Bonus Round 3

[fantalaimon]

Bonus Round 2 is now closed, and Bonus Round 3 is now open!

This round, the theme is sins/virtues.

If you have an idea for something you'd like to see, please leave the ship, a sin/virtue, and any other details as a PROMPT below. After you've posted, read through everyone else's prompts, and leave a FILL for any which catch your eye. Fills can be in any media, and they need not be long, but please put a little effort in--if anyone starts spamming this post for points, we'll be able to tell.

You should place PROMPT/FILL, your current team affiliation and a brief summary in the comment title. Do not forget to change the title of the comment when posting a FILL as a reply to a PROMPT. NSFW prompts and fills should mention this in the summary or at the top of the post. Reminder that team names must be in alphabetical order (ie. Balthazar/Death, not Death/Balthazar) and that portmanteaus (ie. Lubriel, Annaby) are not allowed when identifying team affiliation.

You will be awarded five points per prompt for the first five prompts you leave. The first three fills posted for each prompt will receive 15 points, the next three 10 points, and the next three 5 points. Prompts with ten or more fills will no longer receive fill points.

Bonus rounds are still rarepair only, but you can post prompts or fills for any rare ship this round, including gen/platonic ones (which should be indicated with an & as above). Due to some unforeseen complication from last round, we have changed the rules. It is now 15 points per fill for the first three fills by three different people. So if someone does a fic for Fill 1 and a fanmix for Fill 2, then get 15 + 10 points, and then Person 2 does a fill and Person 3 does a fill, so even though those would be fills 3 and 4, they count as 15 and 15 points since they're fills by new people. You are still not permitted to fill your own prompt. We also encourage people not to fill prompts from their teammates, although the points will not be deducted if you do.

Bonus round fills can include links provided they are publicly viewable. Works can also be cross-posted to other websites, as there is no anonymity requirement in bonus rounds. However, works posted directly to comments will be limited to 16,000 characters by the Dreamwidth comment limit. Longer works should therefore be divided between multiple comments.

Remember, Team Chuck can participate in bonus rounds, and if you change teams, points earned will transfer with you until the end of the team shuffle period.

This round is now closed.

Comments

Prompt: Team Castiel/Lucifer, Sloth

[pandalianxx]

It's an incredibly cold, winter day. An SPN character is curled up in front of a fire, cuddled into mountains of blankets and they have a mug of hot chocolate near them. I just kind of want something where they're unmoveable and none of the other characters can get them to do anything

FILL, Team Anna/Jo, Loyalty & Betrayal

[twinkie_pie]

Hope this is all right, hon :)
http://spoopypie.tumblr.com/post/65754550553/loyalty-betrayal-prompt-anna-travels-back-in

Prompt, (Team Crowley/Sam), Sins and Virtues

[mooseleys]

Crowley gets tired of Sam acting like he's so much more virtuous than Crowley and begins pointing out the ways in which he fits the seven deadly sins. Sam, in retaliation, points out the ways which Crowley fits the seven heavenly virtues. They're both secretly pleased the other noticed these traits in him.

Prompt: Team Castiel/Lucifer, Envy

[fatalchild]

Castiel/Lucifer (/Michael)

Michael is used to Lucifer always favoring him. Even in Heaven, he and Lucifer were so much closer than other angels tended to be, but now that Lucifer has taken up with Castiel, Michael feels a little displaced. Bonus points if he's aware of the sinful nature of such thoughts, and even more if he ends up included in the relationship. (OT3, yes)

Prompt: Team Castiel/Lucifer, Patience

[fatalchild]

Alastair/Dean, gen or ship. Alastair is a patient teacher. That's it. That's the whole prompt.

Prompt: Team Castiel/Lucifer, Possessiveness

[fatalchild]

Castiel/Lucifer. Possessive Lucifer, possessive Cas, either or both, just that they belong to each other, and they don't like when others infringe on that connection.

Prompt: Team Castiel/Lucifer, Pride

[fatalchild]

Alastair/Lucifer (stop judging me). The boy looks at him like he's a god. He isn't, but it's nice to feel holy again.

Prompt, Team Dean/Michael, Pride

[mistress_snakey]

Anna and Mary/John (Or Mary/Anna/John if you want to go there) - Anna arrives a couple of days before Sam, Dean and Castiel do. Before killing John, she decides to watch them first. While she does, seen them going through highs and lows, but still keeping their heads up and a smile on their faces, she is reminded of why she felt in love with humanity in the first place.

Prompt: Team Castiel/Lucifer, Gluttony (lust?)

[fatalchild]

Castiel/Benny. Drinking human is dangerous, but taking Cas' blood doesn't seem to hurt him so much. Angel blood is like a drug though, easy to get addicted to, and once he's started, Benny finds it hard to stop. Totally okay if gluttony turns into lust and this goes NSFW.

Fill: Team Castiel/Lucifer, Lust (NSFW)

[fatalchild]

He hates her the moment he sees her, and she knows it. His eyes narrow, and his lip curls, but the only thing Lilith can think in that moment is how beautiful he is. He wears the shape of a man, but he’s clearly not, something far more radiant and lovely than Adam could ever hope to be. She can tell he’s angry and dangerous and powerful and absolutely willing and capable of crushing her into nothing.

She can also tell he’s alone.

She follows him for a time, watching how he moves and how he always turns his face up towards the stars with a sense of longing in his eyes. He knows she’s there, she’s quite sure, but he doesn’t acknowledge her for a long time. Lilith tells herself that she’s being practical. This man could lead her to food or shelter, provisions better than the meagre things she uses to survive, but he never does. She wonders how he does not starve.

She selects a fish, something glistening and fresh that she pulls from the river herself. The flesh is bright and ruddy, and Lilith plucks the bones out and discards them so that everything is smooth and clean by the time she goes to present it to him. It’s dripping, red like her lips, and she holds it out with a calm, expectant gaze.

Lilith doesn’t understand what he says, but she’s sure it’s an insult from the way he snarls the word. She smiles. It makes no sense. The air around him crackles, and he seems to suck the light out of the sky and pull it into his being. Regardless of this, she is not afraid of him. No, Lilith has already decided from that scowl and that smooth growl of a voice that she wants him.

“Fish,” she says plainly, holding her gift out. She drags the word out like she’s talking to a child.

“I know what a fish is,” he snaps.

If Lilith is surprised, she hides it well, but her eyes brighten with delight. She tears a chunk of flesh off and holds it out to him. “Eat,” she explains.

“I’ve no need,” he says, pushing past her, but she follows him, right on his heels, lured by the way the air seems to hum around him.

“You don’t eat?” she asks.

“I’m an angel,” he says, and the word is enough to make her stop.

Lilith freezes, toes stretched half through a step, transfixed by the word. “Angels guard the garden,” she whispers.

There’s a moment where he seems ready to flee, like he’s given away some dark and filthy secret. He stands, poised and terribly tense, hesitating still, then turning slowly to look at her. He swallows, though he has no need, a painfully human gesture. “Have you seen them?”

She shakes her head. “No.”

There’s sadness in his eyes when he nods, downcast with disappointment and yet unsurprised.

“Do you know them?”

He looks up quietly, and it’s the first time she’s seen his eyes up close. They tell her far more than his words. “I thought so,” he whispers, after a moment.

Lilith steps forward, captivated by the strange vulnerability in his eyes. “What’s your name, angel?”

He licks his lips, and Lilith thinks she likes that gesture too. For something she can tell is immense and powerful, there’s something charmingly boyish in his nervousness. He holds her gaze and says, “Lucifer.”

“Lucifer,” she repeats, rolling the name off her tongue. “I’m--”

“I know who you are.”

“Of course you do.” She smiles and reaches for his arm, not at all offended when he flinches out of the touch. “You should follow me. It’s going to rain soon, Lucifer.”

“I am an angel,” he says again, a pointed break between each syllable.

“And that means you like to sit out in the rain?”

“Sometimes.”

“Very well, Lucifer. If you should like to sit out in the rain by yourself, I shall not stop you.”

It’s the “by yourself” that gets him, she knows, grinning secretly when she hears his footsteps behind her. This angel, this Lucifer absolutely radiates loneliness. She feels a certain pity for him, but she entertains little else.

He lingers in the opening to the cave she calls her dwelling, watching with a curious tilt of his head as she heaps up skins and grass to make her bed.

