#mcrningstar

[raybanstm]

i’m sorry but the contrast between colin doing everything in his limitless power to love lucifer ( @mcrningstar​ ) with all of his heart and not be too much and cradle his healing heart in his hands and kiss his knuckles and name his every freckle and just the devotion to being wonderful for him. vs. phoenix sending this to lucifer at 4:56am on a tuesday:

it’s fucking sending me, guys. it’s really killing me.

[eiiidetica]

for @mcrningstar​ !

emily was happy to be able to use her knowledge and hidden skills for good. after moving to los angeles, the lapd and her had built some a bit of a working relationship. when they needed help on a case, emily could get called and she’d do whatever it was to help them. they called it a civilian consultant, whatever that meant. today was no different, but the tall man standing at her doorway absolutely was. “oh my god,” she whispered as her heart practically jumped through her throat. “does the lapd just not knock anymore? i mean seriously, is that part of the job description?” 

[hellshoundtm]

the night has crossed that vague border into early morning; there are only a few stragglers left around the bar. lucifer sits at the piano, playing something soft and melancholy. dark lashes curl on their cheeks, eyes closed as their fingers find the keys by memory alone, a small crease between brows as their body sways to the rhythm.

sometimes lux changes when the moon yawns and starts to lower outside, when the vampires have to end their playtime and return home and sleep until the next sunset. only a few critters actually remain and they aren’t really conversing; energies low, party thoroughly burned through them. drinks have been absorbed. songs have been sung. bodies have danced to their deepest content. for hours, lux is filled with laughter and cheering and the heat of bodies but now things are different   —   now things lull into something that most of the crowd don’t ever get to see or feel. gone. they are home in their beds, by now. dreaming. blue gets to do the same thing but he’s awake when it happens, when fingers move over ivory and obsidian and play something that soothes him like nothing else. lucifer has this ability   —   it’s more impressive than the one that draws out people’s desires; the one where he calms the fires in him and pulls him into a very specific kind of tranquility. relaxed, he’s watching lights on the ceiling while the devil plays chopin   —   able to see him move out of the corner of his eye where he’s laying on the booth behind the piano. one leg is stretched out but he has his other foot planted on the floor to help keep things from spinning. it’s a tender thing, having the devil play a lullaby to some of their most faithful servants. the bar is quiet. every note echoes and blue can feel his body grow heavy in a way that is familiar   —   eyes closing. if he allowed it, he could drift off like this. but he won’t. no. blue only sleeps when lucifer is beside him now, only truly rests his head when there is no work to be done. this is a release, on the devil’s part   —   this is expression and blue listens with his whole heart. every note. and he wonders, as he so often does. he wonders about lucifer, about homesickness   —   and about what it’s like to lose the love of another. he wonders about the weight that the devil carries daily, wonders about things like phantom pains and gorgeous wings stored away where nobody can find them. he wonders about the stars that are fading outside and he wonders if the ash is still falling the way it used to down below. he wonders, idle, how long they will stay here   —   how long lucifer will allow him to remain at their side. he wonders if lucifer truly understands that he would be willing to do it, forever. that he knows nothing else and wants nothing else. he wonders, as his devil plays, if he knows how much he loves them  —   if he will have a chance to show them all the little ways before the sun blots itself out. he wonders, as perfect hands play the piano and the hellhound’s emotions, if they will ever truly settle down. if they will ever do the strange things that humans do, if they will ever try the white-picket fence. he wonders about things like last names, about how he does not have one and is only interested in taking one on like a spouse. it makes him smile   —  he almost chuckles at the thought, at how fucking silly it sounds. blue morningstar. it’s ridiculous and yet the nocturne makes him actually think about it, makes him realize that he’s already wearing the fucking ring; it’s just bigger, just around his neck instead. humans don’t get that. they don’t understand that he’s already dropped to his knee in servitude   —   that the vows are carved into his skin and in the way they match fabric or notes when they perform together. what they have hasn’t been experienced on earth by anyone else and blue knows as much as notes slow down, as he exhales and allows himself to think the name one more time. a secret wish, his heart too big. something to go down in one of his notebooks where he writes all his songs about them   —   words he’s never sung, notes he’s never played. the song is almost finished when the hound boosts himself up and steps over the small distance required to reach them. to get to piano. the smile on his face is small   —   fond. he’s slow as he moves, as he lowers himself to wrap arms around shoulders from behind. a lover’s embrace. for a moment, he stays like that   —   face simply buried in hair, eyes closed. full. so full of so much that sometimes he doesn’t know where to put it. there was a time when he thought he knew what he wanted, a time when he and charlemagne picked out the place at the docks and they all insisted he get the biggest room   —   that he stay there, but it’s been a moment since he’s stepped foot in that space. it’s been a moment since he’s played the role he made for himself when he popped topside. time goes into lucifer, now. they sleep through the mornings, sometimes   —   rise late in the afternoon and raise hell all night. the boys miss him. he knows. he knows that he doesn’t have the same amount of time with them, that they will eventually die of old age or at the hand of some foolishness   —   but he doesn’t know how to be anything else, anymore. since the letters found his chest, something changed in him. something he doesn’t want to lose. something he needs, in order to be at his best. he will lose them all, eventually. someday even the docks won’t be the same but lucifer’s freckles will all be in the same place and his mouth with find them and cherish them with the same adoration   —   with the same love as the first time he was able to actually touch them. against lucifer, he sighs. so content. so absolutely complete.

