#distanceheld

“ your vote of confidence is overwhelming. ” 

the moment he caves to curiosity and looks down at the fallen sketchpad in his hands, lucifer knows he's in for a tongue lashing  ---  and not the fun kind either  ---  but the knowledge does little to deter him.  he nearly rolls his eyes as he realizes it's the image of an angel, complete with wings and halo, formed out of soft grey lines.  he supposes it's not too surprising, miss wilkerson was catholic; devout enough, apparently, to be one of the few humans to believe him when he said he was the devil.  it shouldn't be a shock that angels were in her repertoire. 

it's not until dark brown irises flick to examine the angel's face that he realizes it's meant to be a drawing of him.  there, his breath catches and his gaze sharpens as he reexamines the piece.  phantom sensation crawls up his back, settling beneath ragged scar tissue and defunct, atrophied muscles twitch beneath his skin in some semblence of muscle memory.  the wings on the page are a bit too small, shaded a bit too dark, but she's never seen the real ones, and she never will, so he supposes it can be excused. 

there's a clawing in the center of his chest, one he'll have to bring up to linda later, an irrational pang at the core of himself.  when had been the last time anybody had looked at lucifer morningstar, known exactly what he was, and seen an angel and not a monster?

steph would top up his glass so he could go again

requiem asks.

the good place starters.

                 Steph is correct on all three points. Ro should take it easy, because they haven’t slept more than a few hours over the last three days, and their manuscript isn’t even due until next week. Alas, when Ro gets into the creative flow, it’s hard to pull them out of it. They’ll try to deny the eye twitching, but they’ve been in a numb state since hour thirty of no sleep. “Can’t. Got a deadline. I’ll sleep when I’m dead.” They don’t so much as glance in Steph’s direction as they reach for their mug of coffee, long gone cold, and take another long pull from it, still entirely focused on the mess of bars and notes on the paper scattered across the studio floor. “You don’t have to wait up.”

the good place starters.

                 “…Okay.” Steph came through the museum office like a tiny, furious hurricane, and talked herself in circles before Ro could get a single word in. He follows her movement as she bustles around the office, grabs her jacket, and bursts out the door again. “Goodbye.” 

the good place starters.

               Ro’s shoulders shake with silent laughter as Steph snatches the ladle out of his hand. “Nu-uh. I used to put candy in my food all the time in college.” And that’s why Steph doesn’t trust Ro’s cooking. Provided, he used to do this after snorting an entire eighth of cocaine, but the context for his actions isn’t important.