#azrael knows too much about one thing and one thing only today

[patchuvio]

Reuploading bc this deserves more love 💖

UNDERAGED GAMBLING

[ofpineapplesanddawns]

Crawly and Aziraphale in the Garden exploring?

The Eden spouses, my beloved! <3

They/them pronouns for Crawly because yeah.

On with the fic!

--

It wasn't hard to find the demon in the Garden, Aziraphale had learned this rather quickly. Crawly made themself known in little ways, subtle enough that only Aziraphale would pick up on, but any of the other angels wouldn't. Not that the other three angels on guard duty would bother going into the Garden, they were too single-minded with their jobs to even give the idea of exploring or touching grass a single thought.

But Aziraphale liked the Garden, he liked to explore it and see what the humans had loved about it. He also liked to explore with Crawly, who was even more curious of Earth than he was.

He found the demon laying on a large, flat stone, directly under the warm rays of the sun. While not a snake, Aziraphale still saw more patches of scales on their human corporation than normal, he wondered if they were aware of that. Suddenly, Crawly sat up, and looked rather excited.

"Hey, angel! Care to bask in the sun with me?" They asked.

"As nice as it would be, I'd rather we continue our exploration of the Eastern Garden, there is much more of it we have yet to see." Aziraphale smiled. He didn't say that he was not in the mood to bask in the sun, being on the Wall meant he was constantly under the hot beams, and he didn't understand how the other guards could put up with it.

Then again, he never talked to them, cherubim were such a rude lot. It was hard to have a conversation when four of them were happening at once with all those heads, and often among themselves!

Crawly perked up and slipped off the rock. "Great! I wonder what other things we'll see today! Maybe we'll see something more exciting than the obnoxious colorful birds!"

"The parrots?"

"Yeah, those arseholes. Pretty to look at, but not a fan of the mimicry."

Aziraphale laughed and started to walk, Crawly was quick to be at his side, chatting about having chased around some small rodents, trying to see where they hide in the Garden. Then they explained how after capturing one and having a... tasty treat, as they put it, they swore they saw a strange little mouse, all bones and black fabric, just watching before leaving.

"How odd!" Aziraphale commented. "Sounds like a mouse counterpart to Azrael!"

"Could be! I called 'em the Bone Mouse."

"Curious, I wonder if the angel of death is outsourcing, might make his job easier."

"Eh, probably." Crawly shrugged before looking about, then stopping. "What the Heaven is that?"

Aziraphale stopped and noticed the plant that Crawly was staring at. It was an odd one, sort of like a tree, but so very pointy, and a bit sharp. There was large thing growing from it, it reminded Aziraphale of those pine cone things they found the other day.

"I don't know, do you think it's food? Adam and Eve always liked to find fruits and such, maybe this is one they liked?" He asked and Crawly reached out, grabbing the strange fruit in both hands, wincing.

"Ow! Blessed thing is armed!" They hissed and yanked the fruit away, staring at it. They sniffed, then flicked their tongue out. "Smells sweet, I think you're right, might be food."

Aziraphale smiled and carefully took it from him, looking it over. "How do we eat it?" He tried to bite into it, quickly learning that, no, bad idea, don't do that."

"Let me see." Crawly said as they took it back and flexed their fingers on one hand, creating claws. They slashed through the odd fruit, cutting it in half, Aziraphale quick to catch the other part.

The inside was yellow, and it smelled divine. Crawly dipped a claw in and scooped out a bit and popped it into their mouth.

Then they promptly made a face, squirming. "It's tart!"

"Oh!" Aziraphale looked at his part and scooped out a bit, putting it to his mouth. He hummed in delight, yes, it was tart, but it tasted so good!

"Of course you like it." Crawly said. "Is there a fruit we've found that you haven't liked?"

"The one that smelled and tasted like, as you put it, Hell's walls?"

Crawly blinked and grinned. "Oh! I remember that one! You were so offended, like it betrayed you!"

"It has such a delightful texture but that taste! Uhg!" Aziraphale groaned, before taking another bite of the yellow, pointed fruit and ate it. "At least this is delicious."

"Eh, it's fine, might taste better mixed with things. I still think the little red fruits we found are the best."

"The strawberries? Oh, those are so sweet! I still find the pears to be the best."

Crawly made a face and then pretended to gag. "Uhg! Poison! Pure poison! Totally a demon repellent if I ever saw one!"

Aziraphale laughed and shook his head. "I get it, you hate that one. But it's still my favorite!"

"For now! We've still got more treats to try." Crawly smirked and hooked their arm with his. "I remember seeing a weird, pinkish one with little seeds and white stuff in it that I just have to try!"

--

I like the idea that before Eden was closed off to the world, Crawly and Aziraphale explored and tried all the fruits they could. Crawly's favorites are strawberries and coffee berries, Aziraphale loves pears and peaches.

[fluffyseal322]

Death Note but If Kira actually considered second Kira

My thoughts on Azrael and our efforts to trade together.

Firstly, I'd like to adress this picture and give a little background info about it.

I happened to go to an Anime bar one day to buy some takoyakis and while i was waiting for my food to cook i took a look around... I stumbled across these gems of a sticker and out of all the stickers that were there, these were the only ones that stood out to me so of course, I bought them! And what was going through my mind was that I disliked Light for how he mistreated Misa and used her for his benefits and completely disregarded her unless he schemed something out of her. At the time, that was my sign to not be fooled by Azrael's intentions and to be careful of him because he has similar traits to Light. When I remembered he studied women psychology I was concerned and I asked myself what was the purpose of this knowledge and if he planned to use this information for good. I should tread lightly... But anyways, the last picture stood out to me the most and i put the rest in my folder of stickers and left that one out for use. And then later finding the original picture today.

Speaking of using his knowledge for good I'd like to remind myself that he told me a story while we were playing minecraft and we were in the Nether hub on Saturday... He told me I taught him about the importance of digital footprint (Whereas I dont remember this hapening) but he explained that during his Ebop days he used the information to protect his identity to do bad, concerning deeds with this. I cant say I havnt done this before too, I'm no saint.. but that an example of him choosing to do not good things based off newly found info that he's taken and used. Don't get me wrong, I dont consider him a bad person for this at all, it may have not been a good choice but we are all human with human emotions of the good and evil. We are all selfish beings as well.

Now, fast forward to today and recent days ive come to a conclusion that me and him have very similar traits to light and misa, but if they had their own story. Light being a self centered, strategic person, who craves control. Misa being a really sweet girl but the moment she falls in love her entire world changes and her obsession and devotion was in the most purest genuine form. Knowing myself and how Azrael speaks of himself and carries himself and me taking note/keeping track of his behaviors and such, I can say this is true. Which is why i mentioned caution earlier. Once me and him agree to work together and learn trading an Ether will be created. I say this because this could very much connect our life with one another, we both have something relevant we can come back to each other with. How tainted our Ether becomes depends on the both of our decisions. We mustn't soil our ether or else bad things will happen, our soul connection and life will backfire negatively. As long as we can cleanse our ether, all will be okay.

So in regards to trading, Let's just say... we both have the eyes. mwehehe. Azrael mastering short term trading technique he's able to make quick decisions when needed, he understands the fast paced game at hand. Whereas me, I'd master long term trading techniques where I can observe with time to ponder and who knows maybe new information can surface or it just makes for a safer technique. They say two brains is better than one. Yes i do agree that azrael can very much work alone on this and be perfectly fine but theres something so valuable in having someone understand you. So then, he wouldn't have to work alone. I am simply just his extra safety precaution, like misa to light. Let's avoid the fate light and misa faced. Avoid the fault inn light's plan with misa as his backup protection. And this is where I bring back the topic of the ether that we shouldn't soil. As long as we do good, good things will happen in our favor. If not, no matter how hard we'll try to save each other, life will give us what we deserve.

ironically "because i have the eyes" and metaphorically "i'm the second kira"

[lilithprincessofdarkness]

The Patron Saint of Rome: Esau's Guardian Angel. Genesis 25: 19-34

By Lydia Swarzermond

[How I see Jacob and Esau, Stevo, and Bob from SLC Punk but in a different way.]

'You know dude, you are such a poser"

The dark eyed Esau spoke to his curly haired little brother.

"I know that you're only taking care of those sheep because Mom likes the way they taste over the deer. But ya know what Jacob! You're too much of a pussy to try to catch anything yourself, so you raise your flock to be weak and serve you"

"You know what fuck you Esau! When I finally have everything I want from Mom and Dad, your might will mean nothing."

Esau, full of rage for his brother, ran up the wooden stairs of their home into his room. He wanted to snap his brother's neck with his holier than thou attitude, but his love for his parents prevented him from doing so. Each step shook the whole small little farmhouse. Before he got to the top of the stairs, he spoke:

"I swear Jacob our parents only love us for the meat we bring home to eat. Bro, they only love us more depending on what their favorite meat is at the butcher shops we provide."

"Well, even if mom and dad didn't love me, I still have God."

"Oh what the fuck Jacob! For one fucking day can you stop talking about God! This is a house where a man wants to get some rest, drink some fucking mead, maybe have a fucking conversation with the Devil. Like you know Maia, she was looking beautiful today Jacob! Boy was she! She looked hot! And you know what Jacob a man only lives once and I think I might just ask her out on a date, and I'm going to imagine that date and what I want to do to that poor girl. Fuck you Jacob! You're a pussy! I'm fucking hardcore! That's why I don't have my face in the Torah!"

Esau then raised the middle finger to his little brother before he raged off up the stairs into his room. Lightening struck the plains beyond their home while Esau stared at his reflection in a large mirror surrounded by a black curved frame. He held his fist up to the mirror, his eyes with rage like a bulls, a lock of his dark curly red auburn hair fell into his eye.

"I don't give a fuck what it takes! Even if it takes the Devil, I want to lay Jacob straight! I want to push him straight off his high horse!"

Suddenly, a flash of lightening lit up Esau's dimly lit room. The hair on his neck began to raise as he could hear someone blow out the candle stick sitting on his nightstand.

"Oh fuck you Jacob!"

He charged after the shadowy figure in his room with his fist raised when Azrael grabbed his wrist. Esau then drew his wrist back, grabbing it slightly in pain. When he looked at the figure in front of him, he realized it wasn't his brother Jacob, for the figure was far too tall and had long ebony wings. Esau couldn't believe that the creature could fit into his room.

"Oh fuck!"

The teenaged boy yelled when he lost his balance and fell to the ground. Suddenly, he could hear the walls of his house shaking and rattling coming from downstairs.

"Yo dude! Are you ok?"

He heard his little brother yelling to him from downstairs.

"Yea, man, I'm fine! I just tripped. I caught myself, I'm alrite.'

Esau yelled down the stairs, seconds later he whispered under his breath to Azrael:

"Who the fuck are you?!"

"Well, you said you wanted someone to knock your brother off his highhorse, even if it's a force of the 'Devil.''

The fiesty young man started laughing and then said in a quiet voice.

"Ho-lee shit dude!"

"You're the fucking devil!"

A mischievous light lit up in Esau's eyes as he stared at Azrael's wings.

"That's hardcore, man! You are honestly the coolest thing I've seen in awhile."

Azrael was amazed by Esau's courage. Most humans were terrified to look at him in his dark brown soul stealing eyes or his Raven wings. The teenaged boy sat like a puppy dog looking up at a bone upon staring at him.

"No, Esau, I'm not the Devil. My name is Azrael. The Jews call me Samael, I am your guardian angel."

"Damn, I have one cool guardian angel man! Would you like me to get you some mead, dude? You're welcome to stay. I love your wings, bro. If only I had a pair like that! It would scare the living piss out of Jacob."

"Oh Esau, my friend, would you like to borrow my wings?"

"Dude yourself alone, just go down there and scare him"

"Esau, your brother can't see me when I am acting as your guardian angel. But how I wish he could, I wanted to tell you I hate your brother too, and normally angels can't communicate with the people they are guarding, yet I have but a deal to make with you. . ."

"I can't show myself to your brother. I can't touch him, but if you lend me your body, I might. "

Esau sat on his bed and continued to whisper to his guardian angel:

"So what are you telling me that you'll be able to whip my brother's ass for me in my body?"

"I mean Az.. Azure"

"Azrael"

"Yep Azrael, well you see I love my brother in fact, I can't say I really love my folks cause I feel like they are just using me and my brother for the food we bring them ya know. I almost feel like saying hey grandmas why don't you go hunt and herd sheep for yourselves you stuck up lazy fucks! But I also hate my brother cause I feel like I can't trust him, he's fucked me over in the past and I really think he'd do it again. So yea, dude, I wouldn't mind you leveling him. I mean, don't kill him, but yea knock some teeth out. He needs to stop being such a mama's boy brown nosing Torah humping ass wipe anyways."

Azrael grinned while he lied about his intentions through his teeth, saying:

"Oh, don't worry Esau, I won't kill your brother, I'll just give him some tough love"

Azrael then saw Esau's large eyes look beyond him, and his hand stretched out from the corner of his eye, attempting to touch the black Raven feathers of his wings. He gently pushed his hand away.

"Can you please not do that?! I don't like being pet. I'm not a dog, I'm an angel!"

"Oh yea yea"

"Tomorrow Esau, you told your parents you will be gone for a week to hunt. Make them think you have left, but truly sit in the apple tree over looking your brother's herd. Just sit there and wait, and when I find an opportune moment, you can guarantee your brother will be hurting at the end of it. "

. . .

So Esau did just what his guardian angel told him to do and sat in the apple tree over looking Jacob's herd. The skies were blue, the birds were singing, and the lambs bounced around happily, chasing each other. Esau thought sitting in the apple tree and not hunting was quite lame, but he fought his boredom and desire to take a nap, patiently waiting for Azrael's antics to start.

And then they did. Azrael jumped down from the apple tree in the body of Esau, a pick ax in his hand. The pick ax was really the spiritual scythe God gave him only much smaller. Grabbing this ax tightly, he rushed up on Jacob. Jacob, from the corner of his eye, saw him and smacked who he thought was his older brother across the head with his Shepard's staff. Azrael cringed in pain and dropped the pick ax. For Azrael was not used to physical pain being an angel. He felt extremely weighted down.

"This is the pain that humans feel. This is the pain that Lilith has felt, but even worse, my poor darling."

As Azrael's head rang out in extreme pain, he became lost in thought, almost forgetting what his mission was. To kill Jacob.

"What the fuck!"

Jacob picked up the pick ax off of the ground.

"You're going to wish you never tried that Esau."

While Azrael was on the ground, Jacob decked him as hard as he could, making Azrael roll over onto his side, cringing in pain. Blow after blow after blow. All he could think of was how Lilith felt this pain from Adam.

His rage grew, and he grabbed Jacob by the foot, causing him to fall flat on his back. When Azrael looked upon Jacob's face while standing above him, he only saw the face of Adam and his darkness unleashed. He began kicking Jacob in the head until blood came out of his mouth.

"You and your brother swear a lot."

Azrael said casually.

"They say you really shouldn't swear Jacob, unless you really want to make a point, you two swear so much a point really couldn't be made by you swearing anymore."

"But me Jacob, I rarely curse unlike you filthy humans, so when I curse, it really makes a point for me."

"Have you gone mad Esau?!"

"Fuck you Adam!"

Azrael then kicked Jacob in the face again. Jacob moaned in extreme pain and then crawled towards his staff while he saw Azrael going to pick up his black pick ax. When he had the staff in hand, he smacked Azrael on the back of his head, forcing him to fall to the ground, where Jacob then smacked him in the back so many times, Azrael was dispelled from Esau's body in pain. Esau then touched his jaw that was displaced, then looked at his hand with blood on it.

"You call yourself a guardian angel, you piece of shit!"

Esau started immediately yelling at Azrael,

"Well, just to inform you dumbass. This! This right here is the opposite of being a guardian angel!"

"Burn in Hell Azhat!"

At this point in time, Jacob truly did believe his brother went insane because he thought Esau was yelling these things at him. And though he pitied himself, he pitied his brother more for being insane. And he pitied his brother because he fucked his brother over big financially, he knew his brother was stupid and he could do it. So it was the combination of Esau's nativity, stupidity, and insanity that drew Jacob's pity for a brother that he both loved and hated.

"I'm telling mom and dad that you have gone insane and you have done this to me."

"Jacob, you dumbass! If you go telling mom and dad, dad's gonna be looking for me, and he'll find me, then your ass will be in trouble too!"

"Huh, Captain Rabbi, think of that one?!

"Esau, did it just occur to you that mom and dad will kill us if they see us like this? I will have to admit to mom that you tried to kill me."

"Oh yea, Esau, Dad is dying, remember that soup me and mom gave you, you gave me Dad's birthrite over that soup"

"Jacob, don't lie to me, I know that it has nothing to do with the soup, I know you stole my birthrite before that."

"Is that why you wanted to kill me?"

"What, no, I just wanted that poser ass guardian angel to whoop your ass."

"What do you mean Esau?"

"He's talking about me"

Azrael spoke sternly,

Before Jacob could react, a giant ram was charging at him.

"Esau what the fuck is that?!"

"You stupid fucking angel! I didn't tell you to try and kill him"

Jacob leaped out of the path of Azrael, now taking the form of a giant ram. The largest Ram Azrael could find in the desert he attached himself to. Esau gave his brother his hand to help him off of the ground, and both brothers ran as they spoke.

"Esau, that's not an angel! An angel wouldn't do something like that!"

"Well, I don't know, dude. That's what he called himself! An angel."

Behind the two young men was the sound of frantic galloping, and when they both craned their necks behind them to see what distance was from themselves and Azrael. It was too late as Azrael bound into the air with the horns of the ram downwards charging at Jacob. But just as the hooves of the ram touched Jacob's back, they became miniscule, and before Esau's eyes the ram Azrael attached his spirit to became a baby lamb, landing with a plop on top of Jacob's back bleating.

Esau looked down with awe upon the lamb that laid on his brother's back, then looked at his brother's face in shock. For Esau didn't understand at that minute, but his brother was going through a deep spiritual battle with Azrael. Jacob was fighting Azrael to keep humanity alive. But all Esau saw was his brothers unconscious eyes looking out into space. Frantically, he shook his brother's shoulder, yelling his name. Then he slapped him across the face, which revitalized him and made him wake up.

"Ho-lee shit!"

A slight wind from Jacob said.

"After all that work I did to save your punk ass and everyone's punk asses, I deserve all the veal and mead I want from you, you son of a bitch!"

Jacob then smiled a giant smile.

"Woah!"

"What bro?"

"Wait, wait, don't move"

Esau picked up the lamb Azrael laid in that was on Jacob's back. Jacob then sat up and dusted himself off. When he looked over at his brother holding the lamb, he screamed.

"What the fuck is that!"

"What a lamb? You should know you're the Shepard."

"What the fuck is wrong with it's eyes?!"

Esau faced the creature towards himself to see that the lamb had seven eyes, all blinking in synchronization.

"Woah gnarly man!"

Esau started laughing, he then put the lamb on the ground.

"We're keeping him, you know that, bro!"

"You can keep him I don't want to look at that terrible fucking thing that tried to kill me!"

The brothers then looked at each other, and both smiled, then started breaking out in laughter.

"So what the fuck did you do for me other than bloody me the fuck up today? Which I have to say Jacob, this whole time I thought you were pretty soft, a pussy pretty much. But today, I learned you are pretty hardcore! You busted my ass right up. In fact, I can barely walk because of you. You're pretty cool, man!"

"What do you mean what did I do! I saved you from that freak of nature over there!"

"What the ram! I mean the lamb, yea, that was pretty bad ass!"

"No I saved the whole fucking world from the Angel of Death you dumbass!"

"Oh no bro I didn't see that. I just saw the ram become a lamb. He like, was pointing his hoof at you, I swear! I thought you were a goner, bro! Then! Bam! He becomes a lamb and lands on you."

"Esau, I had to fight the Angel of Death, and I thought he was going to kill me. He said how much he hated me and how much he was going to enjoy taring me to shreds and ripping off my skin. He told me how I was the cause of all the sorrows on earth, that I didn't respect women, or animals, I mean for fucks sake I'm a goddamn Shepard I love animals. I like animals a lot more than people sometimes! I mean this guy was fucking nuts Esau! He was going on and on about what a monster I was, and he was like killing me, dude, I couldn't breathe. Then I looked inside of him. That's when I noticed that there was a lot of pain inside of his heart, and I found out the poor guy is really heartbroken because his girlfriend died. I told him I was sorry for his loss, but I was not the cause of it. He broke down in tears and started saying he was sorry. He stopped trying to kill everyone. He told me that I was the only Jew who was ever able to look into his heart and see his pain. "

"That's bad ass dude."

"Wow, really, dude, such a poser. He's a complete asshole over a broken heart, huh?!"

"Nah man, he went through some shit dude, his girlfriend died because he had sex with her dude."

"Woah no way man! What did he have some kind of disease that killed her?"

"No, dude, he said he the abomination killed her, he's an angel dude he can't be with a girl. Getting her pregnant killed her, but God didn't tell him about that until after he killed her."

"Aweee man, that sucks dude. I would be pretty pissed at God, too."

"But you see, that's the thing he's not mad at God he's mad at mankind."

"Don't you think that's kind of displacement?"

"No, see, here's the thing, dude. His girl was raped before he even was with her, but he saw it happen, and I kinda looked like the guy that did it to her. He said the thing that hurt on top of his girl dying,was being treated by God the way the rapist deserved to be treated, and being blamed for really hurting his girl, when he would never hit her and he had no intention to kill her. He said no matter what, he loves God the most, though, and has faith in him. "

"Well, ain't that sweet. He's still a poser ass pussified angel"

A cocky Esau then stood up, flipping off the tiny lamb its 7 eyes still blinking in harmony.

"You know what, bro, before we go home to face, mom and dad, I want you to promise me something."

"I want you to promise me that we will never fight like this again."

Jacob's eyes then met Esau's with a smile.

"You know what Esau, I'll let you live in the house for as long as you need to. It may be mine, but you have just as much of a right to live in it."

"You know what, Jacob, you really do suck for taking my rites, but I forgive you as long as I can change your name to 7 Eyes."

"No"

Azrael said in a defeated shamed and tired voice coming from the 7 eyed lamb.

"Your brother shall change his name to Israel, for he has defeated me."

Azrael's spirit then left the lamb, and it grew back into a giant ram with only two eyes that ran off.

Not long after, the brothers stood up and departed on their way back to their farm. Their bloodied faces pointed towards the sun. And their scraped arms around each other's backs.

"Boy what a screwed up day"

"You can say that again!"

"Hey man, I love you."

"Love you too, bro."

[eristic-kaleidoscope]

How Many Times Do We Have To Teach You This Lesson, Big Man?! | AIRika | Trial 3.4 | Re: Arakiel

"Yeah. Yeah. I saw that coming, honestly. Makes sense, right? I'm the one who got endangered in the motive."

They can't even be mad at Arakiel for his accusation, honestly. It's annoying but honestly? It's fair.

"So, Ae-ra would have been attacked around 5:30PM based on the hemlock poisoning. I'm accounted for until 5, right? And it's obvious I didn't have the materials to make the hemlock during that time, Erik Azrael can vouch. Obviously, that's my boyfriend, so you might be inclined to not trust him. But consider this:

I actually went to the eatery with my rubber chicken with the plan to stab it. Why would I leave an obvious piece of evidence incriminating me at the scene? What kind of a cover is that? Okay, yeah, I'm stupid. Fair. But if I was planning a murder, I would've probably picked something way less obvious.

I also had no room on my person to hide the hemlock and the gloves along with the rubber chicken and my tablet. My outfit is tight and has tiny pockets, and my cape doesn't have any. I would've had to juggle all of this around.

They shrug. They know they don't have an airtight alibi like last time, but they hope this proves themselves.

"Also, I'm accounted in the eatery from four to five. That would've left me only thirty minutes to leave the eatery, grab the gardening gloves, gather the hemlock, go back to the eatery to mix it together, and then go to the fountain room. Doable? Sure, but I would've had to sprint from place to place. I also would've been seen in a lot more places if I had to go to all these places in that short amount of time, especially with the alibis we've heard. More people would've had to see me."

There's a moment as they try to think. What else can they do to prove themselves?

