#also he’s seemed vaguely friendly to uriel in the past

[pttucker]

[Constellation who likes to change genders is persuading Constellations.] …Huh? [Using masterful conversational techniques, the Constellation who likes to change genders is arguing that this fight will not be good for either side.] I couldn't figure out what's going on with this situation. …The Constellation who likes to change genders was doing what?

Loki supporting his fellow silver-tongued trickster.

Though now I fear what Dokja has unknowingly promised him, especially since Loki was quick to say that it’s a “very small favor” definitely not related to changing gender.

Actually, now that I think about it…

Goes to check something

"By the way, are you a couple?" "…It is just a coincidence. It is a common design." [The constellation 'Demon-like Judge of Fire' is delighted for an unknown reason.] [A constellation who likes to change gender has shining eyes.]

…Yeahhhh

What exactly did you agree to, Dokja?

[dangomilkies]

oc; jian cherith

Name: Jian Cherith

Age: 24

Date of birth: December 2, 1997

Relatives: Uriel Cherith (father), Meihui Cherith (mother - deceased), Lixue Cherith (twin sister),

Appearance: Jian is a tall, slender young man with Eurasian features, he has dark brown (almost black) short hair, fluffy hair. He also has stark gold eyes. His clothing consists of a blazer and a plain shirt or a button-up. He resembles his mother Meihui.

Personality: Jian is an amiable and a shaman genius as he took up shamanism when he was younger back when his mother is still alive. Unlike his sister who vaguely remembers how their mother died, he believed she had gotten sick thanks to his father altering the painful memories. He also is an honorable man and believing in protecting the weak and vowed to be strong to protect someone he truly cared about, he is brash but he also speaks so eloquently, and sophisticated manner, a true gentleman on the outside but also has a nerdy side to him. However, he also tends to be merciless and would resort to underhanded tactics when necessary but even this he tried to suppress as he could go on without any second thought. He also is an impulsive buyer and even would have transactions at hand without calculating the cost causing him to panic and go to his sister to pay for him instead. The main difference between the twins, he is more amicable and friendly. While his sister prefers solitude and is a total icy person.

Biography: Hailing from a family similar situation with the Fragas, except the Cherith swear an oath to the fairies and even had affairs with them, and their loyalty was rewarded via their magecraft aligning to the family’s main thaumaturgy granted that they should not reveal any trace of the fairy’s magecraft in public or to other mages, in the standard’s of the Mage’s Association, they aren’t even on top let alone the Tohsaka’s and other aptly famous lineages are more superior. The Cheriths are more aligned with elemental magecraft but some were born with Imaginary Numbers or Hollow magecraft, despite being born with fairy blood in their veins, the family still needed to learn and study from scratch albeit it increases the chance of getting Divine Patterns than Magic Circuits. Those born with Divine Patterns in the family are absolutely rare and those who were born with wouldn’t live past eighteen if they kept performing magecraft more and more. When they die, their remains were preserved and transferred to another child in hopes they would inherit it, the last person who was born with Divine Patterns is in the mid-1850s. The Cheriths do not wish to involve themselves in any situation with the mages holding true to the promise, or rather, contracts made to the fairies many years ago but they seem to act like a normal family from an outsider view, the children are not well-versed with magecraft as the parents or their father thought the magecraft would be automatically ingrained into their children performing it with ease, while in reality, they are painfully mediocre due to lack of training though it wasn’t until their father’s suggestion to make them practice so it won’t waste away their potentials.

Those who were born with Divine Patterns were kept away from the outside world as they are known to be special and refuse any contacts besides their own family (other relatives are also shunned in fear they would be used or exposed to the Sealing Designation). They are given education at least and were trained enough, as they grow older, they are still caged and were given limited contact. These people are seen as a conduit or a channel to humans and fairies, but they keep to themselves and don’t let anyone know their secret due to the family’s unique circumstance that be targeted by the Enforcers.

Jian is born to parents, Uriel and Meihui Cheriths, the twin of Lixue Cherith. Both Uriel and Meihui had her sheltered and raised carefully and peacefully alongside her twin Lixue until they are ultimately hunted down by Enforcers, and how they are found is unknown, they are forced to flee. Meihui is killed in the process of protecting her children, causing Uriel to raise the children by himself.

Unlike his twin sister, Jian lacks divine patterns but has magic circuits which is much more higher than an average mage, his origin being Enigma allows him to sense otherworldly beings such as ghosts or heroic spirits with man attribute blending with the humans. He also practices shamanism in his late teens

Jian attended elementary and secondary unlike his sister causing him to have few circle of friends.

He attended school and managed to finish both highschool and college, he has no interest on inheriting the funeral parlor.

[pengychan]

[Good Omens] Winging It - 2 Kings 1:6

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:  my keyboard sort of died halfway through the chapter, so I've been typing directly on the screen of my tablet. Haaaaate. If you notice any misspellings in this chapter, now you know why.

***

In the end, finding Gabriel had been a simple matter of looking for reports of sudden, unusual lighting. And as far as such phenomena go, ball lighting is among the rarest of them all; for it to be reported right above Soho Square the previous night, along with a curious hole in the ground… well, it was quite the red flag. A red flag that let out the most distinctive fishy smell. 

And if there was something Sandalphon was good at following, it was fishy smells. In this one specific case, he didn’t think he’d have to follow it very far. He knew exactly who he’d find only a couple of streets away, close enough even for a weakened Gabriel to stagger to.

“... You think he might have turned to Aziraphale?” Michael had asked, seemingly unconvinced. Uriel, on the other hand, had been quicker to agree with his theory.

“Assuming that is the spot where he fell, Aziraphale is the closest angel he could hope to find.”

