#mfeo

[waltricia]

These dorks. 💚

[dramatictrajectory]

Pouty couple ><

[ghostradiodylan]

The Quarry Gifs: Comforting Lies to Tell Your Boyfriend Edition

[imrandymeeks]

Supernatural: Sam & Lucifer's Christmas

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[starry-nights-17]

[pentacentric]

two halves made whole

there's some world out there where sam and lucifer came to an agreement

[voloslobotomyservice]

look at how they’re gazing into each other's eyes. disgusting.

[meyerlansky]

astarion's delivery is hilarious, this is known, but i think we are not appreciating enough halsin just casually being the funniest bitch on the planet

[archangelsammy]

sam winchester & hallucifer / sylvia plath, elm / spn 7.02 hello cruel world / 7.15 repo man / 7.17 the born again identity

[noneedtoamputate]

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Just found out that Shayne Taylor and Lucy Jean have the same birthday!

[frumious-bandersnatch-ao3]

Prompt: apocalypse, murder-suicide

The Alpha and the Omega, the First and the Last, the Beginning and the End; the King of Kings, the Light, Lord of Lords, Abba, YHWH, Elohim … Charles Shurley sat down behind His typewriter, and began to draft a set of notes. On the coiling branches of Everything, a universe split off and began to take form. 

His first sketches of first drafts are always messy: bullet-point plot and jumping off points.

Sam’s ‘yes’ assured; as normal

Dean’s ‘yes’: Golden Room, last resort, desperate, Zachariah alive, Castiel dead. Permanent.

Stull Cemetery, both sets of brothers made whole; flesh and grace and soul. Lucifer in white, Michael in something fitted and regal, muted tones, tailored to Dean in the way clothes have never been tailored to him before. 

They love eachother.

Chuck took a pause there, and stared at the words on the page for a few minutes; brow creased and eyes narrowed behind His reading glasses. Of course they loved each other. They were created that way, both pairs; grace calling to grace and soul calling to soul. And of course, if it went how originally designed, like it should have gone in the first place outlined after the Fall, one would kill the other. But He was doing something different here, and… He could see it taking form now.

Lucifer in Sam, dressed in white, and even though it had rained a few days previous, the graveyard mud refused to cling to his brogues. Though it wouldn’t be visible to any man, were any man to actually be blessed with the sight of the final event of the End of Days, his wings (though they would be so intertwined, by this point, Lucifer and Sam, so really-) their wings would be outspread behind them. 

White and glistening like fire opals, the beauty inherent in their design almost masking the fact that they were stained with blood and bent in a million wrong angles and still smoking from the Fall. They would arrive first, waiting, staring down at the grace-formed blade in their hands. It would have been eons since Lucifer last touched his own blade… Chuck imagined that touching it, for him, would have set a pit in his stomach. Knowing that things were final, that he had the full chance and ability to kill his brother laid out before him. Sam would comfort him. Remember, he would murmur, in the shared space of their mind, we can all just walk off. He’s going to listen to you. I know he will. Because Sam would be thinking of his own brother, and Lucifer would know… of course, he would know that Dean Winchester and Saint Michael the Archangel, Viceroy of Heaven, for all their designed similarities, were two different beasts entirely. 

Michael in Dean would arrive with a sound like thunder; eyes shining a brilliant icy blue. Their shoes– pointed oxfords in a deep chocolate brown, with a slight heel– would sink into the mud. Dressed in earth tones; brown, orangey-reds, deep purple, formal wear (the both of them, all four of them, dressed like they were going to a wedding. Chuck wondered for a moment what it meant about him, that he could never imagine Lucifer in anything but pristine, virginal white). They would be holding Michael’s lance in one hand, his blade in another, and their wings like so many swords and spears and daggers fluorescing with the colors of dusk and twilight would flare in a sign of dominance. Dean would fret, of course. Michael, please, they’re our brothers, we don’t have to do this, you know we don’t.

But Michael would know… of course, he would know that he’s a good son. And good sons follow their orders, no matter how much it hurts and no matter how much they love what they’re told to spurn. You know that we do. Is all that he would tell Dean in the frantic silence of their shared mind.

The two, the four would approach, slowly bridging the small gap between them. Not aggressive, not hurried… they would have all the time in the world, after all. Their actions would decide when that hourglass would run out of sand. The fate of everything in the universe decided in a small cemetery in Kansas, on a particularly sunny day after a strong rain a few days before. The air would smell like mud and growing things and the wilted flowers left beside so many graves. 

