#I didn’t actually meet the antichrist and his plus one or anything

[lickmycoffeecup]

I can’t get over Celia saying it like SHE DIDN’T MEET THEM FACE TO FACE

[ollieofthebeholder]

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Tumblr tag || Also on AO3

Chapter 45: Martin Prime

“I Spy, with my mental eye, something that begins with…C.”

“Croft?”

“N—yes. Wait, how did you know that?” Jon sounded slightly indignant. “I didn’t even know you knew that word.”

Martin snorted. “Then you’re cheating.”

Jon sighed theatrically. “All right, fine, but which croft?”

“Hmm.” Martin pursed his lips thoughtfully. “The one two hills over, with the stone fence that was falling down in places. The one you had a hard time not seeing as sinister.”

“Well done.” Jon cupped Martin’s cheek in his hand and gave him a gentle kiss. “Right, your turn. Let’s go with…hmm. Let’s say Gertrude’s storage unit.”

It was a silly and relatively pointless game, but Martin loved Jon so much for coming up with it. They’d played I Spy several times when they were in Scotland because Jon had misunderstood Martin’s attempt to explain the one helpful thing he’d been given during his brief stint in therapy, but it had helped both of them, so Martin hadn’t told Jon until much, much later that it wasn’t what he’d meant. Still, it had been fun to play, and it had given them a brief moment of levity during their trek through the fearscapes between their tiny haven of sanctuary in Scotland and their ultimate destination in London. Martin had joked about playing it at Christmas, and Jon had apparently taken that to heart.

He’d come up with this variant not long after, and they’d played it a few times since. One of them would select a location they were both familiar with, and the other had to try and remember what it looked like, then pick something to “spy”. One part game, one part memory exercise, it was a continual surprise to Martin how many little details he could still picture in his head.

He sometimes suspected Jon of changing his answers solely so Martin could be “correct,” in the same way that Martin had never had a favorite color until Jon had guessed it to be green, but at least it was a fun exercise.

“Right,” he said, trying to cast his mind back over the storage unit. That one would be trickier. There’d just been so much crammed into a relatively small space, and Martin had admittedly been a little distracted by relief over having Jon back and talking to him, seeming to actually enjoy his company. It was hard to focus on details beyond the plastic explosives crammed in the hard case.

“I Spy, with my mental eye—” he began.

Jon’s fingers suddenly touched Martin’s lips as he hissed a warning to stay quiet. Martin froze and held his breath, and then he heard what Jon did—voices in the corridor. They were muffled but distinct, which did at least mean it wasn’t someone who didn’t need to be down there, but…

After a moment, though, Martin caught a laugh that sounded familiar and relaxed. “It’s them.”

“That’s…not good. It’s the middle of the day.” There was a rustle as Jon got to his feet. “God, what happened now?”

Martin bit his lip. Being blind and living essentially underground meant his internal clock was a bit off, but he trusted Jon. If it was midday, that meant it was Wednesday; Past Jon had been gone less than two days. He was probably still in Beijing. Nothing bad had happened to Jon while he was in China, unless there was something he hadn’t told Martin, and he probably hadn’t even had time to get into Pu Songling yet. Which meant something had happened to one of the others. Best case scenario, they’d uncovered a statement that bothered them or they wanted clarification on. Worst-case…

The door opened, and Past Martin’s voice came in, obviously in the middle of a sentence. “—like I’m offering to show you a pipe of Amontillado we’re keeping down here, it’s—oh, hey, you’re up already, that’s good.”

“What’s happened? Did something go wrong?” Jon asked urgently.

“Depends on your definition of ‘wrong,’ I suppose.”

There was a slight, nearly imperceptible creak as the door opened wider, and then a short pause before a female voice that sounded rather familiar spoke. “Is this some kind of a joke?”

Martin sat up a little straighter. “Melanie?”

He felt a surprising mix of delight and regret. He’d come to like the feisty firebrand in the short time they’d actually been able to get to know each other, despite the strain of the world having ended, and one thing he’d privately lamented when they’d made the decision to come back in time was that he wouldn’t get the chance to talk with her again, so having the opportunity was an unexpected pleasure. On the other hand, the fact that she was here and being brought down probably meant that she’d been trapped into working at the Institute, and that sent a stab of aching melancholy through his heart. They’d wanted so badly to keep her from turning bitter and angry…

She didn’t sound angry, though, at least not yet. Then again, their Melanie hadn’t at first either. “Are you clones or—you knew my name. What are you?”

Martin couldn’t help the grin that curled across his mouth, even as he got to his feet. “Me? Oh, I’m the Antichrist’s plus-one.”

The surprised laugh sounded like Tim’s. Melanie actually sounded delighted. “Does that mean he’s the Antichrist?”

“Assuming you’re pointing to Jon, yes.”

“Melanie.” Jon sounded like he was struggling to keep his composure. “It’s—it’s good to see you. What are you doing here?”

“Getting initiated. Or hazed, maybe. Depends on how you want to call it.” There was a rustle of fabric, and Martin guessed Melanie had just folded her arms across her chest. “You’re looking at the newest Archival Assistant.”

“Oh, Melanie,” Jon murmured, his voice full of regret.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, evil fear things, spooky stories, you can check out any time you like but you can never leave, today we are canceling the Apocalypse, blah blah blah.”

“Any other pop culture references you want to throw out there?” Martin asked dryly.

He could imagine Melanie shrugging. “I mean, you might have to give me a minute to come up with a few. But they told me all about the crap they have to put up with. We have to put up with, I guess.” She paused. “So, neither of you really answered my question.”

“Melanie King, meet the Primes,” Tim said. “Jon and Martin, meet the crazy woman who knew what she was getting into and did it anyway. Ow!” he added, punctuated by the dull, wet smack of somebody being punched in the side. “Jeez, what were you, a boxer in another life?”

“You say that like I’m not a boxer in this one,” Melanie grumbled. “I just don’t compete is all. Prime whats?”

“So you know those pop culture references?” Past Martin said. “Here’s one more. They’re—they’re Jon and me, from the future. They’re the reason we’re trying to stop the Apocalypse. The reason we know we need to stop the Apocalypse,” he corrected himself. “Tim calls them the Primes, like—”

“Like Spock Prime. Got it. Okay.” Martin could picture Melanie’s scowl pretty clearly; it had been more or less her default expression for a while. “Well, then. Unless one of you can mind-meld, you’re going to have to prove that some other way.”

“No, fortunately, the ability to plant thoughts and memories in someone’s head is one I was spared.” Jon sighed heavily. “I—I don’t know if there’s anything I can…m-most of what I know about, about your future counterpart are things that haven’t happened yet, o-or the others could have told us.”

Martin pursed his lips as a thought occurred to him. “I can think of one thing, but you probably don’t want it bruited about.”

“I seriously doubt that there’s anything you can come up with I wouldn’t want them knowing.” There was a challenging edge to Melanie’s voice that was all too familiar.

“Melanie—” Sasha began. Great, everyone was there.

“No. You think you know some big secret about me, something I wouldn’t have told you until later? Fine. Say it. I look forward to being able to look you in the eye and tell you you’re wrong.”

Martin sighed in exasperation. “You got shot by a ghost while you were in India. In the leg. You told the doctors it was a—a mugging, right? They couldn’t find anything in the scans, but trust me when I say it’s probably still in there.”

There was another one of those long pauses. “Fuck.”

“I did warn you,” Martin pointed out.

“You did, and I should have listened.” Melanie snorted. “I mean, obviously. I’ve only been working here for three hours and I already know that’s the number one Archives rule: Always listen to Martin.”

“Excellent life advice, both in the Archives and out,” Tim agreed.

“Both of you shut up,” Past Martin muttered, but without a lot of heat behind it.

Martin laughed. “It really is good to—we have missed you, Melanie.”

“You guys must have had a really rough few years if we’ve known each other long enough for you to miss me,” Melanie said, but he could hear the smile in her voice anyway. “For what it’s worth, it’s good to meet you.”

There was a bit of an expectant silence before Jon made a flustered-sounding noise of surprise and tapped Martin’s arm. “She wants to shake.”

“He’s not an idiot,” Melanie snapped. “If he doesn’t—”

“No, I’m blind. Sorry, should have warned you.” Martin reached out and found Melanie’s outstretched hand.

“Oh.” The slight pull against Martin’s arm was the only clue he got before Melanie—at least he assumed it was Melanie—surged forward and hugged him instead. In his ear, she said, “You look like you need it.”

“Well, I’ll never say no.” Martin didn’t need physical contact quite the same way Jon did, but it did give him comfort to feel a friendly touch once in a while. And it was substantially more important now that he was blind to have a tactile connection to the world around him. He was just momentarily caught off-guard; he’d forgotten how much shorter than him Melanie was.

After a moment, Melanie pulled back. “Right. Do I get an explanation or is it ‘you’re from the future’ and we leave it at that?”

“We can explain. Right, Jon?” Martin added, raising an eyebrow in his fiancé’s direction.

“Right. Of course. Ha-have a seat.” Jon sounded like the entire situation had put him off balance. “We’ll see what we can do.”

In a lot of ways, it was easier than when they’d told their story to the crew the first time, close to a year ago now. First of all, the team was aware now of a lot of things they’d had to explain, and Melanie had lived through at least some of it, so there was less to catch up on. Second of all, Tim, Sasha, and Past Martin were able to help fill in a lot of details. Including some things even Jon and Martin hadn’t been aware of.

“And then the world ended,” Jon concluded, much as he had the previous year. “And Martin and I…well, eventually we decided to try and put it back.”

“By coming back in time? How’d you even know you could do that?” Melanie asked. “Is it in one of those statements up there?”

“No. N-no, I don’t—I don’t think so. I don’t know how the Keeper found out about that passage back. That wasn’t our original plan,” Jon said slowly. “I��m not completely sure we had a plan, come to think of it.”

“Head to London, kill Jonah Magnus, and hope for the best,” Martin said with a shrug. “Push the big red reset button. I don’t know. I think we were still figuring it out when we got there.”

He could hear the frown when Melanie spoke next. “Sorry, I’m new to all this, I’m sure you’ve been over it a lot, but—how did you know you could? Can’t imagine the big scary fear god that thinks it’s won just…giving you a map to all its vulnerable spots or whatever. How did you know there was even a way to fix it?”

“We didn’t,” Martin said simply. He felt Jon lean against his shoulder and wrapped an arm around him. “But we had to try.”

There was another long pause before Melanie spoke again, her voice almost too soft to be audible. “Who else survived? Besides you two?”

“What?” Jon asked with a frown.

Martin realized she had almost been too soft to be heard; he’d only caught it because he had to concentrate so hard. “You, Georgie, and Basira. And the Admiral. But in our timeline…Sasha’d been gone for years at that point, she died when Jane Prentiss attacked us. And our Tim died in the Unknowing. Once Daisy went over to the Hunt, we were the only ones left.”

“The whole rest of the world died?” Melanie demanded.

“No,” Jon said quickly. “No, not—not yet. They would have. Eventually. But no. After the Fears came through…the world divided largely into two categories. Watcher or Watched. You were either trapped in a fear’s domain or—or observing one.”

“So which one was I?”

“Neither. You and Georgie, you were both sort of…outside it. I don’t know that you were the only ones, either, but you were the only ones we knew about.” Jon paused, then added, “You kept going into domains and—rescuing people, actually. Or trying to. These tunnels are a blind spot, and that didn’t change even when the Institute became the literal center of the world. You and Georgie would run into a domain, get someone out, and bring them down here.”

“And inadvertently started a cult,” Martin added. He couldn’t help the slight smile that tugged at his mouth. “You hated it.”

“God, yeah, I would have. I swear, the worst part of Ghost Hunt UK is dealing with the fans. I just got into it to investigate the paranormal, not to be famous doing it.” Melanie sighed heavily. Martin felt bad for her. “So what happened to us? After you left. Did you erase the whole future timeline so none of it ever happened, or did the three of us have to either fix it ourselves or live in a post-apocalyptic hellscape for the rest of our natural lives?”

“I—I don’t know.” Jon sounded incredibly shaken.

Martin rubbed comfortingly at Jon’s shoulder. “We left before…we didn’t get to tell them we were going. The Keeper—the one who helped us get back in time—he promised he’d let them know what was going on, he said they’d be safe. As far as I know, we didn’t…that timeline still continued to its end. I just don’t know when its end was. And unfortunately, we never will. Personally, I think what would have happened is that when the Keeper told everyone that our plan went to hell and Jonah got away, your counterpart would have said ‘fuck this’, got a knife, and gone after him herself. She kept trying to kill him in our timeline and he saw her every time. I don’t doubt for a minute that she’d take advantage of the fact that he literally wouldn’t have been able to see her.”

“Why not?”

“Same reason he can’t see me. Because she was blind, she was immune to the Eye. And as hard as she was working on her anger, I think she knew how to turn it into a weapon. Also, she hated Jonah.” Martin sighed. “So yeah. We don’t know what happened to everybody in our timeline, but if anyone could fix it, it’d be our Melanie. Correcting the Apocalypse with a knife and sheer spite.”

“Damn right,” Melanie said. Someone turned a laugh into a hacking cough.

Jon sighed and leaned against Martin’s shoulder. Martin shifted slightly to settle him into a more comfortable position. After all these months, the movement was as natural as breathing. “I’m so sorry, Melanie. We—we’d hoped we could keep you out of all this.”

“Hey, don’t take away my right to choose. I knew what I was getting into.”

“Did he ask?” Jon asked. “Or did he just hire you?”

“Of course he asked.” Melanie sounded exasperated. She dropped her voice to a lower register and did a very poor, mocking imitation of Elias’ drawl. “‘I understand that your show is on a hiatus, and with Jon off traveling, I’m sure Martin and the others could use some assistance. Jon spoke quite highly of your research abilities. Would you be interested in a paid position here in the Archives?’ I could have told him to fuck off if I’d really wanted to.”

Martin replayed the words in his head a couple of times. “Yeah, sounds like he flattered and dangled bait in front of you, but didn’t actually force you. Very carrot and stick.”

“So why did you say yes?” Sasha asked, sounding curious. “Knowing what you were getting into, more or less?”

Melanie sighed heavily—Martin was incredibly familiar with that sound—but to his mild surprise, it was Past Martin who answered. “She told us that, Sasha. Or at least indirectly. She—you said you started Ghost Hunt UK to investigate. And when we were having lunch before you left for India…I saw how animated you got when you were talking about that student film you did. The supernatural, the paranormal, it’s genuinely something you’re interested in. You agreed to join the Institute because it lets you do all that and get paid for it, with the added bonus of not having to deal with people if you don’t want to.”

“Yeah, basically. And, you know, if I can help save the world, that’s a nice little plus, too.”

Martin heard the rustling of fabric, but he honestly couldn’t have said if it was a hug or a light shove or what, and Tim’s next words made him none the wiser. “Thought you couldn’t read minds.”

“I can’t. I just know people.” Past Martin’s voice softened. “I promise, Tim. I’m not developing any new abilities.”

From the way he said that, Martin could picture quite vividly what Tim’s face had to look like. It was probably somewhere between the way he’d looked when he’d brought Sasha her coffee after she’d been attacked by Michael and the way he’d looked when telling Martin what had happened to his brother—a mixture of concern and fear and maybe a little bit of heartbreak. Tim really did worry about the others developing powers from the Eye, but there was probably an additional layer here because it was Past Martin.

Martin did know people. He had a fairly intuitive sense for the mood of a room and the way people interacted. In his timeline it had led him to play peacemaker, or try to, attempting to mediate between Jon and their Tim. In this…go-round, he supposed…it mostly meant he was picking up on a lot of things that weren’t being said, or at least weren’t being said aloud. He’d heard the fabric rustling, the lighthearted banter, the genuine laughter. He’d picked up on the gentleness in Past Jon’s voice that reminded him of the way Jon had spoken to him so often after Prentiss attacked, after he’d been accused of murder, and especially during those agonizing months he’d been working with Peter Lukas and they’d been so close and yet so far apart. He’d noted the affection in Tim’s voice, the way he’d tried so hard to control his anger and fear and actually talk to them. And of course he knew himself, and by extension his past self, knew what he sounded like when he was trying to navigate a simple conversation without wearing his heart on his sleeve, when he was trying to throttle back an emotion he desperately wanted to express but didn’t think would be welcome…or safe.

He knew love when he heard it, and dear God, if it had been that obvious to him for so long, he was already mentally betting with himself against how long it would take Melanie to call them out on it. Because he also knew hidden love, and he was willing to venture that they weren’t trying to hide their relationship because they thought it was inappropriate in the workplace. He was willing to bet all three of them thought it was unrequited on their part and that they had to keep it hidden from the others lest they be shot down.

