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One - Ring


It's too big, too heavy, too warm, too... Lucifer, but Chloe wears the ring anyway.

She'd found it under her pillow; along with a softly glowing feather, one morning nearly a month after Lucifer had left. So she'd slid it onto her left hand -ring finger, then thumb - before trying the right.

It fits (sort of) on her middle finger, never falling off, never gettting in way and she (sometimes) almost manages to forget it's there. 

Mostly Chloe wears it to bed, the band warm and heavy against her clit while she thinks of him. Imagines Lucifer's fingers touching her as she touches herself. The stone glinting in the darkness as she gasps his name, the ring the closest she can get to him being  between her thighs. 




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Two – Reckless.



The only word Chloe lets into her head is reckless.

Repeating it over and over again – to herself, the doctors, the other detectives (she’s worked with Burkhardt and Dobson before, they can handle the rest of the case), Amenadiel, more doctors, Maze, Linda, Ella – reckless, reckless, reckless, reckless, reck-

Chloe glanced through the gap in the doorway to where Lucifer lay, still unconscious and covered in tubes and wires, the disarray of dark curls making her mentally detract 10 or 15 years from what the year on his probably forged birth certificate claimed to be. Dan was sitting next to the bed, telling Lucifer how once he was awake, Dan was going to steal all his pudding and jello.

Reckless,” She repeated, turning back to the hospital psychiatrist, “With a side of thrill seeking, not, not… Just reckless.”



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Three – Dan.


He keeps a pair of Charlotte’s shoes.

There’s other things as well. After he and her ex; Elliot, had gone through her apartment to pack up a couple of boxes of her belongings for her kids, Dan had picked out a few things for himself. A mug, a couple of Cd's, a bottle of wine that will sit unopened in the back of a cupboard until the next time he moves.

The shoes though; not Charlotte's usual style, are black silk, with two and a half inch heels and straps that wrapped around and around the ankles.

They’d picked them out together – Charlotte’s shoes for Daniel to wear.





The other chapters sort of wrote themselves, this one was a little more difficult. I hope people like it.






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Four - Detective.



“Mum? Mama?” Trixie asked her baby sister, “Dad? Dada?”

Clara smiled and repeated what was (unfortunately) her first word.

“Mama, Dada, Maze?” Trixie tried, “Corvette, piano, Hell, sex?”

She loved her step-Satan really, but if their mother heard-

Clara giggled at her big sister, and said, “Tective.”

Yep. Trixie thought, Lucifer was a dead devil.



Chloe blushed – a deep, warm, rosy flush that bloomed across her cheeks, before spreading everywhere. She uncrossed her legs, and carefully shut down her laptop.

She really, really needed to remind Lucifer not to use it to order, well anything, at all, ever.

And she really, really needed to not think about the thick leather collar that would be delivered to her door (in 4-5 business days), the one that would have  Detective engraved on the name tag.


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Five – Lux


Burkhardt can’t quite seem to make herself look away from the pool of blood; nor the bits and pieces left by the paramedics, in the middle of Lux. When she does, her eyes travel up and across the semi-circular couch that the devil held court from, to what the forensic scientist will tell them is probably arterial spray, splattered from one side of it to the other.

Their suspect; detained by one of the club’s bartenders, had tried to slice Mr Morningstar’s throat, before stabbing him more than once, but definitely less that the 666 times he’d been claiming he needed to.

“Apparently it’s harder to kill Satan than you’d think, Morningstar’s critical but stable,” Dobson put her phone away, looking up at the ceiling. Anywhere but down, “I don’t think this is related to their case.”

“Our case now,” Burkhardt shrugged, “Camera’s?”

“One of the bouncer’s is getting the footage, said, since it’s Monday; and while they aren’t technically open, our guy probably just walked in.”

“Not technically open?” Burkhardt finally turned away from the blood.

“Mondays are for stocktake, getting repairs and maintenance done, staff training, and operating room level cleaning,” Dobson turned slightly, took half a step to the left and wondered exactly how a pair of batman themed knickers had gotten up there, “So not open to the public, but still lots of people wandering around. Mentioned that Morningstar usually played the piano until the cleaners arrived, but they were late because of the accident on Elroy. Delayed them nearly two hours.”

