#I love how he's just like 'so anyway let's recycle Lucifer'

[moemoemammon]

Bastard spotted

#EVIL child #but this is really funny #I love how he's just like 'so anyway let's recycle Lucifer' #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me! #obey me! shall we date? #shall we date? obey me! #shall we date obey me #obey me belphie #obey me belphegor #obey me! belphegor #obey me! belphie #obey me screenshot #om belphie #om belphegor #om! belphie #om! belphegor #om swd

[silkylious]

“I love you. Truly, deeply, eternally.” (Lucifer x Reader)

fandom: obey me! shall we date?

pairing: lucifer x gn reader

warnings: angst, fluff (mildly lol), suggestive (nothing explicit though!), bittersweet, ambiguous ending (??), unedited 

wc: 2.1k

“Lucifer?” you called out to him on a whim, eyes trailing the seconds ticking away on his grandfather-clock.

“Yes?” he didn’t spare you a glance as he worked methodically through his second hill of paperwork; a heaping stack of duties assigned to him by Diavolo, endless bills–a consequence of Mammon’s latest spending spree, you ought to talk to him about those soon–and the sort piled neatly on his pristine desk, slowly but surely decreasing in size as Lucifer burned through the tedious task with unwavering efficiency. You felt exhausted just watching him work. Lucifer? He hadn’t so much as blinked more than three times in the past five minutes (yes, you counted). Obsidian sleeves rolled up just past his elbows, hair perfectly framing his face with one strand slightly out of place–hot–and a gentle crease between his brows (the only observable hint alluding to the mounting stress on his shoulders). He looked positively delectable, nothing like someone who’s been working diligently for hours without any breaks. But that just served as a testament to the fundamental difference between the two of you, you supposed.

“I’m in love with you,”

That made his meticulous fingers pause in their tracks.

“Pardon?”

As it turned out, his ears hadn’t, in fact, deceived him. You repeated the confession as if it weighed nothing on your tongue. You were strangely calm given the words you’d just blurted out; he almost didn’t recognize you. An unfamiliar shade of desperation painted all over your face, and yet your voice bared to him a serene conviction, one he’d never heard from you before. Lucifer’s heartbeat stumbled in your wake.

Basking in your courageous display just a second longer, he sighed. Too bad he’d have to mutilate such a pretty sight so soon.

That didn’t go exactly as he’d planned. The harsh rejection barely deterred you, leaving only a petulant pout on your lips and a promise that you’d come talk to him later.

Lucifer was anything but stupid. He knew that he let things stray too far between you, knew it was his fault for not pulling away from your kisses and instead indulging you (and himself) to the fullest. His fault for ignoring the guilt that settled deep in his gut like hunks of steel when you looked at him like he’d never experienced before. Lucifer had lived for many millennia, had relished the warmth of countless passionate lovers and faceless hookups, none of which had ever set him alight from the inside out like your adoring gaze had. It terrified him how after all these years, watching humans thrive and collapse over and over again, he thought he’d seen everything there is to see, all that humans had to offer. And then you come along, reinventing what love meant right before his eyes, with a simple look no less.

He never intended for you to fall in love with him, and he never intended to reciprocate. Had he been mortal, maybe things wouldn’t be so complicated. But life dealt a cruel hand, and he wasn’t. A relationship like yours was doomed to crumble in heartache from the start, it was best to stop it before things went too far. That was the plan anyway.

You didn’t share the same sentiment.

With one last exasperated sigh, Lucifer focused his attention back on his duties. He didn’t know how long he could hold up against your persistence, and honestly he preferred not to dwell on it. Whatever outcome lied for the both of you in the near future, itching one step closer with each tick on the clock, he’d face it head on when it was time.

Meanwhile, you laid wide awake, in your bed, rethinking every decision that led you here. You didn’t regret your confession, nor were you keen on giving up, but Lucifer’s ruthless rejection, his vehement claim that a relationship between a human and a demon is destined to end in tragedy festered a bud of doubt in you. You noted pettily that he hadn’t outright denied any feelings for you. How could he? Lucifer was many, ugly things but a liar’s not one of them; you wouldn’t believe him even if he did lie, not with how delicately he holds your hand in his gloved one, not with how heartbreakingly beautiful he was when he lets you in at his lowest, stripped completely of his pride.

You knew though, that as much as Lucifer was a creature of the past, he was a creature of regrets.

Somehow, you’d managed to reach the heart of the Avatar of Pride himself, bestowing a porcelain touch on it and subsequently rocking the monotony of his endless life. Despite the acknowledgment of both your feelings, you weren’t naïve enough to dismiss how his heart drums thousands of years apart from yours and would continue to do so long after yours gave its last valiant pump.

He was a creature of the past you realized; humans intently watch minutes, hours, years approach because there’s only so much of them live out, there’s only so much to do in a lifetime. Naturally it would be counterintuitive to waste scarce time on the past. The immortal have no such concern. When time is limitless, and life is all but a blur of recycled events, its only instinctive to lose interest in what’s to come. And you guessed, maybe there was a strange comfort in the predictability of eternity, maybe that’s why Lucifer was so offput by the notion of something serious yet temporary, especially romance.

You decided. You wouldn’t let him look back and ponder what ifs in that stubborn head of his, not while you were still breathing. With regained determination, you glanced one last time at your countertop alarm and entered a dreamless slumber.

Not even two days later, three consecutive raps on his door made Lucifer rub at his temples for the nth time and begrudgingly called for you to enter. Piled on his desk were several stacks of papers (as was the usual), though, that night he was in a particularly sour mood. Ever since your confession, he’d been feeling uneasy, Diavolo hurling more work at him last minute was only pushing him to his wit’s end.

“Lucifer,” he hummed in response, not bothering to conceal his growing agitation. “we need to talk,”

Ah, there it was. He was wondering when you’d confront him again.

“I believe I made myself quite clear last time,” he sighed, dropping his pen and finally meeting your eyes. “If this is about your feelings again then I’m sorry but I can’t–”

“But why? Can you really say that what we have isn’t special at all?” your lower lip quivered just a bit and Lucifer had to fight the immediate reflex of holding you close and hushing your worries. His impassiveness quickly arose frustration out of you. “God Damnit, Lucifer! All I want is to be with you while I still can! To die with no regrets, knowing you’ll be there with me, but it’s very fucking hard to do that when you’re too scared of the future to do something about–about us!”

It was a low blow to go after his pride, you knew that, but he wasn’t giving you much to work with.. Rubbing salt in a ghastly wound had certainly done the trick, the dimmed crimson that pooled just below his pupil began to shine scarlet. You would have found it gorgeous had it not been imbued with near murderous intent. Lucifer’s poker face was rapidly breaking, a horrid mix of anger and melancholy sat heavy in his throat. He was looking straight at you, but his eyes were somewhere else, some time else. He was staring hundreds of years behind you at an unhealed, poorly bandaged cut. An everlasting guilt he carried with him everywhere.

“What would you know about regret?” he breathed out the words like they’re bullets, whatever restraint he’d managed to scarp together deteriorating. He stepped closer, each stride bigger than the last as he closed the distance between you, a perfect diamond manifesting on his forehead and you could see the beginnings of black feathers sprouting from his back. “Do you have the slightest clue what a blessing mortality is? Do you have any idea how agonizing it is to live with your regrets and not be able to die with them?”

“You’re right. I don’t,” you stood your ground. “But, do you really want to live with one more regret to bear?”

He kissed you. He kissed you like he hated you, animosity and anger and pain and, most prominently, pining spilling from his lips. Lucifer parted from you just as quickly as he’d initiated the kiss, taking the time to let his irritation bleed out of him, until he was left grappling with (frankly terrifying) longing and adoration. Just this once, he’d take a leap of faith, he’d break his own rigorous code and take the risk of undying heartache in the future to be with you in the now.

One kiss turned into many, and soon you found yourselves stumbling your way from his office to his bedroom. He couldn’t get enough of you, the thought that some day he would be deprived of you broke him and made him yearn to cherish you just as much. Precious things aren’t meant for longevity, he learned. All the more reason to treasure them when given the chance. You were pushed onto his bed and not once did his hands and mouth and breath leave your skin; he couldn’t bear sever that connection.

Before long, your hands were pined to the mattress, fingers tightly laced with his as if he was petrified the moment will break and a thousand years would pass you by the instant he let go.

“I love you. Truly and deeply.”

Neither of you heard the clock strike midnight.

Lucifer was well-acquainted with sleepless nights. He was no stranger to the prick at the corner of his eye, excruciatingly familiar with midnight’s cold, lonely touch. But this one was different. Where usually lied a cool emptiness in his sheets, your warm, inviting body was just in reach. Where the corners of his mind were usually plagued by past mistakes and sorrowful repentance, you were all he could think about. He reflected on your words now that the high of emotions had worn off. He still disagreed with you on many things and, if he was being true to himself, it would take more than one night to abandon his reluctance, much more. But he was willing to put in his fair share of effort. He was willing to do many things for you, he mused. You were right about one thing though, regardless of whether or not he acted on his feelings, your parting would hurt all the same. Part of him was still resentful that he let himself fall so deeply in love with you, and a part of him knew it couldn’t be helped. You’d carved a home for yourself out of his heart, invited yourself in and declared pompously you’d be there to stay, and he’d be damned to hell all over again if he said he didn’t like that.

Pulling you closer to leech off your warmth, for the first time in forever, he dreamt of the future, a future with you.

Snapping out his reverie, Lucifer refocused his vision on the framed picture before him. It’s been a couple dozen years, the pain dulled into a hollow longing, and yet not a single regret weighed on his back. He was astonished, how you, who had lived but a fraction of his own lifetime, had such impeccable foresight. He lays in bed every night and morning thanking you for not giving up, knowing that if you had, he’d be spending the rest of his infinite days in self-loathing regret.

All Lucifer could ask for now is a little guidance. What was he to do now? Was he even capable of falling in love again after you? Would he allow it? All questions that began frequenting his head since you’re no longer there to occupy it. He only knew is that he’d love you, and love you, and love you until this world fell apart. He toyed with the idea of reincarnation. It certainly wasn’t out of the realm of possibility; he saw you in everything he did. Strange how you’d taught him more about appreciating every day’s mundanities than he had in the many eons he’s been alive. Lucifer wonders about the possibility of you donning the same white wings he once had back in the Celestial Realm. If you ever did, he wonders about the complications that would arise from that, he wonders if you’d even remember him. All Lucifer was left with was a simple truth. If you ever came back, whichever form you may take, he’d welcome you back into the adobe of his heart without a second thought.

He ran his thumb over your smile, a bittersweet acceptance in his own.

“I love you. Truly, deeply, eternally.”

Obey me! taglist: @katsucookie @strwbry-m1lk​ (you wanted to be tagged in this one lol) join my taglist here! <3

#obey me x reader #obey me lucifer x reader #obey me lucifer x y/n #obey me lucifer x mc #lucifer x reader #lucifer x y/n #lucifer x mc #obey me lucifer #obey me #obey me shall we date #lucifer angst

[obeymematches]

Yo. How about dad Lucifer, dad Satan,dad Diabolo and dad Levi?

anon i love your mind<3 had so much fun writing this, i tried to keep it short & simple but i failed :(

Dad Lucifer, Satan, Diavolo, and Levi (GN MC btw)

Lucifer:

I did something like this for him in this post already, but to highlight some stuff:

Answering kids’ questions about life can be rough, you know? I feel like sometimes he’d answer w/ some complete bs on purpose. (which, according to him encourages critical thinking of the world and it teaches how you shouldn’t trust just anyone. don’t buy.)

I think teenagers don’t like him for several reasons (being bossy, thinking he’s better than anyone, etc.) which leaves him surprised, mostly, but he only really cares if he is the parent.

Regardless of what the kids think he’d still love them though. Like he might complain and all but at the end he loves his kid and if he has to he can go the extra mile for them. 

Also I think he doesn’t spend as much time with them as he’d want to so that is one problem to be solved. You know he is very family oriented but he is also busy all the time - this can make kids think he doesn’t care about them at all, or worst, they might think he doesn’t even love them...

I think when both of you are busy / out on a date he’d trust uncle Mammon to do his babysitting duty.

This goes without saying but anyways, I think we can all agree that he’d be a strict parent, like if the poor kid gets a B they are getting punished, unless they have a good reason in their defense. Also they have to help with chores obviously. 

Satan:

As much as he’d like to be different than his father, some of his ways he just can’t help. I think he wouldn’t reply with nonsense as often, but sometimes he definitely does it on purpose.

Spends much more time with them thus they have a better bond. They can and will team up against you for example when you need to decide what to have for dinner. But also they always surprise you on your Bday as a team.

I think he’d prepare them for domestic life, as in teaching them how to change a light bulb, how to cook/bake and very simple DIY stuff. (like putting on a shelf) (also how and what to recycle, how not to waste food, etc) Makes them pay close attention to their emotions and helps them gain control.

Though he also wants them to refine their intellectuality so he’d urge them to get higher education. This will probably cause problems if the kid doesn’t want it though, so you might have to step in.

Dad puns / jokes all day.

I feel like he’d be the dad who embarrasses his kids at like. grocery stores (or public in general), mainly because of his sense of fashion.

ah..imagine kids running up to him in a fit after they fell and hurt their knees or something... oh no he has to be so gentle now... (also. very quick to figure out the trick of “if you pretend you didn’t see they’ll just move on”)

Diavolo:

I think he’d make a fun dad despite not knowing so much about parenting. That is why he is insecure and not so sure about it at first, but I think he’d have it in him to be a great dad. (makes mistakes sometimes though)

Every weekend you go somewhere with the family, a zoo, an amusement park, the beach, sledding, maybe just fishing. His kids love him so much and want to do everything with him all the time (and so does him). When they are babies he gets himself this baby carrier and might even take them to work sometimes. No need to feel jealous though, they get to spend time with you too when he is busy on the week days.

I feel like he’d spoil them so much though, something he just can’t help. I mean he doesn’t want to be like his father was to him, obviously. (also like... as they are royals... how are they supposed to not be spoiled...)

I think the main lessons he’d teach them is honesty and learning to balance work and free time. Also as he is probably the first pacifist prince / king in history he’d want his kids to continue on this road, but obviously he can only do so much about that.

As he is strong he’d do so much physical play with them when they are still very young, like playing airplanes, spinning them, etc. On that note, he is the best to keep up with their energy levels, playing tag, etc. Depending on the number of kids he might get tired at some point, but 1-3 kids he can handle perfectly fine.

 Oh on that note, in case he has multiple kids he is the best dad at teaching them how to get over their sibling-rivalry. Listen since he is an only child this would be a very foreign concept & it worries him more than anything to see his kids fight each other. Must find a solution to this!!

Leviathan:

Hmm I not sure if he’d really want kids, but if you manage to convince him he’d make a conscious father.

Does his best not to embarrass them but he might fail at that sometimes.

Unlike Diavolo, he’d much rather quiet, stay-in weekends. Sometimes visiting a body of water is fine though (imagine him teaching them how to swim aaa). Or if his kid preforms something at a school event he is there to see and take a video!!!! even if he is the only parent at the event!!!!

Can’t handle rebellious phases at all though. Gets very emotional.

Similar to Satan, he’d team up with his kids to surprise you on special days. Obviously him and his kids have a special bond since they always play video games together. (You included of course!!!!!)

Playing Devil Kart so often and sometimes he lets his kid win, all fun and games until the kid(s) gets better at it than him...

The main lessons he’d teach them is to be passionate, go all in, and not to be afraid to like whatever they do. If he learns his kid loves something he makes them a personalized birthday cake in that theme.

Would continue cosplaying but obviously now he includes his kid(s) as well!! can’t get over how adorable the little overall is which he made for them.

In case you manage to have him leave his room, maybe to go to the playground or on a trek or something, he is a very well prepared parent (that’s why you might have to wait for him before you go), ready to carry the heaviest backpack if needed (do it for the team✊), full of sandwiches and water bottles.

#obey me #obey me swd #obey me x you #obey me x reader #obey me diavolo #obey me lucifer #obey me satan #obey me leviathan #obey me headcanons #om headcanons #om hc #obey me hc #om! diavolo #shall we date diavolo #om! lucifer #shall we date lucifer #om! satan #om! leviathan #om! headcanons #om! levi #shall we date satan #shall we date leviathan

[jaeheewillalwaysbemyfav]

Obey Me: The Brothers Accidentally Trigger an Abused MC (Asmodeus) (5/7)

Disclaimer: I’m not an expert on abuse or mental health. I’m not portraying how one should respond to these situations, only how I think the characters might. Abuse and trauma in particular are very complex topics, and people respond in all sorts of ways to them, and sometimes it gets really bad on all sides.