"The mess in the greenhouse accounts for how I got my clothes wet too- besides the rain. That was my mess, and nobody else has spoken for it. That proves I went to the greenhouse after my time in the eatery, meaning there's no way I could've been at the scene of the murder. If anyone went to the greenhouse after 5:35PM, they can attest to the mess. Even if the hemlock is from the greenhouse, yeah, I'd have no reason to spray water literally everywhere and incriminate myself further. That should speak to my alibi, right?

And then, Erisu saw me leave my room at 6PM, which proves I was away from the scene by that point- and definitely by the time Ae-ra was dead. Obviously the killer could've left before Ae-ra died, but that would've been risky if she found a way to survive."

They pause again. There's one more thing they can use to prove their point- as stupid as it is.

"Also. Okay. If I wanted to kill someone with poison, I literally had the easiest way to do it. Back when we all got here, I got this chemistry set in the gacha, except there were bottles of sealed poison inside. If you searched my room, odds are you found it. All the poisons would've been accounted for, too.

I had no clue how the hell to get rid of them safely, so they've sat in a box at the back of my desk all this time. Nobody has known about this except Erik A and Erik Azrael. I could've easily just used my poisons and then disposed of them discreetly and saved myself the entire hassle of cutting hemlock and mixing a paste. Would've been so much easier than whatever the killer did, and left behind way less evidence.

And besides. Do I look like I know what the fuck hemlock was before today? You guys think I could identify a poisonous flower, known the leaves were toxic, mixed a paste with enough power to kill, known that injection was a possibility, and then prepared it safely? I burned a fucking grilled cheese and I have repeatedly shown I can't cook or make food for shit. No way I could make safely a murder paste."

They have to agree with Arakiel on one thing, though.

"I hate to say it, but Ae-ra probably killed Erika Chen. Erika Chen was found dead before Ae-ra would've been realistically attacked considering the speed of the poison, meaning she was the only one who could do it. This, on top of her being seen in the place with the murder weapon and the letter with Arakiel's handwriting that only Ae-ra could've produced.

It's unfortunate. Fuck. But I don't see anyone else who could've done it."

[eveningstar1516]

Rise of the Demon King ~ Chapter 11

Rise of the Demon King

Fic: Multi Chapter Paring: MC x Everyone (Mostly Lucifer) Type: Angst with a Happy Ending Total Word Count: 26,758 TW: Major Character Death, Reader gets stabbed with a sword through their chest so..., Abusive Parents, Past Child Abuse, Demon Hunters, Loss of Control Summary: You’ve done it. You’ve finally done it. You’ve managed to anger the demon king. Now you hold your head high as he hands down your sentence. AO3 Portal: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27065362 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~A/N: I gotta Discord server guys! It's primarily Obey Me but other fandoms are welcome as well. It's kinda baby and dead so me and the other members are looking to revive it and we'd love for you to come join us. A roleplay area is included :) https://discord.gg/F3YEmDZCPS Please remember to read and accept the rules once you join for access to all the channels. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Previously:

After that day, Beel would take responsibility for waking the youngest whenever he slept for too long and Belphie took responsibility for making sure Beel ate whenever he was awake. From that day forward, you’d never find one twin without the other close by. Their relationship strengthened, one relying on the other. Always being there when needed. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ CHAPTER 11 - 2 Realms, 2 Families (2003 words)

Making my way up the palace steps, I took notice of the lack of angels tending the gardens or palace. Oh well, I thought to myself. It is still too early for any of them to get to work. Michael led me through the castle towards the throne room. It was the same route we took on my first day here, only this time, I had a sneaking suspicion that it was about to be my last. Stopping in front of the door, Michael announced our presence and waited for the angels inside to open the doors for us. I’ve been in the throne room a small handful of times since my first day. Today, however, the atmosphere felt a little off. Normally, one would feel a sense of dread walking into this room, as it usually meant punishment. All ceremonies took place in the garden, the throne room being deemed as an unofficial courtroom. Today the atmosphere felt almost, denser than usual. Michael and I made our way towards the throne and kneeled before Father.

“Rise”

Both of us responded with a “Thank you Father” as we stood. God turned to face me.

“I apologize for calling for you this late. I do hope I didn’t wake you.”

“Not to worry Father, I was actually up finishing this week's work when Michael came to get me. If I may ask, why did you want to see me?”

“I called you to make an offer. I have observed how you ran the council this past millennium. I’ve seen your leadership and your dedication to your job. I’d like to offer you a permanent spot on the council.”

“Father, I’m sure-”

“I’m well aware of our initial deal. Bear in mind that this will not impede on your ability to see the Sins again. As head of the council, it will be your job to oversee business in the Devildom as Michael had been while you were here. You will be able to travel between the realms for business and visit the brothers while you’re there.”

“But I’d have to return and continue serving you, won’t I?”

“That is correct. You are a unique individual Y/N. You are a human with the blood of a fallen, you accepted the demons and was still elevated to the Celestial realm. As such, you have experience from all three realms. This is a powerful tool to have.”

“For you. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I am not interested in staying, nor am I interested in allowing you access to this “tool” as you so crudely labelled my experience. I made it abundantly clear that I serve you under the condition that I return once Lord Diavolo has been crowned. As the Father of the Celestials, I expect that your promises would be kept. Unless that is your telling me I’d have more luck trusting a demon if I wanted promises kept?”

“Y/N! While you’re here, you still serve Father. You cannot speak to him like that!”

“I’m not wrong though am I? If that is all, I’d like to get some rest before reporting in. Good evening, or should I say morning?” I didn’t wait for a response as I bowed to Father and walked out of the throne room without so much of a glance back.

“I apologize Father. I will see that they don’t speak that way to you again.”

“That’s quite alright Michael.”

“Father?”

“I find it to be one of their more enduring qualities. They don’t take anything from anyone, regardless of their position. It’s a valuable trait to have, if used correctly.”

“Father, you weren’t really going to cement their position as the leader of the council, were you?”

“No, I knew they wouldn’t have agreed anyway. I wanted to test them. By offering the position permanently, they would have gained an abundance of power and authority.”

“Instead they turned it down to be with Samael and his brothers. I still don’t understand what they see in them.”

“It would be wise to re-think your opinion on Lucifer and his family. Contrary to what you think, they haven’t changed much. If you looked at it from an outsider's perspective, perhaps you’ll find that they’re still very much angelic.”

“Are you seriously telling me that with a straight face? I appreciate your suggestion Father, however, I highly doubt my opinion on them could change.”

“I am not telling you to change your thoughts about them overnight.” Standing up God stepped down and put a firm hand on Michael’s shoulder.

“I’m just reminding you that Pride is a sin.” God exited the throne room towards his personal chambers leaving a perplexed Michael standing in the throne room.

“I’m not prideful.” Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he was wrong.

~3 Months Later~

“That is all for today. Does anyone else have anything that needs to be brought to attention before we leave?” I looked around the council table and took note of Azrael's continued absence. The angel of death was called for a quick meeting with God before the start of this meeting and had yet to return.

“Alright then. This meeting is adjourned. If anyone has anything they’d like to drop off, I’ll be working by the fountain." The council of 7 stood and started chatting amongst themselves as I packed up and left. A few weeks into leading the council, I found that much like the Devildom, I couldn’t find much peace anywhere indoors. As such, I turned to the gardens, in particular, the stone fountain. It reminded me of the one in my old village square back on earth and found a sense of peace here. I’m guessing the other angels got the hint of me needing some peace and quiet to complete my work as I’ve never been disturbed while I worked here. Anywhere else though, and it’s anyone’s game.

About halfway through my work, I decided it was a good time to take a break and get something to eat. Making my way to the makeshift kitchen area in the council building, I passed by Azrael and Michael conversing with each other. We exchanged some polite hello’s when something Azrael said caught my attention.

“I apologize for not making the meeting. There was an issue with a soul’s candle that was fluctuating that I had to deal with.”

“Fluctuating? I was under the impression that a soul’s candle can only slowly burn until the soul’s time runs out and the candle burns out or someone snuffs them out. How can a candle fluctuate?”

“It’s more like the candle was shifting, evolving. The flame itself is fine but the stick itself was changing. You see, the flame is just that, a flame that will never burn out until its designated time, or if as you put it, someone snuffs it out. It’s the stick that holds most of the magic. The type of wax used identifies the soul, its nature, and where it’s destined. Only angels of death, or reapers, can tamper with the stick and alter it, however, it seems this stick is changing itself without outside interference from myself or another reaper.”

“The stick is evolving on its own and this is a cause for concern because this type of thing shouldn’t be possible and has never happened before?”

“Essentially.”

“What did you do about it?”

“For now, nothing. We’ve tried manually altering it ourselves but it keeps rejecting the change. I have a junior reaper watching it now. He’ll update me if anything changes. That is all I can tell you for now.”

“That understandable, thank you for sharing anyway. Good luck with the candle.” At that, my stomach rumbled.

“Go enjoy your lunch” Azrael replied, walking away with Michael.

“Why did you tell them all of that?” Michael demanded of Azrael.

“They have a right to know. Besides nothing would be gained by hiding it from them. It’s best they are aware of the situation.”

“That’s not your call to make Az.” Michael responded angrily as he stopped. Azrael turned to face him, a calm mask slipped on.

“Yes, it is Michael. It’s my call as the leader of the reapers and the overseer of their candle. What isn’t right is how you keep insisting that they be left in the dark, blissfully ignorant. Despite what you may think, they are a bright soul and have brought much light with them, even to the brothers. I understand why you feel about them the way you do, but times have changed. They have changed, and so have the rest of us. Everyone but you. It’s time you change too before you do something you’ll regret.” With that, Azrael left, leaving Michael standing there thinking about what the reaper had said and thought back to what their Father had said 3 months ago. Threading his fingers in his hair, he made his way to his office, hoping to distract himself from these thoughts with some extra work.

~7 Years later~

“Y/N'' I woke up realizing that I fell asleep at my desk again. Looking up, I saw Uriel looking down at me. His hand on my right shoulder shaking me awake.

“Father would like to see you. Go get dressed please. I’ll be waiting outside.” Uriel left, closing the door behind him. I leaned back thinking about why God would want to see me, especially this early in the morning.

Not wanting to Uriel waiting for too long, I tidied up the papers at my desk, and sleepily made my way to the bathroom to take a quick shower and get ready. Once I finished, Uriel and I set out except this time, instead of heading to the palace, we headed for the gates.

When we arrived, I found that the rest of the council including Azreal and Simeon were already there and waiting for us. We landed and bowed our respects towards Father. Uriel joined the council in a semi-circle behind God.

“Y/N, as I’m sure you realized, the time has come for you to return to the Devildom. I offer you one last chance to stay here. You should know that once an angel falls, they’re not allowed back. Y/N, if you through with this, you will be cast out from the Celestial realm. Are you ready to make that sacrifice?” Looking to the council standing behind God. I recalled the past millennia I spent with them. While I tried to keep a professional relationship with them, they ended up growing on me and we became a little family of our own. I realized that I was going to end up missing them. None of that matters though, not anymore. I’m finally going home, to my real family. To the brothers. Ignoring God, I addressed the angels gathered behind him.

“Thank you, all of you. Despite our differences, you all still accepted me and let me into this little family of yours. I’ll be sure to remember all you’ve done for me and I hope we could meet again someday. Oh and Mike.” Michael looked at me, surprised that I singled him out. “You don’t belong down there. Don’t forget that.” I turned back to God giving him my answer.

“Yes, I am willing.” Giving me a nod of affirmation, God addressed me for the last time.

“Y/N, Virtue of Loyalty and former leader of the virtues.  I hereby strip you of your angelic status and cast you out into the Devildom for the sin of misplaced loyalty.” I faced the edge, ready to jump when I realized I had forgotten something. Turning around, I looked God straight in the eyes and threw the strongest right hook I had ever thrown in my life before jumping backwards, tucking in my wings and closing my eyes. A content sigh leaving my lips as I let the darkness engulf me whole.

I’m coming guys. Wait up for me

[imagine-darksiders]

Homesick

Chapter 1 - A forgotten arrangement. 

Summary: It’s been two years since you and the Horseman ended your journey together by resurrecting the souls of your fellow humans. Since then, you’ve returned to Earth to build a new life from the ashes of a broken, old house in the city. Death has been to see you there many times, but today is the first day that one of your newer, but no less dear friend, Azrael is accompanying the Horseman for a visit. Together, the two of them arrive at your front door... They aren’t at all prepared for what they find. 

Warning: Assault, bruising, religion, whump, 

Tags: Azrael, Death, Reader, hurt/comfort, angst, parental Azrael, parental Death, protective characters, angels learning about human culture

---

“Death! Over here!”

No sooner has the Horseman stepped out of his swirling portal and emerged onto a busy, city street than he immediately hears a familiar voice calling his name.

Humans of every shape and size skirt around him as they make their way to and fro along the concrete path, some eyeing him suspiciously while others stop and openly gawk. He ignores them all, instead scanning the waves of people breaking around him until finds his quarry.

Azrael, a tall and stately Archangel and Guardian to the Well of Souls, sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the throng of humans, not least because he towers impressively over the heads of every one that passes him by. Feathery wings of blinding white gleam under the midday sun and sway like sail boats on a gentle sea, the tips of his primary feathers sweeping just millimetres above the ground. He lifts one hand to beckon the Horseman over and a long sleeve of teal silk falls down and gathers around his elbow.

Exhaling softly, Death makes his way towards the angel and tries his best not to notice the humans that scurry out of his way as if he'll strike them down should they venture too close. He notes that none of them shy away from Azrael in the same manner. Then again, he can't be too surprised. Azrael is, after all, everything that Death is not.

Charming. Amicable. Incessantly polite... Not to mention his distinct lack of a terrifying bone mask.

It's a wonder he and Death are even on speaking terms, given their differences.

Still, though the Horseman is still loathe to admit it, at least they have a few things in common – one of whom is their reason for meeting here, in the centre of a human city that had once been overrun with demons.

He finally reaches the archangel, who nods in greeting, a smile pushing at his pale cheeks. “There you are, old friend.”

“Azrael.” Death returns the gesture of mutual respect, dipping his head low. The angel may be among the only beings in Creation who'd be privy to such a cordial greeting from the eldest Nephilim. Death tends to be extremely miserly with his respect.

Sweeping a lock of long, white hair over his shoulder, Azrael chuckles and says, “ I was beginning to worry that I'd have to make the journey without you.”

“Have you missed my company that much?” Death teases.

And Azrael - all too accustomed to the Horseman's nature through millennia of practice – replies with a soft, “But of course.”

'...Oh...' Death blinks, taken aback for a moment until he notices the sly grin twitching at Azrael's lips. 'Oh, damn you.'

Even now, after so many years, the archangel knows that he'll always flounder under the same ruse. Hit him with a dose of heartfelt sincerity and the Horseman's tongue sticks straight to the roof of his mouth, every time. It's one of Azrael's favoured ways of throwing him off balance.

Letting out a rough grunt, Death points himself east and begins to march down the street, trusting that the angel will be close on his heels. Naturally, it's only a few seconds before he hears the telltale swish of Azrael's vast wings and a flash of teal sneaks into the corner of his eye.

“You know, I hate it when you do that,” Death grumbles, though he does appreciate that the angel elects to walk, rather than fly. It reminds him of a day, thousands of years ago, when he'd been in the White City on official, Charred Council business. Azrael was the only angel who had lowered himself to the ground, choosing to walk beside Death as an equal. The small yet simple action spoke volumes.

“Oh, I'm well aware,” the archangel hums casually as he follows his companion down a narrow side street that's still quite obviously in the midst of reparations. It may have been almost two years since humanity's resurrection, but there are still little pockets of the city that haven't yet been reached by construction efforts.

The fact that you're living in one such, dilapidated area doesn't sit well with the Horseman.

You were the human who stayed by his side all the way through his journey to clear War's name and bring humanity back from extinction. Hell, you were a large part of the reason why Death had even made it to the Well of Souls in the first place. And you were the one who reconciled him with Azrael,  one of his oldest frie-... allies.

You deserved a better home than the ramshackle, old house you'd settled down in. Although oddly enough, it had been your choice, for reasons unbeknownst to the Horseman. Oh, he tried to convince you to stay somewhere less... built up. Somewhere in the countryside, perhaps. Alya and Valus would have been more than happy to build you a house - all you had to do was ask...

But, you didn't ask.

And now, whenever Death visits you on Earth – an occurrence that seems to be happening more and more frequently of late – he has to pretend not to notice the gaping holes in the walls of your home, the locked door that sits ominously at the end of the first floor landing, the one you never open, no matter how often he came around for a visit. So, he doesn't bring it up, and you don't mentioned it. That's just the way it is.

Across the road, an enormous Phantom Guard perches awkwardly on a too-small bench, chatting away with a human as if the two were old friends. It takes everything in the Horseman to refrain from lurching over there and impaling the demon on Harvester's hungry blade.

Gritting his teeth, Death forces his hand up and off the weapon's handle.  

On his other side, Azrael is graciously trying to wave at every human that passes him by. To their credit, most of them flash him a quick grin in return before continuing on their way, casting backwards glances over a shoulder as if to make certain their eyes aren't deceiving them. While it is commonplace nowadays to see angels amongst the crowds of Earth, it's still exceptionally rare to see one accompanied by a fabled Horseman.

Death can't blame them for staring.

“You know, I must confess,” Azrael pipes up, smiling kindly down at an awestruck child who totters past and gapes up at him whilst her mother drags her along, “The humans have made impressive headway these past few years. Even I was not certain they'd bounce back so well, and in such a short space of time. This metropolis is unrecognisable!”

“It isn't as though they didn't have help,” Death puts and nods pointedly across the street where a woman in a yellow hardhat sits upon the shoulder of her young, maker companion. The odd couple appear to be debating the necessity of adding cement flaunching to a chimney.

“True enough,” Azrael replies, “However, you know as well as I do that their adaptability is unparalleled.”

The Horseman's lips purse and he raises his dark eyebrows, silently concurring with the angel.

He's seen firsthand how swiftly you'd acclimatised to the various realms. Any other species would take at least a century to learn how to live on a different world.

Humans have almost entirely reclaimed their broken, little planet in just two years.

But then, they don't have the luxury of time.

Death quickly shakes his head to clear it and picks up his pace.

Each time he ponders the mortality of humans, he starts to think about you and how you don't even have a century left. Admittedly, he... doesn't like to muse on that.

The Nephilim leads Azrael further down the now barren street until they come to a wall of crumbling brick, stretched around the perimeter of a building and broken up by a small, wooden gate.

“Well, I must admit, Azrael, you're right about their adaptability,” he mutters, drawing to a halt and staring up at the house that lays beyond the barrier, “Some humans will learn to live just about anywhere, if they have to.”

The angel drifts up next to him and follows his gaze, eyes growing large. “Is this-?”

“-Y/n's home.”

Azrael hesitates for several, long seconds whilst he inspects the place. Then, he utters a small, soft, “Oh.”

“Disappointed?”

“No, no. Not in the least. It's just...” Azrael trails off.

Snorting, Death risks a pat on the angel's silken sleeve. “It isn't what you expected.”

“...No. It isn't.”

Pulling his lips into a thin line, the Horseman allows his hand to slide off Azrael's arm and murmurs, “Join the club.”

Ahead of them sits an old, two storey house in a sorry state of disrepair. Shingles on the roof have come loose and fallen down into the overgrown lawn. An entire section of wall is missing from the upper floor and a large, blue tarp has been nailed haphazardly to the rafters and stretched down so that it covers up the hole. The white, exterior paint is stained nearly black with soot and a pair of window shutters creak ominously in the gentle breeze.

All in all, the whole place is utterly wretched, even by Death's standards.

He pushes at the garden gate and it swings open with a hideous screech as the hinges protest against years of rust.

“Y/n told me that'd be fixed the next time I came around,” he grumbles to himself, slinking through and stalking towards your door whilst Azrael glides slowly up the path behind him.

“Horseman?” he calls in a hushed tone as Death reaches the front steps, “You're quite certain this is the right house?”

“Given that I've found our young friend lurking within each time I've visited in the past,” the old Nephilim snaps, “Yes, I'm quite certain this is the right house.”  

Azrael's jaw clenches but he doesn't admonish Death for the decidedly curt response. “Apologies. I would never think to judge your sense of direction, old friend,” he says instead and notices that the Horseman's shoulders relax a fraction, “This just isn't what I had pictured.”

'Of course it isn't,' Death wants to scoff.

Like Azrael, he'd been picturing something different as well upon his first arrival to your home.

---

Tiny, spring flowers grow stubbornly through cracks in the pavement and refuse to wilt even as Death's shadow passes over them. He stalks up to the wooden gate, certain that he's got it wrong, that you've given him false directions on purpose as a practical joke. You can't live here - in this  old house without windows that remind him of a dead thing that's had it's eyes pecked out, with foundations only held upright by a lifetime of memories that refuse to let it collapse into ruin.

Despite everything the Universe threw your way, you - a feeble, fragile human with no real talent for survival - managed to wade through it all and come out the other side to save your species and help Death clear his brother's name.

You are a hero, deserving of a kinder, prettier ending than this.

He half turns, ready to stride back through the gate and out in search of your real home.

Then, a voice calls his name from the shoddy, white door that opens inwards to reveal a familiar face.

You're smiling down at him through red-tinted eyes. “Welcome to my humble abode!” you chirp.

Death doesn't smile back.

---

The Horseman's shaggy, black hair falls over his eyes as he lowers his head, frowning at the memory and avoiding his companion's curious gaze. If even he thinks your home is tragic, then he can only guess as to what the archangel must think. Azrael, while not at all ostentatious like many of his fellow angels, is at least used to a certain degree of grandeur.

Twisting his neck around to level a strict glare at the Old One again, Death says, “The human has been looking forward to your visit ever since arranging it last month. So, try not to let your disdain show, hmm?”

At that, the angel actually bristles and Death is satisfied to see that he can still get under Azrael's skin. “I'll have you know that I too have eagerly awaited seeing my young friend again,” he says coolly, “And I would never look upon anything of Y/n's with contempt.”

The insinuation that he would ever cause you insult or injury is an abhorrent idea to him. It had been you who stood before your own people and spoke in the archangel's defense after he was tried by the Council of Angels, who reasoned that his fate ought to be decided by the human race. They were, after all, the wounded party thanks to his involvement with the Destroyer. Death had never seen your tongue shine as silver as it had in that moment. 'Compulsory community service,' you said was an apt punishment. Even War was on board. Azrael was to help rebuild that which Abaddon had torn asunder.

The Council of Angels agreed, albeit begrudgingly, and humanity took a vote.

Thanks to you, the archangel was spared from Oblivion and Death was spared the grim duty of dragging him there himself.

Azrael has been besotted with you ever since.

Behind his mask, the Horseman's sharp, golden eyes soften around their edges. “I'm glad to hear it,” he murmurs, voice low and quiet.

Azrael is taken aback, realising that the grim and ornery Nephilim is apparently even trying to protect you from hurt feelings. Slowly, his eyebrows lift and his lips give an enigmatic quirk.

Seeing the angel's expression turn smug, Death's eyes snap back to their prior ferocity and he grumbles under his breath, earning a bright laugh from his angelic ally.

Deciding that they've wasted enough time dawdling on your front step, the Horseman reaches out and touches a few of his finger tips to the brass doorknob.

“Hold on. Aren't you going to knock first?”

Death pauses with his fist halfway closed around the knob and glances sideways at Azrael, a brow quirked underneath his bone mask. In as deadpan a tone as he can muster, he asks, “What?”

A moment later, he finds himself wishing he'd ignored his companion and just strolled on into your home.

Now, Azrael has that look on his face. The look that always serves as a prelude to some kind of lecture, or lesson. “Oh, here we go,” the Horseman mutters to himself.

“If I am not mistaken,” Azrael begins, “It is customary among humans that, before one crosses the threshold of a home, one must first announce one's arrival by knocking... or ringing, as I heard it.”

Death's eyes roll up towards the sky and he expels a rough breath. “It's Y/n,” he says deliberately, as if Azrael is missing a vital point, “We can just... go in.”

“But...” The archangel's frosty eyebrows draw together and Death just knows he's perturbed at the very idea of disrespecting you by failing to follow an 'Earth custom.' It's yet another quirk of the angel's that Death has never quite understood, but always admired - that unparalleled need to be polite.

Letting out a resigned sigh, the Horseman steps away from your door and gestures towards it with a flippant wave of his hand. “Fine. Would one care to do the honours?”