Dobson’s gaze joined Burkhardt’s back on the blood. It looked unnaturally red and wet, and reflected the interior of the club with mirror like perfection.

Dobson half expected it to smile at them, “Let’s go see about the security footage, yeah?”



Companion-ish to the Reckless chapter.


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Six – Friendship.



“Thank you,” Linda drooped as Chloe took Charlie from her, holding him close and gently rocking from side to side, “Maze had him last night – she says she doesn’t need to sleep but she does, and Amenadiel had to go do a thing, and I thought I knew what I was doing, but I-”

“It’s okay,” Chloe reassured her, “I don’t think I knew what I was doing with Trixie until she was two. And that was with my mum and about 800 of Dan’s relatives giving me advice. You don’t have to do it all yourself.”

Linda yawned, the stress of the day (weeks) catching up to her, “I had a night nurse, but…”

“But now you have Auntie Chloe to help, and Auntie Ella will be here with takeout in about an hour,” Chloe checked Charlie’s nappy, “Why don’t you take a nap while I get him changed and we’ll see what nursery rhymes I remember?”

Linda hesitated, glancing between her (currently) content son and her silently beckoning bedroom, “Are you sure? I don’t want to…”

Chloe gave her a nudge in the direction of the bedroom, “What are friends for?”




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Seven – Dekerstar.

Fran the manager placed an ice bucket in the middle of the break-room table, dropping some money into it. “$20 says it never happens while I’m working here.”

“I thought you were married to this place?” Patrick the bartender joked, while considering the contents of his wallet, “$100, for anything that happens after she finds out he’s actually the devil.”

“Maze locks them in a closet to put them out of her misery.” Eddie; one of the bouncers, added a $50 to the bucket.

“Walk of shame,” Artie the dancer, dropped in half of her share of that night’s tips, “After he does one of those things that should only happen in a romcom.”

“Antichrist freak out,” Kat; also a bouncer, slid her money across the table for someone taller to put in the bucket, “After an appropriate amount of cluelessness on the boss’s part.”

“One of those they not telling anyone they’re in a relationship,” Cynthia the in-house nurse, gleefully watched their $30 get added to the pile, “But everyone knows, even though they’re trying to hide it, things.”

“Vegas wedding.” Patrick put in another $20.

“In a moment of jealousy,” Artie announced dramatically, tipping the rest of her tips into the steadily filling receptacle, “Detective Decker drags the devil up to his penthouse and has her wicked, wicked way with him.”

Fran stopped adding the bets into her phone to glare at her, “What did I tell you about writing romance novels based on your co-workers?”

“To change the names,” Artie grinned sinfully, “And hope the boss doesn’t find out about the extremely well selling erotica that’s more Douchifer than Deckerstar.”




Lux staff characters (except Patrick) borrowed from The Movement of the Stars.



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Eight – Trixie.



In hindsight’ Trixie thinks, she probably should have accepted Lucifer’s offer of the off-campus apartment. Or at least him smiling at the right people to have gotten her a single room (and not just the private bathroom).

Either would have been better than the rings of salt Jemima – her randomly assigned roommate - had poured around their beds while Trixie was asleep, and the 14 crosses (Trixie had counted) that had been nailed to the wall next to her bed.

Jemima was currently repacking all of her things (including 8 copies of the same bible and at least 4 bottles labelled Holy Water); while reciting bible verses, under the exhausted eye of Carmen the assistant R.A..

“Does this count as some kind of record?” Trixie asked, reaching up to pry a cross off the wall, “Cause four days seems like it should be in the running for something.”

“Nope,” Carmen ignored Jemima’s almost shriek of surprise and terror; as Trixie threw the cross into the open suitcase, and leaned down to pat Thales’s head. The emotional support (hell hound) dog rumbling his approval, “The record for something sort of like this is three and a half hours. And I legally can’t tell you any more than that.”

