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beatlesdumpsterfire · 3 years

Note

prompt -> everyone cowers in front of ringo's supreme power

There’s a reason why Ringo never played drum solos. If you thought it was because he simply didn’t like them, then I’m sorry, but you got fooled by a famous Beatles lie. No, Ringo didn’t play drum solos because he had stage fright, or he thought that they were too ostentatious - he refused to play them because he knew it would give him too much power. So much power, in fact, that he could cause the end of the world.

Sounds dramatic, I know, but don’t believe me? Back in the Hamburg days, after being heckled by a rambunctious crowd for over 2 hours straight to play something that could put Buddy Rich to shame, Ringo finally cracked. He ran 64th notes down his drum kit in such a rapid succession that he started to glow bright orange, as if he were on fire. Rory and the rest of the band didn’t know what to do with their glowing orb of a drummer, but they didn’t have much time to fret on it anyways because the walls of the Kaiserkeller started to rattle and crack, which made the German audience, still recovering from WW2, duck for cover with a collective yelp.

“Ringo!” Rory tried to yell over the ear-splitting noise that was coming from Ringo as his orange glow got progressively brighter. Ringo couldn’t hear him because he was in the zone. The Auto Zone. “Quit it!!”

Ringo moved from his 64th notes to smacking away at his cymbals like he was releasing the rage of a thousand years. The middle of the dance floor started to cave in, swallowing those who couldn’t move away fast enough. If you listened closely, you could hear a deep, Liverpudlian laugh coming from the pit. The only reason Ringo didn’t cause the end of the world on this occasion was because, as he was about to start balancing his twirling drumsticks on his nose, his allergies (the thing that humbles us all) got the better of him, causing him to let out a loud sneeze that rocketed him away from his set. With his senses knocked back into him, Ringo gaped at the chaos in front of him and turned to Rory, who was gaping back at him with a look on his face that could only mean Ringo was out of the band.

This is the history of The Beatles that you don’t know about. Ringo was a freelancer for a brief moment in Hamburg before John, Paul, and George found him. There had been a rumor circulating that there was something wrong with Ringo, but when the three lads saw him standing outside of a club one cold evening, lighting a cigarette in his own solitude, they just assumed that everyone else was being mean and hinting at how big his nose was.

And just like that, Pete was out and Ringo was in, because John, Paul, and George had heard that Ringo could really bring the house down. Ringo had tried to warn his new band members on multiple occasions that he suspected there was something wrong with him, but all of them insisted that he was fine and that his nose really wasn’t that big, so he had nothing to worry about. Ringo wasn’t so sure about that but, following the Incident, he had braved the drums once again and managed to keep a steady beat without causing Armageddon. Needless to say, that didn’t mean he was any less nervous about playing. Luckily, he insisted enough times that he would never do a drum solo, and John, Paul, and George listened, though they did think he was a little bit looney.

And things were alright like this for a while, through the ups and downs of their career, playing across the globe to thousands of screaming fans. Ringo never once let his guard down: there were no solos coming from him, no matter how many people wanted it.

That fateful night in Hamburg felt like another life, so much so that Ringo nearly forgot about the unusual power he contained. It wasn’t until he was pushed to the edge that he remembered he held the fate of the world in the palm of his hand, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

The year was 1969, the holiest year of them all, and Ringo was about ready to thrust his head through some drywall, he was so fed up with his bandmates. The incessant bickering over which songs made the cut on the album and which didn’t were really starting to drive him up the wall. Maxwell’s Silver Hammer was just the icing on the cake.

“We need another take on that one,” Paul announced to the band with an air of authority that Ringo wished he could strangle. They had just finished playing through their forty-seventh take and, although Paul was acting like it wasn’t his fault, it was absolutely his fault that they had to play the damn song again. For someone who acted like he was the leader of the band, Paul sure was having trouble remembering his baloney lyrics.

Without a word, John let his guitar slip out of his hands so it clunked to the ground in an amplified drop, its buzzing filling the room. John left them like that, stomping to the door and letting himself out, back to sanity. George gazed longingly at the door like he wanted to follow behind John, but he knew too well that Paul wasn’t going to let that happen. Completely unbothered by John, Paul turned to face the engineers in the sound booth and motioned in a grand gesture for them to start a new tape.

George looked across at Ringo and Ringo stared blankly back at him. He was really trying to repress everything he was feeling.

“Take 48,” George Martin nervously announced into their headphones, like he knew he was stoking a fire.

