#✤ zadkiel — answered

[hoverboards-and-dragons]

God, Archangels , what do you think of Adam? (Have this been asked already?)

[snnynaturalarchive]

@divinetenebris ( zadkiel ) : Send a 📸 to see 3-5 pictures that my muse has/has taken of your muse(s)

[h3xt0r]

thank u hector for flashing nipples across my screen in front of my mother /j

AJWJSJSJJSJWJEJEJSJSKJDKD I WOULD APOLIGISE BUT THATS SO FUCKJNH FUNNY AJSJSJD

[blackmouthdog]

Eye. Void. Bone Marrow. Flesh. Tentacle. -Zadkiel

Unfortunately true

[the-flower-karasu]

Somewhere on Earth, a Mortal is about to become an eldritch being.

Hm?

[Zadkiel could sense it. A shift in the cosmic makeup of the realms. She'd sensed it past, a young woman took on the role as Messiah, to give her mortal life to protect all other mortals. Such a act of sacrifice would surely elevate her. Zadkiel was prepared for when that day came...]

To serve such a being... wouldn't be terrible...

[mommydcys]

"keep doing that." from zadkiel over at @divinetenebris <3

consent is sexy ! - includes a mix of povs

sonny  did  not  expect  for  the  night  to  turn  out  the  way  it  was  right  now.  especially  with  a  fallen  angel.  the  heat  radiated  off  of  the  both  of  them.  the  room  dark  and  all  that  were  heard  were  quiet  sounds  of  soft  pants  and  moans.  her  fingers  finding  their  way  between  the  other's  legs.  nibbling  on  her  lower  lip  as  she  slowly  rubbed  at  her  folds.  watching  her  face  before  hearing  the  words:  keep  doing  that.  the  approval  she  needed  as  her  fingers  continued  to  rub.  doing  what  she  can  to  provide  the  other  pleasure.  leaning  down  and  gently  nipping  and  kissing  her  neck.

[truearchangel]

@thylightbringer inquired;

It’s been nearly two weeks since that… conversation in Michael’s room and Lucifer still reeled from it whenever he thought about it. When he’d first appeared back at the palace there had been a lot of screaming and hellfire from him, he’d startled his PA who’d been sorting more of his paperwork. Lucifer barely remembers having to fix the floor where he’d smashed it with his fists, but eventually he’d dragged himself to his room and curled up under his softest blanket while nearly strangling his duck plush.

Now he was back at the hotel, unable to keep away and continue to worry Charlie. Her messages had gotten progressively more and more concerned after the three day mark. While Lucifer had done his best to avoid his brother when he’d returned, he knew that he couldn’t avoid him forever. As mad and upset as he was to learn what he had… It’s always been difficult for him to stay mad at Michael.

Hence why he was… once again in front of Michael’s door with a basket of fruits, mostly apples, waiting for his brother to answer after he’d knocked.

          “Michael… I know you’re in there. I just want to talk,” Lucifer called out, adjusting his hold on the basket a little.

   The reaction that he had gotten for what he told Lucifer felt… extreme. To be quite frank, the reason that he had never told him, was for him. Who wants to tell their twin brother that everyone he knew and loved voted to kill him? Especially… especially right after everything that had happened. Why continue to beat him that hard down when he had already fallen so much? Why make things hurt more when he could paint a different picture? If it made Michael the enemy, as it had, then at least that was one person throw so much of his anger and hatred on rather than every other Archangel in the clouds. 

   Lucifer had loved Gabriel, he had coddled Zadkiel, he had laughed and danced with Raphael. Why make things worse than they already were, saying those people wanted him dead. The thing he believed was true, that Michael was just being as cruel as possible, was so much kinder in the end. 

   Merciful. 