They watched Jemima run to the bathroom.

“Though I did think that owing a hell hound and being possessed by Satan-


“As a reason for a room change, was just her being overly dramatic. Not,” She gestured at the room – salt circles, crosses, pictures of Jesus on the ceiling, “This kind of... this.”

Trixie nodded her agreement, definitely not telling Carmen that this was kind of tame when compared to all kidnappings, poisonings and that time her prom date kidnapped her so his family could perform an exorcism.




If anyone's going to need a support animal, it's probably going to be Trixie.




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Nine - Eve. 


Beaches are new. There hadn't been any in the garden - that sandy stretch along part of the lake hadn't counted at all - and after,  it was sand as far as they'd been able to see. 

She can tell why Lucifer and Maze keep coming back. 

She joins a beach combing group and fills jar after jar with glass and shells and pebbles and pieces of drift wood with holes that look like eyes. Some of the others from the group show her how to turn her found objects into pendants. Using wire and resin to capture moments of time and memories into droplets.

After that she wanders for a while. Lucifer had gotten her all the necessary paperwork and most of it she leaves in the safe at Lux. Her passport, her social security card and a credit card with no discernible limit, all call her Evelyn Green and she'd like to figure out who that could be, before returning to Los Angeles. 

She follows the coast.

Down and down and down, until the only way to get closer to the bottom of the world would be by taking a boat to Antarctica.

Next she goes up, up, up, only stopping when she's standing on sea ice, contemplating the possibility of walking to Greenland.

She goes by boat instead. And from there to Iceland, the Faroe Islands, then the  Shetlands and across to Norway. 

It takes a while, but she eventually finds her way back to that dusty old tomb of hers. And for a moment (barely a nanosecond) she considers slipping out of her bones.

Africa beckons instead, then further -  the United Arab Emirates, India, Indonesia, Australia, Japan - until she's somewhere in the middle of the Pacific Ocean helping collect bird population data.

She's spent 5 weeks in Barcelona looking at architecture, discovered the art of travel blogging, learnt how to scuba dive, to ride a camel, to tell the good souvenirs from the mass produced for tourists junk, and how to live out of a tiny backpack. 

She's sent so many emails, even more postcards, and just as many gifts home. 

'Perhaps' Eve thinks, 'It's time to send herself as well.' 




Eve, finding herself. 


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Ten - Uriel. 


Not all of him is gone.

At first he's nothing, no thought, no time, no being. Just nothingness. 

But then he is... something. 

A fragment formed from his older brother's guilt.

Lucifer; making something out of nothing, before he drags himself and their mother away. 

Though he does eventually come back, little visits every now and again.

'What's the point of having your own hell loop,' Lucifer proclaims, 'If not to visit friends and relatives.'

That the drinks don't taste like something left out to rot for a week, and the piano doesn't sound as if something built a nest in the strings helps. 

The flickering after image of the flaming sword on the piano top, does not. 

Uriel uses the in between times to try and pull more of himself out of the nothingness.

He has time, after all. 




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Eleven - Piano. 


According to the (very long) list Lucifer's lawyer's give her, each and everyone of his residences has at least one piano. Or something belonging to the piano family, all with their own schedules for maintenance and tuning.

Lucifer had even set up appointments for three or four of the instruments to be played by other people, if he couldn't find the time to do it himself.

The oldest of the instruments dates back to 14-something and has a single piece of provenance - a bill of sale, made out to a L. M. Star. 


Linda laughs until she can't breathe anymore and then she laughs until she cries, and Amenadiel is looking at her like he thinks that something might be broken, but he's not sure what that would be. 

The brothers relationship has definitely improved in the last couple of years, but she's not sure he'd really understand that Lucifer has left her to care for his children. 



Late, because of real life. 

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Twelve - Devil. 


Landa's books never really sell that well - she'll never be the next Evanovich or even a MaryJanice Davidson - but she sells enough to help pay the mortgage and to make a decent contribution to the kid's college funds.