If Azrael notices he's being mocked, he doesn't show it. In an instant, the angel perks up, his pale eyes shining and the feathers on his wings lifting slightly off the bone. Death suddenly has the sneaking suspicion he'd been waiting for that question since they arrived.

“Oh, may I?”

Despite himself, the Horseman's lips try to quirk up at the corners.

Ever since his pardoning, Azrael's avid fascination with humans and their culture had flourished. After it was decreed that other species would be allowed to interact with them, the archangel had begun to inhale information at a frankly alarming rate. There wasn't a human alive who was safe from his persistent questions.

'Reading about them is one thing,' he told the Horseman once, 'But first hand experience is quite another!'

It has been.... a long time since Death last saw Azrael so happy.

With an amused shake of his head, the Horseman juts his chin at your door and Heaven's greatest scholar wastes no time moving in and lifting a slender finger towards the button you've helpfully labelled 'bell.'

For a few seconds, he merely stands there, cocking his head at the doorbell as if he were trying to work out an intricate puzzle before eventually, he glances back at the Horseman and asks, “How long do you suppose I should press it for?”

Death's face falls flat. “Azrael-”

“I've heard about these, of course. But I've never actually... What if I break it?”

“I'm sure it'll be fine,” the Nephilim huffs noisily, “However, if you hesitate much longer, Y/n will think we aren't coming at all.”

At the mention of tardiness, Azrael blinks widely and presses his fingertip to the bell at once, jolting backwards when a long, tuneful chime rings out from somewhere beyond the door.

“What a remarkable contraption!” he exclaims, casting his eyes over to check whether Death is as impressed as he is.

Death is not.

Just then, the pair of them lift their heads up at the sound of hurried footsteps approaching from the other side of your home's entrance and a muffled “Sorry, sorry! I'll be right there!”

As soon as he hears your familiar voice, Death subconsciously unclenches his jaw and some of the rigidity drains out of his shoulders. Hardly any time at all has passed since he last saw you and yet, much to his own surprise and frustration, he finds he's actually missed you.  

Saving the Earth and Humanity presented an outcome that he'd fully expected, but in the end, had never really wanted. You… left. You returned to the Earth to help your people, and although Death knew it had to happen eventually, he couldn't seem to shake away the melancholy fog that draped itself over his shoulders once you were gone. He should have felt relief, really. The ordeal was over. His brother was safe and the Charred Council destroyed.

Yet at the furthest corner of his mind, a gentle grief existed, bearing your name.

The Horseman hadn't ever missed anyone before you, and thus the feeling was as foreign as it was unsettling. He even thought he must have surely come down with some, strange affliction and ended up taking the matter to Azrael, not least for the fact that he trusted the archangel enough to keep tight-lipped about it. What he hadn't expected, however, was for the angel to let out an uncharacteristically sharp bark of laughter, spend a moment composing himself before finally smiling down at Death and informing him, 'It's not an affliction that can be cured. You simply miss your friend.'

Evidently so, given that he'd actually – dare he say – looked forward to this visit ever since you arranged it over a month ago.

'Creator,' he smirks wryly to himself as your door handle begins to turn, 'I'm far too old to be getting so soft...'

Beside him, Azrael watches the door with a smile blooming across his angular features. Unlike his grim companion, the angel isn't sheepish about his eagerness to see you again.

The door begins to swing open and for just a second, they're treated to a brief glimpse of you, half cloaked in the shadow cast by your door.

Then, without warning, your eyes bulge from their sockets and you let out a yelp of alarm, slamming the door shut once again before either of them can open their mouths and offer you a greeting. Several, long instances trickle by in which Death and the archangel merely blink at the entrance, neither entirely sure how they ought to proceed.

After wallowing in silence for a while more, the Horseman asks, “Did you read anything about human customs that might have mentioned that?”

When he garners no response, he tips his head up to peer at Azrael. Something in his stomach twists when he catches the angel's expression.

“Horseman,” he mutters carefully, turning an uneasy look onto Death, “Did you see Y/n's face?”

A shadow falls over the Nephilim's eyes but before he can reply, a tiny voice slips underneath the threshold.

“Shit! I didn't realise it was you! I wouldn't have opened -... What are you guys doing here!?”

Now, Death's timekeeping skills may not be anything to brag about. However, he's fairly certain that Azrael's are impeccably reliable. The angel wouldn't – couldn't! - have gotten the day wrong.

“Perhaps it's my old age,” Death hums sardonically, “But I could have sworn you were the one who asked us here.”

“...Was... that today?” There's a pause. Then, they hear a muffled, “Dammit...”

Azrael can't help himself. He moves closer to the door and places his palm delicately against the wood. “Y/n?” he calls, “Please, I must insist you let us in.”

Death doesn't possess a working pulse, but there's something under his skin that starts to throb with agitation at the worry in Azrael's tone.

“What's wrong?” he hisses at the angel.

Your stammered, 'N-nothing's wrong!” is lost beneath Azrael's urgent reply.

“I think Y/n's been hurt.”

Be it by intuition or sheer luck, you at least had the wit to back away from your front door, because not a second after you heard Azrael's frustratingly on point assumption, the entire thing buckles and explodes inwards with an almighty crash. It ricochets off the wall and would have probably swung shut again if Death hadn't suddenly come storming through it with Azrael keeping close to his heels.

You stand shocked in your cramped little hallway, feet glued to the carpet as the Horseman turns a raging glare on you.

The moment he sees you however, he freezes in his tracks.

Quick as a flash, one of your hands flies up to cover the left side of your face in a last ditch attempt to hide what Death has, unfortunately, already seen.

Even beneath your trembling fingers, it's hard to miss the vivid, purpling bruise that sits like an incriminating badge upon your eye. The delicate skin around it is swollen and puffed up, sealing your eyelids almost all the way shut, though a tiny sliver of iris still manages to poke stubbornly through the mess. And it really is a mess. The very edges of your bruise have begun to turn green, though the area directly over your eye remains an angry red, akin to the colour of War's cape.

You must have realised that trying to cover the damage is pointless because you defeatedly lower your hands and wring them nervously into your shirt, just to give them something to do.

The two, immortal beings in front of you remain still as statues, one with his mouth hanging open slightly, aghast, whereas the other's face is hidden by a mask of bone. You can still see his eyes though – see the storm swirling inside that golden and orange glare.

Nervously wetting your lips, you manage to draw in a breath and shakily release it. “H-Hello, Death. Azrael.”

The sound of your voice snaps the angel from his stupor first and he takes a glance at the expression on your face, rather than the bruise.

Round eyes – eye. Mouth hanging ajar and moving around words that refuse to come. Fingers twisting knots into your clothes.

You look absolutely terrified.

Covering his mouth with a hand, Azrael shakes his head slowly from side to side, looking concernedly like he's seconds away from throwing up, were that even possible given his species. The Horseman shares his companion's mounting horror, a horror that is fast turning into burning, boiling rage.

Death can't blink, he can barely even speak.

The swiftly-building, cold wave of anger crashes into his chest, yet it battles valiantly with another emotion for total dominion and Death isn't so dim that he doesn't recognise fear when he feels it so suddenly, and with no time to try and suppress it.

Not a sound betrays his movements as he steps towards you, hand outstretched and a heavy weight settling like lead in his chest because, Creator, that's – that's Y/n! That's his human, that's his friend!

He must have moved too quickly, for your good eye zeroes in on his approaching hand and you gulp loudly enough to be heard over the gentle swishing of Azrael's wings on the carpet. You don't mean to – it isn't Death you're really afraid of – but you still flinch, and that little motion hits the Horseman harder than any physical blow you could have dealt him. He doesn't stop though, instead he chases you backwards until he's near enough to slide his fingers around your wrist, preventing you from backing up even further. With no other choice, you stop and peer up at the Horseman through damp, glistening eyelashes.

Azrael is at your side a second later, although he at least isn't remaining eerily silent like Death, who exudes the same, ominous energy as the calm before a thunderstorm.

“Y/n! What in Heaven's name happened to you!?” he demands, his composure slipping away to reveal the frantic angel underneath, “Does it hurt!? Are you in pain !?”

His questions come far too rapidly and you flounder for a few seconds, opening and closing your mouth in the world's best impression of a helpless goldfish before Death abruptly hisses out a single word. Only one, but it's icy and sinister enough to silence Azrael and send a shudder through your soul.

“Who?”

All around you, the house seems to tremble with the tumultuous power behind his voice.

The grip on your wrist remains gentle yet sturdy and you know him well enough by now to understand that you won't be released until he gets an answer.

Resigned to your fate, you breath out a long, tired sigh and let your wrist go floppy in his grasp.

“It's.... a long story. Come on, I'll... I guess I'll fill you in while I get an ice pack.”

It's clear that Death's ire isn't going to recede, even with your acquiescence, but Azrael rests a gentle hand on his shoulder and after glaring at your black eye for a moment longer, the Horseman reluctantly peels his fingers away from your wrist.

Heaving a second, wearier sigh, you turn around and beckon for them to follow you down the hallway and into your kitchen.

It's a strange feeling, to have both a Nephilim and an archangel at your back, the two of them far too large to get through your doorways without having to turn slightly to one side, or fold vast, white wings nearly in half. You'd grown used to walking at Death's side, and even later, at Azrael's, following him around the White City like a starstruck toddler as he showed you all the things your species had never been privy to before.

You've never had both of them in your home, not together.

The kitchen is small and nondescript, the walls a simple, faded yellow with a small window sitting above the sink and an island dominating the centre of the room. In one corner stands a cream-coloured fridge, and it, unlike the rest of the room, has been plastered from top to bottom with polaroids and photographs, each placed with a degree of care that indicates their sentimental value. Ambling over to the fridge, you flap a hand and the stools that have been placed haphazardly around your granite island. “Have a seat,” you offer, hardly surprised when you don't hear a scrape of metal on the stone floor. Glancing back over a shoulder, you find they're both standing rigidly behind you, neither removing their gazes from the bruise on your eye.

It's a shame.

You know how badly Azrael had been looking forward to getting a real, hands-on tour of a human home. But now it seems he can't look at anything if it isn't you. The guilt sits heavy in your chest and with it, an ounce of embarrassment, not only for being caught by your two, otherworldly friends in this condition, but also for the state of your home.

You can't believe you'd forgotten they were coming today. If you'd only remembered, you could have snuck out the back door and hidden in the garden and you certainly wouldn't have a pair of slightly overdramatic immortals hovering in your kitchen right now like tightly-coiled springs, impatient to hear the tale of your injury.

As if on cue, Death, always the more restless of the duo, clears his throat rather sharply, causing you to snap out of your thoughts. Rolling your eyes, you grab the fridge door and yank it open, bending to dig around in the freezer space for a bag of peas.

“Okay,” you say at last, standing to bump the door closed with a hip before slapping the cold vegetables against your bad eye, “First of all – this isn't as bad as it looks, all right?”

It surprises you that Azrael beats Death to a skeptical snort, though the Horseman's is soon to follow.

Ignoring their doubt, you shuffle over to the island and use your free hand to drag a stool out, hopping up onto it and draping yourself heavily over the cool granite, giving a little sigh when the bag of peas finally begins to numb the pain of your black eye. “Secondly,” you add, shooting a look at the Horseman, “I don't know the people who did this and probably couldn't even recognise them now, so don't bother.” You don't even need to elaborate on what he shouldn't bother with. You know full well why the only word he's said to you so far has been 'who?'

Meanwhile, Azrael's slender fingers have curled into fists on top of the island, bone showing clear through the thinner skin of his knuckles. Aggression doesn't suit him, you note.

“Might you be able to tell us why this happened to you, then?” he implores.

From the corner of your good eye, you see Death stand a little straighter.

Exhaling softly, you lower your gaze to study the grey surface of the island, incapable of meeting their stares.

“So, you know how some humans are... let's say, more religious than others?”

The angel nods and you continue, “Well, some people didn't like the idea that what they believed in was being challenged by... you know, the truth. Anyway, a couple of zealots must have recognised me outside that park up near Tenth Street and came over, started shouting. They seemed to think the Apocalypse was 'God's plan,' and in helping Death bring humanity back from the Well of Souls, I essentially cheated them out of an eternity in Heaven.”

“But-” Azrael looks appalled. “- But surely they understand it doesn't work like that? They must have seen the... the...” Pausing, he places a finger on his chin, frowning thoughtfully. “Oh dear. What did you call it again?”

“Broadcast,” you can't help but smile.

Watching Azrael and Jamaerah try to fathom the intricacies of live television was a day you won't soon forget. Azrael kept getting far too close to the camera to try and see the 'audience' inside it and Jamaerah couldn't grasp how every single human on Earth could possibly hear the same message at the same time. The poor news producer had her work cut out for her that day. Still, the message had eventually gotten out, and those who didn't yet have a working television heard it quickly through word of mouth.

Soon, the whole world knew the story of the End War, of the Horsemen, of Heaven and Hell and the realms in between. And, they learned of you and your involvement. The news had, of course, sparked some vicious debate amongst the masses. But in the end, everyone came to accept the truth. It was hard not to, with undeniable evidence of Heaven's existence speaking directly to them. Everyone remembered too, the initial awakening, when the world gasped for breath at the exact same time as soul and body fused back together and people were wracked for just a moment by the phantom memory of unimaginable pain.

The world descended into chaos all over again. It had taken the better part of a year to reestablish global communications and get word out, helped along by Earth's new neighbours.

However, there were still those who would not – or perhaps could not – accept the truth of what had happened. Some such people are the very reason you're sitting at your kitchen island with a frozen bag of vegetables pressed over one eye.

Grimacing, you remove the peas, setting them down in front of you and glancing up to find that Azrael's pale eyes are still regarding you expectantly.

“Everybody got the message,” you shrug, “but then, some people believe in their ideas so strongly, not even solid proof will change their minds.”

“So. What. Happened?” The question comes from Death, his voice is pulled taut and strained as if he's deliberately trying to fight the urge to shout.

Snorting, you reply, “What? It isn't obvious? I tried to walk away, one of them grabbed me from behind and the other one took a swing.”

From across the island, Azrael's wings seem to double in size as the stark, white feathers rustle and distend outwards, giving him a dishevelled appearance not at all in keeping with his neat and tidy demeanour. Similarly, Death spits something in Nephilim that you don't need a translation for. Something tells you it isn't polite. Sucking in a calming breath, he bites out, “And.. When did this happen, exactly?”

“Um... earlier today. They only got the one hit in before they were chased off,” you assure him before leaning forwards and resting an elbow on the island, sending the Horseman a secretive smirk. “And you'll never guess who by.”

That, at least, distracts them both from their seething.

“Y/n,” Death sneers, “I am in no mood for guessing games. Who do I have to thank for saving the majority of my charge's face?”

“I'm not your charge anymore, Death,” you remind him, though you can't deny the warm feeling settling in your stomach at the thought that he still sees you as such, “and you're probably not gonna like who you have to thank.” You pause for nothing more than dramatic effect and you can practically see the vein in Death's neck bulge. He hates it when you do that.

Still, you suppose you've garnered enough intrigue, so you sit back, reapply the frozen peas to your face and simply tell them, “Vulgrim.”

A sudden chill sweeps down the back of your neck as Death's hands clench into tight fists at his sides. “Vulgrim,” he growls, “What is that little wretch doing so close to your home?”

“The awful merchant?” Azrael asks, a hand flying to his chest.

“The very same.”

You lift your shoulders in a shrug, arguing, “He's not so bad.”

“Y/n,” the Horseman replies, deadpan, “He's one of the most insidious, conniving little snakes in all Nine Circles of Hell. He's never known to do anyone a favour.” He spits the word like it's dirty.

It isn't as if you don't already know of Vulgrim's unsavoury practices. Which is why you find it odd that you're even bothering to defend him at all, but the fact remains, he did help you.

“Well, he certainly just did me a favour,” you declare, “Came shooting out of one of his serpent holes and threatened to eat those people's souls. They didn't stick around for long after that.”

Both angel and Horseman exchange a look.

Rolling your eyes, you add, “Look, I'm not denying it was weird. I almost thought he was a completely different demon at first. But don't worry, I'm totally fine.”

No response.

You can tell there's some kind of unspoken conversation going on between the pair of them and that you aren't really being listened to at all.

Huh. Vexing.

At last, Azrael's eyes flicker over to you and he spots the furrow of your brows. Clearing his throat, he puts on one of those gentle smiles that, in your humble opinion, fits him far better than the worried expression he's been wearing since his arrival. “With all due respect, my dear,” he says, “I'm not sure that 'fine' is how I'd put it. But, the important thing is that you're safe now.”

“Yes,” Death hums softly, “Now.”

You instantly catch the emphasis he puts on the word and let out a groan. “Oh, don't start using that tone.”

“What tone?”

“That tone!” You flap a hand at the Horseman's mask. “You had the same one when I said I was going back to Earth the first time! Listen, I'm – Azrael, don't give me that look, I just said not to worry.”

The angel jerks his gaze to the side again.

Turning back to Death, you press your lips together and inhale deeply through your nose. “I'm going to be fine. This was just one of those things. Besides, I went through way worse when I travelled with you!”

The Horseman's insides twist up at the reminder. You certainly have been through worse than a black eye, that much is true. Somehow though, that doesn't make him feel any less perturbed by this new attack on his youngest friend.

All three of you lapse into silence then,

“Sorry, Azrael,” you sigh, peering up through your lashes at the tall archangel, “This isn't how I hoped your first visit to my home would go...”

“It isn't your home that I was most eager to see,” he murmurs in that Azrael sort of way that makes your stomach buzz with warmth, “I came here to see you, Y/n.”

Biting back an 'aaw,' you hide your smile behind a hand and groan exaggeratedly, “Oh wow, has he always been this cheesy, Death?”

“For the sake of his pride, I'm going to tell you 'no.'”

Bewildered, the angel glances between the two of you, aware that he's being made fun of, but uncertain as to how. “I'm afraid I don't understand,” he says above your snickering, “How can one share the attributes of a human food item?”

His confusion only makes you laugh harder until the cheek beneath your black eye begins to throb and you're forced to quiet down. “Wow, I still have so much to teach you about humans.”

“Well,” he beams, eyes shining, “I am very keen to learn.”

As the amusement fades and your chuckles taper off into silence once more, you breathe a long sigh, smile gradually diminishing when you realise they're both staring at you again. Azrael's lips may be tilted in the corners, yet palpable concern still manages to shine through the facade. You can't bear having them look at you like that. Death is subtler, but you can tell from the way his fingernails dig cruelly into the palms of his hands that the Horseman is just barely staving off his temper. You need a distraction, and you need it now.

“In that case...” You slide off the stool and let your peas fall back down onto the island with a wet 'smack!' “What are we waiting for? I haven't lost a leg, have I? I can still show you around.”

“Are you sure you're up to that?” the angel asks, furrowing his snowy brows even further, “I believe it would be better if you rested.”

“What? Because of this?” You point at your black eye and try to grin up at him reassuringly despite how it makes the left side of your face throb, “Eh, it's just superficial damage. Now, come on! I promised you a tour, and I'm gonna give you one! I tidied my room and everything!”

The angel is about to protest, about to insist that you sit quietly and keep your head still. Then, you're smiling up at him with a face full of hope and youthful excitement and suddenly, he can't find it in him to say no.

“Very well,” he concedes with a delicate bow of his head and extends his arm, sweeping it out towards you, “Lead on, my friend.”

He doesn't expect you to reach out and grab a hold of his hand with your own and tug him out of the kitchen, chirping, “Let's go! I have like, a million things to show you! Death's already seen the whole house but I've got some more stuff done since he came here last....”

Back in the kitchen, Death's arms lay folded across his chest and he gazes after you and Azrael with a smile on his lips that threatens to turn fond if he doesn't keep it in check. He knows the angel well and if he could hazard a guess, he'd say Azrael is still getting used to human mannerisms. Other angels don't typically go around grabbing hands, after all. But judging by the delighted smile the archangel tosses at him over a shoulder, Death imagines he doesn't mind a single bit.

He still remembers the first time you'd taken his hand.

You'd been so afraid, deep in the bowels of the Psychameron, faced by an all-consuming darkness and Basileus's monstrous pet, Achidna. The darkness wasn't an old friend to you, as it was to Death. Your tiny hand had slipped into his and you wrapped it as far as you could around the length of his palm and fingers, never minding the chill that swept through your bones as it did every time you came into contact with him. There is some truth to the rumours of Death's pernicious touch, after all. Contrarily, your fingers against his skin were warm and small and he twisted his head around to look at you. Your complexion had been turned a pasty green in the light cast by the souls residing upon his chest.

Creator, you had looked so much like a frightened child.

Then, you had given Death's hand a squeeze and sent him toppling over a precipice.

For so long, he'd walked a delicate line between showing that he cares and keeping you at arms length. It, may not have been the first time he cared for another, but there in Achidna's dark cave was the first time the eldest Nephilim wasn't afraid of caring.

He wondered briefly is that was the reason humans were so feared by the Charred Council and by a lot of Creation. If a single human could humble even the most depraved being in existence with the tender warmth of friendship, then what chance did the rest of Creation have?

If Death knows Azrael half as well as he thinks he does, the angel is probably being hit by a similar tenderness right now.

As your voice retreats further down the hallway, Death shoves himself up and off the island with a grunt and traipses lazily after you. Each step he takes, he battles the urge to storm out into the city beyond and reap vengeance from every last human who's hands are still slick with your blood.

[lexsssu]

Shall We Date: Worship Me AU - Gabriel (Avatar of Diligence)

What if the MC gets transported to the Celestial Realm instead? What if the angels were the love interests?

GENERAL HCs

Known as the “Voice of God” and as such, is Big G’s primary messenger to the human world and the devildom

Because of this, he’s pretty well-known in the 3 worlds and knows a heck lot of different people

Also has a beautiful voice, the kind you’d want to listen to in an ASMR, podcast, audiobook, etc.

Then again do you really expect God’s voice to have anything other than a beautiful voice?

Like seriously his voice sounds like warm melted dark chocolate

He’s also Uriel’s younger twin brother

While Uriel is more akin to the cool and comforting countenance of the moon, Gabriel has the blazing warmth of the sun

Perpetually smiling, but each smile holds different meanings depending on how big it is, if there was any crookedness to it, if he showed his teeth, etc.

His close friends and family can usually tell which smile is which, but it’s his twin that can ALWAYS tell whatever mood he was in even just from analyzing his smile

Most of the time however, that smile hides a rambunctious imp that particularly likes playing tricks on anyone and everyone

He enjoys freaking people out and relishes the reactions they make. The more exaggerated the reaction, the better

That time Big G talked to Moses by going into that burning bush? It was Gabriel’s bright idea

Seriously though, that memory of him freaking out is one of Gabriel’s most treasured moments

Although truth be told, his all-time favorite reactions are the ones he least expected

One of his favorite pastimes is trying to coax a surprised reaction out of Uriel, seeing as his brother was normally so stone-faced

He feels that it’s his divine mission to get as many reactions out of Uriel as he can

He enjoys tormenting Raphael as much as he enjoys mentoring their youngest brother on how to speak effectively

A master of the art of speaking, so he knows every manner of using one's voice no matter what their intended outcomes were

Whether it's to soothe, anger, or seduce someone, Gabriel knows them all

But he asks a price for his services. You have to call him "Big Brother" sweetly if you want to even remotely get his attention for whatever favor you plan on asking him

Gabriel enjoys teasing others aside from pranking them

The flustered reactions he gets is always a nice treat

Don’t get him wrong though, he enjoys messing with others but it’s all light-hearted fun on his end and is never done with any intended malice

Rather, he actually makes sure that he never touches upon sore spots for anyone

He’s just a prankster, not an asshole

Out of the seven virtues, he also the one who still gets in touch the most with Lucifer and his brothers

He is a messenger after all so it’s a given he sends and receives messages the most

With how many prophecies, signs, and dreams he has to deliver Gabriel is almost always out and about. So he’s actually the one who’s least present in the celestial realm

You’d usually catch him on the rare times where he’s on break or in-between deliveries

Sometimes when he’s in need of a little entertainment during assignments, he’d spice up his deliveries by changing the method of delivering the messages

Like perhaps he was supposed to give a human a sign from Big G through a dream, but that’s so old-school so instead he delivers it when they’re wide awake and by themselves

He can’t possibly pinpoint the fact why some humans went to loony bins after he delivered their messages

P.S. They thought they went mad because of those “divine hallucinations”

A chaotic force of nature in all his white-haired, molten chocolate goodness

Emphasis on CHAOTIC

Like the rest of his brothers, he enjoys spoiling Azrael in the way normal big brothers spoil their younger siblings

Obligatory noogies, random wrestling moves, cheek pinching, etc.

