--Tracked tag; 'alwaysenduphere'
--Multifandom | verse;
--Single ship account [ x ]
"With fists like atom bombs, he walks on the thorny warpath to the heavens, masked in blood and bathed in fire.
He will stand before the throne, look the void in the eye and laugh. He has nothing but desire in his body, and nothing but truth singing from his tongue." [ x ]
She laughed at his answer. She wasn’t entirely sure what to expect for an answer, though Nutella certainly wasn’t it. She enjoyed it too, though, and it made her smile to think of him eating what her coworkers called “happiness in a jar.”
"Nutella is delicious. And mixing peanut butter with honey and bananas is good too. Maybe you’d like that?”The suggestion spilled from her lips before she could think better of it. His question caught her off-guard. She paused for a moment, to think. Why did she want to get to know him better? She pursed her lips to the side of her face. Truly, it came down to his kindness. He had away of looking at a person that made them feel seen. It was something the tine woman could appreciate, though she doubted it would be appropriate to tell him so.
"Because I can’t give you flowers for every holiday!" she laughed, hoping it might satisfy him. It wasn’t a lie-she need to find out what else she could offer to him, preferably before the next holiday season was upon them-though she didn’t think to ask if he actually celebrated any holidays.
⍦ - — “I just dipped the banana in the jar of honey, it seemed like the right thing to do at the time…”
The time being when he was devolving back into the human instinct of his vessel because his grace was being pulled away… And now, Eric was no longer human, there was no ‘loophole’ for the host to exploit. No reason for him to be anything other than he was… Was supposed to be perhaps… Either way — no need to eat or sleep and whole and here once more…
”Never tried it with peanut butter though. I will be sure to bear it in mind.”
Brow notched up slightly at the reply though, a brief moment of confusion before another of those ever curious head tilts…
”Why would you feel the need to give me anything, Rey? There’s nothing I need… And both Eric and Alana have an abundance, though if you did want to gift, then your generosity and kindness would perhaps be best served toward them…?”
”Though the gesture and the thought is appreciated…”
Another moment of contemplation, “Is there something that you want perhaps?”
They can taste burnt grace;
hellfire and frostbite,
the distant bellows of a furnace
gone terribly, irrevocably cold.
Their tongue pools from about Their lips
in a perceptible representation of savoring
that renders Their smile disgustingly predatory.
They exhale in a visible smog, smoke and distant mumblings that register as imaginary to the untrained ear — the metallic hiss of an angel blade whispers about one lazily curled hand, prompting an equally lazy grin. The flesh of Their vessel’s face (it’s held together by clothes pin at the respective seams, oozing and festering with infection and taint) shivers beneath Their influence, flickers in static as They pour against the walls.
“What could you possibly be contemplating?”
They bring the grasped blade unhurriedly upright, casually using the tip to pick at Their serrated teeth as They lounge bonelessly in the chair, eyeing the archangel with eyes like charred pits. Their lower eyelids pitch, spilling swamp water that conjoins with the perpetually moving pustules that fluctuate across the expanse of Jimmy Novak’s bare skin.
The palpable tension widens Their sneer (if such a feat was possible).
“You know how much We like to make house calls.”
The angel blade slips from Their fingers like oil
in the same moment that They rise from the chair, frame shifting into uncomfortable polygons that instill fractals of shadows about Their unnatural stance.
They are a fish out of water; a sea serpent that moves with a sluggish, inconsistent grace, dragging feet weighed by salt water and blood that clamors at the very boundaries of the vessel’s sallow sclera.
"Aren’t you happy to see Us?"
⍦ - —The appearance of the blade was hardly disconcerting.
spoils of war.
Possibly Castiel’s own?
maybe of another,
f a l l e n
And while it caused a crackle of lightening within the archangel himself it was simply a distasteful display. Heads on spikes on the road to the camp of the enemy. Something perhaps to strike fear, or just to prove a point… Not that it needed driving home any further with the cracked apparition before him.
The blade itself could harm, not kill - no archangel sword in crippled broken fingers.
Though the teeth it picked at were another matter entirely…
"Why would it ever be of interest to you?"
Angels falling, walking among humanity - delicious little delicacies as would be apparent to those who had a taste for the celestial - a veritable smörgåsbord. Perfect platter with silver service. And enough had been lost…
Throughout it all, and against all reasoning or propaganda…
l o v e d
The only time he’d be ‘happy’ is when they were banished back into the tear in the universe through which they’d crawled through in the first place ( foolish little brother, I’m sorry Castiel, but your actions might have destroyed us all… ). Half in the power struggle with Raphael… And the rest, here - feet in the dirt. Lost, afraid, vulnerable.
