#also reminds me of the 'a winged god a voice and a terror will appear' from ebrietas' song lyrics lol

[katyahina]

Romina, Scarlet Rot and God of Rot interpretation? What is the Abyss and what 'stagnation' has to do with Scarlet Rot?

(This is a reply for an ask I've got on my other blog) Anon I am sorry I am THIS late, I swear it was just me deliberately avoiding progressing in the DLC because I didn't want it to end + bad timing :pensive: But thank you for leaving this ask because I did want to discuss her as soon as I've met her!

What Happened:

She WAS a victim on Messmer's tyranny, and shown in the second trailer ( x )! Moreover, she originally appears to be from Belurat; not only this trailer shows Messmer specifically burning it, but also this is the exact previous scene before Romina appears:

So I am getting an impression that originally, these buds appeared in Belurat, and somehow Romina knew to relocate them somewhere else:

+ Also, if anyone here can read Japanese please let me know because I've heard that a more accurate translation would be 'she found a divinity and clung to it' or something alike! Here is the Japanese text:

全てを焼かれた教会で ロミナは異形の神性を��出し 禍々しい、朱い腐敗に縋った

焼け跡に、また蕾が芽吹くように

Abyss and Stagnation in this:

My initial interpretation was that originally, this type of buds was growing IN Belurat, and then what she saved got relocated in Rauh Ruins, but "within the scorched remains" part makes it sound as though their fate was being decided right in the moment of the tragedy! So, somehow, what later became Scarlet Rot appeared within the ruin! After all, Formless Mother is another precedent of a god originating from the tragedy:

But why would a plant-insectoid life sprout within the fire? So, basically, I'll dive into headcanons territory for this post, but hear me out! We are not sure what the 'Abyss' is, however.. what IF, when Messmer gets a bit TOO into using his powers, the power of Abyssal Serpent is capable of opening sort of a 'gateway' into somewhere else, and some kind of horror might escape that 'Abyss'?

+ I need to add that Abyss of the serpent plaguing Messmer and Abyss of the woods tormented by Frenzy are different things though; whereas serpent's Abyss is 深淵 meaning literally an abyss, Woods' Abyss is 奈落 that means Naraka (Hindu Hell)! His serpent is AKTUALY named Base Serpent, but he refers the 'Abyss' in his Stage 2 transition: '光無き、深淵の蛇が'. ( x ) In fact, his dialogue in both English and Japanese original suggests the 'Abyss' is a PLACE, where Base Serpent comes from! The mysterious space without light!

Look I can't help using this meme just deal with it fdsgfdgs So, let's say that Messmer got so unhinged that the gravity of his powers still opened up the Abyss a little, even despite the seal Marika gave to him!

The next interesting thing is that there are no traces of Scarlet Rot in Belurat, despite Romina presumably releasing/creaing it right on that spot! There ARE poisoned swamp, the illness that turns people into fly-men, and even giant Spider Scorpions that are a variant specifically developed because of Romina:

+ they likewise deal regular poison, not Scarlet Rot! Some of them developed the wings as well:

So it is more likely that what Romina allowed to live (to the worse or to the better you decide) was not yet the Scarlet Rot itself, however it developed INTO it later, together with her. But what was freed that day and what left its traces in Belurat, as well as spreading across more of the Shadow Realm with at least two villages full of man-fly sickness, was 'stagnation'!

It is a concept commonly addressed across other Fromsoft's games, specifically the stagnation of water 穢れ (kegare)! Poison and Scarlet Rot are connected through themes of poison AND stagnation of water! It is what becomes a poisonous swamp, one of the most Rot places is literally named Stillwater Cave and all that. Scarlet Rot is a 'stronger' version of the venom that becomes of stagnation!

^ (looking through this ( x ) model view video) Additionally, Romina features not only part of the scorpion but also part of the centipede, and centipedes were used as a symbol of human dregs in Sekiro and Bloodborne!

I've also noticed that Blood of Formless Mother, Scarlet Rot and Deathblight are all connected by shared themes of plantlife and spontaneoutsly sprouting winged insects! With the cursed blood, flowers quite literally grow from it and flies spawn from impurities within festering blood swamps. Deathblight are literally roots with multiple flies spawning along them + often getting to fly free too. Scarlet Rot IS associated with flowers and butterflies, and whereas Malenia herself never got insectoid wings (since wings of Goddes of Rot ARE the butterflies, like stated by Romina's incantation), her knights did:

(Close look by Zullie the Witch ( x ) as I've never took a picture)

These three scourges feel like three ugly siblings to me fsdhhfds Needless to mention that Blood Oath, Scarlet Rot and general poison incantations are crammed into the same category, and Death ones aren't here only because they're sorceries!

More interestingly, in Rauh Ruins we find not only Scarlet Rot, but also the Bloodfiends (so, the Formless Mother guys) AND Deathblight:

^ I forgot to take the picture as a proof that the Dancing Lion in Rauh uses Deathblight, so here is screenshot from this ( x ) video of battling it! There are NO Deathroots anywhere near its arena, however it summons Basylisks in the second stage and deals Deathblight damage itself! Divine beasts, additionally, are Belurat thing too!

So, we have all three of these 'affiliations' in Rauh Ruins, giving a strong impression that it is full of Belurat survivors! Whereas the man-flies sickness is found here too, Romina, Bloodfiends and death-dealing Dancing Lion all feel like they've went separate Pokemon Eevelution from the same initial 'stagnation' concept that is the sourse of fly sickness fhhsdgfds I think that either 1) it is exactly what I just joked about, and stagnation is able to naturally develop into one of these stronger "branches" over time or 2) it develops into something specific under influence of an outer god; Deathblight doesn't need 'Prince of Death' since Outer God of Death IS a thing!

Survivors of Belurat here found their affiliations, initially getting afflicted by the "clean" form of it, fly sickness Romina allowed to escape and live!

^ So yeah @ second anon, I do also think that Romina in Rauh guards what is left of her civilisation! Such as one of like, two Dancing Lions and other Hornsent that unfortunately got manfly sickness too! Except, she is not antagonistic to the Scarlet Rot or sees it as her tragedy, but on the contrary: she sympathised with it!

I know it sounds more like a fairytale than an solid theory, but my impression is that a lot of 'waste' goes into the Abyss space and supposedly should have been burnt by the Base Serpent forever! Not as something inherently evil, but just a natural part of the course of life! Eiglay is the God-Devouring serpent, too! Both of them serve as the forces that ensure everything and everybody meets their end eventually, they might even be related! Again, Dark Souls for one had ten Primordial Serpents! We know three here (Base Serpent, Winged Serpent and God-Devouring Serpent) but it could be still a throwback like Fromsoft loves doing!

I think maybe someone, at some point, believed that living forever was a better idea and might have "killed" Base Serpent and Eiglay both! As we know from Rykard's last words though, 'serpent never dies' and he probably was right!

^ Whereas Eiglay had to grow back from a tiny snake again, Base Serpent settled in Messmer's body being so tiny that it could curl behind his eye! Both needed to recover their former power, so whatever eventually slipped in the Abyss was free to persist, rot further and escape back into the living world given the chance!

+ bonus:

Trina ends up having a lot of petals and flowers as part of her body, not unlike Romina, whereas Miquella had insectoid wings at the moment of being kidnapped! The same trademarks of the 'stagnation' again!

I questioned whether it was just Crucible at first, since it also features flowers and wings! In the DLC we've learned that the Fell God himself was connected with the Crucible (Furnace Visage) and Radagon has his red hair due to the curse of his Fire Giants (Giant's Red Braid) 🤔 But.. crucibles are MANY things. It is also horns, spikes, feathered wings, scales, you name that! A LOT of aspects of organic life and not just these two! So I think the Crucible Curse is safe to stay within Morgott and Mohg, and this more likely refers to Miquella himself getting infected at some point! Whether it was having sucked Scarlet Rot out of Freya's wound, or napping in the Haligtree that was getting slowly scarlet-rotten, or both! Sure there are no traces of it left when he becomes a God, but Trina was discarded before that of course! Alternatively, he was a victim of stagnation himself due to not being able to age physically. He, himself, was a lot like Scarlet Buds that are "never to bloom". Endless child state of a body and buds that can't bloom are like eggs that can't hatch but will go terribly bad over time.. what is MORE stagnant?

Who is the God of Rot and why the pink color?

Another side of Romina is a tail of a scorpion, and the giant variant of Spider Scorpions is said to be the result of her actions! At the same time, God of Rot itself was scorpion-like!

I think this makes it... oddly coincidential, that God of Rot is a scorpion at least partially, whereas scorpions are native for the Shadow Realm AND were important animals for Belurat! Like I said before, Belurat strangely has no signs of Scarlet Rot for a place where Romina presumably created/unleashed it!

So, maybe rather than God of Rot already existing as is, it received a particular form in the 'outside' world! I'd say the same for Formless Mother, but her form is ABSENSE of form kind of fdhshdfs Maybe 'receiving the character' is a better way to describe it! Formless Blood, Scarlet Rot and most likely Deathblight didn't exist "outside" but developed from the shared source, and their gods (at least two of them) were born thanks to people! God of Rot might have manifested from a giant scorpion Romina took special care of, or a scorpion who got the 'divine' energy for another reason since giant variants are still not JUST in Rauh! Again, like how Formless Mother manifested in the shadow of a corpse of someone else! The Scarlet Rot became a thing thanks to Romina, developing within her over time!

Again, this is just my idea that Outer Gods are "born" in "our" world rather than simply exist as is, especially since 'outer' is just a type of gods meant to be discerned from Marika's family and who are like Lovecraftian mythos! I just think so because the scorpions connection is a bit too coincidential! It is not necessary!

Eiglay is a God-Devouring Serpent, not Demigod-Devouring Serpent, however, so I think in either case her purpose had more to do with not letting guys like this to ruin the world! Things just must die eventually, not endlessly exist via endless rot/rebirth cycle not allowing for any truly new life to sprout. It makes it double awesome that Base Serpent, and maybe even Eiglay herself, are connected with the fire element as fire itself is ALSO not just an evil force of destruction! It is meant to help the nature to "clean" so it doesn't rot; this power simply must be kept in check to not burn SO much that there is nothing left to be born from the ash and ruin *looks at Frenzied Flame*

Lesbian flag colors joke aside, it seems that color pink is a mark of lacking the master and/or the capacity to bloom! I do think that blooming is a thing only a Demigod is able to do! +remember that Millicent is a unique sprout of Malenia, carrying more of her signs as a Demigod than other girls!

Orange/red is the color of 'true' Scarlet Rot, and you could see even God of Rot itself was orange from Scorpion's Stinger look! It craves the buds that will bloom to grow stronger and increase, similarly to how Formless Mother craves wounds!

+ I also think that Bloodflame is the mark of more "perfect" form of the same concept similarly, as it becomes self-cleaning this way! It similarly could only be accomplished by getting a Demigod (Mohg) involved, whereas regular Bloodfiends are using just the blood itself! Then, Deathblight was not receiving the big roots as we could witness by Dancing Lion in Rauh, without getting a Demigod (Godwyn) involved! The cringe triplets........

________________________

So in the conclusion, Romina reached out for the 'twisted divinity' she witnessed somewhere in the middle of the ruin of everything she knew before, similarly to how Bloodfiends chose to revere the 'twisted deity' found in a corpse of their ancestor as they've lost everything! These two affinities have connotation with strong misery, and it is additionally confirmed by how Millicent can only bloom if she experiences the pain of betrayal! Some sinister power only appears within a lot of pain and death, but on itself it is just "flowers and wings", and a concrete God is born in the place it appears at, depending on the circumstances. It needs the miserable person as much as the miserable person needs it; a call is nothing without the receiver. Together, they define more specific purpose and affinity for it to continue existing and poisoning everything!

...not 100% sure that Deathblight is just as similar, because how do you birth death? Maybe it similarly came to be through the first person to die (Nito, you?????)

P.S.: I'll be damned if the water Dancer Fairy didn't originate from Rauh and simply freaked out upon seeing Romina telling the God of Rot "may you find your worth in the waking world" fsdhfhds

[jourquet]

3,11,29

3. Tell me about one of your fics you think is underrated/underappreciated. that would the magnetic affection duology ( electric kiss + static touch ). it combines the fandoms of fifty shades of grey and the tv series mr robot. also the series i'm currently writing on, which is the last book in that duology; static touch. it takes up topics such as government vs privacy, terrorism and also how toxic romances can be extremely destructive in wrong hands. i do not shy away from taking up topics such as american imperialism, how far people are willing to gain high social rank, and how mental illnesses plays into all this. 11. Share a favourite comment a reader has left you.

Joey! You know he was one character I found myself oddly attached to for someone we only really saw like once before everything went to hell. I remember I replayed the game like twice before I figured out it was him doing the creepy whistling all the time, but I honestly think I felt bad for him. He never wanted to go out into the field, was completely content being behind his desk all day, and then he was one of the very first to die. But now he’s here! Which I’m still highly suspicious of because sir aren’t you supposed to be dead? Is he already infected? So many questions! I’m really excited for what’s to come. I think I said this last time but you’re great with building up a certain atmosphere, and there’s something about the way you write your descriptions of the monsters that really puts me on edge. ”Its long legs spider-like, a big head, and what appeared as fucking wings on its arms.” I think I got so desensitized from replaying the game that I truly forgot how terrifying these things and the situation they’re in are. I’m reminded once again I’d never want to see them in real life, let alone a cave with no exit in sight. And then there’s Jason hearing voices? We got confirmation that the creature he met in chapter one definitely isn’t the one chasing them now and I’m so curious as to when it’ll make another reappearance, but in the meantime who is this Alpha and who’s speaking? Was that Jason understanding the clicks for a second there? Or something else? 😂 See I told you I had a lot of questions. Until next time! Thank you for the lovely chapter! from my stay frosty ( house of ashes fandom ) fanfic, chapter 2.

29. What's your most popular fic? that's stay frosty ( pairing jalim, if i recall shipping name right, aka jason kolchek x salim othman ) on ao3 with its 1,940 hits, 99 kudos, 17 bookmarks, and 27 comments. the fanfic is unfinished, i plan to get back to it at some point. but i've people on wattpad who has waited far longer on my stucky, hannigram, and merthur fanfics. i've always the rule of prioritizing the people who has waited the longest so they don't feel ignored and it has functioned pretty well thus far. on wattpad, my most popular fanfic is the first fanfic i ever wrote ( which is also completed on ao3 as well ) that's called incarnation with the destiel pairing. the original idea was to write two separate AUs; rockstar and god verse. i decided in the end to combine both. it has a happy ending even if its major character death for all main characters. it will make sense if you ever read it yourself, why that is the case.

Fanfic Author Asks

[seiyasabi]

The Scientist

(Hange (Hanji) can rearrange by guts tbh :P Lol, anyways, this is a Yandere Hanji x Female Reader story! It takes place in current time tho (same universe as Yelena). Also, idgaf how tall the creator says Hanji is. In this fic, even the tall girlies get to be shorter than Hanji. 

TW: kidnapping!, !drugging!, unwanted advances, stalking!, etc! 

Please proceed with caution! Also, I’m sorry if you can tell that this was in my drafts for a hot min. I started to write this when I first started this blog, and I just finished/revised it lol. ) 

“Hey, (Nickname!” Hearing the loud shout of a certain brunet, you jump about a foot in the air. As usual, Hanji decides to surprise you whilst you’re in the middle of something. 

Pulling away from the microscope you’re currently looking at, you put on a strained smile, “Yes?” 

Their one eye sparkles in a hopeful fashion from behind their glasses, one of her their fiddling with their eyepatch, “Sooo,” They draw out the o, seemingly trying to disarm you, “Are you free this weekend? There’s this suuuuper cool bar that’s just opening, and me and the others are thinking about going! It’s totally not a date or anything,” They pause to let out a loud laugh, “I think it’ll be fun! What D'ya say?” 

Forcing out a chuckle, you shake your head, “Ah, I’m sorry, Hanji, but I’m busy this weekend. I have a lot of samples I need to process for that upcoming court case,” You chew your bottom lip nervously, “I’m sorry. I hope you and the others have a good time, though!” 

A new voice is heard, butting into your conversation, “I can do those! I’ve been needing more hours, anyways,” Whipping your head in the direction of the voice, you silently curse. Fuck Armin for being so helpful! 

Hanji beams even brighter than before, clapping their hands together happily, “See! Armin can do that for you!” They lean in closer to you, their lab coat brushing against yours, “Come on, (Nickname), I’d be reaaaaally happy if you go!” 

An uneasy feeling pools in your gut, as an anxious sweat begins to bead at your brow, “I-uhm-I suppose I can go for an hour or two.”

“Great!” They grab your hands in theirs, squeezing them in a friendly manner, “The bar is called ‘Titan’s Wrath,’ and we’re meeting at eight on Saturday!” Releasing you, they pat you on the back, “See you later!” They run off, most likely back to the dry lab. 

After a moment of silence, you slowly turn towards the short haired blond man, “Armin, I’m going to kill you.”

He blanches at your blunt tone, flushing a bright red, “Wha-what?” 

You grit your teeth, tears starting to bead your eyes in frustration, “They’re the person I was telling you about! Hanji constantly harasses me, and you practically just tossed me into their arms! Why would you do that?” 

A look of pure terror and remorse appears of his face, “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t realise that they were the person-oh my God, I’m so stupid. I-I really didn’t know! I’m so, so sorry!” You let out a quivering breath, hands clenched into fists to calm you down. 

“It-it’s alright. I never really told you who they were. Just never do that again, okay? If you need more hours, just tell me, and I’ll see what I can do,” The younger man sighs in relief, shoulders deflating. 

“I promise to never do that again!” You nod, blinking away your unshed tears, and smile at him. 

“Okay, then we don’t have any problems,” You laugh lightly, shaking your head, “Who would’ve thought our newest intern was the dry lab’s wing man?” He panics again, making you cackle good-naturedly, “Now, can you please grab the dilluter? I forgot to grab it from the fridge.”

-

Hanji, being the ever cheerful person that they are, set their sights on you the moment you were hired. 

But, if they came out with their feelings immediately, you’d just assume that they wanted to take advantage of you. 

So, they watched you. Writing down your likes and dislikes, your quirks, everything. Through their ‘research,’ they came to realise that you’re very good at your job. The wet-lab should be lucky that they have you… but they never give you the recognition you deserve! 

They bombard you with assignments, become upset when you don’t finish them in seconds (which is so unreasonable!), and hardly give you any time off! 

You don’t seem to mind, being the good girl you are, but Hanji sure does! 

So, they’d seek out the top graduates from the college nearby, and help them become employed at the lab. The newbies really helped get the load off of your shoulders, and once done, they decided to swoop in now that you had a decent amount of free time. 

It started at the vending machine- they’d asked you if you wanted to get coffee with them sometime. You said no, probably because you felt it wasn’t professional. After all, rumours would spread like wildfire if you went out with the lead lab tech of the dry lab! 

So, everytime they knew you had a weekend off, they’d approach you with new places to try. 

Be it a movie, a store, a concert- it didn’t matter. They just desperately wanted to have some time with you! 

But, you reacted the complete opposite of how you were supposed to. 

You’d pick up as many shifts as possible, most times going into over time, just to avoid the flamboyant lead. Whenever you saw them in the hall or by the break room, you’d turn in the complete opposite direction. If wet-lab needed to correspond with the dry-lab, you’d send your most qualified coworker to do so. 

It was saddening, to be honest. They love you so much, yet you refuse to even face them. 

But, thanks to that Armin kid, their plans can finally bloom into fruition. For once, you can’t escape the brunet’s advances! 

Because of that, Hanji made a note to the owner of the lab that Armin would make a good contribution to the lab after he gets all of his qualifications. 

-

Saturday night comes far too soon. 

Dressed in black skinny jeans and a cropped, white long sleeve, you stand in front of ‘Titans Wrath.’ Scoffing at how the bar sounds like a metal band, you make your way inside. 

Grabbing the door handle, you yank it open, immediately hearing loud rock music. Mentally patting yourself on the back for your observation, you step inside of the cool building. 

Looking inside, you see a large, double sided bar in the middle of the room, a stage and standing area just behind it. There are a few pool tables in the front area where you’re standing, along with double doors leading to a hidden kitchen. 

There’s also a lot of people inside. You can’t see Hanji or their friends, but seeing a band setting up on the stage tells you that they’re probably on the other side of the bar. 

Walking over to the steps leading down into the stage area, you try to ignore the leers of a few men around you. Maybe you shouldn’t have worn clothes that accentuate your beautiful figure. Peering around the corner, you see the scientist and their friends, an empty seat in between them and a large blond man, that you vaguely recall being the police chief of your city. 

Strolling towards them halfheartedly, you give yourself a small peptalk inside of your mind. Sure, Hanji has always been touchy-feely with you, sure, they’ve asked you out about one hundred times, sure, you run into them every time you leave the house, sure- 

“(Nickname)! You actually came!” The brunet’s voice is loud, loud enough to cut through the loud music and equally loud chatter. Forcing a smile onto your face, you give a small wave, suddenly uncomfortable with the line of strangers at the bar suddenly looking at you. 

“Yes, hello, Hanji,” When you’re close enough, you’re thrown into a tight embrace, their body practically molding into your own. They’re about a head taller than you, making it so your head is practically forced against their protruding collarbones. Hesitating slightly, you give them a soft pat on the back, trying to escape their suffocating embrace. 

“I’m so glad you came!” They release you just as suddenly as they grabbed you, putting a hand on the small of your back, and practically forcing you in between the blond man and themself, “(Nickname), this is Erwin. Erwin, this is (First Name).”

His blue eyes rake over your appearance, recognition appearing on his face, “It’s nice to see you again, Ms. (Last Name), especially under better circumstances.” 

You nod, thinking back on some high profile cases you met with him for, “Yes, it’s nice to see you again, Mr. Smith.” 

A loud scoff is heard from beside Erwin, the head of a short, dark haired man peeks around the broad chested man, “It’s about time you brought a respectful brat,” You have to stop yourself from flinching at his harsh tone, “I am Levi,” Opening your mouth to introduce yourself, he holds up a hand, halting you, “There’s no need for introductions, Shitty-glasses has gushed about the ‘pretty wet-lab scientist’ for months now.” 

“Oh, alright. It’s nice to meet you,” His lifts his whiskey on rocks in acknowledgement, before downing it with one swig. 

“Likewise,” After that, he turns towards a light brown haired woman, her high pitched voice is heard from where you’re sitting. 

“I’m sorry about that. The detective is very… unsociable.” 

“It’s alright, Mr. Smith. He kind of reminds me of one of my interns, Annie,” You say with a small smile, before your swiveling bar stool is forced around so you’re facing Hanji. 

“Sooo, you like the bar so far?” Their smile is somewhat pleading, and you can’t help but just go along with them. 

“Yes, this place is, um, cool. Very interesting choice,” They clasp their hands together with a pleased expression, as they somehow move closer to you than they already are. At this point, you’re worried that they’ll fall off their stool. 

“Right? Our residential emo boy found it, and we’ve been hooked ever since,” A loud ‘Shut up, Shitty-glasses,’ is heard from behind you, making the brunet laugh, “Let me order you a drink! I think there’s something that you’ll really like!” 

Opening your mouth to reject, it was seemingly too late, because the brunet has already waved over a punk-ed out bartender. You didn’t really hear what the drink is called, but the man sets to work immediately. 

It barely takes a minute for it to be finished, and the purple drink is suddenly in front of your motionless form. Looking up, the purple haired man winks at you, before turning his attention back to a speaking Hanji. 

“Anything she orders, put it on my tab,” He nods, before walking off to service another customer. 

Turning your attention back to Hanji, you try to persuade them to let you pay, “Thanks, Hanji, but it’s alright. I can pay for my own drinks-”

“Don’t worry about it; I asked you out, remember? And it’s the least I can do for harassing you for the past few months,” Startled by their uncharacteristically somber words, you nod in understanding. 

“Alright. Thank you,” They nod, before motioning towards your drink. 

“Try it! I’m sure you’ll like it!” Grabbing the cool glass cup, you bring it up to your lips, and take a small sip. It’s amazing. It tastes like (favourite flavour), and it goes down smooth. 

“You’re right, this is delicious!” They grin brightly, clapping their hands together in glee. 

“Great!” They motion towards the stage with their head, “The show’s about to start! Are you ready for a kickass night?” You laugh at their vigour, and nod. 

“You bet!” 

Maybe tonight won’t be so bad after all. 

-

You spoke too soon. 

It seems like you’ve drank too much, because you’re now feeling dizzy. Throughout the set, you’d ordered about five more drinks, and they seemingly hit you all at once. 

Hanji, who’s been watching you since your fourth drink, feigns shock at your unstable form. That Rohypnol they grabbed from work works quite well! Now they can see why it’s the choice drug for those awful, awful people. 

“Whoa there, (Nickname), it seems you’ve had too much to drink!” Hanji jokes, hands holding you steady on your bar stool. The only person from your group still at the bar is Erwin, but he knows they have it under control. As chief of police, he feels a bit of remorse, but he knows it's for the best. Hanji will take care of you, because, after all, you’re their only true obsession. 

“Wha-huh? Was’ happenin?” Hanji can all but coo at how cute you are. 

“Don’t worry, cutie. I’ll get you home safe,” Helping you to your boot clad feet, they send a knowing look to Erwin, who smiles in return. Wrapping an arm around your waist, they help you stumble out of the bar, and walk towards their car. Once at the passenger side, the brunet unlocks the door, and assists you inside. You flop onto their leather interior, eyes unfocused, and body movements random. Chuckling to themself, they buckle you in, not before pulling on gloves, and taking your phone, keys, and wallet off of you. 

Taking these items, they empty your wallet of its cash, and chuck everything into a nearby bush. Knowing that the cameras outside the building and the buildings surrounding the place are off, they feel at ease. If anything, they feel like your knight in shining armour. If they hadn’t taken you, someone else would’ve-you’re just too cute. 

Closing your door, and rounding the car, they slide into the driver’s side, before starting the car. Buckling themself in, they look at your out-of-it form, and smile. 

[writerofshit]

(I mentioned briefly a story of how the Stream Team met. This is that story.)

Somewhere in Los Santos, in the late night hours of a Tuesday, a convenience store is robbed. So is one several blocks southeast. And one roughly in the middle of them both. After all, what's more convenient than 24 hour chili dogs on every other street corner?

Cash. Cash is more convenient. So are guns. Hollering, waving one to get the other. Most important, back alleys that twist and turn, snaking away from increasingly distant sirens. Three individuals find themselves running through these alleys, a couple grand each weighing their pockets down.

It's through serendipity and convenience that their paths cross.

The man from the farthest store arrives first. He's done this a few more times than he'd like to admit, so he'd had a plan. Of sorts. Cut through the park, take a few sidewalks like an upstanding citizen, under the bridge and find a fire escape to utilize from there. There aren't any that reach the ground, of course, because he's smart but not quite enough.

And so this is why Trevor is standing in an dark alley, contemplating whether or not the dumpster will give him enough height to reach the ladder, when the man from the middle store appears. He's around Trevor's height, but would probably win in a fight between them, if he were so inclined. He doesn't seem to be, though. He seems shaken, like he's not quite sure how he ended up in this alley. He's holding a gun almost gingerly, as if it might bite him.