I can only draw from my personal experiences as well as those of people who have shared their stories or who I’m close with. There’s no one narrative of abuse and how it affects someone, so what I’m familiar with might not be what you’re familiar with. Let’s try and all be respectful of each other.

Content Warnings: Heated arguments, reference to past abuse, parental abuse, trauma response, breaking down in tears, this is quintessential hurt/comfort y’all, buckle up, mentions of alcoholism and abuse of alcohol as well as child neglect

I know abuse is never an easy or light subject, but this also has the added issue of addiction and alcoholism, so I’d like to add a second disclaimer here: addicts are not inherently abusive. If you or someone you know struggles with an addiction to anything, that doesn’t make you a monster or a bad person. I want to make it as clear as possible the problem here is neglect, and MC’s personal triggers related to alcohol, not a grand statement about addiction.

Now then... HERE IT IS! The long awaited fifth entry in this very angsty series. I’d say, “Don’t worry, things will pick up from here!” but uh... I don’t know what to do for the twins, sooooo... I’m not gonna make any promises about timing, but it Is Coming.

Lucifer (X) Mammon (X), Leviathan (X), Satan (X), Asmodeus (you are here), Beelzebub (X), Belphegor (X)

The flashing lights. The sea of sweaty, stumbling bodies. Music that pounds in their ears and shakes their bones. The miasma of a thousand perfumes and colognes failing to cover up the smell of drunken debauchery and things MC doesn’t want to think about. For the first time during their stay in the Devildom, it really feels like Hell.

But this is where Asmodeus thrives. MC sees him on the dance floor now, a gaggle of admirers all but clawing at each other to get closer to him. His cheeks are flushed, from exertion or alcohol no one can say, all sinuous movements and fluttering eyelashes. A demon- a concubus maybe? - is stroking along his upper pair of wings and saying something that makes him grin lavisciously in response. He looks at home here. In his element. Happy.

No sudden drops in energy followed by artificial cheerfulness to disguise the slip-up. No befuddled stares when he thinks they’re not looking. No boring plans with MC to worry about cancelling again. 

They should be used to this. They’ve always been a bother to everyone around them, not even their own parents wanted to spend any more time with them than absolutely necessary. More nights than not, they’d carry home the stench of the bar back with them, and MC knew they’d be paying their bus fare with the change from recycled bottles once again. 

Ugh, why did they let him talk them into this? They’re so stupid, this is how it goes every single time, they can’t go anywhere fun, all because of that smell-

Someone calls their name, enthusiastic but slurred. MC turns around on their barstool and comes face to face with Asmodeus, in all his lipstick-smeared glory. 

“MC!” he repeats, drawing out the syllables in their name. “What are you doing all the way over here? Come dance with me, silly!” 

He paws at where he thinks their shoulder is, missing and settling for the front of their shirt instead. He tugs them off their seat and they stumble into his arms. His hands wander and the lights are flashing and he smells like perfume and cologne and that damn smell of alcohol-

MC shoves the Avatar of Lust as far away as they can, yelling, “Get OFF of me!”

On any other day, Asmo would have a) not been phased by the panicked shove of a mere human, and b) recognized the distant look in MC’s eyes as they glared through him. But tonight his blood is more Demonus than anything else so he goes flying back into the crowd. They absorb and push him back onto his feet as one, the membrane of a world he can no longer return to.

All he can think is he came here with MC, because of MC, because they make him feel something exhilarating and terrifying all at once and he’s scared. (Scared he’s too much, scared he’ll push them off, scared he’ll hurt them, scared they’ll hurt him, he wants them close, so close too close please don’t leave-) 

He just wants to have a good time, he thinks. That’s all it is. That’s all they are. Except now they’re looking at him like that and he wants to help, wants to forget, too close too close too-

“Fine,” he spits, adjusting the roses on his top as he struggles to remain standing. “I can have more fun without you anyway. Go back to the House of Lamentation if you’re gonna be such a stick in the mud.”

He wishes they’d curse at him. Keep yelling, shove him again. Tell him to fuck off and never speak to them again.

Instead their eyes well up with tears and they run past him into the crowd until they reach the exit of The Fall.

###

MC: Is anyone awake?

Mammon: I am now! Why’re ya texting at 3AM?! Some of us are trying to sleep!

Satan: You’d have an easier time sleeping if you didn’t leave your ringer on whenever MC is outside the House.

Mammon: >:O

Mammon: I DO NOT!!!

Leviathan: what are you normies doing spamming the groupchat

Leviathan: im trying to watch My Demon Boyfriend Can’t Articulate His Emotions Properly So He Compensates By Acting Like A Total Jerk But I Still Love Him? 

Leviathan: but i keep getting interrupted by these notifs!!!! 

MC: I’m outside The Fall.

Mammon: ALONE?!

Satan: No, Asmo has to be with them.

Leviathan: lol mammon’s simping so hard rn

MC: He’s not...

Mammon: HE LEFT YA A L O N W ?! 

Mammon: IM CMOIGNCONEESC

Satan: ...I will go with. 

Satan: Expect us there soon MC. Stay safe.

Leviathan: text me when you find them! 

Leviathan: Guys?

Leviathan: …

Leviathan: stupid normies…

###

It’s Mammon who stays with MC. Satan quickly checks in with them, making sure they aren’t physically hurt, but seeing their bloodshot eyes and shaking hands spikes his already flaring temper. He apologises and promises he will return shortly, before storming into The Fall, magical flames licking at his silhouette.

MC is curled up on the steps to the club, hugging their knees. Without a word, Mammon takes off his jacket and drapes it over their shoulders. They start at the feel of the soft leather and look up at him in confusion.

“Why are you doing this?” they ask.

Mammon blinks at them owlishly. He gestures to their current position, opening and closing his mouth as he tries to figure out how to start his sentence, before saying, “You- I- He just- You said you were out here alone! A-and then we come find you, and you’re crying in the cold! What’d ya think we were gonna do, drag you home and dump you in your room?” He blushes fiercely as he scoffs.

MC doesn’t meet his eyes as they mumble, “Kinda… S’what everyone else does…”

If it weren’t for the muffled sounds of fireballs and curses being thrown around in the club, Mammon would say he temporarily became the Avatar of Wrath right then.

“Well then those people are a bunch of scumbags!” He taps MC’s chin so they look into his eyes. “You don’t deserve that, MC. I don’t know what my stupid brother said to you or did to you that made you this upset, but I’ll be…” He pauses. “...even more damned than usual if I let you think you deserve whatever he did.”

MC sniffles as their eyes well up again, this time for a different reason. Mammon’s ears burn. He blinks back what are most certainly not tears, and holds out a hand to MC-

Just as the doors to The Fall open and two familiar faces are thrown out by a very large and very annoyed looking demon.

Satan wastes no time. “Apologize. Now,” he demands from the floor, tail thrashing as he rights himself.

Asmodeus, charred, bloodied, and disheveled as he is, can barely get his hands under him, let alone upright. He glares up at the Avatar of Wrath, something vicious and ugly dancing in his eyes. He spits at his brother, blood staining his lips red. Satan lunges at him, claws extended, but Mammon is faster.

He separates the younger demons with ease and stands between them, arms outstretched. “Enough! I don’t care what you do later, but right now we’re taking MC home!” His tone leaves no room for debate. 

The walk to the House of Lamentation is silent.

MC wakes up to the pinging of their D.D.D.

###

Asmodeus: please come to my room

Asmodeus: i would go2u

Asmodeus: but I think if i get up now i wilk not make it to ur room

Asmodeus: evertyhign is so bright

Asmodeus: imcsorry 

###

    He’s typing more, but MC decides they’ve seen enough.

They pad over to Asmo’s room, still in pajamas and comfortable slippers. They don’t even have to flick the lights on to know something is wrong. His normally pristine bedroom is a mess. Clothes and bedsheets are strewn about as though a miniature tornado blew through his closets, and in the middle of it all sits Asmo himself, cocooned in a blanket, identifiable only by a shock of peachy curls.

MC calls his name and he springs to life, jumping up to greet them before unceremoniously falling off his bed in a tangle of fabric. They almost smile at the sight, but remember why they came here and stay in the doorframe. 

“You actually came,” Asmo says in a scratchy whisper. He looks up at them and MC sees last night’s partially removed makeup smeared all over his face. His bloodshot eyes water.

“You look awful,” they reply and curse themself internally. What a way to start fixing things, MC.

To their surprise Asmo laughs, an uncharacteristically cynical edge to it. They giggle too, and it’s not long before the pair are both howling on the floor. The tension almost dissipates, until Asmo’s voice hitches and suddenly he’s crying again. 

“It’s only fair, right?” he says, voice wavering. “I-It should m-match the inside, no?”

“Asmo…”

“Don’t!” he cries, shushing MC with a finger. “There is no excuse for what I said last night!”

“You were very drunk…”

“I shouldn’t have been!” He processes what he just said. “I shouldn’t have- I was supposed to watch over you! You were all alone in there and I just-”

“I shouldn’t need a babysitter. It’s not your fault I’m such-”

MC doesn’t get to finish their sentence on account of a bruising hug from a still-blanketed Asmodeus. 

“Shut up,” he says, and it’s their turn to start blubbering as he continues, “I don’t know who made you start thinking like that, but you are not a bother, or a burden, o-or boring, or anything like that!” He loosens his grip on them so he’s just holding their arms. “MC, what I said yesterday was completely untrue and totally uncalled for. I… I can’t take it back, but I’ll do anything in my power to make it up to you, I promise.”

MC doesn’t meet his eyes for a long moment.

“Tell me what’s been bothering you,” they ask.

“Huh?”

“Don’t pretend with me anymore, Asmo. Something’s been bothering you the past couple of weeks. Tell me what it is, and I’ll see if I can forgive you.”

“...Only if you tell me what got you so upset before… you know…”

“...Deal.”

They leave him on read and refuse to speak to him. At first he’s pleading, apologetic, chasing them down at RAD or in the halls of the House of Lamentation when his brothers aren’t around. They finally give in on a deceptively warm afternoon in the courtyard outside RAD.

“What do you want?” MC snaps, half turned away from the demon in question even as they stop speed walking. 

“Please, can we ta-”

“I think you’ve said enough, no?” They rattle off a list on their fingers, “I’m boring, I’m whiny, a prude, a stick in the mud, I need to get over myself… Do I need to keep going or have  I gotten through that thick skull of yours?” 

Asmo says nothing. 

“I’ve done this before, Asmodeus. I get it. I’m easy to take advantage of. That’s why you put up with me for so long, right?”

“That’s not-”

“Save it. I saw the looks on your face when we were together. You were humoring me. Honestly, if it wasn’t for that night at The Fall, I probably would have let you do it even longer.” They take a deep breath. “But- I can’t… I’m not your priority. That’s fine. But I made a promise to not let this happen again. So… Stop chasing me down. I’m not interested.”   

It takes him over a week to accept that MC isn’t budging, and another to convince himself that they’re just being stubborn.

Who wouldn’t want to spend time with him? He’s the darling of the Devildom, the Avatar of Lust, the jewel of Heaven - or at least, he was- he’s irresistible! So one human threw a fit out of nowhere at The Fall, whatever.

They’re not worth his time. 

That’s why he’s out clubbing so much now. It’s a better use of his time.

A less painful use of his time.

If he can’t remember the nights they’re not with him, do they even count?

#obey me #obey me asmodeus #obey me! asmodeus #obey me shall we date #obey me: shall we date #mine #my writing #asmodeus

[et-dah]

The Demon Brothers: Creative Outlets Headcanons

they are all immortals and when you've lived longer than you can remember, you're bound to find a creative outlet to destress, alleviate boredom, or you know, to just have fun!

Lucifer

He’s a busy demon. If he’s not working, he's sleeping, or cleaning up one of his brother’s messes, so he doesn't have that much time to just relax and explore his creative sides. 

That said though, it doesn’t mean he has no hobbies at all.

He plays the piano. He used to play it every morning, back when he’s still in the Celestial Realm, when he’d taught Lilith how to play the piano every morning and she’d sat besides him as his fingers moved across the keys slower so she could copy him. 

Nowadays, playing the piano feels very nostalgic and bittersweet, but you’ll hear soft, bittersweet melodies drift from the music room once in a while.

He also composes his own music, but that's an even rarer occurrence. The last time he created a new music piece was centuries ago. 

(Ever since MC came to Devildom though, he's been itching to write music for them.)

Practices calligraphy for fun. He has a whole set of brushes and ink and lettering pens. His handwriting is already beautiful but his calligraphy is even more amazing.

Another thing he does is gardening. He's got a great eye for landscape architecture, he's the reason why the house's backyard is pretty. 

He plants decorative plants and likes to cross breed flowers so the House of Lamentation's backyard is full of pretty shrubs and unfamiliar flowers. 

He is usually joined by Beel as he is the other brother that finds gardening very relaxing.

Mammon

He definitely shows his creativity by coming up with the most absurdly brilliant, out-of-the-box, original schemes to make money.

Mammon can draw, like really good. His drawings are very realistic. He prefers to use traditional media: charcoal pencils, graphite sticks, blenders, erasers, drawing pens, brushes, and maybe some watercolors.

He usually does architecture sketches.

But if you check his drawers, you’ll find several sketchbooks of his brothers in different candid poses. MC alone has taken up three whole sketchbooks. Mammon makes sure MC doesn’t see those sketches though.

Crashes Asmo’s Art Day regularly, claiming that if Levi’s invited then the Great Mammon should be too. Asmo and Levi always complains but they let him stay anyway.

Mammon also has a natural talent on jewelry making and metalwork. He makes jewelry from buttons, beads, pearls, diamonds, and crystals. From small pendants to elaborate neckpieces, simple anklets to ornate hairpins. 

Mammon has made metal bookmarks for Satan because the book lover always misplaces his bookmarks or destroys them in fits of rage when he doesn't like a book's ending.

He sculpts wood. It takes him months to finish one small piece because he only does it when he's really, really bored, he prefers to make his much more profitable jewelry. 

He keeps all of his sculptures in his room, small and detailed pieces of wood engraving of Devildom native animals lining up on one of the shelves.

Leviathan

This is canon but he draws! He doesn't think he's very good at it, but he really enjoys it. 

Unlike Mammon who likes to draw with his charcoal pencils and drawing pens, Levi prefers to draw digitally. He still switch to traditional media now and then though.

Has a monthly scheduled “Art Day” where he and Asmo hang out together, Levi draws with his sketchbook or his drawing tablet and Asmo paints. They basically just gossip and hype each other’s art.

Dabbles in making short animations but feels like it’s just not something for him. He makes short comics though.

He wants to be able to make his own video game someday though. Maybe after he learns programming.

He makes the most detailed cosplay outfits for his own cosplays. He sews really good and patches his brothers clothes when they ask. Where do you think Asmo learns how to sew his own clothes from?

Really good at dancing and he really likes it too. He's a natural at it. From the most intricate traditional Devildom dances to freestyle dancing. He can make new moves on the spot and can copy any moves from one look.

He’s a shy baby though, you’ll rarely see him dance when he’s sober.

Except when he’s playing DDR (Demons Dance Revolution). Then, it’s like he’s the most confident demon in Devildom.

Satan

Satan writes poetry when inspiration strikes him. He has also written short stories but he always comes back to creating beautiful poems. He’s got a way with words.

Photography is something he has only recently taken interest in but he has a great eye for taking breathtaking shots. 

Has become the family’s go-to photographer.

“Satan, take a picture of me and Mammon!” “Satan, take our picture, quick!” “Satan, help me get a picture for my Devilgram!”

He’s the reason Asmo’s Devilgram pictures always look like they’re taken professionally in a photo studio or something.

Satan loves art, likes to stroll through museums and stare at paintings for hours, but has little talent in creating them. Even so, he still likes to paint even if he's not good at it. 

Sometimes he just wants to slap paint on a canvas and make a colorful mess. It's fun. 

He joins Art Day every other month.

Another thing he does is knitting! It relaxes him. It gives him something to focus at when he's angry (um, angrier than usual), just to give his hands something to do that doesn't involve breaking anything. The simple patterns he makes are easy enough that they don't frustrate him. 

Rarely ever finishes his knitting though, you'll just find this 5 meters long knitted fabric in one corner of his room with the ends coming undone because he calms himself down enough to stop knitting.

Asmodeus

Regularly designs, cut, and sew his own clothes. 

Has a lot of sketchbooks full of drawings of flowy dresses and stylish coats and many aesthetically pleasing shirts. 