He’d never really thought about polyamory himself, but in retrospect, yeah, maybe he had had a bit of a crush on their Tim. At least for a while. That would never have gone anywhere, though.

“Do we need to get out of here?” Melanie asked. “I mean, is Big Nose McCreepy going to notice we left the Archives essentially abandoned?”

“No, we’ve got a bit,” Sasha said. “He’s supposed to be meeting some of the Institute donors for a lunch of some kind. He’s not on site and he’s going to be occupied for a good while. I’m kind of hoping he gets a little tipsy, too. Anyway, he thinks he’s got us over a barrel right now. He thinks he trapped you into the Institute, so he’s feeling smug enough that he’s not going to pay attention to us for a while. His plan is to give us the rest of the week, at least, to let you ‘settle in’ before—”

“Sasha!” Jon said sharply. He sat up so suddenly it almost pulled Martin off-balance.

“Oh. Oh, shit.” Sasha inhaled abruptly. “I swear that wasn’t on purpose.”

“That’s—Christ, Sasha, you shouldn’t be able to do that from down here—”

“I didn’t—I Knew that before we came down. I’m pretty sure.” Sasha took another deep breath. “Right, okay. I don’t know who’s nominally in charge while Jon’s away, but—I think maybe I should take tomorrow off? Just to…recalibrate. Ground myself. Get some distance.”

“Take the rest of the week,” Tim suggested. “I don’t know who’s nominally in charge either, but—”

“I’ll stand in for your Jon,” Jon said. “Tim’s right. Take a good long weekend. Don’t think about the Institute, or the Archives, or the Fears. Just…I know it’s easier said than done, but try to distract yourself.”

“I think I have a way of doing that.” Sasha sounded thoughtful. Martin was pretty sure it was sincere.

“What do you do?” There was a hint of a challenge in Melanie’s voice, but also a good deal of curiosity. She was genuinely asking. “When it gets too much. What do you have that keeps you from—doing whatever it is you shouldn’t do?”

“Going out and pouncing random people to draw their traumas out of them,” Jon said dryly. “And I have Martin. He’s been my anchor for…much longer than I realized at the time. We’ll read or—or talk, or take a walk or something. We played cards a lot when we were in Scotland.”

“We were playing I Spy earlier,” Martin added.

Sasha snorted, but Past Martin seemed to actually understand. “Like a memory game type version?”

“Basically, yes. We pick someplace we both know—or knew—think about what was in it, and pick something for the other to try and guess. Five tries or less. And no mind-reading.”

“It’s still your turn,” Jon reminded him. “The storage unit.”

“Hmm.” Martin thought for a moment, then smiled as he remembered the one thing he’d fixated on while they were there. “I Spy, with my mental eye, something…brown.”

Jon made an exasperated noise. “I swear that must have been her favorite color. That could be anything.”

“Well, then, you’d best get guessing.”

“Fine.” Jon sighed heavily. “The…box full of dolls.”

“Nope. Guess again.”

“The book? The one we didn’t know what it was?”

“That was black.”

“It was—never mind.” Jon sighed again. “The notebook?”

Martin shook his head. “Come on, Jon, think. This is me we’re talking about. What would I have been looking at?”

“The…the frame on the painting with the dogs in it.”

“One guess left.”

“Give me one more hint.”

“It was the first thing that gave me hope in weeks.”

Jon was silent for a long while. Finally, he said, “I give up. I honestly, genuinely cannot think of anything that was brown that might fit the criteria you’ve given me. What do you spy?”

Martin’s smile widened. “Your eyes.”

There was a chorus of awws and exaggerated gagging sounds in equal measure from the other four, but from the way Jon took his face in both hands and kissed him, tenderly but thoroughly, Martin could tell that his choice had had the effect he wanted.

[casualmultifandomshipper]

Good Omens fic Rec

(Remember to mind the tags on these in case there is something specific you’re trying to watch out for)

Must Love Earth by teaDragon:

“Adam reasons that if Heaven and Hell just got to know each other a bit better, they wouldn’t be so keen to start another Apocalypse. After all, both sides have a lot in common, even if they hate to admit it. To make his point, Adam has every angel and demon fill out compatibility quizzes and go on a date with whoever they get matched with (be it angel or demon). But not just once. Oh no. They have to do it Five times. Five different dates in five days. Naturally, Aziraphale and Crowley have to participate as well…”

(I recommend this fic every chance I get. I found it to be so sweet and fluffy. Plus, I loved the angels and demons the duo got to meet.)

There Is A Light And It Never Goes Out by t_mesinine:

(One of my fave Crowley Was Raphael fics. Definitely read if you’re into that headcanon, though beware its kinda angsty.)

Meeting The Parents by sparxwrites:

“Or, more accurately, meeting the gay angelic uncles. Castiel takes Dean to meet Aziraphale and Crowley for approval. In which Crowley is protective, Castiel is embarrassed, Aziraphale fusses and Dean learns some interesting things.”

(I sometimes don’t like crossover fics, but this one was an exception. Very cute fic.)

Of Raphael by CandyQueenAO3:

“Aziraphale and Crowley, returning from a post-Armageddon lunch at the Ritz, find the Archangel Raphael, missing for 11 years, standing in front of the bookshop.  Crowley is immediately wary, but when the lost Archangel and Aziraphale embrace like lovers reunited, Crowley begins to worry.What does, "Azi-Raphael" have to do with anything?“

(It’s an interesting take on Aziraphale’s name. This is a series full of mysteries, laughs, and keeps me interested in what’s going to happen next. Unfinished, but don’t let that stop you from reading!)

The Way You Did Once by Krasimer:

“Gabriel Falls. Heaven needs to pin the blame on someone, after all, and he is a convenient scapegoat. Had he succeeded in convincing the child, he would have been heralded as a hero in the war--But he didn't succeed. And now, he is Fallen.”

(I’m not normally a fan of memory loss fics, but this used the trope really well! This has good mystery elements to it. It has Ineffable Bureaucracy as one of the main pairings.)

My Big Fat Celestial Wedding by raiining:

“ “Well,” Gabriel says, “he might as well meet the whole family. “

(Oh. my. god. This fic was so funny and interesting. It had a little bit of worldbuilding on angel and demon culture.)

Quiet Reflection by shinyopals:

“After the Apocalypse, Crowley senses Demons coming, and manages to hide himself and Aziraphale inside a nearby church for safety. He probably should have thought this through. “

(A hilariously chaotic, but unfortunately short fic. I smiled and rolled my eyes at our fave duo throughout this.)

New Life by caricari:

“An angel and a demon go to visit with some old friends and meet a brand new one. Told from Adam's pov. Quite a lot of fluff, Crowley holding a baby, and some soft observations about the almost-antichrist's growing extended family.“

(It says fluff, but I found it bittersweet as well. Adam starts feeling the negative aspects of being immortal while friends, including Dog, get older.)

wherever you are, I’ll come to you by mutalune:

““Are you alright? What’s all this about then?” “Ah. Well. I might have slipped.” “Slipped?” “Took a bit of a tumble, I’m afraid,” Aziraphale said. “But, well. What’s done is done.” “What’s done - ?” “Now that I’m no longer beholden to a rather arbitrary moral code, I have to ask: Do you pay taxes? Actually, more importantly, do you think I can stop paying taxes now? That seems like a sufficiently demonic thing to do. Refusing to do my civic duty and whatnot. Quite devious, I’d argue.” This was, in hindsight, not the most sensitive way of breaking the news.

(Aziraphale had to choose between killing Crowley or Falling. Poor Crowley is hilariously awkward lol)

Little Talks by Icka M Chif (mischif):

“ Aziraphale paused, staring at where the plate of chocolates Beelzebub had taken, an odd thought running across his mind.Had he, an angel, just tempted a demon? The Prince of Hell, no less?“

(Blackmailing and confusing each other’s superiors. LOL)

That Time of the Semicentury by ZehWulf:

“What if we low-key compared the experience of snake-demon shedding to having a period and let the hurt/comfort unfold accordingly?”

(Period pain - Ugh! - am I right? Cute fic full of non-sexual intimacy)

In All Things, Balance by Kedreeva:

“The duo had assumed they had more than a little bit of time to relax before they had to start watching their backs again.”

(Lots of injury angst, but it’s worth enduring for the end. I won’t give away too much for this fic.)

[7-wonders]

Shatter Epilogue

Summary: Months after Cordelia’s execution, you’re ready to be formally presented as Michael’s wife and queen.

Word Count: 2156

A/N: Y’all requested it, and here it is! Damn, this is it. Thanks for sticking around for Shatter, and I sincerely hope you’ve all enjoyed. I have plenty more that I’m working on; you can find my work on my blog or my masterlist.

Read Part One HERE | Read Part Two HERE | Read Part Three HERE | Read Part Four HERE | Read Part Five HERE | Read Part Six HERE | Read Part Seven HERE | Read Part Eight HERE | Read Part Nine HERE | Read Part Ten HERE | Read Part Eleven HERE | Read Part Twelve HERE |

The smell of hair products fills the air as Mr. Gallant works his magic on his favorite client. He’s completely in his element, staring at his work in the mirror as he thinks about his next steps. The atmosphere reminds him of the small, high-end salon he used to run in the heart of Los Angeles: an important event, a VIP’s head of hair. Of course, this isn’t just any VIP. It’s his best friend.

“Y’know, I was going to try something a little experimental, but why mess with perfection?” To some, Gallant may come off as cocky. To those who know him, however, it’s a sign that he’s proud of his work.

“I love it, Gal, it’s perfect. Simple, yet put-together.” You grin at the man who is basically your brother through the mirror, giggling as he spins the chair around so you’re facing him. 

After Cordelia Goode had been properly disposed of, your first order of business had been sorting out at what point in time the timelines deviated, and what events changed. Although your memory hadn’t been wiped by vindictive witches in this timeline, it seemed that you and Gallant were destined to be best friends. You had met him on one of your many trips to California to visit Michael when he was still a warlock at Hawthorne, dragging your lover into a Gucci store just so you could see what such a store was like. Gallant had also been inside, buying a new ascot to celebrate the opening of his salon. He had gawked over Michael’s hair, laughed at your teasing “back off, mister,” and the rest was history.

“Good, I would hate to have to face your husband if he were to hear that you hated the way I did your hair.”

“I wouldn’t let Michael throw you around too much,” you joke, watching with glee as Gallant’s eyes widen for a split second before realizing that you’re joking.

“I still can’t believe you guys didn’t even invite anybody to your wedding. It would have been the wedding of the century! Harry and Meghan who, am I right?”

You can’t help but smile fondly at the memory of your wedding. It is, albeit, a recent memory, considering your wedding was less than a month ago, but a memory nonetheless. With Michael being the Antichrist, there was no need for a traditional ceremony in front of a hundred or so guests. Instead, it was a small, intimate ritual, in which your everlasting union and devotion to one another was received under the watchful eyes of Satan. Gallant could complain all he wanted, but you wouldn’t have had your wedding in any other way.

“Just think of today as one giant, belated wedding reception!” you note cheerily, leaning into Gallant’s touch as he nervously flits his hands around your hair.

“How are you not nervous? You’re being presented as the fucking queen of the world today!” You shrug coyly, but hold up your hands so he can see how badly you’re shaking. “I stand corrected.”

A quick knock on the door is your only warning before the love of your life walks into the room. There’s only so much you can wear for the duties performed as the rulers of the world, and both you and Michael are wearing slight variations of the outfits that you wore for your wedding, as well as what was worn when Cordelia was killed. The only difference between the execution and the events that have taken place since is the smile that refuses to leave Michael’s face whenever he sees you.

“My angel,” Michael greets, merely holding an arm out before you’re up and in his grasp. “Your beauty, as always, astounds me.”

“Well I had a little help,” you gesture to Gallant, who sheepishly waves at your husband. Even after almost two months of living at the Sanctuary, he was still terrified of Michael. 

“Nonsense, Gallant just knows how to accentuate your features.” The man in question lets out a quiet squeak at the compliment, busying himself with cleaning up his supplies. “Half an hour. You sure you don’t want to back out?”

You chuckle. “Michael, I’m already married to you. Why would being presented officially as Queen be the dealbreaker?”

“I am just making sure you’re aware of your options, love.” You kiss him quickly, embarrassed, as always, to be showing affection in front of other people.

“Rest assured, it’s never even been a thought to turn away from you. This is our destiny, and the will of your father.”

“Ooookay,” Gallant awkwardly gets your attention, “the sexual tension here is palpable, so I’m gonna head out. (Y/N), I think Mal has a present that she wants to give you before the official events.”

“Thanks for everything, Gal. I love you.” You let go of Michael to hug Gallant, your best friend squeezing you tightly.

“Love you, (Y/N),” Gallant mutters in your ear, pulling away and nodding at Michael. “Mr. Langdon.”

“Thank you, Mr. Gallant. You’re a very dear friend to my wife, and I take comfort in knowing she has such great support for the times that I cannot be directly by her side,” Michael says, causing a blush to rise to Gallant’s ears as he bustles out of the room.

“You just like embarrassing people,” you chide, lovingly hitting his chest.

“Maybe so, but you have to admit his expression was pretty funny.” He laughs at the look of begrudging acceptance on your face, hugging you to his chest as he relishes in this moment. “I’ll leave you so that you can see Mallory, but is there anything you need prior to that?”

“A kiss to ease my nerves?”

Michael smiles at you. “There’s no reason to be nervous, my angel. Like you said, you’re already married to me. Winning my father’s approval was the hard part of this ordeal.”

“I know, but I just--I want people to like me.”

“They are going to love you, just as much as I do,” he pauses momentarily. “Actually, less than I do, because I would be concerned if they were able to love you with their entire soul.”

“I love you, Michael.” He finally gives you your requested kiss, his forehead lingering against yours.

“I am yours, (Y/N). Body and soul.” Michael teasingly tilts your crown before pulling away from you. “I’ll see you out there.”

“I’ll be there.” His eyes meet yours once more before he disappears from the way he came, leaving you trying to catch your breath from the whirlwind that is an encounter with your husband. 

Mallory comes in barely a minute later, as cautious as ever when she’s not entirely sure of a situation. Bounding over to her, you hug her tightly.

“I’ve missed you,” you mutter against her shoulder.

Mallory laughs. “We saw each other yesterday!”

“I know, but it’s nice to have my sister with me in the middle of this huge event.” Mallory strokes your cheek comfortingly, her soft smile prevalent as she fixes the tilt of your crown.

“How is...everything?”

“Good, I think. I’m nervous, but the hard part’s over.”

“Well, Mrs. Langdon, you look every part the Queen that you are.”

“Gallant said you had something for me?” Mallory nods excitedly.

“Yes! Do you remember the last night we were together, before Cordelia wiped our memories?”

“Of course I do.”

“I was wearing a necklace that Cordelia had given to me, one that had been passed down through the line of Supremes. I found it last month, when I was cleaning out my old room at Robichaux’s. Since I’m not the Supreme, there’s no reason for me to have it, so I’m passing it on to the Supreme.” 

Mallory produces a necklace from the pocket of her dress, handing the jewelry to you. It’s more like a choker, the delicate, black lace band held together with two small clasps on the back. The large green emerald that sits in the center of the necklace seems to be capturing the light, with the bright flashes swimming in the jewel.

“Oh Mal, it’s beautiful.”

“The brooch is Mimi DeLongpre’s. When she was fading, she decided she wanted this to be sort of an heirloom for Supremes.” Grabbing Mallory’s hand, you give the necklace back to her.

“I want you to have it.”

Mallory looks at you in shock. “(Y/N), no! It’s yours; it’s your right as Supreme to have this.”

“I have so much jewelry as it is. I wouldn’t be able to wear such a beautiful piece as often as I would want to, and green suits you. At least hold onto it for me for safekeeping?” You know that’s the only way that she’ll accept it, but you truly think that this belongs to Mallory. No matter your feelings towards Cordelia, she had given it to Mallory with the intention that this would be hers.

“Alright, I’ll hold onto it for you. But once your baby’s old enough, I’m going to give it to her.” Now it’s your turn to be shocked as Mallory bites her lip, smiling conspiratorially.

“How--how did you know? I haven’t even told anyone yet, and I only found out last week.”

“Call it intuition.” Upon your searing look, Mallory chuckles. “Okay! You can only ask me for the same food so many times in such a short period of time without me getting suspicious. Plus, your boobs have already grown.”

You cross your arms over your chest at the mention of that, thinking back to at least five separate times you asked Mallory to go with you to get fried rice. “Damn, you probably knew before I did.”

“Congratulations!” Mallory hugs you once more.