   Why did the truth matter that much, why does the reason he chained him to Hell really matter when it doesn’t change the outcome? When the facts are still the same? What Michael did, he did. There is no undoing that. There is no taking it back. There is no changing history that has already etched itself in place. He did it and that was what Lucifer should be mad at, not the fact he kept the reason he did it from him. He’s making a mountain out of a molehill. Getting angry over the wrong thing. Blowing this out of proportion. He can’t even say he entirely sees why Lucifer is mad in the first place. 

   It’s been almost a week since things had blown up. Michael has continued his research, done what he wanted to, and moved on from the conversation. That does not mean he wants to talk to Lucifer. Apparently it wasn’t a choice he was getting though. The room has remained unchanged since the King of Hell was last in here, the suitcase was still on the bed, the blue and gold colors were still present. He hasn’t slept, he hasn’t unpacked, the paperwork on the desk has just grown. 

   And there is an insistent knocking on the door.

   Sighing tiredly he shook his head at the scroll he was reading and raised his hand up to rub at his eyes, trying to work some energy back into himself to deal with this. 

   Instead of getting up to answer the door, he calls out to his brother. “What do you want, Lucifer?” 

[cardinalcanis]

Fire and Blood part 2: The intervention.

[Part 1] [Part3]

Summary: By Tyberos request, Ovidious agrees to try and speak some sense into Zadkiel.

TW: Some good old angst.

Word count: 2498

Collab fic with: @jaghatai-khock

Tag squad (let me know if you wish to be tagged on stuff): @druidwolf21 @wolf-feathers12 @artemisareia @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond @adhd-fandom-hyperfocus

@gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

@kit-williams

@egrets-not-regrets

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ovidious Sulla, Head Logistician of the Adeptus Logisticarum, lit a cigarette on a candle cluster by the elevator remembering how he had promised Guilliman to reduce his amount of smoking. His beloved could relax as he hadn’t broken the vow, this was the only one he had smoked today, setting aside Sulla hadn’t been up for long still. 

He leaned on the railing, overlooking hundreds of floors down of never sleeping voidship activities. Crew, serfs, Space Marines, servitors, guards… the list of roles and positions that composed the lifeblood of the Macragge's Honor could reach the end of the fall if he let the full list unfurl from where he was standing. 

“If you would excuse me, Lord Logistician.” The gray giant accompanying him spoke in spotless high gothic, his tone sober and formal. “Would you specify what service does this indulgent stop provide towards our endeavor?” 

There was a time where the very presence of the so-called Emperor’s Angels would tie his stomach into a knot, but the frequent and intense exposure that his position and place of work provided made for the best shock therapy. Even though from time to time he had to re-adapt to the new ‘flavors’ of less populous chapters, as all things considered the sons of Guilliman were pretty ‘normal’ even if that normal cannot be properly used with Astartes. 

He inhaled more of that poisonous smoke that dulled his anxiety. Tyberos wasn’t Guilliman’s gene-son nor anybody he may have had the credentials to know of, after the uncomfortable silence he was met the first time he asked Ovid knew it wasn’t a good thing to repeat. Even with the Space-Shark’s eyes being orbs of pure black devoid of all light and his exposed upper jaw full of serrated sharp teeth; he didn’t unsettle him as much as Zadkiel did. 

“You are made so you would know no fear Chapter Master, I have no such thing backing me up.” He answered, strings of smoke coming out his mouth and nose as he spoke. 

“I have never heard of fumes that were capable of dulling fear, this is an interesting discovery you have brought to my attention Lord Logistican.” 

Ovidious let air quickly through his teeth in a hiss, unsure if the marine was being sarcastic or truly innocent. He was more on putting his money on the second one, it was surprising how little Astartes knew of normal everyday human life. 

“There is no such thing, Red Wake.” Sulla stepped away from the railing, approaching one of the many well polished Ultramar symbols on the walls where he could check on wrinkles on his clothes or if his hair was in order. Vanity to an observer but to Ovidious was an attempt at keeping a sense of control that would bring calmness.

