#blogger!sam

YES

WHAT ABOUT HIM

His garden tag. He has a whole tag dedicated to garden pictures. Greenhouse plants. Rose bushes. Plant anomalies. Rooftop and windowsill gardens. Gardens out by cabins in the woods. Chaotic suburban gardens. Wildflower gardens. Gardens with plants he’d never be able to grow outdoors in the climate he lives in. Gardens with plants he knows he could plant if he wanted to. 

Just gardens.

All of them.

And you know, when Sam takes Luce home for the first week of summer (because Luce’s own family isn’t too chill with him or Cas these days) he can’t help but notice Mary Winchester’s beautiful garden. When he praises her handiwork, he accidentally wins her favor. 

It all went over a lot easier than Sam had expected it to. 

And of course Lucifer posts pictures of the garden on his blog. And Sam takes some pictures of Lucifer getting into the flower beds to pull some weeds. 

Blogger!Lucifer has hit a rut. He’s set up his queue and can’t come up with anything original to post. Not that anyone’s noticed. He still has a constant stream of content. He just…nah, nothing’s really working for him. He’s trying to write, he’s trying to doodle a few pictures, he’s trying to see if he can get that nice picture of the sunset coming between the buildings that lead up to his apartment complex. But none of it’s working out just like he wants.

He needs inspiration. He needs a creative muse.

At the top of his dashboard, when he refreshes the page, is a familiar username. MenOfLettersLegacy. Right. Looking for a muse, and, lo, there it is. Under his nose the whole time.

Sam has posted pictures and journals about his adventures over the past week and Lucifer has been missing them while he’s been wallowing in his own misery.

He messages Sam:

Inspire me, please. Give me something. Anything.

He waits around twenty minutes, then the reply comes:

Are you alright?

Lucifer stares at the screen. There’s that glimmering moment when he wants to say everything. He wants to tell this virtual stranger exactly what he feels and how everything is. Instead of pouring his heart out, he types:

…please?

Sam sends him a prompt around one minute later:

”It’s the devil I love, and that’s as funny as real love.”

Lucifer tries not to read into that too much (and fails miserably). He smiles and flexes his hands, trying to wake them up again after hours of aimless scrolling and clicking.

Time go get back on track.

- - -

Sam actually first interacted with Lucifer over tumblr back when Lucifer was just gaining popularity. Sam's personal posts were usually in regards to his newest town of residence, since he, Dean, and John moved around all of the time. He'd gained a nice number of followers from these posts (in a combination with the stuff he reblogged from folks like Luce).

What he really liked doing (and what he got the most notes doing) was telling ghost stories and urban legends surrounding the places he went to. He was always a superstitious kid, and he and Dean had had their fair share of strange experiences while going around and doing a bit of urban exploration. Sometimes, though, the apartment complexes, old flats, houses, and hotels they stayed in held some of the most interesting stories of all of the places they went.

Like the one in this one post:

Man of Letters Log #51 -- apt. 669a

Dean and I decided to set up candles earlier tonight when the power went out for a short while there. The old apartment is really pretty cool looking, in my opinion. Dad thinks it's just another place that needs fixing up, but...well ,I don't know. I kind of like it how it is. The wall paper's old and sun-bleached, and the electric lights and fans look like something directly out of the 40s. The wooden floor creaks minimally when I walk across it, even though Dean and Dad stomp around it, making it creak and moan and groan with every step like it's begging for them to stop abusing its poor old finish.

Thing is, I get the feeling it really is doing just that. Last night, I had this dream that Dad and Dean were tied to the ceiling fans like marionette puppets, and they would move around the room like the house was controlling them...and I saw a door open to the attic space above our part of the tenant house...and, of course, my dream self ignored my pale, dead-looking family to go investigate the attic. I walked down what felt like an endless hallway and eventually came across a naked light bulb that hung from the ceiling. I looked closer and saw that it was a bit more than a light bulb, though. It was an eyeball staring blankly at me as it hung from the ceiling. What could I do but stare back? I heard creaking and the wooden boards below my feet bent and arched around me. I stared at the bulb, unable to move. A voice came from behind me and said something...I can't remember it, I'm sorry. I felt a hand on my shoulder, then something sliding around my neck, and just as the floor reached the ceiling in a perfect, circular arc, it snapped back down again, and the thing (rope? a belt?) shot backwards and took me with it, snapping my neck.

I woke up today and headed to the local library as soon as I could manage it. I looked up the history of our house, thanks to a helpful librarian, and found that the first owner of the house had a young daughter who had lured her cruel older brother upstairs (after he'd stomped around her room pretending to be a monster coming to get her the night before, biting and clawing at her legs and feet until she was in hysterics) and had convinced him to stand on a chair to change the light bulb in the ceiling. She slipped a poorly-made noose around his neck and knocked the chair out from underneath him. As a side note, she also was very fond of marionette dolls. Apparently, each of the residents since then have heard strange noises in the attic and have seen the lights blow out even when the rest of the power grid is perfectly fine and there is nothing technically wrong with the electrical wiring in the place.

Some of the residents have even had borderline prophetic dreams, according to a few sources...while staying in the room Dean and I sleep in now.

I'm not sure I believe this stuff, but I'm kind of...I don't know. I'm kind of freaked out, to say the least.

