𓆩 Gira 𓆪

“So they just… pop out? Completely recovered?”

“They do.”

“That…” you scratched the back of your neck, “that sucks.” No point in trying to put it delicately. That straight up sucks.

“I wanted this, so there’s no need for pity.”

“…of course you do.” You pinched the bridge of your nose because what were you expecting? Every angel you’ve ever seen, in and off the battlefield, have this weird… preference, almost, for self-punishment. Penance, as you’ve heard it called. Built into the very foundation of their worship. Hurting themselves because that’s what it means to be faithful, apparently.

Punish yourself enough and you’ll finally be on the right path. You’ll finally be rewarded. And you’ll finally be forgiven.

But you’re not thousands of years old. Nor are you nigh-impossible to kill. And you’ve been around Lucifer long enough to know that all of this comes with the package of befriending him. They’re not your wings, nor do you really know of the full scope of his baggage, so you can’t exactly ask him to stop.

Besides, it’s not really pity. You’re just baffled, at the extent of which angels, and all that grew up with them, are willing to hurt themselves. Is it just built into their being or was it encouraged?

Or… does it just not matter to them?

“Well, you’re gonna rip them out, right?” Because you’ve only ever seen your friend with those stumps bleeding. You kinda just assumed that they were eternally like that, and not that they regrow back spontaneously.

Lucifer made a noise that you knew to be confirmation.

His wings twitched and it made you aware of just how large those feathers of his are, wide and voluminous things that they were. Lucifer was barely waking up and it showed in the minute lag of his responses. In the lazy shuffling and light stretching of his limbs and wings.

It felt weird, witnessing just how at ease Lucifer is with moving his wings when he’s inevitably going to rip them out again. And again, until he finally decides to stop. Also doesn’t help that you’re just used to those bleeding stumps of his. As bad as that is, you have debated asking him if you can just… rip out that one curving bone that just sticks out of him. But you didn’t say anything, cause that’s not your bone.

You got up from your chair, place directly across from Lucifer in this protected greenhouse. “Alrighty, don’t let me stop you.” You’ll probably get Gamigin to get some towels or something. Or run a bath cause it’s going to get bloody. Unless Lucifer’s also the kind to let it all dry into a crusty mess like you’ve seen a lot of other devils do after a battle. Though in his case it would probably be out of a sheer lack of energy. Probably.

“You’re not curious?”

“Hmm? About what?” You were halfway into your jacket.

Lucifer was sitting up straighter, right on the edge of his seat, like he was going to get up to trail after you. He opened his wings wide, feathers barely missing the ground, nearly overtaking his side of this little greenhouse. “My wings.”

“Well, sure. What about it?” Is he…?

“You can feel them.” Not a single twitch to be found, in his voice or face. Said it with the same air he has when giving you his half of his overabundant breakfast. Well, more like pushed it towards you, but still. It applies.

Because his feathers were brushing against your forearms, exposed to the air after you rolled your sleeves up. Back and forth, back and forth, oh so gently. Almost as if he’s testing the waters.

“I… don’t think I’ll mind.” Lucifer’s eyes narrowed, aimed at your arms, your hands, and then you finally got it.

“Alrighty then. Why not? It’s not like I got anywhere to be.” You’re going to go along with it, naturally. Your friend’s trying to poke a hole in this bubble of his. Figure out where his comfort begins and ends, see if anything’s changed at all. And he’s trusting you enough to do that little experiment, even if he’s going about it in a roundabout way.

“Do as you please.” Settling his left wing on your arm, Lucifer tipped his head back and closed his eyes. Seemingly nonchalant, but you know that he’s keeping his senses open.

First thing you did was strum down his primary feathers, like you were walking through a street of wind chimes just waiting to be played with. They bent back, the vane parting in thin strips but blended back into place just as quickly with a subtle shiver. It was minute, but you caught the momentary pause in Lucifer’s breath. The slight lifting of his chest but nothing screamed danger.

And so you walked in a bit, let your fingers play around with the layer above his lowest feathers. Here, the warm of his body, of the shoulders of his wings was clear. Lucifer wasn’t a devil that ran hot. Body temperature was always a little on the cool side, probably on the account of all the blood he’s losing on a daily basis. Even with all the time he spends basking in the sun’s rays, he barely hotter than a tepid glass of water. You parted the layers, let your fingers tap on the quills just because you could, and hummed when Lucifer stretched his wing out some more. Not quite ramrod straight but getting there.