“Ringo, I’m gonna need some more umph on that drum part,” Paul turned back to Ringo with a smug look stretched across his face. “If you can handle it.”

That was it. That was freaking it. That was the line. The line’s way back there. Paul crossed that line. He crossed that line so hard it’s not even funny.

Ringo stood from his kit but, unlike John, he didn’t book it for the door. Instead, he rushed around the room, gathering every single percussion instrument he could find.

“I’ll give you umph,” he growled at Paul. In return, Paul smiled back at him because that was exactly what he wanted. In between them, George grabbed at his head. His two mates were really making him question why they were his mates in the first place.

“Take 48!” Paul called up to George Martin, spinning his finger around to motion that they start the tape. Then, he turned back to Ringo, who was staring at him with so much intensity it was a miracle Paul wasn’t sent flying backwards.

“One, two, one two three...”

Paul started to play the opening chords on his dinky little piano but Ringo wasn’t having any of that, oh no. He pounded into his snare drum so hard one of the drumsticks broke through the skin. Instead of pulling it out, Ringo left it there and grabbed a tambourine, which he proceeded to bang against his hi-hat. Paul wasn’t sure what Ringo was doing, but they had experimented enough in the past that he let it slide. George, on the other hand, was silently whispering prayers to himself as he stared at Ringo's glowing figure in horror. Ringo knew exactly what he was doing; if he did a drum solo, he could wreck their studio enough that he wouldn’t have to listen to Maxwell’s frickin Silver Hammer again. The trouble was, Ringo didn’t know when the right time was to stop.

By the time he started using two maracas as drumsticks on a timpani, Ringo began to slowly levitate. George’s whispered prayers were becoming louder from his panic. Up in the booth, it looked like the two remaining Beatles were performing an exorcism on Ringo.

“What the-” George Martin muttered. The boys must have stumbled across some new kind of street drug that really messed you up.

“Maxwell Anderson, majoring in medicine,” Paul cheerfully sang from his piano, his back turned to Ringo. Ringo started to shake in place, now suspended 5 feet above the ground, clicking castanets angrily while glaring down at Paul. George gaped as Ringo's color switched to a fiery, Kool Aid Man-red. It was bad. Paul continued to unknowingly play, but his left hand took a break to wipe some sweat from his brow. Someone must have turned up the heat, he mused to himself.

But no, it was Ringo, on the brink of causing a thermonuclear explosion. George was initially concerned for Ringo’s safety but, after seeing actual waves of heat emitted from his beige suit, George decided that his pal wasn’t worth it. He’d had some great memories with Ringo, but he could remember those later in therapy. For the meantime, he was getting the hell out of dodge, to wherever John had escaped to.

The problem was, Ringo’s power was sucking George so dry that he hardly had any energy left in him to move. It was like the goddamn relativity cadenza all over again. The more Ringo banged out the drum solo of the millenium, the more powerful he became. No one could stop him, he was a god. Ringo, god of the bongos. The most feared of them all.

Something caused Paul to finally turn around (probably Mal missing his cue to play the anvil because he was too distracted by whatever the hell Ringo was up to) and, when he did, his jaw dropped.

“Wot the fuck Ringo?” he shouted. They hadn’t agreed that Ringo could become a celestial being during their recording session. At that moment, John barged back in through the door, ready to give his half-hearted apology to Paul. That was quickly thrown in the trash when John looked up at their drummer, who now resembled a ball of fire, like the sun or something. (Even though it seems appropriate, no, unfortunately George didn’t write Here Comes the Sun about this event - that song had already been recorded at this point). John, as terrified as he was, couldn’t help but let out a loud cackle at the spectacle that was playing out in front of him. He knew that their session for Maxwell’s Silver Hammer had been bad, but he didn’t realize it was this bad, so much so that their drummer was spontaneously combusting.

“Silence, mortal!” Ringo boomed down at John, not even missing a beat on his woodblock solo.

That got John to shut up pretty fast.

“No one dares laugh at the almighty and powerful Ringo!” Ringo continued, his words practically searing through everyone’s skulls. “I can end you with the crash of a cymbal, I can tear this planet apart, piece by piece with only the sheer power of my mind!”

“Good for you, Ringo,” Paul stammered out as he tried to hide behind his piano. Paul was smart to pick up on the fact that, out of all of them, Ringo probably had the biggest score to settle with him. He really sincerely hoped that his charm would be enough to keep Ringo from smiting him but, just to be extra safe, he threw one of his famous winks Ringo’s way. Ringo, in turn, glared at Paul and pulled out a triangle.