Landa hadn't meant to be an author (she'd wanted to be a nurse when she'd started college, but hadn't handled blood or other bodily fluids well). And when she'd graduated with an degree in English literature and a minor in history, her choices boiled down to going back to the coffee shop, reconsidering that teaching qualification her mother kept telling her to do, or turn up to one of two* interviews Trixie had texted her the details of. 

Landa had walked out the first interview with a job as a glorified office grunt at a small, but successful publishing house. It paid better than her other options, was somewhat in her area of education and did actually have potential for advancement. She was also certain that the job was Lucifer calling in a favour, no matter how much he denied it. 

She'd answered phones, compiled research, read unsolicited manuscripts (and hoped that that there was a special place in hell for their author's crimes against basic grammar, punctuation and spelling), and figuratively browbeat more than one author into finishing and handing over a novel. 

Something she regretted when she wrote her first book. It wasn't anything special, just a romance novel, a female-gaze-wish-fufilment-bodice-ripper if she was pressed to put a label on it. But when she was done, the editor had asked her to write another, and then maybe a couple more. 


Landa's best sellers fill a niche in the paranormal romance/procedural/titles with a theme° market, with a medium sized and very dedicated fan base. At the conventions she get invited to every couple of years, someone always asks where she gets her inspiration from. She says she writes about life, just puts a bit of a twist to it. 

After all, who would believe that the Devil and the Detective books where based on real life



* The second interview would have resulted in Landa getting an Oscar for an original screen play -but that's another story.

.° Devil in the Details, Hell to Play, Demon's Day Out, The Devil Does Wear Prada, Pitchforks at Dawn.





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Thirteen - Hell. 


His arrival sets the realm on fire, throwing up an eternities worth of ash into the air, and causes all those who dwell there to panic (though none will ever admit it and any accusations of such will, inevitably end in pain and blood). 

The crater marking his Fall fills with fire, and the once was angel stays there. Curled up and numb to it all. He doesn't need to breath, and the flames make no difference to his already burnt skin or the charred things that used to be his wings. 

His calls for his siblings are barely move than whispers, going unanswered until he finally stops more than a millennia after the fact. 

He has no name when he walks out of the lake of fire, who he once was is dead and what good are names and titles when there is no-one he wants to use them. 

The next several centuries are of screams and blood and pain. Of slowly healing wings, and more screaming, more blood, more pain. 

The sound of wings haunt the nightmares he refuses to acknowledge and the once comforting presence of this particular brother, makes his hands clench in fear of falling and the anticipation of additional perpetual agony.

"Is this how the King of Hell dresses?" Michael asks with a sneer and a careless shrug. He'd be disgusted, if he bothered to care, "At least you know your place now, Samael."

That name is absolutely abhorrent to him, and he draws himself up (and hadn't Michael always hated being shorter), pulling the glamour together with barely a thought. 

"Lucifer," He named himself, the ash clearing enough for the light to break through, showing a face that hadn't existed in many, many years, "Samael is dead, you helped killed him."







Kudos and comments are always welcome. 

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Fourteen - Ella. 


He looks like something out of a painting. One of those renaissance paintings she'd studied in her single art history unit, trying to depict perfection and divinity. 

Ella can see it now, Lucifer's features softened as unconsciousness mimicked sleep, his hair escaping whatever product he'd used that morning and beginning to curl, sharp cheekbones and freckles, an arm thrown up, creating the impression of a halo over his head. 

And wings. 

Softly glowing in what would otherwise be darkness (her own celestial nightlight), curving up to create... 

The earthquake, Ella remembered; not her first, but definitely the biggest since she'd moved to LA. She aches all over and she's kinda glad there isn't room to stand, because her knees wouldn't be able to hold her up. 

She jumped, eeping, as her phone - the one she'd turned off the sound of, because she was at work - suddenly vibrated. 

"Ella, sweetheart?" Chloe's concerned mum voice releases the breath Ella didn't realise she was holding, "Are you OK?"

"Umm," Ella looked up at the wings forming a protective arch over her head, "Lucifer."