“Don’t tell anybody, okay? It’s still really early, and Michael will be pissed if he finds out someone else knew before he did.”

“Ma’am?” A voice calls from behind the door. “It’s time.”

You meet Mallory’s gaze. “That’s my cue.”

“If you get nervous, Gallant and I will be in the front row. Just look at us if it’s too much for you.”

“Thanks, Mal.” She walks with you out to the main hallway, where the doors to a large event hall are tightly shut. 

In the short amount of time that you’re left alone after Mallory transmutes in and before you see Michael, your nerves start to bubble in your chest. It must be a sixth sense of Michael’s, the ability to sense when you’re nervous, because he appears right as you’re starting to consider biting your nails.

“Miss me?” Michael asks.

“Every second I spend away from you.”

“Are you ready to meet your subjects?” Michael lifts his hand, preparing to open the doors.

“Wait!” You pull him towards one of the large pillars that holds up the ceiling, out of view of his servants.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, actually. Michael, I’m pregnant.”

Michael’s frozen expression as he digests this information would be laughable if it weren’t for the fact that you dropped a bombshell on him. Finally, after an agonizing minute, he blinks rapidly.

“You’re...when?”

“Well I only found out last week, but I’m guessing it happened the night of Cordelia’s execution, or maybe the days after.” Michael can’t help but smirk at the reminder of just how well you christened your new home after officially becoming Supreme. “Are you happy?”

“Am I happy?” Michael repeats before a large smile breaks onto his face. “(Y/N), you’ve made me the happiest man in the history of the world. I could not be more happy about this. We’re going to have a baby!”

You squeal as Michael places his hands on your hips, lifting you up for a moment before setting you back on your feet and kissing you. “I was so worried that you were going to be upset.”

“How could I possibly be upset? You’ve given me the greatest gift; we’re starting our family, continuing our lineage, and ushering in the first generation of our new world. I love you.”

He kisses you once again, his hands going to your abdomen. “I love you too, but I’m only a couple months along, at most. There’s not really going to be any bump or anything.”

“Our baby’s still in there, regardless of if you’re showing or not.” You stroke his hair as he looks down at your stomach, trying to comprehend the fact that there’s a living, growing human inside of you, one that you both helped to create.

“My lord,” one of the servants calls from near the door, “are you ready?”

Michael straightens up, reassuming his cool demeanor after kissing you one more time. “Yes, we’re ready.”

Taking your hand, Michael leads you back to in front of the doors, as you both prepare to step into your new roles in this new world, with the knowledge of a new life that you’ve both created.

//

Tag List (as well as my everlasting thanks): @sammythankyou​ @queencocoakimmie​ @girlycakepops​ @ajokeformur-ray​ @pastel-cloudz​ @nana15774​ @lichellaw​ @ultragibbycentralworld​ @grim-adventures58​ @dandycandy75​ @trimbooohgodplsnoooo​ @everything-is-awesomesauce​ @ccodyfern​ @jimmlangdon​ @langdonslove​ @omgsuperstarg​ @nsainmoonchild​ @mrsnegan25​ 

[death-himself]

I'm imagining that Demon Virgil and his family and friends live in this nowhere town with about 700 people in it. And honestly at this point everyone have come to accept the weird family, besides if Patton likes then they can't be that bad. Going along with the tiny town thing, whenever someone new passes through town there is a town wide conspiracy to keep Virgil out of sight. And whenever someone moves there they are quickly made aware of the situation, and that the antichrist is v chill.

THE ANTICHRIST IS V CHILL that made me laugh for like five minutes straight omgAnd the entire town knowing about Virgil and keeping him a secret from people just passing through is...yes

Remy had just finished moving in to his new house when there was a knock on the door. "Good afternoon. I'm Declan, I'm your neighbor. It's a pleasure to have you in our small town. If you don't mind, I'd like to run you through a few things." With that, Declan simply strolled into Remy's house, taking a seat on his couch. "Um, excuse me? You can't just walk into my house and take a seat! No ma'am."

"I'm sorry, I really am, but I have work in half an hour and I'd prefer to get this done quickly. Mayor Thomas asks me to do this whenever someone new moves in." Remy opened his mouth to complain, then gave up and sat down with a groan.

"You see, our small town is quite the ordinary one. That is, except for one member. That being my son."

"Lemme guess, your son's the antichrist?" Remy mocked. Declan blinked, eyebrows rising into his hairline. "I...yes, actually. How did you know that?"

"Wait what? I was only joking, babe!"

"Well...Virgil is the antichrist, yes. Or at the very least he's something very similar to that." Remy stared, trying to find any hint of a lie in Declan's words or posture. Despite not finding anything, he laughed. "You're just messin' with me. That's a good one, Dee-Dee!" Declan sighed, pulling out his phone and texting Virgil. He then put down his phone and waited with laced fingers.

"You need something, Dad?" Remy froze, staring wide-eyed as Virgil appeared in a puff of black smoke.

"Oh, nothing, Virgil. I just wanted to introduce you to the new neighbor." Remy shrieked, grabbing the nearest thing to him, a pillow, and chucking it at Virgil, screaming, "The power of Christ compels you!" Virgil caught the pillow, looking down at Remy with an unamused expression. "Nice to meet you to." Remy slowly calmed down, looking over Virgil a bit more. "You look badass."

"Uh...thanks?" Virgil looked over to Declan, who simply nodded at Remy. "Uh, I'm Virgil. And you are?"

"Remy."

"Cool..." Virgil glanced back over to Declan. "Can I go now? Before this gets even more awkward?"

"Very well." With that, Virgil teleported away. "So, what do you think of my son?"

"I can babysit him for you." Declan stared, once again thrown off by this man.

"He is a pre-teen antichrist. I don't think he'll need a babysitter. And didn't you just shriek at his mere presence?"

"Well yeah, I did, but that was because I didn't expect him. He looks like a badass bitch, plus the whole antichrist thing...a hundred percent down babe." Declan thought it over.

"Will you babysit for free?"

"Twenty bucks."

"Make it five."

"Fifteen."

"Ten."

"Fine. Deal." They shook on it, Declan saying a polite "Pleasure doing business with you" before walking out the door.

[ladyoutlier]

Nothing too original but: Some first date / first kiss would be lovely! Oh and also Crowley in cute panic mode when Aziraphale finally catches up to him romantically.

Read on AO3

It had been seventeen hours and 42 minutes since Aziraphale had told Crowley that he loved him. The demon would have the time memorized down to the second, but he had been too stunned by the returned declaration of love that the second, and quite a few more, had passed before he had regained his composure.

And after that moment, time had slipped away. Ooey gooey, mind-melting, light-headedness of having 6000 years worth of pining finally pay off would do that even to Satan himself. Y’know, if Satan ever found himself in that position—which was far from likely, although no one really knew who the Antichrist’s mother was. Crowley was exceptionally vulnerable to it, but Aziraphale did that to him. Made him lose his composure, even if it usually was only internally.

At some point the sun had risen, and a night full of talking about things Crowley never thought he would say out loud had passed. At roughly eight sharp, Aziraphale had suggested that Crowley go off to water his plants and meet him back here at his bookshop at three. Perhaps they would spend the afternoon somewhere. Perhaps Hyde Park. He didn’t say first date directly, but they both knew that’s what it was. They had their own wordless way of speaking that only a millennium or two of frequent interactions could create.

Crowley did not water his plants at his flat. There was so much more to do. Planning. Oh so much planning. How did dates even work? He had his fair share of seduction jobs in the past, but those didn’t really follow up with an ongoing relationship. Dates were practically as foreign to him as Heaven itself. You dress up for them, yeah? But a park was hardly a place to sport a penguin suit. Bring flowers? That’s a thing. There’s a whole language to that though. Certain flowers mean specific things, and as big of a plant enthusiast as Crowley was, he had no idea what meant what. Ask a flower person? Botanists? No, they were called florists. There had to be one of those nearby. Did he have time for that? Surely. Worst case, he’d miracle himself some more.

Would it be too cheesy for him to play “Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy” on the ride? Yeah, probably. He really should’ve thought this out more. Well, he did. Quite a lot over the centuries. But all those thoughts found themselves submerged deep within himself to face tortures worse than the most vile punishments of Hell. He could vow for that.

If he had known that he actually had a shot with Aziraphale—that one day they’d be actually be going on a date together—maybe he would’ve let those thoughts play out a bit more. If he had properly started preparing for this as early as the Wall of Eden, he’d probably be a whole lot more confident and a whole lot more calm right now. He couldn’t stop pacing around.

Maybe flowers were too cliche. Too puppy love teenager mushy rubbish. But a gift was necessary. That’s what these things were all about. A thank you for giving a horrible demon a chance. A symbol of love. Yeah, that was still weird. Aziraphale really did love him. Wow. Isn’t that something? Might as well have dumped a bucket of holy water on him because that thought alone melts him into a pool on the linoleum.

He could always steal that book back from that American girl with the glasses. Aziraphale had really liked that thing, although he probably wouldn’t be all that happy with him immorally acquiring it. AH! If his heart could calm down for just three seconds, he could think a bit clearer. Maybe he’d just get rid of it. Not like he needed it after all. But that wouldn’t be very nice. Not that he wanted to be nice. Just he wouldn’t even be here without that infernal organ.

He could pull a Van Gogh but instead of an ear just give Aziraphale his whole heart. Two problems solved: the irritating beating and the present. Problem with that was that Aziraphale already had his heart.

He needed something with weight to it. Something that showed Aziraphale both how long and how much he loved him. Something one of a kind, but not flashy or showy. Aziraphale wasn’t one for things like that.

He had to have something that fit those qualifications. He kept quite a few souvenirs over the centuries. But did any of them—oh. Oh, he had the perfect thing.

*

“Hey boy where do you get it from

Hey boy where did you go?

I learned my passion in the good old fashioned school of loverboys”

“Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy” did end up playing on the drive although Crowley swore the disc he picked wasn’t a Queen album. The demon was really glad that he had red hair because that certainly helped hide the pink tinge the tips of his ears had taken.

Aziraphale had been silent regarding the song except for a brief “Lovely tune, isn’t it?” before going back to talking about all sorts of things Crowley could listen to all day. The angel could be talking absolute bollocks, and he would still hang on every word.

Although Hyde Park wasn’t nearly as lovely as St. James’s Park, the change of scenery was very much appreciated. Plus, a new location very much fit with the theme of them being on a new level of their relationship. Aziraphale and Crowley found themselves on a nice bench in front of the river. An enormous tree rested in the middle of the path beside them. It seemed that instead of disrupting the giant, the humans had simply built around it. One of the rare examples of their environmental consciousness.

Of course, no appropriate first date at the park would be complete without a picnic lunch, and Aziraphale had thought of just that. He ruffled through his basket, which Crowley had called grandmotherly, and pulled out a few cucumber sandwiches. It was a light lunch, but for one, they didn’t actually need to eat, and two, they were likely to find themselves at some place for dinner in only a handful of hours.

Whether or not Crowley was one for eating was no one else’s business. It was also no one’s business how he ate if he did. As such, whether or not he actually ate the cucumber sandwich and how in that case it was devoured, remains a mystery. All that is known is that said sandwich was gone before Aziraphale had gotten halfway through his which wasn’t that surprising considering that the angel is a horribly slow eater.

“You know, this river’s called The Serpentine,” Aziraphale said, wiping his face with a handkerchief. “Thought you would find that amusing.”

Crowley leaned onto the back of the bench and scoffed. “That why you wanted to go here?”

“Maybe.”

Crowley grinned. The mood was playful. The atmosphere was calming. They had a nice lunch. There wasn’t a human in sight. Everything was grand. If now wasn’t the time, when was?

“Got you something, angel.”

The demon reached into his jacket and pulled out something wrapped in a silky black (for what other color would it be?) cloth. Aziraphale eyed him with a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth before he took the gift. As he unwrapped it, Crowley turned to look out over the oddly named river. Still, thanks to his sunglasses, his eyes were on Aziraphale.

As the last of the fabric fell away, what was left behind was a small display box. Like one a person would use for a scientific sample of a raw gemstone. Through the see-through lid of the box, the angel could see a chunk of white stone. It wasn’t natural or glittery in nature. No, it looked man-made as if it once belonged in the entrance of a grand bank.

“Thank you, dear.” He turned the box over in his hand. “Although I do think I’d be a bit more appreciative if I, um, knew exactly what it was.”

“‘S part of the Eastern Gate.” Crowley stretched out on the bench. The more relaxed his posture was, the more he could pretend this was an everyday occurrence.

“Oh, Crowley. You don’t mean Eden’s Eastern Gate?”

“Course I do. Was where I met you. Place was collapsing after Adam and Eve got evicted.”

“Do think that was your fault, love.”

“I merely offered them an alternative. Entirely their fault they chose it. But anyways, figured God didn’t care much for the upkeep of the place considering that the wall could hardly be serving a purpose crumbled down, so I took a brick.”

“And you’ve managed to carry it around for quite literally all of time?”

“Well, not on my person but yes. It’s a good memory. Part with you I mean. The rest was pretty bland.”

“And you’re just giving it to me?”

“Yeah? Why wouldn’t I? Don’t need it anymore now that I got you.”

Someone else might have not been able to tell whether Crowley’s remark was meant as a compliment or not, but to Aziraphale, who knew the demon’s tendency to give nuanced comments of admiration, it was dreadfully obvious what he meant. One does not simply have something for 6000 years and just give it up like it’s nothing. Aziraphale doubted there even was anything else left of the Wall of Eden besides this piece. Centuries of weathering and erosion would have ensured that. This was more than a time capsule. It was all that was left of the beginning. The only thing that could bring them back to their first moments together. And Crowley had given it to him just like that. The angel only regretted that he had nothing to give the demon in return.

“I’m at a loss for words. This is so sweet, Crowley. I really just can’t believe you’ve been holding on to it for all this time.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Aziraphale found himself doing something he very much wanted to but didn’t actually tell himself to do. He leaned over to the demon, still cupping the box in his hands, and kissed him right on the cheek. “Thank you.”

If Crowley thought his pink ears in the car was bad, he should’ve had a mirror for this moment. His complexion rivaled that of Satan’s in the red department. Somehow his sunglasses found themselves slid down the bridge of his nose. He was quite literally petrified. Maybe not as much as last night when his relationship with Aziraphale had started, but it was a close second.

“Too much?” Aziraphale asked, hesitantly.

“Do—do it again,” Crowley fumbled out as his mouth began to work once more.

“Gladly.”

The angel pulled him into another kiss, but this time, instead of landing on the cheek, it met with his lips. One would think that after 6 millennia of longing, nothing could live up to that desire. One would be very wrong. 

They held each other in a kiss that went on and on. Hands became involved, and they bound together as if they were always meant to be one. A shard of Eden was the only thing between them. And what happened next? Well, that’s their own personal business.

[umbraastaff]

I’ve just been thinking--it’s about time I make a proper index for my TAZ fics, huh? Also contains: mini-series, ficlets, goof posts, and lyric comics.

(All of the fics are rated G, or T at most for McElroy-appropriate language.)

FICS

I Saw Seven Bounties | Canon Compliant, Enemies to Friends, Complete | Mostly lighthearted, episodic recounting of Kravitz and Barry’s rivalry throughout those first twelve years on Faerun. 24K. -->Extras: Lich Eyes, Fantasy Starbucks, Alt POV for Chapter 1 & Chapter 5, Sorry

They Say Fire Took Phandalin | Small-town supernatural/sorta-haunted-house AU |  Fresh out of grad school, Barry Bluejeans takes a job and a house in the rural nowhere-town of Phandalin. And it’s not like he thought fitting in would be a walk in the park, but the people there all act really weird, and it’s almost like they’re expecting something of him, too. 11K/~20K.

What Can’t Be Done Alone (Detective Squad) | Canon Divergent, Found Family, Fluff | AU where the voidfish works a little better, and Angus never finds the Bureau. Instead, he finds a strange lich in a cave, and he most certainly continues to work this case and not gradually get adopted instead. 18K/~22K. -->Extras: Drangus AU Oneshot

If I Wanted to be Funny I’d Name This Fic “The Time Belt” | Futuristic sci-fi AU feat. time travel | Taako meets the only people in years who recognize the Institute’s name. Known time criminal Barry Bluejeans continues to evade law enforcement. 2K/??.

Overgrowth / Undercurrent | Roleswap AU, Johnchurch, Pining, Twoshot, Happy ending optional | Overgrowth is a oneshot that follows John, the Starblaster’s chief diplomat, through a series of parleys with Merle, the center of the plane-consuming mass of plants that’s been chasing his crew. Undercurrent is a sequel about their post-canon reunion. 4K + 6K. --> Extras: PLAYLIST by @merle-casts-zone-of-truth

Davenport Remembers | Post-canon, Oneshot | Davenport meets with his crew members to try to reconcile his anger with Lucretia, or to decide whether he should. 1.5K.