“If he is indeed still an angel, given that Hellfire did not harm him.”

“He has God’s protection,” Uriel had muttered, her voice bitter. “We have to assume he is.”

“And Gabriel was hurt. We were not allowed to heal him before he was sent down. He might have thought he could do that,” Sandalphon had added, despite not really knowing whether or not Gabriel had been able to think at all. When they let him go after taking his wings from him, to be cast out, he was barely coherent - barely conscious, falling limply from their grip. 

“And why would he think Aziraphale of all angels would help him?” Michael had asked, only to gain herself a long look from Uriel. 

“Who else could he turn to? He has nothing and no one on Earth.”

He still has us up here, Sandalphon had thought, but it had remained unspoken. “He used to be friendly enough with this human tailor,” he’d said. “He made him good clothes. Gabriel always had a taste for human clothing.”

“... And when was that?”

“Well, that was in the middle of the Regency, so-- ah. Right. Humans and their life spans.”

In the end, he’d volunteered to go check himself; despite having no desire to see Aziraphale up close ever again, just in case he shot Hellfire towards him again somehow, he was the one with the best knowledge of London. 

And it hadn’t taken long for him to know his intuition had been correct: he’d been just across the street - it looked like someone had smashed their car into a pole - when the door had opened. And out they had walked, all three of them: the demon, Aziraphale... and Gabriel, somehow unsteady on his feet but unharmed.

He’d almost lost them several times in the few minutes that followed, because the driving of whoever was behind the wheel positively insane. The cab driver he’d flagged down - and who’d reacted to his request to follow that car with a frankly puzzling “Oh, I’ve been waiting for this all my life!” - could barely manage to follow, and would have probably been left in the dust if they hadn’t stopped only a few streets away. 

Gabriel had looked… just a little green in the face when he’d left the car, and had paused to speak to Aziraphale, who from his part didn't seem in the slightest bit antagonizing. It was a relief, really, considering that Gabriel would be powerless to defend himself should he decide to take revenge. Or the demon, certainly the demon would want to harm him; if he hadn't, Sandalphon could only assume Aziraphale had him on a tight leash. Even from across the street - entirely unaware of the fly sitting on the roof of the Bentley - he could smell sulphur and evil.

In the end, both Aziraphale and the demon had left, and Gabriel had gone inside the hotel. Sandalphon had decided to wait a short while before going in as well, in case those two came back for whatever reason. So he walked in a bar across the street - if he’d known humans only marginally better, he would have also known that ‘an angel walks in a bar’ would be an excellent start for a joke - and ordered a mug of the bitter beverage humans enjoy. 

“... Coffee?” a waiter asked, only slightly perplexed; soon enough, waitressing would destroy what was left of his will to live and he would no longer feel surprised at anything anymore. 

“Yes, that,” Sandalphon agreed - he would know, he reasoned, it was his job - and sat there, sipping the bitter liquid that was brought to him, before he pulled out the phone Michael had given him. A special sort of phone, with a reception and data plan that was, quite simply, not of that world. 

Michael answered in the middle of the very first ring. “Well…?”

“I found him.”

A long sigh of relief. “How is he?”

“Haven’t spoken to him yet, but he seems… reasonably well, all things considered. He did turn to Aziraphale. The demon was there, too.”

“And they didn’t harm him?”

“Not that I could see. They left him in a hotel. I’ll go in as soon as I have finished this…” Sandalphon paused. “Hey, uh… servant?” He wasn’t entirely certain what they were called nowadays, but that was the gist of it, he supposed. “What is this beverage again?”

As another small part of his soul withered and died, the waiter - a young student who was wondering if a history degree was truly worth nine thousand pounds a year, considering that those who study history are doomed to watch those who don’t repeat it anyway - forced himself to smile. “Coffee, sir.”

“Coffee. Not bad, perks you up. Maybe Gabriel would like some.”

“... Do ask him. But first and foremost, make sure he knows that we’re here to help him.”

“Of course,” Sandalphon said, and ended the call with the absolute, idiotic certainty that Gabriel would be overjoyed to see him. 

***

“Ugh.”

The book sailed through the air in an elegant arc to land somewhere in the vicinity of the wastebasket. Sitting on the bed, face contorted in disgust, Gabriel faintly wished he could will it to catch fire. What he’d just read about human bodily functions was… ugh. Ugh.

‘Disgust’ wasn’t something he had often felt towards humanity - usually there was a vague interest at times and polite disinterest most others - but now it certainly was his strongest feeling. His current condition suddenly seemed even more of a punishment; all the showers he could possibly take wouldn’t help make it better. He was never going to feel clean again.

Never going to feel whole again, either.

On his back, over his shoulder blades, the ragged scars where his wings had been ached. Not the physical sort of ache he’d had a quite literal crash course in over the past twenty-four hours, but something deeper, throbbing worse than any infection - worse than the hunger he was desperately trying to ignore, the contents of the small fridge in his room untouched on the desk. Gabriel’s voice rang through the empty room as a raspy whisper. “I’m sorry.” 

Could God hear him? Or rather, would God lend an ear to what he had to say - a disgraced angel cast out of Heaven, away from Their glory? He didn’t know. All he had was hope and he would cling to that. After all, however much he felt like it, he was not in Hell. So maybe… maybe there was hope for him yet. Gabriel looked up, and sank on his knees beside the bed.

“I meant well. I thought I was upholding the greater good. I never meant to take Your judgment upon myself. If I did-- I’m sorry. Forgive me. Please, let me come home. I won’t fail you again.”