“Do you sleep?”

“No.”

Lilith tilts her head, mimicking his posture for a moment before dropping the skin draped over her shoulders to the floor, stepping past the pool of fur at her feet, and reaching to untie her hair. She keeps her back turned, but she feels his eyes on her. An angel, Lilith reminds herself, but one in the body of a man.

“Are you just going to watch?” she asks.

“Watch what?”

“Me.”

“What are you going to do?”

She laughs softly. “What indeed.”

Lucifer doesn’t seem to understand, which only delights Lilith more. There’s something immense and dark in his eyes, yet it’s balanced by the sense of naivety. She turns, pushing her hair back from her shoulders, stretching the delicate curve of her neck.

“Would you like to lie down?”

“I don’t know.”

“How do you not know?”

“I have never done so; thus, I do not know if I would like it.”

Lilith smiles again, pressing her lips together at the center to withhold the gesture and avoid the potential to mock him. He’s proud, she can tell. He stands straight, shoulders squared, chin lifted.

“You should try it.”

“Why?”

“It feels good.”

She reaches, fingers brushing on the insides of his wrists, and she can feel his blood moving. Lilith tells herself that his pulse quickens at the touch, but she’s not exactly sure. Still, she pulls him along, stepping backwards across the cave floor until her feet find the softness of furs and worn skins. Lilith lowers herself slowly, pulling him with her and relishing in how he bends to the gentlest pressure. She presses her hand against his chest, fingers splayed as she pushes him down. Now, she is certain his heart skips.

Lucifer’s chest is taut muscle, tan skin that is deliciously smooth and warm under Lilith’s touch. There is no illusion here. They both know that he’s allowing her to hold him there, but that doesn’t diminish her enjoyment of how he looks laid out beneath her. There’s a strange tension to his body, every muscle coiled and ready to pounce, but his eyes are calm, and he blinks slowly, almost hazily, as he looks up at her. She lies across him, using his body as a support to cradle hers and relishing the firmness and the warmth of companionship for the first time since she marched out of Eden.

“You breathe,” she whispers, tracing a finger across his chest.

“Yes.”

“Hmm…” Lilith closes her eyes and falls asleep.

***

She doesn’t see him again for some time. She assumes that she scared him off. For all he looks like a man, she sensed something wild, saw something almost animalistic behind his eyes. It’s strange to think she misses him, considering she only met him once, but there’s something about that radiance that he simply seems to exude that she longs for.

The rain comes again, a torrential downpour that drenches her and has her fleeing to her cave earlier than usual. She strips naked and huddles under a skin to dry, almost missing the shadow that the figure casts in the opening. Lilith turns, sitting upright and tilting her head. She’s surprised, but she won’t let that show.

“Decided you don’t like the rain?” she asks.

“I do like it,” Lucifer says quietly.

“Then why are you here?”

“I don’t know.” He steps forward, and she knows after one look in his eyes why he’s come.

The angel is lonely.

“Come here,” she whispers, and he does.

He drops to his knees, turning like he’s going to lie down as before, but this time, Lilith catches him. Her fingers curve around his jaw, turning his face so that she can fit her lips against his. He makes a curious noise in his throat at the first brush of her tongue, and she realizes, quite happily, that he’s never been touched. Once more, she presses her hands to his chest, easing him onto his back and smiling against his lips at how he allows himself to be moved. She keeps her focus on his mouth, sucking and nibbling his bottom lip as she runs her hands down the length of his body, feeling a rush of heat beneath her fingertips that proves this angel’s body works like any other man’s would. The skins slide off her shoulders, pool at her waist, fall away completely as she moves one leg across his thighs, a contrast of milky white against honey tan, easing herself up onto his hips. Lilith rolls her hips once, feeling his erection press against her and laughing softly at how his breath stutters at the lightest contact.

Lucifer leans up, trying to kiss more, trying to touch more, trying to get more of whatever this is. His hands are firm on Lilith’s waist, holding her there and hoping that she’ll make that little move again. She chides him with a little click of her tongue and whispers, “Relax,” before laying her hands over his and guiding his fingers over her body. She’s lines of firm muscle blending into soft curves, and she likes that he’s careful without being overly delicate with her. She opens her eyes when his hands stop halfway up the insides of her thighs and gives him a permissive nod before he’ll slide his fingers between where their bodies rest against each other. He’s observant, which she likes, noting every catch of breath and twitch of her face that indicates whether she likes what he’s doing. She opens her eyes halfway to find him staring at her face with something like awe.

“Enough,” she says, pushing his hand away. He looks disappointed for a second before she has shifted to pull off the thin covering around his waist. As he was, she’s careful without being too soft, wrapping her hand around him and giving a few testing strokes to introduce him to the contact. His lashes flutter, and his lips fall open in the first moan of pleasure. Lilith smiles, lifting her own body up and using her hand to guide him into her, gasping with him the second time. She braces herself against him, hands on his chest as she lifts and rocks her hips in a steady rhythm, and when he reaches up, hands running up her thighs before holding her hips to guide the motion, she lets him, somehow balancing control between them. He doesn’t last long, but she’s not disappointed. His first time and already he knows how to keep his hands moving across her skin, how to support her weight just so, how to let her control the motion near the end so that she’s throwing her head back and crying out with him as she feels his muscles tensing under her hands.

When it’s over, she leans forward, touching her forehead to his and enshrouding them in a curtain of red that falls over her shoulders as she catches her breath. Somehow, she expects disgust or shame in his gaze, but she finds none, and she kisses him again, different now, soft and affectionate like he means something to her. It’s idiotic and asinine, and Lilith hates herself for it, but Lucifer kisses her back like there’s something there that he wants too, and she decides to let herself have this.

He’s there when she wakes in the morning and for many others that follow. She captivates him, memorizes him, learns every way to make him cry out in bliss. In the years that come after, they’ll say he twisted her. They’ll say he corrupted her and tortured her and turned her into something else, and Lilith will just laugh. She was already corrupt, already disgraced and exiled. Lucifer didn’t turn her into anything she wasn’t already. He just gave her a reason to embrace it.

FILL: Team Dean/Michael, Pride (NSFW prompt)

[mistress_snakey]

Nothing about their relationship is normal, a human, a demon and an angel in a polygamous relationship. But it's the strangeness of the whole arrangement that thrills Meg the most. One day she gets to share the bed with one of the most dangerous humans that has walked the Earth, the same man who has send many of her kind to a second grave. The next night she gets to do with no other demon, except maybe Lilith, has ever done, she gets to have a willing angel all for herself.

And some nights when she's feeling lucky, she gets to have both.

Meg has never had a problem with how things are. Neither of her lovers has either. Until one night while the three of them are sitting comfortably in the living room, Dean brings out his kissing skills.

There is no doubt from the hunter's tone that Dean is joking. But Meg knows that something is about to happen by the way the room suddenly seems to get colder. She doesn't need to turn her head to know that Castiel's lips are pressed in a thin line now and his eyes are looking intensely ahead, but not really seen the moving pictures in their TV.

Castiel could be...a little shy. Not in bed, he’s far from shy there when he gets going. But he is mistrustful about his abilities. Out of the three of them he has the least experience, even though he's the oldest.

Meg enjoys her time with Castiel. She enjoys teaching him knew things and letting him practice for hours until he's an expert in each and every one of them.

Castiel watches Dean, has been doing it for longer than they'd been together. He knows about Dean's way with the ladies and Dean’s experience makes him slightly jealous, if not insecure about what he can do.

She reaches forward and brushes her hand against the angel's and feels Castiel relax. "Meg says I'm the best she has." Dean suddenly breaks the silence again. Meg almost smacks herself and then Dean. She turns her head towards the hunter but before she can't say anything, Castiel is spinning her around and locking their lips together.

Meg reaches for Castiel and tries to respond. But just as she was suddenly grabbed by Castiel, someone else was wrapping their arms around her waist and pulling her back.

She tries to curse or free herself and add a comment about how she isn’t a puppet to be passed around. But Dean’s lips pressing wet kisses against her neck make whatever fight she had in her slip away.

Castiel isn’t giving up that easy. He crawls forward to claim Meg’s lips again. She ignores the glare he is currently throwing over her shoulder and focuses on kissing Castiel back and the feeling of soft lips against her skin.