MINI-SERIES

AU Where Taako is a Lich - Pretty much what it says on the tin here, folks!

Baritz (ask series) - A fusion of Barry and Kravitz, who took over my blog and answered asks for a while. (He originated in the Gallows/S&S lyric comic.)

Good Adventures (Good Omens crossover) - The Antichrist’s wishes summon the wrong boatful of aliens. Thankfully, it seems they’re apocalypse experts. [with plot-ideas help from @avijohann​.]

Omen Zone (Good Omens crossover 2) - Barry is a demon. Kravitz is an angel. Kravitz probably won’t ever admit that they’re friends.

Pokémon: Century Version (Pokémon crossover) - Stolen Century AU where they’re all pokémon trainers. Faerun spin-off: Double Trouble

Till Death, Don’t Let’s Start - Barry fucks up. Kravitz is present.

Very Normal Blog Posts (ask series) - In which Garfield is not at all dangerous, and I am perfectly fine. <alt: chronological link - desktop only>

COMICS & ART

Gallows/Steady and Stronger (Double lyric comic) - Canon-divergent AU where, as the world is ending, Barry gives up to Kravitz. [Image description version]

[Lyric Comics] - Other, shorter lyric comics based on single verses of songs.

Dear Scientist’s Log (series) - Illustrated ship logs from Barry J. Bluejeans.

Movie Madness (Comic) - Barry obsesses over the unforgivable.

Palette Prompts (Arts) - Art from art meme prompts.

Pregananant (goof comic) - You know the one.

REAPER (Comic) - Baritz fuses with Lup.

These Jeans? (Animatic) - Barry advertises jeans.

They’re Both Tessa Thompson (Comic) - Lucretia has a nightmare. Barry reassures her.

War (Goof comic) - prompt: "taakitz with CAT”

What’s bigger than this? - The Red Robe.

FICLETS

Back Soon - Kravitz leaves a note with unfortunate wording.

Bodyswap: Barry & Davenport - During Wonderland.

Casual - AU where the red robe talks like a normal person.

Command - Barry misuses his magic.

Davenport - There’s something unsettling about that butler.

Hangin’ Out - Lup and Magnus.

Harvest - Roleswap AU: Barry is the Hunger.

Healing Necromancy - Merle tries to teach Barry some tricks.

Hope - Barry knows she’s still out there.

How Long? - Taako is frustrated.

In Pieces - The staff.

Liches Forget Too - AU.

Lucretia Forgets - In which there was a mistake with the voidfish ichor.

Lup’s Robe - Gifts from Taako.

Mourning Glories - The flowers in Merle’s beard.

New Years - Celebrations and fears.

Parole - Barry and Kravitz bonding hours.

Phone a Friend - Baritz (the fusion from Gallows/S&S) meets Angus.

Raising the Dead - Barry has to use his crew members’ corpses. [sequel]

Robbie...? - Magnus breaks into the brig immediately after Petals to the Metal.

Second Apocalypse - Based on that one party liveshow. What was the rest of the crew doing, again?

3 Sentence Fics - Pairing + AU prompts.

Smartstone - Lup gets stuck in a Stone of Far Speech, instead.

Stir Crazy - Barry waiting for a new body to grow. Thoughts of Lucretia.

Writing Things Down - In case you forget (again).

You Remember - Taako remembers.

PROMINENT GOOFS

Barry’s Dead - But he’s fine! Calm down!

Character Development - Joke’s on you, DM!

Crystal Kingdom - An absolutely bonkers arc.

Dealer - Merle pun.

Decapitate Me - for making this post

Don’t Care - Taako during the finale. [bonus]

Epilogue - Bracer struggles. [bonus: 1, 2]

Explain the Hunger (Good Omens crossover) - Magnus explains the hunger to Aziraphale and Crowley. They react in varying ways. [with cursed art contributions from @avijohann and @mspainttaz]

Fifteen Dollars - Plus interest. [Bonus]

Fullmetal Kingdom - They’re the same, right?

Gender - And lack of roles.

Gnomes Don’t Exist - They’re all aliens, actually.

Hot Diggity Shit - Been a while.

Icon Confusion - The saga of people thinking my icon is a carrot. [chrono link - desktop only]

Incomprehensible Denim - Jeff Angel’s illegal pants.

In Case it Changes Anything - Taako, Kravitz, and lies.

Irresponsible Teens - Magnus and Lucretia get into trouble.

I Saw Seven Nerds - That’s the post.

Gogurt - Taako’s crimes.

Learning to Drive - i.e. Barry & Davenport Bonding(?) Hours.

Live Shows - The general mood.

Lucretia’s Efforts - A proper meme? On my TAZ blog?

Lup Said No Thanks - That time Magnus was in a tree.

Magnus’ Death - So many close calls.

Nearest Middle-Aged Woman - Clint’s characters’ friends.

Necromancy? - You must be mistaken!

Ned’s Aliases - The Truth.

Pirate Debt - Davenport during that one liveshow.

Punch Squad - SQUAD!

Reaper Cloak - Thoughts.

Relic Names - She probably changed them.

Responsible Necromancy - Good and bad ideas.

Resume - It’s not like they thought it would be relevant.

Schools of Magic - And the Sash was what, again?

Self Care - Respect the dead, please.

Server Shenaniganry (art) - TAAKO THE CAT, NO!

Soulmate AU - Where your soulmate’s greatest enemy is on your wrist. [alt]

Stern’s Truth - You Know.

Taako’s Last Name - Taako’s last name.

Team Composition - The post where everyone wants to argue with me about what qualifies as a wizard.

Third Option - Taako saves the day.

You’re Laughing - End of Suffering Game.

THEORIES/MECHANICS/THOUGHTS

Aloof - Holes Taako refuses to fill.

Barry’s Lucky Possessee - Graphic novel theory hopes & dreams.

Catpiling - Stolen Century thought.

Davenport’s Deaths - Sucks when you always wake up driving.

Death Leaves a Mark - Stolen Century AU concept.

Everyone Else - Some people didn’t get perfect endings.

Fantasy Nonsense - lore about the word “fantasy,” as in “Jesus Fantasy Christ.”

Fragments - Magnus’ memory.

Forgiveness - Old post about the crew’s thoughts on Lucretia’s actions.

Forgot to Erase - Lucretia’s errors.

FULL TIMELINE POST - the Balance timeline.

Gauntlet - (disproven!) Theory about the final relic, from before it was confirmed in the show.

Gnome Nicknames - Thoughts on Cap’nport.

High School AU - Some old headcanons.

Home World Names - The pattern in surnames (or lack thereof) on the IPRE’s homeworld.

Hour - This isn’t a thought so much as an Actual Thing That Magnus Said before the time loops had started, which is absurd.

Idiots in Love - The IPRE’s collective braincell was lost for all of Legato. [2]

Liches, Alone - Being stuck as raw emotion for an awfully long time.

Losing Julia - And subsequent developments.

Love - What was remembered and forgotten.

Love Without Fear - Thoughts on bonds during the Stolen Century.

Memory - Barry actually shouldn’t have remembered anything.

Nickname - Memory of Lup.

Paladin Barry Theory - Converging evidence on Barry’s multiclassing.

Paradox AU - blueprint for 8th, 9th, 10th, etc. Bird AU of your choice(s). (Extra)

Phylactery Mechanics - How liches differ.

Produce Flame - Mechanics of John killing Merle.

Recklessness - THB’s actions recontextualized.

Relic Schools of Magic - They don’t have them!!!

Relicswap AU - Where all the birds get swapped out.

Seven Birds as Gods - Ask-prompt thoughts.

Staring at the Sun - The birds and their light sensitivity.

Story, Song, & Sorcery - Effects on the young population.

Sword Tornado - Magnus Mechanics. [bonus: Time Warlock]

The Good Place AU - A series of crossover thoughts.

Tree Climbing - Davenport shenanigans.

Unique Magic Types - [and combo styles]

What Killed Maureen - hint: it wasn’t Fisher.

[pengychan]

[Good Omens] Winging It - Psalm 55:6

Summary: Shockingly, attempting to destroy an angel without consulting God first comes with consequences. There is more than one way to fall, and a thousand more ways to inconvenience an angel and a demon who just wanted to be left in peace. Characters: Gabriel, Crowley, Aziraphale, Beelzebub, Michael. Rating: T  

Prologue and all chapters are tagged as ‘winging it’ on my blog.

A/N: after misplacing the Antichrist, it seems only fair they also kinda lose a former Archangel. 

***

“Uuugh.”

“You don’t look too good.”

“I think my midsection is about to burst and-- wait, did you-- did you poison me? Is this how poison works?”

Beelzebub rolled their eyes, still walking by his side. However crowded the pavement got, people around them subconsciously gave them a berth to let them walk undisturbed. Which was good, really, given how slowly the former Archangel Gabriel was going. 

“Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t want to risk you dying and going back to Heaven any more than you want to risk dying and being sent to Hell. I certainly would help if God bothered to make their intentions clear.”

“Tell me about it,” Gabriel muttered, his voice sour. It wasn’t quite an insult, no blasphemy yet, but the Prince of Hell was rather confident they would get that out of him before long.

“You overestimated how much nourishment your mortal body can take all at once, that is all.  Are you certain you don’t want to come to rest at my place?”

Gabriel, blinked, and glanced down. “... Are you trying to get me to accept an invitation to Hell?”

That gained him a rather annoyed look, the faint smile at the corner of Beelzebub’s lips fading. Gabriel couldn’t hold back a smile that was… just a little smug. 

“I’m too well-versed when it comes to the fine print. You’ll have to try better.”

“Mph.”

“Either way, you could have warned me that humans are not meant to eat huge amounts.”

“That would have been nice of me, I suppose.”

“Yes, it would have been--”

“You don’t become the Prince of Hell by being nice,” Beelzebub cut him off. 

“Ah. Right,” Gabriel muttered feeling just a little sheepish. If Beelzebub noticed, they made no mention of it.

“Good to see you get my point. You’ll be fine, anyway. I have already been far nicer to you than my job description would allow,” Beelzebub pointed out, and glanced ahead. There was the hotel, only a short distance away across the street. “I see no reason to return there. Just give up and take your place in Hell. You might even get a good rank, if you stay on my good side.”

“You have a good side?”

“No, not really.”

“I rest my case.”

A scoff, and Beelzebub glared up, crossing their arms. “Regardless, returning to that hotel room is useless as it is stupid. They know they can find you there. You don’t really think they’ll just let go of you so easily, do you?”

The comment was enough to make the faint smile on Gabriel’s face disappear. “I-- there is a phone I need to pick up. A suitcase, a… er, a book. And maybe they did give up. There is nothing they could possibly want from me now. Nothing worth the trouble of dealing with you, at any rate.”

“... I’ll choose to consider that a compliment. So, do you expect me to protect you again should they show up?”

“Why, you’d let me be taken from right under your nose?” Gabriel asked, feigning innocence, which was… something he was rather good at, or at least so he’d liked to think. He didn’t really think the purpose of looking for him was to take him back home - he’d been cast out, painful as it was to admit it; they wouldn’t defy God to take him back and be all cast out with him - but still, it seemed to work. Beelzebub narrowed their eyes.

“You are still as insufferable as before.”

Gabriel made an effort to keep his expression neutral and not grin. It was amazing, really, how much difference some nourishment could make, bursting stomach or not. “I’ll choose to consider that a compliment.”

“It wasn’t.”

Coming from you it was, Gabriel thought, but he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut, still acutely aware of how easily the Lord of the Flies could turn his existence into… not literal Hell, or else they’d be there already, but something remarkably close at any rate. 

“Besides, didn’t you want to return to Heaven?”

“I-- of course I do!”

“Clearly. Would be interesting, given that you’re terrified of your old friends. But I don’t plan on letting it happen.”

Gabriel refrained from rolling his eyes. “Of course. And I don’t suppose--” he began, only to trail off when he turned back and Beelzebub was… not there. They’d just disappeared, without even a lick of flame or a puff of smoke and sulphur. It was both anticlimactic and, to be honest, rather annoying. So much for coming in with him. Why in the world had they--

“Gabriel!”

Ah. That’s why.

Aziraphale was crossing the street quickly to get to him, looking amazingly relieved. The demon was there, too, getting out of the car and walking up to him with that really odd gait that, Gabriel was fairly certain, he had never observed in a human. As Crowley spoke, none of them noticed the fly that buzzed past.

“You know, that thing we gave you is a mobile phone. You know why it’s called mobile? Because where you go, it goes. As long as you take it with you, clearly.”

Gabriel frowned. “I am aware. We have those in Heaven.”

“You mean, they have those in Heav--”

“Regardless,” Aziraphale spoke up a little more loudly than it was strictly necessary, cutting him off with a look that felt like a metaphorical stomp on the foot to shut him up, “it would be best if you kept it with you at all times. We tried to call you, and as there was no response. Did Beelzebub harm you?”

“No, they--” Gabriel trailed off, and blinked. “What-- how do you know--?”

“Oh, Michael told us.”

Michael. The name alone was enough for Gabriel’s heart to stop. Metaphorically, of course - humans died when the heart stopped and he did not feel dead - but it certainly did feel like that steady beat had paused a moment or two. He tried to speak and he couldn’t, and feeling like something had grasped his throat. The scars where his wings had been ached a moment, a distant echo of the pain when--

Be still. You’ll make it easier, Gabriel. Please, be still.

“We told her to keep away,” Aziraphale reassured him, and reached out to steady him when he took a shaky step back. “No one will harm you. Come inside and tell us what happened.”

***

"Wait, wait, hold up. You had a lunch date with Beelzebub?" 

The expression on Crowley’s face as those words left him would have been that of someone who's just been told his birthday came early, if only he wasn't so utterly confused it was more than a little frustrating. It was like trying to imagine… Aziraphale stealing candy from a child, probably, which of course he would never do. 

Even if he might try to gun down a child, provided that said child was also the Antichrist and the fate of the world was at stake. Crowley hadn’t expected him to really try, he had to hand it to him.He’d been rather impressed, if slightly terrified. 

As a response, Gabriel scoffed indignantly. "Heavens, no! It was strictly professional," he retorted, entirely ignoring the fact he no longer had a profession to speak of and that would give him any reason at all to hold a meeting with the Prince of Hell. The look Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged probably got that message across, because Gabriel crossed his arms and looked away, leaning back against the backrest of the otherwise emoty couch. By some miracle, no one else needed to sit in the lobby of the hotel at the moment. 

"... I was weakened and needed nourishment. They just took me someplace to find edible matt-- food. That is all."

“They did? And you ate?” Aziraphale seemed surprised, more by the fact Gabriel had actually eaten than by the detail said meal had been offered by Beelzebub. “What did you eat?”

Gabriel seemed slightly embarrassed. “Well, I had to, sooner or later. It was not… terrible. I had a few-- I think they called it lardburger?”

Oh, ouch, wrong answer. Aziraphale stepped back as though slapped, mouth opening and closing as he tried and failed to find words. He turned to look at Crowley, absolutely outraged. Crowley - who was known to occasionally devour Happy Meals in one gulp, toy included in one or two memorable occasions - made a point to look suitably outraged himself, as moral support.

Plus, he’d sooner assemble and then swallow an IKEA bookshelf than say anything that might even vaguely sound like he meant to take Gabriel’s side.

“Did you-- did you hear what he said?”

“I did, angel. Unbelievable,” he agreed, shaking his head. 

Gabriel just seemed… very confused. “Is that-- bad?”

“If it’s bad!” Aziraphale’s voice was a couple of octaves higher than usual, looking at Gabriel like he’d just confessed to having eaten a newborn kitten. Or, well, the one forbidden fruit on the one forbidden tree in the middle of a garden with a real big ‘Forbidden, Do Not Eat’ sign. Which was probably what crossed Gabriel’s mind as well, if the horrified look on his face the next moment was anything to go by.

“What-- what is it?” Gabriel asked, his voice a little weaker, eyes shifting between the two of them. He seemed to be catching up on the fact that maybe, just maybe, the Prince of Hell is not someone you should metaphorically accept candy from. “What did they have me eat?”

Aziraphale scoffed. “Oh, now you ask! Rubbish, is what they had you eat!”

“It-- didn’t taste like--”

“You refuse the finest food you can find in London, and then you gorge yourself on lardburgers - the nerve--!”

As Crowley watched, Gabriel thought process was so obvious that it may as well have been written on his face. Did he understand exactly what was it that Aziraphale found so upsetting? No, of course, because he probably couldn’t tell a steak from the sole of a shoe. Did he at least understand that he had done Something Wrong? Yes. And what was the great classic, the excuse everyone pulled out of their asses in the good old days after doing Something Wrong?

