#my wrath is as strong as the heat from blue flame

[katzewolf]

This is my take on Akumatized Marinette :3

I just like to think of her having fire powers tbh. Like the potential of fire and justice combined is jsut glorious to me

“Lies and rumors spread just like a wild fire.”

- Something I think Akuma Mari would say

[goldenavenger02]

brave soldier boy

For @badthingshappenbingo. Prompt: wiping the other's tears away

"You don't need to be like uncle Ozai or Azula," Lu Ten finally said, watching as Zuko tried his hardest to blink back tears, "because you can be like aunt Ursa, or my father or me. You don't have to be rageful."

"I wish I was going with you."

Lu Ten couldn't help but smile as he watched his cousins firebend in the training yard.

Azula was a marvel, a firebending prodigy at just nine years old, who would grow up to do great things for the Fire Nation; her flames burned bright blue with heat whenever she lost her temper, but he had confidence that she would conquer that temper like she did with every challenge that came her way.

He wasn't the first person who had stood back to watch her calculated, timed movements and knowing that regardless of what position she would hold in the Fire Nation, she would hold it with both fury and grace.

Zuko was very good for an eleven year old in his own right; his flames had come in later than Azula's, but he made up for it with his wit and quick actions in the training yard even if that meant that his foot was pointed the wrong way or his flames didn't hit the target exactly where they were supposed to.

Regardless of how long it took, Zuko would always complete the task given to him.

He only waited to walk up with his hands clasped together after the last of the flames had gone out, knowing better than to sneak up on a pair of firebenders, "when I get back from Ba Sing Se, you two are gonna be better at this then Avatar Roku himself."

"You were finally sent for? By the soldiers?" Azula's eyes shone bright with the fire she had just been wielding as the pair ran up to him.

"Myself, as well as my father. They are about to break through the outer wall, which means it's time for all hands on deck," Lu Ten explained while crouching down to their level, "we leave in the morning."

"I wish I could go with you."

"As much as I think you would be an excellent warrior on the frontlines, Azula," Lu Ten stopped for a moment, hoping that this war would be over before Zuko was the age of enlistment, let alone Azula, "your duty is here, to the people. You have to keep their morale up, so they don't think that this is a waste of time."

"They would be stupid to think that." Azula shook her head with a smile before walking away, presumably to go play with her friends, Ty Lee and Mai.

"You don't have to lie to me, about my firebending," Zuko said once she had walked away while putting away his helmet, "I'm never going to be as good as Azula."

"Hey, I can't firebend at all, remember? All of this is impressive to me no matter what," Lu Ten argued before leaning on one of the training dummies, "and who said you had to be as good as Azula?"

"Uncle Iroh is the "Dragon of the West", you were first in all of your classes, Azula is a prodigy and I'm…" he sighed, sitting down on the grass, "I'm just Zuko."

"You're right. You are "just Zuko"," Lu Ten nodded as he sat down beside him on the grass, holding his arm out to invite his cousin to lean against him, "I don't know about you, but "just Zuko" can be pretty great too."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm positive. Because you are quick on your feet, you always get the job done no matter how long it takes, and you are so kind. I know that if you ever become the Fire Lord, that you will rule our people with a strong but gentle hand."

"Father doesn't want me to be gentle," Zuko muttered, pulling his knees to his chest, "he says I need to be tough, like Azula."

Lu Ten had to bite his tongue before he said something distasteful about his uncle Ozai. Despite his father being next in line for the throne, he was also a general and if his father died on enemy lines, the crown would go to his uncle.

And despite never having been on the receiving end of uncle Ozai's wrath, he knew that if he said something out of line, the punishment would be severe.

"You don't need to be like uncle Ozai or Azula," Lu Ten finally said, watching as Zuko tried his hardest to blink back tears, "because you can be like aunt Ursa, or my father or me. You don't have to be rageful."

"I wish I was going with you."

Unlike his sister, Lu Ten knew that it wasn't because Zuko wanted to fight or to help the Fire Nation but that, even if he didn't know it himself, he was looking for an escape.

Instead of saying that, however, he leaned forward and used his thumb to wipe away the tears on his face before whispering so quietly that he wasn't sure if his cousin even heard him, "I wish I was staying."

When he received no reaction, he knew that he was in the clear and reached into his pocket to pull out the medallion. It had been one of his many achievements in school, finishing first in his officer class. It shined in the golden sun, proudly displaying the goal he had completed.

"You should have this," Lu Ten spoke, setting the medallion in Zuko's palm and wrapping his fingers around it.

"But this is important to you." Zuko protested, but he hadn't pushed it back towards him in retaliation.

"It should belong to someone who is destined to do great things and despite what others might say, you are destined to do great things, Zuko."

He held his cousin tightly in his arms when he sprang up to hug him, feeling the tears soak into his hair and his clothes, "shhh…"

"I'm gonna miss you."

Lu Ten rested his hand on the back of Zuko's head and pulled him in as close as possible, fighting back his own tears as he muttered, "I'm gonna miss you too."

When Zuko finally pulled away, Lu Ten wondered if firebending felt like the pure rage that was cycling through him when he saw where his sleeves had rolled up to his elbows.

And the five pink, fingerprint shaped splotches in his little cousin's skin.

...

He took his time packing.

Realistically, Lu Ten knew that he did not need much. Weapons and armor would be provided, so he took with him what he always took. Night clothes, paper and ink for letters, clothes for under his armor, hair ties and his notebook.

In most cases, the rage making its way through his bones would be written down in that notebook before he ripped the page out and tossed it in the fireplace. A technique that his own father used when his own rage grew to be too much.

But this was more severe than an argument with a fellow recruit; someone had burned Zuko with their bare hand and he had no idea who he could safely confide in.

'Grandfather may see it as an acceptable form of discipline. Father would question everyone in sight and put the two of us in danger. Uncle Ozai...he might have done it himself, he has always been so hard on Azula and Zuko to succeed and if he didn't do it, he allowed one of their teachers to do it.'

Which only left him with one choice, the safest choice.

He made his way to the greenhouse on the eastern side of the palace, the servants side of the palace, and opened the door, unsurprised to see exactly who he was looking for, carefully studying the different plants and separating them out between medicinal and edible.

"Aunt Ursa?"

"Hello, Lu Ten. I heard the news," she put down the stem she was holding into one of the glass jars before turning, her head held high with a small smile like always despite her constant underlying sadness that he could always feel radiating from his aunt, "your grandfather must be proud."

"Can I speak to you? Privately?"

"Of course," she insisted, nodding at the lone gardener who bowed before exiting the greenhouse, "is something wrong?"

"If..." He swallowed, knowing that his next words could be considered in a number of ways, "if someone was hurting one of the heirs to the throne, what would be the best course of action?"

"Treat any wounds, and then make sure that the person who had done it never stepped foot in the palace again. All of the nations, regardless of differences, frown on child abuse." She explained, her voice remaining steady as her hand shook around the stem she was holding, "did someone hurt you, Lu Ten?"

"No, no, I'm fine," he assured her, watching her movements still as she plucked the green and blue leaves from the plant she was holding, "I was speaking to Zuko and Azula earlier, letting them know that my father and I are leaving in the morning and...Zuko had these burns on his wrist."

"As much and as hard as he practices, that is inevitable."

"They looked like fingerprints, Aunt Ursa."

She dropped the plant she was holding and looked directly into his eyes, "Lu Ten, are you sure?"

"I swear on Agni itself."

She nodded, brushing a few loose hairs behind her ear before sealing the jars and turning back to him, "please send him to me. You should be getting ready, I will speak to him."

"Okay."

"And Lu Ten?" She added, forcing him to turn back to look her in the eyes again, "make sure that Azula and Ozai do not hear anything about this."

...

He had been too busy to follow Zuko to where his mother had been waiting for him in the infirmary. He still had to confirm location and tactics with both his father as well as the othet soldiers, even if he wished to take out all of his weapons training on the person who had done this to his cousin.

But, just as he was following his father to the travel cart that would take them to their boat in the first rays of sunlight, he couldn't help but watch as one of Azula and Zuko's firebending teachers left with his luggage all while Ursa watched from the entrance with a glare that put fear into his heart.

His aunt Ursa was terrifying in her own right, but as he tossed his luggage into the cart and sat next to his father, he couldn't help but wonder if Zuko had been telling the truth about the marks.

After all, despite how much abuse was frowned upon in the Fire Nation, disrespecting your elders was even more frowned upon; and with the way uncle Ozai always kept a strong hand on Zuko's shoulder, he couldn't help but wonder if the real enemy had been ousted.

[total-killer-brainrot]

Sacrilege

You could feel it even now. A tingling in your bones that told you he was watching you from across the chapel. You came back almost every day to prove to him you were devoted to your Lord of the Sun. Had he noticed? Was he proud of you?

---

Bobby Dawn can tell you are truly devoted. He can tell that Sol is pleased with you. And feels the need to prove it.

---

All my fics are also on AO3

Not Beta Read. Rating: Explicit. Length: 1,219. Ship: Bobby Dawn x You. Fem!Reader. Tags: Church Sex, Religious Manipulation, Author Is Not Religious, Pining, Age Difference, Prayer, Groping, Grinding, Vaginal Fingering, Overstimulation, Begging, Come Eating

---

It wasn’t for his attention, at least not completely. His rousing sermons did move you. Made you shiver. Enraptured as his voice echoed around the hallowed halls. Shaking the very souls of every being sitting in the chapel.

So safe to say, you did have reason for attending every single preaching. And of course, what good follower of Sol didn’t stay to prove their devotion after the sermon. Or visit alone to pray at the altar, giving your devotion to the great Lord of the Sun.

Of course, there was always the silent battle for his attention. You could feel the heat of his gaze burning your being every time you knelt in prayer. And of course you always wore your Sunday best to church each week, but maybe your skirts were just a little shorter for him. Dresses just a little tighter to try and gain his favour. It was silly, you knew it was. And you buried your girlish crush down as far as you could. Throwing yourself into your worship as if Sol’s grace could forgive your sins of lust.

You could feel it even now. A tingling in your bones that told you he was watching you from across the chapel. You came back almost every day to prove to him you were devoted to your Lord of the Sun. Had he noticed? Was he proud of you?

You were dragged from your thoughts as a large, warm hand rested down on your shoulder. You tilted your head up to meet his eyes. An icy blue that made you quiver.

“Oh please… Don’t stop on my account. I can tell Sol is very pleased with you, Child… spendin’ so much of your time in prayer… he knows your a special one…”

You could feel your face flush. Quickly ducking your head back down in worship.

“Thank you, Sir…” You breathed out. “Praise Sol.”

His voice was much lower when he next spoke. A soft grumble that barely teased your ears. “Praise Sol indeed…”

You forced yourself to not outwardly tense as another hand was placed on your other shoulder. Holding you in place. Not that you would have moved. Your devotion to the High Priest himself far too strong to sway.

Movement sounded as Bobby knelt, right behind you. His hands sliding down your arms to grip above your elbows gently. A quiet hum coming from the older man as you leaned into his touch. He was warm. Though instead of the raging flames of power and conviction that he beheld during his sermons, this was softer. The gentle caress of late afternoon sun. Flushing against your skin as if you had never felt true warmth. You could tell just from the light hold alone he was strong. Pulling you against him so your back was pressed against his chest.

You could feel the slow rise of his breathing as his hands continued to slide down your arms. One hand stopping at your wrist while the over held your clasped hands together. It was a struggle to keep your breathing under control. The rapid beat of your heart was surely audible by Bobby. He was so close, there was no way he could miss it. His breath tickled your ear the next time he spoke.

“Bask in his light…” His hands continued to roam your upper body. Slow and methodical as he gripped your chin and palmed over your bosom. “Feel his burning wrath…”

A breath caught in your throat as he squeezed your breast through the thin fabric of your dress. And pressing back further you could feel a bulge starting to form against your lower back. But you didn’t have much time to think about it as his hand drifted lower once again. Brushing along the hem of your skirt before lifting it up your thighs. Every graze against your skin made you quiver. But you obediently kept your head dipped in prayer. Hands pressed together tight enough that your knuckles were white.

“Allow him to cleanse you of your sins…” He spoke, lips pressed against the hot skin of your neck. It felt like you were burning up. “Sol has gifted you this pleasure…”

Despite all your best efforts to stay still and at least somewhat pious, the second his heavenly fingers brush over your clit you shuddered. Rocking your clothed cunt against his hand. Pent up from months of pining for the holy man. A low chuckle sounded by your ear. You wished you could see him. To see if he was just as dishevelled as you were. But you didn’t dare turn to look. Staying in your position even as you trembled.

“Call his name… show your devotion, child…”

He tugged your panties to the side. Not even bothered to remove them. He teased you for only a moment before a finger slid inside. Very quickly followed by a second. You did need to adjust to the stretch but it didn’t particularly hurt. And you didn’t hesitate to start grinding down on the digits. Chasing your pleasure like the good lord intended for you.

His palm ground against your clit and you whined weakly.

“Sol… oh lord…”

You leaned further back against him for support, very glad you were already kneeling so you wouldn’t collapse on yourself. His free hand moved from your chin to wrap securely around your waist. Holding you close as his fingers curled against that perfect spot inside you. You arched and cried out happily. The sounds of your helpless lust echoing around the sacred building.

It truly did not take long for you to feel like your peak was arching closer. The pleasure bubbled over and you could no longer contain yourself. Tilting your head back against his shoulder and riding out the blissful high. Prayer long forgotten. One hand clasped around the wrist working you through your orgasm. Keeping him there until you could barely stand it. While the other reached back to tug on his hair. He grunted, but didn’t seem to mind.

You knew he was strong. But you had slightly underestimated it. You could not push him away. And the mind breaking pleasure continued to ramp up. You squirmed in his grip. Tears welling in your eyes before falling down your cheeks as a second, far more intense orgasm hit you like a brick wall. Practically limp in his arms as it wracked through your body. Voice breathless and strained from moaning so loud as you begged.

“Bobby… too much. Please.”

He tortured you for a few incredible moments longer before letting you go. You almost slumped to the floor, but he continued to hold you up. You felt him remove his hand from between your legs and your eyes flew back open when you felt his slick fingers pressed against your parted lips. Instinctively your tongue darted out. The taste of your own pleasure filling your mouth. Diligently you licked him clean. Silently praising Sol for guiding the Pastor’s will. Blessed you truly were.

“I’ll be looking forward to seeing you again at Communion next week, child.” He muttered as he stood, gently placing his hand to the back of your head, tilting your head back to meet his icy gaze once more.

“Sol has made a favourite of you.”

[cthoniian]

they have existed since the beginning of time itself. they have woven themselves through the generations and found those they will seek to tether themselves to and they will cling. when the doom fell, the weak one's ran. the weak ones left. only the strong endured. the dragons endured. changed as they were, they became dependent upon the survivors of the valyrian race. they were durable people. half magic, half of the earth itself. with ties that the beasts could control. could manipulate. could feed. these mortals grew connected to their beasts -- connected to the dragonkin, and some, some grew into something ferocious. some took to the power poured into them.

the archeron family had existed for centuries, yet they had existed in the outskirts of valyrian society. close enough to the shores to develop a fleet and serve as merchants. there were plenty of places who would still buy goods that whispered of magic, of dragons. but good fortune is never promised. and with the death of the matriarchs, the family falls into ruin. with only memories of their pride and power to sustain them. chased from the finer areas they are pushed to the edges of old valyrian. wyvern eggs were found by the father, the eggs brought home to protect the girls. to keep them safe.

but as each girl kept their fossilized eggs, something happened. the youngest grew in power, the middles dreams began to tell the future and reveal the past, but the eldest? the eldest was most like the dragons who had once flown these skies. she was a towering woman of fire and rage, wrath and ruin. and none who opposed her would stand. her history was long and unkind, but what powerful woman's was not?

with her youngest sister happily married, and her middle sister adrift in the abyss of her mind - spanning between life and death itself. it was time for the woman of silver flames to ascend. and where to go but to where the stories spoke of the last blood of the true valyrians. the last targaryen. three dragons - different from the small beasts that the sisters had hatched. for though the thoughts of the dragonkin, the wisdom of its ages shared to each girl -- they would never bear their weight, never flourish and soar with them through the skies as daenerys targaryen's did.

and so nesta archeron sought her.

the innate desire of a dragon to find its kin, while isolated and individualistic beasts - there is always the pull of one magic to another. to find. to know. and this is what brings nesta archeron to the tent of the khalassi.

honey blonde hair is braided in a crown around her head, her clothing simple - dark leathers that do not suit the heat or the weather, but the small silver dragon perched on her shoulder gains her entrance -- and the presence of the queen. silver blue eyes flash with interest as she bows her head to the woman upon the cushions.

' when valyria fell, your ancestors ran. with them they took their dragons. and in punishment your ancestors dwindled and their dragons suffered. but you -- you have raised them. and they will raise you. '

she speaks in the old valyrian tongue, the accent perfected, clipped, but respectful. it is the language drilled into her mind from her mother and grandmother. she was raised to be more than she is, but she will make herself something new. she will make herself something molded by fire itself.

' morghon -- he will never grow beyond this. he gave too much power when still in the shell. i took too much. now his fire, is mine. tell me , daenerys stormborn, last of the targaryen's, khalessi of the great grass sea, mother of dragons, and the rightful queen of westros. what will you do with my fire? '

nesta && daenerys // @kaerinio

[bitch-biblioklept]

The Darkling x f!oc

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 <you are here> Part 7

Chapter-6: Amplifiers

Chapter Summary: Frustrated with Alina's lack of improvement, the Darkling finally found a way to use her powers for his thirst for revenge.

Word Count: 2.1k

(My gif)

The Darkling knew what he had to do, and went to the bitter old woman his mother had become to inform her of such. He still cared about her opinion, no matter how old he’d grown… even if it had bothered him a lot. She wouldn’t react, most likely.

“I have decided to give Alina an amplifier,” He declared once inside the heat of her hut by the lake. “Hopefully we will find the stag.”

Her head snapped in his direction at the mention of the stag. Her dark eyes looked livid. “Of course,” she muttered, half to herself. “I was a fool for thinking for a second that you’d let her have it.”

“The girl is naïve, she can’t control her powers.” He explained. “She will do better with that.”

“I’m not going to let you take control of her powers.” She said with the certainty of a decision. “I know what you are planning to do.”

“How would you?” The Darkling asked, his lips set in a sneer.

“I gave birth to you, boy.” Baghra said. “I know you better than you think I do. She wouldn’t have wanted this.”

“But she isn’t here to stop me now, is she?” Aleksander said. The lump in his throat was suddenly too much. The lakeshore was a bloodbath again. Baghra was silent for too long. “Well?”

“She isn’t,” His mother agreed slowly. “But the least you could do is honor her memory, her mannerisms.”

“She wasn’t a saint mother,” He reminded. “By all means she was the viler and crueler one of the two of us.”

“Not to someone who hadn’t wronged her,” Baghra added.

“I shall avenge her, whether you like it or not, mother.” The Darkling said. He still had a vague memory of the last time he had addressed her as such. Aleksander had been too distraught, everything had happened just so fast… there was no time to tell if it had been reality or a nightmare. Serephina had been assassinated, found lying with her throat slashed, there were others too, her attackers, only one of them was barely breathing by the time he had gotten there.

That was the first time he had used the Cut in the Little Palace grounds, the first time all the young Grisha realized why everyone was so afraid of him. It was the first time his mother looked terrified.

They were supposed to be happy, it was supposed to be a celebrations filled night. But like Serephina used to say in her Suli sayings, some had jinxed their joy. They were to be a family, they were to become parents.

But all of that had been taken away because he was the Darkling and she was Lady Kirigan, and not Aleksander and Serephina.

A light knock at the door brought him out of his thoughts.

Alina appeared in the doorway a second later, looking awkward on finding she interrupted their conversation. “Sorry,” she said.

“In girl, don’t let the heat out.” Baghra declared instead.

The Darkling bowed as a show of courtesy. “How are you Alina?” he asked to be polite.

“I’m fine,” Her voice sounded forced.

“She’s fine!” hooted Baghra. “She’s fine! She cannot light a hallway, but she’s fine.”

The Darkling had to resist the urge to roll his eyes at her words. “Leave her be,” he said instead.

The old woman narrowed her dark eyes at him. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she decided.

He ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to alleviate his frustrations. This was not going well. He turned to Alina. “Baghra has her own way of doing things.” He explained to stop himself from snapping at his mother at the moment.

“Don’t patronize me, boy!” she screamed at him. For a second, he was eighteen again, afraid of his mother’s wrath upon finding about his and Serephina’s marriage, and stood up straighter.

He stopped himself in time, remembering he wasn’t the same boy he had been then, not anymore. “Don’t chide me, old woman,” he said in a low, dangerous voice.

There was an intense stare down between the two of them, the tension so thick it could have been sensed even by a donkey. That was until Baghra turned to Alina and said, “The boy thinks to get you an amplifier. What do you think of that, girl?”

He watched as Alina’s face brightened with a smile as if she had heard the most brilliant idea. And for a second, a brief moment, she reminded him of Serephina again, with the curve of her smile and the way her eyes crinkled with joy.

“I think it’s brilliant!” She nearly squealed. And the similarity was gone. Alina was not Serephina, and the differences got more evident as he got to know her better. Serephina’s face had always had a cold mask, much like himself, but he knew how to read her, where to look for in those brown eyes to find the answers. She was a book meant to be read just by him, and him only. Alina’s face was an open book left for everyone to read.

Baghra let out a disgusted sound, and the sound inspired an odd sense of pride in him. Alina was right where he needed her to be.

“Alina, have you ever heard of Morozova’s herd?” he asked.

“Of course she has. She’s also heard of unicorns and the Shu Han dragons,” Baghra said mockingly. If this woman wasn’t his mother, he would have kicked her out by now, but alas.

The Darkling took Alina out of the hut instead, wanting to have one conversation where Baghra didn’t interrupt him at every utterance that came out of his mouth. Though he was aware that she was keeping an eye on everything he was going to do.

“That woman,” he muttered to himself, running his hands all over his face. Then he ran his hands through his hair again, but this time to get the embarrassing image of him hiding behind Serephina to be safe of the rage Juris had upon finding out about the wedding.

“What?” he asked; half-embarrassed by the humor on Alina’s face.

“I’ve just never seen you so … ruffled.” She said.

“Baghra has that effect on people.”

“Was she your teacher, too?”

She was. Of course she was, she was his mother. But she wasn’t just a mother or teacher, she had been through a lot with him, suffered as bad as he had. Perhaps she was the only person alive who would bother to understand Aleksander and not the Darkling. “Yes,” he said in its place. “So what do you know about Morozova’s herd?”

Again she talked about how she had heard children’s stories. Again he told her what he wanted her to, making a passing remark about forgetting how new she was to all this. He was keenly aware of the raven-like gaze Baghra kept on both of them, but he ignored it. Again he was nice to Alina, listening to her talk by the lakeshore when the image of the bloodbath resurfaced. He turned his thoughts to less painful things like how things would have been different had Serephina been here.

After a while, he had had enough and he left. He was desperate for a glass of kvas, or even better, a glass of strong whiskey. The memories wouldn’t just stop invading his head.

So he focused on the night he thought Serephina was going to die.

It was a cold night after a snowstorm, a village in central Ravka that had once been free of the abomination of creation that most people called the Shadow Fold or the Unsea. They had stopped by the village while they were on their way to Fjerda.

 There was a pack of large wolves tormenting the villagers, and they had warned them against going out at night. But Serephina had wanted to see them, the wolves. She said something was calling out to her, and that she needed to see the wolves.

And refusing to let her go out in the danger all alone, Aleksander had accompanied her. He was scared, of course. He had always been afraid of the dark but he never showed it, but she knew. He knew that she knew. That was why she had been holding his hand, warming the both of them up to keep them through the night.

It was a little past midnight when Sere had lost hopes of seeing the wolves and they were about to head back, when a deep growl sounded somewhere to their left.

A pair of bright red glowing eyes were fixated on them dangerously. She let go of his hand and shoved him behind herself and then reckoned the alpha wolf closer. Aleksander’s male ego would have been hurt if he weren’t so scared.

The wolf was one of the biggest animals he had ever seen, standing taller and either of them. For a moment he was certain the wolf was one of the Grisha of the old stories, the shape-shifters who couldn’t turn back into their human form after being in their animal form for too long during the first Ravkan war.

Before Aleksander could think of an escape route, Serephina had moved forward, studying the animal. Its dark black fur was blacker than anything he had ever seen, but it gleamed against the white snow under the moonlit canopy. The wolf and the girl regarded each other, assessing the danger.

The wolf leaped in the air with its jaw spread open to attack Serephina faster than he could say, “Stop!” She didn’t leave her ground and raised her hands, shoving them forward with all the force. The wolf fell to the ground as if hit by an invisible wall.

And when her flint sparked up from her sleeve, the cold blue flames scared the large animal. But it got up, shook the snow off its fur and got back into the battle.