When she finally manages to break free moments later, she turned her head at the two men still glaring at one another in the couch and smirks. “Lucifer.” Both turn to look at her in surprise. “He was the best kisser I’ve had.” She smirks before walking towards their shared room. Her smile widening when she heard rushed steps follow.

FILL, Team Anna/Jo, Lust

[twinkie_pie]

hope this isn't too late <3
http://spoopypie.tumblr.com/post/65846485601/lucifer-hates-lilith-he-really-does-but-even-so

Fill: Team Castiel/Lucifer, Temperance & Lust (Very NSFW, I'm sorry...)

[fatalchild]

Pairing is Castiel/Lucifer. Cas is implied to be fallen or falling. Lots of NSFW.

The first thing Castiel noticed was the heat. It was thick and solid, pressing down upon him with a sickeningly oppressive weight. He struggled to shake himself out of sleep, groaning at the heaviness he felt in his limbs. The discomfort spread, but it didn’t concern him at first. All he could think of was the heat. Castiel peeled himself off the couch and turned down the hallway. He needed… he needed…something.

The door creaked when he pushed it open, dark brows knitted in something of a scowl. Lucifer was awake, of course. Lucifer didn’t have to sleep, Castiel remembered with a hint of bitterness. He was still radiant, still beautiful and full of grace.

“What’s the matter?” Lucifer asked, looking up from the heavy tome he was reading.

“It’s hot,” Castiel mumbled, shuffling across the room and climbing up onto Lucifer’s lap, leaning against him with a soft sigh.

“What are you doing?”

“You’re cold.”

Lucifer tensed slightly, shifting his weight in discomfort. “It’s… the Cage… Hell was—“

“It feels good,” Castiel whispered, unbuttoning Lucifer’s collar and nuzzling against the soft, cool curve of his neck. He took a deep breath and decided instantly that he liked the smell of Lucifer’s skin, something like cold and rain and the stars. A low groan reverberated in the back of Castiel’s throat, and he began to roll his hips down.

“Castiel…?”

“Please.”

“What are you—“

“Please.” Castiel dragged his teeth over the sharp line of Lucifer’s jaw as he pulled apart the line of buttons of his shirt and pushed the fabric off his shoulders.

Lucifer hummed thoughtfully, hands cradling Castiel’s waist, fingers slipping into his waistband.

“You are warm,” he said softly, pushing the soft pajama pants down.

“Yes,” Castiel murmured, leaning back, tilting his hips up to press into Lucifer’s hand. His lashes fluttered as his eyes closed, rolling back with a soft, blissful sigh.

Lucifer curled his fingers around, stroking Castiel with a soft grip and an easy rhythm, surprised at how hot and slick his skin already was. He delighted in how Castiel shuddered, hips jerking in response.

“Harder,” Castiel panted, head thrown back

.Lucifer watched him curiously, watched how hungry and needy he was, watched how his body arched and writhed at every small touch. Overheated, overexcited, oversensitive, Castiel was like putty in his hands, and once Lucifer gave in to his request, it didn’t take long at all. Castiel’s trembling fingers pressed into Lucifer’s shoulders as he struggled to hold his balance with the way he was moving in the archangel’s lap. His breath hitched, voice catching in his throat in a series of tiny moans that Lucifer adored. He watched the way Castiel’s brows twisted together, lips moving silently (yes, yes, yes) before his mouth simply fell open, almost in surprise. He sat trembling, eyes closed and lips still open, for several minutes before he caught his breath.

“I… apologize. I don’t know what came over me.”

Lucifer arched his eyebrows, still idly stroking Castiel’s thighs. “I can’t say I’m inclined to complain…”

Castiel frowned. “I’m dizzy…”

“It’s late.”

“But…”

“Shh…” Lucifer kissed his forehead and smoothed his hair back. “We have time. You rest now.”

Castiel made a face, but he was tired, more than he thought he should be, so he kissed Lucifer’s face and made his way up to bed. It was warm and soft and perfect, easily lulling him into a deep sleep that lasted no time at all. He woke hot and hungry and hard, confused as to his body’s sudden insistence. He didn’t have much time to think about it. He could feel Lucifer downstairs, grace shining like a beacon even more than usual. Nearly tripping over himself, Castiel tumbled off the bed and traipsed down the stairs.

Coffee was one of Lucifer’s so-called “human vices”, so it was no surprise when Castiel found him in the kitchen, stirring cream into a large mug.

“Morning,” Lucifer said, smiling. “I was going to make you some--”

The force of Castiel’s lips on his cut him off. Lucifer caught Castiel by one shoulder, keeping enough distance to prevent him from spilling hot coffee between them, trying to set the cup aside without pulling away from the kiss.

“What are you doing?” he whispered, breathless.

“I need you,” Castiel panted, mouth already open against Lucifer’s neck, teeth dragging along the lightly stubbled curve.

“But you--”

“Now. Please.” Castiel turned his face up for another kiss.

He was met with a hard press of slightly cool lips against his own. The night before had been confusing, quick and needy and leaving Lucifer completely untouched and unsatisfied, a condition he was content to remedy now. His hands gripped Castiel’s tapered waist, turning him around and lifting him effortlessly onto the kitchen counter. Castiel gasped in surprised, holding Lucifer’s shoulders to stabilize himself against the way that everything seemed to spin for a moment. He tilted his head back, letting Lucifer push his shirt off his shoulders as he bent to kiss the flush of heat creeping down his neck and chest. Castiel squirmed, wriggling his hips and feeling oddly impatient. Lucifer just chuckled, nipping Castiel’s stomach as he worked his way down, teeth and tongue tracing the stark line of Castiel’s hipbone.

Castiel bit his lip, watching Lucifer’s mouth trail kisses up the inside of his thigh. He usually enjoyed it, loved the slow burn of affection that made it feel like this was more than just sex, but now, now he just felt impossibly hot and unable to tolerate much teasing. He pushed his hands down on the counter, leveraging himself forward and tilting his hips in invitation. Lucifer glanced up at him, an absurdly mischievous grin across his lips before they parted around the tip of Castiel’s erection.

“Lucifer, please,” Castiel gasped, fingers gripping the counter again.

He blinked his eyes placidly, swirling his tongue once before pulling off. “What do you want, little one?”

“You,” Castiel whispered, reaching forward to grip his shirt and pull him closer. “I want you.”

Lucifer smiled, lifting his arms to allow his shirt to be removed and tossed aside before closing the gap between them. He slicked his fingers with a thought, sliding them into Castiel’s body at the same time he was kissing his mouth open again, sharing breath and swallowing soft moans. He added in another finger, pushed them apart, worked Castiel open as he curled his fingers to lightly stroke his prostate.

“I’m ready. Come on.”

Lucifer glanced up, lips trailing over Castiel’s neck. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” Castiel said, fumbling to position himself properly. “Please.”

Lucifer’s hands moved down Castiel’s sides, resting at his hips to hold him steady as he pushed inside him. It was slow and easy, everything Castiel adored between them and the promise of so much more. His body arched, nails digging into Lucifer’s back, clinging to ground himself as Lucifer’s tenuous control began to slip, each thrust of his hips coming harder and faster than the one before it. His fingers tangled in the disheveled mess of Castiel’s dark hair, pulling him back and forcing his face up so that he could catch him in another kiss, this one open mouthed, panting and biting and near bruising Castiel’s lips. He lies back across the countertop, bending his knees back and wrapping his legs up around Lucifer’s waist as best he can, trying to pull him closer, trying to urge him on. Red lines have broken out across Lucifer’s back, beneath Castiel’s fingers, but neither one of them notice them for the way Castiel is moaning and panting his brother’s name, spurring him on with little whispers of, Yes. More. Just like that. Don’t stop. Please. Right there. Oh, brother, please.

Lucifer answered him in a series of languages Castiel couldn’t quite recall. He told Castiel he loved him, tells him how he was beautiful, how he was perfect, how he felt so good. Castiel didn’t need to catch every word to understand. Lucifer communicated well enough with his tone, with soft presses of his lips between words, with the way his fingers combed through Castiel’s hair, pausing to cup his cheek before sliding down between their bodies. A few short strokes had Castiel spilling across his stomach, Lucifer mere seconds behind him.