There was the faintest echo of his own voice, and then… silence. Outside someone in the road shouted an insult that might have been meant for someone’s mother or their cat, it was hard to tell. A door somewhere in the hallway was opened and shut again. Nothing else happened.

Of course not. I need a Circle to speak with God, or at least to his Voice.

Only that of course, he had no idea how to make one, because he never needed to try contacting God - or rather, Metatron; no one had spoken directly to God in eons - all the way from Earth. Even if he could, would God take his call at all?

Why would They? Who do you think you are, that God would give you audience?

The Archangel Gabriel.

Not anymore.

I thought I was someone important.

You never were.

I thought…

Prideful fool.

Gabriel’s missing wings ached, his stomach cramped, and he went from kneeling to curling up on the floor, eyes shut. A memory tried to resurface, that of being held on the ground by two pairs of hands, of a weigh on him as his wings were torn away, and he shut his eyes tighter.

“At least tell me why,” he choked out. “Why me? Why only me?”

Silence. Something bubbled into the pit of despair in him, something hot and bitter that was not, as Sandalphon would have gleefully suggested, coffee. It was burning anger, against his predicament and, even more dangerously, against God.

Am I hearing you say God got it wrong? That you know better than the Almighty?

A crime born of pride.

Or you admit that God got it right, and you deserve this? You can't have it both ways, Gabe.

“They assisted me! Worked with me, made decisions with me-- we were equals in everything!” 

And they truly had been, him and Michael especially, utterly loyal since even before the first war. God’s warrior, and God’s messenger. How could it be that, for the same crime, one was condemned and the other carried out the sentence? How could it be fair, how could it be just?

I am Gabriel, that stand in the presence of God.

Not anymore. I am no one, and I am alone.

“I always did my best - I… I deserve an explanation!” Gabriel choked out, beyond caring how blasphemous the notion was, that God owed him anything. “A word! A sign! Anything!”

“Ah, give up. Either God has the worst reception, or they really don’t care to speak to any of us,” a voice rang out suddenly, and it caused Gabriel freeze - both because it was unexpected, and because it was a voice he knew; one that couldn’t possibly be further away from God’s.

Sitting on the bed like it was a throne, towering over his huddled form on the floor and surrounded by a cloud of sulphur, was the Prince of Hell.

***

Beelzebub quite enjoyed towering over others. They enjoyed lording over others as well, being a Prince of Hell and Lord of the Flies, which generally came easier. ‘Towering’ is honestly the hard part, when your usual form is fairly diminutive in size. Therefore, they quite appreciated Gabriel’s choice to lower himself on the floor; it was a promising start for their new work relationship. 

Of course it wasn’t them he had lowered himself for, but it mattered not. He would, in time. Sooner or later. Possibly sooner.

Beelzebub, Prince of Hell and Lord of the Flies, was not known for their patience.

“What-- you? What are you doing here?”

That was… no appropriate way to greet one’s new superior either; Beelzebub supposed they could excuse it, if anything because Gabriel had a lot to process at the moment and, last they had met, they had worked on opposite sides essentially as equals. It was a big change, something  angels did not do well with.

Yes, they could excuse him. They just chose not too. As Gabriel scrambled to sit up, Beelzebub gave him an unimpressed look.

“That is no way to greet your superior. I believe ‘your Lordship’ or ‘sir’ would serve better.”

That gained them a rather stupid look as Gabriel sat up, still on the ground. “But… you’re not.”

All right, so maybe he either wasn’t as clever as he made himself seem, or was still quite deep in denial. Beelzebub rolled their eyes and stood, coming to tower - ah how they loved that word - directly above Gabriel. “You are Fallen,” they said, in the slow voice you’d use for a very slow child. Or at least, so Beelzebub assumed. It wasn’t often they spoke with very slow children or any children at all, with the exception of the not-Antichrist. Although dealing with especially slow demons probably came close enough. “Therefore, you now belong in Hell. I am here to claim you. You will work under my supervision and--”

“What-- no!” Gabriel protested, and moved to stand; a look from Beelzebub was enough for him to reconsider, but he did glare up at them. "That voice in my head, telling me all the worst-- it was you!"

"Uh, no. You're just going crazy."

“Ah." Gabriel had the good grace to look embarrassed before speaking again. "I-- I am not Fallen.”

“No? You seem to have landed quite heavily.”

If the remark stung, Gabriel did not let it show. “On Earth, not in Hell,” he argued. “You have no claim on me!”

Beelzebub snorted. “You still fell, and I expect you to tell me the reason why. Am I supposed to care for the fine print?”

“You-- always cared about the fine print!” Gabriel protested, and truth be told, it was one thing they had in common… with one important distinction. 

“I care about the fine print when it benefits me.”

The notion seemed to downright offend him. “You can’t do that! And… and if I were meant for Hell, I would not have landed on Earth! It must mean something."

Ah, look at him, clinging to details because it was all he could hold onto in his desperate certainty he was still special, one of God’s golden archangels. With another roll of their eyes, Beelzebub held out a hand. To a casual observer, it might have looked like a nice gesture to help him up; Gabriel, knowing better, stared at that hand like one would stare at a claw about to tear the soul out of their body.  

“You bore me. Now, come. No reason to make it more difficult for yourself. We prepared a nice spot for you in Hell.” As nice as a spot in Hell got, anyway. Which wasn’t very nice, or else it wouldn’t be Hell, but Gabriel could probably guess.

Somehow, the former Archangel Gabriel - who at the moment looked like garbage, however much Beelzebub tended to appreciate garbage - found the audacity to sneer. “You cannot claim me and you know it. Mortals are beyond your grasp unless they offer up their soul, or get to the end of their life doomed to Hell.”

