Freya

@freyaodin.bsky.social

90 Followers 132 Following

Old fic writer getting into a new fandom. Multishipper, mostly radioapple (Quid Pro Quo) but I dabble (mostly in drabbles). She/her. 18+ only, please AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreyaOdin

A screen capture of an irritated Husk speaking to a grinning Alastor, overlaid with a quote from the fanfic Quid Pro Quo by FreyaOdin “I want your help to free Angel.” So much for getting any work done. “What can you possibly offer me in exchange for that?” Husker raises his chin. “My casino.” Alastor laughs outright. “I don’t need your casino. If I did, I’d just order you to hand over its takings. No need to saddle myself with its bureaucracy. No deal.” Husker winces at the refusal, but doesn’t seem surprised. He hesitates, then quietly offers, “My power.” Oh, now that is unexpected. “Hmm, but what use are you to me without your power? I’m sure I’d enjoy the boost it would grant me, and yet it’s far more convenient to have it wielded by your own hands. So no.” Alastor leans forward, elbows on the desk, chin resting on the backs of his interlaced fingers. “But my my, you are desperate, aren’t you?”
Meanwhile, Alastor has opened the scroll, thankfully oblivious to the direction of Angel’s desperately nervous thoughts. He reads all the way through it once, rapidly scanning back and forth across the page as Angel nervously bites the broken edge of a claw and then goes back to the top. On his second read-through, he pauses about a third of the way down the page, eyes lingering. He seems to reread the same section a couple of times, and then says, “The good news is that Valentino is just as sloppy as I assumed he’d be.” “Uh, that does sound good." Angel tries to squash his growing hope before its loss would become unbearable. "What’s the bad news?” “I believe the terms have already been breached, which means breaking it will be less fun and my bargaining position is substantially weakened.” Uh. “That sounds like good news to me?” “Oh, are we looking at this from your perspective?" Alastor asks, peering at Angel over the top of the scroll, his smile now firmly in smirk territory. "Then yes, I suppose it is good news.”
An darkened image of several white calla lilies on a black background, with a quote from the fanfic Quid Pro Quo by FreyaOdin. “I could have used your help in that one. Might have saved everyone a lot of grief if their bullshit had been called out from the beginning.” Alastor hums. “They wouldn’t have listened to me. The only reason Sera heard me this time is she was locked in a room with two bright-eyed optimists and the crushing weight of her own guilt.” He spears his very last noodle with his fork. “I’m only a sinner, after all. No more than a bargaining chip in the eyes of angels, and an easy one to barter away at that.” Lucifer closes his eyes at the dig. “I… I’m sorry. I’ve never been fond of sinners, but…” “Should I be offended?” Alastor asks, feeling a welcome mix of merciless and mischievous. “Or perhaps jealous?” He purses his lips into a teasing pout, letting his posture soften and his voice sing-song. “And here I thought I was unique in my ability to earn your instantaneous loathing.”
An Alastor plushie buried up to its chin in sand at a lovely beach with sailboats in the distant background
Quid Pro Quo By FreyaOdin "Some of us are cranky because they swooned like an overwrought damsel whose corset was too tight," Dad says. Alastor just blinks. "You realize many of them swooned on purpose, and those who didn't most likely had consumption and far too many petticoats in addition to that tight corset?" Dad smirks. "I didn't think you'd want to discuss your petticoats in front of Charlie." The sudden burst of irritated static is familiar, and Charlie's grateful to hear it because it leans closer to reality than anything else that's happened in the last 20 minutes. Alastor haughtily responds, "I refuse to continue this ridiculous conversation from bed." "You've been in my bed all week," Dad argues. Seriously, can they even hear themselves?
Shots Fired By FreyaOdin "What's this?" Smiles asks, staring distastefully at the screen. "Y'ain't seen Star Wars?" Angel responds. "''ain't seen' many things. What's this one?" "A space opera. Teenager with untrained magic, this wily space pirate here, and a badass princess save the galaxy from fascists." Blaster sounds ricochet from the speakers. Smiles looks unimpressed. "Your anti-fascist pirate isn't wily. If that green fool hadn't missed, he'd already be dead." Oh, fuck yes! Angel should've known Alastor'd pick that up immediately. "Okay, so we can't get the OG version because we're in Hell. But back in the day, guess who shot first?!"