Ice, air, fire all of the three elements helped Serephina in her conquest. She even used a bit of the heart rendering powers that she had mastered and paralyzed the wolf, after some of their blood had splattered on the snow, frozen like red pearls.

She walked to the laying wolf, limp in her step from where the wolf had bitten her leg, her hidden knife in hand and stabbed the wolf right where it heart would be. And strangely, the wolf looked proud when she did it, and then raised its paw and scratched it through her chest, right where her heart would be.

Aleksander’s soul left his body in that instant.

The soft glow of moonlight that came from Serephina showed her face, bloodied and contorted in pain, as both their blood flowed freely to the ground, freezing instantly on the snow. The wolf was the first one to close its eyes, the glowing red disappearing.

She fell on the snow next, her breath escaping with a sigh.

He rushed to her side, almost blinded by the brightness of the light she radiated, and cradled her head in his arms, regretting not staying back at their little cave, not being able to convince her to stay, not being able to protect her because of his own fears.

Then her eyes opened, and her thin lips moved, muttering his name. Her eyes glowed bright red, like the wolf’s but the voice was hers, for no one else could ever speak in that musical voice that made him want to drop everything and just listen to her talk all day.

“Sere…” he softly said, tucking her black hair behind her ear.

“I’m fine,” she insisted, and then stood up. Her hair was a mess, her eyes looked tired, but they were back to their brown, and her clothes were ragged, covered in her own blood and the wolf’s, but to him she had never looked more beautiful.

“But the wolf-” he started.

“The wolf is one with me now,” She calmly explained. Her eyes changed to the bright red once again. “I am the wolf and the wolf is me.”

“Like the amplifiers,” he realized.

She smiled. “Let’s go. I’m starving.”

“I hope you don’t eat Grisha for meals now,” He joked.

“I might eat someone if he gets too annoying,” she winked at him and walked away. Aleksander was frozen in his place.

The wolf was old, she knew everything. Serephina had always had an answer to his problems. Things would have been so much better had her and their child were with him right now. He would have been so much happier and maybe they would have been done with the fold by now.

But fate always had other ideas.

[youalexturnermeon]

Chasing the Past Pt. 2 (Johnny Lawrence x Reader)

Click for Part 1 

Request by Anon: Could I please get a Johnny Lawrence imagine where he and the reader (who is daniels sister) are secretly dating. Maybe like an old flame back in the 80s and now they reconnected?

A/N: In the first part (Y/N), Daniel LaRusso’s sister,  came back to LA after five years of being away. She reconnects with Johnny and wakes up in his apartment after getting drunk at a party. In this part (Y/N) and Johnny have to face Daniel and his rage hahaha

Warnings: swearing(!!!), mentions of alcohol, angst, fluff and maybe a little bit of slight smut

Wordcount: 2473

Johnny’s face is almost doubled right in front you, but you see it as a good thing, twice as much of Johnny is great. Four bright blue eyes are much better than just two. But then there are two again. He has you close to him, his strong hands resting on your hips, slowly making their way further down to your ass and he is twirling you around. You dance. “I missed you, Johnny” you slur and cup his beautiful face, on it the dirtiest grin you have ever seen. He doesn’t answer, just squeezes your ass and suddenly kisses you. Almost too much tongue, red lipstick on his face, sloppy kisses on the neck and the jaw. You are melting under his touch.

Blurry way though the dark, you are laughing, Johnny and you still dancing together through the night. In his hand a bagged bottle, you don’t care what’s inside as you take a sip. You stop for a heated make-out session, he presses your back hardly against the wall of an apartment complex and his hands are already making their way under your sweatshirt. The bottle slips out of his hands and breaks on the ground. “God, I’ve been thinking about doing this for five years!” Johnny grunts and almost violently kisses you. “Get a fucking room!” someone shouts angrily in the distance “Get away from here, you fucking pervs!”

White sheets, clothes everywhere, naked bodies, Johnny’s hands all over you, moans. You are enjoying yourself. Johnny’s messy blonde hair.

____

“Fuck”, you said again, almost in disbelief but this time you were smiling. Out of the sudden, Johnny moved. Your heart started beating, you didn’t know if you were ready for any conversation. You didn’t even know if Johnny would regret this or not. You most certainly didn’t, you just wished to remember a little bit more of the steamy night.

“Good morning, princess”, he whispered, voice all raspy and sleepy, he yawned and stroked your hair, “Did you sleep well?”

“I feel like shit” you admitted and sat up, dragging the covers over your bare chest, which immediately stressed how your head was still heavy and spinning. You almost wished you didn’t sit up in the first place, you wanted to lay on Johnny’s chest again. But you didn’t and just stared at him. God, he was still so beautiful. You then signed over to his naked torso, “Did we…?” You still had to reassure yourself that this amazing night actually happened.

“Oh yeah” Johnny answered proudly and sat up too. You were surprised when the first thing he did was kissing you. This Johnny you didn’t know, you caught glimpses of him, but he never fully showed himself. Then he got out of bed, put on some clothes and turned to you.

“I’ll get you an Aspirin and then I will make you breakfast”

“What is it with you Johnny?” you asked, completely perplexed, “You never made me breakfast, you never cared the next morning” Johnny shrugged: “And you see what it got me, the girl who finally made me get over Ali and the fight with Daniel, who made my life a little less miserable just disappeared on me for five years without a trace. I don’t want you to disappear on me again for god knows how many years this time”

Without a trace was a lie, he still could’ve gone to Daniel LaRusso, ask him about his sister, ask for her phone number, her address. But when you went to college you made it perfectly clear that Daniel would kill him without having second thoughts for banging his sister and if he didn’t manage, you would’ve killed him yourself. And after all this time Johnny asked himself why he cared about that, why he was such a pussy and cared about what Daniel would think and do, above all. Now he didn’t anymore, he had no fucks to give about it anymore. As long as you were by his side for a little while, he could live with Daniel hating him more than he did already.

“Glad, to have been at your service, you asshole” you said rolling your eyes but still laughing.

“You’re welcome. So, are you saying we keep that going or what?”

You shrugged.

“Does that mean you are staying in Reseda?”

You shrugged again, it kind of did but you’d never know for how long. Thankfully, Johnny dropped the topic after that. Just like you, he really wasn’t the type to talk relationships. Maybe you two would’ve taken a different path when he had been the last time but that was again, ancient history.

____

The breakfast was simple, Johnny wasn’t the greatest cook, but that was okay, you weren’t either. It was more about the time you spent together. It was fun, it felt amazing being with him in his tiny kitchen, just talking about the old times and joking around. It was even fun when he flunked a spoonful of scrambled eggs directly in your face. You ate, you took a shower you scrubbed off all the remaining make-up from last and you felt a little bit better. Johnny enjoyed having you over. Normally, he didn’t let his girls stay that long, he usually made them go home very quickly, not so with you. He’d even be okay with you staying the whole day, hell, even another night or two. But as soon as you got of shower his hope vanished.

“I need to go home now” you announced shyly.

“So soon?” “Yeah, Danny is probably worried sick, I also promised him, we go out for sushi today, just us two.”

Johnny rolled his eyes and hugged you suddenly, almost a little too tightly “Don’t you want to stay?”

“To be honest, I do, but I also want to spend some time with my big brother.”

“I guess, I’ll drive you home then” “Only if you want to, I can walk or get a cab”. Fortunately, you didn’t manage to lose your handbag at the beach, so you’d have enough money.

“That is out of question. I always drive my babes!” Johnny said proudly which was a big fat lie, he didn’t always bother but with you, it was another situation.

The car ride was not as bad as you had expected, you didn’t get sick which you were afraid you would do because you still could remember well enough how fast Johnny drove. Yet, it was great to sit in his red Pontiac Firebird again, it shot your memories straight back to high school when you secretly hung out with Johnny for a couple of times. Sadly, it was over too soon. Johnny pulled up in the driveway to Daniel’s apartment building. He quickly got out of the car to open the car door for you before you could reach the handle yourself.

“Wow, I don’t know if like that new Johnny” you laughed and nudged him, “Far too nice!”

“Yeah, would you like me doing that instead?” Johnny’s eyes darkened and you remembered also seeing that look last night and out of a sudden he pinned you between the red Firebird and him, his face very close to yours.

“Do you like me being a bad guy instead?”, his lips brushed over you when he talked. And you wanted to say yes or even nod but you breath quickened; your hart started beating a faster rhythm.

“Thought so.” he whispered into your ear sending shivers down your spine on that hot summer day. He was just about to kiss you, maybe you should go back to his place after all, you thought, when you were instantly interrupted.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Lawrence!?!?!?” a scream echoed through the whole block, “Get the fuck away from her!”

Johnny promptly jumped to side but as soon as the realized who that was coming from a dirty grin appeared on his perfectly shaped lips. Daniel, face almost grey with fury, was running towards them, eyes all wild, hands clenched to fists.

“Oh fuck”, you gasped but couldn’t hold back a laugh, that was too absurd, “Maybe you should’ve dropped me off a few blocks away”

“Nah, this is going to be fun”

But you thought otherwise, this was going to be anything else bun fun. Comical, but definitely not fun.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, (Y/N)?” Daniel yelled pointing a finger at you when he finally came to a halt right in front of you.

“Nothing’s wrong with me, I’m completely fine, thanks for asking Danny”

“Don’t you fucking talk back to me like that!” “Jesus, Daniel, watch your filthy mouth, you didn’t swear that much since forever.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Daniel kept on, ignoring your sarcastic remarks, “You did not come home the whole night, I’ve got no call, nothing. I didn’t sleep, I was waiting for you, I was so fucking worried and then you finally decide to come here with him and you’re talking to me like I’m the bad guy?” Daniel pointed at Johnny without even looking at him.

“Ok, mom, calm down”

“Don’t you mom me, (Y/N). You smell like a fucking distillery; you look like shit and where the fuck are your shoes?” You looked down on your bare feet, then at Johnny who had protectively placed a hand on the small of your back and you two suddenly burst out laughing. Your drunk ass simply lost them at the beach.

“How dare you even make a sound?” Daniel shouted, this time at Johnny. It was getting embarrassing, even some neighbours were now watching how Daniel took a threatening step towards Johnny. He still was a few inches smaller than him, but he managed to compensate that with his glance. A little bit more wrath, you thought, and he would be shooting sparks out of his usually warm brown eyes.

“Damn, LaRusso, don’t wet your pants. You look like you are about to die from a heart attack” “Shut the hell up, Lawrence” Daniel growled and came even closer, so close the tips of their noses almost touched and Johnny just kept on smiling, he didn't even flinch “You think you’re so funny, huh?”

Johnny shrugged, he did.

“What the hell is my sister doing with you?”

“She just likes me a lot more than she likes you” Johnny’s grin kept getting dirtier and dirtier with every word leaving his mouth “Actually, she always liked me a lot. When I was beating your ass in high school, (Y/N) always has been hanging out with me instead of pitying you. While you were training with your weird-ass sensei, I gave her rides all the time, we were friends. When you won in ’84 she didn’t go with you to celebrate your illegal kick, she stayed behind and cared for me. Dragged me out of the parking lot and brought me into a hospital together with Bobby and Dutch. She just never told you because a delicate little flower like you would simply die from that. And when you were trimming trees, I fucked her every goddamn day until she went away”

Your eyes widened and you looked at Johnny in shock then at Daniel who needed a second to process everything that had been said. That was about it, Johnny dropped the bomb, he told Daniel everything that was kept secret from him and everything that he needed to know.

“You did fucking what?” Daniel asked through clenched teeth, his hands shaking, he was barely holding himself back and you knew, some whit was about to go down real quick.

“I fucked your sister LaRusso, five years ago and tonight and she liked it”

And you couldn’t even say anything against it, every bit of it was true. And when Daniel gave you a quick look he knew exactly. And then, very unlikely for Daniel he threw his first punch, Johnny immediately blocking it. He shoved you to the side so wouldn’t get between them. Both stood in fighting positions and then everything happened so fast. There was a lot of fists and legs and kicks and punches, too rapid for your eyes to grasp it. And you couldn’t believe it. After all these years, these to very still ready to kill each other. But you had enough, you had enough of this stupid rivalry, you had enough of them hating each other for no reason and you definitely had enough of being their recent motive for fighting.

“Stop!” you yelled, they ignored you, “Stop it! I’ve had enough of your stupid Karate bullshit! I’m sick and tired of you two always fighting. I can’t deal with being dragged into it! I fucking hate this. Why is this the first thing that happens to me after being back after five fucking years? Why you always have to be such a drama queen, Daniel? Why are you the only person you care about, huh? And you” you turned your shouting towards Johnny “why do you always have to keep the fire going why can’t you just let it be for once?”

Your screams were much louder than Daniel’s before, but the fighting enemies still ignored you.

“If one of you throws another punch, I’m gonna call the cops and you two can sort it out in a prison cell! I don't want you to kill each other just because you see me as an object that can only belong to one of you. I'm not, I like both of you. You're my brother and I love you. And I fucking love him, Daniel”

These words worked magic on Johnny who immediately let his arms sink and whilst he looked at you, worry written into his face, he received one last kick in the guts for losing his concentration. You threw yourself at Daniel and tried to hold him back from doing more damage, for a second you were afraif he was about to kill Johnny. But with you holding him, he did not dare to keep on fighting. He didn't want to hurt you. And yet he tried to free himself from you.

“Please, Danny” you cried “Please stop and let me be!”

Daniel remained silent and calmed down, you let him go. You went over to Johnny and embraced him, he hissed under your touch but couldn’t help himself than to press you closely to his chest. His face was beaten, his lip was bleeding, and a fresh cut crowned his brow.

“I’m so sorry, babe!” he whispered into your ear and kissed your cheek. He never apologized for fighting. Until now.

“No, I’m sorry!” you said and stroked back the sweaty hair from his forehead, then you turned to your brother, “You better be sorry, too”

“I am.”

“LaRusso is sorry?” Johnny wondered and spat blood on the ground, “That’s new”

“Shut up!” you shushed him

“I am sorry, (Y/N), I didn’t know you liked this jerk that much.” “To be fair, me neither” Johnny admitted “But I fucking love her, too, LaRusso, you know?” Daniel nodded, maybe for his sister’s sake he was ready to give his last enemy up.

[mariamermaid]

The witches wrath (1/3)

Tommy Shelby X fem witch reader

Summary: You meet Thomas when you were just a little girl travelling as a gypsy…

Words: 2.3k

Warnings: swearing, drinking, smoking

A/N: This doesn´t follow the plot of the show really

Halloween Masterlist

 You´ve met Thomas Shelby when you we´re eight- he was ten at the time- when his parents took him, Arthur and Baby John to the first Gypsy party ever. You stayed out of town from Birmingham with your trailers, back then you were a large group of gypsies, almost 50 people. People back then weren´t too bothered by you, not like today. Of course, from time to time there were some numbskulls who bore hatred towards the gypsies, but things were different back then.

They used to shout my name, now they whisper it.

He remembered the exact moment he saw you for the very first time like it was yesterday. He and Arthur had his first beer- he chuckled thinking back when today only whisky made him feel that way- and he sat by the fire. The cold night didn´t seem to bother any of the people, women danced in short skirts with tinkling jewelry and when his eyes glided through the crowd, he spotted you. You stood across him and he saw you through the flames- how ironic he thought. He saw you in flames for the first and for the last time…

You grinned at him devilish, waking a sense of adventures inside him like only you could do. He immediately followed you and watched you running through the rows of trailers. Then you disappeared, but he caught sight of a single candle shining from a trailer. Carefully he took the few stairs and then opened the door. A wave of heat hit him and he remembered the smoke from the build-in ovens rising above the small colony of gypsies. He remembered you sitting at the table, watching every move he made precisely, your hands softly grabbing the crystal ball, which mysteriously glowed purple.

“Do you want me to read your future?” He was unsure what to say, nervously he nodded and sat down across from you. You wore a headband with jewelry that hung over your forehead. Even back then there was smudged eye makeup that made your eyes shine in the dark.

“I see great fortune in your future, Thomas Shelby.” He opened his mouth, wanting to ask you about his name, but then kept quiet. Chills ran over his skin. “But it´ll be hard to get there, a long way is ahead of you. Don´t forget to seek your family in difficult times, they will always stand behind you supporting.”

 For a long time, you two were inseparably, constantly hanging around each other. His family, especially his brothers were first unsure about you, but they quickly learned to mess with you. Even Aida found a liking in you, since you often braided her hair.  His father loved you. He loved the wild spirit gypsies had, just like you. He loved it because when he, Tommy and you took the horses out for a run, you didn´t need a side saddle. And when the horse went faster and faster, you stretched out your arms, embracing the wind. Smelling the scent after rain had fallen. Closing your eyes and feeling sincere freedom. They admired that about you, Tommy and his father. “Get a hold of her, Tommy, ey? You gotta keep a girl like her!” He often told his son and Tommy would dutifully nod. Tommy admired your sense for adventures, he couldn´t even remember how often you had gotten him in trouble. But he remembered that every damn time, you had found a way out. Every single time. He still didn´t know how you had talked him in to stealing a horse, or when a new mayor was elected you had exchanged the pig with a dead dog. On his birthday the school was unexpectedly cancelled. You had dressed Aida´s cat in doll´s cloth when little John didn´t stop crying. You had wandered with him for two days straight to find a crystal for his mother´s birthday present. His dad had taught you how to shoot and while you were a natural, Tommy needed a lot of practice. But not once you laughed about him. Not when you came to his house and Arthur had stolen his clothes. Not when he cried because an older boy had punched him. You punched back, because you always had his back. You were partners in crime.

But then the gypsies left town and so did you. It broke his father´s heart to see his son like this. Tommy didn´t eat for days. And every night you laid awake in your bed, wondering about young Thomas Shelby. Praying that one day you could go back to him. And you did, but the circumstances weren´t as you expected them.

In a blood moon night, men had overrun the colony, they killed almost all men and they had taken the women, often raping them. You had to run away, knowing that if you looked back, there would be nothing left but ashes. And so, you returned to Birmingham. As a broken young woman with no qualification for a job. All your hope laid on Thomas Shelby…

 Your hands were shaking when your finger finally grabbed the bell to ring. It sounded off key, emptier and not how you remembered. A young boy opened the door, first tears formed in your eyes. “John.” You sighed. The young boy didn´t recognize you. “Yes?” He asked boldly. You chuckled. “Is Tommy here?” He nodded unsure and you followed him into the house. The smell of smoke laid thick in the air. You followed John to the kitchen and there sat they all. At the end of the table Tommy´s father, to his left Arthur, Thomas on his right. A young man with an angular face and piercing blue eyes. Aida sat on Arthur´s side and Polly ran around the kitchen. His father was just explaining something to him, when he realized a new person entering the room. Aida´s and Arthur´s fight also broke off and all of them suddenly stared at you. You had changed a lot over the years. You still had long hair, but it was now hidden under a scarf. Your face was denoted by a scar just above your eyes. It was also the eyes Tommy recognized. You had grown to a beautiful young woman and the minute his father saw you, his hope for Tommy to marry you, came back. But there was no smile on your red lips. “Y/n?” He asked confused. You couldn´t hide the pain behind your eyes. “Hello Thomas.” He still could read you. He knew you didn´t want them to see you cry. Immediately he jumped off his chair and a hand laid on your back while he pushed you in his room. You broke down in tears and he sat down next to you, his arms embracing you. He had missed you; it was undeniable. But over the years he had gotten used to it, used to being without you. But now you were back and he felt a missing piece coming back. “What happened?” He asked quietly. “They´re all gone.” You sobbed while inhaling his scent so deeply, hoping you would forget the horrifying pictures in your head. “We were close to the border to Scotland when more people started to riot against us. One night, men came and the killed our men and they took the women.” He pulled away, his hands grabbing your face.  A sudden wave hit his body, his stomach had this tightening feeling, that he couldn´t quite get a grip on. “Did they hurt you?” You shook your head. “I was able to flee.” He nodded and embraced you again. “I don´t know what to do. I have nothing left.” You then finally admitted after a long break of silence. “You have me.”

 He was right, he still had your back and you were endlessly thankful. Within a few months you were able to open a shop with healing herbs and medicine. And with the help of the Peaky Blinders, people more and more accepted you. You often helped rather poor workers who couldn´t afford a real doctor. And the shop filled you with hope. Hope for a new beginning.

It must have been three months after you moved to Birmingham, you just closed the shop for today. The night was already settling in, giving you cold shivers. You locked the door and packed the key away. When turning a man suddenly appeared. Surprised you recognized Tommy. “Geez Tommy! You scared me to death!” He chuckled lowly, a cigarette hanging loosely from the corner of his mouth. You could see the smoke in the soft shine of a lantern evaporating in the night sky. You smelled the bitter scent of whisky, he had been drinking. “What is it, Tom?” You asked while starting to walk. Your small flat was twenty minutes away from the shop and the walks often helped you clear your mind. And since you had moved there was one particular thing that was very often on your mind. Thomas Shelby himself. Of course, you had realized the man he had become and you admired him. He was brave, courageous and smart, sometimes bold but always reading the situations right. But not only his traits, but physical as well. His strong jawline, his bewitching blue eyes, his full lips. You both had grown up and you cursed at yourself every time your thoughts slipped. He was your best friend. “Can I walk you home?” You laughed. “I don´t know, can you?” You grinned when he hearing his drunken accent. He loved your laugh. It was one of the few things that still seemed carefree about you. You tucked your arm into his and together you walked to your flat. For more than half of the time you were silent. It drove you crazy not knowing what exactly was on his mind. Drunk Tommy was fairly new for you. He was unpredictable, especially when he had too much. But you liked his rebellious side, you found it remarkable attractive. You were only a few minutes from your home away when he finally spoke up. “Y/n?” “Hm?” You hummed in response, acting like you hadn´t waited the past minutes for him to speak up about what he wanted. “You know dad always hoped that we´d marry.” You huffed. “I know.” “Do you know I hoped so as well?” You stopped, looking up to his steel blue eyes. “What do you mean, Thomas?” And then, without a warning he leaned down and pressed his lips sloppily on yours. He wished he hadn´t been that drunk, that the first kiss wouldn´t be so messy. You pulled back, the action took you by surprise and stumbled a few steps back. He could´ve slapped himself. Good job, you fucked it up! “I´m sorry Y/n, I don´t know what has gotten into me.” You tried to calm down your breathing and after a few second you were able to look back into his eyes. “Maybe you should sleep off the whisky.” You suggested and he chuckled sadly. “You´re right.” He was hurt and for once, he couldn´t show it to you. You had pulled back, you didn´t want him. And the worst part? He was relieved! He hated when he drifted off in the middle of a meeting just because he suddenly thought about you. He hated it because he was afraid. Damn right, Thomas Shelby was afraid. Afraid to lose his best friend.

He turned to leave, but suddenly you grabbed his arm. “Maybe… Maybe you shouldn´t go back on your own. You´re not in the best condition.” You admitted and smiled at him devilishly. Oh, how he had missed that smile. And then you pressed your lips against his. First, he didn´t respond, but when finally realizing that you were actually kissing him back, his hands cupped your face and pulled you closer. He literally pulled you off your feet and carried you to your flat. (You still don´t know how he did that.) But when arriving at the front door of your house he already pushed you against the doorframe, his kisses getting more passionate and less sloppy. While his kisses even travelled down your neck you fiddled the key into the keyhole and opened the door. You walked up the stairs, there was no light in the house. Under you lived an elderly woman who went to bed early. She seemed nice but if you were honest, you didn´t talk much with her. One hand laid on the railing while the other hand pulled Tommy up behind you. He didn´t know the house like you did, but he trusted you and followed you through the dark. When you finally entered your flat and you turned on a small candle, he could finally see your face again.

“Do you know how often I had thought about kissing you?” He admitted and you watched the flame reflect in his orbs. “Why didn´t you do it?” He swallowed and pushed a strand of your hair, his finger travelling down the side of your face to your neck. “I was afraid”, he admitted. You smiled softly, grabbing his face with both of your hands. “Thomas Shelby, whatever happens, I will always be there for you, no matter what. I promise.”

 “I´ll come back, I promise.” Thomas nodded, his head leaning against yours. Tears had dried against your cheek, it didn´t help anymore. War had settled between humanity and desire for power and men were called to fight. “Tommy, we gotta go”, his father stepped to the two of you. To his right Arthur, fear and pain in his eyes. Neither of them wanted to go. “Bring him back to me, will you?” You asked and he nodded, his eyes travelling to the ground. Tommy´s hands were still grabbing your waist, but you felt the cold when he left your starving touch. A last time, he pressed his lips on yours. “I love you, Y/N.” A sob escaped your lips again. “And I love you, Thomas Shelby and if you don´t come back, I´ll come and get you myself.”

[herald-divine-hell]

19. forehead kisses for Amayian and Leli

Thank you for the ask.