Trevor pulls his own gun.

'dont you fuckin' try anything!'

This does not go over well with Matt. He takes a step back, and then seems to remember that he also has a gun so maybe this is even footing. He holds it aloft, finger nowhere near the trigger.

'same, asshole!'

At this moment the robber from the first store arrives, also, of course, with a gun. And a mask. And an entire purple and orange neon fucking suit, actually, topped with a white cowboy hat. It gives them a few extra inches of height they are distinctly lacking, comparatively. Somewhere in the back of his head, Trevor acknowledges that this newcomer could probably kick his and the other gunman's asses. It is not a pleasant thought.

'oh, what the fuck!?'

Jeremy sounds more annoyed and less scared than one would think, considering they've run into an alley only to find two men with guns. Two men who quickly turn those guns on them.

'who the fuck are you?'

The question surprises them all, including Matt, even though he's the one who asked. As it turns out, people have a tendency to say the first thing that comes to mind when in a stressful situation. Such as, having robbed a convenience store for the very first time and immediately finding himself face to face with other apparent robbers. It would get to anyone, probably.

'i don't want any trouble, but i've already robbed someone tonight and i don't give a shit about felony murder!'

Two lies and a truth, is what Trevor has chosen to play, for some reason. In reality, one does not rob a convenience store at gun point if one is intent on staying out of trouble. And he does, in fact, care very deeply about felony murder. Felony murder is the precise reason he'd shot a bag of Doritos and not a clerk. In his defense, the clerk had initially rolled her eyes at him, asked what exactly he thought he'd get out of this. He'd found this question rude.

The truth, of course, is that he did rob a convenience store. That did happen. No take backs.

'so did i!'

Matt and Jeremy speak so in unison it's almost scary. If they didn't know any better, they'd think the two of them had always known each other.

Trevor's gun wavers between them, unsure which is the bigger threat. The guy who clearly has zero experience with guns, or the weirdo who seems to have far too much? It's a toss up, really. So his aim pinballs back and forth, but his finger does not curl around the trigger. He's serious about that felony murder thing.

The air seems to shift, suddenly, and the sound of sirens is now growing closer. This evidently also annoys Jeremy, and they throw a glance over their shoulder to the direction they'd come from. Red and blue lights flicker past.

'shit. ok. we're all robbers, i guess, and we're all fucked if we keep standing here. who's got a plan?'

Jeremy's eyes are staring impatiently at Trevor. Eyes being the only part of their face Trevor can see. And their hands, a plastic bag in one and a gun in the other.

Trigger finger is an apt name.

He glances at Matt, still wild eyed and glancing back and forth. No, Matt probably does not have a plan. He sort of gives the impression that he's never had a plan ever, actually. That perhaps he'd simply woken up here and decided to wing it. So Trevor makes an offer.

'fire escape?'

There's another moment of tense silence. Well, minus the sirens. And oh, helicopters. Even better. Jeremy shrugs.

'good a plan as any.'

And then they're off, brushing past Trevor and hoisting themself up onto the dumpster. He knew it could work. Trevor blinks and Jeremy has caught the ladder, is quickly working their way up. Shit, how does five foot something manage to get that high on a good day, much less in this situation and with a bag and gun in hand?

Matt's gun clatters to the ground, and honestly, that's probably for the best. He's climbing onto the dumpster now, and he mutters something about not signing up for this shit. Trevor reminds him that he apparently robbed someone, so yeah, he kind of did.

Before Trevor climbs up, he shoves his gun into his jacket pocket. Smart? Probably not. Convenient? More so than climbing with a gun in his hand. He follows Matt up the ladder, wondering what happened to his plan. Yeah, the ladder had been involved. Two other people, however, were not.

Above them, glass shatters.

'warning, maybe!?'

'oops. careful, there's glass.'

Jeremy's voice is no longer directly above them. Instead, it comes from one story up and a little to the left. So they've broken into an apartment. Sure, add breaking and entering to the list of charges, that sounds great. But Matt and Trevor follow, because there's not really another option.

Inside the apartment, Jeremy's mask is gone. The suit is quickly disappearing as well, revealing a rather boring outfit of a white tank top and...sweatpants? The true mystery lies in where the cowboy hat has gone to, because that's a hard item to miss.

'do we really have time for this? don't you think someone might, oh, i don't know, wake up and call the cops?'

Trevor doesn't mean to hiss, it's just that he's sure there's more pressing matters to attend to than an outfit change. Continuing to flee, perhaps.

'nobody's gonna wake up.'

They don't even have the wherewithal to lower their voice. It registers to Trevor that Jeremy's bag and gun are missing as well. Had they dropped them on the way up? It was certainly possible. Trevor thinks he would have noticed a gun flying past his head, but there's a lot going on.

'can we maybe not kill anyone? he brought up a good point with that felony murder thing.'

It's the most words Matt has strung together since he'd shown up. It's damn near a whisper, but at least it's progress.

'i'm not- god, can you two shut up? i gotta make a phone call.'

Jeremy yanks the door open, hand carefully wrapped in the fabric of their shirt. For a moment, Trevor thinks they're leaving and steps forward to follow Jeremy. Instead, Jeremy turns and heads toward the kitchen, pulling open a drawer and digging inside it briefly. They come back with a cell phone.

Something dawns on Trevor.

'is this- do you live here? did you break your own window?'

Jeremy doesn't answer. They put the phone to their ear.

'you're gonna wanna hide whatever you've got. and try not to look like you just climbed in through a window.'

And then-

'hello? yes, hi, i'd like to report a break in, i think? i was hearing a bunch of sirens and then i don't know what happened but some guy just broke my window? he ran through and i just- my friends and i are really scared and we didn't know what to do- yes, we're ok, he's gone, but we- you'll send someone? ok, thank you. the address? oh, uh, it's the del perro heights building, apartment 7. should i shut the door? no, don't touch anything. ok- guys, don't touch anything, she said someone's on their way to check on us! thank you so much- no, i think we'll be fine. thank you.'

It's a marvelous performance. Jeremy genuinely sounds like some poor flustered victim of a crime. Trevor would applaud if he thought Jeremy would appreciate it. Almost immediately, their voice is back to normal.

'check things out my ass. they're gonna show up, ask which way he went and never call me again. feel real fuckin safe.'

Jeremy settles themself onto the couch, choosing the spot closest to the door. Matt, who has apparently gotten over his initial terror, wanders into the kitchen. Searching for something to distract himself, if Trevor had to guess. Trevor is still standing in the middle of the living room, dumbfounded. How did a simple robbery become hanging out with other robbers, waiting for cops to show up?

'i'm jeremy, by the way. they won't ask, but y'know. just in case.'

They're flipping channels on the tv, seeming to arbitrarily skip almost a dozen programs. Finally, they settle on one and stand. Trevor recognizes it as an old Disney movie, and desperately wants to ask why the fuck Jeremy has put this on.

'uh, hi. i'm trevor. why are we watching Mulan?'

'matt. oh hell yeah, i love this movie!'

He sounds remarkably cheerful, considering the circumstances. How Trevor had seemingly switched places with Anxious McGee is beyond him. He needs to get it together. He pulls his gun from his pocket and takes it to the kitchen, sticking it in the drawer Jeremy had taken the phone from. There are several other phones of varying price point. He steps back to the living room just in time.

'that's why.'

They don't elaborate. Apparently Trevor is meant to just figure this out on his own, which ordinarily he might be able to do. After the course of events of this particular evening? Not a chance.

But he can't ask, because now there's a cop in the doorway and he's staring at Trevor and that will never be a good thing. Trevor stares back. He has no clue what he's meant to say. Hello? Welcome? He went that way?

'oh thank god! we've been so terrified, we didn't know if he'd come back or what he'd do.'

Naturally, Jeremy has taken lead on this. They're a phenomenal actor, Trevor has to admit.

'did you see which direction he went?'

'toward the stairs, i think. we've all been rooted to the spot, you know, it's so scary-'

Matt freezes in the doorway of the kitchen. He's just out of the view from the front door.

'right, well. you boys did the right thing by calling. can you give me a description of the man?'

The corner of Jeremy's mouth quirks.

'gosh, it all just happened so fast. taller than me, probably, but shorter than you, wouldn't you say, trey?'

Trevor nods, because he's not quite sure what else to do.

'alright, thank you. someone will be in touch with you for an official statement. in the meantime, if you remember anything else don't hesitate to call.'

He's holding a card out to Trevor, of all people. He takes it carefully, like if he does it wrong somehow the guy will know and arrest them all. The card is simply the number for a tip line.

As suddenly as he'd arrived, the cop is gone and they're all breathing sighs of relief. Jeremy closes the door.

'you guys can stay for Mulan, if you want.'

So they do.

Trevor asks about why Mulan again, and Jeremy explains that they assume most people have seen it, could answer any questions about it if they came up. Perhaps, if LSPD officers were less incompetent, they would have. Although if that were the case, they wouldn't be LSPD officers at all.

Matt asks about the window, and Jeremy says yes, they did break their own window. Of course they'd had an actual plan when they'd entered the alley. They were always going to end up exactly here, give or take the extras. Asking for a plan was simply a test, determining the merit in bring them along. They'd passed.

Jeremy asks if they want to stay for Mulan II, which is apparently up next. They do.

Somewhere in Los Santos, in the early morning hours of a Wednesday, three convenience stores are recovering from three separate robberies. Right in the middle of them all, their respective robbers are sitting on a couch together, watching a straight to video children's film.

It is the beginning of something far greater than any of them can imagine.

[obae-me]

Hey can I request how the brothers would react to the MC seeing them in their demon form for the first time and being scared?

I hope this answers enough of what you wanted, thank you so much for your request! 💜

Lucifer

Good. This is what he wanted. To make sure MC knew his power and position. He uses his demon form mostly as an intimidation tactic, it lets his brothers know when he’s serious, and it tells the other demons who’s in charge.

However...MC was now on the ground, looking up at him with nothing but fear in their eyes. They were frozen, unable to even answer his simple questions. He had just wanted to let MC know not to defy him, leave them a bit rattled, not...quivering. Maybe...he had gone too far?

Now MC can’t even talk to him without shaking, without doing their best to avoid him at all costs. This was not what he wanted any longer. He was supposed to make them feel at home here. It would not do any good for MC to be terrified of him for an entire year.

Also...was he really so horrifying? He wasn’t quite as obsessed with his appearance as his brother Asmo, but it wounded his pride that MC seemed to only see him as a monstrosity. He was sure his form was a bit overwhelming, yes, but was he not divine? Was he not stunning?

He took MC out to do whatever their heart desired as an apology. He’ll work on slowly getting MC accommodated to his demon form, also making sure not to only let it show when he was angry. He’d do it slowly, at their own pace until they get to the point where they’re comfortable around him, complimenting and petting his wings. No one ever gets to touch his wings, but he’ll allow it for MC, as long as they never look so scared of him again.

Mammon

He’s not a fan of horror, he won’t ever admit it around his brothers, but it freaks him out a bit. Which is why he can’t get over the expression of unfounded terror that MC had when he showed them his demon form. It didn’t settle right with him. It bothered him a lot, actually. Making him highly irritable. 

Even as the second born, no one was ever scared of him. Lucifer was the terrifying one, most of the time, his younger brothers hardly respected him much less feared him. So finding out that MC was terrified just by seeing him in his true form confused him greatly.

So, because he’s not the greatest with plans, he stormed into their room. In his demon form of course. Why would they have a problem with it? What was their deal?

He bashed his way though the door, hands on his hips, demanding answers. God he hated how he sounded like Lucifer sometimes. But he quickly stopped in his tracks, hearing the small whimpers coming from MC’s mouth. Not again, he thought, and then spoke to them in a soft voice.

“Hey...hey, human, it’s still me, it’s still Mammon...what do you look so scared for? These things can’t hurt ya.”

It wasn’t completely truthful, his horns and wings could be deadly if used right, but for MC, he’d show them they were harmless. If letting MC touch his wings and horns helps them not be so scared of him, he’ll allow them to do it. Even though they’re incredibly sensitive. He has to try so hard not to squeal or squirm, he wanted MC not to be scared but he didn’t want to look ridiculous in front of them.

Levi

After the demonic bout of envy that drove him to his demon form, it wasn't until he calmed down did he realize how MC had looked at him. He read it as disgust. They ran away from him because they saw how he truly looked, and they hated him for it.

He’ll solve this problem the same as all his other problems, hole himself up in his room for days at a time. He’ll come out eventually, but he’s ashamed to show his face now. It drives him wild how he’s so self conscious for a human, but he can’t help it. All he can think of is how envious of other demons with their much cooler looks.

He’ll apologize to MC anytime he transforms.

MC has to set the record straight with him, even though they were the one scared in the first place. They just freaked out a little, this place and it’s shapes were all new to them. Seeing him get angry with a new tail and horns, it was a bit too much to handle in the moment. It was nothing against him, it was just a final confirmation that he was a demon.

It takes him some time to feel comfortable again letting MC see his demon self, but the next time they do, MC is wary, but not nearly as frightened. In fact, they start to love his form. They tell him anime characters they love that he reminds them of, and after he gets over his envy over those fictional characters, he’ll blush and feel more confident in being more open with his true form.  

Satan

Of course MC would be scared seeing him in his full form of Wrath. Any human would be scared seeing someone transform with horns and a tail and a thick aura of anger surrounding them. So when he saw that MC’s legs were shaking so bad that they could barely keep themselves standing, he wasn’t surprised.

It did bother him, however, and he was unsure why. He had been used to scaring people away before, his brothers also knew not to mess with him too much for fear of making him furious. So why did the scene of MC holding back a bloodcurdling scream keep playing again over and over in his mind? It was extremely distracting.

He went to talk to MC about it. Purely for curiosity's sake...only for that reason.

Satan notices that MC is obviously concerned about setting him off again. He takes a deep breath and tells MC that he will remain in his human form until they are either okay with it or until they leave. He’s the most patient, so no matter what they choose, he can wait.

They come to him a few weeks later, ready to see him again without his strong murderous intent attached. MC actually loves playing with his feather boa. They won’t tell him it looks a bit ridiculous on him, but if anything, it makes them less scared of him. 

Asmo

He’ll take this the hardest. He’s all about how he looks, how he presents himself, how other people see him. Not once, not once, had anyone ever looked at him like that before. Bedroom glances and sensual touches, yes. Eyes and body language that told him that MC would do anything to get away from him as fast as possible, he’d never had that before.

He’ll be in his room, refusing to come out until he’s scrutinized every single detail of his body, wondering what it was about him that MC couldn't stand. The wings and horns were different, but he didn’t look nearly as scary as his other brothers. He was supposed to be attractive. Beautiful! 

Was he...self conscious? No, no, impossible. He’s just...curious why they didn’t like him was all.

He will end up pestering MC until he gets some sort of answer. He didn’t expect MC to just tell him they were scared. Scared? He made them scared? Oh what a precious sweetheart MC is!

He’ll cuddle them, compliment them, make them feel comfortable as a way of apologizing for traumatizing them so. The next time MC sees him in his demon form, Asmo had made sure they were dressed in the cutest thing possible. MC laughs and wonders why they ever were scared of the flamboyant demon of Lust.

Beel

He had said it numerous times that he wanted to eat them, and Lucifer hadn’t exactly withheld explaining to MC all the ways they could be consumed by demons. So when Beel transformed, all they could think about was them being consumed.

Beel had lost control of himself, destroyed part of the house, and now he saw the way MC acted around him. It made him sick to his stomach. He always wanted to prove himself to be a protector, making sure the people that were close to him always felt safe. Already he had taken a liking to MC and yet already they were fearful of him.

The only way he could think of to show his trust was to share food. Share his food. His brother had never ever seen Beel not finish a meal, but for a little while, Beel would give MC some food off of his plate to make sure they ate. He never wanted to see MC tremble like that, especially not from him, he wouldn’t be able to handle it, the guilt would eat him up for dinner instead.

He won’t be satisfied till MC is comfortable with him entirely, demon form, human form, all of it. He’ll take whatever steps necessary if it means MC feels safe around him. 

Belphie

It’s only natural that MC would be scared of his demon form after what happened. Even if the MC he hurt so badly wasn’t the one that stayed, Belphie could still catch nervous glances from MC anytime he sounded like he was about to lose it.

He won't tell anyone the reason why he’s been sleeping so poorly since then is because he can’t stop dreaming of the same moment over and over and over again. Watching their face wrapped in an endless scream. MC does find it concerning when the demon of Sloth is refusing to get any sleep.

It’s actually Beel who comes to MC first, telling them to talk to Belphie. Since they’re twins and they have a magical twin connection, he’s felt awful, feeling endlessly restless no matter what he eats or how much he exercises. He pleads MC to talk to his brother.

It takes a long discussion with MC doing most of the talking before Belphie gives in and apologies with his cracking voice betraying his emotions. He just wants to go back to dreaming, he wants to stop reliving this endless nightmare.

MC stops being scared of Belphie when he falls asleep in their lap, and Belphie finally is able to move on from that terrible moment.

[highfaelucien]

Babysitting the Heir - An Inner Circle Fic

Repost from 2016 (god I’m old) that I redrafted bc it’s cute and wholesome af. And after all the salt and angst I have provided, I felt it was only fair to bring some fluff to the table.

Title: Babysitting the Heir

Summary: Azriel and Mor babysit Feyre and Rhys’ young son, Nyx, so the two of them can have a little time to themselves. He ends up taking quite a strong liking to Az... Fluff, pure fluff.  

Teaser:  ‘The moment he slips into Azriel’s arms again he pillows his head calmly against his chest and settles completely, gazing up at him with big, innocent eyes.

Mor grins.’

Notes: No content warnings to speak of. Originally posted in 2016. Rewritten to update with (some) current canon, but also with some of my own additions, like happily queerplatonic Moriel. Because I can. And because this shit is adorable.

AO3: Link

“Be good for Aunt Mor, okay?” Feyre says, dipping forwards to kiss her son's forehead. “Does he understand the concept of ‘good’ yet?” Mor chirps conversationally. 

Tilting her body she shifts in place and adjusts Nyx in her arms to allow Rhys to kiss him goodbye as well. “Why don’t you debate that with him this evening over some fine wine, Mor?” Rhys drawls. 

The soft smile on his lips is very patently for his son; the words dripping with sarcasm very obviously for his cousin. Irritated by the baby balanced in her arms and her resulting lack of free hands with which to offer her cousin some obscene gesture, she makes do with snapping at him. “Why don’t you take a long walk off a very short balcony. Without wings. You sardonic pri-“ “We,” Feyre interrupts pointedly as Rhys starts smirking in a way that would have forced Mor to hand Nyx back to his mother so she could do something about it, “Are leaving,” she announces. 

Grabbing her still obnoxiously smiling mate by his upper arm she begins to firmly drag him away from Mor before serious damage is done to his pretty face. 

“Now,” Feyre adds in a slightly threatening growl as Rhys looks more than ready to continue bickering. “Thank you for this, Mor!” Feyre calls over her shoulder as she frog-marches Rhys to the door at the other end of the corridor. 

“And you Az,” she adds with a smile and a wave, both hello and goodbye, tossed in the shadowsinger’s direction as he drifts serenely down the stairs to see what all the fuss is about in the hall. Mor lifts Nyx’s little hand with her first two fingers and has him wave goodbye to her parents while Az presses quiet kiss to her temple. His eyes fix on the baby in her arms with an air that suggests he’s seriously considering the possibility he might suddenly explode at any moment. “I’m going to the roof to train for a little while,” he murmurs quietly into her hair, his voice smooth and cool as ever. She nods, softly kissing the top of Nyx’s head, “We’ll be fine,” she says, shooing her partner upstairs, suppressing her eye roll with difficulty as she does so. “I’ll give you a shout if we need anything.”

Az nods his agreement then retreats silently back the way he had come leaving Mor to take Nyx into the living room alone. It’s not surprising. He does this every time they babysit for anyone. She knows that he’s more uncomfortable than the rest of them around any of the children, even if he secretly dotes on them, and she’s never pushed him into keeping her company unless she’s overwhelmed on her own. Which doesn’t happen often; usually only when Elain and Lucien’s twins are staying with them. Two years older than Nyx and already holy terrors in their own right. She chuckles to herself at the thought. She and Nyx have a nice afternoon that involves nothing more strenuous for Mor than setting him on her knee, holding his hands and bouncing him up and down until he giggles. 

“Your parents are going to have so much fun when you start flying,” she teases as his small wings furl and unfurl excitedly. After an hour or so a servant interrupts politely to ask Mor if she could deal with something that’s arisen from some Court of Nightmares emissaries staying with them.

Nodding, Mor apologises to Nyx before gently popping him into the cot in front of the large floor to ceiling windows. Then she turns and hollers up the stairs for Azriel. He appears in moments and she stands on her toes to press a soft kiss to his cheek and give him her most winning smile, which immediately makes him look nervous. As it should.  

“Would you keep an eye on Nyx for me?” she asks him, nuzzling affectionately against his taut chest. “I have to deal with the idiots from the Court of Nightmares. It shouldn’t take more than fifteen minutes or so.” Azriel frowns at this. 

Mor sighs. “He’s a baby not a bogge, Az,” she reminds him, thinking that he’d probably rather tackle the latter on his own. She keeps that to herself however, looking beseechingly up at him. “Are you sure?” he deadpans, looking down at her, hazel eyes glittering. Mor beams and presses a hasty kiss to his lips that catches more cheek than mouth in her hurry as she darts for the door. “I won’t be long, thanks!” she’s calling over her shoulder at him, without him ever having quite agreed to this plan of hers. Then she winnows from the house and Az sighs; though he’s unable to entirely banish the small, affectionate smile that tugs at the corner of his lips in response to her. Padding into the room he gathers up the toys strewn around the room from earlier, wondering both how they ended up with so many and also how Mor had managed to scatter them so widely around the room in such a short space of time. He shakes his head slightly as he fishes one out from underneath the breakfast table, eyes twinkling at the whirlwind that is his Morrigan as he does so. He’s just setting everything back into the box in the corner when Nyx starts crying. Wincing at the sound he pads tentatively towards his cot, his wails increasing in volume with every moment. 

Crouching down he gently rubs his tummy with his hand to soothe him. Trying not to cringe at the sight of the twisted, burned flesh touching the young child. Gentle hushing has no effect on him whatsoever and when his cries could more accurately be described as howling Azriel finally decides there’s nothing else for it. 

Standing he tentatively reaches down into the crib and scoops him up into his arms. He’s held him before, naturally – neither Mor nor Feyre gave him any choice in the matter when he was born and continued to coax him into it afterwards – but it still feels...wrong somehow. His rough, scarred hands, hard with the calluses from his training are stained with more blood than he cares to remember. They were shaped to hold blades and handle the violent killing power that burns in his blue siphons, not children. He’s never been entirely comfortable with something so small and precious and fragile entrusted to his battered arms. Morrigan was one thing, but the little one... Slowly, he starts bouncing Nyx in his arms, the way Mor does to get him to quiet down. This plus the fact that he’s holding the child close to him seems to help. 

He still sniffles faintly but he’s stopped screaming as though he’s trying to bring the place down at least. After a few minutes of gentle rocking and soothing murmuring he settles against his broad chest. “You were just being dramatic because you wanted some attention, weren’t you, little one?” Azriel muses quietly to him. 

Mor, he’s noted, seems to talk away to him. all the time. Regardless of whether he understands, it's something he appears to like, so Azriel continues.

“That’s your father’s fault,” he informs him placidly.  A broad smile spreads across his face as though he’s understood what he’s said and Az can’t help his own smile at the sight of it.

Nyx bats happily at his cheek, searching and grabbing at every bit of him he can reach from his arms. 

Then the little fingers start to grab at his wings and he tenses, blinking down at him. “No, no,” he says in alarm as one small hand grips tightly onto the hooked, pointed talon at the crest of his wing and the other just grabs at whatever other part of it he can reach. “That’s not- No! Nyx, please-“ he tries hopelessly.

Prising his surprisingly strong grip off of him gently while still keeping one arm locked tightly around him proves to be near impossible. 

He wonders vaguely if all children his age have such stubborn, iron grips or if this is a trait he can thank his mother for. 

“Nyx-“ he pleads hopelessly as his small, nails dig into a sensitive spot of the membrane of his wing. A low, throaty chuckle interrupts his helpless floundering and he looks up to see Mor leaning artfully against one of the broad wooden pillars in the room. He’s rarely seen her looking so amused. “He’s one, Az,” she smirks at him, seeming to find his current predicament immensely amusing. “You can’t reason with him.” “Would you please-“ He gestures mutely for her to take Nyx back and somehow have him release his hold on him. Still laughing, her warm eyes dancing with merriment, Mor steps forwards at last and obliges him.

She scoops Nyx smoothly into her arms, detaching him from Azriel’s wing with ease. 

Azriel shakes out his wings with relief and tucks them very firmly against his back. More so than he usually would. Something that's not missed by Mor, who gives him a wicked grin that has him groaning. 

"Poor baby," she croons, voice playful and teasing. 

Az gives her a half-hearted scowl in answer, starting to tidy the room again.

Mor's voice returns to normal as she kisses Nyx’s head and chuckles, “Wait ‘til we tell Uncle Cassian that all he has to do to bring the fearsome shadowsinger to his knees is not let go of his wing.”

Az shoots her a playful growl at the remark and Mor laughs again. Nyx, who had taken fairly well to being handed from one to the other of them like a solstice gift, had merely reached behind Mor to find something else to occupy himself.

While being obviously displeased by her lack of wings, he soon seems to decide that grabbing fistfuls of Mor’s beautiful golden hair will do just as well. 

As Mor begins to carry him away from Azriel, however, he starts fussing again, his large, striking violet eyes fixed firmly on the retreating form of Az. Arching an eyebrow Mor wanders experimentally back to him and Nyx immediately reaches out for Az again, little fists grabbing the air insistently. 

He blinks in surprise as he continues to squirm and fuss in Mor’s arms until she hands him over and coaxes him to take him again.

The moment she slips into Azriel’s arms again he pillows his head calmly against his chest and settles completely, gazing up at him with big, innocent eyes. Mor grins.  “No,” he protests feebly, looking from one to the other of them and knowing he’s beaten long before he gets out, “No, Mor, I don’t want-“ She pats his shoulder consolingly, ruining the effect by laughing through it. “You can’t say no to your future High Lord, Az,” she trills, grinning broadly at him as Az blinks down at the baby nestled peacefully in his arms. “Mor, I,” he stumbles, looking down at her again, fear gripping him as he says, “What if I drop him? What if I hurt him?” He’s being as gentle and as careful with him as he can but... “You won’t,” Mor says, the laughter instantly easing from her voice as it drops, becoming even and soothing. “Come on,” she says, tenderly hooking her fingers between his forearm and Nyx’s soft, warm body and leading him over towards the comfortable couches by the fire. Patiently, Mor shows him different ways of holding Nyx to help him become more comfortable with the babe and stop him worrying about dropping or hurting him somehow. 