Okay Alone (by Freya Odin) Alastor strides through the lobby, passing Charlie and Vagatha snuggling, Angel and Husker bickering, Niffty and Baxter plotting. He grins, and Charlie waves warmly, Angel winks mischievously, and Niffty aggressively hugs Alastor’s knee before scampering back to her beau. Maman worried for him, her strange boy laden with absent desires, atrophied compunctions, stymied potential, and devastating rage. He wishes she could see him, bask in his rejection of all chains and expectations. He’s alone in every way he craves and none of those he fears. She’d be happy, he thinks. But more importantly, he is happy, powerful, and at peace.
A-Romantic Date Night (by FreyaOdin) Alastor stops dead, the scene before him the very opposite of what he hoped for tonight. He sighs. "Lucifer, we've discussed this." "Huh?" Lucifer peers around him at the setup of blankets, wine, and most terribly, glowing candles. "Oh shit, it's not what it looks like!" "How?" "Take a whiff!" "Excuse me?" "What do you smell?" Alastor sniffs. Blood? Rendering fat? A hint of viscera? "What is this?" "RIP Candle Company. Ambiance for that slasher radio play you said was on tonight? I brought finger food and pillows!" Alastor takes it back, this is exactly what he hoped for tonight.
A close-up image of the purple and black diamond-shaped pendent Lilith wears in Heaven, overlaid with a quote from the fic Quid Pro Quo by FreyaOdin: "Rosie, my dear. So delightful to see you!" She's worn her best hat, the feathers of it catching in Alastor’s antlers. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" She pulls back, hands on his shoulders as she examines him. “Don’t you look marvel—oh!“ she pauses, squinting her empty eyes. “Honestly, darling. You look terrible." He grits his teeth. "Did I say delightful? I meant tedious." "Don't look at me like that. I call 'em like I see 'em, you know me." He does. "Hence the tedium." "Such a charmer. Just like the day we–" "If you finish that sentence, I will not be held responsible for my actions."
Image of Vox sitting behind his desk in Radio Killed the Video Star as he explains that they can’t let Charlie and Alastor make a deal
QPR Quibbles (by FreyaOdin) “Lucifer, I swear on everything unholy if you don’t stop leaving rings on the radio console—“ “Oh, now you want coasters?” “Would it kill you to make your bed?” “It would stifle my creative essence!” “I’ll stifle your essence if I trip over one more duck!” “Don’t you shadow-mock me! Shady, sweetheart. Who’s my favourite two-dimensional snuggler? You know I’m taller than that!” “Unhand my shadow, you Jezebel!” Charlie sighs outside their door, thoughts of knocking abandoned. “Let them cohabitate, they said. Like getting a bonus Dad, they said.” Vaggi squeezes her shoulder, stifling the obvious “I told you so.”
Beautiful Boundaries (by FreyaOdin) Alastor’s boundaries have been firm since his death. He tolerates what he must, avoids what he can, and maims whatever otherwise invades his lines. But now Charlie can squeeze his hand, Vaggi can slap his back, Angel can flirt at him, and Niffty... well, bad example. But he’s part of their camaraderie now. He likes it. It’s only when Lucifer smacks a kiss to his cheek and everyone laughs with them, not at him, that he truly realizes how much he’s changed. “You okay?” Lucifer asks. “Never better.” It’s amazing how far boundaries can broaden when no one crosses them.
Allo-Romantic Date Night (by FreyaOdin) Alastor freezes, taking in the unexpected additions to his bayou. The picnic blanket and basket, the magnolias in bloom, the spill of a recreated Milky Way high above. “How?” Lucifer smiles. “Like it? I can’t maintain that sky forever, but I thought for tonight…” “Yes,” Alastor breathes, realizing he can smell the trees. The nostalgia alone might do him in. He steps forward, enraptured, but hesitates. “There are no strings,” Lucifer reassures. “We can just be.” He smiles again, arms wide. “Kisses and cuddles are welcome, if you like.” Alastor would like, tugging Lucifer toward the blanket and the stars.