19. forehead kisses

Leliana did not speak as she slipped herself into Amayian's lap, and neither did he as he wrapped a strong arm around her waist, the other scribbling down a report. Darkness cloaked the world in a deep grayish-blue, moonlight streaming through windows in thin slivers from a sickle moon, starlight burnishing gray stone in drips of silver. The fire dimmed low, only a few trickles of flame licking over charred-black wood cracked with spills of embers, filling what little it could reach of the bedchambers with frail gold and orange. The cold of the mountains seeped through the stones, in brittle and hungry fingers, with the growing darkness of night. Leliana was only in his shirt, her armor laying neatly on a wardrobe for her to garb again when the dawn came and the Nightingale woke. But in the night, Leliana could walk free, without the worry of the Inquisition or Corypheus, when all that mattered was Amayian and her, with their soft whispering promises and wandering, longing hands, and their hearts laid bare for only them to see and gaze upon, a trust that neither one ever would give in easily. Yet for one another, they did. Together, we did, despite all odds.

That brought a smile to Leliana's lips.

But a heavy shiver came as a great wind pummeled against the stones of the tower and the windows, shivering through with an insatiable hunger. And with it, they cut though the thin tunic, riddling goosebumps up her arms and across her back. Without realizing, she snuggled deeper into Amayian, the heat wafting off him thick and strong. "You should be sleeping," mumbled Leliana, a hand stroking the thick scar that came from his right shoulder, across his chest and stomach, to his left hip. The one he bore for his first failed attempt of fleeing the Circle all those years ago. It always reminded her of the three scars he bore on his back, ones he gained from saving her life during the Blight, when he was little more than just a child. Her heart ached at the sudden memory, and she pushed it down with a hard cut. No. The past was the past. She could not change it if she wanted to. But he was alive, safe, and that was more than she ever expected in truth; more than she could ever asked.

And yet, thought Leliana, with her lips thinning in irritation, he is not sleeping, the big mountain of an oaf. Her fingers scrapped through the thick coarse chest hair, like a forest of black slashed with a running river by his scar. An oaf who works himself near to death. How it was to be that she would be the one lecturing him over sleep, she did not know - Leliana was not known for her adequate rest, one which often incurred the wrath of Lady Montiilyet. But he needed his rest too...and since certain nightly activities have began, Leliana at least got a few more hours than just two or three. Now I must get him into bed, with those means or others. The task was daunting in itself. Amayian could be as stubborn as a mule, and with his great size, it was more likely she would push the mountains before he would budge.

"I will sleep soon," he mumbled, keen silver eyes never turning away from the report he worked at. But Leliana knew he was fully aware, and perhaps more drawn, to her presence than the parchment. Soft scribbles echoed, near drowned out by the wailing of the wind. "Just this last one."

"No." She caught the parchment at its corner and drew it away, settling it to the unfinished side of his desk. Leliana could feel the full weight of his stare, with the frostiness of the winter. But beneath it, amusement flickered she knew, an emotion he still did not quite have a grasp at. Emotions never came easily with Amayian, and she did not quite mind that. It was endearing for her to watch as certain whispers she uttered held meanings well-beyond their courteous tones descended upon him. It always brought such a sweet blush to his cheeks. "You will rest, Amayian Trevelyan, and that is final." Her arms crossed over her chest as she glared at him, with that unreadable, chilled gaze meeting hers, only melting a little.

For a moment, she saw a smile flicker at the corners of his full, scarred lips. And when it dawned upon him that Leliana would not relent - he should had known that by now; she could be more stubborn than he could ever mustered, truth be told - he chuckled, and Maker was it a song in her ears. Little moments such as those - a smile, a faint laugh, and blush - were like treats for her to find, and ones only she could do. It made the warmth of her heart flourish stronger every time, fondness filling her spirits so much so that it was hard to remain glaring at him. Through all the ice and steel enveloped around him, like a misty armor, he was a softie - hers softie.

It came suddenly when lips brushed over her forehead, lingering firmly there for a moment or two. The scent of sweetly burning wood filled her scenes, and her hands rose to rest upon his chest, gently gripping at the thick chest hair; the iron in her blood from before rending into a melted pool. "Very well," he murmured against her skin, only drawing back a hair-length from her skin, before with returning with a lighter kiss. "Will my lady join me in bed?"

A giggle tore through her before she could stop it, only a little tired from the late hour. Arms wrapping around his thick waist, blushing a touch as she felt those wide, strong, scarred hands gently brush beneath the undersides of her thighs - so faint and light that it sent shivers through her body, both of love and...something else - Leliana spoke. "Yes, I will, my Lord Inquisitor."

Catching a glimmer of a smile, a flash of loving pale golden fire in those meadows of silver snow of his eyes, he lifted her up easily, with no strain on his part and a soft gasp on hers. She was always amazed by his strength, even if she was reminded often of it. Another kiss was laid to her forehead as he trod around his desk, before laying one on her lips, so soft it could only be considered a fleeting brush. Abashingly, a whine tore through her lips at the light stroke, and she dragged his lips back down to hers. And he allowed himself to be tangled in their dance, her leading and him following.

When they pulled away, the light of the moons and stars were in his eyes, and the sweet glimmer of sunlight hidden beneath the icy surface; a gleam of sunlight from a dawn only she wrought. And the warmth inside her grows, as she uttered the words, "I love you."

-

Ask more Kisses Prompts here

[dragon-fics]

DOS: (The Dragon Prince UA*) Raining Love (Female Dragon-Shifter X Female Moonshadow elf/Reader)

Chapter summary: You're a Moonshadow elf who was out training during the rainiest autumn Xadia has ever had. After suffering a nasty slip, you meet your savior.

~Requested~

*UA = Universe Alteration

I'm back my dragonlings! I have a writing-filled summer ahead! Here's the first request to start us off!

Happy Pride y'all🏳️‍🌈!

Btw if you're interested, I have a TDP fanfic with the same UA as this. And I absolutely didn't give my OC a mention in this (I saw an opportunity and I took it! lmao). It's called His Apprentice and I'll be finishing it soon and starting its sequel; please check it out! <3

(I've been playing and reading too much Dragon Age and so the slang "knife-ears" had to make an entrance in here :3)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

T/O/W = Type of Weapon (bowblade, sword, daggers etc.)

The mossy tree branches squelched beneath my navy boots as I ricocheted from giant tree to giant tree, wielding my (T/O/W). I sliced it through thin air, imagining humans facing my wrath as I hopped from one wet tree to another.

Gripping the damp bark of the nearest tree, I slid to a halt, standing on a broad branch. I placed my weapon(s) away and looked up at the sky. Beyond the dark green canopy, I could see dark rain clouds looming closer to me and the Silvergrove, ready to spill thousands and thousand of raindrops down onto us—again.

That was all this week had been; rain, rain and what’s this? More rain.

I sighed irritably and turned around, back towards the hidden Moonshadow elf village. I leaped my way quickly to the village, bounding through the trees with ease; until the rain poured.

My boots, the moss and the bark got wetter and slippier, causing me to lose balance a few times, but I quickly made up for it. Until I reached a huge star plum tree—the tree with the smoothest bark in all of Xadia.

To avoid a fall, I grabbed a branch on the plum tree and swung onto another tree. As I landed, my boots slid and my feet went from under me.

The impact when my back hit the branch winded me, and before I could bury a dagger from my belt into the tree, I slipped off the branch, plummeting to the ground. I screamed, my limbs flailing. I had no way to avoid falling to my death, no way to survive.

Several branches smacked me in the face, scratching my skin. One branch even had the audacity to hit my forehead... and then it went black.

*-*-*-*

The first thing I heard when I came to was the pitter-pattering of rain against wood and metal. The sound almost tempted me to keep my eyes closed and drift off again. But then a dull throbbing arose, and my head ached. I peeled open my eyes as it all came back to me; my training routine, the slick moss, the pouring rain, the fall…

The fall!

I bolted upright in what appeared to be a bed. An unfamiliar bed at that, covered in a patched quilt. The small house was lit with small flaming torches every metre or so. The quiet crackling of logs burning came from the opposite corner of the room, along with the bubbling sound of something boiling on a stove. My eyes slowly adjusted, realising that someone was at the stove.

“Relax, Knife-ears,” came a disinterested voice from where the bubbling was coming from. She continued stirring what was in the pot. “You’re alright; a mild concussion. But the storm’s getting worse so don’t even think about running off.”

She was a little taller than I was, with large white scaly wings and a narrow trail behind her. She was built strong and slim. Her scales shimmered against the torch lighting. A long white braid fell down her back, almost touching her tail where it joined her back, and two sets of narrow, smooth, elegantly curved horns protruded through her skull. A mix of teals and greens clung to her body as a tight, figure hugging set of leggings and wrapped top. Pale skin peeked through where the clothing didn’t meet around her lower back. She was a dragon-shifter for sure—like that strange dragon-shifter halfling that used to live in the Silvergrove with Rayla and her guardians. What was her name? Daisy? Violet? No, it was...

Heather! That was the halfling. Such a strange little being. Looking back now, I kind of felt bad for the way I ignored her; I was such an idiot, but fitting in was so important as kids. That was why no one was friends with her and no one would dare lose out on popularity by being friends with her.

I shook myself out of my thoughts; now wasn’t time for the guilty reflections I had in the middle of the night, now was the time to get to know this sparkly dragon-shifter. I opened my mouth to speak before realising I had no idea how to start.

“Um, hi?” I started. “I’m—”

“I don’t care who you are, Knife-ears,” she said, not looking up from her meal. She sighed and continued stirring.

I huffed. “I’m (Y/N),” I pushed on. Who are you?”

“The magic fairy who lives in this magical forest,” she sighed.

I grumbled. “So why did you rescue me, o magical fairy?”

She sighed again. I really wanted to slam my palm up her nose. “Don’t call me that. If you must call me anything, I am Zaithi. Zay for short.” She paused as she lifted her pot off the stove, stirred it one more time, and poured some into a small bowl. “And I didn’t rescue you. You got caught in one of the branches above my home. An elf lying unconscious above my home is sure to scare off well-paying customers.”

I wasn’t sure if that was a joke or not—nothing in this room looked like something people would come in to purchase something.

“So,” she continued, “I brought you inside and treated your head injury. You’re welcome.”

At this rate, I wasn’t too sure if everything she said was a joke. “Um, thanks, by the way.”

Zay hummed dismissively and came over with the small bowl of whatever she’d been cooking. Seeing her face made my heart pause beating for a second. She was exquisite with a slender face—not as slender as an elf’s—and round, icy blue cat-like eyes. I also noticed that at the front her top spiked upward, baring her toned stomach at me. “Here, this will fight off any cold you’ll pick up.”

I took the small wooden bowl from her in both hands. “What is it?” I asked, curiously. I smelled delicious. I took a sip. The liquid was thick and clear, with a few floating chunks in it that were soft and barely needed to be chewed.

“Phoenix-guts-and-toad-brain soup,” she said with a grin.

I spat out the soup, surprised and disgusted.

Zay laughed wildly, wiping away a tear from her eye. “Oh, Knife-ears, you’re too gullible.” She snorted. “I’m joking; it’s elfroot-and-bogey-berries soup with some homegrown veggies.”

I looked from her to the soup. “From now on I’m going to presume everything you say is a joke,” I said, taking a sip of the soup.

She chuckled. “You wouldn’t be the first.” She pulled out a chair from the square table between the stove and the fireplace and sat backwards in it, facing me.

“So, why did you actually help me?” I asked, pulling the quilt back up around me, wrapping it around my shoulders.

Zay shrugged. “Guess I had the skills to prevent you from getting ill so I figured I might as well use them.”

I cocked a brow at her, pushing her for more.

She sighed—again. “My parents insisted I be a healer—like my mother was so she could help in the war before I was born. Though really, I want to be a soldier—like my father, though he didn’t have much of a choice in being one.” She looked aside to where my (W/O/C) lay on the floor with my belt of knives.

I glanced at them as well, and she rested her head on her crossed arms. I felt sorry for her, forced to be something she’s not. “I could teach you,” I blurted.

Zay lifted her head ever so slightly, as if she wouldn’t dare get her hopes up too high. She nodded a little. “Sure, if you want.”

*-*-*-*

“No warrior stops because of a little rain!” I scowled as Zay headed for the door. Dark spots of sweat coloured her top and the back of her leggings after our hours of training.

She sighed, gripping her wooden sword. “I am not getting caught in a thunderstorm, (Y/N)!” she shouted, determined to stay as dry as possible. “Go home before you get struck by lightning, Knife-ears.”

I crossed my arms grumpily and grabbed my bag. I was tempted to go home and stay dry, but... staying dry with Zay…

My heart skipped, and butterflies fluttered in my stomach at the thought. “Wait!” I called as she closed the door. I bolted towards it and she opened it just in time. I crashed into her, my face on her chest. She closed the door behind me, smirking.

“What a delightful picture I’m looking at,” she quipped—I think. She wrapped her muscular arm around me and I stayed still, heat rising to my cheeks and my heart racing faster—I really liked this.

I gave her an awkward smile. I had been so honest with her these past few weeks; she knew I wasn’t interested in male elves. And I was sure she knew what I was feeling.

“Everything alright, Knife-ears?”

I hesitated, slowing my heart and softening my expression. “Yeah, just glad to be dry.”

“For now,” she smirked, taking my lips.

[jadedjo]

Her Last Command

Welcome to my word vomit of D&D Star Wars. Today’s episode we find our heroes beneath the Warlord Thrawn’s strong hold…

The putrid mists roiled around my feet as we trekked through the bowels of the fortress. It ebbed and flowed like the tides, swirling with the subtle shifts of air by our passage.

Starkiller seemed not to mind the foul smell caused by the muck and marsh beneath Thrawn’s stronghold. I envied him as I tried not retch, which would require me to inhale even more deeply. The Mystic Knight must have cast some spell to clear the air or some other enchantment to ward off nausea. It only made me hate him more.

My vow to kill the man who had destroyed my life hung between us, but for my request in his aid to help break free the only father I’d ever known, my knife would be in his back, just beneath the steel plate that protected the back of his neck.

He knew of my vow. I had stupidly told him of my oath to kill him and yet he had ventured out on little more than my request for his aid.

The blackness of the cave matched the blackness of my mood at being stuck in a problem of my own making. For it was true that Lucas Starkiller was the only soul who could help me free Talon Karrde and thus he would earn my undying respect if we succeeded, but on the other hand, I had my honor and my oath and in a world that respected little, that had been something I could always rely on.

My mind continued to churn on the problem while the mists around my feet thickened and puddles, numerous and foul, threatened to trip me. I also tried no to think about what the muck was doing to my leather boots or if could remove the stink from my buckskins.  When my foot splashed down into a particularly deep puddle, I must have made some sound of frustration, or more like disgust, that Starkiller stopped and turned back to study me, raising his glowing green sword to better see my features. The Sword of Light’s enchanted bright green glow was the only thing lighting our way as any torch we may try and light could set fire to the fumes of the fortress’ sewers.

“Are you alright?” he asked in his kind voice. A voice that belied his power and made one believe he was simply a man and not the most powerful Mystic alive. The green glow cast harsh shadows on his face, with its strong jaw and dimpled chin. The bright blue eyes looked more like my own forest green than that of the sea.

“I’m fine,” I growled, not wanting him to know I was admiring his profile nor that I had been stewing instead of paying attention to my surroundings. So unlike me.

He lowered the sword and stepped closer. “We’ll get Karrde out,” he said with honest earnestness. “He could have turned me over to Warlord Thrawn when I was in Karrde’s custody. And for that alone, I owe him.”

“Yes, I know,” I groused. “You said as much.”

“But I just want it to be clear that is not the reason I’m here helping a woman who has sworn to kill me.”

Standing only a step from me, I had to raise my head slightly to meet his eyes, “So why are you here?” I asked. Was it my imagination or could I feel the heat of his body so near to mine in his cold and dank place?

The hand not holding the sword twitched, as if he had wanted to raise it, perhaps give my arm a comforting squeeze, but thought better of it and said, “Because you asked for my help. Someone who you wish to see dead by your own hand, yet you came to me to seek my help.” Starkiller held my gaze. I was mesmerized. But when I did not speak further, he turned and we resumed our trek.

The look had held understanding and acceptance. Why did he have to do that? Why did he have to keep making it harder and harder to fulfill my Master’s last command? How I longed to pull and string my bow, notch an arrow and let it pierce Lucas Starkiller’s heart thus ridding me of what now felt like a burden and not a promise. I didn’t want his understanding! I didn’t want his acceptance!

When Talon was safe and they were far from Thrawn’s wrath, then I would kill him. But I didn’t swear an oath on it and continued to follow the Mystic Knight further in to the darkness.

~~~

The Forrest of Winland was dark and quiet. Only a few night creatures and insects broke the stillness. Perhaps sensing that I and my companions had set out to rid its depths of the Dark Mage Jor’us, we encountered no predators and were not pestered by flora or fauna.

But to me the night was anything but peaceful. My mind whirled with the knowledge that everything I’d ever been told about myself was a lie. But did I believe the lie or the “truth” I had been presented with? A truth that benefited Starkiller more than it benefited me. The only problem: I believed him. I believed the truth that he was not the man who ruined my life but the man who had actually set me free.

A twig snapped and I heard Lucas approach.

“You should stay closer to the fire,” he said as he came to stand in front of me. “We don’t know what lies in wait beyond its glow.”

“I do not fear these woods,” I said. Unlike the dark depths of Myrcan Wood, which held monsters. But here, there was only one monster.

“Promise me,” I implored him abruptly. “You won’t let Jor’us take me. Twist me into some dark mage.”

“He can’t. Not against your will.”

“Swear it!” I hissed, grabbing his face in my hands. I knew more about dark Mages then he did. Only an oath would keep him at his word. “Even if it means my death. Swear you won’t let him take me. Let him make me lose my honor.”

The gaze he gave me seemed to penetrate to my very soul, but I did not flinch, did not back down.

“Your honor is your own. No one can take it from you.”

“I don’t need sentiment right now. Just your oath.”

Bringing his own hands up to cradle my head, finally he said, “I so swear that I will not let Jor’us corrupt you.”

It wasn’t the same, but it would be enough. He had sworn and he would fulfill his oath or die trying.

“Thank you.” It was not lost on me that neither of us had removed our hands and that his thumb was gently caressing my cheek. Tomorrow we may both die at the Mad Mage’s hands but tonight there was just us.

“Maritha,” Lucas said, a verbal caress that raised the hairs on my skin in anticipation.

“Yes,” I breathed out. “Yes.”

“Mara.”

I was in his arms in a heartbeat. Only his black woolen tunic and my buckskins stood in our way.

“Maritha,” he said between kisses, until I pushed him back up against a tree, my tongue darting into his mouth. Is this what sunshine tasted like?

“Hey, Mara!” I nearly jumped as a hand fell on my shoulder and Luke’s voice said my name loudly next to my ear.

“Are you ok? You were so engrossed in that pad you didn’t even hear me come in,” Luke said in a concerned voice.

“I’m fine, just fine,” I said, switching off the pad, not letting my embarrassment at not only being inattentive of my surroundings, but also reading my secret guilty pleasure, leak across the bond. Most trash romance novels had little to no character development, and even less plot, but despite tried and tired tropes, I was engrossed. “Just reading a book Mirax lent me.”

Had insisted I read, more like it. Mirax had sent over the file with an excited message that I stop what I was doing and read HER LAST COMMAND “RIGHT NOW.” If the cover was anything to go by, it had looked like a stereotypical romance novel. A well-muscled blond man with his shirt mostly off, a metal-bladed sword in one hand, and his other arm wrapped around a flame-haired woman in leathers with her bosom pressed against his bare chest. I was three chapters in before I even realized I was supposed to be working on the Jedi Temple’s expense reports.

“Must be some book if you lost track of time,” Luke said but thankfully let it go. “We’re due at the Temple soon.”

“I’m ready,” I said as I grabbed my bag and slipped the pad inside. To be continued, I thought in anticipation, following my own “Mystic Knight” out the door.

[vikingsagine]

A Shield-Maiden’s Wrath - Bjorn x Reader - Part Two

Summary - After finding out Bjorn has cheated on you, the night that all the Ragnarsson’s were nervous about finally arrives. Time for your sweet revenge....

Warnings: SWEARING! ANGRY AND PREGNANT WIFE!! VIOLENCE! REVENGEEEE is a  bitch. Or is that Karma? Either way, it’s a bitch.

I did enjoy writing this, it was fun. Part One and Part Three if you want to read it. This is basically just something fluffy in a weird way. Hopefully, satisfying and justifying to the ex wives of Bjorn Ironside and just some brotherly love.

BONUS REACTIONS AT THE END!!

@soleil-dor​ @abonelessgod​ @sadbutatleastsassy​ @youbloodymadgenius​ @ivarthebloodyking​

Hvitserk is nervous. They were all nervous. 

He scanned the herd of people, tearing away at the piece of chicken in hopes to ease the rush of anxiety. If Bjorn knew he flapped his gums, breaking the promise he made, Hvitserk was sure his oldest brother would not be afraid to ‘settle’ things. Then of course, he could already imagine that you would stick up, biting into Bjorn to argue it wasn’t Hvitserk’s fault. Which would cause more strife, barking back from one another and ultimately, he would be to blame. 

Ubbe is more cautious.

He kept his light blue orbs from flickering between the oak wooden doors then to Bjorn, sitting innocently. Unaware of his targeted predicament. All four of them swore not to warn Bjorn of your knowledge because a, they would all remain out of their soon to be hurricane of a temper and b, none wanted to face yours or Bjorn’s wrath. Instead, Ubbe stood closely next to his older brother, not even thinking about drinking or eating. Too agitated and paranoid. 

“What is wrong brother?” Bjorn broke his chain of thoughts and caught him off guard. Quickly recovering from his momentary surprise, Ubbe forced a crooked smile to his lips. More so reassuring himself that everything is going to be fine. “You seem tense, relax. Drink. Eat.” 

“I’m not hungry.” Too quickly he answered, too fast. Bjorn stared at him skeptical as to why he seemed so stiff. Watching out for something. Then it dawned upon him.

“Oh I see.” This caused red flags to go off in his mind, the gears going crazy. Zooming and whirling. “You are looking for someone, aren’t you?” Ubbe clenched his jaw and squeezed the cup in hand. Clenched it so hard, he could feel it dent under the pressure. “That blonde girl, Margrethe. It is alright, I won’t tell your Mother.” He instantly relaxed in his seat and let out a skittish chuckle, quickly turning to the cup of mead for calm. 

“You could say that.”

Sigurd decided to remain ignorant. 

Instead indulged himself in his people, strumming away at the strings of his ute and filled the air of a joyous melody. He laughed and sang, finding pleasure in the company of friends and strangers. All seemingly serene, almost perfect. Yet, he could not ignore the arc of his stomach. Almost sickly as if he ate something bad or drank too much. Nauseous and sick. He knew deep down, even with hopes of peaceful tranquility for the rest of the night, it will soon be thrown to the air. Destroyed and burned. So, Sigurd kept dancing, grasping the last few moments of this bliss. 

Ivar is on edge.

He is not afraid, looking forward to the oncoming festivities that night. He could recall your last controversy. Bjorn verbally abused you over your pregnant state and how you shouldn’t be fighting or using a weapon however, your free-spirited morals did not take it so well. One thing led to another, things were thrown around by your hand. His brother’s voice boomed so loud, he was sure other town’s could hear. Which led to Bjorn’s departure and eventually, Ivar found him screwing one of the servants. Beautiful but rather, daft. Anyone stupid enough to even consider having sex with his older brother; a married man and soon-to-be Father, has a death wish. 

“Brother, are you sure-” 

“Ubbe, stop.” Bjorn cut him off, pressing the woman close to his side. He knew it was very dangerous to be playing around with the chance of his wife walking into those very doors. Of course he knew it would cause his possible death but something about the thought was exciting. “It is far too late, Y/N will not come. Hmm?” The great warrior leaned over his knees and nudged his little brother. 

“Sure.” Ubbe pressed his lips together and stood up. He knew he should’ve said something, hinted at least a little, warned Bjorn or even motioned that you knew. But there was the side that secretly wanted this, curse it be. 

My brother, I hope you are prepared, the Gods will not be on your side tonight nor will I. By the Gods, you brought this upon yourself.

~~~

Two shields of wood smashed wide, slamming against the walls and shook the hall like thunder had struck. Young men and women alike froze in their happy state and awed with wide, scared spectacles. Like a nightmare come to life, they stared. 

You stood, a raging and fuming beast. In all the glory of your shield and sword and arrows and bow. So dangerously true. Coated in leather wrapped around breasts and a bulging stomach; never a pregnant woman seen so chilling. To cause dread. Your eyes glowed vibrantly, black ink surrounded the skin and smeared the corners of your eyes. Paint ready for war. Hair is so beautiful, thick and heavy. Twisted in mending lace. A true shield-maiden ready to demolish their enemy. 

The hall in complete silence. 

You pulled an arrow back and pointed the tip of it towards your target, your prey, your next victim. Another face to tear into. 

“You.” Like a deep rumble of thunder, the sound of your voice bounced from the walls, calm and steady. But there were those that could hear the hot rage, pure and unfortunately real. “And you.” With a darting eye, you glared and aimed the weapon towards the slave girl who was pushed aside and shaking in fear. 

