helllfiresam replied to your post “im always so amused when people refer to my job as easy, like i gotta...”
Your kids literally sound like if Lucifer, Lilith, and Amara somehow could have children together and then those children were raised by Ruby, Brady, Meg, and Bartholomew
it’s nuts man, this week we had a two day fight between two kids because kid A told all the other kids that he and kid B fight all the time and kid B claimed he was lying abt it and then wrote a savage as fuck message on the chalkboard about having no friends because kid A is a liar
helllfiresam replied to your post “helllfiresam replied to your post:A sort-of follow up to this. ...”
i will forever headcanon those cat names for him now specifically bc of those quotes. also "fixing the earth because his father won't" /character development/
at first i considered lucifer having a reticulated python, and then a shepherd mix. but then i was like, i think lucifer would like cats because they’re low maintenance and for the most part mind their own business. except naturally he gets two of the most dramatic cats in existence and finds he really likes it when they purr because cats like to tell you when they’re happy and it’s not annoying like barking and he likes that
i think if lucifer ever got over his pride he would be like “i can make humans better than u dad” and would be like okay so i’m gonna FIX THE SHIT OUT OF THEM because they’re broken and flawed because god made them that way, if that makes sense?? so naturally he’d be like “fuck these buggy little lag monsters im gonna reverse engineer this shit”
also lucifer being obsessed with math is my new fav and i fucking hate math but like. figuring out how to describe the things that humans don’t know for sure about, because he DOES know for sure about them. being like “let me teach you all the things” and getting so frustrated about finding a way to make them understand it in words, and he can’t in words, so he does in math. pls imagine lucifer meeting stephen hawking and them just blowing each others’ minds like “look how smart this human is look what it figured out on its own how does it do that why are some of them interesting and others really useless”
also lucifer on a crusade to understand human behavior, and getting a PhD in psych in the process
lucifer being like “i was the angel of music here is my PhD in classical music and performance in three different instruments”
lucifer like “what do you mean i can’t use grace for welding here is my honorary PhD in mechanical engineering from CalTech aka one of the most legendary schools known to america”
lucifer like “i have personally decided that cancer is bullshit and its days are numbered”
Lucifer gets his own vessel from Chuck, one that will hold him for the long run. Sam and Dean no longer need him around to fight Amara because one way or another, the fight is over, and Chuck still can’t let Lucifer come back to Heaven (not that Lucifer even wants to, considering how reviled he is there, and probably always will be), so he leaves.
He wanders, aimlessly at first. He’s wanted nowhere, and he hates everyone, but he doesn’t get tired, and he doesn’t know how to drive, and he has all the time in the world, so he walks. He has a wallet in his pocket with fake papers and IDs, because Chuck can make people out of nowhere, but the Winchesters can make identities, so they did. Didn’t ask what he was going to do with it, and he wouldn’t have had an answer, anyway.
He doesn’t run the fifty states, but he walks them. Sam doesn’t want him, and the only person in the world Lucifer had ever held any regard for was Sam, anyway. Of course, that time isn’t... well, it isn’t gone, but Sam doesn’t need him, now, and Lucifer figures maybe he doesn’t need Sam, either. Not right now. And with God back in the picture, Lucifer can’t hurt anyone, anyway.
So he stops at bars, and he drinks when he wants to. Has a little cash. Stealing from humans is laughably easy, but he isn’t malignant about it—he’s too tired to be petty about things, anymore. Mostly, he takes cash from those that look like they can afford it, but he doesn’t do it often. Just enough to try a little food here and there, and to drink water, and to get a new, used pair of shoes at the thrift stores when the soles drop out of his last pair. His feet don’t get tired, but rubber doesn’t hold up quite as well as an archangel.
He hikes. He walks through the woods and gets weird looks from those who see he has no supplies. He vehemently rejects charity at first, until he realizes that sometimes people just... want to help. He’s sore about saying the words thank you, but he learns to say them when someone offers a water bottle, a compass, a utility knife. He uses the word sorry the first time he trips and runs into someone, spills out before he can stop it. Smiles for the first time when a stranger’s dog runs up on him on the Appalachian Trail and licks his hand and wags its tail at him, and knows that he’s changed in that moment, for an animal to not be afraid of him.
