like fireflies drifting skyward

HAHAHA two fandoms I’m unfamiliar with! And a bonus third! This will end poorly. Possibly to be continued.


Trixie was sleeping, and Chloe was washing the dishes while Lucifer was drying. It was odd to think someone who was once an annoyance to her now seamlessly occupied a significant part of her life. Lucifer was putting the dishes away, and she had never noticed when he started noticing things like that. First coffee, then her favorite snack, then Trixie’s lunch. It warmed her, this peace.

“I saw something strange last night,” Chloe started, pondering the mystery. They did this now, sharing details of their lives from when the other wasn’t present.

Lucifer hummed noncommittally, disinterested. “Darling, Danial’s face just looks like that.”

Chloe rolled her eyes. “No, not him. It was during a case. A person, followed by a box? But the box was walking?” She was still perplexed. What on Earth…? But the Devil and Heaven and Hell were real, proof standing next to her, and maybe Lucifer knew about a box. That walked.

Even in her head it sounded preposterous. 

But she had Lucifer’s attention now. “The man. Did he, perchance, have four eyes?” he inquired, faux-casual.

“Lucifer, don’t be rude,” Chloe admonished. “Not everyone who needs them constantly wears glasses. Besides, people wearing glasses don’t have four eyes.”

Lucifer smirked. “It comes with the territory, dear,” Lucifer said airily. “I am the Devil, after all. But, more importantly, did he carry a book that told him what to say?”

Chloe looked flummoxed. “A book that… Okay, ignoring the escalation of your insanity, no, he did not have a book. He did have a smartphone with Google Translate, if that means anything to you.”

Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose. “How modern of him. I should have known Twoflower would keep up with the times. Pardon me, I have a spy to tip off.”

And with that, Lucifer smartly walked out of the apartment before Chloe could suppose that this misadventure would end poorly.

How right she hypothetically would have been.


The spy was less a spy and more a collector of secrets. Secrets, as it happened, contained powerful magic, and being owed favors from this particular spy always paid off.

The spy was actually a wizard shunned by most of the magical community. But he was content; he had enough energy to power his house for lifetimes and endless amusement.

I mean, really, the tangled lives of his confessors. Who ever heard of faking not one, not two, but seventeen deaths? Though, really, seventeen was probably the optimal number of times to fake one’s death. It, after all, combined the magical power of seven with eternal youth.

When the Spy ran low on amusement, he released fireflies into the night to glean secrets from open windows. It was an elegant solution: the flies could sit on walls to collect secrets, and small portions of said secrets would extend their lives. Simple. Neat. The way he liked things.

That night, as he was about to release his fireflies, Lucifer burst in without knocking. 

“He’s back,” Lucifer announced, slightly breathless. “Twoflower’s been sighted.”

“Where?” the Spy asked. “The Great Continent?”

Lucifer made a face. “Earth,” he admitted, “but I’m not telling you precisely where. I don’t want you going there.”

The Spy looked offended. “Whyever not? I am a joy and a delight. Regardless, what did you want?”

“My secret,” Lucifer said. “It’s a fair trade, and you owe me a favor besides.”

The Spy snorted. “A bit of incomplete information for a secret is not a fair trade, Morningstar, and I can’t do your favor. The secret’s not mine anymore.”

Lucifer was furious. “Who has it, then?” he grit out, incensed but aware angering the Spy was unwise at best.

The Spy looked uncomfortable. “Well, er, your Father, I believe. He threatened to smite me, and I…”

But Lucifer had already left, slamming the door behind him.


“Why,” Lucifer asked Dr. Linda the next day, “does he care now? It’s been literal millennia.”

Dr. Linda made a humming sound. “While I…process that, why don’t you think about how you’d feel about reconnecting with your Father?”

Lucifer’s mind, though, was filled with a persistent buzzing.

<Psst. Lucy. Where’s Ebag?> an unfamiliar mind queried.

Lucifer went still. <In order, one, don’t call me Lucy. Two, who are you and why have you invaded my thoughts. Three, I have no idea who or what an Ebag is.>

<Lucy! It’s me, God! I know I sort of disowned you and cast you out of Heaven, but that’s in the past. Anyway, your fan club is looking for you, and you’re not responding to summons. Why aren’t you in Hell?> This was all thought very quickly, and Lucifer was eager to end the ‘conversation’ just as fast.

<Please get out of my head, Dad,> Lucifer thought sarcastically skyward. <And don’t bother me, preferably ever.>

A nearby movement caught Lucifer’s attention. Dr. Linda.

“Right, so your Father,” she prompted. “Would you be willing to reconnect?”

“That’s a hard no,” Lucifer stated, “and stop writing ‘daddy issues.’”

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