They stayed like that, lying quietly, for a long time, Lucifer draped across Castiel’s body, head bowed against his shoulder. As he caught his breath, Lucifer glanced up at Castiel, frowning at how he had covered his eyes with the back of his arm.

“Do you feel bad again?”

“Not bad… Strange, perhaps.”

“...This was a mistake.”

“No,” Castiel said quickly, reaching to grab Lucifer’s shoulders and keep him from moving away. “It wasn’t. I wanted… Don’t go.”

Lucifer sighed heavily, laying his head back down and closing his eyes. He wasn’t supposed to heal Castiel. Due to the complicated nature of Castiel being almost fallen and thus stubbornly immune to such things, it could be exhausting, and they had an unspoken arrangement: life or death only. It isn’t healing just to check though. Lucifer’s fingers brushed Castiel’s skin, grace searching until he found the unfamiliar humming energy and everything clicked into place.

***

The next twelve hours were some of the longest of his life. Lucifer figured it out quickly enough, easily able to sense and decode pagan magic when he focused, but he was extremely frustrated to find that he couldn’t break the spell. The only way to break it was simply not to give into it, and Lucifer cringed to think how many times he’d already made it worse. When Castiel woke from his nap and tried to crawl into Lucifer’s lap again, Lucifer marched him into a cold shower and stayed on the other side of the door in spite of his pleas.

They sat on opposite sides of the couch, watching a documentary on plant life simply because it was the unsexiest thing Lucifer could find on television.

“This is torture,” Castiel groaned, shifting uncomfortably. “Are you really sure it’s--”

“Yes. I’m sure. ...You’d feel better if you’d quit wiggling so much.”

Castiel huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. “Maybe the goddess has nothing to do with this and I just miss you,” he muttered.

“We both know that’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” Castiel stole a glance over, one hand sliding across the couch to find Lucifer’s. “I do miss you though… when you go away,” he whispered, looking up again.

Lucifer sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “You’re impossible. Fine. Come here. Nothing below the waist.”

Castiel nodded, shimmying across the couch and lying down with his head resting on Lucifer’s lap. He kept his eyes on the screen, focusing on how soothing the cool fingers moving through his hair are and trying to ignore the pressure between his legs. He was tired enough, eyes closing sometime between a discussion of ferns and flowers. Lucifer watched his face while he slept, watched how his brows knitted together and his nose wrinkled up before he tilted his hips in a different way. “Shh, little one. It’s alright,” he whispered easing him back to sleep with a touch of grace and putting handling that meddling goddess somewhere on his to-do list. Later though. Castiel needed him there now.

Lucifer fell into something like angelic sleep, eyes closed and body relaxed as his mind turned towards an inward quiet. He was surprised by the first press of lips on his neck, eyes opening quickly as he took Castiel’s shoulders and began to push him away. Castiel shushed him that time.

“It’s over,” he said softly. “I can feel it.”

A glance at the clock confirmed it, but that only confused Lucifer more.

“Then what are you doing?”

“I still love you,” Castiel sighed settling onto his lap. “I still miss you…”

Lucifer pulled Castiel against him, tilting his head and touching their lips together softly. “I should think you’d be very tired at this point.”

“Well, I am, but…”

“In the morning then.”

“You’ll still be here?”

“I will.”

“Promise…?”

“I promise.”

Lucifer kissed Castiel’s forehead before lifting him up and carrying him to his bed. Castiel was prepared to sulk but had no opportunity for how Lucifer lay down on the bed beside him. He fell asleep with Lucifer’s arm wrapped firmly around his waist, and in the morning, Castiel woke up just the same.

Prompt (team Castiel/Lucifer), Any, Betrayal/loyalty

[marie_de_sade]

Any characters. A dual perspective on a certain character where one side views his action as loyal while the other views it as a betrayal. (ex Castiel betraying heaven/being loyal to the Winchesters, Gabriel betraying Lucifer/being loyal to humans).

Prompt (team Castiel/Lucifer),Any Angel, first sin

[marie_de_sade]

Angel of choice experiencing their first sin (or thinking about something sinful) and their reaction to it. Do they freak out? Do they act upon their thoughts? Do they feel guilty?

Prompt (team Castiel/Lucifer), Sam, Wrath

[marie_de_sade]

After Dean is sent to hell, Sam goes on a rampage. He turns his anger at the monster he hunts but one day he runs into a monster that the past him would have let go (a younger one, vampire that doesn't drink from humans, ect) and kills him/her anyways. Later, either once Dean comes back or just later that day, the guilt sets in.

Fill: Team Castiel/Lucifer, Wrath aka Lucifer really hates pagans

[fatalchild]

Warning for blood and violence and general unpleasantness.

The message was very simple.

They have a sword. She killed Gabriel, and--

Lucifer saw red. He knew his younger brother had been involved with some less than reputable beings, but this-- this was too much.

He didn’t intend a massacre. He only wanted one, just the one who had killed Gabriel, plunged his own sword into his chest. Lucifer could only imagine the pitiful glance he would have given her. He was, after all, on her side. Of course, she’s hiding behind the others, but that won’t matter. Lucifer will find her.

The first one he kills on principle. There is, perhaps, something to be said for self-preservation, but this petty, self-serving nonsense coupled with the declaration of divinity turns his stomach, twists it up so much that Nick stirs within him for the first time in months. A single snap of one traitorous little neck, and Lucifer starts to feel better.

As he advances down the corridor, he expects them to flee. He wouldn’t chase them, wouldn’t have any reason to, but they throw themselves at him. Briefly, he wonders if they’re protecting her, but then Lucifer decides that he doesn’t particularly care. Likewise, their names and faces mean nothing to him. They’re just worthless, souless lumps of flesh that break apart like anything else does if enough pressure is applied.

The first one that runs at him, he catches by the throat. He can feel the race of a pulse under his palm, the clench of a panicked swallow. Lucifer’s fingers curl into the flesh, tear the windpipe out, leaving the god a sputtering mess on the floor. If Gabriel doesn’t get to breathe anymore, neither do you. The next one is holding some kind of weapon and giving a battle cry as he rushes forward, as if he were some kind of warrior, as if he were some kind of hero, as if he were righteous. His ribs break apart in his chest, collapsing in on his internal organs, and Lucifer offers a hint of a smile because, really, they’re all greedy and shallow and prideful. Two more then, at least showing some semblance of strategy. It’s not enough now though, and they fall together as well. One hisses the word Satan, growls out that he’s a monster through bloody lips, and Lucifer stops, Michael’s glare flashing in his memory, that same cruel whisper echoing inside his mind. Monster. You’re a monster, Lucifer. He turns, bends, hooks his fingers into him to tear him apart. The sound of the god screaming is nearly drowned out by tearing skin and snapping bone.

I’m an angel, he thinks. Angel. Angel. Angel.

Hell roars in his ears.

The hall is smeared with red when he’s finished. It’s spattered and sprayed across the walls, across his face, soaking into his clothes. Lucifer doesn’t care. Beautiful, they used to say. The Morning Star is beautiful. Now they say monster.

If they want a monster, he’ll give them one.

He’s unsurprised to find the Winchesters here, unsurprised to find that they stare at him with horror too. He smiles through it, pretends it doesn’t bother him, but his rage flares at the realization of what these supposed gods intended. His brother. His vessel. He has so little, and they would seek to take it all.

The ease with which his hand tears through the next god’s chest is immensely satisfying. The warm stickiness clings to him up to his elbow, and Lucifer sneers as he shakes the corpse off. He’s lost count by now, not that he ever cared to try and keep such, but there’s a literal trail of bodies leading him here.

And there she is.

The flames engulf him, like insult to injury after all she’s already done, a sick reminder of where he’s spent so many years while things like this ran free. He’s incensed by her hubris, that she acts indignant, acts as if he has wronged her after what she stole from him. He steps forward, a cold smile playing over his lips at the promise of vindication. Her body is soft against his knuckles, frail and easily broken as she’s thrown off her feet. Lucifer glares down at her, sees the fear in her eyes, wonders briefly if Gabriel was afraid in his last moments. He almost surely was, and because of that, Lucifer lets the moment hang. He decides that she doesn’t deserve to look like that, doesn’t deserve to look wronged, and so he lifts his foot to crush her face and wipe every expression away forever.

He’s thrown then, sliding across the floor and crashing against the wall with enough force to disorient him. Lucifer might be more angry if he weren’t so confused. These things shouldn’t be able to hurt him, shouldn’t be able to--

“Luci, I’m home.”