“Your heart is beating at an accelerated pace Lord Logistican, your fear remedy seems to be a faulty version.” Tyberos kept observing him in stoic guard. “It puzzles me, if you could enlighten me, why is your chest experimenting with similar vibrations as if it were receiving the recoil of an automatic gun?”  

“Is called anxiety, Tyberos.” He answered. 

“I am knowledgeable about the fact that said emotion exists. But my interrogant goes towards asking why would your chest do such a thing, Lord Logistican?” The man pressed on. 

“Because I am anxious, Tyberos.” Ovidious answered with a degree of frustration, he threw his cigarette butt on the floor and stepped on it close to where a servitor was sweeping the floor. 

“I see no reason for your anxiety, Lord Logistican.” 

 “Are you aware of the…” Ovidious grunted and exhaled, from all the possibilities of his future, being the grounding touch of reason for a gaggle of giant superhumans with complicated family history wasn’t on the list. “Come, we better find Zadkiel before a blood angel or Emperor forbid Guilliman gets in the room, the last thing I need is someone trying to step in and babysit the man from reality, again.” 

“There is to say, Lord Logistican, that the depths of my gratefulness towards you for attempting to confront my adored one about what ails him have no bounds.” Even with his size and layers of ceramite of armor, Tyberos walked with a level of unnerving silence. One could forget he was following if not directly conscious that he was. 

“There are many things about Zadkiel that worry me, this is not going to be the first battle.”

To say that Ovidious was terrified of Guilliman’s nephew was an understatement, there was a chronic lack of attention towards what really mattered about him. He was a feral beast wearing the skin of an angel, doing a forceful and conscious pantomime to act like one, feeding into his beloved and priest’s delusion alike. 

“The Lord of Ultramar did make a fine choice by letting you claim him as your bounded pair to mate with.”  

Ovidious turned around on his spot, the soles of his shoes crying on the polished floors. 

“I have no idea what Zadkiel told you about… that.” Ovid’s voice as much of a whisper as he could, he eyed around for nearby spectators. “But please speak no word of it.” 

The Space Shark tilted his head to the side, curiosity forming on his face. 

“About your bond with the Lord of Ultramar or that you are the one who…” 

“Neither, Astartes.” he interrupted. “Neither.” 

“Lord Logistician are you…?”

“Not the time for this conversation Chapter Master.”  His voice took the higher pitch on his registry, Ovid swiped in the air with his hands dramatically several times as he spoke. “Look, we are almost there.” 

As stated by the Astartes the hallways were empty of anyone who could overhear, but also anyone that could call for help in case things went south. He wished that Tyberos would be enough backup to protect him, even though he knew that the difference between a human and an Astartes was similar if not smaller to the one between a Astartes and a Primarch. As much as Roboute melted in his hands Ovidious was well aware, and had reported evidence of, that he was capable of punching the flesh off his bones faster than any astartes could react if those were his wishes.

That was another reason for his long list of traits that made him afraid of Zadkiel. Guilliman would not fight to the extent his own strength would harm him, just strike hard enough to get the desired result. From what he had read, from what the Lamenters had spoken of; Zad fought with no regard for his own safety, would break his hand with the punch if needed and would always strike at full force no matter the target’s size. 

Now in front of Zadkiel’s bedroom door Ovidious felt like the not even strong enough veal looking down the barrel of the bolt gun between its eyes at the slaughterhouse. Going by snippets from Guilliman’s confessions, sometimes he felt like the Emperor forgot to add the ‘emotional intelligence and regulation’ gene when he created the primarchs and made it the whole galaxy’s problem, and ten thousand years later he has been the one chosen on a holy mission to fix it. He asked the Emperor for forgiveness due to his thoughts every time it passed by, symbolized by the candle he lit everyday at the altar.

Tyberos grabbed his arm before he was able to knock, the gray giant stood in front of the skull faced terminal by the door and got showered by red light. It produced an approving sound when the authorized genetic imprint was logged, allowing the door to be opened. 