Taking a mental note to leave leave him to Dagon for a bit once they got back - they didn’t call her Master of Torments for nothing - Beelzebub sneered right back.

“That is not a long wait,” they pointed out. The reminder of how pathetically short human lives were knocked that smirk off his face, at least. “And I could make it even shorter with a snap of my fingers.”

“I--” fear twisted Gabriel’s features for a moment, then he forced himself to scowl. A valiant attempt, Beelzebub had to concede. “But you won’t.”

“Oh?”

“There is no telling whether my soul would be claimed by Heaven or Hell if you destroy this vessel now,” Gabriel retorted and, for Satan’s sake, of course he was right. Trying to claim his soul now against his will could very well backfire, giving him a ticket straight back to Heaven and leaving them empty-handed. Still…

“... You’re not certain yourself, are you?” Beelzebub tilted their head on one side. “Or else you would have already ended it.”

“I…” Gabriel scowled, cheeks reddening like the Prince of Hell had just unveiled a shameful secret, a shameful weakness. “E-either way, you won’t take the risk.”

Beelzebub narrowed their eyes. “So, you won’t make this easy. Very well.” They sneered, leaning forward and causing that infuriating, pompous idiot to shrink, trying to scoot back on his hands and backside across the floor, away from them and towards the door. “I’ll claim your soul the old-fashioned way. I’ll be your shadow from now on. I’ll whisper temptations in your ear every day of your sad, little, short human lifespan - until it runs out and you’ll be ours.”

Truth be told, as a high-ranking demon mostly based in Hell, Beelzebub was severely out of practice when it came to tempting humans to their side… but that was a detail Gabriel needed not know. And besides, how hard could it be? They would brush up their skills in no time, the Lord of the Flies was sure of it.

“Y-you-- I--” Gabriel, who had paled a little more with each word Beelzebub uttered, had to swallow before his spoke. When he did, his voice was probably shakier than he would have liked. “It won’t work. I won’t let you tempt me. If this is God’s test for me--”

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself. God doesn’t care about you all that much, and besides I am not their delivery boy. I am here for Hell’s sake. And once I do claim you, you will regret making me wait.”

Gabriel swallowed, then - showing a good deal of idiocy - scowled again. He looked about as threatening as a panda, but at least there was an attempt. “Your plan will not work. I won’t allow you to tempt me. You can’t have me.”

“Yes, yes. Many have said the same. And they have failed.”

“I will not!” Gabriel snapped, and began to stand up. “I am the Archangel Gabriel, and there is no force of Hell or Earth that will ever get me on your side. Begone, foul bea--”

“Hello? Gabriel? Anybody in?”

After the voice rang out, something interesting happened: Gabriel shrieked, and ended all attempts at getting up as though every muscle in his body had turned to cooked asparagus. He fell back on his backside to stare at the door, which was now open, with wide eyes. 

Beelzebub followed his gaze to see a familiar enough face; Sandalphon may look unassuming in that form, but they knew he could be a force to be reckoned with. The few times they had met, Sandalphon had been firmly by Gabriel's side… but right now, the former archangel looked far from pleased to see him.  He looked terrified, actually, in a way Beelzebub had failed to make him, which was rather annoying and more than slightly insulting.

What happened upstairs, anyway? Why was he cast out?

"Gabriel! Oh, here you are - we were worried. It's, er, good to see you?"

Beelzebub blinked, gaze shifting between Gabriel - who was scrambling again to get up, but mostly scooting away on the floor - and Sandalphon, who seemed to be doing his best to come across as harmless, hands raised and a nervous smile on his face. Of course, all pretense of harmlesses was gone the second his eyes fell on Beelzebub, Prince of Hell, Lord of the Flies and so forth. 

“What-- you! What are you doing here!”

Ah, the arrogance of angels - acting like the Prince of Hell owed him an explanation for being on Earth, as though they had just showed up uninvited in Heaven itself after getting on the wrong elevator. Which had only happened once or twice in millennia, really; Beelzebub considered it a pretty good going.

“Did you buy the hotel? Got carried away with your game of Monopoly?” they asked drily. The invention of Monopoly - or rather, the twisting of its intended purpose and the violence it prompted at the tables of the most respectable households - was one of Hell’s proudest achievements. Not quite up there with the absolute, brilliant chaos a game of Uno could wreak, or the utter ruin of compulsive gambling, but close enough.

Sandalphon bared his teeth in a gesture that made him look fairly threatening, Beelzebub had to concede, although Dagon certainly pulled it off better. “If you so much lift a hand on him--” he began, only to trail off when Gabriel managed to find his knees and scrambled to hide… behind Beelzebub.

Well. Now that only added to their confusion, and the hands grasping at the lapel of their jacket added to their annoyance. Beelzebub turned to look down at Gabriel, who stared up at them - still on his knees, a nice change - with wide, terrified eyes. Which was… also a change, but not necessarily a nice one. Beelzebub would have enjoyed it a lot more if they had the slightest inkling as to what the Heaven was going on.

“I’m sorry,” they said, tilting their head on one side. “Do you want to lose those hands?”

“Beelzebub! Don’t you dare touch him!” Sandalphon barked. 

Oh, for Satan’s sake, had those two decided to share one single brain cell that day? 

“He is the one touching me!” Beelzebub snapped, and glared down. That gaze had made demons burst crying and, upon occasion, burst in flames. “What did I do or say that made you think you’re allowed to touch me?”

No flames, and no tears. While Gabriel looked paler, and the grip on the lapels of their jacket only tightened. “Don’t let him get me.” 

Beelzebub, Prince of Hell and Lord of the Flies, opened their mouth. Then, failing to think of anything at all he could retort to that, they closed it. Opened it again. Closed it again. 

