"You are of the Pantheon. You will be loved. You will be hated. You will be brilliant. Within two years, you will be dead.
You are Lord of the Pit. Of the Eternal Fire. Of inspiration. Of rebellion. Of damnation.”
The Wicked + The Divine #2
Rinko Kikuchi as Lucifer
For anyone who, like me, saw this and went ‘BUT WHAT IN???’, it’s apparently from Assault Girls which I now require.
[Lucifer and Michael] It is a nostalgia and a futile wish, putting those two names together. Speaking Lucifer and Michael’s name in the same sentence twists into a heart with the most exquisite sort of bittersweetness, conjuring images of the exuberant morningstar who never stopped talking and his brother the archangel in training, pious as he was mischievous. They ran heaven ragged in their youth; whispering sduring prayers, hopping fences to spy on the humans, throwing a fit when anyone suggested they spend time apart. That was back when Michael smiled and before Lucifer’s sense of humor turned dark and sadistic. Now they are the Warlord and the Addict, shadows reassembled from their pieces of their true selves shattered during the War on Heaven. Michael’s name summons more terror than Lucifer’s does, with his foul temper and disinclination to show mercy to the hordes his angelic assassins conquer, and Lucifer routinely abandons his duties to go on benders, reappearing a week later with the scent of smoke and sex clinging to his rumpled clothes. They are shadows, easily swallowed by the dark, but that doesn’t stop them from seeing each other. Michael shows up to Lucifer’s study unannounced; if he catches him sober, he has a pleasant conversation with an quietly charismatic CEO that looks and sounds nothing like his brother. If Lucifer has started drinking for the day these visits prompt tears, shouted accusations, and the inevitable fistfight. Lucifer’s been known to show up under a shoddily-constructed ceasefire to the courts of Heaven to defend Michael against the war crimes he is regularly charged with. Lucifer will take the stand with hair that’s been hastily combed in the side mirrors of a Pontiac, clench the two-days sober hands trembling for a fix behind his back, open his mouth, and dazzle. Even hung over and out of practice, there is no one better. Afterwards, they go to Rome (they like to impersonate priests, infiltrate the Vatcian in the dead of night, and share a bottle of muscadine while laughing at the statues of themselves.) Michael will laugh again and Lucifer will be sweet and they will drown in reminiscing. Michael will let Lucifer lay his head on his shoulder and light him a cigarette because no one is watching. Bastard, he’ll mutter, letting the smoke curl around his tongue as he threads his fingers through Lucifer’s hair. Lucifer will laugh. He always laughs. Love you too.
Bryan Fuller on Mads Mikkelsen (via blueshoesandbluemountains)