One, two, three steps. 

Bjorn did not budge, holding your gaze with as much passion. His pride and ego and name too much to set aside for the benefit of his wife. Instead he sat and analysed every move of your body, predator eyeing predator. Everyone else disappeared. He could do the obvious and apologize for his doings, beg for forgiveness, admit his wrong and fight for your favor. But, where would be the fun in that? 

“My love I have been waiting for you.” Bjorn smirked and poured a cup of mead to hand it over. “Drink.” The cup was knocked out of his grasp as you shot the first winged spear.

 ‘How dare he.’ You thought. Just the sight of your beloved husband made every cell in your body boil. And then to see the whore he so desperately fucked because of his lack of fulfillment, for his own pleasure. The next arrow landed right next to his head, almost slicing his pale flesh. 

“I see you found out.” Bjorn gripped the arrow planted, threw it to the ground and huffed. “So who told you? Ubbe? Sigurd? Hvitserk? Ivar?” He motioned towards his brother’s; who were now out of the way just like the rest of the people. They all backed up, leaning against the walls to be out of both of your range. Ivar sat in the perfect position, out of the way yet close enough to adore the sight. 

“Do not bring them into this.” You hissed and watched as he took slow steps down the few rows of stairs. “This is your fault. You. Bjorn Ironside. My loyal husband.” Words like venom, another arrow whirled through the air and stopped him in his tracks. 

“Please, we can talk about this.” Another arrow.

“Calm down.” Another.

“You have to understand that-” Arrow.

Bjorn lost all patience now, growling out of annoyance and bored into your being. Pregnant. Strong. And very, furious. Without warning you drew your sword out and dove it straight for his head, in hopes to decapitate that handsomely deviled face. “You cheated on me!” Another swing. “You filthy pig.” Stab. “You animal.” Following him up the steps, you kicked the table to knock him over. 

“I love you.” Bjorn muttered and ducked, dodging the oncoming fly of cutlery and food. Desperately searching for a shield. 

“You love me? You love me so much that you shove your cock into the cunt of a fucking whore!” Finally reaching his axe, he met your sword that buzzed with your fire. He could feel the emotion burn into his body but still, he did not fear it. Instead intrigued, guiltily enjoying your passionate emotion. “You shame me and you humiliate me and you betray me.” You kicked him over, knocking him on his ass and managed to scratch the surface of his chest. 

“I wanted sex and every time I tried, you were in pain.” This added more fuel to the fire, sparking up that heat that burned at your core. You were sure your child also fueled that pit of flames, angry at their Father. 

“Because I am pregnant.” He rolled over to his side and jumped to his feet, re-directing each one of your desperate attacks. “With your child. Tell me, did you fuck that slut before you fucked me?” There were so many questions that filled your head. So many emotions that stung your heart. “You aren’t a great warrior, not a man. You’re just a fat piece of meat thinking with the blunt tool dangling between his legs.” You grabbed a fistful of Bjorn’s hair, wrapping his braids around your hand like shackles trapped to you. Then dragged him and shoved his head against the pillar. “How many times did you screw that bitch?”

“Nine, maybe ten times, give or take.” He gave you a cheeky smirk, playing with your emotion. You heaved him back and smashed his head onto the floor. “It wasn’t my fault.”

“Not your fault! Think so much with your dick that you just fell in her loose lips.” With a fury you growled and punched him in the jaw, followed by a barrage of slaps and claws. “Couldn’t even wait for three months and deceive your own lover! Couldn’t control yourself longer than two minutes! And then you lie to me! All those late nights, you left me alone, cold, miserable while you get your fill!” You grabbed the ruffs of his head and slammed it against the ground. “Then you force your brothers to lie to me. Hide like a rat, a slimy sloppy snake. Drag them into this because you wanted sex!” All you could see is red, nothing else. You. Him. And red. “And humiliate me, making me look like a fool! I defended you, stood up for you, made excuses for your bullshit. And this is how you repay me?!” Bjorn caught your hands and gripped them so hard you thought they would bruise. 

“Now you know how I felt when you let that merchant’s son bury his tiny little cock in what is mine.” With one swift move, he flipped you over and drove his hips into you. It only pushed you that much further and you spat in his face. 

“I do not belong to you, I only belong to myself!” You wrapped your legs around his waist and drove him into you then snapped your elbow up, striking his face. “We weren’t married then either! I hardly knew you!” 

“Even still, you knew I wanted you. You fucking knew it!” With your form now on top, you tried to dig your nails into his eyes and gouge those pretty blue orbs out. The ones you love so much. So piercing and so hard to read. But now, clear as day. “And I know you saw me!” For a split second you were surprised, wavering you from your confident outburst. Bingo! Just like that Bjorn trapped you under his form, holding both your wrists in place. 

“That was five fucking years ago you piece of shit.” You growled, struggling against his hold. “Bringing things up like a bitch. I always knew you were a bitch, a weak, weak man.” You cooed, slithering your knee between his and dug it up. Bjorn groaned and rolled off of your body before collapsing. It would have been sweet that he still took note of your pregnant belly but, considering the situation you didn’t give a fuck. “Besides, he fucked me in ways you couldn’t. He pleasured me better than a weak man like you ever could.” You couldn’t help but smirk, a smugness filled your bones. 

Bjorn jumped to his feet, dragging the axe along with him and met your stance. Ready to unleash your storm of resentment. The clear primal glare behind his piercing orbs sent shivers down your body, now clearly ready to settle things. 

“You want me back Ironside, you better fight for it.” \

You tossed your weapon from left to right hand.