What. In. The. World. Is. Going. On. 

Still near the door, Sandalphon sputtered. “Gabriel what-- I’m not going to-- that was God’s order, I couldn’t-- didn’t want to--”

Well well well. The more they talked, the more interesting the picture became. Confused, but still interesting. Something had happened, and the more Beelzebub knew, the more they could use to make their case and convince Gabriel to take his rightful place in Hell. “What did you do to him?”

“I-- it wasn’t me, Michael--” Sandaphon began, then trailed off when his brain caught up with his tongue. His lost expression turned into anger again. “I have nothing to explain to you, demon.”

Beelzebub sneered. “It is Prince of Hell to you,” they said. “So-- Michael. What did Michael do to him? What did God order you to do?”

“I owe no explanation--”

Beelzebub looked away from him, down at the… former archangel still holding on the lapels of their jacket. He was looking at Sandalphon, too, hiding behind them like a scared mortal child, but looked up when Beelzebub spoke. “What did they do to you?”

Gabriel swallowed, and his voice was barely audible when he spoke. “My wings.”

Gone, of course. Mortals have no wings. They took them.

Now that was… callous. Heaven wasn’t tender with those it deemed unworthy of being there anymore, but even them - even Satan - got to keep their wings. As a whole, making him mortal was callous; more powerless than any demon. And of course, of course God would get other angels, his friends, to do the dirty work for them; they rarely struck anyone personally nowadays. 

There was a degree of sadism in that way of handling things that, Beelzebub suspected, even Satan himself could not hope to match. Not that they would go saying as much aloud; Satan would most certainly take offense.

“Did you at least try to argue? Or did you just turn on him like vultures on a carcass?”

“Argue with God?” Sandalphon looked horrified at the mere thought. “Of course not, we-- you-- ah, you’d do that, wouldn’t you? You did, and look where it got you!”

“And so you threw him down rather than leap yourselves,” Beelzebub muttered, and scoffed. “Of course you would. No surprise there.” 

Not that Hell would precisely flock at the defense of a demon condemned by Satan himself, but that was entirely beside the point. The point there was making Heaven look bad - and it wasn't like they got many chances to do that. The guys upstairs had infuriatingly good PR and fan clubs across the world, some of which would put most demons to shame. An amazing percentage of them did, in fact, turn up in Hell once their life was done. They were rarely happy about their placement, but who ever was?

The angel’s features twisted in fury. “We had no choice, and you know it!”

A scoff. “Don’t be ridiculous, of course you did. You could have chosen to refuse and take the fall with him.”

“I...” Sandalphon hesitated, and looked down at Gabriel, once again looking very lost. Beelzebub felt the grip on the lapels of their jacket tightening, heard a sharp intake of breath. “Gabriel, we--”

“You dropped him the moment God told you to,” Beelzebub sneered. “God forsook him and so did you.”

“We didn’t want--”

“But you did. And now you think you can come uninvited and force your presence on him?”

“He’s not yours, Beelzebub!”

“Neither he’s yours. And you don’t want him back.”

“You know nothing! We do want--”

“Oh? And what are you going to do? Argue with God to allow him back? Please. You won’t do it and you know it.”

No answer; Sandalphon had enough sense, at least, not to deny that. He stilled, face pale, and looked back down at Gabriel - silent, helpless. Beelzebub held back a sneer, and glanced down as well. 

“Want me to get him to leave?”

For a few moments, there was no reply; Gabriel stayed on his knees, gaze low, saying nothing. Then, slowly, he let go of Beelzebub’s jacket, reached up to wipe his face - ah, yes, humans leaked that way - and stood. Sowly, still behind them, but he stood and drew in a long breath. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse,  but with a degree of coldness to it that hadn’t been there before. 

“... If you please,” he said.

Sandalphon’s eyes turned wide as saucers. "What? No, Gabriel, you can't-- listen to me--"

"I begged you to stop."

"Gabriel--"

"You didn't listen."

"It was God's will, you know we couldn't-"

All right, that was enough. A gesture of Beelzebub's hand, and a swarm of flies materialized right outside the open window. They barged in, buzzing furiously, and surrounded Sandalphon, who could only cry out and stumble back through the door. Another gesture, and the door slammed shut - a curtain of Hellfire covering it, to keep any angel from coming in again. 

"That ought to keep them out for a good while," they muttered. There was no answer; behind them there was only a long sigh, the creak of a mattress' springs.

They turned to see Gabriel sitting back on the bed, burrowing his face into shaky hands. He drew in a deep breath before uttering something that was… rare for the Prince of Hell to hear.

"... Thank you."

Well, look at that. Maybe, entirely by accident, they were on to something. The long-held belief that you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar was quite frankly a load of crap - especially in the case of fruit flies who are attracted by vinegar like nothing else - but perhaps, when it came to catching a former archangel, a different approach may be needed.

And Beelzebub might have just found the right angle.

"... All right," they said calmly, and sat down at well, chin resting on their fist. "Tell me what happened."

***

"And they said to him, a man came up to us and told us to go back to the king and give him this message. ‘This is what the Lord says: Is there no God in Israel? Why are you sending men to Baal-zebub, the god of Ekron, to ask whether you will recover? Therefore, because you have done this, you will never leave the bed you are lying on; you will surely die.’" 2 Kings 1:6

***

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[dorksndisasters]

Session 7; The Notes

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I almost forgot. And then I didn’t! So it’s all good.

Ophi’s player couldn’t make this session, so we fobbed her off on work while the rest got on with shenanigans.

Shenanigans involving attempted murder and a new NPC!!