An advocate of "No one can bully my siblings except me"

Frequently gets souvenirs from wherever he'd last gone to. He doesn't just get souvenirs for him though, he also gets some for his brothers

Limited edition keychains for Michael for example, sweets for Azrael, local ingredients for Cainabel, tea leaves for Raphael, a new book for Uriel, and etc.

For some reason people like giving him random stuff. Like he could just be passing by and one of his acquaintances or even someone who he'd never really hung out with but knew of him had just harvested their mango tree and now and a surplus of them, or ordered a bit too much of this or that and would give him their extras instead

That's why his pockets are perpetually full with little snacks, candies, and all a manner of random stuff

When his pockets get too full he pops up in the other virtues' offices to lighten his load so to speak

More often than not, it's Azrael who benefits from his brother's popularity since Gabriel himself doesn't eat too many sweets

He doesn't actually notice just how good-looking he is and couple that with his beautiful voice, you can see how and why he's so popular

His generally sunny and rambunctious personality has also earned him many fans

A fan of collecting stamps and has hundreds upon hundreds of books which contain every stamp that has ever come into existence

Stationery otaku

Michael once gave him a pen, one of those cheap ones you get at dollar stores with a cute character at the top. He still uses it until today and never leaves home without it

Regardless of how tacky something is, if it's from his brothers then Gabriel is sure to use it with happiness and pride

ENG VA: Vic Mignogna

JP VA: Mamoru Miyano

ROMANTIC HCs

He’s already a normally friendly and handsy type of guy so it’s kinda hard to notice if he’s actually romantically interested in you

Heck, even Gabe doesn’t realize that he’s into you for a good while because he believes the way he thinks about and reacts to you was still included in the realm of being platonic friends

So what if his heart does those little flips whenever you laugh good-naturedly at his antics? When you gave him that little smile of yours that he liked to think was reserved solely for him?

It’s probably nothing when his skin heats up a little bit whenever his skin touches yours even for a little bit

What do you mean he’s always hanging around you? You were his best friend so of course he’d almost always be with you!

He’s kind of like a bird in the sense that his attention span is always moving from one thing or another, but the fact that you manage to hold his attention for so long even when you’re not there was something that surprised and baffled his brothers

Most notably Uriel who was used to Gabriel flitting about, kind of like a hummingbird if he was being honest

Also like a bird, Gabriel gets a lot of random trinkets. Both of his own accord and because people just like randomly giving him stuff and if he deems any of them worthy enough for you, he’s sure as heck gonna present it and gift it to you as soon as possible

He practically preens whenever you accept his gifts (it doesn’t help that his wings sometimes pop out in all his happiness and excitement). Even just a little compliment gets him so happy and excited for the rest of the day

Offers you his wing to touch if you show even the slightest interest in their angel wings

“ You wanna touch them? They’re 100% guaranteed SUPER SOFT. I always keep my wings nice and tidy since I gotta keep up appearances as a messenger, ‘ya know? ”

Gabe doesn’t realize/forgets that to offer someone to touch the symbols of his power, his wings of all things, showed that he held you in high regard

It confirmed your purity of soul, because to be judged by an archangel, a Virtue even meant that you were a special type of soul, a diamond in the rough so to speak

Although Gabe himself doesn’t notice it, his brothers definitely notice his sudden fixation on you. It’s almost worrying seeing him sitting still for once

While most people would think Gabe would be as chill as he normally he is when facing the truth of his feelings...he isn’t

Many forget that he and Uriel are twins, born of the same core split into two by the Heavenly Father. They shared much more characteristics than just their looks

Once he’s enamored by something, this angel shows his almost infallible dedication to it and only God sits above it

Like Uriel, he does his best to observe and learn everything about you, but what’s scarier is that he does it so covertly that you don’t even know he’s fishing for information all the while relishing his time with you

It doesn’t help that as the Voice of God, his charms are nigh impossible to resist or even detect so you sometimes don’t even realize that he’s playing you right into the palm of his hands

Oh but you don’t have to worry though, Gabriel loves you with all his heart and only wishes to court you properly and perfectly. That’s another of the traits that he shares with his twin

You’ll never have to worry about him coaxing you into something you won’t like or is bad for you. He merely aims to show you the true extent of his pure love

Dates with him are always at different locations or generally something new, because there’s so much that he wants to show and experience together with you

Karaoke dates are a fan favorite between you two, because who DOESN’T wanna hear the Voice of God himself sing?

Like his voice is already like pouring warm melted dark chocolate to your ears but his voice is enough to send you floating happily into the Celestial Realm

“ So where should we go to next? ...Karaoke again? Do you really love hearing me sing that much, cutie? You know I can sing for you as much as you want. I’m all yours~ ”

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

October and the Alternate History of Europe

I recently got into a fascinating PM thread on FFnet with Njchrispatrick about the alternate history of Europe given the events in “October”. It is, in fact, so interesting to me that I asked permission to rephrase their discussion and post it here.

While I know my history better than most, I will be the first to admit I’m hardly an expert, and explained part of why an in depth focus on history was missing from “October” is that a) Tom lives in a very insular society and does not realize this about himself and is in for a very rude awakening now that he and Lily are off to Ubik b) because I am not ambitious enough to pretend I can rewrite the history of Europe (let alone the world) given the monstrously strange events in “October”.

While fascinating, it’s also not really the point of “October”, which deals more readily with the societal issues facing the wizarding world vs. this alternate world history.

Njchrispatrick gave a very nice, very in depth, look at Europe given the events of “October” and what be going on in the outside world (even consulting a history professor). Below is rephrased, paraphrased, and reordered a bit for cleanliness and cohesiveness (as this was over several PMs).

If the war ended in early Summer 1942 (based on when Azrael seemed to have intervened) then it was shortly after a string of victories that made it look like Germany would come out in front. This was over a year before Normandy and many believed WWII would have dragged into a war of attrition.

This was also after the Soviets offered a peace treaty signing off much of Ukraine and Belarus to Germany due to Stalin being very uncertain of Soviet victory, plus Vichy France (the puppet French government) had been well-established and the German stronghold in the West was powerful.

The Nazis hadn't accepted the treaty, but since that time Russia had been pushed even further back so they'd offer even more, So, although the war ended, certain events would still be heavily in Germany's favor and the post-war treaty would be more favorably pro-German (and although the Nazis are gone, many of the legitimate grievances of the German people, including several territorial claims, would remain).

Germany would definitely keep its pre-WW2 borders including Austria and the Sudetenland. With the might of Germany still present, and now led by conservative Prussia, there would be certain demands made

Given Germany's well-entrenched hold on France, Germany would likely only release them in exchange for keeping Alsace-Lorraine, the region it had held pre-WW1 since taking it from France in 1871. Poland would be forced to cede Danzig--or at least hold a referendum vote which would undoubtedly return them to Germany--and possible the other ex-German regions like Posen. Stalin would be forced to relinquish some territory in the Baltic, both due to Russia's losing at that point in time plus Britain and America not trusting him. Perhaps this would be requested by Germany as a trade for releasing Posen to Poland. The Netherlands and Belgium would go free but, again, I expect Germany to either keep Luxemburg or at least turn it into a "protectorate". Bohemia and Moravia, which were taken from Czechoslovakia, is trickier. Apparently, to be frank, Britain and France didn't care much about the smaller nations and were of the mind that smaller countries belonged under the control of stronger ones, and Germany had a vague claim on the region due to it being part of the Holy Roman Empire, the original German Empire (in case you don't know, the HRE was the First Reich, the German Empire was the Second Reich, and the Nazis named themselves the Third Reich as a result).

If the Nazis just vanish, I don't think a West-German democracy would emerge, at least not for a while.

There was actually a substantial part of the German government which disapproved of Hitler--more his foolish tactics than the antisemitism, sadly--and in the early 40's they attempted to overthrow him.

Had the Nazis vanished, Germany would've likely ended up with a Prussian military government--better than the Nazis but still not ideal.

A Prussian-led Germany would likely become a constitutional monarchy a bit like Britain. The Junkers (Prussian aristocracy) were deeply monarchic and favored a weak democracy, if any, and Germans weren't fans of democracy after the abysmal prior attempt.

Britain would allow it in order to bring stability in hopes of Germany standing against the Soviets, as well as the Kaiser's role being distinctly anti-Nazi. The only obstacle would be Churchill, who was unwilling to accept any surrender, but it’s unclear what he’d do. He would definitely oppose the growth of any German territory. The Kaiser would have some wartime power, but otherwise be not much stronger than the British royal family. This would come with the stipulation of Germany becoming at least mostly democratic.

The Nazis would likely be blamed on the southern Catholic mindset (since Hitler was Austrian and began his power grab in Bavaria) and there would have been a massive cultural crack-down on Southern Catholic and French ideals, similar to how Jews and Communists were scapegoated for the loss in WWI.

That said, with the war only being 3 years long and with the Nazis being purged, I imagine Hitler would be viewed as a strong leader who went too far and who united Germany but was a big racist. Somewhat like a worse Churchill.

He definitely shattered the German economy but they'd be able to stabilize faster than their neighbors.

The knowledge of the Final Solution would horrify people, but without it actually happening the sympathy would be lessened, plus many pro-Nazi people would see it as Allied propaganda. Germany in the 60's and 70's would likely be a conservative-leaning but highly advanced nation with one of the strongest economies on Earth, if not THE strongest.

Without the war to expand its influence, America would be a wealthy but culturally minor power similar to Japan in real-life.

I imagine post-WWII Germany would also be tolerated because there was still a lot of Soviet fear and a dominant, militaristic Germany was still better than the Soviets in the eyes of many, especially since pre-WWII France (the only other major continental player) was weak and post-WWII France was in tatters.

The Nazis would be gone, but fascism would probably remain as a legitimate government structure, since fascism was a French-created concept that was popular in the Netherlands, Germany, France, Belgium, and the US, to name a few. So while the Nazi branch of it would be gone, it wouldn't have been near-eradicated like today. And we'd definitely see a less liberal, still Euro-dominated world in the aftermath.

The Soviet Union would be much more brittle.

The USSR's success was highly attributed to its role in WWII, and a perceived loss (as this would be, since a peace treaty in 1942 would make everyone certain that Russia was about to lose) would tank Soviet support. This would make it much harder to spread into Eastern Europe--the Baltics, Poland, and the Balkans would be German-dominated and Russia would have a hard time breaking through. Either the Soviets would collapse, become a large but stagnant state that would eventually turn non-Communist, or would declare war on the post-war Germany and likely trigger a European coalition. Italy's only real request would've been north African colonial holdings and perhaps keeping Albania. They were a much less important Axis member but also hadn't faced any serious losses.

The funny thing is, I realized, is that the post-war world in your story is actually very much like what would have happened if Germany won WW1 - German domination of the European economy, a weakened Russia, an Eastern Europe basically puppets of Germany, and the return of the German Empire. The only difference is that the European colonial empire still probably would've collapsed.

Njchrispatrick also asked about the Japanese and Italian fronts and how much/when/how Azrael intervened there.

To be honest, it’s been so long since I’ve read it that I can’t honestly remember. It would be just like him to forget Japan though. Azrael is a good, but often shocking short sighted and flawed, man. 

[thatcrazycrowgirl]

A hiss floats by on the wind, an invisible force surrounding your ears as the voice speaks.

“Hello, darling. How do your characters deal with loss? How do they grieve?”

The winds faded, a small scrap of paper floating down onto your shoulder, reading “-Azrael, @oc-ask-demon”

(sorry for the short one today, if you keep up with my blog you’ll know things aren’t great)

(Please don't feel the need to apologize, @oc-ask-demon. I am grateful that you took the time out of your day to send one my way. Best wishes to you, and I sincerely hope your situation improves soon.)

---------

When Magnolia is dealing with a loss, you literally will not recognize her. Gone is the spirited, ambitious, witty adventurer, whose personality instead replaced by listlessness, a defeatist attitude, and occasionally anger, depending on what the situation is. Either that, or she’ll bury herself in her writing work, even more so than usual. She hates crying in front of others, but if she keeps her emotions pent up for too long, they could risk spilling over. Even if it’s Jacob she breaks down in front of, she’ll still apologize for it afterwards, claiming that she must look like an idiot for being so emotional.

Once the initial emotional blow has passed and she’s done crying into her pillow, she will spend hours locked up in her bedroom, or the attic space of her family’s home, where her writing space is. But don’t expect to see any actual productive writing get done. Despite her countless and relentless attempts, the pages she writes on will either be blank or full of scribbled-out words and sentences, with some papers even having a few tears in them, from just how hard she pushed down on the pen while she was furiously scratching out passages. If anger is thrown into the mix, she may be tempted to rip or burn said pages as well, just for the cathartic relief. So usually, most of her time is more or less spent lying in bed or on the old attic couch, attempting to distract herself with reading instead. (It doesn’t always work.)

When approached by Jacob about wanting or needing some level of physical comfort, she will deny it at first, insisting that she’s fine. However, she has a difficult time keeping up that façade, quickly backpedaling on what she said and finally allowing Jacob to at least take her in his arms.

---------

When Félicité is grieving, something that she’s had to do on multiple occasions in her life, she closes up. (Something that’s more or less understandable, as with the most significant losses in her life, whether it was death or separation, she's had to suppress her emotions to a certain degree, for the sake of keeping up appearances.) So, when she does cry, it’s quiet and almost always when she’s alone. (With Arno being one of the only exceptions to the rule of someone she’ll cry in front of.) Usually during this time, her drawings and paintings speak more about her feelings on the situation than her mouth ever would.

She will spend more time than usual with gardening, as well. Tending to her garden has always brought a measure of comfort to her, and unbeknownst to others, it is to her beloved flowers that she will whisper the secrets of her aching heart.

When Arno approaches her with an offer of comfort, she will give in a lot sooner, allowing the much taller Assassin to enfold her in his arms and keep her close to him. She’s tired of grieving alone, and if she has one pair of arms she can feel safe enough to let her guard down in, she’ll gladly take it, no questions asked.

[lux-i-fer]

Believer of Faith and Mortality

Ao3 link

Synopsis: Lucifer and Chloe's victim shouldn't be alive, but the fact that he's currently alive and giving a statement says otherwise. When more and more miracle cases begin popping up, Lucifer believes that their lives aren't being spared out of the goodness of his Father's heart. The knock at the door only proves his theory.

Rating: M

Notes: HAHA HEYYYY! Guess who got the chapter out in under a year?? My most sincere apologies that this fic has been updating so slowly, I am just at that time in my life where everything requires my attention all at once and all the time. Never fear, I have not forgotten about this fic ;) This is unbetaed because in the year of our lord 2021, I have lost all hope in producing properly edited work.

Chapter Number: 6

For a few heavy seconds, the entire world shrank down to fit solely into Lucifer’s palm. The silence was almost suffocating as Amenadiel, Lucifer, and John stared at the silver phlegm dripping from Lucifer’s outstretched hand. Even outside of the harsh California sunlight, it still looked metallic and even glimmered like the chrome finishings on his Corvette. John found it almost blinding to look at directly, but there was a nagging feeling inside of him that demanded that he continue to look. The first time he’d seen it on Lucifer’s handkerchief, he’d only gotten a mere glance before Lucifer had hurriedly tucked it out of sight. Perhaps for him it was also supposed to be out of mind, but not for John. John was transfixed.

Looking at it now, he realized that it wasn’t really silver colored. Even though he never tore his eyes from it, it seemed to shift to a different color at the blink of an eye, changing so fast that it blurred together into one solid gray mass. And he found that it wasn't so much as metallic as it was almost lit by a soft inner light. John leaned forward, curious to see if there truly was something there or if he was imagining it.

A hand caught his shoulder and then the rest of the world seemed to snap back into focus. John blinked and when he opened his eyes, Amenadiel stood between him and Lucifer.

“Did you hear anything I just said to you?” he asked. There was a heavy set of wrinkles above his brow that hadn’t been there at the start of their visit.

John blinked again. He felt a little dazed, and found that he couldn’t quite focus in on the rest of Amenadiel’s face. “No?” His voice came out slow and slurred.

Amenadiel frowned. “Okay, why don’t you--” he walked the both of them backwards out of the kitchen until the backs of John’s legs knocked against the edge of a chair, “sit down.”

John did as he was told and then put his head in his hands. He had a roaring headache.

“So,” he heard Amenadiel say. “As I said before, will someone please tell me what is going on?”

“Apparently zombies,” John muttered, massaging the space between his eyes.

“Well, you’re not actual zombies,” Lucifer corrected. “You’re more...undead than anything. If I didn’t know better I’d say that you lot were resurrected, but our Father does not lower himself to dabble in those sorts of miracles anymore.” Even with his eyes closed, John could practically feel the eye roll in his voice.

“No, I meant how long has this been going on.” John looked up to find Amenadiel gesturing to the silver liquid that Lucifer was trying in vain to mop up with his handkerchief.

Lucifer shook his head. “Not long. Just today. Surely it’s nothing.”

Amenadiel looked to John for confirmation.

John shrugged. “I’ve only been here a day, but I guess it lines up? He coughed some of it up on our way here.”

Amenadiel nodded solemnly, while Lucifer shot him a dirty look, the unspoken accusation of traitor hanging in the air. “It’s not that big a deal,” he sniffed. “Whatever it is, surely it’ll sort itself out. There’s no need to coddle me, Amenadiel, my mortality stint ended ages ago.”

John stilled. “Your what?”

Lucifer waved him off, flicking a few silver droplets in his direction. One managed to hit Amenadiel in the chest and his face crumpled up in disgust. “Luci, do everyone else a favor and wash your hands. For all we know this could be contagious.”

John silently agreed. As if the headache wasn’t already making him nauseous, now he was picturing Lucifer as some sort of supernatural Typhoid Mary. Even though he’d seen some pretty nasty stuff during his time as a beat cop, John had always been a bit of a hypochondriac. Not in any serious sense, but realizing that Lucifer could potentially be hacking up the divine equivalent of a ball of mucus and phlegm definitely made his stomach twist.

Lucifer scoffed, but surprisingly listened to his brother. John sent a silent thanks to God, but stopped halfway through his prayer when he realized that he just may be better off directing it at Amenadiel instead. If Lucifer was to be believed, which John still had a healthy amount of skepticism for, Nietzsche had been right. In all the ways that mattered, God was as good as dead. Between the headache and the whole coming back to life thing, John really didn’t want to unpack that existential crisis right now.

“Is that a thing?” he asked instead. “Can you guys get the celestial flu or something?”

Lucifer sighed. “Don’t be silly, Jonathan. Angels can’t get sick.”

“Well clearly you are, so that can’t be entirely true.”

“John has a point, Luci. Whatever this is, it shouldn’t be happening.” Amenadiel turned to John. “And whatever is going on with souls crossing back over the threshold shouldn’t be happening either. It would be foolish to assume that these two events coinciding is a mere coincidence. I’d like to hear more about how you got back to Earth, John. I have a feeling that Luci has omitted some key details.”

At that, Lucifer tightened his hand around his glass of whiskey. At some point he’d poured himself glass number four, making John certain that he would be DD’ing the Devil himself back to Chloe’s apartment later.

“I don’t think I’m the best one to ask about details.” The image of Lucifer’s wrist covered in “souvenirs” flashed through John’s mind. “If anything, we were coming to you for some answers. All I know is that one second I’m in Limbo with this jackass,” he jerked a thumb in Lucifer’s direction, “and the next my daughter is telling me that I’ve been dead for nearly twenty years.”

“Limbo?” Amenadiel asked incredulously. “What ever were you doing there? Human souls are not supposed to go there.”

“Well I did. Lucifer told me that others go there too.”

Amenadiel looked at Lucifer.

“Times have changed, brother. Humans have more fight in them now, and Azrael has a shorter temper than she used to. Humans still condemn themselves to their respective eternities, but if they are particularly wily and combative when Azrael sees them off, sometimes she doesn’t see the job through. Usually they make it where they need to go without her guidance, but occasionally they do not. Those who don’t end up in Limbo.” Lucifer inclined his head in John’s direction, as if to give an example.

Amenadiel didn’t look convinced. “How could John have been in Limbo if he recalls seeing you? How are you certain that it wasn’t Hell?”

“It wasn’t Hell,” Lucifer said sharply, catching both Amenadiel and John off guard. John wasn’t sure what had just happened, but whatever Amenadiel had implied was obviously a touchy subject.

Lucifer stared at them for a moment, dark eyes unblinking and tracking their reactions like a predator. Then he sighed, and his shoulders relaxed, as if a great weight had dragged them down. His fingers worried his cufflinks again.

“Hell isn’t my only domain. Technically Dad also cursed me with that Dad-forsaken wasteland, but I hardly visited. It was a nice getaway when Hell became too much to bear, but it was just as undesirable in different ways.” Lucifer paused then. His eyes had grown distant, and his jaw was set. His hands flitted back to his glass.

“Do you remember our fallen brethren?” he said, his voice small.

Amenadiel’s brow furrowed at the subject change. “Of course, Luci.”

Lucifer continued to stare into his glass. “I wasn’t the only one who changed after I Fell. Our siblings, the ones that eventually fell too, they burned just as I did. After I had managed to pull myself out of the Lake of Fire, I gave the ones whose minds hadn’t completely shattered during the process positions within my court. They were, after all, family.” He chuckled humorlessly.

“In light of my recent sins, nepotism seemed like the least of my concerns at that point. I was correct, to some degree. Over time, most of the fallen grew twisted and corrupted by sin and they became a new breed of demon--an archduke-- but there were others who never recovered from the Fall. Something within them had broken. They weren’t quite demons and they certainly were not angels, either. They were, for lack of better description, mutilated. Inside and out. Their minds were fractured and their bodies, well--”

Lucifer’s form contorted like a tv glitch. Where his face should have been was replaced with something scarred and horrifying. It vanished just as quickly as it had appeared, but it didn’t matter because John had seen. Lucifer’s regular face was back, but John saw it with new clarity. Even before, he would freely admit that Lucifer was beautiful, perhaps the most beautiful person he’d ever seen, but it was a different beauty now. Now the sculpted angles of his face looked cruel and alien.

He didn’t think there were words to describe the primal sense of fear he had felt upon seeing it. It was like an echo of the morning’s conversation, when he’d discovered the name of the angel that had guided him through Limbo. He wanted to bolt like a spooked horse and run and run until he was certain that Lucifer would never find him. John’s heart raced, but his fear kept him rooted in his chair. He knew he should calm down. He had to calm down. His head felt like it was going to explode. John groaned and put his head back in his hands.

“Jonathan.”

John’s head snapped back up, bringing a wave of dizziness along with it. His heart seized when he realized that Lucifer was staring straight at him. The afterimage of his burned face lingered in John’s mind’s eye, and it was almost impossible for him to look at Lucifer at all.

“Do not go breaking on me now. The Detective will be very upset with me if you do.” His tone was blasé, but John saw a glint of uncertainty in his eye. Was Lucifer upset by his reaction? Why would the Devil even feel that way? John searched his shark-eyes for an answer.

Shockingly, Lucifer was the one to look away first. He returned his attention to his glass for a second time before continuing his explanation.

“The other fallen--the ones driven mad by the Fall-- were little more than rabid dogs, and they had developed an insatiable hunger for divine flesh. I suppose in human terms you would say they became cannibals, but such a human concept does not do their transformation justice. They were truly beastly, mere husks of angels and mutated beyond any demon.” John shuddered as he remembered the feeling of claws tracing along his cheek. Beastly indeed.

“So I locked them up,” Lucifer proclaimed. “I had the archdukes assist me in rounding them up and throwing them into Limbo. There they could live freely, on a separate plane away from Heaven and Hell, and out of my hair. I would only visit occasionally, like I said, for peace and quiet and to make sure that they were behaving.”

The room dissolved into silence once again. Amenadiel seemed to still be processing the information, and John was trying his best not to pass out from pain or fear. He still wasn’t sure which would eventually win out. He supposed by the way his skull felt like it was getting a forced lobotomy he would have to say it was going to be the pain.

Amenadiel finally cleared his throat. “So if I understand you correctly, you have been completely aware that these...creatures have been running amuck in Limbo, and yet you continue to let them roam, even though they're torturing innocent souls?”