Lucifer stares quietly for a moment, a thousand childhood memories fitting into place at the familiar voice echoing beneath the vessel’s vocal cords. He looks up, finds Gabriel very much alive, and forgets how to move. A cold, stony pit replaces the burning knots in his stomach as he realizes that his little brother set him up. Lucifer forgets how to be angry, and his heart simply breaks.

Fill: Team Castiel/Lucifer, Godliness

[fatalchild]

Lucifer has been in Hell for a long time. At first, it was quiet, just the steady crackle of flames around him. Then came the screaming, first Lilith, then Alastair, then the rest of the firstborns now cast into the abyss. Finally, an entire chorus of damned souls joined in howling and crying and clawing their way back up towards the light. The noise echoes in his ears, a steady, droning sound that is often worse than the fire.

That’s why the tiny patter of feet is such a distinct sound.

Lucifer turns his head, blinking his eyes against the heat and the light, trying to pull the figure into focus. She’s young, dark almond eyes and long lashes, a round face framed by copper ringlets that sit nicely against her flushed cheeks. She’s frozen midstep, one delicate foot still extended, the body of a girl and yet something distinctly not.

“You’re lost,” Lucifer says, and she flinches at his true voice. He reels it in, softens himself, shuffles through languages until he finds one that catches her attention.

“Yes,” she replies, “but I am supposed to be.”

“Supposed to be lost?”

“Yes. I’m looking for a tree.”

“Nothing grows in Hell.”

She shakes her head, curls bouncing around her face. “It does. I do this every year.”

Lucifer looks at her for a moment, struggling to clear his mind enough to focus. “Persephone.”

“You know me?”

“Naturally. I’m older than you are.”

That gives her pause, and she steps backwards after a moment’s thought. “You’re the monster of the abyss,” she says.

“Is that what they call me…?”

“Yes.”

“Do I seem a monster to you?”

“You’ve not been unkind.”

Lucifer attempts a smile. His general distaste for pagans comes from their pettiness and arrogance. This one is but a child. “I’m an angel,” he tells her, trying to expand his wings, but the burning chains press into his feathers and he withdraws with a shudder.

Persephone watches him with a quiet sadness, flinching at the way the metal sizzles against him. “What a strange thing to do to an angel…” she whispers.

“God can be very cruel to those who offend Him.”

“Many gods are cruel,” Persephone murmurs, pacing around the confines like she’s looking for an entry point.

“God and gods are very different things, child.”

“How do you mean?”

“The mighty and the almighty. The omniscient, omnipotent, eternal.”

“You say there is only one.”

“Yes.”

“And he is cruel?”

“...It seems so.”

“Then perhaps he is not truly God.”

“Yours is so much better?” Lucifer asks, flexing his wings again, twitching against fresh pain.

“Why do you do that?” Persephone whispers, soft and childlike.

“Do what?”

“Move in a way that hurts you so.”

“It’s an instinct, and it hurts whether I do or do not. One pain relieves the other. Sometimes I must choose.”

“And this is the work of God?”

Lucifer laughs softly, tilting his head at her as he crawls closer towards the edge of the Cage. “I renew my former question then. Does your father not torment you as well? Did he not sell you to be queen of an empire that forces you to traverse this place for half of every year?”

Persephone shakes her head. “He did not sell me. He created a peaceful resolution for all parties.”

“One that confines you, the innocent victim, to Hell for half her life.”

“My husband is here. Half of my life is here. Even so, I am allowed to walk to the Earth for the other half, so I should think my father far more merciful than yours.”

Lucifer glowers for a moment, feathers bristling.

“I’ve offended you… I wasn’t trying to do that.”

“I think you’re short-sighted is all.”

“How so?”

“You were innocent, a child who needed protecting, and you should not be punished for another’s failure to control himself.”

“...Less a child than you imagine, angel, and I am not punished. I reign as queen.”

“A figurehead.”

Persephone smiles. “Perhaps. Were you not innocent then?”

Lucifer is silent, and her smile quickly fades.

“Do you think you deserve to be here?”

He hesitates. “...No, but I did break rules, and I was aware of them.”

“Were they just rules?”

Lucifer lifts his head to meet her gaze, face drawn, eyes wet. “Why are you asking me this?”

“You’re suffering, more than anyone I’ve ever seen, and yet you still defend this god of yours. Either you deserve punishment, or this father is unjust. Which is it?”

He shudders again. “...I don’t know.”

Persephone watches him quietly, torn between awe and pity at the way his wings fold in to cover the immense light at his core, trying to shelter himself from some of the pain. She tries to move forward again, pressing against the barrier and grappling for the immense chains, but to no avail.

“I’m sorry,” she says, fingers stretching forward to brush against blackened feathers. “I would free you if I could.”

“...Why?”

“Because not everything that calls itself a god is cruel, and I think mercy is something worth striving for.”

“You say this is your domain.”

“My husband’s more so, but yes.”

“He could not free me either.”

Persephone’s lips press together then pull into a frown. “You’re probably right. I could ask him to try.”

“There’s no point. I assure you I’m right. Your powers are limited, even in your self-proclaimed domain. God’s are not…”

“So godliness equates to power?”

“Something like that.”

“What a sad world you live in, angel,” she whispers, pulling her hand away and turning to depart.

“Lucifer,” he says suddenly.

Persephone stops, turns back to face him. “What?”

“My name is Lucifer.”

“Light-bringer. That’s lovely.” She lingers there, giving him a small half-smile when he finally looks up one last time. “Well then, Lucifer, I hope your god learns something of mercy. It’s a shame to have something so beautiful locked up here.”

Lucifer watches her go in silence then curls in on himself, stifled by the confines of his prison. To the victor go the spoils, or so he should think, so then if godliness is not absolute power, what is it? Justice? Love? Mercy? He squeezes his eyes shut, unwilling to think anymore.

Still, he hopes the little goddess finds her tree.

FILL: Team Anna/Ruby, From the Angels' Fall

[mllenightingale]

So a brief warning just in case for a slightly uncomfortable situation involving an angel blade and what could be interpreted as an unhealthy relationship in the making. The pacing is really off due to my bad planning, and I do apologize for that, but I hope you still enjoy?

—

Bela Talbot could recall exactly where she had been the moment the angels had begun to fall from Heaven.

The black market saleswoman had stood with a hand roughly gripping the hair of a reneged client, the other hand holding a pistol pressed to the back of the distraught woman’s head. Her finger hovered over the trigger, ready to shoot whenever the blubbering mess of a person would finally stop with her confessions of tell my mom I did love her and the like; it wasn’t as though Bela particularly cared about her last wishes, but letting her live a few minutes longer would be more than worth her while if she could extract the location of the payment she knew the liar had brought to the city with her. That would also eliminate the need to kill her in the first place — making examples out of buyers who broke their word and all of that was good in theory, but exhaustingly time-consuming in practice, leaving behind bloody bodies that needed to be cleaned up after and disposed.

It seemed that that unfortunate kind of mess would be unavoidable this time around.

The shot was foiled, though, by a sudden flood of blinding light that filled the room. The air itself vibrated with the presence of what she later knew to be grace for a long few moments, before vanishing.

“Hello— Bela?” A question, as though she wasn’t entirely sure what her almost-murderer’s name was, but the inquiry seemed directly more to herself than the honey-brunette, who had yet to completely grasp what had just occurred. “This is Earth, is it not…?— what happened?” With a startling different carriage in her body’s language, the dark-haired woman glanced up at her in a gaze imbued with utter shock and confusion.

“Really, points for creativity, but don’t think I’ll fall for that little trick.” It wasn’t as though she legitimately believed that it was all merely a ruse, but until she had received a more plausible explanation for the obviously supernaturally-induced incident, she could only rely on blind speculation that would remain solely within her own mind.

“I’m not—” she waved a hand at herself, looking almost surprised when the limb actually did move “—Sarah. My name is Hael and I am… was an angel.”

An angel. Bela had heard talk of them, mainly from hunters and almost always with the name Winchester tied to them, but never come across one of the creatures herself. What she did know about them, information gathered more from her own research and delving into dusty old tomes within abandoned archives than from any word of mouth, did happen to more or less correspond with what little she could describe herself as having witnessed just seconds ago. The was in the angel-woman’s statement was curious, however; had something occurred to rid her of her power? She knew it was possible for the beings to die by the the blade of the weapons they carried on themselves, but stripping away their wings (was that a metaphor or an actual thing, she was never quite sure of either) was a completely separate matter altogether.

