When you Fall in Love with an Angel // OxO // Closed

i. when you fall in love with an angel, you must understand that there are things you will not understand.

ii. when you first go to run your hands through his hair, his halo will slice your palm. and it will hurt. he will mend it with the touch of one golden finger, and will leave so abruptly that he is gone almost before you blink. the last thing you see will be him standing in the doorway, a terrified expression on his face and blood in his hair.
(later, he tells you that he didn’t realize how breakable humans could be. when he explains what it takes to make an angel bleed, you start to understand.)

iii. ask him about the sky, about stars and suns and galaxies light years away, about how the universe looks like a blooming garden.
do not ask about lucifer, because your angel will become a soldier before your eyes.
do not, do not, do not ask about god.
do not ask about rebellious older brothers and absentee fathers, do not infer about a war you know nothing of.

iv. in a science class you are taking simply to get the credit, your teacher will be talking about quantum physics. she will call planets “celestial bodies” and suddenly you will only be able to think of the way his mouth curls in at the sides, of all the puckered scars that criss-cross his torso, of the graceful arch on the bottom of his foot. when the teacher calls on you and asks you if you are alright, you will flush an even deeper red.

(at times it is lovely to be in love with an angel. but other times, it is not.)

v. when you fight, it is like the world is ending. his anger conjures a thunderstorm, and soon the entire state is three inches deep in water. you shatter a picture frame. a bolt of lightening catches the house across the street on fire. you are screaming at the top of your lungs—something about duty, something about god—and there is a crash of thunder that shakes the house. the weathermen talk about the storm for days, and you change the channel.

vi. then there are the times when he doesn’t visit for months on end, and when he finally comes back to you, he is not himself. there are new scars across his chest, and he does not speak. he sits with you in his arms for hours, his nose buried in your hair and his arms squeezed tight, so tight.
he does not cry. you do not cry.

you do not cry.

vii. when you fall in love with an angel—oh, sweetheart. it’s too late to take it back now.
"
— on falling in love with an angel || m.m.c

Basically, I want to do a romance RP based on this. Idk much else other than that. It will most likely be gay. I will be the Angel.

Rules:

• andrew (Our Supreme Lord and Overseer)'s Rules apply
• It will be dark, so mature RPers only
• Steamy scenes will be taken to PMs
• This will be descriptive; four sentence minimum
• I reserve the right to say no

(bump)

(can I see an RP sample first? A link will do just fine)

(thanks. I just prefer to know what people's style is before saying yes)

(yeah that's totally fine)

(kk looks good! I'll post a template)

(np!)

Name:
Nicknames:
Gender and sexuality:
Age (I'm thinking college age):
Looks (no links, unless described):
Other:

Name: Azael
Nicknames: Az
Gender and sexuality: Male, gay
Age (I'm thinking college age): unknown, appears to be around 22
Looks (no links, unless described): Azael is rather tall, with a well muscled body. There are scars, both new and old, that crisscross his torso and arms. He is Caucasian, with a golden tan. His hair is a bronzed golden color. His eyes are sky blue, and bright, most days. He has large, white, feathery wings, which brush against the ground. He can, however, glamour them so that they are no longer visible or there.
Other: ~

(I like him! One question: average height for his kind? Do you mean humans? Or race?? Also can I just say that I love that you used a concrete color for his skin lmao)

(ohhh okay lmao)

(Yeah that's good! Shall i get the starter up?)

(Okay! I'm just gonna assume that Elijah lives in a house with at least a small backyard, right? Otherwise my starter idea won't work)

(kk)

It was raining on the night Azael landed. Well, crashed would be the better term. It was raining, and had been raining for hours, turning the ground into a soup of mud and dirt. The angel, only barely conscious, was bleeding and battered, and crashed into Elijah's backyard, unconscious, one of his magnificent, white wings crushed beneath his tall body. Even in the darkness, no one could have mistaken that winged shape for anything human. The feathers, for one thing, were strewn throughout the yard, one wing sticking up a little, the other crushed beneath his body. Even in the darkness, in that rain, his wings seemed almost to glow, luminous and bright. Around his head, a pale, golden, glowing band; his halo. A great-sword was still grasped in one fist, and blood, red with filaments of gold, flowed from cuts and wounds, and there were tears in the armor that fitted his body.

Azael's height, along with those giant wings, made it rather difficult to carry the unconscious angel, though Elijah managed it. Azael lay sprawled on the bed, face tipped towards the ceiling. His blood was still leaking from the wounds, and it was obvious he had been in a fight. Even while carried, he had not released his grip on his sword, which he held in his right hand. Mud and blood streaked his body, clinging to his wings.

Elijah had a few choices. He could help the strange man, hide him until he was well. Or, Elijah could call the authorities, and the Angel would be locked behind bars. Or, the third option, he could do nothing. What happened to this man laying on the couch was now completely up to Elijah.

The wing was surprisingly soft, and flickered with light, warm to the touch. If it was indeed a costume, then it must have been both custom-made, and extremely expensive. At the touch to his wing, Azael stirred, letting out a soft groan. He opened his eyes after a moment, revealing brilliant blue eyes the color of the sky on a cloudless day. They narrowed in suspicion upon seeing Elijah, and he struggled to a sitting position, crushing his wings beneath himself again, wincing a little when he did. "Who are you? Where am I?" He demanded. His voice was low, but still somehow musical. Beautiful, maybe, if it weren't for his hostile tone.

Azael stood up, then fell back to a sitting position almost as soon as he had, a soft grunt leaving his throat. He looked at Elijah. "Don't move." He frowned, eyes flashing around the room. He set the sword on the coffee table, hands outstretched just a little. They were… glowing? "This is…oh. Earth." His voice contained a strange mix of disappointment and relief. He picked his sword back up again, eyes studying Elijah. "Human." He commented. "Is there anyone else inside this building?" He asked.

Azael frowned a little bit, and started to remove his armor. It was made of a strange, silver metal, which flashed as he set it on the floor. "I see." he paused for a moment, then removed his shirt as well, twisting to examine the wounds in his sides. His wings twitched a little, taking up the entire couch, stray feathers landing on the couch as well. He looked at Elijah for a moment. "If you have bandages, yes. A bowl of warm water would lovely as well, if it can be managed." he said, looking back down at his side. His torso was well-muscled, though that, of course, wasn't the main thing to see at the moment. No, the main distraction were those large cuts in his skin, which were still weeping blood, and were crusted with dirt and dried blood. There was old scars crisscrossing his form as well. Most were slash marks, though a few were shaped distinctly like bites.