What If Orb AU + Eve!Lilith!Alastor AU (more context): here , here
Pomni in Hell AU info: here, here
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
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Eve didn’t rush it.
The words came the way water finally escapes a cracked dam. Hesitant at first, snagging on themselves after centuries without an outlet. Sentences broke apart halfway through, doubled back on themselves, dissolved into silence before starting over. But little by little they found a rhythm. A shape. A voice that had almost forgotten what it felt like to speak honestly, out loud, to someone who was actually listening.
Everything she had buried. Everything that had never been allowed anywhere to go. At last, it had somewhere to land.
She spoke of Lucifer first.
Of watching him shoulder humanity’s fall for millennia, carrying a burden that had never truly belonged to him alone. A single mistake had calcified into an identity, gathering weight with every passing century until it eclipsed everything he had once been.
She had watched him fold himself smaller beneath it. Watched the King of Hell disappear behind circus acts and rubber ducks and endless performance, each joke another layer wrapped around the hollow place where his confidence used to live. He smiled so often that most people forgot smiles could be armor, not showing the wounds beneath it.
She never had. She had loved him through every version of that slow unraveling; with complete certainty, without hesitation, without condition.
But that only made it worse.
Love didn’t make it easier to watch someone vanish beneath their own guilt. It made it unbearable, because she couldn’t look away, and she never once considered trying.
When she spoke Charlie’s name, something in her voice softened so suddenly that Pomni almost looked up.
There it was. The wound beneath every other wound.
All those years, while Charlie grew into someone extraordinary; someone impossibly kind, who had taken a broken kingdom and, through stubbornness and relentless faith, tried to build something beautiful inside it. She had become everything a mother could ever hope for.
And Lilith hadn’t been there to see it.
Hadn’t held her through nightmares. Hadn’t celebrated a single birthday. Hadn’t laughed over tiny victories or sat with her through crushing defeats. Hadn’t watched her stumble, learn, become the woman she was now.
Couldn’t and didn’t blurred together somewhere in the telling, their meanings dissolving beneath a simpler, more inescapable truth: Charlie had been alone. Whether circumstance or choice had made it so no longer mattered to the years that had already passed.
Pomni noticed it.
The quiet way Eve stopped trying to separate the two names, slipping between Lilith and Eve without seeming to realize she’d done it. Both were her, yet neither quite was anymore.
But she said nothing. This wasn’t the moment to untangle guilt from responsibility. This was simply the moment to let it exist.
----
The exterminations came last, and that was when Eve’s voice emptied out completely. Not because she felt them least, but because she felt them too much. The grief had grown so vast it had crossed some invisible threshold, leaving the realm of ordinary emotion entirely. There were no tears left for it.
No anger. No hysteria.
Only the terrible stillness that settles after standing before a tragedy too immense for the mind to measure.
So many souls. Countless lives extinguished before they’d ever needed to end. People, children, dreams, entire futures. All erased beneath angelic steel without a flicker of thought or mercy. She spoke of them without numbers, because numbers had long since stopped meaning anything.
How does one count a massacre measured in centuries? How does one mourn a population?
“I might have stopped it,” she whispered.
Not I would have. Not I could have.
Only the cruel uncertainty that haunted every sleepless night since.
I might have.
That single possibility had become its own prison, a weight that settled differently than the regret she carried for Lucifer or for Charlie, because those belonged to people she loved. This belonged to everyone else.
She was the Queen of Hell. But she was also the Mother of Humanity, not as metaphor or legend, but in the most literal sense the title had ever held. Every soul that had died beneath Heaven’s blades was, however many generations removed, still one of her children.
And when they needed someone to stand between them and oblivion, she hadn’t.
Whether she’d been unable or simply absent scarcely mattered anymore. The dead didn’t care about the distinction. Neither, in the end, did she.
She had spent every waking moment since trapped inside that single realization, carrying a grief so immense there was nothing left to do with it except endure.
Silence settled between them again. Then, after a slow, trembling breath that seemed to scrape against every old wound on its way out, Eve finally told Pomni about the fight.
----
She remembered it as though it had happened yesterday, Eve said quietly.
Perhaps because it was one of the last memories Sera hadn’t managed to steal from her. Or perhaps because it was the catalyst for everything that came after.