###

In the wreckage of the Not-So-Hidden-Camp, with a trussed up Aelfswild at their feet, the group decide to head back to the city

[hopefully putting the tents that are on fire out but honestly I forgot about them until too late. It’s probably fine]

Rarder, who is on duty at the gate (as per) is mildly confused about how they got out, having been updated by Aewyth re the whole “ok we might have arrested them but they made a persuasive argument as to why it wasn’t their fault now I guess they’re tracking down the guy that framed them” shenanigans but not realising that they’d left the city, because. You know. he’s been on the gate all morning and no one’s seen you go past the first time but sure.

Carric proceeds to give him mushrooms that’ll help him “get laid” with Haucey [chaotic good to the max]

Rarder is even more confused but lets you in; Set tips him a wink and a vaguely flirty salute as they pass

There’s absolutely totally nothing to see as you travel through the city with Aelfswild in tow behind you

Ophi is apprehended by a runner from the Knave & Cauldron; Aldehrt [he runs the place] is less than impressed that she’s missed a couple of shifts so she’s gotta go make them up just now. Bye Ophi!

~Arrival at the command centre~

You make a little bit of a scene dragging Aelfswild in and dropping him at Aewyth’s desk. Set may be revelling in the drama of it all, and boosts himself up to sit on the table in the corner of the room, making himself v at home here. Aewyth is either ignoring him or doesn’t seem to mind [despite him having been in the cells with Ophi & Uriel this morning for something you’re not quite sure about, but hey]

She gets Haucey to take Aelfswild to a proper cell. Set makes remarks as to the integrity of the cells upstairs; Aewyth pointedly asks if there isn’t somewhere else he should be, so Set laughs and says farewell and lets you know he’ll be at the feet of the Stone Giant in the Highlamp District

Aewyth doesn’t have anything else for you right now (and like a lot of paperwork to get through after the cellbreak this morning and now this) but says the charges against Ophi & Uriel are… suspended while they question Aelfswild.

~attempted murder~

Upon leaving the building, you spot a kobold tryna follow the guards that are taking Aelfswild away.

Marask crows up and flies over, changes back and asks him what he’s doing. Subsequently throws him off his groove and he lies, badly. Marask is loud and friendly and when the kobold tries to run, catches him by the hood and headbutts him, dragging him into the strong afternoon sunlight, which he Does Not Like. He’s got so many knives on him, guys.

Carric attempts to cast a truth spell on the kobold; fails

Marask attempts to threaten him with Uriel, who’s keen to cut off his fingers, but apparently she just ain’t intimidating enough (it’s probably because he can’t see all that good in the sunlight) and then just persuades him

he’s here to murder Aelfswild

so the group ties him up and turfs him into Aewyth’s office

[At this point, I remembered that Uriel was like a hair’s breadth from being mostly dead, so we stopped to heal. Marask gave her two pies to fully heal self, and also gave one to Carric for her own supplies]

Aewyth gets the kobold’s name out of him; this is Driany! [quick refresh; Driany was the kobold hired at the Scriptorium just before the Hanging of the Empress was stolen, and subsequently disappeared without a trace]

Driany breaks free of the ropes and tries to top himself with a concealed knife. Marask stops him by knocking him to the ground, effectively disarming him

Uriel also kicks him while he’s down, just for the hell of it.

Carric senses there’s a spell on Driany (Arcane Knowledge check; pass) that is compelling him to either kill Aelfswild or himself. Or possibly both.

Carric fashions a facsimile of Aelfswild and they let Driany loose on it.

He goes straight up feral, all kicking and biting until he’s satisfied it’s dead

Marask pulls the facsimile outside the room before it disappears

Driany acts like he’s coming out of a trance; seems very confused about where he is, who everyone is, what’s happening etc

Aewyth takes lead on questioning him and finds out that once he was hired for the Scriptorium (Bondua referred him [forgot to say that my bad]), he was blindfolded and taken to a nondescript room that he could tell was underground, but had no real defining features to it. While no one else was in the room with him, he heard a distorted voice (possibly reciting a spell, or instructions?) and everything’s blank from there)

Aewyth groans and tells you to meet Setareh, who’ll take you to an old friend who might know more about this than she does. She doesn’t seem… happy to send you there? Like it’s gotta be done but she doesn’t like the idea of asking whoever for help

The Stone Giant is one of the “notable places” in the Highlamp District; said to be an avatar of Death, it looks to be a real petrified giant that looms over the square, caught mid-stride. Nothing grows in its shadow.

Setareh is waiting between its feet and seems delighted to see everyone so soon. There are friendly cheek kisses between him and Marask, and he ushers you in to a small shack-like building that’s hidden back behind one of the bigger houses that fronts the square.

In here is Aszaccixl, a lizardfolk warlock. He asks for a brief rundown of what brings you to him (Aelfswild and his minor-major thefty hijinks) and seems pleased, like you’ve brought him the missing piece of his puzzle.

Explains that he’s been investigating the rumours of corruption in the council since before he parted from the guard, there’s definitely something Big happening behind the scenes.

Suggests that it may be an idea to go back and search Aelfswild’s office for anything important he might have left behind there

[but uh in-game it’s also getting late like dang it’s been a long day, ya get me? Probably an idea to kick back maybe. Find Ophi. See if she’s finished her make up shifts or whatever]

EXP gain: Carric – 105, Marask – 110, Ophi – 25, Uriel – 105

[imagine-darksiders]

I saw your scenario for the horseman, Karn, and I think Samael getting a shy kiss on the cheek from their human companion, so I was wondering if we could get the same for Azrael, Wicked K, the Crowfather, Uriel, Hunter, and Draven plz - gotta love them underappreciated characters :3 (I was gunna say Abaddon as well, but I can't think of a way that wouldn't be creepy - he scares me...)