He has started his own clothing line and sometimes collaborate with Majolish. 

But for the most part, he designs clothes for himself and himself only, he doesn't want anyone else to wear clothes as fabolous as his.

Nail art? Nail art. 

Asmo paints all of the brothers nails and sometimes he'll persuade one of them to let him do a complete manicure, with glitter polish and shiny studs and all. 

Yes, even Lucifer. You just never see the results because Lucifer wears his gloves almost all the time.

Asmo creates beautiful makeup art. He doesn't really like a lot of makeup on his own face though, so his brothers' faces are his canvases.

He also has a great eye for interior decorating and flower arranging. He restyles his room every month.

Not many people know it but he paints. And he's very good at it. He has done a painting of each brother, the paintings can be seen on the walls of the House of Lamentation's hallways. 

Art Day with Levi (and sometimes Satan or Belphie) is spent with him in front of canvases, chatting with his brothers, paint splatters on his hands. It's the only day that he doesn't mind looking a little messy.

Beelzebub

He cooks, of course!  And bakes too!

It's one of the times he’s willing to wait to eat because cooking the ingredients first rather than just straight up eating them will make the foods taste better. 

Half of the food in the kitchen are his creations. Anything he can make on his own from scratch, he will; jams, ice cream, sauces, juices, bread, chips, etc. 

Likes to experiment and always do something different than the original recipes. 

He garnishes his cooking like it’s something you order from a five star restaurant.

Beel is another demon who has a green thumb. He likes taking care of plants and doesn't mind getting a bit dirty doing it so gardening is another hobby of his. 

If Lucifer plants ornamental plants, Beel grows useful plants like herbs and vegetables and small fruits. He's also good at topiary.

Always has an idea for a DIY project. 

His creations is scattered all over the House of Lamentation. Belphie's drawer divider is made out of yogurt cups. Broken drawer knobs recycled into Asmo's jewelry organizer. The coat rack. The bathroom towel holder. 

Even Lucifer's hanging Demonus rack is handmade by Beel when he's bored one weekend, with Mammon's help for the engraving decorations along the sides of the rack. Beel's got a bit of Bob the Builder in him.

He is very good at singing. His voice is clear and he has a broad vocal range. Has been caught unconsciously humming in class many times.

Has definitely sang Belphie to sleep.

Belphegor

Does his pranks counts as a creative outlet though?😂 Between him and Satan, Belphie's ideas are the most creative and out of the box, resulting on some of the best pranks they did.

Belphie does origami. It's relaxing, easy enough to learn, and doesn't take much effort and energy to do it. 

Has stacks of origami papers in his room: standard origami paper, foil paper, traditional Washi ones, the leather-like Momigami paper, all kinds of paper. 

He especially loves to make little origami stars and keeps them in glass jars in his room.

Belphie also has adult coloring books. 

And kids coloring books.

Coloring is relaxing to him. It's very calming to just lay down and fills a page with pretty colors for a while. It's not a tiring way to destress, he can color without moving from his bed, and it feels satisfying when he finishes a whole page. 

He sometimes joins Art Day if he's not too lazy to move. Still prefers to color alone where it's quiet though.

He also journals. It's another thing he can do that is inexpensive and not energy consuming. He writes about anything that comes to his mind, his thoughts, his ideas, memories. 

Definitely keeps a dream journal.

Also I headcanon that as the Avatar of Sloth, sleep and dreams are some of the things he can manipulate. He enjoys creating dreams; the worldbuilding, the story, the details. He can be really creative when it comes to making them, spinning the most vivid and imaginative dreams. 

They’re not necessarily good dreams though. After all, he is still a demon, his dreams will most likely mess up your mind than make you smile in your sleep.

#obey me #obey me swd #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #rol writes

[theaspers]

you feel like home | satan x reader

a/n: i’m too lazy to finish this but i got lazy towards the end so here, you can have it. college au so everyone’s human here but u will find i rarely ever write satan’s name and that’s only bc it’s so weird to write it and think about how in this au a set of parents thought naming their child satan is ok lol. this will be the only time u see me use a post divider bc it’s that messy.

here is how it usually is:

satan wakes up with a start. his breathing is heavy, every gasp sounding terribly like it might be his last, and his eyes are wild. this isn’t fear because he is not afraid. he is never afraid. rather, it is anger. anger at himself, at his brothers, at anyone and everyone who has ever wronged him before. fiery red and burnt orange, anger in all possible forms and shapes and sizes, rolling off of him in waves.

there is not many places in which he finds respite from the barrage of emotions he constantly feels. but when you wake up, bleary-eyed and groggy, and say nothing, waiting with the utmost patience for him to return. when you wrap an arm around his shoulders, careful and cautious. when you tug him down and hum a little tune under your breath that lulls him back to sleep. it’s as close to one as he’ll ever get, he thinks.

for a fleeting second, he thinks about telling you of his feelings. vomit it all out so he doesn’t have to sit any longer with the uncomfortable feelings that’s been bubbling at the pit of his stomach for far too long. but your fingers are too gentle as they press against his still-pounding heart, and your eyes are too tender as they meet his own. there’s an unusually bright beam of moonlight spilling across your features from the gap between the curtains and it makes you look as dazzling as ever. it wouldn’t be right to ruin such a beautiful moment, he thinks, to ruin such a beautiful person with all of whatever he is. so he doesn’t.

repeat and recycle.

you are kind. with him, you’ve managed to practice this weird balance of confident indifference and empathy that just works for him. it’s never been like that before. not when he’d lost his parents but had felt relieved instead of the expected grief. not when his sister had died and had taken along with her a good portion of everyone’s soul. not when he’d finally just upped and left because the tension in the house was getting too much for him to bear.

he has no parents, he told you once, a long time ago. a green haze of disgust had curled around him and eyes steaming, rolling and boiling. the grip he had on the stack of papers he’d been flicking through caused ripples across the filled pages. you know this fact, clever enough to have gathered as much from how much he soured whenever parents were mentioned, but he had never outright admitted it.

“you’re ruining my notes,” you’d said to him instead of the pity he is all too familiar with. there had been a deep furrow between your eyebrows, displeasure in your frown, “i worked extremely hard on that.”

it had been relief, looking back now, that had filled him up to the brim. his heart had felt full, but not in the bad way - always in the good way with you - and he’d felt unburdened for once. he looked at you then, eyebrows raised. where he thought there would be anger, there was only amusement. he’d only known you for a handful of months but somehow he’d expected as much from you. and it’s comfortable.

“the world’s full of awful, terrible people who shouldn’t be parents,” you’d pointed at him with an opened highlighter pen, waving the neon tip in his direction, “doesn’t mean you’re awful or terrible too.”

huh.

“and it certainly doesn’t mean i want to spend my whole afternoon talking about them,” your frown turned into a scowl as you reached over the tabletop filled with textbooks and worn notebooks and loose papers, “give those here if you’re not gonna treat them right.”

light laughter spilled out of his lips as he pulled the notes away. you were kind. too kind. looking back, that must have been the start of it all.

you’re curled up in a hoodie, crumpled up on the sofa in a way he’s sure is not good at all for your posture but he’s long given up trying to chastise you over it. face smooshed against the arm of the chair, a textbook draped open over your chest in a way that makes him wince, you looked positively ridiculous. ignoring the pang of fondness, he nudges you with his knee.

“come on,” he says, closing the textbook and putting it aside, “let’s get you to bed.”

you groan but are otherwise easily coaxed into bed, curling into his side as he lead you to your room. the fondness magnifies immensely. that you’d spent the better half of yesterday revisiting old topics and making notes which is why you’re so tired right now is somehow endearing to him. he brushes his lips against your forehead as he watches you settle into bed. if he spends a bit more time lingering at the door, no one would know.

he doesn’t want to say it’s because of you but you did play a big part in it. he talks more to his brothers now and it’s, well, good. it’s the distance and the fresh air too, maybe.

he doesn’t have parents but he does have 6 brothers, he’d admitted one quiet night. the two of you had been lying on your backs, the clear night sky spread out over your figures, gorgeous swirls of different shades of blacks and dark blues with specks of bright diamond jewels. 6 brothers and a sister who had passed and had taken a piece of all of them with her.

“oh.” you’d said but you already knew about his brothers because he’d told you. not so much in stories, of course, but through bits and pieces he’d mentioned here and there. beel likes that snack, he would tell you and so you’d tell him to send some to him. asmo’s been talking to him about a brand new make up collection that’ll be released soon and so you’d tell him that you’ll keep an eye out. but the thing about his sister - that’s new.

the hurt is still there even though it’s been a long time now. raw pain as if his chest is dangerously exposed and someone’s gone ahead and ripped his still-beating heart out of him. he has yet to find that heart, it seems. it still hurts but ever since he’d left, he’s been able to breathe a bit better. see past the green and grey cloud that hovered over him and his brothers when he’d been at home.

“that one’s orion,” you’d murmured, and he knows it’s just you trying to digest his words, trying to figure out a good response, “people use that one to find other stars too, did you know that?”

he did, in fact. but still, he’d watched, quiet as you pointed out a few others. your eyes are wonder-filled, the twinkle brighter than anything else in the sky, and it had left him breathless. the tightness around his throat had loosened. southeastward and there is sirius, you’d said, in awe and in love. from rigel to betelgeuse, there is gemini - the stars castor and pollux.

“it must be stuffy to be immortalised like that, huh?” you’d turned him then, meeting his eyes, smile gentle, “always expected to be same. unchanging. must be suffocating.”

a stray chuckle leaves him, weak.

“just let it happen,” you told him afterwards and he’d wanted to laugh even more because it shouldn’t be that easy to absolve him of everything he’s been feeling but it had been. “all i’m saying is that you don’t need to feel guilty anymore.”

“talk to them,” you suggested, no hesitation, letting him lean against you, “they lost a sister too, you know?”

there’s a lecture that he has to attend in about an hour but you’re still snoring away on your side of his bed and it’s so tempting to join you in sweet slumber. you don’t have classes until later on so you’re good but he’ll be late if he dallies for any longer.

but he can’t seem to pull himself away from you. so he takes this in, the absolute mess in the morning. listens to your steady breathing. savours the moment and keeps it close. a beautiful solace that he’ll allow himself for when he needs the reprieve.

“ha,” there’s a smug curl to your lips, eyelids fluttering open as if knowing that he’d been starting, “nerd. go to class.”

he rolls his eyes. he could always count on you to ruin a tender moment.

“you should get one for lucifer,” the words barely leave your mouth before you’re laughing, from a tiny little snicker to full blown laughter, “for- for cerberus.”

the hand that’s holding out your phone for him to see the page full of ugly little suit for dogs shakes wildly. he scowls at the mention of his eldest brother and you laugh even more, setting down your utensils in favour of rubbing the tears that have sprung up in the corner of your eyes from laughing too hard.

“are you going back for the break?” you ask once you’ve calmed down, reaching over to pull his plate of pie closer to yourself. you pick up your fork once more, digging into the soft pastry.

he curls his nose at the prospect of going back home, “unfortunately.”

“unfortunately,” you parrot playfully, rolling your eyes. “yeah, okay.” 

“it’s been a long time coming anyways,” you grin around the mouthful of pie, “they miss you, i think. and don’t tell me you don’t miss them too.”

he sighs, shakes his head as he tugs his plate back over to his side. he knew he shouldn’t have given asmo your phone number. he would never attest to the happiness that blooms in chest. no one would be able to prove it, anyways.

here’s how it is now:

he reels you into a hug as he’s about to leave for back home. he feels as light as a feather, and he has to admit, he’s a bit...excited. when the two of you break apart, he says thank you and gives you an earnest smile. he has to suppress his laughter when feels the way you shudder in his arms.

something’s changing. and change is, well, good. in most cases. and this is one of those cases. it’s good. he’s not afraid, he tells you, he’s never afraid. there is no fear. no anger. just adoration and fondness. for you.

and so he decides in that moment - when he gets back, he’ll let you know.

#and then he never comes back lolol im jk...or am i? #obey me #obey me swd #obey me x reader #obey me imagines #obey me satan

[walkingshcdow-a]

Title: A Walk in the Garden Summary: Stolas and his Father walk in a garden paradise once more. AU Notes: This is for an AU I’m writing with @mytisanes. In it, Stolas, Blitzo, their children, and Moxxie and Millie are posing as humans in a sort of “Witness Protection Program”. Stolas and Blitzo are “married” and I love everything about this AU. Please note, according to Stolas’ page on the HB wiki, he’s a fallen angel.

They walk together through the garden, father and son. It’s been a while since you could see the resemblance but today it’s clear the father must have had the same dark hair in his youth, the same blue eyes. After all, his children are all in his image.

Stolas folds his hands behind his back to resist the urge to touch. It’s been so long and he wants to know that this is real, that he isn’t baked out of his mind with Loona, celebrating the end of exams for them both. The ground beneath him is soft; the grass springy under bare feet. Maybe this is real. It’s quieter than usual, mid-morning. He looks around for Blitzo or Octavia or Loona; even for Millie and Moxxie next door. He and his father could be alone in the neighborhood, in all the world, for all he can tell. Stolas walks with his father at a leisurely pace and every so often they stop and he tells him a little about the story of how the vegetable garden was started for a project for Octavia’s school or how Loona kept him company with merciless teasing as her snipped roses for Blitzo or how, when he’d come down with the flu, Blitzo and Moxxie and Millie all pitched in to keep the garden flourishing without his constant attentions. He strokes his Demonic Flytrap, which he smuggled seeds from Hell to Earth because he’d developed this subspecies himself. His father says nothing and smiles, hard to read. Stolas gets that from him. It’s a trick he learned in his youth, how to smile without revealing what kind of smile it is. It terrifies him to see his father make such a face. He gestures to the deck, the one that Blitzo insisted on building and only let him help to build because Millie had been too pregnant to help and the girls had homework and he would have rather put up with Stolas’ chipper questions than Moxxie’s because at least Stolas’ came with compliments and other things you didn’t tell your father, even if he was omniscient...

“It was a spectacular weekend,” he tells his father. “Just the two of us, making a home of this  place. The girls are begging us for a pool next. We might say yes, but we haven’t given in just yet. It’s hard to deny them anything.”

“It’s always hard to say “no”,” his father says. “You’ve set good boundaries with the girls. I wish I’d set better ones with you and your siblings.”

Stolas blinks and then his eyes narrow. He didn’t expect such candor, so quickly and he doesn’t trust it. Stella used to set traps like this for him, before the fighting lost any veneer of civility. He used to fall for it nearly every time, trusting in her love for him, like a fool. Why trust his father’s love now?

“You set very firm boundaries, Father,” he says. “I can’t imagine what a ‘better’ boundary would have looked like.”

“Clearer,” his father amends. “I wish you all had understood that I didn’t stop loving you just because I told you “no”.”

“I think I understand that now,” Stolas says. He flexes his wings, which he has not worn in thousands of years. They ache with atrophy, trembling a little as he stretches. Will they carry him if he tries to fly? For how long? Will Via have hers, too? Would she have had them anyway, even if they hadn’t ended up here? He imagines her flying and imagines all his panicked rules for safety if and when that happened, smiling sheepishly. “Being a parent grants you a certain perspective.”

“Some of your brothers are parents now, too,” his father says. “It doesn’t guarantee understanding.”

“Yes, well, Luci’s always been a bit stubborn. There’s a reason he reigns over the ring of pride.”

“You didn’t claim a ring for yourself.”

Stolas shrugs. It had been a wise choice on his part - to have some of the power and some of the glory without all of the responsibility and all of the corruption. He wishes he could say it was foresight. He remembers Stella’s ire when he chose the grimoire over a ring of Hell as his spoils of war. You could have been so much more, you pathetic piece of-

“I preferred my freedom,” he says. “I wanted to study....Science, magic, all of creation. Even during the war, I didn’t want to fight. I wanted… this.”

He looks around his garden and sees a set of four bicycles leaned against the siding, shoes scattered by the glass sliding door, the giant plastic recycling bin Blitzo sometimes leaned him over when they wanted to show off for the neighbors. How does he tell his father that this life he’s made is better than anything even the Lord of all creation could have given him?

“You couldn’t have had it in Heaven.”

It’s a statement of fact, but Stolas dares to peer into his father’s face. There’s an ounce of regret in his eyes, making them shine with unshed tears. He will not get an apology. He’s too old and too content to want one, but he tries to cast his memory back to streets of light. What place did a muddy garden have there? And what place did something so alive and lovely have in Imp City?