In an instant, Lucifer slammed his hands onto the counter. John flinched as the sound ricocheted through his head like a massive bell. Amenadiel stood, unflinching, his face contorted into a stony mask. Lucifer’s eyes blazed and his lips curled back into a snarl. In that moment he looked every bit of the razor-sharp angel that had plucked John from the clutches of his cannibalistic siblings.

“Do not twist my words, Amenadiel, and do not criticize that which you do not know. I made the best of a bad hand. I dredged the land for lost souls as often as I could, but there was only so much I could do. And make no mistake, not all of the souls I found were innocent. I spared rapists and murderers from the clutches of our deranged siblings just as often as I pulled out martyred cops and saints. They all got the justice they deserved, and I carried it out like a good little son.”

At that, Lucifer turned on his heel and busied himself with something on the other side of the kitchen. Amenadiel simply watched his brother sulk and sighed heavily. “Luci,” he said to the Devil sulking in the kitchen. “I’m sorry. It was wrong of me to pin the blame on you. I jumped to conclusions.”

Lucifer turned back to face them, face drained of any prior anger. “Damn right you did.”

“But,” Amenadiel continued, pointing a finger at Lucifer. “My initial point still stands. It’s obvious that these creatures are dangerous, and yet they roam freely in Limbo. The last interaction you had with John was in the presence of these creatures. Isn’t there a possibility that your illness and John’s return to Earth are linked? They feed on the divine, and you said it yourself that none of the other resurrections occurred more than a day following their initial death.”

“That’s just it,” John chimed in. “Technically, it’s been twenty-or-so years since I saw Lucifer in Limbo. It may have only felt like a couple hours for me, but I imagine for him…” He waved his hand in lieu of finishing his thought.

“Yes, Jonathan is correct. In fact, I forgot about your existence entirely until you started threatening me over breakfast this morning.” Lucifer clapped his hands together. “At any rate, I think we can surmise that whatever this silver nonsense is, it is most certainly a fluke. If these events were truly connected then I would have gotten ill two decades ago. Nothing to do with Johnathan. Nothing to worry about. The resurrections on the other hand...” he shrugged.

“I don’t think we should discount the idea,” John cut in again. “Amenadiel’s right, it’s stupid to overlook the possibility. For now, I suppose we can put a pin in it, but it shouldn’t be off the table completely.”

Lucifer shot him an annoyed look. “Fine, whatever. Gang up on me, then.”

“Luci, we’re trying to help,” Amenadiel chided. Lucifer just rolled his eyes.

“The other bodies reeked of Heaven,” he started again, changing the subject. “I don’t know why or how, but they do, and it’s positively unbearable.”

John didn’t know Heaven even had a smell, but Amenadiel nodded like he understood. “I don’t have an answer or even an idea of how to explain that facet of this mystery. I would have to go to the Silver City to find out any more information.”

Lucifer considered Amenadiel’s proposition for a moment. He finished off the rest of his drink and glanced around the room. “Well, what are you waiting for?” he asked. “We’re in a time crunch, the sooner the better!” Dropping his empty glass into the sink, Lucifer swept out of the kitchen and towards the door. He turned back to face John and Amenadiel, a hand poised on the door handle. “Brother, I’ll be expecting your answer shortly.” Then he gestured to John. “Are you coming?”

John just sighed and hauled himself out of the chair. It took some effort to get his bearings, and when he finally did he stuck out his hand for Amenadiel to shake once more. Amenadiel inclined his head towards John and offered him a genuine smile.

“It was very nice to meet you, John Decker. Chloe speaks very highly of you. I can see now that her stories ring truthfully. You're a good man.”

John returned the smile, wincing as the pain in his head worsened with the movement. “Well I don’t know about that, but thank you. It was nice to meet you too.”

Before John could say anything else, Amenadiel dropped his hand and simply disappeared into thin air. John stared stupidly at the spot the angel had been occupying just a few moments before. He wasn’t sure what just happened, but at this point, he wasn’t sure he really wanted to find out.

Lucifer made an impatient sound from his place at the door. “Jonathan, you’re dallying. Are you going to stare off into space for the entire day?”

John shook himself and started towards the door. “Yeah, yeah, calm down I’m coming.”

When they reached the parking lot, John ignored the pain in his head and made a b-line for the driver’s side door, just barely sliding his body between it and Lucifer’s hand reaching for the handle.

“Give me your keys,” he said, making sure to use his no-bullshit cop voice.

“No.” Lucifer tried to wiggle his way around John, but John stood firm.

“You just drank four glasses of hard alcohol, I’m not letting you drive drunk through downtown LA.” Lucifer only continued to wiggle and try to squirm his way around John. Fuck, did he ever stop moving? John caught Lucifer’s arm as he tried to reach for something in the car. “Seriously, Lucifer, stop. I don’t care that you’re the Devil, you’re not driving.”

As weird as it felt to say that, there was truth in John’s words. His fear over seeing Lucifer’s other face had almost entirely dissipated.

“I’m not intoxicated, I have a supernatural metabolism!” He wiggled his arm out of John’s grasp and leaned around him to grab whatever it was that he had been trying to get from the car. When he found it, Lucifer handed the mystery item to John. It was a breathalyzer. Police issued. Most likely Chloe’s, John thought. When John did nothing with it, Lucifer pushed it and the hand holding it to John’s chest.

“Test me,” he said. “If I blow under the legal limit, I drive. If I blow over, which I won’t, you can drive. Deal?”

John sighed. He knew Lucifer was trying to compromise, but it didn’t change the fact that John’s patience had been steadily declining since Lucifer had decided to drag him all over the city. “Fine,” he said, exasperated and desperately wishing for somewhere to lie down.

He quickly set up the breathalyzer, his muscle memory taking over for him. Through some small miracle, Lucifer took the test without complaint. John had expected the meter to read at least an .09, but he was dumbfounded when he saw the 0.00 staring back at him.

“Holy shit,” he mumbled. He gave the breathalyzer a little shake just to make sure it had gotten the right reading. The numbers remained unchanged.

Lucifer smirked. “Can we get on with things, then?”

On a day when John’s head wasn’t killing him, he would have asked for a retest, just to ensure that Lucifer hadn’t somehow rigged it in his favor. But John was exhausted and it was almost impossible to fake something like a breathalyzer, especially one that he himself had administered, so he decided to just let it slide. After all, it wasn’t like he was in any better condition to drive.

Wordlessly, John stepped out of the way and climbed into the passenger seat. Lucifer gave a victorious whoop and threw himself into the car. Another twinge of pain drilled through John’s skull and he winced away from his companion.

Now that he could take a moment to just breathe, John could finally acknowledge that he didn’t feel like himself. He felt feverish. Or high. He’d never been high to know what that felt like though. His forehead felt like it was about to split open like an egg, and he brought a hand up to touch it, just to make sure that no cracks had started to form. When he felt nothing, he squeezed his eyes shut and flopped back against the seat, wondering why Lucifer hadn’t driven off yet.

“Lucifer, why aren’t we moving?” he muttered, politeness thrown by the wayside.

“Because you’re doing a rather dramatic imitation of a dying raccoon. I don’t know much about humans, but I know enough to recognize that this isn’t normal behavior.” John must be hallucinating because Lucifer’s voice almost sounded caring. He told him as such.

Lucifer scoffed and finally shifted the car into gear. They drove in silence for about ten minutes before he spoke again. “It is possible that your body isn’t as stable as we initially thought.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s either that or your soul is unstable. Either way, something, besides the obvious, is not right. I have a feeling this headache of yours has been triggered by some imbalance. Whether that imbalance is in your mind, body, soul, or if my Father has decided to restitch the fabric of the universe, I cannot say for certain. The easiest way to solve it would be to return you back to your prior state.”

“My prior state, as in dead, right?”

Lucifer hummed, a nonanswer. That was all John needed to know that he’d been correct.

“Hey, please tell me we’re going back to Chloe’s?” he said, changing the subject. “It would really make her upset if we’re not there when she gets off work.”

“Ah, actually we won’t beat the Detective home.”

John sat straight up, whipping his head towards Lucifer. “What do you mean we’re not making it home before Chloe?”

Lucifer waved his hand absently. “Well you’ve lived in LA, you know how the traffic can be. Plus, we wasted more time than I had anticipated at Amenadiel’s.”

John sputtered and checked his watch. “But it’s like four in the afternoon. Even with traffic it won’t take us that long to get to her apartment, and the LAPD doesn’t usually let cops off until five at the earliest.”

“And you’d be correct; however, we’re not going to the Detective’s apartment straight away.”

“Where could we possibly be going?” John threw his hands up in the air because the alternative was to wrap them around Lucifer’s throat to choke some sense into him.

“I planned on stopping to grab something to eat, since I’m famished and surely you are too, considering we skipped lunch and barely had breakfast. I figured if we aren’t going to beat the Detective home we might as well show up with something to soften the blow. It’s easier to ask forgiveness than it is to get permission, you know.”

Lucifer shrugged. “Besides, it’s likely that she won’t be in a good mood anyways. I missed a call from her around noon, and about an hour ago she texted me saying that she wasn’t feeling well and was thinking about taking off of work early.”

“Did you call her back?” John asked.

“Call who back?”

John stared at him, bewildered. “Chloe. You said she tried to call you. Is she okay?” John’s outrage had been building slowly over the course of the day, but it had skyrocketed more in the last ten minutes than it had in the past few hours. He’d kept himself in check so far, but he wasn’t sure if he could hold it back if Lucifer insisted on being this much of an idiot.

“Oh. No, I didn’t return her call. I’m sure she’s fine, though.”

Something in John’s chest shifted. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he exploded. “First, she tells you not to leave the house, and the first thing you do is immediately go against her wishes. Then, you don’t even have the audacity to return her phone call? You’re acting like such an asshole. I love Chloe and I respect her, but I don’t know what she sees in you. As far as I’m concerned, you don’t deserve her.”

Lucifer stilled. His fingers stopped on the steering wheel mid-drum, and if not for the wind whipping at his clothes, John would have thought that he was made of stone. A drop of fear slid down John’s spine as the weight of his actions settled into his bones. He may have gotten over the initial shock of seeing Lucifer’s true face, but that still didn’t change the fact that he’d just screamed at the Devil. No, not even that, he’d just screamed at Chloe’s boyfriend. Partner. Whatever he was. Someone important to her.

But just because Chloe cares for him didn’t mean that he didn’t deserve it , a voice whispered in the back of his head.

For a moment, John thought Lucifer wasn’t going to respond, but out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a poisonous smirk.

“You know, the Detective always told me that you were a soft spoken man,” Lucifer said.

John clenched his jaw at the perceived taunt. He turned to fully face Lucifer to give him another piece of his mind, but stopped mid-breath when he saw his face. Lucifer was purposely not looking John’s way, gaze fixed on the road ahead of them. He wasn’t really looking at the road, though, John thought. Even with half of his face obscured, John could tell that he was looking past it and into some distant memory instead, the same soft smile he’d given Chloe the night before playing across his lips. It was an abrupt change from how he’d been just a minute before: flippant, callous, ancient.

John deflated instantly. “I’m under a lot of stress right now,” he replied dumbly. It was all he could think to say.

Lucifer drove on silently. He still did not look John’s way.

“I know being stressed is no excuse for how short I’ve been with you today, but this is a lot for me to take in. I was never the atheist that Chloe turned out to be, but I was never truly a believer either. God, Heaven, you, it’s overwhelming. Not only that but Chloe--” John’s voice broke when he pictured his little girl as the twenty-something he left behind. He cleared his throat, trying to beat down the rising wave of emotion. “I didn’t get to help her move into her first apartment, I didn’t get to give her away at her wedding, I’ve never even gotten to hold my granddaughter,” he said quietly. “She grew up without me and I’m angry with myself for letting it happen. Seeing you with her, you being there for her when I couldn’t, it’s hard.��

That was the ugly feeling that had been sitting in John’s chest all day. That was the thing that couldn’t be packed away into a neat, little mental box to be dealt with at a later date. No matter how many times he’d tried to compartmentalize it, it always came back with full force. He knew it was the reason he was acting so caustically towards Lucifer, but it was as if his time in Limbo had tainted him in some way. It was almost as if simply brushing against those sinful beasts had made him into one too, teeming with new and nasty habits. The very thought left an equally nasty taste in his mouth.

He was used to dealing with jealousy. Penny had groupies and superfans just like any other actress of her day, and it had never bothered him before. He’d always trusted her. Now he found himself unable to bury the jealousy like he had before his death. It was embarrassing to admit. John had never wanted to be one of those overbearing and overprotective fathers.

He wasn’t sure how long they sat there, Lucifer navigating them through the maze of LA highways, and John lost in thought. The car coasted along an exit ramp, and as they entered back into the city, Lucifer broke the silence.

“My Father was not the kind of father that you were--that you are,” he amended. “He wasn’t kind or nurturing or any of those things. In fact, He was quite harsh with my siblings and me at times. The last conversation we had was the shouting match that eventually got me condemned to Hell.”

John wasn’t sure where Lucifer was going with his anecdote, but he remained silent, just as the other man had when he’d vented out his own feelings.

“Even in the midst of my anger, even when I would scream my throat raw yelling obscenities at Him from down below, some part of me still loved Him and wanted Him to love me in return. I hated that part of myself for centuries. He was my punisher and my jailer, and yet, I still couldn’t rid myself of the longing to be recognized as His son.

“You and the Detective don’t have that kind of relationship, obviously, but I say all of this so that you’ll understand and believe me when I say that the Detective loves you very much. There are very few things that you could do as a parent to make her stop caring for you. Not even death could sever her heart from yours. She has made her peace with your passing, and for both her sake and yours, Jonathan, you should too. If you don’t, your guilt will condemn you to Hell. That’s how the system works; humans choose their own fate, no Devilish temptation required.”

Lucifer grimaced at his poor attempt at a joke. Then, he glanced over at John, as if to gauge his reaction to something. “Amenadiel was correct; you’re a good man and a good father,” he said, eyes drifting back to the road. “You don’t deserve the torment that awaits you there.”

His words echoed in John’s mind. You don’t deserve the torment that awaits you there.

“I’m sorry that I said you don’t deserve Chloe. That was wrong of me,” John said. “It’s not up for me to decide.”

Lucifer made some noncommittal noise.

“We got off on the wrong foot, and I genuinely want to try and get to know you properly.” John hesitated. “If you’ll let me,” he added almost too quietly to be heard over the wind.

Lucifer sighed his back-breaking sigh. “I suppose we can start over.”

At his affirmation, the ugly feeling in his chest subsided. “Good,” he nodded. “I’m glad.”

“But,” Lucifer stuck a finger up in the air, as if preparing to give another monologue. “Just because we’re “starting over” doesn’t mean that I’ll completely stop tormenting you, Jonathan. You’re far too entertaining when your brain is on the verge of melting.”

Lucifer’s tone was light and any malice it may have contained before had been replaced by a vibrant playfulness. John couldn’t fight back the smile on his face.

“Well as Chloe’s father, it is my job to give you a hard time, so I’ve got some tormenting of my own to do too.”

Lucifer chuckled. “I’m the Devil, darling. I’d love to see you try to get under my skin.”

“I’ve got a few cards up my sleeve,” John said. “You never know what might happen.”

Lucifer didn’t respond to that, but a sly smile had plastered itself to his face.

He guided the Corvette down a maze of one-ways, and five minutes later, they slowed to a stop and parked on a quiet street. As John took in the sun-bleached storefronts and crumbling fire escapes, he thought nothing of their location. It was only when he caught sight of a beat up dirt green sign boasting Marisol’s Flower Arrangements that John realized where they were.

“I died at a corner store about a block from here,” he said numbly, all traces of playful teasing draining away. They’d parked too far down the block for John to properly see the store, but he didn’t need a visual, the image of it was burned in his memory.

Lucifer got out of the car. “I know. I parked a block away for a reason. The Detective always says that you shouldn’t let victims see their crime scenes unless they specifically ask to. Something to do with shock or trauma.”

“So why bring us here at all?” John asked, though he already knew the answer. He was just surprised that Chloe still came here after everything that had happened with the shooting.

“Like I said, the Detective doesn’t hate you,” Lucifer replied with a knowing look. He tossed John the car keys. “I’ll be back shortly.”

Lucifer was true to his word, returning only ten minutes later with a takeout bag. When he got back in the car, he traded it for his keys. As they drove back through the city, John tried his best to ignore the bag on his lap. The heat from the food radiated through the cheap paper and into his skin like a persistent house cat kneading at his lap. He hated to think what would happen when he opened the bag. These sandwiches hadn’t just been Chloe’s favorite, once they were his favorite too. He feared that when he would eventually unwrap the foil, he wouldn’t be able to stomach them.

Secretly, John was glad that Lucifer hadn’t expected him to walk into that corner store. He was almost certain if he had, he would have ended up on the tile floor retching at the smell of grease and sweat. He’d choked on that scent as he laid with a bullet in his chest. He could only hope that he wouldn’t choke on the food when it came time to eat it.

John thought back to a time when he had gagged on black tar and maggots instead of grease and blood. He swallowed hard; an echo of oil slid down the back of his throat. Or maybe it was crawling back up. Maybe John would wake the next morning and find that whatever horrors he’d tasted in Limbo were festering inside of him like he was John Hurt in Alien . He supposed if that were true, then it was only a matter of time before it tore through his chest. John shuddered. He absentmindedly touched the space over his heart, as if it too was going to burst out of his chest.

The rest of the drive back to Chloe’s apartment was silent, and neither he nor Lucifer seemed to mind. For John, it was even a welcome reprieve from the madness that was his resurrection and a quiet moment before the inevitable emotional explosion waiting for them at the apartment.

His suspicions were only confirmed when the Corvette pulled into the parking lot. Chloe already had the door open and was standing in the doorframe with her arms crossed. He couldn’t completely make out her features from where they were parked, but John was sure when they got close enough her brows would be scrunched up in an exact replica of Penny’s when she was upset.

Lucifer killed the engine and jumped out of the car. His hands immediately flitted to his cufflinks and then on to smoothing invisible lines in his jacket. At least he was smart enough to be a little nervous, John thought.

“Detective!” Lucifer said when they got to the door. “We bought dinner!”

Chloe’s mouth flattened into a thin line. “What happened to not leaving the apartment?” she demanded.

Lucifer snatched the takeout bag from John’s grasp and held it up as if it explained everything. By the way her eye twitched, Chloe was not impressed.

“Is that the only place you went?” she demanded again.

Lucifer thrust the takeout bag back into John’s hands and flashed her a nervous smile.

“No,” John said flatly.

“Lucifer!”

Lucifer only flapped his hands and slipped past Chloe into the apartment. “It was just to see Linda and Amenadiel!” he called over his shoulder.

Chloe took a deep breath. She sagged against the doorframe, her shoulders tight with tension. “Dad, wherever he dragged you to, I’m sorry. It’s my fault for thinking that Lucifer could stay still and listen for more than a half hour.” She said the last bit a little louder, casting her gaze over her shoulder and making sure the man in question had heard them.

“It’s fine, monkey,” John said, drawing her attention back. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I didn’t try harder to keep us here. I shouldn’t have gone along with it.”

Finally, Chloe pushed herself off of the doorframe and allowed him to pass. “You shouldn’t have even had to argue to stay here,” she said as he walked past her. Even with his back to her, John could tell she was staring daggers at Lucifer while he busied himself with setting the table.

Just like he had that morning before Chloe had gone to work, John felt out of his element. It was easier for him to interact with Lucifer and Chloe separately. They represented vastly different periods of his life, or death, in Lucifer’s case. With them separated from each other, John could almost pretend that he was still living a normal life. When he was with Chloe, he could ignore his death. When he was with Lucifer, John could accept it head-on. But when they were together, it was difficult. He felt every inch the man lost in time when he saw them together.

All of these thoughts ran through John’s head in under a few seconds, but the existential discomfort of it all made it feel like an eternity.

“Here, I’ll take that from you, Dad,” Chloe said, appearing at his shoulder.

Mechanically, he handed the takeout bag to her, and then went to hang his borrowed jacket back on the hook. Task complete, John turned back to the table, still unsure what he should be doing. He watched Chloe open the bag, as if ready to divvy up their early dinner, and then stop. Her head snapped up to look across the table where Lucifer was pouring their drinks.

“It’s been a stressful two days, I knew you would like to have them,” he said, not looking up.

Lucifer finished filling the third glass in silence. When Chloe still hadn’t responded, he finally met her gaze. John didn’t know what he found there, her back was still to him, but Lucifer’s shoulders hunched.

“Did I get it wrong?” he asked, seemingly folding in on himself in a way that John didn’t know was possible.

“No. You didn’t. Thank you,” she replied softly. “But did you--?”

“No!” Lucifer waved his hand vehemently. “He stayed in the Corvette.”

Chloe nodded, and it was as if that motion cued all the others back to normal. She began setting their food onto plates, and Lucifer fluttered back into the kitchen as if nothing had happened. Slowly, John walked up to the table.

“Can I help with anything?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Chloe said, balling up the empty takeout bag, “everything’s already done. Just take a seat.”

He reluctantly did as he was told. He stared at his foil-wrapped sandwich until Lucifer and Chloe sat across from him a moment later. The placement reminded him a bit like an interrogation. In some sense, John thought, perhaps it was. He could tell that Chloe had bitten her tongue about them disobeying her orders today. Surely, it wouldn’t be long before she started fishing for details.

“So,” Chloe began, unwrapping her sandwich. “You went to see Linda and Amenadiel.”

Lucifer took a long sip of wine. “Yes, not that they were any help.”

“Lucifer wanted to look for answers,” John put in, trying to be helpful.

Chloe glanced between the two of them. “What kind of answers?”

“Answers that would help us figure out what in Dad’s name is going on, of course,” Lucifer said.

She raised an eyebrow. “And? What did you find out?”

John was thankful when Lucifer launched into a recount of the day's activities. He loved Chloe, but he simply hadn’t been in the mood to talk since they’d picked up dinner. Speaking of dinner, he glanced down at his untouched sandwich. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to eat, it was just that he was afraid of what would happen when he did. He knew he was going to have to eat it eventually, or else Chloe would start to get suspicious. The last thing John wanted to do was cause her any more stress.

He forced himself to unwrap his sandwich. Chloe was busy listening to Lucifer, but her eyes were fixed on John the moment he’d begun to remove the foil. With her watching, there was little he could do besides take a bite. Much to his relief, he did not taste tar or ash. It tasted the same as he remembered--rich, greasy, fattening. Even still, it turned his stomach, John realized with dismay.

Under Chloe’s watchful eye, he fought through the nausea and forced down another bite. The ends of her mouth quirked up in the ghost of a smile. Seemingly satisfied with what she saw, Chloe turned back to Lucifer.

It hit him that for her, this was the first time in roughly two decades that they were sharing these sandwiches. In that moment, it was as if their lives had simply picked up from where they’d left off. Had John never been shot, this was what he would have done that night. Instead of choking on his own blood, he would have been up late at the kitchen table, eating these exact sandwiches with Chloe, and then sending her quietly off to bed afterwards.

John finished his sandwich. His stomach twisted itself into new shapes each time he swallowed, but he refused to ruin this for his daughter. She needed this as much as he’d needed to tell her that bedtime story the previous night.

To fend off the overwhelming nausea, he found himself laser-focused on Lucifer’s tale. That was when he noticed the omissions. Before, he hadn’t paid Lucifer’s storytelling any mind. He had been dealing with his own inner turmoil about Chloe and his untimely demise. Now that he had nothing else to do but pay attention, John began to notice the discrepancies.

Lucifer told Chloe most of what they’d experienced that day, with a few key cut corners. He neglected to tell her about Limbo and his mysterious cough. At first, John thought he was avoiding those topics because Chloe didn’t know the truth about who Lucifer really was, but that theory was quickly derailed when she didn’t blink an eye at Amenadiel searching Heaven for clues about their “resurrection problem.”

John didn’t know why he didn’t correct Lucifer. It would have been so easy to mention a detail he’d left out and watch the fallout unfold. Yet, he sat in silence, only adding in an affirmative sounding hum when Lucifer’s tale required it.

He just wanted to see where Lucifer went with it, he told himself. Lucifer had to have a reason he was leaving out key details, but then again, did he? If John was being entirely honest, even though they were on better terms now, he didn’t really know who Lucifer was at all. There was no telling whether or not he would be completely transparent with Chloe. In fact, if their detour around LA was anything to go by, Lucifer seemed to skirt around the truth and bend the rules quite often.