To his credit, the little one is incredibly patient with being pushed and pulled into various different positions and doesn’t seem to mind as long as Azriel is doing most of the holding.

He snorts when Mor mentions he’s lucky he decided to discover this new side to himself with the very placid Nyx rather than the twins. Neither would have been nearly as accommodating of all this poking and prodding. When Nyx finally does seem to tire of training Azriel in how to deal with him and starts to become fussy again, Mor heads to the kitchen and brings back a bottle for him to feed him. 

She watches the two of them fondly as Nyx sucks contentedly at the warm milk, his big violet eyes blinking serenely up at them both. 

Az smiles down at her the whole while, his scarred hands cradling him gently. When he looks up and catches the faint gleam in Mor’s eye he carefully slides an arm around her shoulders and gathers her in against him. With a faint, contented hum he presses a soft kiss to the top of her head. Nyx successfully keeps Az in thrall all night. Each time he tries to leave him for more than a few minutes he makes his displeasure about his departure known to most of Velaris. “

You’re a devious little one,” he murmurs softly to him, after the third or fourth instance of this, tickling his tummy as Mor did, and watching him giggle happily in his lap. “That’s Rhys’s fault too.” Mor smirks. “What else was Rhys’s fault?” she enquires playfully, arching a golden eyebrow and plastering a wicked grin across her lips. Azriel smiles faintly. 

“His flare for drama and need for constant attention,” he responds simply. Mor tips back her head and howls with laughter at that, so loudly that Nyx blinks at her and nuzzles in against his chest, alarmed by this outburst. Azriel gives her a gentle nudge to coax her to stop for the babe’s sake and she desists. “Well he’s clearly fond of you.” Mor observes, looking down at the small, placid bundle in his arms. “That level of sense can only come from his mother.” Az chuckles at that and the shadows that flit around him gather around his chest at the sound. “Do that again,” Mor says suddenly, her head tilted slightly to the side as she peers down at Nyx. “What?” Az asks, confused, not aware that he’d been doing anything more than absently rocking Nyx back and forth in his arms, something that seemed to soothe him “With the shadows,” Mor says and he tightens at the mention but she shakes her head, “Make them gather around your chest again,” she instructs and he obliges her uncertainly. At once, one of Nyx’s little hands shoots out, trying to grab them. Blinking in pleasant surprise, Az coaxes the shadows a little closer. He had deliberately kept them light, something that was never hard with Mor around, and away from Nyx in case he scared him. But he seems oddly transfixed by them. Again he reaches out, trying to grab at them, his little fists closing over air. Azriel starts to make them dart around him in little bursts and he keeps swiping for them, like a cat chasing a mouse, until he’s giggling wildly and Mor is laughing beside him at the sight. 

Cautiously, Azriel reaches down and brushes Nyx’s soft pale skin with his shadows. His eyes go wide and his whole body stills. He repeats the gesture and he begins to laugh again as he tickles her with them.

Mor beams with delight, the unreserved joy on her face more intoxicating to him than a bottle of faerie wine at the Solstice. As the evening begins to draw to a close, both Mor and Nyx fall asleep on top of Azriel. Nyx sprawls flat against his chest. Meanwhile Mor presses in against his side, her head tucked into the crook of his neck, her legs curled up under her as she presses in against him. 

Azriel smiles quietly at the sight of both of them, one hand underneath Nyx to keep him supported, the other trailing absently through Morrigan’s golden curls, absently stroking them and soothing her in her sleep. That’s the position that Feyre and Rhys find them in when they knock on the door and Azriel calls for them to come in several hours later. 

Feyre smiles at the sight of them and hurries over to Azriel. She leans down and trails her fingers through Nyx’s soft, downy black hair. Mor stirs at the arrival of Feyre and Rhys and stretches away from Azriel like a cat, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and smiling dozily around at the scene. Azriel gets carefully to his feet and very gently hands Nyx to Rhys who soothes him almost instantly with a few quiet words when he wakes in response to all of the movement around him. 

“That’s typical of Aunt Morrigan, isn’t it?” Rhys murmurs to Nyx, grinning at Mor over his son’s head. “Falling asleep and leaving poor Uncle Az to do all the work and cover for her.” Mor looses a rough growl at him and Az hastily snakes a hand around her waist, tugging her gently to his side and pressing a calming kiss to the top of her head while she glowers good naturedly at her smirking cousin.

“Well if that’s how you feel, cousin,” she says loftily, all anger suddenly smoothed away by a thought, which should only ever be read as concerning, “You won’t need to ask me to babysit when you want a date night again. You can just ask Az to do it all by himself, since he’s done ‘all the work’.” 

Az felt himself pale at that, in spite of himself. Something his brother must note, because he quickly cuffs Mor on the back and says, “I don’t know what I’d ever do without you, cousin.”

“That’s what I thought,” Mor mutters under her breath, and Az gives her another small squeeze and a smile. “Was everything all right?” Feyre asks, looking between them, fondly stroking Nyx’s cheek as she moves to stand beside Rhys. “Everything was fine,” Azriel says smoothy, giving her a soft smile that instantly seems to reassure her. “Thank you again for having him,” she says, leaning forwards and embracing Mor then kissing Az’s cheek. They both assure them it was no problem and they’d be happy to do it again. Once Feyre and Rhys have left the two of them tidy up then flop down onto the couch. Mor immediately settles herself in Azriel’s lap, sprawling across him as though he’s a cushion. Az waits patiently for her to make herself comfortable and then settle down against him. Her smaller, more delicate form melts easily against his as she drapes her arms lazily around his chest. “So,” she says, a clear smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth, “You’ll be happy to help me the next time we babysit for Feyre and Rhys?” He smiles faintly “Feyre and Rhys?” He says, arching an eyebrow and lightly tapping her nose, “Yes,” he agrees, “Not Elain and Lucien.” He clarifies with a shudder at the thought of facing the twins alone. Mor laughs again and burrows affectionately in against him.  “It’s okay,” she promises him, arching up to press a soft kiss to the tip of his nose, “We’ll tackle the two of them together.” 

Azriel just wraps his arms around her, lightly kissing the top of her head and humming contentedly, closing his eyes. He’s asleep with his arms around her in minutes.

[headcans-oneshots-and-stuff]

Do Angels giggle?

Warning: Mentioned death of multiple people, a teeny tiny bit of angst, swearing, but otherwise you should be fine Word count: 4k (sis snapped again)(I should really stop doing this tbh) Summary: A rumor of an angel kidnapping criminals and leads them to a path of justice and Jason is on the suspects track. He hasn’t expected to be caught and he surely hasn’t expected what met him there...

This was requested by @middevil465​: 'Babe did you fall from heaven bc you seem to be a chaotic ever shifting sphere of eyes & wings making a sound not of this earth and I’m kind of hoping God sent you because this is terrifying' with jason x reader

Jason really didn't plan on this to happen. He didn't plan on getting caught while spying on the current suspect in a case of criminals disappearing only to re-appear with no memory of what happened and babbling of being lead to a better life by an angel. And he certainly didn't plan to end up in a warehouse that was decorated with a clearly religious altar and other things that heavily reminded him of the church. The only thing that wasn't church-y was the fact that he was tied to a - honestly not uncomfortable - chair in front of the altar. The worst fact was that he, too, couldn't remember how he ended up here. He had some flashes of memories, about how Bruce assigned him to the case, about how he found a man that all the criminals who found themselves 'victim' had met sometime before their disappearance and how he'd found and followed him before he blacked out.

And now he was here. He wasn't really afraid as much as he was concerned and curious about what was going to happen next. Bruce could easily track him as soon as he noticed he wasn't answering so there was also not much reason to try to escape before he knew what was going on here or if he was in any serious danger. Jason wasn't sure what to expect. Tortue, drugging, brainwashing? He knew the man must have some kind of secret weapon that made him able to re-write these criminals to his liking, but he wasn't quite sure why. Everyone in the cave had different theories. Bruce and Dick thought that he maybe got information about their 'businesses', deleted the memory and sold the info, Damian and (surprisingly enough) Tim thought that the criminals had been involved in something bigger, all of them involved somehow, and the person (or people) who hunted them down and changed their memories and life choices, were on a hunt for information. Steph and Cass had agreed that it was a cult or a conspiracy and Barbara had said that she wouldn't make any theories just yet, or rather not reveal hers. Jason had a more sinister thought though. He knew about the criminal world better than most others in his family, once having been a big part of it too, and he thought that whoever was able to do this, was slowly building an empire, first taking out smaller criminals, snitches and errand boys, maybe as to test their methods, before going for the big fish and re-writing them to take over their territory. It was honestly a good plan, but the fam wasn't really happy about it. Having an enemy that could delete and rewrite memories and demeanours could be a real threat. That was why Jason needed to find out how they did it. But he didn't see anything in the warehouse room that would implicate what they used for their plan, only all that church stuff, and Jason considered that it was probably something to harden the illusion that it was an angel who showed them the 'light'. 

"I've seen thou have been awakened, man in the blooded hood," a male voice echoed through the large space and bounced off the walls. The man he had followed stepped in front of him in a robe that reminded him of a monk. "It's crimson, bitch," Jason snarkily responded and couldn't help the smirk on his face, but it didn't seem to even slightly faze him. "Many have found the devil in their words in this city, but we, the church of hope and new ways, have made it our mission to bring thou, wrongdoers, to a path of justice and good, to a path of the angel." So Cass and Stephanie were right after all? A cult, really? "So that's all very noble and all, at least in theory, but ya know, I'm kinda on your side. With hunting and jailing criminals and all that jazz." "Thou words are full of sin that thou not even recognize, but don't fret, we will free you of them, free you of the devil within and bring you on a path of belief and light, we will bring thou to face with the angel that hath shown us the way too." Now that was next-level crazy, Jason thought and rolled his eyes under his still worn helmet. "Well, knock yourself out," he sighed and leaned back in the chair. Seemingly listening to Jason, the man disappeared through a door and suddenly all the lights in the room went out, leaving Jason in complete darkness, unable to turn on the night vision in his helmet. He heard another door on the other side opening and light steps echoed through the room, but whoever came in didn't make any other sounds but that. Then he was blinded by the brightest light he had most likely ever seen and what his eyes saw when the light simmered down a bit and he got used to the brightness made him freeze to the core. The words that left his mouth next were the result of habit more than thought, but he said them nonetheless: "Babe did you fall from heaven because you seem to be a chaotic ever-shifting sphere of eyes and wings making a sound not of this earth and I'm kind of hoping God sent you because this is terrifying." He wasn't wrong though. In front of him was, in fact, actually an ever-shifting sphere of eyes and wings that was making sounds that were clearly not human, neither anything that he had ever heard off-world and even though Jason was by no means religious, he had heard enough about how the angels in the bible were described to identify this thing in front of him as an angel. Suddenly the ever so brave, fearless and cocky Jason Todd stared at that being in front of him and his hidden face was drawn by fear and terror. He could deal with torture and pain, he could deal with technology and drugs, but he couldn't deal with whatever would be happening next. What would be happening next? Well, whatever it was that he expected, it sure as hell wasn't what happened. The sphere that he feared more than he had feared anything in the last years started to giggle. GIGGLE! Do Angel's even giggle? How would I ever know if angels giggle? The glow died down and the shifting intensified, the eyes were closing and drawing together, the wings merging too until there was only one pair left and the sphere turned into a different form, something longer and more humanly shaped, until it did a final change and turned into a girl. And what a girl she was. Jason's breath was stolen by her and the atmosphere surrounding her. She looked stunning in every sense of the word, from the Y/S/C skin that was basically glowing with angelic shine, her hair that was somehow looking like a halo even though it was nothing like one and her face that seemed to be sculptured by whoever created this hellhole called life themselves. And don't let him get started on the pair off wings that she was still sporting on her back. It was quite honestly gigantic. So big that its lowest part was reaching the floor and the highest part was still a few inches higher than her head. He could imagine that they would fill out the entire room if she was to stretch them out and the thought alone made him somewhat fuzzy in his head. He wished he could describe their colour, but he was sure that it was none of the ones he had ever seen on any planet, ever, he wasn't even sure if his eyes should be humanly able to comprehend the colour and yet there he sat looking at them. He was so impressed by these celestial limbs that he didn't even notice the fact that the girl was, in fact, completely naked. But even if he'd notice it, he wouldn't have seen her body as something sexual. The way she was moving like it was completely natural would more likely make him feel ridiculous for ever thinking of a naked body as something as intimate. And then her voice. Her voice was even more divine than anything else, making his whole body tense up and relax simultaneously. "You are full of darkness, but your darkness is unlike anything else they have shown me," she stated matter-of-factly and she came close to him, rounding him a few times with curiosity in her eyes, "And not just your insides are different than the ones they showed me, your head seems to have a sort of protective shell, how magnificent." Is she talking about my helmet? Does she think it is a part of me? "Uhm, Miss Angel, that isn't a part of my body, it's removable," he said, surprised that he was even  able to talk with his heart basically having stopped beating. Her eyes widened in child-like wonder and she kneeled down in front of him, her wings spreading out slightly beside her to accommodate the change in height. "Would it be okay if I were to take it off?" she asked in innocence that Jason has quite honestly never seen before. "Uhm, sure," Jason answered, completely having forgotten the whole reason that he was here in the first place.   Her delicate hands slowly found their way to were his helmet laid over his ears and she looked into the general direction of were his eyes were, her Y/E/C orbs seemingly shifting colour every time she moved even an inch. "I'll try to be careful," she hummed and started trying to get it off, changing her tactic ever so often when she noticed that it wasn't working, but instead of telling her what to do, Jason just looked at the angel and couldn't find any words. Finally, after about two minutes, she managed to pull it off and carefully laid it down beside the chair, before finally leading her gaze to his now, except for the domino mask, uncovered face. She didn't say anything, just bringing her hands up to his face and tracing it, including every scar, no matter how little, and every edge. Even though he had been in awe before, now he could almost comprehend why the criminals changed their ways, hell, at that moment he'd burn the city down without hesitation if she'd asked for it. Finally, her fingers wandered over the edges of his mask and when he gave her a small nod of consent, she somehow managed to peel it off and free his eyes for her to see. He didn't mind that she now knew what he looked like, that she could now identify him, but to be honest, he didn't think much about it, too caught up in that moment and that moment only. Their eyes met in a moment of complete silence whit the only sound present in Jason's head was the pounding of his heart and the rushing of his blood. "You are really unlike the others aren't you?" her voice broke that moment, but he somehow knew that he wasn't expected to answer. For a few heartbeats, the two off them stayed in place, before the angel ruffled her feathers, the sound echoing through the warehouse, like dozens of birds flying away. She raised back to her full size, her wings folding back to where they had originally been. "Tell me, why do my saviours want me to bring you to the light? I can see that it is already in you, it may be clouded and darkened, but it is there," she asked him and her hand was cupping his cheek in an act that seemed unnoticed by herself as if she was doing it unconsciously. Jason wasn't quite sure how to respond to that question, but he noticed something else in what she said, something that formed confusion in him. "Your saviours? Shouldn't it be the other way around?" "How do you mean that?" the angel asked with honest naive confusion written over her face as she cocked her head to the side and folded her hand in front of her bare stomach. "Well, uh, I'm no expert by any means, but you're an angel right?" She nodded but kept quiet as if that question didn't give her a clue as to what he meant. "Uhm... Angels are creatures sent by God and...uhm...they are over humans, right? So how is that guy and whoever he works with your saviour? Is he Jesus or something?" What she answered was something he didn't even remotely expect. "Who?" "Jesus? Your Boss's son? God sent messiah to free all humans? Allegedly forgave us for our sins and got killed for that?" Jason rambled and tried to count down everything he still remembered. The angle put her hand in front of her mouth in shock at his words. "That sounds horrible, is he okay?" she asked in a tone that made it pretty clear to Jason that she did, first of all, not know who Jesus was, and second, had no idea what killing actually meant. "Uhm, sure, he's great, somewhere up there with his dad, I guess," Jason just shrugged, not really caring about that topic anymore and more focusing on all the facts about her being an angel that didn't add up. "Can you tell me about yourself?" he just boldly asked her, but it didn't seem to phase her at all, in fact, she brightened up at the possibility to tell him about her. "Uhm, I can't tell you much, but I was saved by the church of hope and new ways when they found me after what they called a miracle, they took care of me and explained to me that I was sent to them to be their tool to re-shape the world," she explained with a somewhat proud undertone, but Jason's feeling got cemented. The feeling that she had actually no idea what was going on around her and what she was used to do, and the feeling that she may not really be the sort of angel he, and seemingly she, believed she was. "Re-shape the world?" he investigated further, a small voice muttering theories in the back of his head. "Mhm," she nodded and her right wing folded itself slightly in front of her as if she was nervous or shy, "They bring men who are filled with darkness and they have me look into them, look if they have light and make me watch their mind, then they have told me to bring them into the sun, I show them the way that they tell me is right, make them believe in the church." Her words were slightly wary and Jason could recognize the doubt in them. She wasn't doing this voluntarily... "Do you want to do that?" he asked to clarify things for himself, and maybe also her. Her eyes wandered to the door the mock-monk had disappeared in and Jason could have sworn he saw something like fear in them. "I- Uhm- Yes," she nodded, but couldn't look at the man in front of her, she had almost turned her whole body away from him. "I don't believe you." "Why?" her voice wasn't as childish and curious and innocent anymore, it was small and fragile. "I'm not sure, but I think they are lying to you, I think you aren't an angel. I mean, you're sure as hell no human, but you're not an angel, at least not one in the...uhm..traditional sense." This seemed to gain her attention in a way that had her turning around again and made her take a step towards him. "Do you really think so? Because... I have tried to tell them, but they said no to all my questions, they told me that I am the tool for the church, that that is my only task and that I would be lost without them, but I can see it in them too. The darkness, they tell me to turn into light, is in them too, but they don't let me change it, they tell me I must see something that isn't there... And not only that... I have memories, memories of the Miracle. I see flashes of other people, people that make my heartache, and flashes of a building, one that looked like this room here on the inside. "And then there are other flashes, flashes I have at nights when I'm resting, there are loud noises and heat is licking at my skin, at my back, at my whole body, and there are so many screams." She seemingly didn't find the connection between those memories, but Jason sure as hell did. It was mainly a theory at that point, but he believed that she had been at church with her family when it burned down, maybe there was magic involved or she had the meta-gen inside her, but while her family burned she must have turned into the angel she was now, losing most of her memory in the process. The people that must have found her and figured out of the great powers she had, had decided to use her for their own sinister plans and she was none the wiser, Jason couldn't know if she had always been that naive and innocent, but she was now and, even though he had only known her for a matter of maybe half an hour, she had grown on him if he was being honest. "Can you see into other people's heads? Can you read other people's memories too?" he asked, a small plan forming in his mind. She looked at him in thought, but she seemingly was somewhat intrigued. "I believe so, I have only done it one or two times." "Read my mind, read my memories," he almost commanded, but she was taken off for other reasons. "Why would you want me to do that? My saviours tell me that it isn't my place to do so..." "I know this is confusing and what you will see will shock you, but I hope you will be able to trust me after that, trust me to help you, get you out of here." The prospect of being away from her 'saviours' seemed to make her interested, but there was something else that she had to know beforehand. "Will you stay with me? Will you take me with you? I can't be alone, I don't know where to go, what to do, I can't- don't think that I can survive all alone," she looked away and he could see the fear and pain, of not knowing what the future would hold in her whole demeanour, and he wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms, but the restraints that were still binding him to the chair were keeping him from doing so. "If you don't want to be, you won't be alone, I will take you with me, we will go through this together, okay?" "Okay," she smiled slightly and came to him, her hands hovering over the rope around his chest and, in a for Jason surprising turn of event, her palms started glowing and the rope basically disintegrated leaving him free to stand up, having to physically restrain himself from holding her. "This won't be happening to me too?" he asked gesturing to what was still left off the rope. And she giggled again. God, he had almost forgotten how heavenly that giggle was. "No, I don't think it will," she said in a tone as if she was honestly questioning her statement, but before he could say anything about it her hands found themselves on the sides of his temple and the last thing that echoed through the room before the angel fell unconscious in his arms was her scream.

When the angel woke up she felt utterly exhausted. She had seen everything that had ever happened in Jason's life, including his death and every time he had killed, and she had felt it like she was it who experienced it. It had literally drained her, but Jason was correct, as she woke up again, she trusted him with her life and more. She knew him now. Possibly better than anyone else in the world. And not only that, when her eyes opened he was the first thing she saw. She was laying in his lap, something that was astounding enough considering the giant wings that were spread out beside her and partly over Jason, and somewhere along her time of being in his memories he had taken off his brown leather jacket and had put it on her and zipped it up, keeping the, in normal standards, intimate parts of her body hidden from sight. What the angel couldn't see were the bodies of the people who had, in Jason's opinion, used you for the past few months that were stacked in the backroom and, if he was lucky, not dead. "Sorry you had to see this, but I wanted for you to be able to completely trust me," Jason whispered, his hands caressing through her hands. "It's okay, I understand," she hummed back and they both knew that she meant more than just the statement about him wanting her to trust him. "Can we leave now?" "Of course," he smiled and helped her up, having been made aware earlier when she passed out that her wings added more to her body weight than he had anticipated, but that was to expect, they were robust and spread out almost twice as big as Jason in width. The angel, who Jason really needed to find a name for, had the wing on the side opposite of where Jason stood beside her, drawn in, but the one that was on his side was spread out behind him like a shield, curling around him slightly, but he just smiled and slightly shook his head at that. He honestly really didn't know what it was about the girl, his angel, or the whole situation itself, but a really small part of him wanted to believe that maybe there was something like a bigger picture, maybe not necessarily a god, but something that had brought them together, something that had wanted to make him know that the two of them knowing each other was meant to be.

[nebraska-is-a-myth]

My Eret Headcanons

These are just my headcannons for C!Eret and the potential of them being a descendent of herobrine and what that could entail for his and Philza’s relationship. This keeps me up at night thinking about it, so you can read this and suffer with me. 

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Eret met philza first out of them all.

It was a long long time ago when Phil was known as the fearless young warrior that had been the first to slay the mighty dragon. Before he had retired to become a shitty father.

They had met in the void: Phil was on the hunt for herobrine, determined to put a stop to the terror he and his army inflicted onto the overworld, and Eret had been born there, alone. When Eret was younger he remembers wandering alone in the void. Their family had cast them out a few days ago for something they honestly can't even remember, but they knew they could never return. The void was nice, it was calming. Eret was neither warm nor cold, neither hungry or full, she could feel sleep calling to her, but her legs strode on nonetheless. The void was known for being endless and bland, numbness seeped into his every being with each breath. Walking for eternity was an option Eret had been avoiding for some time now. But then Phil had appeared from the endless mist and he had been so kind, offering warm touches and happy smiles. Nothing Eret had experienced back home. Eret hadn't understood Phil back then, not yet being exposed to the language of the overworld. But when Phil held out a map that looked similar to the grand fortress of the void, Eret had paled and shook their head frantically. Phil had calmed the small creature enough to understand that their panicked whimpers had been a warning. Eret had only been a small child back then, so they clung to Phil’s leg when he started walking towards the direction of the palace, ignoring Erets incomprehenable blabbering. Phil was confused at first, but continued on walking when the little creature wouldn't detach itself from him. When Phil had gotten more uncomfortable, he shifted Eret onto his back with a little protest from the child. On the small journey, Phil had started to try and teach the little child a few touches of English. Eret had learnt how to say “philza” with a little difficulty, and Eret had responded with a noise that Phil had understood as “Alastair”. Before long they arrived at the fortress and Phil could sense Erets discomfort. Instead of going through the main entrance, Eret hurriedly lead Phil to a gap in the wall of the fortress and mumbled words of encouragement to his new friend. Phil handed ‘Alastair’ a shiny golden ring from a pocket in his robe and placed it in Erets small hands with a soft smile and a comforting embrace. Eret wasn't sure what was happening at first when Phil’s arms had wrapped around them, it was warm and Phil smelled nice. Contact wasn't something anyone back home considered appropriate outside of the family home, even then it was rare. So Eret melted into the touch of phils soft arms, having not been held since they were a toddler. Eret still wasn't sure what Phil was doing, but they decided they liked it. When Phil pulled away, Eret tilted their head, hoping he would understand their confusion of the action. They watched Phils eyebrows knit together and his smile falls only for a moment before softly repeating the word “Hug”. Eret nodded, saying the word back confidently, bringing a smile to Phils face. Phil brought Eret in for another hug before standing back up and nodding. Phil had looked happy, so Eret stayed put, understanding that Phil would come back for Eret and his ring. 

After a while of waiting for philza’s return, Eret grew worried and made the decision to follow their new friend into the depths of the fortress. But by the time Eret made their way into the grand fortress, both Philza and the tyrant Herobrine that had ruled the land with an iron fist had disappeared, leaving only a glowing portal in the great hall where blood stained the floor. The whiring of the glowing portal intrigued Eret, having only seen these portals from behind heavily guarded gates where soldiers like their father had been sent off to war under the orders of Herobrine. Would it be safe if they went through? Would they be punished on the other side? Would they even survive the journey? Eret glances at the ring in their hands, the purple light of the portal glints off of the shiny metal. The ring is far too big to fit on any of Erets fingers, but Eret runs their fingertips across the beautiful inscription of what appears to be a magnificent pair of wings much like Philza’s. They cannot read the writing, but something deep down tells them that this meant something to Phil, it looks old and worn but it has memories, memories that Phil entrusted them to keep safe. Eret looks around at the big empty hall. The void was lonely, it was dark and endless, Phil had been the first soul they had seen since they had been cast out. Spending a lifetime alone was something nobody wanted, it was something Eret themselves feared the most. It’s decided then, Eret must go through the portal and find Philza, returning the golden ring to their new friend. Eret took in a deep breath of hazy void air and took a step into the swirling magic. 

For a second Eret thinks they've made a mistake. They feel like the magic is twisting their insides into slush. Their eyes flutter closed for a second, clutching onto the ring and the obsidian beside them before their being involuntarily pushed out in a bright harsh light. Erets eyes snap shut, every time they try to peel their eyelids open they feel like someone is burning a hole into the back of their head. It hurts and they don't know where they are and they can feel panic rising in their chest. They’re scared. All they can do is curl into themselves and stroke their finger over the indentations across philza’s ring. The heavy breathing goes on for a while, the feeling of loneliness once again creeping up on them. That is until they feel something press against their shoulder. They flinch as it comes in contact with their skin, fear of attack taking over their actions. The touch comes again but softer this time, in the hopes that it may be Phil they allow it to guide them into a warmer, darker place. They fall over their feet a few times, but they make it nonetheless. When the light dulls enough for them to open their eyes, fear sparks through them once again. They find himself trapped behind rusty iron bars. They’ve been locked away. No, no this can't be happening. They want to go home, to the void, anywhere but the disgusting cell that reeks of death and ash. They mutter words that the guards definitely don't understand and in retaliation they shout back in a language much harsher than Phil had used. They take to shouting Philza’s name, hoping they would recognize it or the man himself would hear them. He doesn't. Eret is alone, they don't see philza again.