"Lucifer will be fine," She can hear Chloe walking away from the other voices, "Are you hurt? Or are you just-"

"Lucifer has wings, and he's unconscious, and he has wings," The words rushed out all at once, "And my phone's about to die and, and I... Lucifer has wings."

(It's her first big earthquake, give her a break.) 

"Ella," More of that reassuring mum voice, "Do you see where a really long feather joins the body of the wing?"

Ella nodded, damned they were big, "Yes."

"Gently hold your phone against that spot."

Ella did, it wasn't any crazier than anything else that was happening that day. 

The percentage bar gains a familiar lightning bolt and the 31 goes up to 32, 33, 34, before jumping up to 50, then 80. 


"Trixie figured it out," There's a grin in Chloe's tone, "Are you actually OK or are you wings are shiny and pretty OK?"

Ella takes a moment to think about it, "They're more nightlights are awesome and comforting... But yeah Chlo, I'm fine."

"Good." She sounded as relieved as Ella felt, "I'm going to stay on the phone, but I have to leave, so that Lucifer can wake up. It's a thing we'll talk about later."

"Tribe Night in the penthouse?" Ella brushed a curl away from Lucifer's still closed eyes, "With the shiny, pretty wings?"




Catching up :)




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Fifteen - Linda. 



"You knocked on my door and woke up my son; who I've just managed to get to sleep, to ask me about my relationship with God?!"

The couple, a young man and a slightly younger women - possibly brother and sister as far as Linda could tell - dressed in what was probably their Sunday second best, looked less confident then they did a moment ago.

"It's important," The possible brother rallied, "Especially at times like this..."

"Times like this?" Linda took half a step towards them, closing the door a little more behind her. 

"With all the Sinning that's happening," The possible sister explained, "A good relationship with God is the only thing that will ensure your soul's eternal salvation. Has your son been baptised yet? It's very important that he is."

Linda took a a deep calming breath, and another, then one more for good luck. 

"Not that it's any of your business, but God is on my shit list," She told them, smiling serenely, "If I ever meet him, I'm going to kick him where it really hurts. And then I'm going to explain exactly what a terrible father he is. I have many, many examples, so it's going to take a while. Does that answer your question?"





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Sixteen - Wings. 



Lucifer was sprawled out over the Detective's sofa. Fast asleep, his feet hanging somewhere off the edge, face smooshed into the cushions, softly snoring and occasionally mumbling something under his breath in languages Trixie didn't recognise. 

His wings had unfurled about an hour ago, appearing like someone unrolling a sleeping bag in slow motion. One was draped over the back of the sofa, stretching out towards the kitchen. The other was bunched up between the sofa and the TV, taking up any space that wasn't occupied by Trixie and the coffee table. 

After a moment of awe (but not any real surprise), she'd spent most of that time stroking (petting) the mass of smaller, fluffier feathers, digging her fingers in to comb out all the loose bits of fluff. 

 And biting her tongue to stifle a  giggle when Lucifer's snore turned into something resembling a deep, satisfied purr. 

 But now her phone had beeped it's low battery beep at her, and (mother flunker) she'd left the charging cord in her bedroom. 

Sighing, Trixie carefully extracted herself from the shiny and pretty and soft and purring, leaving her dying phone on the spot where one of the really big feathers met the main part of the wing. 


Lucifer gave Trixie what she liked to call his flabbergasted maiden aunt look - some what horrified, a bit overwhelmed, partly outraged. 

"I am not a bloody phone charger!"





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Seventeen - Necklace. 


She doesn't take the stars or make new ones, to compress into things that look like diamonds or rubies. Ismene  would never accept something so obvious, so ostentatious. 

Instead Hesperiel collects starlight and balls it up and squeezes, until it resembles a simple little glass bead.

She takes the sound of waves crashing on the beach, of a child's laughter, the smell after rain, and of peeled oranges and baking bread, the softness of feathers and a first kiss, and the feeling of having your hair brushed, of things not yet seen or heard, but one day, will be quietly beautiful.  

