get here may

i won’t fear love

         happy sciles day, everybody!
When your heart is a stranger

[A/N: Lucifer. Missing moments during 2x13. Deckerstar because of course. Title taken from the song of the same name by Friends in Paris aka the last song in the episode.]

She’s visibly shaking as she takes off her sweater.

“What on earth are you doing?” He asks, alarmed as he reaches out a hand to stop her.

“Lucifer, no one’s going to look twice at me if I’m wearing a blood soaked shirt.”

He looks down at her, standing in front of him clad only in black jeans and a plain black bra. It must say something about the progression of their relationship that she doesn’t even shy away from his gaze. It must say something more about how utterly rattled he is by the poison coursing through her veins that he doesn’t even think to stare.

Instead, he simply looks her in the eye and raises a brow. That it’s neither lecherous nor teasing comes as a surprise to them both.  

“Well, they’re certain to look at least three times at you if that’s what you’re planning on wearing.”

She tilts her head up at him, somehow manages to give the impression of rolling her eyes even as the corners of her mouth turn up.

“Though I’d say anyone would look at least twice at you even if you were wearing a paper bag,” he says, mostly to distract himself from the way the small upturn of lips tugs at the corners of his heart. He shrugs and tries for a teasing smile. “More so, I wager, depending on the size of the bag.”

She grins at him, though the movement is wan and lopsided.

“Have any of those lying around for me?”

He can tell she says it mostly for his benefit, which means he must be much worse at hiding his panic than he thought. He tries to school his face into something approaching nonchalant as he watches her shake out her jacket and sling it around her shoulders. The effect is immediately, absurdly attractive.

Except that his entire focus is stuck on how sallow her skin looks in the moonlight, how he can feel the heat emanating off of her despite the fact that she’s shivering. So instead of giving voice to the half dozen overtly affectionate phrases he can feel in back of his throat, he shrugs out of his jacket and moves behind her to help her into it.

“Lucifer - .”

“Detective,” he says, the word dangerously close to a plea, “as radiant as you are and as cool as your jacket looks, it seems to do very little in terms of warmth. No one is going to approach you if you continue to shiver like that.”

Truthfully, he assumes at least a half dozen men would approach her in any state of dress - or undress, as it were - shivering or no. Which she must know, too, the way that she’s looking at him. After a long moment, she sighs and removes the dark leather jacket from around her shoulders, thrusting it towards him and threading her arms into the sleeves of his jacket instead. Once she’s completely wrapped in it, she turns around and flings her arms out wide.

“How do I look?”

A shiver lances through her before he can reply.

He frowns and steps forward to button up the jacket, trying not to think about how close she is, how much he simply wants to wrap her in his arms.

For - what reason? No other he can discern other than the pleasure of being close to her.

The thought brings a furrow between his brows. Closeness for it’s own sake is a new desire for him. It’s disconcerting, having spent so long carefully cataloging every type of desire, to suddenly be confronted with a new one.

He finishes the last button and steps back, glancing at the full length of her. The sleeves fall past her hands, a testament to his long frame in comparison to her small one. She glares at the sleeves as though they’ve done something to personally offend her. The movement of her brows and crinkling of her nose filling him with an absurd sort of longing. He gives a slight shake of his head as he steps in closer to her once again, the elegant taper of his fingers folding up the ends of the sleeves, careful to touch her without really touching her.

He smooths down the sleeves and looks back up at her.  

“Well?” She asks, arching a brow at him.  

He forces himself to step away from her, his traitorous hands wanting to linger at the ends of his jacket sleeves.

If he were not so preoccupied with the glazed look that keeps creeping towards the irises of her eyes, if he were not so desperately trying to push down the feelings of panic and anger and betrayal, he might make some offhand joke about how good she looks in his clothes. The look on her face tells him that she certainly expects it.

But then a shadow passes over her face and he watches her swallow back her own fear and panic. Suddenly he is just too tired and defeated and utterly destroyed to be anything but honest.

So instead he smiles, the movement soft, its edges brittle.

“Radiant.”

Keep reading

Okay, gang, I know we’re not there yet but there’s no harm in being prepared - it’s time for… 

THE 100 SEASON FOUR DRINKING GAME!

- Every mention of “hope”
- Every mention of “survive”
- “I’m gonna get you out of here”
- “May we meet again” (finish your drink if it’s met with “We will”)
- “There has to be another way”
- “Get them to Medical”
- Every time Kane asks Abby/anyone else “are you alright?”
- Every time Monty and Jasper do The High Five
- “On the Ark…”
- “I had no choice”
- “Not enough time”
- “Not enough boats”
- “My sister, my responsibility”
- “Your fight is over/yu gonplei stei odon
- “Blood must have blood/jus drein jus daun
- “Stay strong/stei yuj
- “Get knocked down, get back up/ge smauk daun, gyon op nodotaim
- “Together”

Feel free to add to this as you please!

4
4

Margaret and Mary Tudor, princesses and later Dowager Queens, the daughters of Henry VII and Elizabeth of York, the sisters of Henry VIII. Born nearly a decade apart, the two knew little of each other after Margaret departed to Scotland, yet shared the same passionate and self-possessed nature, choosing their own mates to the scandal and scorn of others.

for the lovely @margarettudor

  • Me: *thinks about Pearl, Yellow Pearl and Blue Pearl being old friends on homeworld*
  • Me: *thinks about Yellow having a strong crush on Blue and Pearl rolling her eyes when she says she doesn't*
  • Me: *thinks about Yellow and Blue being shocked when Pearl decides to rebel*
  • Me: *thinks about Pearl asking Yellow and Blue to join the rebellion and them saying no*
  • Me: *thinks about Blue continuosly making holograms of the Renegade when she and Yellow are alone and questioning if they should have gone with her*
  • Me: *thinks about how they miss each other*
  • Me: *thinks about Pearl saying to Steven that she doesn't know Yellow, because it's been so much and she doesn't him to know what she left behind*
  • Me: *clutches chest* why do I love to suffer

I may redo these ones since I’m not 100% happy with her overall something-or-other. Might be the hairstyle since she usually just has her hair down and I love that look for her, but adventuring Masuyo needs it up.
I think I will doodle her and change her look up until I’m happy with her shapes, maybe work on Arty’s sheet instead since I have him down better.