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If you haven't watched Lucifer - the TV series - be aware this blog has all of the spoilers plus the ending.
• Fox Era (Seasons One–three):
Season One Trailer
Season One Synopsis
Season one of Lucifer—the only show where the Devil wears $3,000 suits and runs a nightclub in LA because, apparently, eternal damnation wasn't hitting the same since 2011. What happened to sticking with a job, buddy?
So, the plot: Lucifer Morningstar, aka Beelzebub with a glow-up, is bored of the whole "ruling Hell" gig. He decides to open a nightclub called Lux. Because nothing screams "I've retired from evil" like a velvet rope and a $12 martini that's 90% ice. His demon buddy Mazikeen is there too, looking like she just stepped off a Hot Topic catalog from hell.
Oh, hold your horses, folks—there's a plot twist juicier than a VR blog dipped in drama. Some pop diva gets whacked, and suddenly His Infernal Majesty is playing sidekick to Chloe Decker of the LAPD, And get this—she's immune to his charm. Talk about a sucker punch to the ego: the Devil's got a crush and it's killing him. Literally. She makes him bleed, which is both terrifying and oddly kinky.
The big plot threads? Lucifer's using his powers to make bad guys spill their secrets—kinda like a super powered lie detector. Meanwhile, his brother Amenadiel—who's basically the angel equivalent of an overbearing older sibling—keeps trying to drag him back to Hell. He even resurrects some corrupt cop named Malcolm. I mean, sure, why not just bring back everyone? It's not like death's a big deal.
Oh, and because being the Prince of Darkness with a heart isn't a walk in the park, he starts seeing a therapist. Dr. Linda Martin, who probably needs her own therapy after dealing with this guy.
The season finale? Lucifer gets framed for a murder—but a showdown clears his name and drops celestial conspiracy breadcrumbs like Netflix’s big red button screaming “next episode.”
So, season one: Devil jokes, cop drama, and a therapy session with a sprinkle of biblical melodrama.
Welcome to LA, where the only thing hotter than Hell’s furnace is Chloe Decker’s glare.
Season two of Lucifer stars the Devil himself, and his annoyingly righteous big bro Amenadiel. Their job? Track down their Mother, the Goddess of Creation, who recently escaped from hell.
Here’s the synopsis, or as Lucifer's therapist would say, "the emotional baggage manifest":
So Lucy's big plan? Smite his mother. But—record scratch—decides to stick her in a squishy human meat-bag instead, forcing her to squat in the corpse of some dead lawyer named Charlotte Richards, which is a serious demotion for Her Royal Cosmickyness. So she's cooking up a plan B: to either guilt-trip the Big Guy upstairs into letting her crash back at the celestial crib, or, you know, just nuke the whole fucking planet out of pure petty spite.
Enter Uriel, another of Lucifer's brothers who clearly skipped the charm classes. He shows up with Azrael's blade—basically a divine letter opener with one job: shanking Lucifer's mother, forcing Lucy to snuff him out instead.
Congrats, Lucifer, you just unlocked the “Emotional Trauma” achievement.
Meanwhile Lucifer is still playing detective sidekick to the one woman immune to his devilish mojo, Chloe Decker. The sexual tension in that room? Thicker than a three-day-old Melty Pepper Jack Steak Burrito in a Texas heatwave, but then we drop a bomb: she's not just a random cop. Nope, turns out she's got a VIP pass to the celestial bloodline. Divine origin story, baby. Guess the writers have a twisted sense of humor. Who's the hack penning this season, huh?
Oh, and, we're introducing the cast. We get Ella Lopez, a forensic scientist so perky she'd make a Golden Retriever look depressed who treats Lucifer’s flirty one-liners like they’re a workplace safety hazard-and probably files a report every time he opens his mouth.
And Dr. Linda? Yeah, she’s out here giving therapy to the actual Goddess of Creation, Lucifer's mother. Like, “Here’s your bill, also please don’t smite me!"
Finally, it's a race against time to reassemble the Flaming Sword of Eden—think of it as the ultimate cosmic box cutter—so Lucifer's mother can slice her way to her own universe and peace out. Result? We avoid an apocalypse, but the family therapy bill? Astronomical.
So, Lucifer finally grows a pair—and decides to spill the cosmic beans to Chloe. You know, the whole "I'm literally the Devil" spiel. Real heartfelt stuff. But of course, the universe has a sick sense of humor, because before he can even hit dial, some rando' clocks him from behind. Lights out, Lucy. Next thing he knows, he's waking up in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere—and surprise, surprise, his angel wings are back. Apparently, the universe thinks he needed a wardrobe upgrade. Because why not? It's not like he had enough baggage with the whole fallen-angel thing.