“I’m sure you are, in which case you’ll have access to everything in that head of Sarah’s. So tell me, where is my money?” She might as well keep up with and take advantage of the situation; if this Hael was actually Hael-an-angel as she claimed to be then she wouldn’t have any reason to keep the information Bela wanted dearly a secret.

“I don’t understand what’s going on.” It was as though the dark-haired figure hadn’t heard her clearly-voiced demand, despite the piercingly ice-blue eyes pinned unwaveringly upon her face. “Everything was normal, and then suddenly— I fell.” Hael’s gaze flickered over to a nearby window, veiled by curtains. Behind the cloth, blurry, bright splashes of light could be seen, darting down from the heavens to the earth

“Please, save your sob story for somebody who actually cares.  You have something that belongs to me, stored away in that girl’s mind. Tell me where it is so we can both quickly part on our merry old ways, or I may have to use this bullet I was saving for dear Sarah on you.”

A gleam of something different from the emotive desperation embodied in her demeanour shone for a moment, immediately receding again afterward. “I need your help. I can make it up to you with what you’re looking for, but only if you take me with you.”

“What’s to say that I don’t shoot you now and ransack this place instead? Much less hassle, yeah?” Or even just skip the shooting, if it would simplify matters; she was willing to let go unrecompensed the trouble it had taken for her to obtain the artefact that Sarah had been looking to purchase, since the object could always be put on the market to another buyer, albeit for what would most likely amount to being a much less significant profit.

“I’m sorry if I’m inconveniencing you, but using your weapon won’t solve anything. Something like that couldn’t hurt me. Just aid me in finding somebody and I’ll be away from you for good.” Here, she moved closer to Bela, having stumbled away when she’d taken over the body of her vessel. The glint of light reflecting on unblemished metal caught her eye far too late, as a body heavier than she might have expected jostled her up against the bed. Her arms windmilled with an embarrassing lack of grace, being taken by surprise making for less than fluid reactions, before she was pinned against the surface of the mattress, the oddly warm and excruciatingly sharp tip of a knife pressed to her collarbone. “You know I can’t just let you go, right? There’s so much I need to do down here, and I could never achieve any of that without you.”

“Get off of me.” Arms rendered immobile struggled to dislodge the body weight beneath which they were restrained, while twisting the handle of the pistol to aim its barrel at the burden. Useless.

“Help me, Bela.” The prick of celestial steel against skin let up ever-so-slightly, a bead of blood trickling down the point where it had rested.

A pause, before she recognized defeat. “What do you need?”



The person the newly-fallen angel had been looking to find was another like her, a name Bela found unexpectedly familiar. Some Castiel, who last time she’d heard, had taken up touring around the country with those damned Winchesters. It seemed that he wasn’t with them at the moment, but a few spells were all it had taken for her to track down where he’d wandered off on his own. True to her word, Hael had gratefully left her human guide a million dollars richer when she’d run off aboard a train to confront her target.

(Bela wouldn’t admit that she might have missed the angel’s company, life-threatening though it may have been at times. She did leave her with a phone number to reach her just in case, for whenever, you know? before driving away from the curb of the railway station, masked by veils of filthy grey rainwater.)



When her cell phone had drawn her out of the haze of sleep a handful of days later, with letters on its plastic screen revealing only that the presence on the other end was Colarado, Bela Talbot might have also felt a jolt of excitement at the prospect. Much as she might deny it, her work could, even with the inane amounts of wealth she procured, gain a frustrating note of monotony, and the unconventional arrival of the angel into her life had offered a welcome change of pace. The urgent voice on the other end of the line summoned her over to a small town in the state, offering her no explanation besides another demand for Bela’s help and an exclamation that amounted to things didn’t go as she’d hoped.

She spent that evening within a cheap motel room, brow furrowed as she tended to the bloody furrows and shards of glass that coated the angel’s pale, peach-toned skin. (She had gone by morning, of course; more than a day’s time was something she wasn’t quite willing to let go to waste. In her wake, a wad of hundred-dollar bills and a prepaid cell phone were left behind, sitting on the bedside table where Hael would discover it when she’d regained consciousness.)



When she called for the second time and beckoned for help for a third, Bela didn’t refuse.

(This time, she stayed the night. Business could wait, and the angel was very convincing.)

Fill: Team Castiel/Lucifer, First Sin

[fatalchild]

The thought hit him all at once, sudden and out of nowhere.

Why should we have to bow?

Lucifer was stunned for a moment, quickly withdrawing to an isolated section of Heaven and trying to close his consciousness off from the rest of the Host. It didn’t really help. In fact, it made him feel more broken and ashamed for hiding when what had he really done but have a thought? It was a deviant thought though, something wicked and rebellious, something that challenged the will of God and thus committed the most unforgivable sin. He decided, quite simply, that he would just ignore it. It would go away. Lucifer didn’t want to be that person.

He kept to himself after that, grace perpetually in turmoil, watching evolution and trying not to think. Humans were God’s chosen children, and he would have to learn to love them. He needed to love them, but still, whenever Lucifer looked at them, he felt nothing but a cold hollowness at his core. Father forgive him, but why did they have to be so filthy? It wasn’t the biology that appalled him; he found that relatively interesting. It was the pettiness, the asinine squabbling, the selfish violence they inflicted upon one another without true cause or reason. Humans were such corrupt little things. And Lucifer was supposed to love them. How?

This question came to him even easier than the first one had, and Lucifer looked quickly around himself to make sure nobody had overheard. A pit of self-loathing settled at the heart of his essence and soured his mood. Soon, his siblings began to notice, and that only made it worse.

First it was the little ones, young angels like Inias and Anna and Castiel. They trailed along after him, dancing happily among the stars, blissfully unaware of their futures and his dark thoughts. They would draw close to him, brushing wings against his and asking in gentle whispers why he appeared so troubled. Lucifer wouldn’t lie to them, but he also couldn’t tell them the truth. He tried to smooth things over with vague answers that meant practically nothing. I find myself weary today. I saw something troubling in the new world, but I’m sure it’s of no consequence. Don’t fret; I’ll be fine tomorrow. He never was.

Gabriel came next, not so much bothering to find out the source of his brother’s misery as he sought to fix it. He tried to entice Lucifer into games, the sort of playfulness that had delighted them through their youth, but ultimately found him unresponsive, offering the same half-formed excuses. I’m sorry, little brother. I just don’t feel like it today.

The tenderness with which his younger siblings crowded around him and sought to console him only made the vile selfishness of humanity stand out in even starker contrast. How could God raise humans above angels when one shone with love and support for their kin and the other seemed to view life as nothing more than a self-serving competitions.

And there he was asking questions again.

But worst of all was Michael. Whether he noticed last or simply tried not to acknowledge the situation, Lucifer didn’t know, but when his older brother finally came to him, his eyes were a mix of pity and disappointment. Lucifer couldn’t meet them. It was as though Michael knew already what was inside of him, as though he could see all the anger and doubt prickling the center of Lucifer’s grace and clouding the radiance that had given him his name.

Lucifer began to feel as though these humans were going to ruin him, and then, he began to hate.

The feeling was unfamiliar, something sick and dark churning deep inside of him. Doubt prickled constantly, stealing every second of peace of mind that he tried to grasp for, feeding the hatred which then fed the doubt in return. Soon enough, Lucifer stopped questioning and started knowing. Humans were flawed, broken creatures, and even if the other angels, in all their superior splendor and light, could bow down before them, he simply could not. There was no faking love and devotion, so in the end, Lucifer had no choice.

Disobedience came to him like a strike of lightning: sharp and hot and all-consuming, and so he fell and became much the same.

Fill: Team Castiel/Lucifer, Patience

[fatalchild]

“Hello, brother.”

Castiel had recoiled from him, jerked sharply across the room and pressed himself against the far wall, face contorted with fear. It was the expected reaction, but it didn’t soften the blow. The image on the bed was almost certainly not Lucifer, just a manifestation from Hell that wore his face, but he seemed to think he was Lucifer. Perhaps that was why Castiel hated him so much.