“With a single ding on this triangle,” Ringo bellowed out, so loudly that everyone in England could hear him, “our planet will cease to exist.” He floated closer to Paul and Paul in return tried to back up, though he quickly found himself pushed against the wall. “Is that enough umph for you, Paul?” Ringo sneered back at him. Paul tried to respond that Ringo really didn’t have to do that and, actually take 14 had come out pretty good, but he found all of his words trapped in his throat. Ringo’s power was too overwhelming. Ringo seemed satisfied that he had terrified Paul so much that he finally shut his yap and, to really gloat in his glory, his hand slowly crept towards the triangle.

The closer Ringo got to hitting that triangle, the bigger he got. The image was straight out of Alice in Wonderland - in a matter of seconds, Ringo had grown too big to fit in their studio. That didn’t matter much, as the heat coming off of him helped sear away the wooden ceiling so it came crashing around him.

He’s really getting a big head, John mused to himself, though he didn’t dare make his observation out loud, which was a good decision because he would have been a goner otherwise. At this point, Ringo’s feet stretched the entire length of the studio (or, what remained of it) and his head was well above the skyline of London, where everyone could see him and scream with horror before going, “Wait, is that Ringo Starr from the Beatles?”

Ringo was only inches away from the triangle now and London had never been hotter. The ocean was starting to dry up on the coast, fields were bursting in flames at random, and children started asking their parents why they didn’t have more fans in their houses. Alongside the heat, the ground started to quiver before shaking, rattling, and rolling. Cars rocked in the street, smashing into each other, and trees and buildings started to tilt sideways, like wannabe Leaning Towers of Pisa. People were starting to panic, because nothing this exciting had ever happened in England before.

“Ringo!” George tried to call up to his mate, though he knew it was no use, considering how high up Ringo was. “Please, stop it!” John and Paul heard George’s desperate pleas over the commotion and joined in, falling to their knees and clasping their hands together, begging with all the energy they had left.

“We’ll let you have more songs on our album!” John tried.

“I’ll bring you more flowers,” George tried.

“We’ll stop recording Maxwell’s Silver Hammer for once and for all!” Paul tried without really thinking.

Ringo was a millimeter away from making contact with the triangle. But then, he stopped. And, faster than you could say “Maxwell Anderson,” the shaking and heat stopped. Ringo had almost instantly shrunk himself back down to his normal size and was no longer glowing a searing red. He calmly set the triangle down on the stool next to his kit and turned around to look at Paul, John, and George.

“Good,” was all he had to say. And, with that, he turned on his heel and strutted out of the practically demolished studio, whistling a happy tune to himself. Left behind, Paul, John, and George all tried to compose themselves.

“A new rule for the band,” Paul started slowly, “let’s not mess with Ringo.”

“Agreed,” John was quick to respond.

“Agreed,” George repeated.

#beatles ask #beatles fanfiction #ringo starr #george harrison #paul mccartney #john lennon #idk why I made paul a jerk here #sorry paul fans #ringo is a metaphysical being

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cosmicallybrownie · 7 years

Text

For a Good Time

Chapter 5

(previous) (next)

Pairing: Natan

Word Count: 3000

Warnings: swearing, food mention, alcohol mention

Rating: M (this chapter is SFW)

Summary: A phone number scrawled across a dark, dirty bathroom stall prompts a drunk Natalie to make a phone call. When Lucifer answers, he agrees to help her find her way home. Natalie clings to the impatient man, who wants nothing more than to never see her again. Of course, he never gets what he wants.

The sunrise grated against Lucifer’s nerves as he squinted against its unrelenting assault through the smallest crack in the yellowed blinds, and he consciously shifted his attention back to Natalie and loosened his grip on the cheap McDonald’s coffee cup he was threatening to crush. Natalie, unaware of his scrutiny, was carefully tapping a sugar packet into her own cup of coffee, not bothering with artificial sweeteners when sugar cane existed. Lucifer risked a glance at his watch while Natalie stirred her coffee, now almost the color of the light tiles of the floor with how much cream she dumped in it.

Meanwhile, Lucifer drank his coffee black, or at least pretended to. The four emptied packets of sugar he stashed in his pocket begged to differ, but it looked black enough when the lid was off.

He wasn’t exactly sure why he agreed to get breakfast with Natalie at 6:34 A-fucking-M, but there was no going back now. His hotcakes were already paid for. So he waited for her to finish making her coffee, and watched the way her eyes relaxed when she took the first sip. He chewed on the inside of his cheek and tapped his foot against the floor, knowing what a sight they must be.