Guilliman was pragmatic and conservative with decor, but his nephew’s ‘minimalism’ was concerning. The room was almost bare, the ungenerous amount of furniture pushed to the corners leaving no way they could block the field of view. Any mirrors were turned or covered like if it were a storage room. Zadkiel’s gigantic bed was in the farthest corner with a view of the whole room, Ovid found the degree of childish flavor of it a bit disquieting for a man ten thousand years his senior. Colorful pillows, plushies and blankets were overflowing out of it, no idea how the lad was capable of sleeping on it. But knowing Primarchs Zadkiel didn’t need to sleep at all. Any spectator would be able to discern how old and worn down the plushies were, there was clear intent spent on keeping them in good conditions with plenty of attempts on mends and repairs. 

And there he was, just as the rest of the objects in the room he was hugging a wall. But the pose seemed unnatural, the man’s face was pressing straight into the walls in some kind of shaky and obscure trance. He turned to them at impossible speed, looking more like a distressed owl creature over its kill. With the same quickness Zadkiel’s gestures softened, a cold tingle overcame Ovidious by the impression that the Primarch’s bones themselves had morphed and rearranged themselves to put up with the appearance he was approaching them with. 

“What a delightful surprise, mine and my uncle’s beloved are gracing me with their presence right in my humble room.”  This new persona was airy and angelic, almost fluttering above ground with the fragile flutter of a butterfly. Ovidious recognized those gestures and poses, the paintings of Sanguinius descending gracefully upon his people. “What is the occasion? Wait, let me guess.” he smiled from ear to ear with naive glee, exposing his long canines. “You wish to help you propose to Guilliman don't you uncle Ovid? I have the best idea, we’ll need a proper white suit that is not as… conservative as what you tend to prefer, 10,000 blue roses…” 

“That is not the occasion.” Ovidious waved the concept of a proposal away with a polite yet awkward smile. “We wish to speak with you due to recent and past concerns Tyberos and I share. You see, Tyberos informed me of the… incident that happened to you recently…”

Zadkiel’s wings trembled slightly before the grandson of the Emperor looked for the next correct pantomime to respond with. The primarch fell to his knees in front of Sulla, his hands between his. He trembled with the thought of how easily Zad could crush them, how those arms could be as thick as his ribcage. 

“I am so blessed to have such caring men in my life.” His tone soft, eyes of a confused abandoned fawn. “I am feeling better, it was just a slip. Get in my shoes, not everyday I see living ghosts of my father, but I am at ease now. You need not to worry for me uncle Ovid, you already have so much to carry when helping my uncle.” Another pose and expression Ovidious knew from all the Ecclesiarchy’s depictions, Sanguinius kneeling and crying when first meeting the Emperor. 

Tyberos hadn’t moved an inch, what a great protector he had. Ovid tried to take his hands away with the least threatening gesture he could and politely put some space between him and Zadkiel. His fear was in the process of being eaten by an equally stronger force: anger and frustration. If someone had stepped in earlier the… man in front of him wouldn’t be forced into this ridiculous set of poses and canned soothing phrases. 

For the first time ever the Head Logistician looked directly into Zadkiel’s bloody red eyes, the pupils on those shrinked slightly into a slit at the sense of possible challenge.  

“Who are you?” Ovidious asked flatly, devoid of emotion. Making Tyberos raise an eyebrow. 

“What do you mean uncle Ovid?” Zad’s wings spread themselves on the ground, trying to give the appearance of a broken pigeon. “You know who I am, I am Zad.” 

“Who are you?” inquired again crossing his arms behind his back, eyes glued on Zadkiel’s. 

“This is ridiculous Uncle, I am Zadkiel!” Rose his voice the Primarch, breaking some of the halo effect around him. Back feathers rising slightly. 

Sulla noticed Tyberos by the corner of his eye, taking one step forwards. 

“Who are you?” Repeated Ovid, who could barely hear himself over the beating of his own heart at the base of his throat. 