If Lucifer still refused to tell Chloe about Limbo and the cough by the time the night ended, John resolved that he would tell her himself. Chloe was his top priority, she deserved to know the truth, he finally decided. Plus, was it not John’s story to tell anyways? After all, he’d been the one who died and ended up there in the first place.

As Lucifer’s story drew to a close, John grew more and more convinced that he would have to be the one to tell Chloe about Limbo. But then, Lucifer’s story stopped abruptly. He cleared his throat once. Twice. Then he coughed. It sounded wet and thick like it had at Amenadiel’s, except this time it sounded deeper. It was as if Lucifer was a normal human smoker, and there was tar stuck to the bottom of his lungs.

Lucifer quickly pressed a napkin to his lips, but the coughs continued until he was almost gagging.

Chloe worriedly patted his back. “Are you okay?”

John opened his mouth to confess to Chloe that, no, her partner was not, and that he’d been like this all day, but Lucifer beat him to the punch.

“Fine,” Lucifer muttered between coughs. He coughed a few more times before it finally petered out, leaving Lucifer weepy-eyed and with an undoubtedly sore throat. He strategically wiped his mouth with a clean corner of the napkin before folding it up and out of Chloe’s sight. There wasn’t a speck of silver to be seen.

“What was that all about?” she asked, handing Lucifer his wine to wash down the remaining cough.

He shook his head, taking down the rest of the wine like a shot. “Not a clue.”

John shot a glare in his direction, and Lucifer tactfully ignored it.

Chloe stared at Lucifer for a few more seconds. When she found what she had been searching for, she stood and gathered up her dishes. “Maybe those cigarettes are finally catching up to you,” she chuckled over her shoulder as she headed to the sink.

“Darling, we both know my mortality stint ended ages ago,” Lucifer replied, voice scratchy. It was a pathetic recreation of the exact phrase he’d said to Amenadiel just hours before.

Chloe snorted. “Sure.”

John waited until she turned on the tap before he leaned across the table.

“You have to tell Chloe about everything that’s going on, not just the parts that you like or understand,” he whispered fiercely.

“That will only cause unnecessary worry for the Detective,” Lucifer whispered back. He unfolded the napkin and tilted it enough for the silver liquid inside to catch the light. “This is not something that she needs to worry about right now.”

“Lucifer, come on!” He gestured to the napkin. “You’re literally coughing up some unidentified substance. You said it yourself, you’re immortal. So why is this happening now?”

Lucifer’s jaw clenched. “I’m fine.”

“I don’t care what you think you are, Chloe deserves to know.”

The tap shut off.

John glanced over to make sure that Chloe was still busy at the sink. When she was, he turned back to Lucifer.

“Tell Chloe, or I will, Lucifer.”

Lucifer just stared at the silver splatter on the napkin and said nothing.

[bootleg-sara]

Binding of Isaac hc time

Today’s random topic I felt like talking about: Transformative Bosses

A.K.A - Bosses that change appearances based on who is fighting them at the time

I swear this is more interesting than it sounds give me a chance with this one oajvskand

Been thinking about all of their little change quirks, how they work and the like.

(Bosses talked about: dogma/hush, Boss!Blue Baby, Boss!Isaac, The Lamb, mom’s heart/it lives, mom, mother)

((Long post undercut))

I'm going to start off with dogma, as they are the one I am most unsure of. Basically I have no idea what to do with them but it makes sense in my heart that they would be one of the bosses that changed depending on who used them. Riveting start to this post.

I have been playing around with this one idea of having all the kids fight a corrupted version of a tv-static archangel. I have made a list awhile back about what archangels I felt fit each kid best based on their strengths, personality, desires, etc.

Isaac: Ariel

Maggie: Raphael

Cain: Raguel

Judas: Jeremiel

Eve: Jophiel

Samson: Michael

Lazarus: Azrael

Eden (?): Uriel

Lilith (assigned a demon?): Haniel

Apollyon (?): Zadkiel

Bethany: Gabriel

Jacob and Esau: Metatron/Sandalphon

As you can see, there's quite a bit of question marks on this here list. I'm still unsure if I want Eden/Apollyon to even have an assigned archangel, apparently I was debating giving some characters such as Lilith and Esau high ranking demons instead of archangels. A bunch of characters are just, straight up not here. Don't know why past me didn't give them anything. Anyhow, it's an idea I have been playing with. I think its neat but very unpolished.

Another boss I have few ideas for is the Lamb. Much like dogma I don't really know if I want them to change between the kids. They are a soft and kindred spirt who truthfully doesn't like fighting the kids. The Lamb only does so because if they didn't the kids would instead be trapped in the dark room and go out a much more painful death of waiting for the basement to consume them. Despite the everchanging nature of the basement, The Lamb likes to dig graves for the people he kills. Give them a bit more respect than what they usually get here. I may end up keeping them as their own thing like Satan, who knows.

You go over to Hush, who probably changes the least out of the bosses that do have different forms. The big second phase is the same across the board. Always a humanoid figure of something trying to break out of the ground without success. It's first phase is slightly affected in the same way Boss!Blue Baby is, though more subdued in the graphicness. I'll get into BB later.

Hush overall is a very subdue boss in terms of interaction with others. They don't interact at all with the kids. No known goals or wants, seemingly acting more on instinct than anything. The second phase resembles that of someone trapped under ground. Sometimes one can see two giant hands pushing up against the ground, but never strong enough to do anything other than elevate the ground a bit. Not exactly the most comforting boss of the bunch being surrounded by walls covered in screaming faces (Everyone is grateful the faces can't make any noise). Everyone feels the same sensation of constantly being watched when in the blue womb, even before seeing Hush.

The mom fight is pretty basic. The "aesthetics" of the boss fought is dependent on the kid's own parental figure. Some are their mom, others see their dad, simple. Really whatever authority figure they either fear the most or are the most scared of hurting themselves. There's a few exceptions, but not many. The mom fight does absolutely love to shout at their opponent. Very mean things too. The people Apollyon and Blue Baby swap between all the other's fights. Eden does so as well, but most often gets Isaac's mom.

The mother fight functions pretty similar to the mom one. Whatever person you see as the mom fight, you'll see as mother, but in an dying, corpse state. During the first phase you'll only see the head and arms, typically showing some pretty fierce aggression. though once you get to the second phase the body will shot itself out of the wall, dragging behind a giant mass of rotting flesh, it's back covered in the many faces of the many mom fights from the other kids. Everyone has unanimously agreed the mother fight is not worth it and most times avoid it. After awhile the kids started thinking that maybe that was the exit all along. Begrudgingly they choose to try for the alternate route. Unfortunately for them they where incorrect.

Mom's heart and It Lives are quite the interesting duo. They don't have the ability to communicate, though that's not stopping them from having an impact. The kids can either see the heart or the fetus, usually dependent on how much general pent up animosity someone feels. Mom's heart (or just "The heart" for the kids) Shows up for the people who have particularly strong hate towards the world and situation. Mom's heart/it lives is the only boss that doesn't stick with one "form" per kid, and will often change multiple times every time its fought with the same kid.

Boss!Issac is a jerk. They loves to wear little accessories pf the people they fight and taunt them relentlessly. Your sins are the on display for God and your judgement will come. Of course this judgement is coming from that of a false prophet, though in their own eyes they are the holiest figure in this hellish landscape. Boss!Isaac is all about pointing out everyone's little flaws and tearing them apart. And that's when he's not barraging you with tears and holy shots, which he also loves to do. I made a few little doodles of them. Basically they are the closest to the game's counterpart. Just wearing a standout accessory of their opponent. You know, to really dig in just how terrible you really are.

I uh, did not draw Boss!Isaac Isaac form properly here. Oops. He wears a headband with horns when with Azazel. Boss!Isaac despises it.

Finally Boss!Blue baby. Going be getting into some light descriptions of death with some of the kids, so if that makes you uncomfortable then here's your end point.

Boss!Blue baby is interesting. So to get into the basement you do have to "die" in a sense. Each person in here had to have died in a specific way and/or met a certain criteria. While the body goes missing and the kids don't remember actually dying, the process is still required. Blue Baby is a result of this necessity, who has been in the basement for quite some time. While it wasn't until recently when their consciousness separated from their boss form to become their own being (it was bound to happen eventually, just happened to be when the kids were here), they had always taken the form of the person's deceased self. Their blue color came from the most common way the people of the far past arrived at the basement, often through affixation. I also made a few doodles of 3 different blue baby forms.

(Poor Samson was torn about by wild wolves, Judas got stuck trying to run away via a cave tunnel which ended up being to tight for him to crawl through. Basically suffocating himself with breath as he tried to get deeper. Similar to what happened at the nutty putty caves if you've heard of that incident. Don't recommend looking it up if you have claustrophobia or are sensitive to tragic events)

(I don't actually have deaths set up for most of the cast, only a few of them. Still have to work out backstories. Apollyon hasn't died in the physical world at all so they get a random form, BB sees themselves)

There's a few common traits that all forms of BB have, including the blue skin, X's for eyes, a sown up mouth, and some form of wings. What the wings are change depend on where said person died. Some have generic fly wings, while others, like Samson and Judas here, have wings that better represent where they died (the wings of a crow/raven and deep cavern mushrooms respectively). These wings don't have to even be actual wings, just some close approximant. As long as it is growing out of the back, pretty much anything goes.

Boss!Blue Baby has always been the silent type, never felt the need to talk when its looks did all the talking for it. After the split Boss!Blue Baby lost the ability to speak completely. Friend Blue Baby has grown out of their shell more and is more willing to converse with others.

I plan on drawing out most of these bosses at some point. There's just a lot of unknowns right now that need settling

[tarysande]

Lucifer Fic: Sheet Happens (1/1)

For @thedeckerstarnetwork’s Halloween Challenge. @calia05 asked for “ghost” and “trick,” and said she loved Ella and Azrael. This is the result! <3

Also on AO3

Sheet Happens

Miss Lopez delivered the invitation in typical Miss Lopez fashion: as exuberantly as the world's friendliest golden retriever high on Adderall. Clearly handmade, she’d cut the card into the shape of a cartoonish ghost, white bedsheet and all, and covered it with an absurd amount of silvery glitter. Meaning, of course, that it covered him with an absurd amount of silvery glitter in short order. The sparkles stood out against the black of his suit like snowflakes. Or dandruff. Not that the Devil was in any way personally acquainted with the latter.

“Thank you,” he said gravely, holding the glitter bomb at as close to arm’s length as he could politely get away with.

Miss Lopez wore her every emotion not just on her sleeve, but from the top of her head to the tips of her platformed running shoes. Today’s t-shirt featured a sad ghost with a spilled cup of coffee and the phrase ‘Sheet Happens.’ “So, you’ll come?”

“Ah.” Even as the syllable emerged, Miss Lopez’s face began to fall. “It’s a … popular evening at Lux. I do rather feel I owe my patrons an appearance.”

“Oh,” she said, smacking her forehead with the heel of her hand and leaving ghostly glitter behind. “Duh. I should’ve thought of that.”

The glitter was sentient. He could practically feel it creeping up his fingers. He would have to burn the suit; once infected, recovery was impossible. He could only imagine how infested her home must be. The mind behind the creation of the stuff was truly devious; in the darkest of hellscapes, he’d never come across anything quite so … persistent.

“Would you … prefer to offer the invitation to someone else?” he asked, gesturing slightly with the ghost held between the tips of finger and thumb.

This was, evidently, the wrong thing to have said. She wilted, and when she shook her head, even her ponytail seemed sad. “I made it for you,” she tossed over her shoulder, already fleeing back to her lab as fast as her impractically high shoes would allow.

#

“You’re going, Lou.”

Lucifer blinked. Though the music and revelry, sin and sensation raged around him at top volume, the words reached his ears as clearly as if they were spoken into utter silence. Beside him, Azrael slouched, wearing the form so clearly influenced by Miss Lopez.

Or perhaps it was the other way around? The Azrael of old hadn’t slouched. She hadn’t worn bizarre spectacles or sported bowl-cut hair and t-shirts with sayings on them. When she glared up at him, hands planted on hips, her cloak parted wide enough for him to make out today’s offering. In the same cute-cartoon style as Ms. Lopez’s, it depicted a Grim Reaper, coffee in hand and wearing the exhausted expression Lucifer had so often seen on human faces after too little sleep or too much alcohol, next to the words ‘I FEEL LIKE DEATH.’

Lucifer sipped his whiskey to give his hands and his mouth something to do besides reply.

“Not just for Ells. Literally every one of your friends is there.”

He sighed, stepping aside as a tipsy angel with crooked wings tried to press up against his side. The cloying scent of her cheap Victoria’s Secret perfume wasn’t as easy to avoid. Neither was her pout.

“But you’re the Devil,” she whined in a voice he wished he heard much less clearly. “And I’m an angel. It’s sexy.”

“More like incestuous,” Azrael murmured, catching Lucifer so off-guard he choked on his drink. The smug grin she shot him was entirely the Rae-Rae of old. She nudged him with her cloaked elbow. “Still got it.”

He inclined his head at the disappointed angel, sidestepped a werewolf and vampire with tongues so deeply down each other’s throats that witnesses would convert to #TeamWhoNeedsBellaWhenYouHaveEdwardAndJacob at the sight of it, and swiped a bottle of whiskey he refused to see poured for anyone with such undiscerning tastes as the Borat who’d just ordered it. Evidently the bouncers had forgotten the longstanding no-neon-green-mankinis rule.  

Azrael followed on his heels, and though he bloody well knew no one else could see her, somehow the seething crowds parted more easily for her than they had even for him.

“Why are you here instead of there?”

“I—you see how busy—”

“Uh, I see how you haven’t talked to anyone for longer than two minutes, your piano’s nowhere to be seen, and you’re basically oozing sulking-Devil-do-not-approach vibes.”

“You try my patience, Azrael.”

She shrugged. A trio of sexy nurses—or perhaps maids; it was hard to tell given the lack of fabric—contorted themselves into shapes he should have found pleasing to avoid being too near to her. One attempted to fall toward him, but he slid to the side so she ended up grappling with one of the evening’s nineteen (at last count) Captains America.

“Yeah? Well, you’re bugging me too,” she said, evidently oblivious to the effect her presence was having. “You didn’t even read the card, did you?”

“The … excuse me?”

Azrael’s prodigious eye roll involved every muscle in her face. “From Ella?”

A twinge of something like regret turned the whiskey on his tongue to ashes. He’d dropped disco-ghost into an evidence bag before it could do any more damage and left it at the precinct without sparing it a second thought.

Azrael thrust that same evidence bag into his chest hard enough to send him staggering back half a step. Another angel got partway through a curse Lucifer had a hard time imagining any of his siblings speaking before she realized the Devil to whom that curse was directed. He sensed a new rule for the bouncers brewing.

Of course, the most persistent of the angels presently irritating him didn’t obligingly flit off into the crowd at his glower. He’d no idea how someone so vertically challenged could make him feel small, and yet. The evidence bag and its spectral occupant had fluttered to the ground between them, where it lay like a murder victim bathed in blood glittering red from the overhead lighting. Sheet happens.

He bent from the waist, snatching up the invitation and stalking toward the elevator. The sea of demons and various sexy professionals and animals and … bloody hell, Sexy Donald Trump was infinitely worse than the worst mankinied Borat. Some things couldn’t be unseen.

And then he was in the elevator, and it didn’t matter that Azrael wasn’t with him because she’d be waiting for him with her ridiculous fringe and, beneath it, eyes that always reflected the brother he could have been, perhaps, if he didn’t fail so spectacularly so often.

He scanned the room when the elevator door opened but saw nothing out of place, and when he called out, no one answered. Azrael could creep and hide and lurk as effectively as the angelic purpose over which she held dominion, but rarely from him.

He opened the evidence bag and dumped its contents on the bar, releasing the spirit and its miasma of sparkles. The bloody thing looked so bloody cheerful—and not at all like any of the spirits he’d had occasion to meet over the millennia.

Then again, give the thing a spectral ponytail and a cute t-shirt and maybe—

He silenced the thought by reaching for a bottle. He didn’t, at least for the first burning pull, even bother with a glass.

He poured the second drink. By the third, he was ready to open the damned—ha bloody ha—thing. In the ebullient handwriting so familiar from paperwork and post-it notes, Miss Lopez had written, “My brothers made Halloween more about tricks than treats, usually at my expense. It would be ‘boo’tiful if you could come to my party. COSTUMES MANDATORY.” Instead of her name, she’d drawn a pair of ghosts. One was grinning. It had a ponytail. The other was taller; it held a microphone. It also had devil horns and a tail.

It was grinning, too.

Lucifer closed the invitation and pushed it away with trembling fingertips.

“Why aren’t you there, Lou?”

He gripped the edge of the bar until the moment before the marble would have crumbled. “Surely you know better than anyone, sister.”

The sound she made, caught somewhere between a gasp and a cry, was enough to turn his head. “I’m not—Lucifer, you know I’m not—”

“But you will,” he said. “Because they’re human. Because you’re you. And because you will do as you must. So forgive me for choosing to spend this night of specters and shadows amidst those whose deaths, when they come, will not weigh near so heavily.”

Moments stretched into minutes. Azrael’s jaw worked, and her expression said the words she chewed were bitter ones. Finally, narrowing her eyes, she said, “That’s bullshit.”

Unexpected.

A flush rose in her cheeks and her eyes sparkled not with admiration or sisterly love, but with anger. “You’re sad their time is finite, so you’re wasting what time you do have sitting around feeling sorry for yourself. Listen to yourself, Lou. No, seriously. Like, stop for one minute and actually hear the crap coming out of your mouth.” She glanced down at her hands like she was trying to figure out just how much damage they were capable of inflicting. “You’re so … dumb. Like. Just … dumb.”

And though he wanted to protest, wanted to explain in painful, specific detail just why death and eternity and banishment from Heaven made his situation so much bloody worse … he didn’t.

Because Miss Lopez had drawn them as grinning ghosts. To her, this night was treats and costumes and friends and, as in so many traditions throughout all of bloody human history, defying the coming dark by facing it head-on. Perhaps the current tradition didn’t involve bonfires or sacrifices, but he’d be bloody damned—more damned—if gorging on candy and gathering in friendship and depicting the things humans knew went bump in the night without truly knowing how to name them as cartoons and bad puns wasn’t the very same flavor of ritual.

He released his grip on the bar. His hands glittered.

“Costumes are mandatory,” Rae-Rae reminded him.

When he glanced over his shoulder again, she was gone.

#

He stood outside, listening to the laughter within, for fifteen minutes. He raised his hand to knock eighteen times. He turned to leave at least seven.

“I’m gonna do it if you don’t, Lou.”

Bloody sisters.

He knocked. Moments stretched into eternities.

The door, decorated with glimmering ghosts and glittering pumpkins, opened, revealing Miss Lopez in all her pool-noodle-turned-double-helix-DNA glory.

For a moment, Miss Lopez’s wide eyes were so like Rae-Rae’s—the same belief in him; the same, dare he say it, love—that Lucifer couldn’t find breath for whatever foolish, nonchalant nonsense he’d usually have opened with. And when those eyes filled with glistening tears to accompany a grin no drawing could possibly capture, he was the first to look away.

“You came! In costume!” Leaning forward, she squinted at him, then reached out and plucked at his costume. “Oh my God, Lucifer, tell me you didn’t cut eyeholes in a freaking silk sheet that probably cost like, a month of paychecks.”

“I do not lie, Miss Lopez, so I can say no such thing.” Though she couldn’t see it, he grinned at the way horror and delight mingled on her features. He brushed close, close enough to give the phantom equivalent of the hugs she handed out so enthusiastically, and pretended not to feel a little teary-eyed himself at how tightly she returned the gesture. “Who am I to defy your command?”

She laughed and punched him on the arm. “Have you met you?”

“Ahh,” he replied gently. “But have you met you?”

This time, the laughter he heard belonged not to Miss Lopez but to his sister. And though she, too, was bound to her commands, as he stepped into the warmth and light and laughter of Miss Lopez’s home, Azrael’s dominion was the very last thing on his mind.

[highly-opinionated-ramblings]

Batshipping masterpost

Sometimes asking yourself the question “what would it take for me to ship these two characters together?” helps you come up with really really good stories that you otherwise might never have thought of! 

Very fun writing exercise. Do recommend.

ANYWAY. I like Batman, so I asked myself this question about him, and these were the results! 

(Featuring: Catwoman, Riddler, Twoface, Poison Ivy, Harley Quinn, Azrael, Mr. Freeze, Clayface, Superman, Wonder Woman, Martian Manhunter, Flash, Green Lantern, Green Arrow, and Aquaman)

What would it take for me to ship Batman with that character? A few key ingredients: 

If they are/were a villain, a redemption of sorts. A slow process of coming to terms and actively deciding “yeah, that’s not who I am anymore.” 

A connection, a distinct moment where they’re able to talk to Batman as more than just an old enemy or a League ally. A spark that generates interest in developing the relationship further.

An establishment of explicit trust. This usually comes in the form of Bruce revealing his identity to the other and trusting them (maybe tentatively at first, but even so) not to give it away.

An introduction to the kids. I am one hundred percent positive that this is, for the vast majority, not a voluntary action on Batman’s part. But if you raise nine kids to be detectives, you can’t expect to keep secrets from them for long! And once they know you’ve been sleeping with that former villain, you’re going to have to justify that to them somehow.

Then the whole cycle starts again as the villain redeems themselves in the eyes of the kids and gains their trust and acceptance too. Good stuff.

Note: my interpretations of these characters are entirely my own and by no means do all of them line up with any sort of canon. I just sort of do whatever. 

Also: some of the bullet points below address some of the mental health problems in the villains, so proceed at your own discretion.

Catwoman: I really like the Gotham tv show’s dynamic between Bruce and Selina, which is to say, they were childhood friends with an early attraction to one another, but had a falling out sometime around the very beginnings of Bruce actually becoming Batman. She spends a few years as a professional thief. He sends her to prison a few times. But eventually she settles down and opens up a casino or whatever, where she deals information under the table. Alfred and the kids know her these days as an ally rather than enemy. So it’s just a matter of her realizing that her attraction to Bruce is deeper than originally assumed, and that if she wants to be with him she has to really dedicate herself to that idea, and for him to realize that she’s being serious and that he needs to prioritize spending time with her over obsessing over his work.

Bruce takes his mask off dramatically, saying something along the lines of “it’s me, Selina” and she’s like “yeah I know.” “What?” “You do this thing where you pace back and forth and nod your head up and down when you’re thinking. Never known anyone else who did that but Bruce Wayne.” “...Oh.”

Childhood friends interpretation is also great because Alfred already knows her and likes her. And she has all these embarrassing stories about 14 year old Bruce to share, which means that even the most resistant of the kids warm up to her right away.

Riddler: the first line in his Arkham file is that he has an obsessive need for attention. And Bruce KNOWS that. But it takes years for it to occur to him, incredibly sleep-deprived and staring down one of Ed’s death traps that he really, really doesn’t want to deal with today....what would happen if he just, y’know, gives it to him? The attention that he wants? And the results are instantaneous. It’s like the floodgates are open and Ed just can’t stop talking. It starts out snide and derogatory, the same way he usually talks to Batman, but the longer it goes on the more it deteriorates into something oddly helpless and vulnerable. Bruce has been so used to cocky, swaggering Ed that it never really occurred to him that this was someone suffering, who needed help. So he sits down and does his best to convince Ed that he’s not going to take him in (how many times has he been sent to Arkham? And what good has it done him, really?) and they talk. He leaves out of necessity (bank robbery in progress, says Barbara’s voice in his ear) but he goes back the next day, and again after that. Ed gets attention from Bruce without having to resort to crime to get it. Bruce gets a break from head busting and an outlet for some of the stale energy inside his head. They tell each other riddles and play strategy games and get to know each other, for real this time.

Ed stops worrying so much about proving that he’s smarter than Batman. Instead he channels all that energy into uncovering Bruce’s secret identity. It’s just another one of their games. Bruce has kept that secret for a long time and he’s confident he can keep it up, but Ed’s always alert waiting for him to slip up, to leave a clue

Option 1 for how he finds out: he sets up an elaborate trap, making it seem like he’s in danger and the only way to save him is for Bruce to take his mask off, so he does. Ed is outraged. “REALLY? BRUCE WAYNE? FUCKING REALLY?” he yells, dropping all pretense of being in danger. The robots he made for this setup drop like puppets with cut strings. Bruce gets ready to Fight.