Natalie’s hair was pulled into a messy braid, and the dirt caking her jeans had somehow migrated upwards to smear across her forehead and into her hairline. He couldn’t claim anything better, his own hair was streaked with soot, but thankfully the dark color of his shirt hid the lines of sweat around his armpits and back. He could follow his trail in the empty McDonald’s from the dirty footprints that marked his path to the counter and back to the booth he now sat in with Natalie.

The poor kid stuck working the morning shift had gone wide eyed when they walked in, and didn’t say a word when Lucifer swatted Natalie’s hand when she attempted to pay for her coffee and breakfast.

“I mean, I kinda dragged you here,” Natalie spoke through a bite of food, “You should have let me pay for you.”

Lucifer took a scalding sip of burnt coffee before replying, “I have a reputation to maintain. What would people say if they saw the dirt girl paying for me?”

A wadded up napkin hit him in the cheek as Natalie’s answer, and he smiled before chucking it back. It sailed over her shoulder and hit the floor beside her and she laughed at his piss poor aim before sinking into the booth further, holding her coffee like a precious diamond from an archeology dig.

They ate breakfast while Natalie talked about her newest flowering plants, describing the colors in detail until Lucifer was sure he knew as much about them as she did. They watched more people filter in and out as the morning hours crept by, bleeding into the normal working hour rush of people trying to grab their coffee before dedicating the rest of their day to work.

The nine o’clock hour had Lucifer pulling his phone out of his pocket to check that the time on his watch was correct, but somehow it was, and Natalie held the door for Lucifer when they walked outside. They weaved through the busying streets of New York, no one looking at each other, and Lucifer watched the loose strands of hair that escaped Natalie’s braid blow behind her in the warm breeze.

After they climbed the four long flights of stairs to Lucifer’s apartment, his fingers lingered on the doorknob to his floor, his brow creasing. Natalie rocked back and forth on her heels from the two refills of coffee bubbling in her veins, and watched him pull his hand away from the handle. When she looked back up at him, something was lingering in his eyes when he met her gaze.

“What?” Natalie asked after a beat of silence that was amplified by the emptiness of the stairwell, “Do I have dirt on my face?”

Her words broke the silence, and the corner of Lucifer’s mouth turned up. He didn’t look away from her when he swiped his thumb across the smear on her forehead, and Natalie could feel her face turn pink, despite not being embarrassed.

“Like always. I’ll see you later, kid,” Lucifer said casually, like he wasn’t just looking down at Natalie in a way that made her heart sit funny in her chest. She wasn’t ready to answer the questions she knew were reflected in her own stare, and when he turned, she swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Wait,” Natalie called, catching his arm in the doorway, “the spring equinox is tonight, I was gonna – do you wanna watch it with me?” Her question was almost breathless.

Lucifer pursed his lips for a moment, weighing her words before nodding slowly, “Text me the time.”

The smile didn’t fall from her lips when Natalie climbed the steps to her room, and she carried it into her early afternoon nap that lasted too long.

Lucifer stood in front of the mirror, shaving the stubble off his face and running his fingers through his hair until it laid flat and out of his eyes. He heard the chime of his phone from his bedroom, and he clicked his bathroom light off on the way to grab it.

“7:15 okay?” The message read, the excitement in Natalie’s tone obvious from the obscene amount of emojis that followed the short statement.

He sat on the corner of his bed and replied, “Should be fine. Where?”

“Just meet me at my apartment!”

He sent her an affirmation, then ducked out the door, in more of a hurry than he wanted to be in. By the time he reached the corner store, the anxiety had faded enough that he could read the labels of the wine bottles without worry as he made his careful selection.

Staring into the flat eyes of the Vietnamese woman, Lucifer realized that he had already seen Natalie after a few drinks, and he wasn’t so sure that he was willing to tempt the fates again. He returned the bottle to the shelves before the woman could ring him up, and returned moments later with cupcakes bearing the store’s label on the packaging. The bright yellow icing was slightly crushed against the plastic container, but they were only a couple bucks and littered with star shaped sprinkles that seemed appropriate.

The walk home was short, and he smoothed his collar in the reflective elevator doors on his way up to her floor. He gripped the white plastic bag in one hand, careful to keep it relatively steady, and knocked with his free hand.

He heard Natalie shout, “come in,” and he opened the door carefully, catching sight of Natalie exiting the bathroom, and walking towards her bedroom.