 “Earn me.”

~~~

“What do you think is going on in there?” Hvitserk broke the tension, drawing his knees to his chest and pushed himself into a more comfortable position. 

“Maybe they’re finished.” Sigurd shrugged, pulling at the stings of his ute while his brows furrowed. They all looked at each other, hopeful until they heard a loud cluttering sound followed by a loud groan of their older brother, cue a sigh. “Never mind.”

“Maybe we should-” 

“Don’t.” Ubbe cut Hvitserk off, knowing fully well where he was going. He did not want to lose a limb or an eye by stepping back into the hall, now a battlefield. Another crash sounded from behind them and he shivered, feeling pity for his older brother. Bjorn in an unfortunate predicament of not being able to fight back like he usually did because of their child, which made Y/N even more dangerous. A force to be reckoned with. “By all means go back in there and you try to break them apart but, I will not come to your aid.”

“Why did you have to drag me out of there? I was enjoying myself.” Ivar frowned a little, remembering how Ubbe and Hvitserk practically hauled him out. 

“I’m sure you were.” Ubbe spoke and folded his arms over his chest. “But I am not losing another brother tonight.”

“Don’t be absurd, Y/N wouldn’t have hurt me.” Ivar argued back.

“You would have hurt yourself. Wouldn’t be able to crawl away fast enough.” The crippled glared at Sigurd, who was now smirking. But, he did not get angry this time and just rolled his eyes, over his shit. “I think I won the bet.”

“No way, I said she would attack during the feast first. All of you owe me.” Hvitserk intervened, not really caring about the sack of silver or gold. But instead the glory of beating his brother’s at least once. For the one that started the bets most of the time, he didn’t seem to win a lot. 

“Everyone knew that, even the town’s people.” Sigurd intercepted and made Hvitserk huff. They all snapped towards the wooden door as they shook slightly, followed by the sound of your shouts and the sound of Bjorn’s voice, filled with as much passion. 

“I predicted all of it.” Ivar seethed, halting their bickering. “I said all of that, so I win.” 

“No, you also bet that they were going to end up fucking. That does not sound like pleasure.” Sigurd quickly corrected, pointing to the hall. “I should get all of your money.” 

“No.” Hvitserk denied.

“Yes, I claimed she was going to arrive in battle armor. Not anyone could have predicted that.” 

“Yes but, I bet what all three of you said. It’s me.” Ivar hissed.

“I’m older than both of you, the money is mine.” Hvitserk attempted to pull all of the bags of coins but Sigurd and Ivar were on him, pulling and thrashing. Ubbe rolled his eyes and clearly was over their bullshit, always the one fixing things. But this time, he did so differently.

“Be quiet. Shut up. Stop!” The four boys all froze and listened intently to a soft sound whispering amongst the wind. Coming from inside the hall, less violent or brash. Then their faces fell,  knowing what the hell was happening and sunk on their asses.

“See, I win.” Ivar hummed in victory, snatching each one of their filled pouches of gold and silver. For once, thankful to both yours and Bjorn’s endless cycle. Tiresome and annoying but at least, consistent and committed. 

“Where do you think that thrall went?” Sigurd raised his eyes in curiosity, the only one seemingly interested. Hvitserk shrugged and Ubbe just stared at the sky.

“Do you have to ask stupid questions?” 

“She probably ran away.” Ubbe concluded lazily. “I don’t blame her, I would too.”

~ PROMISED BONUS ~

“I should tell him but, he doesn’t deserve it.”

“If Bjorn finds out I told her, I’m so dead. I’m too young to die. I’m still a virgin. I don’t wanna die a virgin. Why? WHY? Maybe she won’t come, maybe she’ll just forget about. MAYBE SHE - oh nvm.”

“I’m just gonna pretend I know nothing. Ignore my problems. Yeh, this is better. ”

“Oh yeah, he’s screwed.”

“oh.......fuck. I’m too sober for this shit”

[imfeelingprettylow]

So what if, instead of Adam telling Satan off, God shows up? Humor me for a second I probably am going to suck at this

The ground shook and Adam stood facing this massive beast, who was supposed to be his father. But he wasn't because

"Dads don't just show up after 11 years." As he had said. And it was looking like this very scary thing was going to pass. But Satan wasn't budging.

"So my son abandons me. And all that stand between me and the world is a couple of children, a former hellhound, a witch, two witchfinders, a whore, and two rebellious lovers. Seems God has chosen her champions. A pity. " as he was speaking he transformed, his massive self becoming smaller as he turned from horrifying into a vague humanoid shape. A pair of massive wings, much bigger than any angels, sprouted from human shoulders, and with a blink of the eye, a tall man stood before the lot. He was hard to focus on; immensely beautiful and terrifying to behold, with red eyes. Horrifying blood red eyes.

"So. I'm here. Standing before my son asking him to help me end this war once and for all. But where is your god? She sends you lot, with the hopes of what? You cannot save the world. She has abandoned you as she abandoned me." Satan's voice is heavenly and horrifying, a mixture of growling and celestial harmonies that has the hairs on Crowleys neck stand up. There is a flash of light and suddenly Gabriel is standing behind the group. Why God chose him to speak for her he will never know. He is absolutely terrified, as he walks forward to stand beside Adam

"The lord has spoken to me." Gabriel says, visibly shaking. There is a beat is silence. Satan raises one delicate eyebrow

"And?" He asks. Gabriel swallows the pump in his throat.

"She says to go back to the hole from whence you came." Even crowley, in his fit of terror had to smirk at that. Satan chuckles, his smile agonizing to behold

"And why does she not come to tell me herself? Ah, I know" Satan raises his face to the sky, eyes burning, massive wings opening "Because she isn't THERE "

In the next second two things happen. One, beezlebub appears beside their lord to inform him that hell is as it should be. Beezlebub fortunately appears beside Gabriel because they are afraid to approach their master from behind.

The second thing that happens is, God appears. One would expect a flash of light. And of course there is. But this light is so bright that aziraphale, in absolute terror, must unfurl his wings and moving with the speed of the angel he is, must gather Crowley and Adam to him, to protect them from God's wrath. Because God is pissed.

She appears, not as a human, but as a singular ball of floating light, smaller than a human head, burning with the rage of 6000 years. Aziraphales wings protect his demon and the boy from the full force of her might, and he manages to turn to face her. Beside him, Gabriel has done a miraculous and traitorous thing. In a pure act of kindness, without thinking, he has stepped in front of the Lord beezlebub to protect them from God's wrath. Beezlebub blinks at the feathery wall before them, surprised but unafraid. Aziraphale glances behind to see a singed, but very much alive crowley, covering Adam with his body, yellow eyes shut in terror. God hovers before satan, burning with rage and malice. All of this has happened within the span of two seconds.

"Hello Lucifer " God's voice is, well ineffable. Cannot be described. Crowley and beezlebub both cower in fear, hands over their ears in pain. Satan smirks, pleased with himself

"Hello mother." God's light hurts even the angels eyes. She glows brighter, annoyed

"You must go back into the hole, lucy." The old nickname makes Satan pause and suddenly both Gabriel and aziraphale notice pain; Satan's rage is as strong as God's and their wings become slightly singed. Crowleys head pops up as he recognizes that smell.

"All I ever wanted, mother, was to be loved." Crowley is looking back and forth between Satan and his angels wings. Beezlebub is now standing. Both demons know what they must do

"But you lOVED THEM MORE" the roar is accompanied by hellfire and Crowley launches himself in front of aziraphale, midnight wings open. Beezlebub has become a hoard of flies, and swirls around Gabriel protectivley. Both demons take the full force of the hellfire, as God simply casts it aside. Satan's great roar causes Gabriel to cry out in pain. And God pauses. She does not react to her son's temper tanrtrum. She dims. Crowley had begun to smoke in her presence, beezlebub literally dropping like flies. And God notices this, and pauses.

"My son. I wish not to fight. Neither of us can win this battle. So instead of arguing needlessly I am simply going to make you notice something." She turns to face the lot. Crowley is the one front and center. His love for aziraphale is all consuming as he stares at the Lord. He is not afraid, despite the pain he is in.

"Yes I've seen your champions mother. They are unimpressive." Satan's words cut deep and Gabriel cries out again. Aziraphale is trying to stand, but Adam pulls him down to keep him safe.

"My champions? Odd. I didn't choose any of them" God says. Satan scowls

"You choose evrything. You have had this plan since the beginning of time." He argues

"Well yes, I had hoped things would go this way. But I play with cards Lucy. Sometimes my design is less perfect and more..."

"Innefable." Crowley says, his face full of pain. God dims a bit, and moves closer.

"I think I've been quietly watching things from the sidelines too long. Of course I will continue to do so, for the humans sake. But for my angelic and demonic children, I think I let things go too far... You all are so ready to destroy what I so love." God seemed uoset, which is to say that her light went a little blue. Satan fumed

"Ah yes, the bloody humans. Those frail creatures you love more than your own children" Satan spat.

"Of course. I may have underestimated my children however." God said. "It seems to me that angels and demons are not so... binary in good and evil. It seems that given enough time and energy, they can be almost....human" God smiled at Crowley and he flinched. Aziraphale looked up and over one midnight wing at his lord, and slowly came around, despite Crowley and Adams concern.

"Oh, you mean these traitorous fools? I will not suffer them to live." In an instant there were flames engulfing them all.

Aziraphale thought he was dead. He hurt all over. His eyes were shut and he felt...peace. love. So much love. He opened his eyes to see a sky full of midnight wings.

Crowley wailed and grew to a height unimaginable, casting himself fully into the smiting flames of his master. And this act alone is what made him survive. Pure love. The flames hit him, with all the fury of hell, and he absorbed them, snarling, yellow eyes wide

"You will NOT take him from me!"

The flames engulfed him, and then they were beaten back by his wings, right into Satan himself.

Satan stumbled back, shaken but otherwise unharmed. The flames died down and Crowley lowered his wings, the air around him shimmering with heat.

"You will NOT take him from me." Crowley said again.

*authors note* if I screwed anything up please be kind but informative I didn't proof read this at all lol

UPDATE EVERYONE

Satan stood there dumbfounded for a singular second before his angelic face began to contort in rage. before satan could unleash his full fury on Crowley, however, God stepped between them.

“enough lucifer.” she said, and this time, crowley did not cringe. Aziraphale and Adam peeked out from behind him, and Beelzebub was themself again, standing beside gabriel. God cancelled out the pain around her, and faced off with her rebellious son 

“you are not seeing what you are meant to see. nor are you trying to understand. you are ignoring the reason this all had to happen. you are disappointing me lucy. again.” God was not angry, but she had begun to turn a rather peculiar shade of purple, that Gabriel recognized as disappointment and sorrow. And Satan recognized it too. He looked at crowley behind God, looked at Beelzebub beside Gabriel, looked at his own rebellious son, at the human children around them, and then finally his bloody gaze was upon his Mother. Satan glared, but behind his false anger was a sorrow and pain indescribable. 

“I just want to be loved.” he snarled. Crowley, in all his anger, could at least understand that. Aziraphale, behind him, felt that too and reached fro Crowleys hand, their fingers intertwining. God dimmed.

“you are, my dear boy. I love all my creations, even those that rebel against me. I have always loved you. Even this boy you spawned to destroy my humans, I love him as well. My love does not dwindle, nor does it become overruled by rage.” Adam, in surprise, looked at god and then at Satan. and then he walked right out and stood beside god , her light not harming him in the least.

“you shouldnt hate her so much.” adam said. satan regarded his son with suspicion. 

“your powers are great my boy, but not even you could change the reality of his heart.” Aziraphale said. “his hatred has darkened the love that used to be there.” God dimmed again, becoming more blue than purple

“I think youre wrong.” adam said “I think you havent given him a chance. I think, he let himself get upset and he wasnt thinking straight, and he hurt his friends and now, he doesnt know how to fix it.” adam was speaking from personal experience, and his friends smiled 

satan frowned at the boy 

“so what do you propose we do? we are mortal enemies.” he said, frustration showing. Adam turned to look at crowley and aziraphale, standing hand in hand 

“so were they. all it took for them was...well im not sure. i only just met them. but im sure if you ask them they can tell you.” all eyes turned on the pair, and defiantly they refused to let go of each other, though aziraphale was looking rather scarlet, from the singing hellfire or pure embarrassment, he would never tell. Crowley, tire iron still in hand, looked at his angel and pondered for a moment

“it took a second for me to love aziraphale. on the wall. when he showed his loyalty for humanity and disregard for the rules. it took 6000 years for me to admit that, just now.” Aziraphale looked at his demon in shock and then swallowed nervously 

“well I...I guess it was the books. I mean, I suppose I’d always been...fond of Crowley, I loved his company. I can always indulge and be...me. and then he saved my books for me and I guess I’ve been denying my love for him until...well a few minutes ago. But yes. We were mortal enemies, perhaps for a moment on the wall. But we have always been friends...and then some.” Crowley squeezed Aziraphales hand and smirked. Adam turned back to his satanic father 

“I bet you could learn to do that.” the boy said. Satan, however stood unconvinced 

“what? take a ball of light, the Almighty out to fish and chips? with humans? “ he scoffed. Gods light was now a pure amber color, a color of love and humor 

“I can take many forms, Lucy.” Was all she said. 

“Wait Wait Wait!” Gabriel said, striding forward, Beelzebub following quickly behind “disregarding all of that, I want to know how this is all supposed to play out. we are supposed to have a war! is that not happening?” God turned to her archangel, who promptly took a step back and swallowed in fear 

“there will be no war, my child. I will speak to the angels myself.”

“but you havent done that in...”

“too long, Gabriel. I have been absent for too long. Things are going to change in heaven. as for hell...” God turned to her satanic son, and his angelic face was full of conflict “I am always here for you, my dearest boy. Whenever you need me, ask. I have lots of work to do” God turned then to Crowley, Aziraphale and Adam

“you have all done so well, my children. I am so very proud.” and with that, she vanished, like fog vanishes on a windy day, and they were left there with satan, who was looking rather befuddled. 

“So the war is off, if my son still refuses to destroy humanity.” he looked down at adam, who looked almost bored

“I quite like humanity, thanks. feel free to stop by the wood sometime, if you ever want to play with Dog.” Satan stood straighter, and looked at Crowley

“and you? where do your allegiances lie now? with the angels?” 

“my allegiances have always been with Aziraphale.” the demon said very plainly. Aziraphale squeezed his hand tighter 

“fine. Lord Beelzebub?”

“I...” they looked at Gabriel “I am not sure, master. I think we have more troubling things at hand. the troops need some...alignment.” 

“well, let us go then. I see no more reason to stay. good riddance and all that.” Satan vanished by melting into the ground. Beelzebub spared Gabriel a glance before doing the same 

Gabriel let out the air he had been holding and glared at Aziraphale 

“I have to go. You and I are going to talk more about this after I...figure out what side im on.” his face fell in confusion before he dissipated as well. 

and so then there were three children, the former antichrist, two witchfinders, a witch, a whore, a former hellhound, and two ethereal beings. 

“so...now what?” Madam Tracy said “Ive seen god today. I dont think I can just go back to my flat.” 

“Well I for one have had enough occult presence today, thanks. Can we go home now ?” Pepper said. Adam smiled

“yeah I think im gonna go home. my dads here.” and sure enough, Adams human father was getting out of his car. Crowley, in a moment of exhaustion, wavered a bit, and Aziraphale caught him

“are you alright my dear?” he asked in concern. Crowley smiled, eyes shut in pure bliss 

“yes, angel, I am perfectly...tickety boo.”

*authors note* thanks for all the support!

[anthropwashere]

deadfic: our indestructible days ch 1

More deadfic for the Good Intentions WIP Fest, though since the event’s over I’ll spare the poor mod yet more of my horseshit. 

This was, in fact, the first fic I really tackled post 2017 BH watch! And boy does it show. I’m doing y’all a favor by editing it to hell and back before posting any of it, honest. Due to that however, I don’t know how many chapters there will be. At least 4, since that’s as far as I’ve gotten in the editing process. We shall see!

All you need to know for this one is: What if Kimblee didn’t stop Pride from possessing Ed on the Promised Day? :)

Title comes from Puscifer’s “Dear Brother.”

=

The air burns against his flaking skin, molten stone growing dark yet still radiating a dangerous heat. Everyone else has gone after Father, the rattle and scrape of transmuted stone fading. It's just the two of them now, the alchemist and the homunculus, and Pride has the upper hand.

“This container won’t last much longer,” he says matter-of-factly, leaping down to stand before the boy. In the dusty sunlight filtering in from above Edward Elric’s eyes shine, catlike and calculating. His breathing is ragged, spit between clenched teeth. He’s pinned by cords of unyielding shadow. If he struggles much harder, Pride might break something.

That thought demands brief consideration. It would be satisfying to take Edward apart bone by brittle bone, to take his pound of flesh for the damage incurred to his Philosopher’s Stone. The left arm would sever easily, if he but sharpened his shadows. Tempting, yes, but ultimately pointless.

“But still,” he continues thoughtfully, a new plan already fallen into place. “Like my father is, you are of Hohenheim's bloodline. We’re virtually brothers. Which means, Edward Elric, I can use your container. Your body belongs to me!”

It is an easy thing to invade the bloodstream, entering through a thin cut on the boy’s cheek. Pride fills every vein and artery with shadows until Edward’s heart is smothered, his blood sludge. He ignores the screams, the uptick in thrashing. This is tricky work, something only achieved twice before, and he hadn't seen either success firsthand. His Stone is too big for such a little cut. He spares a tendril of himself to stab the boy's chest, wrenching open a wound big enough to deposit his core directly against the thrashing heart within. Connective tissue regrows at a breakneck pace, sewing him irrevocably into a body a thousand times more complex than his original container.

With that taken care of Pride lashes out with a snap of white teeth, unfettering the strangled soul. The body still writhes, pain a thing of the flesh rather than the spirit, but there is less resistance after that. If it's lucky, the boy's soul will be absorbed into his Stone, its energy and knowledge assimilated, made useful. Then again it could simply burn up in the transference, an ember caught in a cold wind.

Either way, that which was called Edward Elric will no longer be a concern.

What a big fuss Wrath made of it, with his story of the man who became a homunculus who became King. A little pain suffered is nothing, when the alternative is death.

Edward’s screaming makes this all the sweeter.

Without its contents, his old container collapses to so much dust and an empty pile of clothing, and— 

—ah. 

There are memories, kept just beneath the surface of Edward’s dying panic. The mind is easy to parse when the soul is absent. Old night terrors, old horrors. Loneliness. What a childish thing to fear.

A heartbeat. 

Another. 

Waiting— dreading— the body’s rejection of him. 

But it never comes. Barely a shudder of resistance, the only lash of alchemical reaction his Stone instinctively healing injuries the boy had incurred.

The silence after that's finished is a breathless, giddy surprise.

Pride tests his new container carefully, casting an unhappy glance at the automail arm he’s now saddled with. It’s an unpleasant weight, cold and heavy; the leg much the same. It'll take time he doesn't have to adjust to them. How pathetic, that humans must rely on machinery to recover from serious injury. Once he’s regained some of his strength he’ll have to do something about them.

Something shifts within him, a sensation not unlike vertigo stealing his breath. Pride hesitates, wobbling on unfamiliar limbs, but the feeling passes. He smiles. A strong bloodline indeed.

“Fight all you wish,” he says aloud. “I've won.”

Even his voice has changed. His true voice is marred, pitched deeper. Weighed down. He is weighed down by this new container. It's strange. This is all very strange. But he must adjust quickly, for the battle isn’t won yet.

He shakes unfamiliar blond hair from his new container’s eyes, looking up through the hole punched through the many underground floors beneath Central Command. Four thin stone pillars ascend through it, stretching all the way up to the parade grounds. Such a distance. Even the sacrifices shouldn't have been capable of stretching so much material so high without it collapsing. What did they do? What was that array they activated that allowed them to perform alchemy again?

The fight has shifted. He must return to the fray, now that he’s been renewed. Father would—

Father expects him to—

No. 

Not yet. He’s not strong enough to rejoin that fight, yet. His Stone was damaged even more than they’d anticipated when he forced Mustang through the Gate. 

Pride sniffs, tasting the air. There are humans nearby; more souls to consume. He licks his lips and sends his grinning shadows upward.

He is hungry.

=

Major General Armstrong kneels beside the body of Führer King Bradley, hating that she's been sideline for what is surely the most decisive battle Amestris has ever seen. Her men are up there, where that pale creature had ascended only minutes ago atop a pillar of molten stone. Bullets and mortars were near useless against the lesser homunculi; what could their Father be capable of?

Her pulse is still racing, a sour taste settled in her mouth. She knows acutely what it feels like to die, and the experience has left her feeling hollowed out in a way she's unsure of how to voice. She remembers a maelstrom of suffering, countless voices begging for release. It's not something she'd wish on a Drachman, let alone endure again. If not for the Elric brothers' father she'd still be trapped in that hell. They all would be.

Is it fear that still makes her heart pound, or cowardice?

Her lip curls. Fear is justified. Fear is the intelligent reaction. To fear something means you're paying attention. Cowardice, however....

She shakes her head. Four of the human sacrifices—Izumi Curtis, Alphonse Elric, Van Hohenheim, and Mustang—had been afraid, and yet still determined to stop that monster. Even blinded Mustang hadn't hesitated to fight on, utilizing the famed Hawk's Eye to direct his flame attacks. It's both begrudging and gratifying, to realize the man has a stronger spine than she'd thought. 

The fifth, Fullmetal, is still below fighting Pride. There'd been sounds of combat, and then screaming, but it's gone quiet now. The distance and echo distorting the sounds had made it impossible to determine who had been doing the screaming. The lot of them on this level have been keeping a wary eye on the hole in the floor since then. They don't know what that particular homunculus is capable of and the only alchemist left here is the serial killer Scar, and he's in no shape to assist. The idiot boy had better not die while the battle's still on.

She eases to her feet, hissing pain despite her best efforts, and cats her sight on the blue sky above. A single blast of power had punched a hole in this underground labyrinth clear through to the surface. How can they defend against something like that?

Bah. Defeatist's talk. The alchemists will do all they can to do just that, and her men will support them. They're Briggs men. They'll do whatever it—

"What the hell?!"

"What is that?!"

She turns sharply toward where the few soldiers who'd insisted on staying behind as a protection detail are gathered. They've all drawn their weapons, aiming at the hole in the floor. Ribbons of—shadows—stretch up from below, splitting open to reveal red eyes and white jaws.

Damn! And here she'd thought Fullmetal had been left behind to fight the homunculus alone for good reason! Was the boy really so useless as to die now?

"PREPARE YOURSELVES!" She bellows, striding toward the lashing shadows. A glance is all she needs to know it would be futile to try and keep distance in a room as small as this. Better to be with her men. She may have lost the use of her sword arm but this is a fight she will not—cannot—leave for her men to fight alone. "Fire at Selim Bradley the moment he shows himself!"

The red eyes narrow. The white jaws grin. Grating laughter echoes off of the stone walls. "That container has been discarded, Major General," the mouths all say in the same mocking voice. "But are you really going to risk injuring this body?"

From out of the depths a figure rises, lifted up on tendrils of shadow to step lightly onto the rubble-strewn floor. Her men curse, guns dipping. Somewhere behind her Mr. Curtis and the frog chimera inhale sharply. She can't blame any of them.

The grinning boy with living shadows curling at his boots is Fullmetal.

"Edward," Izumi's husband says, hushed. The boy pays him no mind, eyes flat and cold as coins.

"It was wise of you to stay behind," Fullmetal—no, Pride—says, still smiling. The shadows stretch and curl, painting the room in streaks of black. "Your contributions to the war effort are greatly appreciated."

Too late, she understands what he means to do. "No! Don't you dare—!"

The shadows strike, and her men begin to scream.

=

"Edward Elric."

His name whispered out of the murk. A voice calling him awake. He can't pinpoint where it's coming from. Everything else is so loud. There are so many people nearby, all of them screaming, all of them begging to die. Everything is so red.

"Fullmetal."

He tries to put a name to the voice. He knows it. Doesn't he know it?

Fraying. He's being... stretched. Pulled apart. Losing his sense of self.

He's losing himself.

"Surely you're not going to roll over as easily as that, are you?"

He... he knows this voice.

A pinpoint of white, searing amongst all this writhing red. The shape of a man comes into focus. White clothes, long dark hair, the wide eyes of a madman, tattoos on his outstretched palms.

"K...Kim...blee...?"

The man smiles. "Ah, so you are still in there. Good, very good."

"Where... what is... this...?"

"We've both become a part of Pride's Philosopher's Stone now. Two souls clinging to our individuality amidst a howling mob of anguish." Kimblee rocks back on his heels, throwing out his hands. His face is a picture of bliss. "Isn't it exquisite?"

He looks away, out at the writhing, the screaming. Nothing but gaping mouths and dark eye sockets everywhere he looks, the barest suggestions of human shapes. Souls. How many died to make this Stone? "It's—loud. No. No, this. This isn't. This isn't what I...."

It's getting so hard to think.

Kimblee looks almost disappointed now. "Tell me, Edward Elric. Are you truly so weak as this? Unraveling at the first glimpse of something beyond your control?"

He looks down at himself. Two arms, two legs. No automail pulling insistently at his bones. Of course not. He's only a soul, nearly as red as the others twisting all around him. He's inside a Philosopher's Stone, which makes him only one more lost soul. Wisps of red peel from his limbs, chafed and scraped away by the chaos pushing and pulling at him from all sides. He's falling apart. Losing himself. Soon he'll be nothing but babbling energy, regenerative power for the homunculus he's become a part of. For... for....

"Pride."

Kimblee raises one curious eyebrow. "That's right."

"Where—Where is he?"

"A bit preoccupied eating to overhear this conversation, if that's your concern."

He—Edward, he's Ed, gotta stay focused, he can't slip again, his name is Edward—strains, struggling to remember what happened. How he came to be like this. He was.... There had been.... Pride. Selim had been badly—injured? damaged?—after forcing the Colonel through the Gate. His container was failing. He'd pinned Ed down—pain, it had hurt—and declared that Ed would be... that Ed's body would be....

Ed's just a soul now. He doesn't have a body, no skin to prickle and no breath to catch, but a chill runs through him all the same. "He. He took my body. He made me his new container. Didn't he?"

"That's right."

No matter where Ed looks it's all souls, no glimpse of what's going on outside this Stone. Ling—and Greed, for that matter—have always had a good idea of what was going on when the other one had been in control of Ling's body. How did they—

Hold on.

Ed looks back at Kimblee, who just smiles pleasantly back. Eating. Pride can't hear them right now because he's eating. The hell does that mean?

"I can't see," Ed snaps, shoving at a soul that's drifted uncomfortably close. His hand is paler, more defined than it was before. He's got a good grip on himself again. He really should've paid more attention when Ling talked about the meditation shit he did while Greed was refusing to share. "Ugh. Where is he? What's he doing, Kimblee?"

Kimblee chuckles and waves his hand. The tempest of screaming parts like a theater curtain; bright light spills in that leaves Ed blinking and shading his eyes. He goes to it anyway. He has to know what Kimblee meant—

His sight adjusts, and he's looking at a bloodbath.

There's red sprayed across the near wall, splashed along the floor, drips and splatters and scraps of tattered uniforms everywhere he looks. A single soldier is in view, firing wildly right at Ed only to have the bullets deflected by a shadow pitted with familiar eyes and bloodstained fangs. The gun in the soldier's hands clicks, the clip emptied, and the shadow cuts him down. Ed can hear the brutal crunch of bone, the muted spurt of spilled blood, the ragged tearing of meat. He hears someone laughing. His voice. His stolen voice multiplied weirdly through the shadow mouths as Selim's had been. 

Ed hollers, twisting away, but Kimblee's white hands hold him fast. The man's voice roars out, ragged with terrible glee. "Don't avert your eyes! Don't look away! That's your body out there, cutting those men down. Take credit for the destruction your hands have wrought!"

"NO! NO! That's not—it's not me—get the fuck off—I don't want this!"

"Then what are you going to do about it?!"

"—no, no, I don't—I—w-what?"

Once Ed's stopped struggling Kimblee all but drops him, still grinning from ear to ear. "I thought about interfering, when Pride first tried to take your body for himself."

"What?"

"I'm perfectly content in here, but he decided to throw away his honor as a homunculus. So proud to be what he is, that very quality he was named for, but the moment he found himself in grave danger he sought to escape into the body of a human." Kimblee snarls. "He's pathetic. A disgrace."

Ed watches his body's left hand rise, pointing at—Major General Armstrong? Her face is a mask of blood, and the rest of her isn't much better. Sig's beside her, one arm slick and hanging heavily, the other supporting Scar who looks like he narrowly escaped a meat grinder. Behind them he can just glimpse Jerso in his frog form, lying so still it's impossible to tell if he's still breathing. The window or whatever out into the real world flickers as—fuck—as Pride looks at another soldier spring out from behind cover. He empties his clip in record time, unerringly aimed at Ed's chest. Do any of the bullets hit? Do they hurt? The soldier's cradling his rifle strangely, one hand clumsily wrapped in bloodstained cloth. 

"Why?" Ed asks, weary. A shadow arcs out, bristling with teeth, and bites through the man. He goes down with a bizarrely muted scream and another spray of blood. "Why didn't you stop him? This—this wouldn't be happening if you'd stopped him!"

Kimblee regards him, eyes narrowed, face unreadable. "Führer Bradley is a homunculus," he says conversationally. "And Greed. His vessel is human as well, isn't it?"

Outside, sounds of crunching, splattering, chewing. Ed watches a clean white uniform stain almost black with gore. "Yeah? So what?"

"I started to think a little, that's what." Another little chuckle. Fuck, this guy really is crazy. He's enjoying this. "The homunculi make such a fuss out of being better than humans. More evolved, above our petty fears and desires. They're so proud to be the puppeteers of this country, the hands on our yokes as they've guided us to this Promised day."