Ace-ceptance (by FreyaOdin) "You sure I can't suck your dick?" Angel asks Alastor refrains from committing homicide with the pen he's holding. Rather heroically; the arterial spray would be gorgeous across white fluff. "No." "You ain't nevah gonna take me up on that, are you?" "No." A huff. "You ace or somethin'?" "Mmm." "Wait, seriously? Why didn't you say so?" The spider looks appalled. "Would it have mattered?" "Well, yeah!" Alastor blinks, unused to this conversation receiving anything but further argument. "You want a popsicle instead?" "No, thank you." "You sure?" The acceptance is nice, although homicide may still be on the table.
Cake Day (by FreyaOdin) Alastor pipes the final line onto the cake, finishing a perfect(ly hideous) explosion of rubber ducks, flames, and apple trees without any eggs, bunnies, or baskets in sight. Lucifer’s always tetchy on the anniversary of the newly favoured Son returning home while the original remains unwelcome. It’s best to avoid all reference. The cake is vanilla for the same reason; chocolate won’t be appreciated today. Lucifer opens his door, his distressed face lighting up at Alastor’s offering. Alastor is quickly pulled into the hug that is (blissfully) always the culmination of Lucifer’s affection, and revels in being what’s appreciated.
A desaturated image of Sera and Emily looking concerned, overlaid with a quote from the fic Quid Pro Quo by FreyaOdin: Sera inclines her head. “Thank you for the absence of your sinner, it will make this conversation easier.” It’s Charlie who says, “Alastor is absent because he was unavailable on such short notice, not because we chose to exclude him.” “Side note,” Vaggi adds. “I can’t stand the bastard and have no doubt he’s up to something because he’s always up to something, but as of right now, the main harm he’s inflicted on Heaven is to make you feel bad about yourselves. Lute, on the other hand, has killed thousands of Hell’s populace and she personally cut off my wings and took out my eye for the crime of allowing a single sinner child to live. You know, if we’re trying to decide whose absence makes negotiations easier.”
Image of a grand piano on a stage with dramatic lighting, overlaid with a quote from the fanfic Quid Pro Quo by FreyaOdin: Damn it. Alastor stands up with every intention of finding his clothes and figuring out some way back to the hotel so there can be at least one adult in that room. Except as he does so, his balance fails him and he sways ominously, having to take a large side-step to prevent himself from crashing straight down to the floor. He hovers there a moment, legs splayed, looking exactly like a vaguely inconvenienced demon of impeccable character and not at all like a newborn fawn just figuring out how to work his legs. This. Is. Intolerable. He sits back down. He takes a sip of his broth. He contains his rage. At the bottom, a string of Morse Code reads BUCK-BUCK-GOOSE
A screenshot of Charlie looking frustrated and Cherri looking curious in front of the Hazbin Hotel bar. Overlaid is a quote from the fic Quid Pro Quo, by Freya Odin “Alastor missed my deathday!” Niffty wails. “Uh, maybe he just forgot the date in his rush to celebrate that brand spanking new freedom of his?” Husk tries, almost sounding soothing. Niffty, however, lets out another, somehow louder sob. “He forgot about me?!?” Husk shakes his head. “I doubt it, Niff, but that’s kinda the best case scenario here.” “Nuh uh,” she hiccups. “He could just be lying hurt in a ditch somewhere.” Yeah, Charlie will keep Vaggi’s brand of aggressive loyalty, thanks.
+1 - 2026 It’s not a particularly different situation to those Alastor has been in before. It’s late and too many drinks have been consumed and the room is too warm and the jazz is too smooth and the settee is too soft. Alastor is pleasantly buzzed, leaning on a shoulder that he’s turned into a pillow and watching the green flames leap and crackle in his fireplace. The crickets are chirping in the bayou behind them and the glow of his conjured fireflies reflect in the mirror on the mantle. Everything about this is different, it turns out, due entirely to the being who owns the shoulder he’s leaning on. He’s not sure when things changed, why this warmth in his chest won’t dissipate and why he doesn’t even want it to. He’s going soft, he thinks. He should be more worried about that than he is. “Hey,” Lucifer says from somewhere above him, and ha, isn’t that an odd concept. Lucifer above him.