“I am Zadkiel, Son of the Angel, Primarch of the Lamenters!” Zad’s nails left long jagged marks on the floor, his wings extending menacingly like an eagle descending over prey. “And I will not partake in whatever game that you have come up with uncle!” 

“I am confused,” Ovid said in a soft yet detached tone. “You say that you are Zadkiel, but all I see you present yourself as is Sanguinius.” He paused, “Who are you?”  

Zadkiel’s eyes opened widely, wings semi raised but stiff as a taxidermy. Only the sounds of the ship’s rumbling echoed across the room, worrying Ovidious even more. Direct anger is easy to deal with, is clear, but silence? So much uncertainty. 

“You do not know what you are talking about.” Zad said apprehensively, baring his teeth and hugging himself. Wings contracting to cocoon around his body. 

“Enlighten me then, because all I see is a forced attempt to…” 

“WHAT ELSE DO YOU WANT FROM ME THEN!” the winged Primarch screamed standing to full height. His wings extended shadowed both Ovidious and Tyberos who had gotten a bit closer to the human. “THIS IS ALL THEY HAVE EVER ASKED OF ME, ALL THEY WANT AND CLAMOR OUT OF ME, WHAT ELSE DO YOU WANT ME TO BE UNCLE?” Zadkiel’s pupils had fully shrinked into thin slits. He walked as close to Ovid he could before the Astartes got in the middle, but walked past, he punched the wall and pulled the metal out as easy as peeling fruit. “THIS IS ALL I AM, A MONSTER, FERAL, UNLOVABLE. YOU WANT ME TO NOT BE LIKE MY FATHER BUT THAT IS THE ONLY PART OF MYSELF THAT I DO NOT FEEL REPULSED BY!”

Ovid’s ears were ringing due to the volume of the scream, he had to support himself off Tyberos for his legs not to fully fail him. This is it, they are looking at death right in the eye and it is angry. Zadkiel’s anger was primal, yet supported by layers upon layers of sadness. Under every screamed word there was the silent wail of a prisoner who had stopped fighting his capture way long ago.  

Afterwards, nothing. The Death Angel’s wings contracted back into his body as he himself was hit by a wave of… nothing, as if all the emotions had abandoned him leaving an empty shell where a man used to be. He moved with calm surgical precision in one single direction, towards his sword. 

Tyberos grabbed his bolter but to his surprise Zadkiel kept walking after grabbing the sword, closing the bathroom door behind him with a single metallic ‘click’.

[twost3ps]

Maybe like celebrities, they have a type of interview where all the angel answers some questions about what going on with heaven

Sera: Okay next one

Interviewer: Okay, everyone has been dying to know if adam chest is really that amazing

Micheal: ...

Uriel: ...

Gabriel: ...

Repheal: ...

Chamuel: ...

Jophiel: ...

Zadkiel: ...

Azreal: ...

Dumah: ...

Adam: if everyone dares to answer that question-

LET THEM SPEAK THE TRUTH!!!👊👊👊💥💥💥💥🔥🔥🔥🔥

Uriel probably knows the cup size. Baby, speak your truth 🙄 we all know they're naturals but tell us how they really feel >>:(

Gabriel would say it, no hesitation. Imo, that man just let's his mouth RUN

[heavenly-mercy]

Zadkiel here!

Same mod:

@heavens-hope-giver

@heavens-gatekeeper

@healing-pain

Roleplayers:

@damian-morningstar Nephew :P

@archangelofartandbeauty Joph >:3

@heavenly--knight Mich :1

Apperance^(with wings and with out)

[hidden-in-heaven]

With it being close to pride month, do any of the archangels have any flags they'd be assigned?

Answering this before the month ends (but with tweets, if you see repeated tweets, no you didn’t)

To be more clear

Michael - Pansexual (he doesn’t know it yet)

Raphael- Achillean

Gabriel- Bi Curious

Azrael- AroAce and Non binary (They/Them pronouns)

Uriel- Questioning

Zadkiel- Lesbian (She doesn’t know it yet as well)

Jophiel- Bisexual

Also, I want to make clear that you can also have your own HC regarding their sexuality or gender identity! We don’t mind at all

(Tho I do want to note that please respect Azrael’s pronouns!)