Option 2: Some other villain reveals Bruce’s identity before he gets the chance (Arkhamverse style). Ed is outraged. “HOW DARE YOU LET ANYONE ELSE BUT ME DO THAT” he yells while Bruce tries his best to ignore him and focus on calling the JL to fix the whole situation somehow

Option 3: Bruce just tells him. Ed is outraged. “I WAS SUPPOSED TO BE THE ONE TO FIGURE IT OUT YOU IDIOT”

The kids are Not Happy about Bruce dating Gotham’s Most Annoying Super Villain

Twoface: again I gotta go with the whole ‘they were friends when they were younger and Bruce had a raging crush on him’ setup. Cause that adds a whole layer to Bruce’s part of the story, watching Harvey become Twoface and assuming responsibility for locking him up every time he gets out. One day something happens in Gotham- string of murders or something, it’s not important really what it is. Bruce goes after the person responsible and his trail leads him to Harvey. So he busts into the safe house, intending to intimidate anything Harvey knows out of him, and then throw him back in Blackgate. “Ohohoho, noooooo, you got this all wrong,” Harvey says when he figures out what Batman’s getting at. “That motherfucker put a dozen of my men in the ground. This is personal. You want me to tell you what I know, you’re going to take me with you.” And Bruce agrees. Cause he knows Harvey’s got a certain moral code that he can be trusted to stick to, and it’s the most painless way of getting what he wants from him anyway. Working with Harvey is weird, though. He shoots a couple of goons going after Batman and gives him that lopsided smile, says “I’ve got your back,” and suddenly Bruce is like 20 again and Harvey is bringing him a coffee, smiling. During their chase they have a dramatic rooftop showdown with whoever it is they’re chasing. Bruce turns around just in time to see one of the thugs push Twoface over the edge. He gets caught up in the moment and practically screams, “Harvey!” Of course, he’s able to dramatically swoop in and save him, though it’s a pretty close call. When Harvey comes to he sits up and says quietly, “It’s been a long time since anyone’s called my name like that, did we have that kind of relationship?” and Bruce panics and tries to brush it off as his imagination, but Harvey shakes his head and says “once you’ve seen it, you can’t unsee it, man. It’s you under there, isn’t it, Bruce?” And it turns out that knowing Bruce’s real identity turned out to be exactly what Harvey needed. Cause he can identify some of the duality he feels about himself in Batman, now. They spend some more time together, talking some of that out, and it doesn’t take long for Bruce’s crush to return en force.

Poison Ivy: He lets her go. He knew she was at that scene, and she knows he saw her, but he lets her go, cause it wasn’t a big deal. No one died, relatively little property damage, and that jerk deserved it anyway. The next day there’s a potted plant sitting on GCPD’s doorstep and they call Batman thinking it might be dangerous, but it’s just a lovely specimen of a rare flower, which he knows is her way of saying thanks. (He doesn’t let the police know that, though. He just puts it in the back of the Batmobile and tells them it’s nothing he can’t handle). He takes it home with him and treats it well. And she knows it, can kind of sense it, distantly. They have a few more run ins over the course of the next few months and they take it easy on each other, having this sort of mutually unspoken agreement. Eventually something happens for her to need to talk to Batman, so she digs her roots in deep and finds that flower...in the garden at Wayne Manor. She leaves a message for Batman and they meet up and talk about whatever she needed. She doesn’t mention the Manor, so he asks about it. She just shrugs and mentions something about Bruce Wayne’s recent efforts in protecting the environment. “Maybe we’re not as different as I thought, after all.” They give each other more little presents from afar. One day she sees him hanging around (where she knows he knows she can see him), and drops by to talk. He offers her a ride home and ends up spending the night.

This one I think he owns up to before the kids can figure it out. Pam’s a good source of information, and if he was desperate he’d call her even with all of them watching. They’d all think he’d been bewitched, of course. It’d take a while to convince them all otherwise.

Harley Quinn: all it takes is for him to get his first glimpse of the real her and decide that Joker victims need to stick together and help other Joker victims. After the breakup and the subsequent recovery, she’s living free (albeit under Constant Surveillance) in Gotham, and he checks in every once in a while, just to make sure she’s doing ok and not reverting to her previous, Joker-driven, rocket-fueled bad habits. One day there’s an incident in her neighborhood- maybe someone was going after her and Bruce was there protecting her, or maybe it wasn’t related to her at all. Regardless, it’s her who finds him after the explosion and takes him home and gives him first aid. He’s groggy and panicky when he first wakes up in a strange place (not a hospital, not the cave) with an IV drip in his arm (he’s not in a hospital, where did that come from!). It gets worse when he realizes that his mask was blown right off his face in the blast. It gets SIGNIFICANTLY WORSE when Harley appears in his field of vision, waving around a tablet pulled up to Bruce Wayne’s wikipedia page, in full psychologist mode, ranting about how he’s been going about dealing with his childhood trauma All Wrong. But they talk, and she promises not to give his secret away. “What would I have to gain from that? You’d stop coming to visit me then!” It takes a while for the two of them to figure out exactly what’s going on between them but once they’re both sure the others’ intentions are good, they develop a good, strong relationship.

Bonus points if, at any point in the above time space, she walks up to him one day and hands him an unmarked usb drive. “What’s on this?” “My daughter.” “What.” “My daughter! Her location and everything about her.” “Is she...Joker’s?” “I dunno. Could have been him or any one of a number of other guys. Mistah J threw some really wild parties. *shrug* The only part that really matters to me is that she’s mine. And if anything ever happens to me, she’ll need someone to look out for her, y’know?” “And that’s me???” “Well, helping people in need is one of your compulsions, after all. Especially kids, or else you wouldn’t have so many of your own.” 

I usually imagine Jason as one of the ones kind of sticking up for Batman, citing how crime has all but disappeared since he started sleeping with whatever particular villain and that who are they to police who Bruce shares his bed with anyway (BONUS bonus points if he’s just entering the early stages of coming to terms with his own bisexuality and never realized that Bruce was bi, too), but that wouldn’t be the case with Harley. He’d feel pretty hurt about that, I think. On the other hand: Dick has been around since Harley’s debut on the scene, and has always thought of her as relatively harmless and even respected her to a degree, as a fellow acrobat, so he’s cool with her dating Bruce

Azrael: His JL team goes on hiatus for a little while, so he calls Bruce up like “uhhh, I don’t really have much of anywhere else to go, so can I come back to Gotham for a while?” And Bruce tells him that they’re actually experiencing a pretty calm stretch for a change, but yeah, he can come if he wants. At first he’s excited because he’s never been invited to the actual, og Batcave, but there really IS nothing going on. He meets Alfred, who offers him tea. He meets Steph and Tim, out of masks, lounging on the couch playing Street Fighter. They assure him that if literally anything happens, one of their gajillion alert systems will let them know. He goes off in search of Bruce, finds him sitting at the kitchen table making his way through a veritable mountain of paperwork. Eventually he admits that he doesn’t really know what to do with himself in the downtime. “I usually try to use time like this to do things for Bruce Wayne, instead of for Batman,” Bruce explains. “You should do something for Michael Lane, while you have the chance.” “But...but...but I’ve been Azrael full-time for years now...” “Alright, well, what did you like to do before you were Azrael?” “UHH...” Before he can short-circuit too much trying to come up with an actual answer to that question, Bruce puts aside his paperwork and takes his arm. They get in the car and Bruce takes him to like a hobby shop or something. They buy model kits and a cookbook and some yarn (”one of the kids can teach you”), and he promises that one of these days they’ll clear some space on the lawn to play football. Michael hasn’t experienced this level of anyone caring for his well-being probably ever? and all he can do is stammer something about “is there anything I can do for Bruce Wayne in return?” “You can keep me company while I file all my paperwork, I guess.” So he sits at the table across from Bruce and builds his little ATAT model kit feeling happier than he has in a long time. Bruce can tell that a little more attention would do him good, so they spend some more time hanging out which leads to having some deep conversations and building up feelings for each other, it’s all very cute

Right at the beginning of Michael developing his crush on Bruce he realizes that something’s different, but doesn’t quite realize what it is, and his mind jumps to the worst case scenario right away. He locks himself in his room, calls Bruce at work, panicking, and says he thinks his St. Dumas brainwashed obsession with Bruce might be coming back. Bruce tells him to calm down, they’ll run some tests. All the tests come back negative, but Michael is visibly shaken, so Bruce offers for him to hang around Gotham a little longer so they can monitor him, which is what leads to his extended stay in Gotham

Mr. Freeze: One day something changes. One day the realization finally, finally clicks into place. There’s a huge floating JL base in the sky and aliens living on Earth and people coming back from the dead and healing from miraculous injuries and plagues all the time. If it was going to happen to him, it would have happened by now. It’s over. Nora’s not coming back. That day he laces up his boots and loads his gun and walks over to the little diner on the corner and wrecks it. Batman gets the call, and obviously he knows that something’s different, this isn’t Vic’s MO, but he goes anyway, of course. Vic blasts away at him with his freeze gun, wildly, recklessly, screaming and ranting the whole time. Bruce dodges out of view, and Vic transfers his aggressions to the nearest object in sight: a table. He blasts that thing in half, and then in half again, and keeps going until it’s nothing but splinters and he’s just standing there, gasping for breath. “Victor,” says Bruce from behind him, “tell me what’s wrong.” “Nora’s dead,” Vic mumbles under his breath. Bruce comes around to face him and Vic is looking at him with THE SADDEST puppy dog eyes he’s ever seen. (I know what you’re thinking right now. “Mr. Freeze can’t do puppy dog eyes.” You’re WRONG, I’m telling you) “That’s the first time I’ve ever said that out loud, I think... I d-don’t...I don’t know what to do…” and Bruce is like, darn, I can’t take this fool to jail. So he brings him back to his chilly lair instead and sits him down and talks him through it a little. Leaves him with a phone number to call if it gets real bad again, but makes the first call to check up on him later anyway. This one is a sloooow burn, it takes Vic MONTHS to get over Nora, couple weeks to realize he MIGHT? be developing feelings for Bruce, couple more weeks to wrestle with the guilt of that. Learning Bruce’s identity is the thing that really brings all of it to a head. Maybe there’s an attempt on Bruce Wayne’s life and later that day Batman shows up with the same pattern of lacerations on his cheek, or broken leg, or whatever. Vic’s not an idiot. He can put two and two together. When Bruce finally takes off the helmet in front of him, it’s a huge relief. To be able to say “I know what it’s like to lose people” and for Vic to know he’s not just talking about heroing. They get closer and closer from there. Their relationship is a weird one, with a lot of compromises to make, but they do the best they can.

The kids don’t particularly mind Bruce going out with Vic. He’s not so much a villain as he is just a guy who’s been dealt a bad hand in life and done the best he could with it. But having around makes the already-cool cave soooo much colder, which isn’t so fun.

Clayface: There hasn’t been an incident with Clayface in years. He’s older, little calmer, little more mature (I like the New 52 plotline of him joining Kate’s crime busting team, but this little scenario works even without that part thrown in). Still, when Bruce hears he’s back in town, he figures he should probably pay him a visit anyway. Just in case he’s planning something. But he goes to the address he was given, some apartment building in Kingston, opens the door, and finds Basil. Not Clayface, Basil Karlo, sitting in a chair by the window reading a paper. “Haven’t seen that face on you in a while,” he says, still unsure if it’s a trick or not. “Oh,” Basil shrugs, unsure if he should be worried about being tossed in jail again or not. “Well, it’s my face. The one I’m most familiar with, takes the least amount of concentration to keep up with. I did make some changes, though, see? Few gray hairs, few lines on my face. Do I look older?” “Yes. It’s a good look.” He keeps checking in with him, cause you can never be too careful, and then because he actually starts to enjoy Basil’s company. Their relationship is one of the more light-hearted ones on this list. They get wine drunk and make out on the roof of the apartment building, very giggly.

“If I learned anything at Arkham, it’s that there are some things that you know are wrong with you, but there are also things that are wrong with you that you aren’t even aware of, and that you couldn’t identify or fix even if you tried.” “One of the psychologists told you that?” “No. I shared a cell with Tetch for a few weeks. That dude is so much more messed up than you realize.”

Superman: Clark calls him up saying something about a mystery in Metropolis that has everyone stumped, and maybe the World’s Greatest Detective wouldn’t mind helping him out? So Bruce drops by to lend him a hand. The ‘mystery’ turns out to be a group of unfamiliar aliens who’re out to get Superman (I don’t care why. Maybe they’re holding some kind of grudge, maybe they’re bounty hunters, maybe they want to sell him off into space-gladiator slavery, whatever). These antagonistic aliens have been very careful in their preparations- they’ve done all the math, and come up with special weapons specifically designed to hit Superman hard enough to knock him out. But they didn’t plan on Batman being there with him, which throws them off just enough that Superman is able to chase them off successfully. In the midst of that fight, though, Bruce takes a hit. A hit calculated for Superman. It breaks several of his ribs and punctures a lung. Clark panics, scoops him up and flies him to the nearest hospital at record speeds. They’re able to stabilize him at Metropolis, and then they send him back to the Watchtower for further treatment. When he wakes up he’s pretty disoriented and confused, but Clark (who had been listening for a change in his breathing and heartbeat from a couple rooms away) comes rushing in, ushering him back to bed and promising to explain everything. Bruce is woozy and wonky enough from whatever drugs they gave him that he lays back down and lets Clark hold his hand protectively without argument. He listens to Clark’s explanation, mumbles something about calling Alfred, and promptly falls back asleep. Clark feels so guilty about his injury that he won’t leave his side for weeks, even following him back to Gotham once he’s well enough to leave the Watchtower.

“God, when will they finally just kiss already,” Jason says, taking cover with the rest of the family in the cave. “I know, right,” says Steph while Tim, Cass, and Duke (and Alfred) all nod in agreement. “SHUT UP,” yells Damian, having a hard time adapting to the idea of his dad and his best friend’s dad getting together

Any Superbat is good Superbat but I enjoy it best in the context of ‘they’re old enough by now to be embarrassed about how angsty and competitive they were when they first met, and they both have huge extended families, and the rest of the JL has been watching them dance around each other for YEARS, JUST KISS ALREADY DAMMIT’

Wonder Woman: I don’t usually imagine Bruce as a flustered kind of guy, but Wonder Woman is everything he wants to be when he grows up and he can’t help it. She’s so effortlessly cool, calm, and collected. And she’s a natural charmer, the public loves her. She always manages to come at things with a fresh perspective that has helped unstick his too-logical train of thought numerous times. She paid him a compliment once and he sat in the batmobile in the parking lot thinking about it for like twenty minutes. One day they get assigned to a League PR thing together that turns into an assassination attempt (surprising no one), but everything turns out ok. Minor damage to the surrounding buildings, a few people injured in the mass chaos, that’s all. She goes looking for him after returning from talking to the local cops, and finds him with a toddler girl on his hip, holding hands with her six yo sister, helping them look for their parents. And she just has to stop and marvel for a minute at how soft his voice is??? How the toddler isn’t even crying??? He bends down to hug the little girl bye after returning her to her fam and Diana almost has a heart attack. “I see that the gods have blessed you with an affinity for children of all ages,” she says. By the time he straightens back up he’s Batman again. “What do you mean by that?” “I can never get kids to warm up to me like that in situations like these...I always thought it was because I was just too big and imposing. How did you do it?” “Oh. Well. You know. *gestures vaguely* You just gotta give them what they want.” “And what is that?” “Security. A promise of safety from an adult that they can trust.” She doesn’t quite get it but she watches him, and talks to his sidekicks sometimes. It amazes her how much kindness and love are hidden under that mask of his. When he smiles from the heart he could melt glaciers. So she starts to press, just a little, just to see how he’ll respond. And once she figures out exactly how flustered he can get, too, it’s all downhill from there.

Martian Manhunter: This one is literally one of the sweetest, most pure relationship dynamics I think I’ve ever written, which really caught me by surprise! The way I think of it is like this: When they first meet, Bruce is really, really uncomfortable with the idea of having J’onn in his head, so J’onn tries to keep telecommunication with him to a minimum. So when Bruce gets his attention during like a meeting or something and subtly lets him know he needs to talk, J’onn knows it must be important. So he opens up a private channel and helps Bruce deal with whatever it is (I don’t know exactly what that would be, only that it’d be some kind of sensitive topic best kept between the two of them). And over the course of that, all those one-on-one mind convos, Bruce starts to get used to talking like that with J’onn. In return, while they’re working together, he helps J’onn get used to human physical contact. It starts with small things- handshakes, little pats on the shoulder- until J’onn is comfortable returning them. One day J’onn has a bad day and it’s Bruce that comes to find him, to comfort him. He doesn’t really say anything, just puts his arms around J’onn and holds him close. Most humans- and hell, even most Martians- wouldn’t have done that for him. What else was J’onn supposed to do but fall in love with him?

I really liked the scene in JL8 where J’onn was trying to, like, share a memory with Bruce or something, and instead he ended up unintentionally stumbling into some of Bruce’s trauma memories, which freaked both of them out pretty badly. I think that little scene would fit quite nicely into this scenario. Bonus, if it happens in the really early days of the League, it doubles as the moment when J’onn first learns Bruce’s secret identity.

Flash: It’s been a longtime headcanon of mine that Barry is very active in the Central City community, not just as Flash, but as himself, too. Namely, he spends a good deal of his free time volunteering with the local homeless shelter slash food bank. I mean, come on, just by the very nature of his powers, is it any surprise that he has a vested interest in ending hunger in his community? One day he stops Bruce in the hall in the Watchtower, and clumsily explains that he needs to ask a favor. The shelter has been looking to expand their operations for some time, but right at the last second one of their backers pulled out. They’re short 7k for the payment on the property they needed to make tomorrow, and Barry didn’t know where else to turn to get that much money that quickly. He promises to pay him back, somehow, eventually. Bruce cuts him a check right there for 10k, and tells him to consider it a gift. Later he even publicly endorses the program on social media, saying he thinks Gotham should implement something similar. Barry invites him down to see the building he paid for, so Bruce rolls up his sleeves and spends the day volunteering with him. It’s a chance for both of them to see a side of the other that they’ve never seen before. Bruce watches Barry shine like a ray of sunshine, bringing light and laughter to a room full of people at their very lowest. Barry watches Bruce inspire trust and confidence in complete strangers, like magic. Not to mention, that smile- Barry tries not to use his powers out in the open if he can avoid it, but he discreetly flashes over to stop a tray or something from falling, and of course it doesn’t escape Bruce’s notice. He grins at Barry from across the room and Barry’s heart fully stops for a second.

I like to think of Bruce as a little older than Barry. Just a little, just a few years. Just enough that Barry always feels like an inexperienced, incompetent baby in the face of The Batman

This one throws the kids for such a loop once they find out about it. “THIS is what you’re attracted to, Bruce? THIS???”

Green Lantern: what I know about Hal is that he’s sassy. And what I know about Bruce is that if anyone he doesn’t have the ability to tell to go to their room is sassy with him, he gets snippy. So he and Hal butt heads a lot. One day Hal is venting to Superman in like, an elevator or something about how Bruce just Doesn’t Get It, Clark, He Doesn’t Understand Me, and Clark says, “well, Hal, can you honestly say that you understand him, either?” And suggests that maybe he should spend some more time actually getting to know Bruce before passing judgement. Hal takes that to mean ‘maybe I should go to Gotham and spy on Batman for a day’. When he spots him doing his best to hide inconspicuously on a nearby rooftop, Bruce rolls his eyes and ignores him. Dick spots him too, though, and invites him to the cave in hopes that maybe they’ll be able to settle whatever their argument was about (Jason, Tim, and Steph break out the popcorn and get themselves front row seats for the Drama). But in the end, an up-close perspective was exactly what Hal needed to realize that there was more to Batman than had been meeting his eye. He watches Bruce juggle ten different comm feeds while giving a press conference AND directing his kids’ efforts in the field at the same time, and he earns a new respect for Bruce. He gets where he’s coming from now, and why he’s always so cautious all the time. The guy has a lot to lose. So he mans up and apologizes. Bruce accepts the apology graciously, says he realizes that they’re fundamentally different people but that he values Hal as a comrade and respects his prowess with the ring, and Hal is like, ‘ah. We Are Friends Now.’ He spends more of his time on Earth with Bruce, and along the way he trips and falls headlong into a debilitating crush on him. Like, a visibly obvious crush. Bruce finds it adorable.

Green Arrow: Bruce and Ollie get invited to the same billionaire shindig one day and neither of them can think of a good enough reason to not go. Ollie’s recovering from a bad ankle sprain, and Bruce hasn’t slept in days, so instead of socializing with anyone else there they just sit in the corner and hang out with each other. Midway through the event Bruce closes his eyes and does this forceful little sigh through his nose. Ollie knows him well enough by now to know that small outward signs indicate big amounts of internal emotions with Bruce, and this is about as frustrated as he’s ever seen him out of mask. Normally his act is impenetrable. “What,” he asks, imagination running full speed ahead thinking about what might have happened, “what’s wrong?” “Firefly just broke out of prison,” Bruce growls, reaching for a refill of whatever he’s drinking. “Wh- Wait, who?” “Pyromaniac, serial arsonist in Gotham.” “How exactly did you learn this?” (read: do you have some kind of spider sense I don’t know about?) Bruce just gestures to his microscopic earpiece. Ollie offers, probably against his better judgement, to take a trip to Gotham and help catch Firefly. Bruce, barely able to see straight at that point (bad combination of sleeplessness and alcohol), accepts. So Ollie gets the full treatment, a trip to the cave and tea from Alfred and a haranguing from the kids and a trip to Blackgate with Firefly, even. In return he offers to have Bruce over in Star City sometime. Ollie is usually a little on edge around Bruce, but then he starts to see the real him and finds out that he does, in fact have a sense of humor. They have goofy adventures together and it’s all very cute

Aquaman: Arthur is hotheaded and when he gets in a Mood, the sight of Bruce and his stupid unmovable face just makes him angrier. But once during a mission, when Arthur is busy working himself into a panic, not knowing what to do, it’s Bruce that snaps him out of it. Grabs him by the shoulders and demands that he get a hold of himself. And it’s enough of a shock that it actually works- Bruce tells Arthur the plan, and Arthur does it without argument. No one is more surprised when it works than he is. He is SHOOK. Eventually he swallows his pride enough to go up to Batman and admit, “I think I’m still too emotionally invested in this, can you help me?” Bruce agrees, of course. He does his best to explain how he always keeps his emotions in check, especially when lives are on the line. It occurs to Arthur to wonder what kind of toll that takes on a person. He decides that Bruce could probably use a little vacation of sorts, and invites him to spend a day with him in Atlantis. A day in the life of a king, if you will. Bruce rolls his eyes and agrees, just to play along, but he ends up really enjoying it. Yes, there are a dozen-odd irons in the fire waiting for him when he gets home, but this time he finds that he actually has the energy to deal with them for once. Which is a good enough excuse to go back and do it again, and spend more time with Arthur in the process.

Dami is usually super resistant to Bruce dating anyone, but he would be ok with Arthur, I think. Like, “you bagged a king? Ok, respect”

Extra notes:

I feel like a lot of my thoughts about Clayface and Martian Manhunter specifically could also apply to Killer Croc, too, in a way. I mean, he’s not EVIL. He’s just never really been treated like a person, and so he embraced his image as Killer Croc instead of continuing to face that rejection. But if anyone can look past his exterior and see the needs of the man within, Bruce could. Feels a little weird to think about but maybe there’s something there.

Polyshipping is GREAT may I interest you in some ot3s??? SuperWonderBat is one of the more obvious ones, and I love it (cause Diana gets to play with TWO flustered boys) but BatLanternFlash is also top tier. And then there’s the villains! RiddleBatCat is one of my favorites! Also TwoRiddleBat and BruHarlIvy. The possibilities are endless!

I considered adding Lex and Slade to this post, but in the end I left them off. Cause it’s hard for me to see those as anything but weird, inherently unhealthy relationships. They’d make great black ships though : o

When talking about Bruce dating someone else from the JL, there’s DOUBLE the kids to embarrass. Can you imagine you’re like, Roy Harper or something, somebody’s sidekick, and you walk in and find BATMAN in bed with your mentor???? WILD

This post really got away from me, haha. Thanks for reading! Hit me up if you ever need someone to talk about Batshipping with (especially rarepairs, I got you fam)!