The beads look like glass, pearls, moonstones and shiny copper, like rust, indigo, celadon and ebony. Hundreds of them strung together, each one a small, precious moment.

She gives Ismene the necklace, letting the beads slip from her fingers into the hands of her beloved. 

(Ismene's delight she takes, and turns it into a ring. It's not much more than a length of wire, looped and twisted around and around itself, but it's hers.) 







Honestly, this fic isn't going to make much sense, but I wanted to put it in here anyway. Hesperiel (Hestia) is an original character from my Illustrus/Starlight series, it's part of a bit of back story that hasn't made it into the fic (yet).

But for people who have read it, Ismene is the one who mangled Hesperiel into Hestia. Exactly what they where doing when that happened, I'll leave to your imaginations. The necklace (and the ring) may or may not be important later on. 



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Eighteen - Maze. 


 "A quick trip," Maze argued, "A couple of hours up here, a year down there."

"I would, but," Lucifer hesitated, squinting at a spot just below her breasts, "There might be a... complication."

Maze looked down, only seeing her cleavage, "Complication?"

"I could take you back to hell, darling," He waved vaguely at her torso, "But, I don't think your soul would like it."

"I don't have a soul." Maze scoffed, a knife appearing in her hand. Lucifer wasn't entirely sure exactly where the demon had hidden it. 

"You didn't." Lucifer leaned closer, breathing her, and her soul in, "Strange, it seems familiar." 

Maze battered him away, "You think I stole someone's soul?"

"Not all of it, it's just a tiny baby of a thing at the moment," He kissed her; long and deep, pulling back with a frown, "Definitely familiar, but not from someone I've had sex with."

"That's a short list," She leered at him, it had been a while since they'd had any fun, and if she couldn't go back to hell... 

"It would have to be from someone you spend time with," Lucifer leered back,  "Soul transference doesn't just happen."

Maze groaned, letting her head fall against the devil's lapel, "Is the daughter of a miracle still a miracle?"

"The urchin?" Lucifer stepped back, squinting at her again and grinned proudly, "That little devil."








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Nineteen - Amenadiel. 



Amenadiel sighed, then yawned, and sighed again, earning uneasy glances from several of his siblings. 

He put the book he hadn't read a word of down; letting it return its designated place within the library, and stood, heading towards one if the many gardens. Attempting a look of contemplation and an air of wishing to be left with his own thoughts. 

The Silver City, was home. Of course it was (what else could it be?). 

He'd thought it would be enough, that he would regain his grace and his wings, and that his place in heaven - as the eldest and favourite son - would be all he needed, to be the angel he used to be. 

It was just taking a bit longer than he'd thought it would.



And when had it gotten so... boring? 






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Twenty - Date. 



Thale sat under the table; leaning heavily against Trixie's leg, and yawned, three tongues lolling out of his mouth. 

His person - The Grand Highest, Answers Only To The King, Duchess Beatrice - scratched his ears and laughed at something her date was saying. 

Thale huffed, almost turning back into a liquid state as her fingers found just the right spot... 

She laughed again. Her date; Eli the engineering student from Minnesota, was telling her about his younger siblings (apparently he had more than normal as twins ran in the family), and their unusual ideas about snowmen. 

Thale did not approve of snow.

So far he did approve of Eli. 

None of her other dates had made Beatrice laugh so much. 

Though, perhaps they could do something more exciting next time? 






 So late, annoying real life responsibilities. 


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Twenty one - Love. 


At first it's a single flower - a lone chrysanthemum, as red as Lucifer's favourite pocket square - sitting in a vase that Chloe sort of remembers a being a wedding gift, on the kitchen counter.

Chloe thinks that Trixie got it somewhere, Trixie thinks that Chloe must have done it, and Maze (sharing her not-bounty-hunting time between Trixie and Charlie) never notices it. 

Then Ella signs for a modest bouquet - 10 or 12 dark red chrysanthemums, punctuated by 5 or 6 sea holly flowers and a few artfully arranged sprays of fennel flowers - in an equally modest silver vase and leaves it on Chloe's desk. There's no name, on way of telling who sent them, just a note saying what the flowers are. 