Azrael:“Angel of Death. Serve me one last time..”

Azraelopened his mouth to speak, eyes flickering between War and you beforehe shut it slowly and nodded with a solemn frown. The angel raisedhis hand, ready to send War, in a blaze of fire, to meet theDestroyer. But Azrael was interrupted, only momentarily, by a smallhand tugging on his sleeve. He raised an eyebrow, surprised andglanced down to see you standing on the ground with a sad expression.

IgnoringWar’s huff of impatience, you frantically wave Azrael down closerto your height. He smiles amusedly, dropping to the ground andlowering his face so that you don’t have to strain so far. 

Quick as a flash, you bounce up onto your toes and land a short, amiable kiss on his slender cheek. 

Azrael’s jaw goes slack for a comical moment, his eyes bursting wide open simultaneously and he releases a tiny ‘oh’ of astonishment. The angel remains bent low over even as you pull away and move to stand next to the horseman. 

You call out to the stunned angel, “Just wanted to say ‘Thanks!’ For helping War.” The horseman gives you a quizzical look as his eyes flit between you and Azrael, who blinks hard, his lips pulling into an elegant, wonder-filled smile. Coughing gently into his fist, he steps towards you and places a hand almost lovingly on your cheek. 

“I was glad to have been of some assistance,” he murmurs, “it’s the least I could have done, considering what….what I…..” he trails off. You frown at his self-deprecating expression and without too much thought, you place your hand over his and squeeze it against your cheek. 

“I don’t blame you,” you whisper earnestly. His smile grows so wide, you’re sure his face will hurt tomorrow. 

WickedK: Had you not just witnessed K leap to your defence, valiantly guarding you from a pair of ferocious Grappleclaws, you wouldn’t really believe that it had happened at all. 

Time and again, the insane, theatrical wicked had jumped at the chance to connect with someone he considered ‘of a refined taste’. Evidently, he’d taken a liking to you and if you were perfectly honest, his rather charming persona and often overwhelming gentlemanliness had caught you off guard. You found yourself actually liking the weird, old wicked. 

After he’d dispatched the demons, K had scooped you up and, oddly enough, flown you out of the immediate vicinity, sitting on the top of his hat. He set your giggling self down delicately in relative safety outside one of Vulgrim’s caves. 

The wicked bows low over his bent arm, top hat in hand and cane hanging from his elbow. “There we are! Right as rain`,” he declares with a flourish of his hand. Still laughing at the sheer absurdity of your escape, you leap at K. Ignoring the rotting skin and stench of decay, you cup one of his cheeks in your hand and plant a kiss above the split of his jaw. The wicked’s brilliant, red chest flashed brightly for a second, illuminating the dark cave and forcing you to shield your eyes against the glare. When you looked up at him, K was beaming from ear to ear. “Such a marvellous gesture!” he cheers, pressing two fingers to the place you’d kissed, “simply marvellous….” 

You quirk an eyebrow up at him whilst he stares into space with a faraway look in his eyes. 

“Okay, so…I’m going to love you and leave you,” you begin with a clap of your hands, edging backwards towards Vulgrim’s glyph on the ground. K’s eyes snapped back into focus and his eerie, pale gaze landed on you. Despite his friendliness, that white stare always served to unnerve you. The wicked grins widely and throws you a wink. 

“But of course,” he sighs, “The merchant will get you back to your beloved horseman…Speaking of whom. Tell the old fellow, ‘I look forward to when next we meet….” 

TheCrowfather: The old one sat on his crooked throne with a dark scowl on his face. You perch on the arm of it, absentmindedly stroking the feathers on his collar as you ponder on your new friend’s mood. The horseman, your friend Death, had, for lack of a better word, dropped you in the Crowfather’s lap whilst he left to search for an artefact deep below the old one’s realm. Somewhere far too cold for someone like you to survive. 

You couldn’t help but to feel like a bit of an inconvenience, given the Crowfather’s attitude. He hadn’t said a word, the more you thought about it, the more you started to think that perhaps he might have appreciated a ‘Thank you’ every once in a while. After all, God knows that Death would never say it, and the old one was expected to just babysit you for at least a day or so, all without a word of thanks. 

Deciding that you had to rectify the situation, you lean your elbow on the back of the throne. “Crowfather?” The Old one opens his eyes, seemingly roused from a light nap.

“Hmm?” he hums with a tired sigh. 

Hoping that you don’t over step your bounds, you press your lips against the Crowfather’s wrinkled, sunken cheek. “Thank you so much for putting up with me today.”

He almost choked, coughing violently and thumping his chest with a gnarled fist. You blanch and place a gentle hand on his back. “Oh wow, I’m so sorry! Are you alright?” He nods breathlessly, spluttering a moment until he composed himself enough to turn his scrutinising gaze on you.

Uriel: Elatedly, you bound over to the angel as she lands on the precipice of the White Tower, having just returned from a mission with the rest of the Hellguard. She catches you when you all but crash into her and grips your shoulders, steadying you. 

“Y/n!” she exclaims, “Be still, friend! Are you that excited for my return?” You nod up at her enthusiastically, grinning. 

“Are you kidding me? I’ve been stuck with Jamaerah all evening, all he wanted to do was talk ‘systematic filing’. Like, no offence to the guy, but after the first two hours, I wanted to beat my head against a brick wall.” 

Uriel fixes her scolding frown on you, but the way her lips twitch upwards is a clear indication that she was far from disappointed. If she were really angry about your ‘insubordination’, you’d be in for a rather stern lecture. 