5 - 2024 Alastor is on his way back from Cannibal Town, having just passed the turn from the city centre to the hotel, when he’s set upon by Angel Dust, who is breathless, disheveled, and highly agitated. “Smiles!” Angel greets. “Thank fuck!” “Hello,” Alastor responds, unsure why Angel suddenly seems so pleased to see him rather than his usual stance of brassy and boorish ambivalence “Can you go along with this for like two minutes?” Angel asks, stepping further into Alastor’s quite well defined personal space than he ever remembers him trying before. “And maybe not kill me after?” “What?” is all Alastor has time to ask before Angel’s top set of hands are buried in his hair, his bottom set are tugging at his waist, and his lips are on Alastor’s, hot and wet and disturbing. Alastor feels his feedback screech as Angel murmurs “Sorry, sorry. Please!” into the kiss and then whatever (violent) response Alastor is working up to is derailed as five armed demons barrel around the corner.
4 - 1971 Alastor is drunk. Vincent is also drunk. This has never previously been a problem. Alastor can handle his drink, and he can handle Vincent, and Vincent tends to fall asleep before doing anything truly stupid most of the time. But Alastor has one drink too many and Vincent has one drink too few and then there’s an awkward confession, a slow motion lean in, and a kiss that Alastor doesn’t think fast enough to avoid and most certainly doesn’t reciprocate. Luckily, Vincent does follow through on the falling asleep thing directly afterwards, and Alastor lies awake for a long time and then pretends not to remember anything in the morning. It’s not hard, his hangover certainly lends plausible deniability to the situation. Vincent seems embarrassed and never mentions it again. It’s another five months before their relationship, if one could ever call it a relationship, completely blows up, with Alastor having lit the wick that leads to the gunpowder underlying the lack of compatibility only he seems to recognize. But it’s the kiss that places the charge.
3 - 1932 The interview is fantastic. Alastor had known the starlet was an excellent singer alongside her growing promise as an actress, but it turns out she can carry out delightfully entertaining and witty repartee as well. It’s exhilarating. Time flies by. If every celebrity Alastor interviews could be as good at it as she is, well, he’d never have to complain about having to share the booth with inane morons again. The interview had barely been allowed. If it was anything but radio, it most certainly would not have been. However, Alastor’s popularity and growing fame, the amount of money he brings in for his employers, and the fact that much of his audience regularly forgets they’re listening to a mixed race man all leads to the exception being made. As does the starlet having specifically asked for him and accepting no one else. She’d heard Alastor’s show, she’d liked Alastor’s show, she wanted to be on Alastor’s show and, because she’s from England where skin tone is most certainly still an issue but the laws and social customs are vastly different to those of good ole New Orleans, she hadn’t been best pleased to hear she wouldn’t be allowed to be on Alastor’s show. And so she’d pressed and pressed and pressed until she had been.
2 - 1927 Claude is a decent horn player and decent company on long, somewhat drunken walks home from the speakeasies of the French Quarter and Tremé up Esplanade and then along the bayou. They’ve walked this way plenty of times, enjoying the camaraderie and increased safety inherent in having an escort through neighbourhoods sometimes a little too occupied by bored, also-drunk white men and other neighbourhoods occupied by desperate men of any race. All that changes when Claude suddenly pulls Alastor behind a tree, pressing him up against the wide trunk of it and kissing him. Alastor is stunned for a long moment, standing frozen as lips he’d just seen coax beautiful melodies out of a muted trumpet are now on his while a tongue that has no business being anywhere near him tries to coax his own lips to open. He recovers quickly, shoving Claude away from him. “What the hell are you doing?”
Five Times Alastor was Kissed Without Permission and One Time He Decided to Give It (Freya Odin) 1 - 1908 Calixte is a pretty girl, or so Maman says. Alastor himself has no opinion on her prettiness, but he likes her well enough. She’s nicer than most and she sings better than most and she’s smarter than most, which is honestly a relief. Alastor can tolerate a lot, but he does get tired of the way his thoughts and those of the other kids seem so different most of the time. They play together, he and Calixte, in between school and music lessons and chores and the like. Her home is just a street away, and so whenever she or Alastor are bored, they head over to see what the other is up to. The adults think they’re cute, and they aren’t yet old enough for thoughts of propriety to interfere, so Maman says, and so everyone lets it happen. Alastor isn’t quite sure what propriety means. He’s curious, he’s always curious, but looking it up in the school’s dictionary doesn’t help. He always tries to be proper and polite, and so does Calixte (mostly), so he doesn’t understand how any such thing will become an issue.