But he keeps walking. Takes in the sunrises in the morning, drops of dew on the leaves, learns the difference between wet and dry, and which he prefers. He observes the rain, the fog, the snow, and learns how to talk to people without making them look nervous about it. He learns when to identify that his vessel needs a haircut, or to sit down, or to close his eyes—these things don’t really impact Lucifer greatly, but they make his life a little bit easier.
He learns from humans. He learns how to speak their languages, to play their instruments. He learns how to write the language of the universe in letters and numbers, and how to take concepts he’s always understood and turn it into strings of mathematical equations that boggle minds when he tries to talk about them. He finds a professor from a university in a bar in Boston and has a six-hour conversation about dark matter before the man insists that Lucifer apply as a student to MIT. Since he doesn’t need to sleep and always understands and always remembers, he gets tired of the human track. It takes him three months to understand how to use a computer, but only another six to finish four years of undergrad and a Master’s degree in theoretical physics.
He finishes his PhD in a year, only because he’s limited to lab hours, and has to prove on the physical plane, in a way that humans can understand, the rules his Father had written into being before the Earth existed. He nearly gets arrested by the FBI when he builds a particle accelerator in his on-campus housing dorm, and the RN thought it was a bomb. Lucifer doesn’t know it, but he’s on multiple domestic and international terror watch lists from that point on.
He likes academia, but he grows tired of Boston, so he decides to go to the West Coast. When his colleagues ask how he’ll get there, he tells them he plans on walking. This is how, in a Boston suburb, in his professor’s Lexus, Lucifer learns how to drive a car.
Driving is much faster than walking, though it was as confining as Castiel had once mentioned—however, it allowed moving personal belongings in a way that wasn’t questioned, and Lucifer found he liked that. Driving also allows Lucifer to go to and from academic conferences as he pleases, as well as easily scaling mountains, and visiting beautiful places. Lucifer understands within a month of getting his own car why Sam and Dean always liked the Impala so much.
He learns mechanics in Illinois when his car breaks down, and ends up spending two weeks there learning to take apart and reconstruct everything about most motorized vehicles from the ground up. He builds his first solar-powered engine a month later when he gets tired of filling his car up with gasoline. When he reaches California, a man sees his modified car, and teaches him how to file a patent, and how to set up a bank account. In a number of months, he’s sold his design to GMC, and Lucifer never has to steal again. He’s awarded an honorary PhD in Mechanical Engineering from CalTech by the end of the year.
Five years after leaving the Bunker, Lucifer has a condo, a thriving career in Silicon Valley, and four doctorates (the latter two being in Human Psychology and Music & Performing Arts). One week after the five year mark, Chuck knocks on his door.
He looks the same. A little wary as always, and honestly surprised when Lucifer’s rescue cat goes shooting out from under the kitchen table and into the depths of his home, startled and threatened by the presence of The Almighty in the entryway.
“You have a cat?” he says.
Lucifer replies evenly, “I thought you knew everything.” He turns, and Chuck follows him in.
“Apparently not,” Chuck says. “What’s its name?”
“His name is Friedrich Nietzsche,” Lucifer answers. “Do you want a glass of water?”
They talk. It’s uncomfortable, but it’s civil. Lucifer has pictures on his walls—some are artwork, some are photographs of him and his colleagues. Some are his diplomas. Some are academic awards. Chuck looks at each and every one of them, but looks longest at the ones where Lucifer is with others, sometimes with a casual arm slung around the people he can now call friends. He’s smiling in almost all of them, and in the ones he isn’t, he’s looking, gesturing, talking.
Chuck goes quiet as he looks at them, and Lucifer doesn’t push. He wonders at the bittersweet things his Father must be feeling, but Lucifer has no children of his own, so he doesn’t know for sure how it feels to be a parent. Especially not a parent on the same scale the way that Chuck is.
“Things are better, now, in Heaven,” Chuck says after a while. “I came here to... to tell you that you can come home, if you want.”
“If it’s all the same to you, I think I’d rather stay,” Lucifer says. He’s surprised to learn that he means it.
“Yeah,” Chuck says. “That’s what Castiel said, too.”