“Anyway,” you chirp, flinging your arms around the startled angel’s neck and pressing a quick kiss onto her soft cheek, “glad to have you back. I was worried about you!” Uriel waits for you to release her before straightening up and sending a glare at two of her Hellguard warriors who were finding the whole display highly amusing. Vaguely, you think you can make out the slightest glimpse of a blush begin to form on the cheeks you’d just kissed, but that could simply be the embarrassment of having been seen with a human hanging from her neck. 

Hunter: Perhaps it was the thrill of finding another human, alive, against all odds, in the dead-centre of an apocalypse-torn world. Perhaps it was an overwhelming need to show Hunter that he was still worth something despite having been utterly alone for the past few months. 

Whatever the reason, you realise that it mattered little in the grand scheme of things. It was simply worth the look of total bewilderment on Hunter’s face when you threw your arm over his shoulder, laughing at some old-world reference he’d just made and Death’s complete lack of comprehension. With a smile, you bump the corner of your mouth to Hunter’s rugged cheek and kiss him at an angle. The man freezes, his own chuckle cutting out entirely and you hear him swallow audibly as you lean into his side. After a few seconds of quiet, broken only by the crackling of the small fire that Hunter had built to roast something questionable over, he finally moves. Tentatively, the man turns his head to regard you with something irrevocably sad haunting his dark green eyes. “What was that for?” he breathes. 

“Well,” you start, “I just thought I ought to say thank you. I mean, you saved Death from that Phantom Guard earlier-” The horseman scoffs from the other side of the fire “-and you’re putting us up for the night. Heaven knows I needed some human company, no offence Death.” The Nephilim waves his hand dismissively whilst you throw him a wink. Turning back to the human, “You’re a good man, Hunter,” you finish and lean your head on his shoulder with a yawn. 

From his position opposite, Death watches Hunter’s face morph from one of content, to something more conflicted and unsure. “If you say so….” he mumbles.

Draven: The Blademaster growls as he watches the Chancellor berate you, once again, for your lack of civility in the presence of The Dead King. It was an unfair, uncouth scolding that was also completely unwarranted. Even the King wouldn’t say that you’d done a thing wrong. But the Chancellor seemed to have it in for you. Death seems to believe he envies your ‘alive’ status, but you aren’t so sure. 

Nevertheless, Death isn’t here right now, which meant the Chancellor could swoop in, undeterred, and strive to make your day a miserable one. What he hadn’t counted on, was Draven. With a snarl, he marches off the training circle, up the old, wooden stairs and grabs your arm, tugging you behind himself and staring the Chancellor down. The smaller ghost narrows his eyes and bares his teeth up at Draven, but doesn’t find the gall to say anything further as you’re guided back down into the relative privacy of the Undercroft. 

“You okay?” he asks, slinging an arm over your shoulder and giving you a comforting squeeze. You smile up at him and nod, your arm around his waist as you return the gesture. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Takes more than a few choice words from that blowhard to upset me,” you reply. Draven laughs whilst you move your hand from his side to his head and pull him down until you can reach his face. 

“Oi, what’re you-” He’s cut off when you place your lips against his cold, dead cheek. You pull away and look down shyly when Draven touches a hand to the spot where you kissed him. “Hell Y/n,” he coughs, smirking, “f’ I had any lips, I might return the favour.” The casual flirting is nothing new, so you giggle and shove at the Blademaster humorously. 

[mittensmorgul]

I honestly always saw a hint of something between Cas and Anna. It seemed to me like she took it personally when he wasn't on her side, and she really believed Cas wouldn't turn on her even after having been through heaven's torture. It might not have been romantic per se, but I always felt there was a lot that went unsaid when it came to that relationship. Castiel would have had to be sent to serve under her after his time with Ishim right, though? Fresh from a mission on Earth, to Anna who

eventually falls from heaven. I wonder if Cas had anything to do with it, even unintentionally. And Cas does apologize to her, which even though we already knew he was having doubts is a pretty ballsy thing to do right in front of Uriel.

Hey there! This is all fascinating, because we had a spanner thrown into what we always believed was the timeline of Cas’s service in Heaven, now that we know about Ishim having been Cas’s “superior” for a while.

But the show does love being vague about this “hierarchy” sort of stuff. I mean just in s4 we learn that Cas has some sort of authority over other angels at the start (he’s presented as Uriel’s superior at first), but then we learn that Uriel has been given charge over Cas because of Cas’s feelings for Dean being perceived as interfering with his judgment...

Then we learn that Anna WAS Cas’s superior before she fell, but also that Zachariah was Cas’s superior, as well... I mean, who even knows who was really in charge during the apocalypse? Times were a little crazy, what with all the betrayal and the secret plotting to release Lucifer and all...

I’m not sure if there were even permanently designated “flights” of angels (like Ishim’s that he referred to in 12.10), with one angel in charge of the group, or if they weren’t all just in the same garrison together and grouped into flights for particular assignments, you know?

But regardless of all that, it seems that Anna and Cas were at least on friendly terms and had trusted one another in the past. Maybe she thought he could override Heaven’s orders and wouldn’t turn her in, but she probably felt she had to at least try to bring him back around to the “right” side, but she hadn’t been enough to break through his programming in 4.21.

Dean was, one episode later.

So there’s the difference.

Cas apologized, because his reprogramming hadn’t erased the fact he knew Anna was well intentioned, and what she’d risked for him. And he had some idea of what Heaven was going to do to her, because he’d just been through that himself. He may not have remembered Naomi or her drill, but they couldn’t just wipe him blank. They still needed him to know his mission with the Winchesters for them to keep him close to them... and that was his true vulnerability.