“let’s get you to bed, love. i can hear you’re tired. i can feel it   ---   your heart’s slowed. i know because mine matches, now. all the time.” he stays close, though. it’s hard to pull away from them and he kisses lightly at the back of his neck. adoring. the first of what will be several kisses goodnight. within the hour he knows he’ll be in the devil’s arms   ---   pressed close like this, but somehow softer. safe. whole. where he’s always needed to be. home is changing, little by little and he doesn’t quite know it   ---   hasn’t quite figured it out. not yet. but some things, he understands well enough. sometimes lux changes. and sometimes, that’s for the better. it’s the same for him, too.

[endbrought]

Luci & Malachi 🤝  scaring Rodrick.

[endexe]

                                     ❝   I told you to stay put !   ❞                                                                    —   @mcrningstar​​

❝   But it - it was - it was soooo BORING to just stay in the sha- sha- shadow while you got to do the co- do the COOLER part !   ❞   The glitch shoots back as they stare at the direction that the suspect ran off to , sitting on the surface with shaky , bloody hand over the wound through the shoulder .   They were itching to do or say something   —    ANYTHING while Lucifer was trying to get answers out of the suspect .   Of course , the excitement got to them when they noticed the suspect had a gun in his back pocket .   They thought they could snatch it off of him and aim it at his face as to force him to give Lucifer the details he needed , though their clumsiness gave their presence away and . . .  well , the rest is history .   

They wave their hand off as if to put the inconvenience to the side  , grimacing at a sharp throb in them .   ❝   You can lea- you can leave me here and catch him .   I - I - I will be fine , Luci , I faced worst than thi- worst than this .   ❞   they reassure him before they try to stand up .   Their body twitches violently at the hot pain shooting through them and they fall back to the surface with a pained whine .   The bullet wound will heal by itself , so Lucifer should not worry about them at all .   [   Truly , they had been in many positions even worst than Hell itself .   ]

[fortitudina]

     He’s just watching the interaction between his brother and their Father from his seat, wondering how long it’ll take for Lucifer to yell.

[deathlessdamned]

TONY THE TIGER

[eternaltm]

he is kneeling, blood on his hands and his face, white shirt stained red. some of it is his; most is the hunter’s. ❛ i — had to. i needed to protect you. he was going to hurt you, and i … i couldn’t let that happen. ❜ bloody palms upturned like an offering. ❛ i did this for you. ❜

     jupiter came for my entire ass and i have thought of nothing else sense. buckle in.