“I couldn’t have had it in Hell, either,” Stolas says, shrugging. “I suppose I’ve always envied humans. Their lives are brief, but they’re theirs. They live to their accord and they love, my word, do they love as deeply and freely as they choose.”

“You weren’t always unhappy with the choice made for you.”

“No, but matches made in Heaven don’t fare so well in Hell.” A pause. “Why is it that a match made in Hell works as well as mine and Blitzy’s does?”

His father stops walking and sighs slowly, steadily. He looks at Stolas, who only cocks his head.

“Love works in mysterious ways,” his father says.

“So do you.”

“My son, I am more knowable than the power of love. You’ve seen the cosmos: is love common? Does it fit neatly into the sciences you so love?”

Stolas is quiet.

“You won’t take me from him now that....” He lifts his wings feebly. “Or Octavia or Loona or... “

His father puts a hand to his shoulder and it calms Stolas quickly. It quiets him, at least, and that’s something that Blitzo would tell anyone who asked (or didn’t ask) was a challenge not for the faint of heart.

“I will grant you eternity with them.”

“Here?”

“If you wish it.”

Stolas ponders. He thinks of his palace with its hundreds of rooms and how much closer this little house has brought them. He imagines Loona bossing servants around, Octavia searching familiar walls to find unfamiliar portraits, Blitzo picking fights at royal balls or dodging unwanted glances, burning his first marriage bed even though it’s also the first place he made love to Blitzo, too, and trying to convince all of Hell that they were really a happy, blended family, even if his ex-wife tried to kill him for it. He isn’t a half-bad speechmaker. Maybe he can say something to keep the peace, but the other Goetia will not love his family as he does. There would be whispers at best; more assassins at worst. Blitzo deserves to relax enough to take only jobs he wants, not ones he has to take. And the girls… they deserve the world, even if the world is a muddy garden and a little house in the suburbs.

“We cannot return to Hell.”

“No.”

“And your angels won’t welcome Blitzo and Loona into Heaven.”

Stolas’ father winces.

“Nor you. Their union has spoken to me about fears that reformed princes might reclaim their thrones.”

“And if I wanted my throne? And used that power to demand all Heaven accept my husband and daughters?”

“Could you have done such a thing in Hell?”

Again, Stolas is silent, a resounding no.

“Things are going to change,” his father said. “In time. Lucifer’s daughter has a project in Hell that will do great things for people of all realms.”

“That half-way house?” Stolas makes a skeptical sound. His father shoots him a look.

“I am as proud of Charlie as I am of Octavia,” he says sternly enough to kill Stolas’ laughter. “Your niece will do great things and you and your family is a shining example of what is possible for angels and demons, what might come next.”

“I have so many questions-”

And that is when the beach ball hits Stolas squarely in the nose. He opens his eyes to find himself lying in one of the deck chairs above the garden, book open across his chest.

His father is gone.

“Nice shot!” Loona says, bumping Octavia’s shoulder.

“Dad,” Octavia says Stolas groggily sits up. That hadn’t felt like a dream and yet… “Blitzo says the pool company is coming to measure the yard in fifteen minutes.”

“I thought Blitzo and I told you no to the pool…”

The girls exchange  glances that say one thing very clearly: ‘Oh, shit’ before dashing around the side of the house. Stolas doesn’t know which of them had called the pool company or how much they had promised to pay, but as he shuffles to his feet, he tries to grab onto the dream as something real once more, wiggling his shoulders in search of the weight of wings. He could have sworn he feels something when he hears Blitzo yell from the front of the house: “Who the fuck called the pool company?!?”

He smiles before going inside. Maybe this is what paradise is, massaging your husband’s shoulders as he curses out the pool company you didn’t contract while saying, “Oh, Blitzy, we did say maybe…. We should have set clearer boundaries with them… but since they took the liberty.... It will do wonders for the resale value of this place and I do so enjoy the sight of you in a bathing suit...”

Yes, maybe this is paradise - the paradise they deserve at any rate, and, my, what a wonderful thing to deserve…!

#;;i used to think that i was bold | {stolas} #x. drabble #mytisanes #r: my knight in shining armor | {stolas x blitzo}

[prinsdeasmo]

Happy Birthday Asmo!

ah, the demon who stole my heart www,,, for him i will do anything. so i wrote a drabble! it’s a little angsty, a little stuffy because the last time i wrote something within in a day it was to make fun of my friend and i’s ocs, but most of all! it’s sweet! hopefully!

im on mobile so h o p e f u l l y this line break works? i had to get google chrome for this ;;

please enjoy, though!

A Lovely Surprise

Living thousands of years brings out the extravagant, the luxurious side of you. You’ve lived this long already, why bother with being humble? You’re going to live even longer, so break out the champagne and $20 million debt your older brother is in and live a little! Or a lot! Even, possibly, too much.

But, thousands of years truly is a long time. Though you become accustomed to the sluggish movements of the hours, how the sun seems to never truly set in these unending years of living—there’s only so much you can see. After a while, you’ve seen it all. You’ve seen every face, every present, every colorful party streamer strung from the ceiling and draping from the chandelier; you’ve seen every punch bowl, every spiked drink, and every person puking their heart out at a party. The music all blurs to one, incomprehensible drone of instruments and screeching vocals, and the taste of cake becomes one akin to sampling recycled cardboard.

Asmodeus has seen it all. He’s been given every present, every declaration of love, every moment of insatiable pleasure, yet he still feels nothing on such a grand day as today. The most popular bands and artists of the Devildom play live on a stage of gold glitter and pink lights, surrounded by swooning fans painted in skin tight clothes and smokey eyes. The chandelier of crystal and quartz reflect the faint light of the Devildom’s sky throughout the room, shapes projected onto walls adorned in jewel encrusted banners.

Happy Birthday Asmodeus!

they read, his symbol of lust painted alongside those words. Those words he’s seen countless times.

This party is for him, of course, Asmo spent weeks planning and preparing for it. Everyone here is for him, naturally, handpicked by the birthday boy himself. They’ve all given him gifts and congratulations, they’ve showered him in compliments and adoration. Asmodeus lives for these moments, where everything and everyone is focused on him. It’s all about him.

So why is he so melancholy? Today is the happiest day of his year, the day celebrated only for him. Yet every time he looks up at the scene around him, he feels the need to down yet another flute of Demonus. How many has he had so far? It’s hard to keep count when the strobe lights flash in his eyes, and his own thoughts distance him even further from his party.

Even though everyone is there for Asmo’s birthday, it feels like no one is there for Asmo. That nobody cares it’s his birthday, a day they’ve all seen one too many times.

Suddenly infuriated, Asmodeus finds himself outside the venue. The cool, almost night-like air of the Devildom catches in his curls, softly brushing them against his face. With a sigh he leans over the metal railing protecting one from falling into the canal below. The dark waters of the Devildom rippled his reflection, a downcast expression lingering on his features.

One hand with his fingers woven in his hair, the other propped over the railing, still cupping the flute of Demonus, Asmodeus stares at himself. How pathetic is he to feel so empty on a day dedicated to him? Luckily no one at the party would seem to care if he was gone, a downcast Asmo doesn’t match the aesthetic of a normal Asmo.

“Hey Asmo.”

He’d been so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t hear someone approach behind him, only their soft call that startled him. Asmodeus quickly turns around, a charming smile smoothing his face. Behind him stands the human; Asmo realizes he hadn’t seen them at the party earlier.

“There you are!” He clasps his hands together, “I was wondering when you’d be here, I got so lonely waiting for you~.”

The human blushes at his cooing, their eyes shifting to ground.

“It took longer than I thought to get ready,” they trail off.

Under his attentive gaze the human shifts nervously. Asmodeus had already noticed their washed and curled hair, and their silky outfit that draped off their shoulders, but he hadn’t noticed their face. Their face that the human usually paid such little attention to. Asmo always chastised them, Your beauty is your face!, he’d say, but they never did anything about it.

Today, their skin glows in the soft light of the Devildom, their eyes shine with fondness, and their cheeks flush with embarrassment. Though his human always looks adorable, today they look exceptionally beautiful.

A beat of silence passes. “Don’t you just look adorable~. You’re so cute I could just eat you up!” Asmodeus steps closer, his free hand reaches out to twirl a finger in their hair. Their face only grows redder to his glee and he leans into their face.

“And I just might! You look oh-so tempting tonight~. Are you my special present that you spoke of earlier? I’ll be glad if-“ He’s rudely cut off by something being shoved between their faces.

“T-this is,” the human mutters, choked. Asmodeus’s previous displeasure at having something interrupt him turns to a smidgen of joy. He gently takes the small, rectangular shaped box and steps back.

The box is perhaps the size of his hands placed next to each other, it’s shape resembling a jewelry box. The wrapping is a plain, light pink, and a gold bow is tied neatly around it. The human slips his forgotten Demonus flute out of his hand.

“I’ll hold onto this.”

Asmodeus offers them a smile. He’s truly grateful that the human got him something, knowing how much they struggle with money and their soft spot for Mammon.

“It must’ve been hard to save up for something,” he says with a light laugh. The human just smiles.

Nimble fingers carefully pull apart the bow, the untied gold ribbon falls to the ground, and the pink wrapping paper is peeled off to reveal a white box. The thin top is pulled off to reveal... not what was expected. Asmodeus blinks.

In the box lies an obviously homemade necklace. It’s simple, a thin metal chain looped through a thick, bulbous... charm? The charm is painted with a metallic, gold paint, accompanied by a painted on design of pink and red colors. A small, red heart lies in the middle, coated in a glittery paint that has it sparkling.

“Ah, you’re supposed to open it like this.” The human is suddenly beside him, their free hand clicking the top of the charm.

Oh, so it is a locket, Asmodeus realizes as the locket opens. He picks it up in one hand, using his thumb to gently open it more. His eyes widen at what’s inside.

The two doors have opened to reveal a picture. A picture of Asmodeus and the human. They’re not doing anything special, they’re not even dressed in anything exciting; they two are just posing silly. Asmo has his chin on their head and is using his pointer fingers to make them smile, while the human is trying to make a peace sign. Rather than them posing with a smile, they’re laughing.

He remembers the day they took this. It was shortly after the retreat to Diavolo’s castle, when Asmodeus and the human made their pact. Lucifer had forced asked Mammon to go shopping for dinner. Naturally, Mammon dragged the human along with him, but got swept up in winning a sweepstakes contest. The human was waiting for him when Asmo bumped into them and noticed a photobooth. ‘Let’s take a picture!’ he’d gasped.

Asmo had dragged them into the small, cramped compartment and 20 minutes whizzed by as he had the two posing and decorating the photos. With their last few Grimm they took a final set of photos. The first two were in the cute pose Asmo tried to have them do, but the human kept giggling at how silly their face had looked in a previous photo. The final picture was this one, the one in the locket he holds now.

“You kept this from so long ago?” he whispers, barely audible. From his peripheral vision he sees them nod.

“Taking all those pictures and laughing together is... a really nice memory for me. I don’t think we ever did anything together like that before. And this picture,” the human touches the locket, “is the best picture I have of your smile. Not that usual, pretty smile you do that makes your face look all handsome, but a real smile. A happy smile.”

His eyes suddenly feel hot. The human continues, “On the left door of the locket is that one really stupid picture of me you and Satan took of me sleeping after an exam.” Asmodeus has to snort at that.

“Oh, you think it’s funny? Satan drew on me with a permanent marker! I had detailed cat whiskers and a nose on my face for a week! I couldn’t wash it off!” They complain, but they’re laughing too.

“...Asmo?” The human looks up at him after he hasn’t said anything for a moment. “Do you like it?” They seemed worried.

Asmodeus bits the inside of his lower lip and suddenly throws his arms around them, pulling them into a tight hug. The human lets out a small, surprised squeak, but their arms wrap around him in return.

In all his years of living, both in the Celestial Realm and the Devildom, Asmodeus had seen everything. Every gift, every proclamation of adoration, every blush across somebody’s skin. There’d been nothing that could surprise him anymore. But, today he finds himself wrong. In his hand he grips a small, poorly made locket that means more than any expensive clothing or make-up ever could to him. Something that isn’t adoration. Something that isn’t lust or heat. It’s something he hadn’t felt since the days he’d lost his heavenly name; Love.

Asmodeus feels something hot fall down his cheek.

“I love it.”

。

。

birthdays are super important to and for me so i’m really glad i could write something nice for asmo! obeysme’s recent asmo meta had me feeling so i tried to convey some of that lonely angst up in here yo

anyway, happy birthday to the best demon boy!!! i love you asmo!’

#asmodeus #obey me #obey me one master to rule them all #obey me asmodeus #shall we date obey me #writing #fanfic i guess? #i’ll put it on ao3 #happy birthday asmo! #!!! #happybirthdayasmo #ch: asmo

[eisforeidolon]

Episode: Peace of Mind

Hey, remember how Castiel can reach into people's chests and grope their souls?  No?  Not even a mention of why it can’t possibly work on nephilim?  Oh, okay, let's just let the ridiculously overpowered and possibly soulless Winchester-wannabe wander around in limbo about having a soul despite a canonical way to check.  Why the fuck not?  

Also, expecting me to give a fuck about Sam mourning some nobodies from AU world who didn't even have names except the joke that was Maggie just shows what absolute emotional dunces the current writers are.  You never showed us any relationship there beyond, at best, being Sam's interchangeable flunkies!  Jared can act his little heart out trying to sell this (and he did), but I have more emotional investment in the loss of that lamp Dean broke that one time.

But anyway, Sam’s trauma over a bunch of cardboard is the excuse for him wanting to be anywhere but the bunker this week, and some bullshit nonsense conversation between Cas and Dean is why Sam goes off with Cas instead of Dean.  Because the show needs more of Castiel's tryhard motivational speeches, apparently.  I kind of feel like maybe this episode started out with Sam and Dean on the case and then got changed partway through?  There are a few of the jokes that are pretty clearly Castiel jokes – like when everything comes to a standstill in the diner over him loudly saying something appalling and stiltedly talking about the content of the love letters.  However, a few of them, like the pop culture reference, seem far more like things Dean would say and just make it feel kind of blatant how badly Cas has been transposed in for reasons.  

Reasons possibly being the writers suspected some of us might fast-forward through a Castiel & Jack B plot?  Except Castiel spending more time with Jack and being shown as more attached to him would better serve the story they're actually going to tell later this season.  That would apparently overflow the quota Dabb apparently set for continuous minutes Dean and Sam can interact, though, so.  I wonder if, since his major change after Carver (besides everything getting worse) is less brother-fighting he thinks the Winchesters should spend no time together if there can't be potential world-ending dramaz?  Yes, stories do need conflict but that's not what that means. 

Look, Dean's actually my favorite, but I feel like nothing of value would be lost if we cut basically everything from this episode with him and Jack.  No knock against Jensen or Alex, but the dumb stilted conversation about snakes and bacon?  The ridiculous use of Yellow Fever in the previouslies when he was literally under a fear-inducing supernatural affliction to justify making Dean afraid of snakes now because ha fucking ha?  The angel food/devil food thing - somebody actually wrote that and thought it wasn't so deeply embarrassing they should change their name and move to Alaska to never write fiction again!

Even the whole thing with Donatello (which I have a sneaking suspicion is the only reason they bothered to bring him back) is kind of dumb.  Remember how Donatello is the exception and not the rule when it comes to soullessness?  How all those other people went bugfuck when their souls were taken by Abaddon or Amara (this show really really believes in recycling).  Even putting that aside, Donatello is soulless, which at best, means completely not giving a fuck - so he’s the guy you go to for advice?  Not even to mention how absolutely tryhard the whole What Would (the) Winchesters Do WWWD thing was.  Ew.  The final cap on it being that I am really fucking tired of every latest potential threat being OMG TEH MOST POWAHFUL IN TEH UNIVERSE!!!  Suddenly Jack's a potential antagonist again so we're back to it being him instead of Michael instead of Lucifer instead of Amara instead of Rowena instead of …[loud snoring].

I did actually appreciate that for once it was Sam in the weird goofy costume episode playing up the 50's camp.  Those kinds of obvious gags pretty much always go to Dean, and I do like it when they at least switch things around so it's not just variation 100 on the same old theme.  Also Castiel commenting in his typical matter-of-fact about Sam's beautiful hair did make me laugh a little.

Seems pretty typical Cas mistakes the daughter as the one doing the brain exploding because he misses what a human cue it was she was trying to get him out of the town to save him instead of trying to keep him there if she was crazy enough to be running not!Pleasantville.  As a case, I think this part of the episode works okay.  Not the best ever, not the worst ever, and Jared clearly had fun with the playacting  of Sam being brainwashed into 50s husband dude.