[h3xt0r]

ok genuinely curious what is qsmp about what is the plot ur reblogs make it look so interesting

HI I WROTE OUT A WHOLE THING FOR THIS BUT TUMBLR GOOFED AND ITS GONE AUGH

(warning, ive only gotten into it very recently, nd have only watched mostly tubbo and a bit of phil too)

basically! its a minecraft roleplay server (obv) with people frm all over the world!!

so all these minecraft people show up on this island and it seems perfect, yea? but its NOT!!!

theres this organisation called the federation and theyr r bad they kidnap people and torure people and the kinda enforcer of that is cucurucho (some people love him some hate him ajsdka)

AND THEN THERE R THE EGGGGGGGSSSSSSSS

i love the eggs :D

if you want i can tell u a bit more in dms, i dont wanna clog up the tag akabndjaskhd :)

[blackmouthdog]

Talk about Zadkiel

I have Seen angels before, I have Spoken with them. It never gets any easier, no matter how many times it happens. You always feel wrong to See them, like you are not worthy. I know Their name but I dare not Speak it. Too bright to See. Suppose they don't know that I Saw them. It's hard not to when you've been at this too long. Tears of holy blood and coal dust, I taste copper and black earth.

I'm gonna go lie down.

[the-flower-karasu]

Name: Santanael

Age: Lost Count

Do you like to cuddle?: I’m a very affectionate people person

Can we make-out?: Yes. Especially if it makes the heavens weep.

A night in or dinner out?: A night on the town indulging ourselves is divine.

Ice cream or chocolate covered strawberries?: Chocolate is delectable.

What makes you a good Valentine?: I know how to treat someone and sin in every way they need.

Would you cook for me?: Of course.

Would you let me cook for you?: As long as I can have it tested for poison.

valentine's day application

ARE YOU MOCKING ME, SATANAEL!? DO YOU WISH FOR ME TO RUN YOU THROUGH WITH A SPEAR!?

[Zadkiel looks ready for murder... But she's also not refusing...]

[hoverboards-and-dragons]

I know this is really random but I was just curious, do the Archangel's need sleep? And if so what are their sleep schedules?

I don't think this was directed to the archangels themselves so I'm gonna answer it normally.

No, they don't need it in the same way we do.

But they are capable of it (while God isn't) and it considered healthy for them.

It gives them an internal sense of routine, helps them keep track of time and recover from hurt or exhaustion quicker. Occasional mental rearranging and room to breath is nice.

This is their relationship to most physical 'needs' like food and water, their only real reliance is Grace and worship (which the deprivation is actually quite similar is symptoms to lack of sleep)

Individual sleep schedules!

Raphael has strong feelings about keeping a consistent schedule, have a whole bed time and wake up and nap routine. They have gotten in the habit of oversleeping the last few centuries because they are, insanely burnt out. They've been doing personal care work for such a long time with no real noticeably progress in The Plan, the compassion fatigue is real. A lot of the naps is born of them dragging their siblings into the nest, the small circle that their care still extends too.

Gabriel sleeps intermittently whenever, where ever, 1-3 hours at a time. They try to get back to their own nest at least once a day. Otherwise they spend a probably embarrassing amount falling off of ledges after being startled awake.

Uriel sleeps through dawn and dust, managing the archives throughout the night, for the least amount of interaction with others, dating records, sorting accounts, making timelines and retreating into the distant cosmos during the day to track and organize the constellations etc. I imagine them a lucid dream. And getting very annoyed at their sleep being interrupted or happening outside the hours they're used to.

Jophiel gets 4-5 hours at most consistently, she sleeps at night to be awake at the same time as her winners but is driven by artist's brain so ends up going to bed late pursuing ideas and inspiration, waking up at random times after being haunted by unfinished pieces. Queen of resting her eyes a few minutes during random tasks. She can wake up and go to bed so quickly you have no idea.