Picture of kids in 1910s on a donkey cart in front of a produce stand, New Orleans overlaid with a quote from the fanfic Quid Pro Quo by FreyaOdin “He didn’t take kindly to my refusal,” Alastor continues. “Apparently I couldn’t possibly be oblivious to how he felt. I’d never given the slightest thought to how he felt. He played his bass adequately and it was safer for us both to have company on the walk home. Harder for bored, drunk white men to pick us, you know? Though if anyone saw him kiss me, it wouldn't have just been the white men we'd have to worry about. Idiot.” These glimpses into Alastor’s life… Fuck. “That, apparently, was the wrong thing to say because the next thing I knew, he was trying to shove me into the water. Perhaps not the worst fate, except for all gator eyes glittering in the moonlight." Wait, what? "Luckily for me, I won that grapple." Alastor laughs, loudly. "As did one of the gators!”
Challenging is one word for it. “A bit.” Alastor leans forward, well into Lucifer’s space. “And yet you're still here.” Lucifer tilts his chin up, catching onto the game and suddenly not wanting to back down. “That’s true.” Alastor nods, like this whole thing is an honest exploration and not a stroll down a merry, predetermined path that Lucifer can finally see the end of. “And finally, of these remaining compatible, tolerable, and tolerant sinners, what proportion would want to be with me for me, rather than for my power or my resources or my ties to royalty?”
“That came out wrong! I just mean there are others like you in this way and there are still more who would meet you where you are, even in Hell. You aren’t… you aren’t limited to celestial beings who are older than sex as partners.” You aren’t stuck with me, he leaves hanging in the air. “Hmm,” Alastor says, tilting his chin up and his head to the side in that haughty way he has that always triggers three separate and simultaneous desires in Lucifer. The first is to run his fingers up the long line of Alastor’s neck to better appreciate and cherish the beauty, strength, and vulnerability of him when he’s like this. The second is to wrap his hands around his throat and choke the very life out of him for whatever irreverent, disrespectful, infuriating thing he’s just said or is about to say. And the third is to bite him, to kiss and claim him with deep bruises all along that long line until every inch of skin presented to him has been marked as Lucifer’s and Lucifer’s alone, and then go back for more. None of these options seem like a good idea right now. The third is probably the worst idea right now.
Full Throttle (Freya Odin) Lucifer is surprised when Alastor kisses him. Not bad surprised. Good surprised. But also, a little worried surprised? They’d been talking, as they often do in the evenings these days. The topic of Alastor’s sexual needs, or rather lack thereof, had come up. He’d seemed melancholy but determined while speaking about it, trying hard to make himself clear. Lucifer can’t say he’s not a little disappointed to have his suspicions on the topic confirmed, but it’s by no means a dealbreaker for him in this tentative, exploratory thing they’ve been working towards. He doesn’t need sex, that he knows. He does, he’s been steadily realizing for the past few months, need Alastor. He said as much, along with a compelling argument that as a being older than sex, it’s particularly easy for him to put it aside if Alastor never wants that of him. Which is about when Alastor kisses him. And fuck, yes. This is exactly what Lucifer wants. Alastor in any capacity he’s willing to give. Exactly this.
Call Me Maybe (Freya Odin) Alastor unwraps his gift, aware that Lucifer's grin bodes poorly. He sighs at finding a mobile device, Lucifer's grin widening. “Oh please." Angel Dust smirks. "Smiles can't work a hellphone.” Is that so? “Spoken like someone who doesn’t understand how such devices work,” Angel’s phone says in Alastor’s voice. “What the—?” Angel stares at his phone, then at Alastor. “It’s a glorified radio,” the phone continues, Alastor’s teeth flashing in sync. “I may hate the insipid things, but I can work them.” Alastor glares at Lucifer. "Not that I will." "We'll see, Bambi." "I hate you, too." "Sure you do."