Ed watches the shadows finish off the soldier, nothing but a smear of blood and a couple glistening pieces of meat left behind. The window flickers again as Pride turns his head to regard the last of the survivors.

"It's funny," Kimblee says. "For how much they talk, they so rarely deliver on their promises. So I ask you, Edward Elric. What are you going to do now?"

The General. Sig. Jerso. Scar. They're going to die. Pride's going to kill them. For all Ed knows they might think he agreed to let Pride take his body.

He looks at his hands. He's nearly himself again, or at least as nearly like himself as he can be without his body. He's got two arms here. Two legs too. An arm and a leg, and a body, and the whole damn country on top of it now. He's made way too many promises to fail here.

Ed sets his jaw and leaps out into the light.

[lilfriezatyrant]

The Gilded Appearance

A few minutes have passed since he disappeared from this terrestrial hell...or rather he was recruited for a very special tournament.

This lousy monkey had actually managed to convince him. But he can't blame him. Anything is better than to have to be exposed to this cocoon and listen to horrible parades with disgusting fairy songs. He is in a gate that connects this world with the beyond...some human with magical powers had brought him here. A circumstance he does not consider important. His body seems stiff. This repulsive shell hanging from a cherry tree tightened him up very much and he had no freedom of movement at all. What an annoyance! And audacity!

He lets his tense neck circle, whereupon a cracking sound can be heard immediately, his pure ivory-coloured skin appears slightly turquoise due to the blue flames flickering in the portal. One eye looks slowly upwards and he immediately notices a glow over his crystalline skull. Immediately an annoyed sigh sets in. "How degrading for me...of course I have to keep this grotesque halo," he closes his eye again, had briefly determined where Goku is and puts his hands on his hips while he slowly struts to him. His tail flickers elegantly with every step behind him. "Hey, Frieza! I am Glad you're he--!" But he interrupts the mouthy voice with a glorious stroke in the pit of this stomach. "Oops, pardon me...my hand slipped...", he opens one eye again, it is almost like a cheeky wink and he rejoices in the pain of this simian barbarian. His white fist bores into his stomach one last time, but before he could react, his face distorts itself into a painful expression. This monkey had started a counterattack! Also a punch in HIS very stomach. He gritted his perfect teeth and heard the cheeky words of the Saiyan. "Oh, I am also sorry. Mine too." Inside he is loaded with wrath, but he keeps the control he has acquired over the last years. A real anger vein pulsates at his temple, but he smiles slightly, his vermilion eyes glowing at his counterpart.

"Okay Frieza, no more hand slipping. We have to hurry. We only have a few minutes left." The emperor stands upright again and immediately recovers from this little unexpected punch. He seems only slightly confused, his eyes widening as Goku gives him a hand. "Take my hand. I will take us away from here immediately", he himself, in his slight amazement, only brings a quiet "Oh?" as an answer. He chuckles slightly amused, "Then what shall slip next?"

But he doesn't take the hand of this monkey, because a ghostly creature floats panickedly towards them...probably it belongs to this other being. "Baba! We are in trouble! There are several creatures outside! We're surrounded!"

The Emperor puts his hands behind his back and cackles slightly. "A welcome party? You did not tell me that, Goku." He jokes with a smirk. But he does not get an answer, and the other goes out of the building.

His tail flickers enthusiastically behind him for a moment before he slowly follows him.

Oh? Fighters from another universe? This should be interesting. Unknown assassins who probably want to destroy fighters from other universes so that they can no longer participate in the tournament. A...perfidious manner, yet effective.

He watches the action, stands at the entrance of the building, his view directly to Goku and the... locusts in the sky. The unsuspecting monkey asks him questions, but his voice only meets with deaf ears. Clever assassins. Loyal people who understand their work...or they will be subjected to even worse torture if they fail?

Although the Saiyan's contact person gets on his nerves...the same answer follows constantly, namely none.

"I won't tell."

But in the next moment the chest of this dog-like alien is pierced and he falls into the water, rises again, his face screamed in pain. It was a deathbeam, straight from the deadly index finger of the Ruler of the Universe. But he had deliberately missed the vital organ so as not to cause an initial death here on Earth...at least not yet. But his shot was so precise and so close to Goku that he had poked his cheek. "Oh...I am sorry again...I guess my hand slipped after all." his smug grin remains and he can see a certain seriousness in Goku's eyes. Of course he has perfectly memorized his previous words in his head. He never forgets. I guess they will have some minutes left for a little warm-up exercise. "You know, my body has become quite soft in hell...", his smug manner can be heard on the outside and his body slowly covers itself in a golden aura. "And I thought I could loosen it up.", his changed ki continues to grow, it jst like a golden flame in which he is blazing and that's exactly how his inside feels: His body is exposed to so much heat that even the strongest material could melt...but he has got used to it, his body and his organs know this procedure...besides he is a cold-blooded being, literally and heat is very pleasant for his organism. Everyone here isn't moving... nobody is talking. Everyone watches this divine transformation, everyone seems to be spellbound. Just the kind of attention he was hoping for. Very good. A promising audience and it will be his greatest pleasure to eviscerate them. Every single being here.

At the moment, however, he is completely focused on this new power, which he has mastered after another stay in his own hell. Glaring light is emitted as his body takes on a new form in this shell. He has spread out his arms, his back is leaning backwards, almost forming a hollow back, his piercing eyes are closed and he still wears his perfect smug grin. It is the coming anticipation of the bloodbath with which he will inaugurate his golden skin.

Although his posture is inviting, every single limb is under tension. He has to bundle this incredible energy before he can release it and each of his metamorphoses is painful, an irrevocable fact. But it is never visible to an outsider.

Every single cell of his slowly changing body takes on an even more resistant form, micro scales merge together to become more robust as well. The purple spheres on his shoulders disappear completely under a stable golden layer. More muscle mass is formed on his membrane. His perfect transformation is almost complete...the colour gold to humiliate every still living Saiyan and to be superior to this monkey race.

And the hot feeling inside does something very curious: slight signs of goose bumps are visible...but only Frieza himself knows this, no one else would noticed. This unbelievable increase in power causes this. He is excited about what is imminent...he  is bloodthirsty and will show no mercy with his finally mastered power.

His strong toes briefly brace themselves, his nails claw into the stone floor before they glow golden for a moment and relax again. The same tension can be seen on his upper body and arms, which have increased considerably in muscle tone. His facial features are also briefly tense for a millisecond before it turns purple and his smirk is still clearly visible with his black lips.

The glistening light had spread over several kilometers during the night and is now slowly fading as his body completes the transformation.

His upper body makes a forward movement. It is like a bow, an invitation for the honour that all attendees were allowed to experience and it is also an augury for the coming disaster. Executed by the Golden Deity who is reborn.

His scarlet eyes open again in a sharp gaze, his golden and massive tail wagging briefly and swiftly once behind him, before he in his sublime form announces his arrival: "Behold the true power of the Golden Frieza!"

@dragonblobz I promised you I will give you a golden terror, didn't I? uwu

[castletownranger]

Hey Brother

@ineed-moresleep had a birthday and I saw it as an opportunity to show my son some love, sue me 

____________________

The fire was dwindling. Time hadn’t even expected it to burn for as long as it had, to be honest. Snow and ice whipped through the air outside the mouth of the cave. Frigid wind swirled inside, every now and then. The old hero knew the storm had been approaching hours ago after seeing the clouds tower in the distance. Storms don’t take very long to form, he knew, but they could rage for days on end.  

Using his hands instead of a fire-stick, Time tried to rekindle the blaze. He and his boys had gathered up as much firewood as they could before it all got soaked by the snowfall, but they would soon be out. He looked to the pile of wood next to the fire. Five logs left. 

“Time?” Warriors said softly, pulling him from his thoughts. 

“Hm?” Time looked up to see the captain’s face, appearing sunken in the light of the dying fire. The orange flicker accented the creases on his face; between his eyebrows, around his mouth. Under his eyes. 

“Do we have any extra blankets?” Warriors asked, keeping his tone hushed. “Wind is shivering awful bad.” 

Time looked down. Nestled into Warriors’ side, with a wool blanket and the captain’s blue scarf wrapped around him, was Wind. The young hero’s chest rose and fell with the weight of a deep sleep, but his shoulders shook almost constantly. Carefully, Warriors adjusted his scarf so it would drape over more of the small hero’s body. 

A memory tugged at the back of Time’s mind. 

He stood up. “Let me see what I can find.” 

Walking carefully so as to not stir the other sleeping heroes, Time made his way to the back of the cave where Epona rest. Most of the group’s equipment stayed with her, and Time searched through various sacks and backpacks hoping to find anything close to a spare blanket. Just when he was about to deliver the bad news to Warriors, he found something. It wasn’t a blanket per se, but it would work. An orange blade that emanated heat. One of Wild’s. 

Time carried it back over to Warriors and asked for Wind’s sheath. “I don’t want it to accidentally cut him while he sleeps.” 

Warriors reached behind Wind. The sheath didn’t fit the orange blade exactly, but it would do. Time placed the warm metal in front of the small hero, and Wind reached for it sleepily but immediately. 

The old hero sat back down in his spot near the fire. “There. That should keep him warm for the rest of the night.” 

“Thank you,” Warriors said. He kept one hand on his scarf to make sure it stayed secure over Wind, and used his other hand gently comb Wind’s hair.  

Time watched quietly for a few moments. Warriors was a fierce, some might even say ruthless, fighter. But these moments of gentleness were ones that Time knew well. He remembered what it was like to curl up in Warriors’ lap after a long day on the battlefield; how the captain would drape his scarf over Time’s small shoulders, much like he had done for Wind, and place a hand in his hair. The arm he kept secured around Time as he fell asleep gave him a sense of security he hadn’t felt in ages. 

Wind was the safest person in the cave tonight. Even once Warriors fell asleep, nothing would stop him from keeping the person next to him well protected. 

Time was pulled out of his thoughts again when Warriors chuckled. “He’s gonna be surprised to wake up and realize he’s cuddling a sword.” 

“I’m sure this isn’t the first time he’s slept with a weapon at his side,” Time said. The words came out harsher than he meant them, but Warriors couldn’t tell him he was wrong. Time would guess that all the heroes were accustomed to keeping a blade close, just in case. He remembered how Warriors often would. Knew how he often still did. 

“He’s still too young for that, though” Warriors said, his voice taking on a sadder tone. 

Time looked up to see the captain’s face had fallen once again. His usually sharp eyes were slightly unfocused, and stared past Wind even as he looked down at him. No doubt staring into other things. 

“I’m guessing a lot of us were too young for…that.” Warriors continued. “But Wind, he’s…He should have gotten to stay a kid for longer.” 

A fist tightened around Time’s heart. He also wished that Wind could have had his childhood. Time wished that he could have had his own childhood.

No kid should have to grow up as fast as the gods made them. 

“I’m sure it helps, having someone like you around,” Time ventured. “He might not have his childhood, but I’m sure you at least give him a sense of family.” 

A faint smile ghosted Warriors’ face. “He reminds me of someone, you know.” 

Time’s heart tightened again. But he kept his voice steady. “Oh?” 

“During my adventure,” Warriors explained, “I met so many people. Each of them brought something new to the battlefield, something unique that helped us win the war. Well, most of them were on the Hyrulean side. Some of them weren’t. But anyway, there was this one young boy who Wind reminds me a lot of. Blonde hair that was always a mess. Eyes that could tell a thousand stories without the kid uttering even a single word. He was so, so small, but he fought with more courage than many of the soldiers I came to know.” 

Time smiled. Fighting alongside Warriors’ army had proven to be a challenge, in a different way than stopping the moon from destroying an entire world was, but he remembered what it was like to see Warriors for the first time. A whirlwind across the battlefield, the image of grace and focus that Time always thought real knights would be.  

“Who was the boy?” Time dared to ask.  

“I don’t truly know his story,” Warriors said. “But I’m willing to bet that he was to young when whatever happened to him happened too.” 

I was. Time felt tears pricking his eyes so he turned his gaze back towards the fire for a moment. The flames pulsed and danced even as they were in the process of dying. 

“I tried to take care of him the best I could,” Warriors continued. “Never gave me any indication he had parents, or a family, so I kept an eye on him. I never imagined he had an easy life, but he always seemed to be in high spirits. There was a cheerfulness about him that nothing could crush.” 

“He does sound a lot like Wind.” 

Warriors laughed. “He would always do this thing right before a battle—it was like his signature look—he would place one hand on his sword and the other hand on his hip and yell ‘I got this!’ before running straight into a horde of enemies. The kid had some serious nerve.” 

And the power of a terrible, wrathful god flowing through me. Time held back a shudder at the thought of Warriors seeing him channel the Fierce Deity’s power. He wasn’t sure how he was to tell the heroes about that, or if he even wanted them to know at all. “What happened to the boy?” Time found himself asking. 

“You mean in terms of where did he go? He’s not dead, if that’s what you’re worried about. At least, the last time I saw him he wasn’t dead.” 

“Do you know where he ended up?” 

Warriors shook his head. “The little scamp was always running off to places and showing up in a completely new place later. A tricky whipper-snapper, that one. One day he just…decided he didn’t want to come back, I suppose. I’m not sure where he ended up.” 

“Well…I’m sure he turned out fine,” Time said, looking back up at the captain. He knew he had to choose his words carefully. “And I’m sure he still cares a lot about you, too. You probably helped him greatly without even knowing it.”    

Warriors’ sad expression bloomed into another small smile. “I hope so. That kid was the first baby brother I ever had.” 

“I’m sure that—”

Time was cut off by a thud from outside. The older hero and the captain were on their feet in a second. Time turned to Warriors with a finger to his lips. “Stay here. Watch over the others.” 

“And let you go alone? Are you kidding me?” 

Confidently, deliberately, Time shifted into a stance he hadn’t taken in a while but one that was still familiar to his body all the same. He reached one hand behind him for his sword. Placed the other firmly on his hip. And smiled at Warriors. “I got this.” 

Time turned just as Warriors’ eyes were starting to widen. 

The cold was instant the moment he stepped outside the cave. It cut through his armor, threatening to lock his bones into place should he stop moving for even a moment. Visibility wasn’t great either; the wind kicked up snow and made the air around him and endless sea of gray. After trudging around for a few moments, he saw that nothing was close to the mouth of the cave where his boys rested. After a few more moments, all he found was a fallen branch from a nearby tree. 

Seeing no other tracks besides his own, and satisfied that the monster of a storm had merely claimed a tree limb as one of its victims, Time stumbled back towards the cave. He took off his armor once he was inside, needing to get out of the cold metal, and just barely after he had placed the freezing plates near the fire, Time felt two strong arms wrap around him. Warriors buried his face in the crook of Time’s neck. 

It was silent for a few moments, but Time recalled in moments away from the battlefields how Warriors had trained himself to cry silently. The captain’s tears spilled onto Time’s shoulder, and Time brought a hand up to rub his back. “Hey, big brother.” 

Warriors’ lip quivered when he pulled away from Time. He placed his hands on either side of Time’s face and looked him over, eyes flickering with the same warmth of the fire behind them. “Hey, baby brother.” Fresh tears spilled from Warriors’ eyes as he spoke. “You weren’t supposed to grow up before I did.” 

Time rest his head against Warriors’ shoulder again. “Believe me, I didn’t want to.” It was here that he finally let his own tears fall. Time was vaguely aware of himself repeating over and over I didn’t want to I didn’t want to I didn’t want to, and Warriors whispering that it was okay, that he was safe, that he would make sure he stayed safe now that they were together again. Memories of his long years flooded Time’s mind; waking up as a child in an adult’s body, never quite feeling the age his physical self reflected, the moon leering down at him, a ferocious deity taking control of his limbs, the soldiers who died next to him and Warriors on the battlefield. It felt like too much to be stored in one person. 

Warriors wept his own silent tears again as Time allowed himself to cry into his shoulder. After a few moments, Warriors adjusted them so they were sitting side by side, draping the scarf over Time’s shoulders. 

“I’d love to hear the boy’s true story, if you’re ready.”

[mythologyfolklore]

Deal with a Prince of Hell

(A/N: Maybe a warning beforehand, because this contains a short physical description of the abrahamic God and in other ways might be offensive towards religious people. It’s not meant to be, but just a heads-up. I don’t want religious discourse on my work, because this is a fanfic. There is also murder and violence, just to reinforce that.)

.

In spite of being a warrior, Archangel Michael was actually extremely slow to anger.

He was courageous and strong, but also long-suffering and merciful.

To hold his hand over mankind, dispel fear and despair, give strength to the brave and fight the forces of darkness, that was his work assigned by the Lord God Almighty.

Anger was blinding and deluding. A feeling unbecoming of the Leader of all Angels.

When he exacted the Wrath of God, it wasn't his own.

However, there were times, when he did feel wrathful, though it was extremely rare.

Today had been a normal day, until Michael had summoned the other Archangels for a meeting to discuss the tasks for the next month.

None of the Archangels had ever failed to follow the summoning.

So Michael felt uneasy, when only Gabriel, Uriel and (to his great surprise) Azrael attended.

“Where is Raphael?”, he demanded to know.

The Archangels exchanged uncomfortable glances and Azrael was frowning ominously.

Raphael – sweet, dutiful and soothing little Raphael – was missing.

“We don't know where he is”, Gabriel admitted worriedly.

Oh no …

Suddenly there was a light tap on the door.

Michael went to open it, only to come face to face with Raphael. His alarm bells went off as soon as he saw how eerily wan the younger Archangel was.

“Sorry I'm late”, Raphael gasped, “I …” And proceeded to collapse into Michael's arms.

“Raphael!”, the other Archangels cried and ran up to them.

Gabriel blanched, when he caught sight something; from a hole right below the wings, a golden liquid was trickling down Raphael's back. “Ichor! Oh Lord Almighty, he's wounded!”

Michael followed his sibling's glance and felt a light sickness pool in his stomach. But he forced himself to calm down and ordered Uriel to take off his red coat and spread it on the floor.

Carefully the warrior Archangel put his brother down onto the cloak, so he could inspect the wound.

Now, that he had a closer look, Michael frowned: “This is demonic work. Likely caused by a flaming sword forged from Hellfire.”

“Hellfire!”, Uriel cried, “Hellfire is lethal for angels!”

“He's not going to die”, Azrael spoke calmly, “He came here just in time. Step aside, Michael, and leave this to me.”

It was ironic that Azrael, Angel of Death, vessel of the great Destroyer herself, She who brought mortal souls to rest, would be the one to save Raphael's life, but she put her hand onto the wound and within seconds the demonic essence left Raphael's corporation, manifesting as a black flame in Azrael's hand, before vanishing. She had obliterated the Hellfire, like it never had existed in the first place.

“Now you can heal him, Michael; you're almost as adept in the healing arts as he is.”

Michael followed the instruction. A prayer to God later the wound closed, as if by itself.

“Now we need to take Raphael to his quarters”, Azrael said to the others, “He may be healed now, but he still needs to rest for a few days. It speaks for his strength, that he survived this wound and made it all the way back to Heaven. We'll ask who did this, when he wakes up.”

Michael picked the unconscious Raphael up and carried him, while the others followed closely behind him, debating about who the culprit was.

“Only a Prince of Hell could have done this!”, Uriel hissed. “I bet it was Asmodeus! Ze is his greatest opponent, hates him with a passion and also is extremely cunning and powerful, so who else-?”

“You're losing that bet”, Azrael interrupted her sibling. “Had Asmodeus managed to wound Raphael like this, ze would never have passed up on the chance of destroying him. And neither would the other Princes. No. It must have been a lower ranking demon, who could go undetected more easily. They ambushed Raphael when he was distracted, that's the only explanation for how they could literally stab him in the back. Probably they were too scared of our retribution to finish him off. So they skedaddled and hoped that Raphael would succumb to his wound and be destroyed.”

“We will ask Raphael later”, Michael repeated Azrael's words from earlier, before this could grow into a heated debate.

“And once we know”, Uriel insisted, “We will get the culprit's sorry ass and smite them so hard that other demons won't dare to even whisper our names for many centuries to come!”

“To exact judgement and retribution is the right of the Most High alone”, Michael scolded, “We are his tools and messengers and in no position to judge, question or act without the will of the Lord. Now compose yourself.”

Uriel saw their error and nodded. “Still, it sickens me to the core”, they mumbled, “The thought that someone could hurt him like this – and a lowly demon at that!”

Michael didn't admit, that he felt the same way, but Gabriel obviously did. Azrael on the other hand remained as calm and neutral as ever, as could be expected from the vessel of none other than Death herself.

“I shall take my leave now”, she said, “You three take care of your sibling. I will report to the Almighty, that one of His Archangels has been hurt.”

Azrael spread her black wings and flew away, bearing her ever present scythe.

.

When Raphael awoke, he heard low whispering.

At first his sight was quite blurry, but soon he could make out glimpses of yellow, blue and red.

A soft moan alerted his visitors, that he was awake.

“Raphael! Oh praise to the Lord!” The voice of Gabriel.

Now the younger Archangel's sight cleared and he recognised Michael, Gabriel and Uriel.

“You really scared us back there”, Gabriel chided.

Raphael blushed with shame and glanced aside. “I'm sorry”, he whispered.

The other Archangels exchanged frowning glances.

“Sorry for what?”, Gabriel asked confusedly, “You're the one who got stabbed, what do you have to apologise for?!”

“I failed!”, Raphael choked. “I failed as an Archangel! What good am I, if a low-ranking demon can take me by surprise and literally stab me in the back?! Being so weak, that's what I'm sorry for!”

“Raphael, listen to me”, Michael spoke and sat by his sibling's bedside. “You're not weak. You're one of the most valuable assets Heaven has."

“Valuable asset!”, Raphael echoed, “An Archangel shouldn't have been defeated so easily!”

“Who is saying anything about defeat?”, Michael retorted. “You'll be fine within a week and we will handle the rest. Everything will be alright.”

“But …”

“No. You are the one through whom God heals¹. You're the Archangel of healing, because you were always meant to heal wounds of body and soul, to dispel pain and sorrow – you're a healer, not a warrior. Never once have you failed to fulfil that purpose. Yet you also never failed to overcome the most powerful of demons. I mean, would you say that Asmodeus and Azazel are small fry?”

Raphael chuckled: “No.”

Asmodeus and Azazel were anything but 'small fry', as Michael had so eloquently put it.

Asmodeus, a former Seraph and now Prince of Lust, had always been extremely powerful and highly intelligent.

Azazel, although not quite as powerful, was extremely manipulative and seductive.

They were both very strong in their own right and neither had ever gone down without a fight. Even though Azazel was now bound in a special part of Hell. Asmodeus on the other hand had been bound several times, but the Prince of Lust was too strong to be chained permanently (at least by any other than the Almighty).

Michael went on: “The reason that little demon could wound you, was because he's a low-rank demon. You have been known to vanquish powerful Archdemons and those are the foes you're used to. There was no way you could have predicted, that one little weasel could even dare to assault you, while you're minding your own business.”

“Exactly”, Uriel now spoke up, “And you're still strong and mighty; most other angels would have died from such a wound, before managing to return to Heaven to get treatment, but you! You dragged yourself all the way back up through the many spheres! Speaking of which, how did you do it?”

Raphael smiled: “Honestly? I don't know. Probably pure obstinacy and the Will of God.”

The other Archangels chuckled.

Michael grinned: “There's the Raphael I know: the smiling sweetheart, who spreads healing warmth wherever he goes, whom Our Father, us angels and the humans love.”

“Even with my sentimentality?”, Raphael laughed.

“God made you this way”, Michael pointed out. “It would go against His Will to not love you the way you are.”

Just as he had finished his sentence, the door opened.

Raphael's eyes widened, when the Angel of Death came into the room.

“Greetings, Azrael”, he addressed her. “I faintly remember you being there, before I passed out.”

Azrael nodded affirmatively.

Raphael observed how uneasy the others grew around her. As the vessel of Death herself, Azrael just had that effect on others, though she didn't mean to. But he, in his function as a healer, had faced her way too often to still feel the same unease.

“Welcome back, Archangel Raphael”, she said and closed the door behind her. “How are you feeling?”

“A bit woozy”, Raphael admitted.

“That's no wonder”, Azrael remarked. “The demonic essence was inside your body for a whole week, before I removed and destroyed it, so Michael could heal the damage.”

“I see. Thank you for your help, then.”

“You're welcome. Will you tell us what exactly happened?”

The younger Archangel groaned: “I was leaving my pharmacy for my earthly home, when someone ripped my bag off of my arm. As I pursued the thief, I recognised him to be a demon in disguise. I chased after him into a dark alley, where – oh so predictably – I was assaulted by a group of about thirty demons. They came at me with flaming blades, Hellfire and such. I smote about thirteen of them, before one got lucky with a throwing knife, right between my wings. The pain was maddening – I think I destroyed three more demons in my fury. The rest scrammed. I needed a whole week to drag myself all the way back up here, because of the Hellfire poisoning. And that's it.”

“Do you think Asmodeus could have ordered a hit on you?”, Uriel pried.

Raphael shook his head. “No, ze wouldn't have allowed that. Ze wants to kill me zirself, ze says that all the time. While they were definitely from the Second Circle, this was an unsanctioned assault. Maybe they wanted to please their Prince by presenting zir my head on a silver plate or something. That's never gonna happen.” He chuckled: “Ze'll be furious, when ze finds out.”

The other Archangels nodded.

“Thank you, that narrows it down a little”, Gabriel stated, before turning to Azrael: “You have spoken to the Almighty. What does He say?”

“This: Raphael is to rest for another week, then resume his duties as always. Fret no longer, Raphael, for God loves you, who never failed to be humble and kind to all. As for you three”, she turned to the other Archangels, “Hold your temper, all of you. The Creator has given me the name of the culprits. And He too wishes for justice to be served.”

“By us?”, asked Uriel hopefully.

To everyone's surprise, Azrael shook her head. “No. The exacter of the Lord's justice shall be the one, who has claimed Raphael for zir own.”

“But that's Asmodeus!”, Raphael exclaimed.

The others stared at him.

“What does 'claimed Raphael as zir own' even mean?”, Michael questioned.

Before the Archangel in question could answer, Gabriel clarified: “It means that Asmodeus has called dibs on killing him. No one but zir is allowed to lay hand on Raphael, because ze wants to have the satisfaction of revenge all to zirself. Beelzebub has a similar thing going on with me.”

“Charming”, Michael deadpanned. “To choose you as their revenge kills to be. Maybe I should ask Lucifer, if he has a similar attitude towards me. Anyway, what were you going to say, Azrael?”

Azrael told him that Asmodeus didn't know yet what had happened. “So the Lord wants one of you to go down to the Second Circle of Hell and persuade zir (persuade! Not threaten or force!) to unleash zir wrath on those who did it – and only one of you”, she added, when the Archangels grew excited.

She and Raphael rolled their eyes in annoyance, when the other Archangels began to argue amongst each other.

“I will go”, Michael stated, “I'm the leader of Heaven's host and it's my responsibility.”

“But I am more eloquent than you!”, Gabriel argued, “If anyone can persuade Asmodeus, it's me!”

“Please, Gabriel! As if you could even get as far as to Asmodeus' circle! The closest thing you ever got to fighting was to turn the Nephilim against each other before the Great Flood! But I guard the Gates of Hell”, Uriel pointed out. “I know the place and its inhabitants! I should be the one to go!”

“Enough!”, Raphael snapped, startling everyone.

“I want none of you three to go! Gabriel is too clueless about the ways of Hell, Uriel is too undiplomatic and you, Michael, don't know Asmodeus at all! Azrael, can't you go? You're calm, level-headed, eloquent and the vessel of Death herself! You would be perfect …”

“I have no time for these things, Raphael”, Azrael declined. “Nor is it my job. Michael is the strongest and the hardest to impress. If anyone other than you can interact with the Prince of Lust, it's him.”

Raphael nodded, but he still felt uneasy.

Azrael handed Michael a list of names and a warrant directly from God, then saw herself out.

“Michael, can I speak to you alone?”, Raphael requested.

Michael glared at the other two and they left.

Once alone, the warrior Archangel hugged his sibling and cradled him in his arms.

“Don't worry so much, Raphael”, he cooed. “Ze can't be worse than Lucifer, can ze?”

“It's not that”, Raphael sighed. “I know you can fight zir, but this isn't about battle or fighting. This is about wit and diplomacy. Asmodeus isn't like Lucifer.”

“Enlighten me then”, Michael requested, while stroking the Healer's curly hair. “The more I know, the better.”

Raphael leaned into the soothing hand (the hand that had defeated Lucifer himself) and described his nemesis' character: “Ze became the Prince of Lust after killing the original one. Ze is exceedingly volatile, unscrupulous and cruel, yet just as seductive as someone in zir position should be: charming and silver-tongued, like zir brother Lucifer. That's all they have in common, however. Asmodeus isn't like Lucifer, ze learns from zir mistakes. Ze is intelligent, pragmatic, calculating and extremely manipulative. No one can get under one's skin quite like Asmodeus can – speaking from experience. If you have a weakness or a pressure point, ze will find it and take advantage of it. Ze is really curious too, so if something piques zir interest … well, you get the idea. That's about it. Just … take care of yourself down there, Michael.”