[x-reader-theater]

Doubt {5}

Relationship: Lucifer Morningstar x Non-Binary!Reader

Summary:  You work with someone to figure out who pushed you, and you and Lucifer have a heart to heart over music, and the people he surrounds himself with.

Warnings: Cursing, Graphic Body Horror, Lucifer being a Bastard

Word Count: 3037 words

A/N:  Sorry for the late update! I have been super busy today, and haven't really had the time to upload. I really, really like the chapter, and it's the first time I'm directly tieing into the first season in a notable way! I really hope you like this and, if you do, please like, comment, and reblog! I keep forgetting to thank her, so for the past few chapters as well as this one, THANK YOU @mystic-writes​ FOR EDITING THIS WHOLE STORY! You are amazing, and 30k+ words is no easy feat. So, thank you. So much. You are amazing. 

If you prefer to read on AO3, you can do so here, but please still reblog and share.

[Prev.] <= [First] => [Next]

Chapter 5: Broken Hearts Club

"What do we have to talk about, Amenadiel?" You ask, still holding the glasses of water. "Because I have your brother, naked and pliable in his bed, and I would really like to get back to that." 

Amenadiel goes to speak but stops himself as he thinks about what you just said. You sit down on one of the bar stools that like the island connecting Lucifer's kitchen to his living room. Amenadiel shakes his head and addresses you again. "I want to know who pushed you from heaven." 

You perk up at that. "Oh? Why?" 

"Because. They could do it to other angels. And I don't want that to happen," he replies and you roll your eyes. 

"So, you don't want to find out to get me justice, you just want to stop it from happening to others?" You ask, and when Amenadiel doesn't move you huff out a laugh. "Should have known you're too much of an angel to think of me. A fallen." 

Amenadiel steps forward and says loudly, "It isn't like that!" 

You get up from your chair and shush him, putting one of your fingers up towards his face. His breath fogs up the glass you're holding. "Shh!" You lean in close to Amenadiel, and whisper back, "Fine! But we do this alone, or we don't do this at all!" 

Amenadiel nods and you nod back, before turning on your heel back to Lucifer's bedroom. You feel that same chilling wind, and when you look back, no one's there. 

You huff out a disbelieving laugh and push your way into Lucifer's bedroom where you see the man asleep. You, quickly and quietly as you can, set the water down and climb into bed. 

When you lay down next to Lucifer, he reaches over and drapes an arm around your waist, pulling you into his chest. 

"Everything alright?" He mumbles into your hair. 

You smile and nod, kissing his chest. "Yeah. Just thinking." 

"Really, because I heard noises in the other room…" Lucifer says. 

You shake your head this time and reply, "No. Just, talking aloud."

Lucifer nods and kisses your head again, and before you can go to sleep, you hear him ask, "So. How was your first time." 

"Messy," you say with a laugh. 

[Now Playing: Church by Lyle Lovett] 

You walk around downtown Los Angeles, watching as lawyers and business people run around each other to get to where they need to go, the tall office buildings that loom over the streets of LA. 

But, right in the middle of the tall buildings made of glass, is a beautiful church. Stained glass windows rise up the sides of the weathered stone, and you see one particularly old one melting out of its frame. 

You also see someone sitting on its steps with a cigarette in their mouth. Getting closer, you notice the white collar. Your eyebrows raise and you walk over to the man. 

You sit beside him, and he looks over, taking the unlit cigarette out of his mouth. "A priest with a smoke. How ironic," you say, pulling your knees to your chest. 

The man smiles and puts away the cigarette. "Heh. Yeah, this is just a little ritual. Something to… take my mind off things," the man replies.

"And what do you want to take your mind off of?" You ask, leaning your head on your knees. The man looks at you confused, like he's afraid of telling you, and you smile sweetly at him. "Would you believe me if I told you I was a fallen angel?" 

The man huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. "To be honest, I would believe just about anything right now," the man says and you smile. He sighs and looks over at you, hurt and pain in his eyes. "There's a boy I've been taking care of. Connor is his name. He's at this youth center most days, but the owner is a drug trafficker, getting the kids there to do his bidding. Selling drugs. And I don't want Connor involved."

You nod. "So, what are you going to do?" 

The father sighs and looks away towards the pavement "I'm going to talk to the owner, see if we can work something out." 

"Alone?" You ask. The father looks up at you like he's unsure. "I'm sorry, father…" 

"Father Frank Lawrence." 

"Father Lawrence. But you don't exactly have any authority there. You may have some pull here at the church, but in this youth center, I highly doubt anyone's actually going to listen to you," you say. 

"So, what should I do?" The priest asks. 

You smile and place a hand on his shoulder. "I have a friend, someone who does favours. His name is Lucifer Morningstar. And I think you should ask him for help." 

[Now Playing: Mariners Apartment Complex by Lana Del Rey]

Lucifer moans lightly and sits up, running his hands over your shoulders and back as you get dressed for the morning. He sits up and kisses your shoulder, up your neck, and eventually at your cheek. You turn and kiss him lightly. "What are you doing today?" You whisper to him, not wanting to break the moment. 

He wraps his arms around you sleepily and places his head on your shoulder. "The detective and I will probably have a new murder we need to figure out." 

You smile and kiss his forehead lightly. "That sounds good."

You feel him smile against your skin, and you lean back into his chest. This is wonderful. This right here makes everything that ever happened, worth it. But you don't know if Lucifer feels the same way. To him, sex is just sex. It doesn't mean anything. And, it shouldn't mean anything to you. But with Lucifer, he's the closest thing you have to someone like yourself. You have never met another fallen angel before, never met anyone who has gone through the same things you have. 

You smile tensely as Lucifer pulls away from you and starts putting on his own suit to get ready for the day. 

Eventually he gets up, fully dressed, and places a kiss on your cheek before leaving you alone. You wait a couple more minutes to make sure he's not coming back, before you walk out into the living room, put your hands together in front of you and you pray. 

The wind whips up around you, and standing there, is Amenadiel. 

"You ready to begin?" Amenadiel asks. You nod.

[Now Playing: Fallen Angel by Poison]

"So, who are we meeting?" You ask, walking down a busy LA street with Amenadiel. "Is this another angel you reached out to?"

"She reached out to me, actually," Amenadiel says, and you laugh. 

"Huh," you say, with a small smile. You have to admit, you're a little excited to see who it is. You've been missing some of the angels from heaven. You remember sitting with Israfil, the angel of God's fire, in one of the many gardens in the silver city, talking about plants and how to take care of them. Israfil wasn't able to touch the plants though, because harming another creature in heaven was strictly forbidden. So, he sat, and watched the flowers bloom, but he could not touch them. 

You walk into the small cafe, and immediately you are greeted by two, large, round eyes staring at you from the other side of a window. You tilt your head, and a cat falls from the shelf it was on, and lands on a table in front of the window, looking at you. 

"What is this place?" You ask Amenadiel. 

"I have no idea," he says. 

You pay for 30 minutes in with the cats with Amenadiel, before the two of you go inside, only to be greeted by four cats all running up to the two of you. They rub up against you, sniffing you, one even tries to climb up Amenadiel's pants. But, Amenadiel just ignores them, walking over to a table someone's sitting at while a cat is in their lap and they're looking out the large windows. 

Amenadiel sits down across from them while you pick up one of the cats, and he says, "Hello, Azrael." 

The Angel in question turns and smiles at Amenadiel, who does not smile back. "What, no more Rae Rae? Are you too old for that now Di Di?" Azrael asks and you walk over to the two of them. She smiles at Amenadiel who rolls his eyes, before looking over at you. "Oh. I know you." she says, and you freeze. 

That's right. Azrael is the angel of death, the one you see before you die. You don't remember anything from before hell though. 

"I'm sorry but I don't remember," you say. 

Azrael nods. "Yeah, yeah, I watched you fall." 

You perk up at that. "You did?" 

She nods. "Yeah! You fell like, a long fuckin' way. Though, you changed course halfway through." 

You look at her confused as she says that. "What do you mean I changed course? Like I turned and instead of landing in San Francisco I landed in LA?" 

Azrael shakes her head. "Like, you were going to fall in Asia, but you were moved over LA."  

You stare at her, your hands letting go of the cat you're holding onto, which just lands itself in your lap and cuddles up. "But, you didn't see anyone move me?" She shakes her head. "Right."

"So, what's your name, anyways?" Azrael asks. 

"[Y/N]," you offer and she nods, thinking. 

"Yes, a few of the others mentioned you. I don't really have time to make it up to the silver city, but sometimes they come down here and see me! Isn't that sweet?" She asks. The cat in her lap reaches up and claws at her sweater, pulling on some of the threads from the large crocheted cat on her chest. Azrael doesn't seem to notice. "Though, there was someone who kept asking about you. Theliel I think it was."

You frown, and when you look over at Amenadiel, he's frowning too. "The Angel prince of love?" He asks, confused. 

Azrael shrugs. "Seems so. They were asking about you a lot. Would come down to earth every few years. Sometimes twice in a year." 

Your frown deepens and you mutter, mainly to yourself, "I've never even talked to them before…" 

Azrael shrugs and leans back, letting the cat in her lap climb up her chest and sit on her shoulder. Amenadiel sighs and turns to you, saying, "I'll try and get into contact with Theliel. See if we can arrange a meeting with them here on earth." You nod and Amenadiel turns to Azrael, who's just sitting there contentedly petting her cat. "Thank you Az-" Amenadiel cuts himself off and looks kindly over at Azrael. "Thank you Rae Rae." 

She smiles and you wave as the two of you leave. When you walk out into the main room, you stop and turn around, and when you look back at the seat Azrael was in, she's gone. 

You smile and walk outside with Amenadiel. 

[Now Playing: Would You Be So Kind by Dodie] 

You walk into Lux late that night. You took the long way home, deciding to walk around the city for a bit before coming back. It's still packed when you get back, though it's not your night to work. You order a drink from Maze at the bar, and chat with her about things that have happened tonight, before taking your drink and going upstairs to the penthouse. 

The elevator is empty, like it normally is, but right now it feels almost… lonely. You should tell Lucifer what's happening, but he already has a lot going on. He's working with the police. He has Chloe. 

Your shoulders fall as you think this, leaning up against the wall of the elevator. You said Lucifer was jealous before, but now, you are. It's nothing you would hurt anyone over. You would never go after Chloe, but whenever you think of her and Lucifer together, something in your heart breaks. 

You want Lucifer to be happy. And if it's not with you, that's okay. You'll move on. But your heart wants him now. And maybe later. 100 years down the line, you'll forget it ever even happened, you'll forget you ever liked Lucifer, move on with someone else. Because, well, you do have eternity. What is 100 years compared to the rest of time? 

The elevator’s doors open on Lucifer's penthouse and you see Chloe and Lucifer laughing and playing the piano together. They're playing something simple, something you don't quite recognize. 

The doors close behind you, but the two don't notice you. You turn around to call the elevator back, pressing the down button over and over again, trying to do so quietly, but it seems they heard you. 

"Ah! Angel!" Lucifer says, stopping his playing. 

You flinch and turn around slowly, a sheepish smile on your face. "Sorry, I didn't know…" You point back with your thumb towards the elevator and say, "I'll go now." 

"No! No. Don't go," Chloe says, standing up from the piano. 

"Wh-what?" Lucifer asks as she walks away toward the elevator. 

"I should really get going. I don't want Dan to have to stay with Trixie too long, and I need to sleep eventually," Chloe says and you move out of her way so she can wait for the elevator instead of you. 

Lucifer breathes out and leans toward her with a smirk. "Oh come now. You don't have to sleep." 

She rolls her eyes and when the elevator doors open, she walks in. "Thank you Lucifer. That was very nice." 

She presses a button, and the doors close behind her. Lucifer sighs and doesn't say anything for a few moments. You lean up against the wall and slide down it, not saying as you bring your knees up to your chest. 

You look over at Lucifer, who isn't saying anything. You get up and walk over to him, sitting down beside him at the piano. You press a note, and Lucifer looks over at you, an eyebrow raised. 

"Do you play?" Lucifer asks and you smile and shake your head. 

"I wouldn't remember if I did," you say with a small laugh. "But in heaven, we used to sing. And while there wasn't any accompaniment, it was…" You smile and look up at Lucifer. "Fun." 

Lucifer smiles and turns to the piano. "Here. Do you know this?" 

[Now Playing: Vienna by Billy Joel]

He starts playing the intro and you nod. 

"Okay. Ready?" He asks, and your smile widens. 

You take a deep breath, and you sing. 

"Slow down, you crazy child, you're so ambitious for a juvenile, but then if you're so smart, tell me why are you still so afraid, hmm?" You smile and lean into Lucifer, who laughs and starts singing. 

"Where's the fire, what's the hurry about? You'd better cool it off before you burn it out. You've got so much to do and only so many hours in a day, ayy."

You join Lucifer and the two of you sing, "But you know that when the truth is told that you can get what you want or you could just get old. You're gonna kick off before you even get halfway through, ooh. When will you realize, Vienna waits for you?"

You smile with Lucifer, and he points to a note for you to hit. You press down on the key and he smiles as you laugh. 

"Slow down, you're doing fine. You can't be everything you wanna be before your time. Although it's so romantic on the borderline tonight, tonight." You lean in and kiss Lucifer's cheek, and his smile widens. 

"Too bad but it's the life you lead You're so ahead of yourself that you forgot what you need though you can see when you're wrong, you know you can't always see when you're right, you're right.

"You've got your passion, you've got your pride,  but don't you know that only fools are satisfied? Dream on, but don't imagine they'll all come true, ooh. When will you realize, Vienna waits for you?" 

You and Lucifer laugh as he goes into the instrumental, and you lean your head on his shoulder, laughing into his very expensive suit. 

He leans into the music more now, closing his eyes and swaying, almost knocking you off his shoulder. You lean back and listen to him play, closing your eyes and swaying to the music.

"Slow down, you crazy child and take the phone off the hook and disappear for a while," Lucifer starts without you.

You jump in and continue with him, "It's all right, you can afford to lose a day or two, ooh. When will you realize, Vienna waits for you?"

Lucifer drops out and lets you sing the last part. 

"And you know that when the truth is told that you can get what you want or you could just get old. You gonna, kick off before you even get halfway through, ooh. Why don't you realize, Vienna waits for you?"

You lean into Lucifer again, him adding in a beautiful set of harmonies, "When will you realize, Vienna waits for you?" 

He plays out the final notes, and you let out a breath. Lucifer's eyes close as he finishes out the song and he smiles and presses the final notes, letting them ring out through the penthouse, echoing off the stone walls and glass windows. Lucifer takes his hands off the keys and places them in his lap, also letting out a breath. 

You laugh a breathy laugh, looking away before looking up, and see Lucifer's eyes are on you, those red, goat slitted eyes and you lean up, kissing him lightly, gently, before pulling away. 

"Goodnight, Lucifer," you whisper quietly. He goes to kiss you again, but you stop him with a hand and get up, walking to the elevator, and getting in as soon as the doors open. 

"[Y/N]..." Lucifer breathes out. 

"Lucifer…" You whisper back.

[charliesradiodemon]

Charlastor Week Day 6: Hurt/Comfort

(This is a bit different from my usual charlastor-centered works. I’ve recently been interested in Heaven and the angels and what they think about the yearly exterminations and I got an idea for this fic because of it!

I hope you enjoy!)

Hurt/Comfort

The spear raised slowly above the angel’s head. It looked a little worse for wear, but it hadn’t succumbed to it’s injuries just yet.

Despite their best efforts, Charlie and Alastor could only injure the heavenly being. It had bested them both and now they lay on the rooftop of the Happy Hotel, battered and bruised, defeated by a single angel.

It stumbled over to Charlie first, limping slightly. It didn’t seem too concerned with its injuries nor did it make any noise that hinted it felt any serious pain.

Once it made it to its destination, the bloodied being stood above Charlie, who could barely move an inch.

She couldn’t give up now. She had to move, she still needed to save the hotel and Alastor. Everyone was depending on her to keep them safe, and Charlie couldn’t bear the thought of losing her friends.

With a groan, she lifted herself up from her prone position slightly, coughing weakly. Despite the slow pace the angel limped at, It was far too late for her to get away. When she looked up, she found that the angel was already there and ready to strike her down. She needed to get up. Even if she didn’t make it out of this extermination, she could at least slow the angel down until the bell tolled.

But then she collapsed before she could push herself up all the way. The angel loomed, holding the spear at the ready while watching its prey helplessly exert itself on the ground.

It was truly a pitiful sight that was too much to bear, even for the angel. It was time to put the demon out of her misery and bring her salvation.

The spear fell quickly and Charlie couldn’t do a single thing to get out of the way. Tears pricked her eyes as she shut her eyes and waited for the blow to come.

‘Alastor I’m so sorry...’

But it never came.

A spray of blood mixed with a low grunt caught her attention. When her eyes shot open, a new surge of adrenaline rushed through her, giving her enough strength to twist her expression into anguish. With an audibly panicked gasp, Charlie found Alastor knelt before her with a long thin spear sticking straight out of his back.

He was still smiling at her even as the angel removed the weapon with a sickeningly slick sound. Once he looked up to her when he found her unharmed, his smile weakened. “Charlie, go.” He breathed as he fell forward.

Charlie shrieked. “A-Alastor!” Using the rest of her strength, she reached forward and caught the love of her life in her arms. Though she faltered, she quickly recovered when adjusting to his weight.

The angel couldn’t move seeing the demoness uncontrollably sob over the fallen mortal soul. Tears flowed freely as her desperate hands clung to him. “No! No no no no, Al, please!”

But no response came.

The angel stood above them, spear in hand but not at the ready. Instead the heavenly being stared down at them, confused and curious all at once. The damned mortal soul risked his life for another. His selfless reaction was a clear act of love for the bawling demoness that held him. What was most surprising was the fact that she’d seemingly forgotten about the angel that loomed over them, its job still unfinished. Even with the threat still present, she still paid the angel no mind. She could easily be struck down with the demon in her hands, but it didn’t seem to matter to her.

‘This is ridiculous...’ He thought with a shake of his head. He raised his spear, ready to finish the job. But once he took a good look at the female demon’s face, he froze once more.

“You’re not my brother! Not anymore!”

With a cough, the defeated angel before Michael laughed with a pained wheeze. “You sound like father,” he coughed once more and closed his eyes, accepting his fate. “I know I’m a fool Michael. And I know you’ll never understand why I did what I did, but it doesn’t matter anymore,” Lucifer opened his eyes and looked to the side, keeping his gaze fixed on something. Michael didn’t have to look to see what exactly he was staring at, he knew the first woman was watching from afar.

“Get on with it then, Michael. Just don’t hurt her please. This was my doing,” He smiled, even when he knew he was going to die. “Promise me you’ll let her live. It’s the last thing I’ll ever ask of you.” Michael watched his blood brother in horror, completely baffled how even when he laid battered and beaten, he could still smile at the reason he was in this mess. How could he worry about the first woman when he was about to die by his own brother’s hand?

Being a being of love and goodness, Michael instantly recognized the unconditional love his brother had for Lilith. It was the purest love one could feel, something he’d never seen in Hell. That is, until today. Somehow, in the cesspool that is Hell, he’d found it.

And he found it in a demon that looked so much like his brother.

‘No. It couldn’t-‘

The booming toll of a bell caught the angel’s attention. He needed to get back before the portal closed and stranded him in the pit of suffering.

With one last look at the pair, Michael flew away feeling too many things all at once. He had never enjoyed these cleanses, but he had never once felt remorse for participating in them either. He was an angel of mercy and he was so sure that he was granting these sinners mercy by putting them out of their misery. It was just his job as an archangel: to bring mercy to the wicked.

But never had he seen anything as beautiful or pure like love in Hell. Not like this.

‘Lucifer and the first woman... And now his own offspring with a sinner... and that sinner sacrificed himself for her...’ It was mind boggling. No, it was damn near maddening. This challenged everything he believed in.

He crossed the barrier and his wounds instantly healed, causing him to sigh in relief. His foes this year were far stronger than he anticipated.

“Michael? What’s wrong?” A familiar voice broke Michael out of his thoughts. It was his sister and underling Azrael, and she was covered in blood. It was a normal sight for the returning angels to be covered in blood, but it looked as if Azrael bathed in blood of the cleansed.

Michael removed his bloodied mask. “Oh nothing! Just... thinking.”

“Oh? What about?”

“About... Do you think these creatures are capable of love?”

His angelic companion burst into hysterics at the suggestion. “The damned souls? Love? Oh don’t be silly brother,” she sighed, attempting to calm herself a bit. “If they were then we wouldn’t be putting them out of their misery now would be? Father told us that, ‘ if they truly knew love, they wouldn’t suffer.’ We’re just helping them move on from their horrid lives.” She explained as she admired the bloodied tip of her angelic spear with a smirk. It was clear that their job was just a game to her. Michael would have scolded her for her being so callous, but he couldn't help his distracting thoughts from taking over. Then a thought hit him.

If that sinner hadn’t surprise him so suddenly, Michael would have fully impaled him. He wondered if he was still alive. Part of him hoped that he was strangely enough.

And the girl- the girl who looked too much like his fallen brother. She mourned for the sinner, she held him close and shed tears for him. She was too alike Lucifer to be a coincidence. Just like his brother, she cared too much about others to consider her own safety. Had he not hesitated, she would have perished alongside the mortal she seemed to care about. She was certainly Lucifer’s child: a dramatic, hopeless romantic.

For the first time in his existence, Michael quietly prayed for the sinner’s recovery.

_

Alastor was not yet dead, but he was losing blood so fast that it was almost inevitable.

The extermination may have been over, but all the hope that remained in Charlie’s heart flowed out of her like the blood of her lover. Alastor’s warm blood oozed out of his back in full force and stained her hand. Guilt, anguish and helplessness hit her harder than the angel ever had. Her tears flowed freely, dripping from her cheek and onto her love’s face. Yet, he wasn’t reacting to it in the slightest.

Again, she was a failure. She couldn’t protect Alastor and instead had to be protected and put him in immediate danger. Now he lay in her arms, beaten and broken. “I’m so sorry Al,” she sobbed, bringing his body as close as she possibly could. “I couldn’t protect you.”

An unbloodied hand suddenly rested on Charlie’s tear-streaked cheek and began wiping the tears away. “Shhh stop crying my love. Crying doesn’t suit you in the slightest.” It was Alastor’s voice, but his voice was warped, making his words came out like static, yet he still sounded so sure in his tone- as if he was sure he wasn’t going anywhere.

“A-Alastor?” She whispered with a sniff. Her eyes widened down at him, her expression unreadable aside from the shock.

He chuckled and nodded slightly. “Yes, I’m still here,” he said calm and cooly. “You can’t get rid of me that easily I’m afraid.” The static died down a bit, clearing his tone ever so slightly.

Charlie’s tears burst from the floodgates with renewed strength. Her heart pounded in her chest, feeling everything from euphoria to relief. “I-I-I th-thought you were dead! I d-d-d-didn’t think you were gonna make it!” Charlie hiccuped, wiping the flooding tears from her cheeks before they overwhelmed Alastor. She wanted to look at him with unobstructed sight, but the relieved tears continued to replace her anguished ones.

“I was very close to it, don’t mistake me. But-“ he gingerly lifted himself out of Charlie’s arms, but immediately collapsed again. Charlie promptly caught him, pressing a hand on his chest to make sure he stayed.

In the moment he got up, Charlie saw it. From the exposed flesh on his back, she saw the inky tentacles that remained gathered right over where his heart would be. It seemed the majority of the flowing blood had come from Alastor’s projections, rather than his own person. They’d taken the brunt of the blow, but Charlie hadn't seen exactly how far the spear went into him. Thankfully though it didn’t seem to be an emergency just yet.

“No, stay here a little longer and relax.” She said sternly before snaking her hand up to his cheek. “You scared the shit out of me. You idiot.” an airy laugh escaped her lips as she brought her forehead to rest on his.

Alastor chuckled in response, suddenly feeling stronger by the second. In this life Alastor hadn’t sustained many injuries, but he knew that this was not normal, not in the slightest. Something must be healing him, but he couldn’t figure out what or how.

But for now it didn’t matter. Everything that did was still here. “I know I’m a fool, darling. But please forgive me, this fool had too much to lose.”