An image of a deep blue four poster canopy bed in a palatial room, with a quote from the fic Quid Pro Quo by Freya Odin: "Alastor." The voice is not going away. He lets his background static jitter his irritation, which he's always found quite effective in convincing most demons to reconsider bothering him. "Well, now I know you can hear me, so you might as well wake up.” Apparently this is not most demons. He turns his head and finds the King of Hell's large yellow eyes less than a foot from his own and the surprise of that startles him enough to rear back in a mortifying flurry of billowing sheets and crushed pillows. "Hey, you're okay," Lucifer says, once Alastor's limbs and heart rate manage to settle. He is not, in fact, okay. "What is happening?" he asks, a heavy filter on his admittedly peevish voice. "Well so far, I've arranged for breakfast and you've managed to wake up without going all stretchy killer shadow moose. I'm so proud of us!"
Root of All Evil (Freya Odin) It's not until Alastor's asleep, tangled in Lucifer's bed, that Lucifer can indulge his favourite pastime of enamored, enraptured staring without bemused mocking. That's when he first realizes. Alastor's shadow is on the wall, uncoupled from its unconscious master. Its broad grin leers down at Lucifer; that's nothing new. But for the first time, Lucifer notices something else, something familiar in the jagged twist of its form and the grasping of its greedy hands. Lucifer watches it, a horrified pit growing in his stomach. The resemblance is undeniable. Alastor, his Alastor, remains asleep, and yet his shadow's grin grows broader.
The Trick Is to Keep Breathing (Freya Odin) “Everything’s changing!” Charlie exclaims, pacing and gesturing and panicking. “Heaven’s terrified, Hell’s in chaos, Dad’s exhausted, Angel’s gone. I can’t… ” Why is her vision tunnelling? “What do I do?” “Hey,” Vaggi murmurs, small hands circling Charlie’s wrists. “You breathe. ” Charlie breathes. It’s nice, breathing. Her vision clears so she does it again, matching Vaggi’s pace. Feathered wings envelop her, cradling her in a cocoon that’s so familiar and yet also brand new. Vaggi smiles up at her, eyes warm and lovely and everything. “First you just breathe. The rest we can figure out later.” Just breathe. She can do that.
A split pic of Alastor examining his nails and Lute being pissed off, with a quote from the fic Quid Pro Quo by Freya Odin: Alastor pauses to examine his claws, betraying not a trace of fear in the angelic sword barely three feet away from his neck. “In which case, my victims also deserved death from your perspective.” His gaze flickers back up to meet Loop’s, blinking in faux-innocence. “Why, you yourself may have granted it to them a second time! Ha ha! So again, I fail to see much difference between you and me.” “You don’t get to judge who deserves extermination, demon.” “Ah, see now that is a difference!” Alastor exclaims, twirling his staff before replanting it at his feet. “I don’t exterminate, sweetheart, I murder. One exterminates vermin. Gleefully killing a person, whether it’s their body or their soul, is called murder. Dehumanizing your enemy dehumanizes yourself.” His smile is wider now. Manic. “Know your sin. Own it.”
Know When to Hold ‘Em (Freya Odin) One moment, Angel is performing under bright lights and dull demons. A swirl of black shadows and red playing cards later and he’s at the hotel, wrapped in a blanket with a worried Husk at his feet and a sudden lack of pressure around his throat. “What happened?” “The terms of your contract were breached.” “What do I owe Smiles for finding that?” “Nothing.” “What do you owe him?” “Nothing I can’t pay.” Oh. “What happens now?” Husk smiles. “Whatever you want.” Angel feels the truth of that for the first time in decades. He grins, and Husk grins back.
Jambalaya Crawfish Pie Filé Gumbo (Freya Odin) Lucifer stumbles into the kitchen way too late for any reasonable being, which is why it makes sense he finds the least reasonable being he knows also there. “What the fuck are you doing?” The bellhop raises an eyebrow. “Cooking.” “Cooking who?” An eyeroll. “No one you know unless you converse with crawfish.” “Is that… pie?” “Well spotted.” “Is it any good?” It looks good. Lucifer’s stomach growls. That warrants another eyeroll, but a piece floats over to Lucifer. “Judge for yourself.” He takes a bite and oh, oh that’s gooood. “You have hidden talents, Bambi.” “You have no idea.”