“You don’t deserve to look like him,” Castiel says softly, refusing to pull his eyes from a fleck of peeling paint in the corner.

Lucifer tilts his head, brows knitting together in a small frown. “How would you like me to look?”

“Like what you are.”

He’s thoughtful for a moment, nodding quietly before unfolding from the confines of his imagined vessel, stretching out immense wings and radiating beautifully cool light.

“Stop!” Castiel cries sharply.

And Lucifer does, confined in the visage of borrowed skin once more. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I thought that was what you wanted.

Castiel runs from the room.

***

The voices in his head keep him from any sort of peacefulness. Castiel’s mind is a chorus of murdered angels and screaming human souls. They curse him, blame him, degrade him to the point that he falls sobbing onto his bed and tries to hide under the thin, white hospital sheets.

“You shouldn’t listen to them,” Lucifer says softly.

“Please go away. Please.”

“Do you remember when you were young? Heaven was so beautiful then; everything was beautiful. You would come sit with me, and I would teach you how to sing the hymns to God. Your voice was--”

“Leave me alone!”

Castiel flees again, running out to the dayroom and huddling up under a table. He’s easily able to fend off the staff, and it takes hours to coax him out of hiding. When he finally returns to his room, Lucifer is gone. The screeching voices are not.

***

The line between fantasy and reality starts to blur. Castiel sleeps with an angel blade under his pillow because he knows they’re coming for him. He knows he deserves it too, but he’s afraid to die. His hand slides under the fabric, fingers curling around smooth metal, and he begins to wonder how quickly it’s all over, if maybe this time, it would stay quiet inside his head.

“Please don’t.”

“What do you care?”

“You’re my little brother.”

“You killed me.”

“I brought you back.”

“Liar. God did that.”

“Did you see God?”

“...No.”

“I don’t lie, Castiel.”

Castiel turns sharply away, shoulders hunched, blankets gathered up.

“I’m worried about you,” Lucifer whispers, and his fingers are cool when they brush through Castiel’s hair.

“Why?”

“I already told you why.”

Castiel turns his face into his pillow and chokes on a sob. “Don’t do this to me.”

“What am I doing?”

“Just leave. Just leave…”

“I worry about what you’ll do if left on your own.” Lucifer sighs. “Keep your back turned. I’ll be silent. You won’t even know I’m here.”

“Please…”

“Just let me watch over you.”

Castiel closes his eyes and says nothing. Lucifer doesn’t leave his side.

***

The world around him ceases to be white and drips with an inky blackness that seeps out of every line of the walls. It gathers around him in sickenly stagnant puddles that confine him to small corners for how he’s afraid to cross them. Then they’ll just be gone, evaporating into nothing, and Castiel will see Lucifer looking at him across the room, but the image of the archangel never speaks to him, not until Castiel does first.

“I hate you,” he whispers, staring out a barred window.

Lucifer frowns, looks up from where he’s poised on the desk. “I’m sorry?”

“I hate you,” Castiel says again, firmer now. “I hate that you look like him. I hate that you sound like him. I hate that you act like him. It’s not fair.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re not supposed to be him,” he spits, turning sharply and staring with wet, red-rimmed eyes. “You’re supposed to be evil. You’re supposed to be a monster. You’re supposed to be this thing spawned out of Hell that is nothing like my brother ever was.”

Lucifer purses his lips and tilts his head. “Now tell me, little brother, are you talking about the supposed devil or the supposed hallucination?”

Castiel’s lip curls, and he looks away again.

“Do you think I’m a monster?” Lucifer asks softly.

“They say you tortured Sam.”

“They say a lot of things.”

“I saw, felt how ruined his soul was.”

“Perhaps, but have I tortured you?”

Castiel doesn’t answer.

“Have I hurt you at all during this time, little brother? Have I given you any reason to believe all these things you were told?” Another beat of silence, and Lucifer nods solemnly. “That’s what I thought.”

“Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare presume to know what I think of him. Don’t you dare presume to know what I--” Castiel spins, face twisting as he beats his fists against a surprisingly firm chest. “Get out of him!” he cries. “Stop looking like him. Stop talking like him. Stop reminding me!” He breaks into tears then, crumbling forward into arms that are simply waiting to catch him.

Lucifer holds him close, waiting silently until the sobbing subsides, gently brushing his fingers over the little curls at the nape of Castiel’s neck.

“I hate you,” he says once more.

“Tell me why.”

Castiel looks up, bottom lip trembling as the last of his tears stain his cheeks. “Because you left me,” he whispers.

Lucifer nods. “And I am deeply, truly sorry.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“I understand, but I’m here now, little brother, and I am not leaving you.”

Castiel shakes his head, closing his eyes as Lucifer’s lips press his forehead.

“You’ll see,” Lucifer says softly, holding Castiel to his chest again. “I’m here with you, and I’m not going anywhere. One day, you’ll believe me.”

One day, many months later, Castiel greets him with a smile.

“Hello, brother.”

Fill: Team Castiel/Lucife. Castiel, implied Castiel/OC

[marie_de_sade]

Castiel isn’t sure where they all come from. The angels have been gone for months when the first one shows up at the camp. Castiel doesn’t have even a trace of grace left so he doesn’t feel the fallen angel but as soon as he sees her at the gate he knows.

Castiel has to stop Dean from shooting her on sight.

“So,” Castiel mumbles a little awkwardly. He knows the woman fiddling with the junk on his dresser is his sister but he doesn’t know which one. His heart clenches at the realization and it sickens him to have to ask but it’s not something he can avoid. “Who are you?”

She picks up his clunky, old, flashlight and flicks it on and off, before setting it down and looking up at Castiel. “I suppose it is Suzie now.”

“Oh, you don’t …” Castiel trails off as she picks up a bottle of pills, shakes it and then tosses it over her shoulder. “You don’t have to take your vessels name.”

She scoffs and sits down on his bed, the springs squeak out in protest against the weight. “I might as well.”
Castiel sits down next to Suzie, who is stretching her hands out in front of her and staring at them with mild fascination. “Dean is trying to find a place for you to stay.”

“I’m sure he is,” she shrugs. “I won’t be staying here long.”

“You have nowhere else to go.”

“I will manage.” She thoughtful strokes her long nails, Castiel can just imagine her trying to figure out their use. “Being human is much more painful than I expected.”

“Have you eaten yet?” Castiel puts his hand on Suzie’s shoulder, despite the wary look he gets because of it. “Your body probably wants food.”

“My body,” she frowns and stands. “Well then, I suppose I should do that.”

Castiel takes her back to the supply cabin, he gives her canned tuna, granola bars and peanut butter on stale crackers but she spits out each one out. Suzie looks miserable as she tries to cleanse out the taste of the peanut butter with a mouthful of Dean’s whiskey. He tells her to wait a moment while he gives out the half eaten food to some of the other, no point letting it go to waste, and when he returns he ushers her into Dean’s cabin. After making sure that Dean isn’t around he pulls back the cabin and opens the door hidden in the floor boards.

It’s a small little nook, it doesn’t hold much, just some items that Dean doesn’t want getting stolen. It’s mostly ammo and medical supplies, but off to the side is a stack of mason jars. Dean isn’t much nostalgia but when a supply run ended up at an old lady’s pantry the first thing he grabbed was the canned pie filling. They are usually saved for a night were he’s finished a bottle of Daniels, he twists open the small jar and downs the contents, it’s one of the few times he nearly smiles.

“Here,” Castiel hands her a jar of cherry filling, “Try this.”

She warily dips her finger into the goo, scoops up a glob and sucks the digit into his mouth. Her face instantly brightens and she reaches to take more but Castiel hold the jar away from her. “I want that.”

“I know,” Castiel nods. “This is the only one you can have though, after this you need to eat what everyone else does.”

Suzie’s nose instantly wrinkles in disgust. “But I want that.”

Castiel shakes his head. “This is Dean’s. I’m only doing this for you because we’re family.”

Castiel flinches at the harsh laugh she lets out but she quickly quiets down when she realizes he is serious. “Oh, well, thank you.”

Handing her the jar he rises to his feet and makes way to the door. “You finish that, I’ll keep Dean busy for a bit.”
***
Castiel rubs his palm against his tired eyes, there was always so much to do and so little time to do it. Chuck was near panicking early and Castiel had to spend all evening trying to calm him and convince him that the camp wasn’t days away from starvation. Walking into his cabin he nearly slips on a jar that was lying on the floor, along with several others in a line straight to the bed.