After that, there are flowers almost every other week; dominated by a dozen or so chrysanthemums in some shade of red, delivered within an hour of the last bunch having to be thrown away. Never a name, only a note listing the types of plants used. 


"So he can send you flowers," Dan scowled, nudging the vase away from the edge of Chloe's desk, "But he can't call or send you one of those ridiculous emoji only texts?"

This week's bouquet included wisteria and witch hazel. 

"Who says he doesn't?" Chloe looked Dan in the eye while sliding the note into her bra. 

He backed away, hands held up in defeat. 


Later, when she gets home, she'll add the note to the growing pile. Next to the first red chrysanthemum, still sitting on her kitchen counter, as if it had been put there a moment ago. 




Now with added floriology!


Red Chrysanthemum – I love you.

Sea Holly (Eryngium) – Independence, attraction.

Fennel – Strength, worthy of all praise.

Wisteria – Passionate love, longevity, immortality.

Witch Hazel (Hamamelis) – Protection, inspiration, magic, mysticism.






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Twenty two - Azrael. 


Somehow, Ella isn't surprised to see her ghost/imaginary friend fast asleep in the corner behind the door. Even when the room had been full of people, nobody had even thought of claiming the chair Rae-Rae was sitting in, and had apparently been sitting in for a while. 

"Is she safe?" Trixie asked, playing with her necklace (and being careful to keep the ceramic knife at the end of it hidden away. Getting herself or Maze banned from the hospital wouldn't do Lucifer any good), "She's not going to hurt Lucifer, is she?"

"Why would she hurt him?" Ella ushered Trixie towards the still unconscious Lucifer, trying not to think about the possible side effects of childhood trauma, "I think she's been here a while."

Trixie arranged herself as close to Lucifer as was safely possible. It was a big bed in a room that looked like it belonged in a hotel, because the Devil might not have had health insurance, but he had many credit cards. Several of which had no limits and her mother listed as an authorised user. 

"Not all of Lucifer's siblings are safe to be around," She gave his hand a gentle squeeze, opened the book to the spot marked by a Lux business card (Beatrice Decker, Proprietress) and started reading, "At that moment, Nanny Cook began to rinse off the soap - and everyone gave a gasp."*

"Lucifer's... " Ella couldn't find the words, just couldn't, "Lucifer has a..."

Trixie peered over the top of the book, tilting her head to look at Rae-Rae, "Sister, an angel, but not creepy like the last one Maze found hanging around."

Ella filed that under conversations to be had later. 

She's my friend, her name's Rae-Rae," Ella picked up a spare blanket and carefully draped it over her not so imaginary or dead friend, "She's safe."






*Smith, D., (1956). The hundred and one dalmatians. Page 32.



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Twenty three - Goddess. 


 "I think I broke Daniel," Lucifer announced as the elevator doors opened, flustered and worried, "He was doing so well about everything else, I thought I could tell him about Charlotte and... Mum."

Chloe let him pull her over to the sofas, one of which her ex-husband was sitting on, staring out at nothing. 

Lucifer hovered between them, wringing his hands, "Well?"

Her look made him step back, before retreating to the bar, muttering about the cost of appropriate mental health facilities. 

"Dan?" Chloe lightly tapped his knee, "You still here?"

Dan slowly lifted the beer bottle to his lips and drank the whole thing. 

"I thought she was a goddess," He tried to joke, "Not the Goddess."

"Who else did you think the devil's mother would be?"

The blood drained from horrified Dan's face, the bottle nearly sliding out of his hand, "The devil's step dad."

Chloe covered her mouth with her hands, not quite smothering a laugh, "My step father-in-law."

"I need another beer," Dan decided, "And brain bleach."

"Over at the bar," She gestured in its direction, "Oh Mr Goddess of Creation."

"He's a bad influence on you." Dan accused, leaving her to giggle by herself. 







Chapter Text





Twenty four - Drink. 