At least, not until november 16th. The message on her communicator brings back memories of a place Eret had buried a long time ago, but she doesn't have time to dwell on it because in a flash the ground beneath her feet is gone and a blast sends her flying off the ground. Eret lands with a thump and a twisted ankle, but he’s sure his injuries are only minor compared to those closer to the blast. They’re a good distance away from the town center but they can see techno and tommy in the distance shouting about something that Eret cant bring themselves to listen to. Their back rests against an old spruce tree, and they sit staring at their communicator. 

Wilbur was dead.

A choked sob rises in Erets throat. There were too many thoughts racing through his head. Panicked voices scream at him that Phil is going to recognize him, that he’s going to see the light behind his sunglasses and demand for Erets exile or execution. No one else knew of her past, how she was born in the void, a hybrid pretending to fit in with the humans. The rational side of them knew that so many other people on the server were hybrids, but even then some people feared techno for his bloodlust, and bad for his demonic nature. Eret couldn't be locked in a cage again, not after she worked so hard to move on and forget her past. The fear of her past life fuels her irrationality. But Phil was never like that. No he remembers that period in the void clearly, he remembers warm hugs and soft touches, and the ring. Eret rubs his thumb over the engravings on the ring that now sits comfortably on one of his fingers and takes in a deep shallow breath. This ring had been his rock for the past however many years they spent in the overworld. Human time works different from time in the void, so it never really was their strong suit. But they remember the aching in their bones of being in uncomfortable positions for long periods, and the dirt under their fingernails after a long day of construction. Through it all Eret had their ring and memories of someone who cared for them, someone to remind them that things change, sometimes from the better and sometimes for the worse. But was that all just an illusion?

Phil had shown them kindness and compassion.

But Phil had also killed wilbur.

Everything comes crashing down on Eret all at once, the one thing stable they had in their life collapses on them and suffocates every hope they ever had. The ring burns on their finger, the metal now glinting with lies instead of promises of a better life. God they were so stupid. They knew the likeliness of ever finding Phil again were slim, let alone be remembered by the man, but that hope and longing of someone to love them kept them going all these years. And now that hope was going to be the death of them.

Eret hears the screams of Niki and his friends and pushes his worries to the back of his mind, right now he must fight for the remains of what once was his home.

That night as the fighting finally comes to an end, Eret makes a decision. He decides to distance himself from philza, not ready to face the pain of being forgotten or exiled. He wasn't particularly happy with isolating himself either, but fear does strange things to a person. 

But then ghostbur comes to him with desires of bringing back Wilbur and of course Eret will do whatever she can to bring back her friend. Sure soot may have hated her guts, but Eret wants nothing more than to hug him and feel his presence again. Not that she disliked ghostbur, but the phantom was a painful reminder of what once was and what could never be. And of course Phil wants to get involved with the resurrection of his son, of course he does, so Eret pretends he doesn't know Phil past what others had said about the man in passing conversation. Phil seemingly does the same, referencing so kindly how “Alivebur had resented him” and for a second Eret thinks they’re going be found out, that their time is up. But it never happens, Phil remains oblivious and Eret is constantly on edge.

It’s gotten to the point where Erets anxiety completely takes over and before they know it they’re at Technos arctic base and Ranboo is whispering something into Phils ear.

“I can't in good conscience let you onto this property Eret.”

No no please, Eret needs to do this, Eret needs to do something good, they need to get wilbur back. They need to..

“You're a king, and kings have power over others. It’s nothing personal.”

It is personal, they know it is, it's what they all say. Phil doesn't trust them, ranboo dosent trust them. They need to prove themselves, they have to, they can't be alone again. They just can't. 

Maybe, maybe if she shows phil her eyes, if she reminded phil of the times before the smp, the times before nations and wars and sides. Before any of this where Eret wasn't the traitorous king and Phil was still the angel of death. Maybe Phil would remember Alastair, the child who helped him in another lifetime, the child he made a promise to, a promise to keep them safe. 

So Eret takes a chance, he takes a chance with Ranboo, deciding to trust the Enderman hybrid, and he takes a chance with phil. She takes off her glasses, her crown tumbling down into the snow after them, and she pleads with Phil to let her help. She pleads not to be left alone again. 

But Phil looks right through them. He stares into their whitened eyes and pushes them away just like everyone else, whispering jokes to Ranboo as Eret walks away with tears rolling down their cheeks. The promise made all that time ago had meant nothing to the man who Eret yearned for the most, they were left alone with nothing but a ring and false promises once again. Eret may have thought themselves unlovable and helpless in that moment, but they knew they still had a duty to his friend. To the boy who needed a father most. She was going to get Wilbur back, not for herself, not for Phil, not for l’manburg, but for Fundy. So Eret wipes her tears and sets off for snowchester, Eret could prove to Phil she was worth something, that she was worth remembering. 

Eret had met Philza first out of them all, but Phil was the first to forget them.

[ahsoka-lives]

Apprentice

SUMMARY/ AN: INQUISITOR CAL SOULMATE AU The first words your soulmate says to you appears on your wrist after they’re spoken. Reader is almost in Cal’s position except the backstory is different(you’ll see what I mean and reminds me of Rey a bit). I’m sure you’ve all read a fic that started with the Bracca scene so I tried to change it up. Gif is by @ciricinnamonroll​ and it’s sos os goood. Please lmk what you guys think!! 

WARNINGS: A bit violent and a little sad

WORD COUNT: 1594

   The weather on Bracca was as cheerful as ever. Grey and dark blue clouds were scattered across the sky as the rain carried on into the night. You were exhausted, no beyond exhausted. If you were to spend one more minute on top of that frigate you would have fallen asleep up there.

You’d been a scrapper for as long as you could remember, Bracca was all you’ve ever known. The woman who raised you claimed that you just appeared on her doorstep in a small wooden basket, barely a few months old. She took you in and raised you as if she was your mother but she was already old when you arrived. She passed away when you were young, leaving you to learn the ways of the junkyard planet by yourself. You were eternally grateful for the time you had with her but there was part of you that ached for that feeling of belonging again, for a family. Everyday alone here was the same; Wake up, go to work, take the train back to the husk of an Imperial Walker that you called home, and do it again the next day.

One day, you told yourself, one day you would meet your soulmate and then you would get to have that feeling. You dreamed of the day you would look down and see the first words of your true love on your skin. You knew only a handful of people who had theirs and the envy you felt was unparalleled. 

Suddenly the train began slowing down but it was way too soon for it to be your stop. The calm chatter of the train transformed into hushed gasps and you could almost feel the tensions rise. You jumped to your feet and looked toward the commotion at the front of the train car. 

“Imperial troopers!” A small boy who couldn’t be older than 15 yelled from against the window. 

“Troopers are stopping the train?” You mutter aloud to yourself. This was unusual, sure troopers were just about everywhere nowadays but they almost never did random stops. 

The train finally came to a full stop and the doors to hissed open. The sound of the rain pattering onto the ground could be heard from inside. Two troopers walked onto the train and side-by-side inspected the car while ordering identification papers from everyone on board. This was also unusual, your stomach began to churn with anxiety. What was going on?

“Everybody outside now!” A trooper ordered with the usual lifeless tone. Within seconds all of the passengers filed out onto the muddy Bracca terrain. You pulled the hood of your poncho over your head in an attempt to protect yourself from the onslaught of rain. 

Standing side by side perfectly still were two Imperial Inquisitors. You recognized them from a propaganda poster that the Empire used to trick young boys into willingly enlisting but you weren’t sure of their purpose. Living out here kept you hidden from a lot of the Empire’s atrocities and you considered yourself lucky. As you were pushed toward the Inquisitors by the wall of troopers that formed behind you, you fixed your gaze to the mud that caked your boots. 

“We are here today because we received word that one of you may be a traitor to the Empire.” A bitter voice called from behind her winged helmet. “It would seem that one of you is a Jedi.” 

Her words sparked visible confusion from the group and everyone began exchanging worried glances between one another. A Jedi? Aren’t those extinct? 

“If this traitor doesn’t come forward and reveal themselves, all of you will be executed. Show yourself, or we will spill all of your blood!” She shouted angrily and the sound of blasters being aimed could be heard from behind you. Mere moments passed before she sighed in mock disappointment. “Very well, open fire.”

“Wait! Stop!” The young boy from earlier shouted from his place next to you and stepped forward, arms raised above his head in submission. Shock ran through the line of your peers at the events unfolding in front of you. 

“Kestis, time to play your part in this.” The woman commanded and stepped away from the other Inquisitor. 

The second Inquisitor reached to his hip and grabbed a small piece of equipment. In one fluid motion the Inquisitor released it from its clasp and brought two fiery red blades to life. You let a loud gasp slip past your mouth and terror flooded throughout your body. The man called Kestis stalked toward the boy like a predatory animal and that he was. The boy was backing away with fear written all over his face and your heart was racing. Rapid eyes moved from the Inquisitor to the boy and you couldn’t help but think they had to be mistaken. This little boy couldn’t possibly be that much of a threat. 

“Kestis, he has to prove himself first.” The woman growled from behind him, clearly aggravated. 

“Fine, we’ll do this your way.” The deep voice of the man just a few feet in front of you sent chills down your spine. He deactivated his weapon and placed it back at his side before extending a menacing hand to the boy. When the boy hesitated his wrist was grabbed harshly and pulled into Kestis’s arms. He kicked against the Inquisitors hold and grunted useless “get off”s and “let go”s, your heart ached for him. There has to be something I can do.

Before you knew it he had dragged the boy to the cliff side and the Inquisitor hoisted the boy up by his collar and held him over the edge with ease. 

“If he lives, he’s a Jedi and I get to kill him myself. If he dies then we kill them all.” His voice was riddled with irritation, Kestis clearly didn’t like to be told what to do. The Inquisitor gave the line of bystanders one last glance before turning back to the child. “So long, Jedi.” 

The gloved hand left his collar. Screams left the strained throats of those around you and the rain seemed to quiet itself to allow the sound to echo louder. Your hand shot out helplessly as if to grab the boy and a scream of your own left your throat raw. The next few seconds defied all of what you thought possible

It was as if the air obeyed the profound “NO” that you screamed and halted the movements of the plummeting child. He floated over the edge of the cliff for just a moment before your reflexes pulled your hand back to your chest. While the words “What did I do” rattled around in your brain, you cradled the hand that acted on its own and the boy fell. His screams were heard only for a moment as he fell from earshot. 

“So, it wasn’t the boy.” The woman hummed curiously as the two Inquisitors turned toward you. Tears pricked your eyes and mixed with the rain against your cheeks as guilt filled your consciousness. “You don’t even know what just happened, do you?” 

You were panting and staring at the rogue hand, barely paying any mind to the Inquisitors ahead of you. They paused unsure of what was to be done with you. The Inquisitors seemed to be arguing over the issue but you really didn’t care, your mind was still reeling at what just happened around you, to you, and to that poor boy. 

“We can’t just leave her here, Kestis.” 

“We shouldn’t kill her either, she doesn’t even know what she is.” Kestis bit back in a hushed but aggressive tone and stared down the woman in front of him. 

“Do what you want, I’m done here. Troopers, they’re free to go.” The Inquisitor snapped and turned on her heel to leave. You were finally pulled from your trance at the damning sound of his boots stomping over to you. 

Your eyes snapped up and your instincts kick in once again making your feet start to step away from him. The man let out a low growl and grabbed your wrist pulling you to him while he simultaneously brought his masked face to sit in front of yours. From this close you could hear the heavy breaths that left his modulator.

“You’re with me now.” He gritted and within seconds a burning sensation tore into your skin making you scream out in pain. “Oh come on, I barely touched you.” 

You yanked your wrist from his grasp and looked at him appalled. Thankfully, the burning quickly subsided and you blinked away the tears to let your eyes focus on the words forming in your skin. 

Oh my gods, this is it? 

“You’re who I’ve been waiting for?” Your unnerved state was evident in your tone. Kestis hissed and pressed his hand over his wrist as the words you spoke burned into him. He hurriedly ripped his glove off and pulled up the sleeve on his uniform as if they were the cause of his pain. The cold rains of Bracca fell onto the newly revealed skin and soothed his skin.

“What an interesting turn of events.” He chuckled as he read the words over and over again. He was surprised to say the least. “You’re really stuck with me now, hun.” 

He pulled his glove back on and laughed once again, he couldn’t believe his luck. His soulmate and a new apprentice all in one.

[storysofmyown]

Obey me! Scarred, Chap. 12

Plot:It’s time for the next step in Diavolo’s plan to unify the  realms. But, in order to work, the demons would be subjected to confront  their worst fears, and in some cases, who they are.  

Trigger Warning: Manipulation, some cussing, mild child abuse, burns, broken bones, stab wounds

Word count: 12077

Mc fell completely numb once they were swallowed by complete darkness. Their voice was gone and the only thing they felt was the constant reminder of their broken arm. But still…they had hope…there was a way to get the demons back, to break them out of God’s control. They knew it, Mammon had showed it to them…they just needed to figure out what to do with God after the demons had been recovered. Mc fell onto the floor, darkness slowly fading into a place Mc was familiar with. In the distance, voices calling for their name, shouting, screaming, anything else was unrecognizable. But the ferocity in the voices was as evident and clear as the day was. The darkness dissolved into deep greys and slowly bursting into light, Mc saw the castle, the sound muffled by their thoughts and the pain, even by the fear for the demons.

 Then, a figure came into view, it wasn’t running, but instead, it seemed like they have been blown by something. Mc looked at the figure recognized them as one of the archangels from God. The archangel was beaten up, obvious signs that he had engaged in a fight, determination filled his gaze as he went back to his feet once again, sword in hand, only to blasted away by magic. Mc looked at their left, Solomon saw them and smiled warmly, the wizard was obviously exhausted as his breathing was accelerated. How much magic had he used to break the spell?

 “They are back!” He screamed, then jumping out of the way as one of the archangels almost collided with him, Diavolo came into view, the moment his eyes fell into Mc’s form he smiled, running their way to make sure the human was okay. The wizard and the demon reached Mc, and upon getting closed enough noticed the way they were holding their arm. “You are injured.” Solomon stated.

 “Where are the others?” Mc asked, ignoring completely Solomon’s question. They couldn’t care less about their injuries and the pain, all they cared about was bringing their family back. Mc looked around frenetically, giving their back to the prince and the wizard.

 The palace was destroyed. The walls and the ceiling were still standing, but the interior had been completely trashed. The fancy decorations had burned on fire at some point, the only object left being the fountain placed right in the middle of the room. Mc felt their heart tighten. Before God transported them to that barren place, they remember him telling the angels to take care of the others…but they never expected any of this. What was meant to be a ballad to unify the realms and bring peace around, ended up becoming the catalyst which would pin The Celestial Realm and The Devildom against each other for years to come. Mc put a hand over their heart instinctively.

 “They should be arriving soon. We need to get you out of here.” Diavolo spoke, with a hint of sadness in their tone.

 “I’m not going anywhere.”

 “Mc, we need to put you somewhere safe. You are injured, and judging by the fact you are the only one that came trough so far…that mean the others fell under God’s command. You cant stay here.” Diavolo spoke with authority, yet, in his voice, the sadness was evident. The human finally turned around a got a good look at the beings they considered friends, before simply shaking their head.

 “Mc…we are going to have to fight them all at once…the possibilities of failure are far bigger than those of success, at least you should save yourself and get as far as you can.” The wizard spoke, finally in a calmer manner, perhaps his powers had recharged already. Mc thought back to that instant where God had to retract his powers from the demons in order to bring Satan’s angel blood out. The way the white faded from them, revealing slowly their normal forms, the way Mammon had managed to brake trough and go into demon form and save them…they could get them back…they needed to.

 “They are not completely gone.” It was a simple sentence, just five words. Five words that for a moment ignited hope again within the ones standing, when Solomon had told Diavolo and Barbatos Lucifer had fallen to god’s control, they knew it was about to get real bad, that if they didn’t get Mc out of there they would be killed, and it seemed like they were just in time…if maybe not a little late. “We can bring them back.” It was a mere second that passed, but the silence of the moment made Mc worry they would not at least try to get them back, but the smile on Diavolo’s lips and the fire within his eyes, was all the answer they needed.

 “What is the plan?” Solomon asked after a silent agreement with the demon prince. Mc wished they had time to explain it then, but this feeling of pure dread and horror they felt as every hair in their body stood. Mc stopped breathing subconsciously, they held their breath in as they felt the temperature drop and the seriousness raise over Diavolo and Solomon. Mc didn’t need to turn around to know what was behind them, mist rising as them.  And before the voice spoke, Mc knew hell was about to break loose.

 “What a touching reunion!” First appeared God, and then one by one each of the reformed angels appeared around him, with a look God called upon the other angels that had stayed behind. Barbatos, who had been distracting them while Solomon and Diavolo took care of Mc stood beside his boss, a welcoming look lingering on Mc for a half a second before looking on at their enemy. “It’s a shame I am being forced to cut it short.” Mc’s eyes fell on the reformed angels, each of them with blank expressions of some sort, Lucifer had one of his wings lower than the other…was his wing broken? Mc swallowed before making eye contact with Simeone, the angel had a regretful expression as Luke hid behind his legs.

 “What is the plan, My Lord?”

 “That is an excellent question Barbatos, but I am not the person to answer that. Mc?”

 “Talking about me in the open? Well, I do not appreciate that much.” God smirked, he moved his head slightly, an in a moment of terror the three eldest brothers launched themselves at the group. Solomon put a barrier around them, giving them a little time to figure out what they were going to do, but it needed to be done fast. “Ah, hiding, are we?” Mc glared at God before realizing that the others were waiting for them to explain it over.

 “I need your powers.” Mc told Solomon, it wasn’t a question or a plead, it was an order, a demand. “They are not angels…not entirely. God, I…I think he actively needs to be controlling them so they stay angels. The moment he isn’t controlling them they turn back to their normal forms, and if I can bring their demon side to the light…then they would be more powerful.”

 “Mc…you are still injured-”

 “I’m the only one that can do this! The…the pacts…I’m the only one that can bring them back.” Mc bit on their lips as they felt the force of the hits from the reformed angels outside the barriers.

 “If I may…” Barbatos smiled, signaling for Mc to show him their broken arm. Mc did it, slowly, the pain becoming unbearable now that they were aware of it. Barbatos held their hand a little too tightly, sending jolts of pains at Mc who’s memories of the moment Lucifer broke their arm became present. A blinding light made Mc close their eyes for a second, they felt the pain slowly fade away. When they opened their eyes they saw some sigils around their hand. “As long as these sigils do not brake, you will not feel pain. It’s merely a temporary fix.” Mc nodded, thanking Barbatos for that, who only went to help Solomon with the barrier.

 “What about God?” Solomon asked, already feeling the weight of the barrier. “Once we get them back, what about him?” Mc hadn’t thought about that, all they cared about was getting the demons back, they didn’t care about what happened to God as long as their family would be freed.

 “I’ll take care of it.” Diavolo spoke, his voice had a somber tone to it, his eyes fixed in God who was comfortably hiding behind the people he had hurt so badly. “I’ll take of him, just focus on getting them back.” Diavolo smiled sadly at Mc. The man’s dreams had been shattered the moment God had stepped in the Devildom, yet here he was…there for his friends…

 “Okay…Mc, get closer.” Mc stepped close to Solomon who proceeded to take his hands off the barrier, leaving the weight onto Diavolo and Barbatos. The man moved his hands in front of Mc’s face as lines appeared in the air, and they felt a tremendous rush of power start crossing through their veins. They all faced forward; eyes fixated on God. Diavolo and Barbatos got ready to let the barrier fall. “So, who are we getting first?” Mc partially smiled; their eyes fall on the reformed angel they knew would probably help them the most in this situation.

 “Asmodeus.” Mc thought about how he had been able to charm Henry 1.0 that one time…they hoped it would work angels too. “We need Asmodeus.”

 The barrier fell, the moment it was realized, it shattered, the shattering of it creating a powerful pressure that threw some of the reformed angels off their feet. Solomon smiled, proceeding to take a step further and shooting bolts of magic towards God´s servants and even God. The latter having to use his own power for them not to hit him, while simultaneously making the reformed angels stand once again, and the others attack them. Their movements were stiff and robot like, unlike when God had controlled both Beel and Asmo. They were slower, and easier to take out, or that’s what Mc hoped. Diavolo and Barbatos proceeded to take out some of the reformed angels out of the way, carving a path for Mc to reach Asmodeus, his form also trying to strike at them. Barbatos managed to dodge an archangel, in the process taking his lance with which he had attacked and throwing it at God, who used his power to stop it once it was close to him, the lance not letting him see Diavolo, who had picked one of the smaller archangels and threw it on his direction, knocking the being to the floor. Mc saw as this action made God´s control flicker for a second, they looked at Solomon, who had just avoided a direct hit from Belphegor. A memory coming their way. They remembered the spell God used to throw lighting at them, they took a deep breath and rapidly mimicked the actions, having to dodge one of the archangels who tried to stab them with some daggers. They pointed at God, and only God. The being having barely gotten to his feet and getting hit right in the face with an vicious force.

 In that moment, Mc let some tears fall. They weren’t crying because they were hurting him, they were crying because of how much pain he had made the demons be in. They remembered the blood-red eyes of Asmodeus and the trial of tears, the red marks on Leviathans deck, the sea of emotions on Beels as he attacked God, the pain Satan felt, the obvious broken wig of Lucifer, the state Mammon was in the few seconds he was back to normal. They didn’t care about their broken arm, they only cared about the pain of the demons. Mc let out a scream as the power crossing trough them hit God. The being seemed affected by it for a couple of seconds, but he now was glaring worse than ever at the human. He closed his eyes, and Mc saw the brothers fall one by one, their eyes watched as Asmodeus hit the floor.

 “Asmo!” Mc gasped softly, before their eyes returned to God, the being now had o  pened his eyes and looked at Mc, screamed, and somehow broke Mc’s spell. The intensity made the human release the spell before God could do anything about it and run towards Asmodeus, once they got to him, they saw as one of the archangels approached them rapidly with a sword. He was ready to swing it at Mc who was now holding Asmodeus body, the human closed their eyes. The sword never hit them. They opened their eyes to see Solomon having put a barrier around them. White rapidly fading from Asmo’s body as he laid on the floor completely still, eyes closed, Mc knew they needed to bring him back now, fast. The protective barrier that Solomon had incarcerated them in would give in at any second…this needed to work…because if it didn’t…if it didn’t then they would be in trouble. This was their only hope, if this didn’t work…then the entire plan would fall and they would be meet with an inevitable death. Asmodeus was unconscious, his chest raising and falling as he breathed slowly. Mc put their arm under his head, noticing briefly the sigils on it, some of them had small cracks already. They breathed in, placing their foreheads together, Mc sighed deeply. They loved them. Every single one of the demons that they feared at the start. Mc placed a hand on Asmodeus chest, closed their eyes as the muffled sound of the explosions and fights around them were deafened by their heartbeat. “Hear me denizens of the darkness…you who are born of shadow and you who give birth to it. Hear me and do as I command… I, Mc, call upon you to send forth one of your number! I summon the Avatar of Lust, Asmodeus”.  

 They spoke the words softly over Asmodeus, backing down the sobs that tried to escape their lips. Mc didn’t open their eyes. They didn’t want to. They were scared that upon opening their eyes Asmodeus would still be an angel, or worse…What if he had been lost far too long? What if Asmodeus own mind and who he was had crumbled down at the power of God…Mammon had come back but Asmodeus had been converted far longer that he had…Several seconds passed, or perhaps it had been only one. Mc couldn’t tell, all that they knew, that the barrier was about to fall and in their hands was all the hope they had left…nothing yet…Mc sobbed, heart being torn to pieces as Mc lost it…they were going to lose…or so they thought. They felt a hand on their cheek, surprise overtaking them as their eyes opened.

 “…Mc…you are not a very pretty crier.” Mc gasped with delight as they embraced each other in the tightness hug they had ever given one another. Mc sobbed in Asmodeus shoulder before realizing there was no time for a heartfelt reunion and parting just in time to see Solomon be distracted by one of the archangels, the barrier almost fell but Mc was able to hold it. They didn’t knew how Solomon did it, or perhaps it was that the barrier was already weak, but it was extremely hard. “Beel…” Asmo spoke in disbelief as he watched the angel form of his brother hit the barrier. “…what happened…?”

 “There isn’t- uhg” Mc felt that hit on their bones, the spell that had been put on their broken arm loosening. “Time to explain!” Mc was able to stand up with their hands placed up, holding all the weight they could. “We need you Asmo! God somehow-ahg-” Asmo saw as Mc slumped down a little. Their knees bending while they put all their force on their hands. “He was controlling you! And we need your help!” Mc fell on their knees. Asmo looked at Beel once again, beside him was Belphegor and Mammon. The three were in what used to be their angel forms. The memory of Lilith and what God had done to him came back…had his family gone trough the same? Had they been in the same pain he had been?

 “Mc…I’m guessing you have borrowed some of Solomon’s power, right?” Mc nodded, sweat visible as their hands quiver. “If we bring down now the barrier…we won’t escape them…I need you to create some type of explosion so that we can get away. Do you understand?” Mc looked at Asmodeus, before having to look down again, the incredible pressure reminding Mc that they were not safe, as if they needed a reminder. Mc only nodded, or at least they hoped Asmo understood that as a nod.

 Mc grunted as they thought of what to do. It had to be effective and needed to be fast, and what was faster than the wind? Mc called upon the winds as they all concentrated in within the barrier. Asmo started to feel the wind on his hair and his clothes, got closer to Mc, and as he did, the wind around them only became even more powerful. Mc screamed. They left the barrier fall and unleashed the wind upon the people around them. Not only did it affect the ones closest to the barrier but also the other demons and angels. God was the only one unaffected by it, his gaze fell upon Asmodeus.

 The moment the eyes of the man fell upon Asmodeus he felt a cold chill run down his back, his heart accelerated, and he felt like he wanted to hide. The phantom pain spreading around his body as the memory of it made its self-presence. Mc had to pull him in order for him to be able to move. He wasn’t registering anything, all he knew was the crippling fear that accelerated his heart and made him want to cry for hours on end. Mc and Asmo hid behind a pillar, the moment they were out of focus Asmodeus legs gave out as flashes of pain spreader across his body. The memory of invisible fire that felt as real as the one that corroded him as he fell. The tears that would not stop and his own voice begging the pain to stop. Asmodeus took various deep breaths, his vision finally focusing on Mc and his ears finally processing the words of the human.

 “-u okay?” He saw the fear in Mc’s eyes and just nodded slightly. He needed to calm down, Mc had said they needed his help. His family was under God’s command and he would do anything to help them.

 “Tell me what I need to do.” Mc smiled sadly at him. Before explaining how they were planning the break the control on the next brother. Asmodeus nodded, at least he wouldn’t be the one facing God. They felt something rush by, Asmo looked up and saw Lord Diavolo, his clothes were torn, he was in his demon form and there was blood covering him. The hate seething from the usual chill demon was devastating, but the moment the demon’s eyes fell on Asmo his expression changed to that of a smile. Asmodeus returned it.