Season 3 of Lucifer—aka the season where God decided to play a prank by giving him back his majestic feather duster wings while simultaneously stealing his scary demon face.
So, Lucifer wakes himself up in the desert looking like a Spirit Halloween cos-player—wings back, fab as ever—but the devil face? Gone. Poof. Meanwhile, enter Marcus Pierce, the new lieutenant with a hard-on for Detective Decker. Oh, and some edgelord called the Sinnerman—straight out of a '90s action flick: broody, cryptic, and so extra he scoops his own eyeballs out just to dodge a chat with Lucifer. Rude.
Plot twist! Marcus is actually Cain. Yes, *that* Cain—the original murderer, cursed to be a whiny immortal. He's been walking the earth for millennia, and now he's all, "Lucifer, help me die, pretty please." And Lucifer's like, "Dude, I'm not a genie, but I'll see what I can do."
Charlotte Richards—back from the dead after Momma Lucifer finally packed up her crazy and checked out, and Charlie girl takes it as her cue to swap manipulation for a conscience. Almost sweet, right? Yeah, unless you see the fine print—she's just farming karma points for a cushy spot in the VIP afterlife lounge.
Cain tries to off Amenadiel, Lucifer's bro-in-arms, to get his immortality back or something. But Charlotte steps in and takes the bullet—literally—and sacrifices herself for Amenadiel. He grows his wings again and carries her to Heaven, which is a hell of a way to get a ride, but okay.
Lucifer outs Cain and they have a showdown. Long story short, Lucy ends the guy to protect Chloe—and in the middle of all that bloodshed, Chloe finally sees Lucifer's demon face. Her worldview shatters into a million pieces, and suddenly she knows Lucy is not just some British-accented dude with daddy issues. Cue existential crisis.
There you have it. Another season of celestial dramatics, and one very confused therapist.
**Bonus Content:**
There's also a couple of random episodes—one where Lucifer's demon buddy Maze is looking for a roommate (yikes), and an alternate-reality one where he and Chloe are yet to meet. But hey, they're fun, and they set the stage for Netflix to swoop in and save the show like the streaming knight in shining armor it is.
Season Four of Lucifer, our favorite horny devil gets *really* into an identity crisis. Chloe, his partner in crime-solving, finally sees his demon face and—surprise, surprise—loses her appetite for brunch.
Chloe jets back after a brief visit to Rome, and wouldn't you know it, she's got a priest in her ear who wants Lucifer back in the basement of Hell. She considers it—I mean, hello, who hasn't wanted to dump their boyfriend back into a pit o' fire at some point?—but then realizes, "Nah, I kinda like the bad boy." Cue the love-struck sigh.
So, get this: the ORIGINAL crazy ex-girlfriend, Eve, floats down from Heaven, bored AF and craving some chaos. She's all "let's make a mess, babe!"—practically dragging Lucifer back to his wild, "flaming swords and insurance claims" era. Stay classy lady.
Amenadiel and the good doctor Linda are having a baby. It's half-angel, half-therapist, which means it'll probably get you to talk about your feelings while it judges you from a high chair. All the demonic baddies want the kid, because... plot.
Dan is drowning his sorrows in a pool of his own misery over Charlotte's death—get this guy a spa day, please. And Ella? The forensic ray of sunshine is having a massive crisis of faith. It's like watching a golden retriever realize the mailman doesn't like him.
Eve's little nostalgia trip, combined with some ancient prophecy that nobody read the fine print on, unleashes a pack of uppity demons on LA. Dromos leads the charge, and I'm pretty sure his résumé just says "angry and available."
So Lucifer's mid-demon-slap brawl when it hits him—Eve? Not his "first love." That was just a bedtime story he told himself so his ego could fit in the mirror. Chloe's the real deal, which is adorable for her and an absolute apocalypse for literally everyone else. Then he finally goes full peek-a-boo at his reflection, sees the crispy demon mug, and drops a "Yep, this is me." Somewhere, a therapist just felt a chill and doesn't know why.
After kicking demon butt and busting out an "I love you" that honestly deserves a Grammy, Lucy packs his bags for Hell. Why? 'Cause if he doesn't, it's a demon potty overflow up top—think clogged toilet, but with souls. He waves a weepy bye to Chloe, dives into a hole, and boom—roll credits. Cue the tears and the fan-fiction.
Season 5 of Lucifer? That's sixteen episodes of smiting, daddy issues, and celestial soap opera—all chopped into two Netflix drops, because why give you one tight, satisfying story when we can stretch it out like a yoga instructor on meth? So grab some popcorn and let’s get weird.
**Part 1: Michael's BS and Dad's Surprise Cameo**
• The Twin Twist:
So, Lucifer's stuck in Hell—again, because his life is basically a treadmill set to "eternal downward spiral." Meanwhile, his evil twin brother Michael decides to crash Earth like a houseguest who forgot to bring booze but remembered every axe to grind.