“Michael,” Lucifer would murmur, voice soft and lilting; silver tongue and Sam’s perfect throat. “It’s good to see you.”

Michael would dip his head in a mockery of deference. “Lucifer,” he would reply, Dean’s voice cracking around the second syllable. “It’s been too long.” And he would mean it, desperately. It has been too long since I last saw you, it has been so long since I’ve seen your grace, since it has been so close to mine, do you remember what you threw away?

“Can you believe it’s finally here?” Lucifer would say it as if it were almost amusing, wishing that it were heaven again and they were standing together in Eden, when everything was beautiful and they would twine grace in grace and glory, glory, glory.

“Yeah,” a scoff, “not really. …You ready?” Chuck had written this conversation a hundred million times over. The silence in the graveyard, nothing but the wind whistling. Two brothers who loved eachother bound to duty by the chains of fate; echoes of God and Darkness and Cain and Abel on and on and on forever, glory, glory, glory, Lord God of Hosts, a perfect story… 

“-and why make us fight? I just can’t figure out the point.” Sam’s face wouldn’t be stoic, here. Brow slightly wrinkled, eyes watering just slightly, even Chuck wouldn’t be able to piece out whether it was Sam or Lucifer making the expression, the distress so visceral and needing and painful.

“What’s your point?” 

Chuck closed his eyes. Needed to finalize, before he really put it to words. They love eachother.

They would end up in each other’s arms. Michael’s lance dropped abandoned to the grass, to the mud. Michael in Dean’s face buried in the crook between Lucifer in Sam’s neck and shoulder. Dean would be crying. Lucifer, would, too, resting his hand between his brother’s shoulder blades and hearing the hitch of his breath. “I love you,” both of them, all of them, would say it like a prayer.

“I’m sorry,” both of them, all of them, desperation and horror and finality.

Twin blades into twin backs, twin explosions, supernovas of grace; twin sets of wingprints burned black into the ground.

[freakera]

I go through 6 dildos a day giving strap to a robot, his pussy is all cogs and gears

[dramatictrajectory]

Nozue and Togawa in the kitchen.

Still on lovely fluffy BL dramas trajectory, and can't be sweeter than seduction via desserts, mmmmm. Absolutely love their dynamics!

[gabby-i-guess]

MFEO.

Made for each other.

It was one of the songs I thought of as us, me and the boy with the doc martens and the sad backstory. I didn't know yet, how bad he was going to hurt me. How we'd tear each other apart.

But then, maybe I did know. Maybe some part of me could feel it coming even then, all the pain and misery and heartbreak.

Because it never was a love song.

MFEO by Jack's Mannequin

Oh, maybe we were made for each other. Is it possible for the world to look this way forever?

The chorus's sentimental words, the melody's relentlessly cheerful tone - it almost sells it. Almost convinces you that the verses are about being young and free and full of love and life.

Almost.

I'm always in the haze of a car crash, the orange air bag dust covers everything... everything...

That line... it's not right. Aren't we happy? Aren't we young and free, getting high with our friends without a care in the world? Don't we wish this could last forever?

The vocals rise desperately, then fracture under their own weight and fall back. But the melody, manic and unforgiving, drags the song on into the chorus again.

Oh, maybe we were made for each other. Is it possible for the world to look this way forever?

But this time, the vocals' exhaustion wins out, pulling the melody down with it. The song slows. The music fades.

And then, just as it seems like it's going to come to an end, a new piano riff comes in, soft and tentative and delicate. Then the bass. Then the drums and the guitar and the vocals, humming out the new chorus.

You can breathe. You can breathe now. You can breathe, but the air is running out.

And the verses now turn to desperation, to temptation, to "just one last time".

You cannot forget. Skin new. Hands true. My hands all over you. So what's another night? The seat's rolled back, they can't see through.

The song finally comes to an end with the drums taking centre stage, beating out a relentless, insistent rhythm as both choruses echo weakly over each other.

Maybe, maybe we were made for each other. You can breathe but the air is running out. And maybe, maybe, the world can look like this forever.

It brings the song full circle. Maybe we are made for each other. Maybe we're made to self-destruct, together. Maybe we're made to suffocate each other. And maybe it's worth it, to keep the last echoes of that manic high we had before.

MFEO.

Made for each other.

[bottomoftheninthcantfindmysocks]

You can b r e a t h e

You can breathe now

You can breathe, but the air is running out

[archangelsammy]

sam & lucifer / raymond carver, late fragment