Not entirely thrilled by some random guy developing the power to control a whole town with his brain out of nowhere midway through his life (as well as literally throw people and angels).  Most of the other characters we've seen with that kind of power got it from somewhere. Though I'll grant that we didn't exactly get the dude's entire pedigree and it seems like his daughter inherited some serious power, too, so maybe he just didn't know there's psychic monster in his family tree.  

Really the thing that doesn't work for me in this episode with the Sam & Cas plot is less any of the individual bits and more how clearly it is what the writers were trying – and for me, ultimately failing – to do. In the early seasons with better writers, they did a lot of episodes like this where what happens in the MotW plotline illuminates what's going on with the characters in the larger story and they were really trying to do that with Sam here.  But the literal amnesia and Cas' big speeches and some dude brainwashing a whole town to avoid his personal sad and another instance of a character having a variant of AKF shoved awkwardly into their mouth hole?  The kind of character work they were trying to do is not well served by just dropping anvils on the audiences' heads.  

The part with Dean and Sam at the end was actually fairly enjoyable – of course Castiel tattled and of course Dean takes the opportunity for teasing.  If we've seen this same realization about how you can't outrun things in your head a million times already, well, with the Winchester's lives I honestly can't blame them for still hoping that somehow it will work this time.

Then the episode ends with Castiel witnessing the snake incident and keeping it to himself because he's  somehow hardwired to make the wrong decision in literally every possible circumstance these days. Yay.

#spn 14x15 #spn season 14 #writer incompetence #negativity for ts #long post

[nyxi-styx]

On Character Development

Let me preface this by saying that I started watching Supernatural somewhat casually in 2012, but binging in 2014. (The first episode I ever saw was actually a rerun of ‘A Very Supernatural Christmas’ back in 2008/09-ish.) I diligently watched EVERY episode, catching up online or on the app when I didn’t have cable. I stopped watching season 12 a few episodes in because I hated it. I watched some of the beginning of season 13 and it was “okay”, watched Scoobynatural because I’ve loved Scooby-Doo for as long as I can remember (my bedroom in 2nd grade when I was living with my grandma was entirely scooby-doo themed), and watched Gabriel’s episodes because... he’s my fave. I got tired of the repetitive storylines and recycled lore. I got tired of their mistreatment of characters. I am still tired of these things. And I’m tired of the constant fandom drama. I tried to leave, to get out, to stop caring. But I still care about the characters, the cast, my ships... Destiel and writing content for it has been a big part of my freetime for the past 4-5 years. It’s hard to walk away from something that has made you feel so many things so intensely. I started out as a Dean girl (still am) and Samcurious (Still am). Then I was a Cas girl, a Crowley girl, fuck- even a Kevin girl, before ultimately settling on Gabriel. When information about the end of season 14 came out, I was surprised at the route they’d chosen to go, amused, and- as a Rob Benedict fan- kind of excited. I was (and still am) ready for the absolute SHIT SHOW I know season 15 is going to be. It’s either going to be bad in the way that bad horror movies exist and you watch them because they’re so terrible but they’re fun. Or it’s going to be bad and no one is going to have a good time. It’s going to be emotional in the time leading up to the airing of it all anyway. There’s going to come “Last day filming with [actor]” posts, “Last day in the Impala“ posts, “Last day in the bunker” posts, and saddest of all “Last day as Dean/Sam/Castiel” posts. It’s going to be painful. But I’m ready and willing. I can’t wait to see what they do next. Anyway...

I tried to watch JUST the season 14 finale. But I barely made it five minutes before I had to turn it off. Not because it was bad, but because the recap, “Carry On Wayward Son”, and J2′s acting abilities and the EMOTIONS they portray... dragged me right back in. I knew I had to catch up. Against my better judgement. “Fuck.”

So, once I finished catching up on “Slasher” (great Netflix series, highly recommend), I started catching up on anything I hadn’t seen of season 13 and rewatching Gabriel’s episodes. (Did I mention he’s my fave?)  I’m now 10 episodes into season 14.

Now, the show isn’t without its faults still. Honestly, so many things could be solved if Sam and Dean would stop letting monsters monologue. Shoot first, ask questions later. But... then we lose all the drama, right? Still more things could be solved if Sam and Dean would talk to each other openly and honestly but hey. BMs, right? Bro moments? Broments?

First of all, no one will EVER be able to touch Mark Pellegrino’s performance as Lucifer. He makes me feel everything: From “Lucifer is annoying and I goddamn love him; he’s so funny.” to “Jesus fucking christ just KILL HIM WHILE YOU HAVE THE CHANCE!!! STAB LUCIFER! LET HIM DIE!!” and everything in between. He almost got me to sympathize with him. Yikes.

Secondly, the range of Misha fucking Collins and his multiple portrayals of different versions of Castiel (and Jimmy) will never stop blowing me away. He’s gone from Angel of the Lord and High Holy Tax Accountant and you WILL show him some damn respect!... to sassy as fuck (honestly I live for him sassing Lucifer while they were locked up in hell) and not willing to take shit from anyone except Sam and Dean. And that’s growth, man. He’s just... I don’t have the ability to put all of my thoughts and emotions into words, so please settle for a simple “UGHGHGHGHHHHHHHH” followed by a keysmash like so: aslkfla;sknfkasdjfnwqrjqejrfna Sam, Dean, and Cas are all REALLY GOOD DADS to JACK??????????? Like I expected it from Cas since it’s his duty because he promised Kelly and all, and I kinda expected it from Dean once he came around because he’d be the dad he wished he’d had, but I wasn’t quite expecting it from Sam??? But Sam is REALLY good??????

Sam has changed a lot too, overtime, and I don’t know how to describe it, exactly, but whatever it is... while I have always recognized Jared as a handsome man- sure, even hot or sexy at times- I never was SUPER into him... I’m more attracted to Sam now than I have ever been in the past and it’s something in his personality that has shifted that I can’t quite put my finger on. But attraction aside, it’s so GOOD to see these characters actually grow, change, and develop despite the fact that the show seems to have forgotten how to do that.

Now, at first, when I heard about Dean accepting warzone!Michael and being his vessel, I was angry. “Fuck that. That’s out of character. Dean would NEVER!” But... upon seeing it happen... okay, I get it. It was super in character. And it was awesome to see Jensen play something vastly different (and kinda hot) and do so very fucking well. The pain and fear on his face when he realizes what he has to do... Well fucking done Jensen!!! And the raw fear and pain on Castiel’s face as he waits alone... Well fucking done, Misha!!!

What I hadn’t noticed in my first watch-through of “Exodus” (I think)- and it’s probably because I was angry and turned it off- was that Dean said “Gabe sacrificed himself for us. We owe him everything.” First of all, I love the canonization of calling Gabriel “Gabe”. 12/10 Secondly, this is not the attitude I would ever have expected Dean to have about Gabriel. Not when you consider their history. And Jensen’s delivery of that really hurt. Additionally, when Gabriel is recounting his time hiding out in Monte Carlo to Sam and Dean, and Sam gets annoyed and cuts him off, Dean looks like he’s actually enjoying the story. He even turns to look at Sam with an expression I can only describe as “excuse you. the man lived my fantasy life and i’m living vicariously. rude.” The fact that Dean wasn’t always curt or hostile towards Gabriel is not at all what I expected and it’s honestly good to see that kind of growth. Dean and Gabriel aren’t really super different, after all. Furthermore, what I didn’t notice through BOTH times I watched Gabriel’s s13 episodes and what was featured in the recap preceding 14x01... Dean shouted “Gabe! No!” when Gabriel was killed by Michael. I didn’t notice this before and I legitimately had to pause the recap because it pained me. It genuinely brought me to tears. Again: GROWTH. Like... Dean actually cared about Gabriel. And that was something I never expected but oh my god.

I love finding things out about the characters we didn’t know before. So we all knew that Dean likes junk food, is a big nerd, loves Scooby-Doo, and loves classic rock music (and is a disaster bi) but I LOVED finding out that he loves horror movies and uses them as an escape. (Jesus, Dean and I are almost the same person except I’m pan). Gabriel’s entire backstory is another thing I loved finding out. Juicy tidbits are the best tidbits. But Gabriel’s character development is another whole post on its own.

Sam taking control and commanding forces out of the bunker is another personal favorite. As was Sam’s interactions with Lucifer and Rowena.

I don’t know. I’m starting to ramble because all of this is just bringing up more thoughts and I’m getting disorganized and derailed. It’s too long of a post as it is so I’ll just end it.

I’m just really glad to see the characters growing and developing in a show that’s just a dead cash cow that they won’t quit beating enough to take risks and make changes.

Oh god, the Wayward Sisters episode was its own hot pot of character development and  a masterpiece, but again... another post of it’s own.

#supernatural #spn #longpost #supernatural season 14 #supernatural season 13 #jensen ackles #jared padalecki #misha collins #alex calvert #richard speight jr #mark pellegrino #dean winchester #castiel #jack kline #gabriel #lucifer #destiel #spn family #jackles #jarpad #dicksp8jr #sam winchester #michael #michael!dean #exodus #let the good times roll #bring em back alive #unfinished business #beat the devil #stranger in a strange land

[vvivacious101]

Regarding Dean and Cas, Part 2

So recapping Season 4 in brief, Cas and Dean are initially antagonistic. Then they become almost friends who are occasionally on different sides of the debate leading to Cas being re-educated because of the emotions he had started to develop followed by Dean once and for all bringing Cas over onto his side leading to Cas sacrificing himself for Dean’s cause. Wow, when I put it like that how is it that Dean is able to sway Cas so much that Cas dies for his cause and indirectly dies for him, to give Dean the time to avert an apocalypse.

So the first scene worth mentioning in 5x01, Sympathy for the Devil, is the scene where Dean learns about Cas’ death. Initially, I had always interpreted the scene as a little too casual for the relationship these two characters had developed, I felt like Dean needed to do something more but re-watching the scene makes me realise that what Dean implies by the dialogues in that scene is that he would rather Cas be alive than be dead for helping him. Which put another way is basically that he would prefer Cas being alive to averting the apocalypse, which is the cause for which Cas sacrificed himself. But since Dean was unsuccessful in actually averting the apocalypse I guess what the line actually means is that he doesn’t think Cas should have sacrificed himself for what turned out to be a failed endeavour. Either way, this has implications because interpreted one way this could mean that at this very moment Dean regrets having Cas betray Heaven for him. He regrets that Cas ended up being collateral damage. Anyway, I said this was one interpretation but I really don’t see another.

Well, thankfully nobody needs to grieve for long because Cas comes to Dean and Sam’s rescue but is back to being cryptic and his behaviour in this episode is very similar to his behaviour in 4x03 which was when Dean asked him the following question:

What are you allergic to straight answers, you son of a bitch?!

The next scene Cas and Dean share is in the very next episode when Cas comes to borrow Dean’s amulet, the Samulet. The thing about these scenes in 5x01 and 5x02 is that there are other characters present in the scene in the first scene we have Zachariah (in the beginning) and Sam and in the second we have Sam and Bobby, and Cas converses with all characters in both scenes but his conversations with Dean in both episodes are the significant ones and also the longest ones. In the first episode, Dean and Sam are framed on one side with Cas opposite them. In all frames with Dean and Sam, Dean is the focus this changes for like a second when it comes to Sam’s line (yeah only one) and the camera is back to focusing on Dean. In the second episode, Dean and Cas are shot similar to how they are shot in 4x07 remember that conversation in which Dean and Cas forget that Uriel and Sam are in the same room. This conversation is similar we have Cas come in, talk to Bobby, then the conversation shifts to Dean and Cas with Sam’s only contribution being “Why’s that?” This conversation is literally epic Cas is so dominant in this one harkening back to his tone in 4x02 when he threatens Dean also the entire conversation is taking place in the presence of Bobby and Sam but Cas and Dean hardly seem to realise this, till the conversation again has to shift so that Bobby and Sam can join in temporarily with Cas’ purpose for visiting again being connected to Dean this time specifically the Samulet. There is another interesting part about this latter scene with Dean because Cas and Dean are back to communicating with their eyes something we last saw in Lucifer Rising, 4x22, when Cas rebels. Also, that entire conversation with Cas asking for the amulet is solid gold.

Dean: What, this?

Cas: May I borrow it?

Dean: No.

Cas: Dean. Give it to me.

Cas and Dean do their thing which is just another way of saying they look into each other’s eyes/ hold each other’s gaze.

Dean: Alright. I guess... Don’t. lose. it. Oh great, now I feel naked.

Cas: I’ll be in touch.

Of course, as I transcribe this conversation I realise I can’t quite put into words how many cues Cas and Dean seem to pick up by looking into each others’ eyes. They seem to be able to answer just about anything with their eyes.

Well, so far I feel like Supernatural hadn’t really committed itself to Destiel. If they really wanted they could have just continued with having Dean and Cas as they had in season 4 in an endless cycle of two steps forward two steps back. A lot of what Cas and Dean share in these first two episodes is recycled stuff from season 4 but then comes 5x03 which like it’s predecessor 4x03 is a turning point like no other.

Free to be you and me. Well, it says so in the title. This episode is amazing on multiple counts. Number one it is just a good episode, it’s really amazing. Secondly, in all 14 seasons of Supernatural, I have never seen Dean as happy as he is in this one and surprisingly this unabashed happiness comes at a time when there is an impending apocalypse and Dean is on the outs with Sam. This should have been the perfect excuse to take away every shred of Dean’s happiness but instead, it becomes the precursor. Actually, now that I think about it I have seen Dean this happy once more that was in 13x06, Tombstone and we know what was the source of his happiness in that one.

Have you ever heard anyone ever talk about Sam in Free to be You and Me because he is there. I have watched this episode twice and I was under the impression that Sam is just not there in the episode which my brain told me was impossible because Jared Padalecki is in every episode of Supernatural and I know this. Even in “In the Beginning” where Sam only appears for like the beginning minute of the episode, he is there and I thought Free to be You and Me was similar but it is not. Sam is really there in the episode and for the life of me I can guarantee no one has ever talked about Sam’s storyline in 5x03 because Dean and Cas so thoroughly drown anything else that isn’t them in this episode.

Let’s talk about personal space!

A lot of people have mentioned that we never actually see Dean have this supposed conversation about personal space with Cas and here in comes in the famed fandom gap. But, another thing I noticed is that Cas has never actually stepped into Dean’s personal space prior to this episode which then raises the question that how has he done it so many times that Dean raised the issue and actually had a converstaion about it. This isn’t A fandom gap this multipe fandom GAPS. Also, i love how Dean talks about Cas repsecting Dean’s perosnal space but he has no problem invading Cas’.

This episode is funny which made me so happy what with the FBI badge thing, then Cas being horribly truthful to the Deputy and the whole Chastity thing. Also, Dean laughing so freely, free to be you and me indeed.

Recently, I saw this post that talks about how turned on Dean looks when Cas is threatening Raphael in the hospital and I totally agree with it it. Totally check that out.

This is just an amazing amazing episode and they are so many of these in season 5. I can’t wait to set my eyes on them.

Another thing we have got to mention before I move onto “The End” is the fact that Dean compares Cas and himself to Thelma & Louise and Bert & Ernie in the same episode.

I agree with everything that lurea has to say about “The End” like everything you can find links to the meta here. But, let’s just focus to the two scenes Dean and Cas share in reality in this episode both which are like absolutely adorable. The first one is at the beginning of the episode and ends with Cas just standing under a lamp post waiting for Dean to get his rest before they can get doing what they have to next and this is just adorable Cas.

Okay, really if you watch this episode assuming Dean and Cas are lovers in the future it has an extremely different tone, like when Endverse!Dean gets jealous because Endverse!Cas likes past Dean more.

Okay but focusing on our Dean. Let’s not forget that when Endverse!Dean talks about using his people as decoys, the past Dean specifically asks one question, “Cas too?” because while we can argue the implications for Endverse!Dean the implications for our Dean are pretty straightforward he might consider sacrificing most of his people for teh cause but he draws the line at Cas. Cas is something special to Dean and he can’t believe that this Dean, future/Endverse version of himself is going to sacrifice Cas and even though this isn’t his Cas he still feels this way.

Then moving on to one of the other most iconic scenes between Dean and Cas.

This entire scene their expressions, their body languages, their dialogues are so intensely romantic. Like Dean’s wish for Cas to never change is also kind of steeped in romance, this is the Cas he loves and that’s why he never wants him to change. Of course considering the episode there are other implications this line of dialogue has but that still doesn’t chnage the way it’s delivered.

Dean and Cas in season 5 are just so intimate, at this point they are literally at their best. This is the point in the season when they seem to be reading each other’s minds.