 “IT WORKED!” He exclaimed happily, hugging both Mc and Asmodeus. “You are back!” Asmodeus nodded, he didn’t remember anything after his father promised to take the pain away before betraying his own words. But judging by the state of the palace, the happiness in Diavolo’s grin, and the hope in Mc’s eyes, it had been a bad time. The moment of relief was short lived, the pillar collapsed by the force with which Leviathan’s tail hit it. The reformed angel looked over at them, this time.  “I’ll deal with him. You go and bring Beelzebub back.” Mc and Asmodeus nodded, they didn’t waste any time as they ran towards were Beel was.

 Out of the corner of his eyes, Asmo was able to spot Barbatos, who was fighting against both Mammon and Lucifer. He wondered how the demon had managed to hold his own against his two eldest brothers. A loud sound distracted him. Solomon was fighting against Simeon and the other archangels. He was going to keep running until Mc came to a sudden halt.

 “Luke…” Mc spoke softly. The small angel had lost his hat at some point, he was covered in dust and one of his knees was bleeding, visibly tears appeared on the corner of his eyes as he stood in front of Mc and Asmodeus. “Lu-”

 “Just give up!” He screamed, fear visible I’m his eyes. “Whatever you did, I’m sure Father will forgive you if you stop the fight.” The child had his hands raised, in an attempt to seem dangerous, or perhaps he was scared that one of them might attack him.

 “We didn’t do anything.” Mc spoke, still softly. Asmo looked at Luke, no matter how much they made fun of him, he was still just a kid, a kid who saw the person he called father attack and hurt those he had known for a while. He didn’t feel any type of hate towards Luke, no…the kid knew no better.

 “Don’t lie to me! You MUST have done something! Father…he…he would never do something like this without a reason. You…you must have wronged him somehow…”

  He didn’t believe that. Not truly. He wanted it to be true but, in his eyes, one would see that he just wanted it to be true. He didn’t want to believe what was so obviously in front of him. That the being he called father was doing terrible things, unjustifiable things, just for the sake of power…or maybe even less. Just for the sake of entertainment. Mc opened their mouth to say something, but Asmodeus stepped in front of them. His eyes fixated on Luke, the child seemed angry for a second, gritting his teeth while pointing his hand at Asmodeus, who only brought his hands up in an attempt to show the child he didn’t oppose any threat to him. Luke took a step back.

 “Don- don’t get any closer! You-you demon!”

 “Luke…we were once loyal to our Father too…we believed in his word and that he was just and loved everyone equally…but if he loved everyone equally…why did he had to kill our sister?”

 “She…she went against the rules! She needed to be punished…pl-plus! I’m sure he wasn’t going to kill her.” His voice quivered.

 “She only wanted to save a human’s life…a human just like Mc and Solomon. Another one of God’s child…yet he wanted to let him die, he wanted him to die and then wanted to kill yet another of his children…He isn’t a good man.” The child looked with fury at Asmodeus.

 “Repent of what you just said, you…you demon!” Mc felt their heart being pulled on. Luke was scared and confused; he didn’t want any of this.

 “You know us, and you know what I’m saying it’s truth. Please…Luke…trust us.” Tears started falling from the child’s eyes as his shaking hand was slowly being lowered. Just when they thought they would be able to go find Beel now, after getting Luke to safety, Beel found them. He stood behind Luke, emotionless, ready to strike, and he did. The moment the reformed angel charged at them Asmodeus pushed the child in Mc’s direction, getting in the way of Beels trajectory in order to him down. The clash of their bodies slowed Beels momentum, giving Mc and Luke enough time to leap out of the way. Beel hit a pillar, and completely obliterated it, before turning around and stepping closer to Mc and Luke, Asmodeus trying to get back to his feets after the force with which Beel had hit him with. Luke, amidst his fear got up and tried to run, but the only thing he managed was stumble in the wrong direction for his fear and trembling legs would not move how he wanted them to. Luke turned around, he saw the way Beel was looking at Mc…not at him…but at Mc, it was such an intensity and such hate, that the small angel couldn’t help but stand right in the middle of them, ignoring Mc’s pleads to get out of the way.

 Beel loomed over Mc, with Luke in the middle of them, his eyes full of fear as he watched the once demon who had helped him, the one that would test his receipts and compliment them. One of the only demons who didn’t make as much fun of him as the others. He watched, legs trembling at the sight of such an enormous beast…this is what Beel used to look like as an angel…it was scary…angels should be beautiful and pure and should radiate goodness. But Beel...he didn’t look like any of those things… Luke had his arms spread open as he questioned why in the world would Beel attack someone Luke knew was precious to the demon-angel.

 “Be-Beel! What are you doing?” He didn’t receive any response, just a blank stare. “B-Beel! Are you listening to me? Why would you attack Mc?”

 “Child, what is the meaning of this?” Mc froze at the sound of God being behind them, their head snapped back only to see God, eyes still glowing intensely as he looked unamused at Luke.

 “Father!” Luke exclaimed, now putting his full attention on God. “I…Beel…he tried to kill this human.” Luke looked momentarily at Mc, seeing the fear in the humans eyes, which was mirrored by his own.

 “Yes, I am well aware of that. My concern is why are you trying to stop it.”

 “Because its…its wrong…we are meant to protect, right? So why would you instruct us to kill a human?” God groaned, his hand was extended on Asmodeus direction as the demon fought against the pain God was making him feel. Mc was petrified in their place, they needed to move, and help Asmodeus or else they would lose him again. Thankfully, Luke also noticed the state Asmo was in.

 “It’s just a human, child. Move out of the way so your brother can finish this up.” Luke was confused. Since the moment in which he came into existence, he was thought about good and bad. About what his role was in the world. He was thought, that as an angel, he was to protect those in need, and Mc was in need…but…but this was his father. His father should have a reason for this. A perfect explanation that would give light to the reason why he wanted mc to die…why he was causing Asmodeus to be in pain right now…why Beelzebub was no longer himself. There must be an explanation…but would it be enough to justify the death of someone he considered a friend? Lukes eyes fell on God once again. The child had a sad expression..

 “This…this is wrong…” Luke spoke, softly.

  “…Get out of the way, or are you willing to die beside this human?” Luke heard the disgust in God’s voice when the being referred to the humans. Luke was feeling sick. Logic was screaming at him to protect Mc, his friend. All those years of his faith, believe, and love begged him to go out of the way. He was angel…which meant he had to protect others…Luke stood his ground, looking at God with determination…what in the world was he doing. His father started laughing, a dark and somber laugh which made Luke wonder if the being in front of him was truly God. He stepped closer to Luke. Having left Asmodeus alone for a couple of seconds as he got close enough to the child so he could put a large hand over Luke’s small shoulder. At first Luke was just confused, but then…God started to tighten the grip on the child’s shoulder as badly as he could. Lukes face contorted in pain and in shock.

 “You. Good. For. Nothing. Pathetic. Little. Angel! You really think you can defy me?! I created you, I will end you easily” God grip tighten worst with every second that passed. Luke could feel that pain, Gods eyes were fixed on his. The eyes of his Father glowing violently, using his power on who was supposed to be his children. Luke felt the air leaving his lungs as he looked at the impossibly tall being. Tears falling from his eyes as he wondered how, a man known for his love and righteousness, could be so cruel.

 “Leave him alone!” Mc screamed, God was distracted, so he didn’t notice the human closing in. He was too slow to react and Mc ended up hitting him with a piece of wood in the face.  “Diavolo, Solomon, Asmodeus! NOW!” Mc took Luke’s hand and they ran towards Beel. The reformed angel about to attack them by Gods orders but Asmodeus got to him first. Charming him immediately with his increased power. Diavolo was quick to land right in front of God and engage in combat. Both large beings not holding back. Making Gods power over Beel weakened. Solomon pulled a barrier over Mc, Luke and Beel. Asmodeus stayed behind to help the others fight, which they needed.  Mc looked at Beel, he had collapsed and was, just like Mammon and Asmo, losing the white around him. Luke was sitting on the floor, hugging his own knees as he cried silently.

 “Is he…is he going to be okay?” Luke managed to ask as he saw Mc kneeling besides Beel’s unconscious body. Mc nods, reassuring the small angel who must be feeling terrible after what he had just experienced. Mc thought back at their decision to just hit God with that piece of wood and the moment they basically electrified the being…it had been reckless, but it had felt so good to make the being pay, even if just slightly. Mc looked at Beel’s unmoving body, he was taller and bigger than Mc but, in that state, he looked small…vulnerable. Mc cradled Beel’s body and smiled softly. He was going to be back soon. Mc looked at Luke, the child looked on at the scene with sadness and shook still evident in his eyes. A hand placed over the shoulder which God had touched.

 He was just a child. A child that had been thought for who knows how many years that his father was just and a good person. That his father loved every single being he had ever created, just to now be confronted by the cruel reality. His father didn’t care. He had hurt those demons before and would hurt them again, he would kill a human and not care at all, thinking of them as someone thinks of a bug. Luke had been put to the test, and at the moment of truth he had decided to betray his father and who was supposed to be his family. Was he on the wrong? Why had he done that? He didn’t know…but he was feeling completely overwhelmed. He looked back momentarily, looking upon the dangerous fight that was taking place. In that moment, he saw Simeon. Simeone had tied up Asmodeus with his whip. Luke could tell he was conflicted.

 They both had been sent into this place to try and unify the three realms. They were meant to bring it to a new era of peace, they…they made friends with demons and they got to care about them. Simeon was able to reconnect with Lucifer after all those years. And now they were being forced to fight against them? Simeon tighten the whip around Asmodeus, the demon was on his knees looking at the angel. An expression of sadness painted across his features. Asmodeus wasn’t scared for his life, nor was he sad that Simeon was hurting him, no. He was sad because Simeon was being forced to do this, he was expected to do this…but Simeon didn’t want to do this. Simeon gritted his teeth as he looked at the angels around him. They were attacked those who were still trying to fight. Lucifer was being forced to fight against Diavolo, while God looked on, not doing anything. Forcing them to do what he wanted.

 This was wrong…this was so wrong…but he couldn’t just abandon everything he had ever known just like that...could he?

 “Asmo…give a reason…just one…why I shouldn’t do this? Give me a reason that would justify abandoning my family and leaving everything that I had ever known as real. Just one…” Asmo could feel the tears threatening to come out of Simeon, he heard them in his voice and saw them in his eyes. Asmodeus looked down, before looking at the barrier, where he saw Mc crying and hugging Beel, while Luke looked at them. Asmo couldn’t help but smile knowing that his younger brother was safe.

 “Family.” Asmo said, finally, still looking at Beel and Mc. “That’s why we rebelled in the first place, and that is why we fight.” There was a hint of a smile on Asmodeus lips, leaving Simeon feeling even more confused and scared than before. He glanced rapidly at where the demon was looking, he wasn’t planning on starring…but then he saw Luke. He saw as the barrier collapsed around them, how Luke took a few steps backwards and held onto Mc’s hand…Family…

 “Damn it!” Simeon cursed, for the first time ever, before untangling his whip from Asmodeus and helping the demon up. Family…yeah…that was reason enough. Simeon watched as Solomon battled against Michael, the archangel about to stab the sorcerer with his sword. The angel ran towards them, entangling his whip around Michaels sword and tugging at it, making the archangel lose balance and look in his direction, giving the sorcerer time to escape and go help the others.

 “Simeon?! What do you think you are doing?” The archangel asked, surprised.

 “The right thing.” Simeon pulled on his whip with force, taking away the sword from Michaels hand and proceeding to engage in battle with his former friend.

 Asmo managed to get back to Beel in time to hug his brother. They hugged for as long as they could before knowing that they needed to keep going.

 “What now?” Asked Beel, pain hidden behind his eyes as he saw his family. They had fallen under God’s control.

 This was his fault. This had all been his fault. He had let God onto their home, he had opened the door, showed him their rooms, let his father get into his head, which in turn made him get into the other heads. When it was time to help his family and go up against God, he lost…he lost and left them at the mercy of God. Which had already proven to be lethal. Beel was supposed to be strong, he was supposed to protect his family. Yet he had let Lilith die and had not been able to resist God, in turn him getting to the rest of his family. Hate was a strong word…but now more than ever…Beel was sure he hated with every fiber of his body the man who had created them. He wanted him to pay.

 “We need Leviathan, Luke…go hide somewhere. Or get out of here if its possible. Its too dangerous for you.” The child wanted to protest but Mc didn’t give him time, using their lend powers to make Luke appear at a safe distance from the fight. The demons and Mc rapidly found themselves besides Leviathan, Belphegor, and one of the archangels, who had a lance. The three of them were fighting against Barbatos, who until now had managed on his own, but was being overpowered rapidly.  “You go help Barbatos, Asmo and I will get Leviathan back. We will help Belphegor then, that’s a promise.” Mc could read the troubled thoughts that were crossing Beels head. He didn’t want to fight Belphegor, he didn’t want to fight anyone in his family, what if he hurt them? But there was no time to second guess, the rumbling of the place caused by Satan’s and Solomon fight made both Beel and Asmo look in that direction.

 They saw their nephew, a demon, look like an angel. None of them had time to think after they were de-transformed, they just assumed everyone else was turned but…but this was so wrong…Satan had never been an angel. Satan was a demon, just like they were now. Beel could feel his blood boiling as he turned to the archangel, he was not going to hurt his family…but he was not going to hold back against those who hurt them. Asmo tackled Leviathan, managing to get him out of the way, so that they could take care of him.

 Diavolo was punched by Mammon, the prince feeling the full force of the reformed angel, who God did not let hold back. He managed to jump out of the way just when Lucifer was going to hit him as well. Diavolo sighed.

 “This isn’t very fair, is it? Two against one.” Diavolo spoke, directed at God, the being had a sly smile plastered on his lips, he thought of himself as untouchable, and his inability to reach the man was proving him right. God didn’t respond, he just made his eyes glow darker, which made both Lucifer and Mammon attack him at once. Diavolo dodged them easily. Already a tad more annoyed at this. “Barbatos, think you could lend me a hand?”

 “Forgive me, my Lord. But it seems like I am also quite occupied.” Barbatos jumped behind one of the archangels that was attacking him. Pushing him lightly which made the archangel fall. “But, if I may, my lord. Why are you holding back?” Barbatos dodged the other archangel, at the same time, Diavolo managed to catch Mammon’s fist in his hand and throw the reformed angel at Lucifer.

 “Good question. I guess I have been trying to avoid hurting them.”

 “I am sure Lucifer would not mind a couple of hits, as long as it is to get his family and himself back.”

 “Mhm, I guess you are right Barbatos.” Diavolo managed to take in his hand a loose dagger Barbatos had avoided. “Forgive me.” He threw the dagger at Lucifer, who moved out of the way, the dagger ended up burying itself in Mammon’s shoulder. Diavolo sighed, his eyes turning completely dark as he threw himself towards God. The being unable to move fast enough, or maybe he was just expecting one of the being he controlled to come and aid him. Either way, Diavolo managed to hit, with all the force he could muster in the moment, God in the stomach. The being took a few steps back as he doubled in pain, rapidly recovering his stance, only for Diavolo to not seize his attack.

 Leviathan turned out to be more of a challenge than they had hoped, the third born swiftly managing to avoid Asmodeus charm. The reformed angel was going all out on them, it was infuriating the fact that they didn’t seem to be able to hold him down long enough. They were getting exasperated. At some point, Leviathan had knocked Asmodeus to the side, and had attacked Mc. He was on top of them, Leviathan managed to put his hands around Mc´s neck. It reminded mc about how God had choked Leviathan, the red marks around his neck having now become purple bruises. Mc was trying to push him away with their borrowed powers, but the lack of air coming in their lungs was making it hard to concentrate. Mc looked at the side, trying to find something to defend themselves with, but they saw something even better.

 They saw Diavolo managing to hit God in the stomach, the being taking a few steps back, Mc felt Leviathans hands become looser on their neck, once they looked at him, they noticed how his eyes flickered from the white to his usual orange. Mc smiled, and finally managed to push Leviathan away with their powers. The reformed angel was losing white around his wings, but it wouldn’t completely go like with Asmodeus and Beel. God still had partial control over him. Mc waited for the moment in which Leviathans eyes flickered orange. Asmodeus was behind the partially controlled demon, he held him down, making the demon be still long enough for Mc to catch a glimpse of his orange eyes, without missing a beat, they screamed the incantation, and watched as the white from Leviathan faded completely and his body went limp in Asmodeus arms for a couple of seconds. Then, the demon opened his eyes, Mc broke into a smile seeing how the demon was finally back.

 Leviathan felt lightheaded. His mouth was dry and his body felt numb. Leviathan felt like he couldn’t breath and when he touched his neck it hurt. The wringing feeling of Gods hands still wrapped around his neck made him snap out of it and finally make eye contact with Mc, before feeling like the world itself was collapsing upon him. He remembered needing Mammon’s help, then not being able to hold against Beel and needing Lucifer to save him. How week was he? Needing to be saved twice…the worst part…is that when he was alone against their father the man had easily overpowered him. He didn’t remember much besides that, but behind a crying Mc he saw Beel fighting against one of the archangels while Barbatos went against Belphegor. He blinked a few times, finally registering the feeling of someone’s arms holding him up. Leviathan instinctively looked behind them, pain shooting up but when he saw Asmodeus that didn’t matter. But there wasn’t time to ponder over feelings, they heard and explosion, their eyes falling on Barbatos who had conjured some powerful magic and had aimed it at Belphegor, Beel moved the demons hands on instinct, the ray of magic hitting against the tall ceiling of the castle.

 Beel had panicked, the idea of someone getting hurt stung him deeper than any wound he could have. He had moved on instinct and saw how the archangels had to move out of the way unconsciously in order not to get hurt. He saw God do the same, and in a moment of imbalance He was attacked by some powerful magic convoked by Solomon, he saw Belphegor fall to the ground, his eyes meeting Mc, who in a silent agreement sprinted to Belphegor’s side. Kneeling beside them and putting all their trust and fate into the demons who they loved so much. Mc lifted their head to see all the fight that was going on. Beel, Levi, and Asmo fighting against two Archangels, Satan and Solomon fighting with no regard of their surroundings, Mc saw Barbatos and Diavolo go against God who seemed annoyed and made Mammon and Lucifer fight for him, even Solomon was fighting against one of his own. The sight was disturbing…Mc looked at Belphegor, the white had almost faded completely, and Mc smiled, before the familiar words left their lips.

 Belphegor opened his eyes; he was meet by an excruciating sound. His eyes were blurry, and he could barely make out his surroundings, mind shifting from shadows and sounds to actual words and the face of Beel…no…not Beel. What was meant to be Beel, with white eyes and a blank expression, ready to strike down and kill his own brother. Belphegor blinked a few times, feeling pain all over his body, a headache making itself present as he groaned, he felt someone touch his shoulders and call for him…they were calling his name. The sound shifted to a high-pitched whistle as he was finally able to hear the words that the person in front of him spoke. He looked at them, he was completely exhausted, but through his tired eyelids he looked at the person holding him. It was Mc. Belphegor let himself be wrapped onto Mc’s arms. He was crying, why was he crying? He felt himself be embraced by the human, as they both felt relief in each other’s presence amidst a war.

 “What happened to the others? What happened to Beel? Are they okay?”

 “He is fine…he is back…and so is Asmodeus and Levi…but the others…” Belphegor looked at the teary-eyed expression of the human. Sadness cursing trough his body but also some kind of relief. He was extremely tired…but seeing the expression of the human prompted him to get up and look around.

 The castle was chaos. The entire place was covered in debris, tables flipped over and even some pillars had been broken. The first thing he saw was Lucifer and Mammon battling Diavolo. It made him want to chuckle. A sight he never thought he would ever see, Lucifer going against Diavolos orders. Then, he saw Simeon, who was fighting against one of the archangels, the archangel had a sword and they seemed to be shouting at each other, was Simeon helping them? Who would have thought? It was a sight to behold. His eyes fell on Beel, who was beside Asmodeus and Leviathan. The three of them were battling two archangels, one was throwing some sort of daggers at them while the other had a lance. Belphegor instinctively took a few steps towards Beel. Overjoyed to see that, not only had his twin but Asmodeus and Leviathan had been brough back, sadly…this left him open. The voice of Mc came too late to tell him to get out of the way.

 There was an explosion. Mc was blown away fell on their side, Belphegor was going to help them but he couldn’t move. He looked at his left, seeing his father, with both hands up, one holding him in place and the other pointing at one of the archangels fighting the others. He looked up front, the first thing he saw was Beels face, tears starting to fall from his eyes as the demon ran towards his twin, the other…he saw a weapon coming his way at an incredible speed. Beel screamed his name, just like that time.

 It was like an echo of all the times he had relieved Lilith’s death. He saw the lance coming his way, but he was somehow frozen in place, his eyes were meets by Beel, whom in a blurry haze was going his way. Belphegor felt the world slowly come to a halt. The fear and tears in Beels eyes as he moved in his direction, his incapability of moving, Mc’s expression as they saw the scene move before their eyes. Belphegor closed his eyes and was immediately met by a memory.

 “Humans or us?” Lilith has asked one day. They were lazying around under the sun, warmth washing them as they looked at the humans playing on the other side. There were butterflies around, and Belphegor was playing with the bracelet Lilith had given him.

 “What?” He had asked, looking at her. She was sitting on a three, looking down at the humans like if she was guarding them, but her gaze was stoic on the figure of a male human who was playing with whom Belphegor assumed was his little sister.

 “If you had to choose between us, Lucifer, Mammon, Levi, Asmo, Beel, and me, or the humans…who would you choose?” He voice was small, and Belphegor was sure he had seen a tear in her cheeks, but he chose to look upfront and chuckle.

 “Well…it depends…id choose humans before choosing Mammon or Lucifer.” He felt a nut hit him on the head, and a snort coming from Lilith, which prompted him to laugh again. He looked at the grass and the flowers blooming, he saw the clouds, the sun, and even the moon that for some reason was out during the day. He took a deep breath and smiled. “I’d choose our family.”

 There was a sound. The sound of flesh tearing open, a grunting noise and blood falling on the ground. But there wasn’t any pain. Belphegor opened his eyes. He didn’t know what he expected to see, but the melancholic smile of his twin was not it. He looked at Beel in the eyes, the demon put his hands-on Belphegor’s shoulders as Belphegor noticed the dance of pain and happiness that was his brothers gaze. He looked down, only to see part of the lance sticking out of Beels abdomen. That was the sound. Belphegor felt panic all over himself as Beel fell on his knees, Belphegor lowering himself with the lovable giant that was his brother.

 “Y-you idiot! Why...why did…no! Why did you do that?!” Belphegor cried out, trying to hold his brother up. Mc was at their side at the blink of an eye. Belphegor could feel the stares of Leviathan and Asmo, whom if he had looked closer, would have seen they were crying, anger accumulating with every second.

 “I…didn’t want to lose you…like we lost Lilith because…of me.”

 Belphegor knew his brother had always carried this burden inside. The thought that because of him Lilith was dead, that he had chosen to save Belphegor and that Belphegor probably hated him because of that. Beel had always thought that he was responsible for Lilith’s death, when it wasn’t his fault, he doesn’t the one that killed her. Belphegor bit his lip in rage forcing the tears to top as he held his brother.

 “You big…Idiot…you didn’t kill Lilith, okay?! Lilith isn’t dead because of you! The only person who is to blame for her death is our Father…stop blaming yourself.” Mc put a hand over Belphegor’s shoulder.

 “I think I can help him…for now.” Belphegor looked at them, Mc was holding one of their arms, and seemed to be trying to remember something. He only nodded before looking at Beel once more. The demon grunted in pain when Mc touched his wound, trying to take the lance out. The spell Barbatos had used on them…maybe they might be able to use it on Beel for the time being. Belphegor was pulled away from Beel by Asmodeus and Leviathan. The three brothers hugged one another for a couple of seconds. But of course, it couldn’t last long.

 “What a touching reunion.” Gods voice spoke from behind them, his eyes on the sprawled wings and tails. His eyes falling on Beel, Mc had managed to take the lance out and were in the process of trying to heal him as much as possible. “It’s a shame it wont be long.” A figured moved at the speed of light, standing right in front of them, once the dust it had spread died down, they were able to see Mammon, standing right in front God. “You thought, that by taking the brothers one by one, you would have a chance of winning against me? Please, don’t make me laugh. By taking them out you are just making me have a greater power over the ones I still control.”

 “...but not for long.” Mc spoke from besides Beel, who held up a hand to prevent them from standing up. Mc smiled at him before starring coldly at God. “I’ve seen it…us humans…we need sun at some point…we couldn’t live in complete darkness because it would start to affect us…it’s the same for you, isn’t it?” Mc helped Beel to his feet, the demon trying not to let his full weight fall on the human. They thought back to Gods eyes losing their glow when Diavolo was able to hit him, how God lost control for a second over Leviathan, letting them bring his demon form out. He was powerful…but not nearly as much as he was on The Celestial Realm. “You need to recharge…I’ve seen Luke and Simeon do it, the darkness of The Devildom… everything in it is supposed to contrast the Celestial Realm…you are weak here…and with every passing second you become even weaker. I mean you said it yourself…”That won’t be a problem once I’m back in the celestial Realm” Which means it is a problem while you are not in the Celestial Realm.” Mc smirked; God looked furious at the human for even thinking about trying to defy him. He closed his eyes, and Mammon launched himself at the human.

 Leviathan got right in the middle, stopping Mammon from hurting the human and his already injured brother, who Mc was still in the process of healing, if the glow over his wound was anything to go by. The moment Mammon and Leviathan collided; Mc felt the ground under their feet shake a little. Leviathan was weak, that was a given, he was weak, pathetic, useless. But he loved his family. No matter what they thought of him, he loved them, so seeing Beel get stabbed like that, seeing the sigils in his wound appear as Mc tried to heal him…it ignited a fire within him. He could be one of the weakest demons, but if he could buy Mc a little more time, he would. He screamed as a testament of the sheer force he was using as he pushed Mammon out of the way. Leviathan looked around for something he could use, his eyes fell on the fountain, a small spread across his lips. Water…something he knew about. An orange aura seethed trough the demon as the water from the fountain lifted and moved at his command.  

 The reformed angel tried to attack Leviathan again, but he couldn’t get close at all. Leviathan lifted a wave, and with the force of a tsunami, he made it hit both Mammon and God. Leviathan made the water incarcerate God in a bubble of water, he could feel his father trash around trying get out of it but he would not let him do that. He needed to give Mc enough time to finish their spell on Beel and possibly wake Mammon up. But it was hard. With every demon that went out of God’s control, the being regained his power, making Him harder to deal with. Leviathan struggled trying to keep his father inside. His memory shifting back to the time God confronted him. The phantom feeling of Gods hands around his neck as Leviathan struggled to breath and felt the nails digging in his skin. His breathing was becoming accelerated as he became weaker with the passing of the seconds, so when he saw Michael approach with his sword, Leviathan thought his efforts would go to waste, thankfully, that wasn’t the case.