The Serpent tempted me, Crowley thought. It had been true in Eva’s case, of course, but more often than not it was only a pretty sad excuse for things he’d had absolutely nothing to do with.

“Beelzebub tempted me,” Gabriel blurted out. Granted, in his case there might just be more than a grain of truth to the claim. Why the Prince of Hell would bother tempting a former Archangel into eating junk food, Crowley had no idea. They sure were out of practice when it came to work on the field; Crowley had suspected as much, but this set the bar… almost depressingly low.

Unless some junk turned out to actually be enough to buy Gabriel’s loyalty, which would set the bar even lower, but the other way around.

And they had the nerve to look unimpressed with what I did to the M25. Wanker.

“Well, that’s no excuse-- I mean, you are--” an Archangel, Aziraphale was clearly about to say, but he held back just on time, much to Crowley’s relief. Fun as it was, he didn’t feel like sitting through another identity crisis right now. He let out a long breath. “Right. First thing first, I would really appreciate you not spending time with the Prince of Hell.”

Gabriel’s eyes shifted from Aziraphale to Crowley. Crowley grinned. Gabriel’s eyes turned back to Aziraphale, who stammered a bit. 

“Ah, he-- well-- first of all I was-- we were always equal in power and-- and he never had any plans to drag me to Hell,” he added, crossing his arms. “So, it’s not the same thing.”

“I didn’t precisely decide to fraternize with-- Sandalphon just showed up, and--”

“And you’d sooner deal with Beelzebub than with Sandalphon?”

Gabriel met Aziraphale’s gaze, deadpan. “Wouldn’t you?”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to deny, paused, closed it again… and nodded. “... Point taken. I mean, if he meant me harm, but he doesn’t. They’re concerned about you.”

“Concerned.” Gabriel’s features twisted. “Forgive me if I have some trouble believing it.”

That gained him a long look. “I am forgiving by nature, unlike others I shall not name,” Aziraphale said drily. “But you ought to know better. You know they never wanted to do what they did to you.”

“But they did,” Gabriel retorted, causing Crowley to roll his eyes and open his mouth - but Aziraphale got there first, voice much sharper than it usually was.

“Oh, so you’d have defied God’s order in their place?” he asked, catching Gabriel by surprise. He blinked, rearing back as though struck as Aziraphale kept going. “Had it been you receiving the order and Michael the one on the ground, would you have refused to do what God asked of you?”

“I…”

“Look at me in the eye, tell me you would have, and you’ll have won the argument.”

Gabriel looked at him in the eye, all right, but he didn’t say a thing. He looked rather lost, then his gaze shifted on Crowley as though he hoped he’d give him the answer. Crowley smiled and stuck out a forked tongue, causing him to recoil and flatten himself against the backrest with a grimace of disgust. Aziraphale sighed. 

“Crowley.”

“Angel.”

“Tell me you did not do the tongue thing.”

“I didn’t do the tongue thing.”

“Gabriel, did he do the tongue thing?”

“Well--”

“There’s a special place in Hell for snitches, Gabe. I would know, I visited it. It’s not the best corner of Hell.”

“... He didn’t do the tongue thing?”

A terrible liar, of course. Ugh. Archangels. 

“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Aziraphale groaned. “Fine, fine - listen, they are concerned about you, whether you want to believe it or not. But you don’t have to meet them if you don’t wish to. We’ll tell them you’re well, and that you wish not to see them. They will leave you alone.”

Gabriel nodded, looking away. “... Good,” he said, nothing in his tone suggesting he felt good in the slightest. 

“That leaves the problem of Beelzebub,” Aziraphale added, and glanced at Crowley. “Any idea how he may have found him?”

A shrug. “Not a clue. Maybe they were keeping an eye on us.”

“Ah, may be. So much for leaving us alone.”

“Well, they didn’t try anything.”

“They fear you,” Gabriel spoke up, his voice flat, causing both Crowley and Aziraphale to glance back at him. “They disappeared when you approached. Everyone fears you, above and below.”

Ah, yes, that. Their plan had worked wonderfully. If Agnes Nutter had a marked grave anywhere, Crowley would have gone to leave some fresh flowers on it. “As they should,” he said, grinning. Aziraphale seemed… just slightly pleased before he spoke again. 

“Either way, now that they know where to find you, you can’t stay here. We’ll find someplace for you to stay. I’ll deal with the front desk - pick up your things, we’re leaving in five minutes.”

“I might need longer,” Gabriel said, and it was only then that Crowley noticed he was a little green in the face. He looked moments away from imitating the projectile-vomiting scenes from The Exorcist, only that this time it wouldn’t be pea soup to fly through the air. “I-- don’t feel great.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “How many burgers did you eat?”

“Nine, I think.”

“Nine?”

“And fries.”

“... Your first ever meal.”

“Yes.”

Aziraphale sighed. “Perhaps Beelzebub was trying to kill you after all. All right, take your time. We’ll wait here.”

Watching Gabriel get in the lift - would he be able not to throw up during the ride up? Was he event familiar with the concept of throwing up, or was instinct doing the work for him? - Crowley let out a sigh, and sat down more comfortably, waiting for him to return and discussing their next move with Aziraphale.

Embarrassingly enough, it took a good while for them to start wondering what was taking Gabriel so long - and, by then, it was too late.

***

Human bodies, Gabriel thought for the eighteenth time in less than twenty-four hours, were positively gross. He felt reasonably better and not as bloated, but there still was a bitter taste in his mouth, his throat burned, and he’d needed two showers before he’d felt reasonably clean again - it helped that there was lavender soap, he found he liked the smell of lavender - and about ten minutes to figure out a toothbrush.

By the time he was done, he felt… better. He’d only needed to open the suitcase to find clean clothes - including a tracksuit, like he could possibly be in the mood to go jogging at the moment. Still, he’d put it on, along with the trainers; given what he was about to do, he’d reasoned, may as well dress comfortably. He’d put on the coat, which had a wallet full of money in the internal pocket, turned off the mobile phone, and headed outside… but not towards the lobby. 

An open window at the ground floor was all that he needed to slip away unnoticed. Maybe it wasn’t the smartest thing he could possibly do given his predicament, but he found he couldn’t stand the idea of depending on Aziraphale and his pet demon for one more moment. Putting up with Crowley and his continuous insults was taxing enough, but somehow what he was truly growing weary of were Aziraphale’s genuine attempts at helping him.

He meant well, but that was the problem, wasn’t it? That was the uncomfortable part. Gabriel had tried to destroy him with Hellfire - something God wasn clearly unhappy about - and somehow he was still looking for ways to help him. 

“Don't talk to me about the greater good, sunshine. I'm the Archangel fucking Gabriel.”

A crime born of pride.

“Shut your stupid mouth and die already.” 

He attempted to take God’s judgment upon himself.

Utterly unfamiliar with the concept of having done something wrong, Gabriel couldn’t quite identify the gnawing sensation in his gut as guilt - but he found it unpleasant and it grew worse whenever he spoke to Aziraphale, so putting some distance between them seemed the best course of action at the moment. 

He just needed to get away. Have some time on his own, possibly without interferences from Hell, or Heaven, or whatever gray spot those two fit. Maybe God would speak to him then, send him a sign, tell him what to do. Because oh, he was so lost. 

… Literally lost. He had no idea where he’d ended up - a park, but which one? - and it was beginning to get dark. Gabriel didn’t much care for darkness: everything was always so bright and luminous in Heaven, whenever he visited Earth, it was usually during the day. It had been a very long time since anything had kept him there through the night. Well, there had been last night, but he hardly remembered it through the haze of pain, which was probably for the best.

Gabriel looked up to see the clouds above him set aflame by the setting sun. He still remembered the first sunset, right after Earth’s creation; it was a novelty and he’d been suitably impressed - of course, all of God’s work is impressive. He hadn’t really looked down to see many of them since. Coming to think of it, maybe sunsets looked best when viewed from below.

Gabriel kept staring up for another minute or two or ten as the orange-pink clouds turned red, then purple, and began to darken. Soon enough there would be stars, and he hadn't yet found a place to spend the ni--

"Oi, mate. Are you all right there?"

"Huh?" Gabriel recoiled and looked down to see a man sitting only a few feet away, back against a tree. Right by, half-hidden by some bushes, was what looked like a small tent. The man, who was easily twice Gabriel's weight as well as being a good head shorter, shrugged.

"Just wondering if all is well. You've been staring up for a while."

"Ah. I was-- lost in thought."

"I see." The man scratched his cheek, which was covered in short, graying beard. "Say, do you have any change?"

"Change?" Gabriel repeated. "I'm not sure what-- oh! Money! You mean money, right?" he exclaimed, feeling rather proud of himself for the epiphany. The man, on the other hand, seemed a little taken aback.

"Well, yes - but don't worry if you don't have it. Little cash to go around nowadays, eh? Most people pay everything by card, bit of a bummer but I guess it's how--"

"No, no, I do - I do have money," Gabriel said, pulling the wallet out of the pocket of his jacket. He lifted it up. "See?"

That gained him a smile. "Ah, great," the man said.

Gabriel smiled. The man kept smiling back. Then he blinked. Gabriel's smile faded. Where would the conversation even go from there? He did have money, but why had he asked-- ah, wait. Wait. "Oh! You asked because you want it, right?"

The man's expression grew cautious. "Listen, if you don't want to give anything you don't have to. You're not one of those posh arseholes who burn money in front of the homeless, are you?"

Gabriel blinked. "Why would anyone do that? Isn't money a valuable asset?"

The man seemed to relax, and the guarded expression melted into a faint smile. "Ah, beats me. Some do that, like those bastards in Eton. Our Prime Minister was one of them. Says everything about him, really."

Gabriel had only a vague recollection of having heard this 'Eton' mentioned once or twice, so he decided not to dwell on that. Instead, he opened the wallet and stared down at the wad of bills in it. He had no idea how much any of them was worth; he'd always just miracled the correct amount in his pocket whenever he had needed to pay for goods or services on Earth - which usually meant paying a taylor. In the end, he picked one out at random and held it out. 

"Is this enough?" he asked, gaining himself a stare. A pair of dark green eyes stared at him for several moments, moved to the bill, then back to him - so either it was too little or too much, but it was a bit late to correct that now. The man took the bill, held it up for a closer look, and gave an astonished laugh.

"If it's-- well, it's more than I get in a week, sometimes," he muttered, and his voice seemed to shake for a moment. He smiled, showing off a broken front tooth. "God bless you, mate."

"I don't think the Almighty has any intention to bless me," Gabriel muttered sourly, and shrugged at the questioning look. "I have… sort of been fired."

"Ah, Christ.”

“No, it wasn’t him to-- well. Close enough.”

“I'm sorry. I've been there - I was made redundant, just like that. Thirty years and they fired me with an email, can you believe it?"

Gabriel, who had been an Archangel for a bit longer than thirty years and would have probably preferred to be fired via email if he got a chance to choose, nodded. "I can imagine."

"Yes, it's the worst. And Universal Credit is such a clusterfuck - a couple of wrong forms, a skipped appointment, the payments were cut, and I couldn't afford rent anymore," the man added, gesturing towards the tent. "I really hope you can find your feet soon."

Ah. That. "I have sort of been evicted as well," Gabriel muttered, gaining himself a startled look.

"You were? And where are you staying?"

"... Nowhere, at the moment."

A frown, and suddenly the bill was being held up again, for him to take. "Then I can't accept this. We're on the same boat."

It was tempting, really - especially since he didn't know exactly how much money he'd just handed over - but Gabriel shook his head. His standing before God may be ruined beyond repair, but it didn't take much brainpower to guess taking back charity would be frowned upon.

"No, it's fine. Keep it. I don't think money is going to solve my problem."

A sigh. "That's what everyone with money says, until the money's gone," was the reply, but he did put the bill in his pocket before glancing over at him. "... Is this going to be your first night sleeping rough?"

Gabriel thought back of the previous night, of the moment he had collapsed in the doorway of Aziraphale's store. That part, he did remember. It had been less than twenty-four hours; it felt like weeks. "The second."

"Ah, I see. This isn't a bad spot - public toilets that way, and a fountain to wash up. I'll move somewhere in a Tube station when winter comes, but for now, this isn't bad. You may want to invest in a sleeping bag." He reached over to take something he had left on the grass - two cans of... something. Beer, maybe. Gabriel had never tried beer. He had never tried anything alcoholic at all.

"Come have a drink," the man said, "and tell me what happened to you."

***

“What do you mean, what happened-- nothing happened, Michael. Beelzebub didn’t drag him to Hell, you know they can’t do that. We just talked to him and he doesn’t want to see you. Or Uriel. Or Sandalphon. Or anybody from upstairs. As I believe youngsters say these days, he’s… savoury?” Aziraphale glanced at Crowley, who mouthed ‘salty’. Ah, for Heaven’s sake, he never got that right. Ah well. He’d remember it next time.

“I mean, he’s-- no no no, I don’t believe you’re in a position to make demands. He is well and we-- I’ll make sure no harm comes to him. Yes, I am aware that Beelzebub wants to claim him. I’ll keep an eye out for them. I have to go now. Talk to your soon. Or not, I’ll live either way.”

As Aziraphale ended the call with a groan, Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Do you really think Michael is going to back off for long?”

“Of course she isn’t,” Aziraphale muttered. He sighed, and let his gaze wander across the empty room. Of course he’d tried to call Gabriel immediately after realizing he was gone, but it seemed his phone was turned off. “... Do you think Beelzebub got him?”

Crowley shook his head. “You know that’s not how it works, angel. And besides he changed clothes, took the coat, took the wallet, and took the phone. You don’t pause to grab your wallet when the Lord of the Flies is dragging you to Hell kicking and screaming, unless you think Satan takes bribes. Which he doesn’t. To my knowledge.”

Another groan, and Aziraphale rubbed his temples. “... So we lost him.”

“Yep,” Crowley agreed, glancing out of the window to the darkening sky. “We lost him.”

***

“And I said, Oh that I had wings like a dove! for then would I fly away, and be at rest.” Psalm 55:6

***

[Back]

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[rsbry-beret]

There’s Only So Much You Can Do

CHAPTER TWO- Libra

Find it on Ao3 here

Libra-

The new moon is a time for beginnings. Start a new project, initiate something- there’s no moment like the present! It’s an especially good time for dreaming.

On Wednesday, Tobin dreams something that isn’t a dream, again.

He is standing on an abandoned street, not one he recognizes immediately, but one that he probably could place, if he tried.

He doesn’t try.

Four figures are approaching him slowly, silhouettes hazy through the thick fog. As they come nearer, Tobin sees that they’re four human-shaped creatures, each riding horses- one red, one white, one black, and one pale green.

He watches them come nearer, but time passes slowly and they seem just as far as they ever were.

The footsteps of the horses are silent.

Tobin wakes up in a cold sweat.

-0-0-0-

Parker is more than a little concerned when Tobin told them about his dream-vision-prophecy-precognition-thing.

Tobin had figured, yeah, probably it was important. One doesn’t usually have a psychic-related dream and then ignore it. That wasn’t the smartest thing to do.

Tobin’s subconscious had weight, now. Serious weight.

Parker was flitting around, grabbing a few books off of shelves and dodging things that fall in the process, instead of just picking them up. Tobin followed in their wake, righting what he could. Parker headed to the back room, and Tobin followed, like he always did.

“You’re sure, four figures?” asked Parker, then kept going before Tobin could answer. “Four figures on horses. You know, maybe it’s a coincidence! There are plenty of things that ride horses. The four could just be a number.” Parker sat in their chair and sighed.

Tobin sat as well, watching Parker stare at their books spread on the table between them before tentatively saying, “when has anything been just anything?”

Parker looked up at Tobin and-

-fear fear fear-

-said, “That’s what I’m scared of.”

They picked up one of the books and flipped through it. Tobin craned his head to read the title, ‘Book of Revelation’.

“I’m not Christian,” he said without thinking.

“No,” answered Parker absentmindedly, still searching for something. “No, but lots of people are.” They stopped. “Here. Here it is.”

Parker flipped the book around so Tobin could read it, if he wanted. He didn’t want to, though, just waited for Parker to explain it.

“I’m not saying this is definitely what you saw. It could be lots of things. But… this is probably what it was.” Parker tapped the page before continuing, “The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.”

“Oh, shit.”

Tobin had been magic for literally one day, and already there was an apocalypse going on? ‘Jesus Christ’ was probably an inappropriate swear at the moment but, God, for real?