“Will you...” and Lucifer hesitates. It’s to his own credit that he’s thought about this for a long time, and has the courage to ask. “Will you please... bring Michael home? Now that things are better?”
Chuck turns. He stares. Lucifer’s gaze is even and steady, and he’s not angry. Michael never deserved the Cage. Neither did Lucifer, but. Lucifer understands now, how looking long into an abyss can change a person.
“You’re different,” Chuck says.
“So are you,” Lucifer answers.
“I think I’m really just the same,” Chuck replies, but this time, Lucifer doesn’t believe him.
Chuck agrees to bring Michael home. Lucifer decides to stay.
A year later, Lucifer has a second cat named J. Robert Oppenheimer, and is halfway through a fifth doctorate in Molecular Biology, because if you can’t beat them, learn about them. He’ll admit that it’s that natural pride kicking in with the desire to take what his father made, and make them better. But really better. To cure them of the bombs his Father had left behind in their genetic code. But rather than a goal out of spite, it feels like something better.
On a lazy Saturday evening, he gets another visitor.
It’s Sam.
Lucifer wears glasses now, and understands how to pretend to be human. Before Sam says anything to him, he stares for a while at Lucifer’s pressed button-down and khaki slacks, and his socked feet that have a calico hairball stuck to the toe. Lucifer holds open the door, and leaves it open behind him when he enters, and closes only the screen door instead, because he knows that a clear window to the outside will feel less threatening to Sam than the heavy door of his condo. And the weather is nice, anyway; the cats like to watch the birds.
He gets Sam a beer without asking, and rather than opening it himself, hands the opener to Sam with the bottle. It’s sealed; it’s safe. Little, non-threatening gestures that say trust me even though Lucifer knows he never will. Not after everything.
Sam is silent for a long time, even longer than Chuck was at first. Lucifer doesn’t mind, and doesn’t push. He doesn’t linger, either. He leaves Sam alone in his kitchen and heads to the living room, back to the medical journal he was reading on his laptop before Sam knocked on his door. He thinks that after this, he might try his hand at actual medical school. He doesn’t know if it’s undue pride to think of all the lives he might be able to save with his superior sight and preternatural senses.
After a while, he knows Sam is watching him. He waits patiently, but is candid when Oppenheimer comes to him, yowling for scritches. He and Nietzsche share a propensity for dramatics, but Oppenheimer was a little more demanding for attention. He picks up his cat and holds him on his lap while he cross-references the bi-annual journal with a supplementary article, and jots notes in shorthand into an open notebook sitting nearby.
“You almost make that look normal,” Sam says, and it’s the first thing he’s said to Lucifer in more than five years.
“It’s my life now,” Lucifer says simply. “This is my normal.”
“And you’re happy like this?”
Lucifer doesn’t know that he’s ever been happy in his life. “It passes the time. Academia keeps me busy.”
“It’s cheating.”
“My interest is genuine.” Lucifer shrugs, and puts his cat down. He looks over at Sam, and notes the sparse strands of gray in his hair, and the new scars on his hands and around his hairline, where he’s doubtlessly spent the years that have passed being thrown to Hell and back by all sorts of creatures, alongside his brother. “I want to give back as much as I’ve taken. I figure I have the time.”
“Your achievements won’t last,” Sam says, and sounds a little snide. “People will notice you aren’t aging. You’ll have to give up all the things you’ve gotten.”
Lucifer shrugs. “Maybe they won’t remember me as me. But the things I do will carry forward. They’ll last, even when I don’t.” He makes another note, another thought that’s been carrying on in the back of his conscious mind, always operating on more planes than humans could fathom, let alone follow. He doesn’t really care if Sam has come here to be angry. Lucifer is too old, too tired, too busy to be angry anymore. Though the thought of Sam being angry at him doesn’t bother him, the thought of Sam staying angry in general makes him sigh. Sam deserves more peace than an angry life.
“You’re not how I remember,” Sam says to him. He’s still hovering in the doorway, frowning just a little. That morally superior look is gone, and Lucifer wonders if it were genuine in the first place, or an attempt to push his buttons and elicit a response. He expects that Sam wouldn’t be here now if Chuck hadn’t spoken to him, though the reason why escapes him. Humans like to test things, many times at their own risk, especially those things they don’t believe. Lucifer thinks that this, he might be one of those things.