 Simeon’s whip managed to entangle itself in the sword, Leviathan was surprised to see the angel go against one of his own, but it was certainly welcomed. He looked at God once again, the being trying even harder now to get out while his glowing eyes called upon his controlled servants, who one by one started to appear around Leviathan, ready to attack him and free God…but Leviathan wasn’t alone, he felt the presence of his younger brothers around him. Even Diavolo, Barbatos and Solomon gathered around to fight against the six under God’s command. The man looked at Leviathan with hate, as he made his servants charge at him. And so, a ferocious fight broke.

 Mc was stranded on the sideline with Beel. The demon anxiously awaiting so he could go help the others as Mc recalled the last few sigils and the spell was complete. The human looked at the fight, they looked at their family, all of them. Lucifer, Mammon and Satan were still transformed, but Leviathan had God in imprisioned…eventually…the man was bound to break out but maybe…just maybe…Leviathan could be strong enough to hold him in, until his powers started to fade or something then maybe mc could wake the rest…

 “Mc?” Beel asked, touching their shoulder lightly, the demon looked at them worried. Mc looked at him and smiled lightly.

 “I have an idea.”

 Leviathan was struggling to keep his father locked up. The man was using his own power to try and fight against the demon while simultaneously controlling part of his family so they would attack them. In various occasions the angels were close to get to him, but thankfully the others had dealt with them. The demon didn’t have to worry about them getting to him up until now… Satan fell right beside Leviathan after Barbatos fought with him. He saw his nephew slowly rise from the floor, without putting any pressure in one of his legs. That struck Leviathan as odd, but his nephew seemed to not care about it, he looked at Leviathan and ran in his direction, making the demon notice how his nephew limped, Leviathan braced for impact, but it never came. He opened his eyes to see Beel having interfered with Satan’s trajectory.

 His brother only smiled at him, and before Leviathan could say anything, he felt this immense power run trough his veins. He looked back and saw Mc chanting over and over something as they had their hands lifted in Levi’s direction. Leviathan smiled, knowing that Mc was making him have more power, and it seemed that God knew this as well. For when Leviathans eyes started glowing a faint shade of orange, God’s eyes widened, and he felt the pressure of the water around, which was budging before, now seemed like an infinite twist that had no interest in letting him go. And he didn’t. And he didn’t, not until he physically couldn’t anymore, or until they found a way to get the others back and send God back to The Celestial Realm. So Leviathan resisted, and he could feel Mc’s powers slowly draining as they used every bit they had to help him.

 God was sick of this. He was sick of the others trying to go against him and the fact that it seemed, for a second, that they might win, and they knew that. They knew that they had an opportunity, and if he didn’t get out of here fast enough that would be the case. But in order to get out, he would need all of his powers, he groaned while closing his eyes, and feeling the power coursing to him.

 They fell. All three of the remaining reformed angels fell. And the bubble Leviathan was trying so hard to maintain, trough the clear water, he saw God convoke fire out of nowhere, fear rising as he tried his best not to let the being free. But Mc stopped powering him as they ran closer to the circle, Levi was all on his own trying to not let God break free and it wasn’t easy at all. But he knew Mc needed to help the others, and Mc knew they needed to do this fast, for Solomon’s powers were fading away slowly, but surely. Mc stood right beside Leviathan, in the middle of the circle, they watched as the others formed a protective circle around them and the unconscious demons as the archangels tried to fight against them. Mc closed their eyes, took a deep breath, and in the next words, poured all of their power.

 "Hear me denizens of the darkness, you who are born of shadow and you who give birth to it Hear me and do as I command. I, Mc, call upon you to send forth three of your number! I summon the Avatar of Pride, Lucifer, Avatar of Greed, Mammon, and the Avatar or wrath, Satan!”

 In the   moment Mc finished the incantation and the demons had just started to move freely again, God broke out from Leviathans prison. He had evaporated every bit of water in it, and then sent to fire to them, some of them got lightly burned, others managed to avoid it completely but…Asmodeus didn’t. He was too close to the fire, and the moment it set off, it enveloped part of his face in burning sensations as the demon covered his face screaming. Leviathan immediately reached his brother and pulled him back, Lucifer barely being able to tell what was happening, sitting up only to hear the cries of his younger brother. Lucifer instinctively tried to move to his brother but was meet by the sharp pain of his broken wing. Satan tried to rise to his feet but was unable to due to the pain he felt in his ankle, any type of pressure in it made the demon want to scream, but the sight of all his uncles and father having turned back to demons was enough motivation for him to crawl to them and noticed why Asmodeus was screaming. The moment he did, he felt anger like no other. Mammon was the final brother to wake up, he had a hand placed over his ribs the moment he sat down looked at his family all huddled up together, managed to get up and walk over to them. The three demons being meet by confusion, sadness, anger as they watched God finally touch the ground.

 “You guys are back.” Mc spoke, softly from behind them, feeling the powers of Solomon finally leave and getting close to the demons to celebrate their return. But a certain being was having none of it.

 “Do not celebrate prematurely dears, you have not won yet.” God smirked. Lucifer was about to retaliate to his father, when Diavolo’s figure came into view, he stood right in front of the family he had fought hard to help.

 “We outnumber you and your people by far. Leave, before this gets worse.” The man tensed his muscles as he glared at God receiving only a sigh from God as his eyes fell on Simeon.

 “Mhm…it seems like every angel that gets along with you bunch turns on me, how shameful. Say, where is that little one? Luke, is it?” God smiled before clapping his hands, white fumes emerging from nowhere, concentrating right in between the two groups, God standing with his archangels and Mc, standing with the group of people they loved. The small angel appeared in front of them, he appeared confused at first but then yelped in surprised once he saw God, Luke ran towards Simeon and hid behind the angel’s legs. God sighed before smiling maliciously. “Good, now we can get finished with this.”

 “You are damn right, this will end now.” Belphegor was beyond upset, he was not going to wait for the man to hurt his family any longer. Belphegor rose to his feet and made his way to God, ignoring Mc’s pleading look. He didn’t knew what he had planned, but he simply was not going to sit around waiting for God to transform him into a mindless servant again. But…God had other plants.

 He looked at Belphegor right in the eyes, His eyes flashed lightly gold, and the next thing Belphegor knew, was this incredible shrieking sound, drumming inside his head as he screamed in pain over the pain he felt inside his head. He covered his eras, and when he moved the hand and looked at it, there was blood. Everyone tensed up at this, and Diavolo was getting ready to attack when God spoke again.

 “You see, Mc.” God clicked his tongue, watching as Belphegor covered his bleeding ears in pain. “You were right, when you said the thing about me needing to recharge. You humans need sun, while the angels, and even myself, we recharge off The Celestial Realm energy. But you see, I don’t need to leave the devildom in order to get that energy…no. I have all I need right here.”

  The moment his eyes started to glow again; it was the moment Mc wanted to cry. They were exhausted and tired, and just wanted to go home with the demons. But this time…this time it was different. Instead of the demons become angels again they started screaming in pain, alongside with the archangels and the angels. The only ones left standing were the humans alongside with the prince and his butler. No one knew what to do or what to say, they didn’t know what God was planning by making his own people, even the loyal archangels, fall into that kind of pain. But then it hit Mc, it hit them as they saw God rejoicing in the sound of screams and the pain he knew they were all in. Mc passed a hand over their head, in the process they noticed how damaged the sigils in their broken arm looked. Another hit, and the spell might become undone.

 “He is draining them.” Mc spoke simply, as their eyes never left from God’s psychotic figure. “He is draining them from their celestial energy.” Mc felt their hearts drop. Will they survive this? The demons might, they are only been taken away from them the celestial energy that lingered inside, but what about the angels and the archangels? They were possibly not going to survive this. “Solomon! Give me some of you-”

 “No, I don’t think so.” God spoke, and there was an explosion, which threw back the demons and the human, leaving only Mc in the middle of the situation. Mc looked in fear as the being approached them slowly with thunderous footsteps. They looked at where the others had been thrown to, only to see they Solomon had hit his head against a wall and was unconscious, while Diavolo and Barbatos were immobilized by Gods power. God smiled. “Now is time to deal with you, human.”

  The next few seconds passed in a blur. Mc didn’t knew what had happened. All they knew was a extreme sharp pain they felt, then, they hit a wall that was nearby, they hit their head against the wall. Mc fell to the floor, eyes barely making out the shapes, ears barely identifying any other sound other than that of the screams of the people they loved. God got closer, a white aura that wasn’t there before presented itself as he looked down on Mc and smirked. This was going to be the end of the puny human. Mc tried to push themselves up, but the moment they put weight on their arm the sigil broke, and an immense pain let itself known to Mc. They screamed in pain when god stepped in their arm.

 The demons watched as the scene unfolded in front of them, their unmoving bodies swallowed in pain as they saw what was going to become Mc’s last moments. God was about to strike down and end their lives, when the human made eye contact with the brothers, and the last thing they saw, before being consumed by uncontrollable shock and sadness, was Mc’s sad expression as they realized God was going to win. Then, he stroke down. And for a moment, the quiet of the room as mist that had been realized settled, made the demons cry. God emerged from the mist with a smile knowing that he had won. He stopped taking the energy from his servants and the demons. “Now, lets get you to your angel forms. AS for you two.” God looked at Simeon and Solomon. “I’ll be taking care of you once we are back. He started laughing uncontrollably.

 “Why are you laughing, Father?” A voice came in, God looked around to try and place it but it didn’t came from any of the demons. He looked at the mist, there a figure emerging from it. It had big wings and the voice was so familiar, it was a voice none of the brothers had heard ever since the fall. The figure emerged completely from the mist, gold wings moving slowly as the figure stood right in front of God, whom only looked in shock at a face he never expected to see again.

 “You are supposed to be dead.” He spoke simply.

 “And you were meant to be a good father.” She spoke softly, eyes never leaving the man’s gaze.

 “Then this time I’ll make sure you can never come back, Lilith.” God started trying to hit Lilith, but the being was simply too fast for him to actually land a hit.

 “I always wondered, Father, how could a man kill his own daughter?”

 “I already did once, want me to demonstrate again?” God kept launching himself at Lilith while she just avoiding and dodging him.

 “How could a man be so selfish that he would sacrifice a live just to demonstrate to others that they need to fallow the rules.” Lilith only took a step to the side as God persistently tried to attack her. “Then realized.”

 “oh yeah? And what did you realize?”

 “That you needed to show people what would happen if they went against your rakes, because you needed people to fear you.” Lilith kept moving out of the way as God kept trying to attack them, at some point, she put her leg in the way, making the man fall face first into the floor and then look at her with her in his gaze. “You need people to fear you…because otherwise they would not fallow you.” God laughed darkly as he now tried to hit Lilith with several spells.

 “Is that what you really think?”

 “No”. Lilith looked at the angel and archangels who laid on the floor with fear in their eyes and tears falling. “I know that’s the case. You are simply a selfish old man with an enormous ego who knows that if it wasn’t because people fear you. They wouldn’t follow you.”

“Oh, shut up, will you?” God was wasting all of the energy and power he had regenerated on trying to hit Lilith.  And he succeeded. A ray of light hit her right in the stomach, and it passed trough like it had hit nothing. “Huh?” Lilith moved and appeared right in front of God’s face, she had a smile plastered on her lips.

 “Father, you can’t kill what is already dead.” God turned red out of fury and started to throw spells, curses, sigils, and everything the being could of at Lilith, ho remained immovable as it all crossed through her body.

  Lilith looked over the group of demons beside her. Love and care went into her gaze as she smiled, eyes glowing a very bright shade of blue, constricting the crazy gold eyes of God.  At the end, God was growing increasingly tired as he used more and more of his powers. Lilith held his fist, making the being look at it surprised. Lilith looked at God, eyes glowing even brighter now while God’s gold glow flickered in and out and she take away all the stole energy he still had in his body. God slowly fell to his knees as the girl made him become weaker. A blue aura that extended through the entire room, making the people in the room, even if for just a little, to feel better. As God lost the rest of his power at the moment, Lilith looked at the prince of the devildom who had been realized from God’s a while back. Then she looked back at the demons and smiled warmly.

 “It wasn’t your fault.” This was for them, because it was the truth. No matter how guilty they felt for the things they did or didn’t do, the truth was that her death wasn’t on their hands. Her eyes fell on Satan, her small nephew and there were some happy tears in her eyes to know her family was growing. She placed a hand over her heart, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath as God lost the last of his power. “I love you all, no matter what or where, I love you.”

 With that she was gone, her form disappeared to reveal the small human who had been channeling her the whole time. Mc looked at God, and both beings looked at each other with hate. Mc proceeded to punch God right in the face, the being had never felt so humiliated in his entire life. Mc only let go of God’s wrist when Diavolo stood right beside them and nodded. He would take care of God, and Mc was more than happy to run to the demons who gone trough so much. It was time to go home.

And...now there is only once chapter left to do. I honestly dont know how to feel about this. There were a lot of characters  had to control all at once and im not sure if the change of heart from Luke and Simeon is believable. I feel like The final scene were Mc gets possesed by Lilith could have hit harder but yeah...i also think the action was weaker in this chapter compared to the last one. But yeah, now there is only left the epilogue which im really excited about. Hope y’all had liked this chapter, stay safe loves!

Chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter six

Chapter seven

Chapter eight

Chapter nine

Chapter ten

Chapter eleven

Chapter thirteen

[adverb-slut]

Breakpoint (Fanfiction) Part 3/6 | Asmodeus

I wrote this back in February, but I keep forgetting to post things on Tumblr, so here it is super late.  Thank you to the anon who reminded me to do it!  Chapter 4 (Levi’s chapter) has been in the works since February, too ... fret not, it’s coming ... slowly.

As per the usual, you can read this chapter on AO3 here. 

Title:

Breakpoint

Summary:

These are the tales of when Belphegor, Beelzebub, Asmodeus, Leviathan, Mammon, and Lucifer each decided to actively rebel against their Father and together incite the Great Celestial War.  

Genre:

Backstory/Lore

Rating:

T

Word Count:

3263

Additional Note:

This chapter chronicles the breaking point of Asmodeus!

Previous Chapter:

Read Chapter 2 | Beelzebub here!

-

“The Nephilim were on the earth in those days—and also afterward—when the [angels] went to the daughters of humans and had children by them. They were the heroes of old, men of renown.” — Genesis 6:4

-

If there was one fact that was surer than the truth that the skies would always be blue, that the mountains would never move, that the sun would keep on shining, it was the certainty that Asmodeus would forever adore his job.  

There was nothing about it that he would change, and as far as he was concerned, titular angels, seraphim, cherubim, and archangels, could keep their prestige and fame.  They could cherish the fact that there wasn’t an angel that didn’t know their name, and they could revel in the knowledge that the powers they possessed were unlike any other creature before them.

It didn’t matter to him, for he knew, deep in his heart, that there was no career more fulfilling than being a Guardian Angel.  

Living for several hundred years already, Asmodeus had been assigned to guard dozens of humans in his lifetime, keeping them out of harm’s way and ensuring that their safety was prioritized above all else.  He was friendly with his charges—as all of his kind were instructed to do—but his gregariousness was merely part of the job; it was his responsibility to protect and become close to his human.

However, this all changed with his current charge.  He had been assigned to her when she had turned thirteen.  The only daughter in a family of seven sons, her mother and her long-since-deceased grandmother had prayed to God for several months to send her a protector, for she was often alone when her brothers and father went to tend the field.  

Asmodeus didn’t think much of her when he had first made himself known to her, and she wasn’t particularly interested in him, either.  Their initial meeting had been on the day her mother had died, and she hadn’t been in the mood to see visitors as she mourned.  

After several weeks, though, the two had slowly become friends.  Her mother’s death had left her in charge of the domestic affairs of the household, and she was forced to look after the eight men—nine, including Asmodeus—that shared their cramped tent.  

He helped when he could, for it was obvious to him that she was struggling in the initial months.  Her brothers occasionally wondered if she was superhuman, because due to Asmodeus’ aid, she was able to get the job done of two people (no one could see a Guardian Angel save for their charges).

It was from her that he learned to appreciate the orgasmic fragrance of flowers and the importance of maintaining an aesthetic, considering in a tent of mostly unruly boys, she was the one who kept things clean and free from disease.

This was all well and good for the first six years.  Unfortunately, when his charge had graced the age of nineteen years and four moons, Asmodeus felt something stirring within him.

It was unusual.  He realized it was a different feeling than the elation he felt when he went out into the plains and found a lone lily or the way his heart had filled the one time he realized that pinching his cheeks made them the most becoming shade of red.  

This type of feeling was strange; it was reserved solely for his charge.

The way her smile was just a bit crooked; the brown, unmarred frontier that was her neck; the attentiveness that she showed her brothers after their long days of labor out in the sun; the fact that her plush lips dripped beeswax colored with beetroot; the ardor with which she maintained a sterile tent; the intensity that her full chest heaved with as she hoisted a bucket of water up from the family well to satiate the animals.

There was no part of her that he didn’t envelop in this feeling. 

She was the sun, the moon, the stars.  

He couldn’t place his finger on what to call this emotion—it couldn’t be love, could it?  As far as he knew, love for an angel was the love their Father felt toward them, a stern disciplinary affection, while what they reciprocated was an unbroken devotion that was ever so slightly tinged with terror.

Whenever Asmodeus looked at her, he felt his cheeks bloom and heart soar; he came to realize that unlike his other humans, this one was one who he chose to guard not out of obligation, but rather due to his care and concern for her wellbeing.  

Duplicitous men who approached her in the streets would find themselves suddenly covered in animal excrement, flung upon them by some “unseen hand.”  Owners of shops in the marketplace who dared attempt to swindle her, “mysteriously” discovered that some of their wares had gone missing. Even her own father, who once reprimanded her for cutting her long, back-length hair up to her shoulders, was not exempt from Asmodeus’ retribution: the man’s painstakingly plowed fields had been ravaged and his crops uprooted by what he assumed to be “evil spirits.”

He was content not to act upon the feeling in regards to the girl herself—and besides, it wasn’t as if action would get him anywhere.  Any interaction between a Guardian Angel and their charges that wasn’t strictly platonic was forbidden, and no angel had been brave enough to even toe the line in that realm of disobedience.  

Which made the fact that late one night, Asmodeus found himself completely nude—his sweaty chest heaving from exhaustion and exhilaration—lying on a mat next to his equally drenched and unclothed charge, all the more surprising.

His charge drummed her fingers up and down his arms. “You did so good, Asmo,” she encouraged.

Considering he’d never done that before made the compliment all the more poignant as he turned toward her, propping a hand under his head.  “Do you really think so?” He shifted so he wouldn’t be putting all his body weight on his tender wings.

“Yes,” she breathed, sighing happily.  She pulled his hand from under his head and nestled it under hers.  The woman moved her tapping fingers to his chest, which was lean from doing chores around the tent.  “You’re so beautiful.”  

He could feel his face flush.  He’d never been called that. All his life, he had been conditioned to believe his own appearance wasn’t especially radiant, for he lived in a world where another angel set the standard of beauty.  “You wouldn’t say that if you knew Lucifer.”

“Mm,” she mumbled, kissing his face and running her fingertips along the bridge of his nose.  “Does Lucifer have as beguiling eyes as you do?”

“I’m not really sure,” Asmodeus admitted.  It was rumored that the Archangel of Music had eyes of obsidian, but few had seen him with his eyes opened.  Lucifer was an angel that was always engrossed in his music—completely focused on the sound alone—with no need to give heed to what happened around him.

His charge planted a kiss on his cheek, moving her lips down his face until she reached the nape of his neck.  “Surely he can’t be as enchanting as you. You, Asmo, are the most beautiful being ever created.”

With every touch, with every word, his blush grew deeper, and he wished that this moment could last forever.  

-

“I lay there, wishing that the moment could last forever,” Asmodeus recited. 

It was the next day, and his head hung low to avoid even his peripheral vision from grazing his Father’s glorious light.  He found his attention nervously wavering as admired the Calacatta marble flooring of the Throne Room and the soft notes of the flute that Lucifer played from the Almighty’s left side.

His thoughts jumped back to yesterday’s conversation with his charge; he glanced again at the Archangel of Music, trying to catch a glimpse of his eyes, but as usual, they were closed in peaceful concentration as the master flutist opened and closed the keys of his instrument to create the most rapturous tune. 

Lucifer’s confidence in playing the perfect note every time encouraged Asmodeus to stand a little taller.  He stared at his fellow angel and tried to compare their appearances, an insidious thought creeping into his head: was he truly more beautiful than Lucifer? 

His musings were interrupted by his Father’s voice, which rivaled a volcanic boom in volume.  “Asmodeus, Guardian Angel—what have you done, child?”

His Lucifer-like aplomb melted instantly.  He knew his Father wouldn’t ask such a question lightly.  He had just finished reciting the prior day’s events, after being called into the Celestial Realm to come before the Throne Room of God.  Although he knew that the information he relayed would get him in trouble, he hadn’t expected such a livid reaction.

His Father continued, His glory flashing in and out with blinding brightness, “You have broken the cardinal laws of the Guardian Angels with this lust that consumed you yesterday.  The very laws that I created—the very same laws that you chose to defy!”

“Father, I defied Your laws, yes,” Asmodeus admitted.  He didn’t know if his defense would be seen as insolence, but considering his Father hadn’t reprimanded him yet, he barreled on.  “But, believe me, lust is not the true emotion that overcame me that night.”

His Father’s voice was filled with malice as He hissed, “And what, child, feeling do you determine to have filled you as you made love to that woman?”

“You already said it, Father.”  He gulped, once again drawing from Lucifer’s serenity to grant him an iota of confidence.  “ Love .”  If he could get his Father to believe that lust—what He considered to be the most carnal of sins—did not even remotely influence his actions last night, perhaps His anger would be assuaged.  

“Love?” the Almighty thundered.  “Child, you cannot love a human.  It was I who created them; all their love belongs to Me.”

“It was love, Father,” Asmodeus insisted.  He then realized that he wasn’t even lying.  The feeling which he possessed for his charge truly was love.  

A record was set in the Celestial Realm that day—a record for how bright and furious the Almighty glowed as his Son said those words.

Lucifer’s music was all Asmodeus was aware of as he crumpled to the floor.  His hands covered his eyes in desperation, but it was to no avail; he could already feel them burning from the flashing light that surrounded him.  Sparks flew in every direction and he could feel embers of fire lick the tips of his sandals.  

Despite the sudden torridness of the Throne Room, Asmodeus could feel the ice of dread filling his veins.  A terrified, frozen paralysis took over his bones.

He had never seen his Father this incensed—in fact, most angels took great care in not even trying to imagine it.   

His Father then spoke, His voice dangerously calm, as if His livid glory wasn’t already in full display.  “Look up, foolish child.”

Asmodeus tried to raise his head, but the closer his face inched toward God’s radiance, his shut eyes burned with the blaze of a thousand suns.  

God repeated His command, a ravine of heat threading through His otherwise cool tone, which somehow made it all the more frightening.  “Look up, foolish child.”

He again covered his eyes with his hands, and even though it did little to prevent the brightness of His Father’s ire from peeking through, he was able to at least tilt his face toward the direction of the Throne.  

“Remove your hands and open your eyes,” His Father demanded.  

Asmodeus took a deep breath.  Was that it? Was his Father going to punish him with blindness for his sin?  Because that was what he was sure would happen if he dared take his hands off his eyes.  Nevertheless, he did what was asked of him.  

He choked as he opened his eyes and saw that instead of only his Father’s bright form standing before him, there was his charge, as well.  “But how?” He reached out his hand, gasping when his fingertips went right through her body without her saying so much as a word.

A vision, he realized.  Normally, visions were dreams filled with premonitions sent by the Almighty.  Often they told of future happenings, but there were times when they would show the viewer what was the current status of events if they were not there to witness them themselves.  A typical vision was usually rendered in the mind, but here, in the direct presence of his Father, Asmodeus saw the apparition with his very own eyes.

The Almighty pointed the form of His finger toward a spot on the human’s body, right below her stomach.  There in her womb rested a glowing yellow orb.

“Your ‘love,’” his Father spat, “has brought you the responsibility of a child.”

Asmodeus’ heart stopped.  A child?  His frigid blood thawed, and he couldn’t explain the sudden warm flush that overcame his body.  “I’m … going to be a father?”

“Of a child that is half-angel and half-human, yes.  I shall call this brand of creature, 'Nephilim',” his Father glowered.  “In any case, this cannot stand.”

The warmth in his body immediately cooled.  “Come again, Father?”

“I created humans to populate the Earth.  Angels were never part of My plan.”  God waved the part of His glory that formed a hand, and the vision of the human turned to ash, which dusted the tile floor.  “The child will not survive.”

“No, Father, You can’t—” he began, cringing as he heard the defiance in his voice.

“—Consider it the consequence of your lust, Asmodeus.”  His Father’s tone was decided.  “I will be merciful—even though you deserve justice, instead—and tomorrow, you will return to your charge.  She will know nothing of this incident but be forewarned—if this ever occurs again, there will be no grace. Your erasure from the Celestial Realm will be permanent.”  

Another vision of his charge appeared before Asmodeus.  This time, he was standing next to her as her Guardian Angel, as she wove threads of yarn on a loom.  The two figures laughed as if all was well. 

Something sunk low in Asmodeus’ stomach.  There was nothing more he wanted than to enter in the vision and live his life as it predicted, even if it meant loving the woman from afar.

But his eyes turned glassy as he shook his head.  “Father, I beg You. Spare the child.” He breathed deeply, a vow poised on his lips that he, in the next moments, would come to regret.  “I’ll do anything. I promise.”

His Father’s glory receded, signaling that the Almighty was on the verge of calming down.  “Be careful when you promise ‘anything,’ My son.”

“There is no price I won’t pay.”

“Even your life?”

“Even my life.”

“Your immortal life is worth thousands of human lives.”

“Then my sacrifice should be more than enough.”

The Almighty pondered the statement.  

His silence only served to highlight the fact that during this whole encounter, Lucifer had played his flute, not bothering to watch the drama unfold.

Asmodeus had to give the Archangel of Music credit—considering his dedication to his craft, it was no wonder that their Father always yearned to have him by His side.  Still, he couldn’t help but find it absurd that Lucifer hadn’t even so much as peeked at the spectacle in the Throne Room; his eyes never opened.

“I will spare your life,” his Father determined.  By now, His ire had subsided and it was possible for Asmodeus to face His direction without his eyes watering.  “And I will spare your child’s. However, you will never work for your charge, again. You will never see her and she will forget every moment she has spent with you.  In her mind, you will never have existed at all.”

Asmodeus gulped and he tasted bile in his mouth.  “But what about our child? And the Guardian Angel her mother and grandmother prayed for?  Father, You wouldn’t ignore their pleas.”

“No,” his Father boomed.  He moved the form of His arm and a third vision materialized.  

This time, Asmodeus saw his charge—former charge?—sitting on a bench, again, working on a loom.  The bulge on her abdomen was a clear indicator of her pregnancy. On her left stood a man, rugged and muscular with dark skin; his wings proved that he was an angel—her new Guardian Angel.  There was another man on her right, who kissed the woman on the lips and rubbed her swollen stomach.

