#ofheavensfire

❛     well   .   .   .   well   .   .   .   well            look   what   father   dragged   in.     ❜    to   say   lucifer   is   stunned   ?   well   it’s   an   understatement.   but   here   he   is            michael   :   his   brother,   in   all   his   angelic   &&   perfect   son   glory.   head   tips   back,   glass   of   scotch   brought   to   the   tiers   upturned   into   a   smirk.    ❛     come   to   enjoy   human   life,   brother   ?     ❜

Send 🌟 for a headcanon about our muses’ relationship   /  @ofheavensfire

 Dean and Michael’s relationship are complex. he expects the Archangel to come down at him with force and hatred of what he became. but instead they are here fully aware of each other presence but none of them jump to tear the other apart. dean knows that the archangel hates him even if they were wearing fake smiles on their faces, deep down its still angel x demon faith and in the end one of them will lose. 

ANOTHER SMUT HEADCANON BC IM NASTY

       she   is   the   spitting   image   of   an  auradon   girl   :   perfectly   polished   ,   dressed   to   the   nines   * &   has   the   posture   and   poise   of   a   true   princess.   mother   did   teach   her   well   after   all   -----   soft   digits   smooth   down   the   material   of   his   suit   (   made   by   hers   truly   !    )    and   rose - stained   petals   form   a   smile.

         ❝   if   i   do   say   so   myself   ,   this   might   be   my   best   work   yet   !   ❞

@ainthero,

it’s nothing she isn’t used to,      that sting of needle and thread falling through skin.      allison is grateful that it’s her shoulder this time,      that she doesn’t have to look at it,       that she doesn’t have to look at his face when the wound is uncovered and the stitches begin.      

before this it had been her knuckles after smashing a small window to unlock a door to a building she and a few others used to take refuge in when they overrun by infected;      another time after an incident she doesn’t quite recall enough when it happened,     but certainly the agonizing thirty minutes it took to stitch her up in the aftermath,      but even then she had something to numb her a little,      alcohol at one point she’s sure.      now,      it’s not the case.      there is barley enough found morphine for those who truly need it,     alcohol almost as difficult to come by.      thus:   no numbing agent this time around,      she sits through each second of it,      suffering in attempted silence.

there is the occasional whimper,      though she tries not to make it evident,      biting her tongue to silence the groans that wrestle up from her throat,      but she is certain that at one point she has cursed under her breath,      a “fuck” forced through clenched teeth with yet another pass of the needle.

@ofheavensfire,

does that hurt  ?      on cue:      a wince.      fire red locks are draped over one shoulder,      gaze avoiding the open wound at the other,      rich red-orange blood creating a river down the flesh of her back,      staining it.      

it was a mistake that got her here,      settled under the angel’s hands,      wet cloth collecting the smudged ichor.     a result of one wrong move that had the potential of ending disastrously if she had been any more reckless.     thankfully she managed to get out with only a few scrapes,     yet some were evidently worse than others.

@ofheavensfire.