There's something about the way he looks at her, it makes her stop and reach out for the espresso he'd doctored with god knows what. 

She holds the sheet secure and downs the drink in one gulp. It goes down smooth and bitter and burns, and she can see him watching her (nearly everyone looks at her, a few of them watch, but no-one do it with the same sort of intensity and expectation that he does).

It's a look that she returns - hungry, thirsty - and she suddenly wants to ruin his perfectly (too perfect) coiffed hair. He grins, like he can read her thoughts (maybe he can?). 

She holds up the cup, "Another?"





 I'm catching up, slowly. 



Chapter Text






Twenty five - Pudding. 


"How can you not like pudding?" Dan eyed the demon suspiciously, "I thought you were a fan of all things gooey."

Maze pulled a face, looking like she was about to barf, and going a shade (or three) paler than normal, "I don't like the texture."

"The texture? But didn't you like-"

"That was slimy, gooey," The word made her shudder,  "Is completely different."





Short, but delicious. 



Chapter Text






Twenty six - Kiss. 




Trixie knelt next the tumble of designer shoes, perfectly tailored pants and red (burnt, blistered, scraped and scarred) skin. She gently placed a hand on one of the longs arches of dragon like wing, drawing it away from the huddled, fearfully quivering mass that was the once and future king of hell, and reached out with the other to capture the one of his that was closest to herself. 


He flinched, desperate and utterly convinced of his need to not be near her, for her not to see him like... this. Like a monster.

But if he pulled away... He didn't want to hurt her.

"You're not hurting me," Trixie tugged on his hand until he turned towards her; bewilderment clear, even on this particular face, and kissed his cheek, "You've never hurt me."



Real life should will hopefully stop interfering some time later next week (of course I chose to write an essay about transformative fiction in less than a week, wish me luck).



Chapter Text





Twenty seven - Suit. 



When Linda makes all the arrangements, she leaves the suit for last. 

They - the doctors, the nurses, his friends and family - had thought he was getting better, that he was healing.

And he had been, until he wasn't. 

(She can still hear Trixie's crying, even days later.)

Everything else had been easy. The casket, the flowers, the music. Classy and sophisticated, but decadent and vaguely debauched. 

She'd had a momentary pause trying to decide between burial or cremation, knowing that Lucifer would find them as equally repulsive, and she'd been almost tempted by burial at sea. Cremation had won out, no chance of someone finding or exhuming the devil's corpse that way.

But the suit... 

She does not pick any of the black suits, tempting as it is. With the white dress shirt, obsidian cuff links and a pocket square the colour of fire. The Devil does indeed wear Prada. 

Instead she picks one she's never seen him wear, found in the very back of his extensive closet. His voice in the back of her mind telling her it wasn't dark blue, but French navy. It goes perfectly with the dark cinnamon of the lining of the waistcoat and the pocket square, highlighting his freckles and making his skin look warm, even in death. 

She wonders what he'd been saving the suit for... 





Chapter Text






Twenty eight - Corvette. 


Trixie learns how to drive in the corvette. Well, mostly in the corvette.

She has her first lesson in something destined for scrap metal, at a practice track, going around and around in circles and until Lucifer is satisfied that she has better than adequate hand-eye coordination and isn't going to crash and die in a fireball of (literally) biblical proportions.

Then he let's her practice in the corvette. 

(There's also the vintage Mini, the behemoth he'd called an SUV and a van that he'd borrowed from the impound lot - that may or may not have belonged to a serial killer, but Trixie doesn't count them.) 


Her Dad gets her a car to take to college. It's not too new or too old, has good fuel efficiency and as Maze (un)helpfully points out, a trunk she could fit a body (or two) into. 

While he's scowling at the demon and attempting to explain (again) why she shouldn't say that sort of thing, Lucifer slips the keys to the corvette and the details of the garage it's being stored in, into Trixie's pocket and goes off to complain to her mother about her spawn being too young to leave home. 


Thale adores the corvette almost as much as he adores Trixie, especially in the nights when she leaves the top down and just drives for as long as she can. 


Oh look, more Thale :)