Drabbles based on three of our character pairings and their aesthetics. Erin & Raphael’s aesthetic has to do with stars; Uriel/Vlad’s aesthetic is blood; Caroline/Lucifer’s aesthetic is old abandoned houses. Thus what we wrote our drabbles on. And as is the way with a lot of drabbling sessions, some of these are not so happy.
Content Warning: Brief strong profanity in Meg’s Uriel/Vlad drabble.
Raphael & Erin
She is loved and she knows it.
But she is alone.
She is afraid.
The world looks dark and black to her.
Those around her whisper harsh words about her.
She sees shadows moving all around her.
Monsters claw at her at night.
She cries and she wants someone to help her.
But she doesn’t want to be a bother.
It wasn’t until she saw those bright colors.
When he walked into her life and she saw him.
They both realized that neither of them would be alone again.
He chased all the shadows away.
He replaced the darkness with his glowing light.
He showed her she didn’t have to be afraid.
She’s not alone.
She is loved.
Her guardian angel told her so.
She lay on her back on the rug, staring in awe at the stars brought so near to her, almost close enough to touch. His voice through her haze of near-sleep as he spoke of every star. She still remembers every word.
After, when the world has gone grey to her, she spends her days walking under a dimmed sun and her nights under the dimmer stars. She feels dull and choked out like the rest of the world.
She lies on her back under the night sky and looks up at what’s left of the Milky Way (it’s the only color she still sees); sometimes, if she concentrates hard enough, she thinks she can see–
–one last speck of grace–
–before the dawn blots it away.
They met in battle and when it was over, both of them were soaked in blood.
When she asked him to hunt with her, he tasted the blood of her enemies and he enjoyed it.
And later, he asked her. He asked her for her own blood. And she gave it to him freely.
He was gentle, oh so gentle. No matter what he did, he always made sure to check that she was okay.
Drawing the blood to the surface of her skin and watching it flow over. Crimson against a golden aura.
He kissed the wounds and whispered lovely sounding words in her ear, letting her know it would be alright.
Even as she grew weaker while her blood trickled out, she smiled. She let him hold her life in his hands.
Because she knew, no matter how close he may let her come to the brink of death, he would always protect her. He would never let her go. He would never hurt her.
They love each other like none have ever loved before.
When he says he’d like to try something, that she would need to drop her defenses, she didn’t hesitate. Part of it is curiosity; she’s never been truly physically wounded, not like that, and she wants to know the feeling of blood draining from her body. The other part doesn’t care that he could kill her if he wanted.
He almost does, later.
He takes, and he takes, and he takes, and they both keep living anyway because fuck that dying shit. It’s the leaving her behind that pisses her off the most. “Promise me you’ll never leave me.”
“I’ll never leave you alone like that again, I promise.”
When she cradles his head in her hands and he stays her hand from giving him her veins, she sobs. Please, please let me–
and he doesn’t.
She can’t see his soul leaving his body; she doesn’t know if he has one, after all that; doesn’t know where he’s going or if it’s somewhere she can follow.
She’s alone —
“What’s that your father says? ‘I will never leave you, nor forsake you’?”
They both left and now she’s alone.
He still doesn’t understand why she likes abandoned houses. The one by the cemetery, the little white cottage, the terribly dark house haunted by the poltergeist. He sees the appeal in the danger–it’s why she dallies with him, after all. And he does humor her.
It just seems as though she should prefer something… brighter, to go with the gleam in her eyes and the radiance in her soul.
He can’t give her anything of the sort.
But he can give her what she asks of him: all the strength and power of an archangel, and all the darkness of the devil.
She’s always found this beauty in old things. Not just old, but abandoned and broken things. Old houses with vines climbing up the sides. Aged gravestones that are faded and taken over by ivy. Where most people would say these things are ugly and useless, or creepy and frightening, she finds a peacefulness to them.
And he is much the same way, she has to admit. He’s ancient, and he’s broken. He’s terrifying, and most people don’t want to be near him. But she loves him anyway. And he doesn’t understand why. She’s not quite sure either, but that doesn’t matter.
She’ll hold onto him as long as she can. Even when she touches those sharp spots that scrape against her and might make her bleed. That’s a risk that she’s willing to take. She’ll heal. And she’ll smile, because she knows that it was worth it.