“Hey there”, the warrior Archangel chuckled, “If I didn't know better, I'd say you have no faith in me!”

“That's not it, it's just …”

“Trust me and the Lord”, Michael told him and kissed his forehead. “You rest and get better, after you've been through in the past week. I'll be fine, Raphael. Don't forget who I am and always have been.”

Raphael felt his face flush.

.

Michael said his due praises and prayers, before descending to the bottom of Creation.

When he came to its gates, he encountered Abaddon, the Angel of the Abyss².

“Are you substituting for Uriel?”, he inquired. “Last time I checked, you were responsible for keeping an eye on the Watchers.”

“I am substituting for Uriel”, Abaddon confirmed. “I'll return to the Abyss I come from, when they return. And what are you doing here, Leader of Heaven's Army?”

“Business”, Michael clipped and presented his permit.

The Angel of the Abyss nodded and opened the Gate to the Vestibule of Hell.

“Watch your back down there, Archangel”, he warned, “The damned madly crave the Light of God. And the demons have been particularly antsy lately.”

“I know”, Michael nodded. Then he entered this place, where he, for all fighting and smiting of demons, had never been to before.

In the Vestibule, he encountered the souls of those who had been too cowardly to choose between Good and Evil and now were plagued by all kinds of vermin. The fog there was so thick, that he needed a bit to find the Gate to the First Circle, but he did and found himself in Limbo.³

The virtuous nonbelievers fell on their knees and oohed and aahed at the sight of the Archangel. Their longing glances didn't escape Michael.

As he drew near to the Second Circle, he encountered Belphegor, the Prince of Sloth, who was ruling over both the Vestibule and the First Circle and apparently inspecting his territory.

When Belphegor saw Michael, he groaned: “Nooo, not one of you Clouddancers! I just finished my walk! Oh Satan, I thought my day couldn't get any worse!”

The Archangel was way too agitated to tolerate this nonsense, grabbed the Archdemon by the robe and lifted him up.

“One more comment like that”, Michael snarled, “And Astaroth will have your position to herself again! Now, tell me how I get to the Gate of the Second Circle!”

“Th-thi-this way!”, Belphegor squeaked.

“Coward”, Michael grumbled in revulsion, but let the other go and continued his quest.

When he came to the Second Circle at last, the demons trembled at the sight of him.

“Open the Gates!”, he commanded. “I'm not here to smite anyone, but I will, if you provoke me.”

They scrambled to fulfil the Archangel's demand, though the very emanation of his sheer power almost forced them onto their knees.

“Thank you. Now scram.”

As soon as he entered the Circle, he was assaulted by icy, hurricane force winds and unfolded his enormous six wings to shield himself.

After just a few metres, he was approached by a tall, elegant demon.

“We need to see your permit to enter here”, she spoke boldly, though the Archangel could tell she was uncomfortable.

Michael showed her the divine warrant and looked her over, as the demon scanned the text.

This was not one of the fallen angels, but it was a second generation demon – likely one of Asmodeus' own children.

“Take me to your Prince”, he ordered.

The Incubus⁴ looked up from the paper with subdued irritation. “While I know who you are, you can't give me orders around here, Archangel. It doesn't matter who you are in Heaven, here in Hell we work by different rules.”

For a second Michael felt a little awkward, as well as really aggravated at the disrespect. But the demon did have a point. Though to Michael's defence, he had never actually been obliged to be polite to a demon before (what with him being a soldier and all).

“I'm sorry, my bad. Would you please be so courteous as to lead me to Prince Asmodeus to do my assigned business with zir?”

The Incubus smiled suavely: “Better. Follow me.”

While they crossed through the Second Circle, Michael had to dodge a few damned souls, who were blown about like leaves in the icy storm. He shuddered at their anguished wails and screams.

Soon they reached a black palace (how cliché).

“My fath- zir Highness's office is right above the throne room, in the centre of the palace. But this place is a mace, so getting there will take a while”, the Incubus informed him and Michael nodded.

The Archangel could feel the influence of Asmodeus grow stronger the nearer they drew; a baleful presence with a heavy pressure and a weird heat, tickling him and trying to get under his skin.

By the time they reached the door to Asmodeus' office, it had grown physically uncomfortable. Raphael had warned him, that the Prince's aura acted on its own, that it spread far and affected everyone within vicinity – just like Lucifer's and Satan's. The pulsating emanations gave Michael a faint nausea.

His guide knocked twice and from the inside a gentle, androgynous voice answered: “Enter”.

The Incubus went in first and informed the other person of Michael's arrival.

“Well, show him in then”, the voice commanded, slightly impatient.

The demon came back out and gestured for the Archangel to go inside.

.

Asmodeus was sitting behind zir desk surrounded by considerable stacks of paper.

Ze was … honestly, Michael wasn't sure, what he had expected the Prince of Lust to look like.

But one thing was for sure, he had not expected a creature with three different heads (a bull's, a ram's and a slightly distorted human visage), floating purple hair and claws almost as long as the bony fingers they belonged to.

Still, he had to pull himself together. After all, a monstrous appearance was no reason to be rude.

“Hello, Asmodeus”, he greeted zir.

“Michael”, ze returned (zir smooth, seductive and feminine voice contrasting zir appearance).

The Archdemon's glowing red eyes (all of them) wandered over the Archangel's armour and weapons.

“I come in peace”, Michael assured zir.

“Sure, that's why you're armed to the teeth”, Asmodeus remarked sarcastically.

“Well, sorry for considering that coming here would be dangerous”, he retorted. “Also, could you please change your appearance? I don't know which of your heads to talk to and it's mildly irritating.”

The Prince of Lust snickered, but did him the courtesy. One snap of zir clawed fingers later and Michael was facing an attractive, well-endowed blonde woman with unnaturally turquoise eyes wearing a burgundy business suit.

“Better?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“You're welcome, but if this puts you off, however do you talk to the Cherubim?”

That made him feel incredibly awkward, because with the Cherubim he often had the exact same problem.

“Well, let's forget about that. So, Michael …” Ze leaned back in zir chair, “… what brings you to my humble abode? If this is about Ornias again, I already told Uriel – wait, what happened to your hair?!”

Michael had taken off his helmet, revealing that the right half of his head was shorn.

“Just a little prank by Gabriel”, he muttered.

Asmodeus chortled: “Nice hair style, Archangel. Very … rebellious!”

“Hilarious”, he grumbled. “Anyway, I have come, because of this.”

He threw his warrant and a list onto the table.

Asmodeus read the warrant and arched an eyebrow. “You received your permit to come here directly from God?”

“Of course.”

The Prince of Lust nodded and added zir signature and seal to confirm that Michael had shown up. Pure formality.

“Still, that doesn't explain why you're here”, ze said. “Only that it's extremely important. Then again, I could tell the moment you entered my Circle – and yes, I could feel it”, ze added, “My aura spreads throughout the entire Second Circle of Hell. Now, what is so urgent that God sends you of all angels to come here to consult me?”

Michael decided to cut to the chase: “Archangel Raphael has been assaulted by a large group of demons.”

“And? How is that any of my business?”

That response caught him off guard. “Well … uhh …”

Asmodeus sighed: “Michael, I'm the Prince of Lust. Punishing violence or assault is not my job, unless it's of sexual nature. If you want punishment for violence against the divine, go to the Seventh Circle.”

Michael frowned: “That's where blasphemous souls get punished. I just told you, that the attack was committed by demons – demons from your Circle”, he added pointedly. “So I'm afraid this is your business. Speaking of which, you wouldn't happen to have known about it?”

Zir turquoise eyes grew hard. “Michael, if you're accusing me of sanctioning or even ordering a hit on Raphael, you're wrong. I know better than to assume that a bunch of mook demons would get the job done. If I actually wanted Raphael to die, I would finish him off myself.”

“God may grant, that you'll never accomplish that!”, Michael growled.

“Whatever”, the Archdemon brushed him off. “Bottom line is, I have nothing to do with it. I didn't even know, until you told me. When was that incident?”

“A week ago. Raphael needed a whole week to get back to Heaven, because of the injuries-”

“Wait a minute! Did I hear that right, they actually managed to wound him?! How???”

Michael inhaled sharply, before explaining: “It was a group of about thirty demons, namely those on the list. One of them got lucky and managed to literally stab him in the back.”

“Oho!”, Asmodeus exclaimed. “But he is alive, isn't he?”

“Yes, but he almost almost died.”

“Good. He deserves to suffer for a change.”

Michael wasn't sure what offended him more, zir indifferent demeanour or zir words.

“No, Raphael does not deserve that!”, he spat. “These demons assaulted him out of nowhere and wounded him gravely. They are your subjects and if you won't punish them, I will! And I'm not as nice as Raphael!”

For a second Asmodeus' expression froze.

Then zir left eye began to twitch and the temperature in the room dropped so rapidly, that the Archangel suppressed a shudder.

“Nice?”, ze echoed and Michael realised, that he had dropped a brick.

Asmodeus dropped the businesslike facade and jumped up.

“Nice!”, ze hissed, “That little bastard flung me into Hell so hard, that I now have a permanent limp! Chained me to the bottom of the Red Sea for almost a thousand years, full knowing that I was hydrophobic! And why? Because I had been doing my job and in the process grew attached to Sarah! Alright, so I did kill her first seven husbands, but what of it? They had it coming!”⁵

Michael held his spear a little tighter, but stated calmly: “I will not argue with you about your phobias or the fate of humans I never knew. It's none of my business.”

“I'm not done yet! There was that one time he threatened to chain me to the deepest bottom of the Mariana Trench, which is almost eleven kilometres under water! And then there is Asasel. All he did was teach humans about warfare and metalwork … and didn't Raphael imprison him in Dudael, under a pile of rocks, so that he may never see the sun again? Wow, what a nice and sweet little Archangel! Don't you just want to hug him! You're not a Fallen! You have never been on the receiving end of his so-called niceness! I don't care, if he was acting on God's orders, that doesn't make it hurt any less! By Satan, I can't wait for the day, when that little Archangel suffers – suffers by my hand! If I die afterwards, then so be it! I will get my revenge, if it's the last thing I do!”

Wow.

Seemed like Asmodeus had just waited to say that to someone's face.

Michael wasn't sure what to do with that.

With Lucifer he had it easier. Sure, when the two met, there would always be taunting on Lucifer's part, but then they would duke it out, no further talk, no questions asked. It was that simple.

But this …

Asmodeus seemed to notice his plight, for ze snorted: “You've never been talked to like that before, have you?”

“No”, Michael admitted.

“Thought as much.”

Then to his surprise, ze resumed zir detached smile. “Do forgive my outburst. My general mood hasn't been the best today. What were you saying?”

“Oh yeah – God has asked me (via Azrael) to come here and ask you this: that you exact your own justice on those, who-”

“And if I refuse?”

Now Michael was the angry one. “You would dare to go against the orders of the Most High?!”

Asmodeus chuckled: “Of course, that's how I fell! I was sick of being a slave and blindly following orders and the Fall, terrible as it was, freed me. I owe God nothing more, nor do I have anything to say to Him. As for my dear nemesis Raphael … if I'm on speaking terms with him, it's because he treats me with the due respect. That doesn't mean I owe him anything.”

The Archangel forced himself to take a few deep breaths, before he made another blunder. Still he couldn't help but pinch his nose in frustration.

“Asmodeus … why can't you just cooperate?”

“Michael, I fear you don't understand. Some of the demons on this list are my dear children. Through God's will a hundred of my children with Lilith die each day, just because they are hers.⁶ It's only natural, that I love those who survive just the more. Besides, Raphael didn't go down without a fight, did he? The list says that he smote sixteen of his attackers (among them seven of my children), of which there were thirty-one. If my darlings didn't know not to mess with an Archangel before, they do now. But I love my children (all 2,191,493 of them) and I will not lay a hand on any of them, nor will I allow any of you to, just because your silly little Archangel failed to watch his back.”

Those words made Michael relax just a little: for all his fierceness, he was first and foremost a being of divine love. Asmodeus' care for zir children was something he could understand and work with.

“You don't have to.”

“Come again?”

Michael clarified: “Not all of the surviving demons are your children, right? You can make an example on those who aren't. Like you said, if the rest of them didn't know not to mess with my siblings before, they do now. That would just reinforce it.”

While the Archdemon considered that, zir mood seemed to improve to the point of the room temperature becoming more comfortable.

That encouraged Michael to continue: “Besides, you would also do yourself a favour.”

Asmodeus raised a questioning brow. “Explain yourself.”

So the Archangel did: “You have staked a claim on Raphael, that he would be yours to kill.”

“That's correct.”

“Well, then what would stop you – one of the most evil and powerful demons of Hell – from asserting your claim by punishing those who dare to touch what you perceive as yours? Without your permission or even knowledge, no less!”

The Prince grinned deviously. “Why, you sly Archangel! How unscrupulous to use my pride and possessiveness to your advantage!” A snicker. “But you're not getting me that easily.”

“That much is clear. What are your conditions?” Michael couldn't believe he was asking this.

The Prince of Lust shrugged casually and named zir conditions: that ze would be allowed to come to Heaven for a bit and pay Raphael a sick visit.

That didn't sound like much, but this was a Prince of Hell demanding access to Heaven, the holiest place in creation. The warrior Archangel really wasn't comfortable with the prospect of an Archdemon prancing around in Heaven. However, if he wanted this to get anywhere, he couldn't flat out refuse.

“I think I can arrange that”, he accommodated zir, “No promises though.”

“That's all I need to hear”, Asmodeus grinned with the confidence of someone who knew they had already won.

Michael nodded. “Right. If I manage to get approval from our Father, I will send you a permit via postage. Just … try to look less demonic, when you show up.”

The Archdemon laughed: “That's fine with me!”

The Archangel nodded affirmatively. “Good. I will take my leave then.”

Asmodeus nodded and gave him back his permit. “Shall I say hello to your ex-boyfriend?”

Michael tilted his head. “My ex-boyfriend …?”

“You mean Lucifer wasn't your boyfriend back then?”

The Archangel stood up and headed for the door. “He wasn't.”

“Strange”, the Prince of Lust remarked. “I was under the impression, that you loved each other.”

Michael hesitated.

The problem was that Asmodeus wasn't wrong. But ze wasn't completely right either: they had never been a couple, but they had been in love. After Lucifer's betrayal, however …

“That was aeons ago. We never hooked up.”

“Oh. My bad. Then again, it's no surprise with his personality.”

“Not that fond of him, then? Raphael said you complain about him all the time.”

Ze pressed zir lips together. “As dutiful and obliged to him as I am, Lucifer is … difficult to work with. Any more questions?”

“Actually, yes: Raphael told me you gained your position by killing your predecessor.”

“That I did.” Asmodeus smiled broadly and with relish, revealing razor sharp teeth. “And it was  exhilarating! Then again, if the original Prince of Lust calls you a chimaera and you tear him apart in mid-air …”

“Oh my God.”

“That's exactly what Raphael said. Now go home, Michael. I will handle this affair from here. I assume you know where the exit is. Anything else?"

“Only one more thing: say hi to Luci-fuck next time you see him.”

The Prince of Lust gawked at the Archangel in disbelief. “Did you just …?!”

Then ze cackled hysterically: “Ohhhohoho! Michael! I'm shocked! You – ahahahaha! Luci-f-ahahaha! Ohohoho, this is priceless! Such language from you! Oh, I can't wait to see his face! This is fantastic! Can you say it again?”

Michael smirked: “What, Luci-fuck?”

That had the Archdemon laugh so hard that ze almost fell from zir chair.

“Goodbye, Asmodeus”, the Archangel chuckled, left and closed the office door behind himself.

As he left Hell and said goodbye to Abaddon, Michael felt so much lighter than he had before.

He sent a prayer to the All-merciful, before returning to Heaven and report the results of his mission to His Face.

.

You couldn't speak to God without going through Metatron first.

But Michael just got to greet the Scribe, before the latter pointed to the massive silver archway behind himself.

“Our Lord is already expecting you, Archangel Michael.”

“Right”, Michael mumbled and walked through the archway.

Stepping through the archway into the Throne Room of God was always an experience. One had to walk through what seemed like a planetarium rather than a hallway for minutes, before actually getting to … another archway, this one of gold.

Michael hesitated to cross this one.

Then the most beautiful of voices called to him: “Michael … come in, my child.”

Now he entered.

The light that assaulted his eyes would have blinded any other being than an Archangel or Seraph.

The Throne Room of God looked differently every time Michael came here. Sometimes it didn't even look like a throne room at all. Just like now: instead of on a throne, the Almighty was sitting in a worn-out armchair, among endless piles of books and scrolls, behind an ebony table. But instead of by a fire, the room was illuminated by God's blinding light.

Like the clearest echo, the singing of the Seraphim choir sounded through space.

“Lord God Almighty”, Michael greeted the Creator and fell onto his knees.

“Hello, my child. Come here”, the Almighty beckoned and pointed to the smaller seat on the other side of the table. “Have a seat.”

The Archangel did so, keeping his glance lowered in reverence.

Being so close to God, to feel His unlimited power was overwhelming, even for the most powerful and high-ranking angels.

“You can look me in the face, you know”, the Most High spoke with a hint of amusement. “My light has never blinded you and it never will.”

Michael would never understand, how he could look the Lord into the eyes without being reduced to a bawling mess, like most other angels. Those eyes, all-knowing and infinite like the entity they belonged to. And they were sparkling with merriment.

“My dear child, you're always so tense, when you come here”, He chided Michael.

The Archangel couldn't help but smile. “Well, I can hardly waltz in here Lucifer style and act like I'm not speaking to an omniscient, omnipotent and omnipresent entity, who created literally everything in existence now, can I?”

God laughed quietly: “No, Michael. You know better than that. But here and now, I will be your father. Have some cocoa, my child. And tell me, how your mission went.”

Michael felt a little embarrassed, but he recounted everything that had happened.

“I nearly messed it up”, he admitted sheepishly. “Most humans are more diplomatic than I was back there, not to mention Gabriel. I will never be as good at this as he is.”

The Almighty smiled: “You're not meant to be 'as good at this as Gabriel'. You're meant to be as good as you. And for the first time you did well. You rectified your slip-ups, listened to zir point of view, tried to understand it and offered a solution. You used your kindness and zir pride to come to a mutual agreement. This situation required initiative and you took it, like the sensible person you are. There is no reason for embarrassment.”

But the Archangel still wasn't convinced. “I promised zir to arrange a visit. Here in Heaven. Without speaking to you first, my Lord.”

“Alright, maybe that was a little cheeky”, God chuckled. “Remember for the next time not to make promises too soon. Asmodeus knows that I can't say no now, even though you only promised zir to try. But it's forgiven, Michael. Let zir visit Heaven. And don't worry about conduct. Asmodeus may be one of the most evil people in Hell, but ze has a desire for self-preservation. Besides, that little pun of yours just put you into zir good graces – and yes, even Archdemons have those!” God laughed. “I must say, this is the pettiest I have ever seen you! I will never get that pun out of my head!”

Michael smiled lopsidedly: “You don't get anything out of your head, King of Kings. Speaking of which … what about the demons? Do they remember Heaven?”

“Not all of them. But Lucifer, Beelzebub, Astaroth and Asmodeus remember everything, unlike the rest of my fallen children. It was for the best, that the rest shouldn't remember what they lost. Or that most of my children here shouldn't remember the bonds and love they once shared and the pain of losing their beloved fellow angels to pride and betrayal.”

Michael felt his heart crack.

“He … Lucifer remembers?”

God nodded. And for the first time those infinite eyes became sad. “Yes. Everything. He and the other three were the first to fall and the oldest of my children. Therefore I didn't erase their memories.”

Michael knew that he shouldn't ask further, but he couldn't help himself: “Do they … do they remember love?”

“They do. They try to forget, except for Asmodeus, but they do.”

Michael felt a particular spectre of the Lord's warmth caress his head: the healing love, which God once had given a shape in the form of Archangel Raphael.

“You are allowed to grief, my child”, the Most High told him gently. “Don't keep it all to yourself. You have been strong for far too long now, Michael. You will never be able to let go, if you don't allow yourself to break. Sometimes you need to have the courage to be weak and vulnerable, in order to gain new strength.”

Those words broke him.

For the first time in aeons the mighty Archangel Michael wept.

.

“You looked changed”, Raphael remarked, when Michael came to check on him later. “Refreshed. Almost reborn.”

Michael smiled at him and Raphael knew that he was right.

“I do feel like it”, the warrior Archangel confirmed and hugged the smaller Archangel tightly. “Hey, can I tell you a secret?”

“Of course, Michael.”

“I think I can finally let go.”

Raphael understood and smiled gently. “I'm glad.”

He himself didn't remember much from before the Great War and that was probably for the better. But he knew that Michael did, that it always had pained him, that he had never been able to break the chains of the past.

“I loved him so much, Raphael. It was already painful to put my devotion to the Most High before my feelings for him and reject him. And then he betrayed our Father and Heaven … all this time I have carried this ache in my heart, building walls about myself and never talking about it. But when I talked to the Most High earlier, He told me that it's okay to hurt. He let me open up and it felt so good. I now know that Lucifer remembers me and what we once had, that he will never forgive me for choosing my duties and love for God over him and it will always hurt, but the certainty helps me, just a little.”

“You cried in front of God?”

“Yes.”

Raphael's smile widened: just when everyone began to suspect that the Most High was a detached, indifferent and distant creator, He reminded them all, that He was merciful, that He was there and that He loved His children, every single one.

“Other than your mission and Lucifer, what else did you two talk about?”, he asked curiously.

Michael laughed and let go of his sibling. “Nuh-uh!”, he scolded playfully. “Not telling! That is a matter between the Almighty and me.”

“Come oooon!”, Raphael whined. “I wanna know!”

But the older Archangel remained firm. “No, Raphael. I will not reveal what the Almighty revealed to me without His permission. Next time He summons you, ask Him yourself, you curious little angel.”

Raphael huffed, but nodded.

Of course Michael was right. Still he couldn't help but be curious.

“At least tell me about your meeting with Asmodeus! I'm dying to know how that went!”

Michael laughed sheepishly: “Well, I dropped a few bricks, but I think ze and I came to a solution we can both be content with.”

Raphael listened curiously to his older sibling's account of the meeting and laughed heartily at the sassy remarks the two had exchanged.

“By the way”, Michael finished awkwardly, “You might get a special visitor very soon.”

The smaller Archangel's eyes narrowed. “Michael … what did you do?”

.

Ten seconds later, all of Heaven could hear someone screaming …

“WHAAAAAAAAT???”

.

In the Second Circle of Hell meanwhile, both the resident demons as well as the dead souls had not missed the rapid weather swings that had occurred, while the Archangel had been speaking to their Prince: from the normal storm, to a hailstorm unlike any seen on Earth, then back to hurricane force winds and then suddenly to almost mild winter weather, before a sudden temperature drop made everyone shiver and the ground freeze.

“Damn, Zir Highness sure is having a lot of mood swings today!”, an Incubus (the one, who had guided the Archangel Michael) noted and rubbed her clawed hands, until her body adjusted to the sudden temperature drop.

“Well, ze should stop, because I'm feeling dizzy!”, one of the older demons whined. “All these temperature swings make my circulatory system go haywire!”

“Demons don't get circulatory complaints!”, another scoffed. “Stop being such a pansy! This is literally Hell, we've been putting up with the weather around here for millennia and you're whining about circulatory complaints?!”

“Exactly!”, the Incubus agreed. “There are other things to worry about! Like what Zir Highness will do, when ze finds out about your hit on Raphael! Motherfucking Archangel Raphael, the guy who vanquished so many powerful demons, our Prince included! So what made you believe that you could take him down, huh?!”

The first Fallen glared: “Shut your trap, you second generation demon!”

The Incubus narrowed her eyes. “Careful. Were my father to hear about your conduct towards me, ze would not be pleased.”

Just as she had finished her sentence, one of the Prince's heralds came running.

“Orders from the Prince!”, he announced, “All demons of the Second Circle are to gather in the assembly hall at eleven am!”

All demons within hearing range dropped whatever they were doing and hurried to follow the summoning.

Within half an hour all demons in the circle had gathered in the hall and were chatting anxiously.

What could their Prince want?

Punctually at eleven am, the usher announced with a booming voice: “The King of the Second Circle, Archdemon of Lust, Prince of Hell, member of the Unholy Council of Seven, advisor of the King of Hell himself, Leader of Hell's army, Zir Highness Asmodeus!”

Everyone stood in reverence, as the Prince rode in on zir monstrous, winged lion.

“Hail Satan! Hail Satan!”, the millions of demons declared with one voice, as Asmodeus waved graciously. The Prince of Lust was sporting zir human form; voluptuous blonde with cherry lips and bright turquoise eyes.

That in itself wasn't bad.

But ze was also wearing zir robe of shadows beneath zir princely regalia. The room temperature was so low, that hoar frost was covering the walls and everyone quivered. The vibe the Prince was giving off was so sinister, that it made the lesser demons physically sick.

The message was clear: Asmodeus was furious.

Someone was going to die.

The Prince allowed a herald to help zir off zir terrible steed and slowly limped to zir own seat. A Succubus hurried to put a microphone right in front of their father's throne.

Asmodeus nodded towards zir child.

“Sit down”, ze spoke into the microphone and everybody sat. Then ze announced: “The following demons shall come hither before my throne.” And read out a list of names.

The demons in question obeyed, trembling even harder than the rest.

Their superior gave them a frigid glance, before ze bent forward and addressed zir subjects in a weirdly level tone.

“Creatures of the Second Circle of Hell. I have summoned you, because something has occurred, that was both surprising … and impertinent.”

There were murmurs all about and the tension grew thicker.

“Early this morning”, Asmodeus continued, “I had a visitor: the Archangel Michael. He came all the way to my office, because of an interesting incident. One that involved the demons kneeling in front of me and a few more: the wounding of the Archangel Raphael.”

Another murmur went through the crowd.

“It has been brought to my attention, that a group of thirty-one demons launched an ambush attack on the Archangel. And that one of them managed to wound him with a flaming throwing knife. As you all can see”, Asmodeus pointed at the demons in front of zir, “Only fifteen of them are kneeling before my throne. The other sixteen have been destroyed by Raphael, unsurprisingly.”

The murmuring died down and was replaced by subdued silence.

Only now ze addressed the demons before zir directly: “You fifteen are charged with indirect murder of fellow demons, unsanctioned assault and defiance of my authority. How do you plead?”

No one was surprised, when they pleaded not guilty.

Asmodeus made the biggest eye roll ever, before continuing: “I admit, the news caught me off-guard. Especially the fact, that it happened over a week ago and no one cared to inform me, until that cursed Archangel Michael waltzed into my office, armed to the teeth. Which displeases me more than a little. Now tell me”, Asmodeus turned to the demons before zir, “Who of you had the notion, that launching a surprise attack on an Archangel without my sanction or even knowledge would be a good idea?”

The demon on the far right put their arm up, shaking like a leaf.

Asmodeus tilted zir head in surprise. “You? You are the instigator?”

The demon cowered under his superior's killer stare.

“So you convinced thirty demons, that attacking a motherfucking Archangel was a brilliant plan? Impressive, I must say. But also inane. Surely you must have known, how suicidal such an endeavour would be. And he did destroy half of your gang, didn't he?”

Asmodeus' glowing eyes narrowed.

“Your little stunt cost the lives of seven of my children, as well as nine of your siblings. And to top it off, you dared to touch something that belongs to me. All of Hell knows, that I have staked a claim on the little Archangel and I have never taken kindly to anyone touching what's mine. And you didn't even get the job done: Raphael lives. He survived and told his siblings everything. Now the entirety of Heaven knows, which practically forces me to make you face the consequences! But I won't punish you all the same. Children, step back.”

Three of the demons did as told, leaving twelve demons kneeling in front of Asmodeus' throne.

“For their lèse majesté, indirect murder of fellow demons, unsanctioned assault and disobedience, I sentence the twelve demons in front of me to-”

“What will it be?”, the instigator scoffed. “An eternity in Abaddon's Pit?”

The Prince chuckled frostily: “This fate would await you, had you not pulled ten of my children into this. I lose a hundred of them to the forces of Heaven each day and no thanks to you now I have to mourn seven more. As it is, the Pit would be way too merciful. No. You will be devoured … by my shadows.”

The tendrils on the Archdemon's shadow robe extended and spread all over the ground. Everyone screamed in fear and scrambled onto their seats for a modicum of safety.

The Prince laughed, obviously enjoying the mass panic.

With deliberate slowness ze stood up and limped down the stairs to be at the demons' eye level. With a diabolic sneer ze let zir shadow slowly surround the convicts.

“Any last words?”

The demon to the far left lifted their hand.

“Yes?”

“Your Highness, may I take off my winter coat? It's brand new, I'd hate for it to get ruined.”

The Archdemon nodded.

“Too kind”, the lesser demon thanked zir (not without irony) and stripped out of their coat.

“Indeed so”, Asmodeus agreed and took the garment. “I must admit the dignity you face your gruesome execution with is admirable. Not that this is going to save you.”

With that, the Prince's shadow fully engulfed and consumed the lesser demon completely. They didn't even scream, as they died.

The audience groaned as one, shaken at the sight.

And Asmodeus had been kind; seeing as that demon had been granted a quick death as a nod to their bravery.

The other eleven on the other hand screamed hysterically and huddled together in mortal terror. Several of them fell onto their knees, wringing their hands.

“NO!!! MERCY!!!”

Asmodeus scoffed: “Mercy? Here in Hell? Have you forgot that this is a place of punishment?”

“N-no, but-”