Blue Skies Smiling At Me (Freya Odin) Vox takes a drag of his smoke and blows a ring toward Heaven’s light, Irving Berlin’s Blue Skies crackling in the background because Vox is weak. Except the skies aren’t blue, they’re red. Vox is haunted by red and now he’ll never escape. It’s laughable how long it takes him to notice the shadows pooling. “What do you want? Come to gloat?” “Tempting, but no.” Alastor steps into the blue light shining from Vox’s screen, holding a bottle. “Whiskey?” “Why?” “Can’t I visit an old friend?” “Fuck you.” Yet Vox takes the bottle. Because he’s weak and Alastor is red.
“I just don’t understand why she left me.” “Boooo! Why are we even talking about this! If she couldn’t see something in you, maybe there’s nothing to see. Or maybe she’s blind. Who cares! Therapy’s a crock. Get your head on straight and get out of here! Who needs any of you?” “You think maybe she’s blind?” “Maybe you’re deaf! How should I know? Why are we even here?” “Why are we here? Why are any of us here?” “Do I look like Descartes? Nietzsche?” “...Can I take you to dinner?” “Can you be dinner?” “I mean… maybe?” “Let’s go!”
This (Freya Odin) The kiss is lovely, a warm, chaste press of lips made all the sweeter when Alastor hums and tilts his head, giving Lucifer a better angle to cradle his face in his hands. This. Lucifer could do this forever. It doesn't last forever though. Eventually, Alastor pulls back, studying Lucifer's face. His beautiful red eyes search Lucifer's own before flicking down to his mouth and then back up. He hesitates, and then quietly says, "I don't know if I can give you what you want." "And what is it you think I want?" Lucifer asks, just as quietly. "This," Alastor says, gesturing between his lips and Lucifer's. He pulls back out of reach, arms crossing over his torso, smile barely there. "Romance. Intimacy. I… I've had sex, of course, but only to manipulate. I've used it to get what I want out of someone or to lull them into complacency when necessary. I don't want to use it like that for you, yet I don't know if it can be anything else for me." Oh. Oh, Alastor.
An image of a black hole with its event horizon depicted in bright green. Overlaid is a quote from a fic entitled Quid Pro Quo by FreyaOdin: "Lucifer’s only other warning that something is amiss is a glowing pulse in the mass of Alastor’s power that swells until a tendril of green-tinged radiation bursts forth, arcing above the surface like the negative of a solar flare. In the same instant, something large wraps around Lucifer’s waist, jerking him back to corporeal perception as it hoists his body into the air. He barely has time to squawk before he’s hurled across the room, crashing through not one but two sets of doors and then impacting the far wall of the guest room across the hall. Fucking ow."
An excerpt from a fanfic called Quid Pro Quo by FreyaOdin, overlayed over a picture of Alastor's bayou. “Your warning, as with everything you do…came too late to be of use,” Alastor snarls, feedback and shadows thick under his words even as his breath continues to fail him. “Next time I’ll precognitively know to avoid…defending the city from the repercussions of your… cataclysmically stupid choices.” “Let’s start again, shall we?” Lucifer responds. “I’m here to fulfill my side of our deal and examine your wound.” Alastor stares at him for a long moment before his snarl fades. “And here I thought you were visiting out of the kindness of your heart and the…pull of my sparkling personality.” He takes a drag on his cigarette, only a flicker of static betraying his remaining irritation. “Go on then.”
Image of Alastor holding his green glowing hand out to make a deal, overlaid with a quote from a fanfic called Quid Pro Quo by FreyaOdin “I told her I’d meet her at the hotel.” “Mmm hmm. And will you?” Red asks. “Will I?” “Meet her at the hotel.” Red shifts so only one hand rests on his staff, his other twirling a vague circle in the air. “It’s just that you’ve been lying here for some time, making no apparent progress except perhaps in leaking more blood onto your suit.” Lucifer closes his eyes against his steadily worsening headache. “It’s been a rough day.” There’s a pause, filled only with the background hum of static, and then Red says, “That it has.”
Image of demonic Alastor before making a deal with Charlie where the dialogue “your soul” has been replaced with “my soul”