I'm hoping the power comes back on soon. Or that Dad gets home. Either one will do.

Lucifer saw the post because Meg reblogged it. He admitted that it freaked him the fuck out. He liked it, then moved on to some gifs of cats. That usually could lighten his mood. He kept a tab open for the Man Of Letters guy's blog, just in case he updated.

And he did not disappoint.

I just had the most terrfying fucikin g nightmare I can barely type I"m sorry for that ahead of time.

I thought Dad had come home. There was stomping outside the room and I figured that Dad was still wearing his steel-toed workboots or something like that and was just trying to check in on Dean ands me. And holy fcuking hell the door cracked open and it was a young girl, probably seven years old, I don't knwo, and she looked me in the eye and like gave me this spooked look and pointed to where Dean was sleeping and I turned to looka thim and he was like fucking perched on the bedpost and had these pitch black eyes and this fucking terrfying grin on his face and I just stared for a moment and when I reached over to turn the light on he jumped at me and the girl screamed and I felt like whatever this not-Dean thing was was just clawing into my neckand heart and guts and

And I woke up with Dean standing over me. The lights had just come back on, but he said they were flickering while I was asleep because I had ust started screaming out of the fucking blue, scaring him half to death and I...I don't know what to say.

What do I do?

Lucifer's eyes widened at every line. He opened the reblog link and quickly typed out:

you get the fuck out of that house that's what you do

Sam's notes on that post shot up shortly thereafter. He did get the fuck out of that house after a few more intense dreams and a few bouts of sleep paralysis (something he hadn't experienced since they were in New Jersey a few years back). Dean and John were superstitious, too, so it didn't take much to convince them that a quick blessing and scrubbing wouldn't fix the place up.

That and John got a new job a couple of states away.

Sam followed Lucifer's blog for good, then. He'd only been a distant admirer before then, but he noticed that the random guy who did wonders for his note count and number of followers had a lot in common with him as far as interest groups went.

I just might write more, assuming that we’re talking about my most recent Samifer blogger au idea…

Sam follows his account and really likes the content he puts out there and reads his tag rants and everything and concludes that this blogger guy, despite his irritable nature at times, is someone he admires on the internet.

Lucifer has a bad night at home and ends up crashing on his friend (and fellow blogger) Meg's couch for a short while. He slugs back a few drinks and decides, fuck it, there are probably people online who'd like to ask him dumb 3 am type questions, so he offers to play slumber party games like bed/wed/behead and such.

Eventually, he gets into this back and forth thing with this Man-Of-Letters-somethingoranother who's been following his account for a long time and is all nice to him and stuff, but has never really been afraid of calling him out on his shit (which Lucifer admires but he hasn't mentioned that to the guy). They start playing a truth or dare game and go on for about an hour.

Sam gains, like, 30 some odd followers over the course of two or three hours, but all he can focus on is the fact that this popular blogger is semi-drunkenly playing slumber party games with him.

Lucifer picks truth a few times, and admits that he's "100% single", he has a giant family (including a fraternal twin brother), has fallen in love with Amanda Palmer's music over the course of the past month, and that he once pooled money together with Meg to go buy a pet snake (which still resides in Meg's flat). Sam admits that he's "also 100% single", is at college for pre-law, has recently gone into a Neko Case phase, music-wise, and hates creepy clowns.

Then Lucifer picks "dare".

Sam tells him to post a picture or gif of himself.

Lucifer posts a gif around five minutes later of himself winking at the webcam on his computer, illuminated in the dark living room of Meg's flat by the backlight alone, and clearly holding onto the neck of a bottle of wine in one hand.

Sam has a moment where he just pauses and stares at the screen.

Oh no. He's single, he's my age, and he's hot.

...and he looks sort of familiar.

So naturally Lucifer dares Sam to do the same thing before Sam can figure out how he could possibly recognize the guy.

Sam posts a gif a few minutes later of himself smiling and giving a small, nervous wave at the camera, lit from the side by the warm glow of his bedside lamp.

Lucifer has a moment where he just pauses and stares at the screen. His inebriated mind slowly figures out what is keeping him from looking away.

Oh no. He's single, he's my age, and he's hot.

...and he looks sort of familiar.

Oh wait.

Right.

Sam Winchester. The guy who sat in front of him in his religious studies class. The guy he drew sketches of in his notebook all last week because wow were his features unique and perfect for reference and...

...and Man-of-Letters-somethingsomethingsomething was Sam Winchester. That was all that mattered.

So he finally signs off and passes out for the night. So does Sam. The next day in class, Lucifer is almost totally over his killer hangover when Sam sits down in front of him. Lucifer grins and leans in close enough to drop a note onto Sam's book while he's looking away:

You know I think about you Let me know you think about me, too

Sam looks surprised when he spots the note and pleased as he reads it.

Lucifer rests his head on his open copy of Milton's Paradise Lost for the rest of class (he's read it more times than he can count--he doesn't need to pay attention this time). As everyone is dismissed, he feels a tap next to his temple. He looks up to see a note.

I could be your type

He smiles at it and gets this wonderful swelling feeling in his chest.

If you're really feeling it, go for it. Nothing can stop you /(O3O)/

I might have to do this.

Oh golly. What have I gotten myself into?