#prettyautistic

[stargazedwinchester]

꩜༄.° @prettyautistic's 𝖍𝖚𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖒𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖇𝖔𝖆𝖗𝖉,,

colour: deep emerald green season: autumn chosen word: protective

ʚଓ٠࣪⭑ your magic manifests as layered protection wards. it's all invisible until it's needed, then flaring dark emerald like stained glass catching light. sigils woven into walls, jewellery, even the air itself. your power isn’t about the attack, it’s about refusal. nothing gets through unless you allow it. nothing that threatens what’s yours.

ʚଓ٠࣪⭑ gabriel notices it the first time something can’t touch him. he’s used to slipping through danger, laughing in its face. but you? you stop it before it begins. you quietly stand your ground and your stern magic hums low and steady. he jokes about it, calls you overprepared, dramatic, “a walking safety hazard,” but he never steps outside your wards if he can help it.

The ward hums low, dark emerald flickering faintly along the bunker doorway. Airplanes plays softly from your phone, almost lost under the quiet. Gabriel eyes the barrier, then you. “You always this overprotective?” You don’t look up. “Only when it matters.” He smirks. “So… always.” You huff a quiet laugh, but your fingers tighten slightly around the edge of the table. He notices. Still, he steps forward anyway, hand outstretched. “Let’s see what you’ve got.” “Gabriel—” Too late. The ward flares. He’s thrown back, landing hard. “Okay—wow—rude—” You’re already moving, crouching beside him. “I told you not to touch it. You okay?” “I’m fine,” he insists, wincing. Your magic flickers again. Softer this time, checking and adjusting, responding to him like it feels what you feel. “You don’t have to prove anything,” you say gently. The song drifts—can we pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like shooting stars… Gabriel goes quiet. For once. “…you felt that, didn’t you?” he says, softer. You hesitate. Then nod. His pain. The impact. The brief flicker of something deeper under his jokes. Gabriel exhales, something uncharacteristically careful settling into his expression. “Alright,” he mutters, leaning back against the wall—inside the ward this time. “Maybe I’ll… stay on this side.” You smile faintly, returning to your seat. The ward dims, steady and warm. And Gabriel, who never stays anywhere for long— doesn’t leave.

✧ 𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕 𝒎𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆.ᐟ // ✧𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝒂 𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 // ✧𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒂 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒃𝒐𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆.ᐟ

[stargazedwinchester]

꩜༄.° @prettyautistic's 𝖍𝖚𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖒𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖇𝖔𝖆𝖗𝖉,,

colour: emerald greenseason: autumnchosen word: caring

ʚଓ٠࣪⭑ your chosen weapon is a celestial-blessed dagger etched with faint constellation markings. loyalty carved into steel. it's purposeful. you wield it not out of hunger for power, but out of instinct to protect.

ʚଓ٠࣪⭑ you trust easily, yes, but not carelessly. there’s a difference. luci knows that. you lead with empathy, offer warmth freely, and once someone is inside your circle, you are fiercely, immovably loyal. you take hits meant for others without hesitation. you patch wounds before tending to your own. but betrayal? betrayal is a door that locks permanently. you don’t mend broken fences twice.

The leaves are copper and gold around the abandoned churchyard. The hunt is over. Technically. Lucifer stands perfectly still, coat unruffled, expression almost bored—except for the blood on his hands that isn’t his. It’s yours. You’d stepped in front of the blade without hesitation. Human reflex. Fierce, stupid loyalty. Now you’re sitting against a crumbling stone wall, emerald sweater darkened where the wound seeps through. “Why,” Lucifer says softly, “would you do that?” You offer him a tired smile. “You needed help.” “I do not need—” “You did.” The words aren’t sharp. Certain, instead. Somewhere in the quiet, your phone crackles faintly from where it fell in the leaves. Your favourite song Airplanes playing faintly through the speakers where your headphones have unplugged. The irony isn’t lost on either of you. Lucifer kneels in front of you. For once, he doesn’t look amused. “You trust too easily,” he murmurs. “I don’t,” you correct gently. “I choose carefully.” A beat. “And if I ever break that?” Your eyes meet his steadily, unwavering despite the pain. “Then we’re done.” Not dramatic and definitely not cruel. Just truth. The wind lifts fallen leaves around you. In the distance, another lyric drifts through the quiet from a passing car on the road beyond the trees—If I go crazy then will you still call me Superman… Lucifer’s jaw tightens. He presses a hand over your wound. Grace flickers, golden and furious. “You should not have taken that hit.” “I’d do it again.” He studies you like you are something impossibly rare—emerald against autumn decay. And for the first time in a very long eternity, Lucifer looks… careful. “Don’t,” he says quietly. But he doesn’t sound like he’s giving an order. He sounds like he’s asking.

✧ 𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕 𝒎𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆.ᐟ // ✧𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝒂 𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 // ✧𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒂 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒃𝒐𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆.ᐟ