Michael; I know what you're all here for; doesn't generally. But on top of his tendency to run himself ragged and his siblings', specifically Raph's insistence he has to take it every now and then. He can't sleep alone, any attempt is a fitful painful waste of time and effort - he hasn't touched his own nest in who knows how long. Luckily his brothers' alternating schedules means there is always at least one place for him to collapse when he needs it; they are very used to him stumbling in, falling on top of them and latching on like hes afraid they're dying. Nightmares are still an issue but... manageable. He will sleep for days if he lets himself, he will not let himself.

Zadkiel is just, so in inconsistent. 10 hours here, 3 all nighters in a row there, during the day, at night. Wakes at 8am and sleeps at 12am every day for 4 weeks before suddenly staying up till 4am and never going back. Always goes back to their nest, either on earth or in heaven, to sleep and has a before bed and wake up routine. They just follow whenever the urge hits and then sleeps until it goes away.

[2af-afterdark]

Bloody Valentine

Fandom: What in Hell in Bad? Content: Raphael & MC, God!MC au Summary: Love has many meanings, but it is always fickle no matter its form. When it comes to Raphael, all you can do is ensure that that love stays focused on you. A/N: This was originally supposed to be more violent toward MC, but then I learned that Raphael is actually the biggest puppy dog when it comes to MC so that idea left my head. Now he’s violent towards others! Word Count: 514

Raphael smelled like blood. Even after washing it all off –a request you made a while ago because the sight of him covered in it made you sick – the senguin smell still clung to him like a man to a raft. Whose blood it was you couldn’t dare to guess, but you were sure that, given enough time, you would learn to tell the difference between angel and devil’s blood. You were not looking forward to that day.

“Who was it this time?” You asked, praying – ironic given the circumstances – that you wouldn’t recognize the name that came out of his mouth.

“No one,” he said as he approached the small nook in which you sat day after day.

It was hard to tell if that was the truth, a lie, or his way of saying that the answer wasn't worth your time. Angels, unlike devils, were difficult to understand. They would say whatever they wanted because they had convinced themselves that everything they said was the truth simply because it was, no further justification needed. To them, nothing was a lie, even if they said the sky was green.

Raphael took another step forward and you moved aside to make room for him at your feet. Not beside you. Never beside you. You couldn't tolerate the smell of blood rubbing off onto the pillows you relaxed against while stuck in your beautiful gilded cage. 

He didn't complain. He liked the view from sitting at your feet. There was something comforting about being made to look up at you; something reminiscent of long ago.

Somehow, even with untold liters of blood on his hands, the thing you felt toward him wasn't anger. It was pity. You wondered if you were so quick to ignore his faults and look at him with sympathy because of how God – how a ‘you’ that you couldn't remember– treated him. All he wanted was love, but he'd been denied; he was no different than a child lashing out for their parent’s attention and approval.

You reached out to run your fingers through his blonde hair, knowing he would become pliant the second he received any affection. “Who was it, Raphael?”

“Zadkiel. Kafiel. Raziel.” He said the names so calmly that it seemed unnatural.

Those were all angel names and, you hate to admit it, but a part of you sighed in relief.

“Why did you do it?” You asked, but you already knew you wouldn't like the answer.

Raphael looked up at you with large, manic eyes that were filled to the brim with displaced affection. “They didn't deserve to worship you.”

And, in angel terms, that was enough.

A part of you flinched, fearful of when he might turn those same impulses towards you who had stolen the name of the person he loved most. But his aggression was tempered for the moment by your gentle hand, the same one he said reminded him of the very person he expected you to replace. The same one who had never dared to lay their hand upon his head before.

For now, this was the dynamic you and he had fallen into; he would be the sword you never wanted, rending the flesh and bone of anyone who he wanted with your name on his lips as justification, and you would give him the love he never received so that hatred never turned toward you.