Whatever the reason, it had survived where so little else had. Everything after had become fragments; faces without names, emotions without context, entire centuries carved away until only hollow spaces remained where they used to be.
But this one had stayed whole.
----
“They’re sinners!”
Lucifer’s voice tore through the chamber as he paced across the polished stone, each step sharp enough to echo. Fury and guilt wrestled openly in every word.
“They’re here because they deserve it—“
“I’m a sinner!” Lilith cut in.
The interruption was quiet, which was exactly why it struck like a blade. Lucifer stopped mid-stride. The silence that followed was deafening.
Eve took one slow step toward him, her posture unnervingly still, as if any sudden movement might shatter what little composure she had left.
“Or have you forgotten?” Her eyes never left his. “Does your wife not count?”
Another step. “Do I not matter?”
His expression crumpled. “That’s not—you’re different—“
She closed the remaining distance between them.
“How?”
Tears were already gathering in her eyes, but they only made the fire behind them burn hotter.
“Because you love me? Because I’m convenient?” Another step. “What exactly makes me different from the souls rotting in the streets below us, Lucifer?”
She stood directly in front of him now.
“So tell me.” Her voice had gone eerily calm. “Give me one specific reason.”
Lucifer opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
She didn’t let him retreat.
“You’re signing their death warrants.” The steadiness in her voice finally cracked. “You are standing here letting Heaven slaughter them like their lives mean nothing.”
Her breath hitched.
“For what? To appease the same beings who cast us out?” Her voice rose. “The same Heaven that chained me before I even understood what slavery was? The same people who decided I wasn’t allowed to belong to myself?”
She laughed once.
It wasn’t amusement. It was heartbreak.
“How can you defend them?”
Lucifer’s composure splintered all at once.
“You act like giving humanity the apple was some noble gift!” His voice turned ragged, his wings flaring involuntarily. “Look at what they’ve done with it! Look at the wars, the cruelty, the endless ways they’ve found to hurt each other! I gave them freedom, and they used it to destroy everything they touched!”
“Free will isn’t the problem!” The words tore out of Eve before she even realized she was shouting. “It never was!”
Her whole body trembled.
“Humanity deserves the right to choose. Every choice.” Her voice cracked. “The beautiful ones. The terrible ones. And every impossible, messy thing in between.” She held his gaze. “That’s what makes it real. That’s what made it worth everything.”
“Worth it?” Lucifer’s voice fractured around the word. “I gave them choice and they tore themselves apart! My family cast me out because of it!” His laugh came out broken. “Everything I believed in—everything I sacrificed—”
“Oh.” Something in Eve finally gave way. “Of course.”
She smiled, and it was the saddest thing Lucifer had ever seen.
“Of course this becomes about you. Your suffering. Your exile. Your regrets.”
She looked at him as though from an impossible distance.
“What about me, Lucifer?” Her voice had gone frighteningly soft. She hugged herself without seeming to notice she’d done it. “What about the girl who never had a choice? I wasn’t born free.”
Her nails dug into her sleeves.
“I was made to obey. Made to serve. Made to smile.” Her voice fell to barely a whisper. “And made to be grateful for a life I never asked for.”
“That’s not what I meant—” Lucifer stammered.
“Then what did you mean?” Her voice dropped even lower. No anger remained in it now, only hurt. That somehow frightened him more than the shouting ever had.
“Because what I’m hearing,” she swallowed hard, “is regret. It sounds like you think the price was too high. It sounds like you believe freedom wasn’t worth what came after.”
“It sounds,” her voice finally broke, “like you think they don’t deserve the right to choose, because sometimes they choose wrong.”
Lucifer closed his eyes. Every instinct told him to stop talking.
Instead: “Maybe they don’t.”
The words escaped before he could catch them, and the instant they existed he wished he could tear them back out of the air. His face went white.
“No—“ his voice faltered. “I—maybe—”
He couldn’t stop.
“Maybe giving Eve the apple—” His breath caught. “—was the mistake.”
The room fell utterly silent, even the air seemed to stop moving.
Eve silently stared at him.
When she finally spoke, her voice had gone impossibly small, as though she were handling something already shattered.