Ol' Mikey steals Lucy's face, trashes his reputation, and honestly? This cosmic-grade dickbag is out here grinding HARD on his creepy obsession with my favorite angel. It's like a stage-five-clinger ex blowing up your phone with 147 texts post-breakup—except instead of "u up?" it's fire, brimstone, and a whole lotta "LOOK AT ME, LOOK AT ME." A-plus for effort, F-minus for execution. Mikey-Buddy, seriously—get a hobby. Preferably one that doesn't involve cosplaying as a fallen angel with anger issues.
• The Big Return:
Lucifer zips back to L.A. to slap Michael around, and somewhere in between the chaos, Chloe and Lucy finally lock lips like it’s a rom-com climax we earned after five damn years of will-they-won’t-they. Cue the confetti, people.
Dad Shows Up: God himself—yeah, the big G—played by the voice of the Allstate guy (Dennis Haysbert, because why not make the Creator sound like insurance ads?) He rolls into the police precinct to break up a heavenly cage match. Because nothing screams "divine intervention" like crashing a cop rager. "You're in good hands" — pfft, tell that to the angels throwing down like it's a Black Friday sale.
**Part 2: Family Feud and a Heavenly Job Interview**
• Dad Goes Mortal:
God tries on humanity like a cheap suit, has a midlife crisis, fixes his daddy issues with Lucifer (finally!), and then decides he’s done with the whole universe gig. Retirement: it’s not just for boomers on Earth.
• The Throne Throw-down:
Alright, so Dad's out—and now it's Lucy vs. Mikey for the big shiny "Almighty" hat. Spoiler alert: think less Game of Thrones, more two brothers in a backyard WWE slap fight while Mom films it for Facebook. So Luci totally whoops Mikey's ass and snags the big G gig. Cue the dramatic music, true believers—Lucy's got a new throne, and it's gonna be a wild ride!
• Bonus Weirdness:
We get a 1946 black-and-white noir episode—because who doesn’t want to see Lucifer in a fedora—plus a karaoke musical episode that’s so cheesy it’d make a dairy farmer blush. Honestly, they just gave them a mic and said "sing," and here we are.
That’s the season, folks. Demons, daddy issues, and a whole lot of unnecessary flair.
Lucifer’s back for one last rodeo—Season 6, ten episodes of celestial drama dropped September 10, 2021. Our boy Lucifer is out here ghosting his new gig as God like it's a Tinder date, while the universe throws a cosmic tantrum and his feelings get a makeover. You're welcome, recap gods.
So Season 6 starts with Lucifer, aka the Devil himself, parked on the "God" gig like it's a throne made of flaming paper cuts and red tape. Yeah, he won the cosmic jackpot last season—cue the confetti—but surprise! Imposter syndrome doesn't care if you're literally Satan. Even Beelzebub's got performance anxiety. Who green-lit this? Oh right, the writers. Hi, writers.
So get this, Lucifer and Chloe—yeah, the Devil and the detective get totally blindsided when Rory shows up. She's their half-angel kid from the future, and she time-traveled back 'cause she thinks dear old Dad bailed on them. Classic absentee father stuff, right? Except, you know, with wings and daddy issues.
Turns out, Lucifer fixing his future daughter’s anger issues is the universe’s way of giving him a therapy session. He finally realized he'd rather be a cosmic grief counselor than the Big Guy’s replacement. Because, let’s be real, who wants to listen to prayers all day when you can have soul-fixing jam sessions in Hell?
And that’s Lucy's true calling, folks—not ruling the underworld with an iron pitchfork, but opening a damn soul spa down there.
Now, the ending scorecard:
Lucifer is the eternal therapist of the damned, which is, honestly, a step up from his old gig of being the "scary bad guy." Detective Decker becomes the top cop and also Lucy's eventual plus-one to the underworld—talk about a long-distance relationship that finally paid off.
Amenadiel grows up, gets a robe, and becomes the new chill God. Maze and Eve tie the knot and start a bounty-hunting duo that’s basically the most terrifying honeymoon ever.
So there you have it: a season of Lucifer dodging a crown, babysitting a time-traveling teen, finding his groove in the pits and living happily ever after in hell with Chloe.
You inspired me to write the blog by sharing Lucifer love a couple of days ago.
I loved putting this together, writing the synopsis, finding the videos, researching the music of each season.
I have the Lucifer box set, which is a delightful treasure, and late nights curled up with loved ones, watching Lucy's TV antics. Yeah, hot chocolates all round, just great.
So thank you for the inspiration. I really enjoyed this one.
This will sound so weird - I need an emotional connection to the things I write about and I haven't got the hots for Sam or Dean 😂
Twilight was hot for me - I blogged the whole saga
I'll have a think - I'm always blogging I'll come up with another soon 😊
Euphoria.