He stepped into her warm apartment, breathing in the fresh air filling her room from the open windows. Her curtains were waving in the warm breezes, and when Natalie finally stepped out of her bedroom, he thought he might blow away with them. He cleared his throat when he took in her floral skirt and the dirty sneakers accompanying it, and almost smiled because the contrast was so characteristically Natalie that his chest warmed.

Instead of walking across the room to greet him, Natalie went to the window, leaning slightly out of it to look towards the sitting sun and she gasped, “It’s almost time!”

When she turned back around, Lucifer’s neck matched the pink tint of the sky, and she shoved a folded blanket at him that was thrown over the couch the last time he was there. He took it without protest, and Natalie tugged at his arm, urging him to follow her into the bedroom.

He opened his mouth to protest, but swallowed it when she pried open the door to the fire escape, grunting at the effort it took. Lucifer didn’t have a free hand to assist her, but after another second, the heavy door swung open, creaking loudly and they stepped out onto the metal landing that groaned soundlessly with their weight. The roar of the city below was eclipsed by the breeze and Natalie’s warm fingers on the skin of his forearm.

When she smiled up at him, he could no longer blame the height for the way his stomach lurched, “Come on, this has roof access.”

The sun was slanted orange by the time the pair reached the roof, and Natalie squinted into the sunset, her smile matching the boldness of the hues before she turned back to Lucifer and took the blanket from his arms. He walked around the small section of the roof that she partitioned off with shelves and terracotta pots filled with plants and flowers that were blooming in the spring air.

He thumbed the leaf of a sprawling green vine, “Not enough space in your greenhouses?”

She fanned the blanket out, covering a small square of concrete that was shaded by a row of hanging plants, “The greenhouses are for all my research. But this little garden just...is.”

He switched his attention to another row of plants that smelled strongly of jasmine and Natalie trailed her fingers along the rows of ceramic pots, strolling to the edge of the building and lining her toes up to the edge of the brick. The sun streaked watercolors in the heavens, softer than the bright flowers she was growing.

Lucifer followed her footsteps, gently coaxing her away from the edge of the building, and back into her rooftop garden. Natalie giggled at the quiet worry that echoed through the firm press of his fingertips against the small of her back, and acquiesced with his silent request, sliding down to sit on the blanket.

“For fun, is it?” He asked, stooping to sit beside her, and wincing at the way the joints in his knees popped.

“For fun,” she agreed, falling silent.

After a beat too long, he reached for the grocery bag and pulled out the cupcakes. The plastic package complained loudly when he struggled to open it, but he won the war of pride, and handed Natalie the first cupcake. The icing was smashed and cracking, but Natalie smiled down at the sprinkles and stuck a finger in the icing, then stuck the same finger in her mouth.

When she laughed at his dumbfounded expression, her tongue was tinted yellow, and it broke the illusion, “I love the themed sprinkles, so very thoughtful of you.”

“I aim to please,” Lucifer quipped, biting into his own cupcake savagely. He reclined casually against a wicker shelf, mindful of the plants resting across the top of it.

“Hold on,” Natalie gasped, reaching for his cupcake with her free hand, “Is that a ring?” She pulled the small piece of plastic out of his icing, and stuck it in her mouth.

Lucifer didn’t have enough time to hide his confusion, and she pulled the ring from her lips, chasing a spot of yellow icing with her tongue. The moon shaped ring was sticky when she slid it on her finger, and it didn’t go past the second knuckle but she smiled down at it like it was a golden band.

“I can’t believe you brought me jewelry,” Natalie exclaimed, her voice high and sardonic as she continued to inspect the white plastic.

He returned to his relaxed position and slid his eyes shut, “Maybe I was saving that for someone else.”

Her resounding giggle had him cracking an eye to see the light expression on her face, and Natalie made a quiet noise in the back of her throat as she turned her attention towards the sky, watching the brilliant oranges slowly give way to the dark blues of the night. It didn’t seem like a war between them, more like an exchange between lovers until the moon outshined the sun, stretching languidly across the sky.

“The spring equinox is amazing, only one of two times a year that the day and night are equal.” Natalie said, more to herself than to Lucifer. “And now the days get longer. It’s all uphill from here,” when she spoke, her words made it seem like she was making a promise to the moon, and he watched her out of the corner of his eye.

The curve of her cheek caught the light from the apartment building next door, but the moon was reflected in her eyes, burning hot despite the coolness of the night. With the sunset came a drop in temperature, and Natalie shivered in the cold, but didn’t shrink from it.