After all, how could Sam of all people possibly believe that Lucifer could change?
“Michael came to me,” Sam says then. “To Cas first. Said that you had asked God to bring him home.”
Lucifer doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know what Sam would want him to say, anyway. He looks up, looks out the window to the sunset spilling across the sky. He’s glad for the confirmation that Michael is out of the Cage. He wonders, now that Chuck has the time and resources, if his Father will bring back Gabriel and Raphael. He finds he doesn’t know if he wants to know.
“And then he. Told me...” Sam fades out into silence. And then Lucifer hears his footsteps, as he finally enters the living room, and sits in the chair across from Lucifer directly. Lucifer can feel the pressure of Sam’s gaze on him, and meets it because he knows Sam wants him to. “He told me the truth. About the Cage. About what he did.”
Lucifer closes his eyes. He would have been just as happy to let Sam carry on thinking that Lucifer was the real monster of the worlds. But Michael, of course, who hadn’t even confronted him yet—of course, noble Michael would be on his own journey, to confront his own sins and make amends.
“He said it was him that tortured me. And that he liked to pretend to be you when he did it. And that you... didn’t.”
Lucifer still says nothing, though he does open his eyes and look at Sam again. Sam’s jaw is set, and his eyes are determined, just like Lucifer remembers in Detroit. But this time, there is none of the fear.
“He says you never touched me. And you know what? That’s what Chuck said, too. Except you let me believe that you did. You wanted me to believe that you did.”
Lucifer shrugs, though it isn’t the easy thing it usually is, because his indifference is a thin veneer over his resignation. “You always had faith in Michael, in my Father. You prayed to them, once. I didn’t see why I should take that away from you.”
“No,” Sam says, short and even. “That’s not it.”
“Then what is it?” Lucifer asks, and levels Sam with a neutral look.
“You told me once. All sorts of things. Things I didn’t want to believe, and things that terrified me, but—things. About how we were connected. The sort of things that Amara told Dean. And I never realized until I was on the outside looking in, because she meant those things. And Dean still hasn’t been the same since she’s been gone. Those things you told me—they were the same things she told him. And if she meant them, I think maybe you meant them, too.” Sam leans forward, his elbows on his knees, his fingers folded together over the beer bottle. “And after, I thought they were lies because I thought that, since you hurt me, they never could have been true. But you didn’t hurt me, did you? Which means that never lying to me, never tricking me—that was real.”
Lucifer breathes out through his nose.
Sam’s eyes narrow. “You never wanted me to know, did you? After all the things you said, you gave up on me.”
“No,” Lucifer says simply. “I’ve never given up on you. But I gave up on being with you. You didn’t need me then. You don’t need me now.”
He stands, and closes the laptop. The journal can wait, and will still be there later. Lucifer doesn’t know where he wants to go, but he knows that he needs to move, because he doesn’t want Sam to keep looking at him like that. So he goes back to the kitchen and gets himself a glass of water, and tries not to feel cornered when Sam follows him.
“You haven’t said anything about you not needing me,” Sam says.
Lucifer takes a sip. He sets the glass down. “I know better than to ask.” He glances at the pictures on his fridge, of himself with his colleagues. At their weddings, with their children. Lucifer has a godson, now. He will never admit to Sam or Dean or Michael or Chuck how much he adores that child. He has a life here, one that has let him rebuild himself. He thinks that he likes himself better as Doctor Nick Lucian Foster than he ever liked himself as Lucifer.
Sam sees the picture. Before Lucifer can protest, he’s standing next to him and taking the photo off the fridge. He holds it in his hands and stares at it for a long time, of Lucifer standing next to the couple, holding their newborn son.
Lucifer breathes. So does Sam. Then he asks, “What’s his name?”
“Oliver Rennert,” Lucifer says. “Firstborn son of Doctors Jeremy and Kate Rennert. Jeremy is a colleague of mine in Mechanical Engineering and works for a subsidiary of Google. Kate is a professor of Medieval Literature. They’re good people.”