09:57 Oct 06 2026 Times Read: 298
I was sitting on a train last year, autumn time, just staring out of the window, and I couldn't have felt better. And I felt all of the life around me was a living, breathing adventure cosseting me. I felt strong and attractive, and I was listening to some great music on my headphones.
I'd bought coffee in the station before I'd got on the train, and it was cooling in front of me. I bought a magazine on biking I'd treated myself to, and across from me to my right were two girls, young women, sitting on opposite chairs towards me. And they noticed me, and I was so into my own headspace, with the music I was listening to, with the joy of returning to my wife after visiting friends some distance away, that their attention towards me just ramped up my endorphins over the max I was already feeling.
I felt my eyes brighten, if a person can feel that kind of thing, but, yeah, I did, do, and I just stared out that window, just watching the scenery ride past, and I opened my mouth a little. I don't know why. I just felt fucking excited, not sexually, I just felt so fucking alive, that my eyes felt moist, and I kind of smiled to myself, I just felt on top of the world.
I knew, from experience, that making eye contact with people staring at me spoils it, and the connection shared with the girls would have changed if I'd glanced their way.
When eye contact is once made, it's as though it's shameful for that person to have drawn you into their orbit by staring, yet in that in-between space, where all parties are aware of each other, and we maintain that connection through my peripheral vision, that, is delicious.
And It's nicer than talking, it maintains a magic that is lost when things progress to a point where the conversation begins and ends with me saying I'm married, and I'm listening to such and such on my headphones. Nobody cares about that stuff. It's all about those little wonderful, incredible magical 'what if' moments shared between strangers who make an unspoken connection.
So I breathed, slowly, deeply, and enjoyed my peripheral vision.
I posted a song yesterday of an animation, a character slowly closing its eyes reminding me of a sense of being so engrossed within one's own existence that the act of simply existing is enough to cause euphoria. I feel that way often. Existing, moment to moment, filled with life, every breath, taken, released, back into the world, feeling I'm life itself. I am. We all are. I felt that way on that train, I felt euphoric.
I've met some wonderful people on my travels, and I've made some wonderful connections, and sometimes, I meet people who feel as I do, and their eyes shine, they just fucking, shine. Oh, it's not instant love, or even a longing for each other.
In a sense, we are seeing ourselves reflected from each other and enjoying those simply played notes of being alive, simply existing, and appreciating each other as strangers, who feel, perhaps we never actually were.
I've bumped into people I'd never seen before in my life, and from a casual encounter, we stood together on a street, in a train station, some place, and the world around us has just fucking stopped.
And it didn't really matter what we spoke about. In a sense, we didn't care what we had to say to each other. All that really mattered was we were able to stare into each other's eyes and smile, sometimes laugh gently at nothing other than the fact we were stood on the Earth looking at each other and feeling the life of the world around us, the exhilaration, the wonder, of two people who were stood in the daylight in a world able to give us life and it meant everything. It felt like it was all it ever needed to be, and we sought nothing more, no heaven, no hell, we sought only to live.
Sometimes, putting one foot in front of the other is all I need to feel like I'm walking in heaven, to see the beauty in all things. This life is an incredible experience, and there are so many opportunities to find true beauty. I'm in awe.
Maksim - Exodus
Emmy Rossum, Gerard Butler - The Phantom of the Opera
The lyrics in this song are about loving someone. And I suppose a lot of people have sent this song to a lot of other people. Fair enough. But I send this song to myself, to a part of myself that sometimes goes dormant, and I barely remember how he felt, until he wakes up. And when he wakes up, he reminds me what it feels like to breathe with the world.
It's looking up at God and then seeing past Him until all I see is the existence of myself and feeling it's all I could ever possibly need. No God, no Satan, no people. Just me.
It's an exhilaration beyond anything else. There's me, reflecting on myself, and knowing despite everything I've seen and experienced in this world, the thing that gives me the greatest exhilaration of all, is simply existing.
Everything slows down, it seems the people themselves move slower, the world becomes slower, quieter, and I feel like the world has become utterly timeless, where there is no rush, to do anything, there is only calm, and I slow down too. I breathe, and I see the world for what it is, a setting, to live within, a thing, to experience, and I feel invulnerable.
I understand to a large extent that the way I feel in these times is an illusion, yet what part of life isn't? We all live inside our own minds, inside our own worlds.
It's been months since I felt this way. I haven't been able to feel this way throughout spring or summer. Yet like a late bloom, today those feelings arrived, and grew within me like a slow burning fire, the exhalation, my endorphins rising, the rush.
I have missed the world when feeling this way.