“What the…” Castiel trails off and picks up the stray jar. It lined with a red slime that Castiel instantly recognizes and he marches right over to the girl sleeping on his head. “Suzie!”

“Mmm, go away,” she replies lazily.

“You ate all of them,” he hisses, slamming the glass on the night table. “Dean- Dean will be furious.”

“It was so good.” She curls in on herself, her arms wrap around her midsection. “But it still hurts.”

“Because you ate too much!” Castiel rolls her onto he back, her stomach is clearly swollen and she must have eaten over twenty jars. “Why didn’t you stop?”

“I don’t know,” she whines. “It didn’t hurt when I was eating it.”

“Damn,” Castiel cusses. “I told you to just eat the one.”

Suzie has already fallen back asleep and Castiel sees no reason to keep yelling at the unconscious angel.
She was gone by the morning anyways.
***

Days pass and turn into months, soon Castiel forgets all about Suzie, stops wondering where she could have gone. There are more important things to worry about anyways.

Then one day the supply run comes back with a group of survivors and Dean shuffles them off into a spare cabin to quarantine. Castiel doesn’t think much of it, it happens from time to time and he’s frankly still a little buzzed from the pills he took that morning. So he just lounges in his bed and munches on a handful of cereal. There’s a knock on the door and Dean walks in before Castiel can answer.

“Someone’s asking for you,” he tells Castiel. “One of the people we just brought it.”

“I don’t know anyone.”

“Go, don’t go, I don’t care,” Dean shrugs and leaves. Castiel waits till the drugs have completely left his system before he goes to find out for himself who it is.

“Castiel!” A voice calls out before he’s even half way across the lawn. He walks up to the armed guards at the cabin and sees a small blonde trying to wedge herself between them.

“It’s fine,” Castiel tells them. “She can’t get infected she’s…she’s like me.”

It seems strange to still call himself an angel after all this time.

“Whatever.” One moves to the side and lets the girl out, she instantly flings herself at Castiel and hugs him.

“I found you!” She cries out.

“Yes, yes you did.” Castiel pulls her off him and the leads her back to his cabin. “I’m sorry but I don’t know who you are.”

“It’s me,” she blinks as if that’s enough. Thankfully she doesn’t embarrass Castiel by making him guess. “Lailah.”

“Oh.” She had been created around the same time he was but she rarely ever left heaven, he’s sure that is why she still seems to lighthearted.

“I knew I’d find you.”

“Me? Why would you want to find me.”

“I don’t know, I just know I was supposed to.” She taps her chin in thought. “I remember it from before.”

“Before? Before you fell?”

She nods enthusiastically. “So, you can fix this now, right?”

“Fix what?” he asked confused.

“Fix me,” she smiles brightly, “make me an angel again.”

“Lailah…I can’t…I can’t do that.”

The smile instantly drops from the lips. “What?”

“I don’t know why you think I can but I’m no more of an angel than you are.”

“No, no, I was told…” Her bottom lip trembles and tiny pricks of water sting her eyes. “I thought you would help me.”

“I will, I’ll show you how to be human, how to-”

“I don’t want to be human!” She shouts. Tears burst from her eyes and she collapses on Castiel’s bed. “It’s so awful; the world out there, all those people, I don’t want any of that.”

“It’s not so bad, I’ve been like this for years.” The words just make her sob harder.

“Just leave me alone.” He leans down and tries to comfort her but she pulls away. “Please, just go.”

Castiel leaves her, he sits on the steps to his cabin and listens to her sobbing. He tels himself that in the morning she'll be better and he'll helper her then. When he comes back the next day she refuses to get out of bed, the same the day after that and the next, and the next. She spends a week in bed, refusing to eat, refusing to speak no matter how hard Castiel tries to lure her out.

When it seems hopeless he grabs the bottle in his pocket and puts it in her hand. "This will help."

She rolls the bottle on the bed and it falls onto the ground. Castiel tries again, pulling the cap off and dropping the pills in her hand. "Please, just try it. You can fly again."

She doesn't move and Castiel thinks that he's lost her but then her mouth slowly opens. Castiel gives her a weak smile before twisting open a water bottle and pops a few pills in his own mouth.

A few minutes later they're both on the ground and she has that sam bright aura he remembered her having. It really is like flying, being warm and weightless, the drugs are the closes he ever comes to salvation.

"You're glowing, Castiel," she grins up at him. He grabs her hips and drags her on top of him. "You're glowing just like you used to."

Castiel teachers her a lot of things that night. He shows her bliss, sex, laughter and affection. She learns even more the next day; pain, despair, loss. Like he once did she drowns herself in the pills she can sneak out of the supplies.

The next time an angel shows up in camp Castiel promises to try harder, promises that this one won't end up like he did. That one lasts 6 months before he follows. The same thing happens to the next one and the next.

Castiel isn't sure if it's humanity they can't handle or if Castiel really does corrupt everything he touches.

Prompt: Team Castiel/Lucifer. Casifer

[marie_de_sade]

Castiel loves Lucifer but because of his reeducation in heaven, his mind keeps viewing it as a sin. Everytime he's with him his mind screams at him that it's wrong.

FILL: Team Anna/Ruby, Holy

[mllenightingale]

Hhhhhh I totally did not squeal when I saw that ship, okay. Oh my fucking god, I love you for this prompt.

So I turned this into an Alastair-before-he-was-a-demon kinda thing — someone who actually pays attention to ancient ancient history might punch me for the blatant disregard of how cultures [ and technically + language ] actually develop about and all that — I'm pretty sure that back when humans evolved into humans, they still didn't have villages and proper speech [ not to mention English ] and all that, but oh well.

As a note about canon timelines, I'm going with a friend's headcanon on how white-eyed demons are turned by Lucifer himself, which means that Alastair was Lucifer's Second and by the second part of this, Lilith-the-demon is already in existence. Presumably, not long after this Al would turn white-eyed and demon-y.

—

When he lays a hand on the body of the near-dead feline, stitching together wounds and cleaning away smeared viscera with a mere thought, the boy looks up at his blemished, wilting form with reverence shining in child’s eyes, wide and gleaming with silent worship. There’s unabashed curiosity within the veneration, the kind of innocence that comes along with the blissful ignorance of early youth.

For a moment, Lucifer allows himself to venture within the vicious grasp of nostalgia; the blind idolization is reminiscent of the time when he was received as another god in his own right. Since then, he’s fallen farther than he could have ever envisioned before — lost Heaven’s favour and his Father’s affections and been banished from his home into residence within the decaying flesh vessel of one of the humans he so despises.

As he’s sprung out of his reverie by a warm hand tugging tentatively at his finger, he feels a sentiment resembling resentment of the boy who so fleetingly made him feel holy once again. Lucifer raises a hand to his forehead, extending two fingers and pressing them against his skin, and the child — Alastair, he’s called — falls to the ground in sleep.



He returns to the village when thirty years have passed, having wandered from place to place upon the Earth’s surface in the endlessly long hours in between. Within moments of his arrival, he’s discovered that they’ve succumbed to greed and wrath— engulfed within a cycle of strife with a neighbouring settlement of humans. It’s inexcusable, another distasteful mark of evidence out of countless that continue to reinforce his initial declarations of the creatures’ flawed natures, and he considers the benefits of razing both establishments and their inhabitants to the ground.

The man who catches him behind a shelter of sticks and leaves with flame cradled in the palm of his hand takes him by surprise, not from any shouts of warning to his peers from the lack thereof— and when Lucifer takes in his visage, he recognizes the boy he came across three decades ago, not so far from where they stand now. The guilelessness of childhood has vanished, reeling in its place an identity characterized by a striking medley of cruelty and disillusionment.

“If you’re planning to let this place burn, let me join you,” Alastair says with a turn of his lips that marks incredible distaste, and there’s no trace of compassion that might suggest anything but what his words imply.

“Only if you mean it,” Lucifer replies, and in the following chaos of fire and death and the mingling scents of scorched wood and forest and flesh, the man proves his dedication.

Re: FILL: Team Anna/Ruby, Holy

[fatalchild]

Thank you! I also think that white eyes are Lucifer's own creations. :)