So, of course for here on out we have them at loggerheads, almost. So, the next time Dean and Cas meet is in 5x06 and in the scenes they share Sam is basically chaperoning them and the first scene in this episode is Sam and Cas at loggerheads which is a nice contrast to the way he Cas just listens to Dean. Also, in one of the most telling parallels I love how carefully Dean puts back Cas’ statue as compared to Sam who kind of just puts it down rather carelessly compared to the care Dean shows.

Cas and Dean don’t interact at all in the next episode they both star in but I love the fact that in both 5x06 and 5x08, Dean is hell bent on making sure Cas gets rescued.

The beginning of this season is like Destiel heaven and then following “The End” with it’s implied subtext the scenes with Dean and Cas interacting is like at a steep decline. See, this is what I meant million steps forward and bilion backwards. But Dean calls Cas Huggy Bear in the very beginning of 5x10 that’s something.

Season 5 has been going pretty rapidly. 5x13 starts of with Cas trying to find Anna who is on a revenge tour and Dean kind of forces Cas to take both him and Sam to the past despite the fact that it would cost Cas a lot and a hate that about Dean. For once, I want him to put Cas’ needs firsts. I hate Dean’s selfishness. This is something of a sticky point which doesn’t come up much this season but just wait till Season 6 where the first two-thirds of the season is just Dean being obnoxiously selfish to Cas.

Next up is, 5x14 My Bloody Valentine, okay I like this episode. That phone call which starts this episode.

Yeah, well look at it but things get even more interesting when cupid shows up and hugs Dean from the back and Cas from the front literally drawing a line going through Dean to Cas and then we literally have Cupid facing Dean and Cas who are literally framed as a couple who are basically tag-teaming as they interrogate Cupid. That was one of the most effortlessly couple-y DeanCas moment.

This episode has Dean and Cas together for most of it’s duration which is always amazing. I definitely want to read more meta about this one because I can tell this is one episode that really has a whole lot of meaning that could be found by peeling back the layers.

Dean and Cas do have scenes in both 5x16 and 5x17 but they are more plot based and whenever they are not they are fairly antagonistic, I feel like the writers definitely were trying to detract but they are so bad at it. 5x17 we have drunk Cas who literally drank an entire liquor store and there are a lot of cutting remarks but at the end of the day when Cas has his head in his hands, Dean tries to make him feel better and that’s just it these two no matter how much you put them on opposing sides they find a way.

Next up is a legendary Destiel episode, 5x18, Point of No Return. I often say it is the point of no return when it comes to Dean and Cas’ relationship as well. It has this famous line -

Also, if you ever see all the scenes featuring Dean and Cas together in this episode one after the other, you will be shocked to believe you ever thought these two were platonic.

I mean these two are full on bickering in this episode, like a married couple. They are literally fighting, arguing but the moment Cas thinks something might be wrong with Dean he goes flying in, only to have Dean blast him away. The very next scene is like Exhibit A for this relatiosnhip the entire pummeling that Dean gets is yeah horrible, but it’s also an example of just how much Dean and his actions affect Cas and literally every dialogue Cas has during this sequence is powerful. We are finally bringing into focus the fact that Cas is in this situation because he chose to believe Dean and follow him on a path that was made of uncertainty away from the security Cas has known since his creation. Sometimes, I think we forget how big that step was for Cas and just what it might mean for him but this scene just brings it all back. It is the most visceral exhibit of everything he’s feeling, everything that Dean plunged him into feeling.

#supernatural #spn #supernatural seaosn 4 #cas #dean #destiel #myposts #supernatural season 5

[kdfrqqg]

Christmas Miracles -- Dec 21st

Sam x Reader

Word Count: 889

A/N: This was written for @webcricket advent challenge. Prompt: Yule Log

Warnings: Language, some violence but mostly fluffy.

Dirt, trees, two huge sweaty men and you walking through the woods, wow what a way to a Christmas.  Other people were singing carols, or burning a yule log, “What the hell is a yule log anyway?” You muttered while you bitched to yourself.

“What was that?” Sam turned to you.

“Nothing, I'm just going to make this damn tree god my personal yule log after we kill it.” You told him.

“I second that.” Dean chimed in. “Why did this thing have to be in dead center of the forest?”

Sam sighed, keeping a quick pace to make sure you and Dean wouldn't dawdle. “It's a tree god, in Celtic lore, Medeina is a goddess and ruler of the forest and her sacred animal is a rabbit.”

You huffed, “Really a fucking rabbit.  That's why you have us out here with the damn ticks and bugs.”

“Yes, rabbits! Hares to be exact and they are normally found near the center of the woods because it gives them more coverage from predators.” Sam explained, only moving faster through the brush.

Rolling your eyes you trudged forward for what felt like forever, thank goodness it wasn't hot or else you would have complained even more. You were thankful that Sam was such a good researcher but this just sucked, you wanted to be drinking spiked eggnog and watching ‘Scrooged’ cause Bill Murray always made you laugh.  One day a year you guys take a break and this is how you spend it.  

Sam noticed how grumpy you were, “I'm sorry that Christmas isn't going to happen this year but this tree god only shows its face around the winter solstice so if we don't get her today we have to wait another year.”

“I know” your voice dropped as you looked down, you were upset, but that wasn't a reason not to do your job, this thing had been killing anyone who tried to cut down trees near here. “The monster is protecting the forest but couldn't it just recycle.” You cracked a joke.

“There's our girl.  We'll have Christmas when we get back maybe even take off until the New Year.” Sam’s eyes twinkled blue and gold as the moonlight reflected off of his iries. Why did he have to be so damn beautiful?

You looked down smiling to yourself, “Yeah that’d be nice.”

At the end of the trail was a small clearing, bunnies were surrounding a large tree, they scattered when the three of you approached.  “This is it.” Sam let out.

Dean handed Sam an axe, “Let's get to chopping.”  Sam didn’t get to take a second swing before Medeina made her appearance, screaming in pain.

“Just keep chopping, I got this bitch.” You pulled out the iron knife that would kill her, running up to her way too wide open and you knew it.  Only landing one or two punches before she slapped you down, focusing her attention on Sam.  She may be strong but you were fast, your muscular legs propelled you infront of Sam taking the full blow of her wrath.  Sam watched as you held your arm and kept fighting, distracting her from Dean, who thrusted a blade into her ribcage.  Medeina fell to the ground, as a death rattle came from deep inside her.  Sam yelled, “We have to finished cutting the tree down or else she can come back next year.”  

Dean and you grabbed the extra axes and helped Sam, in less than a few minutes the tree fell. After you all spent the next hour chopping up the tree, bottles and bottles of lighter fluid was doused on the pile of wood.  The tree went up and flames, helping to cut the chill in the air.  

“Now that’s what I call a yule log.” Dean commented bumping his shoulder into you.

“Yeah, it is.  It’s so peaceful out here.” You breathed deep watching Sam put away the supplies.

“You know I can get lost, if you want?” Dean asked signalling to Sam.

“There are Christmas miracles and then there are Christmas realities, Dean.  Us together is a fantasy that will probably never happen.” You informed him.

“Well… I’ll just be somewhere else.” Dean walked off down the trail a little.

Sam moved over to you, “Where did Dean go?”

“I don’t know.” You shrugged.

“Ok, um I never thanked you for saving me back there.” Sam rocked on his heels as he put in hands in is pockets.

“Nothing you hadn’t done for me a thousand times.” You didn’t want to make a big deal out it.

“Yeah, but still.” He draped his arm around you as you both watched the fire. “This is actually really nice.” You wrapped an arm around his waist, “The stars, a fire, and my favorite girl.”

“Your favorite girl?” You looked up at him questioning.

“Yeah!” He chuckled and his boyish dimples formed.  Your body automatically turned to him, he slowly dipped his head down to you giving you plenty of time to pull away when tender plump lips pressed against yours. “Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas!” You breathed out quickly before you lifted yourself on your tiptoes, kissing him back and roughly but passionately as the glow of the fire illuminated your face.  You were now starting to believe in Christmas miracles.

I love all the likes and reblogs but I really do want your feedback. Please leave me a comment; let me know what worked or what didn’t. If you hated it let me know what I could do different. It may determine how I write my next fic.

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[cuteeiji]

ostinato || part four

summary: the road keeps bending back upon itself, and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. time loop au [start here] [part two] [part three] [wither] warnings: canon major character death, suicide, violence word count: 7637

iv.

“And sore must be the storm   That could abash the little bird   That kept so many warm.”

—Emily Dickinson, “Hope is the Thing With Feathers”

It wasn’t supposed to be this way, he thinks amidst the chaos. There’s a numbness running through his veins as he reaches out to grab her hand, fingers trembling, his vision swirling like a hurricane. The water pouring down on them is icy, and he feels her shudder against him as she cries.

“Natalie,” he says weakly, cupping her cheek with his shaking hand. He says it again, a broken litany that spills off his lips and cuts through the pounding water.

“Don’t,” she whispers. He can feel her hot tears dripping onto his skin. “Please, don’t.”

Amidst his swirling, hazy thoughts, he knows that this is it. The end, not in a hailstorm of fire and blood, but in the white of the tiles, the white of her skin, the endless white noise that he feels himself slowly, surely drowning in.

He never wanted it to end like this.

[8:52 AM]

“So you’re telling me,” Natalie says, bringing her knees to her chest, “that you’re stuck in some sort of…”

“Time loop, yes,” Lucifer confirms.

She leans back against her bedpost, looking at him carefully. Her hair sways loose and vibrant in the morning light, and she absently tucks a few strands behind her ear as she processes his words. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, of course I’m sure,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve been trapped in this nightmare for way too long for it to be some kind of weird dream.”

There’s a tension in the silence that follows, a string of unspoken words floating in the air. Natalie tilts her head, looking morbidly curious, and lets them fall out of her mouth. “How...how long is way too long?”

He grimaces, his gaze dropping to the hems of sunlight spilling through the curtains and onto her floor. “About a month,” he says. It’s been thirty three days, to be more specific. Seven hundred and ninety two hours. Forty seven thousand, five hundred and fifty minutes, all neatly wrapped up into one tiny loop, an unwanted gift that keeps on giving anyway.

“Jeez,” she breathes, eyes widening. “And this is the first time you’ve told me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

He scratches his head, still averting his gaze. He wants to tell her about how he stepped into hallowed grounds of his own accord, had prayed to his father like a stranger and received an answer in return. He wants to tell her that now, there’s a small flicker of hope burning in his stomach, and that it makes him more terrified than he’s ever been.

He wants to tell her everything.

“I… you had worse things to worry about,” he says, biting the words down before he can speak them.

“If it’s the same day, then won’t I still have to worry about them?” She asks, sniffling a little. He grabs the familiar tissue box and hands it to her.

“Not right now,” he says. “Hopefully this will all be over before you need to even think about...that.”

She shifts to fold her legs together, placing her hands on her knees. He’s seen her enough on this day to outline the hollows in her cheeks, her sunken eyes and blanched complexion and the subtle shine of perspiration on her forehead.

“Does it have to do with me being sick?” She asks, ignoring him. She pauses and narrows her eyes at him. “And why are your horns like that?”

“Jesus Christ, give me a break,” he complains, ignoring his clenching heart. “Don’t make me regret telling you about this.”

“You aren’t telling me everything, though,” Natalie says quietly. “You do that a lot.”

“What do you mean?” he says, catching the hurt in her tired eyes and the slight shakiness in her voice.

“What do you think I mean?” She asks, voice pained. “You ask me to trust you, and I do! I promise, I do, but I’m tired of you keeping things from me. I’m your best friend, Lucifer. I love you, and I’d trust you with my life, so why don’t you trust me?”

“What do you want me to say?” Lucifer snaps back, struggling to keep his voice down. “What do you want me to tell you? That I’ve had to watch you die over and over again with no way of stopping it? That I have no clue how to get us out of this mess? That I’ve tried every hospital, every magic trick, every damn thing that you could possibly think of to save you and I still wake up every morning at 8:24 AM and watch you fade away without a damn clue how to help you? Is that what you want to fucking hear?”

He lets the words settle in, gritting his teeth together, ignoring the stinging in his eyes that’s become annoyingly familiar. He inhales, clenching his shaking hands.

Natalie stares at him in complete silence, eyes wide.

Lucidity creeps back into his head as he breathes, his own words echoing back on him, sharper and sharper with every reverberation until the implications of what he’s said finally sink in.

“Shit,” he says shakily. “I—I didn’t mean for you to find out that way.”

She shakes her head, and he’s horrified to see her eyes shining with unshed tears.

“Kid—”

“I’m so sorry.”

He flinches, not expecting those words to come from her mouth. “What?”

“I’m so sorry,” she repeats, voice trembling. “No one should have to go through something like that. That’s so horrible.”

Wait. Was she...

“The fuck?” Lucifer says. “Are you crying for me? Did you miss the part where I said you were dying?”

“No, but...” she says, sniffling, “but you’re the one who has to remember it.”

He stares at her silently, incredulous. She still keeps finding ways to mystify him, even when each second he lives is recycled thirty three times over.

“You’re unbelievable,” he says, echoing his scattered thoughts.

She laughs a little, the air rattling through her throat before turning into a cough, and another, and another. She hunches over, one arm folding around her stomach while the other presses roughly against her lips, stifling the sound. He knows the drill by now, knows the way to sink onto the mattress next to her and place a hand on her back until her body stops trying to force itself out of her skin.

She breathes heavily, tiredly, and leans into him. She burns against his skin.

“Thank you,” she whispers, voice lost in the scratchiness of her throat. “I don’t know why you’re doing all this for me.”

He swallows; he knows where this conversation is going.

“Don’t sweat it, kid,” he deflects. “It’s the least I can do after you cleared up the mess in my head.”

She shakes her head, her hair brushing against his arm. “No, you could’ve left. Even with the time loop thing, you could’ve left and tried to figure this stuff out on your own.”

Natalie looks up at him. “Why didn’t you leave? You love me or something?”

Lucifer is silent. He doesn’t know what to say. How could he bring those words to spill out into the air, living proof of the way his heart is crushing him like glass under pressure? He didn’t realize it at first, that he was handing bite-sized pieces of himself to her, at least not until she faded away and took them all with her.

When he says it, it becomes real, it becomes the way that his world crashes down in front of him with the ceasing of her breath. It becomes the way he feels: achingly, fearfully, terribly. It’s handing her his heart on a silver platter just in time for her to wither to dust.

You love me or something?

Of course he fucking does.

“I do, you know,” she says gently. “I love you, Lucifer.”

He’s just too much of a coward to say it.

“...I can’t watch you die again,” he offers, as good of an answer as he can manage. His hand clenches into a fist. “I just can’t, Natalie.”

A small hand covers his curled fingers, and he looks down at them numbly. She waits for him to relax, turn his palm over, before sliding her fingers in between his. “Then we better find a way to fix this, shouldn’t we?” she says, in that ridiculously optimistic tone of hers. She squeezes his hand, looking up at him with such certainty and trust he almost forgets how many times he’s failed before this.

(Almost.)

“I told you, I’ve tried everything,” he says bitterly. “It all ends the same.”

Natalie pauses, contemplating, curious.

“What happened the first time that I…?” She doesn’t continue.

Lucifer sighs. “We went to the coast and found Pestilence. I tried to make a deal with her but it didn’t work out.”

“Then we should retrace our steps,” she says simply, standing up. “Go back to when and where it all started.”

“That’s pointless,” he says. “I don’t know how, but she knows about the loop. That makes her unpredictable. I tried to find her again a couple times but she’s skipped town by now.”

“If she knows about the loop then that’s all the more reason to track her down,” Natalie argues. “She may not be in town, but she might still be in the area.”

He doesn’t want to tell her why he’s so reluctant, why he doesn’t want to travel miles and miles to that small coastal town that’s become the bane of his existence. The place where he first lost her in that shitty, dirty motel room. The place where she got sick to begin with. Still, it’s the most logical course of action. He pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

“You’re right,” he says tiredly. Of course she is. “Let’s go.”

Natalie nods, walking over to her dresser. “What about my dad?” She asks as she picks through her clothes.

“What do you mean?” He asks.

She looks up at him. “He’s going to notice I’m gone, right?”

Lucifer pauses. “I’ll have one of my followers come and fill in for you, if you want.”

She nods. “I don’t want to worry him. He’s gone through enough already.”

He exhales, reaching for her phone. “Alright, kid.”

He doesn’t mention that the meaning of taking other people into consideration has started to slip past him as the days dragged on and inverted on themselves, the point of existing becoming more and more elusive. When time reflects on itself there are no consequences to worry about, nothing to hide. Nothing to live for.

