• 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐲'𝐬 𝐓𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐂𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 • Alastor x Reader

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫.

Zandor hugged you tight. He wished to grieve. He needed to grieve. The man he had been friends with since his youngest days had perished, and he had absolutely no idea how to let his emotions spill.

The shadow held you in his embrace and hid his face in your shoulder. He had an inability to weep, but sadness seemed like something he could recognize — it was far more painful than Ghede had said. A different kind of sadness, perhaps.

"Please don't cry," he whispered. "I don't know how to cry, it's making me jealous." Your eyes shifted to the Loa, his ears flat against his head. The weakest of smiles appeared on your face and you sniffled, forcing away the new tears that threatened to fall. "Do you think he'll miss us?" you asked quietly, your hand slowly reaching behind the creature's ear and scratching it like you often saw Alastor do. He sighed into your neck. "I'm certain."

The door to your bedroom suddenly slammed open, Zandor jumping into the shadows while you dropped the pillow, hurriedly picking it back into your arms again. Charlie was in your doorway, her eyes wide and scared, though there seemed to be some sort of relief behind them. "(Y/n)! Come quick, this is important!"

-

Alastor James LeBlanc, a devil redeemed to Paradise after his second death, was currently snooping through an archangel's room, his amber eyes flicking about every book upon the shelf. His plan to kill Lucifer had not fallen to shit yet. As an angel with access to his demonic abilities in Hell, he was undoubtedly one of the most powerful beings to ever cross the river Styx. His voodoo combined with the golden-flecked blood coursing through his veins was unmatched. He could kill Lucifer, take the throne, and retrieve his old form.

And then he could rule Hell with you. Never let you go again. Power hungry bastard, he snapped at himself. That did little to stop him, however. The quietude in his mind was something he welcomed with open arms. There was no screaming nor shrieking. Just a calm silence.

Is this what normal people hear? His thoughts seemed to echo within his skull for once instead of being swallowed by a jumble of words and snarls.

His gaze landed on a brown leather book, his brow lifting at the golden Enochian inscription on the spine of it. Reaching for it, he slid it out from its fort between the other books. It weighed heavy in his hands, clearly old and crafted from heavily refined material. The front of it was also written in Enochian, giving him very little hope of deciphering whatever information was held within its aged pages.

Frowning, he opened the hefty cover of it, flipping through the pages. They all had images of the spells, some looking far more deadly than others. He just needed one spell. Just one. Take me back to the Depths. The door clicked and he hurriedly shoved the book under his armpit, placing another leather book in its empty space. "What are you doing, heathen?" Gabriel hissed.

Alastor shrugged with a smile, adjusting his glasses. "Reading. A little difficult to do when it's all in Enochian though," he tapped his chin and turned back towards the shelf. "Any way you could translate these?" he asked slyly. Gabriel frowned, eyes narrowed as he waved a glowing finger. The letters shifted and contorted into new ones, creating English translations for each one. "Thank you."

Gabriel rolled his eyes, never taking his gaze off Alastor as he chose a new book from the selection. "You know how you can just open a portal back to Hell on your own accord?" he began some banter, hoping to get something out of the angel in case there wasn't anything in the book. Gabriel nodded. "How did you learn to do that?" Alastor questioned.

The frown on Gabriel's face told him just about everything he needed to know. "Listen, I have no idea how to use that thing you gave me; I want to see her again!" he cried out, almost letting the book in his armpit drop. "Archangels are given Traveling Stones. They may go wherever they please with such," he gave in, still looking very unamused. Alastor rubbed his chin, "Thank you," and left.