Asmodeus gagged—bodily gagged—repulsion filling his throat, as he realized what was to occur.  “You’re allowing that human man to raise mine and her’s child as his own?”  He didn’t want to mention the fact that his Father had chosen for her a Guardian Angel that was physically his opposite.

“My son, did you truly believe that you were to raise this child?” the Almighty asked, His voice genuinely puzzled.  “You are a Guardian Angel; you live to guard  humans that have asked for your protection.  You were never created to parent them.”

“How will I ever see my child, then, Father?”  While he still couldn’t believe that he had aided in the creation of life, he knew for a fact that he wanted to watch it grow and be there for it.

The Almighty was calm as he said, “You won’t.”  Asmodeus felt his heart drop to his feet, as his Father warned, “Remember what I said, My son.  Angels were not created to raise humans. If you so much as think of interacting with this child, then I will have no choice but to bind you and slice off your wings.  Then you will forever remain in the Celestial Realm, doing the menial jobs of the unspecialized angels.”

Asmodeus felt something inside of him grow cold.  Whether he returned to his charge and killed his child or let his child live and lose his charge, he would be giving up his entire world.

“If that’s what I have to do to ensure the child lives, then I’ll take that offer.”  There was no emotion in his voice except for pure resignation.

“Excellent.”  Suddenly, his Father’s voice became as smooth as honey.  Knowing from experience, Asmodeus knew that His next words would be as bitter as gall.  And he was right. “Now, My son, we have discussed how we are going to deal with you impregnating a human.  It is time for your punishment for your original crime: you slept with your human charge. You say it was love, but I cannot see this purely sexual act as anything other than lust.  You know the penalty for that has never been implemented, but it is time.  However, My son, I will be merciful to you, once again.” Asmodeus simply stared dully as his Father continued, “My son, I will withdraw the original punishment for this crime from you, provided you understand the error of your ways. Answer Me, Asmodeus, do you regret what you did?

It was only then that warmth bloomed inside him once more, the burning embers of his own ire against the Almighty.  His Father could call it what He wished, but his passion for his charge was love, no matter how He twisted it.  And that love would always remain for that human woman, wherever she was and whomever she reciprocated the love to.  

There was only one word he could answer with.

“No.”

[padfootagain]

The Lesson (I)

Part 1 : Punishment 

Ha, look at the fool that I am!! Look how a silly little one-shot has turned into a multi-chaptered fic!! Watch and learn. This is what having 0 self-control looks like…

Anyway, this is a very cute little fic that I'm writing here. Lots of fluff and silly idiots in love.

I hope you like it! Tell me what you think of it!!

Gif not mine

Word Count : 4825

Gabriel really doesn't have a clue what's going on right now.

A minute ago, he was in heaven, drinking tea with Michael, and laughing at some poor ridiculous angel, who had knocked a whole pile of their old files off and therefore had to spend their afternoon putting it all back the way it was before.

And then he was summoned. By God herself. Or well, the Metatron, to be precise, as no one really talks to Her directly. But talking to the Metatron is like talking to God after all, he is Her voice. And he is the one devoted to take care of all the tiny insignificant business that God Herself is too busy to take care of herself.

Gabriel is rather surprised by the summon, but he is an Archangel, after all. And more than that he is the Archangel Fucking Gabriel. He is something of importance, up there, in Heaven, and is quite proud of his influence and reputation throughout the angelic organization.

And yet, how fast has his world come to crumble…

"But, there must be a mistake, I mean… what would She want to punish me for?" Gabriel tries to argue.

He can't be sentenced to something. He just can't. Why… Where was that all coming from anyway?

"You have grown too much apart from the humans you are meant to help and protect," the Metatron replies in a calm, slow voice.

"That's… with all due respect, that's a misunderstanding."

"God knows best."

"Of course, She does. But I am…"

"You shall see the benefit of Her teaching in the end, even if for now, Her decision appears all but mysterious to you. You will grow to learn the lesson She means to teach you."

"What shall I do then?"

After all, Gabriel can't defy God. She for sure knows better than him. His ego is ready to accept only this limitation, but this one, it can't deny.

"You shall experience the world as a human."

"What?!"

"You will be sent to Earth under your mortal form, and shall remain there as long as you need to learn the lesson God has prepared for you."

"But… like… I could stay for several days?! I can't stay down there for days! What about that terrible air they breathe, and this disgusting food and… hang on… if I'm mortal, does that mean I have to eat?! I can't sully my ethereal body with this!"

"You shall leave like a mortal for as long as necessary for you to learn the people you are meant to help."

"This is…"

But he stops himself before he would let out the word. He can't say that it was all ridiculous. Blasphemy and all that. He reckons he is in enough trouble already.

"When am I leaving?"

The Metatron smiles.

"Now, of course."

And before Gabriel can protest, the world around him is of a blinding white, and he is gone.

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

 Crowley is so proud of his garden. He's always loved plants, he's always loved watching them grow (into perfection, using a little bit of his voice). And in the South Downs, near the limestone cliffs and chalky rocks, in the cottage he and Aziraphale have bought after the almost-end-of-the-world incident, he created a welcoming and rather furnished garden. Aziraphale is not one to complain about it, first because he can see how the garden makes the demon happy, and whatever makes Crowley happy instantly makes Aziraphale happy as well, but also because Crowley has turned the garden into the loveliest place to read a good book. Under the warm summer sun, sitting on the wooden bench Crowley has placed there for him (of course, the demon has never admitted that adding a bench to the garden was meant for the angel, but Aziraphale is not a fool, not anymore, at least), with the sweet perfume of blooming jasmine, lilac and hydrangea, it makes it perfect for the angel to get lost in a good book. And that is precisely what he is doing at that moment.

It is a rare copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray he is devouring now, that Oscar Wilde signed for him a long time ago - with a tender note that had made Crowley doubt the angel's purity for a while too, until Aziraphale denied it with a blush and used the obvious fact that there was already someone in his heart when he had met the author in question, to which Crowley had been the one to fiercely blush and hiss a little.

Aziraphale is not surprised at all when Crowley joins him on the bench, takes off his dark sunglasses, that he carefully places in the pocket of his black shirt, and lies down to rest his head on the angel's laps. Actually, Aziraphale has been waiting for Crowley to join him on the bench. It is almost a habit by now, really. A habit nor Aziraphale nor Crowley have managed to get quite used to, even now, that they have been free for several years from both Heaven and Hell.

They can be close now. As close as they have always wanted and fantasized and hoped for, and they are. It doesn't mean either of them has grown accustomed to how lucky they both are to have each other though.

Aziraphale adjusts his position on the bench a little to give Crowley more room to unfold his long legs, and lowers a hand from his precious book to Crowley's burning hair, eliciting a content sigh from the demon as he closes his eyes.

He must admit that this life is a rather good one. A quiet cottage near the sea, crowded with Aziraphale's old books and a large garden for Crowley to terrorize as many plants as he wants. And he's with Aziraphale now. They live together, and drink their tea in the morning while they read the newspaper, and they go out to eat ice-creams in the afternoon, and organize picnics by the sea, and dinners home in the trembling light of burning candles, and they go to bed together, and hold each other as they fall asleep…

… and they can kiss, and hold hands, and touch, run fingers through hair and peck smiles and all of this tastes a little bit too much like paradise for the demon's heart to handle.

He loves it anyway.

They've been free from Hell and Heaven for a decade now. Or well, it will soon be a decade, in one week, to be exact. It coincides with their anniversary too. One year after the almost-Armageddon. After a year of dates at the Ritz, and picnics in Saint James's Park, and holding hands along the Thames, and stealing kisses in the bookshop, and faking they didn't hear people mistaking them for husbands so they wouldn't have to correct them. After a year they decided to move away from the busy town together, and Aziraphale proposed to get the arrangement one step further. Maybe it would make things easier and more practical to get a house. Maybe it would spare them the bother of having people mistaken their relationship. And maybe he wanted to spend the rest of eternity by Crowley's side, and is it not what marriage is all about, after all? A promise to be there, whatever may happen?

Crowley agreed that it would make things clear for the new neighbours, and might drive a few conservative old ladies mad, and he's a demon still, so how could he miss the occasion to mess up with narrow-minded elders? And maybe he also wanted to spend all eternity with Aziraphale, and if he had made that promise to stay with him forever long before, maybe he would enjoy making the statement official now.

It was almost nine years ago that they took their vows, and the thought brings Crowley to gently stroke the silvery ring around his finger, where a pair of wings is engraved. He opens his eyes to glimpse at Azirphale's matching golden ring, wrapped around a finger that holds his book up to read.

They're lucky. Unbearably, cheesily, disgustingly lucky, and it makes Crowley so annoyingly happy.

He closes his eyes again, drinking in the sun that warms up his eyelids, enjoying the way the angel soothingly runs his fingers through his hair.

"Your lilac smells divine, dear," Aziraphale compliments him, and Crowley can't refrain a little smile.

Aziraphale is distracted from his book for good. After six thousand years of companionship (and secret longing), he knows the angel by heart. He might fake an innocent tone, but he merely wants to talk with Crowley. About nothing in particular, really, just talk, maybe hold hands at one point while the sun warms their two frames, and they'll probably share a few kisses on the way too. Crowley grins at the thought.

Temptation accomplished.

"I've made sure they would," he replied without bothering opening his eyes.

"Oh, dearest, really, you ought to stop terrifying these poor things!"

"May I remind you how many plants you managed to make grow with your 'all love and sweetness method' when you were a gardener for Warlock, huh?"

Aziraphale let out a revolted huff.

"Well, your jasmine didn't die when I complimented it yesterday, did it?" he whispers under his breath, just loudly enough for Crowley to catch his words.

In response, Crowley jolts upright.

"You did WHAT?!" he shouts through the quiet garden, but Aziraphale fakes innocence, the ghost of an amused smile tugging at his lips.

And Crowley notices it. Oh, of course he does. Aziraphale can be so horridly annoying sometimes…

"Me? Nothing."

"How many timessss do you have to tell you? No kindnesssss!" Crowley hisses in his anger.

But Aziraphale stares at him with such a tender glance now, as he puts his book down on his lap to cup Crowley's cheeks.

"Oh, you foul fiend…"

But in that soft and playful tone, Crowley knows that the words truly mean You're such a nice soul.

"I'm not niccce," he replies with a pout.

"Of course you are," Aziraphale replies, before pulling the demon to him and kissing him gently on the lips.

" 'm not."

"Yes, you are, dear."

"You bastard."

"I know that too."

They chuckle against each other's lips, and kiss again. And again. And again…

Until they hear a loud thudding noise coming from behind them, in the back of the garden. It comes from… yes, definitely around Crowley's red dahlias.

Crowley is on his feet before a second has the time to tick, and Aziraphale has turned on the bench as well, in the direction of the noise.

A groan rises from behind the tall flowers. Human, without a doubt. Male, judging by the sound of the voice.

Where the hell is he coming from?

"Oh dear… he must be hurt, he must have climbed over the wall," Aziraphale whispers, standing up as well and nervously twisting his clasped hands.

"And landed three meters away from the fence? What was he doing on top of the wall anyway? Diving into dahlias?"

"What should I know? But he must be hurt. We should… go and take a look."

Which, as Crowley perfectly knows, means 'you should go and take a look'.

He rolls his eyes.

"Should I call the police?" Aziraphale asks, following Crowley, a couple of steps behind.

"Nah, no need. I'll handle it, angel. Must be drunk or something."

Aziraphale comes a little closer to the demon, which can only make Crowley smile. As if he would get in a fight if there was to be one anyway… But now that he thinks about it, Crowley guesses that the angel might, if there were to be a real danger. The idiotic selfless being of love…

They walk through the patch of grass splayed before the dahlias, and Crowley notices the broken plants in the blink of an eye.

"My dahlias!" he exclaims with both anger and distress in his voice.

"Oh, my love," Aziraphale tries to soothe him, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Maybe a little miracle…"

"No! No! Angel, it took me years to have them so red!"

"I know, dearest, I'm sorry."

"My dahlias!"

"I know. But there's someone in the dahlias, honey, we should…"

"Aziraphale?"

Both the angel and the demon freeze. It's not difficult to recognize Gabriel's voice. He's been haunting their nightmares for years.

They exchange a surprised, then shocked, then scared look, before focusing on the dahlias again. Taking a few more steps towards the plants, they easily spot the archangel indeed, still lying head first in the earth.

Crowley moves to stand between Aziraphale and Gabriel, and the angel has no trouble recognizing the dangerous look in the demon's eyes, along with the little sparks coming out of the tip of his fingers.

"Crowley, no. He seems hurt," Aziraphale stops him, but Crowley turns to him with an astonished look on his features.

"He tried to kill you, angel. He wanted to kill you!"

"But he didn't, did he now?"

Crowley clenches his jaw, hellfire burning in his eyes with his devouring rage, and Aziraphale heaves a sigh.

Meanwhile, Gabriel has sat up in the dahlias, destroying a few more flowers in the process.

"Aziraphale! Oh, I'm so glad to see you!"

"Well, not ussss," Crowley spits back.

"Still with your best friend, I see."

Crowley glares at him, and Aziraphale takes a step closer, coming right beside Crowley.

"What are you doing here? I thought you were to leave us alone, now," he asks back, making an effort close to a miracle to keep a polite tone.

"Well, that's quite a long story."

"Get out of here."

Crowley's jaw and fists are clenched, and Aziraphale knows how close the demon is to miracle Gabriel in the depth of the Mariana Trench.

"Well, I… I'm afraid I can't," Gabriel shakes his head, a touch of panic twisting his features.

"You'd better miracle yourself out of this garden… no, actually, out of this town… no, no, out of this country before I have time to miracle it for you," the demon spits.

"Crowley…"

"He tried to kill you!"

Aziraphale heaves a sigh.

"Look… why have you come here? We weren't doing anything…" Aziraphale turns to Gabriel again.

"No, I mean. I didn't choose where I landed, I just… I was sent here."

"Sent here? By whom? For what?"

"God. She… is punishing me."

Both Crowley and Aziraphale stared at him as their eyebrows shot up to their hairline.

"Punishing you?"

Gabriel nods, on the verge of tears. His white suit is stained with dark dirt and the green dye of broken leaves, his hair a mess. He looks desperate.

"Apparently I've grown… too far from humans. I've… lost the point or…I don't really know why I was sent here as a mortal."

"A mortal?" the demon and the angel ask in an astonished unison.

"I'm stuck here in a mortal body for as long as I haven't changed."

"Changed for what?"

"I have no idea."

He looks up at them. Crowley the demon, and Aziraphale the angel. He hates both of them. They stopped the war that would end everything. They saved humanity, and for what? A garden? A cottage? A little bit of sun? It's ridiculous. They're a joke, an anomaly, and he wishes he and Beelzebub could have found a way to get rid of them both all those years ago.

But he's also alone, in a world he barely knows, with nowhere to go and nothing to do. And they are they only ones he can rely on, if they let him.

"Help me."

Crowley snorts.

"Yeah, of course, why not? Why not help the archangel who tried to burn him alive," Crowley mocks, pointing at Aziraphale, and as he goes on, at himself. "And handed enough holy water to dissolve me."

"We haven't always agreed on general politics..."

"That is a euphemism, Gabriel," Aziraphale replies in a harsh tone. "Crowley has a point, you did try to murder us."

"Yes, that's true. But I'm sent here in a human's body and I don't know what I'm even supposed to do and have nowhere to go…"

"Well, first, you can GET OUT OF MY GARDEN!" Crowley roars.

"But…"

"OUT!"

Aziraphale makes a movement towards the archangel, but Crowley stops him.

"He might be armed."

"I'm not. I'm human now!"

"Oh, and we should take your word for it then?"

"Crowley."

The demon stops to look at Aziraphale again. He seems hesitant, but determined too. Crowley knows this look. It's the look that gets them both in trouble everytime. It's the look that means I know it might be a bad idea, but it's the right thing to do, and thus I must do it. And he hates that look…

"Crowley and I will take you to the hotel. We'll give you some money too, so you can pay for the room for a few days," he decides, and Crowley wants to shout to the top of his lungs how annoying and wrong and stupid the angel is right now. Instead, he lets out a low groan.

He has never managed to make Aziraphale change his mind, not in six thousand years, he doesn't expect to win now.

"Thank you," is all Gabriel can manage to say.

He stands up, and Crowley watches as he reveals the broken plants.

And Gabriel is almost certain to see tears in the yellow, demonic eyes.

"My dahlias…" Crowley breathes, and Aziraphale pats his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, dear."

"It took my years…"

"I know. But they'll grow back. You'll make them grow back."

"My dahlias…"

Gabriel is more confused than ever…

They guide him through the house, that Gabriel quickly examines as they walk through but doesn't really care about lingering in. It feels warm and a little crowded, but in the most comforting way. As they walk through the kitchen, he notices the collection of herbs, the books about cooking and gardening, the many mugs of all colours and shapes, the many boxes of tea and cocoa, the light coming in from the large window. In the living room, the many shelves stacked with old books encircling the room, a large TV screen lost in the middle of them. A warm carpet, a comfortable sofa and two armchairs are set around a little glass table. He can't deny that the place feels loved, even if he's not an angel anymore, and can't feel it the way he used to. But he doesn't really want to linger around the two traitors, and he reckons that a hotel sounds like a good idea. He feels tired all of a sudden. And that's when it hits him. He is tired. Instinctively, he knows he needs to sleep. He also feels a constant but quiet pain in his stomach. Is it what hunger feels like?

The more he thinks about it, the more he is panicking. Crowley has already opened the front door and is ready to throw the (former) archangel out when Gabriel stops in his tracks, and leans against the large leathery sofa in an attempt to keep on standing.

"Oh dear Lord…" he breathes, his heart speeding up, and the thought of his beating heart makes a new wave of panic course through his veins. "What am I gonna do? How… I don't know how to do things like this…"

"What are you talking about?" Aziraphale inquires with a frown, and Crowley hates the fact that he sees pity into his blue eyes.

Really, pity for this murderer is the last thing they need.

"I'm… I think I… my body needs to sleep."

"Well, we're taking you to a hotel. You'll have a comfortable bed and everything you need to sleep."

"But HOW?! How do I sleep?"

"Oh…"

Crowley and Aziraphale exchange a glance, but they don't try to make the other understand the same message at all through this silent communication.

Crowley tries to say this is the worst idea in the whole history of the universe and I am not helping this prick.

Meanwhile, Aziraphale's blue eyes are begging for we can't leave him like this, he's just a human now, after all.

And Crowley, at this particular moment, hates both Aziraphale and himself. Himself because he knows that he loves Aziraphale too much to refuse anything he could possibly ask him. The bastard could ask for the stars, and Crowley would re-learn how to create them just for him. And he hates Aziraphale too because he knows perfectly well that he is looking at him with this particularly soft gaze because of which Crowley can't refuse him anything.

"Well, you… You just lie down in a bed. And close your eyes and try to think of something nice," Aziraphale explains, gently taking Gabriel by the elbow to guide him towards the door.

"Try to think of something nice?! That's all? What nice things do you think about?"

"Well… A good book, or some good food or…"

"Or burning you in hellfire," Crowley hisses behind his gritted teeth, making both Gabriel and Aziraphale glower at him.

"I don't even know what I did wrong," Gabriel went on, and despite Aziraphale's cold feelings towards the archangel, he can't help but feel sorry for him. "I don't know what I have to do to get back. What if I stay stuck here forever?"

Crowley and Aziraphale exchange a panicked glance. They can't allow that to happen…

"I'm sure you'll find something."

"What am I going to do? And I don't have money… they still use money down here, right?"

"Yes. We'll give you some to get by for a few days."

"But then?"

"Then… you'll have to find a job and pay for yourself, I suppose."

"I can't do it, Aziraphale. I can't…"

Gabriel is shaking from the tip of his white shoes to his perfect hair (or well, usually perfect hair, the landing in Crowley's dahlia has disturbed a couple of strands). Aziraphale makes him sit on the sofa while he turns to speak with Crowley, taking his arm and pulling him into the kitchen. By the window, they can see the garden still bathed in sunlight, in which two sparrows decide to settle to sing, but they spend a moment commenting on what could have caused the perfect garden to look so messy now with all these broken dahlias.

"We have to help him," the angel decides with urgency shaking his voice.

"What?! Of course not! He tried to kill you, angel! There wasn't even any form of trial."

"I know…"

"Have you forgotten how mean he was to you all these years?! All his remarks and cruel little comments?!"

"I haven't forgotten any of those, and you know it."

"Then how on Earth can you think for a second about helping him?!"

"Because… if we don't, he might never be sent back."

"Perhaps a lifetime on Earth will do him good," Crowley replies with darkness in his voice.

"We'll never get rid of him then," Aziraphale reasons his demon. "Besides, we're better than him. We have to be better than him. Better than all of them. Our side has to be better than theirs."

Crowley sighs, running a hand through his hair and making the ginger strands messy. He hates it when Aziraphale does that, when he chooses the perfect arguments to convince him.

"We can't leave him," Aziraphale adds in a shy voice.

"He wouldn't do the same for us. He would kill us both if he had the chance."

"But we're not him."

"He doesn't deserve your kindness, angel. Not after all he's done to you."

"No, maybe he doesn't. But he doesn't need to deserve it for me to grant it to him anyway."

Crowley sighs again, but he can't find words to reply. Deep down, he thinks about a day long gone, spent on the top of a wall encircling Eden, watching the first storm wet the world and a couple with a flaming sword disappear in the distance. He thinks about an angel offering him protection from the cold rain under his wing. He thinks about his smile. He thinks about all the times they met after that.

He doesn't think that he deserved Aziraphale's kindness then either, but the angel granted it to him anyway. He isn't even sure that even now, he fully deserves it. He's just lucky to own it.

He rolls his eyes and picks up his dark sunglasses from his pocket to put them on again.

"Fine," he answers moodily. "But I won't be nice with him. And only for a week. One week and he goes to that hotel, and I never want to see him again. Is that clear?"

Aziraphale nods, giving him a tender smile that Crowley knows means you're nicer than you pretend to be again. But Crowley is too preoccupied by the (former) archangel sitting on their sofa to correct the angel this time.

They walk back into the living room, and Aziraphale rests a soothing hand on Gabriel's shoulder. The man really looks distraught. Crowley almost feels sorry for him. But not quite.

"You… can stay here for a few days, if you want. Crowley and I will help you understand what's going on. And once you know what you have to do, you can accomplish your mission and go home."

Gabriel slowly nods.

"If you're tired, you should sleep. We have a spare bedroom upstairs. Come on."

Gabriel follows the angel upstairs, well aware of Crowley's glare as he walks up the stairs behind him, but he chooses to act as if he could ignore it. Instead, he follows Aziraphale into a little bedroom, that is clearly used as an office as well, judging by the many papers on the desk.

"Here, lie down on the bed, close your eyes, and try to calm down. It can take a little while to fall asleep, although, you truly look exhausted," Aziraphale guides the distraught (former) archangel to the bed.

He and Crowley exit the room as soon as Gabriel has closed his eyes, and the angel uses a miracle to lock the door.

"Can you tell me now what the hell you're playing at, angel?" Crowley hisses through gritted teeth as they walk back downstairs. "You can't be helping him just to be good, I know you well enough for that."

"Not so loud," Aziraphale admonishes, nervously glancing up the stairs.

"We shouldn't be helping him!"

"Because letting him wander off across town is a better idea, perhaps?" the angel snaps back.

"Yes!"

"No! We should keep an eye on him. Make sure of what he's up to. And what better way to do so than to keep him here?"

"He could be trying to kill us!"

"I know. Which is why we should make sure he doesn't get the chance to gather some help to do so. Better to keep one's enemies close, right?"

Crowley opens his mouth to reply, but smiles instead.

"Besides, it's the decent thing to do, really," Aziraphale goes on. "No matter what he has done in the past, we can't abandon him. We need to be better than that."

"You, bastard."

"Now, now… no need for that kind of language," Aziraphale fakes to admonish, when in reality, he's smiling and blushing a little. "We need to keep a close watch on him, and make sure no one else is sent down here."

"Or up here."

They exchange a wary glance.

"I'll write the runes on the front door, you take the back," Crowley orders, and they both move to the kitchen to get a chalk.

Before they part to protect their home, Aziraphale takes Crowley's hand in his and gives him a reassuring smile.

"We'll be just fine. As long as we're together, we'll be just fine."

Crowley answers with a tender smile, cupping the angel's face.

"I know."

"I love you."

"I love you too. Now, come on. Let's make sure no one can come in uninvited."

They kiss before parting, and half an hour later, the two doors of their cottage are protected by a series of runes written in white chalk.

In the distance, coming from the sea, dark clouds gather through the sky, slowly drifting towards the cottage, and the demon watches them roll through the firmament. Crowley wonders what the future might bring. With Gabriel back in their life, he guesses nothing good is to be expected in the coming days. He steps back inside the house and closes the door behind him, leaving the clouds behind to rest his eyes on his angel instead, who is preparing some tea for both of them.

If one thing is for certain, it is that he will make sure Aziraphale is safe, no matter the cost.

***********************************

Taglist : @imafangirlofeverything @ponycake27 @horsesreign @xinyourdreamsx @jbluevelvet @notkeppeki @daynigt-dreamer-stuff @fudgeflyss @stuckupstucky @snek-shit @suchatinyinfinity @i-padfootblack-things  @buckybsarmy @heyohheyitsgabi

[agmapansa3008]

Song Prompt from our lovely Cullrian Discord, courtsey of @the-red-dame <3 It goes a little dark...

---

Oh, Maker, tell me. Do we get what we deserve? We get what we deserve, don’t we? 

Running from the haunting snarls and growls from behind him, Cullen wasn’t sure the Maker was listening anymore. He felt like prey. Prey to be corrupted, tainted, dragged down where no one could follow. 

At least no one who counted. 

Something slashed against his legs, and he felt them give out. He fell. The ground was hard and scratched at his face. His hair filled with mud, darkened from the normal blonde to a dull brown. His clothes were torn, already, his boots forgotten in his panic to get away. 

He was cold. No, he was numb.

Numb with fear, numb physically. At the same time, everything hurt, his leg felt on fire as corruption entered his blood system. He crawled forward, brought his legs under himself and pushed upward. 

He had to run. It was getting dark out.

They were stronger at night. 

It was a group of them. Two Despair Demons, throwing ice at him, chilling his skin even more. Three Sloth Demons, one of which had slashed his leg open. A Rage Demon had burned his shirt off, the fabric melting into his skin, it was harrowing.

And just as he was starting to gain on them, the Terror Demon appeared right under him, dragging his body to the ground. His breath left his lungs, and Cullen gasped. Desperately, he turned onto his stomach and tried to crawl once more, but the Sloths reached him too soon. A claw dug into his arm, another into the bleeding leg, another into his back, another, another, another. 

He felt tears well in his eyes, a scream caught in his throat. Dragged under, he was dragged right under the earth. 

The last thing he heard was the cackle and deep laughter of Despair and Rage.

---

He felt like he was floating for a while. Left alone to his thoughts, to his regrets.

Did he regret it? Truly? Everything?

No.

But he regretted this. His time had come. He was a sinner. And sinners were run down. Sinners were caught and dragged underneath. 