“Is that,” she blinked once, “what you truly believe? That saving me,” a trembling breath, “was a mistake? That I should have stayed?”
Her lips quivered.
“That Adam’s—” she couldn’t even finish his name, “—that being unable to think, unable to refuse, unable to be—“ a sob escaped her, “—a person—“
She looked at him, tears streaming freely now.
“So that’s the thing you regret? Standing up for me,” her shoulders shook, “when I couldn’t stand up for myself?”
“No.” Lucifer lurched toward her, panic obliterating every trace of anger. “Lily, wait—“
His hands reached for hers. He couldn’t understand why she was so undone by this, as if he’d been talking about her all along instead of Eve.
She flinched and he froze.
“That isn’t what I meant.” His voice shook violently. “I wasn’t talking about you. I was talking about everything after—about Eve, the consequences, the suffering.”
The words came faster now, tripping over each other.
“I would save you again. A thousand times.” His eyes glistened. “I always will.”
But she wasn’t listening anymore. She had already turned toward the door, arms wrapped around herself as though that alone might keep her from breaking apart.
“Lily—” He hated how small his own voice sounded.
She rested a hand on the doorknob.
“I need,” she swallowed, “to be alone.”
“Lily, please.” He took another step. “Let’s talk about this. I don’t understand—I wasn’t talking about you, I was talking about Eve.”
He didn’t know it yet, but in not knowing which of her he’d really been speaking to, he had already sealed her fate.
Her shoulders trembled.
“I—“ Her voice cracked, then shattered. “I need to be alone!”
The cry splintered against the walls before dissolving into raw, broken sobs. She pulled the door open. For one impossible second, Lucifer thought she might turn back.
She didn’t.
The door slammed. It was the last thing he ever heard from his wife.
----
Eve lowered her gaze to her hands, resting quietly in her lap. They looked strange to her, older than she remembered, as though they belonged to someone who had lived far longer than any person ever should.
“That,” her thumb traced absent circles across her knuckles, “was the last time I spoke to him.”
The words were barely louder than the breeze drifting through the colorless branches above them.
“Adam found me after that.” She stopped and a small breath escaped her. It was the weary exhale of someone who had told herself this story too many times to count. “And then—”
Another breath.
“Well.” Her eyes stayed fixed on her hands. “You know the rest.”
Pomni did. She hadn’t interrupted once.
Hadn’t offered comforting platitudes or tried to reshape the memories into something easier to carry. Hadn’t gone looking for hidden lessons or silver linings or ways to dull the edges.
She had simply sat beneath the ancient apple tree with Eve’s hand in hers, and listened. Every word, every silence, every place where Eve had needed to stop because the memory had grown too heavy to move through all at once.
Some grief doesn’t need explaining. Some wounds don’t want solutions. Sometimes the greatest kindness is just refusing to look away.
After a long while, Pomni finally spoke.
“I’m sorry.”
The words felt painfully small beneath everything that had just been shared, and she knew it.
“I know that doesn’t fix anything.” Her eyes drifted upward, following the pale branches until they disappeared into the endless gray sky. “But you’ve been carrying all of this alone.”
Her voice softened.
“For so, so long.”
She looked back at Eve.
“And none of it was your fault.” Not a trace of hesitation in her voice. “You did everything you could with the choices you had—“ a sad smile tugged at one corner of her mouth, “—inside circumstances that were impossible before they even began.”
The garden stretched around them in faded shades of gray. Flowers that no longer remembered their colors and grass that had forgotten how to grow. This is a world preserved only because one lonely soul had refused to let it go.
Pomni glanced across the silent landscape.
“I think,” she breathed in slowly, “that’s all any of us can really do. Keep making the best choices we can—“ her eyes lingered on the crumbling remains of Eden, “—even inside a literal hellhole.”
For the first time in what felt like forever, Eve smiled. It was almost too small to notice, just the faintest movement at the corner of her mouth. A smile so fragile it looked as though it might vanish if either of them acknowledged it out loud.
Pomni noticed anyway and smiled back.
The silence that settled between them afterward wasn’t the suffocating kind that had filled the garden before. Whatever pressure had hung in the air was, if only by the smallest measure, a little lighter now.
----
Then Eve spoke again.
“I hated him.” She didn’t need to say his name, but she still did. “Lucifer.”