“Yeah.” Parker cleared their throat. “The one on a red horse with a sword is War. The one on the black horse with a balance is famine. The black one is death, and the white one with the bow and crown is… debated, actually.”

Tobin tilted his head and started to read the passage before Parker started talking again, this time rushed and quieter, more like thinking out loud than anything else. “Some people say it represents Christ, other people say it represents the Antichrist. Then other people say it’s pestilence, other people say it’s pollution… the figure is described in the text as a conqueror, which, in terms of vague bad things, is really incredibly vague.”

Tobin nodded and opened his mouth to say something, before closing it and nodding again. There wasn’t much he could say.

They both sat in silence for a lingering second.

“It’s almost 8:30. I know you woke up early to tell me this, but you really should get to work.” Parker was still staring, eyes cloudy, at the words. Tobin stood slowly, unsure of if he should leave them like this.

Parker didn’t move an inch as Tobin walked out of the back room, weaved through the shelves and out the front door, and made his way down the street.

Even once Tobin couldn’t see them anymore, he knew.

-0-0-0-

“Where were you this morning, Tobes?” asked Leif when Tobin reached his desk with four minutes to spare. “You were already gone when I woke up. Don’t tell me you’re an early riser, now?”

Tobin thought about his… precognition. He thought about the lingering smell of bergamot that felt burned into his skin, and the black tourmaline under his pillow that didn’t do anything to help.

He laughed. “Nah, man, that’s you. Just forgot to pick something up from the store yesterday, set a reminder in my phone so I could grab it this morning.”

Leif smiled and accepted it easily. “Cool. What’d you get?”

Tobin hesitated, searched his pockets for something and pulled out a loop of leather cord with a jasper pendant.

Leif’s smile flickered. He pulled back the arm that was reaching for Tobin’s shoulder. “That’s pretty. For a date or something?”

“No,” Tobin replied, a little thrown by Leif suddenly acting all weird. “It’s for me.”

“Oh.” His face brightened again. “Cool, cool. I like it.”

Tobin tried to meet his eyes, but Leif was looking steadfastly at his computer keyboard. “Thanks.”

-0-0-0-

“Okay, so, the apocalypse is coming, and I’m supposed to stop it?”

Tobin had never really appreciated small spaces before Parker’s back room. It could fit the table and two chairs, plus an extra bookshelf shoved right against the wall, but it wasn’t much larger than a janitor's closet in actuality. With two people inside, it felt smaller. With two people and sixteen books, it felt much smaller.

“I think.” Parker opened another bible and shut it again without looking. “I mean, why else would you have a vision about it?”

“Precognition,” Tobin corrected, trying to make out the titles of the books piled between them. New American Standard Bible, Buckland’s Complete Book Of Witchcraft, even, if he was seeing things right, The Book Of Revelations For Dummies.

Parker made a questioning noise and Tobin clarified, “I’m calling them precognitions. It sounds a little less…”

Parker started just to the left Tobin for a moment, then finished “...magical.”

Tobin shrugged.

The silence stretched.

And stretched.

“Anyway,” Tobin said, “anyway, who says I can stop the apocalypse? I hate to break it to you, but I think we missed a few steps already.”

“So you didn’t see the four horsemen?”

“Well. No, I did.”

Parker sighed and pushed back an inch. “There you go, then.” They pushed their glasses up their nose, ran a hand through their course, dark hair. “Look, I’m not exactly an expert on the literal apocalypse, alright? You’re cool, Tobin, and you’ve got a real gift. Of course I want to help you with it. But…” They started picking at their fingernails, brown varnish chipping off and falling in flakes to the table. “I don’t know everything. I don’t know what’s happening. I just know that we need to stop it.”

Tobin watched Parker fiddle with their nails. He nodded. “You’re right.” Tobin picked up the For Dummies book and opened it to the first page. “I mean, if we don’t fix this, who will?”

-0-0-0-

Later, at night, Tobin would wonder if he could stop this even if he tried.

He was laying in bed, trying to sleep, but his last precognition was still turning itself over in his head. Eventually he gave up, and got out of bed to sit cross-legged on the floor. He closed his eyes and tried to think.

His mind kept going back to the first story Parker told him in that back room, about Drunk Jack, who kept trying to outrun the inevitable, and ended up condemned to an afterlife in which he wasn’t even accepted into hell.

Willow-the-wisp. A hopeless hope.

Tobin thought about what Leif would say, if he knew what was going on.

I might not be able to help, he would tell him, but I want to be here for you. If you fall, I’ll catch you. And if I can’t catch you, I’ll fall with.

Tobin thought about what his mom would say.

Chin up. Some things have to be faced head on.

Tobin thought about what his first boyfriend would say.

Sometimes, we don’t know what we’re doing. We have to keep trying, though. Fumbling aimlessly in the dark is better than standing still.

Tobin thought about what Parker would say.

Religion is a lot of things all at once.

It’s stories, a bunch of stories passed on and changed from interpretation, just like all other stories are. It’s a set of rules, so people know what’s right and what’s wrong, and how to act to be ‘good’. If someone follows a religion, it’s real to them. But there are lots of followers of lots of religions. Some people say they can’t be real all at once, and maybe they’re right. But I think that as long as you believe something hard enough, it’s at least a little bit true.

So if you think this is how we stop this, then it’s how. It’s as easy as that.

Tobin took a deep breath, and fell asleep, right there on the floor.

[luckyspike]

Adventures in America, Ch. 11 - The Ribs are Probably Symbolic, or Maybe Just Delicious

In which Adam and Lucky have a serious Discussion about The Past

it’s a lot of emotions and talking, and also a low key ode to barbecue ribs

Start with chapter 1 here

Refresh on chapter 10 here

or check out my fic tag for all kinds of stuff

---

Adam waited for the waiter to drop off two sodas and leave with their food orders before he dropped the opener. “I’m the Antichrist.”

It didn’t get the reaction he’d been afraid of. In fact, it hardly garnered any reaction at all. Lucky watched him for a long minute, then slowly reached across the table, picked up his soda, and sipped through the straw. He looked pensive. After a while, he swallowed, and said, “Go on.”

“Any questions about that?”

“Yes, but I want to hear you out first. I think …” He looked around. Leaned forward, wove his fingers through his hair, and stared fixedly at the table. “I think this is going to answer a lot of weird questions I’ve had about my life.”

Adam frowned. “So you don’t think I’m crazy?” It wasn’t a question of validation, for Adam, but for confirmation. Lucky nodded. “You don’t want me to like … prove it, or anything?”

“The haunted doll was plenty, but I mean, if you want to get us a free meal and no one has to die or anything …”

Adam shook his head firmly and said, “No, no messing around. I don’t do that. I try not to do any of it, anymore. Not unless I really have to. And … and you know, the longer I go without using the powers …”

Lucky nodded. “You don’t use it, you lose it. Heard that all my life.” He nodded to Adam. “So … explain stuff. Please.”

Adam sighed, folded his hands. “I didn’t know ‘til I was eleven. An’ then it kind of just … happened overnight. My Dog showed up - he’s a hellhound, or he used to be, I dunno if he still is - an’ I thought he was just a regular stray dog. But then I started hearing these voices, tellin’ me to change things an’ take over the world an’ I kind of … lost it? For a little while, anyway.” He stopped to gauge Lucky’s expression, but the other boy just nodded again, encouragingly, urging him on. “An’ then, uh, this is gonna sound crazy, but I guess, um. Well, me an’ my friends met the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse an’ like, defeated them or something, an’ my godfathers were there, plus some other people, Anathema and Madam Tracy and Newt and Mister Shadwell, and I thought I did it? Like told ‘em to stuff the whole Armageddon thing.”

“Uh-huh.” Lucky was wide-eyed, and he took a long sip of soda as Adam continued to talk. 

“But I didn’t.” He swallowed. “‘Cause then this angel and this demon showed up - not Aziraphale and Crowley, two other ones - to try to convince me to re-start it, but I didn’t. I told ‘em off, and they left and said they’d tell … um. You know.”

“Lucifer? And, wait … Francis and Nanny are an angel and a demon?”

“I guess,” Adam said wretchedly. He groaned. “Anyway, then he got angry and was gonna come and tell me off for not starting Armageddon, but Crowley stopped time for a minute -”

Lucky held up a hand. “Which one is Crowley? Demon or angel?”

“Your Nanny. I’m pretty sure. But definitely a demon.”

Lucky grinned. “Oh, kick ass.”

“Yeah, it was. Anyway, that gave me time to think about what to do, ‘cause at that moment I had literally all the power in the world, ‘an so we came back to the present and I told the devil to piss off because he wasn’t my dad. An’ then my dad showed up,” he finished, a little lamely. Lucky’s mouth was open.

“You told Satan to fuck off? Piss off,” he amended. “Actually those words? And you were eleven?”

“Not exactly those words.” Adam sighed. “I actually yelled ‘you’re not my dad’ at him like ten times and then he like dissolved into a cloud.” 

“Dude that’s still awesome.” Lucky sat back. “Holy shit. Fuck. I … I dunno what to say. Then what?”

“What? What do you mean, then what?” He shrugged. “I dunno? The world didn’t end?”

“I mean clearly. But like, you gave up that evil stuff and whatever, and then you just … went home? Went back to school?”

Adam considered it. He’d never really focused much on the afterwards part. “I got grounded. For being on a restricted military air base and uh, being out when I was supposed to be in bed.”

“You rebel,” said Lucky, faintly. “But you still know - Crowley? Nanny? Shit, I still call her - him, ugh, what …” He rested his forehead on his hand. “She’s still Nanny.”

“I always knew him as Crowley.” Adam shrugged. Cautiously, he took a drink, taking a minute to glance around the restaurant. Nobody seemed to be paying them any attention, and he didn’t see anyone he recognized. “Yeah, after the whole thing I found a paper with his number on it in my jacket pocket. For if I had questions, it said. So I called him up one day and I guess he had handed in his retirement papers to Hell or whatever, I never really found out, but after that we just … we started meeting like once every month to talk about stuff, and I think he wanted to keep an eye on me, but then like, him an’ Aziraphale - I’m 99% sure that’s Brother Francis - just sort of kept hanging around even when I didn’t have that many questions left an’, you know how it is.” He shrugged again. “I dunno. They’re cool. An’ I learned at church that back in the day your godparents were supposed to be the ones to teach you about religion so I figured godfathers worked as well as any name for them.”

“I’d say so, yeah.” Lucky blinked. “Wow. Okay. That explains … like in some ways that explains nothing, but then in other ways that explains literally everything, so I don’t know how to take it.”

Adam sipped his own soda. “Well, you haven’t called the cops to have me committed to a mental hospital yet, so I’d say you’re doing better than I expected.” That got a laugh. “Right, so that’s me. Tell me your side. Because uh, I think that’s gonna answer a lot of questions for me, too.”

Lucky shrugged. “It’s not as dramatic. But basically, growing up until I was seven I always had Brother Francis and Nanny. And they were always like ‘do good unconditionally’ - that was Francis - or ‘crush your enemies to bloody pulp beneath your shoes when you assume your throne’.”

“Nanny.” Adam nodded knowingly. “Which is really funny, actually, if you get to know Crowley, ‘cause - sorry, never mind. Go on.”

“Well no, you’re right, because she was mostly all talk. She was actually a super good Nanny. And, like, she was always encouraging me to get into mischief but like I think the worst thing we ever did was vandalize museum plaques and cut down literally all the hedges on the property because she said they were pathetic excuses for plants. The rest of the stuff was like, just kind of goofy pranks.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s definitely Crowley.”

“But she left! Her and Francis.” He looked sad then, and as a basket of dinner rolls arrived he seized one and started ripping it in half, scowling at it the whole time. “When I was seven. Said I was too old to have a Nanny anymore and I’d have tutors or whatever. But I thought I might still see her since she and Francis were always together, but he handed in his resignation the same day.” He sighed and jammed half of the roll into his mouth. “Pfufthed.”

“Uh …”

Lucky swallowed. “It sucked,” he clarified. “Sorry. But she did leave me her email address. So I started writing her then and I’ve pretty much written her twice a week ever since.” His eyes widened. “Wait a minute, I have her phone number! She just told me never to just call, because she doesn’t have good reception, but I can text her and if we want to talk we set up a time. She always calls on my birthday.” He held out a hand. “Lemme see your phone.” 

Adam had already seen where this was headed, and he had his phone on the table in a blink. He pulled up Crowley’s contact information, and Lucky pulled up Nanny’s. They checked the numbers once, twice, and three more times, and then Lucky swore. “It really is her!”

“And I’m sure Francis is really Aziraphale.” He crossed his arms and considered the phones. “Wonder if I can convince ‘em to video chat later. I want to ask them about the doll, anyway.”

“Oh, good idea.” He consumed the second half of the dinner roll, and went on. “Anyway, so I never actually saw them after that, just talked and wrote and stuff, but then when I was eleven, the other weird thing that happened was the whole trip to Israel.” He shook his head. “So my dad gets this memo from the White House, right, that we’re expected right away in Tel Megido, Israel, for some kind of diplomatic meeting with a field researcher. Or something. Anyway, we all three go - me and my parents, plus all the bodyguards - and we meet this professor guy there that looked super weird. And he stank. Like, literally, smelled like a dirty public toilet. But he kept asking me about the voices in my head, and the dog, and all this stuff I didn’t understand but he freaked me out so I was trying to play along. But then when I didn’t like, know the answers because I wasn’t you, I guess, he straight up bit his finger off and ran into the avocado grove and then it exploded.” He shrugged. “Honestly I thought he died.”

“He was probably a demon or something.” Adam swallowed. “Did he have a name?”

Lucky thought about it, brow furrowed and then, unexpectedly, he laughed. “Yeah, actually! He said is name was Dr. Hastur La Vista.”

“Oh God.” Adam winced. “Hastur.”

“You know him?” 

“Never met him, thank you very much, no. But Crowley’s told me about him. He’s a Duke of Hell. I think … I think you got really lucky, Lucky.”

The other boy, under his mop of dark hair and his increasingly-shaggy beard, paled. “Duke … of Hell.”

“Yeah.” 

“So what confuses me -” he stopped short, because the waiter arrived with two plates of ribs, which were each deposited in front of the boys. They said their thank yous, smiled politely, and then Lucky lunged forward, stuffing a french fry into his mouth, deadly serious. “How did they think I was you?”

Adam looked down at his food, and started pulling the ribs apart. “All I know,” he said slowly, “was there was a mistake. The only person supposed to be giving birth that night was your mum, but my mum went into labor early. So they both must have given birth at the same hospital, with the Satanic Nuns.” He leaned in, lowered his voice. “Crowley delivered me in a basket, and they were supposed to switch me with whichever baby your mom had. But with three babies I guess things got mixed up, and I ended up with my parents.”

Lucky blinked and, slowly, set down the french fry he had been holding. “Are you … are you saying my parents aren’t really my parents?” He looked lost, suddenly, eyes wide and shiny. “But … but I look so much like my mom …”

“I don’t know,” Adam replied hurriedly. “I’m sorry. Sorry. I don’t know. Everything got so mixed-up, I guess, and Crowley assumed they’d got it right and put me with your parents so when they took you home they thought …” he trailed off. Lucky wasn’t talking, wasn’t even looking at him. He was staring at his food, hands limply resting on either side of the plate. “Your parents might be -”

“They’re not,” he snapped, before Adam had a chance to finish. “They might have fucked up but they wouldn’t have fucked up that bad. They would have swapped me and the baby my mom actually had.” His eyes watered. “Shit. Oh, shit.” And then he was crying, all at once, tears and snot and all. “Fuck.”

“I’m sorry,” Adam said softly, because he was. “I wish it hadn’t happened.” He let the other boy cry, for as long as he needed. No one noticed, Adam made sure, because he felt like he owed it to the other guy to keep him from becoming a barbecue restaurant spectacle in the middle of a total breakdown. He picked at his food - suddenly, he was not very hungry at all - and waited, while around them the diners came and went, their own food got cold, and Lucky kept crying. 

He petered out eventually. “I bet your parents are my actual parents,” he said, voice shaking and hitching as he spoke. “That’s what happened. Bet you anything.”

Adam shifted uncomfortably. “Probably.”

“What happened to my mom’s baby?”

“I don’t know. He’s … he’s okay,” Adam finished, because he knew that was true, somehow. He’d felt it in his soul back at the airfield, although he hadn’t known what it was at the time, and he felt it now, too. In a way, it was a relief to finally be able to label that feeling of ‘okay’. “I just know. I don’t know how, but I know.”

