels began to wonder what they themselves had been DENIED. when lucifer fell for desire, for self, something cracked open in michael; and when he saw humans fall in love, RUIN themselves in it, live entire lives chasing nothing but it - he began to question whether the bonds between angels were enough.

perhaps love is not meant to be contained, but it is something beyond design; and so it waits inside him, like a STORM behind his wings.