There's going out into the world as one version of yourself and then there's going out into the world as the better version of yourself and I know how different the world appears to me, and perhaps how different I appear to the world, depending on which version of me it meets.
Sometimes when I'm outside, I feel like I'm breathing in the world and the world is breathing with me, and I look at it, the people, the daylight, the sun and the life of the world and I feel like I belong to all of it and I feel like I have total freedom within it, and I feel utterly, alive.
Why this song? Why not one of a billion others?
Each time I listen to this song, it climbs inside me and settles there, in a way few songs do.
You're right, Nico. I miss the things I lock away in the mental broom closet. The door opened today. I'm not closing it.
The song seeps into me Crimson. The lyrics, the melody. I find it quite potent.
I don't know what STEPS and VOICE is @VelvetFlame.
WT 🖤
-
@VelvetFlame. - I looked up STEPS. I'm not quite ready for that yet lol.
The Poker and the fireplace.
16:23 Oct 04 2026 Times Read: 502
My wife has tested my will and my boundaries, my commitment to her, my love, and my need for her, relentlessly, since the beginning of our relationship. And she is imaginative doing so.
One winter's afternoon, not too long after we met, Dee (my wife) decided to tie me up in the lounge, near the log fireplace blazing away behind me, and I knew from her expression it was going to be something a little off-centre than the usual bite-type games we'd play when she had me helpless.
She straddled me, I was facing upwards, and she took a brass poker from beside the fireplace and put it on the fire. We chatted, amicably, as though we were sat across from each other at breakfast, and we spoke about nothing in particular while she waited for the poker to get hot.
All I could see was her face glowing in the firelight, her black eyes, and they did indeed look black, brown eyes, dilated pupils. Yeah, they looked black. She looked stunning. Just well, what can I say when my version of feminine perfection is holding my abdomen between her thighs and my hands tied behind my back. Yeah, just fucking, what to say, just burned in my memory forever.
Anyway, the poker got hot. No surprise there, since it'd been stuck in a fire for ten minutes, and before she took the poker out of the fire, she told me she was going to burn my chest. I felt anger at first, real anger. She'd put me in a position where I was fucked, there was no bucking her off me, wriggling free, nothing. I was pretty much glued to the floor looking up at her, that's how it was.
And we exchanged words and they were not pretty. I was angry, I can feel myself snarling typing this, pretty much probably how I looked to her at the time, and she, as always, was totally nonplussed.
I knew no matter what I said, she was going to burn me, that she meant it with every word, every action, every thought and motivation that led me to that point in front of that fireplace with her on top of me and me tied up. She was going to. She meant every bit of it, that I was going to end up with a poker burning my chest.
And despite my need to please her, I can't say I wanted her to burn me. I didn't. I haven't a single thought or doubt in my mind that I wanted that. I didn't, but I wanted something.
I wanted to see it through.
And it wasn't to prove something to her, or even to myself, and, in a sense, it had nothing to do with being burned, the notion she was going to burn me had become irrelevant. The situation had morphed into wills. Her will and mine.
And all that I felt was left were her words and mine.
I told her to burn me.
I told her to take the poker and burn me.
I smiled at her, because all that mattered to me then was feeling her thighs holding my sides, her weight on top of my body, and her dark, beautiful, beautiful eyes just staring into me.
I stopped caring about everything else.
There was her, and how she looked and what I felt, and all I wanted, was to feel her burn me.
She reached behind me very quickly and within a single moment she pushed the poker against my chest, right in the middle of it and lay the poker on my sternum, gently pressing, not hard or violent, just resting it gently on my sternum, and for a couple of seconds I could feel my skin burning, and for those two seconds, it felt like I was falling into the darkness of her eyes forever, I could feel myself burning, and we never broke eye contact and I started smiling because I felt something more than the burn, I felt the roots between her, my yet-to-be-wife-at-the-time, and me, grow.
Within seconds, after Dee placed the poker on me, I started to realise that she hadn't burned me at all, and what she had done was take a cold poker, of a similar style and size, and placed it on me instead of the one that was still on the fire.
It wasn't what I said afterwards that mattered, it was how I felt, and what she felt, what she knew, and what I knew, and what we were to each other.
Despite that great timeless, eternal, heaven-moving hell shifting God in awe, Satan's clapping moment we shared, things quickly fell into routine afterwards.
Dee went back into the kitchen to finish off making the Sunday dinner. I sat in front of the fire naked, released from the ropes, and feeling like I'd just bonded with something beyond life itself. I had. I did. I felt like a Goddess had bound herself to me, and it felt, I felt like I'd been chosen. And I stared into those flames and I felt immortal. I felt like a god, small g.