Lucky took a shaky breath. “My parents … the people that raised me … fuck, even that’s not right, that was always Nanny and Brother Francis.” He sobbed again. “God damn it. My dad - Thaddeus - always thought I was weird, my mom - Harriet - never wanted anything to do with me if I wasn’t interested in exactly what she wanted to do.” He sniffled. “This whole trip … they don’t give a shit. Oh, they acted like they were worried or whatever, but they haven’t called. Haven’t texted. I think when I’m not home they forget I exist.” He sobbed. “And you talked to your parents. They’re good parents.”

Adam didn’t deny it. He was surprised to find that he too had tears running down his cheeks. “Yeah. I’m so sorry, Lucky, I’m really sorry, but I … I don’t know what to say.” He sagged, swiped his sleeve across his face. “I can’t fix it anymore.”

Lucky bit back another sob, and took a deep breath. Swallowed. “Can I meet them?”

“Absolutely,” he replied without hesitation. “Whenever you want, any time you want. Any time.”

“Thanks.” He didn’t cry again, at least not audibly. Tears ran down his face for a little while longer. He prodded at his fries. “God, and it was Nanny’s fault … I thought she loved me.”

“I bet she does.” Adam was surprised with the conviction with which he said it. “You know if Crowley likes you. If Crowley likes you, he … like, okay, he has literally run into a burning building at least twice to save someone he likes.”

Lucky laughed wetly at that. “Doesn’t sound like she’s a very good demon.”

“No, terrible demon. That’s why he retired. Aziraphale’s kind of a shit angel too, to be honest. I think if he had his way he’d be a hermit and live in a hollowed-out mountain full of books. He retired too,” he added. And then, because he felt he had to defend Crowley a little bit, “I don’t think there was much of a choice. I don’t think any of us - definitely not you or me or our parents, or Aziraphale, and I don’t think even Crowley - had much choice.”

“He could have not dropped you off at all,” Lucky challenged. “Just taken you somewhere else and …” he swallowed.

Adam didn’t need to hear him finish the sentence. “He doesn’t kill kids,” he replied. “It’s kind of one of his things.”

“Wow, he really is a shitty demon.”

“Totally.” He sighed. “I’m so sorry, man. Maybe … I probably should have kept all that to myself, huh?”

The answer didn’t come right away. It didn’t come after a minute, after Lucky sipped his soda full of melted ice and thought it over. “No,” he said finally. “No, I’m … I’m gonna be glad you did, eventually. I kind of hate you right now, but you were a baby when everything went down initially, and you didn’t know, and then when you did know you told the actual devil to fuck off and stopped the Apocalypse, so I guess that counts for a lot.”

“All sounds pretty fair,” Adam agreed.

“I think we should find the other guy. The third baby.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do too. But he is okay.”

Lucky looked at Adam warily. “Yeah. Yeah, I … believe you. And maybe we don’t tell him. But I just want to make sure.”

“I’m in. It’s a deal.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “Bet he’s in England.”

“Probably.”

“We can find him.”

“We have to.” He took a deep breath, and then, as if realizing his mostly-untouched food was still there, blinked down at it. “Ugh … I was really looking forward to those.”

“I can warm them up.”

Lucky glanced at him slightly askance. “You’re not gonna like … start breathing fire or something, are you?”

“No, I can just …” he waved a hand and made a vague noise he’d probably picked up from Crowley at some point. “I can just make them warm again. It’s just a little thing, I can still do those.”

“... Alright. But only ‘cause I’m curious.”

Adam shrugged. “Okay. There you go. Warm and fresh.” And indeed, when Lucky held his hand cautiously over the ribs, they were as warm as they’d been when they first came out of the kitchen, the red ochre-colored sauce glistening and sweet-smelling. 

“Jesus.”

“No I’m like … the exact opposite of him.” 

Lucky stared at him and then laughed again. “Yeah. Yeah, you are, dude.” He tore a rib from the rack and bit into it. “Ugh, these are good. You didn’t do that too, did you?”

“Literally just reheated them. Like an infernal microwave oven.” That did it. Oftentimes, when someone has received terrible news, and they’ve cried over it, or begun to mourn, or even just compartmentalized the whole thing away for the time being, the first even vaguely-funny thing that is said afterwards is like a piece of flotsam big enough to grab during a shipwreck. And like a sailor stranded in a sea of confusing history and misunderstandings, Lucky clutched onto Adam’s bad joke and started to giggle. And then to laugh, hard, leaning forward with his forehead resting on the back of his hand, his hair dropping into his barbecue-sauce-coated fingers. Adam laughed too, mostly at how hard Lucky was laughing, and before they realized it the two of them were cackling like hyenas over a plate of ribs and a newly-discovered bond that had tied them together their whole lives, whether they’d known it or not.

“God, that wasn’t even that funny.” Lucky wiped his eyes. “Oh, man. Oh … God.” He looked up, no longer laughing, but definitely curious. “You don’t think … do you think it was a coincidence, us meeting up like this?”

“It’s ineffable.”

“Definitely un-fuckable, you have that right.”

Adam laughed again, and shook his head. “No, no, ineffable. Aziraphale’s always saying that. “Oh, it’s ineffable, God’s plan. Means it can’t be discerned, known, or understood.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” 

“Don’t think about it too much,” Adam advised, with all the experience of someone who had been thinking about it off-and-on for the past seven years. “You think about it too much and you get a headache and a panic attack. My conclusion is always: I dunno, but here I am and so what am I gonna do about it?”

Lucky gnawed at another rib. “Yeah,” he said, around the bone. “Yeah, you’re right. Man, I’m sorry for falling apart like that, but it was kind of a lot.”

“Do not apologize for that.” Adam shook his head vehemently. “Absolutely not. And if you want to be cross with me or upset or whatever, do it. You deserve to. It sucks, what happened.”

“Well, yeah, but I mean look at you.” His face softened a little. “Do you know who -”

“Nope.” Another firm head shake. “Here I am and so what am I gonna do about it,” he repeated like a mantra. 

“Yeah.” He stared at the rubs. “What are we gonna do about it?”

Adam sucked on one of the ribs, savored the sauce, and then shrugged. “I think step one: figure out what the doll was about.”

“Cool, yeah, agreed.” He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, and streaked sauce across his cheek. Adam elected not to say anything. 

“Step two: uh … chase more tornadoes? I mean, it’s what we came here for, right?”

Lucky looked a little less certain about that. “Yeah. Yeah, it was but now I … I dunno. It feels weird to keep doing whatever I was doing. Like. My whole life …” He frowned. “Should my life be different?”

Adam finished the rib he was working on, partially because it was really good, but also partially because he wanted to be sure that he said the thing he wanted to say next right. “Okay.” He set the bone down, and looked at the other boy very seriously. “Don’t take this the wrong way. Because I’m not tryin’ to minimize anything we talked about here. But … this whole new information, right. Is it gonna change your day-to-day?”

Lucky bristled. “Maybe. I mean, it’s sure as fuck gonna affect my relationship with my parents.”

“Not what I meant.” Adam shook his head. “You’re right, it absolutely will. An’ that’s gonna take a lot of time, believe me. I’m still …” he sighed. “It’s still weird, even though I’ve known for a long time. It gets less weird, though.” He squared up his shoulders. “But no, what I’m talking about is, does it change the stuff you like to do? Are you gonna like the weather less, is what I’m saying,” he finished lamely, while Lucky stared at him. “‘Cause if the answer is yes, then I think your step two is gonna be different from mine. I’m gonna keep chasing tornadoes for the next three weeks.”

“I … argh.” Lucky took a bite of his rib with a little more feral energy than was strictly necessary. “This is heavy shit, man. I dunno.” He swallowed the meat. “How are you so chill about all this? Just had a ton of time to deal with it?”

“Partially.” He shrugged. “Also I’ve had like an on-call angel and demon for the past seven years who’ve always been available to talk to me during a personal crisis.” He sighed. “They’re actually super helpful to talk to when you don’t know what to do, because at this point I’m pretty sure they’ve literally seen it all.”

“You’re gonna call them tonight, right?” Lucky looked worried again, a little pale. “About the doll, at least?”

“Yeah. And, uh.” Adam thought it over. “I think you should talk to them too. If you want to. I think it’d be good.”

The answer came fast, and Adam suspected Lucky had just been waiting for the offer. “I want to. I really want to.”

“Alright. So amended plan.” He pushed one of the rib bones off to the side of the others as he spoke. “One: call Aziraphale and Crowley and figure out what the doll was about. Two: figure out what we want to do for step two.” He raised his eyebrows. “Sound better?”

“Can I add something before step one?”

“Sure.”

“Step pre-one: finish these ribs because holy shit, man.” He had another, and then said, “Life’s fucked up right now, but at least these are really good.”

--

Now with chapter 12!

[im-american-honey]

Angel On Fire Ch.III { Michael X Reader}

A/N: This took too long to get out but it’s been very busy time for me. Plus I’m working on an actual book so that’s taking up my interest. The story is also going pretty quick since I’m way behind. So sorry for the wait and very sorry that this is kind of a crappy chapter.

Warning: smut, a bit violence, bad writing

——————————————-

A month now Michael and I were hanging out. Everyday he would wait for me to get out of school to walk me home. Sometimes we would go to the mall or the park. Because of this many of my “friends” distanced themselves from me. I don’t mind though. My mission is to kill the antichrist, I have no time for mortal relations.

“ There is a serious matter I would like to talk to you about. Do you mind if we stop by my house?” Michael asks. We were still near the school. Kids walking out stared us. Whispered to their friends.

“Okay but I can’t stay long I have homework to do.”

He chuckles. “You know school won’t prepare you for what you’re destined for.”

“And what is that?”

He lifts my chin with his finger. He looks me in the eyes and says: “Great things. Such great things.” He smiles at me and gives me a peck on my lips. I felt a sharp burst of energy. I want more.

I bring myself back down to earth, noticing Melinda and my old group of friends looking at us. A scowl rested on Melinda's face. Was she jealous?

“Alright then let’s go.”

———————————————

Michael’s house was nicely painted blue and white. Out front was a small porch area. Inside everything was like a normal house. It’s even nicer than mines. “Michael is that you?” A woman dressed in all black comes out from the kitchen. She looked a bit surprised when she saw me. “Well, I didn’t know we were having guests.”

“ Y/ N this is Ms Mead, my guardian. Ms Mead this is Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you.” I hold out a hand for her to shake.

“ You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t ya? Now I understand what kept Michael out so long.” She jokes while shaking my hand.

“Well, Y/N and I have important things we must discuss .” Michael interrupts.

“I have to go run a few errands so I’ll leave you to it.” She grabs her purse and walks out the door. “It was nice meeting you darling.” She gives me a smile, closing the door.

“Let’s go to my room.” He says.

Michaels room wasn’t anything special. Just a few posters on the wall, a desk near the window and his bed. “Have a seat.” He says. I set my bag down near the door and take a seat on his bed. He grabs the chair from his desk and sits in front of me. He puts his hand under his chin and just stares at me. I tried to stare back at him, but every time I did I felt those icy blue eyes penetrate my soul.

“So…. you gonna stare at me all day or do you wanna talk to me about something?”

He leans in a bit closer. “Tell me your story. Everything. From why you got kicked out of heaven to your life among humans.”

I stayed cool, but in my mind a million questions rushed through my head. Does he already suspect?

“Is it because your a Nephilim?”

“How do you know that?”

“It's odd. I feel such a powerful energy vibrating off you. But after being with you for so long I began to realize it was two different energies mixing up inside you. That of an angel. And that, I guess, of a witch.”

He was catching up. It won’t be long until he finds out why I am really. So I took a deep breathe in, and quickly come up with a story to tell him.

“My father was an angel, my mother a witch. For a while I spent time between heaven and earth. Never have I once seen my mother and father interact. Not until that one day when he- .” I stop and take a deep breathe. I stare at my hands, forcing tears out of my eyes.

“He killed her didn’t he?” Michael asks, sympathetically. I nodded my head yes. “ He said she knew too much. That she would expose the secrets of heaven.” I continue to lie. “They told me I was dirty. A bastards child born of sin. So they banished me from heaven. I was only five then. I was found wandering the streets by this man and his wife. They took me to a hospital. I was then taken to the orphanage in Sacramento where I was adopted. Since then I’ve just been living here. I’ve learned how to adapt to them but I feel like I’ll never belong no matter how much I try. I just feel so lost Michael.” I caught myself on the last words. It wasn’t part of the lie.

I looked up at him. My tears cloud my vision, but was able to see the tears that formed in his eyes. “What are you Michael?” I ask.

“I’m the antichrist.” He says trying to smile.

“And the antichrist is going to help a worthless soul like me?”

“You are not worthless Y/N. Don’t ever say that about yourself. And of course I will help you. I know what it is like to be abandoned. It’s such a horrible feeling. And I am lucky enough to have found my Ms. Mead, who truly loves me. But you have no one.” He suddenly gets down on his knees in front of me, taking my hands in his. “Y/N You have been the star in my life the weeks we have known each other. I find myself waking up every morning excited to see you. When I am around you I feel pure joy. I swear to you my Star to protect you. To always be by your side.”

In total shock I couldn’t say anything. With so much passion, this boy confessed to me. Never has anyone spoken to me like this. I look into his eyes and Isee so much love staring back at me.

Am I actually crying?

Kill him

He kisses me. His soft lips pressed on mine. It was like a fire had ignited.

Kill him

I kiss him back. I felt a bit awkward since I don’t really know how to kiss. But Michael takes over. He lays me on the bed. Our two energies mixing together felt like it could create a storm. His hand lowered to my thigh giving it little squeezes. He travels higher up my skirt until I feel his fingers rub the outside of my underwear. I instantly bolt up.

“I’m sorry I can’t do this.” I quickly pull down my skirt. What am I doing? I need to kill him damn it!

Kill him!

But I don’t want to. I enjoy Michael’s company. He’s the most interesting thing that has come into my life. A part of me said to leave. Another part of me told me to kill him right on the spot. Obey the Archangel’s request.

But another part of me crawled from the depths of me. It wanted his touch. To feel his everything on me. Inside of me. “I’m so sorry. We’re going to fast aren’t we? If you don’t want to we don’t have to.” He tells me.

I look into his eyes. My hands cupped his face. My lips brush against his.

“No. I want this. I want to feel love.” I then rested my lips on his. He kisses back with more passion than before. I lay back onto the bed as he hovers over me. He pauses to remove his shirt before continuing traces of kisses down my neck. He undid my blouse, throwing it to the side of the bed. He moves down to my collarbones as he works on get my bra off. Once that is done he caresses my breasts before taking my nipple into his mouth. I let out a loud moan as he sucked on it. His hands travelled up my thigh again, this time reaching inside my underwear. His fingers rubbing between my folds until they found my clit. He rubs it with his thumb causing little whimpers to escape my mouth. “I want to hear you my Star. I want to hear you call my name.” He moved from breast to giving kisses down my body removing both my skirt and underwear leaving me fully naked. He nips the inside of my thighs, his hands holding onto them. I run my hands through his hair as he licks my clit. He sucks on it while humming. I squeeze my thighs around his head.

“Michael please….” I gasp. My phone rings. Michael stops what he was doing. He went to my bag and pulled out my phone. He then hands it me with a smirk. “Answer it.”

When I saw the caller ID I almost threw it at him. “Are you crazy! This is my Mother!”

He quickly press the answer button before I could stop him. “ Y/N!” I hear her yell.

“Hello Mother, is there something wrong?” When I began speaking Michael went back down and continued.

“ Y/N where the hell are you!? What are you doing with that boy?!”

“N-nothing Mother. It’s fine.” I try the best to contain myself but Michael licks faster.

“Ms. Dallas said she saw you going into that devil woman’s house! Now what the hell is going on?!”

“Mom trus-.” I couldn’t get the words out of my mouth. Michael was now pumping two fingers into me while sucking on my clit. I became deaf to Mother’s nagging on the other line. “Mother I have to go!”

“No! What is going on! You’re Father-.” Before she could finish I hung up on her. I throw my phone aside and grab onto his hair. As I feel myself reach my climax I let out a loud and long moan.i was panting, out of breathe. “You… are the…. devil.”

He comes up and gives me a kiss. “And you are so beautiful.” He begins to undo his belt when loud banging noises were heard at the door. I scramble up to get dressed. Michael, with an annoyed sigh, buckled up his belt and put on his shirt before going down stairs. I was in the middle of buttoning up my blouse when I heard yelling. Not fully dressed I run downstairs to see what was happening.

It was my Father. He was grabbing Michael by his shirt yelling at him. I could see his veins on his neck. His face a bright red. I have never seen Father so angry. He was always the calm one. This man was someone different. He punches Michael and he falls to the floor.

“Stop! Please don’t!” I screamed. I cry as I tried to hold Father back.