“So why are we on the roof?” Lucifer finally asked, wondering exactly why his ass was on a concrete roof.

Natalie rolled her eyes, but her tone was teasingly serious, “It’s the equinox. I literally just explained this, dude.”

“Yeah, I got that part, girl. But the moon doesn’t look different than any other night.”

Natalie bumped his shoulder with her own, “It’s the principle.”

He took his hand off his stomach and moved it behind Natalie to lean on, so he could shift closer to her and lower his voice, “So we’re on the roof on a Monday night…for a principle.”

His flat, teasing tone made Natalie laugh, and she pressed into his side and looked up at him, “Yeah, you got it.” She should have moved away, but his large frame seemed to radiate heat, and she couldn’t find it in her to pull away when the spring air was a chilly assault on her senses. And he didn’t really seem to mind, either.

His muscles were relaxed as Natalie leaned into him, and he caught the scent of lemons in her hair, which surprised him. He would have expected something floral. Her eyes darted between constellations, counting the ones she knew and inventing ones she didn’t and something warm ached in Lucifer’s chest, making him tap his fingers nervously against the blanket.

He should have been watching the sky – the equinox – her whole reason for inviting him up, but instead Natalie could feel the heat of his gaze on her, making her face warm from the attention. Embarrassment finger painted her cheeks pink, and for the first time that evening, she was grateful for the cool night that wrapped around her.

A gentle breeze had the vines from one of her hanging plants waving in her face, and she swatted it away with a smile, smelling jasmine in the air. She looked to Lucifer to see if he found the swinging plant vines to be as amusing as she did, but the look in his eyes was stormy and intense. She found herself being swept downstream by his gaze, like he was a storm canting her sideways in its winds.

She couldn’t think under his stare, couldn’t even breathe. Every witty comment was sucked away from her, and it was all she could do to meet his raging brown eyes that were almost more gold in the fleeting lights of New York. He might be the most beautiful man she had ever met, hard angles and harder humor, but he was so easy to relax against that it almost scared her.

His eyes slid down to her lips, and she resisted the urge to chew on her bottom lip like she did when she was nervous. Every part of her body touching his felt overheated now, like he was burning her from the outside in, leaving a scorched trail from where his fingers ghosted over her bare shoulder, then crept up to gently brush her jaw.

She tilted her head to the side, and could smell the saccharine chocolate on his breath from the cupcakes they shared. Her lips were parted, and when he rubbed the pad of his thumb over her lower lip, she gasped quietly. He was closer than she remembered, and his fingers lightly holding her face seemed like they would sear his fingerprints into her skin as a permanent reminder of this moment.

Her eyes fluttered shut, and the brush of his nose against her cheek had her leaning further into his touch, but the sudden chime of Lucifer’s phone made them jump apart in shock. Something dark lingered behind Lucifer’s eyes, but it was undercut by the spots of color on his cheeks, and the darkness gave way when his phone continued to buzz in his pocket.

On the fourth ring, he started fumbling for the device like he had forgotten how to use his hands, and when he answered the insistent call, his voice was rough, “FDNY, Squad 103, this is Lucifer.”

Natalie couldn’t hear what was being said over the phone to Lucifer, but she could tell it was troubling from the way his eyes went deadly serious, and his jaw set in a hard line. He dragged his free hand over his face and scratched at the stubble on his jaw, and suddenly he was responding to the person on the phone, assuring them that he would help.

When the phone call ended, Lucifer send a withering look Natalie’s way, suddenly looking so tired that she wanted to beg him to stay.

“I – shit, I have to go, Natalie,” he told her, his voice so low she almost didn’t hear him.

“Wait, why?” The confusion in her eyes echoed in her voice, and she grabbed a handful of his black shirt to keep him in place.

“It’s Ipos, my squad – shit, they need me,” and at that, he stood up, shaking sprinkles off his jeans, and hurried to the fire escape. She barely heard the promise to text her later that he shouted over his shoulder halfway down the first flight.

He was gone before she could even process the fact that he was leaving, and she stared at the spot on the blanket where he had been just moments before he rushed off. The roof seemed much colder without his presence, but she wasn’t upset with him. He was a firefighter, rushing off at a moment’s notice when the situation called for it was part of the job, and she couldn’t blame him.

It was just that the stars didn’t seem to shine as bright when she was watching them alone.

#satan and me #thisiskindagross #natan #FGT #hot off the presses #swearing #food mention #alcohol mention #here it is folks #its been ages #yikes

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