Except for her, a small voice in the back of his mind whispers.

He doesn’t know why she’s been an unyielding exception to his apathy. If he thinks about it, she’s always been that way, a thorn in his side that managed to irritate him with a single word, with a sly look, with her very existence. He isn’t sure when annoyance turned into the ache of caring, but without him knowing she had wound herself too tightly around his heart for him to untangle her from it.

“...Lucifer?”

“Hm?” He says, turning to look at her. She seems so concerned, unease inscribed on the lines of her forehead, and he realizes that he’s been standing still, staring at the phone silently for a good minute or so.

He mentally shakes himself.

“Sorry,” he says, the word bitterly familiar rolling off his lips. “Zoned out.”

She forces a laugh, pulling out a pair of light wash jeans. It sounds genuine, but he can see the worry in the red of her eyes, the subtle shift of her hands to her chest, trying to protect what’s underneath her skin.

“It’s kinda worrying,” she says lightly, her gaze fixed on her clothes. She picks out her dark red devil shirt to go with her jeans.

“Well,” Lucifer says, imagining that shirt stained with bile and sweat, attached to a motionless body in a hotel bed, on the floor of a hospital, on the rocky cliff overlooking the sea. “A month in hell will do that to you. We’ll leave as soon as your stand-in gets here.”

She was right, on that day in the pool. The devil can’t feel guilt, can’t feel the strange mix of ice and fire and overwhelming nausea that makes his hands tremble and throat swell with all the things he couldn’t fix. The devil can’t choke on the history of things he’s left unsaid, again and again and again. He should be numb to all of this. He shouldn’t be able to feel it.

He feels it anyway.

Not for the first time, he wonders if he’s becoming something else.

[9:43 AM]

The bus ride up, she’s quieter than usual. She had probably seen the bottle of cheap whiskey underneath Alex’s recliner. He had missed that the first time around, glanced past it like it was nothing. Once, he could see people’s weaknesses like they were neon lights swirling above their head, a weapon that he used whenever he had the chance. The edges of his vision used to be so much sharper.

“I know what you saw,” he says, his voice low and soft so that the rest of the passengers can’t hear them. “I’m sorry.”

Things were easier when he didn’t care.

He hears her inhale, the air seeping into her failing lungs. Something catches on her throat and she coughs, arms coming up to cover her face as she heaves. The bus riders glance at her nervously. They’ve probably seen the news too, keeping their arms close to their sides, not touching anything or anyone. He sees a woman slowly rub sanitizer onto her hands, shooting Natalie a dirty look as she did so. He glowers at her, and his angry, catlike eyes are enough to drive her stare away.

“It’s okay,” she says roughly, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. “Well, it’s not okay. I don’t know what I’m going to do.” She looks down at her knees, eyes still glazed over.

He sighs. “I know it’s hard, but you’re gonna have to focus on one thing at a time, and right now that’s getting you better.”

“But—my dad—”

“Kid, you need to stop trying to fix everyone for once and worry about yourself,” he says roughly, folding his arms. “You remember what’s at stake, right?”

She doesn’t answer him. Instead, she brings her burning gaze to his eyes.

“When all of this is over,” she says softly, “can you help him?”

He pauses. He isn’t even sure if he can help her, let alone her father, but there’s fear in her eyes and her fingers are digging harshly into her old jeans. Lucifer sighs.

“I’ll try,” he promises.

Condemnation is something that he’s become well-acquainted to; he used to meet it nightly in scummy bars, in pried off wedding rings and booze and the crisp flipping of cards on beer-stained tables. He’s been on every end of it, both victim and arbiter. Throughout the millennia he’s been here, it’s crept into his skin, become a part of him as wholly and completely as his own flesh.

Satan, the adversary. The tempter of man. The condemner of souls.

He should’ve known that he would damn her too.

The water keeps on falling.

[2:34 PM]

As soon as they get off the bus the smell of the town hits him like a punch to the throat, the scent of tobacco and salt flooding his senses. He’s been here too many times.

“You okay?” Natalie asks.

“Fine,” he replies curtly. “So, in this grand plan of yours, how do you suggest finding Pestilence?”

“She shouldn’t be far,” she says firmly.

“Why not?”

“Well, it’s her job to get people sick, right? But the time loop is making it so that she can’t finish her job here, and if she does, it just resets. She can’t have travelled much from here in the past few hours.”

“That’s true, but regardless of whether she starts the day here she’s moved on from the casino.”

“Aren’t there other ways of gambling besides there?” Natalie asks. “We can just find those places and check them off if she isn’t there.”

“That’s...actually not a bad idea,” he says.

“Glad to be of service,” she says, sticking her tongue out good-naturedly. “There shouldn’t be too many places that she could go, right?”

Wrong.

“So, there are fifteen possible spots in the area that Pestilence could be at,” he says, squinting down at the piece of paper. It was a bitch to get the bartender to fess up the underground locations, but Lucifer is nothing if not convincing.

Natalie groans. “I thought it would be much less than that.”

“It’s more than what we had before, kid.”

“Can we narrow it down any more?” She asks.

“Well, I doubt she’d be at the casino; she’s been there before.”

“Maybe she’s been jumping to places based on distance? Getting farther away as time passes?” Natalie says.

“Maybe,” he says thoughtfully. “She wouldn’t stay in one spot for more than two or three days. It’s been thirty three, so she’d be at the first or second furthest location by now.”

“What are they?”

“One is an ongoing underground poker tournament. The other is a fighting ring.”

“Like at the bar?” She asks.

He grimaces, Ipos and Sheila’s faces floating to the surface of his thoughts. “Yeah, like at the bar,” he says, turning away. “Let’s go.”

Natalie pauses, biting her lip. “Maybe we should split up and look at both locations. It’ll be faster.”

The idea of her alone, surrounded by scum who would gladly take advantage of her, makes his fingers curl. He whips his head around to face her. “Hell no. Even if you weren’t sick that would still be a terrible idea.”

Her mouth opens slightly in protest, but she seems to think better of it, and shuts it.

He glances at the addresses, scrawled hurriedly on the back of the receipt. “Besides, they’re both in the industrial district. It won’t take that much extra time to go together.”

“Okay, okay, you win,” Natalie says. “Where to?”

“The poker place,” he says. “It’s more likely to be going on in the middle of the afternoon. Plus it’s probably cleaner.”

“Why does that matter?”

“Pestilence doesn’t like germs too much, ironically enough. She’ll be drawn to a place with less blood and sweaty people.”

“That’s weird,” Natalie says, clearing her throat. He simply nods in reply, shoving his hands and the crumpled receipt into his pockets.

“Come on; we don’t have much time,” he says, starting to walk. He hears the soft footfalls of Natalie moving to follow him.

“I know you’re afraid, but I’m not. You’ve always been there to save me,” Natalie says from behind him.

He doesn’t stop walking, but he knows she’ll catch the way he tenses at her words.

“What if I can’t this time?” Lucifer asks quietly. Somewhere along the lines, bravado became something frivolous, meaningless. He can hear the uncertainty in his own voice.

Suddenly she’s beside him, hand reaching out to slip her fingers through the gaps in his.

“We can do this,” she says, and smiles in a way that makes him ache.

He kissed her, one time around.

He isn’t quite sure why. Maybe the increasing fear that he’d never escape this special brand of hell, the rising knowledge that he had both nothing and everything to lose when the clock hit 8:24 AM. Maybe just to have that memory to keep, even if she never would. As he pulled away from her, she looked at him with something that seemed strangely like awe.

She brought her hand up to her mouth, as if she could still feel the pressure of his there, lingering on her skin.

“You kissed me,” she had said, a smile playing on her lips. It was one of the few that wasn’t a grimace or a feeble attempt to convince him that she wasn’t burning up from the inside out.

He holds onto that. Her smile. Her words. Her voice.

A reminder to stay, for her sake.

[3:32 PM]

The whole place smells like old smoke, dust clinging to the heavy curtains pulled over the windows. Tables are scattered around the warehouse, figures huddled tightly around them. He squints through the harsh fluorescent lighting, eyes darting from one player to the next.

Natalie places a hand cautiously on his arm. “What do we do?” She whispers.

He doesn’t answer, his gaze still flitting across the open room. A flash of white catches his eye, and he sees her, still wearing that dress, just like she did over a month ago. He sucks in a deep breath.

“She’s here. Let’s go,” he says, starting to walk, towing Natalie along with him.

The edges of his vision are blurry; all he can see is that platinum hair, the sway of her dress as she places a card down. Distantly, he registers the security guards hovering around the tables, but he doesn’t slow as he approaches the group of players in the corner of the warehouse.

“Keens!” he yells. Natalie jumps.

She slowly turns to him, a smirk on her face. “Hello, Stan. You’ve found me.”

“You weren’t hard to find. All we needed to do was follow your filthy trail to the nearest gambling place and lo and behold, here you are,” he says, seething.

“You sound angry, Stan,” she says. “Was it something I said?”

Nothing you do is going to stop this, Lucifer. There’s no point. Your pretty little friend is just going to keep dying, and you’re going to have to deal with it.

“We need to talk to you,” he says, ignoring her query.

“I’d love to, but I’d like to finish this game first,” she says lightly, glancing back at the other players. “It’s been a boring month and I just got here.”

She’s taunting him, he knows, but it doesn’t stop him from seeing red. His closed fist slams down onto the table, its legs snapping and collapsing in on themselves. The other players shout out in alarm; chips fly everywhere, landing on the ground with sharp clacks. The cards fall like a hailstorm, sliding across the floor and glimmering in the harsh lighting.

“Game’s over, Conquest,” he says roughly, shrugging off the guards trying to grab him. “We’re going.”

She sighs, standing up. “Let’s go to the back room.” She glances at the other players, scrambling to pick up their chips. “Sorry, boys, if you’ll excuse me.”

She whispers something to a security guard, and he nods, backing away. She raises an eyebrow at him. “You could have gotten me to come with you without causing a ruckus.”

“Force of habit,” he says curtly, following her as she turns away from him. “You know I'm not good at doing things quietly.”

The back room isn’t much more than a closet, unfurnished and dimly lit by a single hanging light. Pestilence folds her arms. “So. What are you gambling this time around, Lucifer?”

“Gambling?” Natalie echoes.

“I’m not gambling anything,” Lucifer says, an answer to both of them. “I want to trade.”

“Oh?” Pestilence says, eyes narrowing. “You do realize that Ipos’ book isn’t valuable enough to trade for something as big as what you’re asking for.”

“Who said I was talking about Ipos’ book?” He says, heart beating a little faster.

Her lip quirks up into a half smile. “Elaborate.”

He takes a deep breath, fighting to keep his hands from trembling. “I know what you’re looking for, and I’m willing to give them to you in exchange for the girl’s health.”

Natalie jerks her head up to look at him. “Dude, you never said anything about a trade—”

“Are you serious?” Pestilence asks, her expression shifting to one of...pity? “Are you seriously telling me that you’re willing to give up your—”

“Yes, I’m serious,” he interrupts. “I would give up anything at this point to get out of this fucking loop.”

He gestures to Natalie. “Her being sick has something to do with this—the days repeating.”

Pestilence chews on her bottom lip, digesting his words. Finally, she sighs. “As much as I would love to collect...that, it’s not going to be much use.”

“What do you mean?”

“Regardless of whether I cure her or not, the day is just going to repeat itself when the morning comes around. I won’t have my prize, and she’ll be sick again.”

“But—the time loop—”

“It’s not centered around her being sick, Lucifer. Think about it. What is this loop really revolving around? Why are you and I the only ones that are aware of it? Who would want to do this to you?”

Who would want to do this to him? If he’s being honest with himself, a lot of people. At the very least someone with a sick sense of humor. Someone who would be just as powerful, if not more so, than Pestilence. Someone who chose to center this loop around Natalie being sick… No, not just being sick, Natalie being at her sickest, Natalie withering away, Natalie dying, Natalie’s death…

Death…

Holy fuck.

“I should have fucking known,” he snarls, his hands coming up to tear at his hair. Natalie flinches. “That pathetic bag of bones, of course he would fucking do this.”

Death. The reason that the day restarted at 8:24 AM was because it was the time that Death came to collect her soul. Those figures that he’d been seeing as the sun rose weren’t grief-induced hallucinations. Fuck, he’d been so blind.

“Lucifer, what’s going on?” Natalie asks.

“It’s Death,” he says through gritted teeth. “It’s been Death this entire time and I was too fucking stupid to realize it.”

Pestilence nods, almost smugly. “Took you long enough.”

He rubs at his temples impatiently. “I’m going to fucking murder him. I’m going to bash that flimsy skull in until it's dust.”

Pestilence snorts. “Charming. Even if you can find him, I doubt he would let you live long enough to get in a second hit.”

“How...how do we find him?” Natalie asks, her voice shaky. He glances at her face, pale for reasons other than sickness for the first time in a while.

“Well, the fastest way is to kill someone,” Pestilence says flippantly. “He’s usually there within the hour.”

Natalie winces. “Uh…I don’t really want to kill anyone.”

“Then,” Pestilence says, “your best bet is to speed up the process.”

Natalie tilts her head. “Of what?”

Instead of answering, Pestilence looks at Lucifer expectantly. “If you want to confront Death, someone needs to die. I see one obvious candidate.”

He stares at her quizzically, until it hits him with the relentless force of a freight train. She isn’t seriously telling him to…

“Lucifer?” Natalie asks, staring uneasily at him. “What’s she saying?”

“She’s saying that I should kill you,” he whispers, not taking his eyes off of the woman in front of him. His hands start to shake. “After everything I did for her, after everything I was willing to do for her, you can’t seriously expect me to turn around and murder her in cold blood.”

Pestilence shrugs. “It’s the most logical course of action.”

“Like hell it is!” He snaps. “What if by some odd happenstance Death decides to make this the last loop and she stays dead? There’s not a fucking chance, Pestilence.”

“Kill someone else then; I'm sure it won't make a difference.”

“Then maybe I should start with you,” he hisses, taking a step towards her. Pestilence holds her stare, unimpressed.

“...Maybe she has a point,” Natalie says from behind him. He freezes for a moment before feeling floods back into his limbs.

“What the hell, girl? Do you have a death wish?” He demands, turning to her. “Do you not understand the part of her plan where you die?”

“I mean, I do,” she says. “It’s just that you need to talk to Death in order to get out of this, and I don’t want you to kill anyone else.”

She sounds so apologetic. He almost wants to laugh at the absurdity of it because this is her life, her soul that they’re talking about and she’s feeling sorry for him?

He shakes his head. “No dice, kid; I’m not gonna hurt you. I’d rather rot in this loop for the rest of eternity. We’ll find another way.” He turns to Pestilence. “Thanks for nothing.”

She smiles. “When you get out of this loop...come back to me with that offer.”

“Sure won’t,” he lies, and turns away.

It’s too much. He can’t stay like this.

He gasps, feeling the energy leaving his body. “Don’t you dare, Lucifer,” she says, her voice strangely distant. “Please, you need to stop. Please, don’t.”

“I need to,” he begs her. He can count on one hand the number of times that he’s prayed in the last millennia, but each time, it’s been for her. He’s paralyzed and the world is fading away in his hands and he prays. God, he prays until his skin is burning from the holiness and his heart feels like it’s about to burst from his chest and onto the polished tiles of the bathroom floor.

Her name. Over and over. He sends it to his father and remembers the hope he once had, now a black hole unfurling in his stomach.

It’s too late for prayers.

[4:09 PM]

They exit the warehouse, the sunlight blinding in comparison to the unnaturally lit poker rooms. Natalie huffs, looking a little worse for the wear.

“Are you okay, kid?”

“I don’t know,” she replies. “Breathing feels really weird right now.”

“We’ll get you some medicine before we figure this out,” Lucifer says, running an impatient hand through his hair. They’re running out of time.

“You know…” Natalie says, her tone cautious, and he raises a hand to halt her. “No.”

“You didn’t even listen to what I was gonna say!” She says indignantly.

“I didn’t have to,” he says. “I’m not going to do it.”

“But I’m going to die anyway! Wouldn’t it make more sense to just get it over with so maybe you have a chance of getting out of this?” She asks. She stops to cough violently into her arm, almost retching as she doubles over. She looks up with a challenge in her eyes, daring him to say something.

Lucifer takes a deep breath.

“I don’t care if it makes more sense,” He says, voice shaking. “I wouldn’t care if it’s the only fucking way that I get out of this. I’m not going to do it. We’re going to find out another way to summon Death, and then I’m going to make him fix this.”