”Your presence is neither needed or wanted or desirable in the slightest.”
Complete and utter absence would be infinitely preferable. But there was no need for delicate words. He would not beget lies to maintain pleasantries - not that he thought there was a pleasantness or even the capacity for it within the other’s form…
”Is there anything about you - or your ‘house call’ that I should feel joyous about? But you didn’t answer my question — is there a purpose to your ‘visit’?”
⊰ 42 ⊱ Was the presence of this hollow being surprising?
For some reason, it was.
Always with you.
Always with me.
Always with him.
Always with her.
Always with us all.
He, her, it— had no identification. It simply…was.
A slight shift of his lips, a lick, and a subtle stretch of his bones made a small creak.
—“A man with fists of iron, and hold over the world, yet you don’t rule it.
— By God, you’re the devil.
⍦ - — No - not surprising in the slightest - there was hardly any recourse or action to the appearance of the other… Lucifer simply presenting a calm and quiet exterior - the interior subtly shifting but no outward show of disturbance.
"Not a man… And hardly destruction or oblivion on a grand scale — at least not by my hand. I wonder, where these ideas come from — why there is this constant and consistent presumption that I have any desire to rule…”
Another of those shallow breaths, the archangel hardly amused by the terminology, “That’s one of the names they like to call me, yes - but hardly who or what I am. But thank you for picking up on another tedious stereotype.”
"Oh, and ‘God’ has very little to do with it."
"Am I some kind of sideshow? A spectacle to be purveyed? Or was there a matter of import you wished to discuss?"
Lucifer post “Hammer the gods”
Blood is thicker than water, our father always said But that don't mean a damn thing When I look at your empty bed... [Brother Of Mine, Jimmy Barnes]
-— go ahead, swing at me all you want. we both know
this isn’t gonna end very good for you.
[ he wasn’t initially going to ignore the comment, but he felt as though acknowledging it would be futile and decided against it. ]
⍦ - —Swing at you? Oh, Dean - I don’t need to ‘swing at you’. You do a good enough job of landing home those hits yourself — go ahead though, add self-denial to the list.
- —Though how it ends for me, really isn’t your problem anymore. I am not your problem anymore — though if you wish to make it so, I’d be more than happy to oblige.
You said no -
Sam said yes -
-the balance is somewhat tipped in my favour, don’t you think? You are…
Rey’s lips shifted to the other side of her face in thought as she took the orange straw from Lucifer’s hand. She couldn’t help but look down as she smiled at the unintended joke. She looked up at him, thinking for a moment on his siblings. She wondered briefly if they were like him, if what she was told in Sunday school was anywhere near a vague truth or merely a cloudy misconception of what truly happened.
"Lucifer, may I ask what you do like?"
She hoped he would answer her. She asked in part out of curiosity and in part out of a desire to know him-and in a way her gentle tone mirrored this wish, as did the simplicity of the question.
⍦ - —”Nutella.” The answer spilled from the archangels lips without a great deal of thought. Possibly a strange thing for an archangel to have a fondness for as far as ‘things created by humanity’ went.
"And bananas and honey…" Again, something veering toward the sweeter end of the spectrum… Okay, so maybe he was a little like his family in some respects…
Though he wasn’t sure why the odd line of questioning — it’s not like anyone had ever really cared enough or been interested enough to think to ask before. Usually the whole ‘accusation’ line of conversation ‘Devil-blahblahblah’…
"Why do you want to know?"
Isn’t this where you comment about how fickle humanity is or something? Some long winded speech? - That’s a joke don’t actually do it.
As long as it’s got booze in it, I think it counts. You know…I wonder what you’d be like drunk. Though I’m almost afraid to see that. Don’t want you getting all ‘smitey’ on me.
⍦ - —Not really Dean, I only impart ‘truth’ as and when necessary… This hardly seems like a necessary moment. I still have no idea what this ‘moment’ is particularly conducive to…
I don’t know… I’ve never been inebriated.
- —And what you have here is hardly enough quantity to have any effect. It would likely take a lot more… Maybe a bar full… Or a warehouse… I don’t know… But even throughout the whole of my existence, I don’t think I’ve ever ‘smited’ anything by accident.