they have come for him BEFORE, suspicious. they have asked their questions. demanded explanations that he did NOT have. dangerous. the museum he owns is a neon sign to hunters and he’s known that for a while, has crossed that bridge again and again. the wood of it weakens each time, the stream beneath more and more angry with each pass   ---   waters dark. before he knew what he was, before lucifer came to him like a dream, colin FEARED those depths but now he knows that the murky black is not a threat to HIM but to those who make him a TARGET. one man, in particular, has proven to be very determined to snuff him out. a man in his late forties, now   ---   one who called himself FRIEND. that was before getting wind that colin wasn’t HUMAN. oh, how he’d turned. colin watched HATRED consume him like a CANCER. some hunters are like that. they believe that anything NOT HUMAN is therefore entirely EVIL. a service, a weight he chose to carry, ridding the world of things he can’t UNDERSTAND. their last encounter had been a bloody one and colin had expected it to be something FINAL. gone were conversations between them, gone were the slim chances of reason. each attempt was different but that last one had been CAREFULLY crafted, blade soaked in the oil made from the olive tree of vouves   ---  or so he proudly CLAIMED. that blade, silver and salted, had torn him open as if he were PAPER   ---   but the hunter looked at him with FEAR in his eyes when he did not wither or catch fire. colin allowed him to keep his life   ---   had believed, so naive, that he would LET IT GO and accept that some things cannot be KILLED. colin would not be the first immortal angrily written about in a hunter’s journal, nor would he be the last. days have passed with nothing, not even a whisper. the man ends up at the BACK of colin’s mind until LUCIFER HIMSELF appears before him, dripping in BLOOD. he knows, the moment that he sees him   ---   knows, somehow, without the devil uttering a word. william lucas is dead. the man so terrified of EVIL.  made to meet his beloved maker by the very word’s poster-boy. hands turn up to him, RED. an offering. time CHOKES and SPUTTERS around them as colin moves closer, as he absorbs this image   ---   these words. THIS LOVE. the god becomes so FULL all at once that it is a wonder emotion, at its purest form, doesn’t solidify, doesn’t bubble and ooze from every opening. colin does not emit the light he feels, prismatic in nature   ---   he does not radiate anything when he stops, hazels unable to look AWAY from the scene before him. ADORATION replaces every cell he has, so much that his hands start to SHAKE. for a moment, he looks like he may be an ANGRY GOD   ---   like he may boom a COMMAND but when colin speaks, his voice is stained with INTIMACY unlike anything else.

“oh, 𝐌𝐘 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆   ---   what have you done?” he lowers himself down, hands finding bloody cheeks the moment his knees come in contact with the floor   ---   palms still trembling. he touches lucifer as though he were a fragile DOME of sugar, more breakable than even GLASS, like he may crack further under too strong of an exhale. “i know. i know.” words are cooed, a lighter whisper than even what the ghosts of the museum are capable of as his thumb caresses back and forth   ---  RED smearing like paint they now share. tainted. stained. emotion swells. he starts to raise, but not before hovering and placing a KISS against the DEVIL’S forehead. eyes close. colin lingers for a moment, his sigh cool against the blood on lucifer’s skin. hands move again   ---   this time to find BLOODY PALMS and hold them in his OWN. carefully, he guides the other to stand WITH him.  the intention is to wash it all away, but colin stays   ---   steps into warmth again. hands together, slick with this GIFT. the god moves close, brow gently nudged against brow as he closes his eyes as if PAINED. it hurts, loving THIS deeply. it hurts, having nowhere to put it. OVERWHELMED. he feels RAW, exposed at the edges.  “i forgive you.” spoken between them, against skin. “of course i forgive you   ---   look at you.” he can’t pull away, seems to FEAR the action itself. he noses against him, DOTES against BLOOD and   ...    UTTER PERFECTION. it takes him a moment. he needs this, to be close. touching.  that bridge over darkened water catches fire. he tells himself, as a familiar pale face floats by under the surface, NEVER AGAIN. the heat is a comfort against his back as he turns, as he steps back away from lucifer and pulls him gently by his STAINED hands. “come with me, my love.” oh. there is something different in his eyes   ---  something like WORSHIP. “let me THANK YOU for this thing you have done. let me wash this away, not because it is a SIN, but because i want NONE OF HIM against your skin where i intend to be.”