There was no venom left in the word, only the truth.
“For a very long time.” She looked toward the empty horizon. “I hated Sera. The others who let it happen.”
A pause.
“Adam.” That one came almost absentmindedly. “Heaven.”
The word lingered on her tongue as she exhaled.
“I hated them so much for what they did, and for how thoughtless they could be.”
A faint, tired smile crossed her face.
“I hated,” she shook her head, “a lot of people.”
Then she turned and looked straight at Pomni.
“And I hated you too.” Her voice stayed remarkably calm. “For a while. Because of what you being here means.”
Pomni didn’t react, not because the words didn’t sting. But because she understood exactly where they’d come from.
Someone reaching this place, this forgotten corner buried at the very bottom of Alastor’s mind. The deepest room. The most carefully hidden memory. The place where a single soul had waited beneath a dying apple tree for longer than time itself seemed able to measure.
It could only mean one thing: the story was nearing its end.
Whatever came next; whatever peace, whatever goodbyes, whatever release Eve had unknowingly been waiting for, had finally begun.
How could she not resent the person who arrived carrying that certainty?
Pomni didn’t feel hurt, she wasn’t supposed to. Hatred born from grief wasn’t really hatred at all. It was just another way of saying please don’t leave me too.
“I know,” Pomni said softly.
Somehow, those two words were enough.
----
Eve lifted her gaze to the stars with Pomni following her. The garden held them both inside its quiet, crumbling stillness.
Above them the old apple tree breathed slowly, silver branches swaying in a wind neither of them could feel. Beyond its canopy, stars drifted across a sky that belonged to no world at all, moving by whatever impossible laws governed a place hidden outside of time, memory, and death itself.
For a long while, neither of them spoke.
Then, without looking away, Eve asked, “I can’t say anything to them now, can I?”
It wasn’t really a question. Just a truth spoken aloud to hear how it sounded.
Pomni stayed silent. There wasn’t an answer gentle enough to offer.
“I can’t say goodbye.” Eve’s voice stayed remarkably even; only a slight tightening around the words betrayed how much it was costing her.
“I can’t apologize.” A shaky exhale. “I can’t watch my little girl grow up.”
Her breath faltered.
“I can’t even tell Lucifer that I forgive him.” A choked sob. “Even if I wanted to.”
Her eyes shimmered. “Even if I was finally ready.”
Pomni let the words settle before she answered.
“I don’t think you have to forgive him.” Her voice was quiet. “He went too far.”
She looked at Eve.
“You’re allowed not to. Regardless of everything else.”
Eve considered that, then slowly shook her head.
“It doesn’t matter anymore.”
There was no bitterness left in it, only acceptance. Strangely, that hurt far more.
“I’ll disappear.” Her gaze drifted back to the stars. “And only he remains.” The words carried no resentment. “That’s simply what it is.”
Pomni looked at her for a long moment. “He’s still part of you.”
A tiny sound escaped Eve.
“We both know that’s not the same.” She smiled, sadly. “He’s his own person. He has been for a very long time.”
Her fingers brushed the grass beside her.
“I’m,” she searched for the right word, “an echo. Of someone who used to exist.” She looked up into the silver leaves. “You can’t call an echo the same thing as the voice.”
“No,” Pomni agreed. “You can’t.”
A heartbeat passed.
“But,” Pomni said gently, “you both still love them.”
Eve’s eyes widened
“Charlie, Lucifer, whatever parts of Alastor he’s willing to admit exist.” She chuckled quietly to herself. “And all the ones he absolutely refuses to acknowledge.”
She laughed, softer now.
“I’ve seen them, and I can say with one hundred percent certainty that he loves them. In that very specific way where he’d burn the universe to ashes before he’d let anyone hurt them—“ another small laugh, “—while somehow convincing himself nobody notices.”
She looked at Eve.
“And the funny part is, everybody notices. He really is terrible at hiding it.”
Eve let out a small laugh, then another, and before either of them quite realized it she was laughing outright. It wasn’t loud or forced. It escaped her; small, warm, and wonderfully genuine, almost surprised to exist after so many years.
The sound drifted beneath the branches of the dying apple tree, and for the briefest of moments the gray garden no longer felt like a place waiting for its final breath. It felt alive.