Natalie stares at him, scrutinizing. She sighs.

“Fine,” she concedes, her expression relaxing. “Let’s go get some medicine then. My head is killing me—no pun intended, haha.”

“Not funny,” he mutters, shoving his hands in his pockets.

[4:31 PM]

Natalie clutches the plastic bag, probably filled with every medication under the sun. “This should be good,” she says, peering in at its contents.

“Good,” he says. “Take it and we’ll be on our way.”

“Can’t we get a hotel room or something?” She asks. “I’m really tired.”

“A hotel...room?” He asks, his thoughts going back to that God-forsaken motel. He sees the muted wallpaper, the smell of dust and cigarettes and the slight taste of death in the air as the sun streamed in through the curtain gaps. He sees the crop of her hair sprawled onto the pillow, lips parted with a breath that would never come.

She inhales one now, the air scraping against her throat like sandpaper. “Please.”

Her hands are shaking a little bit, skin still locked on a sickly pallor that emphasizes the hollows of her cheeks, the irritated red splotches under her eyes and nose.

He exhales. “Alright.”

[4:54 PM]

He picks a different hotel this time, the Cypress Inn, it's white columns and abundance of potted plants a notch above the last one they stayed at.

Natalie collapses onto the queen size bed in their room, letting out a heaving cough. “I want to sleep,” she groans into the duvet, sinking deeper into it.

“You okay, kid?” He asks, sitting down by her. She’s never mentioned being tired around this time before today, but he supposes that it’s not too surprising; she’s been in a constant state of exhaustion ever since she got sick.

“Yeah,” she replies, her voice muffled. She flips onto her back, her hair shining like copper against the white comforter. She rests a hand on her forehead, staring at the ceiling like it’s an intricate puzzle she needs to solve. “What are we going to do?”

“I don't know,” he admits. “Are you sure I can't just find some low-life—”

“I'm sure,” she says firmly, interrupting him. “We’ll find another way.”

He sighs, hauling himself up and moving to the door. “Alright, then. I’m going to take a walk and figure this shit out. You stay here and rest.”

She nods from her position on the bed, and he feels a surge of anxiety engulf him as he opens the door. He hesitates. Something doesn’t feel right about this.

It’s only five, though, he reminds himself. The sun is still shining; they have plenty of time to figure something out.

Lucifer shakes himself to reality, closing the door behind him. He wanders around the edge of the stucco building, breathing in the salt-laden air, the sun filtering through the grove of trees arching around the inn.

What are we going to do?

He exhales heavily, running a hand through his hair. He honestly can’t see another way to summon Death besides...well, killing someone. It wasn’t necessarily something he was averse to, but the way Natalie looked at him when he was threatening Pestilence...she looked terrified. But even beyond that, she looked disappointed.

I wouldn’t be best friends with a monster!

“Get out of my head,” he mutters, the static feeling of fear coming alive in his chest.

He’s so tired. He can feel this month weighing him down more than he’s ever been, heavy stones that he can’t even fathom to shake off.

He knows that he shouldn’t feel this way; his father told him that he could fix this. There still has to be a sliver of hope that can get them out of this. To heal her.

Healing her. Maybe he should have started with that.

Because to make her better, they would need...

He groans. Pestilence. He’s getting really sick of that smug bitch. But it would give them more time and one less thing for him to worry about, albeit at a hefty price.

When Michael ripped the first set out, the phantom pains haunted him for years. Even now, he can feel the ache of where they once rested between his shoulder blades. If the last two sets were taken...he can’t even imagine…

He looks up; the sun has dropped further, only hours away until it would be cradled on the horizon. There’s still a chance that Pestilence would be at the warehouse. He clenches his fist. It’s a blow to his pride to go back so soon, and a mar on his existence to give up… that… but at least he wouldn’t have to sit with this guilt for the remainder of his days.

He doesn’t know if he could live with that.

[5:49 PM]

When he gets back to the hotel, he swings the door open to an empty room, the dull sound of rushing water flowing from the bathroom. He sits down on the bed, crossing his legs.

“Don’t take too long; we’re going back to the warehouse,” he announces to the door. “We have something important to do and I wanna get it over with.”

She doesn’t reply, and he sighs, standing back up.

“Did you hear me?” He asks, raising his voice.

All he can hear is the muffled flow of the showerhead on the other side.

He frowns, and walks over to the bathroom. He knocks on the wooden frame. “Girl? You okay?”

Still no response. A prickle of anxiety starts to brew in his chest.

He can feel his hands start to shake as he knocks again, more insistently this time. “Natalie?”

He reaches to try the doorknob, but it’s locked. “Natalie!”

The fear is back, surging forward and capturing him in its inescapable depths as he pounds on the door again. She isn’t making a sound; all he can hear is the taunting noise of the running water and his fist slamming against wood. He hits it again and the door splinters with the force, slamming open and hitting the wall with a sharp crack. He stumbles forward into the bathroom, searching for her with wild eyes. And he sees her.

She’s propped against the wall of the shower, the water soaking her hair and clothes, eyes closed and face as white as sheet. She looks dead.

For one numbing moment, he stands, frozen.

Sensation flows back into his limbs and suddenly he’s dropping to his knees in front of her, confusion and panic cascading through his veins. She isn’t supposed to be this bad. Why did she get so bad so quickly?

“Natalie, wake up.” He grips her shoulders, nails digging desperately into her skin. Her hazy eyes flicker open, drawing in a choking breath. “What’s wrong? What did you do?”

Her eyes flutter closed again, and he jerks her to him. “Natalie.”

The shine of plastic catches on the edges of his vision, and he turns to it, dread pooling in his stomach.

The medication she bought. The pill bottles. They’re empty.

His heart drops, and he turns back to her with a renewed desperation, understanding exactly what she did.

He thinks back to Oregon, how she flew off that bridge without hesitation, plummeting to the water below. Back to the warehouse, when she offered up her soul like it was a piece of meat to be devoured by the monsters lurking inside of him. And now this, the third time she’s been willing to self-destruct for something as simple as his comfort.

“You can’t do this,” he says, “You can’t do this to me.”

Her mouth opens, drawing in a ragged breath. “I’m doing this for you, dummy,” she says, her words garbled, shoving him weakly away.

“No—”

“Pestilence...is right,” She says, blood draining from her face at an alarming rate. “You need time to talk to Death...best way to do that is to let me...earlier than planned...”

“No, no—”

“Give you time.”

“No.”

His fingers fly to her cold lips, trying to force their way into her throat and choke all those pills out of her. She clamps her teeth together, eyelids heavy but determined, and if not for his pounding heart splintering into his veins and cutting the sound out of his vocal chords he would have screamed until his throat was raw. Her lips are closed like she’s holding her breath, and his own comes out in broken, staggered words.

“No—no—please—”

He clutches her hand, squeezing so hard she winces. Squalls of freezing water pour over them like a hurricane, and she shudders under the showerhead.

“Natalie,” he begs, his hand cupping her cheek. She’s so stubborn it hurts, keeping poison jailed inside her until she drowns in the drugs and the illness and the icy water. “Natalie.” He tries to shove his fingers down her throat again, and she turns her head away. “Don’t,” she whispers, starting to cry. “Please, don’t.”

“I’m supposed to save you,” he says, voice lost. “I was supposed to save you this time around.”

“You still can,” Natalie mumbles. “I know you will. Just need to.... just need to get out of this mess first.”

No, no. This isn’t happening. He can still save her. He can still heal her.

And he tries; he gasps as he feels the energy leaving his body and flowing into her. “Don’t you dare, Lucifer,” she says, voice slurring, and pushes him away. “Please, you need to stop. Please, don’t.”

“I need to,” he pleads back, but he knows it’s not working; the cocktail of drugs and the crushing illness being forced on her lungs are eating up his energy like it’s nothing. Her eyes flutter shut.

Too late, something whispers in the back of his mind.

He draws his limited energy into his hand and presses it against her chest. She convulses, back arching up, before collapsing in on itself and falling onto the white plastic. Her eyes stay closed.

“No, this isn’t fair, Natalie—Natalie!”

Again, he sends a burst of light like a shockwave into her heart. Her muscles tense but still as he removes his hand. She’s not breathing. Her head arcs back, baring her throat to the ceiling.

He places his ear on her sternum.

Through the thrum of water falling on the tiles, he can’t hear a beat.

“Y-You’re kidding me,” he says to her, shaking her. “Natalie. Wake up.”

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. He never wanted it to end like this.

“Wake up.”

He pulls her to him, cradling her head. Her eyes are sealed shut, mouth slightly parted, amber fluid leaking out of the corner of her lips. She must’ve thrown up before he found her.

“Wake up,” he pleads, tucking a strand of soaked hair behind her ear. “I was supposed to save you, kid. Wake up, please.”

But of course, she doesn’t.

(He feels a part of himself break all over again.)

Once upon a time, he could destroy empires and feel nothing as they burned away to ash.

He misses that, sometimes.

Later, he carries her to the hotel bed, the water clinging to their clothes seeping into the mattress. She’s already so cold, a stark contrast to how she was burning up just hours ago. How she was for the past thirty three days. He holds her, bunching his hands in her waterlogged sweatshirt. Through the window, the sun drops beneath the horizon, light melting out of the cloudless sky. It almost seems peaceful, save for the way that he feels like grief is eating away at his lungs.

He grips her tighter.

A familiar voice breaks the silence.

“I can’t believe this. Even watching you suffer gets boring after a while.”

Lucifer keeps staring out the window as he sets Natalie down on the pillows, as gently as he can manage.

“How the fuck did you manage to pull this off?” He whispers hoarsely, turning around to face the rider of the pale horse.

“I called in a favor from an old friend,” Death says casually, leaning against a wall. “Time is always giving me souls, and in return I give it meaning. I can bend it as I wish. We have a healthy, symbiotic existence together.”

He smiles, teeth clacking together.

“Unlike you and poor Natalie over there.”

Lucifer stiffens.

“She gave up so much for you, and what do you give her as thanks?” Death continues, unfolding his arms. “Nothing, except…Well, you see how your friendship played out in her favor.” He gestures towards her lifeless body.

Blood rushes into his head, prickling like a thousand needles stabbing into his skin.

“Just kill me,” he says, and if he can hear the slightly crazed tone in his voice, Death certainly can as well. “Just kill me, and bring her back, and leave her out of it.”

Death seems to consider it, but shrugs. “Tempting, but I’m not done with you yet.”

“What do you fucking mean?” Lucifer hisses, reaching to grab him by his stupid cloak. “What else can you fucking do to me?”

“Get your hands off me, asshole!” Death says, shoving him away. “Time loops are getting awfully dull and you’re getting even more boring. I think I might just start fresh, wipe your memory and let the cards fall as they may.”

He turns to leave, his cloak catching the air around his skeletal legs.

“Wait,” Lucifer demands.

Death stops, still facing the door.

“I told you that you can kill me. I’m giving you my head on a silver platter and you’re just going to leave? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Death turns back to him, a gaping, hollow grin splitting his face in two. “Why would you think I would leave for good, Lucifer? I have so many other games I’d like to play with you.” He pauses. “I think Russian roulette sounds fun.”

Lucifer automatically takes a step back, clenching his fists until his palms start to bleed.

“Just set it back,” he whispers. “You can have my life. Just make it go away.”

If possible, Death’s smile gets wider.

“Now you’re speaking my language. I’ll see you tomorrow, Lucifer.” He turns to leave. “Not that you’ll know it.”

“Wait—”

He doesn’t get to finish, because as Death walks away something shifts and suddenly he and the hotel room and Natalie’s body are all gone, the universe turning on it’s side like a spinning coin, time and memories slipping through his fingers like reversing gears, muffled words wisping through his head like gusts of wind.

Wake up. Please.

If I were you, I would just kill myself and end it already.

I can’t leave her.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

Natalie.

[8:24 AM]

There’s a strange ache in his chest when he wakes up, and he doesn’t know why.

#satan and me #my writing #'i'm going to post this tomorrow' i say #i'm a fucking liar i'm sorry #suicide tw #ostinato

[hermionejean]

i just watched all along the watchtower and need to rant (about both the episode and season 12 in general) but i’ll put it under the cut so i won’t spoil anything for those of you who haven’t seen it yet

ok so first of all, let’s talk about deaths that fucking destroyed me:

1. cas, obviously. they better bring him back in s13, and i mean actually bring him back, not as a ghost or in flashbacks or whatever like they did with bobby.

2. crowley!! my man!! my dude!! what the fuck!! and mark said he isn’t coming back, so i guess that was the end of one of the best villains on the show.

3. rowena oh my god i absolutely loved her why did they kill her of??? i was so excited that she seemed to be making more appearances and i am absolutely heartbroken that she’s gone.

4. eileen fucking leahy. there was absolutely no reason to kill her off. i was thrilled that they brought her back for s12, but i would have rather they have left her out than killed her.

5. billie the reaper. whatever the consequences killing her and breaking the deal might have had obviously never happened.they just tried to pretend she never existed.

6. tasha banes. she didn’t get to live long enough for us to get to know much about her. she didn’t even survive five goddamned minutes of an episode. i’m highkey pissed.

i honestly feel like none of their deaths were necessary?? it was cruel to kill off cas, crowley, and rowena in the same episode. and of course, i’m really upset that spn has continued iys trend of killing off all the female characters.

now let’s talk about mary:

i was super pumped for her return, and I loved her in the first few episodes she was in. but as soon as she made the decision to leave...yikes. we’d previously been told she gave up hunting after she married john and would do anything to keep her family safe (including make deals with demons). it seemed to me that she would do anything to protect her family. so her leaving her sons alone and teaming up with the people who kidnapped and tortured sam was rather unbelievable to me. and the writers had to know this was a huge continuity error because they wrote an entire episode (asa fox) whose sole purpose appeared to be to alter mary’s character to that of someone much more ruthless who could never give up hunting. i thought they completely butchered her character and turned her into someone she never was. this made so many people hate her when they shouldn’t have. she wasn’t a bad person, she was a victim of poor writing and leaving her in the alternate world with lucifer was the last straw for me. if she ends up dead again i will be furious. i am disgusted that the writers took such a strong, complex, and amazing female character and absolutely destroyed her.

and now for the season 12 main villains:

1. the boml. really?? if you can’t think of a better villain than the fucking british, you should take that as a sign that your show shouldn’t continue.

2. lucifer. again, really?? if you have to recycle old villains because you’ve run out of new ones, you should take that as another sign your show needs to end.

3. lucifer’s kid. seriously, what the fuck. this was a stupid idea and shouldn’t have happened.

other things i didn’t like:

1. the nazi subplot. never liked it, never understood it, hope it never comes back.

2. exaggerating character traits that disappeared seasons ago. dean acted kind of gross and stupid a lot (ie: no swimsuit in the pool, wearing the same underwear for days) and flirted/slept with with more people than he had in ages. sam was constantly shown as a total nerd who was disgusted with dean’s behavior. it seemed like they were trying to make the characters act like they did in season 1, but they exaggerated it a lot more. maybe they were going for a comic effect, but i thought it was just annoying. sam and dean have matured and grown as characters and i think that was a really good thing. 

3. too much focus on the overarching plot. i really like standalone episodes, and was seriously disappointed there weren’t more of them.

anyway, i thought the entire season was rather poorly written. it was cringey to watch at times, and if i weren’t so emotionally invested in the characters i would have abandoned the show ages ago. 

as far as i’m concerned, spn probably should have ended about 6 seasons ago like it was supposed to. after season 5, the writers seemed to either completely give up or try too hard, and the plot has gotten more and more ridiculous as the years have gone by. at this point, they’ve run out of good villains, but they’re still convinced they need a Big Bad to make the show interesting. for me, that’s not true.

all i want is a season that doesn’t have an overarching storyline. i want completely independent episodes where the boys solve random monster cases like they did in season 1. i want the show to go back to its roots, to abandon the looming apocalypse plots, and to properly develop its characters.

i thought that was what season 12 would be. i thought the first few episodes would be them saving sam from the bmol and locking lucifer back in the cage, and the rest of the season would be sam, dean, cas, and mary healing together and working out how to be a family. i was severely disappointed. i can hope that season 13 will be like that, but i don’t think it’s likely.

though i still love the characters with all my heart, i don’t think i love the show anymore. i want to rewatch some old episodes so i can remember how it used to be and remind myself why i watched it in the first place. aside from the characters, it is pretty much unrecognizable from what it was originally. supernatural is no longer the show it once was, and what it is now is not the show i fell in love with. it’s had a good run, but i think it needs to end soon.

#god that was long #spn #s12 spoilers