“Unbelievable! You went against my orders and have the nerve to beg me for mercy? Disgusting.”

“Y-your Royal Highness! D-don't do this! We didn't mean – we only wanted to-”

“Wanted to do what?”, Asmodeus cut them off. “Serve to your Prince the head of zir nemesis on a silver plate? In the hope, that you would gain my favour and be rewarded? Congratulations, you accomplished the opposite.”

The second one was torn apart and consumed with far more brutality than the first and blood spilled everywhere like in a splatter movie.

Not just a few witnesses screamed in horror.

The ten condemned remaining scrambled together even closer. They tried to run, alone the Archdemon's will held them where they were.

Asmodeus on the other hand seemed to be downright delighted by their terror.

“Is there anything else you might want to say, before I destroy the rest of you?”

A short demon managed to stand back up and screamed at zir: “WE ONLY WANTED TO PROVE OUR LOYALTY!”

“There would've been other ways of doing that”, Asmodeus informed them amiably. “But as it is, the only thing you proved is your folly-”

“I DON'T WANT TO DIE!”

“So?”

“WE THOUGHT IT WOULD PLEASE YOU!”

As their dying screams tore through the air and gore splattered everywhere, the Archdemon's cherry lips twisted upward. On zir beautiful human face it looked even more terrifying than on zir grotesque demonic visage.

Asmodeus smiled.

“You misjudged me, I'm afraid.”

.

“Now that this is done”, the Prince of Lust purred sweetly. “I think I got my point across. I never want to see such insubordination again, do you all hear me?”

The audience nodded collectively.

One by one they came down from their chairs, as their Prince's shadow retracted and returned to being the fringes on zir black robe.

“Good. Now to you, my children. Come here.”

The three obeyed hesitantly.

Asmodeus felt just a little sorry for terrifying zir children so, but drastic times required drastic measures.

“As your loving father, I will spare you this gruesome fate”, ze soothed them.

The Succubi sighed in relief.

“However”, ze continued sternly and they tensed up again, “That doesn't change the fact, that you have been very irresponsible by getting involved in this. So often I have warned you against the Archangels. They are way out of your league. Only a Prince of Hell like myself can hold their own against them. Yet you tried to mess with one anyway and seven of your siblings paid the price. That was foolish and I thought I raised you better than that. I am heavily disappointed in you.”

They lowered their heads.

“Now that you have seen your siblings die and just witnessed the brutal execution of my fellow Fallen, you will live with your survivor's guilt. You're grounded for the next two hundred years. In the meantime you will be cleaning the stables, including that of my dragon-lion Lyssa⁷. You will also be feeding her. That's your punishment. And mind you, next time I won't be so generous anymore.”

They stared at their father in horror.

Normally Lyssa was fed normal meat like any other lion, but once Asmodeus had fed two demons from the Third Circle to her, because of some disrespect.

It had put zir at odds with Beelzebub for a while, but they had reconciled quickly.

Both of them were vicious, when it came to punishing the slightest signs of rebellion; they'd destroy first and ask questions later. After all, you couldn't be a Prince of Hell, if you weren't a special kind of ruthless.

Asmodeus sighed, shook zir head and miracled cleaning supplies out of thin-air. “Now clean up this mess, you three. And then you will make a shroud for your fallen siblings. I do hope you have learned your lesson.”

.

Michael, ever the protective sibling, was anxious about the sanctioned, but very much unwelcome sickbed visit Raphael was going to receive soon.

Sure, God had assured him that Asmodeus would not harm Raphael and he had full trust in the Almighty, but he couldn't help it!

He wasn't the only one; in fact Uriel and Gabriel seemed to be even more nervous about it.

Uriel had been incensed at the news and had nearly thrown hands with him. Not that they would've stood a chance against the warrior Archangel, but Michael wasn't one to look for a fight.

Finally the three were pulled aside by Azrael.

“How much longer do you intend to skulk around Raphael's quarters?”, she confronted them.

“Well, how can you be so calm about it?”, Uriel snapped. “This is about Asmodeus, a motherfucking Prince of Hell-”

“Language!”, Michael scolded.

Uriel glared at him and went on: “-Raphael's oldest nemesis, coming to Heaven, the most hallowed place in Creation, and you're telling us to settle down?!”

“The Most High sanctioned it”, Azrael returned calmly. “You're fools to worry, when our Father agreed to let zir come here.”

“But-”

“Do not question God's decisions.”

The warning glance in the older Archangel's silvery eyes silenced Uriel instantly.

Azrael was paragon of patience, always calm and never rash, accustomed to waiting and able to tolerate almost anything without even arching a brow. But where the Almighty's decisions were questioned, she was quick to warn her fellow angels from treading onto potentially dangerous paths.

The Angel of Death sighed: “We have nothing to fear from Asmodeus. Not here in Heaven. The holiness of this place will take a toll on zir, so ze will seek to leave as soon ze's said zir say.”

Uriel nodded and humbly lowered their head. “Of course, you're right. I need to calm down. Raphael can take care of himself, even in his recovery and Asmodeus isn't stupid enough to attack him here. There just is something about their relationship, that unsettles me.”

“Well, our relationship is pretty unsettling!”, a voice snickered. “But that's what makes it fun!”

The Archangels whirled around to look at the newcomer and their eyes widened in shock.

Asmodeus smirked: “Hello, everyone. Michael told me to try and look 'less demonic', when I showed up. So I did! Do you like my getup?”

The Prince of Lust was clad all in white, the long golden hair in a loose plait. Ze almost looked like an innocent young woman. Only the blackened, fractured halo and the sly look in zir bright turquoise eyes gave zir away. And the walking cane, obviously; it was practically one of the Archdemon's signature features.

Asmodeus arched an eyebrow. “What, won't you say hello? Do angels these days think they're too good for basic politeness?”

“Hello, Asmodeus”, Uriel said coolly.

The demon smiled amiably: “That's more like it! So good to see you all again! How long has it been? Michael's recent visit not counted, several millennia?”

The Archangels exchanged uncomfortable glances. Such genial conduct from a Prince of Hell was … jarring. To say the least.

But then the Archdemon squinted. “Wait … Azrael, is that you?! Why, I almost didn't recognise you! So you're the new Angel of Death?”

Azrael nodded. “Yes. Death chose me to be her vessel, after her old one fell.”

“I can see that, honey, look at you! I simply can't believe how tall you've gotten! And you're an Archangel! Nothing like the tiny, snow white Cherub, whose wings just wouldn't grow!”

Michael cleared his throat: “I don't want to be rude, but didn't you say you wanted to visit Raphael?”

Asmodeus laughed: “Of course! But I just couldn't resist catching up with God's little helper¹! My, how she has changed! Unlike you three. You haven't changed at all”, ze added pointedly. “And neither has Heaven, apparently. It's just as cold, white and sterile as I remember. No wonder the silly little Archangel prefers to spend time on Earth. Speaking of him, where were his quarters again? My memory is a bit blurry on that part and I couldn't find a site map.”

Gabriel gave zir directions.

Asmodeus smiled suavely: “Thank you.”

Then ze limped off to Raphael's rooms.

The other Archangels, save Azrael hatefully glared after the demon.

“Fucking arsehole!”, Uriel hissed.

“Language!”, Michael scolded.

“But it's true!”, they enraged themselves. “'Silly little Archangel'?! And reminding Azrael of the handicap she used to have! If this wasn't a holy place I would break zir spine! I will not stand for this behaviour!”

“Yes, you will, Uriel”, Michael ordered harshly and grabbed them by the arm, before they could run after the demon. “You will keep your temper and you will be friendly and prudent, like the Archangel of Wisdom you're supposed to be. Do you hear me?”

Suddenly he realised just what he was doing and let go.

“Oh – oh good Lord God Almighty, I'm so sorry! Please forgive me, I didn't mean – I'm sorry, Uriel.”

Uriel rubbed their arm (it would probably bruise later) and averted their gaze. But the pain in their eyes hadn't gone unnoticed by the other Archangels.

Gabriel glowered at Michael, while Azrael shook her head in disappointment.

Michael sighed and hugged the white-haired Archangel. “Look, I'm sorry. I really am. That was cruel of me to say and do and I only shamed myself there.”

“Sure did!”, Gabriel grumbled and was promptly elbowed by Azrael.

“Mistakes have been made”, the Angel of Death spoke, “This one won't happen again.”

“Certainly not”, Michael promised.

Uriel still didn't say anything, but they did hug him back.

The warrior Archangel smiled, having all the answer he needed.

Azrael cleared her throat: “Now that this is settled, how about we put it behind us and I treat you all to a snack? Personally, I need a white chocolate moccha or something else that contains gross amounts of caffeine and sugar.”⁸

.

Raphael heard steps outside his bedroom, put his book down and sat up in his bed, waiting.

Asmodeus didn't even knock before ze entered the room.

The Archangel had to make a double take at how modestly the Prince of Lust was dressed.

“Hello, Raphael”, Asmodeus purred sensually, fully knowing how much Raphael hated it, when ze talked like that.

“Hi. Nice outfit”, he commented. “Loose plait and flowers in your hair? Long white skirt and blouse with frills? I'm impressed, you almost look cute.”

“And you look almost weak!”, Asmodeus retorted. “I've never seen you this fragile! If the cause had been me, I would be absolutely delighted.”

“What do you want?”, Raphael spat. “How did you get here and can you even walk around here? The consecrated ground should be burning your feet and Heaven is too high up for demons to reach these days!”

Asmodeus shrugged: “These shoes are human-made. This way it only stings a little. As for how I got this far up, I hijacked a rocket.”

“Asmodeus!”

“A ride, Raphael! I got a ride!”, the demon groaned in annoyance. “Yerachmiel picked me up from earth. Are you satisfied now?”

“No. Again, why are you here?”

The Archdemon frowned: “Why so hostile, my beloved nemesis? I just want to make a sickbed visit to my revered adversary!”

Raphael's eyes narrowed. “No, you want to feast your eyes on seeing me vulnerable for once in your life.”

“That too!”, Asmodeus tittered. “But not just.”

Then, without even asking for permission, ze crossed the room and sat on the edge on the other's bed.

“I didn't allow you to invade my personal space.”

“I'm the Prince of Lust, silly little Archangel. Whatever makes you believe, that I give a damn about personal space?”

The Archangel was about to further sit up, but Asmodeus placed a hand on his chest.

“Now, now! Aren't you supposed to rest?”

“That's hardly possible with you around.”

The Prince of Lust snickered. Then zir grin slowly morphed into a leer, that made Raphael's flesh crawl.

“Look at you, Raphael. Bed-ridden and still weakened from an incident that was over a week ago. Absolutely fantastic. If being here in Heaven wasn't taking such a toll on me, I could sit here and revel in this sight all day.”

“But you can't. Lucky me.”

“Not so lucky”, Asmodeus contradicted. “You're at my mercy, more than you could ever care to admit.”

“Oh, I think I could”, Raphael replied. “I am in fact aware of how defenceless I am right now. I'm just not afraid of you.”

“Hmmm … maybe you should be”, the Archdemon mused.

Raphael gasped, when he felt the hand on his chest heat up. Then it wandered upwards, to his neck.

He choked, when those manicured fingers wrapped around his throat, painfully hot and threatening to suffocate him. He could feel the Hellfire crawling under Asmodeus' corporeal skin and the razor sharp claws beneath zir finger tips, more than ready to be unleashed onto their victim.

“I could kill you, Raphael”, ze purred. “Right here. Right now. Have my revenge and destroy you, just like I have always dreamed. I can feel just how weak you still are. One blow and your siblings would return to find your charred, lifeless shell, your soul completely destroyed.”

Raphael grinned lopsidedly: “But you won't.”

Asmodeus snickered: “You're right, my fondly loathed. I won't.”

Still the Archangel was grateful, when the demon finally let go.

“Let me see your back”, the Prince demanded.

Raphael frowned at zir peremptory tone, but let his sleeping gown slide off the shoulders.

He suppressed a shudder, when he felt Asmodeus' hand running down his spine and stopping right where he had been stabbed recently.

“I see, they left a scar”, ze observed. “Must have been quite a potent weapon.”

“I think it was”, the Archangel mumbled. “I needed almost a whole week to drag myself back to Heaven.”

“I'm surprised you even lived that long”, Asmodeus noted. “Azrael and Michael didn't manage to remove all of it, did they? Some of it is still in there. If I don't remove the rest, it will kill you sooner or later. Like a slow poison.”

This time he did tremble.

Because this thought did frighten him.

And trying to conceal it was futile; demons could sense fear.

Thankfully, Asmodeus didn't comment on it.

Suddenly the Prince applied a little pressure on the scar, making the Archangel gasp.

“I will drain the last bit of unholy essence out of you now. So brace yourself”, ze breathed into his ear. “Because this is going to hurt. A lot.”

Raphael gulped heavily and did as told.

But even the warning couldn't have prepared him for the sudden, searing hot pain in his back. It was similar to when he had been stabbed, but even more intense than that – it felt like the Archdemon's claws were digging into his flesh!

When ze brushed over a particularly sensitive spot, he screamed in agony.

Asmodeus snickered into his ear and the Archangel felt anger well up in his chest; of course that bastard was enjoying this! Surely ze was taking zir time to make him suffer as much as possible!

After a while, he finally felt something being drained out of him and for a moment it hurt even worse.

Then, before Raphael knew it, the pain was gone and he collapsed into Asmodeus' arms, trembling and gasping for breath.

“There, there”, the Prince cooed and embraced him from behind with one arm. “All better already. That wasn't so bad now, was it?”

“Not so bad?!”, he gasped. “It was worse than when I got stabbed! What in Heaven did you do, sink your claws into my corporation and dig around in my flesh?!”

The Archdemon chuckled: “Felt like it, didn't it? But no, my dearly detested. Exorcising Hellfire is just that painful – at least for humans and angels. But worry not, it's inside of me, where it belongs.”

“You drew this out”, Raphael accused zir. “And revelled in my agony, like the sadist you are.”

Asmodeus smirked diabolically: “And you deserved every second of it. Oh don't make that face, Archangel”, ze added, when Raphael glowered up at zir. “Need I remind you of all the things you did to me in the past? And now you have smitten seven of my children. Their stunt was the epitome of stupid, but that's not the point. The point is, no one has more right to make you suffer than myself.”

Raphael wound himself out of zir arms and readjusted his sleeping gown.

“Why do you always act like getting tormented by you is a privilege?!”, he demanded to know.

The Archdemon chuckled: “Oh, I have many reasons! I'm a Prince of Hell, making people suffer is fun and most of all … you belong to me.”

Raphael's eyes grew hard. “I'm not your property, Asmodeus.”

“Oh, you keep telling yourself that, silly little Archangel! But I have claimed you and there is nothing you can do about it. If anyone but me dares to lay hand on you, I will let them see the worst side of me. My wife knows this, the other Princes know this and thanks to what I did to the culprits, the rest of Hell now knows too.”

Oh no.

“Asmodeus … what did you do to the survivors?”

“Oh, I killed them!”, ze said cheerfully. “They got ripped apart in mid-air and consumed by my shadows! Except for my surviving children, naturally – they just got manual labour and house arrest. And the entirety of my Circle witnessed it! After all, I had to make an example on the demons who dared to act against my orders. Oh, you should have seen it! More than three million demons, completely horrified, scrambling onto their chairs to get away from my shadow, blood and goo everywhere-”

“Please stop. I neither need nor want to hear the gory details.”

The Prince pouted. “You're such a killjoy!”

“There is nothing joyous in what you do.”

“Okay, rude! Ah, whatever, I still have a lot to tell you. And I want you to listen, because this is important.”

Before the Archangel could reply, Asmodeus' hand returned to his throat – what was that with zir sick obsession of choking people?!

“Just to make this clear”, ze snarled, “Now that I have saved your life, you're in my debt. So you better prepare for the day, when I'll collect it. For a Healer, you get into far more trouble than is good for you. Still, I want the entirety of Hell, Heaven and Earth to know, that it is solely my privilege to tempt, hurt or even kill you. You're mine, Raphael. Always have been, always will be. Whether you like it or not. And you should be grateful, because that also means you're under my protection. Still you better not get into such a situation again, because if I have to save your pathetic arse one more time, I will torment you to the point where you'll beg for death. Do you understand?”

The Archangel managed a little nod.

The Prince of Lust smiled – “Splendid!” – and let go.

Raphael coughed and gripped his own neck.

“Why the H-e-double-hockey-sticks do you always do this?!”, he rasped.

Asmodeus tilted zir head. “Why, whatever do you mean, my beloved nemesis?”

“Act like you're the only one who has some beef with me! Like you have a monopoly on being my enemy!”

Objectify me, others would have said, but Raphael knew Asmodeus too well. Ze was prideful and condescending and zir behaviour towards him often came across as objectifying, but he knew that the demon had a twisted, undefinable kind of respect for him that ze didn't have for any other angel or human. Even though Asmodeus' possessiveness towards him (that ze didn't exhibit over anyone else, not even zir wife and lover) was a more than dubious honour.

Asmodeus snickered: “Well, I wouldn't say I have a monopoly on being your enemy, but I definitely have one on being your nemesis. Azazel could escape his prison and I would still rip him to shreds, should he even attempt to harm you.”

“Wow, how very charming!”, the Archangel replied sarcastically, “Thank you! I'm touched!”

The Archdemon snorted. “Oh, you silly little Archangel! I love your sarcasm, it's just so … unangelic!”

Raphael scowled: “Leave, Asmodeus. Since you obviously have nothing more of importance to say, I will no longer put up with your taunting.”

Asmodeus chuckled: “As you wish. Not that I would've lingered much longer anyway. As I said before, being here in Heaven is pretty tough on me.”

Oh, praise to the Almighty!

“Oh, before I forget!”, ze cried and produced something from zir pocket. “I think this belongs to you?”

He blanched, when the Prince of Hell handed him a silver locket.

“How did you get your hands on this?!”, he croaked.

“One of your attackers snatched it, when they scrammed”, the Archdemon explained. “My children handed it over to me.”

The Archangel opened the locket to see, if anything was missing. But nothing was.

“The medallion of Yehudiel. The one she gifted to you, when you two got engaged.”

“How do you kn-”

“I'm surprised you still have it”, Asmodeus remarked. “After all this time.”

He clutched it to his chest, as he stared at the demon. “Asmodeus … what happened to her?”

“I don't know.”

It was a lie.

Tense silence fell over the two.

Eventually the Prince of Lust decided to show a little mercy. “Yehudiel is dead, silly little Archangel. That's all you need to know.”

So she had fallen.

Raphael wanted to ask zir, if ze knew who she was now, but Asmodeus clearly had no intention of answering that question. So he took it for now.

“Right … should you come across her, please say hello from me.”

Ze nodded. “I can do that.”

How strangely graceful.

The Prince of Lust stood with some effort and limped towards the door.

“Anyway … I will be on my way now. It was fun, my dearly detested. Say hi to your siblings from me, when you see them later.”

“Shall I say hi to Father from you too?”

For a moment Asmodeus lingered in the door frame.

“Do whatever you please. It doesn't matter to me. Goodbye, Raphael.”

Then ze was gone.

.

With owlish eyes Lilith watched her husband pace up and down the room.

Asmodeus had been doing this for hours, venting zir frustration about zir nemesis and about how “unimaginably dense” he was.

Zir anger was causing a hurricane to rage in their Circle, so powerful it was leaking through to the bordering Circles. This had to be a new record – Asmodeus was notorious for affecting the weather in the Second Circle with zir moods and the angrier ze was, the colder and stormier it got. This power was only second to Beelzebub's; the right hand of Lucifer himself was renowned for zir weather aspect.

She was tempted to tell zir to calm down and stop rambling about Archangel Raphael, but she knew that ze needed to get it off zir chest.

Asmodeus was too proud to do this often, too proud to even talk about zir earlier existence. It would have come off as nostalgic and sentimental and Lilith knew that her husband was anything but.

“That idiot is driving me insane!”, Asmodeus fumed. “I mean, come on! I served him the truth on a silver plate! Nobody else, except for maybe the Almighty, even knew about the relationship between Raphael and Yehudiel, let alone that they wanted to get married and gave each other a locket as token!”

Of course Lilith knew that.

She also knew that ze possessed a medallion similar to the one ze had returned to the Archangel. It was the only remnant of zir earlier existence that ze had kept. (Which was a bit odd, because she knew that her husband had long moved on – ze had never been one to dwell in the past, ze was living for the moment. It was one of the things she loved about zir.)

And she knew, that her spouse had been tempted to keep the piece of jewellery, after their children had handed it over to zir.

“He remembers that – I know he does! The shock on his face about me knowing this said it all! And he still didn't get it?! How the fuck did he not get it?! How can one possibly be that dense?! This is a new level of dumbassery! Even a human would have figured it out!”

Lilith coughed softly.

Sure, she had renounced her humanity all these millennia ago, but that didn't change the fact, that at some point she had possessed it. Beelzebub still called her a “being of clay”, when ze felt particularly jealous; ze and Asmodeus were lovers in a way, yet it was her Asmodeus had chosen to marry. Sometimes the Prince of Gluttony was still sour about it.

Her cough made her spouse stop dead in zir tracks.

“Do forgive me, my queen”, ze apologised. “That human remark was uncalled for.”

Lilith nodded gracefully.

Asmodeus tore at zir purple hair. “It's just … gha! How much more obvious could I possibly be?!”

“Maybe he does get it, deep down. Maybe he doesn't want to see the truth: that his fiancée has turned into one of the most vicious demons of Hell”, Lilith theorised, “I mean, if you suddenly turned back into an angel, I would flip my shit too. Probably be in denial as well. Because that wouldn't be the person I fell for and married. It wouldn't be you.”

Asmodeus smiled lopsidedly. “You're right, it wouldn't. While I remember everything, I can hardly believe, that I ever was pure-hearted, kind and beautiful. Not after more than six thousand years of being … this.”

Ze pointed at zirself.

Lilith tilted her head.

The King of Demons, as ze was also known, really wasn't beautiful by human, angelic or even demonic standards, at least not in zir current form.

Ze had three heads; one a black ram, one a black bull and a human one. The moon pale human face, a strange combination between beauty and hideous distortion: Asmodeus had very sharp cheek bones, purple lips, floating purple hair, razor sharp fangs and glacial turquoise eyes, that glowed red, when ze was passionate, enraged or upset. The Archdemon's androgynous body was covered in fluffy, black plumage and ze had the legs and feet of a bird of prey, lethal talons included. Not to mention the snake tale and the black hands with their long, clawed fingers. Then there were zir gigantic six wings, black-feathered with a pinkish hue and covered in eyeballs.

And this was just one of zir many shapes – some were even more frightening.

To Lilith her spouse was the most beautiful thing in the world, no matter what ze looked like.

She fluttered up (she just was so tiny next to zir) and gave zir a peck on the human-like cheek.

A light pink dusted Asmodeus' cheeks and ze giggled stupidly.

Cute.

Within seconds she found herself wrapped into zir wings and arms and they were cuddling.

“To me you're perfect, my husband”, she cooed, “No matter what you look like.”

“Oh, how I adore you so, my queen”, ze purred, “My soulmate, my perfect equal, best of all women and of all man- and demon-kind. You, who always let me be free and who is so perfectly suited for me. You, who won the heart of the Morningstar and still chose me.”

“My dear king”, she hooted quietly, “You, who could choose anyone as zir wife and wed a being of clay, who divorced two husbands. My very special person, who never treated me as anything less than zir equal, never asked me to submit to you and never laid chains on me.”

She took her human face to kiss her spouse on the lips.

Asmodeus kissed back with passion.

What followed was passionate lovemaking between two immensely powerful demons.

.

Meanwhile the demons and the dead sinners of the Second Circle noticed another rapid weather change, this time for the better.

“Ah, our Prince and his queen are fucking again”, one of the Fallen noted.

“Oh thank Satan!”, another sighed. “If anyone can soothe zir Highness's temper, it's Queen Lilith!”

“Let's hope this will last”, a Succubus remarked, “Father has been in such a measly mood lately, ze really needs to calm down and cheer up.”

.

“Whoa!”, Asmodeus gasped afterwards. “Six thousand years and still no one can sate my lust and make me see stars like you can!”

Lilith giggled: “Ditto, my dear!”

They lay like this for a bit longer, before the Prince of Lust noticed a cunning gleam in zir wife's owlish eyes.

“What are you plotting, my queen?”, ze smirked.

“Oh, I just had an idea!”, she tittered. “I think you should tell him flat-out the truth.”

Asmodeus caught on, but groaned: “Uuugh, way to bring Raphael into the afterglow, Lilith!”

“No, no, hear me out! Reveal yourself to him! Show him your fallen form! Don't you want to see the despair on his face, when he discovers, that his beloved fiancée is now his worst enemy?”

Oh.

Oh!

Ze beamed at her: “You're right! This would be … oh, so fantastic! The perfect revenge! Oh, the very thought turns me on again!”

The infanticidal owl demon cackled: “Alright, round ninety-nine it is!”

“Hell yeah!!”

.

After another day of bed rest, Raphael was finally allowed to resume his duties.

The other Archangels had been surprised, when he had given them the details of his nemesis' visit.

“So that's why the Almighty allowed Asmodeus to visit you!”, Uriel cried out, “I can't believe that didn't occur to me!”

“I told you all, God had a good reason to let this happen!”, Azrael proclaimed proudly, “But as usual you had to freak out, before thinking stuff over.”

Uriel rolled their eyes: “Yes, yes, I admit it, I overreacted and you were right about everything. Happy now?”

The Archangel of Death nodded in satisfaction. “Very.”

“Still kinda ironic, though”, Gabriel mused. “That Asmodeus would be the one to save Raphael's life. I mean, everybody knows that ze wants to murder him really, really hard.”

Raphael smiled lopsidedly: “That's true. But killing me here would have been suicidal. And Asmodeus loves zir life.”

“Speaking of zir”, Michael spoke up, “Do you happen to know, who ze used to be?”

Raphael shook his head. “No. And honestly, I never thought I needed that knowledge. But ever since ze gave me back my fiancée's gift, I'm starting to think … maybe I do need to know.”

Suddenly he had an idea.

“You guys remember everything or at least know, right? Can't you tell me?”

Everyone looked first at Michael, who shifted uncomfortably.

Then at Gabriel, who promptly turned away.

Azrael shrugged, even though she clearly knew.

It was Uriel, who gave in, but instead of answering his question, they just asked: “Raphael, why don't you just ask Asmodeus zirself?”

The Archangel of Healing huffed in exasperation: “I've already tried that several times, ze doesn't want to tell me anything! Ze didn't even give me a clear answer, when I asked zir what happened to Yehudiel!”

The other Archangels pricked up their ears.

“What did Asmodeus say?”, Michael wanted to know.

“'Yehudiel is dead, silly little Archangel. That's all you need to know.'”, Raphael parroted Asmodeus' sultry voice. “Gha! I hate how ze is always so flirty and forward, yet when it comes to zir past, ze always gets vague and elusive! I just have to mention it and ze gets either cagey or angry! The only thing I know about zir, is that ze was a Seraph and that ze was always close to Lucifer!”

The Healer sighed and flopped back onto his chair. “I'm sick of all this secrecy! I want to know the truth! Is that too much to ask?!”

The other Archangels exchanged even more awkward glances.

Finally Uriel took some pity on their sibling and pat his shoulder. “You know, Raphael … I think you should try one more time. Confront zir and this time be adamant about it. Don't let zir leave, before ze has told you everything. No matter how many temper tantrums ze throws, put your foot down. You're self-assertive, you can do that.”

Raphael beamed at the hoary Archangel: “You're right, Uriel! That's what I'll do!”

His mind was made up.

This time he wouldn't let Asmodeus get away, before ze had told him everything.

Because that wily arsehole had answers and Raphael wanted them.

.

---

.

1) Raphael literally means "God heals" in Hebrew. 2) Abaddon means "Destruction" in Hebrew and is the name of a place in the underworld, where the damned are punished. It's the bottomless pit, where Satan and his followers will be incarcerated following Armageddon, but it's also the name of the angel in charge of it, hence the epithet "Angel of the Abyss". He's said to be in charge of an army of monstrous-looking locusts. Sources vary on who exactly that angel is. I headcanon, that God created an angel from the abyss, named him after the place and gave him the key to watch over it. 3) Limbo is traditionally the place, where "virtuous heathens" would go, people who had lived a virtuous life or just had died with no other guilt than not having been baptised. Some people believed that unbaptised children would also go there, but this view was contested even from the early Middle Ages, on account of them being innocent babies. The Catholic Church established a few decades ago, that unbaptised children have a place in Paradise. In fact, the very concept of the Limbo was never included into the official canon, but obviously it has always been an influencial and popular idea, ever since it was first conceived. 4) If you're stumbling over the Incubus being a female, the reason is that incubus derives from the Latin word "incubare" ("to lie on"). So, despite the tradition that Incubi are always male, it would technically be more accurate to say they're always tops, regardless of gender. In kind, Succubi are always bottoms, when you go by that logic, since "succumbere" means "to lie beneath" in Latin. 5) In the Book of Tobit, Asmodeus plagues a girl named Sarah and kills her first seven husbands, before they can sleep with her. It's never stated, why ze does this. In the Testament of Solomon, Asmodeus tells Solomon that this is part of zir job. But it could also be that ze's obsessed with Sarah or acts as some kind of guard and kills the husbands, because they feel more lust than love for her (I think it's the obsession thing, as well as the job). Ze is later driven away by Tobias under the instructions of Archangel Raphael. Raphael pursues Asmodeus down to Egypt, binds zir and in some versions either imprisons zir in the Red Sea or strangles zir. 6) Lilith was Adam's first companion, but she dumped him, grew wings and flew away, refusing to submit to him. God sent three angels, who asked her to return to Eden, but she refused and furthermore declared, that she would become a demon, who harms babies. So God was like "Well, if you're gonna be like that, fine, but you'll lose 100 of your own children each day." And Lilith was like "Fine." (As ridiculous as this sounds, this is canon! The Alphabet of Ben-Sira also says, that she is driven away from babies by the names of the angels, who spoke to her) 7) The Dictionnaire Infernal by Collin de Plancy states, that Asmodeus rides a lion with the wings and neck of a dragon. I decided to name her Lyssa, after the ancient Greek personification of furious anger, as another nod to Asmodeus' wrathful aspect. 8) Azrael means "Help from God/God helps" in Hebrew. 9) I've been inspired to this by the fact that I've stumbled over several entities of death/destruction in modern media, who have a fondness for human food. So my version of the Angel of Death loves sweet, hot beverages. God allows His angels to treat themselves once in a while, as long as it's not too self-indulgent. Bonus: I will not apologise for the "Luci-fuck" pun. :P