“Y/n! How could you do this? How could you!” He was now shaking me by my shoulders. I felt something strange rise up inside me. Something that felt hot, that had been boiling deep down.

“LET GO!”

Father suddenly flings off me, hitting the wall then falling to the floor. He touches the back of his head, looking at the blood that stained his fingers in shock.

Leave and never comeback for me. Forget about me.

Father just sat there in a daze. Then he gets up and walks out, closing the door behind him. Never again will he know who I am. I break down in tears. Michael wraps his arms around me, cradling me. I bury myself into his chest and cry. “My Star, you don’t have to worry. We have each other. I promise I will always be there for you.” He shakingly kisses my forehead, blood from his lips leave a mark.This causes me to cry harder. The door opens and both us jump. It was only Ms. Mead back from her errands. She looks at both of us. “ I guess I’ll be cooking for three.”

—————————————————————— Lmao I hope you still want to be tagged

Taglist: @the-captain-kidd @natalielivesformusic @brieababy

[7-wonders]

The Devil Wears Jaclyn Hill

Word count: 1678

A/N: Yikes I’m nervous about posting this. This is my first time writing for Michael, and I really have no clue how it went. Let me know what you think, and if you want to see more of Michael!

Michael’s a man of elegant tastes. He enjoys the finest fabrics, the most decadent food and drink, top-of-the-line cars, and anything with a price tag more than some people's’ college tuitions. That’s part of the reason he finds you so intriguing.

You, in your cramped apartment that you share with two other people to cut down on costs. You, who rushes back and forth between your two jobs that leave you tired and sore daily. Your life is one that consists of microwaveable foods, coupons, and upcycled clothing. It’s a world that’s vastly different from Michael’s, which is probably why he likes spending so much time with you.

When the rising Antichrist steps through your threshold, gone are the responsibilities of Cooperative meetings and eager Satanists. No longer is he fawned over and waited on hand-and-foot. When he’s with you, he’s just ‘Y/N’s boyfriend.’ One of your roommates laughed in his face once when you asked him to load the dishwasher and it turned out he didn’t know what a dishwasher was.

Where Michael’s Gucci and Versace, you’re Target and Forever 21. While Michael only dines at restaurants owned by his father or those with Michelin stars, you’re more than happy with Qdoba or In-N-Out. Michael’s diamonds, and you’re cubic zirconia. The differences between your lives are almost startling, if Michael didn’t take every opportunity possible to spoil you. Normally you refuse his expensive gifts, but you’re more than happy to let him treat you to some new makeup every now and then.

Makeup is your medium. It’s how you unwind after a long day of work, watching the newest tutorials and studying them intently. It’s how you can make your regular outfits look a little bit more special. More importantly, it’s what you love to do, even if it frustrates you to no end. Plus, your makeup is priced on the drugstore end of the spectrum, so you don’t feel too bad about finally giving in.

Michael’s sitting in the corner of your room, answering work emails on his phone while you watch a new James Charles video for the fourth time. You groan when the video cuts from a half-done face to the finished look.

“‘And there you have it, sisters!’” You can’t help but to mock the guru’s voice. “Better sister shut the fuck up before I sister slap the shit outta you.” Michael chuckles at your angry muttering, glancing up to look at you.

“Everything okay over there?” He asks. You turn to face him, shaking your head.

“He just goes so fast! The video’s over and I look so stupid.” You gesture to your face as an example. Pursing his lips, Michael looks at your eye makeup. It’s actually not that bad for such a complicated look, it’s just that you only have one eye done.

“It doesn’t look bad, my love, it just looks half-finished.” You playfully roll your eyes at him before grabbing a makeup wipe and wiping your canvas clean. Michael watches as you organize your makeup again with care, making sure everything’s in its’ designated spot.

“Michael?” The man lets out a hum of acknowledgment, letting you know he’s waiting. “What would you say if I wanted to do your makeup?” The silence in the room is overwhelming to you. You know that Michael would never get upset at an idea of yours like some of your past relationships would have. Still, your anxiety skyrockets whenever he gets quiet. He’s always so good at reading people without sparing a glance their way, that you envy his ability in this moment.

“Never mind, it was stupid. I’m sorry.” You start babbling, taking his silence as an answer. He grabs your hand to stop you from getting up, pulling you into his lap.

“Nothing you ever say could be stupid. I was just thinking. What did you have in mind?”

“Well, now that your plans are all starting to be put in motion, you’ve been developing a very specific style.” You reference his hair, which has started to touch his shoulders in recent months, and his outfits. He doesn’t need to be reminded how much you love the gloves he’s added to his wardrobe, and you flush at the mere thought of those leather-clad hands on your bare thighs. Shaking your head slightly, you continue. “Well, what if you spiced it up with an eye look?”

His eyebrow quirks, and you can tell he’s intrigued.

“You don’t have to do all the face stuff?” He asks.

“No, we can do as much or as little as you’d like. I was thinking some red? Nothing too crazy, just enough to make those eyes of yours pop.” A slight smile graces his face, and you find yourself grinning at the very sight of it.

“Show me.” He demands. You nearly jump out of his seat in excitement.

“Seriously? You’re not just doing this to, like, make me happy, are you?”

“I’ve always been fascinated with makeup, and lots of men wear it today. Besides, in the new world, we can do whatever we want, be whoever we want.”

The new world.

Michael’s been talking of this for weeks now, ever since the plans for an apocalypse were finalized. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little sick at the idea of nuclear annihilation, but Michael insists that it’s all for the greater good. The world needs to be cleansed and remade, you remind yourself. You know that the destruction and nuclear winter will only be temporary before a new world flourishes from its’ ashes. There’s a part of you that trembles with excitement whenever Michael goes on about ruling, telling you that, as his queen, you’ll be right next to him.

You stray towards your desk, running your hands over your palettes. After careful deliberation, you decide that the Jaclyn Hill palette has the color range you’re needing. You grab the palette and a couple of brushes before making your way back to Michael, who grabs you again. For the harbinger of the apocalypse, he’s very clingy and touch-starved. You straddle his hips and move his hair out of his eyes.

The process is slow at first, with you having to remind Michael to keep his eyes closed until you say so. When you put primer on his eyes, he jumps back.

“That’s cold!” He yelps. Laughing, you dab it on his eyelids, forming an even base.

“It’s primer. It makes the makeup stand out more and makes everything look even.” You patiently explain. “Open your eyes, please.” He looks at you expectantly and you giggle. “Do you have a color preference?”

You pop open the palette and watch as his eyes take in the myriad of colors. Pointing to one, he glances at you.

“Is this one okay?” He’s pointing at Hunts, the most pigmented red in the palette. You nod.

“Of course. Whatever you’re comfortable with, love.” You’re not all that shocked that he’s picked the most vibrant red there is. The man has a near-obsession with blood, after all. You grab one of your brushes and dip it in one of your neutral shades. Even though your attention is on the makeup in front of you, you can tell Michael is watching you. You’ve been together long enough now that you can feel his piercing gaze from across the room.

“That’s not the red.” He points out obviously, grinning when you roll your eyes.

“Don’t want the primer to be the only thing on your eyes.” You swipe the color across both of his lids, satisfied with the effect it has. Grabbing a smaller brush, you gently dip it into the red shade Michael had picked out. You tap the brush against the pan, making sure there’s no fallout before you start lightly applying it to the inner creases of his eye.

“You’re thinking about it again.” He mumbles, not wanting to mess up your concentration.

“Thinking about what?”

“My plans. My father. The apocalypse.” You move the brush in a circular motion, blending the shade out.

“Yes.” You settle, knowing arguing about it is futile.

“Why? Are you scared? You’re going to be safe, my love, you know that.” Dipping back into the shade, you tap the brush on the pan again, harsher this time.

“I’m scared that you’re not going to be safe, Michael.” You explain. He somehow manages to furrow his brows without moving his eyelids, and you’re mildly impressed.

“Honey, I’m the Antichrist. Nothing’s going to hurt me.” You nod before remembering what can’t see you.

“What if something goes wrong?” He grips your waist with his hands, squeezing reassuringly.

“I’ve been preparing for this my entire life. My father has been preparing for this since the beginning of time. I promise you that everything will go as it’s planned.” You lean back, choosing to study your work. Satisfied that it looks even, you lag a hand on Michael’s shoulder.

“I’m done, I think.” Moving off of his lap, you wait for him to stand and face the mirror.

“Wait.” He grabs your wrist, standing so he’s eye-level with you. “Are you okay? Did that help ease your nerves?”

You love getting to see this soft side of Michael, the side that’s reserved only for you. You’re pretty sure all of his devoted followers have no clue he’s even capable of being like this.

“Yes, it did. I just want to get this over with. I wish I could just wake up and be in our new, perfect world now, y’know?” Michael nods, kissing the top of your head.

“Soon.” He walks the two of you over to the mirror, where he scrutinizes his new look. “You were right about the red making my eyes stand out.”

“So you like it?” You ask, hiding your smile in his shoulder.

“I’m thinking you might have to buy a few more of those palettes before the bombs drop.”

If there were angels in hell, you’re pretty sure Michael would be the prettiest of them all.

[syphiria]

Makai Ouji Pillar 84 Translation

Once again, thank you Caramel, for the RAW.

Enjoy (or drown in despair…)…

1 [The one opposing Dantalion at Lucifer’s Castle is William’s uncle Barton!?]

2 D: Barton Why would you do things to such an extent to become Solomon’s vessel B: You would not understand, demon

3 That time with the carriage accident too I made just a slight mistake The plan was for a quiet death on a bed But the coachman caught tuberculosis first because of my influence I was surprised that despite that, William didn’t die He didn’t even have the ring

4 D: I won’t let you kill William I don’t give a damn about the fate of the Four Horsemen I’ll stop you right here and right now! B: It’s impossible for you D: Guh…!?

5 Why did that not work? Where has Lucifer gone! Uaaaahhh!?

6 B: For some reason, it seems like the mission of the Four Horsemen precedes principles of Heaven and Earth There are constantly wars Plagues Revolutions Calamities (*See translation note) To save the world as a whole the whole population must be adjusted accordingly Existences whom even the Devil and God cannot touch

7 That is who the Four Horsemen are

8 D: [This strength… Could it be that Lucifer has already…] B: Now, I should deal with that troublesome life Despite some physical attacks being difficult to affect me, my lifespan is the same as a human’s I’ve been bound by the fate of the Four Horsemen for a long time It’s about time for me to have my own life back

9 -and Solomon’s ring too What will happen if I bury a source of plague into your body? D: !! B: All the humans whom you come into contact with will die of tuberculosis or typhus or measles! Be cursed, Dantalion

10 From now on, you will become the god of plagues And use that body to kill William!

11 M: I will go to Hell

12 Staying like this, I’ll be found by Heaven’s Army anyway If that’s the case, I’d rather die killing Lucifer W: By yourself? K: Young Master!? W: No offence to you, but I doubt that you’ll be able to reach Hell’s Palace alone in your current state Rather than killing one another, isn’t it just absolutely impossible? Camio, how long does the shortest route to Hell’s palace take? At minimum, it would take the same amount of time that Uriel took to come before It would mean breaking through four levels W: So, that seems to be the case It’d be impossible without escorts M: Ugh

13 C: Dantalion is confronting Lucifer now I’ve told him not to do anything rash (I want to have a hand at killing Lucifer too) The report should be coming soon W: …… [His heart’s voice is leaking out… scary-] C: Samael’s goal is likely to have Solomon become the next Emperor He’s a man who will do anything to fulfil Lucifer’s wishes With Dantalion and I weakened from our standoff and Sitri permanently expulsed, Hell suddenly left with no substitute king candidates would transfer to Solomon’s hands The only conceivable person who holds as much power as Lucifer is Solomon In order to continue protecting Hell, Lucifer has chosen Solomon However, William, your sense of self is slightly too strong You’re way too much of a realist in the first place, unsuitable as a vessel K: ……

14 So that means that when the Young Master dies, Solomon’s soul will move to the one with the next strongest blood W: So my uncle killed my father in order to become Solomon… When a demon is weakened …They fall into slumber like Astaroth, right? For hundreds of years

15 [-That’s why at that time, he… That was a gesture of farewell Because he and Camio planned to take one another out…] …I’m going to Hell too K: Young Master!?

16 W: No matter who becomes the ruler of Hell, at this rate, war will break out above ground If those Four Horsemen are acting My Uncle and Christian will increase the number of factories Polluting the air and rivers, spreading plague -Will you too, Mathers? What disaster will you bring? M: I’ve said before that the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse rarely assemble together W: Why?

17 M: Simply-put, it’s because this world will be destroyed As far as I’ve researched, although the Four Horsemen have bodies of human beings, they don’t have a life as a human They live for their mission only What to do is predetermined; after being born as one of the Four Horsemen, you ultimately use all your effort to fulfil that mission W: Is that the case for you too? M: Truthfully, I’m not really sure Having studied theology, having studied science, I even ended up trying my hand in occultism After working at the Hand of God, I became bored of that too and created a secret society I don’t know if that is going just as someone planned

18 Does it look like that I am being controlled? W: No M: The way of thinking that whatever I do is part of someone’s will I’ve somewhat had enough of that life I decided to support you because I thought that Solomon might have some sort of special power Power enough to break free from fate W: Fate… M: However, after meeting Arthur and hearing about your Uncle, I’ve understood

19 (*See translation note) Arthur administers authority Your uncle is the rider who administers pestilence Then I must be one of the two remaining Either calamity Or war- Don’t bother; no matter how highly ranked an angel or demon is, you won’t even be able to scratch me

20 But I can’t misuse that either W: So the point is …It’ll be fine if we keep an eye on you M: ! W: If you unconsciously stir up a war or cause a calamity, we’ll stop you with all our power That’s fine right? M: vivere est militare. (to live is to fight) (N/ From Seneca’s Letters (Epist. 96,5)) I shall assist you until that time comes

21 W: -Perfect, it’s time for a war council! Firstly, we’ll go to Hell and retrieve that idiot Meeting the Devil or something while we’re at it And make him pay for messing around with us for all this time The apology can be cash With that money, we can buy back Stradford’s land that Arthur bought Camio, if you want to hit your father, feel free to have a parent-child quarrel for as long as you like C: I wonder if hitting him will be enough W: Finally, it seems like that self-invited geezer over there will finish everything off M: …… K: But how do you plan to go to Hell?

22 Both the Twining house and Etna have been sniffed out by Heaven’s Army The problem is if Michael will be able to hold with any other method… [Bringing everyone and breaking in head-on is impossible even for me] I: William! There’s t-t-t-t-trouble! W: What is it? We’re busy! I: Just look outside! W: The Yard!? (N/Scotland Yard) Shoot, someone must have reported the disturbance earlier…!!!

23 M: No… There’s no need to panic It seems like destiny is taking your side, William Hey, old friend SY: Mathers! Why are you in a place like this? [I’ve met this guy somewhere…]

24 M: It seems as if I have no choice but to invite you to our society To my ‘Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn’! (N/Ordo Hermeticus Aurorae Aureae – an actual organisation founded by Samuel Mathers and two others who were both called William) [At Mathers’ invitation, William will…!?]

Translation Note:

Regarding the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, the Japanese words the author chose to use for the representation of each rider is slightly different from the usual English ones. I debated on whether to use the normal English representations or to faithfully stick to the Japanese. I've decided to stick with the Japanese as there have been other cases where the author has taken creative liberty with the religious context (meanings of words such as Nephilim and Ophanim, etc.).

For those interested in religious accuracy, here's my take:

I think the author has used 'revolution' and 'authority' for the first rider in place of 'Conquest' - also taking into account the Christ/Antichrist representation, I'd say that Arthur Christian is the rider of the white horse.

'War' remains the same on both accounts.

+  4. In Japanese, the word '災害' for 'calamity'/'disaster' is used. I chose to translate it as 'calamity' as it sounds better in context. Now, given that Barton represents 'plague'/'pestilence', I'm assuming he is supposed to be the fourth rider, 'Death' (and not the first because of Arthur). This would make 'calamity' the author's third rider, in place of 'Famine'.

(@imey-chan, you may have to include an extra page to fit all this in)

And that’s it! God, I have so many thing I’d like to rant about.

Firstly, woah this chapter was dense to translate; it took me way longer than usual - I had to rethink several phrases as they could be translated in several different ways. Plus all that religious stuff...

Secondly, I'd really like to punch Barton in the face. How could he do that to Dantalion!!! How could you deprive him of any potential human contact!? (´；ω；｀)

Thirdly, the Golden Dawn finally made an appearance!! I've been waiting for the author to include the Order ever since Mathers was made a character. I wonder what role they'll take on in this story...

As always, feel free to point out any mistakes. Good luck waiting for another month!