He was a sinner.

And sinners were brought to them. 

To him.

---

The feeling of his hair being pulled back harshly, brought Cullen back to consciousness, on his knees in a mesmerizing cave. He gasped and tried to reach up towards it, but thick iron chains were holding his arms behind his back. In vain, he tried to struggle. In vain, he tried to pull away. 

In vain, he tried to look away, to not look into his eyes. It was too painful, too… too scary. He knew the eyes would be red like ember, the skin deep and dark. The hair black as the night.

He didn't hurt anymore. He wasn't numb anymore. He felt warmth in his body that he couldn't explain. His clothes were gone, but so were his burns and wounds. His body was as healthy as it had ever been, and it was quivering in heart-clenching fear. 

He was a sinner.

He deserved this.

Another yank on his hair and his eyes flew open, immediately locking with the inferno that was raging in his eyes. Dorian.

The Archdemon chuckled, a deep and amused sound. He leaned forward, slowly, deliberately, elbows on his thighs, hands woven under his chin. "Well well well, and so we meet again."

His voice sounded from everywhere, and yet only echoed in Cullen's head. It was loud and booming, and yet a whisper, a hiss, a growl. The hair on Cullen's neck stood, a shiver wrecked his body. Dorian. The heat in his stomach intensified. 

"How did you like it? Your moments of success? Your time on top?" The Archdemon popped the p and stood up in one fluent move, the reptile wings uncurling behind his back, a reminder of his true form. “Your victories?”

Now that he had looked once, Cullen couldn't look away. Everything about the former Old God was enchanting. The purple scales that seamlessly merged with the dark skin of his neck, shimmered from the icy glow of the cave. Patches of them were scattered on his naked form, looking almost wet in their sheen.

And he shouldn't call him that, shouldn't even think it. Old God. Such a controversial name. The Maker was his God. The Maker was…

But he had forsaken his Maker, hadn't he?

Had spit in the face of his faith, all those years ago. He didn't regret his decision. And yet he did. It was for a good cause, everything he ever did was for his loved ones, but it still made him a sinner nonetheless, no matter how much he tried to excuse his actions to himself.

He had surrendered to the hopelessness of his life and had sealed his fate with a bruising kiss. And now here he was, chained, bound for eternity. 

“Speechless, Cullen? You’ve never been much of a talker, but I could almost think you’re angry.” The words were bemused,  but Dorian’s eyes were hardening as he spoke. The closer he came, the more Cullen shivered. The closer he came, the more Cullen yearned. 

He wasn’t quite sure for what.

“Now now now.” A gentle finger was dragged from his forehead, over his cheek to his chin. His head was jerked up even more, and he gritted his teeth. “You knew this was coming, my dear.”

“I did. That doesn’t make this any easier.” He snapped, ad the finger was replaced by a firm hand, long black nails digging into his skin.  

“Yes, well.” Dorian’s mouth stretched into a grin, showing off a row of razor-sharp teeth. “You were also aware of that.” Slowly, the Archdemon kneeled in front of Cullen, other hand tangling into his hair. “And now.” He dragged a nail down Cullen’s cheek, not digging deep, but leaving a pink irritation. “You are mine.”

And way down they went.

[ethereal-not-occult]

hhh okay I need a few moments to yell about This Scene:

What strikes me the most about this particular exchange is just how much Aziraphale’s response reads like my own dysfunctional, OCD-driven thoughts when I’m having an episode. It’s actually so scarily similar to how my OCD manifests that the first time I read Good Omens -- several months before I was diagnosed and in therapy -- I nearly put it down again because that particular description was so triggering.

I’ll elaborate. Obviously OCD appears in a variety of different forms and symptoms, and it’s not the same for everyone. But one symptom that can appear in OCD is all-or-nothing thinking. Basically it becomes impossible to look at the “in-betweens” of a subject -- there are Only Two Sides of Right and Wrong and Nothing Else (sound familiar?) Maybe the one logical part of you can recognize that this kind of thinking is not quite right, but that part is drowned out by the brain gremlins yelling that it can only be one or the other and you’re evil and wrong for ever daring to think outside that box.

Now, as to how this applies to Good Omens, and this scene in particular. Aziraphale has his world divided neatly into Good and Evil. If something is said to be Good, then it is Good, and anything that is not considered Good must therefore be Evil, with no room for exceptions or error.

Crowley here is the voice of logic, the one that some part of Aziraphale secretly knows has a solid point. But Aziraphale is unable to accept it. One part of him wishes to, but another part of him so deathly fears that he would be sympathizing with “Evil” if he agrees that he immediately retreats into denial as a safety net. It must be bad. Even if he doesn’t understand why it’s bad precisely, this is what he knows to be true, so he shouldn’t argue against it because otherwise that means he’s Evil too, and God knows he doesn’t want to be Evil.

When it comes to OCD subtypes like scrupulosity (c’est moi), this kind of thinking can be so overwhelming that you basically get caught up in a perpetual moral argument with yourself, trying to find one “right” answer or condition that doesn’t exist. Eventually you retreat to the “safety” of extremes; if you just stick to the Good side, then you won’t be Evil. Of course, that also means that any questioning of the Good side whatsoever automatically = evil, and the fear that that causes makes it difficult to break out of these harmful patterns of thinking (and that fear is very strong, and the guilt of thinking you have done “evil” is even stronger). 

I always felt that Aziraphale’s struggles with Heaven and the ineffable plan throughout the book mirrored OCD’s distorted lines of thinking in a way that was painfully familiar. He makes mistakes based off these thoughts -- making excuses for Heaven’s conduct (because questioning it otherwise must mean he is allowing Evil to happen, or else committing Evil himself), retreating behind the safety net of extremes when his firmly drawn lines are threatened.

But at the same time, let’s consider incidents like the flaming sword. For all of Aziraphale’s internal debate over whether the banishment of Adam and Eve was the right thing to do, he still gives them the sword to keep them safe, then lies to God about it afterwards. Then, of course, we come to the Apocalypse-that-wasn’t, in which Aziraphale finally shakes himself free of the tangled web of all-or-nothing, good-or-unforgiveable ‘logic’ that has kept him trapped for millennia, steps forward, and dares to say, “This Great Plan... this would be the ineffable plan, would it?” 

There’s a lot more I can say here, and I’m not even sure if what I wrote makes sense or not. I’m just... emotional at how he manages to break himself free of that futile cyclical way of thinking and forge his own path. At a time when so much seemed hopeless with my own mental health and no help was forthcoming, and I was breaking down over believing I was a fundamentally unforgivable person, Good Omens was such an anchoring story.

Many thanks to @goodm-omen-ts for their wonderful post here that finally motivated me to write this meta. 

Now for some miscellaneous Aziraphale with OCD headcanons:

Intrusive thoughts. Just lots of images and urges and thoughts that are so horrifying and contrary to Aziraphale’s morals pop into his head all the time and no amount of trying will make them go away. When it gets really bad, anything that reminds him even distantly of these thoughts can be a trigger, and if he isn’t careful he can get lost in his head struggling to get rid of these thoughts for hours at a time. But what helps with this are mindful activities that keep his hands occupied and his mind focused on the present, which I feel is how he got into doing stage magic. He gets so focused on executing the tricks and being in the moment that it allows him to forget (or at least sufficiently ignore) the intrusive thoughts until they subside on their own.

Also consider Aziraphale getting involved with other mindful crafts, like knitting.

I feel like at some point Aziraphale would also have distressing intrusive thoughts about Crowley. Cruel whispering thoughts and urges implanted into his mind, saying this is a demon, you must smite harm hurt, along with old prejudices popping into his head that he knows are untrue but somehow he’s thinking them anyway -- the thought of harming Crowley in any way shape or form is simply sickening, and Aziraphale argues against the thoughts constantly, presents all the evidence he has at his disposal (over six thousand years of it) that Crowley isn’t evil, that those are all lies, but of course OCD refuses to listen to logic. The guilt of thinking such terrible things about his friend is crushing, so Aziraphale starts avoiding Crowley out of fear that he will succumb to those awful thoughts and hurt him. Of course that just makes him even more miserable, but the shame prevents him from telling Crowley what’s wrong. Eventually Crowley knocks on the bookshop door himself, and when Aziraphale, teary-eyed and shaking, finally confesses, Crowley holds him and says I’m not angry, angel. I know you never actually believed those things, and I know that you would never hurt me or anyone. Those thoughts don’t represent who you are or what you believe. 

Compulsions. okay but also Aziraphale fearing that his relationship with Crowley will get Crowley punished by either Hell or Heaven and dealing with the crushing guilt that comes with that, and the rituals he sets up in an attempt to avoid such a thing from ever happening. Spending hours brooding over short notes from Gabriel trying to determine if the wording of that particular sentence means Gabriel knows something he shouldn’t, or combing repeatedly through his memories of the Arrangement to see if he’d ever somehow accidentally betrayed to the Powers That Be that it was he, Aziraphale, who had carried out that particular temptation in France instead of Crowley who was in China at the time... just lots of questions of what if, what if, what if. Through this, he also tends to blame and beat himself up over any small thing that goes wrong. 

When Aziraphale is overworked or overtired it gets worse, and he finds himself slipping into his head more and more often. That relaxing sit-down with a book becomes three fraught hours of second-guessing his actions from an event that happened two centuries ago, or he’s at the Ritz with Crowley but can’t focus on the conversation because every time he blinks he sees horrifying images behind his eyelids, and the crowds of people at the tables around them aren’t helping to clear his muddled mind. But then he’ll be roused by a touch to the shoulder, worried yellow eyes beneath dark sunglasses and a questioning “Angel?”, and they’ll pay the bill, drive back to the bookshop in the Bentley while Aziraphale presses his flushed face into the cool window and tries to focus on Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy playing softly on the radio instead of the frantic nest of bees in his brain. He can’t stomach any more food that night, but Crowley miracles up a pair of pyjamas for him (tartan, though Crowley would deny it if you asked) and grooms the tension out of Aziraphale’s wings until the angel manages to fall into a sound sleep.

Just... Aziraphale with OCD. It traps him in a snarled web of indecision, terror, and guilt, and the abuse he receives from Heaven only worsens it. And later, when he realizes his past mistakes, the crushing remorse that that causes makes it difficult for him to forgive himself and move forward. But he works at it, and learns to break out of those lines of thinking, and it’s never a quick nor easy process, but he’s getting there. He’s staying afloat.

(I also have lots of thoughts about Crowley dealing with similar symptoms, especially after his Fall. In my mind he’s more accustomed to dealing with it by now than Aziraphale, and has developed good coping mechanisms, but it still gets hard at times. They help each other.)

[facetious-wanderer-blog]

“This is Hell’s territory and I am beholden to no gods.”

Calamity. Usually that was the title for a time when the earth beneath their feet would be terrorized. Life would be threatened and fear plucked a haunting cord in the hearts of the living. Fear led a many things in reaction. Good, bad, protection and selfishness. All sorts of thing would come, but one thing was above all else. Instinct. Instinct drove beings to continue forward, no matter what direction.

Primals had been heralded as Deities to Beast Tribes that sought out their power. Some could even be summoned by other means than a lot of crystals. Primals were usually taken care of by Warriors of Light. If left in the world, they could disrupt the fragile advances of survival. But how about keeping the power of a primal without having the primal around? The thought would seem to be such a foolish idea. Now, when beings with bright minds and clever tricks start at it.. they can do some pretty major things.

That Rufus ShinRa had plans. He wanted that power that Primals had, so a swift hand commanded his wishes to be done by any means. Something did start up, but it was rather secretive.. Even from most of the Turks. It was indeed a dangerous things they were working towards. Primal power infused weapons have been known to be a thing, though rare. Even as they were rare, there was also a rather.. complicated requirement for their usage.

~~

Bartz had been hanging around at times when bored. He was never told to LEAVE, but nothing told him to stay. Well, he had a feeling as of late that trying to leaving would provide complications. Nothing ever said, but it was something about what was in the eyes of the Turks he came across. Also something about how those eyes /followed/ him quite often. Oh well.

~~

Reno had ended up snooping where he shouldn't be. Curiosity brought him to this 'Secret Area' of totally super secret information. For why should something be denied to everyone while it was in the same building? It was fairly easy for him to sneak around and soon he came to the fruit of his adventure. Curious, it was just a box with some metal claws or something. They looked pretty cool though, so why not try them on? After putting them on, everything changed at a rapid pace.

Warm radiated from the claws as they gripped and tightened to the Turks' hands. Magic erupted from the claws, a miasma of amber hues. Something unusual about the magic, were the butterflies of bright lights that birthed from the magic and floated around him. Just to disperse, go back to the claws, and repeat. The power was overwhelming, and it simply just changed him. In a split moment of his humanity, Reno escaped far. A desire to protect others from himself? Or perhaps humiliated by his actions?

There was panic around the building. Murmurs fled around and the Warrior tilted a head in confusion. It took some aggressive encouraging on one of the lower ranked ones to get information out. The prime worry were High Priority weapons were taken. The other whispers were that it had been Reno. lastly, he heard mixed feelings about the situation. Some say he would have to die, others said they might could use him. Why were they talking like this? That Reno was the weapon now. Nonsense, Bartz just had to do something about this. After even more aggressive encouragement, he was able to get the info on the Turks location. He couldn't understand how they knew where he was, but weren't doing anything. What?

Well, he finally got to the location. A place of just dry land and no one around. Seeing Reno, he understood. Was that.. Was that even Reno anymore? Sure he wore his suit and had that bright red hair.. but those weapons corrupted him.

Magic had sort of.. altered his appearance. Well it wasn't physical but more like, the magic had created an image around Reno. Armor.. Multiple arms.. horns.. transparent wings. He knew what the look reminded him of and he could feel the magic. Ravana. Reno had the Dead Hive Claws.

No no no.. The weapons weren't supposed to do that. He knew primals weapons. It was like.. Like as if the weapon had been altered. Bartz was right of course. Those clever minds decided they wanted to amp up the power on those weapons.

Reno had seen Bartz walking over. When he straightened up and cracked his head over in the Warrior's direction, there was a pause. It was.. It was still Reno, right? "R-Reno?.. Hey.. Why don't you put those down, mkay?"

As Reno's arm raised to put towards Bartz, one of those translucent arms pointed a sparkling image of a sword. "Art thou Warrior, or Craven?" That voice was not Reno.

Hands came up in a calming gesture and he stopped his travel forward. "Reno.. Is me.. Bartz. Remember me, right? Hallway Gremlin? Constantly terrorizes you?" This wasn't looking good, not at all.

"Art thou a fool, then? I am RAVANA, fourfold master of the blade!" Arms were raised, magic being giving off of the claws in a rather proud fashion. A smirk spread across Reno's face as he peered over at Bartz again. "This is Hell's territory.. And I am beholden to no Gods! It is simple, fool. To live is but to fight! Life, or death?" A challenge as the primal that had possessed Reno would start to form a stance.

Primal weapons aren't meant for regular beings, Reno. Only Warriors of Light can wield them.. Maybe that's why I was being held along by a crimson thread. Those were meant for me to use.. You're just a fool that got to curious and had a burden thrust upon you.. that's okay. I'll fix this.

A shaken breath was taken before Bartz whispered to himself. "I'll save you Reno, and then we'll go home so we can get yelled at." A bit of a saddened smile was given towards the being before him. Arms came out before him as Light would start sparking. Moving his arms a certain way and the light started to form a physical appearance. The wind around him started to pick up, rustling through his clothes. He was blessed from a Crystal of Wind. He was also a Freelancer. As he was being held up in the air, the light arched and formed a large bow that was longer than his own body. Drawing back the fine thread of magic of bowstring, a large arrow was crafted. A mass of magic, of Light. When Bartz blinked, those pale eyes seemed to shine a bit more than usual.

I'll save you, I promise.

[mcdougallunitedinpride]

Baptized in Terror or in Grace?

Baptized in Terror or in Grace?

by Gary Simpson

Call to Worship

One: Today we remember Jesus baptism.

All: In baptism, our Creator calls us

to use love to free people from hate.

One: In baptism, we celebrate being one in Christ

No longer are we divided by identity.

All: No longer citizen or immigrant.

No longer slave or free.

No longer rich or poor.

No longer male, female, other.

No longer straight or LGBTQ.

We are one in Christ Jesus.

We welcome and celebrate all.

Making all one in Christ.

One: Baptism the Spirit anoints us for ministry

Anoints us to embody divine love.

All: Today, the body of Christ  

remembers and celebrates all.

One: Let us worship God and celebrate each other!

Luke 3:15-17, 21-22 (KJV) And as the people were in expectation, and all men mused in their hearts of John, whether he were the Christ, or not;  John answered, saying unto them all, I indeed baptize you with water; but one mightier than I cometh, the latchet of whose shoes I am not worthy to unloose: he shall baptize you with the Holy Ghost and with fire:  17 Whose fan is in his hand, and he will throughly purge his floor, and will gather the wheat into his garner; but the chaff he will burn with fire unquenchable.

21 Now when all the people were baptized, it came to pass, that Jesus also being baptized, and praying, the heaven was opened, 22 And the Holy Ghost descended in a bodily shape like a dove upon him, and a voice came from heaven, which said, Thou art my beloved Son; in thee I am well pleased.

Baptism becomes baptism when God is present.  According to both Martin Luther and Augustine, “Without the word of God the water is simple water’ and is not baptism.(1)  The empowering of the Spirit is what makes the simple act of getting wet a baptism.

There are a number of different meanings of the word baptize.  One Bible commentary in my library states that there are about 20 meanings for the word.(2)  Some people emphasize meanings that relate more to water or more to immersion.  I tend to emphasize more symbolic and more spiritual meanings.  In baptism, we identify with Christ, with Christ’s death, with Christ’s resurrection.  The most important meaning of baptize has almost no connection with water.(3)  There is a sense in 1 Corinthians that the children of Israel were baptized into Moses.(4)  In the Exodus narrative, the children of Israel did not get wet.  They crossed the red sea on dry ground.  The Egyptians were the ones who got wet that day.(5)  James Dale wrote a book about John’s baptism.  He describes baptism as taking place when the “character, state or condition” of an object is changed.(6)

A case can be made that Jesus’ baptism was unique.  John the baptist baptized people in a ‘baptism of repentance’.(7)  Jesus’ baptism was not like the baptisms normally conducted by John the baptizer, because Jesus was not repenting.  Baptism signifies submission to God, allegiance to God’s will and inclusion with the restored people of God.(8)  Through baptism, Jesus shows that He is in alliance with God, with the will of God and with humanity.  Perhaps, in some way, Jesus’ baptism was an example for us and was a marker showing a change in Jesus from being a Jewish carpenter to being a powerful Jewish teacher.  

Jesus was probably about 30 years old when He was baptized.  Verse 23 is not part of the lectionary reading.  In verse 23, we learn that Jesus was roughly 30 years old when He started his ministry.  Priests were supposed to be at least 30 years of age to be installed in ministry.(9)  Because Jesus is the high priest for humanity, it makes sense for Jesus to start His ministry at about 30 years of age.

John the baptist’s ministry is not one that I find particularly attractive.  A description of his ministry makes me think of some of the street preachers in Edmonton, who stand on a box and yell into a public address system that everyone needs to repent or they will be doomed to hell.  I try to scurry past them, in an effort to protect my ears from the loud preaching.  In fact, I am not sure that I would want to be seen to have any association with John the baptizer's ministry.  Depending on the translation, John the baptist called people a generation of vipers(10) or a children of vipers.(11)  In fairness to John, he might have been calling the scribes and pharisees the children of vipers.  We get that sense from Matthew’s Gospel.  The religious leaders might have been present only to witness the baptism,(12) not to gain spiritual blessing from John the baptist.  I wonder if they were there to see if John was preaching heresy.  I am still left feeling that no matter how you slice it, either being told that your parents are poisonous snakes or that you are a poisonous snake is not a compliment.  To John the baptizer, the people he was calling a generation of vipers were the descendants of the snake that deceived Eve in the Garden of Eden.(13)

John's comments indirectly challenge racism and challenge ultra nationalism.  And I am not sure if John won any friends among the Jewish nationalists of his day.  In verses 7 and 8 of this chapter, he reminds the people that being children of Abraham is nothing to brag about.  He essentially says that God can create good Jewish people from stones.  I am wondering how well his message would be received by a room full of people wearing Make America Great Again hats.  Nationalists might find John’s message that God does not care about your national identity or your skin color a bit unsettling, possibly even a little jarring.  In John’s personal theology, being Jewish did not place you in a special position above other people.  He saw a need for Jewish and non-Jewish people to repent.  John’s message to Jewish people was that being Jewish did not exempt people from judgment and that “racial privilege meant nothing” to God.(14)

John the baptizer seemed to have good ethics.  He told tax collectors to only collect the taxes that they were supposed to collect.(15)  He informed Roman soldiers that they were to be content with their wages, do not blackmail people and do not be violent.(16)  While his ministry impresses me as being harsh and insensitive, he was popular.  Crowds appeared to follow John.(17)  And for some reason, Jesus came to John to be baptized.  Perhaps, Jesus wanted to be baptized by John, because they appear to have been relatives.  According to Luke Chapter 1, Mary, Jesus’ mother, was related to John’s mother.(18)

One of my favorite Bible commentators is William Barclay, a Biblical linguist and scholar.  He translated the New Testament and wrote the popular Daily Study Bible commentary, which covers the entire New Testament.  His commentaries are so good that they can be used as a devotional book.  William Barclay comments, “Nowhere does the difference between John and Jesus stand out so clearly because, whatever the message of John was, it was not a gospel. It was not good news; it was news of terror.”(19)  At Jesus baptism, a dove descended upon Jesus.  The dove symbolized purity and harmlessness.(20)  In the presence of a ministry of terror, the dove, a symbol of peace, comes down from the heavenly.  A harmless, life-giving, hope-filled ministry that touched hundreds of millions of people in the last two thousand years took flight on the wings of the dove.

There is a reason why I am giving this background.  Jesus baptism is in no way diminished by the fact that He was baptized by John.  Some people who attend progressive churches and many LGBTQ people have suffered a lot at the hands of blunt ministers, harsh churches, demeaning church doctrine.  If you were baptized, confirmed, ordained or served in a church system that hurt you or that hurt others, your call to be a person of faith or your call to ministry is not diminished by that church.  You are more than your past.  Like Jesus, you can have a powerful ministry and you can be a powerful force of good news, despite the frightening messages of churches.

The Gospel of Luke portrays Jesus as the one who fulfills John’s prophecy that there is a better, a greater, a more significant spiritual leader coming.  John indicates that this person who comes after him is so much better than John is that John is not even worthy of untying his sandals. Slaves typically untied sandals.(21) The early followers of Jesus would have understood that John the baptizer was saying that he is not good enough to be Jesus’ slave.  A spirituality of terror is not worthy, is not fit to be the slave of a spirituality of hope and peace.  The bad news gospel that condemns people based on their identity is not worthy of tying the sandals of the Gospel.

Jesus submitted to being baptized by a person who was a bad news minister, so that we would not have to submit to bad news belief systems, so that we could hear good news, the Gospel.

There is tremendous power in stories, so I am going to share a story, as I conclude.  Ken Wilson, author of A Letter to My Congregation, tells the story of his daughter, Grace.  His daughter was in a science class, which was taught by a devout Catholic teacher.  A student asked the teacher what he thought of homosexuality.  The teacher replied that homosexuality is morally disordered.  Grace looked over and saw a boy, who identified as gay, starting to cry.  To Grace’s credit, she stood up and said, “Well, both of my parents are pastors, and I don’t know what they think about this, but I know that Jesus accepted all people!”  Through tears, the teen said, “Grace, you’re my hero!”(22)  And I believe that day a gay teen was baptized in God’s love.  That day Grace lived up to her name.

My prayer is that many people in the city will be baptized in God’s love through people who are part of this church.  And that they will say, “Your church, is my hero!”

God is a lot like Grace and God calls us to be like Grace!

Today, you are declared grace incarnate, grace wrapped in flesh, grace that baptizes many with love.  Amen.  

Notes

(1) Cited W.H.T. Dau. “Baptism (Lutheran doctrine),” ISBE, I, 395 in “What Is the Primary Meaning of Baptism? Some Translational Difficulties.”  Bible.org.  04 March 2006, 20 Dec 2018.  <https://bible.org/article/what-primary-meaning-baptism-some-translational-difficulties#P14_2475>.

(2) J. Vernon McGee.  Thru the Bible with J. Vernon McGee.  (Pasadena, California:  Thru the Bible Radio, 1998) ebook.

(3) McGee.  (1998) ebook.

(4) 1 Corinthians 10:2-5.

(5) McGee. (1998) ebook.

(6) James W. Dale. Johannic Baptism. (Waucona, IL: Bolchazy-Carducci Publishers, 1993, vi), cited in “What Is the Primary Meaning of Baptism? Some Translational Difficulties.”  Bible.org.  04 March 2006, 20 Dec 2018.  <https://bible.org/article/what-primary-meaning-baptism-some-translational-difficulties#P14_2475>.

(7) William Barclay.  “Daily StudyBible.”  Study Light.  n.d., 18 Dec 2018.  <https://www.studylight.org/commentaries/dsb/luke-3.html>.

(8) Walter J. Harrelson, et. al, eds.  The New Interpreter’s Study Bible.  (Nashville:  Abingdon Press, 2003), 1858.

(9) See Numbers 4:3.  “Adam Clarke Commentary.”  Study Light.  n.d.,  17 Dec 2018.  <https://www.studylight.org/commentaries/acc/luke-3.html>.  This point is also made in the Barnes Bible Commentary.  “Albert Barnes Notes on the Entire Bible.”  Study Light.  n.d., 17 Dec 2018.  <https://www.studylight.org/commentaries/bnb/luke-3.html>. 

(10) Luke 3:7 King James Version.

(11) Luke 3:7 William Barclay’s New Testament.

(12) Good News Study Bible.  (New York:  American Bible Society, 1993), 1297.

(13) Lane T. Dennis, et. al., eds.  ESV Study Bible.  (Wheaton, Illinois:  Crossway, 2011), 1953.

(14) William Barclay.  “Daily StudyBible.”  Study Light.  n.d., 18 Dec 2018.  <https://www.studylight.org/commentaries/dsb/luke-3.html>.

(15) Luke 3:12-13.

(16) Luke 3:14.

(17) Luke 3:10 indicate crowds were asking John the baptist questions.

(18) Luke 1:36.

(19) William Barclay.  “Daily StudyBible.”  Study Light.  n.d., 18 Dec 2018.  <https://www.studylight.org/commentaries/dsb/luke-3.html>.

(20) “Albert Barnes Notes on the Entire Bible.”  Study Light.  n.d., 17 Dec 2018.  <https://www.studylight.org/commentaries/bnb/luke-3.html>. 

(21) Good News Study Bible.  (New York:  American Bible Society, 1993), 1379.

(22) Ken Wilson.  A Letter to My Congregation:  An Evangelical Pastor’s Path to Embracing People who are Gay, Lesbian and Transgender in the Company of Jesus.  (Canton, Michigan:  Read the Spirit Books, 2014), 41.