That evenings dinner was nice but just routine, and after we cleared away the dishes, Dee wanted to read, and we sat on the floor, fire still raging keeping us warm, her still clothed, me still naked, and at some point, I felt so buffed up, and with her sat just behind me close enough for me to feel her breathing on my left shoulder, I started to flex my back a little, I'm in good shape, then, now, I like her wanting me, who doesn't want that with their partner, anyway I started flexing my muscles in my back slightly to get her attention as by this time she seemed more interested in her book than me.
So I carried on flexing very slightly just to draw her attention and for about I don't know, half an hour nothing happened, she wouldn't pay me any attention, I wasn't too bothered I mean shit I was the one sat on the floor next to her, no one else, so I carried on with my antics and then suddenly she sprang on me, wrapped a leather collar around my neck, oh, and we'd been drinking wine, I was more pissed than her and as she put the collar around my neck, I felt a bit sleepy at that point, and she whispered in my ear ... 'You don't even know what I'm doing to you, do you?' Oh, my fucking hell YES! I DID! I was fucking melting onto the floor with love. That's what I knew!!!!
Anyway, she shoved her fingers through the collar and made me walk up the stairs to bed on my hands and knees and ...
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Removed for VR posting – unsuitable.
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Doris Day - Fly Me to the Moon
Lyrics - Fly Me to the Moon
Fly me to the moon
And let me play among the stars
Let me see what Spring is like
On Jupiter and Mars
In other words, hold my hand
In other words, darling, kiss me
Fill my heart with song
And let me sing forever more
You are all I long for all I worship and adore
In other words, please be true
In other words, I love you
In other words, please be true
In other words, I love you
How long would I actually survive in different TV universes?
So, in no particular order, here are some TV shows and my estimated life expectancy.
----------------------------
1. Squid Game — Life expectancy: Winner.
At the start of the game I'd make sure I quickly got adopted by a murder-happy sugar daddy with anger issues. He can leave me in the closet while he's out there racking up a body count and after he wipes out every bastard in the game he can bring his vengeance boner home for a treat!
I want Merle Dixon as my murder-daddy on this job:
----------------------------
2. The Walking Dead — Life expectancy: Indefinite.
So, I'd rock a full-body zombie onesie, head to toe, very chic, very rotting. I might catch a bullet from Coral—okay, Rick's kid, whatever—but dude's got one working eye, so he's more likely to hit a tree than me. And hey, maybe snack on a few people—it's a lifestyle choice, not a crime! And if I run into Daryl—yeah, that guy—I'm sucking him dry like a juice box.
----------------------------
3. Game of Thrones — Life expectancy: Indefinite.
Okay, picture this: I'm going full dragon-whisperer on THREE freakin' dragons. I'd annoy the scaly pants off 'em till they loved me, hugged me, and tucked me in. Everyone else? Bye, Felicia. Just me and my flying fire-lizards in our cozy little death-free zone. Roll credits.
----------------------------
4. Supernatural — Life expectancy: 50/50.
So I waltz into this supernatural love triangle—picture *Twilight*, but instead of a glittery vampire and a hairy wolf, it's Sam and Dean Winchester. And guess who’s the juicy center? Me! Hey, if I gotta throw on a dress and play damsel-in-distress, I’m not above a little gender-bending. These boys teach me the fine art of ghost-punching, demon-gutting, and wrestling whatever goes bump in the night. Should be smooth sailing, unless they decide to off each other over me—then it’s just awkward for everyone at the family dinner.
----------------------------
5. True Blood — Life expectancy: Dead in a week.
Where do I even start with this? I'm basically the most irritating, man-child clusterfuck to ever stumble across this rock we call Earth. Anyone with half a brain cell and a shred of dignity will want to punt me into the sun within five minutes of my charming bullshit. So Eric’s gonna slice me up and serve me to Pam on a silver platter—unless, of course, she decides to take a mercy-pee on me instead. But let's be real, I'll annoy her into murder too, and then I'm six feet under before the week's out.
----------------------------
6. Dexter — Life expectancy: Pending.
Look, I don't make the rules, but every time I bump into a serial killer, it's basically a rom-com from hell. We lock eyes, and boom, we're soulmates. Then the honeymoon phase ends. I get annoying, they get stabby, I get more annoying, they get more stabby, until one of us inevitably has a meltdown and it's usually me crying in the fetal position. So Dexter, buddy, my bad. I'll try to be a good little murder-boyfriend from now on. No promises, though. I'm basically a golden retriever with a laptop.
----------------------------
7. Hannibal — Life expectancy: Until death do is part.
I'll make a wish and turn Hannibal into Martha Stewart, because nothing says 'romance' like a slow-cooked femur stew. Then he'd get all huffy when I skipped his five-thousand-calorie corpse casserole for a Snickers. So we're in couples therapy, me in a dress, him with a bib, and I'm promising to choke down his "comfort food" if he stops using the mailman as a garnish. And we ride off into the sunset—me as a cross dressing spouse, him as the world's most terrifying house-husband. And boom, happily ever after. Until I burn the kitchen down. Again.