Sam nods and carefully places the picture back on the fridge. He looks at all the rest, from saved wedding invitations to group candids.
“You’re a good person, too,” Sam says. Lucifer shakes his head, and Sam turns to face him. “I looked you up. I’ve been following your research for a while. I was waiting for the other shoe to drop the second you left and it never did. Half the things you’ve written I don’t even understand, but I know they’re big. But none of that matters, not compared to this.” Sam gestures at the life on the fridge in pictures, the frames on the walls. “You made something. You made it yourself. And it’s good, Lucifer. It’s good.”
Lucifer closes his eyes.
He hasn’t heard his name in years.
Sam touches his arm. Lucifer stays very still.
“I’m going to Stanford Law,” Sam says then. “Dean’s doing Forensic Science at CalState East Bay. Cas is working on some research project tracking bee colonies—I don’t even really know, truth be told.”
“What about hunting?” Lucifer asks, and opens his eyes. The thought that Sam is so close, lives so close by, and has been so close for a while, is a thought he can’t even fully process.
“There will always be hunters,” Sam replies. “And there’ll always be hunting. But Dean broke his leg last year and I convinced him to give this a try. We’re getting too old to keep at it without dying. And there’s still stuff I want to do. I just... I know now, that Dean’s always gonna be with me to do it. We both want to help people. There are other ways to do it.”
Lucifer nods. He looks at the glass of water and just... processes.
“I’m glad,” he says finally, and means it. “That you’re getting what you wanted, Sam.”
Sam nods. “It’s taken a while to figure out what that was,” he admits.
The moment stretches. Lucifer waits.
Sam huffs.
“You should visit,” Sam says, and pulls a piece of paper from his pocket and pushes it into Lucifer’s hand.
Lucifer stares at it, then back at Sam. “You would want that?”
“Yes,” Sam says, and looks him straight in the eyes as he does. He doesn’t flinch.
Lucifer doesn’t breathe.
He looks down. “What about Castiel? I hope that... my presence didn’t... adversely affect him.”
“Cas is fine. In fact, this was Cas’ idea,” Sam says. He looks back at the pictures on Lucifer’s fridge. “I wasn’t sure. But now I am. We’re having dinner tomorrow at the house—Sunday lasagna. I want you to come.” He nods, almost to himself, and turns back to Lucifer. “Bring more pictures of your friends, and of Oliver. Okay?”
Lucifer nods in return. He looks at the paper in his hand, at Sam’s handwriting. He doesn’t know how he feels yet, but he reaches around Sam to attach it to the fridge with a magnet, right next to Oliver’s picture.
helllfiresam replied to your post:helllfiresam replied to your...
100% A+ @ the mulan reference ALSO your hair fits it perfectly, her hair kinda looked like that when she was younger i think??? not sure if she wears shoes on the show tho i’m sure that amara the queen of everything wouldn’t really care about shoes
oh my god thank you for catching my mulan reference,,,, idk i just got my bangs cut like literally yesterday and im still pretty weird about them but they ended up cooperating and when all is said and done my hair behaves a LOOOT like amara’s is styled on the show and with a little help when it’s longer and some sun this summer i don’t think i’d need a wig at all which is always a plus when cosplaying tho VERY RARE
im pretty sure she didn’t wear shoes for a while though i’m sure i could always get some minimal sandals to comply with con rules if i can’t scope out what shoes she wears in the meantime. i mean huge force of darkness doesn’t have to worry about tetanus but she was walking around what looked like an abandoned missile silo and lots of abandoned warehouses
tho looking at the gif of her i just showed my cousin im pretty sure amara also doesn’t wear a bra which makes total sense for her as a character but how does she even exisT
helllfiresam replied to your photo:sssoooooooooOOOOOOO what do y’all think?? the net...
dude! holy shit! yesssssss you look just like her!
