Lucifer had told you countless times not to dye your hair, but you kept begging and begging and he kept saying no. He hated this little emo phase you were going through, it was a pain in his ass to deal with.

Your constant whining, constantly being called a 'poser,' the loud rock music coming from your room, acting like you hated him, the clothing, the makup, the rebellious attitude, the sass, pretty much everything about the phase was dreadful.

Yet you constantly denied it was a phase, instead saying it was a 'lifestyle.' He was unsure how to get you out of this stupid little phase of yours.

You had been begging to dye your hair but Lucifer denied, which made you angry. You decided it would be a good idea to do it yourself, that night, you dyed a streak of your hair black.

The next morning when you woke up and went downstairs, your father saw it.

"Charlie what the fu— What did you do?! Do you just never listen to me?!?" He yelled angrily, baffled at what you had done.