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8. The Vampire Diaries — Life expectancy: Eternity.
Oh, trust me, I've binge-watched this episode before. No loitering, no dramatic pauses, no philosophical debates, no prayers—just sink those fangs in right now. Why drag out the inevitable when we both know this is heading straight to the credits? Consider this my enthusiastic RSVP, and skip the paperwork—just bite the damn thing already!
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9. American Horror Story — Life expectancy: One afternoon.
Alright, folks, welcome to tonight's episode of "Bad Decisions with a Mask." So, some psycho dominatrix drags me into her basement and decides to run a little experiment: do I actually need these lungs, or are they just decorative? She's planning on a long, lovely session—planting that fine ass on my face, uses me as a human knot-tying station, gives me a percussive tune-up, chains me up like a discount Houdini, probably nibbles on me for good measure, and then locking me up while the rest of this house's resident lunatics take their turns. My survival odds? Slim to none, but damn, if I'm going out, I'm going out with a smile. Or a wheeze. Whatever.
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11. Vikings — Life expectancy: Until my shield maiden died - then I'd off myself through grief.
So, here's the plan: I'm gonna find myself a shield maiden—basically a hot Valkyrie with anger issues—and I'm gonna bow so low I could kiss my own kneecaps. I'd kill for her, worship her and write poetry about her with the blood of anyone who so much as glanced sideways at her, because nothing says "healthy relationship" like turning a woman into a religious experience. I'd tell everyone within earshot she's my freaking goddess, my whole damn existence. And if some village asshole tries to mess with her? Boom! I'm stacking heads like a twisted game of Jenga, a tower so tall you could see it from space—if we had satellites, which we don't, because this is medieval times. All so my shield maiden stays safe and smiling.
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12. Peaky Blinders Life expectancy: Until old age took me out.
First off, mob hierarchy? Classic career move—climb the crime ladder until I find a cozy little rung that won't collapse under my drama. Then I play loyal watchdog for my new "family." I'm talking full-on superhero mode, cape optional, blood non-negotiable. Because what's a few bodies in the closet when you get free hugs, right? Then what? I become their unofficial mom, making sure everyone’s fed, hydrated, and not bleeding out on the sidewalk. Piece of cake, unless the cake has a bomb in it. Happy endings are for Disney, not for dudes with bullets in their resume. But sure, I'll take the delusion.
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15. Lucifer - Life expectancy: Eternity.
Oh Lucifer, *sweetheart*, what can I say? I love you, so lead the way—I'm basically your ride-or-die sidekick, just with more swearing and a skin-tight skirt-suit. Yeah, yeah, I know you're a naughty boy, but you're the *good* kind of naughty, not the *drown-a-village-in-fire* kind, so shove my soul into that smoking-hot lady detective you keep drooling over, and let's hit the crime-solving streets like a mismatched buddy cop flick. We'll bump into a few winged knuckleheads, wrestle some hellspawn, and burn through the whole series pretending we're not secretly in love until I bite it, you bury me, and sob over my lifeless corpse—dramatic, bloody, and totally on brand.
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20. Star Trek - 5 minutes.
So, the universe’s ultimate participation trophy winner for ‘Most Likely to Fail’ just got thrown out the airlock like yesterday's takeout, all because I couldn't stop fumbling the ball. And this clown didn’t even have the decency to wait until we hit the stars; no, I pulled that stunt while we were still parked. Chew on that, future employers.
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Conclusion:
Oh-ho-ho, would you look at this buffet of absolute nonsense! Revenge chub, sippin' on a juice pouch—spoiler, I'm the narrator here—no-kill sanctuaries (snore), mutual stabbing, yeet into the sun, soulmates (puke rainbows), scary soccer-dad. Went full Dracula, got weird, Valkyrie eye-candy, and spaced the airlock like a damn boss.
I'm pleased you like reading it. I had lots of fun thinking about these TV shows writing this blog and most of them I have on Boxset.
I left out a few of the shows that were on Witchykitten's list that I've not seen. I've seen Buffy, but it's been so long I can't remember what it's about Tbh.
Oh, I love Lucifer too. I'm looking forward to Tom Ellis joining comic con circuits more local to me. I want a Lucifer autograph, that'd be pretty cool.
OMG thaat would be so epic! Tom is a cat furbaby dad and just for that alone I love the man:p No, but Lucifer is one of his greatest. Have you seen his show where he is CIA ? His witty charm is in that show too. Colin Glass. I am biased I know but I just love watching him no matter what role he does. He is unpredictable as his character so it brings depth to the show❤️
Oo, I didn't know he was in a CIA show. He'd be good in that. I imagine he won't be much different than what he is in Lucifer. I find a lot of actors just played themselves if that makes sense, which is lovely, because when you meet them, they're not much different than who they were in their character roles.