Your friend was still sitting perfectly still, face to the skies and soaking in the sunlight, like his wings were simply acting on their own.

Step by step, you walked down, palm feeling over the muscles twitching beneath all the soft plumage, barely putting any weight into it. You keep a careful eye on Lucifer’s neck, shoulders and hands. Waiting for any kind of change, for any tension that’s liable to snap and make Lucifer want to crawl inwards into his skin.

The tightness was there, but only in ripples. Slight jumps, but the closer you get, the more spaced out they were. Lucifer hasn’t fully relaxed, not with that ghost of a frown, but he’s not about to jump out of his seat to get away.

Finally, you were in front of him. Between his legs and completely covering his sun. Lucifer opened his eyes just as you laid your hands on his most intimate feathers. You tugged his after-feathers, just a light one, and you saw a hint of his teeth bite into his bottom lip.

You pulled back with a smile. “Reached your limit, huh?”

Lucifer took a deep breath in, and breathed out on your shirt. He hummed with a nod.

“Okay then.” You shrugged your shoulder and made to back off, but you spotted Lucifer lifting his hands. He placed them above your wrists, then caressed upwards, smoothing his palms over your skin. His fingers slid inside your rolled up sleeves and he gripped the back of your arms. “Hmm.”

Lucifer lingered on your face, the tight corners his lips finally relaxing. He pulled you in and embraced you with both his arms and wings.

“I’m not gonna be moving for a while, am I?”

“Hmm.”

On another note:

Why 'Usiel' and not 'Uriel' (especially since Uriel has been mentioned multiple times before)?

So, from a quick search, it appears that the names Uriel and Usiel (alternatively Uziel/Uzziel) have been used to refer to the same angel as well as to different angels. Though overall they seem to identify the same individual (?). [// Don't quote me on that.]

Interestingly enough, Uriel is associated with truth, knowledge and wisdom but also repentance and salvation (it varies between texts) besides being considered one of the seven archangels/the fourth archangel. He is also mentioned to be the angel "who is over the world and over Tartarus"/presider over Tartarus. [// Mammon I've got some questions for you.]

Different texts also assign him to different choirs, in some he's a Seraph, in others a Cherub. Despite this, pb made him an Ophranim (Throne) — same rank as Jophiel btw. — which is neither of the prior but still part of the first Triad (Seraphim — Cherubim — Ophranim).

Usiel/Uziel, meanwhile, is supposed to mean "Strength of God" or "God is my strength" and appears in Jewish mythical literature — Book of Enoch and the kabbalistic grimoire Sefer Raziel HaMalakh. A benevolent angel, still associated with wisdom/knowledge, and one of the seven that stands before the throne of God.

Some traditions also depict him as a fallen angel, one that consorted with humans and taught forbidden knowledge (which, in some contexts, is considered good).

A few sites also mention that he fell alongside Lucifer when revolting against God. (Though I don't know if that would apply to WHB since Lucifer's fall was handled differently in the game.)

Finally getting to Lemiel:

As far as I can tell, the name 'Lemiel' itself is never used in actual texts; instead, it gets redirected to 'Ramiel', which gets conflated with 'Remiel', which again gets conflated with 'Jeremiel'. (Do whatever you want to with that information 🫠) They all appear in the Book of Enoch.

Ramiel ('God has thundered') is also considered a fallen angel, a fallen Watcher angel to be precise. They fell due to mating with humans, creating Nephilim offspring, and teaching forbidden knowledge.

[// Sounds kinda familiar, doesn't it?]

Now Remiel ('God shall have mercy') is mentioned to be the archangel of hope and has two distinct tasks: He is responsible for divine visions and leads believers' souls to Heaven.

As written at the beginning of this section, he is supposedly ( ! ) called 'Jeremiel' in various translations as well, but also 'Uriel', apparently (?).

[// Again, don't quote me on that. Still, I think that's why pb decided on this name and his relation to Uriel specifically.]

Lastly, 'Dominion' is the highest rank assigned to the second Triad. I guess you can consider them Heaven's managers, as they regulate the lower angels' duties and maintain order while also serving as a bridge to the higher choirs (the first Triad).

Wow, that's a lot of text... I didn't expect a quick research to lead me down this rabbit hole of names. Thanks for coming to my TED talk, guys.

As you might be able to tell from all of this, nothing is really set in stone here and different translations as well as different interpretations cause lots of confusion in-between everything.