fffffFFFFFF I DON'T KNOW ABOUT THAT
but omg thank you friend i was literally sitting here contemplating my love of amara and i was like “wait..... i have this dress. i have that dress. WHERE IS THE DRESS I MUST IMMEDIATELY FIND THE DRESS” and it’s not quiiiiite as low cut tho it might be if i hadn’t worn such an excellently structured bra but amara is all about that cleavage too. and then my closet cosplay instinct kicked in i can’t control it u feel me. sometimes u just get the urge and you HAVE TO KILL SOMETHING COSPLAY SOMEONE
i was gonna wear my wig but i was like “nah the wig is way too dark even tho it’s the right length might as well go with my hair i know how that shit works” and now im actually considering this
Sam remembers exactly when he started smoking. (September of this past year, in the bed of a pick up truck, ash tapped off the edge, smoke blown between hard kisses, the taste of snow cones and strawberries on the others’ lips.) He’s never told Dean. Sixteen and he sneaks out behind whatever dirty hotel room they’ve found themselves in to light up, white smoke curling out from his lips and slowly rising into the night sky. Tonight, he looks up at the moon, a crescent next to the light of the stars, the smoke rising to obscure his vision, and thinks of the boy who started his new night time habit.
-months ago-
Lucifer stood up from the cab of his pickup, cocky smile on his face as he raises his face to the sky. “I am a god among men!” He beams at the sound of Sam’s breathless laughter. “I, Lucas Benjamin Alex Light aka Lucifer, have befriended the most kind person known to man!”
Sam tilts his head back into the blankets as he laughs. “No I’m not Lu, stop telling the universe lies.” He smacks the other with his hand until Lucifer get back down to lay beside him. “And I thought that you were more than my friend.”
Lucifer reaches over to cup Sam’s cheek, curling his fingers in Sam’s hair. “I am, but I like to think that I’m friends with you too. Or is that a misjudgment?”
Sam rolls his eyes, ignores answering in favor of moving forward to kiss him. It’s Sam’s lead, always Sam’s lead unless Sam presses the right buttons. Kiss him, bite his bottom lip, sneak your fingers under his shirt to his hips, moan when he pulls Sam’s hair. So Sam does, in just the right order, and then Lucifer is half on top of him, kissing him into blankets, the metal, the very earth until all Sam knows is Lucifer and himself until he gets the chance to breathe and ground himself again.
“You, Sam Winchester, will be the death of me.” Then Lucifer kisses him again, slower this time, pulling back before Sam has the chance to get nearly breathless enough.
“No fair.”
“You’re still sixteen. I may be a twenty one year old willing to skirt the rules for kissing and occasionally fondling your balls, but we’re not. No matter how much you ask.”
“He’ll move me again Lucifer. I need something to remember you by.”
“And losing your virginity is the best parting gift.” Lucifer rolls his eyes, but he leans in and kisses him breathless again. “You know, I have another idea.”
Sam rolls to look at him. “More kissing? A really good hickey? What?”
“A habit I picked up at sixteen.” He stretches, pulling the lighter and the cigarettes from his leather jacket. “I’d shotgun, but cigarettes are all about the inhale.”
Sam freezes, hand half outreached. “He’ll kill me.”
“No, he won’t, and he doesn’t have to find out. One cigarette won’t kill you, I don’t think.” Lucifer moves, pressing kisses along Sam’s neck. “Our thing. Something neither of our fathers or siblings can get into. Even if it’s just this moment.”
Sam makes a slightly embarrassing noise at the kisses on his neck, but takes a few breaths to speak. “Every moment with you is like that Lucifer. Every one.”
“Then this is just one more.” Pulling back, he lights up, taking the first drag, exhaling into the night sky before offering it. Sam hesitates for ten seconds, thirty, but then he takes it, taking a small inhale and coughing a little at the feel in his throat. Lucifer smiles. “Simple.” He knocks the ash off the truck edge, offering it to Sam again. “One more go?”
This time, Sam inhales deeper, lets the smoke into the sky, and pushes forward to kiss Lucifer again. ‘You’re amazing.”
Lucifer traces the edge of his face with his fingers, and in the gentlest voice. “No. No that would be you.”
-now-
Sam sighs, grinding his cigarette on the concrete beneath his boot, spending a second to stare at the sky and miss him. Really miss him like the ache in his hands and the smoke in his lungs. Turning, he starts heading back to the room, stilling as a car pulls up and in, headlights still on. Sam is still blinking away the images on his retina by the time the other is out of the car. “Hello Sam. Did you miss me?” Then Lucifer pulls him in for a kiss.