I've met quite a few at comic con and I can't think of any who were much different than how they appeared on television. I think casting agencies just find cool sexy people and say, 'hey get on television' you'll be fine.
I haven't been able to find any listings to meet Tom Ellis near to me. He is on the comic con circuit, but it's all a bit far away.
I'll have a look on IMDB and see what shows he is on I fancy watching. I like the idea of him in a CIA role.
He is lovely isn't he? 😊 I love the romance in the Lucifer show, anything that'll make me go awwww and I'm happy.
Autograph signings from various Monopoly Events/ comic cons I attended over the past few years.
12:05 Oct 01 2026 Times Read: 774
Supernatural – Jensen Ackles
I had a minute or less with Jensen getting the autograph signed, so I don't have much to say. He seemed like a nice guy and I would have loved to have had a chat but it wasn't to be. I only booked an auto signing, as his meet-&-greet/ autograph/ photo-op package cost the price of a small car – I say in jest! His VIP meet-&-greet is 30 minutes long – if I got his times right – and that's a hell of a long time for a meet-&-greet. I mean what do you do? Hang out and listen to some music together? Ask about family? I mean bloody hell, 30 minutes?
Arrow – Stephen Amell
Stephen Amell, wow, charisma, charisma. He's basically Oliver Queen, the same dude you see on the telly – same mannerisms, personality – COOLNESS! Yeah, shivers, one sexy man! And very friendly, warm, warm, warm. The man is a male version of Medusa. One look at him, and he'll make your heart ache. Well, if you are partial to sexy men. Also, the print his autograph is on, is one of my favourite images in my collection. I think it's so cool. It really captures the atmosphere of the show IMO. And his autograph is fabulous as well, with him adding an arrow going through it! I got quite a bit of time with Stephen despite what I said about Jensen's 30-minute meet-&-greet. I actually pined for him the day after comic con, as crazy as that sounds. I had to un-pine myself watching a Blu-ray Arrow box set.
Same for Ian Somerhalder. He's a bloody heartbreaker as well. Thank goodness for box sets Lol. It took me three days just to stop smelling Ian's scent after comic con. Although watching Vampire Dairies during that time was pretty trippy. Shakes head.
Fear The Walking Dead – Garret Dillahunt
Quiet guy! Nice guy but quiet guy. I enjoyed meeting him, I did, but he's kind of a serene guy and not one for being overly affectionate with fans. It was still a worthwhile signing. I did like him. And he played my favourite character in FTWD, John Dorie. I was pleased to get his autograph. I'd been after it for ages after seeing him on FTWD, and I was so happy to see him finally join the comic con circuit. I also love the print he signed. I think it's a fabulous memento of the show now that it has ended.
Blade Trinity - Dominic Purcell
Dom gave me the crappiest looking autograph in my entire collection and yet it's still one of my favourites. He also gave me plenty of his time and I found out he was born not a million miles away from me. My wife has a habit of looking up actors on her laptop when we're watching films, and I'm sat there watching something, and she perks up and says 'Oh you know he was born just down the road?' And I think what??? Cheers for ruining my suspension of disbelief!! She does it all the time. I was watching one of the newer Star Wars films recently, I forgot which, and I was really into it, about halfway through, and she goes loudly – 'THIS SCENE WAS SHOT IN SCOTLAND!!!' Fucking hell . . . .. !!!! Pulls me right out of the fantasy of 'in a galaxy far, far away!' Anyway, Dracula, the ancient vampire from Sumeria or wherever it was, is actually a Scouser from Liverpool, so you know if you want to stay in the fantasy, stay away from the internet.
COMMENTS
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Lap1s
01:01 Oct 08 2026
:::screams:::
Oh myyyy❤️
Cain too!!!
:::fangurls both of them:::
Is it hot in here?
🤣😂😅
Adain
08:17 Oct 08 2026
You inspired me to write the blog by sharing Lucifer love a couple of days ago.
I loved putting this together, writing the synopsis, finding the videos, researching the music of each season.
I have the Lucifer box set, which is a delightful treasure, and late nights curled up with loved ones, watching Lucy's TV antics. Yeah, hot chocolates all round, just great.
So thank you for the inspiration. I really enjoyed this one.
Lap1s
03:01 Oct 09 2026
You made this so epic! What other series could you post about? Sam and Dean of Supernatural? 😁
Adain
08:06 Oct 09 2026
This will sound so weird - I need an emotional connection to the things I write about and I haven't got the hots for Sam or Dean 😂
Twilight was hot for me - I blogged the whole saga
I'll have a think - I'm always blogging I'll come up with another soon 😊