Pomni laughed too, not because the moment was funny, but because joy had somehow found them anyway. Because grief and love had always known how to exist side by side.
The laughter faded naturally, neither hurried to fill the quiet that followed. Above them, the stars continued their slow, unhurried drift.
----
Then slowly, Eve reached for Pomni’s hand. Her fingers slipped between Pomni’s and held tight.
“Please.” Her voice was steady now. “Take care of them.”
She squeezed her hand.
“Tell them,” a trembling breath, “tell them I love them.”
Her eyes closed.
“And that I will never, ever,” she smiled through fresh tears, “ever regret choosing them. No matter what.”
Pomni opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Her throat had closed too tightly around every word she wanted to say.
So instead, she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around Eve.
Eve returned the embrace instantly, clinging to Pomni with astonishing strength. It was the embrace of someone doing two impossible things at once. Holding on and letting go, both at once, both completely.
The tears came without restraint now.
No dignity, no careful composure, no effort left to remain Queen. No effort left to remain strong.
Only a mother. Only a wife. Only a woman who had carried far too much for far too long. Only a small, frightened girl who had first come from the garden and never quite stopped being her.
Her sobs shook against Pomni’s shoulder.
Above them, the garden began to disappear.
The stars winked out one by one, like candles gently pinched between unseen fingers. The apple tree dissolved into ribbons of pale gold light, its blossoms scattering into glowing dust before they ever touched the ground. The grass unraveled into countless shimmering threads, drifting upward instead of falling, as though the whole garden had finally remembered it had never truly belonged to any world at all.
Everything was going home.
“I don’t want to go,” Eve whispered into Pomni’s shoulder. Then again, quieter, smaller: “I don’t want to go.”
Quieter still.
“I don’t—“
The world around them turned white.
“—want—“
The last stars vanished.
“—to—“
Her voice had become little more than a breath.
“—go—“
Then something seized Pomni from behind.
Strong, sudden, and unyielding.
Hands she couldn’t see grabbed her and pulled with overwhelming force.
The embrace shattered, and just in the nick of time, as the garden exploded into blinding light.
I think this crossover idea is really neat. As a fan of both shows but a big time hater of stupid internet people, I love the idea of having a place for both fandoms to intersect without so much toxicity.
Wishing you luck on your venture!
Thank you so much! Honestly it’s been quite amazing how much support we’ve gotten so far. I can’t say how amazing it’s been. A new short comic will be coming soon, hope you all stick around! :D
Люцифер сидит в своем безупречно обставленном кабинете — на столе ровно три предмета, потому что четвертый был бы лишним, а беспорядок — это верный путь к погибели. Часы показывают 16:00. Пора начинать. Где же студент? Точно: нигде. Где он должен быть? Тоже точно: в кресле напротив, с блокнотом в руке, с соответствующим раскаявшимся выражением лица. Но у вселенной, как всегда, есть свои планы на Люцифера, и эти планы носят имя Адама Кадмона.
16:17. Звонок в дверь.
On the threshold stands the miracle itself, feathers and all. His hair defies gravity as though styled not by Adam himself that morning, but by a small rockabilly hurricane. A guitar slung across his back (and why, pray, have you brought that to algebra, my golden boy?), his shirt unbuttoned one notch past the frontier of common decency, and that smile—the one rehearsed before the mirror, the smile that says, “Oh, I’m so adorable, you’re not really going to scold me, are you?”
“Terribly sorry, traffic,” he announces, in a tone containing exactly zero contrition and a full one hundred percent of “I already know I’ll get away with it.”
Lucifer scans him for three seconds. His internal analyst has already run the numbers and delivered the verdict in bold caps: classic trust-fund specimen. Mummy’s money, Daddy’s genes, his own zero effort. Such specimens have passed through this office—pardon the pun—like ships through a harbour brothel: by the dozen. All identical: expensive threads, cheap excuses, a vocabulary hovering somewhere around “like, uh, y’know.”
“Do come in,” Lucifer intones, in the sort of voice one usually reserves for “My deepest condolences.” “Next time—quarter to four. Not four o’clock. Quarter to four. Tardiness eats into your own time; your parents’ money trickles in regardless.”
